Fic: SGA, Ronon/Woolsey, Names, R (1/1)
Title: Names (1/1)
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Richard Woolsey
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I have no legal connection whatsoever to the show or its characters. This is all in fun, and no disrespect is intended.
Word count: 1010
Author's notes: One-shot for zillah975 . Enjoy, honeygirl!
Ronon couldn’t remember how many times they’d done this now. He couldn’t remember, but he figured Woolsey probably had it typed up in a ledger somewhere, some neat entry in an archived calendar. An innocent-looking checkmark which secretly stood for ‘blew Ronon Dex today’ -- although likely in far stuffier terms. A running tally of private conquests, for whatever personal purposes the man had. Just whom Woolsey thought he was competing with, Ronon didn’t know. But he bet that Woolsey kept track anyway.
Woolsey had a first name. Richard. No one Ronon knew ever called him that, not even Colonel Carter. Although, in terms of hot things to yell during sex, ‘Richard’ didn’t outrank ‘Woolsey’ by a whole lot, anyway.
The fact was, though, Ronon wasn’t much of a yeller. Maybe it was one of his less-volatile souvenirs of the Wraith, but he made hardly any noise at all, just gritted his teeth and shuddered through it. He often found himself wishing Woolsey had some hair to knot his fingers in, but then, at least Woolsey’s shoulders were stronger than they looked. They stood up to a lot.
Woolsey himself was one of those oddly pompous yet still self-effacing types, usually escaping while Ronon was still blinking himself back to life -- before any yelling, whimpering, or the like. He left Ronon wondering, in the quiet night-cycle, and then left Ronon wondering if he was meant to be wondering. Which kind of pissed him off. One-sided sex without strings was one thing. One-sided sex without strings for the aim of manipulating him... at least needed to be clarified as to the particular purpose of said manipulation.
Woolsey swallowed, and wiped his fingertips over the corner of his mouth. He didn’t meet Ronon’s gaze as he got to his feet, although Ronon slitted open his eyes and watched him from his slouch in the corner. Two swipes of his hands against the knees of his pants, just like always, and Woolsey rose to go.
Ronon caught him easily. It didn’t hurt that the move was unexpected - since when did he move, post-orgasm? - but more importantly, it didn’t even take his full weight pressed against Woolsey’s throat to pin him to the wall. Round eyes nearly bugged out behind their glasses, and Ronon had to work not to chuckle. “Relax,” he said softly, and lifted his hand to hover before slowly dragging it downward. Curious, he looked down before pressing his palm to the fly of Woolsey’s trousers. “I was wondering if you’re even hard,” he said, satisfied now on at least that count.
Woolsey’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Of course I am,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “How could I...?”
“But you always run off,” Ronon pointed out, slowly rubbing the length of Woolsey’s cock through his pants.
“Well, yes, I... you, that is, I... just because I...” Woolsey pressed his lips together tightly and Ronon could feel the way he was holding back from rocking into his touch.
“You don’t usually have trouble with words.”
“You’re not usually touching me,” Woolsey snapped, and pushed into Ronon’s hand.
Ronon smirked and squeezed him lightly, then rewarded him by beginning to stroke faster. “You should let me touch you more often,” he suggested, pressing closer, caging Woolsey between his thighs. “It’s probably good for your ego.”
“It’s... it’s not...” Woolsey whimpered vaguely, his hands going to the leather covering Ronon’s chest.
“Good,” Ronon repeated, “for your ego.” Intrigued by the slight tremble of Woolsey’s bottom lip, he leaned down and nipped at it.
The whimper this time was definite, and louder, and accompanied by a helpless throwing of arms around Ronon’s neck. In response Ronon growled and started to jack Woolsey in earnest, thrusting his tongue into his mouth. He could taste a faint lingering trace of himself, all but buried in Woolsey’s hot eagerness. And when Ronon squeezed his cock again, Woolsey bit him, shocking Ronon into swallowing his yelp.
And finally answering that question.
Ronon held him through the aftershocks, until it seemed like Woolsey would be steady on his feet once more. And he found that he didn’t so much mind the sparse hair this time, because it was kind of nice the way he could rub the back of Woolsey’s neck while he waited for him to come out of it. Of course, Woolsey had to go and make embarrassed and irritated noises as soon as he realized what a mess his trousers were, but Ronon just looked at him, and then he got quiet again.
After a moment, Ronon nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to go.
“Wait,” Woolsey held out a hand, but didn’t quite dare touch him. Ronon found that kind of odd, considering. “Are you... are we...?”
Ronon waited, then sighed. “Am I going to be annoyed if you run out on me again? Yeah.”
“Oh.” Woolsey looked at him as if he were having trouble processing that. Then he shook himself, and seemed to return to his usual crisp self. “Well then, if that’s the case, will you do me a favor.” It wasn’t a question.
Ronon shrugged, and held out a hand, so Woolsey continued, “Will you call me Richard?” At Ronon’s blank look, he explained, “No one here does.”
“Yeah.” Ronon sighed, and nodded. “I’ve heard that.” He stretched his arms over his head, noting the way Woolsey’s gaze instantly fixed, laser-like, on his triceps. “I don’t usually call you anything.”
“I know.” Thin lips pressed into a tight frown, but Ronon was reminded just what wonders those lips could work. “Would you?” This time, the words were more uncertain.
Ronon’s brow furrowed, and he actually caught himself looking over his shoulder before he softly said, “Richard.” The name felt more alien than it should in his mouth; it felt alien in his brain. But Woolsey’s eyes lit right up like he’d been given the keys to Atlantis. “Richard.”
All right, so Ronon wasn’t much of a yeller. But maybe, on occasion, he could whisper.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Richard Woolsey
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I have no legal connection whatsoever to the show or its characters. This is all in fun, and no disrespect is intended.
Word count: 1010
Author's notes: One-shot for zillah975 . Enjoy, honeygirl!
Ronon couldn’t remember how many times they’d done this now. He couldn’t remember, but he figured Woolsey probably had it typed up in a ledger somewhere, some neat entry in an archived calendar. An innocent-looking checkmark which secretly stood for ‘blew Ronon Dex today’ -- although likely in far stuffier terms. A running tally of private conquests, for whatever personal purposes the man had. Just whom Woolsey thought he was competing with, Ronon didn’t know. But he bet that Woolsey kept track anyway.
Woolsey had a first name. Richard. No one Ronon knew ever called him that, not even Colonel Carter. Although, in terms of hot things to yell during sex, ‘Richard’ didn’t outrank ‘Woolsey’ by a whole lot, anyway.
The fact was, though, Ronon wasn’t much of a yeller. Maybe it was one of his less-volatile souvenirs of the Wraith, but he made hardly any noise at all, just gritted his teeth and shuddered through it. He often found himself wishing Woolsey had some hair to knot his fingers in, but then, at least Woolsey’s shoulders were stronger than they looked. They stood up to a lot.
Woolsey himself was one of those oddly pompous yet still self-effacing types, usually escaping while Ronon was still blinking himself back to life -- before any yelling, whimpering, or the like. He left Ronon wondering, in the quiet night-cycle, and then left Ronon wondering if he was meant to be wondering. Which kind of pissed him off. One-sided sex without strings was one thing. One-sided sex without strings for the aim of manipulating him... at least needed to be clarified as to the particular purpose of said manipulation.
Woolsey swallowed, and wiped his fingertips over the corner of his mouth. He didn’t meet Ronon’s gaze as he got to his feet, although Ronon slitted open his eyes and watched him from his slouch in the corner. Two swipes of his hands against the knees of his pants, just like always, and Woolsey rose to go.
Ronon caught him easily. It didn’t hurt that the move was unexpected - since when did he move, post-orgasm? - but more importantly, it didn’t even take his full weight pressed against Woolsey’s throat to pin him to the wall. Round eyes nearly bugged out behind their glasses, and Ronon had to work not to chuckle. “Relax,” he said softly, and lifted his hand to hover before slowly dragging it downward. Curious, he looked down before pressing his palm to the fly of Woolsey’s trousers. “I was wondering if you’re even hard,” he said, satisfied now on at least that count.
Woolsey’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Of course I am,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “How could I...?”
“But you always run off,” Ronon pointed out, slowly rubbing the length of Woolsey’s cock through his pants.
“Well, yes, I... you, that is, I... just because I...” Woolsey pressed his lips together tightly and Ronon could feel the way he was holding back from rocking into his touch.
“You don’t usually have trouble with words.”
“You’re not usually touching me,” Woolsey snapped, and pushed into Ronon’s hand.
Ronon smirked and squeezed him lightly, then rewarded him by beginning to stroke faster. “You should let me touch you more often,” he suggested, pressing closer, caging Woolsey between his thighs. “It’s probably good for your ego.”
“It’s... it’s not...” Woolsey whimpered vaguely, his hands going to the leather covering Ronon’s chest.
“Good,” Ronon repeated, “for your ego.” Intrigued by the slight tremble of Woolsey’s bottom lip, he leaned down and nipped at it.
The whimper this time was definite, and louder, and accompanied by a helpless throwing of arms around Ronon’s neck. In response Ronon growled and started to jack Woolsey in earnest, thrusting his tongue into his mouth. He could taste a faint lingering trace of himself, all but buried in Woolsey’s hot eagerness. And when Ronon squeezed his cock again, Woolsey bit him, shocking Ronon into swallowing his yelp.
And finally answering that question.
Ronon held him through the aftershocks, until it seemed like Woolsey would be steady on his feet once more. And he found that he didn’t so much mind the sparse hair this time, because it was kind of nice the way he could rub the back of Woolsey’s neck while he waited for him to come out of it. Of course, Woolsey had to go and make embarrassed and irritated noises as soon as he realized what a mess his trousers were, but Ronon just looked at him, and then he got quiet again.
After a moment, Ronon nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to go.
“Wait,” Woolsey held out a hand, but didn’t quite dare touch him. Ronon found that kind of odd, considering. “Are you... are we...?”
Ronon waited, then sighed. “Am I going to be annoyed if you run out on me again? Yeah.”
“Oh.” Woolsey looked at him as if he were having trouble processing that. Then he shook himself, and seemed to return to his usual crisp self. “Well then, if that’s the case, will you do me a favor.” It wasn’t a question.
Ronon shrugged, and held out a hand, so Woolsey continued, “Will you call me Richard?” At Ronon’s blank look, he explained, “No one here does.”
“Yeah.” Ronon sighed, and nodded. “I’ve heard that.” He stretched his arms over his head, noting the way Woolsey’s gaze instantly fixed, laser-like, on his triceps. “I don’t usually call you anything.”
“I know.” Thin lips pressed into a tight frown, but Ronon was reminded just what wonders those lips could work. “Would you?” This time, the words were more uncertain.
Ronon’s brow furrowed, and he actually caught himself looking over his shoulder before he softly said, “Richard.” The name felt more alien than it should in his mouth; it felt alien in his brain. But Woolsey’s eyes lit right up like he’d been given the keys to Atlantis. “Richard.”
All right, so Ronon wasn’t much of a yeller. But maybe, on occasion, he could whisper.