fandomweekly | [#189] Laying A Claim (Stargate Atlantis)

Theme Prompt: #189 Anniversary
Title: Laying A Claim
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating/Warnings: M (Sexual references)
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "Some kind of Earth holiday? Chips, movies, stupid hats?" John/Ronon

John swings by Ronon's quarters first thing in the morning and kisses him without a word. It's not a frantic kiss; it's slow, thorough, John's tongue tracing every part of Ronon's mouth. If Ronon didn't know better, he'd think John was laying claim to him - it's that kind of kiss.

Ronon's all ready to say fuck it and be late, but that kiss is all he gets; John pulls back, grins, says, "Good morning," low and sultry, and leaves.

John's inexplicable like that sometimes. Ronon's still not sure how much of it is him, and how much is Earth customs that seem normal to everyone else. He'd asked around, back when this thing between them was just an attraction Ronon wasn't sure he'd chase, about Earth courtship practices - the five people he'd asked had given him five different answers, and the romcom Beckett had enthusiastically recommended hadn't seemed to line up with any of them.

This thing with John doesn't line up either, but maybe it's normal, to John. On Sateda, belonging is everything; even if John and Ronon were just fucking, it's been long enough that any Satedan would take the lack of an I'm yours, you're mine as a snub. But they do more than fuck - they trust each other, they laugh together, they fight side by side. When John's unsettled, he finds Ronon; when Ronon's jittery, he finds John.

For Ronon, that's a relationship; no one would do all that for this long unless they belonged to each other. But for John, apparently, it doesn't merit acknowledgement. Cultural differences. Whatever.

The whole day, John keeps looking at Ronon like he's trying to tell him something. He stands too close, sits too close, compliments Ronon's form in drills suggestively enough that Lorne raises his eyebrows. And Ronon likes that, he eats it up, but it feels like he's getting away with something, because John's not really his.

"I'll come to yours," John says, when they're clocking off. "Just gotta get some stuff first."

"Inviting yourself, huh?" Ronon teases. Ronon had snarled at John the first time he'd said I'll come over, just like that. Apparently inviting yourself into someone's private space is totally normal on Earth; for Satedans, it's insulting to act like you've got a right to intrude unless you do. It still feels like John taking for granted that he can go wherever Ronon goes, like a partner would, only instead of insulted Ronon feels furtively pleased.

"Trust me, you'll be glad I did," John grins, and shimmies his vest off his shoulders, showing off.

Ronon takes the opportunity, gives him a long, appreciative look. I'm gonna run my fingers down that chest, later, he thinks, gonna bite that collarbone bruised, and when his eyes make their way up to John's he makes the decision.

Fuck waiting, fuck Earth customs - Ronon's gonna ask to be his.

Back in his quarters, he thinks about putting his locs into a fancier sort of updo, or digging up those chaps John likes so much, but decides it's better not to put on airs. He and John have always liked each other best without any frills - ragged, tired, sweaty, real. That's the John Ronon wants; that's the Ronon he wants to give him.

John doesn't take long, shows up carrying a DVD player, a bag of Doritos, and some kind of paper cone, bright green with multicoloured dots all over it. John beams, pushes his way inside to put the player and the chips on Ronon's bed, then turns around, motioning for Ronon to sit.

Ronon does, watching curiously as John tips the cone upside down and a plastic tube with shiny rolled-up paper on one end falls out. He pulls at a string on the cone to reveal that it's actually two cones, one nestled inside the other. John puts the first cone, the green one, on top of Ronon's head, and stretches the string under his chin; he applies the new cone to himself the same way. He coaxes Ronon's mouth open with a hand on his jaw, and puts the plastic tube in Ronon's mouth.

"Okay, now blow," John instructs, and when Ronon does, it makes a weak little trumpeting sound, the paper unraveling about halfway.

Ronon glares at him. "Earth custom?"

"Sure," John says, looking stupidly pleased. "Granted, these are more for birthdays, but beggars can't be choosers and I'm in a celebrating mood."

"Some kind of Earth holiday? Chips, movies, stupid hats?"

"No, it's not an Earth holiday," John says, affronted. "I can't believe you forgot! I forgot almost every year, with Nancy, and the one time I remember it's you who forgets? Well, okay, maybe that's karma," he adds in a mutter.

Ronon stares at him, his mouth gone dry. "It's... an anniversary?" John nods, and Ronon shakes his head, confused. "We're not married."

"No, but- Okay, look, I know it's a bit middle school, but I'm allowed to feel a little sentimental! We've been together a whole year, and the last time I made it that far I was married."

Ronon blinks, then bursts out laughing. He scrubs a hand over his face, remembering John looking at him the whole day, the kiss this morning - while Ronon's been thinking John didn't care to claim him.

He throws the tube at John; it bounces off his nose.

"Hey!"

"You never told me we were together," Ronon says, grinning.

"What?" John scoffs. "Of course I- Surely I did."

"Nope." Ronon grabs his wrist, tugs him down. John comes easily, settling on his thighs. "One Earth year, huh?"

John laughs. "Okay, look, look, maybe I forgot to-"

"'Spose I've kept you pretty busy," Ronon says cheerfully.

John gets his hands on Ronon's shoulders and leans back, holding Ronon's gaze. "We're good," he says, serious. "Together. Right?"

"Yeah," Ronon says simply, and kisses him just like John had kissed Ronon that morning, slow and thorough - laying a claim. "Merry anniversary," he murmurs.

"Happy," John snorts. "Happy anniversary."