There was something to be said for training with Ronon. The feel of those large hands gripping his body, twisting it into all sorts of uncomfortable positions until Rodney cried out. Impossibly long legs locking around his hips as they wrestled on the floor, until Rodney was pinned underneath, his face pressed into the open vee of Ronon’s shirt. Smell of sweat, and spice, and something primitive, that smell that seemed to cling to Rodney until he could wash it from his skin. Rodney’s cock would inevitably go hard, pressing against his pants, pressing against whatever part of Ronon happened to be in the vicinity. Ronon would just grunt and shift until his own cock returned the favor.
He really did enjoy those training sessions with Ronon, even though he would never admit it. Rodney always left those sessions will cheeks flushed from more than just exercise. He would head back to his room, eager to strip off his clothes and take things in hand, so to speak. He would think about Ronon's body, heavy and hard against him. Desire broken down to its most primal form, sweat and muscle and hands that gripped to hard. But the other part of those training sessions, the part that Rodney liked to remember sometimes when he wrapped his hand around his cock and fucked his own hand, was the way Colonel Sheppard looked when he watched them. The Colonel’s body would go rigid, all that natural grace evaporating, hand pushing back through rumpled hair while he stared at them with the same expression he usually reserved for the puddlejumper or a nice turkey sandwich.
x-posted to oddball_sga