"Protection (Epilogue)" by Bone

Once isn't enough for Ronon. Not even close.

Sheppard makes mild protesting noises when Ronon starts to work him with purpose, wrapping his fingers around Sheppard's spent cock and giving long, tight pulls, but the protests dissolve into moans, then hitched breaths, in direct proportion to the renewed strength of Sheppard's hard-on.

It's easy to get Sheppard to fuck him again.

Ronon's slick inside, stretched and ready; all he has to do is roll over, get his knees underneath him, and Sheppard's there, already hard enough to penetrate, getting harder with each steady thrust, his sweat-slick torso sliding across Ronon's back.

Being face down with his ass in the air is familiar, even comfortable, and Ronon relaxes into it. Sheppard knows what he's doing, and this time Ronon's not as overwhelmed; he can close his eyes and shut out everything except the stiff length of cock tunneling his ass, the heated weight of Sheppard's body draping him.

He feels like he's been hard for seven years, like he'll never catch up.

He feels the wasted years like a hand around his throat, choking him, and he swallows hard, makes a stifled sound.

Sheppard freezes above him.

"Too much?" Sheppard asks, sliding his hand around Ronon's chest, holding on.

"Not enough," Ronon answers, pressing back against him, driving Sheppard's cock even deeper.

Sheppard's hand jerks on his chest, and Ronon feels him exhale sharply against his back.

"I don't want to—"

Ronon reaches behind him, grabs a handful of Sheppard's ass and hauls him closer, spreading his thighs to give Sheppard an extra increment of room to use.

"You're not hurting me," Ronon growls, digging his fingers in when Sheppard still hesitates. *"Fuck* me."

"Jesus," Sheppard says, breathing hard. "Get up," he says, tugging on Ronon, pulling him to his hands and knees. Ronon misses his weight, his heat, but Sheppard makes up for it with thrusts so powerful a weaker man might have staggered. Ronon braces his palms, brackets his thighs, and *takes* it, feeling his own cock leap in response.

He doesn't falter, holds fast to his position while Sheppard starts to lose it, each thrust heavier now, harder than the last, each rhythmic plunge punctuated by a low ragged groan.

*Yes.*

Sheppard's good hand grabs Ronon's hip with enough force to leave bruises, and he rams his cock balls-deep in Ronon's ass and stays there, pulsing hot, still hard. Ronon grabs his own balls, trying to stave off the climax that's racing down his back, but Sheppard reaches around him, pushes his hand away and grabs his cock, using his thumb to exploit Ronon's own need against him.

"Come on, Ronon," Sheppard says, sounding both aroused and amused. "Give it up."

"You first," Ronon says, the words scraping out of his throat, an old automatic response from a time when everything was a battle to be won or lost, even fucking.

Sheppard laughs low behind him, and settles himself more firmly against Ronon's ass.

"I can do this all day," Sheppard says softly, slowly, and Ronon has to turn his head, see the look on Sheppard's face.

Sheppard's skin is streaked red from his cheeks to his chest, his hair wet with sweat. He's resting his bad arm on Ronon's hip, but he seems completely unaware that he's protecting it. He looks like the only thing on his mind is figuring out how to make Ronon come his brains out, and Ronon turns away when he feels that invisible hand clench around his windpipe again.

He takes a second to breathe, to push away his demons, to refocus on what's important:

Here.

Now.

Not the past or the uncertain future.

For now there's just this.

This time, for as long as he can have it.

This man, fiercely hard within him, for as long as he can have him.

He relaxes consciously, breathes slow and even until the urge to come abates, counts his heartbeats until he thinks he can speak without hurting his throat.

"Fine. Make it last," Ronon says, flexing his elbows one at a time. "It's been awhile."

He clenches down experimentally, just to see what Sheppard will do, and sees stars when Sheppard rolls his hips in one direction and his thumb in the other simultaneously.

Sheppard leans over, brushes against Ronon's back, changing the angle of his cock to a spot that makes Ronon's resolve (and his knees) waver.

"How long?" Sheppard asks, picking up the pace again, long smooth strokes just at the right angle, just the right degree of punishing force, his hand on Ronon's cock providing an equal counterpoint, rough and tight.

Damn, he learns quick.

"Too long," Ronon admits, his voice slurred. "Too fucking long."

Ronon drops his head, feels blood rush to his face, lets Sheppard take over.

Sheppard slows everything down, seems to stretch time until Ronon's shuddering in his stance, his thigh muscles jumping with strain, his ass burning, dripping sweat onto the mat beneath him, so slick Sheppard's hand slips off his hip and he falls heavily onto Ronon's back.

Sheppard's sudden weight on him is all he needs, and he spurts into Sheppard's hand, long wrenching spasms that seem to shake him long after his cock is spent.

He forces himself to stay upright, to give Sheppard the ballast he needs to take what's been waiting for him. He feels Sheppard's appreciative moan against the half-healed cut on his shoulder, lets the small pain arrow its way to pleasure.

Maybe Sheppard knows Ronon's *this* close to collapsing altogether, maybe he, too, has reached the end of his endurance. If he'd held back before, he's not holding back now, and Ronon lets him take whatever he wants, gives as much as his exhausted body will allow until Sheppard seizes up behind him again, the sound and feel of Sheppard coming familiar already, welcome.

When Sheppard's stopped lunging, when his voice has dropped from shouts to murmurs, Ronon carefully eases them down, taking Sheppard with him. Sheppard's only protest this time seems to be with regard to wanting his cock to stay in Ronon's ass, so Ronon lies still, lets Sheppard arrange himself on his back, the subtle shifting of Sheppard's hips urging his cock to rise again.

Twice isn't going to be enough, either.

Not by a long shot.

***

"How long, Ronon."

Sheppard mutters the words against Ronon's back, his mouth tracing first one scar, then another, circling the latest cut, the good one, with his tongue.

Face to face, Ronon might not have answered, but lying beneath Sheppard, his head cushioned on his arms, mellow in the aftermath, it's easy somehow to say, "Five years, give or take."

"That's a long time," Sheppard says, stretching his bad arm.

Ronon grunts in agreement. "Last time I did this, a whole village died."

Sheppard stills above him, then Ronon feels him relax again, deliberately. "Well, that would certainly cramp your style."

Ronon closes his eyes, feels Sheppard's mouth on him again, trailing up his back.

"It wasn't worth it," Ronon says.

He feels Sheppard's chin rest on his shoulder, feels him nod.

"So, you staying with us, that's a pretty big deal," Sheppard says.

"I still think it's a risk," Ronon says, wishing he could match Sheppard's casual tone, striving for it. Failing.

"For you or for us?" Sheppard asks, scraping his chin lightly across the Ronon's shoulder.

"Yes," Ronon says, feeling as if his very bones are melting under Sheppard's touch.

Sheppard pushes aside the braids at his neck, presses his lips to the juncture between Ronan's neck and shoulder. Ronon tilts his head to the side, offers his throat to Sheppard.

Sheppard leans forward, licks the stretched tendon, and says, "It's worth it."