Stargate Atlantis ficlet: never been afraid to die, and not afraid to live
never been afraid to die, and not afraid to live [Stargate Atlantis, Ronon/Keller, PG-13, 625 words, spoilers for 4x13 - Quarantine. Written for Porn Battle V, prompts words: lockdown, protection. But not porny.]
never been afraid to die, and not afraid to live
It's been a long time, and it's strange, this mixture of protect and want. Ronon's almost forgotten how it goes. Crazy how this stuff happens, storms in the sky and cosmic radiation, and this is what it leads to, this dance around, half courting, half getting to know you. And all with a girl he'd thought nothing of a few months ago.
He barely knows her, that's the thing, doesn't know her world much either, galaxy he's never seen. Probably never will know it, not properly, not feet in the grass head in the air knowing. Movies don't count, don't give you more than a hint, and everyone here, he guesses they're the special ones, the ones who stand out from the rest of their people. And maybe he and she are out of sync, maybe they shouldn't be, brought together by so much chance and randomness that any one little step different would have made them not happen. But when it comes down to it, life's short, tomorrow might bring anything, and he's been waiting too long for something to feel like this again.
So he slips into the infirmary late - he checked the rota, knows she's on, alone - and sits up on one of the beds. Waits for her to chastise him, find out where he's hurt this time.
"Not again," shaking her head, and he thinks she's amused under the dismay, just trying to hide it. "Isn't it a bit late in the day to be sparring?" she asks, wry smile taking the sting out of the words.
"I'm not hurt," he says.
"Oh, then-?" and she's fidgeting at the edge of the bed, fingers playing with a length of bandage like she doesn't know she has it in her hands.
"Just aching," he adds, and tilts his head sideways to watch for the moment she gets it.
"Oh," she says, and ducks her head, and it shouldn't be so charming but it is. Her shyness, her bravery - because she's nervous now, but she's lifting her head and looking him in the eye - she's beautiful. Pretty smile, and it doesn't remind him of anyone, no other face in his head, just hers, and that's good, that's life ahead of him, and he's ready for this, grasping hold of this.
Lifts her up and onto his lap and he likes the way she gasps, surprised and pleased, and he likes the softness of her bare arms and the little noise she makes when he kisses her and the feel of her eyelashes on his cheek when her eyes flutter closed. Her hands at his chest, pressed between them, and he can feel the pad of her fingers slipping between his shirt buttons, finding a hint of skin, and she touches like she's never touched him before. Not competent and clinical at all, just interested.
He feels a button slip open and he moves to take off his shirt, but she shakes her head, biting her lip, not scared anymore, but giving pause.
"I'd-I'd like to take it slow, okay?" she asks, and he nods his agreement.
"Can I still kiss you?" he asks, hopeful, and she smiles bright and wide.
"I'm hoping you will," she says, and he does, kisses her soft and sweet like he'd thought he'd forgotten how to do.
It's been a long time since he really lived. He's been surviving, and that's okay for a while, when it's the only option, but living is better. And this, a woman in his arms, a woman he likes and admires and who makes him hard at night, this is the last piece that was missing. He's not afraid to live, and neither's she, and that, he thinks, is enough.
//
never been afraid to die, and not afraid to live
It's been a long time, and it's strange, this mixture of protect and want. Ronon's almost forgotten how it goes. Crazy how this stuff happens, storms in the sky and cosmic radiation, and this is what it leads to, this dance around, half courting, half getting to know you. And all with a girl he'd thought nothing of a few months ago.
He barely knows her, that's the thing, doesn't know her world much either, galaxy he's never seen. Probably never will know it, not properly, not feet in the grass head in the air knowing. Movies don't count, don't give you more than a hint, and everyone here, he guesses they're the special ones, the ones who stand out from the rest of their people. And maybe he and she are out of sync, maybe they shouldn't be, brought together by so much chance and randomness that any one little step different would have made them not happen. But when it comes down to it, life's short, tomorrow might bring anything, and he's been waiting too long for something to feel like this again.
So he slips into the infirmary late - he checked the rota, knows she's on, alone - and sits up on one of the beds. Waits for her to chastise him, find out where he's hurt this time.
"Not again," shaking her head, and he thinks she's amused under the dismay, just trying to hide it. "Isn't it a bit late in the day to be sparring?" she asks, wry smile taking the sting out of the words.
"I'm not hurt," he says.
"Oh, then-?" and she's fidgeting at the edge of the bed, fingers playing with a length of bandage like she doesn't know she has it in her hands.
"Just aching," he adds, and tilts his head sideways to watch for the moment she gets it.
"Oh," she says, and ducks her head, and it shouldn't be so charming but it is. Her shyness, her bravery - because she's nervous now, but she's lifting her head and looking him in the eye - she's beautiful. Pretty smile, and it doesn't remind him of anyone, no other face in his head, just hers, and that's good, that's life ahead of him, and he's ready for this, grasping hold of this.
Lifts her up and onto his lap and he likes the way she gasps, surprised and pleased, and he likes the softness of her bare arms and the little noise she makes when he kisses her and the feel of her eyelashes on his cheek when her eyes flutter closed. Her hands at his chest, pressed between them, and he can feel the pad of her fingers slipping between his shirt buttons, finding a hint of skin, and she touches like she's never touched him before. Not competent and clinical at all, just interested.
He feels a button slip open and he moves to take off his shirt, but she shakes her head, biting her lip, not scared anymore, but giving pause.
"I'd-I'd like to take it slow, okay?" she asks, and he nods his agreement.
"Can I still kiss you?" he asks, hopeful, and she smiles bright and wide.
"I'm hoping you will," she says, and he does, kisses her soft and sweet like he'd thought he'd forgotten how to do.
It's been a long time since he really lived. He's been surviving, and that's okay for a while, when it's the only option, but living is better. And this, a woman in his arms, a woman he likes and admires and who makes him hard at night, this is the last piece that was missing. He's not afraid to live, and neither's she, and that, he thinks, is enough.
//