Fic: A Present from Ronon (Dex/Sheppard, NC-17)
Title: A Present from Ronon
Author: rysler
Recipient: rubygirl29
Pairing: John/Ronon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1600
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: "I have heard rumors. Do I have to get you a gift?"
-o-
Ronon was at a loss. Despite the wealth of knowledge in the Atlantis systems, there was no encyclopedic entry on Christmas. Ronon had tried asking unobtrusive questions.
"What's that?" He pointed to the fronts of prickly, slippery leaves taped around the command center.
"Holly. I think it's poisonous," Weir told him.
"Why would-"
She shrugged.
Teyla sympathized. "Before you got here, there was a period of a day when crew would jump out and try to scare me. They'd jump out from behind corners, painted with death masks."
"Why?"
"I never got a true answer. Just mutterings about candy and children."
"That's barbaric."
"Yes. Though, it reminded me of the harvest ceremony on Athos, when we would build totems out of hollowed out gourds and then stuff them with peat and the fires would burn all night."
Ronon grimaced.
"Your people never did that?"
"Every day was an equally good day to be alive."
Ronon kept asking, at dinner, on patrol, at movie night. A scientist from the Netherlands kingdom told him, "We don't have slaves anymore. Okay? I'm sure we all have things in our culture we don't talk about." A woman in food prep dragged him aside and told him all about Jesus Christ's miraculous birth. It was the best story he'd heard, and explained why some crew quarters had paintings of barns on them, rather than holly or striped candy.
Movie night lately had been so confusing and creepy he'd stopped going. The humans recited all the words in sync, from "You used up all the glue on purpose!" to "You've been given a great gift, George," to "Fuck me, Santa!"
So Ronon went to the man he trusted not to laugh at him, the man who would give him more patience and more care than any other soul he encountered.
John opened the door wearing a red felt suit and a fake white beard and hairpiece.
Ronon, nonplussed, said, "I have a question."
"Sure. Shoot. I was just trying this on for the party. You know, for the kids."
Again with the children. "I have heard rumors. Do I have to get you a gift?"
"No, buddy, you don't have to get me a gift."
But John's face had flickered, crestfallen, as if the idea had appeal.
"Do I have to get everyone a gift?"
"Only the people you care about. And then, in private. As not to spoil it for others."
"A secret ceremony."
John pulled on his beard. "A secret Santa."
"The movie nights indicate that the greatest gift I can give is a man's death."
John frowned under his beard. "Only if there are ghosts. Or angels. You believe in those?"
"No."
"Then no killing."
"All right."
"I mean it."
"I'll find something else."
John, under all that fuzz, seemed to actually blush.
Ronon grinned.
"You look maniacal when you do that, you know."
"I'm not the one in the red robe."
John backed into his quarters.
"I'm not going to kill anyone. Not even for Christmas."
* * *
Two days before Christmas Eve, which he had been informed was just as important as Christmas Day, again for no reason that made sense, he lingered with Zelenka after the former had helped repel an attack on one of their allies. Not by Wraith. Just by assholes.
"Ronon?" Zelenka looked at him with trepidation.
"I need you to explain Christmas."
Zelenka looked down and shook his head. "I am a scientist."
"That's what I need. I have all this data and no theory."
Zelenka swiveled around in his chair. "You want some sort of Grand Unifying Theory of Christmas?"
"Sure."
Zelenka shook his head. "It's personal. That's what it is. In your heart. Goodwill to men." He offered a small smile.
Ronon nodded. "That's what John said. That it's about love."
"Not about love-well, it's about showing love." He sighed. "I don't know. I don't have a theory."
"Do you like Christmas?"
"Oh, sure. Pecan pies with my sister. Snow and the mountains. The cold. The fireplace. The tree-the tree was always perfectly perfect."
Ronon nodded. Thought of his own home.
Zelenka continued, "It helps, you know. It all helps remind us of home. Makes things not so… alien."
"Yeah."
"I think that's why we try so hard to include you, and Teyla, and the other Althosians."
"To make us not seem so alien?"
Zelenka shook his head. "To remind you."
* * *
Christmas Eve, two a.m., after the parties and the ceremonies and the re-enactments had all died down, Ronon, tired but merry, full of cider, knocked on John's door.
John was already in sweats and his ubiquitous black tee shirt.
"Ronon? Party's over, man. Christmas is tomorrow."
"It's today. I mean, technically."
"Yes, but-"
"Besides, I have to give you your present at night. And tomorrow you'll be too full of chicken."
"Turkey. Although I don't know that Pegasus turkey has the same effect. Anyway, you got me a present?"
Ronon stepped into the room and spread his arms wide. "What do you get the man who has everything?"
John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you?"
The door slid shut. Ronon got to his knees.
"Um."
Ronon wrapped his arms around John's waist and pressed his cheek to John's hip. Heat. He smelled heat. If there had been none, he had a backup plan. But this was going to be all right.
He wasn't stupid.
Neither was John.
"Uh, hey, in Earth-culture, we hug standing up."
"Not hugging."
"No? Because it sure looks like it to me."
Ronon placed his hand over John's cock, through the fabric.
"Oh. Okay, I admit, it looked like that."
Ronon nodded.
"You don't have to do this."
Ronon squeezed. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," John answered.
"Haven't you wanted to do this?"
"Yes, but it's wrong."
Ronon stilled his hand. "It's wrong?"
"I'm your commanding officer. Men together is tricky in my culture. It's… Okay, I thought it was one-sided."
"It's not."
John nodded.
"Is it wrong?"
"It might change everything."
"Okay."
John threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. He exhaled. He clenched his fists. Then he knelt in front of Ronon and kissed him, hard and quick. "Okay," he said.
Ronon looked patiently at him.
"Standing. I'm standing." John got up.
"Merry Christmas."
"Yeah, you said that."
Ronon resumed stroking. John was hard in his hand, thin and solid, reaching from knuckle to wrist. Ronon spared a thought for why he hadn't done this sooner, when he had craved it, and then let the rest of his thoughts go.
"Can I?" he asked.
"Yes."
Ronon pulled John's pants down, helped John step out of them. Then he sat back on his heels to examine him. Dark curls over sinewy legs, thicker hair just above his cock, then more muscle revealed as John pulled off his shirt.
John's cock bobbed slightly. Ronon leaned in, first gripping it with his fist and then taking it into his mouth. He sucked.
John's taste was already on his tongue. It was already sealed.
John's balls warmed the side of his hand. He flatted his fingers, moved his mouth to chase, taking more of John's cock into his throat. Pulling out again to see the sheen he left. His, now. He dove in again.
John moaned. Loud and honest. His hands settled onto Ronon's head. For balance, Ronon realized. They could have moved to the bed. They could have made arrangement. But he liked it like this, on his knees but open in a warrior stance. John above him like a monument.
Hips rocked slightly against his lips and he focused with more primal instincts. Where to touch, where to lick, based on heat and reaction and pheromones. He almost laughed. Zelenka's one simple unified theory.
He wanted. He took.
"I'm going to-" John's voice shook.
"Okay."
Ronon pulled back, sat on his heels, looked up and met John's gaze.
"Really?" John's hand closed around his cock.
Ronon simply stared.
"Jesus."
"The reason for the season."
"Don't." John laughed and closed his eyes. He was shivering. His cock moved rapidly through his hand. Ronon watched. Memorized the movements. Stayed fully aware, his nostrils flared to take in the scents, his hearing and sight widened for John's every twitch, every bead of sweat that trickled down his sculpted torso, that made his cock taste salty.
Ronon licked his lips.
John was totally still, and then convulsed violently, and then again. He let out a war cry that reached all the way through Ronon, reminding him that he was as hard as John. John's orgasm came with the convulsions, spilling onto Ronon's cheek, his nose, and then his mouth as he covered John again, making John scream, his tongue too rough, his mouth too hungry.
"Ronon."
"Okay."
John slid to his knees, freeing himself from Ronon's lips, but keeping his hands on Ronon's shoulders. He smiled.
"Merry-"
John kissed him, cutting him off, and said, "I want to do that to you." He reached down and found Ronon.
"No."
"No?"
"I want to come in your bed against your naked skin."
John began yanking at Ronon's clothes.
* * *
Morning came and with it the promise of more feasting and more gifts. John told Ronon his was under the bed, wrapped up properly. "I was raised right."
Ronon growled.
They put on their clothes, nondescript, unworried.
The door slid open.
"Hey, we're under the mistletoe," John said, pointing to a bough of holly above his door.
Ronon glanced up.
"Kiss me. You're supposed to kiss me. It's a tradition."
"Won't I get poisoned?"
"Won't you get-No. You won't get poisoned. You'll get a kiss."
Ronon stooped and kissed him, finding warm lips and scratchy cheeks and hands that reached to grip his shoulders. Hard.
Christmas. He was starting to appreciate the most wonderful time he'd had all year.
END
Author: rysler
Recipient: rubygirl29
Pairing: John/Ronon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1600
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: "I have heard rumors. Do I have to get you a gift?"
-o-
Ronon was at a loss. Despite the wealth of knowledge in the Atlantis systems, there was no encyclopedic entry on Christmas. Ronon had tried asking unobtrusive questions.
"What's that?" He pointed to the fronts of prickly, slippery leaves taped around the command center.
"Holly. I think it's poisonous," Weir told him.
"Why would-"
She shrugged.
Teyla sympathized. "Before you got here, there was a period of a day when crew would jump out and try to scare me. They'd jump out from behind corners, painted with death masks."
"Why?"
"I never got a true answer. Just mutterings about candy and children."
"That's barbaric."
"Yes. Though, it reminded me of the harvest ceremony on Athos, when we would build totems out of hollowed out gourds and then stuff them with peat and the fires would burn all night."
Ronon grimaced.
"Your people never did that?"
"Every day was an equally good day to be alive."
Ronon kept asking, at dinner, on patrol, at movie night. A scientist from the Netherlands kingdom told him, "We don't have slaves anymore. Okay? I'm sure we all have things in our culture we don't talk about." A woman in food prep dragged him aside and told him all about Jesus Christ's miraculous birth. It was the best story he'd heard, and explained why some crew quarters had paintings of barns on them, rather than holly or striped candy.
Movie night lately had been so confusing and creepy he'd stopped going. The humans recited all the words in sync, from "You used up all the glue on purpose!" to "You've been given a great gift, George," to "Fuck me, Santa!"
So Ronon went to the man he trusted not to laugh at him, the man who would give him more patience and more care than any other soul he encountered.
John opened the door wearing a red felt suit and a fake white beard and hairpiece.
Ronon, nonplussed, said, "I have a question."
"Sure. Shoot. I was just trying this on for the party. You know, for the kids."
Again with the children. "I have heard rumors. Do I have to get you a gift?"
"No, buddy, you don't have to get me a gift."
But John's face had flickered, crestfallen, as if the idea had appeal.
"Do I have to get everyone a gift?"
"Only the people you care about. And then, in private. As not to spoil it for others."
"A secret ceremony."
John pulled on his beard. "A secret Santa."
"The movie nights indicate that the greatest gift I can give is a man's death."
John frowned under his beard. "Only if there are ghosts. Or angels. You believe in those?"
"No."
"Then no killing."
"All right."
"I mean it."
"I'll find something else."
John, under all that fuzz, seemed to actually blush.
Ronon grinned.
"You look maniacal when you do that, you know."
"I'm not the one in the red robe."
John backed into his quarters.
"I'm not going to kill anyone. Not even for Christmas."
* * *
Two days before Christmas Eve, which he had been informed was just as important as Christmas Day, again for no reason that made sense, he lingered with Zelenka after the former had helped repel an attack on one of their allies. Not by Wraith. Just by assholes.
"Ronon?" Zelenka looked at him with trepidation.
"I need you to explain Christmas."
Zelenka looked down and shook his head. "I am a scientist."
"That's what I need. I have all this data and no theory."
Zelenka swiveled around in his chair. "You want some sort of Grand Unifying Theory of Christmas?"
"Sure."
Zelenka shook his head. "It's personal. That's what it is. In your heart. Goodwill to men." He offered a small smile.
Ronon nodded. "That's what John said. That it's about love."
"Not about love-well, it's about showing love." He sighed. "I don't know. I don't have a theory."
"Do you like Christmas?"
"Oh, sure. Pecan pies with my sister. Snow and the mountains. The cold. The fireplace. The tree-the tree was always perfectly perfect."
Ronon nodded. Thought of his own home.
Zelenka continued, "It helps, you know. It all helps remind us of home. Makes things not so… alien."
"Yeah."
"I think that's why we try so hard to include you, and Teyla, and the other Althosians."
"To make us not seem so alien?"
Zelenka shook his head. "To remind you."
* * *
Christmas Eve, two a.m., after the parties and the ceremonies and the re-enactments had all died down, Ronon, tired but merry, full of cider, knocked on John's door.
John was already in sweats and his ubiquitous black tee shirt.
"Ronon? Party's over, man. Christmas is tomorrow."
"It's today. I mean, technically."
"Yes, but-"
"Besides, I have to give you your present at night. And tomorrow you'll be too full of chicken."
"Turkey. Although I don't know that Pegasus turkey has the same effect. Anyway, you got me a present?"
Ronon stepped into the room and spread his arms wide. "What do you get the man who has everything?"
John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you?"
The door slid shut. Ronon got to his knees.
"Um."
Ronon wrapped his arms around John's waist and pressed his cheek to John's hip. Heat. He smelled heat. If there had been none, he had a backup plan. But this was going to be all right.
He wasn't stupid.
Neither was John.
"Uh, hey, in Earth-culture, we hug standing up."
"Not hugging."
"No? Because it sure looks like it to me."
Ronon placed his hand over John's cock, through the fabric.
"Oh. Okay, I admit, it looked like that."
Ronon nodded.
"You don't have to do this."
Ronon squeezed. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," John answered.
"Haven't you wanted to do this?"
"Yes, but it's wrong."
Ronon stilled his hand. "It's wrong?"
"I'm your commanding officer. Men together is tricky in my culture. It's… Okay, I thought it was one-sided."
"It's not."
John nodded.
"Is it wrong?"
"It might change everything."
"Okay."
John threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. He exhaled. He clenched his fists. Then he knelt in front of Ronon and kissed him, hard and quick. "Okay," he said.
Ronon looked patiently at him.
"Standing. I'm standing." John got up.
"Merry Christmas."
"Yeah, you said that."
Ronon resumed stroking. John was hard in his hand, thin and solid, reaching from knuckle to wrist. Ronon spared a thought for why he hadn't done this sooner, when he had craved it, and then let the rest of his thoughts go.
"Can I?" he asked.
"Yes."
Ronon pulled John's pants down, helped John step out of them. Then he sat back on his heels to examine him. Dark curls over sinewy legs, thicker hair just above his cock, then more muscle revealed as John pulled off his shirt.
John's cock bobbed slightly. Ronon leaned in, first gripping it with his fist and then taking it into his mouth. He sucked.
John's taste was already on his tongue. It was already sealed.
John's balls warmed the side of his hand. He flatted his fingers, moved his mouth to chase, taking more of John's cock into his throat. Pulling out again to see the sheen he left. His, now. He dove in again.
John moaned. Loud and honest. His hands settled onto Ronon's head. For balance, Ronon realized. They could have moved to the bed. They could have made arrangement. But he liked it like this, on his knees but open in a warrior stance. John above him like a monument.
Hips rocked slightly against his lips and he focused with more primal instincts. Where to touch, where to lick, based on heat and reaction and pheromones. He almost laughed. Zelenka's one simple unified theory.
He wanted. He took.
"I'm going to-" John's voice shook.
"Okay."
Ronon pulled back, sat on his heels, looked up and met John's gaze.
"Really?" John's hand closed around his cock.
Ronon simply stared.
"Jesus."
"The reason for the season."
"Don't." John laughed and closed his eyes. He was shivering. His cock moved rapidly through his hand. Ronon watched. Memorized the movements. Stayed fully aware, his nostrils flared to take in the scents, his hearing and sight widened for John's every twitch, every bead of sweat that trickled down his sculpted torso, that made his cock taste salty.
Ronon licked his lips.
John was totally still, and then convulsed violently, and then again. He let out a war cry that reached all the way through Ronon, reminding him that he was as hard as John. John's orgasm came with the convulsions, spilling onto Ronon's cheek, his nose, and then his mouth as he covered John again, making John scream, his tongue too rough, his mouth too hungry.
"Ronon."
"Okay."
John slid to his knees, freeing himself from Ronon's lips, but keeping his hands on Ronon's shoulders. He smiled.
"Merry-"
John kissed him, cutting him off, and said, "I want to do that to you." He reached down and found Ronon.
"No."
"No?"
"I want to come in your bed against your naked skin."
John began yanking at Ronon's clothes.
* * *
Morning came and with it the promise of more feasting and more gifts. John told Ronon his was under the bed, wrapped up properly. "I was raised right."
Ronon growled.
They put on their clothes, nondescript, unworried.
The door slid open.
"Hey, we're under the mistletoe," John said, pointing to a bough of holly above his door.
Ronon glanced up.
"Kiss me. You're supposed to kiss me. It's a tradition."
"Won't I get poisoned?"
"Won't you get-No. You won't get poisoned. You'll get a kiss."
Ronon stooped and kissed him, finding warm lips and scratchy cheeks and hands that reached to grip his shoulders. Hard.
Christmas. He was starting to appreciate the most wonderful time he'd had all year.
END