Beta: leela_cat and batdina *smooches* Any other mistakes are mine alone…
Fandom and Pairing: SGA: Sheppard/Dex
Rating: Light R
Word Count: ~1,550
Disclaimer: Not mine…I just play with them and make them happier for it. Well, I at least make me happier for it.
Summary: Everyone belongs to someone.
"You belong to Pegasus, to Atlantis."
John agrees with a tilt of his head. There is something about Atlantis, the entire galaxy that he connects with. "That obvious, buddy?"
"Yeah," Ronon grunts. "We all belong to someone."
"Yeah?" Disbelief drips from John's voice. "Who do you belong to then?"
A self-deprecating grin dances at the edges of Ronon's mouth. "You?" He whispers, eyes full of hope and want and need. Silently he slips around John and leaves the sparring room.
John watches Ronon walk away, positive that he misheard or misunderstood or just flat out missed something in their conversation.
"It is because he has been on his own too long." Teyla moves closer and rests a hand on John's arm. "He has missed being cared for."
"He's been with us long enough, Teyla. He must know we care about him by now." John waits until the door closes behind Ronon and then he faces Teyla.
"There's a difference between people caring about you and having someone," Teyla gives John a pointed look, "that you belong to."
John looks away and stammers, "I, ah, didn't realize you heard that much."
Teyla's lips curve into a knowing smile. "Who do you think Ronon discussed his feelings with first?"
"Huh?" His eyebrows quirk together, belying his nonchalant stance.
She chuckles softly. "This need he has, this desire you spark within him… It is an arrangement that was common on Sateda, especially between those in the military. But here, among your soldiers, there is nothing like it. At least nothing that we can see." Teyla stops and weighs her next words carefully, treading a thin line between one friendship and another. "It caused, still causes Ronon confusion and doubt. He needed an outsider's input."
A grimace mars John's brow as years of protocol flash through his mind. "Please tell me he didn't…"
"Do not worry, John," Teyla interrupts, her voice projecting reassurance. "He still does not trust the others enough to expose such a weakness."
John reacts immediately. His face flushing with anger, he snaps, "It's not a weakness. Ronon is not weak."
"I was correct, then." Smug satisfaction rings through Teyla's words.
"I assured him that you would understand his desire, that it would not lower him your eyes." Teyla grabs her bag and heads into the hallway. "Ronon has spoken his piece, John. He will not ask again. The question now is… what do you plan to do with the information?"
The question smolders in the back of John's mind. He pushes it aside during the day, but at night, when John is asleep and defenseless against his body's more carnal desires, it creeps in and captures his attention. His dreams overflow with images of Ronon – naked and sweaty and in the throes of a passion so great John wakes up panting and aroused, a mere hair's breadth away from orgasm thanks to the phantom touches ghosting across his skin.
It takes nine days of dreaming, of remembering just what it was like to have a man in his bed, of wanting to have it again before John finally makes a decision. He wants Ronon just as much as Ronon seems to want him and now, a galaxy away from Earth and from the reminder of his father and the higher ups of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, John's willing to go after one thing that will make him happy.
Assuming, he admits with a wry grin, he figures out how to go about it.
By the time his shower ends and John is dressed and walking into the mess, a half-formed plan is knocking around his head. Instead of his usual spot – across from Ronon – John takes the chair next to him, angling himself so they are sharing more space than not. It isn't weird or uncomfortable or any of those things John expects. It simply is and that alone is John's biggest clue that this is exactly where he wants… needs… has to be.
He ignores Teyla's approving nod and Rodney's questioning glare. He puts up a façade, attempting his normal slouch, and waits for Ronon's response. He doesn't wait long.
Ronon cants his head to the side, raises a brow at John and gets the same in return, and then Ronon's eyes drop slightly, in both submission and agreement. "Sheppard."
John relaxes completely, slumping into his usual sprawl with his thigh pressed in tightly against Ronon's. "So, I was thinking," and in the background John hears Rodney snort and offer a sarcastic comment about the likelihood of John's ability to think. "We should go for a run today instead of sparring."
That brings Ronon's eyes back to John. Suddenly, in the same way they communicate on missions, silent words fly between them with nothing more than eyebrows arching and muscles twitching…
Are you sure this is… that I am what you want?
You doubt me?
Never have, not gonna start now.
…until Ronon smiles and John feels a flush creeping up his neck and Rodney is choking on his coffee, muttering 'ohmygod' and 'are you people twelve' and 'beyond ridiculous.'
John curses as his earpiece flares to life. Words like 'barely late checking in' and 'just received ransom demands' and 'rescue operation necessary' tumble together to paint the picture rather too clearly. So, instead of running the catwalks, John and Ronon step through the 'gate with eight marines following in their wake.
An hour passes as they recon the area and John makes the decision to strike at night. Teams of two scatter along the perimeter and hide in the brush and trees, waiting for the command to move forward and strike. John falls back, taking cover with Ronon in the mouth of a hillside cave. "So, this is a lot more fun than going for that run, huh?"
"You were serious about the run?"
"To start with, at least." John winces at the defensiveness in his tone. "Then, I thought, that maybe at some point we could talk."
"Well," John shifts uncomfortably, "yeah."
Ronon grunts and glances over his shoulder, meeting John's eyes for a fraction of a minute. "You want me?"
"Do you really need to ask?"
Ronon looks back again, impish grin firmly in place. "Probably not, but this one I do: can you be what I need?"
John gives the question the thought it deserves. "I want to be. I'm willing to keep working until I am."
Ronon nods as if the answer is just what he expected. "Only one question left then."
"Yeah." Ronon's eyes flare with heat and desire. "What do you plan on doing when we get back to Atlantis?"
John's pants tighten and he shifts to relieve the sudden pressure on his dick. "Ronon…"
"Look," and Ronon turns his entire body towards John, "I trust you… John."
The words leave John speechless and nervous and so damned horny he can't wait for the mission to end.
John steps through the 'gate and leaves Ronon with hurried whispered words. "Your room in an hour."
"I'll be there."
John gives Ronon a curt nod and follows Lorne into Woolsey's office for the debriefing. He adds to the conversation when necessary – 'no, there were only five guards when we entered the building' and 'yes, there were signs of others around the encampment' and 'really, I believe the Major is quite capable of answering that question' – until he is finally able to break away with, "We'll discuss this in depth tomorrow, Lorne. For now, get to medical and let Keller earn her pay."
If Lorne heard the conversation with Ronon and managed to put two and two together, he's smart enough to leave it alone. He simply says, "Yes, sir," and hobbles out of the office behind John.
John stops and stares as the door to Ronon's room slides shut behind him. Ronon is naked, but somehow still dangerous, as he sits in the center of the bed, simply waiting for John to arrive. His easy statement – "I trust you… John." – from earlier plays through John's mind and the depth of this… this thing between them is finally made clear.
John takes a deep breath. He tugs at his shirt and toes his shoes off, in a flurry of graceful movement. Then he stands, barefoot, beside the bed with his chest bare and his cargo pants hanging low on his hips. "Ronon…"
Ronon's eyes rove over him before he tilts his head back and meets the intense gaze. "John."
John climbs onto the bed, inching closer until he is kneeling next to, but not yet touching, Ronon. "Be sure, Ronon, because stopping will be much harder than starting."
Ronon smiles at that because, really, getting John to start had been a difficult enough task. "I'm sur…"
John swallows the words in a kiss. A soft chaste brushing of lips that grows from one to another to another, morphing into something that is almost brutal. Both of them tasting and mapping and demanding until John growls, a low rumbling deep in his throat, and Ronon submits, going lax and falling flat against the mattress.
John follows him down, licking and biting at Ronon's lips as one hand tangles in Ronon's dreadlocks and the other skirts lower to circle Ronon's dick, stroking the length with long slow pulls. He leans back far enough to look Ronon in the eyes and whispers, "Mine."
Ronon shudders and arches into the touch. "Yours."