Spoilers: In my head this takes place some time after Aurora, but only really spoils for Runner, and I suppose Duet in a vague Ronony way.
Summary: Rodney and Ronon are stranded on a hostile planet, dangerously compromised by their addiction to some of the plants there...and they're beginning to not care. 3693 words.
For trixiesfic. And I have to apologise -- this was supposed to be longer and plotty, and involve angry natives with spears, a couple of first times, rescue, withdrawal and a number of minor characters, plus a slightly more in character Rodney and Ronon, but real life got in the way more than a little bit, so I had to settle for just writing the food!porn scene in the middle. Sorry.
Thank you, K, for helping me with this even though you were on the other side of the Atlantic and could have been outside playing in the snow instead of helping me write slash about characters you don't know from Adam.
By the time Ronon returned, McKay had once again removed the panel on the front of the DHD, and was knelt down on the dry forest floor, his head and shoulders buried deep in the column. Ronon folded his arms over his chest and let him work for a moment without interrupting, content to watch him in his element for a while longer, though he could feel the itch in the back of his mind settling into a slow burn that he wouldn't be able to ignore for long at the sight.
McKay's BDUs were stretched taut over his ass and thighs, which was a good look for him. Even by the soft standards of the Atlanteans he was not very fit, and compared to Ronon's previous lovers he was ridiculously out of shape, but Ronon had been fascinated from the very start, watching him struggle out of his big red suit in the strange ship. The uniform beneath it had been stuck to his body with sweat, revealing both the unflattering rewards of easy living and the solid muscle that was replacing it, much as his crouched position now was doing.
He hadn't put on his belt that morning, and the warm light that shone through the gap in the forest canopy played across the tender skin exposed between the riding hem of his shirt and the waistband of his trousers, tented out from his spine. With the red sun finally beneath the horizon and the second, smaller, yellow sun no longer directly overhead, everything was a more normal colour; the stripe of McKay's naked back glowed a pale gold, almost luminous against his dark clothes. Ronon thought about pushing the loose t-shirt further up, tucking it around those broad shoulders so McKay's entire back was bared, smooth and white, spreading his hand across it, curling around the fleshy curve of his hip, beneath the cloth.
He pushed away from the grina trunk he had been leaning against, and prowled towards McKay, who stiffened at the sound of the undergrowth crackling beneath Ronon's boots, and backed out from under the DHD.
"Learn anything new?"
Grunting, McKay pushed himself upright and stared down at the double ring of symbols.
"Oh, I really hope not."
"Oh, no, no. Unless you consider the fact that I'm apparently so fucking hooked on those things that I'm sabotaging myself a problem!"
"I never even noticed, and it looks like a two-year-old has been at it! Fuck. Fuck!" Ronon frowned, surprised, and surprised that he was. He had spent the last two days plying the scientist with sweet, addictive fruit, distracting him every time his mutterings grew more excited, but he hadn't once thought that McKay's genius mind might have been working against him as well.
"Can you fix it?" McKay turned around and leaned back against the DHD, sneering. In his right hand he was holding one of the translucent tiles that controlled the DHD. His grip on it was careful, but his other hand was curled into a tight fist, white and pink blooming around his knuckles.
"Of course I can fix it," he snapped. "This is nothing. A two-year-old could fix this! The question you should be asking is: will I fix it?" He flourished the tile tensely, and Ronon saw black threads laced across its surface like a network of veins. "Does this mean what my brain is telling me it means, or am I lying to myself for the sake of those fucking peaches? Am I going to wreck something vital and strand us here permanently while under the delusion that I'm actually still trying to get us home?"
The corner of his mouth drooped down miserably, and Ronon stepped closer, unhappily wondering for the first time how much of this affection that he felt whenever he looked at Rodney had been present before he found the drupp-like fruit that the Atlantean called peaches. It seemed like something that had always been there -- he thought he remembered feeling it before -- but if McKay's brain could lie to him about something that normally came as naturally to him as breathing, what was to stop Ronon's from lying about this?
"Honestly, you have about as much chance of fixing this as I do, right now."
"I doubt that," Ronon said, feeling at even more of a loss for words than he usually did. Sheppard would have known what to say, he thought, and then shook his head. He didn't want to think about Sheppard, who had offered him a home and people to fight alongside, and who would have just snapped back until something clicked and McKay snapped his fingers and pointed, and fixed it. They would have gone home, and Ronon would never have had this.
"Don't worry, I don't expect you to bother your pretty little head about it; that was just me admitting to being completely useless. For once." Ronon grinned. He'd always found McKay's sarcasm and sidelong insults funny, hadn't he? He had never known anyone quite like McKay before. He'd been intrigued straight away, hadn't he?
"You can eat, then?"
"I can always eat."
Smirking, Ronon took a further step forward, shrugging off his pack. Their legs brushed together as he twisted, and he nudged his hips closer when he felt the tension bunching McKay's thighs up against him. He wasn't hard yet, but he wasn't far from it, and the way Rodney looked up at him, craning his neck awkwardly, almost shyly, but still narrow-eyed and challenging, pushed him even closer.
"So, uh, what you got?"
"Meat, fruit, some of those potato things," Ronon said, pulling them out as he spoke, handing them to McKay, who gave up on keeping hold of everything when he saw how much Ronon had brought, knowing the devastation their appetites combined could effect. He turned and set the armful down on the DHD, the lip of which stopped everything from rolling onto the ground, and immediately grabbed for the chocolate bar that Ronon dangling teasingly over his shoulder.
There was nothing they could do to get the Stargate working -- McKay had admitted as much himself -- so Ronon saw no reason not to retain his grasp of the shiny blue fin and let his arm be tugged around Rodney's broad shoulder, pulling the rest of his body in to wrap around the heat that had baked into Rodney's back as he worked in the sun. Wedging his pack between his thigh and the DHD with his knee cocked beneath it to steady it, he fished out the last of the food with his lips barely a breath away from Rodney's nape.
The peaches that had enslaved them were smooth and would have been spherical but for the ridge that ran around the equator and puckered where it grew from the bush; Ronon knew it as soon as he found it at the bottom of his pack, though it had been the last thing he had put in, carefully placing it on top of the rest. He let the pack fall (but left his leg cocked alongside Rodney's thigh) and placed the dark purple fruit on the DHD, sitting it on the top curve of the blue dome in the center of the device.
"Oh, yes. Excellent idea," Rodney sniped, but his heart clearly wasn't in it, and Ronon thought he'd meant it more than he realized. Slowly, he relaxed and let Ronon wind tighter around him, hips cradling his ass as he spread a hand possessively across the soft stomach, sliding underneath his t-shirt to stroke the wiry hairs there, trace around his navel.
Ronon hooked his chin on Rodney's left shoulder. He stared at the stubble coming through along the line of Rodney's jaw and felt the sunshine beating down on the back of his neck, the lazy breeze tickling his skin. Time slowed down and crawled as he stood there and listened to the way Rodney's mouth moved as he chewed, but far too soon all that was left was the peach, perching above the unresponsive central button.
Rodney leaned back against Ronon, pushing a little as though to gauge how easy it would be to escape, and his hands twitched as he tried to ignore the peach. Ronon picked it up and offered it to him, less than a hands breadth from his mouth. He shook his head tentatively, but he didn't look away.
Ronon turned it over in his large palm and lifted it to his own mouth, curling his arm around Rodney's neck steadily enough for him to raise his chin in plenty of time. Time seemed to shudder to a halt, and for a moment he forgot about the fruit in his hand entirely. Rodney was more vulnerable in that moment than even he probably realized, with his throat arching into the warrior's forearm. His pulse was beating out a staccato rhythm against Ronon's bicep, and his larynx forced its way up and down the crease of Ronon's arm as it rose and fell nervously, but his body was still loose, still pliant against Ronon's. Trusting.
Ronon licked his lips, shivering at the feel of fine hair sliding against his jaw as Rodney tilted his head back on Ronon's shoulder and turned to watch him bite a chunk out of the peach. They both groaned, and Ronon's hand tightened on Rodney's stomach as the firm purple skin tore beneath his teeth and the thick juice hit his tongue, the fresh, pulpy smell of it filling the air around them. The flesh beneath his hand rose and fell quickly as Rodney panted, and Ronon smiled.
This time, when he held the peach close to Rodney's mouth there was no hesitation; Rodney leaned in and scooped the juice out of the hollow Ronon had left with a curled tongue, and the pleasure in his voice as he moaned was enough to get Ronon hard. He devoured the rest of the peach in six ravenous, messy bites that didn't discriminate between fruit and the fingers that Ronon couldn't move fast enough, sharp canines nipping uncaringly at Ronon's fingertips.
The sounds he made were obscene as he sank in his teeth and ripped out chunks of pulpy pink flesh, and the wet, hungry, slurping and popping of his tongue and cheeks as he chewed it and sucked up the spurting juice were almost more than Ronon could bear. When the peach was reduced to just a few slick strips clinging to the wrinkled stone Rodney chased sticky, winding dribbles of juice down over Ronon's wrist. His tongue flicked hard across the strained tendons there, hands coming up to hold Ronon's arm in place, and the firm, wet suction snapped Ronon's hips forward without any instructions from his brain.
"Hmmph!" Teeth closed briefly on the tender skin halfway down to his elbow, the shrill cry muffled by his arm, but Ronon was already easing back. His unthinking lunge had slammed Rodney's thighs into the rim of the DHD, but for one grinding moment when he felt the hit shock through Rodney he had really been worried that he'd crushed something considerably more delicate and not much higher up. Still slightly nervous, he skimmed his hand down and cupped the hardness tenting Rodney's BDUs.
There didn't seem to be anything wrong, but if there was one thing Ronon knew, it was that you should never assume anything. If you couldn't see the truth with your own eyes, feel it in your own two hands, then you couldn't trust it. He opened Rodney's pants and, hooking his thumb in the shorts beneath them, dragged everything down to mid-thigh.
Rodney shivered, but it couldn't be that he was cold, because Ronon was on fire. Pushing the stone out of his hand, Rodney licked slowly across his palm from his wrist, circling the meat at the base of his thumb, and sucked at the pulp on the web of skin between thumb and forefinger, teeth scraping sharply. Rodney swirled his tongue around Ronon's fingers, hot and slippery, and a chill tickled in its wake as his saliva dried.
Ronon licked his lips. The same chill tingled in them, and he could still taste the too-sweet tang of the peach. He had to duck his head and replace it with the salty hollow of Rodney's shoulder. He blew across the wet skin, and shook his head when Rodney shivered.
It had been almost eight years since he'd had sex, and not much less since he'd thought about it with anything more passionate than wistfulness and the anger that had always been there and never really went away; from the day the Wraith attacked, masturbation had lost all of its thrill. He'd fisted his cock desperately, remembering past lovers, but it had been excrutiating, totally unsatisfying, and after the first month he'd simply stopped wanting to even try. Stopped thinking about sex and affection because it was too much and nothing at all, and it hurt even more than not having them.
Then he'd been taken to the city of the Ancestors, where he had a bed and food he didn't have to burn himself. A bath that refilled itself whenever he wanted to get clean. And suddenly he found himself surrounded by people again, nearly three hundred of them, and he didn't have to worry about putting them in any more danger than they already were if he stayed. He watched them interact, these people who talked all the time and so rarely said anything, touching each other as casually as though it didn't mean a thing. They were still too wary of him to touch him that easily, but he felt their stares, some of them so...hungry, and he touched himself. More than he had done since he was a boy, but his fantasies now were so different, so much simpler and more complex, flashes of a vulnerability he'd never known before.
He still hadn't quite dared to do anything until the Stargate screamed at them and shut down on Teyla's heels, stranding him alone with Rodney, who was so unlike anyone Ronon had ever met. Eight years of celibacy. He hadn't expected two days to make up for it and satiate him entirely, but neither had he expected to want more and more every time he touched Rodney's skin, as though he had to catch up on everything he'd missed out on or go insane.
Looking down at the white swell of Rodney's hip, the angle where it became his thigh, the rucked fabric of his BDUs beneath Ronon's hand, Ronon felt as though he already had.
It felt like the dreams he'd had when he was a Runner, when his best and worst dreams had been of a place where he could finally stop running, finally slow down and take his time, make a life that had nothing to do with war or loss. He looked up. Through the hole in the lush treetops that their arrival had opened up, he could see a triangle of blue sky between layer upon layer of cloud tinted orange and pink by the descending suns. It looked like a dream.
Rodney's cock felt real when he took it in his hand. Solid...thick and hot, the head of it smooth and slimy under his thumb. It felt good. Rodney hissed and flinched, biting down hard on the side of Ronon's little finger, and yeah, that felt good too.
The rusty words came from somewhere deep and guileless, and when they were out he felt like he had cut himself open straight down the center.
"I want to be inside you again. Is that okay?"
Rodney nodded jerkily, his mouth leaving Ronon's fingers with a popping noise. "Yes, Yes, just... God, do it, yes." Shaking as though he hadn't come in eight years, Ronon twisted his wrist out of Rodney's grasp and hastily shoved his pants down, almost whimpering in the relief from pressure he'd barely noticed while it was in place.
His fingers were still wet, and Rodney's hole opened easily when he pressed two against it, taking them in all the way to the first knuckles in one steady slide. Rodney writhed soundlessly, his mouth hanging open as he gazed blankly up at the break in the clouds above them. Just as incapable of words, Ronon kissed the side of his face until he turned his head and placed his wide, slack mouth with reach.
Rodney stood there unresponsive for three seconds, passively letting Ronon lick into him, his hands still curled in front of his throat. Then he seemed to wake up all at once, clenching around Ronon's fingers as their tongues stroked across each other. In no time at all, Ronon was groaning, feeling stripped and demolished. It was heady, the way Rodney could switch from impatient to affectionate to dazed to desperate in a heartbeat; exhilaratingly so.
He urged Rodney down over the face of the DHD without losing contact with his mouth, and withdrew his fingers. Pushing Rodney's thighs further apart, he spread the perfect buttocks apart and nudged his swollen cock against Rodney's dark, stretched hole, guiding himself into position with his thumb. The muscle gave way smoothly as the head of his cock sank in, and the rush of sensation nearly finished him.
Rodney arched his back, breathing noisily through his nose, and rubbed his chest against the cool metal surface of the DHD with a helpless shudder. He sounded as close to the edge as Ronon felt. Ronon's eyes screwing shut, he moaned into Rodney's mouth, forcing his tongue deeper as hungrily as he was pushing his cock deeper. He had fucked Rodney only once before, while the red sun was high overhead the previous day and they were both still half asleep in the cool depths of the cave, but he didn't think he would ever get used to how very good it felt to be buried inside him.
"Christ, what am I doing? This, this is just...not a good idea," Rodney suddenly panted incredulously, tearing his face away. He sounded impossibly coherent, given his wordless abandon of a moment ago. He'd been quiet and agreeable for so long that it was almost a relief to hear him speak, but his body obviously wasn't paying any attention to his mouth; Ronon could feel the compliance in the way it just melted into him, boneless and easy. Rodney's elbows were on top of the DHD, his arms were rigid, but he wasn't supporting himself as much as he was letting Ronon hold him up. Not that he would ever be able to admit that.
"Seems pretty good to me," Ronon gasped, pressing his forehead down against Rodney's shoulder, into the warm, sweaty fabric of his t-shirt.
"Yes, well, some of us haven't entirely given in to the urge to go native yet. I need to fix the Stargate, and to do that I need a clear head, and this...this is not helping with that."
There was nothing Ronon could say to that except 'Good,' which he didn't much want to think and knew Rodney didn't want to hear, so he stayed silent. He pushed deeper, trying not to wonder how much of that 'Good' had come from the peaches and how much of it had bubbled up from somewhere older.
"I mean it. I can't get us out of here with you... They would have come for us by now if they could. I mean, if I can't get this working we'll probably be stuck here for good. Or life, anyway."
"Would that be so bad?"
Rodney had caught his lower lip between white teeth and didn't answer him, but Ronon could imagine many worse futures than the one that stretched out ahead of them. Here, at least, they didn't have to fear the Wraith or the Genii, the insulted scientists that McKay could never refrain from patronizingly correcting, Sheppard's rejected admirers, or the city they lived in rising up against them.
Sure, they couldn't leave the forest, and if Rodney was right about the red sun then they wouldn't be able to go outside for two thirds of the day, but they had food enough to live well, clean water, and a cave. Ronon had survived like this for seven years, and he had been in constant fear and anger back then. Always moving on. Always on his own. And now he had Rodney. He could think of lots of things that he and Rodney could do in their cave for eighteen hours of a day.
He pressed his open mouth against the back of Rodney's neck, scraped his teeth across the knots of bone that marched down the trembling back, and sucked greedily, rubbing the flat of his tongue over all the exposed places his teeth had been in the last two days. With one last stuttering jerk he was all the way in, enclosed in gripping, impossible heat. He wanted to stay there for as long as humanly possible, feeling Rodney gasping and whining under him, but he was too close, there was no way he could stop himself from rolling his hips, and then he was gone.
Sheppard had tried to explain what it was like to grow up in a world that had never had to worry about the Wraith, and Ronon had tried to understand, but he had been conscripted to the military when he was nine, and he didn't think there was any way to forget a lifetime of looking to the sky even before he looked around himself. He'd wondered, though, what it would be like to be free of it all, to be able to stop running, to let himself grow soft and thick, like Rodney had been before the Pegasus galaxy worked it out of him. He had wondered how it would change him if he never had to fight again.
He thought he'd like it. Learning to look to Rodney even before he looked to the sky. It sounded like something he could do.