Chapter Text
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John slumped under the shower, propping himself in the corner and letting the almost too-hot water sluice over him. It had been a godawful mission, and he didn't want to think about it, but even the drumming of the water wasn't entirely drowning out his memories of the villagers' screams as Wraith culling beams swept up warriors and elders, men, women and children alike.
They'd saved everyone they could but the jumper could only hold so many. The traumatized remnants of the village were being settled into temporary guest quarters now, and would be taken to a refugee settlement once they'd recovered. To the degree that you could recover from your people nearly being wiped out.
The door chimed, and John sighed and shut off the shower with a thought. He was pretty sure he knew who it'd be. Ronon, poster boy for survivor guilt, and John's . . . his what? Boyfriend? Lover? Occasional sub? This thing where John played the taskmaster and Ronon got down on his knees and sucked him off like Satedan recruits apparently used to do was pretty new, and John wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed to slide into it. Ronon could be persuasive.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm coming!" he called, grabbing a towel and drying his hair quickly, then the rest of him, before wrapping a fresh towel around his waist and emerging from the steamed-up bathroom.
He figured he knew what Ronon wanted from him, and it wasn't as though John was going to say no, not to Ronon—not when missions like today were bound to be even tougher on him. It was just . . . hell, he was dog-tired, and feeling crappy about not having been able to save more of the villagers, was all. There were times when he didn't feel much like a taskmaster. Times he didn't want to be a taskmaster. Most of the time when they weren't in the field, to be honest.
Suck it up, he told himself tiredly, running a hand through his damp hair, and padded across in his bare feet to open the door.
Ronon ran his eyes up and down John's towel-clad body, his face impassive, then he quirked a grin and hefted a six-pack of beers. "Hi." His gaze was appreciative, but there was an element of careful appraisal as well.
John wasn't feeling up to being appraised, not tonight. He raised his eyebrows, stepped aside and waved Ronon in.
Ronon sat on the couch, and John sat on his bed, and they drank their beers in near silence. Normally, John liked that about Ronon—he was restful, with no unnecessary chatter. But tonight, he kind of missed Rodney's endless stream of commentary and asides. The silence felt heavy, expectant, and John could feel himself resisting the unspoken expectations, digging his heels in. He grimaced. Shit. He was going to have to say something.
He cleared his throat. "So . . . tough mission today."
Ronon grunted affirmatively. Way to hold up your end of the conversation, buddy. John took another swig of beer. "You, ah, you wanna watch a movie?"
"Nah," Ronon said, finishing his beer, crushing the can and throwing it at the Athosian basket John used for a waste bin. Bulls-eye.
"Ookay," John said. "Whatcha wanna do then?" Dumb question, and Ronon arched a sarcastic eyebrow at him.
"Thought we should have sex."
John sighed. "Yeah. Well, just let me have another beer, and I'll try to channel some of that taskmaster vibe."
"Thought you might like me to look after you, for a change," Ronon said. "Especially after today."
John brightened. Maybe he could lie back on the bed for the blowjob instead of having to stand over Ronon and try to boss him about. "Yeah? That'd do it for you, if I lay back here instead?" He set his empty can on the nightstand. "I can still, y'know, say toppy things. Taskmastery stuff."
Ronon suppressed a smile, then got to his feet. "Not what I meant. I think I should top you tonight, take care of you." He began unlacing his pants.
John watched him, mouth open. "Ah, I'm not sure how making me do all the work is the same as looking after me, buddy." Ronon had his cock in his hand now, and was giving it firm strokes. John sat there transfixed, unable to take his eyes off Ronon's hand and his rapidly filling cock. His mouth watered a little and he swallowed.
Ronon moved into his personal space, nudging John's thighs apart. The towel came undone but John barely noticed it fall away. This close, he could smell Ronon: sweat and maleness and the salty, sharp tang of sex. "If you're really not sure, then we should've been doing it this way all along," Ronon said quietly. His big left hand curled around the back of John's head, sliding into his hair and pulling him forward. Pulling him onto Ronon's cock.
John shut his eyes and opened his mouth with a sense of relief and rightness. He mouthed the head of Ronon's cock, licked it and sucked gently, and then Ronon nudged forward and John opened wider and let Ronon slide further into his mouth. He moved his tongue against the shaft and brought his right hand up to hold the base of Ronon's cock and stop him pushing in too far. Not really needed; Ronon was being careful, rocking into his mouth with small thrusts of his hips, one hand gentle in John's hair, the other on his shoulder.
John heard himself moan, and Ronon sucked in a breath and said "Yeah, like that," in a low, rough voice. "Suck it."
John moaned again, unable to stop himself. Ronon tasted so good, and man, he loved sucking cock; he'd forgotten how much he loved it. No good dreaming about the old days in the clubs, not when he was the motherfucking military commander of Atlantis. But Ronon didn't give a shit about the rules. John could have this with him and god, he wanted it.
He relaxed his throat and took Ronon further in, stroking the shaft of his cock as he sucked, really getting into it, losing himself in the hot, heavy cock in his mouth and throat, filling him. His own cock was rock hard and he was tempted to slip his other hand down and squeeze—
Ronon growled and John put his hand back on Ronon's leather-clad thigh. He opened his eyes and looked up through his lashes. "No," Ronon said, stroking his hair. "Don’t touch yourself unless I say."
John shivered, even more turned on by Ronon's implacable gentleness, the natural command in his voice. He shut his eyes and gave himself over to sucking Ronon's cock, wrapping his arms around Ronon's thighs and clinging there, helplessly aroused, while Ronon held his head in both hands and fucked his mouth.
Ronon pulled back and John chased blindly after his cock, a whimper of disappointment escaping him. "C'mon," Ronon said. "Up on the bed. I'm gonna fuck you. You got any slick?"
"Yeah, I, yeah . . ." John fumbled with the nightstand drawer, got it open and the tube out. He put it on the nightstand and held up a condom packet. "Um . . ."
"Want me to use one of those skins? I can hold off from coming without it, and you know Beckett checks us all. I'm clean."
"Yeah," John said huskily. "Yeah. Me too." He dropped the packet back in the drawer.
"Hands and knees," Ronon said. He was naked now, having stripped off his pants and shirt while John got the lube. John stared at him for a moment, figuring he must look like one of those old-time saints gazing rapturously up at paradise. Ronon grinned and said "now, John," and John flushed, scrambling up on the bed then getting on all fours and spreading his legs wider—well, as wide as the goddamn narrow bed allowed—and letting his head sink down on his crossed arms. He felt wanton and exposed and blindingly turned on. His breathing was fast and ragged, and he couldn't help flexing his spine, thrusting into the air. He must look like, like . . . He made a desperate noise then muffled his mouth on his forearm.
The bed shifted and Ronon knelt behind him. He splayed a big hand in the small of John's back, and that helped, grounding him a little. Ronon slid a slippery finger over John's hole, playing with him. John groaned again and moved his ass. God, he must look like a complete slut, but he wanted, he wanted.
"Yeah," Ronon said, his voice deep and gravely. He pushed the finger into John, stretching him, and it was good, but John wanted more. He pushed himself back on Ronon's finger and Ronon said "Quit it," and slapped his ass. John's hips jerked involuntarily and he moaned. "Mmm. Good to know," Ronon said. "Another time." He slid a second finger in, stretching John wider.
John writhed, unable to hold still as Ronon's long fingers sent shivers of pleasure through him. "Want . . . now," he gasped. "C'mon . . . fuck! Do me."
"Not yet. One more."
John panted and took the third finger and it burned, but John didn’t give a shit. Ronon was a withholding bastard, and John was going to explode into a million pieces before he got Ronon's goddamn dick in him. He whined and bit his arm.
Ronon pulled his fingers out and John felt empty. He wanted, he needed. "Please," he gasped. "Please, Ronon, please—"
"Yeah," rasped Ronon, and pushed in, gripping John's hips and working his way in with shallow thrusts. John's legs shook and he panted and rode the burn and stretch. Fuck, Ronon was big and hot and he didn't just feel filled, he felt impaled. Then Ronon shifted, braced himself, gripped John's hips more tightly and began fucking him, deep and hard.
John heard himself moaning and crying out, braced as best he could as Ronon pounded him into the bed. It was so good, and Christ, he'd needed this so badly, for so long. He'd always liked big guys in the clubs. He wasn't a small guy, but he'd always liked them taller than he was.
Ronon curved over him, covering him and holding him, making John take his cock as he fucked him hard until the bed was rocking and banging into the wall. John collapsed down onto the covers, his legs splayed, froglike, and Ronon rode him down, pinning him, and there was nothing but Ronon in him and all around, and John had to, he couldn't, he was going to—
"Please," he sobbed. "Please let me, I need to—"
"Yeah," Ronon snarled, thrusting impossibly deeper and biting John on the back of his neck. "Come for me."
John convulsed, crying out, his dick jerking as it rubbed against the covers, spurting. Ronon grunted and thrust hard again, once, twice, three times, then he froze for a long moment, sighed and stilled.
It was going to be too much, soon, Ronon's weight on him, blanketing him and making it hard to breathe, but for now it was exactly what John wanted. He felt safe and small and protected, his body loose and easy. He felt happy.
After a while, Ronon eased back and pulled out. John yelped and Ronon shushed him. "Stay there," he said, going to the bathroom. He came back with a warm washcloth and cleaned John's ass carefully, then Ronon got him to roll over and pulled off the trashed bedspread, cleaning John's belly.
"I can—" John said, reaching for the cloth, but Ronon pushed him back.
"Let me." He cleaned John's cock and balls gently, then he made John get under the covers, before taking the cloth back to the bathroom.
John lay there drowsily listening to the water running, and then Ronon was back, sliding into the bed beside him. John curled into him and Ronon put an arm around him and pulled him close until John's head was on his shoulder.
John tangled their legs together. "Thanks," he said, yawning. "I needed that."
"Yeah, I figured," Ronon said, his voice soft with amusement.
John snuggled closer. "Thought you wanted me to be the taskmaster. Y'know, to be all commanding and shit," he said into Ronon's chest.
"Nah," Ronon said, and John felt the words rumbling under his cheek. "You're my taskmaster, sure. Means my job's to look after you and give you what you want. Some taskmasters like to be the boss. Some don't."
"Guess we figured out which sort I am," John said, around another jaw-cracking yawn. "That okay?"
"Yeah," Ronon said, yawning in turn. "I wanna look after you. You've got a sweet ass and a mouth made for fucking. What's not to like?"
"Jesus, don't get me all turned on again," John snorted into Ronon's armpit.
"I'll spank you next time; you'll like that," Ronon said thoughtfully.
"Bastard," whimpered John. "How'm I going to get to sleep now?"
"Shhh," Ronon said. "No more talking." His fingers combed through John's hair and he hummed something, a tune John didn't recognize.
"Mmmngph," John said, and slept.
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