nervousAuthor: Aelora
Pairing: Rodney McKay/Ronon Dex
Rating: PG
Feedback: Please and thank you.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish they were. I'd drench them both in chocolate and lick from head to toe and... I'll stop there. Not mine. I'm just playing with them.
Summary: True love comes from the stomach.
A/N: Thanks to the lovely
icalynn for the beta! This is my *counts on hand* third slash-related fic ever. I did two in SV that I think maybe two people read. I'll be happy if three read this. :)The first time Rodney McKay met Ronon Dex, Rodney had been hanging upside down, caught in a trap set by the Satedan. An extremely barbaric, yet effective means of capture that had left him hanging in a humiliating position, staring eye to nose with the big, and frankly terrifying, man. Trying his best to be humble and unassuming (Sheppard had once told Rodney that he had a habit of making the prospect of being friends with him as about as appealing as having lunch with a Wraith), Rodney had asked the stranger if he could cut him down. After receiving a sneer that left him wondering if he were not safer dangling in the air like a slab of beef than he would be on the ground, the rope was cut. And Rodney, gathering the last vestiges of his dignity securely around him, lay sprawled in an undignified heap on the too-warm ground, ass aching and head pounding, as Ronon Dex came to stand over him.
Their eyes met, and Rodney – whose mouth tended to move faster than his brain, no matter what he might argue to the contrary – told the giant towering above him, “You could have handled that a little more delicately. Do you know how dangerous concussions are? Especially to a man like me? The welfare of my brain is important not only to me, but to every living soul in two galaxies!”
The man had grunted, turned and strolled off, a reaction that Rodney had grown accustomed to with everyone he knew. Well, except for the Colonel, who usually just rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.
***
When they were captured on Olesia, Rodney knew that he was likely the only person who had any chance of making certain they were able to escape. This allowed both a momentary pride to settle about his shoulders, and that niggling shadow of doubt to engulf his mind. Sure, he was capable of fixing the DHD on the jumper, but could he actually do it in the timeframe that was necessary was the problem. He had little doubt in his abilities; it was the relative chaos of the universe surrounding him that usually set Rodney in a state of panic. Yes, he could get the Stargate activated. But what if Torrell decided to just shoot them all before he could finish? What if the Wraith showed up and began scooping them all into their darts? What if the sun in that particular system decided to go supernova all of a sudden? These were things that Rodney could not control.
Oddly enough, it took just three little words from Ronon to calm his mind, and force him to focus on the task at hand – that of getting the team the hell out of there. Eldon had appeared with a knife, prepared to rescue them and handed it over to the Satedan first. Rodney wouldn’t have done that, but then that was what made him smarter than everyone else.
Ronon had approached him, knife in hand, sharp end slipping between the rope and his torso to cut him free. Between the thoughts of what would be needed to repair the DHD, the worries that chaos reigned supreme in this universe and anything could prevent him from saving them all, the memory of an equation his eight grade calculus teacher had gotten wrong, and the realization that he was really, really hungry – Rodney could only see that far too-sharp knife splitting him from sternum to navel. It wasn’t that he feared Ronon would so callously do such a thing – he knew enough to, at least, somewhat trust Sheppard’s instinct when it came to people. Instincts aside, the knife could have slipped, Rodney could have sneezed at the wrong moment – anything could have gone wrong and then their one chance for escaping the penal colony would be laying there dying in a big pool of blood. He planned on explaining this to Ronon once his heart resumed its normal, steady beat, but Ronon beat him to the punch.
“Suck it up,” he’d told him, in a deep, growling murmur that stilled any ounce of protest in Rodney’s mind.
Suck it up. And Rodney had.
***
If there was one thing Rodney shared in common with Ronon – and really, on first glance, there couldn’t possibly be anything they shared in common – it was an appreciation of the finest thing life had to offer: food. Of course, unlike Rodney, the Satedan seemed capable of eating anything, at any time, and never suffering the consequences of his actions. Rodney couldn’t help but envy him this one thing. Sure, it was handy to be brawny and brave and know how to shoot a weapon straight and all, but in the end, statistics would show that intelligence always won out. Rodney had that in abundance, but he couldn't eat citrus, and that meant missing out on a variety of fabulous foods.
While Ronon was capable of eating anything the universe had to offer, Rodney discovered that the sad fact of it was, there were many wondrous things he hadn’t had the chance to try. So one day in the commissary, when there wasn’t a crisis in the labs that was needing his immediate attention, Rodney decided to introduce Ronon to one of the most orgasmic pleasures in life – chocolate cake. He didn’t know what it was that encouraged him to make such a grand gesture; usually if there was cake, he wasn’t inclined to sharing, not even with a threat of physical violence from one of the Marines.
Whatever it was that had led him make this supreme culinary sacrifice, Rodney found himself sitting down across from Ronon and presenting him with a perfectly frosted, double layer chocolate cake. He set it between them with a flourish and smiled with all of the magnanimousness that his gesture had to offer.
Ronon didn’t appear impressed. “What is it?” he asked.
“Chocolate cake,” the scientist informed him. “Besides myself, this is one of the greatest treasures Earth has to offer the Pegasus galaxy.”
Ronon looked bored, but then, Ronon always looked bored, so Rodney tried not to let it bother him. He didn’t know why it was so important that the Satedan be grateful for this offering, but it was. He reached out and pushed the plate toward the other man.
“Go on. Try it.”
Thankfully, Sheppard had coaxed Ronon into using utensils like a civilized man, or the entire cake would have been ruined the moment he would have shoved his big hand into the confection. As it was, instead of cutting a slice for himself, Ronon dug his fork straight into the side, releasing a huge chunk covered in dark chocolate frosting, and shoved it into his mouth.
Rodney found himself smiling at the display. “Well? What do you think?”
If he had been expecting an overt display of pleasure from the other man, he would have been sorely disappointed. Ronon shrugged, the corners of his lips covered in chocolate, and replied, “S’okay.”
Preparing to launch into a diatribe as to why no one in the entire universe could have chocolate cake, and then simply refer to it as ‘okay’, Rodney found himself hesitating as he watched Ronon stick his fork back into the cake for another large chunk. He shoveled it into his mouth unceremoniously and glanced up at Rodney with an unreadable expression.
“You gonna have any?” he asked, waving his fork toward the mangled cake.
Perhaps his gesture hadn’t been so unappreciated, after all. With a smile, Rodney picked up his own fork and pushed it through the backside of the cake, in much the same manner as Ronon had. After all, who was he to argue with the proper way in which to enjoy such a delectable treat?
***
Rodney didn’t know why he enjoyed Ronon’s company, he just did. Not that there was much to Ronon’s company – invariably Rodney did all of the talking, while Ronon occasionally grunted, or whatever that sound was that issued from his throat and sent the strangest thrill down Rodney’s spine.
Even more strange than Rodney’s enjoyment of his company, was the fact that Ronon seemed equally content to be there. He never appeared overtly perturbed by Rodney’s ramblings like so many others did, nor did he seemed inclined to argue with him. There were times that Rodney would catch a slight smile on the Satedan’s face, and he could never quite figure out why it was there. Rodney McKay had never been accused of being particularly amusing in his anecdotes. So whatever it was that Ronon found so funny continued to escape him.
Things were no different on some uninhabited, backwater planet that didn’t even have a name. Ronon actually volunteered to accompany Rodney as the team split up for their exploration of the area. Bubbling with excitement over the improbable power readings that continued to flash across the scanner in his hand, Rodney babbled. Ronon followed behind him silently, that slight smile ever-present as they moved through the lush foliage toward the caves ahead, where the mystical power source seemed to be emanating from. Ignoring any threat of danger, the scientist ducked quickly into the mouth of the cave, his eyes glued to the color bars on the screen of his scanner as they flared off the scale. He heard the heavy steps of his team member behind him, and the flicker of a flashlight soon illuminated their path.
Rodney felt safe with Ronon there. Not that he didn’t feel equally safe with Sheppard or Teyla – he was, after all, the brains of the team, and it wasn’t up to him to keep himself, or anyone else, safe from harm. That was their job, while he did his. Something was different with Ronon, though, as if Rodney instinctually knew that if he ever did mess up (and the likelihood of that happening was like twenty billion to one), Ronon wouldn’t hold it against him. Maybe it was because of the cake.
Frowning, Rodney came to a halt a few meters from the rocks ahead of him. “The readings seem to be coming from behind there.”
Behind him, Ronon didn’t say anything. Realizing he apparently didn’t get Rodney’s point, the scientist moved forward and reached out to grab one of the smaller rocks, tossing it to the side. “You need to move these,” he stated as he grabbed another small rock, that was really little more than a large pebble. “I’ll help.”
“I don’t think – “
And then the cave began to collapse. The ground trembled beneath their feet and the rocks began to crumble and Rodney’s scanner fell out of his hand to be crushed by a large boulder.
”Get out!”
Rodney spun around to see Ronon actually attempting to hold the ceiling of the cave above him. He quickly calculated the odds of the thousands of tons of rocks against Ronon’s two hundred and some odd pounds, and considered explaining to him that sheer will wasn’t going to defy gravity.
“McKay!” Ronon barked, and Rodney jumped, and ran for the exit.
Once outside, he turned and waited for Ronon to emerge, counting the seconds as the ground continued to rumble and dust spewed out from the mouth of the cave. He fretted and worried and considered going back inside (even though his mind offered that the odds of survival for such a rash action as being minimal), when Ronon finally strutted out into the sunlight, brushing the rock dust from his coat. Rodney let out a sigh of relief as he joined him.
“You risked your own life to save mine,” he pointed out, awed, and not a little humbled.
Ronon shrugged. “Sheppard said we have to look after you. So I did.”
Rodney didn’t understand why his words hurt, but they did. It was one thing to know that someone was looking after you because they wanted to. It was quite another to know they were simply following orders. It shouldn’t have mattered, they were all doing their jobs.
Still, Rodney pouted all the way back to the puddlejumper.
***
After the incident on Doranda, Rodney kept to himself. He spent hours in the lab, didn’t go out of his way to seek anyone out, and really couldn’t even find much pleasure in eating. He’d let everyone down; had almost killed someone who could possibly, maybe, be close to considering Rodney as a friend, broke the trust and faith so many had put into him, and destroyed 5/6 of a solar system. This one wasn’t even worth attempting to calculate the odds to; not when Rodney already knew he was going to have to work hard to rebuild everything he had damaged.
Odd as it was, and even though Rodney had already concluded such a thing were probable, Ronon hadn’t seemed phased when he’d been informed of Rodney’s blunder. He still took his requisite position across from Rodney at the table in the commissary, still volunteered to accompany Rodney on their off-world explorations, and even seemed to seek Rodney out when back on Atlantis. Sometimes he would appear in the lab, hanging over Rodney’s shoulder, watching what he was doing. Once, the scientist had decided that maybe he was interested in the work, and proceeded to explain what he was doing. He thought that maybe, possiblly, Ronon had fallen asleep somewhere in between the equation for desultory propulsion in the ZPM, and the probability of dissolution. He’d left shortly thereafter, and Rodney refrained from speaking to him whenever Ronon appeared in the lab from then on. It seemed to work out for the both of them.
It was one afternoon, when his thoughts had been focused more on the man hovering behind him, and less on his calculations, that Rodney’d had enough of Ronon’s unexplainable constant presence. The simulation had failed. Radek accused him of attempting to blow up their particular solar system, and Rodney had a full blown temper tantrum. He ended up stomping out of the lab and toward his quarters, where he was determined to bury his nose in a chemistry book and relax.
Ronon had followed, all the way to his door.
“Look.” Rodney had whirled around at him, craning his neck back to stare up at the Satedan. He shoved a finger at his chest, which invariably hurt because there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat there to poke. “I appreciate this whole ‘look after Rodney’ thing, but I’m not going to get caught in a snare or cause a cave to collapse or blow up the solar system while I’m here on Atlantis. So you can just… go eat a side of beef or something.”
As always, Ronon appeared amused. “McKay, you are very smart.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I, and the rest of the universe, don’t know.”
“You are also very stupid.”
He was about to respond to that with a remark about brains over brawn when the press of Ronon’s lips against his prevented it from happening. Rodney was squished against the door to his quarters, completely enveloped by leather and muscles and a man who could just as easily snap him in two as eat an entire chocolate cake in under six minutes.
It wasn’t so much that Ronon was kissing him that left Rodney in a state of immutable shock. Frat boys could think what they wanted to about how rowdy their keggers could get; after all, drinking yourself into a stupor really didn’t allow for much experimentation. Now, when one experienced 48-hour D&D campaigns, with a group of people who were willing to try anything once in the guise of ‘acting out’ their characters… well, those times had to make Frat parties look like afternoon tea at Aunt Matilda’s. So, it wasn’t that Ronon was kissing him that was the issue. It was that Ronon was kissing him. Ronon – big, intimidating, smelled like leather and the outdoors, and could kill a man in the blink of an eye. That Ronon. Kissing him. McKay. Recent failure and all-around smart guy.
All of this flashed through Rodney’s mind in about thirty seconds, or how long the kiss lasted, which Rodney realized wasn’t quite long enough. As Ronon pulled away, Rodney missed the rough tickle of his facial hair around the edge of his mouth. He didn’t even have a chance to enjoy it; not properly, not the way he was now imagining in his mind. He stared up at Ronon, and began to realize that this could quite possibly be the explanation for the ever-present hint of a smile that the Satedan wore when around him. Like he was harboring a secret.
Actually, the last thirty seconds explained a lot.
“Well, ummm.” Rodney was at a loss for what to say. He folded his arms over his chest, rocked back on his heels, and felt absurdly like smiling. “What was I saying?”
The Satedan’s smile faded, and Rodney blinked, wondering if he was supposed to have said something sappy, or told the man what a good kisser he was.
Then, Ronon leaned in, all six-foot five of him, and told him -- in a low, rumbling growl that made Rodney’s knees all watery, “My room. One hour.” The smile returned. “Bring cake.”
As Ronon turned and disappeared down the corridor, Rodney realized that all of the calculations in the universe wouldn’t have provided him with the proper equation to formulate the hypothesis before him. Sometimes, chocolate cake really did make everything better.
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