Five Conversations Rodney Has with Ronon by hazelthewitch
Title: Five Conversations Rodney Has with Ronon (Five Things Challenge)
Author: hazelthewitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rodney/Ronon
Words: 2,300
Summary: Rodney takes Carson's skepticism as a challenge.
Notes: Takes place immediately post-"Sateda"
* * *
McKAY: You are just jealous of our relationship.
BECKETT: *Am* I?! In the year or so he's been with us, have you *ever* had a conversation with the man?
- 3.04 “Sateda”
* * *
1.
Rodney saw Ronon eating alone in the mess hall, the day after they got back from Sateda, and thought about how Carson had said that he’d never had a conversation with him. After piling up his tray all the leftovers he could find from lunch, he headed over to join him.
“Hello, Ronon,” he said, cheerful and a little bit nervous. Ronon gave him a nod and a grunt between bites of a sandwich that looked like--“Hey! You got the last not-turkey sandwich.”
“Not-turkey?” Ronon eyed his sandwich and shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Well. That is so not fair. You know, I’m going to have another talk with the kitchen staff about this. I’ve repeatedly requested that they save me not-turkey sandwiches on the days I miss lunch because I was busy saving Atlantis. Again.”
“Why don’t you just get here on time?” Ronon asked.
“Are you even listening? What part of saving Atlantis did you not--no. Never mind.” Rodney turned unhappily to his infinitely inferior not-egg sandwich. “Also, I’m beginning to suspect that this isn’t even real bread.”
Ronon just shrugged, and started on his not-french fries. Rodney wondered if this counted as a conversation yet. It was probably wise to start small, anyways.
* * *
2.
Rodney forgot all about having conversations with Ronon until three days later when he missed lunch again and found him lounging on the doorway of the lab, long body slouched against the doorframe, and staring at him steadily.
“Will you stop that? It’s freaking me out,” Rodney complained. “What are you doing here? Did Sheppard send you? Because--wait, do I smell...?”
“Turkey sandwich.” Ronon handed it over with a grin.
“Not-turkey,” Rodney corrected distractedly as he quickly unwrapped it and took a large bite. “Mmm.”
“Later, McKay.” He gave him a casual salute and walked away. That was when Rodney remembered his goal to have conversations with Ronon. He got up and jogged out into the hall.
“Wait-wait!” Rodney called after him.
He turned around.
“Thank you,” Rodney said, gesturing with the sandwich still in his hand. “You remembered and you thought of me and that was very--”
“You’re welcome,” Ronon said, looking amused.
“Look, do you want to hang out sometime?” Rodney found himself asking, and then thought, stupid, stupid, what did they even have in common and why would Ronon want to waste his time hanging out with him when he would much rather be doing Ronon things, like beating people up, or cleaning his gun or re-arranging all the knives in his hair.
“Sure.”
“Uh. Okay. Right. Right.” The guy actually looked happy at the suggestion, which was just ridiculous. “We could, uh, get dinner. Or watch a movie. I have lot of movies on my laptop here--” Oh. God. Dinner and a movie? What was he doing, asking the guy on a date? “Action movies--you like action movies, right?”
But Ronon just looked more amused. “You should come spar with me.”
“What? No!” Rodney exclaimed.
“Come by before dinner; I’ll be in the gym.” He turned and walked down the hallway, oblivious to Rodney’s protestations.
* * *
3.
Rodney showed up at the gym that evening, but only because it hadn’t been entirely clear whether Ronon had understood that he wasn’t coming, and he didn’t want to jeopardize this newfound connection (connection, take that, Carson) over hurt feelings about who stood who up.
“I’m not here to spar,” Rodney said. “I’m not going to spar with you.”
“You came here to tell me that?” Ronon said, rising slowly from his crouching warrior pose in the middle of the mats.
“Look, Teyla used her--god knows how, she convinced me to spar with her, but it never ends well for me.”
“Take off your jacket,” Ronon said. Rodney crossed his arms. “Or don’t.”
“I’m leaving now.”
Ronon shook his head. “Trust me.”
“I trust you to defend me when we’re surrounded by natives with pitchforks who don’t understand my very dry sense of humor. I don’t need your--” he waved his hand at Ronon “--super-power strength turned on me, thank you very much.”
Ronon laughed and spread his arms wide. “Come on, McKay. Just throw a punch.”
Rodney heaved a very put-upon sigh, rolled his eyes, and aimed a half-hearted punch at Ronon’s chest. Ronon blocked it easily, of course, and said, “Come on. Again.”
It actually wasn’t so bad. Rodney tried the same kind of movements Teyla kept trying to teach him, only using his arms instead of sticks. Ronon was obviously holding back a lot, putting out just enough to give Rodney resistance, but not enough to snap him in two and end the fight right there, like Rodney knew he could.
Eventually he ended up pinned on the mat, of course, but Ronon was grinning down at him and saying, “You did good.”
Rodney was panting and actually thinking that, hey, that was kind of fun. Then he looked up at Ronon suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re doing this right? I’m not even bruised.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, McKay. Just get some practice.”
“Good, good. That’s a good attitude to have. If only more people thought as logically as you do,” he found himself babbling. Ronon was still pinning him to the floor, his hands pushing down Rodney’s wrists and his body hovering just over his. “Um. So are you planning to let me up anytime soon?”
Ronon released him with a grin and sat back on the mat.
“So, do you think this counts as a conversation?” Rodney asked. “It was mostly physical, but, still, there’s a certain amount of communication that’s done on a physical basis, body-to-body--”
“Can I ask you a question?” Ronon asked.
“Yes. Yes. Ask away,” Rodney said, grateful for the interruption so neither of them would have to find out what words were coming after ‘body-to-body’.
“Teyla said your men don’t like other men.”
“Um.” Rodney frowned. “What?”
“She said that your people have rules against men being with other men.”
He pondered that for a moment. “Men being with--?”
“Men fucking men.”
“What?!” Rodney exclaimed. “That’s what you--Teyla said--why are you even asking me this?”
“So it’s true?” Ronon said. “It’s against your rules?”
Rodney stared at Ronon incredulously, and then finally said, “Well, it’s not against my rules. I happen to come from a very enlightened country. But certain less enlightened countries’ militaries still cling to their barbaric--um, why are you asking me this again?”
“Just curious,” Ronon said with a shrug.
“Right. Well. Now that we’ve got that cleared up, I should go. I should really go.” Rodney scrambled to his feet. “Thanks for the--uh--bruise-free ass-kicking. Much appreciated.”
* * *
4.
Later that night in the lab, as Rodney was composing a long e-mail tearing into some idiot scientist’s completely ungrounded theory about ZPM power sharing, he suddenly realized what it was that made Ronon ask him that.
“Oh, shit,” he swore.
“Yes, Rodney, what is it now?” Zelenka asked from the next desk over.
“Nothing, nothing.” Rodney stood up, feeling a little panicked. “Just something I have to fix.”
He knocked several times at Ronon’s door. At least he thought it was Ronon’s door. He’d never actually been to his quarters before. He hoped it was Ronon and he wasn’t waking up someone else at--he checked his wristwatch--oh-thirty hours.
He raised his fist to knock again when the door slid open to reveal Ronon, arms crossed and looking angry. When he saw Rodney, though, his expression relaxed and he let his arms drop. “Hey,” he said.
“Look, I know it’s late and I probably just woke you up--though, do you really sleep in the leather? I always pictured you--” Rodney clamped his jaw shut. This was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.
“Come in,” Ronon said, and Rodney nodded. Right. Right. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he particularly wanted to have out in the hallway, either. The door slid shut after he stepped through it, and he looked around Ronon’s room. He didn’t seem to have any personal items besides the knives scattered all over his desk. The bed was unmade, so maybe Rodney had woken him up. Or maybe he just wasn’t the type to waste his time making it every morning.
“Look, I--I came here to apologize,” Rodney said, not looking at Ronon.
“Apologize?” Ronon asked. “Do you do that?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “When the situation calls for it.” After a few moments of silence, Rodney finally blurted out, “Look, it’s not like I set out to sexually harass my teammates.” He sneaked a peak at Ronon, who had one eyebrow raised very high. “I don’t. Sometimes I just keep talking and I don’t know what I’m saying and I can see how it might have been possible to misconstrue some of the things I’ve said over the course of the day to mean something other than what I intended.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to hit on you, okay?” he continued. “It was not at all my intention, I don’t even--well, I do, but--But the point is, I hope we can both just put this, uh, awkward situation behind us and proceed with the professionalism that’s been inherent in all our interactions up until this point.”
“You didn’t mean to hit on me?” Ronon repeated.
“Of course not! I mean, you’re a very attractive man, what with the musculature and the--” Rodney gestured towards him and caught Ronon looking back at him with a very strange look. It almost looked like he was--”Are you disappointed?”
“A little bit,” he said and Rodney gaped at him.
“You wanted me to hit on you? Why would you--?”
“I liked it.” Ronon shrugged. “You make me laugh.”
“Laugh? Great. That’s just great.” Rodney took a long deep breath. “Look, no one likes it when I hit on them. Not even the people who seem marginally attracted to me.”
“Oh. Maybe I like you better than they do?”
Rodney suddenly felt dizzy and tried to remember the last time he ate. Too long ago. He was far, far out of his depth here. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a fantasy, even though he’d never had fantasies about Ronon before. He’d never known he could have fantasies about him. But he had to admit, if he did have a fantasy about Ronon, Ronon would be looking at him just the way he was now, and moving toward him just the way he was, and kissing him--
Ronon had to bend down, but he got his lips right on the first try. His beard was long and felt strange and scraggly brushing against Rodney’s skin, but his tongue was playful, darting out to tease Rodney’s lips, and that somehow made it okay. More than okay.
“Oh my god,” Rodney said, and Ronon thrust his tongue into his open mouth and clutched his hips with one hand and his head with another. Rodney let himself be pulled against him and he could feel his long, lean torso through the layers of clothes and leather. He wished he could feel more and then he remembered that he had hands. Hands were great. He touched Ronon everywhere he could reach, from his waist to his back to his shoulders, and down to his ass, and Ronon’s hips thrust forward--or maybe that was Rodney--but either way Ronon’s hip hit his cock and and suddenly he couldn’t wait-- “God, why are you wearing so many clothes? What is this? Get these off!” As he was clumsily shoving Ronon’s leather vest over his shoulders and working on the latches of his pants, Ronon must have been undressing him, because next thing he knew, he was hastily shoving off his shoes and stepping out of his pants and they were both naked.
And, oh. Naked Ronon. He was tall and perfect, hard muscles, no spare ounce of flesh anywhere. His cock was big and hard and straining out towards Rodney. But the best part was the way he was smiling and looking at Rodney with dark, dancing eyes.
“Are you still not hitting on me?” he asked.
“Oh, god. I am. I am so hitting on you right now.” Rodney said. He kept looking him up and down. Everything looked so good, he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch, to taste, first.
Ronon, however, didn’t seem to have a problem making up his mind.
* * *
5.
Rodney woke up the next morning with his head nestled improbably in Ronon’s shoulder and several of their limbs tangled together. He blinked a few times and raised his head.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey.” Ronon’s mouth twitched and he shifted downward to give Rodney a long, lazy kiss.
“Wow. So. I really don’t know what it was I said that got me into your bed last night,” Rodney confessed. “But I really hope I say it again.”
“Well, you talk a lot,” Ronon offered, his hands drifting down Rodney’s chest. “I’m sure you will.”
Author: hazelthewitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rodney/Ronon
Words: 2,300
Summary: Rodney takes Carson's skepticism as a challenge.
Notes: Takes place immediately post-"Sateda"
* * *
McKAY: You are just jealous of our relationship.
BECKETT: *Am* I?! In the year or so he's been with us, have you *ever* had a conversation with the man?
- 3.04 “Sateda”
* * *
1.
Rodney saw Ronon eating alone in the mess hall, the day after they got back from Sateda, and thought about how Carson had said that he’d never had a conversation with him. After piling up his tray all the leftovers he could find from lunch, he headed over to join him.
“Hello, Ronon,” he said, cheerful and a little bit nervous. Ronon gave him a nod and a grunt between bites of a sandwich that looked like--“Hey! You got the last not-turkey sandwich.”
“Not-turkey?” Ronon eyed his sandwich and shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Well. That is so not fair. You know, I’m going to have another talk with the kitchen staff about this. I’ve repeatedly requested that they save me not-turkey sandwiches on the days I miss lunch because I was busy saving Atlantis. Again.”
“Why don’t you just get here on time?” Ronon asked.
“Are you even listening? What part of saving Atlantis did you not--no. Never mind.” Rodney turned unhappily to his infinitely inferior not-egg sandwich. “Also, I’m beginning to suspect that this isn’t even real bread.”
Ronon just shrugged, and started on his not-french fries. Rodney wondered if this counted as a conversation yet. It was probably wise to start small, anyways.
* * *
2.
Rodney forgot all about having conversations with Ronon until three days later when he missed lunch again and found him lounging on the doorway of the lab, long body slouched against the doorframe, and staring at him steadily.
“Will you stop that? It’s freaking me out,” Rodney complained. “What are you doing here? Did Sheppard send you? Because--wait, do I smell...?”
“Turkey sandwich.” Ronon handed it over with a grin.
“Not-turkey,” Rodney corrected distractedly as he quickly unwrapped it and took a large bite. “Mmm.”
“Later, McKay.” He gave him a casual salute and walked away. That was when Rodney remembered his goal to have conversations with Ronon. He got up and jogged out into the hall.
“Wait-wait!” Rodney called after him.
He turned around.
“Thank you,” Rodney said, gesturing with the sandwich still in his hand. “You remembered and you thought of me and that was very--”
“You’re welcome,” Ronon said, looking amused.
“Look, do you want to hang out sometime?” Rodney found himself asking, and then thought, stupid, stupid, what did they even have in common and why would Ronon want to waste his time hanging out with him when he would much rather be doing Ronon things, like beating people up, or cleaning his gun or re-arranging all the knives in his hair.
“Sure.”
“Uh. Okay. Right. Right.” The guy actually looked happy at the suggestion, which was just ridiculous. “We could, uh, get dinner. Or watch a movie. I have lot of movies on my laptop here--” Oh. God. Dinner and a movie? What was he doing, asking the guy on a date? “Action movies--you like action movies, right?”
But Ronon just looked more amused. “You should come spar with me.”
“What? No!” Rodney exclaimed.
“Come by before dinner; I’ll be in the gym.” He turned and walked down the hallway, oblivious to Rodney’s protestations.
* * *
3.
Rodney showed up at the gym that evening, but only because it hadn’t been entirely clear whether Ronon had understood that he wasn’t coming, and he didn’t want to jeopardize this newfound connection (connection, take that, Carson) over hurt feelings about who stood who up.
“I’m not here to spar,” Rodney said. “I’m not going to spar with you.”
“You came here to tell me that?” Ronon said, rising slowly from his crouching warrior pose in the middle of the mats.
“Look, Teyla used her--god knows how, she convinced me to spar with her, but it never ends well for me.”
“Take off your jacket,” Ronon said. Rodney crossed his arms. “Or don’t.”
“I’m leaving now.”
Ronon shook his head. “Trust me.”
“I trust you to defend me when we’re surrounded by natives with pitchforks who don’t understand my very dry sense of humor. I don’t need your--” he waved his hand at Ronon “--super-power strength turned on me, thank you very much.”
Ronon laughed and spread his arms wide. “Come on, McKay. Just throw a punch.”
Rodney heaved a very put-upon sigh, rolled his eyes, and aimed a half-hearted punch at Ronon’s chest. Ronon blocked it easily, of course, and said, “Come on. Again.”
It actually wasn’t so bad. Rodney tried the same kind of movements Teyla kept trying to teach him, only using his arms instead of sticks. Ronon was obviously holding back a lot, putting out just enough to give Rodney resistance, but not enough to snap him in two and end the fight right there, like Rodney knew he could.
Eventually he ended up pinned on the mat, of course, but Ronon was grinning down at him and saying, “You did good.”
Rodney was panting and actually thinking that, hey, that was kind of fun. Then he looked up at Ronon suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re doing this right? I’m not even bruised.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, McKay. Just get some practice.”
“Good, good. That’s a good attitude to have. If only more people thought as logically as you do,” he found himself babbling. Ronon was still pinning him to the floor, his hands pushing down Rodney’s wrists and his body hovering just over his. “Um. So are you planning to let me up anytime soon?”
Ronon released him with a grin and sat back on the mat.
“So, do you think this counts as a conversation?” Rodney asked. “It was mostly physical, but, still, there’s a certain amount of communication that’s done on a physical basis, body-to-body--”
“Can I ask you a question?” Ronon asked.
“Yes. Yes. Ask away,” Rodney said, grateful for the interruption so neither of them would have to find out what words were coming after ‘body-to-body’.
“Teyla said your men don’t like other men.”
“Um.” Rodney frowned. “What?”
“She said that your people have rules against men being with other men.”
He pondered that for a moment. “Men being with--?”
“Men fucking men.”
“What?!” Rodney exclaimed. “That’s what you--Teyla said--why are you even asking me this?”
“So it’s true?” Ronon said. “It’s against your rules?”
Rodney stared at Ronon incredulously, and then finally said, “Well, it’s not against my rules. I happen to come from a very enlightened country. But certain less enlightened countries’ militaries still cling to their barbaric--um, why are you asking me this again?”
“Just curious,” Ronon said with a shrug.
“Right. Well. Now that we’ve got that cleared up, I should go. I should really go.” Rodney scrambled to his feet. “Thanks for the--uh--bruise-free ass-kicking. Much appreciated.”
* * *
4.
Later that night in the lab, as Rodney was composing a long e-mail tearing into some idiot scientist’s completely ungrounded theory about ZPM power sharing, he suddenly realized what it was that made Ronon ask him that.
“Oh, shit,” he swore.
“Yes, Rodney, what is it now?” Zelenka asked from the next desk over.
“Nothing, nothing.” Rodney stood up, feeling a little panicked. “Just something I have to fix.”
He knocked several times at Ronon’s door. At least he thought it was Ronon’s door. He’d never actually been to his quarters before. He hoped it was Ronon and he wasn’t waking up someone else at--he checked his wristwatch--oh-thirty hours.
He raised his fist to knock again when the door slid open to reveal Ronon, arms crossed and looking angry. When he saw Rodney, though, his expression relaxed and he let his arms drop. “Hey,” he said.
“Look, I know it’s late and I probably just woke you up--though, do you really sleep in the leather? I always pictured you--” Rodney clamped his jaw shut. This was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.
“Come in,” Ronon said, and Rodney nodded. Right. Right. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he particularly wanted to have out in the hallway, either. The door slid shut after he stepped through it, and he looked around Ronon’s room. He didn’t seem to have any personal items besides the knives scattered all over his desk. The bed was unmade, so maybe Rodney had woken him up. Or maybe he just wasn’t the type to waste his time making it every morning.
“Look, I--I came here to apologize,” Rodney said, not looking at Ronon.
“Apologize?” Ronon asked. “Do you do that?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “When the situation calls for it.” After a few moments of silence, Rodney finally blurted out, “Look, it’s not like I set out to sexually harass my teammates.” He sneaked a peak at Ronon, who had one eyebrow raised very high. “I don’t. Sometimes I just keep talking and I don’t know what I’m saying and I can see how it might have been possible to misconstrue some of the things I’ve said over the course of the day to mean something other than what I intended.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to hit on you, okay?” he continued. “It was not at all my intention, I don’t even--well, I do, but--But the point is, I hope we can both just put this, uh, awkward situation behind us and proceed with the professionalism that’s been inherent in all our interactions up until this point.”
“You didn’t mean to hit on me?” Ronon repeated.
“Of course not! I mean, you’re a very attractive man, what with the musculature and the--” Rodney gestured towards him and caught Ronon looking back at him with a very strange look. It almost looked like he was--”Are you disappointed?”
“A little bit,” he said and Rodney gaped at him.
“You wanted me to hit on you? Why would you--?”
“I liked it.” Ronon shrugged. “You make me laugh.”
“Laugh? Great. That’s just great.” Rodney took a long deep breath. “Look, no one likes it when I hit on them. Not even the people who seem marginally attracted to me.”
“Oh. Maybe I like you better than they do?”
Rodney suddenly felt dizzy and tried to remember the last time he ate. Too long ago. He was far, far out of his depth here. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a fantasy, even though he’d never had fantasies about Ronon before. He’d never known he could have fantasies about him. But he had to admit, if he did have a fantasy about Ronon, Ronon would be looking at him just the way he was now, and moving toward him just the way he was, and kissing him--
Ronon had to bend down, but he got his lips right on the first try. His beard was long and felt strange and scraggly brushing against Rodney’s skin, but his tongue was playful, darting out to tease Rodney’s lips, and that somehow made it okay. More than okay.
“Oh my god,” Rodney said, and Ronon thrust his tongue into his open mouth and clutched his hips with one hand and his head with another. Rodney let himself be pulled against him and he could feel his long, lean torso through the layers of clothes and leather. He wished he could feel more and then he remembered that he had hands. Hands were great. He touched Ronon everywhere he could reach, from his waist to his back to his shoulders, and down to his ass, and Ronon’s hips thrust forward--or maybe that was Rodney--but either way Ronon’s hip hit his cock and and suddenly he couldn’t wait-- “God, why are you wearing so many clothes? What is this? Get these off!” As he was clumsily shoving Ronon’s leather vest over his shoulders and working on the latches of his pants, Ronon must have been undressing him, because next thing he knew, he was hastily shoving off his shoes and stepping out of his pants and they were both naked.
And, oh. Naked Ronon. He was tall and perfect, hard muscles, no spare ounce of flesh anywhere. His cock was big and hard and straining out towards Rodney. But the best part was the way he was smiling and looking at Rodney with dark, dancing eyes.
“Are you still not hitting on me?” he asked.
“Oh, god. I am. I am so hitting on you right now.” Rodney said. He kept looking him up and down. Everything looked so good, he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch, to taste, first.
Ronon, however, didn’t seem to have a problem making up his mind.
* * *
5.
Rodney woke up the next morning with his head nestled improbably in Ronon’s shoulder and several of their limbs tangled together. He blinked a few times and raised his head.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey.” Ronon’s mouth twitched and he shifted downward to give Rodney a long, lazy kiss.
“Wow. So. I really don’t know what it was I said that got me into your bed last night,” Rodney confessed. “But I really hope I say it again.”
“Well, you talk a lot,” Ronon offered, his hands drifting down Rodney’s chest. “I’m sure you will.”