SGA Fic: Five Times Ronon Dex Slept With a Teammate
Title: Five Times Ronon Dex Slept with a Teammate
Author: Kajikia
Pairing: Ronon/Solen, Ronon/John, Ronon/Teyla, Ronon/Rodney, Ronon/John/Teyla/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 3x14 "Tao of Rodney"
Length: 5,000 words
Written for the Ronon Ficathon, for ifylla, who requested first time porn.
I.
In his first year in service, Ronon's regiment was assigned to keep the peace Nicaah, one of Sateda's mining colonies. Nicaah wasn't happy about the affiliation, so keeping the peace meant mostly dealing with low-level guerrilla warfare. In the grand scheme of things, it was a petty little war, nothing at all compared to what the Wraith would do. Still, Ronon thought it had to mean something that his first kill was another human being.
He just hadn't figured out what that something was.
A bullet pinged off the AAV's armor, and Solen cursed, firing back in careful, controlled bursts. Ronon kept his head down and his hands busy, trying to patch around the burnt out router.
"Running low on ammo," Solen said, voice tight, trying for calm but just missing.
"Shut up, shut up," Ronon muttered.
Tav and Pona and Gylen were dead, killed by the same group that had him and Solen pinned down. They didn't know where the rest of the regiment was, but if he could just get the power up and running on the AAV, they could seal the hatches and let the auto-pilot home in on the regiment's signal. He made the final connection, and nothing happened.
"Work, you god-fucked piece of shit!" he shouted, and slammed his palm against the power control's housing. Suddenly, surprisingly, it did, powering up with a thin whine.
Solen leaned back and gave him an amazed look as the hatch shut and magnetically sealed. The vehicle rotated a little, then lurched forward of its own accord.
"It works?" Solen asked. "You fixed it?"
"Yeah," Ronon said, and Solen whooped and lunged at him, grabbing him in a bear hug. He went to kiss Ronon's cheeks, and missed somehow, catching him square on the mouth, and suddenly all that adrenaline had somewhere else to go. It was one long kiss, all teeth and bruising pressure, humping each other's legs on the floor of the AAV. Fast and clumsy and they came in their pants. Solen rolled off him, gasping.
"I still can't believe you fixed it," he said, and Ronon's laughter had a slight, hysterical edge.
Ronon learned two important lessons that day: (1) Hitting something really hard can be a viable way of fixing it, and (2) There is nothing in the world quite like Oh-my-god-we-didn't-die sex.
II.
When he ran, Ronon liked to keep to the secret routes through the city. The empty sections, the catwalks, the one stairwell by the showers that no one used because half the lights in it didn't work and there was a transporter down the hall anyway. Sheppard made it back to the showers before Ronon did, and met him in the stairwell.
"Man, you really are slow today," he said, bouncing a little on his toes. "Does this mean I've beaten you twice?"
"I guess," Ronon said, and Sheppard's grin got wider. "You're having a good day."
"Yeah, I am," Sheppard said, and kissed him.
Ronon froze, startled, just for a second, then opened his mouth and kissed him back. He grabbed Sheppard's hips, pulling him closer, grinding their cocks together, Sheppard as hard as he was. Sheppard growled into his mouth, and Ronon thought if he'd known this was what it took, he would have let Sheppard win weeks ago.
He slid his hands up under Sheppard's shirt, skin hot and slick with sweat against his palms. Sheppard broke the kiss to lick at his neck and shoved a hand between their bodies, fumbling with Ronon's zipper. He wrapped his hand around Ronon's cock and stroked him, fast and rough and so fucking good. Ronon shuddered all over and his head fell back against the wall. It had been literally years since anyone had touched him that way; it was almost shocking how good it felt, how different from his own hands.
Sheppard reached up and grasped the back of his neck, tugging his head down. Ronon followed the pressure blindly, finding Sheppard's mouth. He leaned into the kiss, into Sheppard's steady, confident touch, and came in a blinding rush.
His forehead was pressed against Sheppard's, and he was still holding on to Sheppard's hips. He could feel Sheppard, still hard against his thigh. He lifted his head, cleared his throat.
"What do you want me to..."
Sheppard grinned again. "Suck me."
Ronon hesitated, then dropped to his knees. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Sheppard's track pants, pulled them down. He thought he'd been gripping Sheppard hard enough to leave bruises, but his skin was smooth and pale and unmarred. He eased Sheppard's cock out through the slit in his underwear, and hesitated again. As long as it had been since anyone had touched him, it had been even longer since he'd sucked anyone's cock.
"Do you need it to be an order?" Sheppard asked, and his voice was mostly teasing.
Ronon shivered a little; that wasn't really his kink, but he thought for Sheppard, he might make an exception.
He leaned forward and took Sheppard's cock in his mouth, moving his mouth down until the head bumped against the back of his throat. The weight of it, the taste of it was familiar and unknown at the same time. He pulled off a little, licked the tip, tonguing the slit and the seam beneath the head. He sucked at the length of it, getting it nice and slick, so his hand moved easily up and down the shaft. He stroked slowly at first, then faster as he got into the rhythm of it, matching Sheppard's shallow thrusts.
Sheppard's hands suddenly tightened on his head, fingertips digging into his scalp. Ronon looked up at him, mouth still wrapped around his cock. Sheppard's lips were parted and his eyes were dark, pupils blown. When he met Ronon's gaze, he came with a strangled moan, hips bucking.
Ronon swallowed most of it, coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Sheppard braced his hands on Ronon's shoulders, his head hanging down, eyes closed. Ronon reached up to touch one of his wrists, and Sheppard opened his eyes. He smiled, and leaned in to kiss him, wet and sloppy. He squeezed his shoulders briefly, then straightened up, tucking himself away.
"C'mon," he said, pulling up his pants, "I'll race you to the showers." He clapped Ronon on the shoulder and ran off down the hall.
Later that day, Sheppard kissed Teyla, and started turning into a bug-creature.
When he was back to normal, or at least himself, Sheppard tried to apologize. Ronon cut him off after the first awkward words. He didn't want to know how much Sheppard remembered, and how much he was sorry for.
"Whatever," he said. "I'll race you to the east pier."
He didn't let Sheppard win.
III.
The thing Ronon really liked about the Athosians was their willingness to have parties. Weddings, funerals, good hunting days, some obscure and intricate calendar of feast days. Apparently having to resettle for the second time in less than three years was also considered celebration-worthy.
Ronon could taste the bitterness in his own words, and tried to shake it off when Teyla came to check on him in their tent.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Better." He had spent the last couple of days helping set up camp, hauling wood and water and dressed carcasses around. Nothing too heavy, just awkward, and it made his shoulders and back ache in a way that training never did. "I think I still smell like dead heccas though."
Teyla leaned in closer to sniff him. She smelled like berries and woodsmoke and fresh sweat from dancing.
"No," she said solemnly. "You smell very pleasant."
He snorted.
"If you will not stretch with me, perhaps I might use my hands on your back, to unknot some of the muscles?"
He nodded slowly. He had already stripped down to his undershorts, waiting for his clothes to dry from the wash. He stretched out on his pallet, face down, and Teyla straddled his lower back, the cool, slippery material of her skirt dragging over his skin.
"It is a good time to be coming back," she said. "We have time to plant crops."
He listened to her talk as she dug her thumbs into the muscles of his back and neck, her voice quiet and easy. He relaxed into the pressure of her hands and the flow of words about the spring planting, and their trading partners, and how best to dispose of the supplies Weir had left them with, until finally he said, "They didn't have to leave."
He hadn't really meant to say it, but it eased something inside him, like spitting out a stone. Teyla was quiet for a moment.
"Would you have them stand against the Ancestors?"
"No." He remembered the Lanteans' cool, dismissive gaze as the Athosians filed through the gate like weaver bugs swept out of a kitchen. "But they could have stayed with us."
"They do not believe they are leaving us forever," Teyla said.
He knew that was true, and it did help. He rolled over onto his back so he could see her face. She resettled herself, straddling his belly, and he rested his hands on the tops of her thighs.
"Do you believe they're coming back?"
"I believe they will do all in their power to return to us," she said easily, which wasn't any kind of answer at all.
He looked at her steadily until she sighed and said, "I do not know whether they will return. But I do believe we cannot wait for them. We must go forward as though they are not coming back."
He nodded.
"Ronon, you will always have a place with my people, no matter what happens."
He grimaced. "I'm not much of a farmer."
She smiled, half-rueful, half-sad. "Neither am I."
He watched her face in the candlelight, beautiful and kind and somber. The sounds of the celebration reached them only faintly, distantly, and it made the tent seem more isolated. He was suddenly conscious of the strength of her thighs beneath his palms, the weight of her body pressed against his body. He kept his eyes on her face, and slowly, deliberately swept his thumbs down, stroking her inner thighs.
She didn't slap him. Instead, she raised one eyebrow. A smile played on her lips. She lifted her hands slowly, lazily, and undid the laces on her shirt. She stripped it off like a dare, like a challenge, and his breath caught. He breasts were full and round and gleaming in the candlelight, nipples dark and pointed. She raised that eyebrow again, and Ronon slid his hands up her thighs to her hips, and with one smooth move that he knew his shoulders would regret later, pulled her up his body, until her hips were at his collar bone.
She looked surprised but she was still smiling. He pushed the material of her skirt up her thighs, and found her naked underneath. He pulled her closer, lifting his head a little so he could lick her. He flicked his tongue across her clitoris, and she sucked in a breath. He repeated the gesture, delving deeper, and could feel her grow wet and slick against his mouth. He traced mindless little patterns with his thumbs on the very tops of her inner thighs as he licked her, delicate and precise and unwavering. Just when he was starting to think his neck would snap under the strain, she came with a low, fierce cry, thighs trembling under his hands.
He let his head flop back, and she slid her hips back down his body so she could lean in and kiss him. He kissed her back, open and eager, his mouth full of the taste of her. He ran a hand down the sleek curve of her spine, cupped her breast in the palm of his hand, unable to get enough of the feel of her skin.
"Wait," she said finally, and scrambled up. He pressed his palms into the blankets and took deep breaths.
She came back with one of the Earth condoms. "Far easier to use than uiva gut," she said, flushed and naked, but still practical as knives. "We are not trading these."
She opened the package and rolled it down over his cock with swift deft movements. He had a momentary flash of almost-jealousy, wondering at her skill, then she was moving up over him. She slid down onto him all the way, no teasing, just sudden tight heat around his cock.
"Yes," he said, "Please..." And she started moving.
He smoothed his hands over her hips, her waist, her breasts. She never took her eyes off his face as she moved above him. He was close, so close, and she reached down and rubbed two fingers over her clitoris, bringing herself off hard and deliberate. Ronon's mind whited out and he came.
They squirmed around a little afterwards, cleaning up, trying to find a comfortable position. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she clasped his hand, and he fell asleep like that, curled up around the one member of his team he had left.
IV.
When McKay stopped him in the hallway, Ronon thought he was going to ask him something completely different. So when McKay asked about his scars, it was probably surprise that made him answer honestly.
He spent a long time looking at his back in the mirror after that. All smooth skin, like a fresh start.
He looked for McKay in the labs and in the mess, and finally found him sitting in his room, surrounded by laptops and papers.
"Zelenka kicked you out of the lab, huh?"
"Even after I said nice things about him. They feel I should be practicing my meditation or something." McKay snorted at the very idea. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to say thank you. For the scar thing."
"Oh." McKay looked a little surprised. "You're welcome. I'm, uh, glad it's working out for you."
Ronon had always erred on the side of not saying enough. Cheap with words, Solen used to say. But McKay could be dead tomorrow, and for once, Ronon wanted to regret something he said instead of something he didn't.
"That wasn't what I thought you were going to ask, though."
"What did you think I was going to say?"
I thought you wanted to fuck me. Ronon coughed. "You're the mind-reader."
McKay frowned, then his eyes widened and his ears turned pink. "Oh!"
Ronon felt his own face heat, but McKay at least looked more embarrassed than offended. Ronon took a deep breath. "I'd have said yes."
McKay was frowning again. "Oh, well, thanks, I'm glad to know you'd stoop to giving me a pity-fuck!"
"Not pity!" Ronon snapped back. Comfort, friendship. "What, did you have better plans for the rest of your life?" And that came out a little meaner than he intended.
"I was planning on advancing the state of human knowledge, but at this point a pity-fuck" Ronon glared a little, and McKay rolled his eyes. "Excuse me, a buddy-fuck would probably be more productive."
He didn't look all that enthusiastic, though, and Ronon suddenly felt horribly, horribly vain for assuming that McKay would pick him for comfort sex.
"Oh, shut up, you are ridiculously good-looking, and you definitely would have been at least in my top three people to have sex with before I die." And, hey, Sheppard had been right, the telepathy did make things easier.
He crossed the room in two strides and braced his hands on the back of McKay's chair, bending down to kiss him. McKay kissed him back, then made an impatient noise and flailed a little, trying to shove the laptop off onto the desk without breaking the kiss. When he succeeded, he grabbed the front of Ronon's shirt and pulled him down so he was straddling McKay's thighs. They kept kissing, slow and lazy, like they had all the time in the world, and Ronon felt them both flinch from that thought.
Ronon pulled off McKay's shirt instead.
"Okay, yes, good idea," McKay said, and grabbed the hem of Ronon's shirt, yanking it up over his head.
Skin to skin now, and Ronon ran his thumbs over McKay's nipples. McKay hissed and squirmed, and the wheeled desk chair slid a bit.
"Up," McKay said. "Bed."
They kicked off their shoes and stripped off the rest of their clothes on the way, snatching kisses in between. The bed was covered with more books and papers and a decimated cafeteria tray, and McKay folded the top blanket over the lot of it, yanking it all off. Ronon saw the unhappy twist of his mouth and didn't need to read his mind to guess why. He caught McKay's hand, trying to maneuver him into bed, but somehow McKay hip-checked him at the wrong moment and Ronon was the one who ended up on his back, McKay sprawled on top of him.
"Oooph," he said, and then McKay was kissing him again. Ronon arched up into, and had sudden vision of where else he'd like to have McKay's wide, clever mouth.
Almost as soon as he'd thought it, McKay backed off, moving down his body. He braced one hand on Ronon's hip, then licked a stripe all the way up the underside of his cock. Ronon's eyes rolled back as McKay sucked his cock. He was a little...not quite uncertain, but experimental at first, then he seemed to figure it out, and it was unbelievable, just the right rhythm, just the right pressure, a hint of teeth. Ronon just wished he would...
McKay slid one spit-slick finger behind his balls, pressing at his asshole. Ronon groaned and pushed down against it, because yes, that was exactlyhis eyes snapped open.
McKay lifted his head and grinned at him smugly with a shining mouth. "Talk about bio-feedback, huh?"
"You're reading my mind?"
McKay stroked a finger deeper into Ronon's ass and his eyes fell shut again.
"I have no problem with that."
"You think that's cool, check this out," McKay said, and took the head of Ronon's cock in his mouth again. Just the head, but there was suddenly smooth pressure all down the length of it, and something stroking over his nipples as well, even though McKay had one hand on his hip and one between his legs.
"Oh, shit," he said, and let McKay do whatever he wanted. McKay's laughter buzzed over the head of his cock. He played Ronon like a computer game, bringing him just up to the edge of orgasm, then pulling off, until Ronon was gasping and begging.
"Fuck me," he said, or thought. Fuck me, fuck me, fuckme...
"Jesus, okay," McKay gasped. He held out one hand, and Ronon was vaguely aware of something flying out of the mess on the desk and into his grasp.
Condom, lube, and then McKay's cock was sliding into his ass, slow and steady, and they both sucked in a hard breath. McKay gave him a couple more careful thrusts until he found the right angle, the one that made Ronon groan and snap his hips up.
"Harder," he said, but McKay was already obliging him.
McKay fucked him hard and fast, no more playing. Ronon could feel his orgasm coiling up from his belly. McKay's rhythm went ragged, and Ronon whined in the back of his throat.
"Yes, yes, fine," McKay said breathlessly. He reached down, grabbed Ronon's cock. A couple of uneven strokes was all it took; he spilled all over McKay's hand. McKay followed him over with an inarticulate shout then collapsed on top of him. Ronon slung an arm over his shoulders, basking in the golden glow of orgasm and McKay's warm weight.
After a few moments, McKay rolled off him. He stripped the condom off and tossed vaguely in the direction of the garbage can. It had to swerve in mid-air, but it got there, which made Ronon laugh a little. This wasn't quite how he'd pictured the evening going, but McKay seemed to have had a good time.
"Oh, I did," McKay said contentedly.
"Stop that."
"Hmph." McKay was quiet for a minute, then he said quietly, "Thank you."
Ronon shrugged carefully. "'S what friends do, right?"
McKay snorted. "You have the best customs," he said, and fell asleep.
V.
"Think of it as a vacation," Weir said, and made the Air Force fly her to Paris when her testimony was done.
"We're golden," John said. "For once, whatever they decide, it's not going to affect us or Atlantis."
They only had to testify on one day; the rest of the week they were just supposed to "be available for further questions." John said that renting a cabin in the Rocky Mountains was being available, since it was helicopter-accessible.
It was the first time he'd been on Earth without a funeral, or a crisis, or a sense of impending doom. He had to admit, it improved his opinion of the planet.
He and Teyla had been there enough times to go out and shop by themselves while John and Rodney were testifying. Teyla liked the flea-markets best; she considered it rather uncivilized to be told how much she was going to pay for something.
Still, they apparently did not grasp all the cultural subtleties of Earth, because when Rodney came back on the third day from visiting his sister, he stopped dead on the front steps and said, "Oh my God. Why are you wearing a pink skirt?"
Ronon was sitting in a rocking chair on the cabin's wrap-around porch, bare feet up on the railing. He looked down at his latest purchase. "It's cooler than pants. 'Sides, Beckett's people wear this."
Rodney opened his mouth, shut it, and sighed. "Well, I can't argue with that logic. Please tell me someone's making dinner."
Ronon jerked his chin towards the cabin. "John."
Rodney looked dubious and headed inside. "Hey, Teyla," he said on his way in.
Teyla, dozing on the porch swing, snuffled, possibly in response to his greeting.
Ronon went back to his book, counting down in his head. Five minutes later he could hear muffled voices from inside, then Rodney stomped out.
"He's very protective of the kitchen," Rodney said.
"That's why we're out here."
Rodney shifted Teyla's feet so he could sit on the porch swing. She rolled over and shoved her feet into his lap, murmuring drowsily. Rodney just braced his book against them.
After a minute, Rodney said, "Does he think we can't hear him singing?"
Ronon laughed. The sound of John's terrible, off-key singing blended with the droning of insects and the creak of the porch swing, and for a moment, everything was perfect.
They ate dinner on the porch at twilight: steaks, and sweet corn, and salad, and homemade bread, and cold beer. The meadow and the forest that surrounded the cabin were filled with tiny luminescent insects flashing at each other. Teyla explained with great relish the hunting strategy of the Photuris genus, which she'd read about in a guide book she found in the cabin. "They lure other firefly species with their mating pattern of flashes and then eat them." Everyone considered this for a moment, and Ronon knew they were all thinking of the Wraith. Even those thoughts were vaguely pleasant, though, a kind of Good thing they didn't have that insect trait. Ronon still had nightmares about when they'd discovered the Wraith's brood chambers, but it was easy to shrug them off in that moment.
Rodney told them how Jeannie and her family were doing. "She's pregnant with their fourth kid and ridiculously pleased with herself. Kaleb looked like he was on the verge of snapping, but that was probably because the twins are in the terrible twos. I left before he could foist one off on me."
John pretended he'd made lemon meringue pie for dessert, and Rodney pretended he believed him, even though there was chocolate in John's hair. John relented eventually and brought out the chocolate cream pie, which everyone agreed was far superior to the lemon meringue anyway.
They'd been having movie night in the master bedroom, partly because the couch in the living room was too small, but mainly because it was the room with the 61-inch plasma screen TV.
The traditional argument over what to watch was even more half-hearted than usual, everyone glutted with food and alcohol and companionship. In the end they just started what they'd been watching last night, the movie about the man with the hat, something about bandits and an ark, mostly because no one wanted to get up off the bed and switch the disc.
Ronon woke with a start in the middle of the night, movie long over, the room completely dark. He was tangled up with his team, everyone curled together, seeking body heat in the chill of the night. He could tell each one of them apart in the darkness from the feel of their bodies: Teyla's lithe strength on his left, John's deadweight on his right, Rodney's hand, reaching across John's back to lie, warm and broad and heavy, on his belly.
It felt like home, like all the years he'd been running and all the years he'd been fighting had led him here, to this bed full of people he would die for, people who would die for him, people who had killed to protect him. His heart broke like an egg in his chest, because this moment was...not an illusion, no, but finite. Four more days, at most, and then they would go back to Atlantis, to their separate beds, to the next crisis, the next war.
At his side, Teyla stirred, lifted her head. "Ronon?" she said, soft as a sigh.
"Nothing," he breathed back. "Dreams."
She reached out and touched his face, and he realized his cheeks were wet. Embarrassed, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. John and Rodney were awake now, watching carefully.
"What did you dream?" Teyla asked, still quiet.
He could feel the pressure of their regard like a touch, strangely intimate, and it pulled the truth from him. "That you were gone. All of you."
He waited for John to make a joke, for Rodney to huff over it, for Teyla to say something soothing. But everyone was quiet and he could feel it like a current running between them, a shared fear of that one unbearable loss.
Teyla twined her fingers with his and leaned in over him. He thought she was going to press her forehead to his, but she kissed him instead, soft and sweet but not at all chaste. A corner of his brain was shocked that she would do that in front of the others, but most of him didn't care. When she pulled back, he made a tiny sound of protest, but Rodney was there to take her place, leaning around John. His kiss was solemn and thorough, like it was some kind of ritual, and Ronon was a little dizzy with it when he pulled away. John kissed him last, careful and a little tentative, like he was asking for permission. Ronon raised his free hand to pull him in closer. His fingers ran over John's temple, still sticky and stiff with chocolate and that made him smile against John's mouth. John smiled back and the kiss slid deeper.
They took turns kissing him, and at first he could recognize every hand on him. But they kept at it, relentless, and everything started to blur together, hands and lips and tongues and teeth against his skin. He wasn't even sure who was kissing his mouth when his orgasm rolled over him like a slow-breaking wave.
When he came up on the other side, Teyla was watching him, her head propped up on one hand. He could see her face clearly, and he realized the moon had risen. She smiled at him, then flicked her gaze over his shoulder. He turned his head and saw that Rodney and John weren't finished yet. They were kissing, fierce and intent, Rodney stretched out over John's body, cocks sliding against each other. Ronon's mouth went dry, and he looked back at Teyla, who gave him a sly smile. She slid her legs apart, moving a hand down to touch the curls at the apex of her thighs. Ronon reached out, his fingers tangling with hers. They stroked her clitoris, moved further down to where she was slick as water. Ronon slid one finger inside her, then two, and she hissed in a breath. "More," she said, and he slid a third finger in.
She ground her clitoris against the heel of his hand, and he watched her face as he stroked her, conscious of John and Rodney beside him, the sounds of skin on skin and panting breath. John reached out and grabbed Ronon's arm, looking for something to hold on to, sliding his grip down until their hands clasped.
Teyla's body clenched around his hand when she came, back arched, eyes closed, and John's grip tightened as if he followed her. Rodney shuddered as well. After a minute, John poked him, and Rodney rolled off, landing between Ronon and John, on their clasped hands. Ronon didn't let go of John, but moved his arm so it was around Rodney's shoulders, behind his neck.
They lay together in silence, sex-buzzed and skin-happy, until Rodney said, "Did I mention we think we know where the Ancients stored the big beds? Because I'm finding that really relevant right now."
Ronon grinned at the ceiling and thought that if this wasn't infinite, it was a lot closer to forever than it had been when he woke up.
Author: Kajikia
Pairing: Ronon/Solen, Ronon/John, Ronon/Teyla, Ronon/Rodney, Ronon/John/Teyla/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through 3x14 "Tao of Rodney"
Length: 5,000 words
Written for the Ronon Ficathon, for ifylla, who requested first time porn.
I.
In his first year in service, Ronon's regiment was assigned to keep the peace Nicaah, one of Sateda's mining colonies. Nicaah wasn't happy about the affiliation, so keeping the peace meant mostly dealing with low-level guerrilla warfare. In the grand scheme of things, it was a petty little war, nothing at all compared to what the Wraith would do. Still, Ronon thought it had to mean something that his first kill was another human being.
He just hadn't figured out what that something was.
A bullet pinged off the AAV's armor, and Solen cursed, firing back in careful, controlled bursts. Ronon kept his head down and his hands busy, trying to patch around the burnt out router.
"Running low on ammo," Solen said, voice tight, trying for calm but just missing.
"Shut up, shut up," Ronon muttered.
Tav and Pona and Gylen were dead, killed by the same group that had him and Solen pinned down. They didn't know where the rest of the regiment was, but if he could just get the power up and running on the AAV, they could seal the hatches and let the auto-pilot home in on the regiment's signal. He made the final connection, and nothing happened.
"Work, you god-fucked piece of shit!" he shouted, and slammed his palm against the power control's housing. Suddenly, surprisingly, it did, powering up with a thin whine.
Solen leaned back and gave him an amazed look as the hatch shut and magnetically sealed. The vehicle rotated a little, then lurched forward of its own accord.
"It works?" Solen asked. "You fixed it?"
"Yeah," Ronon said, and Solen whooped and lunged at him, grabbing him in a bear hug. He went to kiss Ronon's cheeks, and missed somehow, catching him square on the mouth, and suddenly all that adrenaline had somewhere else to go. It was one long kiss, all teeth and bruising pressure, humping each other's legs on the floor of the AAV. Fast and clumsy and they came in their pants. Solen rolled off him, gasping.
"I still can't believe you fixed it," he said, and Ronon's laughter had a slight, hysterical edge.
Ronon learned two important lessons that day: (1) Hitting something really hard can be a viable way of fixing it, and (2) There is nothing in the world quite like Oh-my-god-we-didn't-die sex.
II.
When he ran, Ronon liked to keep to the secret routes through the city. The empty sections, the catwalks, the one stairwell by the showers that no one used because half the lights in it didn't work and there was a transporter down the hall anyway. Sheppard made it back to the showers before Ronon did, and met him in the stairwell.
"Man, you really are slow today," he said, bouncing a little on his toes. "Does this mean I've beaten you twice?"
"I guess," Ronon said, and Sheppard's grin got wider. "You're having a good day."
"Yeah, I am," Sheppard said, and kissed him.
Ronon froze, startled, just for a second, then opened his mouth and kissed him back. He grabbed Sheppard's hips, pulling him closer, grinding their cocks together, Sheppard as hard as he was. Sheppard growled into his mouth, and Ronon thought if he'd known this was what it took, he would have let Sheppard win weeks ago.
He slid his hands up under Sheppard's shirt, skin hot and slick with sweat against his palms. Sheppard broke the kiss to lick at his neck and shoved a hand between their bodies, fumbling with Ronon's zipper. He wrapped his hand around Ronon's cock and stroked him, fast and rough and so fucking good. Ronon shuddered all over and his head fell back against the wall. It had been literally years since anyone had touched him that way; it was almost shocking how good it felt, how different from his own hands.
Sheppard reached up and grasped the back of his neck, tugging his head down. Ronon followed the pressure blindly, finding Sheppard's mouth. He leaned into the kiss, into Sheppard's steady, confident touch, and came in a blinding rush.
His forehead was pressed against Sheppard's, and he was still holding on to Sheppard's hips. He could feel Sheppard, still hard against his thigh. He lifted his head, cleared his throat.
"What do you want me to..."
Sheppard grinned again. "Suck me."
Ronon hesitated, then dropped to his knees. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Sheppard's track pants, pulled them down. He thought he'd been gripping Sheppard hard enough to leave bruises, but his skin was smooth and pale and unmarred. He eased Sheppard's cock out through the slit in his underwear, and hesitated again. As long as it had been since anyone had touched him, it had been even longer since he'd sucked anyone's cock.
"Do you need it to be an order?" Sheppard asked, and his voice was mostly teasing.
Ronon shivered a little; that wasn't really his kink, but he thought for Sheppard, he might make an exception.
He leaned forward and took Sheppard's cock in his mouth, moving his mouth down until the head bumped against the back of his throat. The weight of it, the taste of it was familiar and unknown at the same time. He pulled off a little, licked the tip, tonguing the slit and the seam beneath the head. He sucked at the length of it, getting it nice and slick, so his hand moved easily up and down the shaft. He stroked slowly at first, then faster as he got into the rhythm of it, matching Sheppard's shallow thrusts.
Sheppard's hands suddenly tightened on his head, fingertips digging into his scalp. Ronon looked up at him, mouth still wrapped around his cock. Sheppard's lips were parted and his eyes were dark, pupils blown. When he met Ronon's gaze, he came with a strangled moan, hips bucking.
Ronon swallowed most of it, coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Sheppard braced his hands on Ronon's shoulders, his head hanging down, eyes closed. Ronon reached up to touch one of his wrists, and Sheppard opened his eyes. He smiled, and leaned in to kiss him, wet and sloppy. He squeezed his shoulders briefly, then straightened up, tucking himself away.
"C'mon," he said, pulling up his pants, "I'll race you to the showers." He clapped Ronon on the shoulder and ran off down the hall.
Later that day, Sheppard kissed Teyla, and started turning into a bug-creature.
When he was back to normal, or at least himself, Sheppard tried to apologize. Ronon cut him off after the first awkward words. He didn't want to know how much Sheppard remembered, and how much he was sorry for.
"Whatever," he said. "I'll race you to the east pier."
He didn't let Sheppard win.
III.
The thing Ronon really liked about the Athosians was their willingness to have parties. Weddings, funerals, good hunting days, some obscure and intricate calendar of feast days. Apparently having to resettle for the second time in less than three years was also considered celebration-worthy.
Ronon could taste the bitterness in his own words, and tried to shake it off when Teyla came to check on him in their tent.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Better." He had spent the last couple of days helping set up camp, hauling wood and water and dressed carcasses around. Nothing too heavy, just awkward, and it made his shoulders and back ache in a way that training never did. "I think I still smell like dead heccas though."
Teyla leaned in closer to sniff him. She smelled like berries and woodsmoke and fresh sweat from dancing.
"No," she said solemnly. "You smell very pleasant."
He snorted.
"If you will not stretch with me, perhaps I might use my hands on your back, to unknot some of the muscles?"
He nodded slowly. He had already stripped down to his undershorts, waiting for his clothes to dry from the wash. He stretched out on his pallet, face down, and Teyla straddled his lower back, the cool, slippery material of her skirt dragging over his skin.
"It is a good time to be coming back," she said. "We have time to plant crops."
He listened to her talk as she dug her thumbs into the muscles of his back and neck, her voice quiet and easy. He relaxed into the pressure of her hands and the flow of words about the spring planting, and their trading partners, and how best to dispose of the supplies Weir had left them with, until finally he said, "They didn't have to leave."
He hadn't really meant to say it, but it eased something inside him, like spitting out a stone. Teyla was quiet for a moment.
"Would you have them stand against the Ancestors?"
"No." He remembered the Lanteans' cool, dismissive gaze as the Athosians filed through the gate like weaver bugs swept out of a kitchen. "But they could have stayed with us."
"They do not believe they are leaving us forever," Teyla said.
He knew that was true, and it did help. He rolled over onto his back so he could see her face. She resettled herself, straddling his belly, and he rested his hands on the tops of her thighs.
"Do you believe they're coming back?"
"I believe they will do all in their power to return to us," she said easily, which wasn't any kind of answer at all.
He looked at her steadily until she sighed and said, "I do not know whether they will return. But I do believe we cannot wait for them. We must go forward as though they are not coming back."
He nodded.
"Ronon, you will always have a place with my people, no matter what happens."
He grimaced. "I'm not much of a farmer."
She smiled, half-rueful, half-sad. "Neither am I."
He watched her face in the candlelight, beautiful and kind and somber. The sounds of the celebration reached them only faintly, distantly, and it made the tent seem more isolated. He was suddenly conscious of the strength of her thighs beneath his palms, the weight of her body pressed against his body. He kept his eyes on her face, and slowly, deliberately swept his thumbs down, stroking her inner thighs.
She didn't slap him. Instead, she raised one eyebrow. A smile played on her lips. She lifted her hands slowly, lazily, and undid the laces on her shirt. She stripped it off like a dare, like a challenge, and his breath caught. He breasts were full and round and gleaming in the candlelight, nipples dark and pointed. She raised that eyebrow again, and Ronon slid his hands up her thighs to her hips, and with one smooth move that he knew his shoulders would regret later, pulled her up his body, until her hips were at his collar bone.
She looked surprised but she was still smiling. He pushed the material of her skirt up her thighs, and found her naked underneath. He pulled her closer, lifting his head a little so he could lick her. He flicked his tongue across her clitoris, and she sucked in a breath. He repeated the gesture, delving deeper, and could feel her grow wet and slick against his mouth. He traced mindless little patterns with his thumbs on the very tops of her inner thighs as he licked her, delicate and precise and unwavering. Just when he was starting to think his neck would snap under the strain, she came with a low, fierce cry, thighs trembling under his hands.
He let his head flop back, and she slid her hips back down his body so she could lean in and kiss him. He kissed her back, open and eager, his mouth full of the taste of her. He ran a hand down the sleek curve of her spine, cupped her breast in the palm of his hand, unable to get enough of the feel of her skin.
"Wait," she said finally, and scrambled up. He pressed his palms into the blankets and took deep breaths.
She came back with one of the Earth condoms. "Far easier to use than uiva gut," she said, flushed and naked, but still practical as knives. "We are not trading these."
She opened the package and rolled it down over his cock with swift deft movements. He had a momentary flash of almost-jealousy, wondering at her skill, then she was moving up over him. She slid down onto him all the way, no teasing, just sudden tight heat around his cock.
"Yes," he said, "Please..." And she started moving.
He smoothed his hands over her hips, her waist, her breasts. She never took her eyes off his face as she moved above him. He was close, so close, and she reached down and rubbed two fingers over her clitoris, bringing herself off hard and deliberate. Ronon's mind whited out and he came.
They squirmed around a little afterwards, cleaning up, trying to find a comfortable position. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she clasped his hand, and he fell asleep like that, curled up around the one member of his team he had left.
IV.
When McKay stopped him in the hallway, Ronon thought he was going to ask him something completely different. So when McKay asked about his scars, it was probably surprise that made him answer honestly.
He spent a long time looking at his back in the mirror after that. All smooth skin, like a fresh start.
He looked for McKay in the labs and in the mess, and finally found him sitting in his room, surrounded by laptops and papers.
"Zelenka kicked you out of the lab, huh?"
"Even after I said nice things about him. They feel I should be practicing my meditation or something." McKay snorted at the very idea. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to say thank you. For the scar thing."
"Oh." McKay looked a little surprised. "You're welcome. I'm, uh, glad it's working out for you."
Ronon had always erred on the side of not saying enough. Cheap with words, Solen used to say. But McKay could be dead tomorrow, and for once, Ronon wanted to regret something he said instead of something he didn't.
"That wasn't what I thought you were going to ask, though."
"What did you think I was going to say?"
I thought you wanted to fuck me. Ronon coughed. "You're the mind-reader."
McKay frowned, then his eyes widened and his ears turned pink. "Oh!"
Ronon felt his own face heat, but McKay at least looked more embarrassed than offended. Ronon took a deep breath. "I'd have said yes."
McKay was frowning again. "Oh, well, thanks, I'm glad to know you'd stoop to giving me a pity-fuck!"
"Not pity!" Ronon snapped back. Comfort, friendship. "What, did you have better plans for the rest of your life?" And that came out a little meaner than he intended.
"I was planning on advancing the state of human knowledge, but at this point a pity-fuck" Ronon glared a little, and McKay rolled his eyes. "Excuse me, a buddy-fuck would probably be more productive."
He didn't look all that enthusiastic, though, and Ronon suddenly felt horribly, horribly vain for assuming that McKay would pick him for comfort sex.
"Oh, shut up, you are ridiculously good-looking, and you definitely would have been at least in my top three people to have sex with before I die." And, hey, Sheppard had been right, the telepathy did make things easier.
He crossed the room in two strides and braced his hands on the back of McKay's chair, bending down to kiss him. McKay kissed him back, then made an impatient noise and flailed a little, trying to shove the laptop off onto the desk without breaking the kiss. When he succeeded, he grabbed the front of Ronon's shirt and pulled him down so he was straddling McKay's thighs. They kept kissing, slow and lazy, like they had all the time in the world, and Ronon felt them both flinch from that thought.
Ronon pulled off McKay's shirt instead.
"Okay, yes, good idea," McKay said, and grabbed the hem of Ronon's shirt, yanking it up over his head.
Skin to skin now, and Ronon ran his thumbs over McKay's nipples. McKay hissed and squirmed, and the wheeled desk chair slid a bit.
"Up," McKay said. "Bed."
They kicked off their shoes and stripped off the rest of their clothes on the way, snatching kisses in between. The bed was covered with more books and papers and a decimated cafeteria tray, and McKay folded the top blanket over the lot of it, yanking it all off. Ronon saw the unhappy twist of his mouth and didn't need to read his mind to guess why. He caught McKay's hand, trying to maneuver him into bed, but somehow McKay hip-checked him at the wrong moment and Ronon was the one who ended up on his back, McKay sprawled on top of him.
"Oooph," he said, and then McKay was kissing him again. Ronon arched up into, and had sudden vision of where else he'd like to have McKay's wide, clever mouth.
Almost as soon as he'd thought it, McKay backed off, moving down his body. He braced one hand on Ronon's hip, then licked a stripe all the way up the underside of his cock. Ronon's eyes rolled back as McKay sucked his cock. He was a little...not quite uncertain, but experimental at first, then he seemed to figure it out, and it was unbelievable, just the right rhythm, just the right pressure, a hint of teeth. Ronon just wished he would...
McKay slid one spit-slick finger behind his balls, pressing at his asshole. Ronon groaned and pushed down against it, because yes, that was exactlyhis eyes snapped open.
McKay lifted his head and grinned at him smugly with a shining mouth. "Talk about bio-feedback, huh?"
"You're reading my mind?"
McKay stroked a finger deeper into Ronon's ass and his eyes fell shut again.
"I have no problem with that."
"You think that's cool, check this out," McKay said, and took the head of Ronon's cock in his mouth again. Just the head, but there was suddenly smooth pressure all down the length of it, and something stroking over his nipples as well, even though McKay had one hand on his hip and one between his legs.
"Oh, shit," he said, and let McKay do whatever he wanted. McKay's laughter buzzed over the head of his cock. He played Ronon like a computer game, bringing him just up to the edge of orgasm, then pulling off, until Ronon was gasping and begging.
"Fuck me," he said, or thought. Fuck me, fuck me, fuckme...
"Jesus, okay," McKay gasped. He held out one hand, and Ronon was vaguely aware of something flying out of the mess on the desk and into his grasp.
Condom, lube, and then McKay's cock was sliding into his ass, slow and steady, and they both sucked in a hard breath. McKay gave him a couple more careful thrusts until he found the right angle, the one that made Ronon groan and snap his hips up.
"Harder," he said, but McKay was already obliging him.
McKay fucked him hard and fast, no more playing. Ronon could feel his orgasm coiling up from his belly. McKay's rhythm went ragged, and Ronon whined in the back of his throat.
"Yes, yes, fine," McKay said breathlessly. He reached down, grabbed Ronon's cock. A couple of uneven strokes was all it took; he spilled all over McKay's hand. McKay followed him over with an inarticulate shout then collapsed on top of him. Ronon slung an arm over his shoulders, basking in the golden glow of orgasm and McKay's warm weight.
After a few moments, McKay rolled off him. He stripped the condom off and tossed vaguely in the direction of the garbage can. It had to swerve in mid-air, but it got there, which made Ronon laugh a little. This wasn't quite how he'd pictured the evening going, but McKay seemed to have had a good time.
"Oh, I did," McKay said contentedly.
"Stop that."
"Hmph." McKay was quiet for a minute, then he said quietly, "Thank you."
Ronon shrugged carefully. "'S what friends do, right?"
McKay snorted. "You have the best customs," he said, and fell asleep.
V.
"Think of it as a vacation," Weir said, and made the Air Force fly her to Paris when her testimony was done.
"We're golden," John said. "For once, whatever they decide, it's not going to affect us or Atlantis."
They only had to testify on one day; the rest of the week they were just supposed to "be available for further questions." John said that renting a cabin in the Rocky Mountains was being available, since it was helicopter-accessible.
It was the first time he'd been on Earth without a funeral, or a crisis, or a sense of impending doom. He had to admit, it improved his opinion of the planet.
He and Teyla had been there enough times to go out and shop by themselves while John and Rodney were testifying. Teyla liked the flea-markets best; she considered it rather uncivilized to be told how much she was going to pay for something.
Still, they apparently did not grasp all the cultural subtleties of Earth, because when Rodney came back on the third day from visiting his sister, he stopped dead on the front steps and said, "Oh my God. Why are you wearing a pink skirt?"
Ronon was sitting in a rocking chair on the cabin's wrap-around porch, bare feet up on the railing. He looked down at his latest purchase. "It's cooler than pants. 'Sides, Beckett's people wear this."
Rodney opened his mouth, shut it, and sighed. "Well, I can't argue with that logic. Please tell me someone's making dinner."
Ronon jerked his chin towards the cabin. "John."
Rodney looked dubious and headed inside. "Hey, Teyla," he said on his way in.
Teyla, dozing on the porch swing, snuffled, possibly in response to his greeting.
Ronon went back to his book, counting down in his head. Five minutes later he could hear muffled voices from inside, then Rodney stomped out.
"He's very protective of the kitchen," Rodney said.
"That's why we're out here."
Rodney shifted Teyla's feet so he could sit on the porch swing. She rolled over and shoved her feet into his lap, murmuring drowsily. Rodney just braced his book against them.
After a minute, Rodney said, "Does he think we can't hear him singing?"
Ronon laughed. The sound of John's terrible, off-key singing blended with the droning of insects and the creak of the porch swing, and for a moment, everything was perfect.
They ate dinner on the porch at twilight: steaks, and sweet corn, and salad, and homemade bread, and cold beer. The meadow and the forest that surrounded the cabin were filled with tiny luminescent insects flashing at each other. Teyla explained with great relish the hunting strategy of the Photuris genus, which she'd read about in a guide book she found in the cabin. "They lure other firefly species with their mating pattern of flashes and then eat them." Everyone considered this for a moment, and Ronon knew they were all thinking of the Wraith. Even those thoughts were vaguely pleasant, though, a kind of Good thing they didn't have that insect trait. Ronon still had nightmares about when they'd discovered the Wraith's brood chambers, but it was easy to shrug them off in that moment.
Rodney told them how Jeannie and her family were doing. "She's pregnant with their fourth kid and ridiculously pleased with herself. Kaleb looked like he was on the verge of snapping, but that was probably because the twins are in the terrible twos. I left before he could foist one off on me."
John pretended he'd made lemon meringue pie for dessert, and Rodney pretended he believed him, even though there was chocolate in John's hair. John relented eventually and brought out the chocolate cream pie, which everyone agreed was far superior to the lemon meringue anyway.
They'd been having movie night in the master bedroom, partly because the couch in the living room was too small, but mainly because it was the room with the 61-inch plasma screen TV.
The traditional argument over what to watch was even more half-hearted than usual, everyone glutted with food and alcohol and companionship. In the end they just started what they'd been watching last night, the movie about the man with the hat, something about bandits and an ark, mostly because no one wanted to get up off the bed and switch the disc.
Ronon woke with a start in the middle of the night, movie long over, the room completely dark. He was tangled up with his team, everyone curled together, seeking body heat in the chill of the night. He could tell each one of them apart in the darkness from the feel of their bodies: Teyla's lithe strength on his left, John's deadweight on his right, Rodney's hand, reaching across John's back to lie, warm and broad and heavy, on his belly.
It felt like home, like all the years he'd been running and all the years he'd been fighting had led him here, to this bed full of people he would die for, people who would die for him, people who had killed to protect him. His heart broke like an egg in his chest, because this moment was...not an illusion, no, but finite. Four more days, at most, and then they would go back to Atlantis, to their separate beds, to the next crisis, the next war.
At his side, Teyla stirred, lifted her head. "Ronon?" she said, soft as a sigh.
"Nothing," he breathed back. "Dreams."
She reached out and touched his face, and he realized his cheeks were wet. Embarrassed, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. John and Rodney were awake now, watching carefully.
"What did you dream?" Teyla asked, still quiet.
He could feel the pressure of their regard like a touch, strangely intimate, and it pulled the truth from him. "That you were gone. All of you."
He waited for John to make a joke, for Rodney to huff over it, for Teyla to say something soothing. But everyone was quiet and he could feel it like a current running between them, a shared fear of that one unbearable loss.
Teyla twined her fingers with his and leaned in over him. He thought she was going to press her forehead to his, but she kissed him instead, soft and sweet but not at all chaste. A corner of his brain was shocked that she would do that in front of the others, but most of him didn't care. When she pulled back, he made a tiny sound of protest, but Rodney was there to take her place, leaning around John. His kiss was solemn and thorough, like it was some kind of ritual, and Ronon was a little dizzy with it when he pulled away. John kissed him last, careful and a little tentative, like he was asking for permission. Ronon raised his free hand to pull him in closer. His fingers ran over John's temple, still sticky and stiff with chocolate and that made him smile against John's mouth. John smiled back and the kiss slid deeper.
They took turns kissing him, and at first he could recognize every hand on him. But they kept at it, relentless, and everything started to blur together, hands and lips and tongues and teeth against his skin. He wasn't even sure who was kissing his mouth when his orgasm rolled over him like a slow-breaking wave.
When he came up on the other side, Teyla was watching him, her head propped up on one hand. He could see her face clearly, and he realized the moon had risen. She smiled at him, then flicked her gaze over his shoulder. He turned his head and saw that Rodney and John weren't finished yet. They were kissing, fierce and intent, Rodney stretched out over John's body, cocks sliding against each other. Ronon's mouth went dry, and he looked back at Teyla, who gave him a sly smile. She slid her legs apart, moving a hand down to touch the curls at the apex of her thighs. Ronon reached out, his fingers tangling with hers. They stroked her clitoris, moved further down to where she was slick as water. Ronon slid one finger inside her, then two, and she hissed in a breath. "More," she said, and he slid a third finger in.
She ground her clitoris against the heel of his hand, and he watched her face as he stroked her, conscious of John and Rodney beside him, the sounds of skin on skin and panting breath. John reached out and grabbed Ronon's arm, looking for something to hold on to, sliding his grip down until their hands clasped.
Teyla's body clenched around his hand when she came, back arched, eyes closed, and John's grip tightened as if he followed her. Rodney shuddered as well. After a minute, John poked him, and Rodney rolled off, landing between Ronon and John, on their clasped hands. Ronon didn't let go of John, but moved his arm so it was around Rodney's shoulders, behind his neck.
They lay together in silence, sex-buzzed and skin-happy, until Rodney said, "Did I mention we think we know where the Ancients stored the big beds? Because I'm finding that really relevant right now."
Ronon grinned at the ceiling and thought that if this wasn't infinite, it was a lot closer to forever than it had been when he woke up.