May. 11th, 2008 08:39 am
Characters: Ronon/Rodney, John, Teyla
Warnings: Slash, smut, language
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Rodney and Ronon have a lot of sex. John keeps walking in on them and telling Teyla about it. Wacky hijinks
and by that I mean more sex ensue.
Author's Note: Remember my de-ageified!Rodney/Ronon smut?
Please ignore the pun, I was feeling silly that day Anyway. I wrote more. Though really, all you need to know is that Rodney is running around in a nineteen year old body. And there's sex. Because that's what Sunday mornings are for.
"—and they were naked."
John is breathing hard, his hands on his hips, pacing back and forth in front of Teyla's door. Teyla blinks up at him, looks up and down the hall at the scientists and soldiers who stopped what they were doing to boggle at their commanding officer having what Teyla thought they referred to as a 'meltdown', and says carefully, "Perhaps you would like to come into my quarters, John?"
John sighs, stopping and rubbing one hand up over his face. He seems disproportionately aggravated by the last mission. He had, in fact, spent the last five minutes telling her—and everyone else in the corridor—in great detail how he had found Ronon and Doctor McKay. "John?"
"No, I think I'm going to go find Zelenka. See if he got any work done on that memory scrubber." John walks away without a look back, shaking his head from side to side and mumbling to himself. Teyla watches him go, bemused by his reaction and catches Chuck's eye. He shrugs, and she waves before stepping back into her quarters.
Teyla had been planning to go spar, but the thought of Ronon and Rodney naked and tangled together, the image of Ronon sleeping with one of his big hands on Rodney's ass, convinces her to put it off for a while. She needs a shower anyway.
Ronon feels obligated to stick around the infirmary while Jennifer draws vials of Rodney's blood and hooks him up to a few machines. After all, it's his fault that Rodney ingested the drug. Rodney looks small and irritated sitting on the infirmary bed and Ronon leans his hip against the edge of the bed, watching Jennifer slide the sleeve onto Rodney's arm to take his blood pressure.
She freezes when it pushes Rodney's shirt up, the bruises around his wrist stark red and purple on his pale skin. Ronon watches her reach out, watches her trail one thin finger over the livid purple band and isn't sure if he's feeling jealousy, guilt, or want. He shakes himself when Jennifer says, "Doctor McKay?"
Rodney shifts on the bed, waving a hand and saying, "It's nothing."
Jennifer looks over her shoulder before leveling a pointed glare at Ronon and then sliding up onto the bed beside Rodney, putting a hand on his back. She keys her voice low, but Ronon hears her well enough anyway, "Rodney, if something happened—"
The sound that Rodney makes is pure disgust and he's hopping off the bed, yanking the blood pressure monitor off of his arm and scowling. He leaves his sleeve pushed up, and Ronon watches the band of his bruises when he gestures, fascinated by the contrast against his fair skin. Rodney is saying, "Look, I have work to do and I don't have time to satisfy your desire to poke holes in me right now. I promise to come back if I start having some kind of freakishly delayed reaction to being drugged twelve hours ago."
Jennifer says, "Rodney—" but he's already moving towards the door, throwing one hand up and stepping out into the corridor. Jennifer sighs, crossing her arms and frowning when she looks up at Ronon expectantly. She says, "Well?"
Ronon is pretty sure that explaining how he tied Rodney up and then fucked him really won't go over well. And he really doesn't want to have to think about how much he'd liked it, either. Rodney had seemed to enjoy it, and had stayed in his bed through the night, but that could have been just a side-effect of the drug. Ronon shrugs, deciding that facing Rodney is preferable to facing Jennifer.
Rodney is already to the transporters by the time Ronon catches up to him. The doors are closing, and Ronon squeezes in, bracing himself against the wall as the door shuts. Rodney looks up at him, expression expectant, tapping one foot, arms crossed again. Rodney says, "Yes, what?"
There's a slight jerk as the transporter moves, the momentary feeling of weightlessness that accompanies transport through the city, and then the doors are opening again. Rodney doesn't wait for Ronon to figure out what he wants to say, just steps out of the transporter, and Ronon grits his teeth and follows the other man. He's vaguely aware that they're in the crew quarters instead of the labs, extending his stride to bring himself alongside Rodney and settling into step beside him.
Words still haven't come to him by the time Rodney reaches his door, waving his hand and stepping over the threshold. Rodney hesitates inside his door, one hand on the doorframe, looking up at Ronon through his curls. Rodney sighs, "Okay, is this going to be a problem? Because we really can't—"
"I'm sorry." The words are out before Ronon even realizes he means to say them. Rodney goes silent, his mouth open around whatever words he'd planned, the skin along his jaw still reddened from Ronon's beard rubbing against it. Ronon reaches out, rubs his thumb over the line of Rodney's cheek, watching the way the other man's eyes flutter. Rodney's mouth closes with a click, and Ronon continues, "I didn't mean to take advantage."
Rodney is scanning his expression, and then he smirks, and something in his bearing just changes. Ronon is suddenly painfully aware of the soft skin under his fingers, the way Rodney's long fingers are wrapped around the doorframe, the tilt of Rodney's hips.
Rodney's voice is sharp and full of promise, "You could probably make it up to me with a blow job."
Ronon sucks in a breath, feeling like someone punched him in the gut. Want burns through his veins and he watches Rodney's smirk become something even filthier than it already was. Rodney tilts his head down just a little, looking up through his eyelashes.
Stepping forward is something that Ronon can't really control. Rodney doesn't give ground, not when Ronon steps right up to him, tipping his head down and to the side so that his nose is pressing against Rodney's curls. Ronon lets his eyes close, taking a deep breath, rumbling, "Fuck."
Rodney leans into him, rocking up onto his toes, his lips ghosting across Ronon's jaw before he breathes into Ronon's ear, "That's the idea." When Rodney steps back the loss is physically jarring. Ronon watches him walk backwards into his room, watches Rodney pull his shirt off, watches Rodney back himself all the way to the far wall, and then lean his shoulders against it, tilting his hips forward in open invitation. Rodney tilts his chin up, sliding his thumbs into the waistband of his BDUs, saying, "I'm waiting."
Ronon doesn't remember crossing the room but he's there, a hand braced by each of Rodney's shoulders, bracketing him in. Rodney just stares up at him, nothing but a challenge in his eyes, one corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. Rodney licks his bottom lip, says, "This works better with you on your knees."
Lack of self control is something that Ronon thought had been beaten out of him long ago, but apparently he'd been wrong. Rodney's mouth is perfect under his, opening to him, and Rodney makes a needy sound that Ronon swallows. He pulls back only when he's out of breath, leaving Rodney breathing hard and staring at him with dazed eyes.
Ronon holds eye contact when he sinks to his knees, watches Rodney's pupils flare huge. There's a trail of dark hair below Rodney's belly button, and Ronon smoothes his thumb down it, until his fingers run into the waistband of Rodney's BDUs. Rodney's stomach jumps under his touch, jerking just a little when Ronon pops the button open and pulls the zipper down.
Rodney breathes, "You're fucking amazing," voice low and reverent. Ronon smirks back, curling his fingers over the top of Rodney's waistband and pulling his pants and boxers down. Rodney is hard, cock dark and full and Ronon leaves Rodney's pants tangled around his knees to brace his hands on Rodney's hips, pressing him into the wall.
"Fuck, come on," Rodney has just a hint of a whine in his voice, shifting his hips under Ronon's hands. When Rodney wraps his hands around Ronon's wrists, sliding his palms up Ronon's arms, his long fingers tracing patterns on Ronon's skin, Ronon loses what control he had left.
Ronon hasn't had very much sex the last ten years, hasn't had any not counting fucking Rodney last night. He's wanted Rodney for three of those years, and really, it's more than any man can be expected to bear. He licks over the head of Rodney's cock, just to hear the sound it coaxes out of Rodney's throat, and then loses his patience for teasing.
Rodney's hard, thick between his lips, heavy on his tongue. Ronon's eyes slide closed as he concentrates, tracing his tongue over the ridges and curves of the head of Rodney's cock, down the slit. Rodney makes a hoarse sound, his fingers digging into Ronon's arms, his skin trembling beneath Ronon's hands.
Ronon is uncomfortable in his suddenly too tight pants. He'd like to be able to reach down and jack himself off while sucking Rodney, but Rodney is showing no signs of letting go of his arms. He keeps his fingers curled around Rodney's hips, experimentally bobs his head and Rodney gasps out something that might be his name.
Sex has never been a particularly vocal experience for Ronon before, but Rodney runs his mouth every bit as much while having his cock sucked as he does any other time. Rodney is kneading at his arms, fingernails dragging across Ronon's skin, his voice rising and falling with each slide of Ronon's lips over his cock. Rodney babbles, breathy and strung out, "Not gonna last."
It's more warning than Ronon got last time they did this and he flattens his tongue on the underside of Rodney's cock, sucking hard. That's all it takes. Rodney shouts his name, comes in his mouth and this time Ronon swallows. That gets a broken, tangled, whimper out of Rodney, even as he lets his weight slump against Ronon's bracing hands.
Ronon pulls off Rodney's cock with a pop that sounds dirty even to him, tilting his head back to look up into Rodney's face. Rodney's eyes are closed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed red, the color creeping down his neck and across his shoulders. Ronon grunts, his hips jerking, and Rodney's eyes flutter open.
Rodney clears his throat and Ronon startles at the sound of the door swishing open. Before he can move there's, "Hey, McKay, I h—oh my God!" There's a muffled thud and Ronon hears the door slide closed. Rodney starts laughing, giggles that have Ronon smiling up at him.
When Rodney's laughter fades Ronon says, "That was Sheppard, wasn't it?" Rodney snorts, lips still curled up with amusement, and bobs his head agreeably. Considering the way Sheppard had reacted to finding them naked and tangled together a few hours ago Ronon isn't sure that this is a good thing. Sheppard had seemed more surprised than upset, but Ronon has seen unit cohesion go all to shit over less than this before. He frowns, "I should probably—"
"Lie back and let me blow you."
The words have Ronon's brain blanking out, staring up at Rodney's mouth, red and wet and crooked. Ronon drops his hands off Rodney's hips, shifting backwards and down, bracing himself on his elbows. Rodney smirks, kicks his pants off before sinking to his knees and then leaning forward, his hands on either side of Ronon's hips when he says, "Just a warning? I'm really good at this."
He really, really is.
Teyla is just taking a drink from her water bottle, allowing her breathing to slow and even out from the sparring session with Major Lorne, when John stumbles his way into the room. He appears harried, looking over his shoulder when he steps into the room and Teyla reaches for her sticks, concerned.
When John sits down heavily on the stack of pads she relaxes, figuring that there is no immediate danger. Before she can ask what's wrong John is leaning over, resting his head in his hands and blurting out, "They did it again."
Teyla exchanges a look with Lorne over John's head and the Major nods, backing out of the room with a smile. He is a good sparring partner, has excellent stamina and reflexes that she finds impressive. It doesn't hurt that she can often convince him to go shirtless, as is the Athosian custom.
Sighing, only a little regretfully, Teyla turns her attention to John, "Who is doing what, John?"
John waves a hand, sounding miserable, "Rodney and Ronon." Teyla freezes, waiting for John to continue, "I went by to tell Rodney that the mess was serving lasagna and they were...doing things." He sounds wretched, a whine just twisting up the end of his words.
Teyla clears her throat. Casually. "What type of things?"
There's a moment, where John stares up at her with a suspicious look, that Teyla thinks he will refuse to elaborate. But then he sighs and starts talking. By the time he's done Teyla has to excuse herself, ignoring John's concern about her sudden flush.
"You've been avoiding me."
Ronon doesn't startle, even though Rodney is fairly certain he just did an excellent job sneaking up on the other man. Rodney had slid into the sparring room as one of the Marines was limping out, watched Ronon roll his shoulders and take a long drink of his water. He'd been sure he wasn't noticed.
Ronon turns to look at him slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ronon's skin is sweat slick, his dreads tied back behind his neck, his clothes clinging to him. It's hard to think with him looking like that, when all Rodney's body wants to do is go rub against him, but Rodney isn't actually nineteen years old, and he resists. He scowls, "Well?"
A shrug isn't exactly the response he'd been hoping for and he rolls his eyes, straightening from where he'd been leaning against the wall. Ronon drags his eyes up and down Rodney's body before looking away sharply, and Rodney rolls his eyes, "Fine. Be that way."
When Rodney slides his work jacket off his arms, walking over to the wall to grab a set of sticks off the rack, Ronon finally speaks, "What are you doing?"
Rodney flashes him an incredulous look, "This is my training time. You know that, because you made the schedule. Something about needing to rebuild lost muscle mass? I've suspected it's just an excuse to beat me within an inch of my life, of course. If that's what it's been then I'll be more than happy to leave, I have actual work I could be doing."
In truth the work-outs aren't that bad, as much as Rodney hates to admit it. And he needs them. At nineteen he'd spent what time he wasn't burning through college courses working his ass off to pay for them, and there hadn't been a lot of room for anything else in his life. He'd been rail thin, and since Todd had decided to screw up his whole life by throwing him back into that body he'd actually lost weight before finally starting to put some on.
Ronon makes a sharp sound, "You need the training." He doesn't sound happy about it, but Rodney doesn't particularly care. It's been almost a week since Rodney last saw him, and his initial irritation has given way to frustration lined with a sharp edge of anger.
Rodney grabs the sticks, stomping over to his usual starting position and beginning the stretches that he, reluctantly, has to admit actually make him feel better. This body might be embarrassingly skinny, but it is flexible, and he goes through the stretches while pretending that Ronon doesn't exist.
When he rocks to his feet Ronon is staring at him out of the corner of his eye, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing fast and shallow. Rodney frowns at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waiting. He's not a hormonal teenager, no matter what his body would have him believe, and he is perfectly capable of behaving like a professional. "Well?"
Ronon frowns, shaking his head and falling into a offensive position, his sticks up and ready. Rodney settles into a defensive crouch. Ronon circles him slowly, all long lean grace that it's frustratingly hard to ignore. There's something beautiful about him, watching him move, and Rodney stifles another burst of frustration building in his chest.
He doesn't have time to be bitter when Ronon lunges for him. Their sticks hit in a one-two-three of noise, the impacts jarring up Rodney's arms, into his shoulders and down his back. He knows, logically, that Ronon isn't hitting as hard as he can, but it's still hard to keep his grip on the sticks.
Ronon presses the attack for a long moment before easing back, leaving Rodney breathing hard, his heart pounding in his ribcage. Rodney's hands tingle from the vibration up the sticks and he shakes his arms out, jerking his head to flip his hair out of his face. He really needs to cut it, the curls just get in the way and he knows he looks older with it shorter.
Ronon flips his sticks, circling again, stalking across the floor like a big cat. Rodney swallows deep breaths, rolling his shoulders and keeping his eyes on Ronon. When Ronon lunges for him again he ducks under the first swing, blocking the second, third, fourth, fifth and jerking to the side to avoid the sixth. The stick swings by so close to his cheek that his eyes cross trying to see it and Rodney overbalances, ends up sprawled on his ass for a half-second before he's rolling to his feet again.
"You're fast," Ronon sounds gruff and pleased, not even breathing hard and Rodney glares at him, resisting the urge to rub at his sore ass. It's rare to get anything remotely like a compliment from Ronon while practicing, but Rodney can't bring himself to appreciate it. He glowers until Ronon starts circling him again.
Rodney falls into the rhythm of it without intending to, letting his body work while his mind starts to drift. There's so much work he needs to do, repairs to the three of the Jumpers, work on the ZedPM interface, the constant tiny problems that spawn one after another. He's thinking about how best to clear the rubble from the recently flooded labs in the southern pier, aware of the sweat sliding down his spine and his own rough breathing, but only distantly.
Ronon is all grace and violence, devastatingly distracting just by moving. And when Rodney gets to a hang up in his plans for shielding against attack by drones, he misses an easy block. Ronon's stick catches him hard across his left hip and Rodney curses, hopping in place.
His skin stings, and he drops his sticks, ignoring the chiding sound Ronon makes to pull up the hem of his shirt. The skin over his hip is already turning angry red, the center of the bruise promising to purple up nicely in the next few minutes. Rodney pokes at it, hissing at the throb of pain, and then looks up to glare at Ronon, biting out, "Oh, wonderful, thanks a lot."
Ronon is staring at the strip of skin below Rodney's shirt, his expression tight and focused. It doesn't make any sense with all the avoidance that's been going on and Rodney frowns, dragging his thumb over the bruise and watching Ronon's eyes track the movement. He drops his shirt back down and Ronon jerks his head to the side, exhaling heavily.
That's interesting, and Rodney turns the reaction over in his head as he bends to retrieve his sticks. He favors his left leg, just to watch the way Ronon winces, and says, "Are you done breaking me yet, or shall we continue?"
Ronon frowns, rumbling, "Still got ten minutes."
Rodney rolls his eyes, bringing his sticks up, waiting for Ronon to make his move. He doesn't have to wait long, Ronon moving towards him, fast and vicious as the thrust of a knife. Rodney blocks the first half dozen blows, sweat running down into his eyes and burning like fire. His muscles ache and his hip hurts like a son of a bitch and when he ducks under a blow it's natural to let himself crouch, to put all the frustration and anger into kicking Ronon hard behind the knees.
Ronon grunts and stumbles forward a step and Rodney drops his sticks, reaching up to grab handfuls of Ronon's shirt and throwing all his weight backwards, kicking at Ronon's heel. They go down in a mess of limbs, Rodney's back hitting the floor hard, Ronon catching himself right before he crushes Rodney.
This stopped seeming like a good idea right about the time he decided to do it, but it's too late now. Rodney tries to catch his breath, staring up into Ronon's face, reveling in the warmth of the other man stretched out over him. Ronon bares his teeth in a wild smile, growling out, "You are fast."
Maybe he is, because Ronon looks surprised when Rodney reaches up, wrapping an arm around Ronon's neck and crushing their mouths together. Ronon makes a ragged sound, teeth catching at Rodney's bottom lip, and then he's grabbing Rodney's arms, pinning them to the ground and breaking the kiss. Ronon's eyes are wild and Rodney arches up against him, trying to take his mouth again.
Ronon squeezes his wrists, tight with warning, gritting out, "Don't."
Anyone that knows Rodney at all knows that he's no good at following orders. Especially if they're stupid orders. He braces a foot flat on the ground, pushing back against his shoulders, wrapping his other leg around Ronon's waist. Ronon tries to pull himself back but by then Rodney already has both legs around him, heels crossed over his ass, pulling his body snug up against Ronon's.
Ronon is hard, cock pressing against the curve of Rodney's hip, his breath escaping in a surprised stutter. Rodney rocks his hips, his spine aching from the curve he's asking from it, his own voice is embarrassingly breathy, "Why not?"
There's something wild in Ronon's eyes when he leans down, his lips brushing Rodney's when he growls, "Because I want more than this." Ronon shakes Rodney by the wrists before his expression turns pained and he relaxes his grip.
It takes Rodney a half-second to process the words. His initial—brief—impulse is shock and disbelief at Ronon, loner, badass, sex-on-legs Ronon, actually wanting a relationship when he could just have a fuck buddy. But his brain is already moving past that, pieces falling into place and the solution to the problem resolving itself behind his eyes with the click of a key sliding into the lock it was made for.
Rodney says, "Okay."
The wheels turning in Ronon's head are almost audible as he stares down into Rodney's eyes. He looks like he's not sure whether to be hopeful or not, and Rodney shrugs as best he can, continuing, "I've been told I'm high maintenance but personally I just don't think they were trying very hard. Also, I—"
Before Rodney can detail what he's going to be expecting out of 'more than this' Ronon is kissing him, hard and desperate. Rodney shifts his focus, still making a list of points they need to go over later as he pulls Ronon's bottom lip between his teeth, dragging his tongue along the soft flesh. Ronon growls, his arms jerking forward, pulling Rodney's arms above his head and holding them there. Rodney rolls his hips again, arching his spine to rub as much of his body as he can against Ronon's and for a second they freeze like that, holding, straining, fighting against each other.
And then Ronon is a flurry of motion, fitting one of his huge hands around both of Rodney's wrists and squeezing, kissing Rodney hard and hungry. Rodney kisses back, shivering at the drag of Ronon's fingertips down his arm, sliding around to his back and tracing down his spine. Ronon palms Rodney's ass, grunting against Rodney's mouth.
Rodney echoes the sound, hitching his hips against Ronon's, arching his back enough to rub his cock against Ronon's stomach. There's going to be bruises all along the line of his shoulders but that doesn't matter, not with Ronon's lips slipping off his, pressing brief, hungry kisses across his cheek and the edge of his jaw.
When Ronon's mouth finds his neck, teeth sharp and smooth over Rodney's pulse point it has Rodney jerking hard. Ronon is working his hand down the back of Rodney's pants, biting and sucking at Rodney's neck, hips rubbing constantly against Rodney's body. Ronon nips hard, again, at Rodney's neck and Rodney gasps, "Jesus, Ronon."
Ronon pulls away from his skin, and Rodney whimpers at the loss. Ronon's voice is gravel rough, his hips still grinding restlessly against Rodney, "Say it again." He sounds completely desperate, his lips dragging across Rodney's skin, his fingers gripping at Rodney's ass.
Rodney whispers it, Ronon's name falling off his lips, and Ronon grunts brokenly, hips jerking and twitching. He's sucking on Rodney's neck again, biting almost too hard, enough to be painful in the best way. That, with the delicious friction of Rodney's cock rubbing against Ronon's hard, flat stomach, even through layers of clothes, is setting white hot sparks off behind Rodney's eyes.
Now that he's allowed Ronon's name past his lips he can't seem to stop it. His voice sounds foreign, unfamiliar, Ronon's name tumbling out of him, over and over and over as he shifts his hips, straining between his wrists and legs and Ronon stretched out over him, hot and hard and all encompassing.
Ronon grunts, sliding his hand further down Rodney's pants, big fingers spreading him open and pushing the tip of one blunt fingertip into him. That's it, Rodney comes with a shout, his legs squeezing Ronon's waist hard. Ronon makes a wild sound, and then his mouth is on Rodney's, tongue sliding into Rodney's mouth, pushing Rodney down to the floor and thrusting against him wildly. Somewhere, far away and unimportant, something crashes to the floor but Rodney doesn't care.
Ronon releases Rodney's wrists, sliding his hand around Rodney's neck, cradling the back of his head when he comes.
The weight of Ronon slumped against him is surprisingly reassuring, warm and solid over him, Ronon breathing against his mouth. Rodney kisses him, slow and lazy, bringing his hands up, brushing his thumbs over Ronon's high cheeks, tracing the lines of his face, trying to memorize this moment. It's worth it for the feeling of Ronon smiling against his lips.
Rodney doesn't even really mind the hickey.
Teyla is just starting on her chocolate pudding—one of the better things she has found from Earth—when John slumps down in the seat across from her. He folds his arms on the table and flops his head down onto them, making a low, miserable sound. Teyla swallows her pudding, licking at the corner of her mouth, and waits.
John sounds miserable, "Why does this keep happening to me?"
Ronon isn't sure what to call what he and Rodney are doing. On Sateda they'd be considered next to married, but sometimes he isn't sure how it corresponds to Earth relationships. They fuck, and Rodney doesn't seem to mind that Ronon marks him, sucking bruises into his skin. They eat together and Rodney mostly sleeps in Ronon's room.
There are still times when Ronon isn't sure how far he can push, how much Rodney will take from him.
Two months in and Ronon is testing the limits of this new thing between them one more time. The city is quiet now, dark and still after the latest attack, a computer virus that had hid in the city itself for two years before finally activating, and killing a dozen people over four days before Rodney and Zelenka managed to stop it.
Rodney hasn't slept at all since three of his scientists were trapped in a room leaking air like a sieve, and Ronon knows it. He's been keeping Rodney supplied in food and coffee, watching him wear down, his body slowly giving way to exhaustion.
The city is quiet, the bodies of the lost still in the morgue, and Ronon walks the halls, heading for the labs. The lights are still bright there, computers humming in the background, and the tap-tap-tap of Rodney's fingers on the keyboard echoing through the room. No one else is in the room, no one else is still working, but Rodney is slumped in his chair, eyes darting back and forth across the screen.
Rodney jumps when Ronon braces his hands on his shoulders. Rodney shouts and reaches for the gun at his hip before Ronon catches his arm. When Rodney tilts his head up his eyes are big and confused, red and unfocused, his cheek smeared with grease and blood. Ronon says, "Hey."
Rodney's eyes flutter, his body going limp in the chair, his head tilting back to rest against Ronon's stomach. He reaches a hand up, his fingers fumbling clumsily across Ronon's arm, his voice cracking, "I've got the systems scrubbed. Most of the systems scrubbed. I think. So much of the code repeats," he waves a hand, his eyes going distant, voice dropping to a whisper, "So many redundancies. Over and over. I read it all over and over."
"When'd you sleep last?" Rodney shrugs, waving his hand some more, before rubbing his hand over his face. It's a rhetorical question anyway. Ronon knows exactly when Rodney slept last, curled up in the circle of his arms, snoring softly, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, his expression soft and relaxed. "C'mon, bed."
Rodney shakes his head, pulling away from Ronon and slumping forward, reaching for the keyboard. Ronon grabs the arms of the chair, spinning it around and Rodney glares up at him with anger that doesn't quite mange to be focused. Rodney is barely managing belligerence, "I have work I need to do." The huge yawn that follows the words sort of diminishes their impact and Ronon smiles, reaching out to cup Rodney's cheek, smiling stretching a little wider when Rodney's eyes slide half closed and he leans into the touch.
Arguing with Rodney is always an exercise in futility, so Ronon doesn't even bother. He just crouches, settling between Rodney's thighs and sliding his hands down Rodney's chest to rest on his thighs. Rodney doesn't even twitch, just blinks down at him, looking soft and exhausted, bruises dark beneath his blood shot eyes.
Ronon doesn't ask for permission to take care of him, to make him feel good, because Rodney wouldn't give it. He just slides a hand, cups Rodney and squeezes, and Rodney makes a soft sound, his legs falling open when his head tilts back. Rodney hardens under his touch, his body responding even though he's exhausted.
Ronon leans his head to the side, rests his cheek on Rodney's thigh and rubs his fingers up and down the line of Rodney's zipper. Rodney sighs, petting a hand over Ronon's hair, tugging on his dreads, his touch soft and jerky, fumbling just a little with exhaustion. Ronon leans forward, mouths at Rodney's erection through his pants and Rodney breathes, "Oh."
Ronon hums, flicking Rodney's button open, tugging his zipper down and drawing his erection out. Rodney is slouching down in the chair, and Ronon doesn't want to disturb him enough to pull his pants down. It's simpler to just lick across the head, slow and easy, listening to the soft sound that Rodney makes.
Somehow, this became less about bringing Rodney down and more about reassuring himself that everything was alright. There had been too many times the last few days where Ronon had been sure that he'd been about to lose Rodney. Too many close calls where Rodney had pulled off a miracle at the last second, cheating death the way other people cheated at cards, like he was only risking money.
Ronon wraps his lips around the head of Rodney's cock, keeping the pressure light, gentle. He slides a hand up, gets his fingers under Rodney's shirt. His stomach jumps under Ronon's touch, and Ronon pushes his hand up, gets his hand over Rodney's heart and holds it there.
Rodney's heartbeat is racing, always so fucking fast, skipping beats, never settling into an even rhythm. Ronon has to look up at him, Rodney with his head thrown back, the smear of dirt down his neck. He licks and sucks, takes Rodney apart while reading his heartbeat. He hears the beep that means the door to the lab has opened, but ignores it, and a half second later there's the beep of it closing. Ronon keeps his eyes on Rodney, bobbing his head, holding onto him.
When Rodney comes, shaking and gasping, Ronon swallows, tucking him back in, and sliding to his feet. Rodney's eyes are closed, his neck leaning back at what has to be an uncomfortable angle. Ronon smiles, pushing Rodney's hair out of his face and bending, sliding an arm under his shoulders and knees.
Rodney is light, even with the muscle mass he's been putting on recently. His head falls against Ronon's shoulder, one arm hanging limp, snuffling softly. Ronon smiles down at him, and takes him to bed.
Teyla wakes up from a wonderful dream of sweet fruits bursting on her tongue and warm sunlight kissing against her shoulder to her door chime going off. She wakes quickly, sliding from bed and grabbing her robe from the back of her chair as she crosses to the door.
John is leaning against her doorframe, says miserably, "They're at it again."
Rodney is cursing the world in general when Ronon pulls him the rest of the way out of the freezing lake. He's shivering so hard that the chatter of his teeth is a constant sound, so cold that it burns, and the wind whipping across the canyon does not help at all. He wants to hunch into a ball until the world becomes someplace warm again, but Ronon is pushing his hair out his face, looking the closest to worried that Ronon ever gets. Rodney makes himself uncurl, batting at Ronon's hands and gritting out, "I'm f-f-fine." Fucking shivering.
Sheppard and Teyla are running up now, Sheppard shouting, "Jesus, is he okay?" They'd had the common sense to run around the cliff that Ronon had slid down after Rodney had fallen down when the ground under his feet had disappeared.
Ronon is holding onto him, big hands wrapped around Rodney's upper arms, pulling him further away from the lake while Rodney coughs out, "I said I was fine." He is, as long as the fact that he's soaked to the bone with sub-zero water is ignored. Rodney casts the lake a dirty look, his mind shying away from the memory of his body breaking its glass-smooth surface and sinking like a rock before he'd made himself swim hard for the surface and then the shore.
"I'm taking him back to the Jumper." Ronon sounds pissed off, but that might just be worry. He's pulling on Rodney, shifting his grip on Rodney's arm.
Rodney scowls, yanking against Ronon's hold and snapping, "Excuse me? He is right here, and he can make his own decisions, thanks." But Ronon doesn't loosen his grip, and is staring hard at Sheppard with a tight set to his mouth.
The moment stretches, and then Sheppard is nodding, relaxing his grip on his P-90 and God knew what he had thought he was going to do with the gun, anyway. Rodney doesn't think that shooting the lake would have been particularly helpful. Sheppard grins when Ronon resumes pulling Rodney along, calling, "I'll give Diuma your regards, McKay."
Rodney twists his head over his shoulder to glare at his other two teammates, opening his mouth to point out that they better bring him some of her delicious pastries back when he shivers so hard he nearly loses his footing. Ronon steadies him with a gruff curse, and there's a warm arm around his shoulders and Rodney gives up and lets himself lean into the other man's solid strength.
Rodney is still shivering hard by the time they make it back to the Jumper, starts to sink miserably down onto the bench and Ronon catches his elbow, pulling him back up. Rodney glares at him balefully, aware that some of the intimidation in the gesture is ruined by the fact that he probably looks about as threatening as a drowned rat. He tries to make his voice more acidic to make up for it, "What?"
"Got to get your wet clothes off."
Taking his clothes off is pretty much the last thing that Rodney wants to do, but he's suddenly painfully aware of all the nasty things hypothermia will do to him. He curses, but reaches for the clasps of his vest, his fingers numb and clumsy and Ronon is there, pushing Rodney's hands out of the way and replacing them with his own.
Rodney, shivering and exhausted, watches Ronon's big fingers unbuckle his vest. The vest was heavy, soaked with all the water and it slides off his shoulders like the weight of the world. Rodney sighs, hating to admit that he feels better already and Ronon is unzipping his jacket, pushing the heavy leather off Rodney's arms.
The jacket makes a sad, wet sound when it falls to the floor and Rodney blinks down at it. He wonders if it's ruined and then Ronon is grunting out, "Arms up." Rodney, still trying to figure out why he's suddenly so tired, raises his arms and Ronon peels his sodden t-shirt off, dropping it likewise onto the floor.
Rodney shivers hard, wrapping his arms around his chest and staring forlornly down at his boots. His toes are swimming in water trapped inside the boots and the laces look like a nightmare. He wonders if this is naked enough for Ronon.
"Sit." Ronon is apparently feeling particularly curt today, but Rodney is too tired to argue. He sits, curling his shoulders over, barely aware of Ronon pulling his boots off. The removal of his socks get his attention and Rodney snickers, curling his numb toes up and trying to remember why he thought that was particularly funny. "C'mon, up."
Rodney tilts his head to the side just enough to glare at Ronon, but the other man just stares back patiently. Rodney scowls, "Make up your mind," but pushes himself to his feet anyway, reaching a hand back to brace himself against the hull of the Jumper.
Ronon is pulling Rodney's BDUs down immediately and Rodney steps out of them, wondering if he can sit down and curl up in a ball now. Before he can Ronon is rocking back to his own feet, shrugging out of his heavy coat and shoving it at Rodney.
The leather is heavy, the furs sewn inside smell like sweat and gun powder. Rodney just holds it for a moment before realizing that it is also warm. It has been soaking in Ronon's body heat all day, and Rodney knows from experience that the other man is a fucking furnace. After that, Rodney can't really get himself swaddled in the huge coat fast enough.
The coat completely swallows him, and Rodney wraps himself in it as tightly as he can. He hunches his shoulders up and sits down heavily on the bench so that he can draw his legs up, get his frozen feet under the coat as well. Rodney closes his eyes, and luxuriates in not being completely frozen.
When Ronon runs his fingers back through Rodney's hair, Rodney opens his eyes and looks up. Ronon is staring down at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The big man jerks his hand back when Rodney looks at him, clearing his throat and taking a big step back, eyes darting around the inside of the Jumper.
Rodney straightens with a start, because he's been fucking Ronon long enough now to recognize it when the other man really, really likes something. Rodney slides his feet back down to the floor, shoving his heavy curls out of his face and watching Ronon. He asks, "Is it the coat?"
Ronon turns to look at him, and Rodney lets one shoulder drop, lets the coat fall open over his skin. Ronon's eyes go wide and his breathing hitches. The big man takes another step back, which has him running into the other bench, sitting down hard on it. Rodney grins, reaching up to pop his collar, continuing, "It's the coat, isn't it?"
Ronon's voice is a low rumble, "No. It's—" Ronon cuts himself off to swallow when Rodney traces his finger around the buttons down the front of the coat. His voice is gravel rough when he speaks again, "Fuck. Rodney, you're naked under there. Naked and wet." Ronon's hands twitch, and he balls them into fists beside his thighs.
They'd agreed that sex off-world probably wasn't the best idea. Rodney can remember the conversation, such as it had been, and he's pretty sure that there had been very good reasons for them to come to that understanding. He's pretty sure it had been his idea. It's reassuring to know that sometimes even he's wrong. Rodney stands up, declaring, "And cold."
Ronon's head jerks up, watching Rodney with wary, hungry eyes. Rodney wonders if Ronon realizes that he's slouching back against the bulkhead, sliding his hands away from his legs. Ronon rumbles, "What?" Rodney ignores him for the moment, kneeling to search through his discarded vest, palming what he wants before pushing to his feet again.
"I'm naked, wet, and cold." Rodney steps over to him, Ronon's coat hanging open, brushing against Ronon's knees. Ronon makes a rough sound, raking his eyes up and down Rodney's body and Rodney smirks, steps forward and slides one knee onto the bench beside Ronon's hip. "I think you need to warm me up properly."
Rodney pulls his other knee up, straddling Ronon, staring down at him. For a second neither of them move and then Ronon is growling, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the center of Rodney's chest. Ronon's big hands are sliding under his coat, fingers curling around Rodney's hips and squeezing.
Rodney slides down, Ronon leaving a trail of kisses up his chest and neck until Rodney has settled in his lap. Ronon is hard, radiating heat even through his pants and Rodney grinds down against him. Ronon leaves one hand on Rodney's hip, but the other is in Rodney's hair, pulling him in.
Ronon kisses like he means it, and Rodney sighs into his mouth, reveling in the warmth of Ronon's lips and the heat of his tongue. Ronon bites at Rodney's lower lip and Rodney grins, pushing up again, his thighs pressed up against Ronon's sides.
The fabric of Ronon's shirt is rough against his skin, but the warmth radiating from Ronon's body more than makes up for it. Rodney has to brace one hand on the wall when Ronon nuzzles against his chest, beard rough over Rodney's skin, lips a whisper of heat and softness. Ronon has both hands under the coat again, walking his fingers up Rodney's thighs, over the curve of Rodney's ass, sliding his palms up Rodney's back and then dragging his knuckles back down.
Rodney shivers, not from the cold, bracing his other hand on Ronon's shoulder. The tube of lube pressing against his skin has Ronon jerking, stuttering out a deep groan and Rodney grins, says, "How about you make yourself useful and get me slick?"
"Fuck," there's nothing but heat and need in Ronon's voice and Rodney likes that he did that. He likes it more when Ronon reaches up and takes the lube. The soft sound of the lid opening is covered by Ronon, rumbling, "Hold yourself up on me, not the—not the wall."
There's a moment where Rodney thinks about refusing, just because he can. But Ronon is breathing hard, body strung so tense with want and need that Rodney can't help but wanting to make him want more. He curves his back just a little, enough to let his elbows rest on Ronon's shoulders, and Ronon leans forward just long enough to let Rodney wrap his arms around his neck.
Ronon tilts his head to the side, presses a rough kiss against the inside of Rodney's arm, and then he's wrapping one hand around Rodney's thigh. For a moment Ronon just squeezes, gripping almost hard enough to bruise, breathing hard, and then he's sliding his hand up, cupping Rodney's ass. Ronon's hand is big enough that his thumb is resting against Rodney's hip, his middle finger almost brushing Rodney's hole.
Rodney lets out a shuddering breath, tries to squirm around, but there's no where for him to go. Ronon grits out, "Fuck," and his other hand is there, one thick finger breaching Rodney's body. The lube is cold, just like everything else, and Rodney yelps, jerks.
When Ronon chuckles, hoarse and dirty, Rodney clenches down around his finger and the laughter cuts off to a groan. Rodney waits until Ronon is stretching him, and then promises, "Just for that, I'm not sucking you off in the locker room."
Ronon grunts, his hand squeezing hard at Rodney's ass, his head bowing forward. Rodney can feel how tense his shoulders are, can feel the tremor moving in the muscles under his arms even as Ronon works another finger into him. He gets his voice as low as he can make it, "You know the corner with the lockers and the vests? No one would see me on my knees there. I checked. I thought we might see how quiet you could be, but now..."
Ronon's hips jerk, lift right off the bench, and Rodney rocks back against his fingers as best he can. Ronon's voice is so rough it's barely intelligible, "Gonna kill me, Rodney."
"You can take it. I want to ride you now." Ronon's hips thrust again, and Rodney doesn't even bother trying not to feel smug. Ronon pulls his fingers free almost too quickly, and Rodney gasps, breathing through the sensation, feeling Ronon's hands moving between them.
Ronon grips at his hips again, pushing at him and grunting, "Pants, need to take my pants off."
Sometimes Rodney thinks that Ronon worries too much about sex. He pushes against Ronon's hold, rasping back, "You really don't." Ronon grunts, hands squeezing at Rodney's hips, and Rodney leans back, sliding his arms free and counting on Ronon to support his weight. Ronon's head thumps back against the bulkhead without Rodney's arms to rest against, his eyes huge and dark, lips parted.
Rodney rests his hands on Ronon's shoulders, wiggles in Ronon's grip until the big man gets the idea and loosens his hold enough to let Rodney move. Rodney slides down, almost into Ronon's lap, whispers into the thick air around them, "Gimme a hand here?"
Ronon jerks forward, crushing his mouth to Rodney's and sliding one hand off Rodney's skin. A half second later Ronon is mumbling against his lips, "Okay, okay," and Rodney sinks down. Ronon's cock is right there, hard and slick and Rodney can feel the brush of Ronon's fingers on his inner thigh, directing everything into place.
The press of Ronon's cock into him burns, stretches him wide and Rodney gasps against Ronon's mouth. Ronon bites at Rodney's lower lip, both hands on Rodney's back now, fingers tense against Rodney's skin, sliding with each inch that Rodney sinks down.
When Rodney settles in Ronon's lap, the leather of Ronon's pants warm against his thighs, Ronon's hands are flattened across his shoulders. Rodney's hands are balled up in Ronon's shirt, and he doesn't remember doing that but it works. He lets himself just marvel in the experience for a long moment, eyes closed, lips tingling from Ronon's bruising kisses, muscles in his back and thighs jumping from the position. His cock is so hard it hurts and he's fighting off orgasm with everything he has because once he comes he's really not going to be able to do what he wants to do to Ronon.
Ronon runs a hand up and down Rodney's back, is crooning softly, something Satedan that sounds sweet and dirty. Someday Rodney will make the other man tell him what the things he whispers during sex mean, but right now he's content to let the velvet words roll over him. He arches up, presses his mouth to Ronon's and captures the words, tracing their shapes with his tongue.
When Rodney rocks back Ronon tries to follow his lips and Rodney pushes him back against the bulkhead. Ronon flashes his teeth, muscles in his chest bunching under Rodney's hands and Rodney pushes himself up and then sinks back down, quick and hard.
"Fuck!" Ronon manages to slur the curse, his hands jumping across Rodney's back as Rodney moves in his lap. Ronon has his head tilted back, mouth open, his tongue curled forward to press against his upper lip. Rodney moves fast and dirty, his legs aching from the constant movement, using his arms to keep himself steady.
Ronon is grunting, sliding his hands all the way up Rodney's back, curling his fingers over Rodney's shoulders and gripping. Rodney can feel the desperation in his touch, changes his rhythm, circling his hips and putting a twist to his movements that he hasn't been able to manage in twenty years. He leans forward, capturing Ronon's mouth, and Ronon growls.
Ronon sticks a hand out the collar of his jacket, fisting his hand in the curls at the nape of Rodney's neck and pulling hard enough to tip Rodney's head back. Ronon presses hard kisses against Rodney's jaw line, his beard rasping against Rodney's neck when he bites and sucks at Rodney's pulse point. Rodney moans, the sound torn from somewhere in his chest and Ronon rumbles, redoubling his attentions.
It's getting to the point that Rodney can't hold on. The most aggravating thing about being nineteen again—besides the fact that he's so much smaller than he used to be—is that his stamina is shot all to hell. He and Ronon have been working on improving it, but he still has a hair trigger.
Rodney shimmies his hips, a stutter of movement that he knows destroys Ronon's self control. Sure enough Ronon pulls off his neck, grunting long and loud, his hips jerking off the bench, lifting both of them. Ronon growls into Rodney's shoulder, "Come on, Rodney, wanna feel you come."
That breaks the last wall of Rodney's self control. He slides a hand off Ronon's shoulder, fists his own cock and tugs in rhythm with his ride. There's a muffled curse that doesn't sound like Ronon's voice, and Rodney almost looks around to investigate but then Ronon is biting at his collar bone and he loses it. He comes hard, all over his hand and Ronon's shirt, collapsing against Ronon's chest.
Ronon grunts, his hands finding Rodney's hips, lifting him. Rodney can feel all the muscles in Ronon's chest and shoulders moving when he lifts him, grunting as he thrusts up into Rodney's body before he comes with a barely muffled shout. Ronon pulses inside him, long enough for Rodney to be damn smug, even through his own orgasmic haze. He turns his head, nuzzling up against Ronon's neck and grins.
Rodney mumbles, warm and content and shifting himself just enough to let Ronon's cock slide out of his ass, "Did you hear something? Right before the, uh, end?"
Ronon shrugs, sliding his arms around Rodney's back, leaning his cheek against the top of Rodney's head. He's warm and solid and Rodney has always gotten sleepy after a good fuck. He's already half asleep when Ronon says, "It was Sheppard. He left."
When John reappears from his trip to the Jumper to retrieve their extra rations he is both empty handed and obviously upset. Teyla excuses herself from her conversation with the Law Keeper, making her way across to her team leader, concerned by his hollow eyed look.
John startles when she touches his elbow, blurts, "I didn't know!"
Teyla looks at the villagers around them and decides that for the sake of continued good relations it would be best to have this conversation somewhere more private. She tugs John along to one of the outlying buildings, and then asks, "What did you not know?"
"That they were fucking." John sounds miserable, waves a hand, "I mean, in the Jumper. I knew they were fucking in general." He's staring at the ground, expression lost.
Teyla makes sure no villagers have approached them, and then leans closer. She does her best to keep her voice level and calm, "Ronon and Rodney were having intercourse?"
"Oh my God! Don't say that!" John looks wild-eyed and Teyla is briefly apologetic. But really, she's getting tired of dealing with his odd behavior every time he happens upon Ronon and Rodney pleasuring themselves. Especially because for some reason John appears to be the only one that runs into them. It's not fair.
Teyla frowns at him pointedly, and when he looks abashed, "What were they doing? Exactly?"
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