Fic: SGA: Bonding, Checkmate 'verse
Title: Bonding
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadtific
Beta: Unbeta'd
Warnings: Animal transformation fic, schmoop, pre-slash, crack!fic
Spoilers: None
Summary: Ronon is a little spooked by John's temporary new form and John's had just about enough of that. Back at Rodney's quarters, relationship lines are getting a little blurry and John has pretty much given up on plausible deniability; belly rubs are too awesome to pass up. Lastly, morning naps can rock.
This story takes place about ten days after John's transformation in The Average Cat Does Not Do Long Division, and an unspecified time before Checkmate. I intended to write loosely interconnected vignettes that outlined how Lanteans reacted to John as a cat. Ronon's grew to be stand-alone size.
Quotations in italics are translated from Cat. John knows perfectly well what he is saying, but everyone else just hears various meows. Sometimes what he says is clear to the humans around him and sometimes it's not. It depends on how well he can express himself.
Awesome icon by itsychick
~~~
Teaser:
John totally knew that neither of them had been trying to hurt the other at the time, but now Ronon was just being an ass. An ass who’d chased him and grabbed him and dropped him and carried him in a basket and might have called him “not big enough for a snack.”
~~~
John decided to join Ronon for a run a little over a week into being a cat, and when the big man rounded the corner leading to their favorite route, he took one look at Sheppard and backed up against the wall.
“Sheppard,” he said calmly for a guy who looked a little wild-eyed and slightly paler than normal.
“Ronon?” John replied. He peered up at Ronon curiously. They really hadn’t been alone together since they’d had a little disagreement about John hiding in a bush on Gata, and while not quite completely avoiding him like Elizabeth and a couple of other people, this crap had to stop. They were on the same team, for crying out loud.
Ronon tapped his radio. “McKay?” He listened to Rodney’s reply, frowning sightly.
“Uh, no. Near one of our running trails. He’s…” Ronon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Staring at me.”
Well, there was pretty much no choice but to stalk him after a remark like that, so he crouched down and started making threatening noises. Ronon looked down at him in some alarm (his eyebrows lifted slightly) and sidled a few steps away from John.
“No, I haven’t,” Ronon replied shortly into his radio. “But he sounds pretty angry.”
There was a long pause. “But,” Ronon said softly, “he’s a cat. How do I…? You know what?” he added decisively. “Never mind.”
He stared a John for a few long moments. “I. Hope. I. Did. Not. Startle. You,” Ronon said in a “placate the idiot child” voice.
Now, John was truly irritated. Come to think of it, Ronon had never apologized for the shrubbery incident, or stuffing him into a basket, or holding him so that his legs had dangled, unsupported. John, uncomfortable and still freaked out, had been forced to seek purchase with his back paws and not knowing how sharp his claws were, scratched Ronon’s stomach and chest up pretty badly and ripped his favorite shirt.
John totally knew that neither of them had been trying to hurt the other at the time, but now Ronon was just being an ass. An ass who’d chased him and grabbed him and dropped him and carried him in a basket and might have called him “not big enough for a snack.” Of course, he was trying to protect John at the time in a totally ham-handed and awkward way, but the snack comment was totally uncalled for, even if he had been talking about some Gatan carnivorous grizzly bear or something.
He added tail thumping to his angry noises repertoire.
Ronon backed quietly away from him. “See you, uh, later,” Ronon said to John in a steady, soothing voice.
John hissed at him and lunged, aiming for Ronon’s knees, with the vague notion of climbing him like a tree.
Ronon flinched in a completely satisfying way, broke and ran for the doors leading to the outside. John, yowling, followed hot on his heels.
He soon discovered that Ronon had totally been holding out on him; the guy was fast. Granted, his legs were of course, millions of miles longer than his at the moment, but still. Fast. Time to go into stealth mode.
He swerved, heading for the nearest doors inside, flew down an empty corridor and jumped into a transporter. He concentrated on his destination and dashed out at full speed when the doors opened. Heading for the nearest exit to the outside, he slowed to a trot, scaled a wall and sat in a nice patch of weak sunlight to enjoy the dawn breeze. It felt very nice, ruffling his fur. He thought lots of un-catlike thoughts about team building and retribution while he basked.
Ronon’s steady - and slower - footsteps came around the bend in the pathway about five minutes later. John was impressed. The speed of his arrival meant he must have sprinted a good part of the way here.
John stood and called to him. Ronon stopped about ten feet away, looking wary and sweaty. John smiled to himself, glad he’d picked this stretch of wall; he was almost perfectly eye-level with him.
“You…” Ronon observed wonderingly, his breath heavy and ragged. "You cheated."
It wasn't cheating, it was using a tactical advantage. John tried not to look smug and jumped down. He trotted a few paces and turned, looking over his shoulder. “Well?” he asked.
Ronon peered at him from under his brows, having bent over to rest his hands on his knees. “You want me to follow you?”
"Yes." John said in his idiot child voice. Ronon seemed to catch it and smiled in an embarrassed way, waving John on.
John trotted lightly about 200 feet and then stopped in front of a small alcove that offered a shaded bench and nice view of the sea. He’d rested here after several solo morning runs and didn’t think Ronon had done much exploring.
Behind the bench was a pedestal topped by a wide, shallow bowl. A vase-like vessel sat in the center of it. He hopped up on the bench, propped his paws on the wide lip of the sculpture and thought, “on.”
The pipes inside the fountain complained like Rodney on a cold morning when the coffee was late, but moments later, fresh water bubbled out of the center vase, spilling over the sides in a sweet-smelling fountain. The overflow didn’t quite reach the edge of the bowl. John wasn’t quite long enough to lean over and drink without losing his balance, so he settled back on his haunches and looked up at Ronon.
He blinked a few times at the fountain and at John, shrugged and dipped his hands into the water, splashing his face and neck and drinking deeply. Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he looked down questioningly.
“You having any?”
John put his paws on the lip of the bowl again, stretched forward as far as he could and gave it a shot. He couldn’t quite make it and essentially got a few laps of water vapor. He looked up at Ronon and sighed.
Tossing his dreads over his shoulder, Ronon gave him a funny, serious half-smile, cupped his hands and scooped up some water, holding it close enough to John that he could lap at it without straining. John drank three handfuls before looking up and licking his lips.
”Thanks,” he said sincerely, wishing he could add a manly, teammate-bonding-moment clap on the shoulder. He turned to the ocean and began washing his face, a little shaken by the sudden flare of embarrassment and sympathy in Ronon’s eyes.
Ronon sat beside him, his hands awkward and loose in his lap. “Sheppard, I…”
John looked over at him, meeting his eyes calmly. Ronon’s eyes slid away.
“I’m apologize. I was…” He cleared his throat. “We were, well. Didn’t know you could understand. I. If I hurt you, I…” He fell silent and breathed deeply.
John meditatively washed his ears and looked out at the sea. “It’s okay,” he said finally. ”I understand.” He finished grooming and tucked his paws under his chest.
After a long, peaceful moment, Ronon observed, “Strange things happen to you, Sheppard. Never seen anything like it.”
”Yeah.” John replied with a certain amount of resignation. “And you should try figuring out one or two word answers for everything.” The last phrase sounded something like, “Mrrrrowowwrooooraaaagh.”
“ You complaining?”
”Yeah."
Ronon snorted. “Spending too much time with McKay.”
John flattened his ears and growled. Ronon laughed. John rolled to his side and swatted him on the leg. Ronon reached forward and tentatively scruffled his ears and John continued to playfully bat at him, soft-pawed.
“Come on,” Ronon growled, digging his fingers into Sheppard’s belly, “You can do better than that.”
John let a hint of claws and teeth come into play, nipping at Ronon’s darting fingers. He captured his hand between all four paws and gnawed on him, his back paws clawlessly raking the underside of his arm. Ronon’s whole hand closed around his belly (except for the finger John was killing) and he wiggled John’s entire body back and forth.
A sudden flash of bloodlust hit John and he wanted to bite down, hard. He let go of Ronon and scrambled to his feet, retreating to the absolute end of the bench. He licked his paw nervously. Another cat instinct thing he’d have to watch.
“Sorry,” he said, mortified.
Ronon held his hand out silently. It was pale red in places from John’s claws and teeth, but no blood. He turned his arm over and showed John the other side, also lightly scratched, but they’d both had worse from tree branches or Chocolate Chip Cookie Day in the mess. Still, John turned away and looked out over the water.
He could hear Ronon get up, drink at the fountain again and do something to his chronometer to make it beep. “Want any?” He offered. John turned off the fountain in reply.
Ronon settled on his end of the bench and lay down, the top of his head nearly touching John’s side. Sheppard shifted, about to leap down and give him some more room, but he reached a hand around and touched his back gently. “Keep watch?”
Unreasonably pleased by the request, John arranged himself comfortably, nosing a few of Ronon’s dreads out of the way.
“No playing with the hair,” Ronon rumbled, his eyes closed.
John stared at them longingly until Ronon’s watch beeped, then trapped two fat dreads under his paws. He bit at the bead circling the end of one.
“Sheppard,” Ronon said warningly.
Giving the bead one last jerk, John jumped to Ronon’s chest and marched - planting his feet as heavily as possible - down his torso and leapt to the ground. He trod very deliberately on the approximate location of his friend’s bladder.
Ronon, sat up, reaching for him. John danced out of the way and down the path, glancing back after a few yards to see if Ronon would give chase. He tilted his head so the bead in his mouth would catch the light.
With a low roar, Ronon was up and chasing after him in a flash, and John really turned on the speed. He ran as fast as he could for the big, curving stretch of pathway that ran right beside the ocean and then split off into two branches and lots of doorways leading to (currently) unused living quarters. There was another series of walls marking off gathering spaces and alcoves. John placed the bead carefully right in the center of the path, then scampered up several levels.
Ronon trotted up the pathway and stopped, looking at the bead warily and glancing around, obviously thinking John was going to leap out at him. He was right.
He waited until Ronon crouched down to get the bead, then just as his shoulders were at the right height, leapt gracefully over, ducked under his dreads and lay as flat as possible, hanging on.
“Think so?” Ronon spun from side to side, making John a little seasick. He yowled in alarm and Ronon stopped, uncertain.
“Sheppard?”
”Home?” he asked queasily.
“You attack me, steal my ornaments and then expect me to carry you?”
John purred loudly.
“Stupid,” Ronon said affectionately and rubbed his fur the wrong way.
John protested loudly, but he really didn’t mind. He dozed lightly as Ronon walked, strides steady and smooth, back to their part of the city. He woke up enough to register Rodney’s more asleep than awake pre-coffee bluster, and slid bonelessly off Ronon’s shoulders to the bed.
“What did you do to him? His hair doesn’t even stick up that much as a human.”
“He chased me. I chased him.”
“You were playing tag with a cat a fraction of your size.” Rodney said flatly. John didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Rodney was frowning, his arms crossed, the very picture of condemnation.
“McKay. He won. Both times.”
John sighed with drowsy contentment.
“That would explain his smugness.”
Ronon snorted. “McKay. Sheppard,” he said in parting.
John couldn’t wake up enough to say much more than a simple “mhmph.” He uncurled luxuriously when Rodney’s big warm hand smoothed his fur back the right way, then tensed every muscle from toe to tail in one long, blissful stretch.
Rodney stroked his belly softly and John rolled to his back, turning into the touch.
“So you guys are all macho, chest-thumping friends again?”
“Yup.”
Rodney snorted softly. “Only you.”
John opened his eyes a crack and twisted slightly to look Rodney in the eye. “Hey,” he said, and purred encouragingly.
Rodney sighed in a put-upon way. His martyred “very busy man” act was marred by the fact that he had pillow creases on his cheek and his hair was sticking straight up in the back.
“Just for a little while,” he grumped, and settled on the bed around him, fingers still curled in John’s fur.
Cranking his purr to eleven, John stretched one paw out, grazing the underside of Rodney’s chin. Rodney, eyes closed tightly, tried not to smile. John pawed at him until he grinned and tugged John against his chest.
“Sleeping now,” Rodney said firmly, trying to sound stern.
John sighed happily and did just that.
Series: Checkmate 'Verse
Author: Beadtific
Beta: Unbeta'd
Warnings: Animal transformation fic, schmoop, pre-slash, crack!fic
Spoilers: None
Summary: Ronon is a little spooked by John's temporary new form and John's had just about enough of that. Back at Rodney's quarters, relationship lines are getting a little blurry and John has pretty much given up on plausible deniability; belly rubs are too awesome to pass up. Lastly, morning naps can rock.
This story takes place about ten days after John's transformation in The Average Cat Does Not Do Long Division, and an unspecified time before Checkmate. I intended to write loosely interconnected vignettes that outlined how Lanteans reacted to John as a cat. Ronon's grew to be stand-alone size.
Quotations in italics are translated from Cat. John knows perfectly well what he is saying, but everyone else just hears various meows. Sometimes what he says is clear to the humans around him and sometimes it's not. It depends on how well he can express himself.
Awesome icon by itsychick
~~~
Teaser:
John totally knew that neither of them had been trying to hurt the other at the time, but now Ronon was just being an ass. An ass who’d chased him and grabbed him and dropped him and carried him in a basket and might have called him “not big enough for a snack.”
~~~
John decided to join Ronon for a run a little over a week into being a cat, and when the big man rounded the corner leading to their favorite route, he took one look at Sheppard and backed up against the wall.
“Sheppard,” he said calmly for a guy who looked a little wild-eyed and slightly paler than normal.
“Ronon?” John replied. He peered up at Ronon curiously. They really hadn’t been alone together since they’d had a little disagreement about John hiding in a bush on Gata, and while not quite completely avoiding him like Elizabeth and a couple of other people, this crap had to stop. They were on the same team, for crying out loud.
Ronon tapped his radio. “McKay?” He listened to Rodney’s reply, frowning sightly.
“Uh, no. Near one of our running trails. He’s…” Ronon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Staring at me.”
Well, there was pretty much no choice but to stalk him after a remark like that, so he crouched down and started making threatening noises. Ronon looked down at him in some alarm (his eyebrows lifted slightly) and sidled a few steps away from John.
“No, I haven’t,” Ronon replied shortly into his radio. “But he sounds pretty angry.”
There was a long pause. “But,” Ronon said softly, “he’s a cat. How do I…? You know what?” he added decisively. “Never mind.”
He stared a John for a few long moments. “I. Hope. I. Did. Not. Startle. You,” Ronon said in a “placate the idiot child” voice.
Now, John was truly irritated. Come to think of it, Ronon had never apologized for the shrubbery incident, or stuffing him into a basket, or holding him so that his legs had dangled, unsupported. John, uncomfortable and still freaked out, had been forced to seek purchase with his back paws and not knowing how sharp his claws were, scratched Ronon’s stomach and chest up pretty badly and ripped his favorite shirt.
John totally knew that neither of them had been trying to hurt the other at the time, but now Ronon was just being an ass. An ass who’d chased him and grabbed him and dropped him and carried him in a basket and might have called him “not big enough for a snack.” Of course, he was trying to protect John at the time in a totally ham-handed and awkward way, but the snack comment was totally uncalled for, even if he had been talking about some Gatan carnivorous grizzly bear or something.
He added tail thumping to his angry noises repertoire.
Ronon backed quietly away from him. “See you, uh, later,” Ronon said to John in a steady, soothing voice.
John hissed at him and lunged, aiming for Ronon’s knees, with the vague notion of climbing him like a tree.
Ronon flinched in a completely satisfying way, broke and ran for the doors leading to the outside. John, yowling, followed hot on his heels.
He soon discovered that Ronon had totally been holding out on him; the guy was fast. Granted, his legs were of course, millions of miles longer than his at the moment, but still. Fast. Time to go into stealth mode.
He swerved, heading for the nearest doors inside, flew down an empty corridor and jumped into a transporter. He concentrated on his destination and dashed out at full speed when the doors opened. Heading for the nearest exit to the outside, he slowed to a trot, scaled a wall and sat in a nice patch of weak sunlight to enjoy the dawn breeze. It felt very nice, ruffling his fur. He thought lots of un-catlike thoughts about team building and retribution while he basked.
Ronon’s steady - and slower - footsteps came around the bend in the pathway about five minutes later. John was impressed. The speed of his arrival meant he must have sprinted a good part of the way here.
John stood and called to him. Ronon stopped about ten feet away, looking wary and sweaty. John smiled to himself, glad he’d picked this stretch of wall; he was almost perfectly eye-level with him.
“You…” Ronon observed wonderingly, his breath heavy and ragged. "You cheated."
It wasn't cheating, it was using a tactical advantage. John tried not to look smug and jumped down. He trotted a few paces and turned, looking over his shoulder. “Well?” he asked.
Ronon peered at him from under his brows, having bent over to rest his hands on his knees. “You want me to follow you?”
"Yes." John said in his idiot child voice. Ronon seemed to catch it and smiled in an embarrassed way, waving John on.
John trotted lightly about 200 feet and then stopped in front of a small alcove that offered a shaded bench and nice view of the sea. He’d rested here after several solo morning runs and didn’t think Ronon had done much exploring.
Behind the bench was a pedestal topped by a wide, shallow bowl. A vase-like vessel sat in the center of it. He hopped up on the bench, propped his paws on the wide lip of the sculpture and thought, “on.”
The pipes inside the fountain complained like Rodney on a cold morning when the coffee was late, but moments later, fresh water bubbled out of the center vase, spilling over the sides in a sweet-smelling fountain. The overflow didn’t quite reach the edge of the bowl. John wasn’t quite long enough to lean over and drink without losing his balance, so he settled back on his haunches and looked up at Ronon.
He blinked a few times at the fountain and at John, shrugged and dipped his hands into the water, splashing his face and neck and drinking deeply. Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he looked down questioningly.
“You having any?”
John put his paws on the lip of the bowl again, stretched forward as far as he could and gave it a shot. He couldn’t quite make it and essentially got a few laps of water vapor. He looked up at Ronon and sighed.
Tossing his dreads over his shoulder, Ronon gave him a funny, serious half-smile, cupped his hands and scooped up some water, holding it close enough to John that he could lap at it without straining. John drank three handfuls before looking up and licking his lips.
”Thanks,” he said sincerely, wishing he could add a manly, teammate-bonding-moment clap on the shoulder. He turned to the ocean and began washing his face, a little shaken by the sudden flare of embarrassment and sympathy in Ronon’s eyes.
Ronon sat beside him, his hands awkward and loose in his lap. “Sheppard, I…”
John looked over at him, meeting his eyes calmly. Ronon’s eyes slid away.
“I’m apologize. I was…” He cleared his throat. “We were, well. Didn’t know you could understand. I. If I hurt you, I…” He fell silent and breathed deeply.
John meditatively washed his ears and looked out at the sea. “It’s okay,” he said finally. ”I understand.” He finished grooming and tucked his paws under his chest.
After a long, peaceful moment, Ronon observed, “Strange things happen to you, Sheppard. Never seen anything like it.”
”Yeah.” John replied with a certain amount of resignation. “And you should try figuring out one or two word answers for everything.” The last phrase sounded something like, “Mrrrrowowwrooooraaaagh.”
“ You complaining?”
”Yeah."
Ronon snorted. “Spending too much time with McKay.”
John flattened his ears and growled. Ronon laughed. John rolled to his side and swatted him on the leg. Ronon reached forward and tentatively scruffled his ears and John continued to playfully bat at him, soft-pawed.
“Come on,” Ronon growled, digging his fingers into Sheppard’s belly, “You can do better than that.”
John let a hint of claws and teeth come into play, nipping at Ronon’s darting fingers. He captured his hand between all four paws and gnawed on him, his back paws clawlessly raking the underside of his arm. Ronon’s whole hand closed around his belly (except for the finger John was killing) and he wiggled John’s entire body back and forth.
A sudden flash of bloodlust hit John and he wanted to bite down, hard. He let go of Ronon and scrambled to his feet, retreating to the absolute end of the bench. He licked his paw nervously. Another cat instinct thing he’d have to watch.
“Sorry,” he said, mortified.
Ronon held his hand out silently. It was pale red in places from John’s claws and teeth, but no blood. He turned his arm over and showed John the other side, also lightly scratched, but they’d both had worse from tree branches or Chocolate Chip Cookie Day in the mess. Still, John turned away and looked out over the water.
He could hear Ronon get up, drink at the fountain again and do something to his chronometer to make it beep. “Want any?” He offered. John turned off the fountain in reply.
Ronon settled on his end of the bench and lay down, the top of his head nearly touching John’s side. Sheppard shifted, about to leap down and give him some more room, but he reached a hand around and touched his back gently. “Keep watch?”
Unreasonably pleased by the request, John arranged himself comfortably, nosing a few of Ronon’s dreads out of the way.
“No playing with the hair,” Ronon rumbled, his eyes closed.
John stared at them longingly until Ronon’s watch beeped, then trapped two fat dreads under his paws. He bit at the bead circling the end of one.
“Sheppard,” Ronon said warningly.
Giving the bead one last jerk, John jumped to Ronon’s chest and marched - planting his feet as heavily as possible - down his torso and leapt to the ground. He trod very deliberately on the approximate location of his friend’s bladder.
Ronon, sat up, reaching for him. John danced out of the way and down the path, glancing back after a few yards to see if Ronon would give chase. He tilted his head so the bead in his mouth would catch the light.
With a low roar, Ronon was up and chasing after him in a flash, and John really turned on the speed. He ran as fast as he could for the big, curving stretch of pathway that ran right beside the ocean and then split off into two branches and lots of doorways leading to (currently) unused living quarters. There was another series of walls marking off gathering spaces and alcoves. John placed the bead carefully right in the center of the path, then scampered up several levels.
Ronon trotted up the pathway and stopped, looking at the bead warily and glancing around, obviously thinking John was going to leap out at him. He was right.
He waited until Ronon crouched down to get the bead, then just as his shoulders were at the right height, leapt gracefully over, ducked under his dreads and lay as flat as possible, hanging on.
“Think so?” Ronon spun from side to side, making John a little seasick. He yowled in alarm and Ronon stopped, uncertain.
“Sheppard?”
”Home?” he asked queasily.
“You attack me, steal my ornaments and then expect me to carry you?”
John purred loudly.
“Stupid,” Ronon said affectionately and rubbed his fur the wrong way.
John protested loudly, but he really didn’t mind. He dozed lightly as Ronon walked, strides steady and smooth, back to their part of the city. He woke up enough to register Rodney’s more asleep than awake pre-coffee bluster, and slid bonelessly off Ronon’s shoulders to the bed.
“What did you do to him? His hair doesn’t even stick up that much as a human.”
“He chased me. I chased him.”
“You were playing tag with a cat a fraction of your size.” Rodney said flatly. John didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Rodney was frowning, his arms crossed, the very picture of condemnation.
“McKay. He won. Both times.”
John sighed with drowsy contentment.
“That would explain his smugness.”
Ronon snorted. “McKay. Sheppard,” he said in parting.
John couldn’t wake up enough to say much more than a simple “mhmph.” He uncurled luxuriously when Rodney’s big warm hand smoothed his fur back the right way, then tensed every muscle from toe to tail in one long, blissful stretch.
Rodney stroked his belly softly and John rolled to his back, turning into the touch.
“So you guys are all macho, chest-thumping friends again?”
“Yup.”
Rodney snorted softly. “Only you.”
John opened his eyes a crack and twisted slightly to look Rodney in the eye. “Hey,” he said, and purred encouragingly.
Rodney sighed in a put-upon way. His martyred “very busy man” act was marred by the fact that he had pillow creases on his cheek and his hair was sticking straight up in the back.
“Just for a little while,” he grumped, and settled on the bed around him, fingers still curled in John’s fur.
Cranking his purr to eleven, John stretched one paw out, grazing the underside of Rodney’s chin. Rodney, eyes closed tightly, tried not to smile. John pawed at him until he grinned and tugged John against his chest.
“Sleeping now,” Rodney said firmly, trying to sound stern.
John sighed happily and did just that.