Staring at the Sun, Chapter 3 and Epilogue
Title: Staring at the Sun
Rating: R? NC-17?
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. Or, hooray! Trope!fic!
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2
John wakes up feeling like hell, but after Keller, the first face he sees is Woolsey. It's nice to see him, though he can't help asking himself they woke me up for this?
Finally, though, Woolsey's stepping aside, and John can see Teyla, Lorne, McKay and Ronon surrounding his bed him. Mostly Ronon, but he keeps his eyes moving over the group.
"We're glad you're okay…" Lorne's saying, but John nods his way through the preamble. They've all been through this conversation before, he already knows what everyone's going to say, already knows that having that much focused attention on him makes him want to cringe, a little. He wants to get this all over with.
The third or fourth pass, he notes that the bandage on Ronon's throat is gone, and there's just another scar, there, in the hollow of his throat.
"It's hasn't been two months yet," McKay jokingly complains. "I owe Zelenka a week's pay. I mean, seriously, you were fine in stasis. Would it have killed them to put it off a week?"
Ronon growls, but he's close to laughing, though there's something off. The smile's not fitting on his face the way it usually does. He's happy, though, his eyes are warm as he briefly clasps his arm when Keller kicks them all out. He probably doesn't even know that it's there.
Either that, or the drugs winding through his system have him seeing things.
John worries about what he thinks he saw until Ronon comes back, alone this time, and finds out that mostly, it was just the distance. The extra few inches he's allowed when there aren't any chaperones alleviate most of it, but there's still the two months that John didn't have.
---
He's tired, yes, and aching all over, but he's missed nearly two months, and he'd like to get back to it.
The city's still floating, and everyone is safe. On the third day, he asks to see Franks, and Keller loads him into a wheelchair to find Katie Brown sitting by her bed, explaining it all to her. He doesn't interrupt, though he's heard it already from Beckett, and he stays once Katie leaves.
"How're you feeling?"
"Not great," she admits with an attempt at a rueful smile. "They're letting me go home, though, once I get my strength back. They're sending Jerry's casket ahead, but I should be there in time for the funeral. There's a lot-" she breaks off, and her face twists. "God, I haven't even met his mother, yet, but his sister," and she starts sobbing.
He doesn't want to, it's uncomfortable as hell, and he's the worst person to be there for this sort of thing, but he stays. Penance, maybe. There are flowers by her bedside, which part of him thinks is a little sick, given what she's gone through, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know her that well.
---
He's allowed visitors only for short times, but it seems he's become a popular attraction, enough that they give him his own room off the infirmary. The groups are always in sporadic and changing, during the day, but at night, Ronon arrives on his own, late enough that John worries about the attention.
"It's fine," Ronon explains, cuing up the movie on the DVD. "Makes you feel any better, it's standing orders from Beckett. Says you need some sort of routine, but that you're not supposed to start thinking about work, yet."
"And you just happen to be the one that doesn't have any standing duties in the evenings."
"Yup. We're good. You complaining?"
"Hell no," John says, because Beckett's ideas are usually good ones, and yeah, they're still in the infirmary, and they're just watching a movie, but Ronon has to pull the chair up real close if he has any hopes of seeing the screen.
Ronon's forearm is pressed against his own, and it takes John the better part of the movie to think that yeah, given the circumstances, this is them talking.
---
He's not surprised to hear form Lorne that Franks has asked to be reassigned to the SGC.
---
The first night he's released, finds that Ronon's still being conscientious about following Carson's orders. At least up until the moment the door is closed, and John's seen this one coming, putting himself in Ronon's space even before he turns to face him.
"Welcome home," Ronon smiles once John's kissed out and catching his breath. It's one of the real grins he's rediscovered somewhere, lately, and pushes John towards the bed.
He thinks dimly of pointing out that he never left, that neither of them had, but he thinks he gets what Ronon means.
---
John keeps getting better, and really, nothing's changed, but he's more careful than before, a little. He probably doesn't even know that he's doing it, but Ronon can't stop noticing. In their rooms, or out on the edge of the city when they're running, or sometimes in the gym, when it's late, it's like nothing's changed.
It's just the rest of the time. A little extra elbow room in the cafeteria, a few less jokes in the hallways.
Ronon wonders if he knew what things were like when he'd been in stasis. Caught onto the behavior, gone quiet, shut down a little.
He's heard the stories from the SGC, rumors about how what happens in the field stays in the field, and yeah, everyone's discreet, but John's still obviously concerned.
They came close, real damn close, to ruining John's career over this. Ronon gets it, he really does, but it's starting to look like the kind of thing that they're going to need to talk about.
He's not looking forward to it, either, but he brings it up, carefully as he opens his second beer. It's roundabout and a bit awkward. Neither of them are good at talking, but by the time it's finally over with, and he's following John down onto the mattress, he's got it figured out.
John's not the type to admit that he cares about his status, his career. He's crowed, often enough, about having been assigned to the post in Antarctica. But that was before, he'd said.
Before all of this. Before he had something to lose.
Ronon leaves it at that, because John's mouth is on his throat, but in the morning, he can tell that John's given it a little more thought.
He tries, afterwards, a little harder, or maybe a little less. Ronon can't tell, and he's not going to ask. They don't need to have that talk again, they're good.
---
The SGC wants him back for review before letting him resume his full duties, and there are several others heading back as well, so Ronon doesn't feel too obvious when he joins the party in the gate room as the connection back to earth is made.
Landry's waiting on the other side, along with Carter, and she's taking John to DC to meet with O'Neill. It doesn't seem the kind of thing that Ronon's welcome to tag along on, so he hangs around the SGC for a day or so, filling Landry in on the state of Pegasus.
How he wound up being the one to report on the state of an entire galaxy is beyond him, but he understands the logic behind using the resources at hand. Eventually, though, Landry takes pity on him or something, because when Teal'c comes through the gate, he's already dressed for sparring.
Other than that, though, the SGC is a dull place when it's not about to explode, and Ronon's relieved when John appears in the doorway of the guest quarters.
"I'm reinstated the moment we get back. They're telling Lorne now."
Ronon's expected as much, but he doesn't say so. "Think he'll take it okay?"
"The promotion that's coming along with the, er, demotion, should soften the blow. Anyhow, c'mon, grab your stuff. We've got three days before our flight leaves."
"Where are we going?"
John looks around at the four windowless walls and smirks. "Does it matter?"
---
He finds the locker they'd assigned him the last time he was back there, and finds his clothes, as well as a thick brown envelope, which he opens. A small booklet with his picture falls out, and a plastic card, with the same picture. Identification cards, he remembers something about Landry saying a few months back.
John says he's got the car lined up when he steps out, and he's wearing a pack on his back, but it's even larger than the one he takes on missions. He examines the card, laughing "They're saying you're from Iowa?" as they step into the elevator.
"Why's that funny?" Ronon asks, but finally, they're on the surface, heading down one hallway and another, and there's the checkpoint, and there's the sky, and he's honestly not listening to whatever John's saying anyhow.
---
It's late at night when they check into the hotel, and John's too tired from staring at the road to do much more than stare at the television. Ronon, on the other hand, paces the room like he's looking for something to shoot, and there's a good chance it will be John if he doesn't play his cards right.
"So, we drove ten hours to hang out in a room," Ronon grumbles, looking out the window again.
"One, it's just for tonight. Two, it's a room with windows and nobody important looking through them." John takes a breath and makes himself stand up. "Three, that restaurant we passed coming up the street? Totally worth it. "
But Ronon's not impressed with the chips and salsa the waitress leaves at the table when she takes their order, and John has to quietly explain the concept of "appetizers."
"You eat before you eat?" He clearly thinks it's the stupidest thing in the world, or maybe it's this world that's the stupidest one in the universe, it wouldn't be the first time. But it doesn't stop him from tearing through more than half the basket and finishing a huge order of enchiladas with mole.
---
John's not feeling the aftereffects of the tequila, and Ronon hates him for it just a little, even though he did throw in an extra gallon of water when they stopped for supplies, along with a pair of sun glasses that turn the sky an odd shade of blue. Maybe that's why the rocks look so strange, once they've made it over the hill and the horizon expands.
"They're red," Ronon takes the glasses off, squints to be sure, and no, it's not just the glasses.
"Got it in one," John grins, turning onto the highway and heading towards them.
They check in at a worn stone building that should look out of place, on Earth, but then they're off again, and the road turns to gravel beneath their wheels, and eventually, they stop.
"We're hiking in from here. Grab that bag, would you?"
Outside of the car, it's hot, sweltering, but there's a breeze coming through the valley. John's looking at a map, tucking it in a side pocket of the pack before pointing them down a rough trail, and it's all making sense, now.
John's back on duty as soon as he gets back. He needs to prepare, to rehearse, to find out for himself that he's actually up to it.
John's unarmed, though Ronon knows there's a knife in his pack. He slides his own out, though, clips it onto the belt on his waist before he moves to follow. This is Earth, though, soft. He doesn't really think he's going to need it.
They walk for a while, over rocks and through scrub brush, the occasional stand of trees, and they stop to rest in the shade of some rocks. He's sweat through his clothing now, and he's not sure, but John's arms and face are looking a little red. Then again, everything does.
"Where are we going?" He asks, once a little of the shade's been eaten away by the sun.
"Just a little further now. Drink some more water." It's the only warning he gives, before leading Ronon up over a rough path that winds up along the rocks, and it's good that their hands are free, because there are parts where they have to actually climb.
It's faster going than he expected, though, and once he sees John's intended destination, he says as much as he overtakes him.
"Yeah, well, without McKay slowing us down," John sidesteps, readjusts his grip before hauling himself up.
"Only one I see slowing us down is you Ronon smirks, waiting at the top and watching John scramble over the last outcropping.
"Not anymore," John grins, then, and finally just stops.
Ronon turns around. He'd glanced around when he'd first gotten up here, but hadn't really looked.
A short distance away, the ground falls away at a sharp angle, and beyond it, he can see for miles. Other hills and mountains rising up out of the scattered trees There's a road there, Ronon can just see it, miles away, but other than that? Nothing but rocks and air, nothing and themselves.
Ronon didn't think Earth got this empty, it's amazing.
"What do you think?" John lets his pack drop to the ground, then drags it over to the shade afforded by another.
"Feels like home," Ronon says, though he's not sure what it means by it. John nods anyway.
"Yeah," he says, taking another drink of water before offering the bottle. Ronon doesn't need it, not yet, but he reaches out for John all the same.
---
The sky is huge, here, bright, and even with his eyes closed, it's creeping red and orange through his eyelids. The sun's a slow burn on his skin, and it's blotting everything out but touch. John's mouth on him, slow and teasing, slick and hot and everywhere. The chain of his dog tags draped over the top of his spine, rolling underneath Ronon's fingers, and the incredible heat of his hair. John's fingers slicking into him, the rhythm slower than before, easier now, but deceptive, too, giving the pressure he needs only when he's not ready for it, dancing away again every time he twists into the contact, tries to get closer.
John moves back to kneel between his spread knees, and there's nothing between Ronon and the world but the thin bedroll under his back, but his hand is back on his hip. He's not going far, then, just shifting. Easing a second finger in alongside the first, and it's a bit rougher, for a moment, almost too rough when he strikes that deep, and he tries, failingly, to move, to shift, to open his eyes.
"Keep doin' that, you'll go blind," John teases when he winces against the sun, and it sounds like some sort of dirty joke, and then he slows down again, so Ronon growls.
"Okay, yeah," John says when it's not enough any more, and Ronon drags his hand down along his cock, pressure just right, and his fingers dance low enough, sometimes, to touch John's wrist, and it's a whole new rhythm, then. Even under the wind, he can hear John's breath catch, but he matches the pace of his strokes, sliding into him harder, now, and it's almost enough but not, and it's not want, anymore, he needs him. Drags his hand roughly up along John's back, his fingers slicking over the skin as he pulls up on his shoulder, drags him blindly up.
He can see the movement across the back of his eyelids, and this time, when he opens his eyes, all he can see is John, and that the sun's moved in the sky, coming from a different angle than before, and fuck, he's been like this for an hour, and his mouth is almost too dry to tell John "Now."
John's hips are slick where they're pressing against the inside of his thighs, and sweat drops from his jaw onto Ronon's chest. He imagines it hissing away while John presses into him, a steady drive that lasts forever until he's finally inside.
"Open your eyes," John breathes after a moment, and this time, it's John's face that's looking blown, his mouth is open and his eyes are staring, and they're seeing him, if only just barely.
"More," Ronon orders, rocking his hips up to meet him, take that last incremental inch, but he means all, and John starts to give it, careful and teasing for a few moments. It's good, it's almost- Ronon reaches for himself again, and maybe John's taking it as a command, because the thrusts are coming harder, now, faster. They push the breath out of him, sometimes it comes out as a choked-off moan, sometimes silent, when he can catch it.
His skin isn't burning any more, it's singing.
He's got one hand on John's chest, brushes his thumbnail over a nipple, and can actually feel the resulting shudder shake down through John's chest, into his spine, stuttering through his hips, and back into Ronon as he starts to crest. He yanks John down, kisses him roughly before the cycle breaks. John pulls his mouth away as the edge comes, watches him careen over it, and doesn't stop moving until Ronon breathes again.
When he does stop, it's because he's being wracked from the inside out, like he's too much alive for his body to handle, and the spasms shake them both.
He collapses, then, slowly, but it's too hot to stay that way for more than a minute, so he pushes himself up with a groan. He's moving carefully as he eases off to one side, but Ronon can't stop from jerking when he pulls out, even if he can't find it in himself to move yet. He can feel John's heart slowing against his arm, his breath returning to normal.
Ronon closes his eyes again, stretches his legs out one at a time before leaning up on one elbow to find John dozing next to him.
They both need water, here, in a minute, and should both get dressed, but he's having a hard time finding the motivation. "You're gonna get a sunburn," he says, because one of them should probably get their act together, here.
"As far as side effects go," John cracks one eye open, "that's nothing."
"Yeah." Ronon runs a hand along John's arm. His skin is dry under his fingers, and they both need water, soon, but John kisses him, lazy and careless and totally at ease, and it's not the sort of thing they can get away with every day, so he gives it a minute. Kisses him back for a while.
-- Epilogue --
Ronon wasn't wrong, and if John doesn't want to wind up explaining to Beckett how he managed to get a sunburn on his ass, he's going to have to be careful, the next few missions out.
For the record, Ronon's totally fine with that.
The end.
Rating: R? NC-17?
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. Or, hooray! Trope!fic!
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2
John wakes up feeling like hell, but after Keller, the first face he sees is Woolsey. It's nice to see him, though he can't help asking himself they woke me up for this?
Finally, though, Woolsey's stepping aside, and John can see Teyla, Lorne, McKay and Ronon surrounding his bed him. Mostly Ronon, but he keeps his eyes moving over the group.
"We're glad you're okay…" Lorne's saying, but John nods his way through the preamble. They've all been through this conversation before, he already knows what everyone's going to say, already knows that having that much focused attention on him makes him want to cringe, a little. He wants to get this all over with.
The third or fourth pass, he notes that the bandage on Ronon's throat is gone, and there's just another scar, there, in the hollow of his throat.
"It's hasn't been two months yet," McKay jokingly complains. "I owe Zelenka a week's pay. I mean, seriously, you were fine in stasis. Would it have killed them to put it off a week?"
Ronon growls, but he's close to laughing, though there's something off. The smile's not fitting on his face the way it usually does. He's happy, though, his eyes are warm as he briefly clasps his arm when Keller kicks them all out. He probably doesn't even know that it's there.
Either that, or the drugs winding through his system have him seeing things.
John worries about what he thinks he saw until Ronon comes back, alone this time, and finds out that mostly, it was just the distance. The extra few inches he's allowed when there aren't any chaperones alleviate most of it, but there's still the two months that John didn't have.
---
He's tired, yes, and aching all over, but he's missed nearly two months, and he'd like to get back to it.
The city's still floating, and everyone is safe. On the third day, he asks to see Franks, and Keller loads him into a wheelchair to find Katie Brown sitting by her bed, explaining it all to her. He doesn't interrupt, though he's heard it already from Beckett, and he stays once Katie leaves.
"How're you feeling?"
"Not great," she admits with an attempt at a rueful smile. "They're letting me go home, though, once I get my strength back. They're sending Jerry's casket ahead, but I should be there in time for the funeral. There's a lot-" she breaks off, and her face twists. "God, I haven't even met his mother, yet, but his sister," and she starts sobbing.
He doesn't want to, it's uncomfortable as hell, and he's the worst person to be there for this sort of thing, but he stays. Penance, maybe. There are flowers by her bedside, which part of him thinks is a little sick, given what she's gone through, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know her that well.
---
He's allowed visitors only for short times, but it seems he's become a popular attraction, enough that they give him his own room off the infirmary. The groups are always in sporadic and changing, during the day, but at night, Ronon arrives on his own, late enough that John worries about the attention.
"It's fine," Ronon explains, cuing up the movie on the DVD. "Makes you feel any better, it's standing orders from Beckett. Says you need some sort of routine, but that you're not supposed to start thinking about work, yet."
"And you just happen to be the one that doesn't have any standing duties in the evenings."
"Yup. We're good. You complaining?"
"Hell no," John says, because Beckett's ideas are usually good ones, and yeah, they're still in the infirmary, and they're just watching a movie, but Ronon has to pull the chair up real close if he has any hopes of seeing the screen.
Ronon's forearm is pressed against his own, and it takes John the better part of the movie to think that yeah, given the circumstances, this is them talking.
---
He's not surprised to hear form Lorne that Franks has asked to be reassigned to the SGC.
---
The first night he's released, finds that Ronon's still being conscientious about following Carson's orders. At least up until the moment the door is closed, and John's seen this one coming, putting himself in Ronon's space even before he turns to face him.
"Welcome home," Ronon smiles once John's kissed out and catching his breath. It's one of the real grins he's rediscovered somewhere, lately, and pushes John towards the bed.
He thinks dimly of pointing out that he never left, that neither of them had, but he thinks he gets what Ronon means.
---
John keeps getting better, and really, nothing's changed, but he's more careful than before, a little. He probably doesn't even know that he's doing it, but Ronon can't stop noticing. In their rooms, or out on the edge of the city when they're running, or sometimes in the gym, when it's late, it's like nothing's changed.
It's just the rest of the time. A little extra elbow room in the cafeteria, a few less jokes in the hallways.
Ronon wonders if he knew what things were like when he'd been in stasis. Caught onto the behavior, gone quiet, shut down a little.
He's heard the stories from the SGC, rumors about how what happens in the field stays in the field, and yeah, everyone's discreet, but John's still obviously concerned.
They came close, real damn close, to ruining John's career over this. Ronon gets it, he really does, but it's starting to look like the kind of thing that they're going to need to talk about.
He's not looking forward to it, either, but he brings it up, carefully as he opens his second beer. It's roundabout and a bit awkward. Neither of them are good at talking, but by the time it's finally over with, and he's following John down onto the mattress, he's got it figured out.
John's not the type to admit that he cares about his status, his career. He's crowed, often enough, about having been assigned to the post in Antarctica. But that was before, he'd said.
Before all of this. Before he had something to lose.
Ronon leaves it at that, because John's mouth is on his throat, but in the morning, he can tell that John's given it a little more thought.
He tries, afterwards, a little harder, or maybe a little less. Ronon can't tell, and he's not going to ask. They don't need to have that talk again, they're good.
---
The SGC wants him back for review before letting him resume his full duties, and there are several others heading back as well, so Ronon doesn't feel too obvious when he joins the party in the gate room as the connection back to earth is made.
Landry's waiting on the other side, along with Carter, and she's taking John to DC to meet with O'Neill. It doesn't seem the kind of thing that Ronon's welcome to tag along on, so he hangs around the SGC for a day or so, filling Landry in on the state of Pegasus.
How he wound up being the one to report on the state of an entire galaxy is beyond him, but he understands the logic behind using the resources at hand. Eventually, though, Landry takes pity on him or something, because when Teal'c comes through the gate, he's already dressed for sparring.
Other than that, though, the SGC is a dull place when it's not about to explode, and Ronon's relieved when John appears in the doorway of the guest quarters.
"I'm reinstated the moment we get back. They're telling Lorne now."
Ronon's expected as much, but he doesn't say so. "Think he'll take it okay?"
"The promotion that's coming along with the, er, demotion, should soften the blow. Anyhow, c'mon, grab your stuff. We've got three days before our flight leaves."
"Where are we going?"
John looks around at the four windowless walls and smirks. "Does it matter?"
---
He finds the locker they'd assigned him the last time he was back there, and finds his clothes, as well as a thick brown envelope, which he opens. A small booklet with his picture falls out, and a plastic card, with the same picture. Identification cards, he remembers something about Landry saying a few months back.
John says he's got the car lined up when he steps out, and he's wearing a pack on his back, but it's even larger than the one he takes on missions. He examines the card, laughing "They're saying you're from Iowa?" as they step into the elevator.
"Why's that funny?" Ronon asks, but finally, they're on the surface, heading down one hallway and another, and there's the checkpoint, and there's the sky, and he's honestly not listening to whatever John's saying anyhow.
---
It's late at night when they check into the hotel, and John's too tired from staring at the road to do much more than stare at the television. Ronon, on the other hand, paces the room like he's looking for something to shoot, and there's a good chance it will be John if he doesn't play his cards right.
"So, we drove ten hours to hang out in a room," Ronon grumbles, looking out the window again.
"One, it's just for tonight. Two, it's a room with windows and nobody important looking through them." John takes a breath and makes himself stand up. "Three, that restaurant we passed coming up the street? Totally worth it. "
But Ronon's not impressed with the chips and salsa the waitress leaves at the table when she takes their order, and John has to quietly explain the concept of "appetizers."
"You eat before you eat?" He clearly thinks it's the stupidest thing in the world, or maybe it's this world that's the stupidest one in the universe, it wouldn't be the first time. But it doesn't stop him from tearing through more than half the basket and finishing a huge order of enchiladas with mole.
---
John's not feeling the aftereffects of the tequila, and Ronon hates him for it just a little, even though he did throw in an extra gallon of water when they stopped for supplies, along with a pair of sun glasses that turn the sky an odd shade of blue. Maybe that's why the rocks look so strange, once they've made it over the hill and the horizon expands.
"They're red," Ronon takes the glasses off, squints to be sure, and no, it's not just the glasses.
"Got it in one," John grins, turning onto the highway and heading towards them.
They check in at a worn stone building that should look out of place, on Earth, but then they're off again, and the road turns to gravel beneath their wheels, and eventually, they stop.
"We're hiking in from here. Grab that bag, would you?"
Outside of the car, it's hot, sweltering, but there's a breeze coming through the valley. John's looking at a map, tucking it in a side pocket of the pack before pointing them down a rough trail, and it's all making sense, now.
John's back on duty as soon as he gets back. He needs to prepare, to rehearse, to find out for himself that he's actually up to it.
John's unarmed, though Ronon knows there's a knife in his pack. He slides his own out, though, clips it onto the belt on his waist before he moves to follow. This is Earth, though, soft. He doesn't really think he's going to need it.
They walk for a while, over rocks and through scrub brush, the occasional stand of trees, and they stop to rest in the shade of some rocks. He's sweat through his clothing now, and he's not sure, but John's arms and face are looking a little red. Then again, everything does.
"Where are we going?" He asks, once a little of the shade's been eaten away by the sun.
"Just a little further now. Drink some more water." It's the only warning he gives, before leading Ronon up over a rough path that winds up along the rocks, and it's good that their hands are free, because there are parts where they have to actually climb.
It's faster going than he expected, though, and once he sees John's intended destination, he says as much as he overtakes him.
"Yeah, well, without McKay slowing us down," John sidesteps, readjusts his grip before hauling himself up.
"Only one I see slowing us down is you Ronon smirks, waiting at the top and watching John scramble over the last outcropping.
"Not anymore," John grins, then, and finally just stops.
Ronon turns around. He'd glanced around when he'd first gotten up here, but hadn't really looked.
A short distance away, the ground falls away at a sharp angle, and beyond it, he can see for miles. Other hills and mountains rising up out of the scattered trees There's a road there, Ronon can just see it, miles away, but other than that? Nothing but rocks and air, nothing and themselves.
Ronon didn't think Earth got this empty, it's amazing.
"What do you think?" John lets his pack drop to the ground, then drags it over to the shade afforded by another.
"Feels like home," Ronon says, though he's not sure what it means by it. John nods anyway.
"Yeah," he says, taking another drink of water before offering the bottle. Ronon doesn't need it, not yet, but he reaches out for John all the same.
---
The sky is huge, here, bright, and even with his eyes closed, it's creeping red and orange through his eyelids. The sun's a slow burn on his skin, and it's blotting everything out but touch. John's mouth on him, slow and teasing, slick and hot and everywhere. The chain of his dog tags draped over the top of his spine, rolling underneath Ronon's fingers, and the incredible heat of his hair. John's fingers slicking into him, the rhythm slower than before, easier now, but deceptive, too, giving the pressure he needs only when he's not ready for it, dancing away again every time he twists into the contact, tries to get closer.
John moves back to kneel between his spread knees, and there's nothing between Ronon and the world but the thin bedroll under his back, but his hand is back on his hip. He's not going far, then, just shifting. Easing a second finger in alongside the first, and it's a bit rougher, for a moment, almost too rough when he strikes that deep, and he tries, failingly, to move, to shift, to open his eyes.
"Keep doin' that, you'll go blind," John teases when he winces against the sun, and it sounds like some sort of dirty joke, and then he slows down again, so Ronon growls.
"Okay, yeah," John says when it's not enough any more, and Ronon drags his hand down along his cock, pressure just right, and his fingers dance low enough, sometimes, to touch John's wrist, and it's a whole new rhythm, then. Even under the wind, he can hear John's breath catch, but he matches the pace of his strokes, sliding into him harder, now, and it's almost enough but not, and it's not want, anymore, he needs him. Drags his hand roughly up along John's back, his fingers slicking over the skin as he pulls up on his shoulder, drags him blindly up.
He can see the movement across the back of his eyelids, and this time, when he opens his eyes, all he can see is John, and that the sun's moved in the sky, coming from a different angle than before, and fuck, he's been like this for an hour, and his mouth is almost too dry to tell John "Now."
John's hips are slick where they're pressing against the inside of his thighs, and sweat drops from his jaw onto Ronon's chest. He imagines it hissing away while John presses into him, a steady drive that lasts forever until he's finally inside.
"Open your eyes," John breathes after a moment, and this time, it's John's face that's looking blown, his mouth is open and his eyes are staring, and they're seeing him, if only just barely.
"More," Ronon orders, rocking his hips up to meet him, take that last incremental inch, but he means all, and John starts to give it, careful and teasing for a few moments. It's good, it's almost- Ronon reaches for himself again, and maybe John's taking it as a command, because the thrusts are coming harder, now, faster. They push the breath out of him, sometimes it comes out as a choked-off moan, sometimes silent, when he can catch it.
His skin isn't burning any more, it's singing.
He's got one hand on John's chest, brushes his thumbnail over a nipple, and can actually feel the resulting shudder shake down through John's chest, into his spine, stuttering through his hips, and back into Ronon as he starts to crest. He yanks John down, kisses him roughly before the cycle breaks. John pulls his mouth away as the edge comes, watches him careen over it, and doesn't stop moving until Ronon breathes again.
When he does stop, it's because he's being wracked from the inside out, like he's too much alive for his body to handle, and the spasms shake them both.
He collapses, then, slowly, but it's too hot to stay that way for more than a minute, so he pushes himself up with a groan. He's moving carefully as he eases off to one side, but Ronon can't stop from jerking when he pulls out, even if he can't find it in himself to move yet. He can feel John's heart slowing against his arm, his breath returning to normal.
Ronon closes his eyes again, stretches his legs out one at a time before leaning up on one elbow to find John dozing next to him.
They both need water, here, in a minute, and should both get dressed, but he's having a hard time finding the motivation. "You're gonna get a sunburn," he says, because one of them should probably get their act together, here.
"As far as side effects go," John cracks one eye open, "that's nothing."
"Yeah." Ronon runs a hand along John's arm. His skin is dry under his fingers, and they both need water, soon, but John kisses him, lazy and careless and totally at ease, and it's not the sort of thing they can get away with every day, so he gives it a minute. Kisses him back for a while.
-- Epilogue --
Ronon wasn't wrong, and if John doesn't want to wind up explaining to Beckett how he managed to get a sunburn on his ass, he's going to have to be careful, the next few missions out.
For the record, Ronon's totally fine with that.
The end.