1-800-Request-A-Ficlet
I'm sort of desperately in need of a distraction* (as if you couldn't tell from the two other posts I've made today). Since I've also been turning myself in circles as far as fic goes (dear brain: please to be stopping the overthinking), I figured I could attempt to kill two birds with one stone
( Read more... )
It's natural and normal, the detritus of being out there and doing something meaningful beyond fighting, killing and dying.
The Marines are using water from their canteens to clean their hands, the backs of their necks, their forearms. When Sheppard pulls his own out, obviously with the same intent, Ronon grabs it from him and downs the contents in one long swallow. Sheppard makes a face but doesn't say anything.
"The Athosians want us to stay," Ronon tells him. "They're having a feast to thank us."
Sheppard scrapes at some dirt streaked on the back of his hand. "Well the river is--"
"Too far. Won't get there and back in time."
Sheppard sighs, then shrugs. "Okay, let's feast, then."
They sit close to the fire at the Athosians' insistence, a place of honor for their help today. It's a warm night and the fire is hot, so by the time the feast is over Ronon and Sheppard are both sweating lightly. After, they make their way to the gate slowly, Sheppard's men relaxed and at ease, and the breeze dries their sweat to their skin, sticky and tacky.
On Atlantis it's easy enough to herd Sheppard to Ronon's quarters. When Sheppard pulls his shirt off and heads for the bathroom, Ronon makes a noise and pushes him down on the bed.
"I'm sort of filthy," Sheppard drawls. He makes to sit up but Ronon crawls on top of him and pins him down.
"I know."
Streaks of dirt from Sheppard's throat--exposed throughout the day at his collar--have run down his chest in sweaty lines. His forehead is smudged by earlier attempts to wipe his face clean, and his forearms are smeared with caked mud that softened by the fire and dried on their way home.
Ronon leans down and tastes Sheppard's lips: salt, earth and fire. It makes Ronon groan and want more. He pulls back to strip off his own shirt and Sheppard blinks up at him, slowly, his breathing going shallow. Sheppard moves up on the bed and pulls Ronon down on top of him. They writhe against one another, lick their way into each other's mouths, tongues tangling and lips sucking. Fresh sweat breaks out on their skin, mixing once again with the remnants of their day of digging into the soil.
By the time they're naked there's a thin layer of dirt coating their skin that's also transferring to the sheets under them, and it's not dirty, not filthy, not anything that needs to be scrubbed away. It's natural and real and Ronon can't get enough of it, of the taste and sight of it on Sheppard.
Sheppard rolls them so that he's on top, lines them up just right, and Ronon arches into it, reaches around Sheppard to drag blunt nails down the bunching muscles of Sheppard's back, collecting grime and sweat under them that he won't bother to pick out later.
When Sheppard comes, his parted lips are dappled with dark brown smears. Ronon twists and shove upwards, sucks those lips into his own mouth, and comes hard against Sheppard's dirt-slick hip.
.End
Sometimes I'm very literal. Also, forgive any typos, as I'm visually not at my best due to an outdated prescription.
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So, so hot! Mmmm. I love all the details and the characterization, Ronon's perspective and all the rich sensual details. And John just kind of endearingly following along with whatever, be it canteen surrender or dirty sex on demand (and man, who could blame him?).
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Gnnngh, damn.
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As long as you can make it work...
Yeah, you did. I'm speechless *off to re-read and salivate*
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