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So I'm writing yet another convoluted OT4 opus, because apparently it's what I do now, and the process of moving things around and figuring out what the real structure and spine of the story are, I've realized that this one scene is -- not useful for me at all. Nothing wrong with it; I just don't need it to do what I originally thought it was going to do, so I can't justify even finishing it, let alone incorporating it into the story.
However, it's moderately hot, if somewhat fragmentary, John/Ronon, and it's against my religion or something to delete moderately hot John/Ronon.
They went to two kinds of planets – the kind where there was gunfire and imprisonment and yelling, and the kind where everything was really polite and boring, and Ronon didn’t have anything to do except stand behind Teyla and try to look like he knew half the crap she knew about the market value of fruit and goats and ammo.
At least on those planets, there was usually a feast afterwards.
On PZ8-313 – which was very much one of those planets – everyone sat on the ground and ate with their hands, and they fed each other to demonstrate, whatever, loyalty or sharing or something. All Ronon knew was that people kept sticking their fingers in his mouth, and he had to swallow the rare meat or honey-dipped bread or segment of drippy red fruit. It didn’t make him feel bonded to anybody; it just made him feel like he’d never get all this stuff out of his beard.
After the first couple of courses it seemed like the diplomatic parts were over, and the locals went back to feeding their own families and friends and left Ronon and his team to their own devices. Sheppard and McKay immediately started looking for the messiest pastries they could find to mash into each other’s faces. Teyla rolled little balls of sweet, soft cheese between her fingers and slipped them neatly into Ronon’s mouth, where he let them roll around on his tongue until they dissolved. Then she left to talk the village leader again, and Ronon drank his tea and watched enviously as the wine just kept coming. He didn’t drink on missions, and if he’d been in charge, none of the rest of them would, either.
But Sheppard was in charge, and he smelled like warm, peppery red wine when he moved over to sit beside Ronon, their arms brushing together. “Hey,” he said quietly, nodding down at the half-peeled fruit on Ronon’s plate. “Let me have some of that.”
“No – Sheppard,” he protested faintly, but Sheppard was looking up at him, firelight shadows streaking his narrow face and making it look more asymmetrical than ever, a strange drunken intensity in his eyes under the playful quirk of his eyebrows. “I’m working, here.”
“I know, I’m – so am I,” Sheppard said, nodding his head over and over. “Just, I just want a piece.”
He used one of his own knives to finish peeling the fruit. It had the texture, if not the tartness, of a citrus fruit, a thin membrane barely holding in a lake of sweet juice, and its flesh was mild but it contained hundreds of tiny gray seeds that were sugary when you bit down on them. He cut it in half and slid it between Sheppard’s parted lips. Sheppard closed his eyes and licked Ronon’s fingers and thumb clean before he leaned away. Then, even worse, he reached out and touched Ronon’s hand as he pulled it back, strong fingers lapped across the back of Ronon’s wrist, his thumb lying in neat alignment low across the base of Ronon’s.
“No,” Ronon said, but he didn’t break Sheppard’s grip. “Sheppard, not here.”
Sheppard leaned in and murmured by his ear, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“I’ve never seen you this drunk on a mission,” Ronon said grimly, which was not exactly an answer. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do. He couldn’t honestly imagine Sheppard really going through with it.
He leaned even closer, until he was pressed to Ronon’s shoulder and whispering directly into his ear, “I only had one glass. I’m not an idiot.”
“I know,” Ronon said, to the second part.
“Get me out of here,” Sheppard said. “If I don’t get to fuck you tonight, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”
Enough of the natives were stumbling away from the party drunk that Sheppard didn’t draw much attention as Ronon hoisted him to his feet and led him away with an arm around his ribs. So it wasn’t really the truth when Ronon dumped him onto his bed and said, “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
Sheppard rolled onto his back and smirked up at Ronon in a way that clearly said he knew a cheap excuse when he heard one. “Whatever,” he said, undoing his belt with one hand. “You were as bored as I was.”
They didn’t usually do this off-world, but Ronon had to admit he liked it when they did, if only because undressing each other was particularly hot when they had all those extra layers of gear and weapons to get through; on two separate occasions, Ronon had lost the ability to use his fingers in the process of trying to unfasten Sheppard’s thigh holster and had to jump straight to sucking Sheppard’s cock before he could even think again.
But this time they got completely naked; Ronon had a momentary impulse to get up and double-check the lock on the door, but it passed quickly when Sheppard prodded him onto his stomach with his knee in Ronon’s side. He settled his arms comfortably under the pillow and let Sheppard do anything he wanted.
Sheppard kissed his shoulderblade as he worked a slick finger inside him. “There wasn’t a single thing on that table,” he said in a low voice, words rumbling down under skin and into bone, “that I didn’t want to lick off your body.” He licked along Ronon’s spine, slow and dirty, as if to illustrate, and Ronon bit down on some half-wild sound, turning it into a grunt. “Nuh-uh, gorgeous,” Sheppard said in a surprisingly hard voice. “Not this time. If I can do it, so can you. You wanted this.”
“Still do,” Ronon said, pointedly letting his legs spread a little further open.
Sheppard moved his finger slowly and bit down on the back of his neck, then again, lighter, over his pulse point. “More,” he ordered, short and breathless. “Say it.”
Ronon closed his eyes, even though he couldn’t see much except the pillow. “I always want it,” he said, not sure why it sounded too defensive and not nearly sexy enough. “It’s – so fucking good with you, and there’s never enough....”
“No, I know,” Sheppard said in a gentler voice, kissing his neck again, close to the tattoo, running the tips of his fingers down Ronon’s shoulder and over his arm. “There’s not. I know.”
(A/N: And then, one imagines, there would have been more sex. Thank you, goodnight.)
However, it's moderately hot, if somewhat fragmentary, John/Ronon, and it's against my religion or something to delete moderately hot John/Ronon.
They went to two kinds of planets – the kind where there was gunfire and imprisonment and yelling, and the kind where everything was really polite and boring, and Ronon didn’t have anything to do except stand behind Teyla and try to look like he knew half the crap she knew about the market value of fruit and goats and ammo.
At least on those planets, there was usually a feast afterwards.
On PZ8-313 – which was very much one of those planets – everyone sat on the ground and ate with their hands, and they fed each other to demonstrate, whatever, loyalty or sharing or something. All Ronon knew was that people kept sticking their fingers in his mouth, and he had to swallow the rare meat or honey-dipped bread or segment of drippy red fruit. It didn’t make him feel bonded to anybody; it just made him feel like he’d never get all this stuff out of his beard.
After the first couple of courses it seemed like the diplomatic parts were over, and the locals went back to feeding their own families and friends and left Ronon and his team to their own devices. Sheppard and McKay immediately started looking for the messiest pastries they could find to mash into each other’s faces. Teyla rolled little balls of sweet, soft cheese between her fingers and slipped them neatly into Ronon’s mouth, where he let them roll around on his tongue until they dissolved. Then she left to talk the village leader again, and Ronon drank his tea and watched enviously as the wine just kept coming. He didn’t drink on missions, and if he’d been in charge, none of the rest of them would, either.
But Sheppard was in charge, and he smelled like warm, peppery red wine when he moved over to sit beside Ronon, their arms brushing together. “Hey,” he said quietly, nodding down at the half-peeled fruit on Ronon’s plate. “Let me have some of that.”
“No – Sheppard,” he protested faintly, but Sheppard was looking up at him, firelight shadows streaking his narrow face and making it look more asymmetrical than ever, a strange drunken intensity in his eyes under the playful quirk of his eyebrows. “I’m working, here.”
“I know, I’m – so am I,” Sheppard said, nodding his head over and over. “Just, I just want a piece.”
He used one of his own knives to finish peeling the fruit. It had the texture, if not the tartness, of a citrus fruit, a thin membrane barely holding in a lake of sweet juice, and its flesh was mild but it contained hundreds of tiny gray seeds that were sugary when you bit down on them. He cut it in half and slid it between Sheppard’s parted lips. Sheppard closed his eyes and licked Ronon’s fingers and thumb clean before he leaned away. Then, even worse, he reached out and touched Ronon’s hand as he pulled it back, strong fingers lapped across the back of Ronon’s wrist, his thumb lying in neat alignment low across the base of Ronon’s.
“No,” Ronon said, but he didn’t break Sheppard’s grip. “Sheppard, not here.”
Sheppard leaned in and murmured by his ear, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“I’ve never seen you this drunk on a mission,” Ronon said grimly, which was not exactly an answer. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do. He couldn’t honestly imagine Sheppard really going through with it.
He leaned even closer, until he was pressed to Ronon’s shoulder and whispering directly into his ear, “I only had one glass. I’m not an idiot.”
“I know,” Ronon said, to the second part.
“Get me out of here,” Sheppard said. “If I don’t get to fuck you tonight, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”
Enough of the natives were stumbling away from the party drunk that Sheppard didn’t draw much attention as Ronon hoisted him to his feet and led him away with an arm around his ribs. So it wasn’t really the truth when Ronon dumped him onto his bed and said, “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
Sheppard rolled onto his back and smirked up at Ronon in a way that clearly said he knew a cheap excuse when he heard one. “Whatever,” he said, undoing his belt with one hand. “You were as bored as I was.”
They didn’t usually do this off-world, but Ronon had to admit he liked it when they did, if only because undressing each other was particularly hot when they had all those extra layers of gear and weapons to get through; on two separate occasions, Ronon had lost the ability to use his fingers in the process of trying to unfasten Sheppard’s thigh holster and had to jump straight to sucking Sheppard’s cock before he could even think again.
But this time they got completely naked; Ronon had a momentary impulse to get up and double-check the lock on the door, but it passed quickly when Sheppard prodded him onto his stomach with his knee in Ronon’s side. He settled his arms comfortably under the pillow and let Sheppard do anything he wanted.
Sheppard kissed his shoulderblade as he worked a slick finger inside him. “There wasn’t a single thing on that table,” he said in a low voice, words rumbling down under skin and into bone, “that I didn’t want to lick off your body.” He licked along Ronon’s spine, slow and dirty, as if to illustrate, and Ronon bit down on some half-wild sound, turning it into a grunt. “Nuh-uh, gorgeous,” Sheppard said in a surprisingly hard voice. “Not this time. If I can do it, so can you. You wanted this.”
“Still do,” Ronon said, pointedly letting his legs spread a little further open.
Sheppard moved his finger slowly and bit down on the back of his neck, then again, lighter, over his pulse point. “More,” he ordered, short and breathless. “Say it.”
Ronon closed his eyes, even though he couldn’t see much except the pillow. “I always want it,” he said, not sure why it sounded too defensive and not nearly sexy enough. “It’s – so fucking good with you, and there’s never enough....”
“No, I know,” Sheppard said in a gentler voice, kissing his neck again, close to the tattoo, running the tips of his fingers down Ronon’s shoulder and over his arm. “There’s not. I know.”
(A/N: And then, one imagines, there would have been more sex. Thank you, goodnight.)
