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Honey With Money to Burn

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The brothel on Cozilus was one of the largest in Pegasus. It had a reputation for making sure its prostitutes were clean and well-compensated, which cut down on all kinds of violence.

Most of the employees were women, but Ronon asked for a male. While Melena knew two years was a long time to be deployed and had told him visiting Cozilus was okay with her, she’d had a horrible look on her face when she thought about him with another woman, even one he was paying. Men didn’t bother her the same way, for some reason.

“Room 19,” the proprietor said, handing him a slide key. “Pay the doorman upfront and leave your weapons with him.”

“Uh-huh,” Ronon said, having no intention of doing either. He’d give his money to the worker and keep his gun within grabbing reach.

The doorman objected, of course, but got unreasonably offended when Ronon asked if he was going to perform the task Ronon was paying for. He stomped off, but not before relaying that information through the door.

Ronon wondered if that would scare the guy inside off, half-expecting him to have fled through the worker-entrance by the time Ronon slid the lock open.

The man was still there, sitting on the mattress in the center of the small, mostly empty room and already shirtless. He was pale-skinned, but dusted with dark hair all over his lean, long body. Ronon was glad to see he looked healthy and well-fed, if a little skinny. The guy was a little old for this work, which was better than too young.

“You have to pay upfront,” the guy said, flatly. “That’s not negotiable.”

Silently, Ronon counted out the bills and stepped forward, hand extended.

“Thanks.” The prostitute took the money, hopped off the bed, and deposited it in a slot in the wall. “That jackass also takes a percentage.”

Ronon watched him go, eyes following the short, black garment wrapped around his hips like a skirt.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Number 19,” the man said, turning back around and walking to the bed.

“No,” Ronon said. That was stupid.

“John, then.” Probably a fake name, but better than a number.

“Ronon,” he introduced himself.

“Ronon, you have four hours.” John dropped on to the sheets again. “Let’s go?” He sat back on his elbows and spread his legs just a little. “It’ll help if you’re naked.”

John didn’t mention if he’d seen the gun on Ronon’s belt, but this might have been an effort to separate it from him. Ronon undressed, folding his clothes and leaving them on the floor. John was small enough Ronon wouldn’ t need the weapon if the guy turned on him.

“Tick-tock,” John said, sounding bored even as he watched Ronon’s every move. “By the way, no ropes, no blindfold, no whips or chains, no hitting, no drawing blood, and nobody hurts anyone else, okay?” He recited it with a casual, but practiced ease.

“I know.” If Ronon wanted more, he’d be paying for it, and he’d probably be in one of the nice, well-furnished rooms instead of this tiny, dusty closet.

Ronon turned around and John’s eyes went right to his cock. “Hmm,” he said, sounding serious. “Well, that might hurt.”

It was probably his typical line, but it still worked. Ronon smirked and his dick started to rise already.

“What do you want to do with that?” John prompted, spreading his knees just a little bit more.

Ronon joined him on the bed, taking the edge. “Oshandry za.”

John’s eyes shot to a chalkboard on the wall near the bed, scribbles in a text Ronon couldn’t read. “Okay,” he said, crawling down the length of the bed and stretching his mouth open already.

“That the menu?” Ronon asked, as John’s head lowered towards his dick.

“Cheat sheet,” John said, breathing hotly on the head. “You guys have some strange words for blow jobs.”

“Take this off,” Ronon ordered, stroking the leather covering John’s ass.

For some reason, John stopped licking. “I have burns,” he said. “It’s ugly. You might want to leave that on. We can do it with it on.”

Ronon lightly pushed his head back down, using every bit of his self-control to find the ties on the side and get John naked, too.

John was burned, scars of angry flesh around his waist and half his ass. Old, long healed wounds. Ronon wondered what John did before he came Cozilus.

“Does it hurt?” Ronon asked, hesitant to touch.

John pulled off again. “No sensation at all,” he said, then swallowed Ronon down to the base so fast it’s almost over right then and there.

Ronon grabbed John’s ass – the unscarred half – and spread his cheeks. Whatever life he came from, John was stretched, slicked and ready.

Ronon pulled away from the talented mouth working him. “Azazla,” he said.

Obediently, John sat up and it’s Ronon’s turn to lie down. John spread his legs, beginning to straddle Ronon.

“How do you say that in your language?” Ronon asked, as John helds him in place and began to slide down.

“Fucking,” John answered, after a moment, breathing erratically. He stifled a groan, so Ronon reached out and helpfully stroked John as the man tried to take him all the way in.

John was hot and tight and making amazing noises, but Ronon waited until he was fully seated.

“Uh,” John said, taking a deep breath and clenching around Ronon.

“Fucking,” Ronon told him, and snapped his hips up.

John took it, and shoved back, and after that Ronon didn’t care about where he’d come from.