"Implication" by Bone

Ronon can tell by the tone of Weir's voice in his ear that something's up. He taps the earpiece, acknowledges her summons and rolls to his feet, extending his hand to the wheezing staff sergeant he'd pinned.

"You lost focus," he tells the man's heaving back, and gets a garbled moan in reply. "Take a few deep breaths, you'll be fine."

The soldier lifts one finger toward him, a salute of some kind that Ronon returns as he gathers his things and leaves the training area.

***

Sheppard's already in Weir's office when Ronon gets there, and Ronon brushes his thumb low across Sheppard's shoulders as he walks behind him and sits in an empty chair opposite Weir's desk.

Weir looks even more uncomfortable than usual, and Sheppard's staring down at his hands, his mouth a tight line. Okay. Definitely not good.

Ronon leans back in his chair with his knees apart, deliberately casual. He says to Weir, "We waiting on Teyla and McKay?"

Weir looks at him quickly, then drops her gaze back to the desk, her face slowly turning pink. "No. This only concerns you and the Colonel."

Ronon looks to Sheppard, but Sheppard's still staring down. No help there.

After a pause that seems to go on for an hour, Weir says, "You've been observed sharing…pudding."

Sheppard makes a derisive sound under his breath. Ronon looks from one to the other, not getting it at all. Since Sheppard's obviously not going to say anything, Ronon asks, "Is that bad?"

Weir meets his eyes for maybe half a second, then drops back to whatever she's finding so fascinating on her desk, and says, "Ronon—"

Sheppard interrupts her. "It's not about the pudding," he says, his voice hard.

"Colonel." Weir sighs. "John."

"Don't do it," Sheppard says, a warning clear in his voice.

"I'm just trying to—" Weir says.

"Don't ask, Elizabeth," Sheppard says, standing abruptly. The words seem to mean something to her because she closes her mouth with a snap and stares at him, her eyes bright in her flushed face.

"Is that all?" Sheppard asks, and barely waits for her nod before stalking out of her office. Ronon watches until he disappears around a corner, but Sheppard never looks back.

Ronon rises, too, ready to get back to things he understands, things he can touch and see, but Weir stops him. "Please stay, Ronon."

He drops back in his seat. He can see the effort it takes for Weir to look him in the eye. She looks older than she did when he got to Atlantis. The responsibility she carries is aging her.

She seems to steel herself, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. She takes a breath and says evenly, "The U.S. military frowns on fraternization."

"I'm not U.S. military," Ronon points out.

"They particularly frown on fraternization between men," she continues, no longer meeting his eyes.

Ronon leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of her desk. "I don't understand."

Weir's drawing random patterns with the tip of her finger. "If you and John are…"

"Are…what? Fucking?" Ronon asks.

Weir flinches, knocking some papers to the floor. She bends over and picks them up, stacking them precisely edge to edge in front of her on the desk. "If you plan to continue—"

"We do," Ronon says firmly.

"Then you need to be discreet," Weir says, her voice sounding strangled. "More discreet."

Ronon shakes his head. "That doesn't make sense."

Weir looks up at him and asks, "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say we did things differently on Sateda," Ronon says.

"Now I'm the one who doesn't understand," Weir says slowly.

"On Sateda, a task master can choose a favorite from among his men," Ronon says. "It's an honor to be chosen, and the favorite has certain responsibilities."

Weir exhales softly. "Go on."

"Our training isn't just with weapons," he says, leaning back. Weir leans back, too, crossing her arms over her chest. "You learn about team-building and morale, loyalty to your task master and your squadron. You trust these men with your life, so it's a close bond."

"How close?" Weir asks him.

Ronon wonders how to phrase it; he's no good at this subtle shit. Well, fuck it. She brought it up.

"I either fucked or sucked every man in my squadron," he says.

Weir's expression goes blank. She probably thinks she's being diplomatic, but Ronon knows what her disapproval looks like.

She clears her throat. "You…why?" she asks.

The two cultures are so different, maybe it's futile to try explaining it, but…she asked.

"As a favorite, it was my duty to reinforce the unity of the team," he says.

"And you did this…"

"Usually in the open quarters, sometimes the courtyard," he says with a shrug. "Depended on the weather."

Weir splutters, "The weather?"

"Look, you put a bunch of people together, a bunch of men," Ronon says, "they're either going to fight or fuck. You know that. Look around."

Weir blinks at him.

"Satedans choose fucking," he says. "Well. Chose."

Weir uncrosses her arms and leans forward.

"They're dead now, most of them," Ronon says. Now that he's started talking, it's like he can't stop. "If there's a flaw in the way we do things, did things, it's that I think I miss them more than I would if I hadn't known them so well. I miss them a lot."

Weir's quiet for long minutes, and Ronon wonders what she's thinking about. He knows he rattled her, but it looks like she's recovering. Her hectic flush has faded, and now she looks kind of pale.

"Being part of a team is important to you?" Weir asks.

Ronon's impressed; Weir seems to have figured out what's important.

"Yeah," he says.

"Does the Colonel know your history?" she asks.

Ronon stills. She's doing the subtle thing again, but this time it raises his hackles. He feels like he's walking through a minefield, where one misstep could blow up in his face.

"He does," Ronon says. "I told him about my task master weeks ago."

"And he understands that this is something you…do?" she asks, too casual herself.

Ronon sits forward in his chair and wonders what would happen if he told her to fuck off. He stares her down until she retreats. He hasn't really analyzed what he's doing with Sheppard, but it doesn't feel like anything he's known before, and he's certainly not talking about it with Weir before he talks about it with Sheppard. And talk isn't really what he wants to do anyway.

"Sheppard understands," Ronon finally says. He's not exactly sure that's true, but it's true enough for now. True enough for Weir.

"I know our ways must seem very alien to you, but I'm afraid we have to abide by them, at least for now," she says.

"You splitting up the team?" Ronon asks.

"No," she says. "And I have no obligation to report what I observed to anyone else."

Maybe things will turn out okay after all. Ronon tries to smile. "I'm sorry if we embarrassed you."

"It's not that, Ronon," she says, straightening her back. "It frightened me. I would hate to see Colonel Sheppard lose something that's important to him."

"And that could happen because of…me?" Ronon asks.

Weir looks down. "It could. With Colonel Caldwell here, it could."

Ronon stands and looks down at her. She seems drained.

"Thank you for listening," she says. "And for…talking."

Ronon dips his head in acknowledgment. He starts to leave, but pauses at the door and turns back.

"Dr. Weir?" he says.

She looks up at him and raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"Just so you know, I'm not fucking McKay. Or Teyla," he says. "Just Sheppard."

Weir flushes again, but she meets his eyes and nods.

Ronon smacks the door frame with his palm. "Earth rules suck," he says.

She gives him a small smile. "I couldn't agree with you more."

***

Sheppard's waiting in Ronon's quarters, and as soon as Ronon's inside the door, Sheppard closes it behind him.

"Sorry I bailed on you," Sheppard says over his shoulder as he walks toward the bed. "I was about to say something I'd regret."

Ronon stops him with a hand on his arm and spins him around. Sheppard still looks tense, the striped light through the shutters showing small lines bracketing his eyes and mouth. Ronon squeezes his arm.

"Why didn't you tell me this could get you in trouble?" Ronon asks.

Sheppard laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "Because we could die a hundred different ways every day? Because I almost turned into a bug? Because if I can't be myself in another fucking galaxy, when can I? Take your pick."

Ronon hasn't seen Sheppard lose it before, not even when he was turning Wraith; it's a little scary. He takes Sheppard's shoulders in his hands and shakes him gently until he feels Sheppard relax a little. When he seems calmer, Ronon says, "You should have told me."

Sheppard leans his forehead on Ronon's chest. "Would you have done anything differently?" he asks.

"I wouldn't have sucked you off up in the rafters," Ronon says, massaging the tight tendons between Sheppard's neck and shoulders.

"But I enjoyed that," Sheppard says, lifting his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A lot."

"And that time by the gateroom, in the closet, alcove, whatever it was?" Ronon says. "Wouldn't have done that."

The tension lines in Sheppard's face ease away with his smile. "I have very fond memories of that, thank you very much, though I also seem to remember sitting in a unbrief briefing with come in my pants."

"I would have been more…discreet," Ronon says, trying out Weir's word.

Sheppard drops his chin. "I'm the team leader. You take your cues from me. If there was any discreeting to be done, I should have done it, and I didn't want to."

Ronon steps closer, brushing against Sheppard. He bends his knees and slides one leg between Sheppard's thighs. Sheppard leans into him, widening his stance and letting Ronon in.

"Can you lock the door?" Ronon asks, untucking Sheppard's thin shirt and sliding his hands underneath it, resting them against Sheppard's sides. His skin is smooth and hot to the touch.

Sheppard pulls away and walks to the door, putting his hand on the wall beside it. Ronon can hear locks slide smoothly into place.

"Can you make it soundproof?" Ronon asks, lowering his voice.

Sheppard's eyes go dark and hot and his hand twitches against the wall.

The shutters slowly close, throwing the room into pitch black, then soft lights appear one by one along the walls, and a faint waterfall sound starts.

Sheppard lifts one corner of his mouth. "Apparently, I can."

Ronon moves toward him, crowding him against the wall, and Sheppard exhales sharply, twisting his fists in Ronon's shirt. Ronon can feel Sheppard harden up against his thigh and he rocks into it, giving Sheppard something solid to rub against. Ronon pulls him away from the wall and skims Sheppard's shirt over his head.

"Atlantis approves," he says.

Sheppard's smile falters, so Ronon rocks up against him again, distracting him.

"I trust her judgment more than I do Caldwell's," Ronon says.

"No shit," Sheppard says, pulling up Ronon's shirt and tossing it on the floor.

Ronon brings their upper bodies together. Sheppard lets Ronon move him however he wants, sliding skin on skin until they're both breathing hard.

"I just don't see anything wrong with this," Ronon says, leaning down to set his teeth against Sheppard's collarbone, biting lightly along the prominent bone.

Sheppard holds Ronon's head against him, leaning back and letting Ronon take his weight.

"I see it," Sheppard says, "and part of me cares that other people think it's wrong."

Ronon slides his hand down Sheppard's torso and cups Sheppard's straining cock through his pants, pressing on it until Sheppard's knees buckle.

Sheppard laughs shakily under his breath. "Okay, obviously not that part," he says, shoving greedily against Ronon's hand until Ronon growls and starts yanking at the fastenings on his trousers.

Ronon strips them both bare, batting Sheppard's hands away from his boots, saying, "I'm faster," and leads Sheppard to the bed, lying back for him, opening up for him, letting Sheppard take him in the way he'd never known before Sheppard came along — face to face, eye to eye, close enough to kiss.

Ronon strokes himself while Sheppard gets him ready, drilling first one finger, then another, then another, timing his penetration to the rhythm Ronon's building. Sheppard's eyes never leave Ronon's hand on his cock, and he shivers when Ronon rubs his palm over the head, his own cock twitching, tight and straight in its stretched skin.

Then Sheppard moves, lifting Ronon's legs on his shoulders. He bows for a minute under the weight, then shifts until he can take it. He bends forward, knocking Ronon's hand off his cock and taking over, setting a faster, tighter pace while he fits Ronon's ass with his cock, filling him.

Knowing no one can hear him is as arousing to Ronon as the chances he's taken with Sheppard all over the city. He lets it all out, every incautious word, every groan, every rush of breath Sheppard forces from his body with the strength of his thrusts.

It seems to do something to Sheppard, the noise, the freedom to voice it, and he answers Ronon's groans with his own, stealing Ronon's breath with his mouth and blowing it back, until Ronon can't tell from taste or smell which is Sheppard and which is himself.

Sheppard sacrifices his grip on Ronon's cock in favor of more leverage and deeper penetration, and Ronon rumbles his approval. The angle brings Sheppard's torso close enough for Ronon to drag his cock against it, the streaking touch inflaming him, dragging another broken moan from his throat.

Sheppard groans again, a dark, shattered sound, stilling above him. Deep inside, Ronon can feel Sheppard's cock swell harder, pulsing against him, and Sheppard shakes as he tries to hold back. Ronon reaches between them, takes a firm grip on Sheppard's balls and squeezes until Sheppard shakes his head slowly and Ronon lets go. Sheppard hovers over him, trembling, not moving. Ronon takes some of Sheppard's weight on his hands and tries to steady him. Sheppard looks a little lost, a little wild, his eyes half-closed, sweat standing on his forehead and above his mouth.

"I don't care, I don't care, I want this," Sheppard moans, withdrawing and slamming in again. Ronon absorbs the blow, lifting his hips and balancing his weight back on his shoulders. Sheppard chants "I want it" over and over, holding the back of Ronon's thighs, stretching him wide and pumping into him raggedly, roughly.

Ronon comes to the sound of Sheppard's voice, spitted on Sheppard's cock, painting his release on Sheppard's stomach and chest. Sheppard follows him, his words dissolving into nonsense, his body dropping heavily onto Ronon, wet heat throbbing deep in Ronon's ass.

Ronon wraps his arms and legs around Sheppard, crushing them so closely together he has trouble taking a breath. Except for the still rigid cock balls-deep in him, Sheppard goes boneless above him, wiping his sweaty forehead on Ronon's shoulder, patting him clumsily. Ronon slides his hands down to Sheppard's ass and holds him there, keeping him inside as long as he can.

It's all so much better than what he remembers from before, deeper and stronger and just…better. Sheppard's slaking his seven-year thirst, feeding his infinite hunger, and Ronon wonders how anyone could think there's anything bad about something this good.

***

It takes awhile for them to untangle, and even longer to get cleaned up. Sheppard remakes Ronon's bed like he's being graded on the effort. Ronon just watches him work, biting back the comment that even a dirty bed is better than what he's used to. Sheppard seems to enjoy the ritual of it — cleaning him, cleaning the bed.

Once Sheppard's done, Ronon tugs him back down on the bed. Ronon leans against the wall behind the bed and pulls Sheppard between his thighs, putting his back to Ronon's chest. Sheppard jabs him a couple of times getting situated, but eventually he settles down. He smells like salt and sex, and Ronon inhales deeply, soaking in his scent.

"Weir seemed surprised about you," Ronon says, stroking lightly in the hair on Sheppard's chest, playing with his dog tags. He's not sure how to talk about this, or even if they have to, but Sheppard's still brooding, and if fucking's not enough to bring him out of it, Ronon's out of other ideas.

"You mean you and me," Sheppard says.

Ronon snorts. "I don't think anything I do surprises her."

Sheppard says, "Did she tell you who ratted us out?"

"Huh?" Ronon says.

"Who 'observed' us," says Sheppard.

"Oh. She did," Ronon says.

Sheppard groans. "Oh, shit."

"That's good, right? She said she didn't have an obligation to report it," Ronon says.

"Still," Sheppard says.

Ronon wonders if he'll ever understand Earth people. They have it all backwards, what's important, what's not, the things they should care about.

Oh.

"You didn't want her to know? You have feelings for her?" Ronon asks.

Sheppard makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "Of course I have feelings for her. We've been through a lot together."

"But you've never fucked her?" Ronon asks.

Sheppard coughs. "No, I've never fucked her. Jesus, you've got a mouth on you."

"What else do you call it?" Ronon asks

"Having sex, making love, intercourse, bumping uglies, boinking," Sheppard ticks off his fingers with the list.

"But it's all fucking, right?" Ronon says.

Sheppard subsides against him. "Yeah, it's all fucking. And no, I'm not going to fuck Elizabeth. Even if I wanted to. Which…I don't."

"Why not? She's a woman, and she's not your superior officer. Seems by Earth's cultural standards, she's perfect for you," Ronon says.

"I do consider her my superior officer," Sheppard says, "and I've never…well, we have a saying, 'You don't shit where you eat.' It's generally not smart to get involved with someone you work with, whether they're superior or subordinate."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," Ronon says.

Sheppard just shrugs.

"So you really haven't done this before?" Ronon asks.

"Fucked a subordinate? No, they don't think much of soldiers playing hide the salami with other soldiers," Sheppard says. "Officially, they don't ask and we don't tell, but realistically, it's a lot more complicated than that."

"That's fucked up," Ronon says.

"That's the simple version," Sheppard says.

"So. Why me?" Ronon asks quietly.

Sheppard shifts restlessly against him. "I don't know. I wanted you to stay. You seemed to need it…and then I seemed to need it."

Ronon nods.

"Obviously, you're used to this kind of thing," Sheppard says.

"You know about Kell. I told Weir about the others," Ronon says.

"What others?" Sheppard asks idly.

Ronon anchors Sheppard against him with his thighs before he says, "My squadron."

Sheppard stiffens, and not in a good way. "…the whole squadron?" he asks.

"Um, yeah," Ronon says.

Sheppard doesn't say anything, but his body language gives him away: he doesn't like the idea. At all.

"Remember how I told you fucking Kell was no big deal?" Ronon asks.

After a minute, Sheppard says, "Yeah."

"It was like that. Part of being a unit, staying strong. Maintaining balance," Ronon says, mouthing the words against Sheppard's neck, trying to soften the tightness he finds there. It takes awhile, some tongue and teeth, but eventually, Sheppard relaxes again, tilting his head further to give Ronon better access.

"Well, you did say you were a Specialist," Sheppard drawls.

Ronon gives him the one-fingered salute.

Sheppard twists his head and looks at him, his face creasing into a rare full smile. "That's good. Where'd you learn that?"

"One of the Marines," Ronon says.

"Figures," Sheppard says. "Don't do it to Caldwell. Or Weir. She'd have my ass for grass."

"Okay," Ronon says.

Sheppard turns back and settles against Ronon's shoulder again, pushing against him until he finds a good spot.

"So, the team thing…you feeling any urges for Teyla?" Sheppard asks.

"Yeah, but I don't plan to act on them. I like my balls where they are," Ronon says.

Sheppard heaves a sigh. "I hear you." He rubs his hand along Ronon's arm and says, "And McKay?"

"My urges toward McKay run more toward strangling than fucking," Ronon says.

Sheppard nods. "It takes awhile, but he grows on you."

"I'll try to remember that," Ronon says.

"So…it's just me?" Sheppard asks. For once, he doesn't sound like he already knows the answer.

"Yeah, it's just you," Ronon says, shifting so he can get one hand on Sheppard's ribs, nudging him closer, wrapping him up. "Fucking's fucking. This is…something else."

There's a long pause, then Sheppard asks, "What?"

Ronon shrugs. "It's different. Better."

Sheppard turns his head and gives him a long look. "So it isn't just this," he says, dragging Ronon's hand down to his groin.

"Not for me," Ronon says, stroking lightly.

Sheppard holds his gaze, and after a minute he says, "Or me."

He drops his head back down, his body honing itself to Ronon's until they fit together comfortably. Easily. Given how small the bed is, how big they are, and how bony Sheppard is, it's a neat trick.

"I don't know if this is something I could do at home, and I still think there's a good possibility it's yet another disaster waiting to happen, but… I don't want to stop," Sheppard says quietly.

Ronon presses his face into Sheppard's short spiky hair. His throat feels tight, but he gets the words out. "You're not home. You can't live like you are. Before the Wraith triggered me, I'd never been alone. I went from my mother's house to the military. Even on the hive ship, I had people all around me."

Sheppard is silent and still against him.

"It's amazing what you'll do to survive," Ronon continues. "You have to trust your instincts. And if you find something that works, stick with it."

"So you're saying I should stick with you," Sheppard says.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying," Ronon says.

Sheppard sighs.

"We'll need to follow the code," says Sheppard. He sounds resigned; it's not a battle they can win.

"I can do that," Ronon says. "I always have."

"Yeah, but your code let you fuck anybody you wanted," Sheppard says.

"I still am," Ronon says, slipping his hand between Sheppard's legs, cradling his balls. "I'm fucking the only one I want."

Sheppard sighs and opens his legs wider, encouraging Ronon's touch, but Ronon lets go of Sheppard's balls and slides his hands up to Sheppard's hips. He rolls Sheppard off him, turning him around on the bed to face him. He's got one more thing to say, and then maybe they can stop talking.

"Since we're talking about cultural differences, there's something I should probably tell you," Ronon says.

Sheppard looks at him suspiciously. "What?"

Ronon puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "When we find someone, when it feels right…Satedans mate for life."

Sheppard's eyes widen to match the circle made by his mouth when his jaw drops open.

"Don't worry," Ronon says, clapping him on the shoulder. "We don't tend to live long."