SLASH FIC: [Stargate: Atlantis] There's something about Ronon (R)
Author: Soraya
Title: There's something about Ronon
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, First Time
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard, Beckett/Dex
Disclaimer: Not mine, Wright and Cooper own Stargate Atlantis etc.
Warnings: M/M sexual activity with elements of coercion
Summary: On a trading mission, local customs have a profound effect on John's team, and he has to deal with the consequences
After John picked himself off the floor, he decided he hated the nuances of language. He hated how one word could mean something completely different depending on whom you were speaking to. But more than anything, what he really hated was how those little differences almost always turned a mission to shit.
Take, for example, the stinking pile they found themselves in right then, with him nursing a bruised jaw, Ronon snarling at everyone and Carson backed into a corner. A situation, which could probably have been avoided had Carson not said, "Aye, we're mates! Good mates, I've always thought."
***
Most of it was McKay's fault.
As the sole inhabitants of M5X-297, the Galrain were sitting on the mother-load of Ancient stores. They had thousands of drones; they had puddle-jumpers to spare; they had access to weapons technology the Atlantis science team hadn't even come close to discovering. Most importantly, the Galrain had ZPMs. Three fully functional, fully charged ZPMs, which had practically pushed Rodney into multiple gasping orgasms when he'd seen them.
"We've got to get those back to Atlantis," Rodney whispered in his ear in a vague attempt at subtlety. Because as outwardly welcoming as the Galrain were, they didn't seem very trusting. John had sensed they'd been watched very closely from the moment they'd stepped onto the planet. Even now only Teyla was allowed to move around without an armed escort while he, Rodney and Ronon were forced to wait outside the Temple of the Ancestors with three very muscular-looking guards.
The whole situation made him very nervous. In his experience, missions that started with 'hey, great to meet you guys' only to introduce guards and temples later on never ended well. So, sitting on a meditation bench watched by a group of smiling natives, John basically kept waiting for the shooting to start. And all that waiting was driving him crazy, almost as much as having an incredibly excited Rodney McKay plastered to his side.
"I mean, three ZPMs, Colonel," Rodney continued, still whispering. "Just think of what we could do with three of them!"
With Rodney literally breathing down his neck, John was really only trying to think about not getting hard. He could feel Rodney's excited gasps and the way those hot little gusts of air curled over his skin, making him shiver every time Rodney said something. Which only made him picture the two of them pressed together with Rodney gasping and moaning in his ear for entirely different reasons, none of which were conducive to him not getting hard.
"There's the shield, of course," Rodney told him, sighing dramatically. "Then there are the sections of the city we still haven't explored yet," Rodney added, lips brushing against his ear, flooding his groin with the kind of heat that had him breaking out in a sweat.
And perhaps if he really were as reckless or as insane as Rodney often accused him of being he would have dragged Rodney to the ground and shown him just how ready he was to explore new territory. But John didn't; he knew he shouldn't; there were a whole host of reasons why that would have been a very bad idea. Though none of them were quite strong enough to make him stand up and put temptation out of reach. In desperation, he tried shifting a few inches down the bench.
"Who knows what we could find there," Rodney said, shifting with him, voice breathless and full of wonder at all the possibilities.
John shifted away again, putting several inches between them this time, hoping Rodney would take the hint and stay on his side of the bench. But to his continual dismay, that kind of subtlety never seemed to work on McKay.
"Not to mention the systems we can't activate because of the massive drain on power," Rodney went on, closing the gap, following him each time he shifted away until they reached the end of the bench.
They had to look ridiculous, John thought, with him perched on the edge and Rodney crammed up against him, while the rest of bench lay empty. And, Christ, where were Rodney's personal space issues when he needed them?
There were certain rules to a manly friendship between two guys, especially when one guy was secretly lusting after the other. John knew how to handle his own end of the deal. He knew what worked for him, how far he could let things go; there were routines he followed, which allowed him to still hang around Rodney without acting like a slavering hound. But for those routines to work, he needed Rodney to play by the rules, even though Rodney clearly had no idea what was going on. And that was exactly how John knew things had to stay, with Rodney perfectly oblivious and him as the perfect friend, who was always there with a free flying lesson or a free sparring session, where he could sneak in the occasional bout of combat wrestling. He'd been so very careful about that in particular, rationing himself to no more than two sessions a week, always jerking off beforehand to avoid giving himself away.
Still no amount of jerking off could have prepared him for the neck-breathing thing; John took some comfort in that. It was a completely new and totally unexpected form of torture; and it seemed so wrong to enjoy it so much, especially when a part of him was dying from shame. But with the Galrain scrutinising their every move, all John could do was sit there, horribly conscious that even Ronon's eyes were on him while he essentially let Rodney nuzzle at his throat in his typical clueless way.
"It's not like they're really using them anyway!" Rodney squirmed against him, huffing with righteous indignation. "No, Colonel, we are not leaving here without those ZPMs," he insisted.
By that point, John had reached that stupidly turned on stage where he would have agreed with anything Rodney told him. So when the requisite bizarre alien ritual came along, it almost felt like a reprieve.
The Galrain refused to deal with anyone they felt were outsiders. Therefore, before trade negotiations could start, they demanded that the strongest member of the team become part of their pack. Naturally, Ronon volunteered, being both the biggest and the strongest. And, still a little flustered, John jumped at the chance to let someone else handle a crazy ritual or two. Because there were only so many times a guy could take one for the team without starting to resent that team.
So he, Rodney and Teyla sat back while Ronon had to run an assault course chased by large, dog-like creatures. Then he sipped on a ritual margarita-style cocktail while Ronon had to fight off several huge Galraini men holding sticks. Of course, Ronon took his pummelling like ten men, excelling far beyond any outsider before him. In fact, he proved himself so strong and so fierce that the Galraini Alpha formally invited him to run with their pack.
"They do not do this lightly," Teyla told them after the Alpha had made the offer. "I fear it would not bode well for trade if we were to refuse them now."
And while John had some serious misgivings, mostly because Teyla's stick wielding trading partners were clearly insane, he decided to let Ronon have the final say, despite Rodney's incredibly loud protests that they really, really needed those ZPMs. In the end, Ronon just shook the sweat from his dreadlocks and he said, "Sure, why not? I'm good at running."
"Excellent!" The Alpha grinned at all of them. "We shall prepare for the blood rite," he announced happily. Though, something about the gleam in his eyes when he said that made John realize he might have missed something important.
No sooner had the Alpha clapped his hands than they were surrounded by several young Galraini men and women. Accepting that it was too late to stop the ceremony without causing some sort of diplomatic incident, John let the women lead him, Rodney and Teyla to a bank of chairs, where someone handed him another one of those ritual margaritas. He watched through narrowed eyes as Ronon followed the men into a stone circle at the centre of the village square. One of the men pushed Ronon to his knees, and instinctively John moved one hand to his sidearm, thinking a diplomatic incident just might be the way to go.
The Alpha grinned at him again looking almost pleased with his reaction. Then he entered the circle, smiling at Ronon in a way that set every alarm bell John had ringing. There was the obligatory ritual chanting followed by some blood letting and blood sharing, then even more chanting, the sound of which made the hair on the back of John's neck stand up and left his skin feeling oddly tight and scratchy.
Then suddenly, under the pale light of the setting sun, Ronon just sort of turned into a dog.
***
Whenever a mission went disastrously wrong, John Sheppard, the easy-going man of the people, had a tendency to shut down. Out came a John Sheppard, who was calm, calculating and ruthless, a Sheppard designed to handle any difficult situation. So it was something of a surprise that this particular John launched himself out of his chair yelling, "Holy shit!" whilst simultaneously hurling his cocktail into Rodney's face.
"And thank-you so much for that, Colonel," Rodney snapped, leaping up after him. "Because I was just thinking that there's not nearly enough precipitation on this planet, so could someone please throw their drink all over me!" He wiped sharply at his forehead, displaying all the mannerisms of a very wet cat, and on any other day John might have found that amusing.
Except nothing about the situation was funny. Especially since no one else seemed to have noticed that Ronon had disappeared and that there was a huge dog-like creature in the exact same spot where he'd been only seconds before. It sat there, tongue lolling loosely in its mouth as it tried to claw its way free from Ronon's clothes.
"Rodney," John said, pointing toward the circle. "I think we may have a problem!"
From the expression on Rodney's face, it looked like Rodney could see the same thing he saw. Which pretty much amounted to no Ronon, just a very large canine with several beaded necklaces hanging round its neck.
"Oh my God!" Rodney spluttered, choked, then he pointed at the creature before choking again. "Is that . . .?"
"Yep!"
"But that's a dog," Rodney yelled at no one in particular.
John gave him a gentle pat on the back. "Actually, I think he's more of a wolf," he argued lightly, having had some more time to observe the animal while Rodney had been waving his hands and pointing.
Still, Rodney kept muttering, "Ronon's a dog; they turned him into a dog!"
So John let him have that one. Under the circumstances, he could afford to be generous. In fact, he was feeling a hell of a lot calmer now that he'd established he wasn't the only one seeing strange things. But just when he thought things couldn't get any stranger, Rodney shook him by the shoulder, saying, "Okay, so now they're all dogs!"
All around them, the Galraini men and women were changing into four-legged creatures. Even the children had turned, if the little cubs darting between their legs were anything to go by. And as John quickly scanned the village, it occurred to him that the only other humans left in it were Rodney and Teyla.
"We're not going to turn into dogs, are we?" Rodney asked him all of a sudden, frantic with worry. "Because I really feel I should point out that I'm more of a cat person, the whole turning into an animal thing notwithstanding. And have I mentioned lately how much I don't want to turn into a dog?"
"Teyla," John yelled, starting to worry a little himself. "Teyla, could you come back here please?"
"Of course, Colonel Sheppard," she replied.
While he'd been trying to calm down Rodney, she'd wandered over to the circle to take a closer look. Now John watched as she strolled back through the pack of wolves, stopping occasionally to scratch the head of a stray cub in her path before she joined him and Rodney by their chairs. She looked serene and suspiciously calm about the whole situation. Not like Rodney, who was still spectacularly freaking out, and justifiably so, in his opinion. Which meant on some level she'd had to know this would happen.
"Wait a minute, you knew about this?" John accused her.
Teyla gave him a bewildered look. "I do not understand. Were we not all present when the Galrain invited Ronon to run with their pack?"
The tone she'd used was diplomatic, gracious and kind. It made him feel like a complete idiot. -- Run with their pack -- Jesus Christ! John shook his head, wondering why he never saw these things coming.
Luckily, Teyla seemed to realize he wasn't trying to start an argument. There was no trace of recrimination in her. She simply turned to face the ritual circle, inviting him and a now near hysterical Rodney to share in the moment. "They are about to start," she told them. "Is it not exciting?"
And beyond Rodney's frantic shouts of: "Start? Start what?" and his own urge to shoot first and ask questions later, John could sense a kind of roiling tension in the air. All the Galrain had gathered at the circle. Many stood still, most of them parents carrying their cubs between their jaws, while a group of slightly smaller wolves prowled round the perimeter, pawing at the ground with a kind of impatience universal to teenagers.
The whole pack seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of signal, and the proof of that came when the Alpha raised his muzzle to howl at the sky. The sound cut through the still evening air with an eerie kind of resonance that made John's heart pound when he heard it. And in a sudden flash of insight, he finally got the running part of the invitation. He barely had enough time to mutter, "Oh, crap!" before the group of teenage wolves took off into the forest, followed by Ronon and the rest of the pack.
John stood there wide-eyed, that feeling of unreality as sharp as the moment he'd realized Ronon had turned into an animal. He stared at the forest for a good thirty seconds after the last wolf had disappeared. Then, squaring his shoulders, he took off after them.
***
It felt like he was moving in a daze, where the rush of adrenaline sharpened his senses and time had slowed the world around him to a flood of sensation. He pushed through the feel of branches whipping his skin as he dashed by, the sounds of Teyla and Rodney chasing after him, calling out his name, choosing not to stop for any of them. What mattered most was keeping pace with the pack, and John found, to his surprise, that it wasn't that hard at all. He'd thought they would easily outrun him; before he entered the forest, he'd been worried that he might have lost Ronon and the Galrain for good. But not only could he hear them, he could track the prints they left in the undergrowth as they ran through the trees.
The sky was dark when he finally caught up with them, finding them resting in a small clearing. The wolf that was Ronon stood apart from the pack, looking agitated and a little unsure of himself. John watched as a few of the Galrain tried to approach him; they tried coaxing him to join them with little yelps and whines. Only, Ronon started snarling whenever anyone got too close, and after a few minutes of this, he threw his head back and howled at the moon.
Never a good sign!
***
"Okay, why does he keep doing that?" Rodney asked him when Ronon sniffed at the ground yet again.
John didn't bother to answer. After almost two years as Rodney's friend, he'd pretty much figured out which of Rodney's questions were rhetorical. So he kept on walking, keeping one eye on the forest and the other on Ronon in case he got the sudden urge to go for another run.
Ronon, however, seemed far more interested in sniffing everything in his path. Earlier, he'd sniffed the whole team in varying degrees before apparently getting bored with the way they smelled. Then he'd bounded up to a tree, sniffing that for several seconds. Now, John watched him crouch down to smell some wild flowers.
Rodney grabbed his arm, tugging and pointing sharply. "I mean, if he's back to normal, should he be doing that?"
"How the hell should I know?" John replied tiredly. Ronon's behaviour was just as baffling to him as it was to everyone else. Privately, he conceded that Rodney made a valid point, though he would have left it at that had Rodney not folded his arms and scowled at him.
"Well, maybe you would know if you talked to him about it!"
"You know what? Maybe I will," John said, narrowing his eyes under the flare of Rodney's challenge. "Ronon, hey, buddy!" he called out.
Ronon stopped sniffing abruptly.
"Everything all right?" John asked him.
Ronon glanced at both of them, bared his teeth, then he went back to the sniffing.
"*See*!" Rodney yelled triumphantly.
And okay, not quite the kind of answer he'd expected either. That morning, once the pack had returned to human form, Ronon had seemed like he was back to normal, even though, at the time, John had known that things were far from perfect. But after Ronon had assured him with several growls that he was fine, John had decided to let it go for the time being. Because Ronon hadn't exactly been Mr. Chatty to start with, and all his instincts had been screaming at him to get his team out of there.
"Look, let's just get everyone home first, okay?" he told Rodney, subtly picking up the pace. The Stargate was right up ahead, and the balled-up tension in his stomach seemed to ease the closer they got to it. "I'm sure he'll get better once we're back on familiar ground," he added distractedly, watching Ronon drift off toward yet another tree.
The temptation to call him to heel was very strong, particularly since Ronon seemed to recognize him as his Alpha, or pack leader, or top dog. John wasn't quite sure what the correct terminology was. His brain had taken a brief holiday at a critical point after the Galrain had explained that Ronon was basically now a werewolf. Like all the Galrain were, apparently.
Something which Teyla had completely neglected to mention.
John gave her another dark look. When they got back to Atlantis, he was going to have a little chat with Zelenka and the rest of her movie night buddies. No more 'Teen Wolf', or 'Teen Wolf Too'; in fact, he was going to make it a rule that Teyla wasn't allowed to watch anything with werewolves, orcs, cylons or vampires. Because he'd really had enough of statements like: "But I thought you had such creatures on your world!"
Still, at the end of the day, this was one mission he could write up as a success. His team had walked away in one piece; they'd found some potential new trading partners; and, while there'd been some spectacularly bizarre moments, it was all vaguely manageable. Just another mission in the Pegasus galaxy, John told himself. And at no point did he feel like he'd totally lost control of the situation.
Until they took Ronon for his post-mission check-up.
***
"Huh! I think he likes you!"
"Really, Rodney?" Carson huffed, visibly struggling against a 6'5" mountain of muscle. "I hadn't noticed! Thank-you for pointing that out!"
The nurses were staring openly now. They'd long since given up any pretence of politeness; most people in the infirmary had, many of them outright gaping while Carson continued to push ineffectually at Ronon's shoulders.
"Ronon," Carson began in a soft voice. "Come on, laddie, you need to let me go so I can help you."
Ronon just cuddled him tighter.
"Ronon, please!" Carson begged him, pushing a little harder.
Still Ronon refused to let go, and John could only watch the two of them with a growing sense of disbelief, not really sure what to make of all this.
From the moment they'd returned to Atlantis, Ronon's sniffing had gone into over-drive. And for once, John hadn't had to drag him to the infirmary; no, he'd sprinted there, head tipped back as though scenting something on the air. Whatever scent he'd been searching for, he'd clearly found it on Carson's neck. Because Ronon had lifted Carson up onto his desk before plastering himself to Carson far more effectively than Rodney had ever done to him! Then he'd tucked his head under Carson's chin, breathing him in, every slow, deep breath he took filled with a blatant kind of adoration.
"Okay, so this is weird," John mumbled under his breath.
"Oh, *now* you think this is weird?" Rodney snapped, coming up beside him. "What, at no point beforehand did any of this strike you as remotely out of the ordinary?"
For a moment, John pretended to think it over. He took a good look round him at his team, starting with Ronon, who was curled up against Carson, happily sniffing away. Then he moved to Teyla, who, thank God, had started the serious work of damage control by herding bystanders out of the infirmary. Finally, he came back to Rodney, scowling finger-pointing Rodney, who stood next to him doing absolutely nothing to help. "Gee, Rodney, no, it didn't," he said through clenched teeth. "I thought everything was just fine when Ronon decided to get all naked and hairy and then go for a run. But *this* I'm finding a little strange!"
Rodney's face clouded over, and John noticed that he looked slightly abashed for several seconds before he was back to his usual self.
"Yes, well!" Rodney waved one hand dismissively. "It's probably just the virgin thing," he muttered, as if that explained everything.
"The virgin thing?" John's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding, right?"
"Oh, come on! He's a werewolf! They like virgins, don't they?"
"No," John answered mildly. "Unicorns like virgins!"
"Werewolves too," Rodney insisted.
John couldn't believe they were even having this conversation. "I'm pretty sure it's just unicorns, McKay."
"And I can assure you that I'm not a virgin," Carson cut in, sounding incredibly affronted.
That didn't deter Rodney for one second. "Well, maybe it's because you're a were-virgin," he scoffed. "Have you thought about that?"
Minutes later, they were both still thinking about it. And because Rodney had a long track record of coming up with the right answer to a problem when people least expected it, they kept on thinking about it for several, silent, worried moments afterward.
Eventually, Carson said, "Look, there's no such thing as a were-virgin!"
"Tell that to him!" Rodney countered, pointing at the evidence, which literally had not moved in several minutes. And from the way Ronon kept clinging to Carson, it didn't seem like he planned to move any time in the near future.
John stared at Ronon, rubbing the back of his neck in a frustrated way. So much for him getting better on familiar ground! Ronon seemed even more feral on Atlantis than he'd been on Galrain. Now, with the sniffing and the odd, rumbling sound he kept making in the back of his throat, John didn't know what to worry about more. "I could get a team in here so we could take him down," he offered.
Carson sighed, shaking his head. "No, not yet," he answered quietly. There was a strange kind of hesitance in his eyes as he took his hands off Ronon's shoulders, leaving them to hover in mid-air for several seconds. Then, as though he'd reached some sort of decision, he laid one hand on Ronon's back and the other on Ronon's hair, running down it in long, soothing strokes that seemed to make Ronon just melt against him. "I am his doctor, first and foremost," he continued, not looking either of them in the eye now. "Let me try to treat him, and if that doesn't work . . .." Carson trailed off, still stroking Ronon's hair.
"Okay, Doc, you just let me know when," John conceded, a little surprised by Carson's decision. He appreciated the dilemma Carson faced because he didn't want to hurt Ronon either. But if it came down to subduing him so they could help him, then really there was no other choice.
He reached out planning to pat Carson on the shoulder when suddenly Ronon turned his head and growled, "*My* doc!"
John drew back his arm because that seemed like the sensible thing to do. Carson, on the other hand, seemed to take that statement to mean he was making progress. "Aye, laddie, I'm your doctor," he said, smiling at Ronon encouragingly when Ronon turned back to him. "You understand me, don't you?"
Ronon grinned at Carson, making that odd rumbling noise again.
John wasn't sure where the hell this was going, but he had a feeling it couldn't be to a good place. He was about to warn Carson to keep his mouth shut when Ronon leant down, taking another long sniff at Carson's throat. Definitely not a good sign! Especially when Ronon decided to follow it up with a couple of grunts and growls, which might have been words but which John couldn't quite make out from where he was.
With a growing sense of dread, he leant a little closer, watching Ronon point at Carson's chest before tapping his own. "Mate," he heard Ronon say, much clearer this time.
"Aye, we're mates! Good mates, I've always thought," Carson agreed, still not sensing any danger. And once Ronon had settled against him, he went back to stroking Ronon's hair, every touch laced with a gentle kind of concern.
"I'm going to fuck you now," Ronon announced all of a sudden, loud, clear, and absolutely unmistakable.
Carson reared back. "Bloody hell!" he shouted.
As he struggled to get away, John reached for him, trying to help. And, officially, that was when the mission turned to shit.
***
After John picked himself off the floor, he reflected on the things he'd learned, one of which was that Ronon didn't take rejection very well. The left side of his jaw already had a nasty bruise, and he was probably going to have a black eye when this was all over. But those were the least of his problems.
They still hadn't figured out a way to get to Carson without Ronon trying to smack one of them halfway across the infirmary. And without their help, Carson was in serious trouble. Because Ronon kept stalking after him and he wasn't taking no for an answer. "You're my mate," he kept saying. "We need to fuck now!"
"Okay, John, Rodney, I give up," Carson admitted in a voice high with panic. "I can't treat him when he's like this." His eyes darted from side to side, searching for another way to escape. "I can't be expected to work under these conditions!"
"Hang on, we'll think of something," John promised him. The desperate look on Carson's face was almost painful to see, and he knew things were only going to get worse if he and Rodney didn't think of something fast. In the end, all he came up with was: "Okay, just be ready to go when I give the signal."
As a plan, it was simple. The best ones always were. Though John supposed he should have known Ronon would figure it out. A brief turn into werewolf hadn't made Ronon stupid; if anything, it had probably only sharpened his hunting senses. So when he feinted to one side, Ronon was more than ready for him, taking another swing at his jaw after scooping Carson up by the waist as he'd tried to slip past.
"He's mine," Ronon growled in a tone that held a clear note of warning.
So John raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, I get it, the doc's yours," he said, ignoring the betrayed look Carson gave him. From the corner of his eye, he'd seen Teyla come back into the room. And when she fanned out to the right, he immediately took the left, switching to a new plan to outflank instead of the old rush and grab.
"Listen, Ronon, buddy," John continued, all easy-going light and charm. "I don't think this macho caveman thing is the way to go."
Ronon frowned, glancing from him to Teyla then back again. He drew Carson close and then he took several steps back.
John took a few steps forward. "How about dinner?" he suggested. "Maybe a walk on the pier, or a picnic in the moonlight? I'm sure Carson would like that."
"Oh, yes," Rodney sniped. "More dating tips from Colonel Romantic! What a great idea!"
"Rodney!" John whirled in on him, growling himself now. "You are *so* not helping!"
But by the time he'd turned back, Ronon had already taken advantage of his distraction to make a run for it. Shocked blue eyes stared at him from where Carson lay draped over Ronon's shoulder and they only seemed to get wider and wider as Ronon carried Carson off toward one of the observation rooms.
"Shit," John swore. Then he raced after them, still swearing under his breath, certain his chances to rescue Carson were gone.
It turned out that he was right.
He made it to the room a few steps behind Teyla, who was only seconds too late herself. The door shut in her face just as she was reaching out toward it. Before he could even ask Rodney to over-ride the locking mechanism, they all heard the distinctive crunch of control crystals being smashed on the other side.
"God damnit!" John yelled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the door. Finally, he went for Ronon's gun, cocked it and set it to stun. "Okay, Teyla, you stay here with Rodney, and whatever you do, make sure Ronon doesn't get past you," he ordered her.
On the way out, he grabbed his P-90 as well, praying he wouldn't need to use it.
***
During basic training, John had learnt that holding an elevated position was a key tactical advantage. From there a soldier could track an enemy, lay down suppressing fire, and even overpower a superior force of numbers. Yet, looking down from the observation deck into that sterile little room, he'd never felt so helpless. Yes, he could track Ronon's movements with relative ease, and sure, he had plenty of firepower.
The problem was he couldn't do a damn thing with it!
Shooting out the glass panelling wasn't an option. He wasn't even sure that it was glass, let alone if bullets would break it. And Carson didn't look like he had enough time for that sort of trial and error. He was backed into a corner, literally holding Ronon at arms length, his face twisted into the frustrated scowl of someone who was trying to use reason after everything else had failed. So when John activated the Comm system, he wasn't surprised to hear Carson's strident tones come pouring through.
"No way! Absolutely not! No!"
Ronon's equally frustrated growl came through a moment later.
"Not that I'm not flattered," Carson added hastily. "Really, I am! Who wouldn't want a big, handsome, strapping young lad like you interested in them? It's just you're clearly not quite yourself today, and as I'm your doctor-- "
"*My* doc," Ronon cut in smoothly.
"Yes, your *doctor*," Carson continued, switching the emphasis back to the professional. "And you need to let me treat you instead of trying to-- "
"*My* doc," Ronon interrupted him again, still possessive yet almost gentle with it now. He stopped letting Carson hold him back, slowly pressing himself forward until their chests were touching.
Carson glanced up at the observation deck then, eyes shaded with some dark emotion that looked a lot like guilt, and the sight of it made John feel a little queasy. He wanted to tell Carson not to give up; he wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to feel guilty about, because this was all his fault, his failure, his inability to keep his team in line. But John found he'd run out of pep talks. Now, neither one of them could pretend that this wasn't happening. Even before Ronon touched his forehead to Carson's, John knew without a doubt that they'd reached that critical point where all hell was about to break loose.
"Ronon," he began, trying to forestall it. "I want you to let Carson go." Though, as he watched Ronon stroke the back of his knuckles down Carson's cheek, it became obvious that the situation had already started to spiral out of control.
"That's an order," John yelled in spite of that, after Ronon had once again buried his face in Carson's throat, taking several deep breaths. "God damnit, Ronon, this is your last warning!" He pounded both fists on the glass, trying to get Ronon's attention. "If you don't let him go right now, I swear I'll . . .."
All his threats just dried up when Ronon dropped to his knees and started nuzzling at Carson. Slowly, gently, pushing his face up high between Carson's legs before rubbing his cheek against the bulge growing at the front of Carson's trousers.
It went on for a very long time. So long that John had almost got used to Carson's mortified expression, and he'd started to think that maybe, just maybe the groin nuzzling was all Ronon planned to do. Of course, he was wrong, spectacularly wrong.
Ronon undid Carson's fly.
The look Carson gave him then was one of pure, panicked arousal. "John, please," Carson begged him. "You've got to get him away from me!" He went back to pushing at Ronon's shoulders, his movements wild and desperate. "Please, I really don't think he's going to stop!"
"I'm so sorry," John whispered helplessly. "So sorry," he said again because there was nothing else he could do. So he stood there feeling useless, pressing his forehead against the see-through panelling while Carson gasped and shuddered and turned his face away.
Something made him keep watching long after Ronon's fingers slid into Carson's trousers. Whether it was some perverse sort of punishment for another spectacular fuck up, or just to make sure Carson wasn't alone in this nightmare, he couldn't say. But whatever it was, John was absurdly glad he was on his own for this; he wasn't sure how he would have coped if either Rodney or Teyla had been standing next to him.
Ronon, on the other hand, didn't seem to care if he had an audience. He took his time, first drawing Carson out before stroking him slowly, firmly, looking delighted by every choked-off sound he was able to pull from him. After pushing his face back between Carson's legs, he gave Carson several thorough sniffs, letting his cheek glide down and up and over him. And through it all, Carson leant against the wall looking down at Ronon with wide, dazed eyes, his breathing so loud and ragged John could hear it.
When, finally, Ronon took him in his mouth, Carson let out a long, shuddering moan. He sank into Ronon, curling over Ronon's shoulders like he couldn't help himself. And he stayed there for several seconds, whining as Ronon's mouth slid all the way down him, before he found enough strength to draw himself up and push at those broad shoulders, even though they all knew it was far too late.
Because Ronon had him now. Hands gripping his hips, Ronon had him, and he took him deep, groaning thickly around him, the sound so raw and so needy it made something in John ache for the two of them. There were no more barriers between them now, nothing to hold back the force of Ronon's hunger, and Carson's resistance just seemed to crumble in the face of it along with the strength in his legs.
"Jesus Christ," Carson whimpered when Ronon caught him, held him up and just kept on going. He took one hand away from Ronon's shoulders, used it to cover his mouth, and every time Ronon eased up then went all the way down on him, he bit down on his palm and just shivered.
But even through that, John could still hear Carson losing it. Face burning, his throat so tight he could barely breathe, he watched the way Carson's other hand now clenched on Ronon's shoulder, holding on instead of trying to push him away. And it went on and on with Ronon bobbing his head slowly, so very slowly between Carson's legs, teasing him, tasting him, until Carson cried out, "Please, Ronon, *please*," all of a sudden, sounding absolutely broken.
Whatever he'd asked for, Ronon clearly gave it to him. Because John watched Carson suddenly curl forward over Ronon's shoulders, clawing his fingers down Ronon's back. Then Carson was grunting and whining and shuddering through an orgasm that seemed to shatter him to the core.
When it was all over, after Carson, still shaking, had slumped to the ground, Ronon drew him into his arms, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "You're mine now, Doc," he said, pressing a gentle kiss into Carson's throat. "Only mine," he added. And John thought Ronon might have stayed like that for hours had Carson not tugged at his hair.
Slowly, reluctantly, Ronon lifted his head. "Mine, Carson," he repeated, staring into Carson's eyes.
Carson let out a heavy sigh. "Aye, love, I heard you the first time!"
There was a wealth of warmth and affection under the faintly aggrieved tone, which made Ronon chuckle when he heard it. "Good," he replied. "I'm glad we got that cleared up!"
Moments later, Carson's fingers were buried deep in Ronon's hair, and as he pulled Ronon toward him, tilting his head a little to one side, he growled, "Just remember it works both ways!"
"Oh, yeah," Ronon agreed, closing the gap between them.
Their lips met, clung and opened against each other. And as the kiss deepened, it became blatantly obvious to John that Carson didn't need rescuing after all.
***
"Hey!"
John looked up from the report he was reading. "Hey, Rodney," he replied. Shifting to one side, he made more space on the table he'd perched on.
"So," Rodney said, sitting down next to him. He gestured vaguely at the room behind.
"Yeah," John sighed. It felt good to have Rodney by his side again, though it was a strange thing to see him so lost for words. Not nearly as strange as the knowledge that two of their friends were screwing their brains out in the room behind. But John reminded himself sternly that he wasn't going there again. It wasn't even because Ronon and Carson were having the kind of hot gay sex *he* never got to have. He'd just never wanted to know so many intimate details about someone else's sex life.
The last time he'd checked in on them, Ronon had been face down across the bed with Carson kneeling behind him, holding him open, tasting him in a way that had clearly been making him lose it. John could still hear Ronon's screams in his head. In retrospect, he supposed it was good to verify that Carson wasn't an unwilling captive. Quite the opposite, in fact! Just, God, the screaming!
John put his report down, shuddering. Somehow, it didn't feel any easier to think about it even with the Comm system switched off and his back to the room. He just didn't want to be here for any of it! What Ronon and Carson were doing to each other was none of his business. It should have been a private moment between two people, not this display of voyeuristic porn in the middle of an observation room for God's sake! Still, John refused to let anyone else sit this watch; Ronon was on his team, so this was his responsibility.
"How long have they been in there?"
John glanced at his watch. "About five hours," he answered quietly.
"And they're not done yet?"
Rodney sounded absolutely amazed, and John couldn't blame him. Five hours of sex non-stop was pretty impressive. "I'm sure they'll come out when they're hungry," he muttered, trying to sound cool about it.
"Okay," Rodney replied in a low voice.
He seemed to be struggling with something, and John knew that if he gave it some time, Rodney would eventually open up, he always did.
"It's just . . .."
"What?" John said at last.
"Well, it's just I had no idea Carson was so . . .."
John frowned at him, suspicious. "So what?" he prompted again.
"So flexible, or that he had so much stamina! Ronon, too!" Rodney scratched his head, looking puzzled. "Maybe it's just a guy thing. I mean, guys know what other guys like, right?"
John made a non-committal grunt, wondering where this was heading.
"Yes, yes, you're absolutely right!" Rodney nodded, looking relieved. "In that case, I should definitely try men," he declared.
John choked, widening his eyes under lighting, which suddenly seemed to be flickering.
"What? Don't look at me like that!" Rodney lifted his chin, back on the defensive. "I've given this a lot of thought," he went on. "I mean, it can't be any worse than my recent track record with women. And there are a hell of a lot more men on Atlantis than there are women. Which vastly increases my chances of, well, you know . . .."
The sight of Rodney making those weird tab into slot stabbing motions with his fingers was so ridiculous that John was actually about to laugh out loud. Until he realized Rodney wasn't joking about any of it! Rodney glanced at him, looking a little flustered yet determined, the way he usually looked before setting off on any kind of dangerous mission. And John's heart gave the kind of panicked lurch that had him swallowing rapidly.
"Wait a minute, are you seriously telling me you're thinking about sleeping with a *man*?" John asked him.
A dull flush crept all the way up to Rodney's hairline. "Oh, come on," he snapped. "Not everyone works for that homophobic organization you call the military. Some of us are open to trying new things."
"You're thinking about sleeping with a man," John repeated the words slowly, carefully, to make absolutely sure. And he kept trying to breathe through the haze of panic, which had covered him so fast it felt like he was suffocating.
"Under the right circumstances, yes," Rodney admitted, trampling over John's fear and his own embarrassment. "I'm tired of my right hand," he said, waving it in the air like it had failed him in some way. "I'm tired of those romantic fiascos people pretend to call dates. And it's not like you can get a clean slate here if something goes wrong. Oh no, you accidentally set fire to one wig, and suddenly no woman will come near you!" Rodney sighed bitterly, staring at his hands. "So, really if you think about it, switching to men makes perfect sense," he concluded.
It was a little too much for John to take. The thought that he'd wasted all that time hiding his feelings, taking it slow, pretending all he wanted from Rodney was friendship. And it wasn't even as though he'd enjoyed holding back; he simply wasn't that kind of guy! The kind of guy *he* was went with his gut and went after what he wanted, and his gut had told him several times to make a move on Rodney. But he'd ignored his instincts, telling himself he was doing it for the sake of the team. Only now Rodney was talking about having sex with other people, sex with *men*, like it was no big deal.
Men that weren't *him*!
Still, he knew Rodney wasn't the type to just go out and do things haphazardly. Rodney was more of a planner, and if anything he had a tendency to over-think things before acting. So there was still time, John told himself. Plenty of time for him to make that move and convince Rodney that they could be so much more than friends. But as the fear-filled haze started to lift, the next words out of Rodney's mouth crashed into him.
"I'm not completely oblivious," John heard him say. "There are a couple of guys I've seen checking me out, and I'm sure plenty of other men find me attractive. Why wouldn't they? I'm an excellent catch! I've actually had a few offers already, which is probably a good place to start. So maybe it's time to do something about them."
The haze descended again. Only this time the panic flowed through him, carried on a wave of possessiveness, which settled in his heart. Rodney belonged to him, no one else. And whilst he might have been prepared to wait until Rodney realized that, no way in hell was he going to sit around while Rodney went to other men for sex.
"Rodney," John said, feeling the sound rumble deep in his chest.
And something in the tone of his voice must have given him away. Because Rodney snapped, "What?" before shrinking back and saying, "Oh, my God, you're not going to be weird about this, are you?"
A strange kind of heat flared behind his eyes when he noticed Rodney edging away. Without thinking, he laid one hand on Rodney's thigh to keep him there. Then Rodney made a low, shocked sound that destroyed that last of his control.
John stood up abruptly, watching Rodney do the same, narrowing his eyes at the desperate way Rodney backed away from him. And as he stalked after Rodney, he could hear Rodney's voice babbling incoherently, see Rodney's hands flapping and waving and tapping at his ear. But right then none of that seemed important compared to staking a claim before anyone else could.
They hit the wall seconds apart. Rodney first, landing with his back against it, then John pressed the full length of his body against him, so close he could feel every gasping breath. The urge to claim was overwhelming, and it had him rolling his hips into Rodney's, letting Rodney feel how hard he was. Rodney's eyes widened when he did that, feeding his need for dominance. So John kept him pinned there, cupping one hand over his nape while stroking the other slowly, gently, down his face and neck.
"I don't care if they're male or female," he told him. "You are not sleeping with anyone except me, you got that?"
Rodney swallowed audibly. "Uh, well, of course that's very kind of you to offer, Colonel, but-- "
"I mean it, Rodney," John cut him off, tightening his grip on Rodney's nape. "If you're tired of your right hand, you come to me, no one else!"
"Yeah, yeah, sure, okay," Rodney agreed, flicking his eyes toward the door.
And even though John sensed Rodney might have been stalling for time, that wasn't enough to stop the pleasure those words gave him. "Finally," he sighed. "Two *years*!" He touched his forehead to Rodney's, taking several deep breaths. "Two years of waiting and watching, and now you're mine!"
Rodney flinched against him. The scent of panic rose through the air between their bodies. But underneath the fear John could smell something else. Something musky, sweet and heavy, and the rush that came from knowing he was scenting Rodney's arousal went straight to his head. Before he could stop himself, he'd pushed Rodney hard into the wall, and he was writhing up against him, trying to get even closer.
"God, you smell so good," John groaned, nuzzling at Rodney's throat. The scent was strongest there, and he buried his face in it, slowly rubbing his cheek against Rodney's shoulder. He could feel Rodney's hands pushing at his shoulders, fingers clawing and scratching at him. And, God, even that felt good, knowing that Rodney was touching him after almost two years of self-imposed denial.
But Rodney's voice in his ear sounded very agitated, and John could hear him saying, "Oh God, oh God, someone please help me! Someone? Anyone? Help me, please!"
So he let Rodney ease him back slightly, and he threaded his fingers through the dark, soft hair at Rodney's nape, combing gently through it. "It's okay," he murmured, feeling Rodney tense up even further. "I won't let anyone hurt you." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto Rodney's jaw, just to get a taste of his skin before he drew back far enough to look Rodney in the eye. "I'll always take care of you, always," he promised in a low voice.
Rodney was breathing hard against him, face flushed and sweating, and in spite of that promise, the panicked expression was still there. But John decided that he didn't mind so much. Because 'flustered' was a great look on Rodney, and he was already thinking of ways to keep it there permanently. What he wasn't happy about was the way Rodney kept glancing at the door and calling for help under his breath.
"Rodney," John chided him gently, tracing one fingertip slowly round Rodney's mouth. "I *am* right here, you know." He stroked his hand down from Rodney's face to his chest, brushing his thumb over a peaked nipple, loving the way Rodney gasped then shivered against him.
"Uh-huh, right here," it came out as a hoarse croak, and Rodney gulped as he moved his hand lower. "Yes, Colonel, believe me I get that!"
John slid that hand between Rodney's legs, cupping him firmly, and immediately he was rewarded with another gasp.
"Oh, shit," Rodney moaned quietly, then he closed his eyes and just shuddered, and the heavy scent of arousal rolling off his skin nearly brought John to his knees.
He swayed on his feet for several seconds, breathing raggedly through it, so turned on now he could barely think. And he rubbed down without thinking, knowing only that he wanted Rodney to want this as much as he did. "That's it, right here," he whispered, watching Rodney's face intently, watching his eyelids flutter and his mouth fall open. And after several long, slow strokes, he found a rhythm that had Rodney clutching at his shoulders, lifting his hips away from the wall like he couldn't get enough of him.
"Oh yeah, you like that, don't you?" John whispered, bending down to lick at a point high on Rodney's throat.
His reward was another high-pitched moan before Rodney curled into him, rocking his hips up into it. "Oh, fuck," Rodney whispered, thighs trembling as he moved. "Fuck," he said again, touching their foreheads together, his breathing fast and shallow.
"It gets better," John promised him, sensing Rodney was close already. So he kept stroking him with the heel of his palm, trying to give Rodney the kind of firm, hard rhythm that would take him to the edge fast.
"Colonel, please!" Rodney shook his head slowly, like even that much took a lot out of him. "Please, we can't *do* this," he said very softly.
"But I really think you want me to," John argued, still stroking the resistance out of him. "And that's another thing I don't like," he added after Rodney just seemed to slump back against the wall, letting his gaze drift down the heaving chest and the sheen of sweat on Rodney's neck. "You never call me John. It's always Sheppard, or Colonel, never John." He looked up to find Rodney staring at him, pupils dilated, looking dazed and desperate and barely in control. "Say my name, Rodney," he ordered, brushing his lips against Rodney's jaw.
Rodney gasped, turning his head away, leaving the side of his neck exposed, and John couldn't resist leaning in to taste him there. He drew his mouth down that line of smooth, hot skin, loving the feel of Rodney's pulse beating beneath the surface, and he opened his mouth against it, sucking hard, feeling it race under his tongue.
"That's-- I can't," Rodney moaned, sounding confused and incredibly turned on at the same time.
"Say it," John growled, nipping him gently.
The moaning got louder. Suddenly, Rodney was pushing his hips up hard, writhing shamelessly, arching into him. "John, oh God, John, please," he cried out, low, broken.
And John shuddered at the sound of it. He couldn't remember ever wanting anyone this badly, like the need in him to own Rodney had completely taken over. Nothing could compare to this, he realized, feeling the rush of lust and adrenaline shoot through his veins, and every breathless response Rodney gave him just took him higher. "No one else, Rodney, promise me that," he demanded.
Rodney nodded, clinging to his shoulders, breath hitching sharply like he couldn't control it anymore.
"Because you're mine now," John went on, voice rough with his own need. "You belong to me," he whispered as Rodney pushed up hard into his hand and stayed there, thighs trembling.
The grip on his shoulders tightened. Rodney tipped his head back, gasping, the tremors spreading up from his thighs into his stomach. And when Rodney finally came, he made a low, broken sound, and he went a little wild, jerking his hips up again and again in ragged little thrusts. John stayed with him through it, whispering, "Come on, yeah, that's it," into Rodney's ear, and he kept stroking him with the heel of his palm, drawing it out for him, until Rodney sagged heavily against him, totally drained.
"Fuck!" John shuddered, almost there himself. "Fuck, Rodney!" He hauled Rodney's pleasure pliant body up, pressing him back into the wall. "I've got to have you," he whispered, burying his face in Rodney's throat, biting at his chin, his jaw. "Right here-- " John ground up against him, so hard now he ached, and the raw scent of come rising off Rodney's skin was driving him crazy.
He wanted to be inside Rodney, wanted it so badly he was shaking, but that was no longer an option because he was too close to the edge to slow down. And it didn't matter any more that this wasn't what he'd planned for their first time, or that they were right out in the open, where anyone who walked by could see them. None of that mattered if it meant he could have Rodney like this. Just Rodney breathing roughly in his ear, legs sliding apart to welcome him between them.
"God, yes!" John shuddered helplessly against him, hips working. He lifted Rodney's legs up, wrapped them both around his waist, and fuck, even through two layers of clothes, he could still feel how hard Rodney was. "Rodney," John groaned, rocking into him again and again. "You're so-- I can't-- " he pressed his forehead into Rodney's shoulder, bearing them both up and back into the wall with each thrust. It was so good, so unbelievably good, he was going to--
The sudden explosion of blue light by his head startled him so much that he nearly dropped Rodney. Snarling, eyes burning with rage, John set him down. Then he whirled round to find Teyla pointing a Wraith stunner at them.
"I will not miss next time," she promised him, eyes cold. "Now, please do as I say and let Dr. McKay go."
Behind her, John could see a team of marines, all of them waiting, weapons drawn, ready to take him down, all of them his men. The sense of betrayal was so intense it made his blood boil. He stepped in front of Rodney, ready to fight even though he knew he was out-numbered and out-gunned.
"John, do not make me do this," Teyla warned him.
He growled at her, literally seeing red. Then, Teyla fired.
The shock of the impact forced all the air out of his lungs, and John went down gasping, clutching at his chest. Still, he fought against the numbness spreading through his arms and legs, trying to reach for Rodney. And his last thought as he was hit in the back, again and again, was that he'd failed to protect his mate.
***
He'd always hated hospitals. Something about their sterile, white walls made him feel small and helpless, like a caged animal. So lying in the infirmary with his wrists and ankles strapped to the bed did little to change that opinion.
Every day, people came to see him in a steady stream of medical staff and well-meaning friends. He answered their questions; he took their tests; he let them poke him and prod him, even though he knew there was nothing wrong with him. In time, the barrage of tests was bound to prove that. So he tried to wait patiently while Beckett's team of doctors and nurses scurried around his bed, all of them careful not to come too close despite his restraints.
Only Carson didn't seem to be afraid of him. He spent hours by his side each day, keeping him company, and he never stopped treating him like a human being. But each time Carson came close, John could smell Ronon on him, and it made the waiting so much harder.
Teyla came to visit from time to time usually flanked by Lorne. They brought him news from the mainland, news from the city, and news about off-world missions. Elizabeth, when she came, was guarded but supportive. She liked to remind him that he'd been through something like this before. Which, of course, meant that he would make it through again just as he'd done before.
The one visitor, who was glaringly absent, was Rodney.
Dr. Heightmeyer asked him how he felt about that during one of their psychological evaluation sessions. John told her that it was what he expected, all things considered. Rodney probably needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened; they both did, he'd said. Though even he hadn't sounded entirely convinced.
Because deep down John was very concerned. Something on that planet had affected on him. Something which had woken all his predatory instincts, and it had changed the nature of his relationship with Rodney in such a fundamental way that he wasn't sure either of them could go back to how things were before.
When he closed his eyes at night, he could still picture Rodney's flushed, sweating face, and the way Rodney had writhed against him, coming crying out for more. He remembered how Rodney had spread his legs afterwards, letting him settle between them, letting him do anything he wanted. Having tasted that kind of surrender, John didn't want to give it up.
It disturbed him to think that, for the time being, Rodney was out there all alone, wandering through the city, where other people could look at him, and perhaps try to touch him or smell him. But John told himself not to worry too much about that. He'd deliberately left his scent on Rodney's skin, so everyone would know Rodney was his. And he still hoped Rodney would come to him eventually.
If not, once he got out, there would be nowhere on Atlantis that Rodney could hide from him.
The End.
Additional Notes: Written for Skippylist Challenge No. 164 - There is no such thing as a were-virgin.
ETA: Link to a beautiful piece of Carson/Ronon artwork, which yanagoya created for this story
Title: There's something about Ronon
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, First Time
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard, Beckett/Dex
Disclaimer: Not mine, Wright and Cooper own Stargate Atlantis etc.
Warnings: M/M sexual activity with elements of coercion
Summary: On a trading mission, local customs have a profound effect on John's team, and he has to deal with the consequences
After John picked himself off the floor, he decided he hated the nuances of language. He hated how one word could mean something completely different depending on whom you were speaking to. But more than anything, what he really hated was how those little differences almost always turned a mission to shit.
Take, for example, the stinking pile they found themselves in right then, with him nursing a bruised jaw, Ronon snarling at everyone and Carson backed into a corner. A situation, which could probably have been avoided had Carson not said, "Aye, we're mates! Good mates, I've always thought."
***
Most of it was McKay's fault.
As the sole inhabitants of M5X-297, the Galrain were sitting on the mother-load of Ancient stores. They had thousands of drones; they had puddle-jumpers to spare; they had access to weapons technology the Atlantis science team hadn't even come close to discovering. Most importantly, the Galrain had ZPMs. Three fully functional, fully charged ZPMs, which had practically pushed Rodney into multiple gasping orgasms when he'd seen them.
"We've got to get those back to Atlantis," Rodney whispered in his ear in a vague attempt at subtlety. Because as outwardly welcoming as the Galrain were, they didn't seem very trusting. John had sensed they'd been watched very closely from the moment they'd stepped onto the planet. Even now only Teyla was allowed to move around without an armed escort while he, Rodney and Ronon were forced to wait outside the Temple of the Ancestors with three very muscular-looking guards.
The whole situation made him very nervous. In his experience, missions that started with 'hey, great to meet you guys' only to introduce guards and temples later on never ended well. So, sitting on a meditation bench watched by a group of smiling natives, John basically kept waiting for the shooting to start. And all that waiting was driving him crazy, almost as much as having an incredibly excited Rodney McKay plastered to his side.
"I mean, three ZPMs, Colonel," Rodney continued, still whispering. "Just think of what we could do with three of them!"
With Rodney literally breathing down his neck, John was really only trying to think about not getting hard. He could feel Rodney's excited gasps and the way those hot little gusts of air curled over his skin, making him shiver every time Rodney said something. Which only made him picture the two of them pressed together with Rodney gasping and moaning in his ear for entirely different reasons, none of which were conducive to him not getting hard.
"There's the shield, of course," Rodney told him, sighing dramatically. "Then there are the sections of the city we still haven't explored yet," Rodney added, lips brushing against his ear, flooding his groin with the kind of heat that had him breaking out in a sweat.
And perhaps if he really were as reckless or as insane as Rodney often accused him of being he would have dragged Rodney to the ground and shown him just how ready he was to explore new territory. But John didn't; he knew he shouldn't; there were a whole host of reasons why that would have been a very bad idea. Though none of them were quite strong enough to make him stand up and put temptation out of reach. In desperation, he tried shifting a few inches down the bench.
"Who knows what we could find there," Rodney said, shifting with him, voice breathless and full of wonder at all the possibilities.
John shifted away again, putting several inches between them this time, hoping Rodney would take the hint and stay on his side of the bench. But to his continual dismay, that kind of subtlety never seemed to work on McKay.
"Not to mention the systems we can't activate because of the massive drain on power," Rodney went on, closing the gap, following him each time he shifted away until they reached the end of the bench.
They had to look ridiculous, John thought, with him perched on the edge and Rodney crammed up against him, while the rest of bench lay empty. And, Christ, where were Rodney's personal space issues when he needed them?
There were certain rules to a manly friendship between two guys, especially when one guy was secretly lusting after the other. John knew how to handle his own end of the deal. He knew what worked for him, how far he could let things go; there were routines he followed, which allowed him to still hang around Rodney without acting like a slavering hound. But for those routines to work, he needed Rodney to play by the rules, even though Rodney clearly had no idea what was going on. And that was exactly how John knew things had to stay, with Rodney perfectly oblivious and him as the perfect friend, who was always there with a free flying lesson or a free sparring session, where he could sneak in the occasional bout of combat wrestling. He'd been so very careful about that in particular, rationing himself to no more than two sessions a week, always jerking off beforehand to avoid giving himself away.
Still no amount of jerking off could have prepared him for the neck-breathing thing; John took some comfort in that. It was a completely new and totally unexpected form of torture; and it seemed so wrong to enjoy it so much, especially when a part of him was dying from shame. But with the Galrain scrutinising their every move, all John could do was sit there, horribly conscious that even Ronon's eyes were on him while he essentially let Rodney nuzzle at his throat in his typical clueless way.
"It's not like they're really using them anyway!" Rodney squirmed against him, huffing with righteous indignation. "No, Colonel, we are not leaving here without those ZPMs," he insisted.
By that point, John had reached that stupidly turned on stage where he would have agreed with anything Rodney told him. So when the requisite bizarre alien ritual came along, it almost felt like a reprieve.
The Galrain refused to deal with anyone they felt were outsiders. Therefore, before trade negotiations could start, they demanded that the strongest member of the team become part of their pack. Naturally, Ronon volunteered, being both the biggest and the strongest. And, still a little flustered, John jumped at the chance to let someone else handle a crazy ritual or two. Because there were only so many times a guy could take one for the team without starting to resent that team.
So he, Rodney and Teyla sat back while Ronon had to run an assault course chased by large, dog-like creatures. Then he sipped on a ritual margarita-style cocktail while Ronon had to fight off several huge Galraini men holding sticks. Of course, Ronon took his pummelling like ten men, excelling far beyond any outsider before him. In fact, he proved himself so strong and so fierce that the Galraini Alpha formally invited him to run with their pack.
"They do not do this lightly," Teyla told them after the Alpha had made the offer. "I fear it would not bode well for trade if we were to refuse them now."
And while John had some serious misgivings, mostly because Teyla's stick wielding trading partners were clearly insane, he decided to let Ronon have the final say, despite Rodney's incredibly loud protests that they really, really needed those ZPMs. In the end, Ronon just shook the sweat from his dreadlocks and he said, "Sure, why not? I'm good at running."
"Excellent!" The Alpha grinned at all of them. "We shall prepare for the blood rite," he announced happily. Though, something about the gleam in his eyes when he said that made John realize he might have missed something important.
No sooner had the Alpha clapped his hands than they were surrounded by several young Galraini men and women. Accepting that it was too late to stop the ceremony without causing some sort of diplomatic incident, John let the women lead him, Rodney and Teyla to a bank of chairs, where someone handed him another one of those ritual margaritas. He watched through narrowed eyes as Ronon followed the men into a stone circle at the centre of the village square. One of the men pushed Ronon to his knees, and instinctively John moved one hand to his sidearm, thinking a diplomatic incident just might be the way to go.
The Alpha grinned at him again looking almost pleased with his reaction. Then he entered the circle, smiling at Ronon in a way that set every alarm bell John had ringing. There was the obligatory ritual chanting followed by some blood letting and blood sharing, then even more chanting, the sound of which made the hair on the back of John's neck stand up and left his skin feeling oddly tight and scratchy.
Then suddenly, under the pale light of the setting sun, Ronon just sort of turned into a dog.
***
Whenever a mission went disastrously wrong, John Sheppard, the easy-going man of the people, had a tendency to shut down. Out came a John Sheppard, who was calm, calculating and ruthless, a Sheppard designed to handle any difficult situation. So it was something of a surprise that this particular John launched himself out of his chair yelling, "Holy shit!" whilst simultaneously hurling his cocktail into Rodney's face.
"And thank-you so much for that, Colonel," Rodney snapped, leaping up after him. "Because I was just thinking that there's not nearly enough precipitation on this planet, so could someone please throw their drink all over me!" He wiped sharply at his forehead, displaying all the mannerisms of a very wet cat, and on any other day John might have found that amusing.
Except nothing about the situation was funny. Especially since no one else seemed to have noticed that Ronon had disappeared and that there was a huge dog-like creature in the exact same spot where he'd been only seconds before. It sat there, tongue lolling loosely in its mouth as it tried to claw its way free from Ronon's clothes.
"Rodney," John said, pointing toward the circle. "I think we may have a problem!"
From the expression on Rodney's face, it looked like Rodney could see the same thing he saw. Which pretty much amounted to no Ronon, just a very large canine with several beaded necklaces hanging round its neck.
"Oh my God!" Rodney spluttered, choked, then he pointed at the creature before choking again. "Is that . . .?"
"Yep!"
"But that's a dog," Rodney yelled at no one in particular.
John gave him a gentle pat on the back. "Actually, I think he's more of a wolf," he argued lightly, having had some more time to observe the animal while Rodney had been waving his hands and pointing.
Still, Rodney kept muttering, "Ronon's a dog; they turned him into a dog!"
So John let him have that one. Under the circumstances, he could afford to be generous. In fact, he was feeling a hell of a lot calmer now that he'd established he wasn't the only one seeing strange things. But just when he thought things couldn't get any stranger, Rodney shook him by the shoulder, saying, "Okay, so now they're all dogs!"
All around them, the Galraini men and women were changing into four-legged creatures. Even the children had turned, if the little cubs darting between their legs were anything to go by. And as John quickly scanned the village, it occurred to him that the only other humans left in it were Rodney and Teyla.
"We're not going to turn into dogs, are we?" Rodney asked him all of a sudden, frantic with worry. "Because I really feel I should point out that I'm more of a cat person, the whole turning into an animal thing notwithstanding. And have I mentioned lately how much I don't want to turn into a dog?"
"Teyla," John yelled, starting to worry a little himself. "Teyla, could you come back here please?"
"Of course, Colonel Sheppard," she replied.
While he'd been trying to calm down Rodney, she'd wandered over to the circle to take a closer look. Now John watched as she strolled back through the pack of wolves, stopping occasionally to scratch the head of a stray cub in her path before she joined him and Rodney by their chairs. She looked serene and suspiciously calm about the whole situation. Not like Rodney, who was still spectacularly freaking out, and justifiably so, in his opinion. Which meant on some level she'd had to know this would happen.
"Wait a minute, you knew about this?" John accused her.
Teyla gave him a bewildered look. "I do not understand. Were we not all present when the Galrain invited Ronon to run with their pack?"
The tone she'd used was diplomatic, gracious and kind. It made him feel like a complete idiot. -- Run with their pack -- Jesus Christ! John shook his head, wondering why he never saw these things coming.
Luckily, Teyla seemed to realize he wasn't trying to start an argument. There was no trace of recrimination in her. She simply turned to face the ritual circle, inviting him and a now near hysterical Rodney to share in the moment. "They are about to start," she told them. "Is it not exciting?"
And beyond Rodney's frantic shouts of: "Start? Start what?" and his own urge to shoot first and ask questions later, John could sense a kind of roiling tension in the air. All the Galrain had gathered at the circle. Many stood still, most of them parents carrying their cubs between their jaws, while a group of slightly smaller wolves prowled round the perimeter, pawing at the ground with a kind of impatience universal to teenagers.
The whole pack seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of signal, and the proof of that came when the Alpha raised his muzzle to howl at the sky. The sound cut through the still evening air with an eerie kind of resonance that made John's heart pound when he heard it. And in a sudden flash of insight, he finally got the running part of the invitation. He barely had enough time to mutter, "Oh, crap!" before the group of teenage wolves took off into the forest, followed by Ronon and the rest of the pack.
John stood there wide-eyed, that feeling of unreality as sharp as the moment he'd realized Ronon had turned into an animal. He stared at the forest for a good thirty seconds after the last wolf had disappeared. Then, squaring his shoulders, he took off after them.
***
It felt like he was moving in a daze, where the rush of adrenaline sharpened his senses and time had slowed the world around him to a flood of sensation. He pushed through the feel of branches whipping his skin as he dashed by, the sounds of Teyla and Rodney chasing after him, calling out his name, choosing not to stop for any of them. What mattered most was keeping pace with the pack, and John found, to his surprise, that it wasn't that hard at all. He'd thought they would easily outrun him; before he entered the forest, he'd been worried that he might have lost Ronon and the Galrain for good. But not only could he hear them, he could track the prints they left in the undergrowth as they ran through the trees.
The sky was dark when he finally caught up with them, finding them resting in a small clearing. The wolf that was Ronon stood apart from the pack, looking agitated and a little unsure of himself. John watched as a few of the Galrain tried to approach him; they tried coaxing him to join them with little yelps and whines. Only, Ronon started snarling whenever anyone got too close, and after a few minutes of this, he threw his head back and howled at the moon.
Never a good sign!
***
"Okay, why does he keep doing that?" Rodney asked him when Ronon sniffed at the ground yet again.
John didn't bother to answer. After almost two years as Rodney's friend, he'd pretty much figured out which of Rodney's questions were rhetorical. So he kept on walking, keeping one eye on the forest and the other on Ronon in case he got the sudden urge to go for another run.
Ronon, however, seemed far more interested in sniffing everything in his path. Earlier, he'd sniffed the whole team in varying degrees before apparently getting bored with the way they smelled. Then he'd bounded up to a tree, sniffing that for several seconds. Now, John watched him crouch down to smell some wild flowers.
Rodney grabbed his arm, tugging and pointing sharply. "I mean, if he's back to normal, should he be doing that?"
"How the hell should I know?" John replied tiredly. Ronon's behaviour was just as baffling to him as it was to everyone else. Privately, he conceded that Rodney made a valid point, though he would have left it at that had Rodney not folded his arms and scowled at him.
"Well, maybe you would know if you talked to him about it!"
"You know what? Maybe I will," John said, narrowing his eyes under the flare of Rodney's challenge. "Ronon, hey, buddy!" he called out.
Ronon stopped sniffing abruptly.
"Everything all right?" John asked him.
Ronon glanced at both of them, bared his teeth, then he went back to the sniffing.
"*See*!" Rodney yelled triumphantly.
And okay, not quite the kind of answer he'd expected either. That morning, once the pack had returned to human form, Ronon had seemed like he was back to normal, even though, at the time, John had known that things were far from perfect. But after Ronon had assured him with several growls that he was fine, John had decided to let it go for the time being. Because Ronon hadn't exactly been Mr. Chatty to start with, and all his instincts had been screaming at him to get his team out of there.
"Look, let's just get everyone home first, okay?" he told Rodney, subtly picking up the pace. The Stargate was right up ahead, and the balled-up tension in his stomach seemed to ease the closer they got to it. "I'm sure he'll get better once we're back on familiar ground," he added distractedly, watching Ronon drift off toward yet another tree.
The temptation to call him to heel was very strong, particularly since Ronon seemed to recognize him as his Alpha, or pack leader, or top dog. John wasn't quite sure what the correct terminology was. His brain had taken a brief holiday at a critical point after the Galrain had explained that Ronon was basically now a werewolf. Like all the Galrain were, apparently.
Something which Teyla had completely neglected to mention.
John gave her another dark look. When they got back to Atlantis, he was going to have a little chat with Zelenka and the rest of her movie night buddies. No more 'Teen Wolf', or 'Teen Wolf Too'; in fact, he was going to make it a rule that Teyla wasn't allowed to watch anything with werewolves, orcs, cylons or vampires. Because he'd really had enough of statements like: "But I thought you had such creatures on your world!"
Still, at the end of the day, this was one mission he could write up as a success. His team had walked away in one piece; they'd found some potential new trading partners; and, while there'd been some spectacularly bizarre moments, it was all vaguely manageable. Just another mission in the Pegasus galaxy, John told himself. And at no point did he feel like he'd totally lost control of the situation.
Until they took Ronon for his post-mission check-up.
***
"Huh! I think he likes you!"
"Really, Rodney?" Carson huffed, visibly struggling against a 6'5" mountain of muscle. "I hadn't noticed! Thank-you for pointing that out!"
The nurses were staring openly now. They'd long since given up any pretence of politeness; most people in the infirmary had, many of them outright gaping while Carson continued to push ineffectually at Ronon's shoulders.
"Ronon," Carson began in a soft voice. "Come on, laddie, you need to let me go so I can help you."
Ronon just cuddled him tighter.
"Ronon, please!" Carson begged him, pushing a little harder.
Still Ronon refused to let go, and John could only watch the two of them with a growing sense of disbelief, not really sure what to make of all this.
From the moment they'd returned to Atlantis, Ronon's sniffing had gone into over-drive. And for once, John hadn't had to drag him to the infirmary; no, he'd sprinted there, head tipped back as though scenting something on the air. Whatever scent he'd been searching for, he'd clearly found it on Carson's neck. Because Ronon had lifted Carson up onto his desk before plastering himself to Carson far more effectively than Rodney had ever done to him! Then he'd tucked his head under Carson's chin, breathing him in, every slow, deep breath he took filled with a blatant kind of adoration.
"Okay, so this is weird," John mumbled under his breath.
"Oh, *now* you think this is weird?" Rodney snapped, coming up beside him. "What, at no point beforehand did any of this strike you as remotely out of the ordinary?"
For a moment, John pretended to think it over. He took a good look round him at his team, starting with Ronon, who was curled up against Carson, happily sniffing away. Then he moved to Teyla, who, thank God, had started the serious work of damage control by herding bystanders out of the infirmary. Finally, he came back to Rodney, scowling finger-pointing Rodney, who stood next to him doing absolutely nothing to help. "Gee, Rodney, no, it didn't," he said through clenched teeth. "I thought everything was just fine when Ronon decided to get all naked and hairy and then go for a run. But *this* I'm finding a little strange!"
Rodney's face clouded over, and John noticed that he looked slightly abashed for several seconds before he was back to his usual self.
"Yes, well!" Rodney waved one hand dismissively. "It's probably just the virgin thing," he muttered, as if that explained everything.
"The virgin thing?" John's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding, right?"
"Oh, come on! He's a werewolf! They like virgins, don't they?"
"No," John answered mildly. "Unicorns like virgins!"
"Werewolves too," Rodney insisted.
John couldn't believe they were even having this conversation. "I'm pretty sure it's just unicorns, McKay."
"And I can assure you that I'm not a virgin," Carson cut in, sounding incredibly affronted.
That didn't deter Rodney for one second. "Well, maybe it's because you're a were-virgin," he scoffed. "Have you thought about that?"
Minutes later, they were both still thinking about it. And because Rodney had a long track record of coming up with the right answer to a problem when people least expected it, they kept on thinking about it for several, silent, worried moments afterward.
Eventually, Carson said, "Look, there's no such thing as a were-virgin!"
"Tell that to him!" Rodney countered, pointing at the evidence, which literally had not moved in several minutes. And from the way Ronon kept clinging to Carson, it didn't seem like he planned to move any time in the near future.
John stared at Ronon, rubbing the back of his neck in a frustrated way. So much for him getting better on familiar ground! Ronon seemed even more feral on Atlantis than he'd been on Galrain. Now, with the sniffing and the odd, rumbling sound he kept making in the back of his throat, John didn't know what to worry about more. "I could get a team in here so we could take him down," he offered.
Carson sighed, shaking his head. "No, not yet," he answered quietly. There was a strange kind of hesitance in his eyes as he took his hands off Ronon's shoulders, leaving them to hover in mid-air for several seconds. Then, as though he'd reached some sort of decision, he laid one hand on Ronon's back and the other on Ronon's hair, running down it in long, soothing strokes that seemed to make Ronon just melt against him. "I am his doctor, first and foremost," he continued, not looking either of them in the eye now. "Let me try to treat him, and if that doesn't work . . .." Carson trailed off, still stroking Ronon's hair.
"Okay, Doc, you just let me know when," John conceded, a little surprised by Carson's decision. He appreciated the dilemma Carson faced because he didn't want to hurt Ronon either. But if it came down to subduing him so they could help him, then really there was no other choice.
He reached out planning to pat Carson on the shoulder when suddenly Ronon turned his head and growled, "*My* doc!"
John drew back his arm because that seemed like the sensible thing to do. Carson, on the other hand, seemed to take that statement to mean he was making progress. "Aye, laddie, I'm your doctor," he said, smiling at Ronon encouragingly when Ronon turned back to him. "You understand me, don't you?"
Ronon grinned at Carson, making that odd rumbling noise again.
John wasn't sure where the hell this was going, but he had a feeling it couldn't be to a good place. He was about to warn Carson to keep his mouth shut when Ronon leant down, taking another long sniff at Carson's throat. Definitely not a good sign! Especially when Ronon decided to follow it up with a couple of grunts and growls, which might have been words but which John couldn't quite make out from where he was.
With a growing sense of dread, he leant a little closer, watching Ronon point at Carson's chest before tapping his own. "Mate," he heard Ronon say, much clearer this time.
"Aye, we're mates! Good mates, I've always thought," Carson agreed, still not sensing any danger. And once Ronon had settled against him, he went back to stroking Ronon's hair, every touch laced with a gentle kind of concern.
"I'm going to fuck you now," Ronon announced all of a sudden, loud, clear, and absolutely unmistakable.
Carson reared back. "Bloody hell!" he shouted.
As he struggled to get away, John reached for him, trying to help. And, officially, that was when the mission turned to shit.
***
After John picked himself off the floor, he reflected on the things he'd learned, one of which was that Ronon didn't take rejection very well. The left side of his jaw already had a nasty bruise, and he was probably going to have a black eye when this was all over. But those were the least of his problems.
They still hadn't figured out a way to get to Carson without Ronon trying to smack one of them halfway across the infirmary. And without their help, Carson was in serious trouble. Because Ronon kept stalking after him and he wasn't taking no for an answer. "You're my mate," he kept saying. "We need to fuck now!"
"Okay, John, Rodney, I give up," Carson admitted in a voice high with panic. "I can't treat him when he's like this." His eyes darted from side to side, searching for another way to escape. "I can't be expected to work under these conditions!"
"Hang on, we'll think of something," John promised him. The desperate look on Carson's face was almost painful to see, and he knew things were only going to get worse if he and Rodney didn't think of something fast. In the end, all he came up with was: "Okay, just be ready to go when I give the signal."
As a plan, it was simple. The best ones always were. Though John supposed he should have known Ronon would figure it out. A brief turn into werewolf hadn't made Ronon stupid; if anything, it had probably only sharpened his hunting senses. So when he feinted to one side, Ronon was more than ready for him, taking another swing at his jaw after scooping Carson up by the waist as he'd tried to slip past.
"He's mine," Ronon growled in a tone that held a clear note of warning.
So John raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, I get it, the doc's yours," he said, ignoring the betrayed look Carson gave him. From the corner of his eye, he'd seen Teyla come back into the room. And when she fanned out to the right, he immediately took the left, switching to a new plan to outflank instead of the old rush and grab.
"Listen, Ronon, buddy," John continued, all easy-going light and charm. "I don't think this macho caveman thing is the way to go."
Ronon frowned, glancing from him to Teyla then back again. He drew Carson close and then he took several steps back.
John took a few steps forward. "How about dinner?" he suggested. "Maybe a walk on the pier, or a picnic in the moonlight? I'm sure Carson would like that."
"Oh, yes," Rodney sniped. "More dating tips from Colonel Romantic! What a great idea!"
"Rodney!" John whirled in on him, growling himself now. "You are *so* not helping!"
But by the time he'd turned back, Ronon had already taken advantage of his distraction to make a run for it. Shocked blue eyes stared at him from where Carson lay draped over Ronon's shoulder and they only seemed to get wider and wider as Ronon carried Carson off toward one of the observation rooms.
"Shit," John swore. Then he raced after them, still swearing under his breath, certain his chances to rescue Carson were gone.
It turned out that he was right.
He made it to the room a few steps behind Teyla, who was only seconds too late herself. The door shut in her face just as she was reaching out toward it. Before he could even ask Rodney to over-ride the locking mechanism, they all heard the distinctive crunch of control crystals being smashed on the other side.
"God damnit!" John yelled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the door. Finally, he went for Ronon's gun, cocked it and set it to stun. "Okay, Teyla, you stay here with Rodney, and whatever you do, make sure Ronon doesn't get past you," he ordered her.
On the way out, he grabbed his P-90 as well, praying he wouldn't need to use it.
***
During basic training, John had learnt that holding an elevated position was a key tactical advantage. From there a soldier could track an enemy, lay down suppressing fire, and even overpower a superior force of numbers. Yet, looking down from the observation deck into that sterile little room, he'd never felt so helpless. Yes, he could track Ronon's movements with relative ease, and sure, he had plenty of firepower.
The problem was he couldn't do a damn thing with it!
Shooting out the glass panelling wasn't an option. He wasn't even sure that it was glass, let alone if bullets would break it. And Carson didn't look like he had enough time for that sort of trial and error. He was backed into a corner, literally holding Ronon at arms length, his face twisted into the frustrated scowl of someone who was trying to use reason after everything else had failed. So when John activated the Comm system, he wasn't surprised to hear Carson's strident tones come pouring through.
"No way! Absolutely not! No!"
Ronon's equally frustrated growl came through a moment later.
"Not that I'm not flattered," Carson added hastily. "Really, I am! Who wouldn't want a big, handsome, strapping young lad like you interested in them? It's just you're clearly not quite yourself today, and as I'm your doctor-- "
"*My* doc," Ronon cut in smoothly.
"Yes, your *doctor*," Carson continued, switching the emphasis back to the professional. "And you need to let me treat you instead of trying to-- "
"*My* doc," Ronon interrupted him again, still possessive yet almost gentle with it now. He stopped letting Carson hold him back, slowly pressing himself forward until their chests were touching.
Carson glanced up at the observation deck then, eyes shaded with some dark emotion that looked a lot like guilt, and the sight of it made John feel a little queasy. He wanted to tell Carson not to give up; he wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to feel guilty about, because this was all his fault, his failure, his inability to keep his team in line. But John found he'd run out of pep talks. Now, neither one of them could pretend that this wasn't happening. Even before Ronon touched his forehead to Carson's, John knew without a doubt that they'd reached that critical point where all hell was about to break loose.
"Ronon," he began, trying to forestall it. "I want you to let Carson go." Though, as he watched Ronon stroke the back of his knuckles down Carson's cheek, it became obvious that the situation had already started to spiral out of control.
"That's an order," John yelled in spite of that, after Ronon had once again buried his face in Carson's throat, taking several deep breaths. "God damnit, Ronon, this is your last warning!" He pounded both fists on the glass, trying to get Ronon's attention. "If you don't let him go right now, I swear I'll . . .."
All his threats just dried up when Ronon dropped to his knees and started nuzzling at Carson. Slowly, gently, pushing his face up high between Carson's legs before rubbing his cheek against the bulge growing at the front of Carson's trousers.
It went on for a very long time. So long that John had almost got used to Carson's mortified expression, and he'd started to think that maybe, just maybe the groin nuzzling was all Ronon planned to do. Of course, he was wrong, spectacularly wrong.
Ronon undid Carson's fly.
The look Carson gave him then was one of pure, panicked arousal. "John, please," Carson begged him. "You've got to get him away from me!" He went back to pushing at Ronon's shoulders, his movements wild and desperate. "Please, I really don't think he's going to stop!"
"I'm so sorry," John whispered helplessly. "So sorry," he said again because there was nothing else he could do. So he stood there feeling useless, pressing his forehead against the see-through panelling while Carson gasped and shuddered and turned his face away.
Something made him keep watching long after Ronon's fingers slid into Carson's trousers. Whether it was some perverse sort of punishment for another spectacular fuck up, or just to make sure Carson wasn't alone in this nightmare, he couldn't say. But whatever it was, John was absurdly glad he was on his own for this; he wasn't sure how he would have coped if either Rodney or Teyla had been standing next to him.
Ronon, on the other hand, didn't seem to care if he had an audience. He took his time, first drawing Carson out before stroking him slowly, firmly, looking delighted by every choked-off sound he was able to pull from him. After pushing his face back between Carson's legs, he gave Carson several thorough sniffs, letting his cheek glide down and up and over him. And through it all, Carson leant against the wall looking down at Ronon with wide, dazed eyes, his breathing so loud and ragged John could hear it.
When, finally, Ronon took him in his mouth, Carson let out a long, shuddering moan. He sank into Ronon, curling over Ronon's shoulders like he couldn't help himself. And he stayed there for several seconds, whining as Ronon's mouth slid all the way down him, before he found enough strength to draw himself up and push at those broad shoulders, even though they all knew it was far too late.
Because Ronon had him now. Hands gripping his hips, Ronon had him, and he took him deep, groaning thickly around him, the sound so raw and so needy it made something in John ache for the two of them. There were no more barriers between them now, nothing to hold back the force of Ronon's hunger, and Carson's resistance just seemed to crumble in the face of it along with the strength in his legs.
"Jesus Christ," Carson whimpered when Ronon caught him, held him up and just kept on going. He took one hand away from Ronon's shoulders, used it to cover his mouth, and every time Ronon eased up then went all the way down on him, he bit down on his palm and just shivered.
But even through that, John could still hear Carson losing it. Face burning, his throat so tight he could barely breathe, he watched the way Carson's other hand now clenched on Ronon's shoulder, holding on instead of trying to push him away. And it went on and on with Ronon bobbing his head slowly, so very slowly between Carson's legs, teasing him, tasting him, until Carson cried out, "Please, Ronon, *please*," all of a sudden, sounding absolutely broken.
Whatever he'd asked for, Ronon clearly gave it to him. Because John watched Carson suddenly curl forward over Ronon's shoulders, clawing his fingers down Ronon's back. Then Carson was grunting and whining and shuddering through an orgasm that seemed to shatter him to the core.
When it was all over, after Carson, still shaking, had slumped to the ground, Ronon drew him into his arms, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "You're mine now, Doc," he said, pressing a gentle kiss into Carson's throat. "Only mine," he added. And John thought Ronon might have stayed like that for hours had Carson not tugged at his hair.
Slowly, reluctantly, Ronon lifted his head. "Mine, Carson," he repeated, staring into Carson's eyes.
Carson let out a heavy sigh. "Aye, love, I heard you the first time!"
There was a wealth of warmth and affection under the faintly aggrieved tone, which made Ronon chuckle when he heard it. "Good," he replied. "I'm glad we got that cleared up!"
Moments later, Carson's fingers were buried deep in Ronon's hair, and as he pulled Ronon toward him, tilting his head a little to one side, he growled, "Just remember it works both ways!"
"Oh, yeah," Ronon agreed, closing the gap between them.
Their lips met, clung and opened against each other. And as the kiss deepened, it became blatantly obvious to John that Carson didn't need rescuing after all.
***
"Hey!"
John looked up from the report he was reading. "Hey, Rodney," he replied. Shifting to one side, he made more space on the table he'd perched on.
"So," Rodney said, sitting down next to him. He gestured vaguely at the room behind.
"Yeah," John sighed. It felt good to have Rodney by his side again, though it was a strange thing to see him so lost for words. Not nearly as strange as the knowledge that two of their friends were screwing their brains out in the room behind. But John reminded himself sternly that he wasn't going there again. It wasn't even because Ronon and Carson were having the kind of hot gay sex *he* never got to have. He'd just never wanted to know so many intimate details about someone else's sex life.
The last time he'd checked in on them, Ronon had been face down across the bed with Carson kneeling behind him, holding him open, tasting him in a way that had clearly been making him lose it. John could still hear Ronon's screams in his head. In retrospect, he supposed it was good to verify that Carson wasn't an unwilling captive. Quite the opposite, in fact! Just, God, the screaming!
John put his report down, shuddering. Somehow, it didn't feel any easier to think about it even with the Comm system switched off and his back to the room. He just didn't want to be here for any of it! What Ronon and Carson were doing to each other was none of his business. It should have been a private moment between two people, not this display of voyeuristic porn in the middle of an observation room for God's sake! Still, John refused to let anyone else sit this watch; Ronon was on his team, so this was his responsibility.
"How long have they been in there?"
John glanced at his watch. "About five hours," he answered quietly.
"And they're not done yet?"
Rodney sounded absolutely amazed, and John couldn't blame him. Five hours of sex non-stop was pretty impressive. "I'm sure they'll come out when they're hungry," he muttered, trying to sound cool about it.
"Okay," Rodney replied in a low voice.
He seemed to be struggling with something, and John knew that if he gave it some time, Rodney would eventually open up, he always did.
"It's just . . .."
"What?" John said at last.
"Well, it's just I had no idea Carson was so . . .."
John frowned at him, suspicious. "So what?" he prompted again.
"So flexible, or that he had so much stamina! Ronon, too!" Rodney scratched his head, looking puzzled. "Maybe it's just a guy thing. I mean, guys know what other guys like, right?"
John made a non-committal grunt, wondering where this was heading.
"Yes, yes, you're absolutely right!" Rodney nodded, looking relieved. "In that case, I should definitely try men," he declared.
John choked, widening his eyes under lighting, which suddenly seemed to be flickering.
"What? Don't look at me like that!" Rodney lifted his chin, back on the defensive. "I've given this a lot of thought," he went on. "I mean, it can't be any worse than my recent track record with women. And there are a hell of a lot more men on Atlantis than there are women. Which vastly increases my chances of, well, you know . . .."
The sight of Rodney making those weird tab into slot stabbing motions with his fingers was so ridiculous that John was actually about to laugh out loud. Until he realized Rodney wasn't joking about any of it! Rodney glanced at him, looking a little flustered yet determined, the way he usually looked before setting off on any kind of dangerous mission. And John's heart gave the kind of panicked lurch that had him swallowing rapidly.
"Wait a minute, are you seriously telling me you're thinking about sleeping with a *man*?" John asked him.
A dull flush crept all the way up to Rodney's hairline. "Oh, come on," he snapped. "Not everyone works for that homophobic organization you call the military. Some of us are open to trying new things."
"You're thinking about sleeping with a man," John repeated the words slowly, carefully, to make absolutely sure. And he kept trying to breathe through the haze of panic, which had covered him so fast it felt like he was suffocating.
"Under the right circumstances, yes," Rodney admitted, trampling over John's fear and his own embarrassment. "I'm tired of my right hand," he said, waving it in the air like it had failed him in some way. "I'm tired of those romantic fiascos people pretend to call dates. And it's not like you can get a clean slate here if something goes wrong. Oh no, you accidentally set fire to one wig, and suddenly no woman will come near you!" Rodney sighed bitterly, staring at his hands. "So, really if you think about it, switching to men makes perfect sense," he concluded.
It was a little too much for John to take. The thought that he'd wasted all that time hiding his feelings, taking it slow, pretending all he wanted from Rodney was friendship. And it wasn't even as though he'd enjoyed holding back; he simply wasn't that kind of guy! The kind of guy *he* was went with his gut and went after what he wanted, and his gut had told him several times to make a move on Rodney. But he'd ignored his instincts, telling himself he was doing it for the sake of the team. Only now Rodney was talking about having sex with other people, sex with *men*, like it was no big deal.
Men that weren't *him*!
Still, he knew Rodney wasn't the type to just go out and do things haphazardly. Rodney was more of a planner, and if anything he had a tendency to over-think things before acting. So there was still time, John told himself. Plenty of time for him to make that move and convince Rodney that they could be so much more than friends. But as the fear-filled haze started to lift, the next words out of Rodney's mouth crashed into him.
"I'm not completely oblivious," John heard him say. "There are a couple of guys I've seen checking me out, and I'm sure plenty of other men find me attractive. Why wouldn't they? I'm an excellent catch! I've actually had a few offers already, which is probably a good place to start. So maybe it's time to do something about them."
The haze descended again. Only this time the panic flowed through him, carried on a wave of possessiveness, which settled in his heart. Rodney belonged to him, no one else. And whilst he might have been prepared to wait until Rodney realized that, no way in hell was he going to sit around while Rodney went to other men for sex.
"Rodney," John said, feeling the sound rumble deep in his chest.
And something in the tone of his voice must have given him away. Because Rodney snapped, "What?" before shrinking back and saying, "Oh, my God, you're not going to be weird about this, are you?"
A strange kind of heat flared behind his eyes when he noticed Rodney edging away. Without thinking, he laid one hand on Rodney's thigh to keep him there. Then Rodney made a low, shocked sound that destroyed that last of his control.
John stood up abruptly, watching Rodney do the same, narrowing his eyes at the desperate way Rodney backed away from him. And as he stalked after Rodney, he could hear Rodney's voice babbling incoherently, see Rodney's hands flapping and waving and tapping at his ear. But right then none of that seemed important compared to staking a claim before anyone else could.
They hit the wall seconds apart. Rodney first, landing with his back against it, then John pressed the full length of his body against him, so close he could feel every gasping breath. The urge to claim was overwhelming, and it had him rolling his hips into Rodney's, letting Rodney feel how hard he was. Rodney's eyes widened when he did that, feeding his need for dominance. So John kept him pinned there, cupping one hand over his nape while stroking the other slowly, gently, down his face and neck.
"I don't care if they're male or female," he told him. "You are not sleeping with anyone except me, you got that?"
Rodney swallowed audibly. "Uh, well, of course that's very kind of you to offer, Colonel, but-- "
"I mean it, Rodney," John cut him off, tightening his grip on Rodney's nape. "If you're tired of your right hand, you come to me, no one else!"
"Yeah, yeah, sure, okay," Rodney agreed, flicking his eyes toward the door.
And even though John sensed Rodney might have been stalling for time, that wasn't enough to stop the pleasure those words gave him. "Finally," he sighed. "Two *years*!" He touched his forehead to Rodney's, taking several deep breaths. "Two years of waiting and watching, and now you're mine!"
Rodney flinched against him. The scent of panic rose through the air between their bodies. But underneath the fear John could smell something else. Something musky, sweet and heavy, and the rush that came from knowing he was scenting Rodney's arousal went straight to his head. Before he could stop himself, he'd pushed Rodney hard into the wall, and he was writhing up against him, trying to get even closer.
"God, you smell so good," John groaned, nuzzling at Rodney's throat. The scent was strongest there, and he buried his face in it, slowly rubbing his cheek against Rodney's shoulder. He could feel Rodney's hands pushing at his shoulders, fingers clawing and scratching at him. And, God, even that felt good, knowing that Rodney was touching him after almost two years of self-imposed denial.
But Rodney's voice in his ear sounded very agitated, and John could hear him saying, "Oh God, oh God, someone please help me! Someone? Anyone? Help me, please!"
So he let Rodney ease him back slightly, and he threaded his fingers through the dark, soft hair at Rodney's nape, combing gently through it. "It's okay," he murmured, feeling Rodney tense up even further. "I won't let anyone hurt you." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto Rodney's jaw, just to get a taste of his skin before he drew back far enough to look Rodney in the eye. "I'll always take care of you, always," he promised in a low voice.
Rodney was breathing hard against him, face flushed and sweating, and in spite of that promise, the panicked expression was still there. But John decided that he didn't mind so much. Because 'flustered' was a great look on Rodney, and he was already thinking of ways to keep it there permanently. What he wasn't happy about was the way Rodney kept glancing at the door and calling for help under his breath.
"Rodney," John chided him gently, tracing one fingertip slowly round Rodney's mouth. "I *am* right here, you know." He stroked his hand down from Rodney's face to his chest, brushing his thumb over a peaked nipple, loving the way Rodney gasped then shivered against him.
"Uh-huh, right here," it came out as a hoarse croak, and Rodney gulped as he moved his hand lower. "Yes, Colonel, believe me I get that!"
John slid that hand between Rodney's legs, cupping him firmly, and immediately he was rewarded with another gasp.
"Oh, shit," Rodney moaned quietly, then he closed his eyes and just shuddered, and the heavy scent of arousal rolling off his skin nearly brought John to his knees.
He swayed on his feet for several seconds, breathing raggedly through it, so turned on now he could barely think. And he rubbed down without thinking, knowing only that he wanted Rodney to want this as much as he did. "That's it, right here," he whispered, watching Rodney's face intently, watching his eyelids flutter and his mouth fall open. And after several long, slow strokes, he found a rhythm that had Rodney clutching at his shoulders, lifting his hips away from the wall like he couldn't get enough of him.
"Oh yeah, you like that, don't you?" John whispered, bending down to lick at a point high on Rodney's throat.
His reward was another high-pitched moan before Rodney curled into him, rocking his hips up into it. "Oh, fuck," Rodney whispered, thighs trembling as he moved. "Fuck," he said again, touching their foreheads together, his breathing fast and shallow.
"It gets better," John promised him, sensing Rodney was close already. So he kept stroking him with the heel of his palm, trying to give Rodney the kind of firm, hard rhythm that would take him to the edge fast.
"Colonel, please!" Rodney shook his head slowly, like even that much took a lot out of him. "Please, we can't *do* this," he said very softly.
"But I really think you want me to," John argued, still stroking the resistance out of him. "And that's another thing I don't like," he added after Rodney just seemed to slump back against the wall, letting his gaze drift down the heaving chest and the sheen of sweat on Rodney's neck. "You never call me John. It's always Sheppard, or Colonel, never John." He looked up to find Rodney staring at him, pupils dilated, looking dazed and desperate and barely in control. "Say my name, Rodney," he ordered, brushing his lips against Rodney's jaw.
Rodney gasped, turning his head away, leaving the side of his neck exposed, and John couldn't resist leaning in to taste him there. He drew his mouth down that line of smooth, hot skin, loving the feel of Rodney's pulse beating beneath the surface, and he opened his mouth against it, sucking hard, feeling it race under his tongue.
"That's-- I can't," Rodney moaned, sounding confused and incredibly turned on at the same time.
"Say it," John growled, nipping him gently.
The moaning got louder. Suddenly, Rodney was pushing his hips up hard, writhing shamelessly, arching into him. "John, oh God, John, please," he cried out, low, broken.
And John shuddered at the sound of it. He couldn't remember ever wanting anyone this badly, like the need in him to own Rodney had completely taken over. Nothing could compare to this, he realized, feeling the rush of lust and adrenaline shoot through his veins, and every breathless response Rodney gave him just took him higher. "No one else, Rodney, promise me that," he demanded.
Rodney nodded, clinging to his shoulders, breath hitching sharply like he couldn't control it anymore.
"Because you're mine now," John went on, voice rough with his own need. "You belong to me," he whispered as Rodney pushed up hard into his hand and stayed there, thighs trembling.
The grip on his shoulders tightened. Rodney tipped his head back, gasping, the tremors spreading up from his thighs into his stomach. And when Rodney finally came, he made a low, broken sound, and he went a little wild, jerking his hips up again and again in ragged little thrusts. John stayed with him through it, whispering, "Come on, yeah, that's it," into Rodney's ear, and he kept stroking him with the heel of his palm, drawing it out for him, until Rodney sagged heavily against him, totally drained.
"Fuck!" John shuddered, almost there himself. "Fuck, Rodney!" He hauled Rodney's pleasure pliant body up, pressing him back into the wall. "I've got to have you," he whispered, burying his face in Rodney's throat, biting at his chin, his jaw. "Right here-- " John ground up against him, so hard now he ached, and the raw scent of come rising off Rodney's skin was driving him crazy.
He wanted to be inside Rodney, wanted it so badly he was shaking, but that was no longer an option because he was too close to the edge to slow down. And it didn't matter any more that this wasn't what he'd planned for their first time, or that they were right out in the open, where anyone who walked by could see them. None of that mattered if it meant he could have Rodney like this. Just Rodney breathing roughly in his ear, legs sliding apart to welcome him between them.
"God, yes!" John shuddered helplessly against him, hips working. He lifted Rodney's legs up, wrapped them both around his waist, and fuck, even through two layers of clothes, he could still feel how hard Rodney was. "Rodney," John groaned, rocking into him again and again. "You're so-- I can't-- " he pressed his forehead into Rodney's shoulder, bearing them both up and back into the wall with each thrust. It was so good, so unbelievably good, he was going to--
The sudden explosion of blue light by his head startled him so much that he nearly dropped Rodney. Snarling, eyes burning with rage, John set him down. Then he whirled round to find Teyla pointing a Wraith stunner at them.
"I will not miss next time," she promised him, eyes cold. "Now, please do as I say and let Dr. McKay go."
Behind her, John could see a team of marines, all of them waiting, weapons drawn, ready to take him down, all of them his men. The sense of betrayal was so intense it made his blood boil. He stepped in front of Rodney, ready to fight even though he knew he was out-numbered and out-gunned.
"John, do not make me do this," Teyla warned him.
He growled at her, literally seeing red. Then, Teyla fired.
The shock of the impact forced all the air out of his lungs, and John went down gasping, clutching at his chest. Still, he fought against the numbness spreading through his arms and legs, trying to reach for Rodney. And his last thought as he was hit in the back, again and again, was that he'd failed to protect his mate.
***
He'd always hated hospitals. Something about their sterile, white walls made him feel small and helpless, like a caged animal. So lying in the infirmary with his wrists and ankles strapped to the bed did little to change that opinion.
Every day, people came to see him in a steady stream of medical staff and well-meaning friends. He answered their questions; he took their tests; he let them poke him and prod him, even though he knew there was nothing wrong with him. In time, the barrage of tests was bound to prove that. So he tried to wait patiently while Beckett's team of doctors and nurses scurried around his bed, all of them careful not to come too close despite his restraints.
Only Carson didn't seem to be afraid of him. He spent hours by his side each day, keeping him company, and he never stopped treating him like a human being. But each time Carson came close, John could smell Ronon on him, and it made the waiting so much harder.
Teyla came to visit from time to time usually flanked by Lorne. They brought him news from the mainland, news from the city, and news about off-world missions. Elizabeth, when she came, was guarded but supportive. She liked to remind him that he'd been through something like this before. Which, of course, meant that he would make it through again just as he'd done before.
The one visitor, who was glaringly absent, was Rodney.
Dr. Heightmeyer asked him how he felt about that during one of their psychological evaluation sessions. John told her that it was what he expected, all things considered. Rodney probably needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened; they both did, he'd said. Though even he hadn't sounded entirely convinced.
Because deep down John was very concerned. Something on that planet had affected on him. Something which had woken all his predatory instincts, and it had changed the nature of his relationship with Rodney in such a fundamental way that he wasn't sure either of them could go back to how things were before.
When he closed his eyes at night, he could still picture Rodney's flushed, sweating face, and the way Rodney had writhed against him, coming crying out for more. He remembered how Rodney had spread his legs afterwards, letting him settle between them, letting him do anything he wanted. Having tasted that kind of surrender, John didn't want to give it up.
It disturbed him to think that, for the time being, Rodney was out there all alone, wandering through the city, where other people could look at him, and perhaps try to touch him or smell him. But John told himself not to worry too much about that. He'd deliberately left his scent on Rodney's skin, so everyone would know Rodney was his. And he still hoped Rodney would come to him eventually.
If not, once he got out, there would be nowhere on Atlantis that Rodney could hide from him.
The End.
Additional Notes: Written for Skippylist Challenge No. 164 - There is no such thing as a were-virgin.
ETA: Link to a beautiful piece of Carson/Ronon artwork, which yanagoya created for this story