FIC: A Place To Be
Title: A Place To Be
Author: rebecca
Fandom: SGA/Firefly
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Simon Tam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He doesn't think he knows how to be surprised anymore.
Notes: Okay. So ana_grrl wrote this lovely, lovely Firefly/SGA fic called Out of Place, which is gen, and which you really need to read in order for this to make sense. I read that, and then skripka said to me "You know...think of the possibilities." So I asked and was graciously granted permission to write this (porny) sequel.
Ronon's gentle with him. Simon doesn't expect that.
He doesn't expect any of this. He doesn't know what to make of any of it. The Wraith, this city, these people, it's so completely utterly alien and unfamiliar that he's given up even trying to understand. He lets himself go along with it, a leaf on the wind (Wash and his dinosaurs, his loud shirts and his grins) and nods in the right places and works hard enough that he doesn't have to think, at the end of the day.
So when Ronon shows up on his doorstep, Simon isn't surprised. He doesn't think he knows how to be surprised anymore. He steps aside and lets Ronon in, along with the bottle of Athosian wine (Kaylee's wine, raw enough to burn your stomach but sweet, like this fruity, rich stuff) and they sit on Simon's neatly-made bed and drink in silence.
When Ronon kisses him, Simon says "Oh" and kisses him back.
He's just drunk enough that this makes perfect sense, and just sober enough that he doesn't care what it means. Ronon's beard rasps against his skin, his hands are big and callused and careful (Jayne's hands, sure and competent on his guns), and as he presses Simon down on his back, as he pulls off his boots and kneels over Simon, there's the faintest hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "Yes," Simon says, and he reaches up for Ronon's shirt. "Yes."
Ronon pulls off his shirt smoothly and leans down to kiss Simon again. His hair brushes over Simon's neck, rough and smooth all at once. He smells like gun oil and musk (Inara's incense and perfumes) and Simon can taste the brine of Atlantis in Ronon's mouth, against his tongue.
He almost says something. What, he doesn't know. But Ronon smiles and kisses him and peels his shirt off and Simon's words get lost in the fabric as it pulls over him, catching his arms over his head. He sees the thought flicker through Ronon's eyes before Ronon shakes his head, ever so slightly, and tosses the shirt to the side.
Not tonight. But maybe...Simon puts that thought aside and runs his hands up Ronon's arms and over his back, feeling smooth skin and hard muscle, the faint ridge of scars (Mal's scars, too many of them) under his fingertips. He leans up for a kiss and drops his head back as Ronon works his way down Simon's throat, beard scratching over sensitive skin, enough to make him gasp softly and twist. Ronon looks up with a faint smile and Simon tries to control his breathing, licking his lips.
Ronon leaves a trail of soft bites and licks across Simon's collarbone, down his chest, his hands busy with the fastenings to Simon's pants. They slide under Simon's body, urging him to lift up, to let Ronon ease down his clothing, the air shockingly cool against his heated skin. He's achingly hard, the tip of his cock wet with pre-come, and he feels his face flush all the way down to his chest at the way Ronon kneels up to just look at him (Zoe's eyes, cool and assessing, always, always thinking), one hand spread flat on Simon's stomach.
"I--" Simon has to try again before he can say it. "I haven't done this--in--" Not since MedAcad, and he has no idea how long it's really been, and Ronon is disrobing now and Simon's mouth goes dry as dust at the sight of him. Ai ya, that's--he swallows, shifts to sit up on the bed. Ronon kneels, facing him, and oh, hell, Simon wants, and he can't help it--he leans down and takes Ronon into his mouth.
Ronon hisses in a breath, his hand landing heavy on the back of Simon's neck. Simon closes his eyes and sucks and takes in what he can; there's no way he can take it all, he's out of practice and Ronon's just too big and even from just this, his jaw aches, his mouth watering as he works greedily. He swallows and breathes and relaxes, remembers techniques he's mostly forgotten, using Ronon's muffled groans and the flex of his hand as guidelines to what pleases him. He's getting lost in it, his world spiraling to nothing but this, nothing but Ronon's hand on Simon's neck and his cock in Simon's mouth, when Ronon makes a guttural sound and pushes him away.
"What--" Simon looks at him, eyes wide. His mouth feels swollen and wet and he tastes salt-musk when he licks his lower lip.
"Too much," Ronon says with a wry smile. "Not how I want to come."
Oh. Simon swallows. It's not how he wants Ronon to come, either, although it's been a while and he's a little apprehensive about his ability to--well, to be able to relax and just take it, he supposes.
Ronon leans forward and kisses him, licking the taste of his own fluids out of Simon's mouth. "Relax," he says softly. "Won't hurt you."
Simon nods. Of all the people on Atlantis who might possibly say that, Ronon's the one he actually believes.
"C'mere." Ronon twists them around so he's sitting against the headboard. He holds out a hand and Simon takes it, crawling over him. Ronon pulls him in close, kissing and nuzzling him, one hand stroking down Simon's back until Simon relaxes and melts against him, all-but-curled on Ronon's lap. "You have anything?" Ronon asks against Simon's throat.
He shakes his head. "Do--do you?"
Ronon grins. "In my pocket."
Of course, his pants are on the floor, and Simon has to get off him in order for Ronon to lean over the edge of the bed and get the tube, but it's really not that difficult to go back to the way they were, Ronon sitting against the headboard and Simon straddling him, leaning on him. Ronon has one arm holding Simon as his other fingers, coated with the lube, begin working their way into Simon's body, one at a time.
Simon gasps and fights to relax, even with just one finger, because God, he hasn't done this in so long, and oh, Ronon's fingers are big, and--"Shh," Ronon whispers into his hair. "Relax."
He does. Slowly. Ronon holds him close, one finger easing into him, slicking and stretching him, endlessly patient until Simon's relaxed enough for more. Two, then, and Ronon twists his fingers and Simon arches back, gasping in pleasure. He hears Ronon's low rumble of laughter (Book's laugh, rich and amused) and feels himself smile back, even as Ronon rubs over his prostate again and he loses his breath abruptly.
Three fingers now; he feels the stretch and the burn and he wants more. He pushes back against Ronon's fingers, panting a little, squirming in Ronon's hold. "'M okay," he says hoarsely.
Ronon doesn't ask if he's sure. He pulls his fingers out and shifts Simon a little, positioning him just right. He holds Simon's hips steady and Simon sinks down on him, panting for breath. It burns and he feels too full and he's not sure--oh, God--his hands clench on Ronon's shoulders and he closes his eyes. Ronon murmurs to him, soft words Simon doesn't hear but understands anyway, and slowly he begins to relax enough to move.
Ronon bends his legs, braces his feet to give Simon more leverage. Simon feels surrounded, wrapped in Ronon, inside and out. He licks his lips, leans forward for a kiss, and falls headlong into Ronon as he moves, as each thrust of Ronon's cock rubs right over his prostate, as Ronon's hands flex and release on his hips, guiding him, as he shudders and twists and gasps for air.
He moans, low in his throat, sweat beading on his body and slicking his skin as it slides against Ronon's. Ronon is making soft, deep sounds as Simon moves on him, almost a growl, and it's enough for Simon to bury his face in Ronon's throat and breathe in deep and move harder, faster. He curls one hand around the back of Ronon's neck and reaches down for his cock with the other, jerking himself off, his breath coming harsh and fast.
"Simon--" Ronon's voice is rough, enough to make Simon's head jerk up and his eyes open, meeting Ronon's dark, dark eyes, and the look in them is so intense it's enough to make Simon's body spasm.
He shudders and clenches, his cock spilling over his hand, unable to look away from Ronon's eyes, his body trembling so hard he falls against Ronon, shaking hard enough to move them both. Ronon's hands tighten on Simon's hips and he thrusts up hard, once, twice, and he's coming and his hands are holding Simon so tightly he'll probably have bruises and yes, oh, yes, it's exactly what he wants.
Ronon stays, after, which he didn't expect either. But they get cleaned off with tissues and crawl back into bed and Simon settles down against Ronon, Ronon's arms around him and his head on Ronon's shoulder (River cuddled up to him, telling stories in the dark) and they relax in Simon's not-quite-big-enough-for-two bed.
Simon closes his eyes. He doesn't dream.
Author: rebecca
Fandom: SGA/Firefly
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Simon Tam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He doesn't think he knows how to be surprised anymore.
Notes: Okay. So ana_grrl wrote this lovely, lovely Firefly/SGA fic called Out of Place, which is gen, and which you really need to read in order for this to make sense. I read that, and then skripka said to me "You know...think of the possibilities." So I asked and was graciously granted permission to write this (porny) sequel.
Ronon's gentle with him. Simon doesn't expect that.
He doesn't expect any of this. He doesn't know what to make of any of it. The Wraith, this city, these people, it's so completely utterly alien and unfamiliar that he's given up even trying to understand. He lets himself go along with it, a leaf on the wind (Wash and his dinosaurs, his loud shirts and his grins) and nods in the right places and works hard enough that he doesn't have to think, at the end of the day.
So when Ronon shows up on his doorstep, Simon isn't surprised. He doesn't think he knows how to be surprised anymore. He steps aside and lets Ronon in, along with the bottle of Athosian wine (Kaylee's wine, raw enough to burn your stomach but sweet, like this fruity, rich stuff) and they sit on Simon's neatly-made bed and drink in silence.
When Ronon kisses him, Simon says "Oh" and kisses him back.
He's just drunk enough that this makes perfect sense, and just sober enough that he doesn't care what it means. Ronon's beard rasps against his skin, his hands are big and callused and careful (Jayne's hands, sure and competent on his guns), and as he presses Simon down on his back, as he pulls off his boots and kneels over Simon, there's the faintest hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "Yes," Simon says, and he reaches up for Ronon's shirt. "Yes."
Ronon pulls off his shirt smoothly and leans down to kiss Simon again. His hair brushes over Simon's neck, rough and smooth all at once. He smells like gun oil and musk (Inara's incense and perfumes) and Simon can taste the brine of Atlantis in Ronon's mouth, against his tongue.
He almost says something. What, he doesn't know. But Ronon smiles and kisses him and peels his shirt off and Simon's words get lost in the fabric as it pulls over him, catching his arms over his head. He sees the thought flicker through Ronon's eyes before Ronon shakes his head, ever so slightly, and tosses the shirt to the side.
Not tonight. But maybe...Simon puts that thought aside and runs his hands up Ronon's arms and over his back, feeling smooth skin and hard muscle, the faint ridge of scars (Mal's scars, too many of them) under his fingertips. He leans up for a kiss and drops his head back as Ronon works his way down Simon's throat, beard scratching over sensitive skin, enough to make him gasp softly and twist. Ronon looks up with a faint smile and Simon tries to control his breathing, licking his lips.
Ronon leaves a trail of soft bites and licks across Simon's collarbone, down his chest, his hands busy with the fastenings to Simon's pants. They slide under Simon's body, urging him to lift up, to let Ronon ease down his clothing, the air shockingly cool against his heated skin. He's achingly hard, the tip of his cock wet with pre-come, and he feels his face flush all the way down to his chest at the way Ronon kneels up to just look at him (Zoe's eyes, cool and assessing, always, always thinking), one hand spread flat on Simon's stomach.
"I--" Simon has to try again before he can say it. "I haven't done this--in--" Not since MedAcad, and he has no idea how long it's really been, and Ronon is disrobing now and Simon's mouth goes dry as dust at the sight of him. Ai ya, that's--he swallows, shifts to sit up on the bed. Ronon kneels, facing him, and oh, hell, Simon wants, and he can't help it--he leans down and takes Ronon into his mouth.
Ronon hisses in a breath, his hand landing heavy on the back of Simon's neck. Simon closes his eyes and sucks and takes in what he can; there's no way he can take it all, he's out of practice and Ronon's just too big and even from just this, his jaw aches, his mouth watering as he works greedily. He swallows and breathes and relaxes, remembers techniques he's mostly forgotten, using Ronon's muffled groans and the flex of his hand as guidelines to what pleases him. He's getting lost in it, his world spiraling to nothing but this, nothing but Ronon's hand on Simon's neck and his cock in Simon's mouth, when Ronon makes a guttural sound and pushes him away.
"What--" Simon looks at him, eyes wide. His mouth feels swollen and wet and he tastes salt-musk when he licks his lower lip.
"Too much," Ronon says with a wry smile. "Not how I want to come."
Oh. Simon swallows. It's not how he wants Ronon to come, either, although it's been a while and he's a little apprehensive about his ability to--well, to be able to relax and just take it, he supposes.
Ronon leans forward and kisses him, licking the taste of his own fluids out of Simon's mouth. "Relax," he says softly. "Won't hurt you."
Simon nods. Of all the people on Atlantis who might possibly say that, Ronon's the one he actually believes.
"C'mere." Ronon twists them around so he's sitting against the headboard. He holds out a hand and Simon takes it, crawling over him. Ronon pulls him in close, kissing and nuzzling him, one hand stroking down Simon's back until Simon relaxes and melts against him, all-but-curled on Ronon's lap. "You have anything?" Ronon asks against Simon's throat.
He shakes his head. "Do--do you?"
Ronon grins. "In my pocket."
Of course, his pants are on the floor, and Simon has to get off him in order for Ronon to lean over the edge of the bed and get the tube, but it's really not that difficult to go back to the way they were, Ronon sitting against the headboard and Simon straddling him, leaning on him. Ronon has one arm holding Simon as his other fingers, coated with the lube, begin working their way into Simon's body, one at a time.
Simon gasps and fights to relax, even with just one finger, because God, he hasn't done this in so long, and oh, Ronon's fingers are big, and--"Shh," Ronon whispers into his hair. "Relax."
He does. Slowly. Ronon holds him close, one finger easing into him, slicking and stretching him, endlessly patient until Simon's relaxed enough for more. Two, then, and Ronon twists his fingers and Simon arches back, gasping in pleasure. He hears Ronon's low rumble of laughter (Book's laugh, rich and amused) and feels himself smile back, even as Ronon rubs over his prostate again and he loses his breath abruptly.
Three fingers now; he feels the stretch and the burn and he wants more. He pushes back against Ronon's fingers, panting a little, squirming in Ronon's hold. "'M okay," he says hoarsely.
Ronon doesn't ask if he's sure. He pulls his fingers out and shifts Simon a little, positioning him just right. He holds Simon's hips steady and Simon sinks down on him, panting for breath. It burns and he feels too full and he's not sure--oh, God--his hands clench on Ronon's shoulders and he closes his eyes. Ronon murmurs to him, soft words Simon doesn't hear but understands anyway, and slowly he begins to relax enough to move.
Ronon bends his legs, braces his feet to give Simon more leverage. Simon feels surrounded, wrapped in Ronon, inside and out. He licks his lips, leans forward for a kiss, and falls headlong into Ronon as he moves, as each thrust of Ronon's cock rubs right over his prostate, as Ronon's hands flex and release on his hips, guiding him, as he shudders and twists and gasps for air.
He moans, low in his throat, sweat beading on his body and slicking his skin as it slides against Ronon's. Ronon is making soft, deep sounds as Simon moves on him, almost a growl, and it's enough for Simon to bury his face in Ronon's throat and breathe in deep and move harder, faster. He curls one hand around the back of Ronon's neck and reaches down for his cock with the other, jerking himself off, his breath coming harsh and fast.
"Simon--" Ronon's voice is rough, enough to make Simon's head jerk up and his eyes open, meeting Ronon's dark, dark eyes, and the look in them is so intense it's enough to make Simon's body spasm.
He shudders and clenches, his cock spilling over his hand, unable to look away from Ronon's eyes, his body trembling so hard he falls against Ronon, shaking hard enough to move them both. Ronon's hands tighten on Simon's hips and he thrusts up hard, once, twice, and he's coming and his hands are holding Simon so tightly he'll probably have bruises and yes, oh, yes, it's exactly what he wants.
Ronon stays, after, which he didn't expect either. But they get cleaned off with tissues and crawl back into bed and Simon settles down against Ronon, Ronon's arms around him and his head on Ronon's shoulder (River cuddled up to him, telling stories in the dark) and they relax in Simon's not-quite-big-enough-for-two bed.
Simon closes his eyes. He doesn't dream.