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Entry tags:
SGA - Adoration
Okay, so I totally had another fic for this entry written out. Same pairing, bit different take on it. Ended up liking the flow of this one a bit more, as did the people who read it through. May eventually post the other some day, but it's rather similar in theme to this one, so possibly not.
I'm also going to try hiding the pairing in the summary - doing the thing where you highlight it to read it. It works under my journal formatting, but please let me know if it doesn't work elsewhere.
Title: Adoration
Length: ~ 610 words
Pairing: Ronon/Spoiler – highlight to see Ronon/His Knife
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: The ritual brought him completion.
Author’s Notes: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cliche_bingo entry “rare pairings”
Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to people with far more money than me. Just borrowing and making no profit.
~~~~~~~~~~
He stroked carefully down the length, careful to apply just enough pressure, releasing on the upstroke only to graze back down again. He repeated the action until he could feel the barest hint of trembling traveling from his fingertips to his arm and back down again, a mirror of his actions, a sign of the effect upon his own body.
He set aside the sha’nin, replaced its harshness with the softness of his own flesh, guiding down to the tip, feeling the barest hint of pain as he pressed just a bit too hard. He looked down at the liquid on his fingertip, raised it to his lips with a shaking hand, letting his tongue dart out to taste the tang, lick it away. He lingered just a bit too long, betraying himself as he traced the whorls, added the taste of salt to his palate.
He tugged his finger free abruptly, grabbed the vial at his side too quickly, the slick oil spilling across his fingertips, pooling in his palm in his haste. Instead of letting it go to waste, he dribbled it along the length, smeared his fingers to spread it evenly, working it into himself as much as the hardness beneath him.
Finally, reluctantly, he grabbed the cloth laid out across his thighs, smoothed the oil evenly into the blade, stroking across the tiny flecks left by the sha’nin, wiping clean any impurities, burnishing the surface until it shone in all its beauty. Hilt to tip in steady strokes, rotating slightly to make sure he did not miss a single spot, that every bit was as well cared for as the next.
He was breathing just a bit harder now, not that he would ever admit it. It was the same thing, every time. He connected with the blade and it connected with him in ways no one else could quite understand. He could feel the blood flowing through his veins, a sense of warmth spread from deep within whenever he did this seemingly simple task, this ritual of cleansing and bonding. It offered him a sense of completion, a sense of feeling whole, of knowing he was protected and that it was his duty to care for the protector, to offer his services for the services it granted him.
He slowed his strokes, crumpled the cloth in his hand as he laid the weapon gently across his lap, letting the fabric soak up the last of the wetness from his palm. Tossing it aside, he adjusted himself slightly on the cushion he had chosen, centered his mind and his body as he reached for the hilt.
He closed his hand around it, knowing every subtle curve and dip, calluses shaped from long years of use. He felt its reassuring weight, hefted it to feel the slight torque, the pull against the muscles and tendons of his wrist. The balance was not perfect, but it was an imperfection he knew how to manipulate and use to his advantage. He turned it easily in his hand, feeling it as an extension of himself, if not something even greater.
Slowly, reluctantly, he slid it home into its sheath, supple leather that was worn but as well cared for as the blade itself. It would be strapped to him, become part of him, its weight a reminder of the power it held, the power he could possess if given the chance. It could not truly join with him, become one with him, but it was close and would have to do for now.
With a steadying breath, he laid the first knife aside and moved on to the next.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
I'm also going to try hiding the pairing in the summary - doing the thing where you highlight it to read it. It works under my journal formatting, but please let me know if it doesn't work elsewhere.
Title: Adoration
Length: ~ 610 words
Pairing: Ronon/Spoiler – highlight to see Ronon/His Knife
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: The ritual brought him completion.
Author’s Notes: For the
cliche_bingo entry “rare pairings” Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to people with far more money than me. Just borrowing and making no profit.
~~~~~~~~~~
He stroked carefully down the length, careful to apply just enough pressure, releasing on the upstroke only to graze back down again. He repeated the action until he could feel the barest hint of trembling traveling from his fingertips to his arm and back down again, a mirror of his actions, a sign of the effect upon his own body.
He set aside the sha’nin, replaced its harshness with the softness of his own flesh, guiding down to the tip, feeling the barest hint of pain as he pressed just a bit too hard. He looked down at the liquid on his fingertip, raised it to his lips with a shaking hand, letting his tongue dart out to taste the tang, lick it away. He lingered just a bit too long, betraying himself as he traced the whorls, added the taste of salt to his palate.
He tugged his finger free abruptly, grabbed the vial at his side too quickly, the slick oil spilling across his fingertips, pooling in his palm in his haste. Instead of letting it go to waste, he dribbled it along the length, smeared his fingers to spread it evenly, working it into himself as much as the hardness beneath him.
Finally, reluctantly, he grabbed the cloth laid out across his thighs, smoothed the oil evenly into the blade, stroking across the tiny flecks left by the sha’nin, wiping clean any impurities, burnishing the surface until it shone in all its beauty. Hilt to tip in steady strokes, rotating slightly to make sure he did not miss a single spot, that every bit was as well cared for as the next.
He was breathing just a bit harder now, not that he would ever admit it. It was the same thing, every time. He connected with the blade and it connected with him in ways no one else could quite understand. He could feel the blood flowing through his veins, a sense of warmth spread from deep within whenever he did this seemingly simple task, this ritual of cleansing and bonding. It offered him a sense of completion, a sense of feeling whole, of knowing he was protected and that it was his duty to care for the protector, to offer his services for the services it granted him.
He slowed his strokes, crumpled the cloth in his hand as he laid the weapon gently across his lap, letting the fabric soak up the last of the wetness from his palm. Tossing it aside, he adjusted himself slightly on the cushion he had chosen, centered his mind and his body as he reached for the hilt.
He closed his hand around it, knowing every subtle curve and dip, calluses shaped from long years of use. He felt its reassuring weight, hefted it to feel the slight torque, the pull against the muscles and tendons of his wrist. The balance was not perfect, but it was an imperfection he knew how to manipulate and use to his advantage. He turned it easily in his hand, feeling it as an extension of himself, if not something even greater.
Slowly, reluctantly, he slid it home into its sheath, supple leather that was worn but as well cared for as the blade itself. It would be strapped to him, become part of him, its weight a reminder of the power it held, the power he could possess if given the chance. It could not truly join with him, become one with him, but it was close and would have to do for now.
With a steadying breath, he laid the first knife aside and moved on to the next.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
*clears throat*
Re: *clears throat*