Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

When it started, they had to hold him down.

They were pros. It only took two or three of them. Maybe they knew that he could be coerced not by his fear of what they would do to him, but his fear of what they would do to Teyla, to McKay.

He didn't have to worry about Sheppard. Sheppard didn't get the enzyme. Sheppard was what McKay bitterly called the "control" and what Aiden Ford called the "witness." But even if Sheppard had to submit, had to hold his arm out and suffer an injection, had to feel the raw heat flood him, Ronon wouldn't have been worried. Ford had chosen his witness well. Teyla and McKay had something about them, a fragility that could be pierced like a needle could pierce skin. It made them vulnerable.

Sheppard's vulnerability was of a different sort—different than McKay's clear physical vulnerability, with his soft hands and his fast words and his slowness to grasp how matters stood because his mind lived somewhere else. And it was far different than Teyla's. Hers was her sex. Eyes followed her wherever she went. Ford had to handpick who fought her until his men got used to her presence. She was the only woman in the encampment. Ronon knew she could take care of herself, but if they came at her in a group, if they held her down, like they did when they gave her the enzyme, against her will, enjoying the way she fought them—

"Ford has it covered," Sheppard had said, voice low. "They're not supposed to touch her." At Ronon's silent look, he said only, "I know."

Sheppard didn't know, of course, that the enzyme flushed Ronon, coursed through him, left him aware of the smell of sweat and hair, of closeness, of the warmth of bodies. He felt their very auras brush him when he passed. As the enzyme treatments progressed, Teyla's smell grew earthier and warmer. Paradoxically, as Teyla's femaleness became more pronounced to him, the men became less interested. Their voices stopped being so loud, so strident, so shrill. Their eyes could look elsewhere. Their heat did not flare when she was near. They could knock her down and help her up without strobing their frustrated interest. Ronon finally realized that their level of attention had peaked; the enzyme could do no more, whereas for the members of the expedition team, it had to ramp up until it leveled off. Ford's men were getting used to her.

For Ronon, the problem wasn't Teyla. It was Sheppard, with the vulnerability of a leader. Take him down, and the others would be crippled.

Take him down, and Ronon would be crippled.

***

They had to hold down the warriors, Teyla and Ronon, but with McKay, it only took one. The man, usually Rao, an older, heavy-set man who often sparred with Ronon because of his weight, would say, "It's time," and McKay would say bitterly, "Oh, yes, time for my fix," and wearily extend his arm. McKay always looked away when the needle went in and the plunger went down. Then McKay would pull his sleeve down and glare.

They didn't have to keep their meaningful conversations brief. The Stargate had been disabled, so they couldn't leave, and around-the-clock sentries guarded the really important areas of the encampment: the dart McKay worked on repairing, the workroom that held machinery, the stockpile of enzyme, the control crystals for the Stargate. They had free run of the place otherwise. Nobody watched them. Where would they go? They could walk for hours and get nowhere. They'd only end up hungry.

They met and they plotted, but nothing changed. McKay still drove him crazy; on top of his always incessant chatter had been added increased worry about his health, including startling and entirely imaginary symptoms signaling the looming end of his life. His new catch phrase was, "Before I was a drug addict..." Ronon didn't notice much of a difference in McKay when Ford, at Sheppard's request, tapered his dose down.

"Keep it cool," Sheppard would say when Ronon was ready to drive his fist through McKay's face. Sheppard could tell when Ronon had had it. Then there were new commands, private commands, spoken only to Ronon, whispered when others were around. "Keep an eye on Teyla" was the first. Then it was "Rodney is getting too friendly with Jace. Drop by the ship unexpectedly. Keep him off balance so he doesn't talk." And "Ford says he wants to go home. I think we have a chance." But always there was "Keep it cool."

Keep it cool. Ramp it back. Be calm.

It was all Ronon could do to keep from crawling out of his skin. When he fought, he sensed every twitch of muscle, anticipated every move, because they advertised it. But they reacted fast—freakishly fast. They easily caught and parried blows that would have sent an unaugmented man reeling. And Ronon would bare his teeth in a grin and try again. He'd trained with the best. He was the best. His very life was proof of that. And once he got control of the power that leaked through his hands, bled out of his fingertips and his eyes and nose and mouth, the power that he imagined trailed from him as he ran, as he fought, he would show them what being the best meant.

"Keep it cool," Sheppard said when the two of them found themselves alone. Ronon had been going to the Wraith dart, and Sheppard had been coming back. They stood together in the faint path that now wound through the grass.

"Stop saying that," Ronon said mildly.

Sheppard looked at him appraisingly, and Ronon felt Sheppard's aura of power, unaugmented but still strong, brush his as he leaned closer. The power within him stirred. "I need you to keep cool," Sheppard said, voice calm, belying the tension in his body. "Ramp it back."

Stop saying that, Ronon thought. He said, "I'm not good at that," faintly sarcastic, reminding Sheppard that Ronon wasn't good at patience either.

"Yeah, I got that," Sheppard said. He met Ronon's eyes squarely, staring him down. Sheppard did that when he wanted someone to pay attention. And he had Ronon's complete attention. "I need you, Ronon. I need you on this."

Ronon stepped closer, the nimbus of power around each of them bleeding together. It prickled like lightning on his skin. The thing that moved inside him when Sheppard was near was the thing that moved inside Kanayo when he sparred with Teyla. Kanayo's awareness had never waned. Ronon's had grown to match Kanayo's in intensity, but Teyla was not his target.

"I've got your back," Ronon said, and Sheppard waited a beat, a long, rich beat, his way of exerting control.

"Good. Good. I know you do. It's going to go down soon. McKay and Jace are more than halfway there."

"I'm ready," Ronon said.

Arms crossed, he let Sheppard deliberately step around him. He turned to watch Sheppard as he resumed his way back to the encampment.

Sheppard could sense what Ronon felt, and he wasn't intimidated. Ronon smiled.

Ronon watched Sheppard's back until he made the treeline.

***

They didn't have to hold him down, but they did anyway.

Ronon had stopped struggling. He clenched instead, hardening his body into a tool, forcing them to force him back. Their hands were strong. Ronon liked the brief power struggle, the feeling of restraint, the feeling of their hands on him, pushing him, making him wait.

He let them win. He thought they knew that. His reward would come if he let them win: the enzyme, coursing through his body, making him more. So they didn't win; he did, because they gave him more—more power, more strength, just...more.

If he wanted to, he could kill them with his bare hands, just as he'd killed a Wraith yesterday when they were trying to dose it with something to make it sleep. He'd snapped its neck, almost idly, but even so, he'd felt the burn of the creature's hunger. They were dangerous even when they were weak—maybe more so, if you underestimated them. He had done it as a demonstration, but Ford had been pissed off because it was a lot of trouble to catch new Wraith, so they could harvest the enzyme.

Ronon's strength was formidable, partly because of his size and partly because of his training, but the enzyme, pumping it up, made it bubble and fizz just beneath the surface. The strength exceeded the power of his bones to hold it. It joined the layer of power that clothed him, amplifying it. He felt like he could push a deeply rooted tree down merely by digging in his feet and shoving. It would bend to his will. It would topple slowly and crash to the ground. Sound would reverberate.

"That's bad," Sheppard said when Ronon told him this.

"I don't know if I could do it or not," Ronon said. "How is that bad?"

"It's like—like leaning over a railing and trying to grab someone who fell over," Sheppard said. "Say you fell over the side and Teyla had to grab you. She's pretty strong. If she leaned over to pull you up, her strength doesn't matter. It's simple physics. She'll get pulled over instead of pulling you to safety, because you're bigger and heavier than her. She's strong—she feels like she's strong, and we know she can lift you under different circumstances, but—well, here, you both die. You feel like you can do the impossible. That makes you reckless."

Ronon considered. He thought Sheppard's example was stupid. Teyla knew enough to brace herself first before trying such a rescue. But he saw Sheppard's point. "You're worried about me controlling myself," he said at last, because that was what Sheppard's exhortations to "be cool" meant. "Hurting myself."

"Yeah," Sheppard said. "And I'm worried that Ford is hurting you guys—damaging you."

"I feel fine. I feel great," Ronon said impatiently.

Sheppard shrugged. "Yeah, well, I can't tell what's you talking, and what's the enzyme talking."

Ronon stared him down. "It's me. It's always me."

***

They held him down and injected him.

They could have given it in food, silently, but they didn't. Ford saw the psychological value in pinning them down, in forcing them to watch the needle approach, pierce the skin. The plunger depressed, and it went through him, the welcome rush of heat.

He hadn't said it, and Teyla hadn't said it. They didn't need to say it out loud. Ford was right. The enzyme made them better—faster and stronger, with incredible stamina. It made Ronon worry about Sheppard, because Sheppard didn't get the enzyme, but in Ford's plan, Sheppard wouldn't be doing any hand-to-hand. He'd be flying the dart. And Sheppard didn't need the enzyme to make him a damn fine pilot. But right now, Sheppard was their weak link. He thought they weren't thinking clearly. Relegated to his role as observer, he didn't understand, truly understand, what the enzyme did—not on a visceral level like Teyla, Ronon, and, yes, even McKay did.

"You don't get it!" Ronon told him during a quick check-in walk. They'd gone farther than usual, and Sheppard had an update that McKay and Jace's work progressed very well indeed, with McKay estimating two more days, but he could make it three if Sheppard wanted, or even four. Ronon left that kind of strategizing to Sheppard. He would rather get the whole op over with. Today would be fine with him.

Sheppard returned, "What don't I get?"

"You think we're irrational, that we don't make sense, that we're overestimating our strength."

"That would be because all those things are true," Sheppard insisted.

Nothing could be further from the truth. The world had become crystalline in its clarity and perfection. Truth had frozen like ice. Be cool. "I can make choices," Ronon said at last. "The enzyme doesn't control me."

"You control it." Sheppard's voice was ironic, and Ronon flushed. Yes. He controlled it. That's how he felt.

"Nobody tells me what to do," Ronon said, voice low and dangerous. Nobody, and certainly not a chemical forced into his body, no matter what that chemical could do, no matter what it made him feel like.

"I do," Sheppard answered levelly, and Ronon shoved him back, a tiny push of power, a tiny expression of what Ronon held back for Sheppard's sake.

"You do," Ronon agreed. "Because I choose to."

Sheppard said, "I think your definition of 'choice' is fucked up. Don't touch me again."

Ronon grabbed the front of Sheppard's uniform. He could feel the coil of power within Sheppard's body. "I could pull you over my head and throw you," he informed Sheppard. He could dash Sheppard against the ground, or against a tree, like breaking a doll. Ronon could break open Sheppard's power and release it, the way Ford's men cut open Wraith to take the enzyme in that bizarre almost-ritual that looked like a reverse suicide. "It would break every bone in your body."

"I know that," Sheppard said, holding his eyes. "I told you not to touch me."

"Because you tell me what to do," Ronon said, Sheppard's body under his hands, Sheppard at his mercy, Sheppard still confident, knowing he could control Ronon, and Ronon's power, with a word.

"Because I tell you what to do," Sheppard agreed.

Ronon let him go. He felt the pull—the same pull that Kanayo felt for Teyla that Teyla encouraged so she could control his behavior. Sheppard just turned his back on it, like he didn't need it, like he couldn't use it.

"Yeah," Ronon said, because Sheppard's power touched his. "Well, not today."

He shoved Sheppard against a tree and held him there with his body, and before Sheppard could draw breath, he took Sheppard's wrists in his hands, feeling them push, accepting the power Sheppard gave him, drawing it into himself until he felt it blaze, and put his mouth on Sheppard's. He felt Sheppard's shock through Sheppard's mouth, but it wasn't surprise. Sheppard brought his arms up, an instinctively defensive posture, but he only tightened his grip. He opened Sheppard's mouth with his tongue, and there it was, what Ronon wanted: Sheppard's response, hard and hot, Sheppard's lips, teeth, tongue, for once saying something other than "be cool" or "ramp it back" or "calm down, big guy."

"You are fucking insane, Ronon!" Sheppard yelled a minute later when Ronon backed off for air.

"Yeah," Ronon said, heaving him against the tree. He pinned him there with his weight. He felt the nimbus of power that surrounded him merge with Sheppard's. He let go of Sheppard's wrists so he could turn Sheppard's face to one side, and Ronon bent to tongue the place on Sheppard's neck where no tattoo was, tasting the explosion of sweat and salt, feeling Sheppard's power course through his body, making it alive. He parted it with his tongue, feeling ripples form in the force. He could disturb it. As he bit gently, he put his hands on Sheppard's waistband, undid the first button, then the next, then the next. Sheppard's hardness brushed his knuckles. "Do you want me to stop?" he said. He knew the answer. There had been no surprise, only shock that Ronon had done something about it, what lay between them. He wanted to hear Sheppard say it.

"No," Sheppard said after what seemed like a long time. Ronon felt the response through his mouth, through his body. "No. Don't stop."

He didn't stop. He rucked up Sheppard's shirt and used his mouth on Sheppard's chest. He didn't need Sheppard to touch him. He only needed to touch Sheppard. Every gasp of suddenly indrawn breath, every shift of weight fed the thing inside Ronon that now grew, that swelled his cock. Sheppard grabbed Ronon's head, Ronon's hair when he was finally on his knees, and when Ronon took Sheppard in his mouth, Sheppard said his name. Ronon began to suck, not going slow. He didn't need slow exploration. He needed Sheppard's cock to drive into his mouth. He needed Sheppard's desperation to match his own.

He released Sheppard long enough to say, "Harder. Harder."

Sheppard's fingers clutched his head, and Sheppard began to thrust, hard and deep. Ronon accepted it, wanted it, because now Sheppard groaned as he slid in. "I can't," Sheppard said in a voice that wasn't his. "I'm going to. Now. Now." And he came, the acridity flooding Ronon's mouth even as the slick cock pumped, wet and shiny and hard, came in a blaze of tight, uncontrolled motion and broken sound, saying, "Now."

Ronon released Sheppard only when he let go of Ronon's head. As he stood, he freed his erection. Sheppard sprawled boneless against the tree, heavy eyes watching warily. Ronon kissed him, giving Sheppard back what he'd given Ronon. Sheppard gagged a little, not expecting it, but he swallowed. When Ronon leaned into him, letting Sheppard hold him up, as he began to stroke himself, Sheppard hooked an elbow around his neck and kept his mouth on Ronon's. Ronon came in an outpouring of pent-up power, came into Sheppard's mouth as his dick came against Sheppard's stomach, remembering the slick sensation of Sheppard's penis, Sheppard's fingers clutching his hair as he fucked Ronon's mouth desperately.

He came because Sheppard had driven him to it—had driven him to all of it.

***

He didn't struggle, but they held him down anyway. Behind him, Teyla spat and fought. She didn't like the pleasure they took in touching her. They didn't bother to hide it, the fact that her struggles amused, even aroused, them. Ronon didn't understand why she didn't just passively take it—he thought it might defuse them. He realized after a while that it was because she was making a point. There were some things she would never do. She might want the enzyme so badly that she shook if they were even ten minutes late, but she would never, ever want any of Ford's men to share intimacy with her. When she fought them, she was fighting them off, their attention, their masculinity with a kind of disinterested power that was nothing short of insulting.

They could hold her down and rape her; they could hold her down and inject her. Either way, they couldn't touch her. She was withholding the important part of herself: her consent. The struggle was a ritual. They could never have her. That was what she was saying.

"Their touch sickens me," she told Ronon after a sparring bout. Ford's men had taken the equipment outside, because the weather was good, and now the two of them stood and panted, watching Rao and Kanayo spar while the other men shouted advice.

"Kanayo's not so bad," Ronon offered after a few seconds.

Teyla shrugged and turned her face up to the sun. "Yes, were the circumstances entirely different, perhaps I might find it within myself to accept his advances. Were he nothing more than the Genii spy he once was, for example." When Ronon didn't respond to her bitter tone, she added, "I feel it, within me. The desire. I do not know if it is desire to take a man, or to kill him."

Ronon knew how she felt. He thought of her words later, when he followed Sheppard out when Sheppard proclaimed his intent to visit McKay and Jace, when Ronon said, voice expressionless, "No, this way," and Sheppard followed him off the path.

"It's the enzyme," Sheppard said, but he unbuttoned his own pants this time, and Ronon opened Sheppard's body with his mouth and slick fingers, until Sheppard panted under his hands, until Ronon turned him onto all fours and pushed himself inside the incredible tightness, fucking him, enjoying Sheppard's moans, enjoying Sheppard saying, "That's it, like that, right there," until he felt the power in his body tighten in his dick and stomach, until he reached around and grabbed Sheppard's cock, long and hard in his hand, until Sheppard spasmed, clenching tight around Ronon's dick, and came. Ronon rode Sheppard through it, keeping it hard and rhythmic so Sheppard could grab onto something, so he could keep coming and coming. He reached deep within until he touched Sheppard's center, the place Sheppard kept to himself, the same place Teyla wouldn't let anyone touch, but Sheppard had given it to Ronon when he came, and when Ronon realized this, orgasm took him, white heat obliterating everything. He emptied himself into Sheppard's body while his hips thrust and his hands pulled Sheppard onto his cock, over and over again.

The power had bled out of both of them, Ronon realized as they recovered. It wound between them, momentarily sated, but ready to return, as strong as ever. Sheppard panted and shook, head down. "Jesus Christ," he said when Ronon pulled out, his voice raw and wanting as though they hadn't both just climaxed, like he wanted more, like it would never be enough.

"It's not the enzyme," Ronon said, responding to Sheppard long after Sheppard had spoken.

It's me, he wanted to say. It's always me.

***

When they held him down and injected him, he watched Sheppard watch him. Sheppard was worried, Ronon saw. Sheppard watched and waited and pondered and schemed. Sheppard didn't trust Ford, but neither did he entirely trust Ronon, Teyla, or McKay.

Sheppard didn't need to worry, but Ronon couldn't figure out how to tell him that. No matter what Ronon said, Sheppard saw the enzyme talking. It was one reason Ronon had reached out to him, had taken him. He'd used sex before to cement personal loyalties. But never before had the pull been so strong. He'd used sex to bind others to him, but sex with Sheppard had bound Ronon to Sheppard, not, as he'd intended—if he'd even stopped to think about what he intended—the other way around. He'd known what he wanted, and he wanted Sheppard to submit to him, to make Sheppard admit it by begging for pleasure, begging for Ronon to make him come.

The vulnerability in Sheppard that Ronon had identified was still there. But now Ronon realized that only affected him. Only Ronon saw it. If Sheppard got killed, Teyla would still fight. McKay would say, "What? What?" and would grab his gun and shoot until he ran out of ammunition, and then he'd run away, only to think of something. He'd solve his way out of it. That was just his way.

Ronon would fight, and then he would run again.

"Let's go," Ronon told Rao, and Rao grinned.

Sparring made him loose and easy. He realized he was showing off for Sheppard, which pissed him off, but the realization made him focus, made him better. He'd knock Rao down, and Rao would bounce back up, laughing. He was old and a little slow, but his experience served him well. Rao used to train new recruits, and he had good advice. Watch, he'd say. Block. Anticipate. He made them focus through the buzz of strength and energy that the enzyme gave them. Now he said, "Don't use your weight like that. Use your center of gravity, the way Teyla does."

"Okay," Ronon agreed, because Teyla's smallness and lightness made her fast and hard to catch, but when her opponent caught her, she used his force against him, deflecting it, turning it back on him—like Sheppard had used Ronon's force against him, deflecting hot desire and turning it back on him, only it bounced between them, magnified, each touch escalating, until they had to come, until their climaxes ripped through them and momentarily let them return to what remained of their selves.

He'd only caught himself. He knew that, even as, each day—three days, four days, five days—he and Sheppard found privacy. He'd become hyperaware of the way Sheppard moved, of the way his eyes looked in different kinds of light, of the way his hair bristled, of the way his voice sounded when he was playing it cool. Their intimacy hadn't assuaged Ronon; rather, it had stretched his desire out, emphasized it. Now when they were together, Sheppard didn't say "ramp it back" or "be calm." He said, "Put your fingers inside me when you suck me." He said, "Turn over. I want to see your face when you come." He said, "Pinch my nipples. Hard. Harder." He said, "I'm going to fuck you now. Open up." And when he came, he let go, face ecstatic, eyes on Ronon, not letting Ronon get away, making Ronon watch.

They never talked about it. They just did it.

***

They were an hour late one day, to make a point. The next day, the enzyme was delivered on time, and Ronon and Teyla were waiting, ready, which made Rao smile. Kanayo wasn't around, so Rao gave Ronon his and then Teyla hers, the first time they hadn't been held down and given the enzyme simultaneously. Let's drop the pretense, Rao seemed to say as he held Teyla between his legs, bending her over the table, holding her arm out, entirely impersonal in a way Kanayo strove for but could never be as Rao jabbed her with the needle.

"I'm going to do McKay next," Rao said after he'd let Teyla up, grabbing the kit. They'd started giving McKay's to him separately as he increased the time he spent with Jace on the dart, as the repairs neared completion, as McKay's quick mind worked even more quickly and he couldn't bear to be anywhere but with the dart or in the workshop with the primitive computers, studying screens of data.

When Ronon and Teyla got into it while they were eating, Teyla hitting him when he took food from her plate, Ronon didn't spare a glance at Sheppard when Sheppard said, "Hey!" Instead, he dragged Teyla across the table and onto the ground. She bounced up, and they exchanged blows that seemed more like a dance than an exercise, smiling because it felt good to let go with someone trustworthy. Sheppard yelled, "Knock it off, guys! Guys!"

It was too late. He'd come too close. Ronon hit Sheppard in the face with an elbow, the movement automatic. Sheppard, not expecting it, went down, and Ronon's smile evaporated.

"What the hell's gotten into you two?" Sheppard demanded from the floor. His eyes flickered from Teyla to Ronon. "Oh, right," he said, answering himself. "Never mind." He grunted as he levered himself to his feet and plopped into a chair.

Ronon sat on the table. "Are we going to talk about this?" he asked.

"About what?" Sheppard felt his jaw.

"The enzyme works," Ronon said, watching Sheppard. "Nobody's saying it, but we're all thinking about it. It works."

Teyla added, with admirable understatement, "I must admit I have noticed an increased amount of strength."

"Maybe Ford is right; maybe it's worth looking into it to see what this stuff can do." Ronon could only imagine what the team could do with the enzyme. It could be a powerful tool against the Wraith, the Genii—anybody they came up against.

"They were an hour late delivering our doses yesterday and I felt...awful," Teyla said. "It frightens me how reliant my body has become on the enzyme always being in my system. What would happen if we suddenly could not receive it?"

Ronon agreed. "The only neg is that you got to keep taking it. You want to stay on it."

"The fact that I'm even considering it makes me feel..." Teyla began.

"Hey," McKay interrupted, coming in.

It was the middle of the day. McKay shouldn't be back for hours. "So?" Sheppard prompted.

"It's ready," McKay said simply.

"Do we tell them?" Ronon asked after a moment of silence, because they'd been thinking about playing for time, stringing Ford along.

"We have to," McKay said. "Jace knows."

Sheppard frowned. "Okay. Okay."

"I can maybe get a delay—time for testing, whatever. I can think of something."

"No," Ronon said. "Let's get it over with."

Sheppard grimaced. "Don't forget Atlantis is waiting for us, worried about us. The sooner we get back, the better. They'll be less likely to do something stupid while searching for us."

"I agree," Teyla said, bringing her body, but not her arms, up as though she were striking a fighting stance. "Now."

The strength within them spoke. It wasn't the enzyme, but the enzyme had called it forth.

"Rodney, Teyla, you go find Ford. Ronon and I will be along in a minute."

Ronon watched them leave, McKay already chattering nervously. Teyla held the door for him silently. She cast a look back and gave Ronon a knowing smile. Ronon looked down, because he hadn't realized she'd known. But of course she did. The fevered strength inside her had no outlet. His did. She had to tamp it down until she could let it flow during sparring.

"It's going down," Sheppard was saying, calm because he had to be, because nothing crawled around inside his skin, seeking release. "I need to know you've got my back. I need to know that what we've—what we've been doing hasn't messed up your head."

"I've got your six," Ronon said obediently. He hadn't understood that phrase at first, until McKay had explained it to him.

"Do we need to talk about this?" Sheppard sounded insistent.

Ronon shook his head.

"So I order it, you do it? Is that the way it works?"

Ronon looked up at the tone of Sheppard's voice. "You know it is," he said.

Sheppard grinned mirthlessly. "Yeah, I know it is," he agreed. "Let's go."

Ronon didn't follow. He knew Sheppard had wanted to give Ronon a chance to say something, to admit something, to reach out. Hanging over it all was the unspoken realization that no matter how it went down, it wouldn't go down well, because the plan sucked and Ford was nuts. This could be it. They could be dead by this time tomorrow. And then neither of them could say anything.

But what was there to say? Sheppard said it: "Take out the Wraith on the left." "Touch me here." "Fuck me." "Follow me." And Ronon did it, to preserve the chain of command, to face down Sheppard's vulnerability—the vulnerability of leadership, the loss of which in turn made Ronon vulnerable. That wasn't why he did it.

He knew why now. The enzyme, the force of his strength, the need in the pit of his stomach, the awareness of the presence of bodies near him, of their warmth and movement—all of it was an excuse, something that let him blame something external.

"John," he said, and Sheppard looked back, surprised. Ronon didn't call him that—hadn't called him that, even during sex. "It's because I want to. That's all."

The truth of it hung there, stupidly simple.

"Yeah," Sheppard said at last. "Me too."

And Ronon followed him outside, feeling his anticipation rise. Now, he thought. Now.