Word Count: 303
Summary: It’s hard to adjust from seven years on the run.
Prompt: For October 27th challenge at slashing_lorne: ‘Change’.
Disclaimer: So not mine!
Author’s Note: drkcherry wanted more Lorne/Ronon, which really is a pretty sensible request. ;)
He had been running for so long that he could barely remember a time before. He’d let himself forget. It was easier, less painful. He hadn’t let himself get close to anyone, despite the times he’d been tempted, it would have only spelled out their death.
But now, in the City of the Ancients, everything was different. It wasn’t perfect, not even close but it was better. Still people looked at him strangely. In most cases, it was fear or mistrust that he saw reflected in the eyes around him. With his team it was something different, something close to what he’d had with his unit back home. With a few others, it was something different altogether. It had been so long he didn’t even know how to react to that knowledge.
But when he caught Lorne looking at him in that way, during a training session, he looked back. It was hard to figure out exactly what had happened next. One minute they were sparring, the next Lorne was on his back and he was holding him down easily, the man wasn’t struggling. Then their clothes were gone and he was fucking Lorne, fast and frantic, literally like a man starved.
Desperate sounds of lust and want filled the air as they rocked against each other. Ronon came undone and shuddered, all coordination lost, as he came. Lorne was only movements behind, cursing “holy hell” in his climax.
“I don’t know this part.” Ronon muttered as they, otherwise silently, struggled to put their clothes back on.
Lorne smiled, part affection, part deviousness. “Guess you’ll be needing a lot of practice then.”
It didn’t take long to relearn it. Turned out some things didn’t change with time and galaxy. Of course he didn’t tell Lorne that. He enjoyed the practice far too much.