"Skirting The Issue (Epilogue)" by Bone

Author's E-mail: thisisbone@aol.com

Author's URL: http://www.mrks.org/~bone/

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Date: October 29, 2005

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Ask first.

Pairing: John Sheppard/Ronon Dex

Feedback: LiveJournal

Notes: Sequel to Skirting the Issue(which was itself a missing scene from svmadelyn's It Stops Being Funny At Skirts). Written with her blessing.

Disclaimers:  MGM owns these boys. Written for pleasure, not profit. For adult readers only.

Summary: Some folks wanted to know what happened next.


Ronon didn't look at all surprised to see him, and really, why should he? Seeing as how John had discovered his 'I'm Every Woman' riding his thumb and all.

The minute John walked in Ronon's quarters fully penised, Ronon had him backed up against that same wall, not as gently as before, and a whole lot closer. The immediate lurch in John's happily restored cock answered one question: he didn't have to be a girl to appreciate how good Ronon smelled. Or…felt.

"Um," John said into Ronon's chest.

"What?" Ronon asked, backing up just enough to let John get one hand on his chest.

"I've got a shitty favor to ask," John said.

Ronon stepped back, and John resisted the urge to fist his shirt and drag him back. No, he'd better get it out before his brain ended up entirely in his cock. The question was, how to phrase it?

"I wondered--" John said, then choked on air and had to cough. "That is…"

Ronon turned and walked a few paces, then swung back around and looked at him, narrowing his eyes. "You want me to show you how to fuck McKay."

Okay, maybe it wouldn't be that hard. "Not exactly."

Ronon made an impatient sound.

John put one hand up and walked toward him, stopping out of reach, just in case.

"I don't know how much experience he's got, and I don't want to have to go to Carson with any hard-to-explain injuries," he said, defensive but determined. No way was he letting McKay wield his 'instrument' in John's direction without some…direction. "How did you know?"

"He looked mad this morning. When he figured it out," Ronon said, looking down. "I didn't know you and he were…"

John shrugged. "Yeah. Me, neither."

"Huh," Ronon said. He seemed to think that over for minute, then shook himself a little bit and stepped closer. "So…you want him to fuck you?"

"Um, yeah," John said, his face heating.

You know, it was one thing to turn into a girl and have girl orgasms from somebody's big honkin' cock getting stuffed up the tight spots, but that was…and this was…fuck, couldn't they just get <i>on</i> with it?

"It's not like pussy, Sheppard. There's stuff you've got to do," Ronon said.

Gotta love a man who got to the heart of things.

"That's why I'm here," John said. "Seems like you probably know men as well as women, right?"

Ronon closed the gap between them again, moving behind John and sliding one hand under the hem of his shirt, stroking across his stomach and up his chest, his rough palm catching in John's chest hair.

"Better," Ronon murmured against the inch of skin bared between John's shirt collar and his hair.

John's skin remembered that big warm hand, remembered that mobile mouth, and pleasure pooled low and hot in his belly. He relaxed instinctively, letting Ronon's hand on his chest anchor him, letting Ronon's body mold against his back. Oh yeah, he was in good hands.

"You okay with this?" John asked, tilting his head down, feeling Ronon's tongue rasp across the short hair at the base of his skull.

"I'm not turning you down," Ronon said. The feel of his warm breath on John's neck sent increasingly desperate signals down to John's cock. It didn't seem like quite the answer John was looking for, but then Ronon's thumb found his nipple, his man nipple, which it turned out had exactly the same number of nerve endings as his girl nipples, at least for Ronon, and he stopped worrying about it.

In fact, as Ronon stripped him and laid him face down on the bed, just about the only thing John could think about was how very little difference there seemed to be between this time and the last time Ronon stroked him and rubbed him and tracked down all his sweet spots, except, oh, God, this time Ronon <i>tongued</i> him.

As John gasped and writhed and lifted his ass for Ronon's mouth and listened to himself <i>begging</i> for it when he'd never, ever before even contemplated what a hot wet tongue in his ass might feel like, it occurred to him to wonder if he'd been gayer than he knew all along.

Or it could be that Ronon was just really, really good at this.

Or maybe when it worked, it <i>worked,</i> and it didn't really matter much who put which parts where.

Maybe the most important thing was the two whos.

Over the insistent thrum of arousal and his own heavy breathing, he could hear Ronon talking and tried to focus on the sound, catching snatches of phrases, like "plenty of slick," and "much slower." But Ronon didn't make it easy for him, since he talked and then licked, then talked some more, then stabbed his tongue <i>up</i> and <i>in</i> until John beat the bed with his fists and babbled curses and breathless pleas, his body turned inside out and upside down, focused entirely on his previously unimportant asshole. Never had he dreamed he could be so thick with want, so desperate, without a single touch to his cock. Ronon was…Ronon was a fucking <i>genius.</i>

Ronon's tongue loosened him up good, but it still felt like he was trying to wedge a brick in John's ass once he finally started penetrating him. John tried the tricks he'd learned before -- breathe deep, relax, breathe some more, but damn, Ronon's cock was big, and John's ass suddenly felt embarrassingly small.

But Ronon took his time, Ronon was scarily good at what he did, and under his patient tutelage, John's body took him in slowly, steadily. When Ronon finally managed to lodge himself all the way in, balls to the wall, John felt him everywhere -- in his throat, in his neglected cock, in his cramping hands clutching the sides of the narrow bed as if it could ground him, as if there were still some way to keep him from simply flying apart in pieces, or dissolving into nothing.

John knew the smell of him already, recognized the stretch of Ronon's cock inside and the familiar stroke of Ronon's hands on his back. The burning in his ass was new, but John remembered the sounds Ronon made, the groans, the stuttered breath when John moved in a way that pleased him. John's man's body didn't take Ronon as easily as it had when he was a woman, but the feeling was tantalizingly similar once they got into it, once Ronon could take him with deep, heavy thrusts in a rhythm John already knew. The angle Ronon found allowed the blunt head of his cock to jab repeatedly against some spot inside John's ass that was almost clitlike in its power, but somehow it felt even better since it was really <i>him</i> this time.

John couldn’t see Ronon's face, pinned under him as he was, but it didn't matter; he knew what Ronon looked like when he came.

Ronon rolled him like a rag doll, demonstrating one perfectly executed move after another, first with John on his belly, then his back, dragging startled gasps, then needy moans, then, finally, two (or was it three?) climaxes from John's pliant, grateful, ultimately exhausted body.

His last orgasm, a one-two punch of Ronon's fingers palm-deep up his ass and Ronon's mouth on his dick, sucking him like some sort of swirling vortex, had him curling around Ronon's back, his whole body spasming so hard he kicked Ronon in the shin, more a girl orgasm than a boy one, one he could feel from the top of his sweating head to the soles of his feet, his cock so spent it could only give a few pathetic spurts, wrung so dry even his throat felt parched.

Whatever comfort level he might have found with the things that felt the same between fucking as a woman and fucking as a man had been blown right out of his mind by the time Ronon pulled his long fingers out of John's ass and dragged his mouth off John's twitching dick.

So John just laid there for awhile, listening to his heartbeat in his ears, feeling it in his lower lip, his stomach, his cock, his ass. He was one big throb, utterly unable to reconcile what Ronon had just done to him with any previous experience or expectation.

He hadn't learned a goddamned thing.

"Oh, my God," he moaned once he found his voice again. "You ruined me."

Ronon stretched immodestly beside him and gave him a slow smile of singular male satisfaction.

Holy shit.

"You did that on purpose," John said, his voice half-accusing, half-admiring.

"Just following orders," Ronon said.

John turned on his side, wincing at what the shift in position did to places in his body he'd hardly given a moment's thought before today, and glared at him. "Don't give me that. Like you do anything you don't want to do," he said.

"I didn't say I didn't want to do it," Ronon said, running his hand up John's side. "But you might be surprised what I'd like to do that I…don't."

He was looking at John's mouth when he said it, and John leaned toward him before he could think if there was any reason not to, and kissed Ronon full on the mouth. Ronon went still for the length of two strong heartbeats, then devoured him, rolling John on his back and taking his mouth like a coveted prize.

Kissing a man, kissing <i>Ronon</i> felt different. Ronon's wide mouth fit his just right, Ronon's tongue mated with his, strong and surprisingly undisciplined, and John felt through his kiss all the things Ronon hadn't said, all those things he wanted but wouldn't ask for.

John had missed that. Missed it completely. God, he was a jerk

John let his head fall back into Ronon's hands, let Ronon fuck his mouth as thoroughly as he had John's ass, and decided kissing was much more intimate, much more revealing than fucking.

Ronon masked a whole lot of need with a whole lot of skill.

John put his hands on either side of Ronon's face and gentled the kiss, taking it deeper, making it as long and sweet as he knew how.

Ronon blinked down at him dazedly when John finally pulled his mouth away with a rich sucking sound. Ronon's face had flushed to a dark red, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"I should have done that before," John said. "I'm sorry."

"What, for comparison?" Ronon asked, reverting to the obvious, whatever was on the surface.

John shook his head, threading his hands through the thick hair at the back of Ronon's neck. "I like kissing you."

Ronon nodded and licked his lips.

Just so Ronon knew, just so he was clear, John said, "I like all of it. I like you. Doing this with you."

Ronon closed his eyes and dropped his forehead onto John's, an echo of Teyla's gesture of honor. "Any time, Sheppard. Just say the word."

John brushed his lips against Ronon's again, smiling against Ronon's mouth when it followed his, taking his lips in a swift, hard kiss.

"I'll hold you to that," John said.

Ronon lifted his head and smiled at him.


Ronon sent him off with a half-dozen condoms, a vial of some kind of extra slick lube, and the last-minute admonition of, "Don't let McKay talk too much. He'll take the fun right out of it."

As John walked gingerly down the hall, once again feeling Ronon's eyes on his ass, he wondered what Rodney would say to a nice game of Monopoly.

Preferably standing up.


The end.