"Protection" by Bone

Sheppard's up and around again the next day. He covers his bandaged arm with a long-sleeved shirt, walks with it held against his side. Ronon thinks he looks bad, glassy-eyed and pale, and from the look on Weir's face when she sees him, she agrees.

"John, you should be resting," she says when she passes their table in the commissary.

"A man's got to eat," is all he says, shoveling in awkward forkfuls of egg using the wrong hand, and she closes her mouth at the look he shoots her.

She clucks around him some more, makes an offer of help that he accepts with one curled lip, and leaves, casting a doubtful look over her shoulder on her way out.

Sheppard keeps eating mechanically, doesn't look up when he says, "Don't you have something you should be doing? Besides baby-sitting me?"

"You're not a child," Ronon says. He leans across the table and says softly, "I know that first-hand."

Sheppard shifts in his seat and Ronon hides a grin.

"What I mean is, I appreciate your help, but there must be something else that needs your attention," Sheppard says.

Ronon leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest.

"You're injured. You need to be protected," Ronon says.

"From what? From who? Nobody's going to hurt me here," Sheppard says. He waves his injured arm. "I'm fine."

"You should have stayed with Teyla," Ronon says flatly.

Sheppard looks confused. "What, so she can babysit me?"

"On the planet. You left me behind," Ronon says.

"Oh, come on. We're back to that?" Sheppard says, banging his fork down on his tray.

"I know the Wraith. I'm stronger than you. I'm a better fighter," Ronon says.

Sheppard looks exasperated, but doesn't contradict him.

Ronon leans forward, tapping the table in front of Sheppard. "If only one could go, you should have stayed with Teyla, and I should have gone to fight the Wraith."

Sheppard stares at him. "Well, why didn't you say so then?"

"Because you're my taskmaster. I'm supposed to follow your orders," Ronon says.

Sheppard's eyes narrow. "What's a taskmaster?"

Ronon makes a sharp sound. "You know. The leader. The decision maker. We're supposed to obey without question."

"Like you did down there?" Sheppard asks with a sarcastic smile.

"You needed me," Ronon says, smacking his hand on the table. "If I'd been there, she might not have…"

"Ronon. It happened. Let it go," Sheppard says.

Ronon shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"I don't ask my men to do things I'm not willing to do myself," Sheppard says, and though Ronon hears the danger in Sheppard's voice, he can't stop himself.

"Then you are unique among men," he says bitterly.

"I don't know what it was like where you came from, but obviously, we do things differently here," Sheppard says.

"It's my duty to protect you," Ronon insists.

"It's my duty to protect my team. I'm responsible for you, not the other way around," Sheppard says, his voice rising. He moves his hands in a circle. "You protect me, I protect you. I don't see the problem here."

Ronon feels a presence behind him, looks up to find a soldier with a weapon approaching.

"Everything okay here, sir?" the soldier asks, his hand on the safety.

"It's fine, Lieutenant. I'm fine. He's fine. We're all fine," Sheppard bites out.

When the soldier retreats, Ronon stands, reaches for Sheppard's tray. "I don't like your ways."

"Duly noted," Sheppard says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

***

Sheppard dismisses him outside the commissary.

"Go, get stuff done," he says. "Take a shower. Get some sleep."

Ronon frowns at him. "You mad?"

Sheppard shakes his head. "No. It just…it feels like you've been with us longer than you have. I forget you're not used to things."

"I can adapt," Ronon says.

Sheppard laughs under his breath. "I have no doubt. Now go."

Ronon's already turned toward his quarters when Sheppard stops him again. "Don't adapt too much, okay?" he says. "We need a wild child now and then."

Ronon nods, touches the sleeve of Sheppard's bad arm, feels the warmth of his skin beneath, the bulk of the bandage. "Okay."

He feels Sheppard's gaze on him as he walks away, so he struts a little.

***

Ronon showers, changes clothes. He stretches out on his bed but knows he won't sleep.

He's restless.

He can't stop thinking about what Sheppard said, but it's too much for him to figure out on so little sleep, so he gets up, heads to the training room, where he battles invisible demons for hours, until the muscles in his arms twitch from overuse, until his back protests each movement and his knees question their ability to hold his weight. He feels great, alive and wide awake, the exertion reminding him of what he has to offer, his true gift:

He's a gun in Sheppard's hand, looking for a target.

He has his back to the door when it opens. He recognizes the fall of Sheppard's feet, his smell, and he pushes his body through one more series of twists and intricate turns, one last bone-jarring hit to the mat, his sore muscles forgotten under Sheppard's watchful eyes.

"You need me?" Ronon asks when he's done, wiping sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt, breathing hard.

"No," Sheppard says, stepping in and closing the door.

Ronon raises his eyebrows at him.

"I guess I got used to you being underfoot," Sheppard says.

Ronon grins at him. He knows there are many others Sheppard could have gone to for better conversation, for company.

Maybe he needs something else.

Ronon takes extra care with his stretches, turns his back and lets Sheppard take a good long look at him as he works his hamstrings and legs, running his palm down the taut muscle on the inside of his thigh, groaning when the tightness gives. He waits for a hand on his back, or his flank, some telling touch, and he's surprised when he hears Sheppard speak.

"Tell me about your taskmaster," Sheppard says.

"Why?" Ronon asks, turning to face him again. Sheppard's leaning with his hand braced on the mannequin, looking at him with bright, interested eyes. He looks better than he did before; rest and food seem to have done their job.

Sheppard shrugs. "I want to understand where you're coming from," he says.

"His name was Kell. He was a coward and a traitor," Ronon says, working to keep any inflection from his voice. "He betrayed the men he commanded, men who looked up to him."

"How did he betray his men?" Sheppard asks.

"When the Wraith came, he ordered thousands of infantry to their deaths. He sent them to save himself," Ronon says.

"And you protected him," Sheppard says, understanding too much.

Ronon nods slowly.

"Until I was taken," he says. "I learned of his betrayal from others who were culled."

Sheppard looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, then looks back at Ronon.

"You with him a long time?" he asks.

"Eight years," Ronon says.

Sheppard's eyebrows draw together. "Eight years? Wait. How old were you when you went in?"

"Fourteen," Ronon says.

Sheppard gapes at him. "Isn't that a little young?"

"Not on Sateda," Ronon says, bending at the waist, flattening his palms on the floor, enjoying the stretch in his lower back. "I was big by then. Strong. All the men in my family grow up young. My father entered at twelve."

"And you were assigned to Kell?" Sheppard asks.

Ronon straightens up again, checks to see how Sheppard's holding up.

"Yeah," he says. "For years, I was his favorite."

Sheppard cocks his head. "What does that mean?" he asks.

"There exists no closer bond between two men," Ronon says, his voice sinking into the sing-song of the ritual words, "than that of a taskmaster and his favored warrior."

"So it's usually a good thing?" Sheppard asks. He seems to be feeling his way, a little uncertain.

Ronon should tell him not to bother—words don't hurt him anymore.

"It can be," Ronon says, lifting his arms over his head, working out kinks in his shoulders. "There were benefits I enjoyed."

"What does that mean?" Sheppard asks, grimacing. "Wait, I'm not sure I want to know."

"It wasn't a hardship," Ronon says.

"Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?" Sheppard asks.

"If you're talking about fucking, then, yeah," Ronon says, and Sheppard snaps his head to the side like Ronon slapped him.

"That's part of the deal, being the favorite?" Sheppard asks.

"Yup," Ronon says. "A small part." He smiles. "Well, not so small…"

"How can you joke about it?" Sheppard asks, his hands balling into fists.

"I got the best training. I got the most advanced equipment. I was the youngest Specialist in the service. I had the highest kill rate in the squadron." Ronon ticks off his fingers as he talks.

"So?" Sheppard asks.

"The fucking just…wasn't a big deal," Ronon says, shrugging. "He taught me a lot about myself. It's not like he made me. I wanted to, wanted him. But. He…"

"He didn't just betray them. He betrayed you," Sheppard says, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," Ronon says, going still at the look he sees on Sheppard's face. He looks…dangerous.

"You know, Ronon, I've got to say, I don't think much of your ways, either," Sheppard says, walking toward him with a purpose Ronon's body recognizes immediately—he's hard by the time Sheppard reaches him. "Here, we don't usually equate fucking with loyalty, or favored status, or…good guns."

"No?" Ronon says, letting Sheppard back him up against the wall, letting him hold him there with one good arm.

"No. I'm not saying we always fuck for the right reasons," Sheppard says, scratching his fingertips lightly on Ronon's exposed palm, making him shiver. "Sometimes need overcomes common sense, but usually, we fuck just because we want to, not because we're getting something in return."

"Okay," Ronon says.

"Okay what?" Sheppard asks.

"I'm saying…" Ronon says, twining his fingers with Sheppard's, rubbing his palm, tugging him close enough to feel Sheppard's breath on his neck, "I want to."

"I wasn't really asking—" Sheppard says, but Ronon can feel him harden against his hip.

"I'm telling you, you can fuck me," Ronon says.

He wonders if he stripped and dropped down on all fours if it would make the message any clearer.

"You, um, you know you don't have to— " Sheppard stutters to a stop when Ronon rubs his hands across his ribcage, pulling him flush against him.

"You want to, don't you?" Ronon asks, sliding his hands down to Sheppard's ass, dragging him in the last essential inch.

"Well, duh," Sheppard gasps against his throat.

"Okay, then."

***

Sheppard fucks much the way he leads—from the front and a little out of control.

Ronon's always been fucked on his knees, never on his back, and it's a revelation to watch Sheppard's face as he prepares Ronon, not for long and not carefully. Sheppard's strong fingers rouse his body, but it's his face that Ronon focuses on, the shift from concentration to bliss, the heat that reddens his cheeks, the swollen mark Sheppard bites into his lip as he shapes a place for himself in Ronon's willing body.

Ronon feels silly with his knees up by his shoulders, but he forgets it, forgets everything when Sheppard finally presses home, his cock thick and long and hot. Sheppard groans in his ear when he seats the last of himself deep inside.

"God, you feel good," Sheppard pants.

Ronon clenches down around him, dragging another heartfelt moan from Sheppard. He feels…full. Fantastically full. It feels even better when Sheppard starts to move. Ronon can't do much to help, beached as he is beneath Sheppard, but he uses his muscles the best he can, meets Sheppard's thrusts, watches Sheppard's eyes catch fire when he uses his hand on himself in Sheppard's own rhythm.

Sheppard pounds him for long, drawn-out minutes, braces himself shakily on his bad arm and uses his good to shove Ronon's hand aside, clenching his cock in a grip so tight Ronon knows he can't come until Sheppard lets go.

Sheppard letting go is a beautiful sight. He tightens from head to toe, muscles contracting, mouth contorted. Then he shudders, his eyes closing, head dropping, his body quaking with the force of his climax. Heat floods inside Ronon, and when Sheppard's hand finally loosens around his cock, Ronon shoots in sympathetic response, striping both their chests.

Sheppard drops heavily onto Ronon, pushing his still-hard cock to an angle that makes Ronon yelp and grab Sheppard's backside, pulling him in again, rubbing the head of Sheppard's cock right where he wants it.

Sheppard eventually rolls off him, disengages with a last satisfied grunt. The only sound in the room is their breathing, loudly in synch.

Ronon stretches his legs again, feels his quads protest their unaccustomed position. His body feels well-used, muscles twitching again in the best possible way. He knows he'll feel Sheppard for days, feel him as he trains, as he works.

He likes the idea.

Lying beside Sheppard in the quiet, Ronon feels a contentment he thought he'd surrendered forever.

He did the right thing, staying on Atlantis, accepting Sheppard's offer. He made a good choice.

He hears Sheppard take a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"I think, at the heart of it, we believe in the same things," Sheppard says, rolling his head to look at Ronon. "Fight when you can, run when you have to, don't leave anyone behind."

Ronon turns to him, puts his hand over Sheppard's thudding heart, and nods solemnly.

"This—" Sheppard puts his hand over Ronon's, pushes it down his belly until their fingers tangle in the dark, wet patch of hair between Sheppard's legs. "This is you and me. It has nothing to do with your place on the team. Understand?"

Ronon nods again, strokes Sheppard's cock until it twitches and Sheppard's breath catches.

"Hang on, I'm not done," Sheppard says, and Ronon stills his hand.

"As long as you choose to be here, part of my team, you look out for me, and I'll look out for you," Sheppard says. "Okay?"

"Okay," Ronon says.

"You think I made a crappy decision, you tell me. I may not change my mind, but I'll listen. Got it?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," Ronon says.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you," Sheppard says.

Ronon moves his hand around the back of Sheppard's neck, draws him in, kisses him firmly on the mouth.

Sheppard looks surprised, then gives him a slow grin.

"So far, so good," Ronon says, moving his hand again.