SGA FIC: Survival Skills
Title: Survival Skills
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Rodney/Ronon
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There's a cave in, and Ronon has a strategy for taking the edge off Rodney's panic.
Notes: Written for the Greatest Journal Emergency Cuddle-a-Thon hosted by the lovely ingrid_m. Also...yay for LJ being back! You know, however long it lasts this time. *g*
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Survival Skills
by Lenore
It had been at least two days by Rodney's estimation since the cave in on PCX-327 had cut them off from light and air and any hope of survival, although Ronon insisted it was more like half an hour. Rodney sat propped against the rough wall of the cavern, trying to ignore the creeping damp that was settling into his bones, wondering what they would do when his supply of Power Bars ran out. From the metal singsong cutting through the darkness, it appeared that Ronon was taking advantage of their downtime before starvation set in to sharpen his knives. Or possibly this was his answer to the food supply problem. Visions of soccer players crashing in the Andes flashed in Rodney's head, and he edged away nervously. Why couldn't he have been trapped with Teyla? At least that would have made for an epitaph he could be proud of. Meredith Rodney McKay. He died with a pretty girl at his side.
"No need to panic, McKay," Ronon's voice drifted over to him, annoyingly calm.
"Yes, well, you deal with our imminent demise your way, and I'll deal with it mine."
"Sheppard'll find us."
"The last time we saw the colonel he was trying to charm the underwear off the local Princess Leia . We'll be lucky if he's even noticed we're missing."
"Princess Leia?"
"The leader of the village? The way she wore her hair?" He waved his hand in the air, not that Ronon could see it. "It's an Earth thing."
"Sheppard will come."
"I'm sure he'll see to it that we have a proper burial," Rodney said bitterly
"Just need something to take your mind off it."
"Oh, that's brilliant. Why didn't I think of that? Wait. I know." Rodney's voice rose frantically, "Because it's impossible to think about anything else when you're on the verge of certain death!"
A beefy arm slid around his shoulders.
"Oh, God!" Rodney freaked out even more. "Are you trying to hold me? We are so hideously doomed."
No answer, but a broad palm settled over his cock.
"What--" Rodney squawked. "What do you think you're doing?"
Ronon's voice rumbled in his chest, as if he were greatly amused, "Taking your mind off it."
The quick snick of his zipper being lowered sounded pornographic in the darkness. Ronon stroked his fingers over Rodney's underwear, and Rodney's cock, already stirring with interest, twitched at the touch.
Ronon let out a soft laughing snort. "That's what I thought."
"Oh, don't you dare stop there, just because you've proved your point. I swear I'll--"
Rodney sucked his breath in through his teeth, a waft of cool air on his dick, and then Ronon's palm closed hotly around it.
"God," he moaned.
Ronon stroked his hand up and down the shaft and tickled the head with his calloused index finger, which made Rodney moan again. There was a surety in Ronon's touch that made it clear he was no stranger to other men's dicks. Rodney suddenly had pictures in his head of military life on Sateda, soldiers sharing barracks and the threat of the Wraith always in the air and men taking whatever comfort they could find in each other's bodies when the lights went out a night. His hips surged forward demandingly, his arousal amped up several notches.
"That's it, McKay. Show me you've got some fight."
Rodney grappled at his shoulder, fingers digging into hard muscle, holding on for dear life while he fucked Ronon's fist. When he came, death was still on his mind, but he was much more philosophical about it. If I have to go, at least I can do it getting laid.
"Feel better?" Ronon asked.
It was followed by a soft, wet sound, and Rodney realized with a shiver that Ronon was licking his come off his fingers. Instinct made him lean closer, and Ronon smelled of heat and leather and unsatisfied want. Rodney stroked a hand down his chest, and Ronon grunted, surprise mixed with hope. The fastenings of his pants posed a challenge, but Rodney always had been good with his hands. Ronon's cock surged at his touch, and Rodney circled his thumb over the head. Ronon drew in a breath sharply, and Rodney had a choice to make, hand or mouth. The thing was: Ronon knew how he tasted, and Rodney didn't, and he never had been able to stand not being the one with all the information.
Rodney leaned over and licked a path up Ronon's dick, and Ronon laid a hand heavily on his head. The last time Rodney had done this was in Siberia, a night of free-flowing vodka that ended in stupidity, as such nights invariably did. The Russians had been far less drunk, booze like water to them, and they'd laughingly challenged him to go down on them, a little trick they liked to play on foreigners, making it sound like a matter of national pride. The last American who was here took us all on, they'd told him. It seemed convincing when Rodney was six sheets to the wind. He'd woken up the next morning, head pounding, swearing off cock forever.
The way he figured it, forever was closing in on him, and he liked the noises Ronon made when he swirled his tongue around his cock, sometimes guttural, sometimes whimpering, always desperate. He liked the way Ronon's fingers moved in his hair, surprisingly gently. Ronon pumped into his mouth, once, twice, and came, and Rodney pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve, glad that the moratorium on cock was over.
Rodney had worked with military guys long enough to understand the rules of opportunistic gay groping, but apparently they did things differently on Sateda, because Ronon grabbed his face between his hands and laid on a kiss on him, licking his come from Rodney's mouth. He pushed up Rodney's shirt and rubbed at his belly, and Rodney's dick started to take a renewed interest.
"If you get it up again, you can fuck me." It just slipped out. Near death brought out the slut in him, apparently. If the way Ronon growled and started to suck on his neck was any indication, he really didn't mind.
"Rodney? Ronon? You guys okay?" Sheppard's voice rang off the cavern walls.
Rodney leaped back from Ronon and scrabbled at his trousers. "We're here, Colonel. It's good of you to finally show up," he did his best to sound normal, for him, which was impatient and snippy.
"I'm glad a little thing like a cave in hasn't affected your disposition any, Rodney," Sheppard put on that flyboy drawl of his, but he sounded ridiculously relieved. "Hold tight. We'll get you out of there."
There was a loud bang, and the ground shook. Dust threw up everywhere, and Rodney coughed indignantly. When the air finally cleared, there was Sheppard, standing in the hole in the rocks he'd just blasted.
Ronon scrambled up and yanked Rodney to his feet.
"You guys okay?" Sheppard asked, as he helped them through the opening.
"Fine," Ronon grunted.
Sheppard put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "How about you?"
"Um--" Rodney stuttered.
His brain had to pick that moment to flash back to how it felt to have Ronon's cock in his mouth, and the heat rushed to his cheeks.
Sheppard raked him with that hard, squint-eyed stare of his, that Rodney was convinced he'd picked up watching old Gary Cooper movies. He was profoundly aware that he smelled of come.
Happily, Sheppard was a product of the don't-ask-don't-tell system. "Let's get you back to Atlantis, so Beckett can check you out." He headed off toward the jumper without further questions.
Ronon bumped Rodney's shoulder as they walked along. "That offer still good when we get back to Atlantis?"
It took Rodney a moment to remember the hastily blurted out invitation in the cavern, and the realization went straight to his dick. If he managed to make it home without seriously embarrassing himself, it would be one of the universe's less minor miracles. Ronon grinned, showing his teeth, and Rodney was pretty sure there was going to be a lot more cock in his future.
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