Demon Snippet (John/Rodney pre-slash, PG)
Title: Demon Snippet
Rating: PG
Pairings: John/Rodney pre-slash
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Alchemist!John needs some demon blood for a flying potion. The demon in question is not amused.
Author's Notes: I'm lagging terribly behind in answering comments and delivering stories, so please, have a snippet to tide you over. I wrote this a while ago, but it's not going anywhere, so I'll just do the sensible thing and dump it on the internet. ;)
~~~
Some days, John wondered why he'd ever thought becoming an alchemist would be a good idea. Sure, experimenting with things that went boom was fun and the smell of sulphurous smoke that clung to his clothing kept the girls at a distance, but he was starting to wish he'd picked a safer occupation. Like, say, dragon-slaying.
"And seriously, what is wrong with you people?" the demon snapped, blue eyes blazing. It had been ranting for the past few minutes and showed no signs of slowing down. John would have been impressed, if he hadn't been pinned to the wall by several bony knives. Apparently, demons fitted their towers with traps these days; who would have thought? The demon went on, gesticulating wildly, "There has to be a better way to alleviate the boredom of mortal life than assaulting unsuspecting scholars!"
John tended to agree, except, "I'm stuck to the wall by a bunch of knives that came out of the other wall. I wouldn't exactly call that unsuspecting." He raised an eyebrow, and the demon huffed.
"Well, obviously not." It rolled its eyes and pointed at John. "I'm starting to believe that this is a conspiracy - every time I make progress on the flying machine, one of you idiots shows up and tries to kill me!" Flying machine? John perked up, but the demon was on a roll now. "Oh, wait, don't tell me - did Zelenka send you? Or, ooh, it was Kavanagh, wasn't it? That weaselly, backstabbing son of a -"
"No one sent me," John interrupted him. He squirmed, but the knives held fast. He was damned lucky they had only pierced his clothing. "I was trying to put together a flying potion, and one of the ingredients was demon blood."
"What, and you need all of it?" The demon gestured down at its body. John licked his lips. It was a very nice body, clad in leather breeches and boots and a white linen shirt, sturdy and just the right combination of hard and soft, with those strong shoulders and thighs and that sweet little belly. It looked like something a man could cling to.
He shook his head. "Well, no, but -"
"Did it ever occur to you," the demon went on, acid dripping from his voice, "to, oh, I don't know, trade for what you want?"
John blinked at him. "Uh..." That thought hadn't even once crossed his head. Sure, the recipe only called for a small phial of demon blood, but everyone knew that demons were evil, right? Riding off to kill one had seemed like the thing to do.
He was starting to feel like an idiot.
"Look," he said, "we obviously got off on the wrong foot." The demon snorted; John ignored him. "I'm John Sheppard. I like catch-the-fairy, horses, and anything that flies." He wiggled the fingers of his right hand, the knife that pinned his sleeve to the wall pressing cool against his wrist. "Pleased to meet you."
The demon stared at him liked it thought he was insane. John couldn't blame it.
"Catch-the-fairy?" it asked faintly.
"Not a real fairy," John hastened to explain. He had no desire for the demon to kill him in a fit of misguided solidarity with its fellow magical creatures. "Just a prolate spheroid ball that gets thrown a lot."
"A ball," the demon said. John nodded. "That isn't even round." John nodded again. "And you call it a fairy... why?"
"I have no idea," John said honestly, and squirmed again. "Hey, buddy," he gave the demon his most winning smile, "what say you let me off this wall?"
The demon looked him up and down, not seeming all that impressed with John's smile or his wriggling. It crossed its arms and raised its chin. "I don't think so."
"Come on," John said, "you said something about trading, right? Let's trade. I'm sure we can work something out that doesn't involve you schlepping my corpse down all those stairs." The tower's staircase had been breathtaking - literally.
"Actually, I was going to throw it out the window," the demon said absently, looking thoughtful as it tapped a finger against its chin. John kept smiling. "Fine," it said, "a phial of blood in return for six months' service."
"Six months!" John blurted. At the demon's glare, he hastened to say, "All right. That's perfectly fair. But I get two phials, in case something goes wrong."
"Fine," the demon said again. "If you try to kill me, I will make you wish you had never chosen to become an alchemist." It smiled meanly. The expression didn't really work on its open face, which seemed a little odd, for a demon.
Too late, John thought, but he kept his tongue. "I give you my word," he said solemnly. A moment later, the knives were gone. He rubbed his wrist, fingers tingling with the renewed blood flow.
The demon glared at him and pointed at a stack of dirty plates, cups and cutlery shoved haphazardly under a table. "You can start by cleaning those," it commanded. "And I expect dinner at sundown. I need to eat regularly, or... well." It let out a small cough. "And no citrus, or -"
"Or you'll make me regret I ever chose to become an alchemist, got it." John eyed him. The demon eyed him back.
"What?" it asked finally.
"You got a name?" John asked.
"Oh." The demon thought for a moment. "You can call me Master," it decided, its crooked lips tilted into a pleased smile.
John huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I don't think so."
The demon crossed its arms again, looking deeply offended, but then it ruined the effect by waving its right hand in a careless circle. "All right, fine, whatever. I'm Rodney."
"Pleased to meet you, Rodney," John said with far too much sincerity, and the demon surprised him by giving him a quick grin.
"Dishes," it said imperiously, and turned to bend over what had to be the beginnings of its flying machine. John stared at the demon's ass, round and full in those stupid leather breeches, and swallowed before he went to scoop up the flatware.
This was going to be interesting.
~~~
Aaaand I'm sure it would have been plenty interesting, with lots of drama and danger and other things starting with d; alas, these characters aren't talking to me any more. I guess they're too busy having sexytimes in their flying machine. In other words, feel free to pick this up if it inspires you, but I don't think there'll be more from me in this 'verse.
Rating: PG
Pairings: John/Rodney pre-slash
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Alchemist!John needs some demon blood for a flying potion. The demon in question is not amused.
Author's Notes: I'm lagging terribly behind in answering comments and delivering stories, so please, have a snippet to tide you over. I wrote this a while ago, but it's not going anywhere, so I'll just do the sensible thing and dump it on the internet. ;)
~~~
Some days, John wondered why he'd ever thought becoming an alchemist would be a good idea. Sure, experimenting with things that went boom was fun and the smell of sulphurous smoke that clung to his clothing kept the girls at a distance, but he was starting to wish he'd picked a safer occupation. Like, say, dragon-slaying.
"And seriously, what is wrong with you people?" the demon snapped, blue eyes blazing. It had been ranting for the past few minutes and showed no signs of slowing down. John would have been impressed, if he hadn't been pinned to the wall by several bony knives. Apparently, demons fitted their towers with traps these days; who would have thought? The demon went on, gesticulating wildly, "There has to be a better way to alleviate the boredom of mortal life than assaulting unsuspecting scholars!"
John tended to agree, except, "I'm stuck to the wall by a bunch of knives that came out of the other wall. I wouldn't exactly call that unsuspecting." He raised an eyebrow, and the demon huffed.
"Well, obviously not." It rolled its eyes and pointed at John. "I'm starting to believe that this is a conspiracy - every time I make progress on the flying machine, one of you idiots shows up and tries to kill me!" Flying machine? John perked up, but the demon was on a roll now. "Oh, wait, don't tell me - did Zelenka send you? Or, ooh, it was Kavanagh, wasn't it? That weaselly, backstabbing son of a -"
"No one sent me," John interrupted him. He squirmed, but the knives held fast. He was damned lucky they had only pierced his clothing. "I was trying to put together a flying potion, and one of the ingredients was demon blood."
"What, and you need all of it?" The demon gestured down at its body. John licked his lips. It was a very nice body, clad in leather breeches and boots and a white linen shirt, sturdy and just the right combination of hard and soft, with those strong shoulders and thighs and that sweet little belly. It looked like something a man could cling to.
He shook his head. "Well, no, but -"
"Did it ever occur to you," the demon went on, acid dripping from his voice, "to, oh, I don't know, trade for what you want?"
John blinked at him. "Uh..." That thought hadn't even once crossed his head. Sure, the recipe only called for a small phial of demon blood, but everyone knew that demons were evil, right? Riding off to kill one had seemed like the thing to do.
He was starting to feel like an idiot.
"Look," he said, "we obviously got off on the wrong foot." The demon snorted; John ignored him. "I'm John Sheppard. I like catch-the-fairy, horses, and anything that flies." He wiggled the fingers of his right hand, the knife that pinned his sleeve to the wall pressing cool against his wrist. "Pleased to meet you."
The demon stared at him liked it thought he was insane. John couldn't blame it.
"Catch-the-fairy?" it asked faintly.
"Not a real fairy," John hastened to explain. He had no desire for the demon to kill him in a fit of misguided solidarity with its fellow magical creatures. "Just a prolate spheroid ball that gets thrown a lot."
"A ball," the demon said. John nodded. "That isn't even round." John nodded again. "And you call it a fairy... why?"
"I have no idea," John said honestly, and squirmed again. "Hey, buddy," he gave the demon his most winning smile, "what say you let me off this wall?"
The demon looked him up and down, not seeming all that impressed with John's smile or his wriggling. It crossed its arms and raised its chin. "I don't think so."
"Come on," John said, "you said something about trading, right? Let's trade. I'm sure we can work something out that doesn't involve you schlepping my corpse down all those stairs." The tower's staircase had been breathtaking - literally.
"Actually, I was going to throw it out the window," the demon said absently, looking thoughtful as it tapped a finger against its chin. John kept smiling. "Fine," it said, "a phial of blood in return for six months' service."
"Six months!" John blurted. At the demon's glare, he hastened to say, "All right. That's perfectly fair. But I get two phials, in case something goes wrong."
"Fine," the demon said again. "If you try to kill me, I will make you wish you had never chosen to become an alchemist." It smiled meanly. The expression didn't really work on its open face, which seemed a little odd, for a demon.
Too late, John thought, but he kept his tongue. "I give you my word," he said solemnly. A moment later, the knives were gone. He rubbed his wrist, fingers tingling with the renewed blood flow.
The demon glared at him and pointed at a stack of dirty plates, cups and cutlery shoved haphazardly under a table. "You can start by cleaning those," it commanded. "And I expect dinner at sundown. I need to eat regularly, or... well." It let out a small cough. "And no citrus, or -"
"Or you'll make me regret I ever chose to become an alchemist, got it." John eyed him. The demon eyed him back.
"What?" it asked finally.
"You got a name?" John asked.
"Oh." The demon thought for a moment. "You can call me Master," it decided, its crooked lips tilted into a pleased smile.
John huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I don't think so."
The demon crossed its arms again, looking deeply offended, but then it ruined the effect by waving its right hand in a careless circle. "All right, fine, whatever. I'm Rodney."
"Pleased to meet you, Rodney," John said with far too much sincerity, and the demon surprised him by giving him a quick grin.
"Dishes," it said imperiously, and turned to bend over what had to be the beginnings of its flying machine. John stared at the demon's ass, round and full in those stupid leather breeches, and swallowed before he went to scoop up the flatware.
This was going to be interesting.
~~~
Aaaand I'm sure it would have been plenty interesting, with lots of drama and danger and other things starting with d; alas, these characters aren't talking to me any more. I guess they're too busy having sexytimes in their flying machine. In other words, feel free to pick this up if it inspires you, but I don't think there'll be more from me in this 'verse.