&fic;

 

Yield

by sugargroupie

NC-17, 1039 words

Summary: a volatile and beautiful mess.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to Stargate: Atlantis or its characters.

Notes: Spoilers for Conversion. Unbeta'd, feedback is very much appreciated. Title and lyrics from slow like honey by fiona apple.

Dedication: This is birthday fic for Shannon. Hope this meets your expectations, yo.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

I'll invade your demeanor
and you'll yield to me
like a scent in the breeze
and you'll wonder what it is about me

Elizabeth has never felt more out of place than she does right now, flexing her toes against the exercise mat, trying not to think about the last time her skin was so sticky and moist with perspiration. She presses a hand to her chest and thinks it a silly motion; her heart is beating like it wants to tear through her chest.

"You okay?"

She nods and rolls her shoulders, grimaces through the sharp pain that meets at her back. There will be bruises there to match the set around her neck in a few days, she's sure. "Hit the floor too hard, I guess."

Ronon shows no other acknowledgement of her words and circles her once more as she stands to her full height. "Try again," he murmurs, not sounding as if he's achieved any physical exertion at all, and Elizabeth pushes back her annoyance. "Lock your wrists, turn your right hip in," he advises, and she nods again wordlessly.

Three days, she thinks. Three days of learning the basic techniques of self-defense and getting knocked on her ass more times than she cares to count. She's cursed him to herself and aloud; watched his eyes brighten with amusement and then respect the one and only time she caught him off guard. It was a minor accomplishment, but she'd enjoyed that thirty seconds of victory before he'd gotten the upper hand again.

Elizabeth remembers feeling trapped when Ronon first asked her about the violence -- you are a leader who does not know how to defend yourself? -- hackles rising immediately at the absurdity in his voice. As if she'd given John permission to wrap his hand around her neck. She remembers the snap response eager on her tongue; and holding back because the situation was absurd. She knows John, and realizes that he'd never hurt her... that he was fighting every instinct inside to let her go.

So very different from Kolya and his intentions of death from the beginning. A situation she honestly never expects to happen again, but she has been wrong about so many things since coming to Atlantis.

Ronon's right arm loops over her shoulder and around her neck slowly and she refocuses on the task at hand. This time he leaves no space between their bodies and she can feel the heat of his chest at her back and shoulders where he towers over her. Elizabeth takes a deep breath, inhales the air and the scent of Ronon; musk and leather and something else she can't name. She stops just short of brushing her lips against his forearm and grips it with her hands instead.

His breath is warm against her neck and she shudders at the feel of his lips, his goatee, against her ear. She thinks he means to direct her next move, to hip check him like before, balance the weight and flip him over her shoulder. Instead he nuzzles the skin there, rubs his nose back across the nape of her neck and buries his face in her damp hair. She should push him away and admonish him for his inappropriate behavior, but she can't stop the brief rock of her hips back into his; a simple encouragement that doesn't require her to think or talk her way out of this situation.

Elizabeth has already decided she wants to fuck him.

Ronon's arm loosens from her neck and he slides his hand down her chest, circling his fingers around her breast. A sigh works it way past her lips as her head tilts back, arching her body until the curve of her ass meets the swell of his cock. The economy of movement is a turn on in itself -- from the swift efficient self-defense techniques, to a slow sensual glide to fit like puzzle pieces. His other hand is heavy and warm against her hip, palm pressing the flesh uncovered by her pants and thin top. Even with her clothes on she feels exposed, skin tingling as his fingers ghost across her belly and his hands cup her breasts.

His name comes out as a moan and Elizabeth turns her head until his lips are right there, just a breath away from hers. She wants to lick his mouth and bite his bottom lip, leans forward just so and Ronon's tongue is hot in her mouth. She curves her arm around to plunge her fingers in his hair and makes a pleased sound in her throat at how soft and thick the locks are. His beautiful hair is a fleeting thought that is quickly overcome with her need and his aggression that rides up her spine. She deepens the kiss as he tucks one hand beneath her bra and massages her nipples with his thumb.

His other hand slips under the bands of her pants and underwear, long fingers immediately seeking out her clit. Much better, she thinks, and sucks in a harsh breath now that he has released her mouth. Ronon rubs back and forth, giving the barest stimulation; teasing her, and Elizabeth's not sure if she wants to lash out or plead for more. She joins her hand with his and guides his fingers to map and learn her body. He bares his teeth, a volatile and beautiful mess, and she gently licks his lip until he opens his mouth.

"Make me come, Ronon," she whispers hotly as he enters one finger then another inside and begins to stroke her, causing them both to moan at the slow friction. He grinds his cock against her ass, easily matching the rhythm of his hand and she continues her own manipulation of her body. The sex is a slow burn, a deliberate slide of skin against skin. He adds the pressure she needs and she tightens her grip in his hair, falling over the edge.

She's still panting, lets her head fall back to his shoulder, when he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. Biting her lip, Elizabeth turns in his arms and touches her fingers to his cheeks, allowing herself a moment of wonder.

"Training isn't over yet," he murmurs, and she reaches for the buckle on his leathers with a smile.

*

 

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