![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Thumb-sized
Author: Kathie
Word Count: 3,082
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing/character: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rounds_of_kink challenge,
Prompt: Very few people made him feel small (prompted by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fanficme)
Kink: Manhandling (picking up / moving John around) during sex
Notes/Warnings: slash, and it might be part of a bigger story, I don’t know yet. The bunny bit me late, and my apologies tosilentflux for the delay.
~*~*~
Very few people made John Sheppard feel small, at least, he thought as Lorne gripped the back of his tac vest carefully, very few people made John feel small under normal circumstances.
Which this wasn’t.
It was just wasn’t something that had ever happened easily, John’s thought continued as his feet touched smooth, dark wood. He never had been picked up and carried around much as a child, and once he’d turned ten, he and Dave even stopped with the piggyback rides through the entire house, because their father had hated the noise and commotion.
And then, he thought as he straightened and ran his hands over his clothes while Lorne respectfully stepped back, even less people made him feel small and safe.
“Here you go, sir,” Lorne said, his tone respectfully and his head bent slightly, but John was sure that he could detect a smile in the Major’s demeanor.
Even now, two weeks after it had happened, the inhabitants of Atlantis still found it way too funny for John’s taste.
Quickly he looked around, to make sure the rest of his team was accounted for. Rodney was furiously typing away on his laptop, and Teyla was calmly watching Ronon who was busy transforming a pencil into a life-threatening weapon with his sword.
They all seemed to be fine, John thought while walking toward Ronon.
Perfectly healthy.
Only…bigger.
This was only affecting John and Ronon physically, but the whole team was suffering from the results of this change. Ronon and John couldn’t do anything, and they were both bored out of their minds, to the point where Teyla preferred to spend part of her day away from them, no matter how much she liked them and how much sympathy she felt for their situation.
However, there was not much they could do, after the inhabitants of M3X-737 had shrunk their bodies down to six inches.
The Warangians were well-known warriors of the Pegasus galaxy, but, as the team had found out, their method of destroying Wraith ships was to shrink their best warriors and then smuggle them on board of the ships. It was a great honor to be picked for that, bestowed only on their best fighters, and the Warangians had not understood why the Lanteans had been less than ecstatic about the sudden change in their height.
Being six inches tall, the risk of being trampled to death accidentally was high enough to make Woolsey order them to stay out of the corridors and hallways. They couldn’t go to their quarters, couldn’t work out, couldn’t get their own food – all they could do was sit around and watch Rodney attempt to reverse the process.
John wasn’t too sure how much damage a six inch tall warrior could do, but the Warangians assured them that their way of dealing with the Wraith had been highly successful for several centuries now.
“Well?” Woolsey asked and folded his hands on the table. Ronon looked up from his pencil sharpening for a second, but he didn’t say anything.
“Well,” Lorne started. “The Warangians say that the procedure is not meant to be reversible.”
Radek mumbled something under his breath, and John felt his muscles knot and tense under his skin. He could feel Ronon tighten his grip on his makeshift spear, and he was half prepared to have to intervene, to stop Ronon from murdering someone with a pencil.
It wasn’t as if he thought Ronon was unable to kill someone with a pencil, but at the moment, the pencil was bigger than Ronon was.
The whole situation was just so surreal.
John didn’t want to sleep in a shoebox for the rest of his life.
“Certainly there has to be a way?” Teyla asked, her voice still calm, but John could see the little lines of tension in her face.
Jennifer shrugged slightly. “I don’t see it,” she admitted, and, when she found herself with the whole team glaring at her, she slipped back from the table. “I’m working on it,” she hastily added. “Maybe we missed something.”
“We think we have something,” Radek spoke up and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. He frowned and took off his glasses, to rub them against the hem of his shirt. John didn’t think it helped with the cleanliness of them, but he couldn’t care less.
“Yeah,” Rodney added with a smug smile and bounced slightly in his chair while folding his arms over his chest. “Took me a while to figure out the…”
“Rodney,” John patiently interrupted him, and Rodney blinked.
“Is there a way to fix this?” Ronon wanted to know. He’d sat down next to John, but he was still holding his sword, and his hand was straying toward the gun at his belt. They hadn’t been allowed to test it, but Rodney had theorized that the size didn’t matter and that Ronon would still be able to knock someone out with the weapon.
Rodney nodded determinedly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think there is.”
“How long will it take?”
Radek shrugged. “A few days?” he suggested. “Maybe?”
The statement got him a dark glare from Rodney, but they all agreed that it was time to end this and bring John and Ronon back to their original size.
After all, the second time someone had stumbled into the infirmary because Ronon had poked them a little bit too hard with a toothpick, Woolsey had diplomatically suggested that the team should not watch movies with other people anymore, at least not until he’d confiscated all available copies of ‘Honey, I Shrunk The Kids’.
~*~*~
“I’ve been thinking.”
John frowned slightly at Ronon, who nodded at the Marine who’d carried him to John’s quarters. Woolsey’s orders had been strict and clear about this matter – they were not supposed to run around on their own in the halls, not even if it was an emergency. The last part of the order had been directed at John specifically, and John had not argued the point.
“What about?” he asked and sat down on one of his books to take off his boots.
“This,” Ronon said with a shrug and leaned against the side of the shoebox under John’s desk. He used the top half of the box as bed as long as he was small, refusing to think about a more permanent solution, even if Rodney had volunteered to engineer him something to sleep on.
“Yeah?”
The tac vest went next. He probably didn’t need it, but it was the safest way for someone to pick him up, unless they kneeled down and pressed their hand to the ground, palm up, so he could sit down on it. He didn’t know yet which way of transportation was less dignified, but Keller had warned them about letting someone close their fist around their bodies. It might look good in movies, but the risk of accidentally breaking their small bones was too high.
“If McKay can’t fix this,” Ronon rumbled. “We should find someone to get us to a Wraith ship. Do some damage, at least.”
John sighed. “Rodney will find a way,” he repeated confidently. He had to believe it.
He didn’t want to sleep in a shoebox for the rest of his life.
“Yeah, but if…” Ronon started, and John stopped him with a small shake of his head. “Rodney will find a way,” he said, once more, slow and patiently. “Just sit tight, and wait for him to finish his…” He waved a hand, and Ronon chuckled as he pushed himself away from the box and stepped up to John.
“What are we going to do until he does?” he asked quietly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest and sending shivers through John’s entire body.
John shrugged and licked his lips slightly. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his own voice dropping to a low murmur.
Ronon smirked at him, and then, it didn’t take long until Ronon’s palms were on John’s chest, warm and broad, and they were kissing frantically.
John tore away from the kiss with a ragged moan. His hands were fisted into Ronon’s vest, and he used his grip to pull the other man close to himself and crushing them together.
“Easy,” Ronon murmured and let one of his hands slide around John’s waist, to come to rest on the small of his back. His body heat seeped through John’s t-shirt, and he shuddered and searched for Ronon’s mouth once more while his fingers fumbled with the snaps and ties and buttons on Ronon’s clothes.
Ronon chuckled slightly and brought his free hand up to cup John’s face and tilt it upwards. His dreads fell around their faces as he took control of the kiss, his tongue hot and wet as it brushed through John’s mouth, and John arched his back, secure in the knowledge that Ronon would not let him fall, and let Ronon take control of their kiss for a little while.
Soon, his tugging on Ronon’s clothes continued, though, as he grew desperate to touch the skin underneath the wool, linen and leather, and Ronon responded with his hand running down John’s chest, tweaking a nipple through the cotton of his shirt, circling over his flat stomach and finally gently squeezing his growing arousal through the thick material of John’s pants.
John bit the inside of his lip and pressed himself into Ronon’s hand, rubbing himself against his agile fingers. He couldn’t feel a lot through his clothes, and it wasn’t enough, not enough friction, not enough heat, not enough contact.
“Ronon,” he groaned, frustration coloring his voice slightly, and Ronon chuckled and dipped his head to nip at his throat playfully.
“Didn’t Teyla teach you patience?” he asked, and John wrapped his hands into Ronon’s dreadlocks to pull his head up, to glare at him darkly.
Ronon grinned at him unapologetically, but his hands slipped down John’s body and started to tug at his belt, finally. It gave John a moment to catch his breath and concentrate on the strings and buttons of Ronon’s own pants. He could see the hard line of Ronon’s arousal pressed tight against the leather, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to teasingly brush just his fingertips against the front of the pants, applying just enough pressure to incite Ronon a bit.
Their mouths met again, in another frantic kiss, and the part of John’s brain that wasn’t wrapped in a red haze of lust and arousal realized that their sharp reactions were as much pent up frustration about their current situation and the way they were forced to sit around and twirl their thumbs as they were the undercurrent of their normal relationship.
Finally, they were naked, their bodies pressing together skin to skin, with coarse hair rasping against coarse hair, skin rubbing against skin and fingers teasing and arousing while rubbing against nipples, the sharp protruding edge of bones under thin skin, or their by now leaking cocks.
Ronon hummed softly as he bent to lick John’s collarbone gently. His tongue was raspy against John’s overly sensitized skin, and his fingers were hot and insistent when they tugged John’s leg up around his hip, to reach behind him and run them down the cleft of his ass.
John shuddered and pressed himself tighter to Ronon’s body. It had been a while since his last brush with death, which was the usual situation to bring Ronon to his quarters with this almost desperate need, and he welcomed the erotic sensations caused by Ronon’s fingertips teasing his opening with a soft moan.
“Relax,” Ronon mumbled into his hair before slipping the first finger into John’s body, slowly stretching him and preparing him for what was to come as much as he was able to.
“Am relaxed,” John replied and reached between them while still balancing on one leg. Keeping Ronon in a constant state of arousal while the other man prepared him didn’t prove to be very hard, he thought with a small smile as his thumb rubbed the shiny slickness of precome over the head of Ronon’s cock.
Ronon jerked slightly in his grip and wrapped his arm tightly around John, constricting his maneuvering room somewhat, but inserting a second finger into John, and the stretch and burn distracted John long enough to prevent him from complaining about it.
He let his head fall back instead, and Ronon’s lips pressed against his once more, his beard tickling and scratching, but John didn’t care. His nerve endings seemed to have all wandered to his ass, twitching and throbbing under John’s skin with every of Ronon’s touches.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when Ronon finally pulled his fingers free and ran his hand over the muscular curve of John’s ass. “You ready?” he asked, and John nodded quietly. He was tasting the faint tang of blood from where he’d bit his lip repeatedly, and he could feel beads of sweat running down his spine.
Raising his hand to his mouth, he licked his palm generously before wrapping it around Ronon’s length. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t much of a substitute for the lube in the top drawer of his bedside table, but there was no way they could reach the container and open it without asking someone for help, and that was out of the question. But they both were desperate for each other’s touch, and this wasn’t the first time they had forgone lube, for whatever reason.
“How do you…” John started, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. Ronon’s fingers tightened on his ass.
“Like this,” he replied and hitched John’s leg back up around his hip before reaching for his other leg. “Just let me…”
John realized what Ronon was planning a split second before it happened. It left him enough time to wrap both arms around Ronon’s neck and hang on before he was lifted up. Ronon’s hands on his ass held him and spread him open for his cock, and John took a deep breath and slowly released it as gravity and strong muscles positioned him and caused Ronon’s hard flesh to breach his body slowly.
He hissed slightly, and Ronon mouthed at his chest and collarbone again, his back bent and the muscles under his skin jumping as he let John get used to the intrusion.
“Good, I’m good,” John finally panted. He pushed his heels into Ronon’s back impatiently. “Move!”
Ronon chuckled and used his grip to lift John up once more, until just the head of his dick remained in him. He let gravity do the rest, and John couldn’t stop the deep moan when Ronon’s flesh pressed into his prostate. It made his toes curl, and it just woke the hunger in John for more, and he scratched his nails over Ronon’s back impatiently.
Ronon grunted and turned them around, to press John against the side of his bed while adjusting his grip slightly. His palms had started to get moist and slip slightly on John’s hips, and he didn’t want to drop the other man.
“Ronon,” John hissed when Ronon shifted, pressing his dick more firmly against John’s prostate. His eyes were falling shut, his mouth opened, and wordless sounds escaped him as Ronon licked and kissed the underside of his chin and down his throat.
Ronon would have loved to reach out and tweak one of John’s nipples, just to see his reaction, but he didn’t quite dare it. He didn’t want John to buckle too much in his grip and hurt himself – he didn’t know what Jennifer would do to fix an internal injury in their current state, and he didn’t want to find out – so he settled for biting down on his shoulder, eliciting a broken groan and a snap of John’s hips.
Lifting John’s body weight up again and again became tiring after a while, and Ronon carefully pulled out and allowed John’s feet to slip to the ground again.
“Bed, hands and knees,” he murmured, his tongue sneaking out to lick over the sensitive shell of John’s ear. He squeezed John’s ass as he walked past, and John shuddered visibly and took a deep breath before he crawled onto the makeshift bed, his ass wriggling slightly in an attempt to get Ronon to fuck him sooner.
It wasn’t an invitation Ronon planned on passing up.
Kneeling behind John and pushing into him again was one move, and picking him up by the hips once more, to get him to the right height, was a second. John moaned a wordless protest about being manhandled like this, but Ronon was too far gone to care, and he suspected that John was, too.
He wrapped one arm around John’s hip, to reach between his legs and take his dick in his hand while his hips snapped into John sharply. He couldn’t stop now if he wanted to, feeling the first traces of release teasing him from the center of his stomach, like a tingling sensation that filled his whole body and consciousness.
John was hissing encouragements, his words almost lost through the rush of blood in Ronon’s ears, and Ronon lifted his hips a little bit higher to slam into him just that tiny little bit deeper.
It was enough to make John cry out before his arms buckled and his head collided with the pillow as orgasm overwhelmed his entire body and made him shudder in release. Ronon grunted as he thrust into him again, and again, his release already at his fingertips, just a few sharp snaps of his hips away from him. John’s muscles rippled around him, massaging his dick and squeezing it tight, and Ronon came with a small broken sound he couldn’t quite suppress.
John hissed as Ronon collapsed on top of him, but he was too worn out to bitch about it. He could just groan softly and hope that Ronon caught the hint.
He didn’t fight when Ronon lifted him up again and re-arranged his body before walking toward the little bowl filled with water that substituted for a sink while there was the realistic risk of John drowning in the sink in his bathroom. He cleaned up himself and then John, and John smiled, the first smile in days.
There really were only a few people who made him feel small and safe, and Ronon was definitely one of them.
~End.
Author: Kathie
Word Count: 3,082
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing/character: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Written for the
rounds_of_kink challenge,Prompt: Very few people made him feel small (prompted by
fanficme)Kink: Manhandling (picking up / moving John around) during sex
Notes/Warnings: slash, and it might be part of a bigger story, I don’t know yet. The bunny bit me late, and my apologies to
silentflux for the delay.~*~*~
Very few people made John Sheppard feel small, at least, he thought as Lorne gripped the back of his tac vest carefully, very few people made John feel small under normal circumstances.
Which this wasn’t.
It was just wasn’t something that had ever happened easily, John’s thought continued as his feet touched smooth, dark wood. He never had been picked up and carried around much as a child, and once he’d turned ten, he and Dave even stopped with the piggyback rides through the entire house, because their father had hated the noise and commotion.
And then, he thought as he straightened and ran his hands over his clothes while Lorne respectfully stepped back, even less people made him feel small and safe.
“Here you go, sir,” Lorne said, his tone respectfully and his head bent slightly, but John was sure that he could detect a smile in the Major’s demeanor.
Even now, two weeks after it had happened, the inhabitants of Atlantis still found it way too funny for John’s taste.
Quickly he looked around, to make sure the rest of his team was accounted for. Rodney was furiously typing away on his laptop, and Teyla was calmly watching Ronon who was busy transforming a pencil into a life-threatening weapon with his sword.
They all seemed to be fine, John thought while walking toward Ronon.
Perfectly healthy.
Only…bigger.
This was only affecting John and Ronon physically, but the whole team was suffering from the results of this change. Ronon and John couldn’t do anything, and they were both bored out of their minds, to the point where Teyla preferred to spend part of her day away from them, no matter how much she liked them and how much sympathy she felt for their situation.
However, there was not much they could do, after the inhabitants of M3X-737 had shrunk their bodies down to six inches.
The Warangians were well-known warriors of the Pegasus galaxy, but, as the team had found out, their method of destroying Wraith ships was to shrink their best warriors and then smuggle them on board of the ships. It was a great honor to be picked for that, bestowed only on their best fighters, and the Warangians had not understood why the Lanteans had been less than ecstatic about the sudden change in their height.
Being six inches tall, the risk of being trampled to death accidentally was high enough to make Woolsey order them to stay out of the corridors and hallways. They couldn’t go to their quarters, couldn’t work out, couldn’t get their own food – all they could do was sit around and watch Rodney attempt to reverse the process.
John wasn’t too sure how much damage a six inch tall warrior could do, but the Warangians assured them that their way of dealing with the Wraith had been highly successful for several centuries now.
“Well?” Woolsey asked and folded his hands on the table. Ronon looked up from his pencil sharpening for a second, but he didn’t say anything.
“Well,” Lorne started. “The Warangians say that the procedure is not meant to be reversible.”
Radek mumbled something under his breath, and John felt his muscles knot and tense under his skin. He could feel Ronon tighten his grip on his makeshift spear, and he was half prepared to have to intervene, to stop Ronon from murdering someone with a pencil.
It wasn’t as if he thought Ronon was unable to kill someone with a pencil, but at the moment, the pencil was bigger than Ronon was.
The whole situation was just so surreal.
John didn’t want to sleep in a shoebox for the rest of his life.
“Certainly there has to be a way?” Teyla asked, her voice still calm, but John could see the little lines of tension in her face.
Jennifer shrugged slightly. “I don’t see it,” she admitted, and, when she found herself with the whole team glaring at her, she slipped back from the table. “I’m working on it,” she hastily added. “Maybe we missed something.”
“We think we have something,” Radek spoke up and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. He frowned and took off his glasses, to rub them against the hem of his shirt. John didn’t think it helped with the cleanliness of them, but he couldn’t care less.
“Yeah,” Rodney added with a smug smile and bounced slightly in his chair while folding his arms over his chest. “Took me a while to figure out the…”
“Rodney,” John patiently interrupted him, and Rodney blinked.
“Is there a way to fix this?” Ronon wanted to know. He’d sat down next to John, but he was still holding his sword, and his hand was straying toward the gun at his belt. They hadn’t been allowed to test it, but Rodney had theorized that the size didn’t matter and that Ronon would still be able to knock someone out with the weapon.
Rodney nodded determinedly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think there is.”
“How long will it take?”
Radek shrugged. “A few days?” he suggested. “Maybe?”
The statement got him a dark glare from Rodney, but they all agreed that it was time to end this and bring John and Ronon back to their original size.
After all, the second time someone had stumbled into the infirmary because Ronon had poked them a little bit too hard with a toothpick, Woolsey had diplomatically suggested that the team should not watch movies with other people anymore, at least not until he’d confiscated all available copies of ‘Honey, I Shrunk The Kids’.
~*~*~
“I’ve been thinking.”
John frowned slightly at Ronon, who nodded at the Marine who’d carried him to John’s quarters. Woolsey’s orders had been strict and clear about this matter – they were not supposed to run around on their own in the halls, not even if it was an emergency. The last part of the order had been directed at John specifically, and John had not argued the point.
“What about?” he asked and sat down on one of his books to take off his boots.
“This,” Ronon said with a shrug and leaned against the side of the shoebox under John’s desk. He used the top half of the box as bed as long as he was small, refusing to think about a more permanent solution, even if Rodney had volunteered to engineer him something to sleep on.
“Yeah?”
The tac vest went next. He probably didn’t need it, but it was the safest way for someone to pick him up, unless they kneeled down and pressed their hand to the ground, palm up, so he could sit down on it. He didn’t know yet which way of transportation was less dignified, but Keller had warned them about letting someone close their fist around their bodies. It might look good in movies, but the risk of accidentally breaking their small bones was too high.
“If McKay can’t fix this,” Ronon rumbled. “We should find someone to get us to a Wraith ship. Do some damage, at least.”
John sighed. “Rodney will find a way,” he repeated confidently. He had to believe it.
He didn’t want to sleep in a shoebox for the rest of his life.
“Yeah, but if…” Ronon started, and John stopped him with a small shake of his head. “Rodney will find a way,” he said, once more, slow and patiently. “Just sit tight, and wait for him to finish his…” He waved a hand, and Ronon chuckled as he pushed himself away from the box and stepped up to John.
“What are we going to do until he does?” he asked quietly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest and sending shivers through John’s entire body.
John shrugged and licked his lips slightly. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his own voice dropping to a low murmur.
Ronon smirked at him, and then, it didn’t take long until Ronon’s palms were on John’s chest, warm and broad, and they were kissing frantically.
John tore away from the kiss with a ragged moan. His hands were fisted into Ronon’s vest, and he used his grip to pull the other man close to himself and crushing them together.
“Easy,” Ronon murmured and let one of his hands slide around John’s waist, to come to rest on the small of his back. His body heat seeped through John’s t-shirt, and he shuddered and searched for Ronon’s mouth once more while his fingers fumbled with the snaps and ties and buttons on Ronon’s clothes.
Ronon chuckled slightly and brought his free hand up to cup John’s face and tilt it upwards. His dreads fell around their faces as he took control of the kiss, his tongue hot and wet as it brushed through John’s mouth, and John arched his back, secure in the knowledge that Ronon would not let him fall, and let Ronon take control of their kiss for a little while.
Soon, his tugging on Ronon’s clothes continued, though, as he grew desperate to touch the skin underneath the wool, linen and leather, and Ronon responded with his hand running down John’s chest, tweaking a nipple through the cotton of his shirt, circling over his flat stomach and finally gently squeezing his growing arousal through the thick material of John’s pants.
John bit the inside of his lip and pressed himself into Ronon’s hand, rubbing himself against his agile fingers. He couldn’t feel a lot through his clothes, and it wasn’t enough, not enough friction, not enough heat, not enough contact.
“Ronon,” he groaned, frustration coloring his voice slightly, and Ronon chuckled and dipped his head to nip at his throat playfully.
“Didn’t Teyla teach you patience?” he asked, and John wrapped his hands into Ronon’s dreadlocks to pull his head up, to glare at him darkly.
Ronon grinned at him unapologetically, but his hands slipped down John’s body and started to tug at his belt, finally. It gave John a moment to catch his breath and concentrate on the strings and buttons of Ronon’s own pants. He could see the hard line of Ronon’s arousal pressed tight against the leather, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to teasingly brush just his fingertips against the front of the pants, applying just enough pressure to incite Ronon a bit.
Their mouths met again, in another frantic kiss, and the part of John’s brain that wasn’t wrapped in a red haze of lust and arousal realized that their sharp reactions were as much pent up frustration about their current situation and the way they were forced to sit around and twirl their thumbs as they were the undercurrent of their normal relationship.
Finally, they were naked, their bodies pressing together skin to skin, with coarse hair rasping against coarse hair, skin rubbing against skin and fingers teasing and arousing while rubbing against nipples, the sharp protruding edge of bones under thin skin, or their by now leaking cocks.
Ronon hummed softly as he bent to lick John’s collarbone gently. His tongue was raspy against John’s overly sensitized skin, and his fingers were hot and insistent when they tugged John’s leg up around his hip, to reach behind him and run them down the cleft of his ass.
John shuddered and pressed himself tighter to Ronon’s body. It had been a while since his last brush with death, which was the usual situation to bring Ronon to his quarters with this almost desperate need, and he welcomed the erotic sensations caused by Ronon’s fingertips teasing his opening with a soft moan.
“Relax,” Ronon mumbled into his hair before slipping the first finger into John’s body, slowly stretching him and preparing him for what was to come as much as he was able to.
“Am relaxed,” John replied and reached between them while still balancing on one leg. Keeping Ronon in a constant state of arousal while the other man prepared him didn’t prove to be very hard, he thought with a small smile as his thumb rubbed the shiny slickness of precome over the head of Ronon’s cock.
Ronon jerked slightly in his grip and wrapped his arm tightly around John, constricting his maneuvering room somewhat, but inserting a second finger into John, and the stretch and burn distracted John long enough to prevent him from complaining about it.
He let his head fall back instead, and Ronon’s lips pressed against his once more, his beard tickling and scratching, but John didn’t care. His nerve endings seemed to have all wandered to his ass, twitching and throbbing under John’s skin with every of Ronon’s touches.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when Ronon finally pulled his fingers free and ran his hand over the muscular curve of John’s ass. “You ready?” he asked, and John nodded quietly. He was tasting the faint tang of blood from where he’d bit his lip repeatedly, and he could feel beads of sweat running down his spine.
Raising his hand to his mouth, he licked his palm generously before wrapping it around Ronon’s length. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t much of a substitute for the lube in the top drawer of his bedside table, but there was no way they could reach the container and open it without asking someone for help, and that was out of the question. But they both were desperate for each other’s touch, and this wasn’t the first time they had forgone lube, for whatever reason.
“How do you…” John started, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. Ronon’s fingers tightened on his ass.
“Like this,” he replied and hitched John’s leg back up around his hip before reaching for his other leg. “Just let me…”
John realized what Ronon was planning a split second before it happened. It left him enough time to wrap both arms around Ronon’s neck and hang on before he was lifted up. Ronon’s hands on his ass held him and spread him open for his cock, and John took a deep breath and slowly released it as gravity and strong muscles positioned him and caused Ronon’s hard flesh to breach his body slowly.
He hissed slightly, and Ronon mouthed at his chest and collarbone again, his back bent and the muscles under his skin jumping as he let John get used to the intrusion.
“Good, I’m good,” John finally panted. He pushed his heels into Ronon’s back impatiently. “Move!”
Ronon chuckled and used his grip to lift John up once more, until just the head of his dick remained in him. He let gravity do the rest, and John couldn’t stop the deep moan when Ronon’s flesh pressed into his prostate. It made his toes curl, and it just woke the hunger in John for more, and he scratched his nails over Ronon’s back impatiently.
Ronon grunted and turned them around, to press John against the side of his bed while adjusting his grip slightly. His palms had started to get moist and slip slightly on John’s hips, and he didn’t want to drop the other man.
“Ronon,” John hissed when Ronon shifted, pressing his dick more firmly against John’s prostate. His eyes were falling shut, his mouth opened, and wordless sounds escaped him as Ronon licked and kissed the underside of his chin and down his throat.
Ronon would have loved to reach out and tweak one of John’s nipples, just to see his reaction, but he didn’t quite dare it. He didn’t want John to buckle too much in his grip and hurt himself – he didn’t know what Jennifer would do to fix an internal injury in their current state, and he didn’t want to find out – so he settled for biting down on his shoulder, eliciting a broken groan and a snap of John’s hips.
Lifting John’s body weight up again and again became tiring after a while, and Ronon carefully pulled out and allowed John’s feet to slip to the ground again.
“Bed, hands and knees,” he murmured, his tongue sneaking out to lick over the sensitive shell of John’s ear. He squeezed John’s ass as he walked past, and John shuddered visibly and took a deep breath before he crawled onto the makeshift bed, his ass wriggling slightly in an attempt to get Ronon to fuck him sooner.
It wasn’t an invitation Ronon planned on passing up.
Kneeling behind John and pushing into him again was one move, and picking him up by the hips once more, to get him to the right height, was a second. John moaned a wordless protest about being manhandled like this, but Ronon was too far gone to care, and he suspected that John was, too.
He wrapped one arm around John’s hip, to reach between his legs and take his dick in his hand while his hips snapped into John sharply. He couldn’t stop now if he wanted to, feeling the first traces of release teasing him from the center of his stomach, like a tingling sensation that filled his whole body and consciousness.
John was hissing encouragements, his words almost lost through the rush of blood in Ronon’s ears, and Ronon lifted his hips a little bit higher to slam into him just that tiny little bit deeper.
It was enough to make John cry out before his arms buckled and his head collided with the pillow as orgasm overwhelmed his entire body and made him shudder in release. Ronon grunted as he thrust into him again, and again, his release already at his fingertips, just a few sharp snaps of his hips away from him. John’s muscles rippled around him, massaging his dick and squeezing it tight, and Ronon came with a small broken sound he couldn’t quite suppress.
John hissed as Ronon collapsed on top of him, but he was too worn out to bitch about it. He could just groan softly and hope that Ronon caught the hint.
He didn’t fight when Ronon lifted him up again and re-arranged his body before walking toward the little bowl filled with water that substituted for a sink while there was the realistic risk of John drowning in the sink in his bathroom. He cleaned up himself and then John, and John smiled, the first smile in days.
There really were only a few people who made him feel small and safe, and Ronon was definitely one of them.
~End.