Ronon stepped across the threshold of his quarters and stopped dead. The soft hiss of the door ignored in favour of the view before him.
John. How good it felt to call his CO by his given name. There were few who could own the privilege. Ronon had no name for what they were to each other, yet. Everything was still so new.
Getting buried together in the rubble of Michael's building hadn't been Ronon's idea of a first date, but he and John had survived to rescue Teyla. Even if John should have been in the infirmary and not commanding an op. Ronon had agreed with Keller on that one.
Regardless, Teyla was back home where she belonged; a new mother with Kenan at her side. And Keller was no longer in danger of morphing into a hive ship. Ronon would take the wins.
John lay stretched out on Ronon's bed, eyes closed and his earbug thingies in. He looked the most at-peace Ronon had seen him in a long time. The dressing peeked stark white from where John's black tee had ridden up, revealing a vulnerable belly Ronon's hands ached to explore.
He shrugged out of his coat and had his tunic and boots off in the four strides it took to reach his bed.
The mattress dipped as Ronon sat on its edge and swung his body to lie flat. John shifted with the movement, seeking out Ronon's body heat, but didn't wake. The stretch of black fabric over John's hips was distracting, the way it defined the soft line of John's dick and the muscles of his relaxed thighs. Ronon licked his lips, his leathers growing tight. He shifted, adjusting his inseam in an attempt to gain a little room. It was too soon. John had not fully healed, and Ronon, well the ability to speak to his lover would be preferable. Something Keller said he wouldn't be doing for another four days.
He breathed deep and slow, and felt his body relax. Ronon smiled, they were a pair. All banged up and too exhausted to do anything more than share a bed in the most basic sense.
John's eyelashes were delicate sweeps over sleep-flushed cheeks, but his lips still held a hard edge to them. Ronon wanted to trace that mouth with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to kiss away the burdens that troubled John even in sleep. He wanted to taste only drowsy want in their stead. Ronon held himself in check, kept his need banked and breathed through the burn of denied hunger. The time would come when the world would once again crash in on them, and they would answer the call to arms. But it wasn't now. John needed rest, and Ronon would not be the one to steal it from him.
He was curious though. What was it that John chose to take with him into the depths of slumber?
Ronon eased the tiny speaker free from John's ear and wiggled it into his own. The fast beat and the husky singing of an unknown Earther flooded inside his mind. It was soothing as his body teetered on the edge of sleep, yet Ronon's heart kicked and sparked at the lyrics. Each string of words spoke to Ronon; first of him and Sheppard, and then of him and John as one.
We're both looking for something, we've been afraid to find
It's easier to be broken, it's easier to hide
It wasn't until Ronon came to Atlantis that he discovered music could have words. Words you could use to express what you found too difficult to declare any other way. The Earth songs were strange, but powerful. Especially to someone who had only ever experienced instrumentals and ceremonial drum solos. Pegasus didn't have a lot worth singing about.
Ronon's heart thudded heavy and light at the same time as he listened.
Feeling alive all over again
As deep as the sky, under my skin
Like being in love for the first time
He startled when John's fingers circled their tips on the sensitive flesh of his inner wrist, repeated the pattern on Ronon's open palm, before entwining their fingers together. Ronon had not realised he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them John was looking at him. Hazel eyes with their flecks of gold, taking in everything that Ronon was.
The world that I see inside you, waiting to come to life
Waking me up to dreaming, reality in your eyes.
Ronon reached with his free hand to trace John's lips, felt their soft rasp and the moist heat of John's breath on his skin, as John leaned into his touch, gaze never leaving Ronon's.
Looking at you, holding my breath,
For once in my life I'm scared to death,
I'm taking a chance, letting you inside.
He made to speak. So much John must know. But the fingers against his lips were calloused and warm, and gentle in their scolding. No talking, not for four more days. John squeezed their joined hands, ran his thumb against Ronon's and rolled over to press his body into Ronon's side. The contrast of soft spikes and rough stubble on his chest was pleasurable and made Ronon smile into the top of John's tussled head.
Maybe I'm wrong, I'm feeling right
Where I belong with you tonight
This singer, Ronon decided as he succumbed to the lure of sleep, must be a sorcerer of great power. For how else could he have captured all Ronon felt, and conjured it into music. A song John understood, and had labelled as them.