A/N: My past few chapters have been pretty angsty. Here's a flashback chapter to break up some of the angst. Definitely an M-rated chapter. Enjoy!
Little update: I was poking around on this website and reading other SGA fics when I ran across the author white raven. If you have not read her stuff, go do it right now. She is one of the best writers of fanfics that I have ever read.
Anyway, as I was reading through her stories, I came across one called last night "Tequila," which is very similar to this chapter. As I was reading her story, I realized it was not the first time I had read it and in fact had read it before years ago. So, I would like to credit white raven for the idea for this chapter because, quite frankly, I took the idea from her without really realizing it. I have contacted her to see if she is okay with me keeping this chapter as is. If she isn't, I will be taking it down and editing it.
He violently set his mug down on the table with a loud thud and tried to find the barkeep to ask for another one.
"Are you all right?" Teyla asked him.
"Fine," he mumbled.
"How many drinks have you had?" she asked, leaning back in her chair.
"Not enough," he responded.
"You are being irresponsible," she chastised as he asked for two more large mugs of mead.
"Yes, I am," he snapped back.
"We are here on a mission, Ronon," she began, "you should not be behaving this way!"
"The mission was a bust," he argued, "We didn't find what we were looking for and we're not due back till tomorrow. Now will you just shut up and let me drink?" he snarled.
The features on her face bristled and she stood up. "You are not normally an angry drunk," she said curtly as she set several pieces of currency onto the table, then turned away to leave.
"Fuck off," he murmured under his breath. He suddenly felt a sobering sting across his face. Teyla had turned around and slapped him – hard. "Son of a bitch!" he swore, standing up and knocking his chair over with a loud clatter.
Teyla marched up to him, glaring into his eyes, their chests centimeters from touching. "Ronon, I do not care what is happening in your personal life that drove you to drink like you are tonight, but nothing, I repeat, nothing," she barked, "should excuse you from talking to me the way you just did. Emma left you, yes," she breathed fearlessly, "and you have every right to be angry with her but do not take that out on your friends and the people who love you. I do not care how much it may be hurting you," she finished, still staring him down. "Should this happen again, you will receive much worse that a slap across the face from me," she barked, turning around and leaving the tavern.
As soon as she disappeared through the doorway, he let out a loud roar and overturned the table, plates and bottles shattering in his wake as he stormed out of the tavern as well.
He hadn't been drunk like this in a while. The last time he had been like this, Emma was with him, and she had been blazingly drunk too. He groaned as he stared up into the starlit sky. Teyla was right – he wasn't normally an angry drunk.
That night, months ago, he and Emma had stayed up in the commissary, talking and drinking a bottle of what she classified as "good" tequila, smuggled through the gate a few days earlier. They both straddled the bench they were sitting on together, facing one another. Ronon was taking two shots for her every one. It was late and no one else was around or awake and their social inhibitions were long gone. Emma ran her hand up and down Ronon's thigh while his hand casually found its way up the back of her shirt. Ronon had just finished a story about his early cadet days on Sateda, when Emma declared that she needed another shot. She took his arm in her hand and licked his wrist, then sprinkled salt on the small area. She brought her lips to his wrist again and gently sucked the salt off his skin, took a quick shot and slammed the shot glass down.
"Lime, where's the fucking lime?" she rasped. Ronon held the lime between his fingers for her as she bit down on it. "Whew!" she laughed, shaking her head.
"The 'lime,'" he teased, imitating her accent.
"Shut yo damn mouth," she grinned, dialing up her accent. "Your turn," she said with a smirk. She stood up and then sat down on his lap, straddling him. Reaching around her body, he poured the next shot, but kept his eyes on her. She brushed all of her hair to one side, then stared him down. "Kiss me. Here," she ordered. He obeyed, kissing the soft skin of her neck. She then pulled away and nearly bent over backwards to reach for the salt. She sprinkled a bit of salt onto the now damp area of her neck, slightly shimmied her shoulders in response to the few grains that accidentally fell into her shirt, and stared directly at him again. He hesitated for a second, then leaned forward and brought his warm mouth to her neck once more. She turned her head away from him, exposing all of her neck. He steadied her back with one hand and grabbed her hip with the other, pulling her closer to him. The salt was gone and both of them knew it, but he continued to kiss her neck until a quiet moan escaped her lips. Satisfied, he pulled away and downed the shot, then sucked on the lime. "That was only one," she chastised in a low and sultry tone, slipping her hand under his collar.
"Can't," he shook his head, looking up at her. "Had enough," he stated. He smirked, his hazel eyes gleaming. "I'm ready for whatever's next."
"I can tell," she responded, pressing her hips against his.
He forcefully brought his mouth to hers, lightly biting her bottom lip and letting out a groan, his body already aching for her, already ready for her.
"You'd have me right here and now?" she asked with an upturned eyebrow, amused by his primal response to her.
"If there weren't security cameras in every corner," he whispered lowly in her ear.
"You don't want Chuck to watch us fuck?" she asked, stifling a giggle.
"Definitely not," he replied.
"Then I guess we better go somewhere else, huh?" she suggested, clearing her throat.
"Put your arms around my neck," he told her. She did. He stood up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing the small tattoo on his neck. He began to make his way out of the commissary, but she stopped him.
"No no no! The tequila, the tequila!" she laughed, tapping on his back so he would return. She grabbed the bottle by its neck and they made their way through the halls. "What if someone sees us?" she whispered to him.
"We ignore them," he replied curtly.
The journey back to Ronon's quarters took longer than usual with all of the stops they made, unable to keep their hands off of one another for more than just a few minutes: the transporter near the commissary, an empty science lab off the eastern pier, even the occasional hallway niche. Finally in his room, Ronon dropped Emma to the floor again and she backed him against a wall. "Why do you wear this all the time?" she asked, rolling her eyes as she unbuckled his holster. "You have too many buckles," she mumbled.
"In case I need to save your ass," he replied quickly.
"My ass or everyone's?" she asked flirtatiously, pressing her body hard against his.
"Mostly just this ass," he replied, grabbing a handful of her backside.
A small laugh escaped her mouth and she captured his lips again. He pulled away and spun her around in his arms, his hands encircling her hips, holding her tightly against him. He slowly kissed her neck as he unfastened the fly of her jeans. She gasped quietly as he slid his hand down the length of her torso and beneath the dark lace of her underwear. She reached her hand back to his face, her head falling back against his chest as her back slightly arched in pleasure. She moaned quietly.
"You're wearing too much," he whispered into her ear.
"So change that," she replied, moaning more loudly as he increased pressure with his hand, her breathing shallow.
"Then I'd have to stop," he countered, one of his long fingers delving into her.
She softly exclaimed in pleasure as he did, starting to lose control. Somewhat clumsily, she pulled her top over her head and threw it onto the floor.
Ronon pushed her bra strap down and began to kiss her shoulder and now bare chest. He pulled her even closer against him, his free hand now roaming the length of her body.
She quietly moaned his name. Growing impatient, he turned her around to face him again, slipped his arms under her backside and picked her up once more. He brought her over to his low-to-the-ground bed and dropped her onto it. He pulled his own shirt off and cast it to the side before joining her on the bed. He covered her body with his own, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other pinning her hip against the mattress. He brought his mouth to hers and made his way down her chest, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra and slip it off of her. She ran her hands along his broad shoulders and back, periodically digging her fingernails into his skin whenever he did something that she particularly liked.
He couldn't wait any longer. He gripped the waistband of her tight jeans and yanked straight down, peeling them off her body with a frustrated grunt. He took a moment to lie on his back to remove his own pants while Emma slipped out of her underwear. Once undressed, he turned to Emma again to take back his position over her, but she placed both of her hands on his chest, sat up, and forced him against the bed with a throaty "No," straddling his hips. He let out a carnal growl, even more aroused by her taking control. She looked down at him, and ran her hands up and down his chest. She lifted herself slightly off of him and he smoothly guided himself into her, as she brought herself back down onto him.
"Fuck," he swore, his eyes rolling into his head as she drew him deep inside her, thrusting slowly against him.
She looked down at him and bit her lip, then sped up her thrusts, gripping tightly to him. Her moans of pleasure soon filled the room as she held herself steady by placing one of her hands against the wall in front of her, the other still on Ronon's chest. He had to close his eyes so that the image of her naked body rocking on top of him wouldn't send him over the edge; every minute he spent inside her required more and more of his self-control to last any longer.
"Ronon," she cried, "I want you –" she began but didn't finish, caught up in climax. He felt her warm muscles involuntarily clench and release tightly around him in waves that lasted for what felt to him like forever. He couldn't resist watching her. He opened his eyes and placed his hand on her cheek, which she covered with her own. "God I love you," she exclaimed in a loud whisper as she finished, collapsing against him and breathing hard.
Without warning, as soon as the words left her mouth, he came hard and fast, his mind going blank. Once he could think again, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, and brushed her hair out of her face. She had never told him that before.
He held her against his chest, rubbing her back for a while in that awkward position. When he finally started to pull out of her, she protested.
"No, don't," she drunkenly whimpered, her eyes already closed by that point. "You feel so good," she mumbled.
"So do you, but we can't sleep like this," he laughed quietly as he slipped out of her. As he laid her next to him, she nestled up close and immediately fell asleep, breathing deeply and methodically.
Ronon's drunken thoughts raced about in his tired mind. She loved him. And it had only taken a few months, half a bottle of tequila, and a staggering orgasm for her to let him know.
He fell to the ground as he stared up into the sky. In his intoxicated stupor, he wondered if that had been the night they conceived. Based on the shards of glass and spilled tequila he had found littered on the floor of his quarters about a month ago, he concluded that Emma thought it had been. He never knew if she remembered what she had said to him that night…or if she even meant it; he had never asked. All he wanted now was to hear it from her again, this time sober, so that he could say it back to her and let her know that everything he had said to make her leave had been a lie.