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TITLE: First Contact
SUMMARY: Rodney squirms.
CATEGORY: vignette
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: Technically, this could be considered the first of five Rodney/Ronon ficlets running along the themes of the Five Stages of Sexual Contact (this ficlet is 'Touching'), but this one is pre-slash and could probably be put under a 'friendship' file. I'm not sure if I'm up to writing the others at this stage, but we'll see how this one is taken.
First Contact
"Don't move."
Rough-palmed and long-fingered, rock-steady with a gun and vice-tight in a grip, Rodney's seen these hands wield a gun, seen them clenched in fists. They've hustled him ungently along woodland paths and the corridors of Wraith hiveships, prodded him into groggy wakefulness in the lab and off world, and stilled him with a single gesture in the middle of a speech or an explanation.
Now, those hands ease Rodney into a new position, resting comfortably on his spine, on his shoulders as Ronon corrects his posture.
Rodney squirms.
"How can I not move? You're poking me!"
"Ticklish?"
Rodney knows to distrust such questions from the military and pseudo-military on this expedition. "No," he says flatly and forces himself not to wriggle.
"You don't look so small when you sit up straight."
"Small?" Rodney splutters. "I am not sm--" Then he sees Ronon's smirk. "Ha-ha," he says flatly. "Next to you, everyone looks short." Then he half leaps from his seat. "Hey! Stop that!"
Ronon's fingers pause in the middle of walking lightly down the back of Rodney's ribs, marking out distances on his spine. It's itchy in a way that's both ticklish and yet not ticklish, like the build-up of electric charge when walking across new carpet, or the hum of a machine when it's switched on in a silent room.
"Stop moving."
"What are you doing now?"
"Checking," comes the rumbling answer.
Rodney tries to look over his shoulder. "Checking what?" He feels like an idiot.
The hands stop measuring out his spine, but push his head forward instead. Thumbs rest behind his ears, just shy of Rodney's thumping jugular pulse; the fingers along his jaw guide his head back into position. "McKay."
"All right, all right. You should be grateful I'm letting you do this."
He doesn't need to turn around to see Ronon's smirk. He doesn't need to see that the wide mouth has stretched into a rakish grin. He doesn't need to see that the corners of the dark eyes have crinkled in amusement. He just knows that that's what's happening on Ronon's face, the same way he knows that Ronon's going to do this until he's done.
He tells himself that if he sits still and lets it all happen, then Ronon will go away and leave him alone.
Rodney just wants to be left alone.
"You complain about backache."
"I complain about a lot of things." Including his team-mates and the liberties they take with him.
"Your back wouldn't hurt so much if you sat up."
"Says Ronon Dex, registered physiotherapist," sneers Rodney. But now that all the poking and prodding has stopped, he does feel better.
"One less thing to complain about." Ronon steps back, the hulking warmth of him vanishing from Rodney's personal space. "Going for a run."
"Good. Go away and leave me alone." It's said without animosity though, and Ronon pauses with one of those large, rough-palmed hands of his resting on the doorframe and smirks at Rodney before he vanishes from sight and the heavy gait of his loping steps drift into the distance, leaving Rodney alone.
Rebellious at being prodded about, Rodney slumps again, only to realise that the position Ronon bullied him into really does feel better. Now that he's slumped back down, he's got an ache in his lower back.
For a moment, Rodney can feel the warm fingers pressing against his back and his spine, moving his shoulders around. He straightens his body and the ache in his back moves to his stomach and goes weirdly twisty.
Then he lets out a long breath and returns to his work.
- fin -
SUMMARY: Rodney squirms.
CATEGORY: vignette
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: Technically, this could be considered the first of five Rodney/Ronon ficlets running along the themes of the Five Stages of Sexual Contact (this ficlet is 'Touching'), but this one is pre-slash and could probably be put under a 'friendship' file. I'm not sure if I'm up to writing the others at this stage, but we'll see how this one is taken.
First Contact
"Don't move."
Rough-palmed and long-fingered, rock-steady with a gun and vice-tight in a grip, Rodney's seen these hands wield a gun, seen them clenched in fists. They've hustled him ungently along woodland paths and the corridors of Wraith hiveships, prodded him into groggy wakefulness in the lab and off world, and stilled him with a single gesture in the middle of a speech or an explanation.
Now, those hands ease Rodney into a new position, resting comfortably on his spine, on his shoulders as Ronon corrects his posture.
Rodney squirms.
"How can I not move? You're poking me!"
"Ticklish?"
Rodney knows to distrust such questions from the military and pseudo-military on this expedition. "No," he says flatly and forces himself not to wriggle.
"You don't look so small when you sit up straight."
"Small?" Rodney splutters. "I am not sm--" Then he sees Ronon's smirk. "Ha-ha," he says flatly. "Next to you, everyone looks short." Then he half leaps from his seat. "Hey! Stop that!"
Ronon's fingers pause in the middle of walking lightly down the back of Rodney's ribs, marking out distances on his spine. It's itchy in a way that's both ticklish and yet not ticklish, like the build-up of electric charge when walking across new carpet, or the hum of a machine when it's switched on in a silent room.
"Stop moving."
"What are you doing now?"
"Checking," comes the rumbling answer.
Rodney tries to look over his shoulder. "Checking what?" He feels like an idiot.
The hands stop measuring out his spine, but push his head forward instead. Thumbs rest behind his ears, just shy of Rodney's thumping jugular pulse; the fingers along his jaw guide his head back into position. "McKay."
"All right, all right. You should be grateful I'm letting you do this."
He doesn't need to turn around to see Ronon's smirk. He doesn't need to see that the wide mouth has stretched into a rakish grin. He doesn't need to see that the corners of the dark eyes have crinkled in amusement. He just knows that that's what's happening on Ronon's face, the same way he knows that Ronon's going to do this until he's done.
He tells himself that if he sits still and lets it all happen, then Ronon will go away and leave him alone.
Rodney just wants to be left alone.
"You complain about backache."
"I complain about a lot of things." Including his team-mates and the liberties they take with him.
"Your back wouldn't hurt so much if you sat up."
"Says Ronon Dex, registered physiotherapist," sneers Rodney. But now that all the poking and prodding has stopped, he does feel better.
"One less thing to complain about." Ronon steps back, the hulking warmth of him vanishing from Rodney's personal space. "Going for a run."
"Good. Go away and leave me alone." It's said without animosity though, and Ronon pauses with one of those large, rough-palmed hands of his resting on the doorframe and smirks at Rodney before he vanishes from sight and the heavy gait of his loping steps drift into the distance, leaving Rodney alone.
Rebellious at being prodded about, Rodney slumps again, only to realise that the position Ronon bullied him into really does feel better. Now that he's slumped back down, he's got an ache in his lower back.
For a moment, Rodney can feel the warm fingers pressing against his back and his spine, moving his shoulders around. He straightens his body and the ache in his back moves to his stomach and goes weirdly twisty.
Then he lets out a long breath and returns to his work.
- fin -
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I like the idea of the pairing, but I'm trying to work out if it's worth continuing and adding to.
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Have you joined
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Thanks for responding and I'll see if I can't add at least four more stories to the Rodney/Ronon section of fandom...
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They've hustled him ungently along woodland paths and the corridors of Wraith hiveships, prodded him into groggy wakefulness in the lab and off world, and stilled him with a single gesture in the middle of a speech or an explanation.
There are a dozen stories in that paragraph.
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Mmmmm...
I'd offer chocolate-drizzled Rodney as a bribe, but I'm a little too busy cleaning it off of him at the moment... *VBEG*
You can have him later, after he's showered?
*looks at his naked ass*
Yeah, sorry, I realized I just can't part with this one. I'll have the factory send you your own clone.
*makes grabby hands at her Rodney and purrs when they're filled*
Okay, um. Please write more, I need to... uhm, oh yeah... see a man 'bout... a...
*purrs more*
-----}-@
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On a completely unrelated note, your journal header should say: 'Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias', the way it's written now is actually wrong.
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I like the way you use descriptive phrases in relation to the characters. :)
"McKay."
"All right, all right. You should be grateful I'm letting you do this."
He doesn't need to turn around to see Ronon's smirk. He doesn't need to see that the wide mouth has stretched into a rakish grin. He doesn't need to see that the corners of the dark eyes have crinkled in amusement. He just knows
I love that Rodney knows Ronon's reactions, and that there's no point in trying to stop him. *g* Mmmmm...squirming Rodney...very nice, and yes...more is love. :) Thank-you.
Anna