Ficlet: Lover, Lay Down -- NC-17
Title: Lover, Lay Down
Author: Rubygirl29
Genre: Slash, Sheppard/Dex
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Minor. To “Vengeance”
Disclaimer: If I owned them, do you think I’d share? ;-)
Summary: It’s not always about sex.
Lover Lay Down
Dave Matthews Band
Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head
Slip into my lover's hands
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now
And sleep I would inside your mouth
He was tired, too tense to sleep and too exhausted to make an effort to get off the bed and strip off his BDUs. Everything hurt; muscle, bone, head and heart. He’d lost a company of Marines down there; dead, horribly slain by Michael’s mutants. He’s lost men before, a lot of them, but a soldier knew there was always a chance of death in battle. He knew there was always a chance he could die. But not like that. Not murdered in cold blood. That’s what hurt. He felt bruised, body and soul.
He heard the chime of his door and remembered, belatedly, that he hadn’t locked it. There was a brief flare of light against his closed lids, and then darkness again. He hoped that the visitor would think he was sleeping and leave him alone. It wasn’t that simple. With Ronon, it never was. John felt the edge of his mattress give way as a heavier body than his sat down, then the shift as that body lay full length next to, but not touching him.
He didn’t move, aware of warmth and breath, a stillness like a leaf floating on the surface tension of water. There were words he wanted to say, I’m tired. I hurt. I want you to touch me. I don’t want to be touched ... You were right ... I’m sorry ... But he couldn’t find the heart to speak them. He was paralyzed by his thoughts and his pain.
A gentle hand brushed across his hair. “You want me to leave?”
The only thing worse than wanting to be alone was being alone. “No.”
A sigh of consent as Ronon settled, his shoulder just touching John’s. “Rough day,” he said quietly.
‘Yeah."
Ronon’s hand rested on his chest, and the warmth of it began to ease the pain. “I’m sorry,” John said. “You were right.”
Ronon’s shoulder moved against his as he shrugged. “You called it differently, that’s all. Who’s to say what’s right? Can’t change what happened.”
“So you won’t say, ‘I told you so?’”
“Not tonight.” Ronon sat up, tugged at Sheppard’s boot laces. “Don’t need boots on the ground anymore tonight.” He slid the boots off, tossed them across the room, followed by the socks. The air was cool on Sheppard’s feet. Ronon’s thumbs pressed on the arches, firm enough not to make him squirm; warm and strong.
Ronon’s hands moved up John’s legs to his hips. He felt his belt being unbuckled and his fly unzipped as Ronon worked on stripping him. More cool air on his skin as his shirt was opened and pulled down his shoulders and arms. He was exposed, open, vulnerable. He heard the rustle of Ronon’s clothing, and then his warm body was sheltering John’s.
“I can’t ...” he said.
“You don’t have to.” Ronon’s breath brushed his throat. “Just be still. Just ... still.” He hushed John with a soft kiss. His lips whispered across John’s collarbone. The slight roughness of Ronon’s goatee and dreads slid against his skin as he trailed kisses down his chest, his nipples, his abdomen.
“Wait,” John said, embarrassed that his cock remained flaccid. He reached down, but Ronon captured his hand, stopping him. He kissed the head, cradled John’s balls gently, then took him in his mouth.
John’s breath came and went; the sweetness of Ronon’s mouth surrounding him was like warm honey. “God,” he breathed, his body responding to Ronon’s lips and tongue. Ronon’s strong hands spanned his hips, his thumbs smoothed over the sharp iliac crests, holding him still as his mouth did wonderful things to John’s cock.
Then the image of the marines, dead in the bunker, came to him and he set his hands on Ronon’s head. “Wait ... I can’t ...”
Ronon released him. “Let it go,” he rasped. “Be with me.”
John didn’t know if he could. He looked into Ronon’s eyes; beautiful, thick-lashed, serious, watching and waiting. John ached. He wanted to rest in Ronon’s mouth, sleep safe in Ronon’s arms. He couldn’t say that. “I’m tired,” he said instead.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ronon whispered. “You can’t live it over and over. It’s done. Let it go,” he repeated. “Be with me.”
“In the morning,” John said.
Ronon sighed, pulled the covers over them both. He threw a long leg over John’s, wrapped strong arms around him, surrounding him with heat and strength. John, who didn’t often crave contact, let himself sink into that refuge. He was aware of the heavy softness of Ronon’s cock against his, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He pulled gently at Ronon’s dreadlocks, raising a gruff, “What?”
“Just ... see you in the morning.”
Ronon opened a sleepy eye. “Yeah, you will.”
“Counting on it.” John closed his eyes and dropped off the cliff of sleep.
The End
Author: Rubygirl29
Genre: Slash, Sheppard/Dex
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Minor. To “Vengeance”
Disclaimer: If I owned them, do you think I’d share? ;-)
Summary: It’s not always about sex.
Lover Lay Down
Dave Matthews Band
Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head
Slip into my lover's hands
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now
And sleep I would inside your mouth
He was tired, too tense to sleep and too exhausted to make an effort to get off the bed and strip off his BDUs. Everything hurt; muscle, bone, head and heart. He’d lost a company of Marines down there; dead, horribly slain by Michael’s mutants. He’s lost men before, a lot of them, but a soldier knew there was always a chance of death in battle. He knew there was always a chance he could die. But not like that. Not murdered in cold blood. That’s what hurt. He felt bruised, body and soul.
He heard the chime of his door and remembered, belatedly, that he hadn’t locked it. There was a brief flare of light against his closed lids, and then darkness again. He hoped that the visitor would think he was sleeping and leave him alone. It wasn’t that simple. With Ronon, it never was. John felt the edge of his mattress give way as a heavier body than his sat down, then the shift as that body lay full length next to, but not touching him.
He didn’t move, aware of warmth and breath, a stillness like a leaf floating on the surface tension of water. There were words he wanted to say, I’m tired. I hurt. I want you to touch me. I don’t want to be touched ... You were right ... I’m sorry ... But he couldn’t find the heart to speak them. He was paralyzed by his thoughts and his pain.
A gentle hand brushed across his hair. “You want me to leave?”
The only thing worse than wanting to be alone was being alone. “No.”
A sigh of consent as Ronon settled, his shoulder just touching John’s. “Rough day,” he said quietly.
‘Yeah."
Ronon’s hand rested on his chest, and the warmth of it began to ease the pain. “I’m sorry,” John said. “You were right.”
Ronon’s shoulder moved against his as he shrugged. “You called it differently, that’s all. Who’s to say what’s right? Can’t change what happened.”
“So you won’t say, ‘I told you so?’”
“Not tonight.” Ronon sat up, tugged at Sheppard’s boot laces. “Don’t need boots on the ground anymore tonight.” He slid the boots off, tossed them across the room, followed by the socks. The air was cool on Sheppard’s feet. Ronon’s thumbs pressed on the arches, firm enough not to make him squirm; warm and strong.
Ronon’s hands moved up John’s legs to his hips. He felt his belt being unbuckled and his fly unzipped as Ronon worked on stripping him. More cool air on his skin as his shirt was opened and pulled down his shoulders and arms. He was exposed, open, vulnerable. He heard the rustle of Ronon’s clothing, and then his warm body was sheltering John’s.
“I can’t ...” he said.
“You don’t have to.” Ronon’s breath brushed his throat. “Just be still. Just ... still.” He hushed John with a soft kiss. His lips whispered across John’s collarbone. The slight roughness of Ronon’s goatee and dreads slid against his skin as he trailed kisses down his chest, his nipples, his abdomen.
“Wait,” John said, embarrassed that his cock remained flaccid. He reached down, but Ronon captured his hand, stopping him. He kissed the head, cradled John’s balls gently, then took him in his mouth.
John’s breath came and went; the sweetness of Ronon’s mouth surrounding him was like warm honey. “God,” he breathed, his body responding to Ronon’s lips and tongue. Ronon’s strong hands spanned his hips, his thumbs smoothed over the sharp iliac crests, holding him still as his mouth did wonderful things to John’s cock.
Then the image of the marines, dead in the bunker, came to him and he set his hands on Ronon’s head. “Wait ... I can’t ...”
Ronon released him. “Let it go,” he rasped. “Be with me.”
John didn’t know if he could. He looked into Ronon’s eyes; beautiful, thick-lashed, serious, watching and waiting. John ached. He wanted to rest in Ronon’s mouth, sleep safe in Ronon’s arms. He couldn’t say that. “I’m tired,” he said instead.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ronon whispered. “You can’t live it over and over. It’s done. Let it go,” he repeated. “Be with me.”
“In the morning,” John said.
Ronon sighed, pulled the covers over them both. He threw a long leg over John’s, wrapped strong arms around him, surrounding him with heat and strength. John, who didn’t often crave contact, let himself sink into that refuge. He was aware of the heavy softness of Ronon’s cock against his, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He pulled gently at Ronon’s dreadlocks, raising a gruff, “What?”
“Just ... see you in the morning.”
Ronon opened a sleepy eye. “Yeah, you will.”
“Counting on it.” John closed his eyes and dropped off the cliff of sleep.
The End