A/N: Hi friends. Once more, I've taken a page out of the reverse Hemingway school of writing which means, write sober, edit drunk. Weeeeeeeeeee.

I have so many unpublished pieces of writing stored on my PC, which is a real damn shame, and so I decided to polish this one up (only one edit! Normally I go through at least four!) and publish it.

I had originally hesitated to post this while in the middle of writing Tempus Fugit because I didn't want to ruin the will they won't they tension between Ronon and Emma. Well...TF had other plans for me, and so I'm posting this in the meantime.

This is a little piece of foreplay/conversation between the two. As with most of my stuff, it's really in between T and M, but I erred on the side of caution (and fewer views hrmph) and rated it M. Hope you like it. :)

The pneumatic doors on Atlantis were quiet, but the sound of the bathroom door was still enough to rouse him from his half slumber.

His eyes flickered open and he watched her, naked from head to toe, stroll slowly out of the bathroom, raking her fingers through the tangles in her hair as she looked curiously at some of the objects in his room. He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but he must have been out for long enough to make her think he was still sleeping, so he propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at her before she realized he had awakened. The moonlight streamed through the open windows and illuminated her pale, freckled skin, the halo of downy fuzz and baby hairs that stood straight against the chill of the room outlining the soft curves of breast and waist and hip.

There was an old tale on Sateda, which spoke of the fugitive love between the moon and the sun. The sun would chase the moon every day just to catch a glimpse of her at dusk and dawn, only for her to disappear when he fully emerged. Despite years of growing up with that story, he had never been fully convinced of the alluring femininity of the moon until this very moment. After all, as a young boy, he had been more interested in the legends of fearless warriors defeating legions of Wraith and bringing glory to their homeland.

"You need a robe," he said.

She looked over from the pan flute she was inspecting and, with a soft smile, brought her eyes to his.

"A robe?" she echoed, making her way to the bed. "What kind of robe?"

"One for times like this." He shifted the bedcovers and furs off of himself so she could get back into the bed with him.

A quiet giggle escaped her lips as she lowered herself onto his lap, straddling his hips and making him wish he were a younger man.

"You mean like an après-sex robe?"

"Something like that."

The time she had spent out of bed had chilled her skin to the touch, so he settled the furs at her hips and around both of them to trap his own heat. Sun and moon, indeed.

"You don't seem like the type that would wear one of my tunics around…"

She shook her head down at him, a mischievous look playing in her eyes.

"And as warm as those MIT sweatpants might be…"

"Don't need them if you intend on keeping me warm."

He couldn't help but grin at that.

"You don't like seeing me walk around naked?" The look in her eyes intensified as she gripped his wrist in her hand and guided it to her bare breast.

That, he absolutely did like, and he liked the way she did it. Straight-backed, unashamed, unguarded…she knew what she did to him. He shifted underneath her and her eyes widened with surprise as his slowly-growing, but determined arousal met the skin of her own.

"You know I do."

She pressed herself against him. "I'm beginning to get that impression, yes."

He laughed and so did she.

"Then why do I need a robe?" She bit her lip and traced her fingers along his chest and shoulders and stomach.

He shrugged. "You just seem like the kind of woman that needs one."

She looked down at him with amusement. "Something thick and floor length to wear on Sunday mornings along with my bunny slippers and curlers in my hair?"

He shook his head. "Definitely not thick. And definitely not floor length."

"Then what?"

He sat up a bit so he could get a better look at her and her body rocked with his movement. Steadying her hips, he anchored her back in place as he appraised her body. His hand slipped from her hip to the back of her leg.

"Knee length." He ran his hand up the back of her leg and to the flesh of her backside. "Or shorter."

"Of course," she laughed. "What color?"

"Not red," he immediately said as he reached up to bring some of her auburn hair over her shoulder and down her chest.

"Not red?" she asked with surprise. "Most men love me in red lingerie. You know, bulls and matadors and such."

He didn't know. And he didn't like her talking about other men in his bed. Unexpectedly, he felt himself stiffen underneath her and she shifted once more to accommodate him.

"Definitely not red, then," he said, his voice gruffer than it had been seconds ago.

The look of mischief in her eyes vanished and he watched the breaths come more quickly, more shallow in her chest. Sometimes he forgot how he came across. Clearing his throat, he tried to temper his voice.

"No. Something…softer. White, or green, or blue…"

"Periwinkle, perhaps?" The mischief was back.

"The hell is a periwinkle?"

She laughed so loudly, it echoed against the walls of his quarters; her eyes were closed, but he kept his own locked on her.

"Something like the moon," he continued.

Her eyes flashed open, astonished, and met his. "Like the moon?" she said, breathless.

He nodded. "Satin or silk…"

"Silk is expensive." Her voice registered hardly above a whisper.

Goosebumps had erupted along her skin so he ran a hand up her arm to warm her. "I have things to trade with."

"Ah, so you're the one supplying this robe." She sounded as though she were trying to remain light-hearted, but he could hear the quiver in her voice.

"Who else?"

She brought her hand to his cheek. "Tell me more," she whispered.

"That's all."

"Wouldn't it slow down this whole process?" She rocked her hips suggestively against his.

"It's a robe, not a straightjacket," he countered. "Easy to take off." He could already imagine himself pulling the one tie loose, pushing it off her shoulders and letting it pool at her hips. "Besides, men like me should have to work for their reward."

She bent down and kissed his lips. "Not always," she breathed.

As she kissed him again, she lifted herself from his lap, feeling for him, stroking him, until she guided him inside her. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow, basking in this momentary eclipse.