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Tall Mysterious Strangers

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“Sam Winchester?”

The bar was not too crowded, not too noisy; Sam looked up immediately. “Who wants to know?”

The man who had spoken was standing still a couple tables away. Big, and armed, and rough-dressed. He had the unconscious confidence of someone used to fighting, but he hadn’t positioned himself between Sam and either of the exits, or between Sam and the pool tables on the other side of the bar where Dean was flirting up the local pool shark for “tips.”

Which couldn’t be anything but deliberate. Sam’s heartrate had kicked up when he registered dangerous man, but trying to be non-threatening followed closely after.

“Name’s Ronon Dex,” the stranger said. “Heard you had interesting problems. Mind if I sit with you?”

Sam scanned the rest of the bar more carefully, keeping half an eye on the...on Ronon. The few other patrons were absorbed in their own affairs or watching the ‘friendly match’ of pool in the corner. None of them looked out of place, or anything like the man waiting patiently, hands in the open.

“I came alone,” he added mildly, after Sam looked.

“Alright,” Sam decided. His elbow brushed the angel blade at his side reassuringly, but he wouldn’t be so obvious as to put a hand there.

Still, Ronon noted the movement. But he came and sat down opposite Sam without checking the funny-looking gun Sam could see at his side. His dreads brushed the table-top.

“What brings you around here, then?” Sam asked.

“I was bored,” Ronon shrugged. He glanced at the bar, and then grinned engagingly at Sam. “And my friends ran out of enemies for me to fight, except for paperwork.”

Sam’s eyebrows drew together. “What friends, and what enemies?” he asked bluntly.

“My friends work for a branch of the government that really hates being talked about, and my enemies were evil assholes who wiped out my home and hunted me for years.”

“‘Were?’”

Ronon smiled, with teeth. “They’re all dead now.”

Sam raised two fingers to the bartender, who got out a couple of glasses. “I don’t know if I trust you, but I’ll believe that. You look like you can take care of yourself in a fight.”

Ronon looked at Sam. “But I don’t scare you.

Sam smiled, very slightly. “No.”

“I do most people.” The bartender arrived at their booth with two glasses of beer. “Maybe I should learn more about you.”

Damn, there was probably no avoiding the subject. Sam waited for the bartender to leave before asking, “So what have you heard about me? Besides my name, and alleged problems.”

Ronon shrugged. “More about the shit that stirred up the past few weeks. Ghosts. Demons. My friends said you and your brother were always in the thick of crap even our branch didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole, but nobody knows that much about you. Except some guy named Carver Edlund wrote a bunch of bodice-rippers about you. But I’m not much of a reader so I figured I’d just look you up instead.”

“Bodice-rippers?” Sam couldn’t stop his face screwing up. Just because they were always shirtless on the cover art didn’t mean… “Thanks for not reading those. But I still don’t get what you want.

“Like I said,” Ronon shrugged. “I was bored. If there are demons and ghosts around, I want to know how to kill them. And now that we’re talking,” he paused, drained half his glass, not taking his eyes off Sam over the rim, “You seem interesting.”

Sam swallowed. That was a pass. It had been a long time since he’d had any kind of thing at all, but that was definitely a pass. “I’d have to return the compliment,” he said, raising his own glass. Ronon probably wasn’t evil, and even if he was, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept with someone who might try to kill him. Sam really didn’t mind that in a partner.

Ronon smiled. “Should we find someplace more private to talk?”

“Sure,” Sam said. He stood up, and Ronon did too.

They looked at each other for a long minute, both taking in the fact that they didn’t have to look down. Sam was used to towering over everybody and Ronon would have to be, too, because there wasn’t an inch of difference in their heights. Ronon had more hair and probably more muscle than Sam, but Sam started to grin anyway.

He was going to have sex with someone his size. That had never happened before. And the best part was he could see the same exact wheels churning behind Ronon’s grin.

“Scuse me, am I interrupting?” Dean was suddenly at Sam’s side from the pool table. He looked up at Ronon and scowled. His erstwhile opponent—rail-thin, tight black tee and spiked black hair—was sitting on a table, swinging cowboy boots.

“A little,” Ronon said mildly.

“Dean,” Sam stepped up, “No trouble. Ronon and I were just going to talk shop a while. I wouldn’t want to drag down your evening.” He flicked his eyes meaningfully at the thirty-something watching Dean attentively.

Dean glanced between them. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Sam said firmly. “You got any plans for the room?”

“Nah, it’s all yours,” Dean said finally. He still eyed Ronon suspiciously, memorizing his face, but he did relax and step back. “I’ll catch up with you in the morning, Sam.” He shot Ronon one more pointed look before retreating and scooping his friend off the table. “Don’t look at books all night.”

Sam huffed and jerked his head. “Room’s just a few minutes away, unless you’ve got one?”


They crashed through the door already kissing, clothes falling away from them. Sam thumped Ronon against the wall and dug into his pants, frustrated by the foreign belt buckle until Ronon touched it and it fell away. Then he had his hand on a cock every bit as big as his own, and Ronon’s head thumped back against the wall when he gripped it.

“Got lube?” Ronon managed to grunt, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Sam pulled away reluctantly. “Here—” he crossed to his duffle, and he’d scarcely turned around, lube in hand, before Ronon was sweeping him onto the bed. He let himself fall and didn’t fight it, and Ronon came down on top of him, already naked.

Sam had had a couple more layers to start with, but they were kissing again, tongues tangling fiercely. Sam felt the weight on top of him and groaned. Was that what he felt like to his partners? Miles of bare skin and muscle, coiled and barely movable? He reached again for Ronon’s dick, this time with slickness coating his fingers.

Ronon’s dreadlocked head thumped down, forehead first, into his shoulder. He shuddered, but then got hold of himself again and applied himself to getting Sam’s jeans off.

Sam lifted his hips to help. One of the things to appreciate about guys, they didn’t waste time getting down to business. “Yeah, fuck me, c’mon,” he panted.

“Okay,” Ronon grunted. He grabbed the lube from where Sam had dropped it and applied it to Sam’s ass. “Ready?”

Sam had barely nodded before he was thrusting in, hard and steady. The truth was Sam hadn’t done this in a long time, and never with anyone as big as Ronon when he had, but he didn’t care. His pain tolerance was high on his worst days, and this was too good for him to be more careful now.

“Ungh,” Ronon let out, “You’re tight, Sam.” His face was screwed up in concentration, and even when he fully seated himself, he didn’t start up a rhythm right away.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam panted. “Keep going.”

Ronon shrugged, massive shoulders moving—Sam could feel it echoing all the way down through his cock—and did.

Ghosts and demons could wait. For this moment, this little thread of time, this was what Sam needed and he was going to enjoy every second of it.