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Ronon/Rodney/Sheppard, NC-17
06: Hours
It goes on and on; he’s dying, drowning, burning up, and the others aren’t even naked yet. Okay, come on, he wants to say – now, now would be good. But he can’t speak. Rodney’s hand is gentle sliding over his hip and vicious scratching up the inside of his thigh. He licks up the sweat rolling down Ronon’s neck and cackles low in his throat and talks, of course he talks, but all his words – sweet, filthy, romantic, hungry, random – whatever he’s saying just comes out sounding to Ronon like want me, want me, want me, not because Rodney’s all that insecure anymore, but just because when Ronon’s this torn open, he still needs it to be an order.
And Sheppard, Sheppard is so hot for it tonight, shuddering every time he grinds down on Ronon’s body, kissing him over and over, his palm like a branding iron against Ronon’s cheek. Usually it’s – fun, it’s good, he likes knowing that Sheppard chooses him over and over again when he doesn’t have to. This is something else completely; this is one of those nights when he’s terrified that they’ll never get enough of each other, that they’ll burn each other out or wreck or break each other and still there’ll be this starved-out space inside them both, shaped to the print of each other’s hands.
It’s been going on forever. He’s hot and dizzy and shivering, his muscles ache and his lungs are compressed and it hurts to breathe. Sheppard gives him his mouth back, just for a moment, and he seizes the opportunity. His voice is just a handful of broken stones when he says, “Do what you want – do it now.” Because he knows they’re softening him up (in a manner of speaking) for something they’ve worked out in advance, something they think he might say no to. One of them is going to fuck him, maybe – Sheppard, from the way he’s acting – Sheppard, probably, because he’s the one who always seems braced for the no that hardly ever comes. It’d be like him to think he has to buy Ronon off first.
Maybe it’s something new. If it’s something new, it’s probably Rodney’s idea. Ronon finds himself doing the dumbest stuff sometimes, when Rodney gets ideas.
Definitely Rodney’s idea, he realizes, blinking through his haze and focusing on Rodney’s wicked grin. “No, no, no,” Rodney says cheerfully, kissing the corner of Ronon’s tingling mouth. “Like this, we want you just – like – this.”
“All night,” Sheppard rasps. His eyes are glittering and his thumb slides down Ronon’s chin to the most vulnerable point of his throat, a little John Sheppard shorthand that means you’d kill anyone but me who tried to touch you like this, so I know you love me.
Ronon shudders and closes his eyes. All night....
“Hours and hours,” Rodney says into his ear. “Anything we want. Everything.”
His jaw feels stiff and it’s still not easy to breathe, now for more reasons than ever. He licks his lips and says feebly, “I’m not – so good at this game.”
“It’s not a game,” Sheppard says.
But it is, and it’s one he hasn’t played in...a long time. It’s a contest – power and stamina and a particularly subtle form of dominance, and Ronon lived under subtle dominance for long enough to know it when he sees it. Who wants it more, who’s the one who can’t stop, can’t even wait for it, who needs and who’s granting the favors? Ronon shudders hard, and he wishes he could tell himself it was all from discomfort – that there isn’t still that adolescent part of him that longs to prove his loyalty by letting someone else win every time.
Ronon is a competitive man, too competitive to make it easy on himself. He’ll fight it every second of the way, but it won’t matter, because what no one left alive but Rodney and Sheppard realize about Ronon Dex the runner is that he still has no stamina at all, no disciplined self-denial. He wants what he wants, and he wants it with a lifetime’s worth of never enough.
But that’s okay, or so he tells himself. He trusts these men, and they’ve seen him fail before. They always forgive him for all his weaknesses, large and small. It’s safe to break here, in front of them, if he has to. Ronon doesn’t know if that makes it...better or worse.
It goes on and on. Hands on every piece of him, nothing left to him that hasn’t been stroked and pressed and tasted. It must be hours. It feels like months. His muscles hurt where he’s forcing them to bear even the slightest bit of weight, his teeth hurt from grinding down on something that might be a scream or a sob, his chest hurts from holding his heart in place. He knows he won’t last, he knows he has to lose, but not yet.
The whole room spins when they push him, together, onto his knees. Rodney kneels behind him, thighs spread around him, hands pushing his head down to expose the back of his neck to his tongue. Sheppard settles over his lap, running his fingers through his dreads, kissing him for the millionth time, staying just close enough for Ronon’s cock to brush against the distended fly of his jeans, not close enough to give him anything to press against. Rodney reaches around him and takes his wrists, and his arms feel wooden and clumsy as Rodney lifts them up. He leans in tighter and his nails brush the backs of Ronon’s hands before he pins them to Sheppard’s chest, where his nipples are tight and smooth amidst the hair. Sheppard jerks a little at the sensation and groans against Ronon’s mouth as Rodney’s teeth sink lightly into the side of Ronon’s neck, and that’s it, there’s nothing left in him to give, all he can do is come and come.
He wraps his arms around Sheppard, who takes his weight easily as he comes apart, shuddering and making the worst, most pitiful whining sound against Sheppard’s neck. “Hey, hey,” Rodney says worriedly, stroking his hair. “What’s the – why are you – oh, God, are you traumatized? Did we traumatize you somehow? Look, will you stop – acting – like this? Please?”
Sheppard’s arms find their way around his waist, and it’s his strength, not Ronon’s, that gets him disentangled and lying down again. Rodney brings a wet cloth and fusses over him, cleaning him up. “Told you I wasn’t that good at it,” Ronon says when Rodney lays back down, under his arm.
“Yes, well, you didn’t tell me you were going to have an episode,” Rodney says. “I thought you were in anaphylactic shock, for Christ’s sake.”
“Sorry about your hours and hours,” he says, stiff and ashamed. He’s not sure if he’s ashamed because he’s too old to be undone as thoroughly as when he was sixteen, or if it’s because he’s still half-trying to hide this part of himself from Rodney, who loves his aggression, and Sheppard, who gets off on his strength. They’ll love him no matter what, but he wonders if they’ll be as attracted to him if they ever really know how deep his weaknesses and his addictions run.
Sheppard holds his face in one hand, his eyes hard and dark on Ronon’s face. “Did you think that was a fucking order?” he says, with that whisper-gentle fury that couldn’t be anyone but Sheppard.
“It was supposed to be fun,” Rodney says, a little defensive but mostly confused. “We just wanted to make you feel good....”
He blinks his eyes open slowly and looks back and forth between them. He sees concern, frustration, uncertainty, but not...not disappointment. “It felt good,” he says, which is true. “You just...you know how I am with...self-control. I don’t know, it just – things that feel good, I can’t, sometimes it’s just too....” He stops talking, overcome with the memory of Rodney as he was the very first night they spent together, slipping half-melted candy over Ronon’s tongue and saying yes – God, please.... This is not a man who is ever going to understand a life spent practicing discipline and self-denial. That’s at least a little bit of why Ronon loves him.
Rodney kisses him, and the kiss is sweet, but he seems a little pissed off when he pulls away and says, “It’s not a damn training exercise, all right? We wouldn’t...test you that way, not with this. Our sex life is not something you can flunk out of.”
Sheppard pulls him over til he’s on his hands and knees, looking down at Sheppard, naked except his jeans and his tags. Automatically, he puts his hand over Sheppard’s crotch, lost in his face, the vulnerable flicker of his eyelids. “Go on,” Sheppard says huskily. “Even it up.”
He tightens his hand around Sheppard’s hard-on, watching him arch, feeling him push up into the touch, and suddenly he realizes that he’s not the only one here who has failed test after test because he can’t control the force of his desires. He realizes he doesn’t know the names of all Sheppard’s Kells, or even if they were individuals at all, or just the weight of expectations, codes explicit and implicit.
He leans down to kiss Sheppard and Sheppard kisses him back, ready for it, shameless, and this time, from the outside, Ronon can see the strength it takes to throw the game, to want and keep wanting and ask for no one’s pity.
From the very beginning, he admired Sheppard. Years later, he can only just begin to count up the reasons why.
He brings Sheppard off, fast and dirty and fierce, and then Rodney, who believes that a blowjob is always and only its own justification, and then he sleeps for hours and hours with their arms crossed over his back.
06: Hours
It goes on and on; he’s dying, drowning, burning up, and the others aren’t even naked yet. Okay, come on, he wants to say – now, now would be good. But he can’t speak. Rodney’s hand is gentle sliding over his hip and vicious scratching up the inside of his thigh. He licks up the sweat rolling down Ronon’s neck and cackles low in his throat and talks, of course he talks, but all his words – sweet, filthy, romantic, hungry, random – whatever he’s saying just comes out sounding to Ronon like want me, want me, want me, not because Rodney’s all that insecure anymore, but just because when Ronon’s this torn open, he still needs it to be an order.
And Sheppard, Sheppard is so hot for it tonight, shuddering every time he grinds down on Ronon’s body, kissing him over and over, his palm like a branding iron against Ronon’s cheek. Usually it’s – fun, it’s good, he likes knowing that Sheppard chooses him over and over again when he doesn’t have to. This is something else completely; this is one of those nights when he’s terrified that they’ll never get enough of each other, that they’ll burn each other out or wreck or break each other and still there’ll be this starved-out space inside them both, shaped to the print of each other’s hands.
It’s been going on forever. He’s hot and dizzy and shivering, his muscles ache and his lungs are compressed and it hurts to breathe. Sheppard gives him his mouth back, just for a moment, and he seizes the opportunity. His voice is just a handful of broken stones when he says, “Do what you want – do it now.” Because he knows they’re softening him up (in a manner of speaking) for something they’ve worked out in advance, something they think he might say no to. One of them is going to fuck him, maybe – Sheppard, from the way he’s acting – Sheppard, probably, because he’s the one who always seems braced for the no that hardly ever comes. It’d be like him to think he has to buy Ronon off first.
Maybe it’s something new. If it’s something new, it’s probably Rodney’s idea. Ronon finds himself doing the dumbest stuff sometimes, when Rodney gets ideas.
Definitely Rodney’s idea, he realizes, blinking through his haze and focusing on Rodney’s wicked grin. “No, no, no,” Rodney says cheerfully, kissing the corner of Ronon’s tingling mouth. “Like this, we want you just – like – this.”
“All night,” Sheppard rasps. His eyes are glittering and his thumb slides down Ronon’s chin to the most vulnerable point of his throat, a little John Sheppard shorthand that means you’d kill anyone but me who tried to touch you like this, so I know you love me.
Ronon shudders and closes his eyes. All night....
“Hours and hours,” Rodney says into his ear. “Anything we want. Everything.”
His jaw feels stiff and it’s still not easy to breathe, now for more reasons than ever. He licks his lips and says feebly, “I’m not – so good at this game.”
“It’s not a game,” Sheppard says.
But it is, and it’s one he hasn’t played in...a long time. It’s a contest – power and stamina and a particularly subtle form of dominance, and Ronon lived under subtle dominance for long enough to know it when he sees it. Who wants it more, who’s the one who can’t stop, can’t even wait for it, who needs and who’s granting the favors? Ronon shudders hard, and he wishes he could tell himself it was all from discomfort – that there isn’t still that adolescent part of him that longs to prove his loyalty by letting someone else win every time.
Ronon is a competitive man, too competitive to make it easy on himself. He’ll fight it every second of the way, but it won’t matter, because what no one left alive but Rodney and Sheppard realize about Ronon Dex the runner is that he still has no stamina at all, no disciplined self-denial. He wants what he wants, and he wants it with a lifetime’s worth of never enough.
But that’s okay, or so he tells himself. He trusts these men, and they’ve seen him fail before. They always forgive him for all his weaknesses, large and small. It’s safe to break here, in front of them, if he has to. Ronon doesn’t know if that makes it...better or worse.
It goes on and on. Hands on every piece of him, nothing left to him that hasn’t been stroked and pressed and tasted. It must be hours. It feels like months. His muscles hurt where he’s forcing them to bear even the slightest bit of weight, his teeth hurt from grinding down on something that might be a scream or a sob, his chest hurts from holding his heart in place. He knows he won’t last, he knows he has to lose, but not yet.
The whole room spins when they push him, together, onto his knees. Rodney kneels behind him, thighs spread around him, hands pushing his head down to expose the back of his neck to his tongue. Sheppard settles over his lap, running his fingers through his dreads, kissing him for the millionth time, staying just close enough for Ronon’s cock to brush against the distended fly of his jeans, not close enough to give him anything to press against. Rodney reaches around him and takes his wrists, and his arms feel wooden and clumsy as Rodney lifts them up. He leans in tighter and his nails brush the backs of Ronon’s hands before he pins them to Sheppard’s chest, where his nipples are tight and smooth amidst the hair. Sheppard jerks a little at the sensation and groans against Ronon’s mouth as Rodney’s teeth sink lightly into the side of Ronon’s neck, and that’s it, there’s nothing left in him to give, all he can do is come and come.
He wraps his arms around Sheppard, who takes his weight easily as he comes apart, shuddering and making the worst, most pitiful whining sound against Sheppard’s neck. “Hey, hey,” Rodney says worriedly, stroking his hair. “What’s the – why are you – oh, God, are you traumatized? Did we traumatize you somehow? Look, will you stop – acting – like this? Please?”
Sheppard’s arms find their way around his waist, and it’s his strength, not Ronon’s, that gets him disentangled and lying down again. Rodney brings a wet cloth and fusses over him, cleaning him up. “Told you I wasn’t that good at it,” Ronon says when Rodney lays back down, under his arm.
“Yes, well, you didn’t tell me you were going to have an episode,” Rodney says. “I thought you were in anaphylactic shock, for Christ’s sake.”
“Sorry about your hours and hours,” he says, stiff and ashamed. He’s not sure if he’s ashamed because he’s too old to be undone as thoroughly as when he was sixteen, or if it’s because he’s still half-trying to hide this part of himself from Rodney, who loves his aggression, and Sheppard, who gets off on his strength. They’ll love him no matter what, but he wonders if they’ll be as attracted to him if they ever really know how deep his weaknesses and his addictions run.
Sheppard holds his face in one hand, his eyes hard and dark on Ronon’s face. “Did you think that was a fucking order?” he says, with that whisper-gentle fury that couldn’t be anyone but Sheppard.
“It was supposed to be fun,” Rodney says, a little defensive but mostly confused. “We just wanted to make you feel good....”
He blinks his eyes open slowly and looks back and forth between them. He sees concern, frustration, uncertainty, but not...not disappointment. “It felt good,” he says, which is true. “You just...you know how I am with...self-control. I don’t know, it just – things that feel good, I can’t, sometimes it’s just too....” He stops talking, overcome with the memory of Rodney as he was the very first night they spent together, slipping half-melted candy over Ronon’s tongue and saying yes – God, please.... This is not a man who is ever going to understand a life spent practicing discipline and self-denial. That’s at least a little bit of why Ronon loves him.
Rodney kisses him, and the kiss is sweet, but he seems a little pissed off when he pulls away and says, “It’s not a damn training exercise, all right? We wouldn’t...test you that way, not with this. Our sex life is not something you can flunk out of.”
Sheppard pulls him over til he’s on his hands and knees, looking down at Sheppard, naked except his jeans and his tags. Automatically, he puts his hand over Sheppard’s crotch, lost in his face, the vulnerable flicker of his eyelids. “Go on,” Sheppard says huskily. “Even it up.”
He tightens his hand around Sheppard’s hard-on, watching him arch, feeling him push up into the touch, and suddenly he realizes that he’s not the only one here who has failed test after test because he can’t control the force of his desires. He realizes he doesn’t know the names of all Sheppard’s Kells, or even if they were individuals at all, or just the weight of expectations, codes explicit and implicit.
He leans down to kiss Sheppard and Sheppard kisses him back, ready for it, shameless, and this time, from the outside, Ronon can see the strength it takes to throw the game, to want and keep wanting and ask for no one’s pity.
From the very beginning, he admired Sheppard. Years later, he can only just begin to count up the reasons why.
He brings Sheppard off, fast and dirty and fierce, and then Rodney, who believes that a blowjob is always and only its own justification, and then he sleeps for hours and hours with their arms crossed over his back.
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Date: 2007-05-12 10:00 pm (UTC)From:<3