Title: Submission
Author: kbk
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Ronon/Teyla
Summary: PWP. Total PWP.
Notes: For svmadelyn's Cuff 'Em, Vamp 'Em, or Just Make 'Em Come Already Kink and Cliche Multi-Fandom Challenge. One of my prompts was fisting. And I have this utter fic-kink for girls fisting guys. I can only remember actually reading it once - it was Scully/Krycek - and maybe it was just the quality of that story, or maybe it's to do with the subversive power dynamics and reversal of physical penetration, or maybe the mental image, but I love it. And I've been meaning to write it forever but never actually had the balls to do it. But I finally did. Twice. I rock.

Ronon loves the feeling of her fingers inside him. He loves the faint burn as she fucks him with two slim fingers held straight and firm together while she breathes warm air over the base of his cock. But her hands are smaller than a man's, and he wants to feel... "More," he growls, and she nips the skin over his hip with sharp white teeth.

She gazes up over his body with heat banked behind her usual serenity, and he's tempted to push her, tempted to grab her and pull her up and over him and watch that fire burst into life when she sinks down onto his cock. He's so tempted that one of his hands is closing around her shoulder, but she narrows her eyes, just a little, and wriggles her fingers inside him.

He lets his head fall back against the bed - her bed, and sometimes he thinks he would have sex with her just to be able to sleep in her bed, because it's the most comfortable thing he's ever experienced, but then he remembers that sex with Teyla is a good thing in and of itself - and unclenches his hand from her soft flesh and surrenders himself to her control.

As a reward - possibly - she adds another finger to the next inward thrust, a forceful push that makes him want to splay his legs wider. But most of her weight is resting on his thighs, and it's not enough to stop him moving if he really wanted to, but it tells him that she doesn't want him to, and that's enough to hold him. He wants to keep her happy, what with the sex and all.

Another finger inside, and he can feel the stretch of his muscles, the friction as she moves her hand in slow inward pulses. Her other hand goes searching somewhere, and comes back with a clink of glass and then an intensifying of the scent of the oil she's using, a smell that makes him hungry for something he's never tasted - a fruit, he thinks, but he can't be sure.

"Relax, Ronon," she mutters, and then drags her lips up the side of his cock. He tenses - can't help it - expecting to feel that final painful stretch at any moment. Teyla laughs, quietly but freely, and pats his hip with her free hand. "Perhaps you should try meditation," she says with a smile, and he laughs back at her, because it's come to be an old joke between them. She finds her peace in stillness, he in movement, but they can come together and make something else.

Her hand pushes further in - to the knuckles, he thinks - and his laughter dies away, but the memory of it still loosens his muscles, and when her mouth - her hot sweet wet mouth - closes over the head of his cock he simply rolls with it. She rides the movement, her hair falling forward to cover his groin in a tantalizing caress, and he wants...

He fists his hands in the sheets, and waits. It would be easier if she tied him, if he had something to fight other than her unspoken wish and his own stubbornness. Ronon has been submitting himself to others for most of his life, but never like this, for no reason beyond pleasure. It makes his pride itch in the back of his skull.

Finally, then, she works her hand inward, a slow steady push that comes from her whole body, and he distracts himself with the feeling of her breasts against his thigh. Then the stretch lessens, and he knows that she is inside him to the wrist.

He can't move. He knows - has to know, soldier that he is - how vulnerable he is like this, how easily she could damage him. He knows that he has nothing to fear. He can't move until she turns her fist inside him, rubbing knuckles across that spot inside that sends sparks up his spine, and then he bucks, minutely.

He can't move because she's holding him, but he has to move because the sensation is unbearably intense, the fullness and belonging and good. He can't move but he has to, and he finds himself thrashing his head from side to side, hair flying, because he has to move, that's what he does, and. ah!

"Shh," says Teyla, and sets her free hand on one of Ronon's clenched fists. "Easy, now." Her other hand stills.

He can't, he can't, doesn't she see, he has to... Suddenly his lungs are burning, and he gulps air like the sweetest wines of Canna, and suddenly everything is easier. Teyla lowers her head to his belly and smiles against his skin.

"Do it," he says, and is surprised to hear his voice sounding almost normal. She quirks a hidden eyebrow, and he has time for one deep anticipatory breath before she moves.

Her mouth slides onto his cock, sucking in time with the tiny perfect thrusts of her fist inside his ass, and it's every superlative he's ever heard and then some, but what tips him over the edge of bliss is the thumb of her other hand, stroking tenderly and unconsciously against the back of his wrist.

He doesn't precisely black out, staying aware of his surroundings, but he is still limp and breathing raggedly when Teyla returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth. She cleanses him carefully before lying down beside him.

Teyla kisses his eyelids and his forehead and then curls against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

Ronon drifts easily into sweet dreams.