"Butterscotch" by Bone

The pudding's warm and a little runny by the time Ronon gets back to the jumper bay, but it still tastes good. Sheppard puts down the glowy thing he's working on, wipes off his hands on his pants and sits cross-legged on the floor beside him, trading licks.

He doesn't seem to mind sharing Ronon's borrowed spoon.

Aside from the occasional slurp and appreciative murmur, they're quiet until the last of it's gone. Ronon looks down at the empty cup and feels a little ache. As always, he wants more.

"So McKay gave it up without a fight?" Sheppard asks, leaning against a wall that buzzes softly to light at the touch of his back.

Ronon slides him a sideways look. "I asked nicely."

"Ah," Sheppard says, ducking his head. "So you left him in one piece."

Ronon nods. "Not a scratch on him."

"Good man," Sheppard says, approving.

"I think we reached an understanding," Ronon says, and Sheppard smiles at him.

"Keeping his pilfering paws to himself from now on?" Sheppard asks.

"So he says," Ronon says.

Sheppard takes the empty cup from him and scrapes at the sides with the spoon, methodically gathering the last remaining bit.

"This reminds me of the stuff we used to get in elementary school," Sheppard says, offering the last lick to Ronon.

Ronon puts it in his mouth and closes his eyes. It tastes like Sheppard.

"It came in cans the size of your head," Sheppard continues. "They served it on a rotating schedule—vanilla, banana, chocolate, vanilla, banana, chocolate. Once in a blue moon, they'd give us butterscotch. So of course, that's all we wanted."

Ronon looks at Sheppard and thinks he looks sad.

"I've never had anything like this," Ronon says. "We had these hard flat bars, sweetened with crushed hoina."

"What's hoina?" Sheppard asks, pointing to the corner of Ronon's mouth.

Ronon wipes at his mouth, but he can tell from Sheppard's smile that he missed.

He leans closer and tilts his face towards Sheppard. "It's a root. Grows in dry soil."

Sheppard's nodding, but Ronon can tell he's not paying attention. He's looking at Ronon's mouth the way Ronon's looked at that pudding cup.

Ronon's breath catches in his throat. He tucks his tongue in the corner of his mouth, and then Sheppard watches that.

Interesting.

He closes his eyes and lifts his chin, offering his mouth to Sheppard.

First he feels Sheppard's thumb rubbing lightly across the corner of his mouth. Ronon opens his mouth and licks it, chasing the remnant of sweetness and the salt beneath it. He feels Sheppard blow out a soft breath against his face and reaches for Sheppard's wrist, holding his hand still.

Ronon opens his eyes in time to see Sheppard's eyes go dark, the lids half-closed. Sheppard's looking at him like he's something sweet, something he wants, something…good.

Sheppard's looking at him like he's butterscotch.

When Sheppard touches his thumb to Ronon's mouth again, Ronon takes it in entirely and sucks on it hard, tucking it in his cheek and setting his teeth just enough to keep it there. He rubs his tongue along the callused pad, drawing circles when he hears Sheppard's muffled groan.

Ronon's hard as stone by the time Sheppard pulls back. He wants to strip Sheppard down, put his mouth on every inch of Sheppard's body and then maybe just rub all over him until they both come. He's already reaching for the hem of Sheppard's shirt when Sheppard puts one hand on his chest and stops him.

He can see Sheppard's chest rise and fall with the weight of his breath. He can see that Sheppard's hard in his regulation pants. He hears himself growl a little, pushing against Sheppard's hand.

"Simmer down, tiger," Sheppard says. "We can't do this here."

Ronon blinks at him and wonders why the hell not, then he looks around. It's deserted, but it's not private. Anyone could wander in and find them sprawled and sweaty on the bay floor, and if that's not what Sheppard wants, that's fine with him.

Ronon never learned to be shy about sex—once an entire squadron has judged your cock-sucking skills and broadcast the results across the planet, there doesn't seem to be much point, but he gets that Atlantis is different.

Atlantis is about being civilized. It's about using utensils to eat and not using your fists to settle disputes. It's a place where uniforms have layers and even friends still call each other by their military designation or their last names.

It's a place where they only serve butterscotch pudding once in a blue moon.

It's not a place where he can fuck his team leader in the open jumper bay.

"Fine," he says, bouncing to his feet. "I'll race you to your quarters."

He takes off to the sound of Sheppard complaining and a spoon clattering on the metal floor. He grins when he hears heavy footfalls behind him.

He's feeling generous; he'll even let Sheppard beat him to the door.