A Lotta Frosting; No Cake

I can hear eliade laughing her ass off from here, saying, "Whatever happened to 'I hate genderfuckery'???" as she dusts off her "I Told You So" trophy.

Well, what happened is svmadelyn wrote It Stops Being Funny at Skirts about John Sheppard turning into a woman, and in the midst of laughing my own ass off at the story, I realized there seemed to be a little scene missing, and I asked svmadelyn if I could fill it in, and she said yes, and then... genderfuckery.


Skirting the Issue

By Bone

Pairing: Girl!John/Ronon

Rating: NC-17

Notes: I can hear eliade laughing her ass off from here, saying, "Whatever happened to 'I hate genderfuckery'???" Well, what happened is svmadelyn wrote It Stops Being Funny at Skirts and there was a little scene missing, and I asked if I could fill it in, and…genderfuckery. Profound thanks are due to both eliade and svmadelyn for making me think outside my…er…box, and to crysothemis for her thorough beta, even though her first comment was, "OMG, you're ON CRACK!!!!"

Disclaimers: These boys (well, boy and girl!) belong to MGM. Written for pleasure, not profit. For adult readers only, please.

While I heartily encourage you go to read the whole blooming thing, here's the pertinent quote from svmadelyn's story:

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"Want to go fuck?" Ronon asked, biting off a piece of his roll.

"…what?" John asked, managing, but only just, not to choke on his muffin.

Ronon shrugged. "I don’t know. You look kind of pissed off. Might take the edge off."

John’s fingers completely crumbled the muffin. "I don’t think that’s the way to go," he said, brushing off the bits and pieces.

"I’m good at it," Ronon told him. "Sex, I mean."

"I got what you meant!" John leaned in. "Are you insane?"

"I think it’d be interesting." Ronon said simply.

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Okay, interesting didn't begin to cover it.

Ronon had him pressed gently against a wall in his quarters, his strong fingers rubbing down low on John's back, right where the cramps were the worst, working some kind of fucking magic with those lethal hands. A rotation of his thumb made John's knees weak, and things that usually went hard and tight when he felt like that instead went soft and…moist.

John might have moaned, he wasn't sure; he couldn't hear much over his heartbeat in his ears. He knew Ronon was big, but geez, up this close and personal, he looked like a mountain. A big, hot, leather-smelling mountain.

"Close your eyes," Ronon said, his voice all low and sexy, the Barry White hour on 94.1 FM, and John wondered if this was what all those Athosian women had been hearing late at night.

"Why?" he asked.

"Just do it," Ronon rumbled at him, breathing on his ear, and damn if John didn't just do what he said.

John instinctively clamped down when Ronon's hand slid up his skirt, rough fingertips gliding up between his thighs, sliding under Cadman's non-regulation panties, then wondered since when had he had instincts like that, and opened up instead, spreading his thighs and leaning back against the wall, lifting his hips. It wasn't like he didn't know why they were there.

Ronon growled a little, balancing John with one hand still low on his back and the other busily, oh God, expertly working between his legs. John didn't remember the women he'd known getting this wet, and wondered if he should be embarrassed, but Ronon had started the thumb thing again, only down there, oh shit, oh yeah, right there, and John only realized he'd said it aloud when Ronon said, "I'm on it," and honed in on the spot, rubbing in small tight circles while John grabbed his shoulders and hung on for dear life and rolled his hips against the grain until his first girl orgasm ripped through him like a thunderclap, climbing up his belly, jerking his thighs in rhythmic spasms. Instead of coalescing and shooting out, the feeling focused in and ricocheted through his body. Jesus, even his hair felt good.

He dropped his head back against the wall, panting, shivers and aftershocks still reverberating all the way out to his fingertips. Between his thighs, he felt swollen and hot and ridiculously sensitive, every light brush of Ronon's fingertips making him melt a little more. He could feel Ronon's hard-on against his hip. Whoops. He reached for Ronon's wrist, stilling him.

"Sorry about that," John said. "Kind of got away from me there. You want me to even it up?"

Ronon laughed, a deep male laugh that didn't leave his chest. "You don't know much about women, do you?" he asked.

"Huh?" John said.

Ronon leaned in, brushed his erection against John's hand, and said, "Honey, we're just getting started."

John's eyes flew open. "Did you just call me 'Honey'?"

Ronon's lips twitched. "Sorry, Colonel. Habit."

John sniffed at him, but then Ronon moved his hands again, and John forgot what they were talking about. He thought maybe he whimpered when that big hand left his…whatever it was called…okay, fine, left his pussy, but Ronon shushed him, ducking his head and laying scratchy kisses on his throat and jaw, distracting him while he started unbuttoning John's sweater, revealing the bra Cadman had loaned him.

"Pretty," Ronon said, his callused fingertip catching in the lace as he traced the curve of one breast, then the other.

"Bite me," John said, but he could have saved himself the sneer since Ronon's attention wasn't anywhere near his face.

"Okay," Ronon said, pulling John far enough away from the wall that he could bend him back, taking John's weight on his hands while he buried his face in John's lace-covered breasts, gnawing lightly on a nipple that obviously had about ninety more nerve endings than his man nipples had. Or maybe he'd just never had anybody pay quite that much attention to his man nipples. Or maybe Ronon was just as freaking good with nipples as he was with…pussies. Or maybe…oh, dear God, maybe Ronon was gonna make him come just like that, like, right…

"Ooooooh, yeah, baby, harder…"

And damn, if Ronon didn't take orders well, and let the 'baby' thing slide without comment and basically held him up and let John climax all over him yet again without getting any for himself, and it was high time to get out of their clothes and give a little back.

So once he'd stopped gasping and twitching, John pulled himself back upright, pushed Ronon toward the bed and said, "Ditch the leather, okay?" Ronon stripped for him, slow and easy, smiling this wolfish, sweet smile while he did it, like he knew he looked good without clothes on, and John blamed the two-in-two-minutes orgasms for how out of breath he felt watching all those acres of smooth, muscled golden skin come into view.

Ronon lifted one eyebrow at him once he was buck naked, his hard-on perfectly in proportion with the rest of him, and John's innards clenched in a new and totally disconcerting way. Damn it, he wanted that huge red thing inside him. 'Thumb good. Cock better', his pussy seemed to be throbbing at him at some volume.

Ronon stretched out on the bed, all long arms and legs and strong torso and hard dick, and John thought as he walked over, dropping Cadman's clothes on the floor a piece at a time, that maybe he should have been more alarmed at the idea of that waiting to screw him senseless, maybe a little more conflicted about climbing aboard for that kind of ride, but the look on Ronon's face when John finally hovered over him, all naked and girly, uneven breasts dangling, freshly shaved legs sliding sweetly against the outside of Ronon's thighs, just made him want to get on with whatever Ronon had planned next, because John knew it was gonna be good.

Ronon put his hands on John's waist and maneuvered him closer, sliding John's pussy along the length of his cock, and they both moaned. Ronon's eyes were glued to his chest, and John looked down, watching his breasts heave with every breath.

"They're not even," John felt compelled to point out.

Ronon lifted one shoulder. "Nobody's perfect," he said.

John reached down and cupped his left breast, letting his thumb drift over the nipple, enjoying the zing the touch sent down to his groin. Underneath him, he felt Ronon's cock jerk, so he did it again, rubbing now, pinching his nipple between his fingers until Ronon groaned and rocked up under him, his rhythm intent and obvious.

"You really are pretty," Ronon said, his hands so big and John's waist so small that Ronon's thumbs almost met at John's belly button.

John ducked his head, that hot feeling pressing against his eyes again. "Thanks, Ronon," he said.

Ronon held him firmly, moving him against the ridge of his cock. "Any chance you could get pregnant?" he asked.

"Who the fuck knows?" John said, not really appreciating that particular dose of reality. "You got anything?"

From somewhere, Ronon produced a half-empty box of Trojans and John grinned at him, mentally revising Ronon's 3AM listening audience from Athosian to off-Earth Atlantean. "Good boy," he said.

Ronon grinned back at him and said, "Back up," while he rolled a rubber down his cock, and John watched him, thinking how strange it was to see that on someone else's dick. It felt weird to smell that distinctive condom smell, but not feel the sausage tightness. Even weirder to have Ronon's hands back on his hips, lining him up and nudging at him with the blunt head of his dick, rolling his hips up and popping the head in with one flawless, practiced thrust.

John froze.

Ronon took a deep breath and smoothed his hands on John's hips, petting him. "It's okay," he said, exhaling softly. "Relax."

Ronon moved one hand across John's belly and gently pressed the top of John's pussy with his thumb, finding that spot again on the first try.

John tried to echo Ronon's breathing, deep and slow, and deliberately loosened his muscles, bearing down on Ronon's cock and taking in a few more inches.

Ronon's head went back and he bit down on his lip. "That's good," he gasped, so John did it some more, breathing and pushing down, filling himself up with Ronon's very hard, very hot, very large dick, rolling up onto Ronon's thumb whenever he needed a little more inspiration.

Once it was all in, once he could feel Ronon's thick pelt of pubic hair against his surprisingly sensitive thighs, once he knew he'd taken every last inch, he relaxed, his internal muscles molding around the intruder easily, gratefully.

It felt fucking fantastic.

Then Ronon started to move, and John let go, gave up his preconceived motions of man and woman and friendship and sex and let Ronon use his numerous skills to bring him off twice in quick succession, dragging undignified sounds from John's throat, firecracker orgasms exploding through his body. Surely sparks flew out his fingers on the last one; he couldn't see, couldn't hear, just lived in the power of Ronon between his thighs, up inside him, one lavishly deep thrust after another, one perfect thumbprint on that one perfect place.

He should have known from watching Ronon fight that he could fuck like this, all grace and strength and knowing just where to land the stunning punch.

Ronon roared when he came, the hand on John's hip clenching down in a single undisciplined move that might leave bruises, and John wanted it, wanted the evidence, wanted to feel Ronon's imprint on his skin when he pulled Cadman's bright blue panties back on, wanted to remember that there really was something good about this whole goddamned thing.

Ronon stayed hard in him long enough to give him one more climax, rolling John's hips until he shuddered, more a smoldering ember than fireworks this time, his body heavy and replete.

John spent the night in Ronon's bed, curved with his head on Ronon's chest, and Ronon rubbed away his cramps when they came back and hushed him when he tried to talk, and John had a moment's envy for all the women who got to turn Ronon on in the middle of the night.

The next morning, Ronon fastened John's bra with an ease that no longer surprised him, putting him back together so well that no one would ever know he'd been fucked every way but sideways unless they saw Ronon's handprint on his hip. Ronon smoothed John's skirt down in back, cupping his ass with an appreciative murmur while he did it.

John looked up to find Ronon watching him with an odd and emphatically affectionate expression on his face.

"You really like me like this," John said.

Ronon shrugged. "I like you. I don't much care what you look like."

"What does that mean?" John asked, tugging Ronon's hands off his ass.

Ronon licked his lips. "Come back after Beckett fixes you and I'll show you."

John blamed his wobbly knees on the fact that he hadn't had breakfast and headed for the commissary, leaving Ronon standing in his doorway.

He could feel Ronon's eyes on his ass all the way down the hall and thought to himself, "Must be jelly, cuz jam don't shake like that."

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The end.

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The Epilogue