Lightning by Kylie Lee (virgin challenge)
Title: Lightning
Author: Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)
Length: ~1,600 words
Pairing: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Rating: R
Summary: The next day, the world thought he looked the same.
Lightning
Ronon had gone to practice the next day and it was like nothing had happened. He'd changed-he could feel it, the power under his skin, coiling and moving. He stood quietly and watched his cohort as they began to pair off for sparring, just watching, arms crossed, head cocked, weight on one leg. He watched, but he didn't see them. Inside, he shouted with joy and power and lightning. He had become bigger. He had become more. He'd been changed (Kell's power bleeding into him, his touch firm, his mouth hot). And he'd changed Kell. He knew it. Across the field, Kell watched Ronon watch the cohort, only Ronon didn't. He watched Kell, the new Kell, Kell with the hands that had not trembled, as Ronon's had, when he'd shut the door and they were alone, because Kell (strong, so strong) was not afraid.
Ronon could feel Kell's eyes on him as if they were his fingers, his tongue, touching everywhere, stripping him bare, taking him down to his skin, then getting under the skin, so Ronon felt the pressure of Kell's touch ghosting on his body when his master's hands had moved away. He'd been aware of the scent of the straw inside the pallet they lay on, and the scent of Kell, and then the scent of semen (Kell saying his name, Kell naked and hard, and finally, finally, Kell losing control), all of it crazily mixed up with touch and taste. He'd been afraid he wouldn't do it right, and then he'd been afraid that Kell would change his mind and stop.
The lightning was inside him, but no one could see. He'd been with someone, finally been with someone-his teacher, who could now teach him this new thing-and the world thought he looked the same.
It was faintly ridiculous.
And he looked up and met Kell's eyes. Kell smiled, slow, and Ronon felt a wave of heat break through his body (the hoarse cry, and Kell, who needed nothing, needed him for this).
Last night, Kell had taken him and made him his. The sun slanted down, sharp and bright and clear, the other boys shouted, the heavy reverberation of wood hitting wood and wood hitting flesh sounded, and it was all the same, but for Ronon himself.
"You could give me a hand, you know," John Sheppard called, and Ronon looked over the field at the Athosian boys as they sparred. Wood hit wood, echoing like gunshots. "I'm getting eaten alive out here! Ronon? Rodney?"
"You're doing great!" Rodney McKay assured him through a mouth full of power bar. He sat on the ground next to Ronon, his heels dug into the dirt. "You're a total pro," he added encouragingly. He glanced up at Ronon expectantly, hand shading his eyes from the sun. Before Ronon could take the hint and hit the field, Teyla called, "Perhaps you need a break?"
"Me? No," John said, dodging a flung stick. "Whoa, kid, don't aim for the head!"
Teyla grinned. She called the child's name, and John jogged toward Ronon and Rodney, his black T-shirt standing out among the earthy greens and browns of the Athosian children's clothes. "Way to rally." John's voice dripped with irony, but he was smiling. He tossed his sticks down. "I love how I can rely on you two to back me up."
"Teyla had your six," Ronon pointed out, still thinking of Kell (the betrayal had come later; first there was the lightning joy), and John laughed and said, "It was my three and nine I was worried about-they're, like, flailing out there." He leaned down and scooped up Rodney's bottle of water.
"Colonel?" Teyla called.
John stood next to Ronon, a little too close, so their hips brushed (John's touch that first time, without Kell's confidence, and John had been the one to tremble at Ronon's touch), as he tipped his head back and drank. Water dribbled down the corners of his mouth and wet his shirt. "I lied. I need a water break. Give me a half hour."
"That will not be necessary. We'll move to meditation," Teyla decided, and she struck her sticks together overhead to get the children's attention so she could make the announcement, her slim form graceful, like a warrior, Ronon thought.
"And then yoga and Pilates," Rodney said as he polished off the last of his power bar. Ronon frowned, not understanding. "Aren't they a little young for that?"
"You're never too young for meditation, yoga, and Pilates," John said. "Sorry. Here." He handed the water bottle to Rodney.
Ronon uncrossed his arms. The memory of his first night with Kell, all those years ago, still burned hot within him. Had it been that way for John, the first time he had made love to a man-made love to Ronon? John had been much older than Ronon had been, of course, but Ronon remembered John's fumbling, his deference, letting Ronon take the lead (sliding his hands under John's shirt, the cool skin warming to Ronon's touch, John's wild breathing, his inability to meet Ronon's eyes). "Meditation is important. It focuses the mind, so you can clear out distractions, even if you're scared." He looked at John, pale and sweaty in his black T-shirt, and John smiled at him. Ronon smiled back. He probably needed to meditate right about now. Instead, thinking of Kell and what Kell had once been to him, thinking of himself and wondering what he was to John, he said, "We're low on clean drinking water. You up to boiling duty? Colonel?"
"Why the hell not," John said.
"What, are you guys insane?" Rodney demanded. "It's hot out! You've been working out with-with sticks! And now you want to sit by a fire and boil drinking water? A zany thought here. Let me just run it by you. Why don't you wait until it's dark out?"
"And miss the campfire songs?" John slapped Ronon on the shoulder, a tacit "let's go." "Not me. I live for campfire songs."
"Kum-ba-yaaaaa," Ronon boomed, because it had become a joke, and Rodney reacted predictably, saying, "Oh, for god's sake, stop with 'Kumbaya.'"
"You'd better help Teyla with the meditation," John advised Rodney, who wasn't allowed to play with sticks. He pulled on his vest. "Radio us if you need anything. Or we'll see you at dinner."
Rodney wearily got to his feet. "Fine. You guys are nuts, but fine."
"Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya," John sang loudly as he and Ronon headed for the treeline. "Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya...Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya...It's just Rodney, kumbaya." At Ronon's look, he said, "That song-it's like a weirdly universal Earth custom. You sing it at camp-that's where you go when you're a kid to do stuff like this, except it's only for a week. It's not a way of life. That song is the most clichéd song ever."
Ronon shrugged. "You can sing it in any language. And it's pretty."
John paused, struck. "Is it pretty?"
"Yeah."
"See, I can't even tell." Behind them, they heard a long, low hum as the meditation started. "You know, it is kind of hot. You sure you want to boil water?"
"No," Ronon said truthfully. "My tent?" He'd set his apart from the others for a reason.
John laughed. "I thought so," he said. "I saw you standing there, and I got this vibe. It's too hot for a tent."
"I know a shady place," Ronon suggested, pleased at John's good mood. "Not too close by."
"Sounds good," John said, following as Ronon struck deeper into the woods. "So why did I get that vibe? How did I know that, within minutes, we'd be on our way to have sweaty, illicit sex?"
Ronon grinned as he turned and grabbed John's waistband. "Must have been the way I was looking at you," he suggested, tugging John closer as he pressed his dwindling erection against John's stomach. Then there wasn't the memory of touch but rather touch itself as John leaned up and kissed him hard. He'd been fourteen when Kell had chosen him, sixteen when another boy had been chosen. By then, Ronon was a different person. "You know what's weird?"
"The way you're talking?" John suggested, sliding his hand across the front of Ronon's pants. He squeezed, none too gently, and Ronon felt himself perk up again. "Are we far enough away? Because I'd hate to scare the kids. Or Rodney. Especially Rodney."
"No, really," Ronon said, because it seemed important, that moment of sunlight angling down, the sound of wood hitting wood, the children training, the world going on as though something important hadn't happened the night before, and the lightning coursing through his veins, because Kell had changed him, because he'd changed John, because John had changed him.
"Okay, what's weird?" John pulled back and looked at him expectantly.
"The way we can do this, and nobody knows. The way nobody can tell. We look the same."
John looked perplexed, but Ronon didn't wait for him to speak. He took John's head in his hands and kissed him, remembering, the first time, how John had hid uncertainty with desperation, how he'd initially jerked at Ronon's touch-the unfamiliar touch of a man, how Ronon had driven him to breathlessness, and how, when they were done, he'd played at control, saying lightly, "That wasn't so hard. Can we do that again?"
John tasted warm and musky. They'd figured it out, just as Ronon had figured it out with Kell. He'd enjoyed the power he'd learned he had. It was different with John, like it was with any man, or any woman.
"Mmm," John said into his mouth, and pushed him over, and Ronon rolled on top of him. "Hey, don't stop," he whispered when Ronon had to pause and look at him, because inside, Ronon shouted with joy and power and lightning, because they changed each other.
Author: Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)
Length: ~1,600 words
Pairing: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Rating: R
Summary: The next day, the world thought he looked the same.
Lightning
Ronon had gone to practice the next day and it was like nothing had happened. He'd changed-he could feel it, the power under his skin, coiling and moving. He stood quietly and watched his cohort as they began to pair off for sparring, just watching, arms crossed, head cocked, weight on one leg. He watched, but he didn't see them. Inside, he shouted with joy and power and lightning. He had become bigger. He had become more. He'd been changed (Kell's power bleeding into him, his touch firm, his mouth hot). And he'd changed Kell. He knew it. Across the field, Kell watched Ronon watch the cohort, only Ronon didn't. He watched Kell, the new Kell, Kell with the hands that had not trembled, as Ronon's had, when he'd shut the door and they were alone, because Kell (strong, so strong) was not afraid.
Ronon could feel Kell's eyes on him as if they were his fingers, his tongue, touching everywhere, stripping him bare, taking him down to his skin, then getting under the skin, so Ronon felt the pressure of Kell's touch ghosting on his body when his master's hands had moved away. He'd been aware of the scent of the straw inside the pallet they lay on, and the scent of Kell, and then the scent of semen (Kell saying his name, Kell naked and hard, and finally, finally, Kell losing control), all of it crazily mixed up with touch and taste. He'd been afraid he wouldn't do it right, and then he'd been afraid that Kell would change his mind and stop.
The lightning was inside him, but no one could see. He'd been with someone, finally been with someone-his teacher, who could now teach him this new thing-and the world thought he looked the same.
It was faintly ridiculous.
And he looked up and met Kell's eyes. Kell smiled, slow, and Ronon felt a wave of heat break through his body (the hoarse cry, and Kell, who needed nothing, needed him for this).
Last night, Kell had taken him and made him his. The sun slanted down, sharp and bright and clear, the other boys shouted, the heavy reverberation of wood hitting wood and wood hitting flesh sounded, and it was all the same, but for Ronon himself.
"You could give me a hand, you know," John Sheppard called, and Ronon looked over the field at the Athosian boys as they sparred. Wood hit wood, echoing like gunshots. "I'm getting eaten alive out here! Ronon? Rodney?"
"You're doing great!" Rodney McKay assured him through a mouth full of power bar. He sat on the ground next to Ronon, his heels dug into the dirt. "You're a total pro," he added encouragingly. He glanced up at Ronon expectantly, hand shading his eyes from the sun. Before Ronon could take the hint and hit the field, Teyla called, "Perhaps you need a break?"
"Me? No," John said, dodging a flung stick. "Whoa, kid, don't aim for the head!"
Teyla grinned. She called the child's name, and John jogged toward Ronon and Rodney, his black T-shirt standing out among the earthy greens and browns of the Athosian children's clothes. "Way to rally." John's voice dripped with irony, but he was smiling. He tossed his sticks down. "I love how I can rely on you two to back me up."
"Teyla had your six," Ronon pointed out, still thinking of Kell (the betrayal had come later; first there was the lightning joy), and John laughed and said, "It was my three and nine I was worried about-they're, like, flailing out there." He leaned down and scooped up Rodney's bottle of water.
"Colonel?" Teyla called.
John stood next to Ronon, a little too close, so their hips brushed (John's touch that first time, without Kell's confidence, and John had been the one to tremble at Ronon's touch), as he tipped his head back and drank. Water dribbled down the corners of his mouth and wet his shirt. "I lied. I need a water break. Give me a half hour."
"That will not be necessary. We'll move to meditation," Teyla decided, and she struck her sticks together overhead to get the children's attention so she could make the announcement, her slim form graceful, like a warrior, Ronon thought.
"And then yoga and Pilates," Rodney said as he polished off the last of his power bar. Ronon frowned, not understanding. "Aren't they a little young for that?"
"You're never too young for meditation, yoga, and Pilates," John said. "Sorry. Here." He handed the water bottle to Rodney.
Ronon uncrossed his arms. The memory of his first night with Kell, all those years ago, still burned hot within him. Had it been that way for John, the first time he had made love to a man-made love to Ronon? John had been much older than Ronon had been, of course, but Ronon remembered John's fumbling, his deference, letting Ronon take the lead (sliding his hands under John's shirt, the cool skin warming to Ronon's touch, John's wild breathing, his inability to meet Ronon's eyes). "Meditation is important. It focuses the mind, so you can clear out distractions, even if you're scared." He looked at John, pale and sweaty in his black T-shirt, and John smiled at him. Ronon smiled back. He probably needed to meditate right about now. Instead, thinking of Kell and what Kell had once been to him, thinking of himself and wondering what he was to John, he said, "We're low on clean drinking water. You up to boiling duty? Colonel?"
"Why the hell not," John said.
"What, are you guys insane?" Rodney demanded. "It's hot out! You've been working out with-with sticks! And now you want to sit by a fire and boil drinking water? A zany thought here. Let me just run it by you. Why don't you wait until it's dark out?"
"And miss the campfire songs?" John slapped Ronon on the shoulder, a tacit "let's go." "Not me. I live for campfire songs."
"Kum-ba-yaaaaa," Ronon boomed, because it had become a joke, and Rodney reacted predictably, saying, "Oh, for god's sake, stop with 'Kumbaya.'"
"You'd better help Teyla with the meditation," John advised Rodney, who wasn't allowed to play with sticks. He pulled on his vest. "Radio us if you need anything. Or we'll see you at dinner."
Rodney wearily got to his feet. "Fine. You guys are nuts, but fine."
"Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya," John sang loudly as he and Ronon headed for the treeline. "Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya...Someone's complaining, Lord, kumbaya...It's just Rodney, kumbaya." At Ronon's look, he said, "That song-it's like a weirdly universal Earth custom. You sing it at camp-that's where you go when you're a kid to do stuff like this, except it's only for a week. It's not a way of life. That song is the most clichéd song ever."
Ronon shrugged. "You can sing it in any language. And it's pretty."
John paused, struck. "Is it pretty?"
"Yeah."
"See, I can't even tell." Behind them, they heard a long, low hum as the meditation started. "You know, it is kind of hot. You sure you want to boil water?"
"No," Ronon said truthfully. "My tent?" He'd set his apart from the others for a reason.
John laughed. "I thought so," he said. "I saw you standing there, and I got this vibe. It's too hot for a tent."
"I know a shady place," Ronon suggested, pleased at John's good mood. "Not too close by."
"Sounds good," John said, following as Ronon struck deeper into the woods. "So why did I get that vibe? How did I know that, within minutes, we'd be on our way to have sweaty, illicit sex?"
Ronon grinned as he turned and grabbed John's waistband. "Must have been the way I was looking at you," he suggested, tugging John closer as he pressed his dwindling erection against John's stomach. Then there wasn't the memory of touch but rather touch itself as John leaned up and kissed him hard. He'd been fourteen when Kell had chosen him, sixteen when another boy had been chosen. By then, Ronon was a different person. "You know what's weird?"
"The way you're talking?" John suggested, sliding his hand across the front of Ronon's pants. He squeezed, none too gently, and Ronon felt himself perk up again. "Are we far enough away? Because I'd hate to scare the kids. Or Rodney. Especially Rodney."
"No, really," Ronon said, because it seemed important, that moment of sunlight angling down, the sound of wood hitting wood, the children training, the world going on as though something important hadn't happened the night before, and the lightning coursing through his veins, because Kell had changed him, because he'd changed John, because John had changed him.
"Okay, what's weird?" John pulled back and looked at him expectantly.
"The way we can do this, and nobody knows. The way nobody can tell. We look the same."
John looked perplexed, but Ronon didn't wait for him to speak. He took John's head in his hands and kissed him, remembering, the first time, how John had hid uncertainty with desperation, how he'd initially jerked at Ronon's touch-the unfamiliar touch of a man, how Ronon had driven him to breathlessness, and how, when they were done, he'd played at control, saying lightly, "That wasn't so hard. Can we do that again?"
John tasted warm and musky. They'd figured it out, just as Ronon had figured it out with Kell. He'd enjoyed the power he'd learned he had. It was different with John, like it was with any man, or any woman.
"Mmm," John said into his mouth, and pushed him over, and Ronon rolled on top of him. "Hey, don't stop," he whispered when Ronon had to pause and look at him, because inside, Ronon shouted with joy and power and lightning, because they changed each other.