Fic: (Still) In Hollywood (Ronon/John, Ronon/Spike) R
I am so slow that it's made of fail, okay? But I am going to get all the fics done if it takes me a freakin' year, okay?!?! *flails*
Title: (Still) In Hollywood
Fandoms: SGA/Jossverse
Rating: Hard R
Pairings: John/Ronon, slight Ronon/Spike
Word Count: ~1300
Request By: kita0610. Kita doesn't watch SGA, doesn't know anything about Ronon except what he looks like, and put in a request because she wanted to be able to read something of mine. I really kinda *heart* Kita an immense amount.
A/N: In an effort to preserve my sanity a bit, I took a short-cut with this fic. Since I've already meshed these two verses twice before and trying to do so yet again would have entailed lots of gnashing of teeth on my part, I'm setting this ficlet in the same meshed verse as In Hollywood.
Summary: When the request comes in it specifically asks for Sheppard or Ronon. It makes sense for Ronon to go.
*
When the request comes in it specifically asks for Sheppard or Ronon.
Sheppard can't just walk away from the city for such a long period of time. Or, he can, and sometimes does, but it's not advisable unless it's an emergency. This isn't an emergency; it's a favor to some group that fights vampires on Earth. At least, that's Ronon's understanding.
Now that Ronon's spent time on Earth, has a minimal understanding of things, and actually has the required clearance due to having run into vampires when he and Sheppard were in Los Angeles, it makes sense for him to go.
The tight set of Sheppard's jaw and the tension around his eyes speak to how very unhappy he is about it, however. Ronon would like to say something, to speak to Sheppard as John, and tell him it's okay, he'll take care of himself, and he'll come home again. There isn't any time, though. He has to make due with looking at Sheppard across the 'Gate Room, which does nothing but make Sheppard's lips purse in irritation.
"See you when I get back," Ronon says. He means a lot more than what he's saying and he only hopes that John hears some of it.
Sheppard nods and crosses his arms. His smirk is slightly off, but Ronon doesn't think most people would notice. "Keep yourself in one piece, okay?"
"Okay."
*
Ronon is beamed up to the Odyssey as soon as he gets to Earth, and then is beamed down again in Los Angeles. A pale guy wearing a long black coat, with slicked back blond hair, who smells of cigarette smoke and old blood, is waiting in the alley he's transported to. He makes Ronon's spine itch.
"You Spike?" Ronon asks, his hand sliding towards one of his knives.
"None other. You must be Ronon." He looks Ronon up and down. "Gunn wasn't lying. You are a big one, aren't you?"
Ronon stares at him. "What's the mission?"
Spike rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. "Right, down to business, then. We've got a cask to track down, a boatload of baddies on our trail, and a time limit. Oh, and we're also cut off and on our own." He exhales a plume of smoke and squints at Ronon, his gaze sharp and assessing despite his lackadaisical posture. "Think you're up for it?"
Ronon rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and smirks. "Bring it on."
Spike's lips curl up at the corners. "Oh, I like you."
*
They find the cask quickly enough but it's a fight to get it. The creatures they come up against are huge and fast and bulky. Ronon is practically dwarfed by them in both height and width. To make matters worse, his gun--which he has relied on to kill Wraith and keep him alive for several years--doesn't seem to actually hurt the things. Ronon's never liked being out muscled or out-gunned; it really makes him angry.
He takes down the building with the C4 and detonators that Sheppard insisted he bring.
On the sidewalk, just barely clear of the explosion, Spike stares at him wildly for a moment, then laughs, sounding amused and relieved and maybe slightly insane.
*
Spike gets them to an old rambling hotel. They just make it inside before a slew of reinforcements track them down. The creatures bounce off a force field of some sort that's set up around the building.
"Magic," Spike says when Ronon asks about it. "This place is a bolt hole of sorts; got some precautions in place. All that's left is waiting them out and then getting this thing--" He pats the cask. "--over to a guy I know in Chinatown."
It's not that simple. It never is, in Ronon's experience. Spike's either, if the way his smirk seems plastered on and fake is anything to go by.
*
The creatures are still there two days later, though only half a dozen remain rather than the initial two dozen.
Spike isn't looking too good. At all.
"I can take them," Ronon says. Spike stares at him like he's insane. Ronon twitches. "Maybe one of them."
"How about none of them?" Spike suggests, voice bright and chipper with sarcasm despite the way the skin of his face is sinking against his bones.
Ronon looks away and scowls at the floor. He likes being trapped even less than being out-manned and -gunned. It makes him desperate.
*
Ronon realizes that Spike isn't going to ask, even though he wants to, even though he should, even though there's no other option. So Ronon offers and watches the longing come over Spike's face, greedy and inhuman enough that Ronon has to leave, has to run up the wide staircase, run through long winding halls that double back on themselves, run-run-run until his legs burn from it and his head is clear and empty.
*
Spike's either sleeping or unconscious when Ronon returns, which works out for the best. Ronon drops the stake and first aid kit by Spike's thigh; he found them in the office behind the large counter. He takes out his sharpest knife. It's a small one that he keeps tucked in his hair and it cuts the skin of his wrist with a smoothness that's almost elegant.
Ronon holds his bleeding wrist to Spike's mouth, presses the stake to Spike's chest with his free hand, and it's barely a second before Spike's eyes snap open, yellow and animal-like, his face crunching as it shifts.
*
It's nothing at all like being fed on by a Wraith. It's...different, yes, different, and it pulls at Ronon's groin, clutches at his chest, sizzles along his nerves. He gets hard; he doesn't want to, but he can't help it. His cock thickens, fills, and throbs in time with the sucking of Spike's mouth against his wrist, and Ronon is glad, so glad, that he gave his wrist and not his neck.
Ronon comes when Spike lifts his head and swipes his tongue along the wound.
*
Several hours later they fight their way out and race across town, to the guy that Spike knows, who is small and wrinkled and purple and not human at all. Ronon and Spike stand guard in the small shop while the purple thing stands over the cask, his hands glowing, his lips twisting out sounds that Ronon's never heard, has never wanted to hear.
There's a flash of light, sudden and bright, and then three people take the place of the cask. One of them is Gunn, the guy Ronon and Sheppard met earlier in the year. Another is a vampire, Ronon can tell. The third is a thin-boned woman with long brown hair.
Ronon takes a radio out of his pocket and slips it on his ear. While the others are greeting each other in a time-honored fashion of giving each other shit, Ronon turns the radio on, says "Odyssey this is Ronon Dex" and waits for a response.
"Going so soon?" Spike asks, and his smirk is real and sharp and true now. "Thought we were just starting to have..." His gaze slides down to Ronon's crotch. "All sorts of fun."
"That boyfriend of his'll kill you," Gunn tells Spike. "No joke. Some kind of insanity that runs pretty close to the surface going on there."
Ronon's radio sounds. "Ronon this is Odyssey, are you clear to return?"
Ronon looks at Spike. "All set?"
Spike shrugs. "Suppose so."
"Set," Ronon says into his radio, and is transported up to the ship before the tall vampire or the slight woman can say anything to him.
*
Sheppard looks him over as soon as Ronon's beamed back into the city six weeks later. Nothing gives it away, but Ronon knows John notices the healed wound on his wrist almost immediately.
Later, in Ronon's quarters, John sets his mouth over it, draws the puckered and scarring flesh into his mouth, and sucks until Ronon comes in his pants, until a bruise comes up around and on top of it.
.End
Title: (Still) In Hollywood
Fandoms: SGA/Jossverse
Rating: Hard R
Pairings: John/Ronon, slight Ronon/Spike
Word Count: ~1300
Request By: kita0610. Kita doesn't watch SGA, doesn't know anything about Ronon except what he looks like, and put in a request because she wanted to be able to read something of mine. I really kinda *heart* Kita an immense amount.
A/N: In an effort to preserve my sanity a bit, I took a short-cut with this fic. Since I've already meshed these two verses twice before and trying to do so yet again would have entailed lots of gnashing of teeth on my part, I'm setting this ficlet in the same meshed verse as In Hollywood.
Summary: When the request comes in it specifically asks for Sheppard or Ronon. It makes sense for Ronon to go.
*
When the request comes in it specifically asks for Sheppard or Ronon.
Sheppard can't just walk away from the city for such a long period of time. Or, he can, and sometimes does, but it's not advisable unless it's an emergency. This isn't an emergency; it's a favor to some group that fights vampires on Earth. At least, that's Ronon's understanding.
Now that Ronon's spent time on Earth, has a minimal understanding of things, and actually has the required clearance due to having run into vampires when he and Sheppard were in Los Angeles, it makes sense for him to go.
The tight set of Sheppard's jaw and the tension around his eyes speak to how very unhappy he is about it, however. Ronon would like to say something, to speak to Sheppard as John, and tell him it's okay, he'll take care of himself, and he'll come home again. There isn't any time, though. He has to make due with looking at Sheppard across the 'Gate Room, which does nothing but make Sheppard's lips purse in irritation.
"See you when I get back," Ronon says. He means a lot more than what he's saying and he only hopes that John hears some of it.
Sheppard nods and crosses his arms. His smirk is slightly off, but Ronon doesn't think most people would notice. "Keep yourself in one piece, okay?"
"Okay."
*
Ronon is beamed up to the Odyssey as soon as he gets to Earth, and then is beamed down again in Los Angeles. A pale guy wearing a long black coat, with slicked back blond hair, who smells of cigarette smoke and old blood, is waiting in the alley he's transported to. He makes Ronon's spine itch.
"You Spike?" Ronon asks, his hand sliding towards one of his knives.
"None other. You must be Ronon." He looks Ronon up and down. "Gunn wasn't lying. You are a big one, aren't you?"
Ronon stares at him. "What's the mission?"
Spike rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. "Right, down to business, then. We've got a cask to track down, a boatload of baddies on our trail, and a time limit. Oh, and we're also cut off and on our own." He exhales a plume of smoke and squints at Ronon, his gaze sharp and assessing despite his lackadaisical posture. "Think you're up for it?"
Ronon rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and smirks. "Bring it on."
Spike's lips curl up at the corners. "Oh, I like you."
*
They find the cask quickly enough but it's a fight to get it. The creatures they come up against are huge and fast and bulky. Ronon is practically dwarfed by them in both height and width. To make matters worse, his gun--which he has relied on to kill Wraith and keep him alive for several years--doesn't seem to actually hurt the things. Ronon's never liked being out muscled or out-gunned; it really makes him angry.
He takes down the building with the C4 and detonators that Sheppard insisted he bring.
On the sidewalk, just barely clear of the explosion, Spike stares at him wildly for a moment, then laughs, sounding amused and relieved and maybe slightly insane.
*
Spike gets them to an old rambling hotel. They just make it inside before a slew of reinforcements track them down. The creatures bounce off a force field of some sort that's set up around the building.
"Magic," Spike says when Ronon asks about it. "This place is a bolt hole of sorts; got some precautions in place. All that's left is waiting them out and then getting this thing--" He pats the cask. "--over to a guy I know in Chinatown."
It's not that simple. It never is, in Ronon's experience. Spike's either, if the way his smirk seems plastered on and fake is anything to go by.
*
The creatures are still there two days later, though only half a dozen remain rather than the initial two dozen.
Spike isn't looking too good. At all.
"I can take them," Ronon says. Spike stares at him like he's insane. Ronon twitches. "Maybe one of them."
"How about none of them?" Spike suggests, voice bright and chipper with sarcasm despite the way the skin of his face is sinking against his bones.
Ronon looks away and scowls at the floor. He likes being trapped even less than being out-manned and -gunned. It makes him desperate.
*
Ronon realizes that Spike isn't going to ask, even though he wants to, even though he should, even though there's no other option. So Ronon offers and watches the longing come over Spike's face, greedy and inhuman enough that Ronon has to leave, has to run up the wide staircase, run through long winding halls that double back on themselves, run-run-run until his legs burn from it and his head is clear and empty.
*
Spike's either sleeping or unconscious when Ronon returns, which works out for the best. Ronon drops the stake and first aid kit by Spike's thigh; he found them in the office behind the large counter. He takes out his sharpest knife. It's a small one that he keeps tucked in his hair and it cuts the skin of his wrist with a smoothness that's almost elegant.
Ronon holds his bleeding wrist to Spike's mouth, presses the stake to Spike's chest with his free hand, and it's barely a second before Spike's eyes snap open, yellow and animal-like, his face crunching as it shifts.
*
It's nothing at all like being fed on by a Wraith. It's...different, yes, different, and it pulls at Ronon's groin, clutches at his chest, sizzles along his nerves. He gets hard; he doesn't want to, but he can't help it. His cock thickens, fills, and throbs in time with the sucking of Spike's mouth against his wrist, and Ronon is glad, so glad, that he gave his wrist and not his neck.
Ronon comes when Spike lifts his head and swipes his tongue along the wound.
*
Several hours later they fight their way out and race across town, to the guy that Spike knows, who is small and wrinkled and purple and not human at all. Ronon and Spike stand guard in the small shop while the purple thing stands over the cask, his hands glowing, his lips twisting out sounds that Ronon's never heard, has never wanted to hear.
There's a flash of light, sudden and bright, and then three people take the place of the cask. One of them is Gunn, the guy Ronon and Sheppard met earlier in the year. Another is a vampire, Ronon can tell. The third is a thin-boned woman with long brown hair.
Ronon takes a radio out of his pocket and slips it on his ear. While the others are greeting each other in a time-honored fashion of giving each other shit, Ronon turns the radio on, says "Odyssey this is Ronon Dex" and waits for a response.
"Going so soon?" Spike asks, and his smirk is real and sharp and true now. "Thought we were just starting to have..." His gaze slides down to Ronon's crotch. "All sorts of fun."
"That boyfriend of his'll kill you," Gunn tells Spike. "No joke. Some kind of insanity that runs pretty close to the surface going on there."
Ronon's radio sounds. "Ronon this is Odyssey, are you clear to return?"
Ronon looks at Spike. "All set?"
Spike shrugs. "Suppose so."
"Set," Ronon says into his radio, and is transported up to the ship before the tall vampire or the slight woman can say anything to him.
*
Sheppard looks him over as soon as Ronon's beamed back into the city six weeks later. Nothing gives it away, but Ronon knows John notices the healed wound on his wrist almost immediately.
Later, in Ronon's quarters, John sets his mouth over it, draws the puckered and scarring flesh into his mouth, and sucks until Ronon comes in his pants, until a bruise comes up around and on top of it.
.End