
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5181041.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural, Stargate_Atlantis
  Relationship:
      Ronon_Dex/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Ronon_Dex
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Fusion, Military_Backstory, First_Time_Blow_Jobs,
      Drunk_Blow_Jobs, Public_Blow_Jobs, Public_Hand_Jobs, Mentor/Protégé
  Series:
      Part 2 of Sateda_Dean
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-07-31 Words: 1736
****** Nothing More Dangerous ******
by mona1347, poisontaster
Summary
     Set prior to Sateda's fall. It's part of what they do, part of being
     a son of Sateda.
It starts easy.

It's part of what they do, part of being a son of Sateda.
The body has needs, the Army has needs, the Army provides. Ronon's been with
boys-men-before.
And at first, Dean is like every corn-fed farmer boy before him: almost too
stupid to live, barely knowing his right from his left and as much a danger to
his squadmates as his enemy.
Ronon decides to fuck him because, even as pretty as he is, the boy desperately
needs to get laid, and because someone needs to bring him to heel, show him the
way. Frankly, Ronon's a little surprised he didn't have to do more than break
Goshul's nose for first crack at the rookie, but there it is.
He gets the kid drunk first, because he's not really sure how it is in whatever
backwater province Dean's from. Sometimes they get weird. Dean spends the whole
time in the bar talking about his home, his brother Samuel, and about his
father-who was a formidable warrior in his own time.
It's not until much later that Ronon realizes that Dean never once mentions any
girl he fucked or left behind or wanted to marry or any of the other things
boys say about girls they knew when they're far from home and on their first
real drunk.

Dean's eyes seem as big as the moon in the sky-and about as hazy-when Ronon
takes him outside, into the darkness. He blinks up at Ronon and Ronon feels
something low in his belly shift and slide, well-oiled and hot.

"Dean." Ronon brushes one thumb over Dean's bottom lip and tightens when Dean's
mouth opens, pliant and soft. "I want to show you something."
Dean licks his lips, brushing Ronon's skin with the tip of his tongue, then
flinches a little at the contact, embarrassed, like he didn't mean it.
"W...what?"
Ronon smiles, brings his other hand to Dean's hip. "You gonna make me say it?"
He goes to his knees, pushing Dean back against the wall by his now two-handed
grip on Dean's pelvis. "Come on, farmboy. You must know all about fucking. All
those hours watching the sheep."
Dean laughs a little this time at the insult, choked and gaspy and slightly
hysterical. Ronon runs his lips over the quickly hardening skin pressing up
against the laces of Dean's pants. "Anyone ever do this for you?"
Dean pants and shakes his head, palms pressing against the wall behind him.
"Heard the men talking sometimes. In the field. But never..." Another gasp when
Ronon opens his mouth and breathes hot against the cloth. "Oh. I didn't...think
they were telling the truth."
Dean smells hot and clean and sour-sharp with the 'shine he'd spilled in his
lap earlier. Ronon's voice roughens as he rubs his cheek against wool and ready
flesh. "I can make it real good. If you want."
Dean nods furiously, up and down, again and again like the repetition will make
it more true. "I want." He meets Ronon's eyes, brave and terrified and saying
yes. For the first time, Ronon thinks, maybe this idiot sheep-herder will make
a proud son of Sateda someday after all.
"Okay." Ronon answers, bringing fingers to the laces, pulling and tugging and
slipping the ties from their slits until the cloth parts and Ronon can reach
inside. Dean's cock is as long and flushed-pink, pretty as the rest of him.
Ronon looks up and smiles again. Dean's wide eyes look back, black as the
gaping O of his wet mouth. Ronon fists one hand roughly around Dean's cock and
tugs once, slow and easy, pulling out a desperate, choked noise. "Nice."
"R-Ronon?"

Dean is fifteen and never had his wick dipped. Probably never had anybody even
hold it.
Ronon takes the time to smooth his thumb soothingly across the soft plane of
Dean's hip, mouths across the same sweet patch of skin. Dean's breath hitches,
his body tenses...and then it all goes out of him on a puff. Dean's hand comes
up, alights in Ronon's hair so carefully that Ronon barely feels the pressure
of fingertips on his scalp.

Good boy, Ronon thinks. His own cock stirs thick and hungry in his pants but he
lets it growl a bit in favor of licking slow and lingering across the swelling
head of Dean's dick. Dean's already spilling fluid in heavy, salty drops. Ronon
dips his tongue into the slit and laps it up; Dean's fingers fist tight,
tugging against his scalp. Good reflexes. Ronon approves.

He slacks his lips, lets them flow over Dean like water while the boy trembles
and makes soft, gasping bird-noises. Dean's voice has barely broken and it
seesaws between the rasp of adulthood and the tenderness of a boy. Ronon slips
his hand under the rough homespun of Dean's tunic and rubs hard, rough circles
against the boy's muscled belly. He's not soft, Dean; not his cock, not his
body, not the heart of him. He's untried, but he's not soft. Ronon imagines
what it will be like, sinking his dick into Dean. More than before, he's
looking forward to finding out.

He thinks Dean will let him. Not tonight-Ronon wouldn't ask tonight, this is
only his first suck after all and Ronon wants to pace himself, there's time-but
probably sooner rather than later by the way Dean's hands pull at Ronon's
dreads, tightening and then loosening quickly again, trying not to hurt but
wanting.

Wanting more. Wanting everything.

Ronon makes a pleased noise and pushes back against Dean's hands while tugging
him in by his lean hips. He pulls off and murmurs against Dean's slit, "S'okay.
Take what you need."
Dean's eyes roam Ronon's face-he hasn't looked away once again Ronon thinks,
Good. Potential. Dean makes a high, girlish and quickly stifled noise when
Ronon licks a long stripe up the underside of his dick but his, "You sure?"
comes out low-pitched and gravelly.
Ronon laughs a little around the cock in his mouth and pulls back again. "I can
take whatever you got to give, farmboy." Dean finally closes his eyes, the back
of one hand flying up to press against his lush mouth. God. Ronon wants that
mouth. He wraps his other hand more firmly against Ronon's skull, fingers
twining in the ropes of his hair, and pushes his hips up against Ronon's hands,
pushes his cock further into Ronon's mouth, rubbing it hard between and against
Ronon's slick lips. And then he does it again. And again.

Faster. Harder.
This won't take long now. Ronon never expected it to and he feels a small
relief, even as he regrets not being able to make this last forever. His own
cock aches against the palm he presses against it. Dean cries out above him,
thrusts into him, vibrating with previously unimagined feeling. "Ronon—" He
fists his fingers in Ronon's dreads in warning, but Ronon only hums and drives
his lips and tongue against Dean harder until he's shuddering and spilling,
trying to slide down the wall.

Ronon spits into the dust and holds Dean up through the spasms of orgasm,
through the tiny, trembling aftershocks, until Dean's breathing slows its
erratic race. Briskly, he tucks the boy back in, pulls the laces tight enough
to hold Dean's pants to the points of his hips and then stands, pressing Dean
back into the brick. Dean's breath hitches again, but Ronon doesn't have to
prompt him for Dean's fingers to go to Ronon's cock, palming against the bulge,
struggling with the laces.

"Yes," Ronon breathes, his voice gritting across the single syllable, as Dean
slips his fingers into Ronon's trousers and lifts him free.

"Yeah," Dean echoes and, to Ronon's surprise, he presses his trembling lips
against the heated skin of Ronon's neck. Despite that, Dean's hand moves smooth
and sure on Ronon's dick. Ronon guesses Dean's spent no small amount of time
fucking his own hand and it's not too hard to figure out how that translates to
someone else if you've got half a brain, which Ronon's starting to come around
to Dean's side on. Dean's other arm slides around Ronon's waist, open palmed on
the small of Ronon's back, and holds Ronon against him.
"I... Fuck. Yes." Ronon finds himself thrusting against him, into his hand-good
hands, callused and big, tight and rough around his cock-and it makes Dean's
strokes shorter, faster than they might be, without enough room to maneuver
fist and elbow between Ronon's body and the wall. "Good. Yeah. Like that,
Dean." Ronon tilts his head to the side, giving Dean's pretty fucking mouth
better access to his neck. "Just like...that."

Dean's still shaking, small shudders that flutter beneath his skin. His voice
is half-shot from liquor and orgasm, dirty and breathless. "I want t'do that to
you too." Dean leans back as much as he can with Ronon pressing him into the
brick behind, and turns his face until their eyes meet. "What you did. With
your mouth. Can I? Can I taste you next time?"

And that's just it. The thought of that ridiculous mouth wrapped sloppily
around Ronon's cock, eager green eyes staring up through gold-tipped eyelashes.
The thought that Dean wants this again, wants to try things with him... "Fuck."
Ronon comes suddenly, groaning and overloaded, pleasure flash-flooding up from
the base of his spine, and open eyes fixed on Dean's earnest, wide-pupilled
gaze.
"Feels so different," Dean whispers and Ronon thinks he's talking to himself,
eyes flashing down to Ronon's spurting, softening cock in his fingers. Ronon
looks down too and the sight of Dean's pale fingers around him, the skin gummed
with come, makes Ronon shoot again, weakly and with a grunt.

"I need another drink." Ronon shakes back his dreads when it's done, letting
the cool night air hit his overheated skin. He tucks himself back in and
fastens up his pants, amused as Dean tries to figure out what to do with his
fistful of come. He winds up wiping it on the brick of the wall behind him.

"I think..." Dean's first step is unsteady, but Ronon doesn't think it's the
drink anymore. "I think...me too." His grin is shy but sleekly pleased. It's
infectious and Ronon finds the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly.

"Good." Ronon thumps Dean in the chest with one loosely closed fist. "You're
buying."
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