Rodney sat on one of the large padded ottomans next to the bed. He had a long, narrow, thin box on his lap. He tapped his fingers against the lid. The room was warm, as it always was, so he'd shrugged out of his jacket. He'd left his shoes by the door and pulled his socks off and tucked them inside. He loved the sensation of walking in bare feet, and this was the only room in the city he could enjoy that indulgence, so he enforced the no-shoes rule with the others as well. Rodney watched the door control flash green three times, and then the door slid open. Ronon stepped inside and paused with his arm braced on the wall to tug off his boots. The door slid shut behind him, and the control flashed once amber and then stayed solid red.
"You said you had a present?" Ronon said.
"Yes." Rodney tapped the lid of the box again.
Ronon came towards him and sank to his knees in front of Rodney, face lit with one of his more evil smiles. Rodney grinned back at him and shook his head in resignation. "Take a look."
Ronon plucked the lid off the box and carefully pulled back the flap of tissue paper. Nestled inside a rough-cut foam liner sat a knife. Ronon looked at it for a long time, flicked his eyes to Rodney and finally reached in and lifted it out. It looked smaller in Ronon's large hand than it had in Rodney's memory.
"I know it doesn't look like much," Rodney said quietly.
"No, no." Ronon sat back on his heels and turned the knife in his fingers, rubbing his thumb along the handle and eying the short blade. "It's not meant for show, it's a knife to use. It's perfect, beautiful. Where'd you get it?"
"Ah, Jeannie sent it. It was our grandfather's hunting knife. It was in with some things of mine she had. I don't like having it around and I thought you might like it."
"Why don't you want it? If it's a family thing, you should keep it. It's a very good knife. See here it has a full tang, and this handle is some kind of horn. Gives a good grip even when it's wet."
Rodney blanched, imagining what knives usually got wet with. "The handle is a kind of deer antler actually, hard to get now. This style is called a Bowie knife on Earth. This is a small one though; they're often much larger, and it's also unusual in that it doesn't have a guard at all. I ah, researched it when I was a kid. I was fascinated with it. Always wanted to play with it when we visited. I figured you would like it, appreciate it in a way I can't, so I wanted to give it to you."
Ronon carefully set the knife back in its box and set the box on the floor. He took Rodney's right wrist in his hand and rotated Rodney's arm. He ran his thumb lightly down the fine scar on the inside of Rodney's forearm and then gently touched Rodney's face with the same hand. He ran his thumb along Rodney's bottom lip.
"John told you," Rodney said. He was a little resentful that they had discussed him behind his back.
"No, Teyla did," Ronon corrected him. "I asked her why you were so good with your hands but so clumsy with a knife."
"Really, you think I'm good with my hands?"
Ronon smirked at him, refusing to offer the compliment Rodney was fishing for. "I can make it so you're not afraid of it if you want."
"I need to sharpen it first." Ronon got to his feet and set the knife on the bed. He crossed the room to a low dresser that sat under the window and rummaged in the drawer for a sharpening stone he kept there. "Where's my…oh right." Ronon shook his head and came back to the bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a leather strop and waved it at Rodney. "This does have other uses you know."
Rodney blushed and ducked his head to hide his grin. He watched as Ronon sharpened the small steel blade with deft motions borne of long practice. Rodney loved to watch Ronon's hands. When he was done, Ronon carefully wiped the blade and returned his stone and strop to their proper places.
"I don't see how making it razor sharp is supposed to instill me with confidence," Rodney said.
"That's just the point. It is sharp as a razor."
"Oh, I don't think-"
"You trust me?"
"That's a stupid question, unworthy of you or me," Rodney snapped but stared at the gleaming blade in trepidation.
As that was an order Rodney never refused, he complied quickly, returning to his seat on the ottoman when he was naked.
Ronon left the knife on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a bowl of water, a stack of towels and a hard cake of the shaving soap he liked to use. He pulled his shirt off but left his pants on.
"Okay, if we're actually doing this, and I can't believe we are, I've got something better than that soap." Rodney opened the nightstand drawer again and pawed through a tumble of bottles and tubes. He found the one he wanted and handed it to Ronon. "Silicone lube, no additives. Slickest thing there is."
"Huh," Ronon said studying the bottle. "Never thought of using it for that. Oh hey, you want me to bind your hands?"
"Yes please." Rodney smiled happily. Maybe he could do this after all.
"Yeah, thought that might make you more comfortable." Ronon found the padded leather cuffs, strapped them to Rodney's wrists and clipped them together behind his back.
Rodney tested his bonds relaxing into his immobility.
"Okay," Ronon said with a quick flash of a grin, "sit still and tip your chin up. You should be able to do that right?" Ronon sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Rodney a little closer and tipped his chin a little higher.
Rodney, half hard since Ronon told him to get undressed and three quarters hard since Ronon had put the restraints on him, felt his cock twitch a little more as Ronon manhandled him into position.
Ronon squeezed a little of the lube into his hands and worked it between his fingers. He spread the slick gel carefully over Rodney's face. The smell of the lube and the feel of Ronon's fingers against his skin made his heart pound and his cock stiffen fully. Ronon was going to follow those fingers with a steel blade. Rodney writhed a bit and let out a high-pitched sound.
"Hold still," Ronon said quietly and commandingly as he brought the knife blade to Rodney's face.
Rodney told himself to be still, the vision of the knife leaving a trail of gore clear in his mind providing the motivation. He listened to his heart pound as the knife slid across his skin leaving a bloom of heat behind. His face was hot, and he could feel the flush of arousal and fear staining his chest. His legs shook and his cock ached. The room suddenly seemed too cold. He tried to concentrate on the painful pull of his arm muscles, forced tight by his bound hands. He tried to close his eyes but couldn't bear to not see the flash of the blade as it first kissed his skin and then flashed away again as Ronon wiped it clean. His breath was coming in short hitching gasps, and his flush was deepening. His cock ached more, but he had to try not to move. Ronon gripped his face and tilted his head this way and that, never wavering. Rodney felt each nearly impersonal touch of the hand on his face as a bolt of heat. The scrape of the knife sounded loud in his ears, and he could feel the blood pounding through his heart. He was afraid he might hyperventilate before Ronon let him move.
In a shorter time than he thought possible, Ronon was finished shaving his face,,, and Rodney was left with only the ghost of the knife's touch against his skin. Ronon dipped a towel in the warm water and carefully wiped him clean. Now that the knife was gone, Rodney let himself thrust his hips uselessly and moan quietly. He looked down and saw his cock red and leaking.
When Ronon finished cleaning him up, he ran his fingers along the smooth skin of Rodney's face. "Nice." Ronon didn't even glance at Rodney's cock.
Rodney was always willing to beg when necessary. "Can I, Ronon can I kiss you? Please." Rodney was writhing his hips and leaning towards Ronon with his upper body.
Ronon held him still with a gentle hand cupping his chin. "One kiss. I'm not done yet." Ronon bent his head to Rodney's mouth, and Rodney opened up to him.
Ronon pulled away, and Rodney fruitlessly chased after. "What do you mean, not done?"
By way of an answer, Ronon ran one finger over Rodney's balls.
"No, no, no," Rodney moaned out.
Ronon tugged at his wrists to make him stand. He undid the clip joining the cuffs, and Rodney put his hands together in front of his belly without being told. Ronon clipped the cuffs together again. Ronon pushed the ottoman tight to the bed and pushed Rodney until he sat back down. "Lie back."
Rodney shook his head and clutched his bound hands over his groin. He shuddered when the leather of his bonds scrapped against his cock.
Ronon pushed his shoulder, the lightest of touches. "You telling me flat on your back isn’t your favourite position?"
Rodney blushed again, a red flush that rolled down his chest and flirted with his nipples. He let himself fall back onto the bed.
"Hands above your head."
"Do I need to tie your hands down?"
"No," Rodney said quietly. This time he closed his eyes tightly.
"Rodney," Ronon said, and tapped him on the knee.
Rodney spread his legs as wide as he could.
"Now you're in your favourite position," Ronon said, and Rodney blushed harder but didn't argue the truth of the statement.
Rodney felt the slick brush of Ronon's fingers over his balls; he could feel the hair there matting in the lube. Rodney moaned and let his hips thrust up.
"You have to keep still," Ronon told him. "I'm just going to do your balls. I like the way the rest of your hair looks around your cock, and it's not like you need to make it look any bigger anyway."
Rodney giggled once almost hysterically and then concentrated on keeping still. He'd been ridiculously pleased to realize he was slightly bigger than Ronon the first time he'd ever seen them both fully erect and side-by-side.
Ronon lifted Rodney's balls with a steady hand and waited out his small squirms before he brought the knife down for the first stroke. He pulled the skin taut and shaved with short easy strokes. Rodney kept up a steady whining moan and concentrated on the cooling burn in his arms and the pounding of his own heart. Every stroke of the knife against his most sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure to his cock and spikes of fear through his chest. He struggled not to writhe against the touch. He imagined his legs manacled to the bed and straps across his torso. He counted his breaths the way Teyla had shown him when she tried to teach him meditation. Ronon ran his thumb over his right testicle, checking for any spots he may have missed, and Rodney groaned load and long.
"You could come just from this," Ronon said.
Rodney tried to make his mouth speak, but all he produced was another whine.
Rodney had his eyes so tightly pressed together he was seeing stars when Ronon told him he was finished and that the knife was safely put away.
Rodney kicked his legs against the cramps in his thighs and let his hips buck off the bed as much as he needed. "Please, please, please." He managed.
"Please what?" Ronon asked him. "Spread your legs again. I need to clean you up."
Rodney spread his thighs wide again. "Please I need to come."
Ronon wiped the loose hairs and traces of lube away with a touch so gentle it was just the newest torment instead of a kindness. "I'm not stopping you."
"Please." Rodney opened his eyes and tried to plead with just his gaze.
"Don't you want to see how it feels?" Ronon asked with a sly grin.
Rodney grunted his disdain at having to do everything himself, and brought his bound hands down to touch the slightly slick and perfectly smooth skin. The touch of his own fingers on skin that had so recently been touched by sharp steel left him crying out and fumbling at his cock with his awkwardly bound hands. Two strokes of his fingers, and he was shouting out and coming in long waves. Ronon stroked his thigh through the spasms that followed and was smiling down at him when Rodney finally opened his eyes again.
"Feel better?" Ronon asked him.
"Good," Ronon said and bent down to lick up the smear of come that had landed on Rodney's silky smooth cheek.