Staring at the Sun, Prologue
Title: Staring at the Sun
Rating: R? NC-17? Starting with the smut, right out of the gate, here. :)
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: None
Pairing: John Sheppard/ Ronon Dex
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: This is all nomelon's fault, because if it wasn't for stumbling upon one of her SN stories, I wouldn't have actually spent the next three hours thinking about the darwinian adaptations of sex pollen.
"It's nice out here," Ronon says, stretching in the light, and John knows how that sun-warmed skin will feel when he touches it. "Quiet." He's smiling unguardedly, but instead of making John nervous, like he's dimly aware that it should, it's making him want him more.
They can see the entire settlement from here, wandering through the tall grass, and it's as good a place to stop as any. Ronon thinks so too, apparently, because he's sitting himself down, tugging at John's shirt, and watching the gate.
The sun would be making him drowsy, but a cool breeze comes up from past the settlement, washing over his skin. He's never been more aware in his life, of the creak of Ronon's leather beside him, the heat coming off him, the relaxed sprawl of his legs he leans back on his elbows.
John settles next to him and casts his gaze out over the valley. Down in the abandoned settlement, the botanists are examining the plants growing out of the ruins and the fields beyond, taking their samples and notes.
The wraith could come through at any moment. There are a thousand things that can go wrong, but for once, John doesn't believe it. Laughter drifts up from the settlement and rides the wind to where they're sitting. He could deal with more missions like this.
He's turning to Ronon to tell him so, finds Ronon's already looking up at him. His face is open and relaxed and he's squinting a little bit, but it's just the sun getting in his eyes. John moves closer, just enough to provide some shade, but by the time he gets close enough to do so, his intentions have gone and changed on him. He doesn't stop until he feels Ronon's lips under his own.
A moment, and that should be the end of it, but Ronon doesn't push him away, doesn't smirk, just drags him a bit closer until he's sprawled over him, and his kiss-
When they're lying here like this- only they've never been like this, never, not exactly- Ronon doesn't seem so tall, but John does. Bracing his hands on his shoulders, he resettles himself a little more tightly against Ronon's thigh before rolling to the side, dragging along the heaviness he feels. Shuddering, Ronon hums his contentment, but it's clearly just short of a growl.
"Should stop," he's saying, unbothered, as he rolls to grasp at John's side, not letting him move any further, and he claims John's mouth with his own, tasting his agreement.
We should really get back down there, John thinks. But there'd been nothing on the long-range sensors, there were guards at the gate, and nobody would be looking for them for the better part of an hour. And Ronon had never been the one to start things, never been the one to want this openly.
John has never been so turned on in his life. He just needs to take the edge off, and they'll be fine.
Ronon stares in the direction of the gate as he works the fly of John's pants open, single-handedly, before moving onto his own, but the angle's all wrong. John's brain kicks into gear then, or maybe out, and he tugs the material aside, freeing him, and he's about to reach out, to touch, but Ronon catches at his wrist. Pulls him close and it's precarious for a moment, but then he's turning and he's wrapped tight against Ronon's chest. One of his necklaces is digging sharply into John's back, but the mouth on his throat is hot, and Ronon's reaching down, and fuck, this is insane.
Craning his neck, he can just barely nip at Ronon's jaw, skim the arm that isn't pinned beneath him back to scratch lightly at Ronon's hip as he starts to stroke him, erratic because of the angle but it feels so damned good and John can't reach. Ronon's grinding against him and none of this is enough. Not nearly.
"You bring anything?" The moment the words are out of his mouth, he's struck with the realization that they're crossing a line, here. Crossing a lot of them.
But they've already come this far, and Ronon's burning against him, and John needs more.
When he opens his mouth to ask again, maybe, or ask if he was the only one gone mad, he finds Ronon's fingers sliding along his lower lip. He captures them, licking and sucking wetly. Ronon brushes deliberately along his side, then, so he shifts, granting him access.
The thought that they don't do this, that they never do this, not out here, flits through his mind, but doesn't gain a foothold. Ronon's skin is rough, but he's moving carefully, more carefully than John could manage. Almost more carefully than he wants, but it's a steady stretch. He's aware of Ronon spitting behind him, and soon- now he feels him lining up, and it's slick and tight and too damned slow, like Ronon's thinking he'll break.
He moves back against him, straining to keep his eyes open on the settlement, on the shapes of their people working in the fields, but it's a nominal effort. It's hard to focus on anything but the sensation of being filled, and after another few moments it's impossible.
He grabs Ronon's hand from his hip and wraps it roughly around his own cock, guiding it, timing his strokes for as long as he can, but he won't last long. Not with the nearly quiet whine Ronon lets out every so often. The sound is amazing in the dark, but now, here in the sun? John doesn't have the words.
"Ronon," he grinds out, but his eyes stay open, seeing nothing but sunlight and pale grass, and he's almost there, unable to do much more than lie there and take it.
Someday, he'll strip Ronon bare on a mesa somewhere, lay him out on the warm rocks, just that much closer to the sun, and ride his skin all the way down. This is what he's thinking when he can't hold back anymore, and he spills into the soil.
Ronon's breath is hot on the back of his scalp, and it stutters when John shifts his hips, still feeling shocky and raw and blind. Ronon eases his hand from John's cock and grabs his hip again, driving into him a bit more madly, and just as John begins to worry what he'll sound like when he comes, Ronon thrusts in to the hilt and he falters, muscles tight and jerking in his release, quiet as the breeze.
It's a moment before Ronon withdraws, slowly, but it's not until John rolls over that he recognizes the movement as being wary as well.
"John?"
"Ronon?"
"What the hell was that?"
---
Chapter1
Rating: R? NC-17? Starting with the smut, right out of the gate, here. :)
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: None
Pairing: John Sheppard/ Ronon Dex
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: This is all nomelon's fault, because if it wasn't for stumbling upon one of her SN stories, I wouldn't have actually spent the next three hours thinking about the darwinian adaptations of sex pollen.
"It's nice out here," Ronon says, stretching in the light, and John knows how that sun-warmed skin will feel when he touches it. "Quiet." He's smiling unguardedly, but instead of making John nervous, like he's dimly aware that it should, it's making him want him more.
They can see the entire settlement from here, wandering through the tall grass, and it's as good a place to stop as any. Ronon thinks so too, apparently, because he's sitting himself down, tugging at John's shirt, and watching the gate.
The sun would be making him drowsy, but a cool breeze comes up from past the settlement, washing over his skin. He's never been more aware in his life, of the creak of Ronon's leather beside him, the heat coming off him, the relaxed sprawl of his legs he leans back on his elbows.
John settles next to him and casts his gaze out over the valley. Down in the abandoned settlement, the botanists are examining the plants growing out of the ruins and the fields beyond, taking their samples and notes.
The wraith could come through at any moment. There are a thousand things that can go wrong, but for once, John doesn't believe it. Laughter drifts up from the settlement and rides the wind to where they're sitting. He could deal with more missions like this.
He's turning to Ronon to tell him so, finds Ronon's already looking up at him. His face is open and relaxed and he's squinting a little bit, but it's just the sun getting in his eyes. John moves closer, just enough to provide some shade, but by the time he gets close enough to do so, his intentions have gone and changed on him. He doesn't stop until he feels Ronon's lips under his own.
A moment, and that should be the end of it, but Ronon doesn't push him away, doesn't smirk, just drags him a bit closer until he's sprawled over him, and his kiss-
When they're lying here like this- only they've never been like this, never, not exactly- Ronon doesn't seem so tall, but John does. Bracing his hands on his shoulders, he resettles himself a little more tightly against Ronon's thigh before rolling to the side, dragging along the heaviness he feels. Shuddering, Ronon hums his contentment, but it's clearly just short of a growl.
"Should stop," he's saying, unbothered, as he rolls to grasp at John's side, not letting him move any further, and he claims John's mouth with his own, tasting his agreement.
We should really get back down there, John thinks. But there'd been nothing on the long-range sensors, there were guards at the gate, and nobody would be looking for them for the better part of an hour. And Ronon had never been the one to start things, never been the one to want this openly.
John has never been so turned on in his life. He just needs to take the edge off, and they'll be fine.
Ronon stares in the direction of the gate as he works the fly of John's pants open, single-handedly, before moving onto his own, but the angle's all wrong. John's brain kicks into gear then, or maybe out, and he tugs the material aside, freeing him, and he's about to reach out, to touch, but Ronon catches at his wrist. Pulls him close and it's precarious for a moment, but then he's turning and he's wrapped tight against Ronon's chest. One of his necklaces is digging sharply into John's back, but the mouth on his throat is hot, and Ronon's reaching down, and fuck, this is insane.
Craning his neck, he can just barely nip at Ronon's jaw, skim the arm that isn't pinned beneath him back to scratch lightly at Ronon's hip as he starts to stroke him, erratic because of the angle but it feels so damned good and John can't reach. Ronon's grinding against him and none of this is enough. Not nearly.
"You bring anything?" The moment the words are out of his mouth, he's struck with the realization that they're crossing a line, here. Crossing a lot of them.
But they've already come this far, and Ronon's burning against him, and John needs more.
When he opens his mouth to ask again, maybe, or ask if he was the only one gone mad, he finds Ronon's fingers sliding along his lower lip. He captures them, licking and sucking wetly. Ronon brushes deliberately along his side, then, so he shifts, granting him access.
The thought that they don't do this, that they never do this, not out here, flits through his mind, but doesn't gain a foothold. Ronon's skin is rough, but he's moving carefully, more carefully than John could manage. Almost more carefully than he wants, but it's a steady stretch. He's aware of Ronon spitting behind him, and soon- now he feels him lining up, and it's slick and tight and too damned slow, like Ronon's thinking he'll break.
He moves back against him, straining to keep his eyes open on the settlement, on the shapes of their people working in the fields, but it's a nominal effort. It's hard to focus on anything but the sensation of being filled, and after another few moments it's impossible.
He grabs Ronon's hand from his hip and wraps it roughly around his own cock, guiding it, timing his strokes for as long as he can, but he won't last long. Not with the nearly quiet whine Ronon lets out every so often. The sound is amazing in the dark, but now, here in the sun? John doesn't have the words.
"Ronon," he grinds out, but his eyes stay open, seeing nothing but sunlight and pale grass, and he's almost there, unable to do much more than lie there and take it.
Someday, he'll strip Ronon bare on a mesa somewhere, lay him out on the warm rocks, just that much closer to the sun, and ride his skin all the way down. This is what he's thinking when he can't hold back anymore, and he spills into the soil.
Ronon's breath is hot on the back of his scalp, and it stutters when John shifts his hips, still feeling shocky and raw and blind. Ronon eases his hand from John's cock and grabs his hip again, driving into him a bit more madly, and just as John begins to worry what he'll sound like when he comes, Ronon thrusts in to the hilt and he falters, muscles tight and jerking in his release, quiet as the breeze.
It's a moment before Ronon withdraws, slowly, but it's not until John rolls over that he recognizes the movement as being wary as well.
"John?"
"Ronon?"
"What the hell was that?"
---
Chapter1