When I Say It's An Order

The gate room floor slammed up at him and it was hard and it fucking hurt but it was also cold and it was home and it was better than the dry dust they’d left behind, churning up around them as that goddamned dart made run after run at them.

Teyla had his arm and was pulling him up even as Ronon did the same for Rodney. McKay wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t bitching and that made Sheppard seize up a little because a quiet Rodney was a sick Rodney, or a hurt Rodney, beyond his usual capacity to cry murder over a bruise or a sprain or a stubbed toe.

But this time Rodney was quiet because he was concentrating on breathing, sucking in air like he’d been rationed on it. When he caught Sheppard looking, he waved a hand – fine, I’m fine – and went back to his Hoover impression. Teyla was fine, too. Dusty, dirty, but none the worse for wear.

Ronon was just looking at him.

*-*

He’d been through worse debriefs. No trading alliance; scratch one puddle jumper. But they were all here, no one had died. They were safe.

Weir seemed to get that, seemed to know that everything was still a little too close to dissect and mercifully released them. He and McKay headed straight to the infirmary but Teyla intercepted them with the news that Ronon had ‘released’ himself after getting his wound treated. Dr Beckett hadn’t been happy about it but he didn’t have any male staff big enough to make it an issue with the former Runner so he’d relented but made Dex promise to report back immediately if the wound troubled him or there were any signs of infection.

Sheppard wondered if Ronon had pushed for an order.

He left Teyla and McKay with instructions to eat, sleep and meet up with him later. Then he headed to his quarters, intending to lead by example. He’d glossed over the worst of his aches and pains for Carson; they were all in the same boat, having spent hours tied to poles in uncomfortable positions. Beckett wasn’t too fooled, he suspected. Tomorrow he’d be hauled in for another check up and by then the bruises would be showing but again, so what? They’d all be the same and corpses didn’t bruise so it was a good sign, in his book.

When he heard the door panel chime, he realised he wasn’t at his room. He was standing outside Ronon’s. What the hell was he doing there?

But it was too late to do anything about it now. The door was opening and the Satedan’s big frame filled the entrance way.

“Sheppard.”

The colonel glared up at him. He still didn’t know why he was standing here but something was burning in him, rising from his gut like acid, searing through his chest.

“We need to get something straight,” he managed to jerk out.

Ronon stepped back, just enough for Sheppard to get by him. He stalked inside, turning, throat tight.

Ronon was watching him, leaning against the wall, lips twitching in a smirk.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sheppard stormed. “You think it’s funny? That you can pick and choose when you’re going to do what I tell you? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough when I offered you a place on this team. My team. I’m in charge and when I give an order, you will damn well treat it like one, whether I say ‘it’s an order’ or not.”

Ronon took a step towards him. “You’re making yourself clear now.”

Sheppard refused to back up even when Dex was now close enough he had to tilt his head back to look up at him. “When we’re in trouble I don’t have time to check you’re going to do what I say. You could get us killed.”

For the first time, Sheppard saw he’d hit a nerve. Something shifted and dropped in Dex’s eyes and for an instant, a heartbeat, Sheppard felt afraid. Then it was gone again and replaced by something else, something indefinable.

“I would never,” was all Dex said.

And then Sheppard couldn’t reply because Dex had put one big hand around his neck, hauling him in and silencing him with an assault of lips and tongue and teeth.

Sheppard tried to pull back; where had that come from? But Ronon was strong and determined. His arm encircled the pilot’s waist, yanking him in until he was pressed against Dex, and maybe he couldn’t tell where it had come from but he could tell where it was going.

He pushed his hands into the big man’s chest, squirming until Dex let him break for air.

“Hold it,” he gasped.

Dex stared down at him. “Another order?”

“Just…what the hell was that for?” He tried to pull away but Dex held on grimly.

“It wasn’t for anything. Does everything you do have to be for something?”

Sheppard’s head was spinning. He couldn’t…everything was jumbled together, getting tangled in his head and he just needed a moment to get it all clear and separated.

But Dex was clearly not the most patient of men. Or maybe he was, but knew need when he saw it.

He captured Sheppard’s mouth again, his tongue encouraging the pilot’s lips apart and then delving inside, exploring with a hunger that left Sheppard feeling stripped and raw. His mind might have been reeling, but his body was quicker to respond and he found his hands reaching up to grab at Ronon’s head, pulling him in, deepening the kiss.

Dex seemed to chuckle against him and Sheppard felt a flash of irritation. “You better not be fucking with me,” he spat, yanking his head back.

“I’m not yet,” Dex said and wrapped his arms around Sheppard’s upper body, heaved him off his feet and threw him down onto the bed.

Sheppard was up in a second, furious at Dex’s actions. But Ronon was persistent; one hand flat on Sheppard’s chest was all it took to push him back down and hold him there, while Ronon knelt astride him.

“Don’t fight this,” he urged, leaning forward to trace Sheppard’s pulse point with his tongue.

Like he even could, Sheppard thought, but he was going to try because he’d be damned if Ronon was going to get this all his own way. He reached up and dug his hands into the Satedan’s hair, pulling back so he could see him face to face.

“You need to learn who’s in charge,” he growled.

Ronon gave a shrug; before Sheppard could move, do anything, his wrists were locked in Ronon’s bone crushing grip and being shoved against the mattress above his head.

“I’m learning,” he said simply and leaned in to kiss him again.

Sheppard struggled; his mind might have wanted up, away from the pressure and the feeling of being restrained but his body didn’t want to quit the field; clearly, Ronon sensed that because he didn’t let up. But he’d stop, right? If Sheppard really didn’t want to, he’d stop.

Sheppard held to that because if Ronon was the type of man who wouldn’t, he was in deep shit.

The kiss broken, Ronon’s lips felt their way across his throat, pausing to suck at his Adam’s apple. He gripped Sheppard’s tee-shirt in his teeth and actually tore it open before freeing one of his hands to rip it the rest of the way. The motion didn’t allow Sheppard any more freedom; but he bucked into Ronon’s touch anyway as his fingers scraped their way down his chest, over his stomach and set about opening his trousers.

“God, yes,” Sheppard panted. He shoved his hips upwards desperately, trying to encourage Ronon to move because this was taking too damn long. He tried to yank his wrists free, wanting to push Ronon, to take charge, to get this going, but the big man didn’t yield and all Sheppard ended up doing was pulling too hard and setting a throbbing ache trembling down his arm.

He didn’t realise he’d yelped until Ronon paused, dark eyes filled with a mixture of lust and concern.

“Sheppard?”

The pain was enough to bring tears unbidden to his eyes. “Just…sore,” he breathed. Ronon released his hands and sat back on his heels, powerful thigh muscles clenching as he kept his weight off of John.

It gave Sheppard enough room to sit up which wasn’t what he wanted to do at all but the agony in his arm, now radiating outward like waves on the surface of a pond, was something of a passion killer.

Ronon was reaching for him and Sheppard made to pull away – right now this was the last thing on his mind – but Dex was persistent. He took Sheppard’s wrist in his hand with a firmness that was gentler than it had a right to be. Sheppard forced himself to hold still as Dex rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and examined the chafed skin and the underlying shadow that was the start of a promisingly stunning bruise.

“Didn’t Beckett look at this?” Ronon growled.

Sheppard shook his head. “Not his fault,” he added when he saw the Satedan’s face darken. “I kind of … hid it.” He didn’t feel up to offering any further explanation, trying to get across why he hated the infirmary and would pretty much cover up anything to get of there as fast as he could.

Ronon climbed off him and went to the small bundle he’d brought with him to Atlantis, a rough cloth bag. Sheppard watched curiously as he returned to the bed and tipped out the contents. The runner selected a small leather bag and opened it, reaching in to take a fingerful of a dark red clay like substance.

“What is that?” Sheppard asked, hugging his wrist to his chest as Ronon reached for him.

Dex grinned as he carefully pried the pilot’s hand away from his chest and made him hold it out. “It won’t hurt.”

Sheppard groaned but still let Dex apply the clay to his wrist, rubbing it in even to the chafed skin. He inhaled sharply but it wasn’t in pain; the clay was cold and he wriggled a bit.

“Hold still,” Dex said.

Sheppard cocked his head at him. “Is that an order?”

Finished with his ministrations, Dex pushed everything back in the bag and then threw himself on Sheppard.

“It is now,” he said.

Sheppard found himself pinned beneath Dex again. The weight was heavy, solid, lifting only slightly so Ronon could finish what he started, divesting Sheppard of his clothes. Then he was naked and Dex wasn’t and he’d never felt so exposed.

“You…too,” he grunted, as Dex’s big hands explored his body, testing where best to get a reaction. One settled on his hip, the other stroking over his nipples before ghosting down towards his dick.

Ronon was stripped in seconds and then his cock was jutting into Sheppard’s thigh as the Satedan rutted against him. Sheppard did what he could, his body collaborating on impulse. He licked wherever he could reach, tasting salt and exertion, his tongue tingling at the feel of strong muscles moving under dark skin.

When Ronon came, it was wet and hot against him and like a chain reaction, Sheppard followed an instant later without even having to touch himself. He found himself staring up at Ronon when he opened his eyes again, and the other man was grinning at him. It reminded Sheppard why he’d come here but the anger was hopelessly lost. Now there was just a weariness but it wasn’t from pain or frustration. His body was utterly spent; if a Wraith popped out from under the bed, Sheppard knew he’d just have to lie there and let it do its worst.

“I meant it, though,” he managed to say, as Ronon rolled onto his side, and ran a rough finger up the pilot’s chest.

“I know. But you need to learn too. Seven years is a long time without taking orders.” He tilted Sheppard’s head towards him and leaned in, stealing away his breath and his reply with a kiss no less hungry or impatient than the first.

As Ronon pulled back, Sheppard nodded. He knew Ronon would have to adjust but he also knew that Ronon got it now as well. And if it took a few more lessons like this one to reinforce the message, he knew it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.