John was wound up tight. When wasn't he these days? He felt like he was bursting out of his own skin. Everyone annoyed him, and any minute now he was going to lose it and start screaming, probably at Rodney – again. He needed to bust out, loosen up. He told his paperwork to fuck off and went looking for Ronon.
John found him in the gym, working with his advanced students. Two American marines and two soldiers, one Russian, one Slovak who were big enough and tough enough to take the hits and throws that Ronon could dish out when he took the brakes off. Two of them were holding up the wall on the far side of the gym. One had a towel pressed to a cut on his head. One was letting the wall hold him up, and Ronon had the forth face down on the mat admitting defeat. Ronon was sweaty and breathing a little heavily as he dug out his water bottle while his four opponents filed out past John in varying states of exhaustion.
"You feel up to another round?" John asked him.
"No." Ronon buried his face in a towel and then reached for his water bottle again.
"Come on, you're not even really winded. Let's go. I need a good workout."
"I know what you need Sheppard, and you're not getting it here." Ronon had one hand tight around his bicep and was dragging him out the door and down the hall before John could answer.
"Let go." John tried to tug his arm free.
"No. I'm going to give you what you need. Just shut up before someone hears you." Ronon dragged him the rest of the way down the corridor to the transporter and punched the map for a familiar area. Ronon didn't loosen his grip when the doors opened on a new corridor, just pulled him along until they were inside a familiar room. "Shoes," Ronon said and waited while John toed off his boots. Ronon gave a hard shove to his back, sending him staggering into the room and then bent to take his own boots off. He kept going, peeling out of his tee shirt and BDU pants while John stood and watched.
"Yeah, you know this isn't what I was interested in today so I'm just gonna go." John smiled his best piss off the CO insolent smile and slunk towards the door.
Ronon hooked one arm around him, and John got a whiff of musky sweat, and then he was flying through the air and landing hard on the bed. Ronon wandered over to the dresser by the window and came away with a knife John had never seen before. "Strip or I'll cut those clothes off you."
John bounced up to his feet and headed for the door again. Ronon intercepted him and fisted his hand in John's shirt twisting and pulling until it was free of his pants. The knife flashed, and John got his hands up and out of the way while Ronon sliced the shirt open from hem to neck. He flipped the knife around in his hand so it was tucked safely up next to his forearm and spun John around with one hard shove to his shoulder. Ronon caught him by the back of his shirt and pulled, ripping it off both arms. Ronon tossed it aside and stood back. "You want to walk back to your quarters naked later, or are you going to take the pants off yourself?"
John's blood was pounding, and the adrenaline was flooding his body so much his hands shook as he worked the fly on his pants. He slid out of his pants and underwear and sat on the bed to pull off his socks. Ronon moved to return the knife to its drawer. As soon as his back was turned, John leapt up from the bed, and no thought to stealth, ran forward and jumped on his back.
Ronon spun around, twisting out of his hold, and John was flying again and landing dead centre on the bed. He let the bounce the mattress gave him carry him right to his feet again, and he stood at the foot of the bed watching Ronon warily.
"I'm going to put you on your back, fold you in half and fuck you until you're screaming for more." Ronon advanced a step on every third word.
John sneered at him. "I think you've got me confused with McKay."
"I'm not confused." Ronon gestured to the nightstand. "Slick yourself up, I'm not going to do it for you."
John's stomach dropped, and his cock twitched violently. He was dizzy with something. Definitely not fear, not just adrenaline - something. Ronon stood implacably, stroking himself idly and pausing to scratch his balls. He looked like a man who could wait forever but wasn't necessarily planning to. He didn't wait. He advanced on John again and pushed him hard back on to the bed. John stayed down this time, just watching as Ronon pulled open the nightstand and threw a tube of lube onto his chest.
John picked up the tube and looked at it, watching Ronon out of the corner of his eye. He knew if he tried to run for it Ronon would just throw him down again. John smirked and threw the tube as hard as he could at Ronon's head. He rolled to the side, off the bed, and scrambled for the door. Ronon had him before he was even half way to the door. He picked him up bodily and thumped him back onto the bed - face down this time. The air whooshed out of John with the impact, and his groin was complaining about the landing as well. John lay still and tried to catalogue the bruises forming on his body. The lube hit him in the head with a solid thump. John opened the tube, slicked his fingers, turned his face away and got busy opening himself up.
John was hurrying, getting a third finger inside himself before he really wanted it. He was not willing to gamble on Ronon's patience for too long. Sure enough, he'd barely stroked in with the third finger, and Ronon was pulling on his arm and flipping him over on his back. John sprawled out and stared up at Ronon. "Legs in the air," Ronon said when it became clear John wasn't moving.
John stuck his legs straight up and then crossed his ankles. He stuck his hands behind his head and smirked. Seeming unmoved by this fresh provocation, Ronon climbed on the bed and knelt up close. "That enough lube for you, or…?" Ronon waved a casual hand towards his own cock.
John cocked an eyebrow.
"I'm not doing it for you, remember."
John grabbed the lube again and was forced to uncross his legs to reach Ronon and slick him up with a couple of insolently hard swipes of his hand. Ronon grinned at him with his most feral smile and shouldered John's legs back, bearing down with his body until John was nearly folded in half as promised. Ronon lined himself up and pressed in firmly, not stopping until he was balls deep. John clutched his hands into the sheets to keep from moaning. Ronon held perfectly still watching him, waiting. John let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and Ronon grinned at him, pulled out, and thrust in hard. John managed to keep himself silent until the third time Ronon thrust in, and then he let a low moan rip out of his throat. Ronon got both hands under his ass, lifted him and fucked him with a punishing hard and fast rhythm.
Ronon kept up the fast pace for a bit, while John tossed his head, clenched his hands and moaned on each thrust. Eventually, Ronon let John's ass drop down again and pulled up and back, restricting himself to slower, shallow thrusts. John was grateful for the ease on his leg muscles but wanted the faster rhythm back. He was considering asking for it when Ronon reached for him and started jerking his cock with a grip that was one side of too hard. John moaned louder as he came hard, streaking his own chest as well as Ronon's hand. Ronon slowed down even more, sliding in and out almost gently and letting him come down a bit.
With the first buzz of orgasm leaving him, the burn in his legs flared into his awareness. He snapped his eyes open to see if Ronon was planning on finishing anytime soon. Ronon smirked at him and pushed forward keeping to the slow and shallow thrusts, bending John's legs back as far as they'd been before. He presented his sticky come-streaked hand to John. John opened his mouth and sucked hard on Ronon's fingers. Ronon flashed his teeth and pounded into John harder and faster than he had before.
"Yes." The word spun out of John's mouth. "Yes, yes, God. More, not enough," he said, although it was both not enough and too much at the same time. Pleasure was flooding his body every time Ronon pounded into him. His spent cock was twitching, trying to come back to life. His legs burned from the press of Ronon's body, and he couldn't take a deep enough breath. There wasn't enough air in the room. What air there was reeked of semen and sweat; his own and the sweat that now poured off of Ronon, plopping on to his face and stinging his eyes. "Yes, please yes." He was shouting now, begging for it to be over, for it to never end. Ronon had both hands wrapped tight around his legs, pulling him up, holding him down. He would have yet more bruises there. Finally, finally, too soon Ronon was yelling along with him and his pounding rhythm dissolved into erratic stuttering thrusts, and then Ronon was pulling out and away and toppling sideways, body soaked in sweat, face slack from release.
John let his legs down as slowly as he could, groaning at the burn of abused muscles and tendons, the soreness in his ass. His balls had been slapped a few too many times with Ronon's pelvis and were starting to throb. His throat felt scoured raw, and he could feel pain blooming on his ankles where he thought Ronon might have bitten him at some point.
Ronon rolled over closer, got his eyes open. "You want me to rub out the cramps in your legs?"
"Later," John managed to say.
Ronon snaked one arm under him and pulled him over on to his side with the other. He fit their bodies together so that John's face was pressed into Ronon's chest. The reek of their musky sweat and come filled his nostrils, and Ronon's chest hair tickled his eyelashes. Ronon's heart was pounding under his ear, and John was pretty sure he wanted to stay there forever.