SGA\\Distraction Therapy\\Shex\\NC-17
Title: Distraction Therapy
Author:
kibou_sueshijuu
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Slash, PWP, hurt/comfort(sort of. they're hurt. it's comfort sex. :D)
Pairing: Shex
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,711
Spoilers: n/a
Challenge:
kinkofthemonth 's Valentine's Day Stalker Challenge. See Author's Notes for details.
Episode Tag: n/a
Summary: A concussion here, an arrow in the shoulder there... Nothing a little Distraction Therapy can't help!
Warnings: smutty male on male action
Beta: Hannah, lovely as always.
Archive: kibou_fic,
kinkofthemonth ; e-mail me for permission to archive elsewhere: kibou_sueshijuu [at] hotmail
Author's Notes: written anonymously (until now) for
hugglewolf 's prompt: "John/Rodney; John/Carson; John/Ronon; comfort/healing/rescue sex; bondage; protectiveness (where Sheppard is the one being protected); fluff/cute/gentleness." I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. ^.^
John doesn’t remember much from the attack, except for a flurry of movement and an explosion of sounds: shouts and yells - war cries? -, arrows whizzing, shots firing, yelps of surprise… He remembers being caught off-guard, and Ronon diving into him, and a wretched sound of pain coming from the larger man.
John doesn’t remember much, but he remembers enough.
His head is throbbing and he doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he knows he should. He can hear voices around him, speaking in low tones. He hears Ronon’s growl among them.
John forces his eyes open and regrets it immediately. The lights are too bright, and they cause his head to virtually explode with pain. He wishes they would dim a little.
Atlantis concedes and lowers the lights. John loves her for it; she’s always listening for him. Good ol’ Atlantis.
Carson glances over at him when the lights dim, and sees that John’s awake. “Colonel Sheppard!” he says, rushing over. “How’re you feeling?” He prods around John’s head for a moment, and John winces at the sharp pain that sears through his brain. “Did tha’ hur’?” Carson asks.
“Yeah,” John rasps out. He begins to nod, but stops when that hurts, too. His throat feels dry, and he licks his lips automatically, but it does no good. “What’s wrong with me? What happened?”
Carson steps back from John and John can now see Ronon and Rodney huddled up behind, trying to get a look at him. John gives them a wry smile, which seems to appease their worried expressions - well, Ronon doesn’t look worried, but John can tell he is and Rodney just looks like the world is about to end - for the time being. He turns his attention back to Carson.
“You’ve go’ a concussion,” Carson tells him when he’s sure John is listening. “How much do you remember?”
John tries to lick his lips again. Ronon disappears and comes back moments later with a glass of water. Carson helps John to sit up and Ronon hands him the water. John notices for the first time that Ronon’s shoulder is tightly bandaged beneath the loose vest he is wearing.
John’s eyes meet Ronon’s, and Ronon smiles reassuringly. “It’s alright,” he says. “Just a flesh wound.” John feels guilty, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he brings the glass of water to his lips and takes a slow sip.
In the meantime, Rodney has been going on about John and his apparent death wish. By this point, he’s spiraled off into a tangent that has very little to do with the situation and is mostly just grasping for things to yell at John about, but John knows he’s just worried. Rodney has his own special way of showing he cares. Yes, it involves a lot of verbal abuse, but John’s grown fond of it in the past few years. He finds it slightly amusing, actually. You would have to in order to remain friends with Rodney for any length of time.
During his diatribe, Rodney had pulled two chairs up to the bed, and he slumps into one of them now, apparently having lost his steam. He’s muttering a few last reprimands under his breath.
Ronon sits down next to Rodney and John smiles at them both. “You don’t have to stick around here, you know,” he says, finding his voice still intact, now that he’s had some water.
Ronon grunts as Rodney rolls his eyes. “Oh, right, and let you do something stupid like fall out of bed and worsen your concussion? Yeah, I don’t think so.” John thinks Rodney’s probably this far away from wagging his finger at him and clucking like a mother hen.
Carson raises an eyebrow at Rodney. “Rodne’, it’s not like he’s not being supervised here,” he says, exasperated.
“Hah!” Rodney barks. “Like you and your nurse-y little goons are competent enough to keep Colonel Prone-to-Getting-Myself-Injured-Seriousl
y-Maimed-or-Killed from hurting himself.”
John isn’t sure if he should feel insulted by that or not.
“That’s quite all right. I’ll have one of the idiots in my lab bring me my laptop, and I can work here while I keep an eye on Captain Danger,” Rodney continues.
Carson sighs, and returns his attention to John.
After about fifteen minutes, Carson is as satisfied as he can be that John hasn’t suffered any memory loss or other side-effects of concussion, at least, non that are obvious at this point, and leaves him with Rodney and Ronon to fend for himself.
After he leaves, Ronon gets up and leans over to look John square in the eyes. “You gonna be okay?” he asks. John nods carefully, but his head doesn’t regret it this time. “Call me if you need anything. I have to get out of here.”
“No problem,” John says. Ronon hates the infirmary, John knows this, and understands. He prefers to stay away from hospitals himself.
Rodney looks up as Ronon walks past him, and watches him leave. He turns back to John. “He’s just leaving you here?” he asks, incredulously.
“So?” John asks, taking another drink from his glass of water.
Rodney rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you guys have got a real functional relationship, I can see that,” he gripes. “Just leave each other in the infirmary. What is that? That’s not a relationship, that’s sex-buddies!”
John moans. “Rodney, shut up and bring me something to eat.” His headache has suddenly returned.
***
John hates being in the infirmary, so he lets Carson keep him for observation for a few hours, in which John catches up on some sleep that he is seriously lacking, but he soon gets bored and fidgety and can’t sleep anymore and tells Carson that if he doesn’t clear him to leave he’ll make his life miserable until he does.
John goes to Ronon’s quarters, but he’s not there. He checks the gym, but he’s not there, either. He eventually finds him with Teyla, sitting cross-legged in an empty room. John supposes they’re meditating, and is about to turn to leave when Teyla’s eyes open and catch him in her gaze.
She stands up quietly and walks past John, smiling serenely at him as she leaves the room. John smiles back and then walks over to Ronon. He knows Ronon knows he’s there - John isn’t quite as graceful or catlike as Teyla, despite what he tells Rodney.
John sits down next to Ronon, crossing his own legs. Ronon turns to look at him and smiles. John loves the way Ronon smiles. His eyes crinkle up and his whole face looks almost innocent, at least, if you ignored the goatee and dreadlocks.
John smiles back, thinking that Ronon looks peaceful, almost Zen-like, sitting here in a dim, empty room, cross-legged and meditating, or at least pretending to.
“You’re okay now?” Ronon asks.
John shrugs. “As okay as I’ll ever be.” He nods towards Ronon’s shoulder. “What about you?”
Ronon shrugs. “Like I said - just a flesh wound.” He stands up, and stretches languidly, avoiding too much stress on the wounded shoulder. John looks up at him, and shudders.
Ronon notices, and smirks. John can’t help it: he thinks the doors closed and locked and then waggles his eyebrows at Ronon. Ronon laughs gently, and reaches out with his good arm to pull John up to stand next to him. He pulls John close and kisses him roughly.
John tries to stop the moan rising in his throat, but it manages to escape anyway, sounding strangled, which is almost worse. Ronon smirks against John’s lips and pulls back.
“You’re sure your head is okay?” he asks.
John rolls his eyes. “I’m fine,” he huffs, pushing Ronon backwards, towards one of the walls. “You’re in worse shape than me.”
Ronon grunts when he bumps up against the wall. John moves Ronon’s vest aside and gently places a kiss on the bandage. “What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Ronon groans, thumping his head back against the wall. “You actually looking for an answer?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and glancing at John from beneath his eyelashes.
John grins. “Not really,” he says, sliding down to his knees. John fumbles with Ronon’s pants, and finally gets them undone. He pulls them down and smirks. Ronon’s already hard. His thighs quiver beneath John’s hands, and John lowers his mouth down over his cock, swallowing as much as he can.
John loves the sounds that come from deep in Ronon’s throat, and he hums a little as he pulls back, Ronon’s cock heavy on his tongue. Ronon shudders.
John swirls his tongue over the head of Ronon’s cock, teases the slit a little, and then licks his way along the length to the base. Ronon buries a hand in John’s hair as he lightly tongues at his balls. He groans and mutters something in Satedan. John recognizes the sounds as specific words, but he’s never asked what they mean. He likes to think they’re some variety of “Oh, God, more, please.”
John takes Ronon’s balls into his mouth, but the attention only lasts a few moments because his neck finds the angle slightly painful, and so he returns his attention to Ronon’s cock. He takes it back into his mouth, and sucks gently as he encloses the base with his fist and pumps in time with his mouth.
“John,” Ronon growls. John gets the message and begins to pump and suck harder. Ronon’s fist tightens its grip on John’s hair, almost painfully, but John loves it.
A few moments later, Ronon is thrusting into John’s mouth, and then coming. Semen spills down John’s throat. He does his best to swallow it all, but some dribbles out of his mouth.
Ronon’s softened cock slips from John’s mouth and he stands up to face Ronon. He wipes his chin and then wipes his hand on Ronon’s vest. Ronon gives him a dirty look, but John just grins.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” Ronon answers. “But now I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” He slips his vest off, turns it inside out, and slips it back on as he heads for the door.
John laughs and follows him out of the room.
Author:
kibou_sueshijuu
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Slash, PWP, hurt/comfort(sort of. they're hurt. it's comfort sex. :D)
Pairing: Shex
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,711
Spoilers: n/a
Challenge:
kinkofthemonth 's Valentine's Day Stalker Challenge. See Author's Notes for details.
Episode Tag: n/a
Summary: A concussion here, an arrow in the shoulder there... Nothing a little Distraction Therapy can't help!
Warnings: smutty male on male action
Beta: Hannah, lovely as always.
Archive: kibou_fic,
kinkofthemonth ; e-mail me for permission to archive elsewhere: kibou_sueshijuu [at] hotmail
Author's Notes: written anonymously (until now) for
hugglewolf 's prompt: "John/Rodney; John/Carson; John/Ronon; comfort/healing/rescue sex; bondage; protectiveness (where Sheppard is the one being protected); fluff/cute/gentleness." I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. ^.^
John doesn’t remember much from the attack, except for a flurry of movement and an explosion of sounds: shouts and yells - war cries? -, arrows whizzing, shots firing, yelps of surprise… He remembers being caught off-guard, and Ronon diving into him, and a wretched sound of pain coming from the larger man.
John doesn’t remember much, but he remembers enough.
His head is throbbing and he doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he knows he should. He can hear voices around him, speaking in low tones. He hears Ronon’s growl among them.
John forces his eyes open and regrets it immediately. The lights are too bright, and they cause his head to virtually explode with pain. He wishes they would dim a little.
Atlantis concedes and lowers the lights. John loves her for it; she’s always listening for him. Good ol’ Atlantis.
Carson glances over at him when the lights dim, and sees that John’s awake. “Colonel Sheppard!” he says, rushing over. “How’re you feeling?” He prods around John’s head for a moment, and John winces at the sharp pain that sears through his brain. “Did tha’ hur’?” Carson asks.
“Yeah,” John rasps out. He begins to nod, but stops when that hurts, too. His throat feels dry, and he licks his lips automatically, but it does no good. “What’s wrong with me? What happened?”
Carson steps back from John and John can now see Ronon and Rodney huddled up behind, trying to get a look at him. John gives them a wry smile, which seems to appease their worried expressions - well, Ronon doesn’t look worried, but John can tell he is and Rodney just looks like the world is about to end - for the time being. He turns his attention back to Carson.
“You’ve go’ a concussion,” Carson tells him when he’s sure John is listening. “How much do you remember?”
John tries to lick his lips again. Ronon disappears and comes back moments later with a glass of water. Carson helps John to sit up and Ronon hands him the water. John notices for the first time that Ronon’s shoulder is tightly bandaged beneath the loose vest he is wearing.
John’s eyes meet Ronon’s, and Ronon smiles reassuringly. “It’s alright,” he says. “Just a flesh wound.” John feels guilty, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he brings the glass of water to his lips and takes a slow sip.
In the meantime, Rodney has been going on about John and his apparent death wish. By this point, he’s spiraled off into a tangent that has very little to do with the situation and is mostly just grasping for things to yell at John about, but John knows he’s just worried. Rodney has his own special way of showing he cares. Yes, it involves a lot of verbal abuse, but John’s grown fond of it in the past few years. He finds it slightly amusing, actually. You would have to in order to remain friends with Rodney for any length of time.
During his diatribe, Rodney had pulled two chairs up to the bed, and he slumps into one of them now, apparently having lost his steam. He’s muttering a few last reprimands under his breath.
Ronon sits down next to Rodney and John smiles at them both. “You don’t have to stick around here, you know,” he says, finding his voice still intact, now that he’s had some water.
Ronon grunts as Rodney rolls his eyes. “Oh, right, and let you do something stupid like fall out of bed and worsen your concussion? Yeah, I don’t think so.” John thinks Rodney’s probably this far away from wagging his finger at him and clucking like a mother hen.
Carson raises an eyebrow at Rodney. “Rodne’, it’s not like he’s not being supervised here,” he says, exasperated.
“Hah!” Rodney barks. “Like you and your nurse-y little goons are competent enough to keep Colonel Prone-to-Getting-Myself-Injured-Seriousl
y-Maimed-or-Killed from hurting himself.”
John isn’t sure if he should feel insulted by that or not.
“That’s quite all right. I’ll have one of the idiots in my lab bring me my laptop, and I can work here while I keep an eye on Captain Danger,” Rodney continues.
Carson sighs, and returns his attention to John.
After about fifteen minutes, Carson is as satisfied as he can be that John hasn’t suffered any memory loss or other side-effects of concussion, at least, non that are obvious at this point, and leaves him with Rodney and Ronon to fend for himself.
After he leaves, Ronon gets up and leans over to look John square in the eyes. “You gonna be okay?” he asks. John nods carefully, but his head doesn’t regret it this time. “Call me if you need anything. I have to get out of here.”
“No problem,” John says. Ronon hates the infirmary, John knows this, and understands. He prefers to stay away from hospitals himself.
Rodney looks up as Ronon walks past him, and watches him leave. He turns back to John. “He’s just leaving you here?” he asks, incredulously.
“So?” John asks, taking another drink from his glass of water.
Rodney rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you guys have got a real functional relationship, I can see that,” he gripes. “Just leave each other in the infirmary. What is that? That’s not a relationship, that’s sex-buddies!”
John moans. “Rodney, shut up and bring me something to eat.” His headache has suddenly returned.
***
John hates being in the infirmary, so he lets Carson keep him for observation for a few hours, in which John catches up on some sleep that he is seriously lacking, but he soon gets bored and fidgety and can’t sleep anymore and tells Carson that if he doesn’t clear him to leave he’ll make his life miserable until he does.
John goes to Ronon’s quarters, but he’s not there. He checks the gym, but he’s not there, either. He eventually finds him with Teyla, sitting cross-legged in an empty room. John supposes they’re meditating, and is about to turn to leave when Teyla’s eyes open and catch him in her gaze.
She stands up quietly and walks past John, smiling serenely at him as she leaves the room. John smiles back and then walks over to Ronon. He knows Ronon knows he’s there - John isn’t quite as graceful or catlike as Teyla, despite what he tells Rodney.
John sits down next to Ronon, crossing his own legs. Ronon turns to look at him and smiles. John loves the way Ronon smiles. His eyes crinkle up and his whole face looks almost innocent, at least, if you ignored the goatee and dreadlocks.
John smiles back, thinking that Ronon looks peaceful, almost Zen-like, sitting here in a dim, empty room, cross-legged and meditating, or at least pretending to.
“You’re okay now?” Ronon asks.
John shrugs. “As okay as I’ll ever be.” He nods towards Ronon’s shoulder. “What about you?”
Ronon shrugs. “Like I said - just a flesh wound.” He stands up, and stretches languidly, avoiding too much stress on the wounded shoulder. John looks up at him, and shudders.
Ronon notices, and smirks. John can’t help it: he thinks the doors closed and locked and then waggles his eyebrows at Ronon. Ronon laughs gently, and reaches out with his good arm to pull John up to stand next to him. He pulls John close and kisses him roughly.
John tries to stop the moan rising in his throat, but it manages to escape anyway, sounding strangled, which is almost worse. Ronon smirks against John’s lips and pulls back.
“You’re sure your head is okay?” he asks.
John rolls his eyes. “I’m fine,” he huffs, pushing Ronon backwards, towards one of the walls. “You’re in worse shape than me.”
Ronon grunts when he bumps up against the wall. John moves Ronon’s vest aside and gently places a kiss on the bandage. “What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Ronon groans, thumping his head back against the wall. “You actually looking for an answer?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and glancing at John from beneath his eyelashes.
John grins. “Not really,” he says, sliding down to his knees. John fumbles with Ronon’s pants, and finally gets them undone. He pulls them down and smirks. Ronon’s already hard. His thighs quiver beneath John’s hands, and John lowers his mouth down over his cock, swallowing as much as he can.
John loves the sounds that come from deep in Ronon’s throat, and he hums a little as he pulls back, Ronon’s cock heavy on his tongue. Ronon shudders.
John swirls his tongue over the head of Ronon’s cock, teases the slit a little, and then licks his way along the length to the base. Ronon buries a hand in John’s hair as he lightly tongues at his balls. He groans and mutters something in Satedan. John recognizes the sounds as specific words, but he’s never asked what they mean. He likes to think they’re some variety of “Oh, God, more, please.”
John takes Ronon’s balls into his mouth, but the attention only lasts a few moments because his neck finds the angle slightly painful, and so he returns his attention to Ronon’s cock. He takes it back into his mouth, and sucks gently as he encloses the base with his fist and pumps in time with his mouth.
“John,” Ronon growls. John gets the message and begins to pump and suck harder. Ronon’s fist tightens its grip on John’s hair, almost painfully, but John loves it.
A few moments later, Ronon is thrusting into John’s mouth, and then coming. Semen spills down John’s throat. He does his best to swallow it all, but some dribbles out of his mouth.
Ronon’s softened cock slips from John’s mouth and he stands up to face Ronon. He wipes his chin and then wipes his hand on Ronon’s vest. Ronon gives him a dirty look, but John just grins.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” Ronon answers. “But now I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” He slips his vest off, turns it inside out, and slips it back on as he heads for the door.
John laughs and follows him out of the room.