Mar. 31st, 2008 11:25 pm
Warnings: Slash, language, smut, some plot that miraculously crept in.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Ronon and Rodney? Yeah, they have sex.
Author's Notes: So, I decided to take all the things that make me hot and bothered and throw them into one porn-y fic. So, there's age reduction and Ronon and some aliens
-try-to-date-rape-Rodney-made-them-do-it and tied-up-Rodney-McKay (my all time, die hard, never fails to get me all a-twitter kink), all together in one place. Also, I need to thank sea_yeah, fiordeligi, amnesiajane and skinscript for helping me get my muse (though she's being a craptastic bitch) back with their awesomeness. Without them, this porn would have never happened. So you know who to blame.
McKay has always been hard to ignore, with his bright eyes, crooked mouth, fair skin, capable hands. Ronon spent his first few months in Atlantis with a constant hard-on for everyone, not used to being around all the people and automatically thinking about sex whenever he looked at anyone. For most of them, the feeling that he'd like to push them against the nearest surface and fuck them had passed. For McKay it really hadn't.
And then the man had to go and somehow ingratiate himself to the Wraith that Sheppard called Todd. The Wraith had met up with them by accident off world and said he had a present for McKay before pressing a hand to his chest. By the time the rest of the team had reacted McKay had been slumping to the floor, looking smaller and delicate and fucking gorgeous.
The way Ronon understands it the scientists had tried to figure out a way to change him back before realizing that they had about a thousand more important things to do and leaving it drop. That had been two months ago and Ronon had thought that he was starting to move past to urge to just grab McKay and carry him off.
Apparently, he really hadn't.
The last week has been one big long lesson in frustration. The Elsbethians were friendly from the minute they stepped through the 'gate, and had become downright worshipful when they found out that Rodney McKay could fix the systems in their village that had all started failing.
Ronon had found himself watching McKay in his element, tearing machines apart and putting them back together while nubile young men and women brought him food and drink and fawned over him. Ronon couldn't really blame them for fawning over McKay, when he shoved his sweat-dark curls out of his face, or smiled in surprise when one of them would reach out to rub at a smear of grease on his cheek.
Ronon couldn't blame them, but it had been driving him steadily crazy all week long because McKay didn't seem to notice that he had an entire civilization panting after him. McKay was just as waspish as he'd ever been, irritated by the constant interruptions even as he was thrilled by the constant supply of food.
The Elsbethians, for their part, showed no sign of being turned away by McKay's sharp tongue. They kept showing up, sliding into his space and blushing whenever he so much as looked at them. And Ronon had to watch it all, because someone had to keep an eye on McKay. Sheppard was distracted by the plane the Elsbethians were attempting to build and Teyla had sat this one out, so Ronon ended up resigned to the sweet torture of watching Rodney McKay chew on his bottom lip as he leaned over a huge machine, going up to his tip-toes to reach something.
By the end of the week Ronon had spent an embarrassing amount of time beating off, and wanted nothing more than to bundle McKay up and take him back to Atlantis where no one else could look at him ever again.
Thankfully, the feast being thrown in McKay's honor is marking the conclusion of their time among the Elsbethians. Ronon takes another big bite of the grilled bird on his plate, watching McKay talk, gesturing wildly and explaining just what he had done to give these people running water.
The flickering firelight makes McKay look even younger, almost disturbingly so. He washed his face before dinner, but there's still a smear of grease over his jaw. His lips are shiny with grease, and his eyes are sparkling, catching and reflecting the light from the flames. Everyone at the table is watching him, attention rapt, and Ronon fights back the urge to reach over and put a possessive hand on McKay's shoulder, takes another big bite of his food instead.
Sheppard had disappeared awhile ago with one of the local girls that had apparently realized her chances for scoring with McKay were close to nil. Ronon wishes that Sheppard had taken some more of them with him, because honestly, he's getting tired of watching these people looking at McKay with their hungry, wanting eyes. Ronon is aware that perhaps drinking wasn't such a great idea, because it's always harder for him to keep a hold on his temper when he's a little drunk.
Before he can think too much about it McKay is leaning against him, frowning and reaching over to pick at Ronon's food, making a triumphant sound and stealing one of the tiny sweet pastries that taste like syrup and vanilla. Ronon means to protest, but McKay grins up at him, bright and crooked and with a smear of sugar in the corner of his mouth and Ronon just grunts.
McKay opens his mouth, eyes narrowing as a thought strikes him, but before he can speak someone is pressing a cup into his hands, toasting, "Bacchu!"
McKay laughs, high and sweet, automatically raising the cup to his lips and swallowing. The Elsbethians like toasting things, and at some point in the last week the team had become wired to drink whenever someone yelled 'bacchu'.
Ronon watches McKay's throat work because he can't really stop himself, a thin line of purple liquid sliding out of the corner of his mouth and curling around his chin. McKay drains the cup dry before slamming it down, squeezing his eyes shut and coughing. Ronon reaches over and rests a hand on his back, and McKay waves him off after a moment, lips curling up in the corners.
Ronon catches the man reaching over to retrieve McKay's cup out of the corner of his eye. The mayor's son hasn't been more than a few feet away from McKay all week, and he looks pleased with himself now, expression smug, eyes sharp on McKay's face. Ronon feels warning bells go off in his head, and instinctively straightens in his chair. The mayor's son notices the movement, startles and then smirks.
Before Ronon can grab the man and demand an answer McKay shivers, noticeably, and blinks down at his plate. McKay looks confused, rubbing his fingers together before giggling and then abruptly sobering. When McKay turns to look at Ronon his blue eyes are wide, and he blinks rapidly.
When McKay leans towards him he lurches, and Ronon reaches out to steady him automatically. McKay's eyes flutter closed, his lips parting around a soft moan. Ronon almost jerks his hand away in shock, but McKay is already slumping against his shoulder, his voice thick, words spoken against Ronon's throat, "I think...I think I need to go, to the, hm." McKay breaks off into giggles, reaching out to trace his fingers along the collar of Ronon's shirt.
Something in the drink, then. And really, Ronon knows he should have expected that. McKay hadn't shown any real interest in any of these people, and they'd been showing a frightening amount of interest in him. Using potions to lure in a lover was hardly unheard of, but Ronon is hardly going to let someone lead McKay into their bed like this.
Before he can stand the major's son is looming over them, curling his hand around the back of Rodney's neck and leaning down, ignoring Ronon and murmuring, "You appear tired, Doctor McKay, perhaps you will allow me to escort you back to your room?" The man's voice is smooth and smoky, and McKay tilts his head back to give the man a wide, toothy smile before shrugging and starting to stand.
Ronon beats McKay to his feet, stepping into the mayor's son's space and glowering down at the shorter man. The man glares up at him, his fingers still tangled in McKay's curls and Ronon grabs his wrist and yanks it away. Ronon expects the man to give up, to turn tail and run, but instead he says, "This does not concern you."
Before Ronon can answer McKay is pulling himself to his feet, bracing his forehead against Ronon's shoulder and leaning heavily against him. McKay is breathing hard, his fingers curling around Ronon's arm as he chides, "Don't fight. I need," he cuts himself off with a low sound before continuing, "my room is a good idea."
Ronon slides his arm around McKay's narrower shoulders, glares at the mayor's son and growls, "I'll take you to the room." McKay bobs his head agreeably, and Ronon steps away from the table, keeping his eyes on the major's son, "Where I'll be staying."
McKay giggles, stumbling over his own feet as Ronon leads them away, his voice still slow and thick, "Good, that's good, I want you to."
Their rooms are across the village, and McKay is losing motor coordination by the step, sagging into Ronon. By the time Ronon finally gets them into the room McKay is panting, eyes screwed shut, hands balled up in Ronon's shirt, like he's holding on for dear life.
Ronon manages to drag him across to the bed, and is then left with no idea what to do with him. He rumbles, "McKay?" and gets no answer, wonders if the scientist passed out. McKay has always reacted oddly to drugs, and Ronon worries that it might be having some kind of effect on his system.
And then McKay shifts, rubbing full body up against Ronon and moaning, "Oh, fuck."
Ronon agrees with the sentiment, braces his hands on McKay's shoulders and pushes the other man away. McKay ends up leaning against the bed, his hands braced on either side of his hips, one of his thick curls falling forward across his forehead. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's watching Ronon with unconcealed hunger. Ronon takes a step back to avoid taking a step forward, rumbles, "It'll wear off in a few hours."
McKay isn't listening to him, concentrating instead on pulling his slightly too-big shirt off, dropping it absently to the floor. All the skin on McKay's chest is flushed pink, a blush from his ribs up his neck and across his cheeks. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted and wet. McKay's pants are hanging far too low on his hips, loose enough that it's a miracle they just haven't slipped down.
Ronon makes himself look away, mouth dry, hard so suddenly it hurts.
Looking away turns out to be a mistake, because McKay is on him as soon as his attention is diverted. McKay has always been quick, and now he's fucking fast, plastering himself against Ronon, one arm slung around his neck, pushing up onto his toes to press a kiss against the jut of Ronon's jaw.
Ronon tries to disentangle himself and McKay nips at his skin, soothes, "I need you, need you to touch me. Now." And there's something comforting in knowing that even drugged and desperate, Rodney McKay doesn't beg. He orders.
Ronon pushes at him, trying to ignore the slide of McKay's teeth against his skin, the soothing press of his tongue, says, "You need to sleep this off."
McKay snorts, grinding his hips against Ronon, reaching out and grabbing Ronon's wrist. Ronon has a half second to wonder what the man is doing, and then McKay is attempting to shove Ronon's hand down the back of his pants, reiterating, "I need you to touch me."
Ronon has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath. There are some things you don't do no matter how badly you want to, and indulging in this particular crazy desire is one of them. He curls his fingers, feeling the swell of McKay's ass beneath them and his breath involuntarily hitches in his chest. McKay grinds against him again, "C'mon, c'mon."
It takes more self control than Ronon likes to think about to push McKay away, and McKay just flashes him a dirty look before trying to slide closer again. Ronon takes a step back, hands up, makes himself grit out, "Stop."
McKay pauses, head tilting to the side, like he's considering, planning an attack. He's hard, his erection outlined against his baggy BDUs, and finally he scowls, chin coming up with more than a hint of belligerence. And just like that McKay is moving around him, heading for the door, half-dressed and looking like pure sex.
Ronon catches his arm, and McKay whirls on him, eyes flashing fire, spitting, "If you won't touch me I'm going to find someone who will." McKay pulls against his hold, his pulse racing beneath his skin, "I have to, I need someone to touch me."
There's no way in hell that Ronon is letting any of those people out there anywhere near McKay while he's like this, open and needy and desperate for it. McKay bears his teeth at him, tugs hard and then abruptly switches tactics, grinding up against him and kissing at Ronon's shoulders, his voice low and hopeful, "Change your mind?"
Ronon is running out of options, and finally shrugs, "Sure."
The way McKay lights up hadn't been something he'd been accounting for. McKay beams up at him, actually bounces in place before making a beeline back to the bed and crawling onto it. Ronon sucks in a surprised breath, fascinated by the curve of McKay's ass, the way he pauses on his hands and knees to look over his shoulder at Ronon. And there's no way in hell McKay doesn't know what he's doing, what he looks like, all pale skin and tangled hair, looking up through his thick eyelashes.
McKay rocks back onto his heels after a moment, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and sliding them off his hips. They're loose enough that they don't even have to be unbuttoned, and Ronon grits his teeth because fuck. It's like something out of one of those movies Zelenka and Cadman like so much. McKay kicks his pants and boxers off, stretching forward, arching his back and sinking down to the mattress. He does it all while holding eye contact with Ronon, says with more than a hint of impatience, "I'm waiting."
Ronon's mouth is dry, and he's so hard that he thinks he might just come, in his pants, without even touching his cock. He has to get out of here before he does something completely inappropriate, can't leave McKay here alone, and wonders which god he pissed off to have to be dealing with this.
McKay huffs, rolls onto his back and draws his knees up. Ronon has all of a second to wonder what he's doing before McKay is sucking on his own fingers, his tongue a hint of pink beyond his lips before he pulls his fingers loose with a obscene pop. McKay wiggles his fingers in Ronon's direction before reaching down and without any warning, any preliminaries, anything, slides a finger into himself.
Ronon is moving before he can stop himself, watching McKay's head tilt back against the pillows, listening to the sound that escapes McKay's throat. McKay is rocking his hips, sliding his own finger in and out, gasping every damn time.
Ronon stands over him, sure that he should be moving away, and completely unable to. McKay's eyes are closed, his eyelashes dark across his cheeks, his mouth open, his skin all flushed to red as he works himself open. Ronon isn't sure where to look, wants to see everything all at the same time, reaches out and rests a hand on McKay's knee. McKay obligingly lets his legs fall open, Ronon's fingers sliding down the smooth skin of his inner thigh.
"It aches," McKay blurts, his voice taking on an edge of desperation, "It aches and it won't stop." He's working another finger into himself even as Ronon watches, fascinated beyond speech by the picture presented to him. "Touch me, goddamnit, I need—"
And it's something of a surprise to find that really, being ordered around by McKay while he's on his back, two fingers up his own ass, is a big fucking turn on. Ronon groans, makes himself step back, looking for his pack and ignoring the sound of pained loss that McKay makes.
Rope is an important survival tool, and Ronon pulls out a coil from the bottom of his pack, shaking it loose and turning back to the bed. McKay has turned his head to watch Ronon, his expression open and sex-drunk, his hand still moving restlessly between his legs. McKay raises an eyebrow at the rope, his lips curling up into a dirty grin.
Ronon makes himself step over to the bed before what self control he has left disappears. He grabs McKay's free wrist, dragging it towards the headboard and shifts the rope to his teeth before reaching for McKay's other arm. McKay is still fucking himself, and Ronon hesitates, hovering over McKay's warm, flushed skin.
McKay teases a third finger against his hole, pants, "I'll give you my hand if you promise to fill me up."
Ronon has to bite his tongue against the surge of want. He manages to nod, not trusting his own voice, and McKay sighs softly when he slides his fingers free. Ronon can't help but watch him drag his hand up the sheets, pressing it against the headboard beside his other hand. McKay is staring up at him with nothing but heat and want, and Ronon makes himself look away, ties the knots quick and dirty and manages to tug the blanket up over McKay's body before stepping back.
"What are you doing?" McKay sounds hurt, desperate, Ronon can hear him yanking on the headboard. Ronon makes himself ignore it, sits with his back against the door and stares firmly at the far wall. This isn't the ideal solution, but no villagers can fuck him and Ronon is no longer being driven insane having to watch McKay touch himself. It's the best he can come up with.
Unfortunately, McKay isn't willing to just lie there and wait for the drug to wear off. Ronon can hear each creak in the rope, can hear McKay twisting against the blankets, can hear the desperation in McKay's voice, "Oh, God, don't do this to me. You can't do this to me, I—fuck—don't you understand?"
It takes all the self restraint Ronon has to keep his eyes forward, listening to McKay writhe in the bed. He's so hard he feels like he might die, but it doesn't seem fair to think about getting off with McKay in bed asking for it, desperate for it. His cock thinks he's approaching this entire situation the wrong way, and he makes himself ignore it.
McKay is panting, whining in the back of his throat, only getting more agitated as time passes and that's not really what Ronon had been expecting. It should be wearing off, not getting worse. And then McKay is gasping out, "Fuck! What do you want me to do, beg? I'll—I'll do it, God, please, please touch me. Please, I'm so cold, I'm so empty, please, please touch me, fill me up, please."
Ronon is on his feet at the first 'please', and across the room, because McKay doesn't beg. But he is now, words tumbling off his lips, his head tilted back so far that all the tendons in his neck are standing up. McKay is dragging his heels back and forth, bowing up his spine, and motherfuck, McKay's eyelashes are wet.
"Please," and the word is so tight, nakedly needing that Ronon curses, reaching out and smoothing his thumb across McKay's cheek. McKay turns into the touch, his eyes fluttering open. His pupils are huge, and he makes a desperate sound, "Please, Ronon, please."
Ronon slides his fingers over McKay's lips, because hearing him beg is unsettling. McKay opens his mouth, licking at Ronon's fingers and Ronon steps back. McKay whimpers, jerking hard against his bonds when Ronon crosses the room to McKay's bag. There's a thump, but Ronon ignores it for the moment.
McKay's bag is packed full of crap, has to be heavy, and Ronon takes a moment to be impressed that he's hauling that much weight around off world before he dumps it. McKay's homemade sunscreen is in its familiar white tube, and Ronon palms it before crossing back to the bed.
Most of the covers have been kicked to the end of the bed, and McKay has managed to pull himself off the side of the bed, his arms stretched above his head, his legs splayed out. His head is tipped back against his arm, his eyes heavy, a fresh tear track following the curve of his cheek. Ronon curses, throws the sunscreen on the bed and kneels beside McKay.
McKay shivers when Ronon grabs him, pulling him easily back onto the bed. Ronon hesitates, one hand still braced on McKay's hip, makes himself ask, "I can get Sheppard if—"
McKay cuts him off, shaking his head and squirming restlessly, blurting out, "No. You, you right now," and it's a relief to see that he's back to ordering again. Ronon strokes his thumb over the jut of McKay's hip, reaching up to untie his wrists and McKay knocks a knee into him, demands, "Stop, just touch me, please, Ronon, please—"
Ronon can't hear him beg anymore, growls and lowers his mouth to McKay's. McKay makes a soft sound against his lips before kissing him hard and desperate. Ronon had spent more time than he likes to contemplate thinking about what kissing McKay would be like, and it surpasses all of his expectations. It's all teeth and tongue and soft whimpers and what self control he had is gone.
The bed dips slightly under his weight when he crawls on, McKay moving his legs around, letting Ronon settle between his thighs with a soft sigh against Ronon's mouth. When Ronon touches him with intent for the first time, sliding his knuckles down McKay's sides, McKay groans, melts against his hands.
McKay is making constant, desperate, sounds, and Ronon slides his mouth sideways. The salty taste of his tears is disturbing, and Ronon licks and sucks until it's gone. McKay is crooning encouragement, trying to press himself against Ronon's hands. There's so much Ronon wants to touch, but he doesn't think he'd be able to take it if McKay started begging again, so he makes himself grab the sunscreen, squeezing out more than he could possibly need onto his fingers and shifting back.
Having Rodney McKay spread out before him is every fantasy he's had in the last three years come true, and for a second all Ronon can do is stare, absently reaching out to flatten his hand across McKay's stomach. His hand almost spans it now, and McKay jerks up into his touch, tilting his hips and Ronon pushes him down into the bed, because if he's going to do this then he's going to do this right.
McKay's cock is dark red, tight up against his stomach. Ronon slides his hand down, tilting it up, steadying the base of it before he leans over, lapping at the head. McKay groans, trying to thrust up into Ronon's mouth, his cock bumping against Ronon's lips.
Ronon thinks about teasing him, but this isn't the time for it, not with how desperate and strung out McKay feels under his hands. Instead he licks once more over the head before wrapping his lips around McKay's cock and sliding slowly down. McKay grunts something that might be his name, hips jerking and twisting spastically, and Ronon slides his other hand back, finds McKay's hole and hesitates just a second before sliding a finger into him.
McKay shouts, yells into the thick air, shoving himself down on Ronon's finger, his cock jerking. Ronon sucks automatically and McKay's makes another hoarse sound, and comes. It's surprising, and Ronon pulls off, coughing, feeling come sliding out of the corner of his mouth and wiping it away with the back of his hand.
McKay is clenched tight around Ronon's finger, his own hands opening and closing where they're tied. And then McKay relaxes, some of the tension draining out of his body before he slurs, "More, need more, c'mon."
There's no way Ronon can contain the smile that twitches up the corners of his lips, because there's what he's been waiting for. It wouldn't be McKay unless there was bossing going on. He works his finger in and out, and McKay gasps, one leg jerking up, his voice tight, "Oh, more."
McKay is already a little loose, Ronon squeezes more sunscreen on his fingers anyway before attempting to slide a second finger into his body. Ronon has thick fingers, and McKay groans, squirming around the intrusion before shoving himself back into it. His cock twitches, and Ronon can't help but grin, curls his fingers and slide them a little faster in and out just to watch McKay respond.
"More," it's an order, and Ronon hesitates. McKay is tight around him, loosening up sweet and slow, and he wants to drag this out for hours, open McKay up and take him. But McKay is stiffening up again, his body drawing up, more like pain than pleasure from whatever he was drugged with, and so Ronon makes an effort to speed things up. McKay is chanting, "More, more, more," ragged and implacable, by the time Ronon finally works a third finger into him.
There's no pause between that and McKay demanding, "Now fuck me."
Ronon has to grab himself, surprised by how hard the words hit. He curls over, hearing McKay laugh at him and not even caring. His leather pants have gotten far too tight at some point, and his fingers stumble over the laces when he tries to get them open. He manages, it just takes longer than it possibly should.
McKay is still grinding down on Ronon's fingers when Ronon finally manages to get his pants off his hips. Ronon hesitates, then slides his fingers free, ignoring McKay's protest and falling sideways to squirm out of his pants. Peeling his shirt off is an afterthought while he pulls himself upright again, finding himself staring into McKay's eyes.
There's nothing but heat in McKay's eyes, and Ronon knows that he's reflecting all of it back. He'd worry about that, how much of himself he's showing, but McKay is wrapping his legs around Ronon's waist, pulling at him with surprising strength. Ronon doesn't resist.
Ronon fits a hand around one of McKay's narrow hips, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin, snugging up into position, letting his cock rest in the dip of McKay's ass, holding his breath for just a moment. He considers pinching himself, but if this is a dream he doesn't want to wake up. McKay grinds out, "Fuck. Me. Now."
The sunscreen is lying off to the side and Ronon grabs it, slathers it everywhere and finally lets McKay pull him right into where he wants him.
McKay is still tight, and Ronon grunts, has to brace his hands on the bed, forcing himself to go slow. McKay's breath is hitching, he's making soft little sounds, hips still shifting, always restless, even with Ronon sinking into him. And then the head slips inside, and McKay says his name like a prayer, heels digging into Ronon's back hard and pushes himself down onto Ronon's cock.
Ronon curses, blasphemy escaping his lips, his hips flush with McKay's ass, McKay tight and hot around him. McKay's legs are snug around his chest, and Ronon has to lean forward, has to kiss him, hard and desperate. McKay arches up off the pillow, kissing back every bit as hungrily, making a happy, content sound when Ronon pulls away to catch his breath after a long moment.
Ronon has to move, his body going crazy with the need, and he starts to shift back. McKay makes a sharp sound, legs tightening hard around Ronon, and Ronon freezes, his heart hammering, his whole body strung tight with need. Ronon manages to growl out, "Need to fuck you now."
McKay shakes his head. He's smiling, smug and content, his eyes closed. When he speaks his voice is almost wistful, soft and distracted, "Stay, stay like this. Feels good."
Ronon snorts, because he'd love to give McKay whatever he asks for, but he's not sure that there's a man alive strong enough to just stay still while in this position. But McKay looks so happy, blissed out, that Ronon finds himself frozen in place. He wonders how long he can manage it.
Distracting himself is the only conceivable way he's going to manage for more than a few seconds. Ronon firms up his resolve, leans down and kisses the corner of McKay's crooked smile, the tip of his pointed nose, the soft skin of his eyelids, his temple, down the side of his face. McKay is humming, happiness almost radiating off of him by the time Ronon reaches his throat, which he obliging stretches out.
McKay's skin is smooth, and Ronon slides his lips down the column of his neck. He can feel the other man's pulse pounding, bites at the soft skin, and then soothes it with his tongue. McKay squirms beneath him, sliding himself just enough for it to be noticeable up and down Ronon's cock, and Ronon's breath escapes in a surprised stutter. He sucks harder on McKay's neck in the hope that it'll get the other man to do that again.
Ronon grunts, tightening up all the muscles in his back to keep himself still while McKay shifts beneath him. Ronon bites and McKay jerks, he sucks and McKay stretches, he blows across the purpled skin and McKay whimpers and shimmies his hips.
Ronon grabs McKay's hips, holding them still and tight against his own, burying his face against McKay's shoulder and trying to get something like control over himself. He can feel McKay's curls, sweaty from exertion and the heat of the air around them, pressed against the side of his face and for some reason that's what gets him. He can hear himself grinding out, "Need to move, McKay."
And McKay laughing, throwing his head back and squeezing Ronon impossibly, completely negates Ronon needing to move. He comes so hard that he thinks he might black out, McKay's laughter cutting off to a startled, "Oh," when Ronon bites at his shoulder. McKay's cock is still hard between their stomachs, and Ronon reaches down with a clumsy hand, gets his fingers around it and pulls all of twice before McKay is coming again, all over his fingers.
Ronon lets himself collapse forward, feeling wrung out and so good that it's almost scary. McKay whimpers when Ronon slides out of him, but doesn't complain. He doesn't seem to be tightening up again, lying loose limbed and fucked out across the sheets. Ronon reaches up to untie him, grunts out, "So what was funny?"
McKay shrugs, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to fall asleep but dragging himself sideways and sprawling halfway across Ronon's chest anyway. McKay's hair is soft against his shoulder, and Ronon can't stop himself from bringing his hand up and tangling his fingers in the curls. McKay hums, winding an arm over Ronon's chest and finally saying, voice slow and sleepy, "Just thought that you should probably call me Rodney now."
And looking down at them, tangled together, the room smelling like sex, Ronon figures that he's right. He snorts, tipping his head to the side and nuzzling into Rodney's curls. He says, "I can do that," and falls asleep.
Six hours later, when Sheppard bursts in to tell them it's time to head back to the 'gate, Ronon realizes that he really should have pulled the blankets up.
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