(no subject)
Written for Cliche_bingo
Title: Deprived
Cliche: Sensory Deprivation
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:1574
Betas: The gracious team of mischief5 who rescued me from quotation stress, and neevebrody who kept me and my tenses on track. Any mistakes are all mine.
Summary: Rodney’s noncommittal and John goes without. Rescuing ensues.
Part of the Sensual Magic AU where John is a vampire and Rodney is not. Follows Bitten
Deprived
John kicked the sheets off the bed. Damn it, he shouldn’t be waking up alone. He knew better than anyone that Rodney had to be thoroughly claimed. Somehow John had to convince him for his own protection. Rodney still needed to ... well suffice to say, so far he’d failed in convincing him, resulting in one reckless Potential and one morose, unhappy vampire.
Rodney insisted that work needed him, that he was vital to a project that John couldn’t give a damn about. His mind was still too slippery for John to affect and his wiles, as Rodney called it, well that had failed him too. Although, John had to admit, it was gratifying to recall the look on Rodney’s face when he had stretched full out naked on the bed. It took Rodney four tries to button his shirt right and he never did find his socks. Stupid, stubborn Potential.
John sighed. The hours were going to drag until Rodney got back. Partly his own fault as he hadn’t quite been ready to put the old legends to the test and walk out into the daylight with him. He’d just found Rodney damn it, and the risk of losing it all turned him into a coward for the first time in his libertine existence. This was not what was supposed to happen. The irony didn’t bypass John that he wasn’t exactly the poster child for white picket fences and rainbows, and a dry smirk played across his mouth. He didn’t fucking need rainbows, he had Rodney.
Who wasn’t here when he should’ve been and if that was the way it was going to be, then John would just have to spend a little of his alone time thinking about him. He could still feel it; Rodney’s blood was rich and heavy in him, and his cock stirred in anticipation. John palmed his cock in a loose grip, fingertips just teasing, and let the memory flood back. He didn’t want this to be over too soon, but thinking about Rodney’s first-time blooding, the way he’d wantonly offered his neck up to him, so eager, sent shivers down his spine. He looked down at his own hand, idly watching the way his cockhead pushed up and back through his fist while his mind drifted on thoughts of the taste and scent of Rodney’s tender throat. John had never been so sated.
He wanted Rodney’s hands back on him, wanted to have Rodney’s nails gently raking over his skin again, teasing with delicious not-quite pain. John took himself more firmly in hand with long, hard strokes from root to wet tip, cock hardening even more as he remembered creamy soft skin giving way to him as he’d carefully sank in deep and drank. Remembered how Rodney had pulled him closer still, welcoming it, wanting it as Rodney’s soft, “Please, John,” caused his own blood to surge.
He ran his tongue over still sensitive fangs and shuddered in pleasure. This might not take long at all.
Suddenly panic washed over him. His stomach cramped hard and he could barely get to his feet. Rodney was in trouble. Bad trouble. Cold fear ran through him and John reached out over their fragile bond desperately needing to find him. Vamps had taken Rodney, he was sure of it. John needed to focus he had to move and he had to fight.
He’d been a stupid idiot, gotten clumsy when he should have known spending that much time with one human would attract the curiosity and attention of the undead. It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out what Rodney really was. Only, how in hell had the bastards gotten to Rodney in the daytime? Underground. Oh Fuck. Rodney worked under a goddamn mountain.
Nightfall was twenty minutes away. Enough time for John to get to his personal armory and gear himself with grenades and C-4, and to hone his sword blade to a razor edge. Heads would roll. Literally. Sorry Whedon, thought John, wooden stakes were so yesterday and maximum damage was due to anyone who dared take what was his. On second thought, John slipped a stake in his coat pocket. He grimaced in disgust; sometimes appearances were important and just his luck he’d run into one of Whedon’s undead true believers.
There was nothing John could do now but search and wait. He let every sense fall away but one. Numbness crept over his limbs, his vision blurred and sounds fell away to pale echoes. He let the last rich taste of Rodney’s blood go, accepting the bitter emptiness it left behind as just desserts for being so foolish to risk someone so precious. Then he narrowed in on Rodney’s scent, the ability enhanced five-fold by willingly letting go of all his other senses. As the centuries had proven, John was very, very good at tracking.
~~*~~
They looked like the Trust, walked like the Trust, and lies certainly fell out of their mouth like the Trust. It wasn’t until one of them showed his fangs that Rodney realized how very screwed he was. If he got out of this alive, he was phoning in his resignation and telling Carter to shove her pleas for help (from his admittedly brilliant mind) out the nearest airlock.
God, he wished he’d stayed with John. There’d been a bone-deep itch under his skin since he’d left, a constant reminder that he didn’t belong here anymore. What a fuck up. He knew this was his own goddamn fault. What John had asked from him had terrified Rodney. He wasn’t here to help Carter he was here because he’d run away from John. Well, okay, if he were honest not John so much what John was expecting from him. Rodney was surprisingly okay with John being a uh, libertine. And the sex. He was really, really okay with the sex.
~~*~~
Oh please. An underground crypt? They’d walked through what felt like miles of tunnel for this? Didn’t they have any imagination? It was more than mildly disgusting and Rodney hoped John would blow it all to hell when he got here. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that John would find him. He just had to keep it together and not panic. For all it looked like doom, horrendously fatal and painful doom, Rodney could feel the itching under his skin ease. Rodney fingered the lingering bite marks on his throat. Yes, John was definitely getting closer.
~~*~~
John slipped soundlessly into the crypt, a weapon himself, more lethal than the sword he held at the ready. Ahead of him was his Potential and no one else would ever touch him again.
Rodney yelled to him, “John! John, oh thank god. Get me out of here. These idiots smell and I’m afraid if I’m here much longer the collective stupidity will start affecting my naturally good disposition. A crypt. Christ. And do you know I haven’t had any coffee in hours? How is that even remotely humane?
You are planning to kick vampire butt aren’t you? I’ve been stuck in this infernal hell hole with pandering grave-heads for hours. If I’d wanted unwashed lackeys, I could have had that at Area 51. I hope to hell you’re planning to blow this place to smithereens. You’d be doing it a favor. What’s wrong with you? Are you blind? Oh my god, you’re blind!”
John laughed and made his way over to Rodney. With cold glee he separated the heads from any of the undead that were too slow getting out of his way. Some of them actually seemed relieved as they ran off, as if now that they had a Potential in their midst, they had no idea what to do with him.
“I’m okay Rodney. Really. The blindness is temporary. To track you I had to let my other senses go so that I could focus on your scent. I can still detect everything I need to” and with those words John pressed his face into Rodney’s neck. “Are you okay?” he asked, mumbling the question against Rodney’s skin.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Rodney replied. “They didn’t hurt me but two of them tried to climb into my lap. Possibly there was some manly screaming until they backed off. What the hell was up with that?”
John grinned. “I’ve told you. You’re a Potential. Rare and so damn precious any vampire would end themselves before they’d hurt you.”
Rodney’s eyes widened. “So I wasn’t in any real danger? What if they’d tried to bite me?”
“They can’t. Well, they could try, but unless your heart was completely willing, your blood chemistry would act like a toxic poison to them.”
“Wait, wait, just a minute. You knew this, and you bit me anyway? You suicidal idiot! What if I’d killed you?”
John nuzzled Rodney’s ear with a smug little smile and said, “Guess it’s a good thing they didn’t know they could win you over with coffee and chocolate.”
“Oh, you are so very extra dead for that.”
Next Vanity
My Card
Title: Deprived
Cliche: Sensory Deprivation
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:1574
Betas: The gracious team of mischief5 who rescued me from quotation stress, and neevebrody who kept me and my tenses on track. Any mistakes are all mine.
Summary: Rodney’s noncommittal and John goes without. Rescuing ensues.
Part of the Sensual Magic AU where John is a vampire and Rodney is not. Follows Bitten
Deprived
John kicked the sheets off the bed. Damn it, he shouldn’t be waking up alone. He knew better than anyone that Rodney had to be thoroughly claimed. Somehow John had to convince him for his own protection. Rodney still needed to ... well suffice to say, so far he’d failed in convincing him, resulting in one reckless Potential and one morose, unhappy vampire.
Rodney insisted that work needed him, that he was vital to a project that John couldn’t give a damn about. His mind was still too slippery for John to affect and his wiles, as Rodney called it, well that had failed him too. Although, John had to admit, it was gratifying to recall the look on Rodney’s face when he had stretched full out naked on the bed. It took Rodney four tries to button his shirt right and he never did find his socks. Stupid, stubborn Potential.
John sighed. The hours were going to drag until Rodney got back. Partly his own fault as he hadn’t quite been ready to put the old legends to the test and walk out into the daylight with him. He’d just found Rodney damn it, and the risk of losing it all turned him into a coward for the first time in his libertine existence. This was not what was supposed to happen. The irony didn’t bypass John that he wasn’t exactly the poster child for white picket fences and rainbows, and a dry smirk played across his mouth. He didn’t fucking need rainbows, he had Rodney.
Who wasn’t here when he should’ve been and if that was the way it was going to be, then John would just have to spend a little of his alone time thinking about him. He could still feel it; Rodney’s blood was rich and heavy in him, and his cock stirred in anticipation. John palmed his cock in a loose grip, fingertips just teasing, and let the memory flood back. He didn’t want this to be over too soon, but thinking about Rodney’s first-time blooding, the way he’d wantonly offered his neck up to him, so eager, sent shivers down his spine. He looked down at his own hand, idly watching the way his cockhead pushed up and back through his fist while his mind drifted on thoughts of the taste and scent of Rodney’s tender throat. John had never been so sated.
He wanted Rodney’s hands back on him, wanted to have Rodney’s nails gently raking over his skin again, teasing with delicious not-quite pain. John took himself more firmly in hand with long, hard strokes from root to wet tip, cock hardening even more as he remembered creamy soft skin giving way to him as he’d carefully sank in deep and drank. Remembered how Rodney had pulled him closer still, welcoming it, wanting it as Rodney’s soft, “Please, John,” caused his own blood to surge.
He ran his tongue over still sensitive fangs and shuddered in pleasure. This might not take long at all.
Suddenly panic washed over him. His stomach cramped hard and he could barely get to his feet. Rodney was in trouble. Bad trouble. Cold fear ran through him and John reached out over their fragile bond desperately needing to find him. Vamps had taken Rodney, he was sure of it. John needed to focus he had to move and he had to fight.
He’d been a stupid idiot, gotten clumsy when he should have known spending that much time with one human would attract the curiosity and attention of the undead. It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out what Rodney really was. Only, how in hell had the bastards gotten to Rodney in the daytime? Underground. Oh Fuck. Rodney worked under a goddamn mountain.
Nightfall was twenty minutes away. Enough time for John to get to his personal armory and gear himself with grenades and C-4, and to hone his sword blade to a razor edge. Heads would roll. Literally. Sorry Whedon, thought John, wooden stakes were so yesterday and maximum damage was due to anyone who dared take what was his. On second thought, John slipped a stake in his coat pocket. He grimaced in disgust; sometimes appearances were important and just his luck he’d run into one of Whedon’s undead true believers.
There was nothing John could do now but search and wait. He let every sense fall away but one. Numbness crept over his limbs, his vision blurred and sounds fell away to pale echoes. He let the last rich taste of Rodney’s blood go, accepting the bitter emptiness it left behind as just desserts for being so foolish to risk someone so precious. Then he narrowed in on Rodney’s scent, the ability enhanced five-fold by willingly letting go of all his other senses. As the centuries had proven, John was very, very good at tracking.
~~*~~
They looked like the Trust, walked like the Trust, and lies certainly fell out of their mouth like the Trust. It wasn’t until one of them showed his fangs that Rodney realized how very screwed he was. If he got out of this alive, he was phoning in his resignation and telling Carter to shove her pleas for help (from his admittedly brilliant mind) out the nearest airlock.
God, he wished he’d stayed with John. There’d been a bone-deep itch under his skin since he’d left, a constant reminder that he didn’t belong here anymore. What a fuck up. He knew this was his own goddamn fault. What John had asked from him had terrified Rodney. He wasn’t here to help Carter he was here because he’d run away from John. Well, okay, if he were honest not John so much what John was expecting from him. Rodney was surprisingly okay with John being a uh, libertine. And the sex. He was really, really okay with the sex.
~~*~~
Oh please. An underground crypt? They’d walked through what felt like miles of tunnel for this? Didn’t they have any imagination? It was more than mildly disgusting and Rodney hoped John would blow it all to hell when he got here. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that John would find him. He just had to keep it together and not panic. For all it looked like doom, horrendously fatal and painful doom, Rodney could feel the itching under his skin ease. Rodney fingered the lingering bite marks on his throat. Yes, John was definitely getting closer.
~~*~~
John slipped soundlessly into the crypt, a weapon himself, more lethal than the sword he held at the ready. Ahead of him was his Potential and no one else would ever touch him again.
Rodney yelled to him, “John! John, oh thank god. Get me out of here. These idiots smell and I’m afraid if I’m here much longer the collective stupidity will start affecting my naturally good disposition. A crypt. Christ. And do you know I haven’t had any coffee in hours? How is that even remotely humane?
You are planning to kick vampire butt aren’t you? I’ve been stuck in this infernal hell hole with pandering grave-heads for hours. If I’d wanted unwashed lackeys, I could have had that at Area 51. I hope to hell you’re planning to blow this place to smithereens. You’d be doing it a favor. What’s wrong with you? Are you blind? Oh my god, you’re blind!”
John laughed and made his way over to Rodney. With cold glee he separated the heads from any of the undead that were too slow getting out of his way. Some of them actually seemed relieved as they ran off, as if now that they had a Potential in their midst, they had no idea what to do with him.
“I’m okay Rodney. Really. The blindness is temporary. To track you I had to let my other senses go so that I could focus on your scent. I can still detect everything I need to” and with those words John pressed his face into Rodney’s neck. “Are you okay?” he asked, mumbling the question against Rodney’s skin.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Rodney replied. “They didn’t hurt me but two of them tried to climb into my lap. Possibly there was some manly screaming until they backed off. What the hell was up with that?”
John grinned. “I’ve told you. You’re a Potential. Rare and so damn precious any vampire would end themselves before they’d hurt you.”
Rodney’s eyes widened. “So I wasn’t in any real danger? What if they’d tried to bite me?”
“They can’t. Well, they could try, but unless your heart was completely willing, your blood chemistry would act like a toxic poison to them.”
“Wait, wait, just a minute. You knew this, and you bit me anyway? You suicidal idiot! What if I’d killed you?”
John nuzzled Rodney’s ear with a smug little smile and said, “Guess it’s a good thing they didn’t know they could win you over with coffee and chocolate.”
“Oh, you are so very extra dead for that.”
Next Vanity
My Card