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Once Ronon noticed Sheppard’s thing about his own wrists, he couldn’t for the life of him un-notice it.
The watch made sense, but it took a little longer before Ronon worked out what Sheppard’s deal with the black sweatband was. He seemed to always need something on his wrists. On the rare occasions his wrists were bare, he’d fidget almost constantly; absentmindedly rub them, tug at the sleeves of his jacket, close one hand over the other wrist and squeeze lightly. If he forgot the sweatband or watch in his quarters, he’d make an excuse to go back for it if he could, no matter what it made him late for.
It was fascinating.
And it made Ronon wonder what else Sheppard enjoyed feeling tighten around his wrists.
He started testing it out during their sparring training, and… Sure enough, every single time Ronon got a grip on one or both of Sheppard’s wrists, Sheppard got briefly distracted— and a little hard. Without even seeming to realize it was happening.
It was way fucking hotter than it should have been, and Ronon finally couldn’t stop himself from taking it further, just to see how Sheppard would react.
“You know, you’re never going to win when you want this to happen,” Ronon growled. He had his team leader face-down on the floor, sitting on Sheppard’s legs, one hand pinning Sheppard’s wrists to his lower back and the other planted firmly between his shoulder blades.
Sheppard froze briefly; then tried to wrench free again. Ronon held him down easily, keeping him there just a moment longer.
“I dunno what the hell you’re talking about,” Sheppard snapped, scrambling to his feet the instant Ronon let him go. “Why would I want to lose?”
He was flushed, more than normal from the physical exertion alone. Ronon didn’t have to look away from his face to notice the slight tent Sheppard was pitching in his blue track pants.
Falling back into his loose-limbed ready stance, Ronon grinned. “Not what I meant.”
Sheppard looked like he was about to say more; then darted in to start another exchange instead.
A flurry of motion, instincts taking over; and Ronon had Sheppard pinned again just a few short moments later— this time face-first against the wall, arms above his head and Ronon’s forearm across his throat.
“I meant this,” Ronon grated, squeezing Sheppard’s wrists briefly tighter where he had them gripped firmly in one hand.
Breath hitching audibly, Sheppard actually quivered.
“I’m— it’s not—” he stammered, then trailed off, panting, lean throat working under Ronon’s forearm as he swallowed hard.
“It’s okay,” Ronon said. “I like it, too.”
“There are… regulations,” Sheppard finally said, voice strained and ears fiery red. “Military—”
Ronon bared his teeth in a grin, mouth brushing Sheppard’s ear as he interrupted, “Not for me, there’s not.”
“Fuck.” Sheppard trembled again, the curse coming out in a breathless almost-whine as Ronon squeezed his wrists again, Sheppard’s skin hot and sweaty in his grip.
“I’ll stop if you want me to.” Slipping his arm out from around Sheppard’s neck, Ronon dropped that hand to Sheppard’s hip instead— but no further than the low-slung elastic waistband of his pants. “Just tell me what you want.”
Sheppard whined again, hips squirming, his hands clenching into fists and forearms flexing. Not even to try and break the hold so much as to feel the pressure of his wrists being held in place, Ronon was sure.
“You want me to touch you?” Ronon asked after a moment of Sheppard’s panting, twitching silence, and Sheppard nodded jerkily almost before he finished asking.
“Yeah— Ronon… hn—”
The last burst ragged from his throat, his hips jerking as Ronon slipped his hand down into Sheppard’s boxers. He was rock-fucking-hard already, cock hot and rigid, straining out against the sleek, stretchy material of his athletic pants.
Burying his face in Sheppard’s sweaty neck and keeping his wrists firmly pinned to the wall with one hand, Ronon wrapped his fingers around Sheppard’s shaft and started stroking him off quick and dirty. He knew it was a pretty dumb idea— doing it here, where anyone could just walk in on them— and he knew Sheppard probably knew it too… But he couldn’t manage to care, his own cock stiffening fast and throbbing in time with his heartbeat where he was pressed up hard against a sweating, needy, wordlessly-begging John Sheppard.
It only took a few minutes at the very most before Sheppard jerked with a strangled cry, something between a sob and a grunted gasp tearing from his throat, his cock jumping and pulsing hotter and harder in Ronon’s fist as he came straight down the leg of his pants.
Ronon worked him through it, slowly easing off as Sheppard shuddered and twitched his way through release, finally slumping heavily forward against the wall of the gym with a low, shaky groan.
“Guess you needed that, huh?” Ronon murmured, slipping his hand back up to Sheppard’s hip and loosening the grip he had on Sheppard’s wrists.
He didn’t fully let go, though, and Sheppard made no move to pull his hands free or wriggle out from between Ronon and the wall.
“Guess I did,” Sheppard answered, huffing a breathless half-laugh and then groaning softly again, forehead thumping against the wall. “Shit.”
“Wanna do it again sometime?” Ronon asked, after a moment of savouring the warm pressure of Sheppard’s body against his quietly aching cock.
Sheppard nodded, the rise and fall of his heaving chest gradually slowing and steadying.
“Yeah. Yeah, I would,” he said, finally dropping his arms and twisting out from under Ronon.
Ronon let him go, watched Sheppard’s gaze travel down his body and zero in on his groin.
Sheppard licked his lips, heat still high in his cheeks. “You, uh… you maybe want a little help with that?” he asked, glancing up and flushing even harder.
Ronon grinned.
“Oh yeah,” he said, adjusting himself to hide his hard-on as best he could manage. “Your place or mine?”
Dragging his eyes away with obvious effort, Sheppard crossed the gym floor to grab his stuff from the corner.
“Whichever one is closer,” he called impatiently, and Ronon snorted a laugh and led the way out into the halls of Atlantis.
…