Theme/Prompt: Five Stages of Sexual Response: Orgasm
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Elizabeth Weir/Ronon Dex
A/N: My blush should be visible from space, so embarassed am I.
"Please." Her voice was soft, breathless.
After months and months of waiting and burning, when he was finally sprawled on the floor of the practice room, tangled up with Elizabeth, Ronon almost didn't know how to react.
He lowered his lips to hers slowly, and she raised her head slightly, and yes, her lips were as soft as he'd imagined they would be. Soft and warm and insistent... When he lifted his head, she whimpered slightly, grasping the back of his neck with one slender hand. Her eyes were open wide, almost desperate.
This was what had drawn him to her, he realized; this need, unspoken but soul-deep. She needed him, not Sheppard, not McKay. She needed him.
And with that realization, he was lost.
His body ached, demanding release, but he fought against instinct. This moment was to be savoured, treasured, and he couldn't rush it. And he couldn't take her in the practice room when anyone could walk in.
His quarters were closest, and he fumbled at the transporter controls with one hand while pulling her to him with the other. Her mouth was hot under his, lips parting for him as she dug her fingers into his hair. Her short nails raked over his scalp and he trembled, fighting the urge to take her right there, in the transporter.
The ten paces from the transporter to his quarters had never seemed so long before.
He palmed the door open, pulled her in, and locked it. She was plastered against him, arms and legs twining around him like vines. He mapped her body with his hands and mouth as he undressed her; memorized the curve of her breast, the texture of her ribs, the fragrant skin and lace-like hair. She was hot and already wet, panting above him; harsh, drawn out sounds that might have been words. Might have been his name.
They made it to the bed before he was buried inside her, but just barely.
He knew he should be gentle, but he couldn't: she wouldn't let him. She matched his every thrust, fingers clutching at his shoulders and back, demanding more than he knew was in him to give. He could feel the rasp of his beard against the fragile skin of her throat, leaving red marks like her blushes. Within a few strokes, he felt her body stiffening beneath him, trembling.
This was what she needed from him, this release. And he could deny her nothing. He would serve her with his body if she could accept nothing else.
It had been so long, too long, and he fought against the inevitable. His focus narrowed until she was the only thing he was aware of: the slick tight wetness, her short gasping breaths, the crest of her body beneath him. And when she gave a final guttural cry, clenching around him and drawing him deeper still, he closed his eyes and gave in to his need.
Final stage - Resolution: Shift