~1600 words :: Stargate: Atlantis :: Ronon/Teyla :: 3/13/07
It may be just a meaningless ritual, but Ronon will take all the help he can get.

Her name is Norma, and she has small breasts that fit perfectly in his hands, brown hair and eyes and a round face that reminds him of Melena, though her skin is darker. She’s so tiny he can easily pick her up, hold her against the wall as she wraps her legs around his waist. They’re both sweaty from sparring, but that earthy, woman scent he loves so much is overpowered by some sort of perfume, and she squirms away when he tries to press his face to her armpit. It’s okay; the cloying perfume smell is worst there anyway.

Instead, he licks her neck, tasting salt, and he listens to the high, wordless keening she makes as he pounds into her. When she comes, she cries out in a language he doesn’t understand. He keeps thrusting in, feeling her tighten around his dick. It takes longer to come with the sheath she made him wear, but he does eventually, kissing her hard and squeezing her breasts and loving the feel of a woman again after so long.

He lets her down slowly, both of them still breathing hard, and as she bends to pick her pants up off the floor, steps into her incongruously lacy underwear, he pulls off the sheath she made him wear, tips his head back, and sucks it dry. Whatever it’s made of, it tastes disgusting; his come doesn’t taste much better. He catches her looking at him, nose wrinkled cutely, and says, “What?”

“You just…ew.”

“It makes you stronger.”

She looks doubtful, and all she says is, “That’s kind of gay.”

Shrugging, he fastens his pants, crumples up the sheath and stuffs it in his pocket. He didn’t expect her to understand. John Sheppard is a good man, a good warrior, but his people are not Ronon’s people.

It’s the first and last time he fucks one of them.

Ronon is big for his age, taller than most of the other boys, but it’s Jaris who rules their group, Jaris who tells them excitedly about the stuff that came out of his penis, how it means he’s a man now. They stand in a circle, the five of them, pants unfastened and hands pulling furiously at their penises, admiring the dribble that spurts out of Jaris’s. The next day Jaris is as dry as the rest of them, but as the months go by, it happens more regularly, until he’s shooting every time, and so are Reyn and Mas.

It’s Reyn who first suggests it. “In the old days, all Satedan warriors used to eat their own stuff.”

Alan nods and says he’s heard it, too. “They thought it made them stronger.”

“If we want to be real warriors…”

“My brother said some of them even sucked on other men!”

Mas’s face scrunches up and he makes a vomiting noise, but Alan just looks down, his cheeks going red.

“We don’t have to do that,” Jaris says quickly.

So when they do it next, Jaris and Mas and Reyn make sure to catch it in their hands, and Alan and Ronon watch curiously as they lick it up. A few months later, Ronon joins their ranks, finds out for himself why they made such sour faces.

He never gets used to the taste, but he keeps it up for years, until they’re real warriors and he’s too busy sticking his dick in the nearest available girl to jerk off with childhood friends.

As a Runner, he doesn’t have time for women, can’t risk getting near anyone, not even a prostitute. He remembers the stories of warrior monks, men who rejected the company of women to devote themselves more fully to battle. He thinks they were fucking insane, because even on the run, even with the Wraith hot on his trail, there are too many nights when he’s aching for warm, wet cunt instead of his own rough hand.

It’s not just the nights, either. It’s those times when he’s standing over the body of another death Wraith, high on adrenaline and so hard he’s surprised his pants don’t rip open.

He is a true warrior, not like those monks, but like the heroes in history books, in legends, the warriors he and his friends used to dream of being. He gets off on the chase, the hunt, the kill, and he wonders if the Wraith somehow saw that in him, if that’s why they chose him.

Standing over a corpse, dick fisted in his hand and breath hissing between his teeth, he remembers Reyn’s words – “In the old days…” – and instead of spilling onto the body, he catches it in his hand, licks his palm and fingers clean. He’d forgotten how hard it is to swallow, the way it coats his throat like phlegm and leaves him clearing his throat compulsively until he can wash it down with water.

After that, he eats it every time, and he still never gets used to the taste.

They are separated from McKay and Sheppard, running from an animal he’s never seen before that looks like something wild boars would worship as a god, all dripping tusks and beady-eyed fury. It crashes after them through the forest, so close there’s never a chance to stop and take proper aim.

Teyla’s shots don’t seem to faze the thing at all, and Ronon desperately hopes the fact it’s evolved a hide that tough isn’t because there’s something bigger and meaner lurking around here somewhere.

He glances back and fires another blast, and the damned thing is either smart enough to dodge or extremely lucky, because when he looks back again, hoping that ear-piercing howl was a death knell, he finds the blast only glanced it, leaving a shallow groove along the beast’s side.


Now would really be the perfect time for Sheppard to appear in the Puddle Jumper and blast that thing to pieces. Which, of course, means there’s no sign of him.

He shoots again and this time there’s no sound at all. “Enough of this,” he mutters, and stops dead. He whirls around, taking aim just as the beast lumbers forward a few last steps and crashes into the brush at his feet, its head blown clean off.

He lowers his gun, chest heaving and adrenaline pumping through his veins, and soon Teyla is by his side. They stand there sweaty and grinning, and Teyla flicks a glance down to his crotch and says, “It is arousing, isn’t it?”

Soon she has him up against a tree, his pants unfastened and his dick in her mouth. She has one hand around his shaft and one between her legs, and watching her is almost as good as what she’s doing with her tongue.

Teyla is not Ronon’s people, either; her traditions are not his, but there is something, growing up under the shadow of the Wraith, maybe, that makes her more understanding.

So though she raises her eyebrows when he pushes her back, finishes himself off and licks his hand clean, when he tells her about the ancient warriors, she only smiles and says, “I am strong enough on my own.”

It makes him laugh, makes him want to fuck her then and there if he could. Instead he pulls her to her feet, kisses her hard, and brings her off with his fingers as she moans into his mouth. She smells like a woman should smell, like people should smell. She smells like a warrior.

He wakes from one dream to another, from a nightmare of explosions to Melena still in his bed, warm and soft and alive, but her shape is unfamiliar, the noises she makes not quite right. Teyla murmurs something too low for him to hear, turning in his arms and kissing him, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to waking up with someone again.

She pushes him onto his back and rides him hard, breasts bouncing and breath hitching in little “oh, oh, oh”s that rise as she gets close. She lifts up and he feels a warm gush as she comes, the tight clench of her cunt as she slides back down, and it’s only her breathless “Not yet” that makes him hold back.

With a smile, she crawls up his body, pins his arms above his head as he licks her clean. Her hair tickles his nose and his tongue gets tired, but he doesn’t stop til she’s moaning and shuddering, grinding down against his face.

He’s so ready then, but she’s teasing, stroking slowly when she finally wraps her hand around his aching dick, still slick with her. “Suck me,” he murmurs. “Make me strong.”

She looks at him, gaze steady, and he’s the one who looks away when she says, “You are strong, Ronon.”

Teyla doesn’t need protecting, but he wants to. “Make me stronger.” He’s not even sure if she hears him, but there’s no teasing now, just steady suction, her lips tight as she bobs up and down, and she doesn’t pull back for him at his “Close, close…”

Afterward she crawls up again and kisses him, and he opens his mouth as she feeds his come back to him. He sucks it off her tongue, licks it off her teeth, and it’s not enough.

He licks her all over, makes her come again and again. He wants her sweat and spit and the juices she squirts when he rubs his fingers inside her just right, and she lets him take and take and take because she’s strong enough for both of them.