Fic: In Hollywood (John/Ronon) SGA/Buffyverse
Title: In Hollywood
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Ronon
Rating: R
Word Count: 2535
A/N: So, uh, ladycat777 suggested the idea of a SGA/Jossverse crack fusion in which John is showing Ronon L.A. and they come across vamps being staked. It...didn't work out like that. I mean--yeah, it kinda did. But there's limited crack. Also, not much Jossverse. *hands*
The thing about showing Ronon Earth, John realizes immediately, is that Ronon is pretty much a six and a half foot tall teenager.
He's sullen: "This sucks."
Unimpressed: "Whatever, there aren't even any spaceships."
Argumentative: "You shut up!"
Whiny: "I'm bored, there's nothing to do, this is lame."
And mildly violent towards sales reps at Gap: "Take one step closer and I'll break your wrist."
"You know, most people sort of find Los Angeles exciting," John tells him.
They're staying at a really expensive hotel, and it's three days and one stop into the ten-day excursion that's supposed to take them to seven or eight destinations.
Ronon glowers and throws himself onto the bed. "Whatever."
John's doubtful that they're going to even get to the second stop on the itinerary without killing each other. He really should have left Ronon at the mountain to be interrogated for hours on end by linguists. Dr. Jackson had been fascinated when he'd found out that the Satedan language is comprised of growls and snarls.
It probably would have taken weeks for them to realize that Ronon just likes to growl and snarl--a lot--and that there is no Satedan language, despite what John told Jackson.
John could have gone to Vegas and been swimming in casino chips and showboys by then. He sighs and pushes away from the doorjamb where he's been leaning. He crawls between Ronon's legs on the bed and reaches for his pants, intending to blow him into a better mood. Or into post-coital unconsciousness. Either one has its upside. Ronon growls, slaps his hands away, and then pushes him off the bed.
It's totally unexpected: John doesn't think Ronon's ever rejected a sexual advance before. He lands face down and bangs his forehead against the floor. Casino chips and showboys. "The fuck, Ronon?"
"I'm not in the mood," Ronon says, and his voice is prudish.
When John sits up he sees that Ronon has his arms crossed against his chest, like he's protecting his virtue. Jesus Christ, this trip was the worst idea John's ever had. He eyes Ronon, who's obviously stewing and working himself towards what will most likely be a spectacular tantrum. If they damage any other hotel property they're going to be thrown out. The concierge warned John about that this afternoon.
He sighs and ignores the fact that it's the middle of the night. "Let's go for a walk."
*
The shady looking people who hang out on the streets of Los Angeles at three in the morning give them a wide berth. It puts a little extra swagger in John's step until he turns and actually looks at Ronon: freakishly tall, strongly muscled, snarled lips, leather-clad, and quite obviously armed.
John stops him and adjusts his t-shirt so that his knives are covered. John kind of feels small and inadequate now, not to mention completely unarmed. "Be careful of flashing the weapons, will you?"
"Whatever."
They start walking again. John glares idly down the street. "I hate whoever taught you that response."
"McKay."
John snorts. "Why am I not surprised?"
They walk without a destination in mind and John lets Ronon lead. John's phone is Internet capable and he has Google Maps bookmarked, so he's not too concerned about getting lost.
Twenty minutes later, Ronon goes suddenly and completely still, then turns on his heel and takes off down a dark alley. He reaches for two of his knives and then is swallowed up by the shadows.
John curses and runs after him, only vaguely hearing the faint sounds of an altercation. "Ears like a fucking bat," he mutters under his breath.
At the back of the alley John almost slams right into Ronon but pulls to the left at the last second. Ronon is staring, wide-eyed, at the scuffling figures by the large wrought-iron gate that marks the alley's deadend. John snatches the knife out of his left hand and then turns to the other people.
...who don't all seem entirely like people, once John actually looks.
In fact, all but one of them is horribly deformed. Their fingers are tipped with long, thick nails, and their foreheads and brows are ridged and hard-looking. Their eyes--Jesus, they're yellow. When John sees the drawn-back lips and the fangs, his brain sort of skitters off-line because, no. Just, no. He does not want to go where the evidence seems to be leading him.
"What are those things?" Ronon snarls.
John blinks. Stares. Blinks some more. "Uh."
The one non-deformed guy takes a hit and grunts loudly. He loses his grip on his weapon and it lands by John and Ronon's feet. It's an axe, John realizes. Made out of a hubcap.
Ronon, of course, picks the damn thing up and charges into the fray. He gets thrown out of it about four seconds later. John's heart kicks painfully in his chest when he lands in a heap. "Ronon!"
Ronon is on his feet before John can even get to him. "I'm fine. Just--they're strong."
Christ. The only time John sees Ronon fly like that is when he's up against a Wraith. John's eye twitches and he exhales through his nose. "I noticed. Look maybe we should--"
Something grabs him from behind: an arm wraps around his torso, and a hand curls tightly around the front of his neck. John can feel the claws digging into the scar from the Eratus bug.
In front of him, Ronon is tense and ready to pounce, fear and worry buried under volatile rage. John's head is jerked to the side and the hand around his throat tightens. He feels those lips and teeth opening against his neck. But then, in the blink of an eye, the body behind him, the hands and mouth on him...they're all gone and John is choking on...dust.
The whole thing goes down and is over in a few brief seconds.
"Get back!" the stranger shouts. He drags John to Ronon by the arm and trades him for the axe.
John stares at him through the dancing black spots in his vision that are already retreating. He's standing in front of John and Ronon, holding the axe at the ready, and facing down the three--three? What happened to the other two?--bad guys. While John's watching he shrugs off his hooded sweatshirt without looking away from the slowly advancing...thugs. Under his baggy t-shirt he's leanly muscled. He's also a little taller than John, which is disconcerting, though Ronon's taller still and that's comforting. The way he moves--tight but loose at the same time; competent and confident--is familiar in a way John can't immediately place.
"Sheppard," Ronon says sharply.
John looks away from the stranger. Ronon's holding him up with one hand on his arm. His other hand is gripping the largest of his knives. And, yeah, this is why John recognizes the way the other guy moves: it's the same way Ronon does.
Ronon shakes him. "Sheppard!"
"I'm okay," John says quickly. His voice is too low and harsh, and talking hurts. "Mostly." He's still holding the knife he took from Ronon, and he brings it up when one of the thugs advances on the stranger.
The guy takes a quick step to the side and swings the axe in a clean arc. It whistles as it slices through the air towards the thug's neck. When the thug turns into dust after the axe cuts its head off, John's denial comes to an end.
"Vampires," he tells Ronon, without looking away.
"You said they weren't real!" And, God help him, Ronon is being petulant. John's grip on his knife becomes painful. "I could have been doing this instead of going to your stupid 'amusement' parks."
John narrows his eyes. "You shut up."
Ronon glares at him. "This trip was a bad idea: you're like a little kid. Always whining and sulking." John gapes and chokes on spit. "I could have spent my leave on Belkan. They have dancing boys and sucrit betting."
"Hey!" They jump at the stranger's voice, then turn to stare at him. He's fighting with the last two vampires and doing a good job of holding his ground. "Stop arguing and get the hell out of here. Now!"
John and Ronon look at each other and roll their eyes. Then Ronon grins, John smirks, and all it takes is an eyebrow arch and a nod to set their plan. John breaks to the right, Ronon to the left, and they flank the guy and the vampires.
Ronon draws one vampire away and John keeps half-an-eye on him until he sees Ronon ducking the hits coming his way. Good. John leaves him to it and hefts a piece of pipe from the ground. The pipe is heavy, John's got some muscle, and he's learned from Teyla the best methods for making his blows pack a punch, as well as the best places to land them.
John winds up on one knee, with both arms extended out, after he lands the blow to the vampire's spine. The vampire is stunned by the blow and freezes long enough for the stranger to put that axe to use again.
"Over here!" Ronon calls out. He's holding the final vampire against his chest, struggling to keep it contained.
The stranger drops the axe and pulls a stick of wood from his waistband. A quick but forceful motion drives it into the vampire's chest, reducing it to a cloud of dust.
"Well," John rasps. "That was different."
*
The guy introduces himself as Gunn. He's probably the first person in Los Angeles who doesn't look twice at Ronon's leathers or knives. John figures that fighting vampires for a living probably means Gunn's seen pretty much everything. Or is insane and found a way to spread the crazy around. It could go either way.
John would be more interested in what Gunn has to say but he's trying to figure out how the Hell he's going to tell the SGC about this without them locking him up in a padded room. Also? He doesn't want to encourage Ronon, who looks like it's his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one: he practically drools when Gunn mentions demons.
John steps between them. "Okay, I think it's time to head back," he says, making sure his voice sounds very raspy and pained. For good measure he touches his throat and swallows loudly. Ronon rolls his eyes in blatant disbelief, but nods.
"Stay on the main boulevards," Gunn advises them. He's shrugging back into his hoodie and tucking his weapons away. He hands John a stake. "Here, just in case." He gives them a business card, too, after studying Ronon's eager face. There's a number but no name listed. "If you run into trouble," he tells them.
John arches a brow but takes it and tucks it into his back pocket. He and Ronon leave Gunn cleaning his axe in the alley, watching them with amusement.
On the way back to the hotel Ronon peers hopefully into every alley they pass but it's an uneventful trip. John's sort of glad for that because the whole vampire thing is seriously messing with his world view and he needs some time to process it. Also, he needs alcohol. Lots of alcohol.
"Relax," Ronon says as they enter the hotel lobby.
John stares at him because, seriously: vampires. The only reason John hasn't had a sudden aneurysm is because he has experience with aliens.
When they get into their room, John pulls out his cell phone. "I need to call--"
Ronon sweeps his legs out from under him neatly and takes him to the floor. He wraps an arm around John on the way down and catches both their weight on one of his large hands. John's eyes widen in shock. He opens his mouth to ask Ronon what the hell he's doing, but Ronon kisses him. It's hard and wet and messy; an adrenaline-fueled kiss.
And a minute ago John was on edge and questioning his sanity, but all of that bleeds away as he lets the banked adrenaline go. He scrambles his hands between them and starts tearing at the fastenings of their pants.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," John groans into Ronon's mouth.
*
When John calls the SGC two hours later he's sprawled naked on the bed. He's got finger shaped bruises on his hips and Ronon's head pillowed on his thigh and he's going to be sore for, like, days.
The television's tuned to a marathon of Ninja Warrior and Ronon, supine and also naked, keeps muttering, "I could do that."
"Yeah, vampires," John repeats to Landry, with the sanguineness unique to the recently fucked stupid. He holds a couple of fingers in front of his mouth and crooks them. "Fangs and everything."
After a long pause Landry says, "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, you are to forget your encounter this evening and speak of it to no one, am I understood?"
John frowns and sits up. Ronon makes a rumble of discontentment. "Sir?"
"You heard me. The SGC has an agreement with an...organization of sorts whose business it is to deal with...incidents like the one you encountered. Your confidentiality is required even among your colleagues in Atlantis. Make sure Specialist Dex is aware of this, too."
John debates pushing the issue but his sanity has been confirmed and, even more importantly, the vampire problem is someone else's to deal with. "Yes, sir."
He hangs up not long after that and tosses his cell phone onto the bedside table.
"I'm trying that," Ronon says and points at the television. "We can set it up on the East Pier."
John catches a glimpse of a body of water-like stuff, a platform, a wire, and some feathers. He takes the remote from Ronon and turns the television off. "This vacation sucks."
Ronon nods. "Yeah. Best part was the vampires."
"Er, yeah, about that. You can't talk to anyone but me about vampires." Ronon shrugs and John takes that as official agreement to abide by a government decree. "But, I was thinking about what you said about Belkan, and I think we can salvage the rest of our leave."
*
They arrive in Las Vegas at ten in the morning and gamble until dark. Ronon's particularly good at craps, which apparently is similar to a Pegasus galaxy game, and accrues an impressive stack of chips that he loses at the roulette table.
John keeps his card-counting in check and wins a fair amount at the high stakes poker table. It's not enough to get him tossed, but it's enough to give him a nice high.
They eat dinner and head out in search of showboys, which they find slightly off the main drag. On the way home, horny and tipsy and laughing, they stake two vampires on a nearly deserted street. Then Ronon drags John into a shadowed doorway; he's on his knees and has John's dick in his mouth before the dust even settles.
"This is the best vacation ever," John slurs afterwards.
*
.End
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Ronon
Rating: R
Word Count: 2535
A/N: So, uh, ladycat777 suggested the idea of a SGA/Jossverse crack fusion in which John is showing Ronon L.A. and they come across vamps being staked. It...didn't work out like that. I mean--yeah, it kinda did. But there's limited crack. Also, not much Jossverse. *hands*
The thing about showing Ronon Earth, John realizes immediately, is that Ronon is pretty much a six and a half foot tall teenager.
He's sullen: "This sucks."
Unimpressed: "Whatever, there aren't even any spaceships."
Argumentative: "You shut up!"
Whiny: "I'm bored, there's nothing to do, this is lame."
And mildly violent towards sales reps at Gap: "Take one step closer and I'll break your wrist."
"You know, most people sort of find Los Angeles exciting," John tells him.
They're staying at a really expensive hotel, and it's three days and one stop into the ten-day excursion that's supposed to take them to seven or eight destinations.
Ronon glowers and throws himself onto the bed. "Whatever."
John's doubtful that they're going to even get to the second stop on the itinerary without killing each other. He really should have left Ronon at the mountain to be interrogated for hours on end by linguists. Dr. Jackson had been fascinated when he'd found out that the Satedan language is comprised of growls and snarls.
It probably would have taken weeks for them to realize that Ronon just likes to growl and snarl--a lot--and that there is no Satedan language, despite what John told Jackson.
John could have gone to Vegas and been swimming in casino chips and showboys by then. He sighs and pushes away from the doorjamb where he's been leaning. He crawls between Ronon's legs on the bed and reaches for his pants, intending to blow him into a better mood. Or into post-coital unconsciousness. Either one has its upside. Ronon growls, slaps his hands away, and then pushes him off the bed.
It's totally unexpected: John doesn't think Ronon's ever rejected a sexual advance before. He lands face down and bangs his forehead against the floor. Casino chips and showboys. "The fuck, Ronon?"
"I'm not in the mood," Ronon says, and his voice is prudish.
When John sits up he sees that Ronon has his arms crossed against his chest, like he's protecting his virtue. Jesus Christ, this trip was the worst idea John's ever had. He eyes Ronon, who's obviously stewing and working himself towards what will most likely be a spectacular tantrum. If they damage any other hotel property they're going to be thrown out. The concierge warned John about that this afternoon.
He sighs and ignores the fact that it's the middle of the night. "Let's go for a walk."
*
The shady looking people who hang out on the streets of Los Angeles at three in the morning give them a wide berth. It puts a little extra swagger in John's step until he turns and actually looks at Ronon: freakishly tall, strongly muscled, snarled lips, leather-clad, and quite obviously armed.
John stops him and adjusts his t-shirt so that his knives are covered. John kind of feels small and inadequate now, not to mention completely unarmed. "Be careful of flashing the weapons, will you?"
"Whatever."
They start walking again. John glares idly down the street. "I hate whoever taught you that response."
"McKay."
John snorts. "Why am I not surprised?"
They walk without a destination in mind and John lets Ronon lead. John's phone is Internet capable and he has Google Maps bookmarked, so he's not too concerned about getting lost.
Twenty minutes later, Ronon goes suddenly and completely still, then turns on his heel and takes off down a dark alley. He reaches for two of his knives and then is swallowed up by the shadows.
John curses and runs after him, only vaguely hearing the faint sounds of an altercation. "Ears like a fucking bat," he mutters under his breath.
At the back of the alley John almost slams right into Ronon but pulls to the left at the last second. Ronon is staring, wide-eyed, at the scuffling figures by the large wrought-iron gate that marks the alley's deadend. John snatches the knife out of his left hand and then turns to the other people.
...who don't all seem entirely like people, once John actually looks.
In fact, all but one of them is horribly deformed. Their fingers are tipped with long, thick nails, and their foreheads and brows are ridged and hard-looking. Their eyes--Jesus, they're yellow. When John sees the drawn-back lips and the fangs, his brain sort of skitters off-line because, no. Just, no. He does not want to go where the evidence seems to be leading him.
"What are those things?" Ronon snarls.
John blinks. Stares. Blinks some more. "Uh."
The one non-deformed guy takes a hit and grunts loudly. He loses his grip on his weapon and it lands by John and Ronon's feet. It's an axe, John realizes. Made out of a hubcap.
Ronon, of course, picks the damn thing up and charges into the fray. He gets thrown out of it about four seconds later. John's heart kicks painfully in his chest when he lands in a heap. "Ronon!"
Ronon is on his feet before John can even get to him. "I'm fine. Just--they're strong."
Christ. The only time John sees Ronon fly like that is when he's up against a Wraith. John's eye twitches and he exhales through his nose. "I noticed. Look maybe we should--"
Something grabs him from behind: an arm wraps around his torso, and a hand curls tightly around the front of his neck. John can feel the claws digging into the scar from the Eratus bug.
In front of him, Ronon is tense and ready to pounce, fear and worry buried under volatile rage. John's head is jerked to the side and the hand around his throat tightens. He feels those lips and teeth opening against his neck. But then, in the blink of an eye, the body behind him, the hands and mouth on him...they're all gone and John is choking on...dust.
The whole thing goes down and is over in a few brief seconds.
"Get back!" the stranger shouts. He drags John to Ronon by the arm and trades him for the axe.
John stares at him through the dancing black spots in his vision that are already retreating. He's standing in front of John and Ronon, holding the axe at the ready, and facing down the three--three? What happened to the other two?--bad guys. While John's watching he shrugs off his hooded sweatshirt without looking away from the slowly advancing...thugs. Under his baggy t-shirt he's leanly muscled. He's also a little taller than John, which is disconcerting, though Ronon's taller still and that's comforting. The way he moves--tight but loose at the same time; competent and confident--is familiar in a way John can't immediately place.
"Sheppard," Ronon says sharply.
John looks away from the stranger. Ronon's holding him up with one hand on his arm. His other hand is gripping the largest of his knives. And, yeah, this is why John recognizes the way the other guy moves: it's the same way Ronon does.
Ronon shakes him. "Sheppard!"
"I'm okay," John says quickly. His voice is too low and harsh, and talking hurts. "Mostly." He's still holding the knife he took from Ronon, and he brings it up when one of the thugs advances on the stranger.
The guy takes a quick step to the side and swings the axe in a clean arc. It whistles as it slices through the air towards the thug's neck. When the thug turns into dust after the axe cuts its head off, John's denial comes to an end.
"Vampires," he tells Ronon, without looking away.
"You said they weren't real!" And, God help him, Ronon is being petulant. John's grip on his knife becomes painful. "I could have been doing this instead of going to your stupid 'amusement' parks."
John narrows his eyes. "You shut up."
Ronon glares at him. "This trip was a bad idea: you're like a little kid. Always whining and sulking." John gapes and chokes on spit. "I could have spent my leave on Belkan. They have dancing boys and sucrit betting."
"Hey!" They jump at the stranger's voice, then turn to stare at him. He's fighting with the last two vampires and doing a good job of holding his ground. "Stop arguing and get the hell out of here. Now!"
John and Ronon look at each other and roll their eyes. Then Ronon grins, John smirks, and all it takes is an eyebrow arch and a nod to set their plan. John breaks to the right, Ronon to the left, and they flank the guy and the vampires.
Ronon draws one vampire away and John keeps half-an-eye on him until he sees Ronon ducking the hits coming his way. Good. John leaves him to it and hefts a piece of pipe from the ground. The pipe is heavy, John's got some muscle, and he's learned from Teyla the best methods for making his blows pack a punch, as well as the best places to land them.
John winds up on one knee, with both arms extended out, after he lands the blow to the vampire's spine. The vampire is stunned by the blow and freezes long enough for the stranger to put that axe to use again.
"Over here!" Ronon calls out. He's holding the final vampire against his chest, struggling to keep it contained.
The stranger drops the axe and pulls a stick of wood from his waistband. A quick but forceful motion drives it into the vampire's chest, reducing it to a cloud of dust.
"Well," John rasps. "That was different."
*
The guy introduces himself as Gunn. He's probably the first person in Los Angeles who doesn't look twice at Ronon's leathers or knives. John figures that fighting vampires for a living probably means Gunn's seen pretty much everything. Or is insane and found a way to spread the crazy around. It could go either way.
John would be more interested in what Gunn has to say but he's trying to figure out how the Hell he's going to tell the SGC about this without them locking him up in a padded room. Also? He doesn't want to encourage Ronon, who looks like it's his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one: he practically drools when Gunn mentions demons.
John steps between them. "Okay, I think it's time to head back," he says, making sure his voice sounds very raspy and pained. For good measure he touches his throat and swallows loudly. Ronon rolls his eyes in blatant disbelief, but nods.
"Stay on the main boulevards," Gunn advises them. He's shrugging back into his hoodie and tucking his weapons away. He hands John a stake. "Here, just in case." He gives them a business card, too, after studying Ronon's eager face. There's a number but no name listed. "If you run into trouble," he tells them.
John arches a brow but takes it and tucks it into his back pocket. He and Ronon leave Gunn cleaning his axe in the alley, watching them with amusement.
On the way back to the hotel Ronon peers hopefully into every alley they pass but it's an uneventful trip. John's sort of glad for that because the whole vampire thing is seriously messing with his world view and he needs some time to process it. Also, he needs alcohol. Lots of alcohol.
"Relax," Ronon says as they enter the hotel lobby.
John stares at him because, seriously: vampires. The only reason John hasn't had a sudden aneurysm is because he has experience with aliens.
When they get into their room, John pulls out his cell phone. "I need to call--"
Ronon sweeps his legs out from under him neatly and takes him to the floor. He wraps an arm around John on the way down and catches both their weight on one of his large hands. John's eyes widen in shock. He opens his mouth to ask Ronon what the hell he's doing, but Ronon kisses him. It's hard and wet and messy; an adrenaline-fueled kiss.
And a minute ago John was on edge and questioning his sanity, but all of that bleeds away as he lets the banked adrenaline go. He scrambles his hands between them and starts tearing at the fastenings of their pants.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," John groans into Ronon's mouth.
*
When John calls the SGC two hours later he's sprawled naked on the bed. He's got finger shaped bruises on his hips and Ronon's head pillowed on his thigh and he's going to be sore for, like, days.
The television's tuned to a marathon of Ninja Warrior and Ronon, supine and also naked, keeps muttering, "I could do that."
"Yeah, vampires," John repeats to Landry, with the sanguineness unique to the recently fucked stupid. He holds a couple of fingers in front of his mouth and crooks them. "Fangs and everything."
After a long pause Landry says, "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, you are to forget your encounter this evening and speak of it to no one, am I understood?"
John frowns and sits up. Ronon makes a rumble of discontentment. "Sir?"
"You heard me. The SGC has an agreement with an...organization of sorts whose business it is to deal with...incidents like the one you encountered. Your confidentiality is required even among your colleagues in Atlantis. Make sure Specialist Dex is aware of this, too."
John debates pushing the issue but his sanity has been confirmed and, even more importantly, the vampire problem is someone else's to deal with. "Yes, sir."
He hangs up not long after that and tosses his cell phone onto the bedside table.
"I'm trying that," Ronon says and points at the television. "We can set it up on the East Pier."
John catches a glimpse of a body of water-like stuff, a platform, a wire, and some feathers. He takes the remote from Ronon and turns the television off. "This vacation sucks."
Ronon nods. "Yeah. Best part was the vampires."
"Er, yeah, about that. You can't talk to anyone but me about vampires." Ronon shrugs and John takes that as official agreement to abide by a government decree. "But, I was thinking about what you said about Belkan, and I think we can salvage the rest of our leave."
*
They arrive in Las Vegas at ten in the morning and gamble until dark. Ronon's particularly good at craps, which apparently is similar to a Pegasus galaxy game, and accrues an impressive stack of chips that he loses at the roulette table.
John keeps his card-counting in check and wins a fair amount at the high stakes poker table. It's not enough to get him tossed, but it's enough to give him a nice high.
They eat dinner and head out in search of showboys, which they find slightly off the main drag. On the way home, horny and tipsy and laughing, they stake two vampires on a nearly deserted street. Then Ronon drags John into a shadowed doorway; he's on his knees and has John's dick in his mouth before the dust even settles.
"This is the best vacation ever," John slurs afterwards.
*
.End