So apparently I've been lurking around the McShep community on lj a little much lately, because I have porn on the brain. And rather than work on my other SGA story, I wanted to write pointless smut. And vampires. Because Rodney would be such an adorably harmless vampire.
Also, yes, the tense does switch back and forth a little. It's meant to be that way. The whole thing is very stream-of-consciousness for me, so it was basically whatever I felt like I wanted it to be. This is the most porny thing I've ever written. I don't know if I can go farther than this, but I'm perfectly happy with this as it is. I'm actually kinda proud of it. I just wanted to write something with a lot of sex and no real plot and that is exactly what I did. I'm working on John's POV and if I like how it turns out I'll toss it up here.
This is what I do with my insomnia.
disclaimer: me no own.
Actually, as far as Rodney McKay was concerned, being a vampire kind of sucked, no pun intended.
In fact, he found himself forgetting several times that he had been turned. As long as it didn't interfere with his work or his ability to mainline coffee- and it didn't, contrary to popular belief- then he honestly didn't care. That he occasionally found himself yearning for AB- was only mildly off-putting, the same sort of wrinkled-nose eewww response as is generally evoked by tomato ice cream. There was no bursting into flame upon exposure to sunlight- direct contact was strongly discouraged because it greatly weakened him, but it took hours of constant exposure to actually get dangerous- no inconvenient fangs unless he wanted them, no horrendous accents, no sweeping around in a billowing cape and/or drooling over female throats. There may have been a little drooling over male throats, but that was strictly a Rodney thing.
He'd told three people: Zelenka, because he worked closely with the man and thought the Czech might deserve to know, even though he doubted the scruffy little bastard had actually believed him; Carson, because he was Rodney's best friend and a medical doctor and was currently Rodney's only reliable blood source that didn't involve utterly humiliating himself; and Ronon, because he probably would've figured it out anyways, considering Rodney did a pretty good deer tick impression on him the first night after the turning.
(Ronon was, in fact, Rodney's neighbor who had a key to Rodney's house because the former tenant was an old woman who needed looking after. Rodney was definitely not an old woman, but Ronon took to looking in on him anyways. The sasquatch strolled right on in whenever he felt like it and actually spent more time in Rodney's house than his own. Rodney had complained about this at first but neither of them had taken him seriously and Ronon became something of an installment in the house, like a tacky family heirloom that the current inheritor can't get rid of but doesn't know what else to do with.)
Carson thought it might be some sort of virus and ran all sorts of tests, ranging from mildly uncomfortable to unbelievably mortifying, until Rodney lost what little patience he had and told the doctor in great detail where he could get his next sample from. Zelenka got him a black t-shirt with the words Bite Me big and white in front. Ronon just shrugged and stole his chocolate muffin and refused to give it back until Rodney was forced to make the man sit on him.
Rodney pointed out that he was a vampire now, a bloodthirsty servant of the night, and they should be scared of him. Carson gave him a long-suffering look, Zelenka laughed himself sick, and Ronon snorted and called him 'harmless', at which point Rodney retold him the sixth-grade-science-fair story.
So seven months after the turning, an event of which Rodney remembered only hazy images of a cute blond and a succession of brightly-hued drinks, it had been established that Rodney McKay was, indeed, a vampire, and no one cared. Sure, it had been cool at first, but by then the novelty had worn off, and this particular group of world-weary and jaded people wasn't going to stand around fussing over something that just was. Rodney almost would've been insulted, except there was the whole forgets-it-himself thing, which kind of undermined his moral high ground.
Three days after the seven-month mark, Rodney's tendency to forget his new nature came back to bite him in the ass yet again. He staggered into his house, feeling hungry enough to give serious thought to gnawing on wrinkly old Mister Bergan up the street, and found himself veering off the path to his bedroom and following the predator-sense of fresh prey.
"No." Ronon said simply as he flicked through the channels at seizure-inducing speeds. Rodney whined like a dog.
"But I'm hungry, and it's not like I can call up for takeout."
"Don't even think about it, McKay."
"You live with me, you should be willing to feed me. It's not like I'm asking you to put out or something."
Ronon gave him a glare that normally would have sent him scampering before glancing at the pillow on the arm of the sofa and the alarm clock on the floor next to it. And okay, considering their current conversation, Rodney's willing to admit he might need someone to occasionally check in on him, but really, the man lives right next door, he's only saving himself a three-minute trip here. "And what do you do all day, anyways?"
The giant answered by throwing his cell phone at him, Carson's number dialed and already ringing. "I put out for you once, go suck on someone else now."
Which was about as horribly wrong as anything he could have possibly said, but still. Rodney was a little embarrassed about that first night and Ronon, clever monkey that he was, had long ago figured out how to use it. Plus Ronon was so far out of Rodney's league it honestly never even occurred to him to try.
Carson wasn't answering his phone, but it wasn't off, so Rodney hacked the cell carrier's GPS provider and tracked the man down- really, if they didn't want people doing that, they ought to put up real firewalls. Asking your best friend if you can borrow some of their blood is about as interesting an experience as it sounds, but Carson ought to be willing to swing by the blood bank and let Rodney in. Except he wasn't working late or asleep. He was in a fancy French restaurant with a cute, bubbly blond sitting across from him and even Rodney wasn't socially inept enough to interrupt when she was giving Carson that look.
Rodney left without Carson even noticing him. He headed into the bar down the street, deciding it was high time he learned how to hunt, such as it was. Most stories included vampires exuding some natural sexual allure; Rodney did not. He was, to quote, endearingly frustrating when he wasn't being out-and-out offensive. This made picking up random strangers for a quick nip somewhat difficult in that it went completely against his grain; hell, he had to interact with people this way, and that was something Rodney was never going to be good at. So he went to the bar telling himself that he was a fierce predator on the prowl while, in reality, he planned on getting drunk and staggering home and hoping Ronon had the mercy to unlock the door instead of making him sleep on the porch again.
And then he met Sheppard.
Somehow Ronon knows to make himself scarce that particular evening and Rodney loves him for it, or at least he will once he's capable of thought more coherent than please god yes sex now.
Sheppard is hot and welcoming and his breath and hands fan over Rodney's skin and make him whimper. His quick tongue laps at Rodney's jaw and neck and his fingertips slide up under Rodney's shirt and one leg hooks behind Rodney's knees, sending them both tumbling onto the couch. Rodney's so involved in his own seduction that he even forgets his hunger right up until he pushes Sheppard's shirt up and revealed the muscled plane of his abdomen. He spreads one hand out on Sheppard's stomach, feeling the other man breathe, and bends down to nuzzle the soft skin at the hollow of his throat and rest his lips against Sheppard's neck.
Then strong hands were pushing him away and he sits back on his heels, preparing to complain, but Sheppard quickly puts an end to that. He arches his lean body into one long, tempting line, shoving his jeans down and finally losing the shirt and then he's naked on Rodney's couch, pupils wide in slightly glassy hazel eyes and breath panting, and Rodney is still completely dressed and that is just wrong wrong wrong-
"Oh god," Rodney says hoarsely, and drapes himself across all that glorious skin and presses his mouth against Sheppard's. The other man moans deep in his throat and thrusts his hips up, grinding against the thigh Rodney has placed between Sheppard's legs, and this is going to be over too soon for both of them if someone doesn't rein in his hormones for a moment.
"Bed," he whispers to Sheppard's chin, tracing the line of his jaw and feeling the pounding of his blood and damn, he's just so hungry, but right now hunger was at war with another, even baser desire and losing spectacularly. "Bed. I have one."
"Good for you," Sheppard murmurs, lips quirking briefly into a smirk, but he releases Rodney all the same. They roll off the couch and stagger down the hall, Rodney walking backwards because he can't turn away from the mouth that was so intent on claiming his, Sheppard working to rid Rodney of all his clothes. By the time they reach the bedroom Rodney is also naked and has tripped over his jeans only once, which is actually kind of impressive. Rodney gets them turned around and shoves Sheppard onto the bed first, leaving him hard and panting as Rodney digs through the dresser drawers. When he turns back with lube and a condom in his hand, Sheppard offers him a wrecked, boyish smile and spreads and lifts his legs in unmistakeable invitation. Rodney promptly drops the lube.
Sheppard is hot and tight and perfect and Rodney wants to go slow, to explore and worship this new discovery, but Sheppard isn't having it. He snaps and snarls and rocks his hips and finally wraps his legs around Rodney's waist and yanks him in close when he takes too long. The resulting thrust has both of them freezing for a moment before Sheppard groans and melts against him and that's it, all thought processes have gotten up in disgust and stormed out and Rodney really doesn't care. Right at that moment he lives only for feeling, for the sweat-slick press of skin and the gasps and the new-old feel of another body under his own, rocking in time with his thrusts. Sheppard closes his eyes and drops his head against the pillow, his neck exposed, and Rodney can't ignore that. He leans down and nips at the skin, feels Sheppard's breath catch. He bites a little harder and a hand curls around the back of his neck, encouraging him as Sheppard's face turns a little more to the side.
Fresh, warm blood is nothing like the bagged crap Rodney's been living off of up until now, and he has no idea if he can go back after this. He isn't sure he can go back to a casual jerk-off in the shower either. Sheppard has completely ruined him.
Their movements get harsher, shorter, more frantic. Rodney licks at the last few drops of blood and moves away; he almost kisses Sheppard again before realizing that that might not go over so well and settles for nipping at the man's ridiculous elf-like ears. Sheppard is panting again, mouth hanging open and eyes glazed and hands leaving bruises on Rodney's hips. Then he's crying out, back arching, nails digging in and oh god he's beautiful and Rodney follows him right over the edge.
Cleanup is part of the service, apparently. Mostly Rodney does it because, after an hour of drowsing, he's capable of thinking with his brain once again and his brain is yammering about leaving marks and all the ways this could go horribly wrong if he's not extremely careful.
Sheppard is a maddeningly unhelpful, if attractive, lump on the mattress. He groans and swats at Rodney's hands when Rodney tries to roll him over. He's developing a nice hickey around the bite area but the actual wounds are pinpricks. He'll never notice them, not with the bruise in the way. Rodney rocks back on his heels and breathes out in relief, because it would royally suck to get outed as a vampire, then heads into the bathroom to get a washcloth.
When he comes back out, Sheppard's awake and watching him with a lazy smile. He stretches out, cat-like, all coiled muscle and warm skin and hooded, sleepy, horny eyes. Rodney forgets about the washcloth.
He doesn't bite Sheppard again.
Morning began far too soon for Rodney. Sunlight was stabbing at his eyes and he groaned and rolled away from it, grabbing blindly for a pillow or something to cover his face with.
"Morning," came a semi-familiar voice, and Rodney squinted. Sheppard was a too-tall silhouette against the sun-drenched window. One hand was resting on Rodney's, fingers on his wrist. Rodney stared blankly at that single point of contact. This... made no sense.
"Coffee?" he asked hopefully, since it was the only way he was going to ever form coherent thought again. Sheppard chuckled roughly.
"Sorry, don't have any. I was just- checking something. Go back to sleep."
"Dun wanna," Rodney told his mattress firmly, and then proved his point by passing out.
Sheppard was gone when Rodney woke up for real. This wasn't a surprise, even if it was a little disappointing in a vague, abandoned puppy sort of way. There wasn't even a note or anything. Rodney, being relatively inexperienced in the world of one-night-stands, couldn't tell if this was standard procedure or if he should be insulted.
He back-burnered this problem when he found Ronon in his kitchen. The ape let him fumble his way through five humiliating minutes before finally answering the question Rodney was trying so hard to not ask.
"Saw you two coming up the drive, figured you didn't want me here." Casual shrug. "So I left."
Rodney spent the day at home, since it was too late by then to head out to the lab. He called Zelenka every half hour or so just to see how long it took the Czech to snap. Once he did- two and a half hours- Rodney called Carson to gloat over how his was the cuter date last night.
Carson, god love his Gaelic temper, sputtered and stammered and finally yelled at Rodney about how friends didn't stalk each other via their cell phones and hung up. He called back forty seconds later, demanding to know if this meant Rodney had fed, and proceeded to ask after every detail. Rodney grew more uncomfortable and snappy with each question until Carson took the hint and gave up.
He harassed Ronon, who appeared to very much not like this stay-at-home thing. He took a long shower and just enjoyed the feel of the water on his skin. He even wore his Bite Me shirt, the irony appealing to him for some reason. By dinner he'd annoyed Ronon back over to his own house and started blocking Carson's calls.
The next day was back to routine. Ronon didn't exactly cheer when Rodney left for the lab, but he did give a big, toothy grin. Rodney chose to ignore this.
He met Teyla three days later. Teyla was Ronon's- something. Honestly, Rodney had no idea who she was to the big guy or why she was suddenly always around. She had a calming presence and a gentle voice and she could probably break him in half if she ever felt the urge. Rodney gave her a hefty dose of respect and avoided her if at all possible, which really wasn't easy since Ronon had all but officially moved in by then. At least she hadn't started spending the night, although Rodney suspected it was more a matter of when than if.
It was something of a vicious shock to look out the window one night a few days after meeting her and see the two standing in the driveway talking with Sheppard. He considered going outside to figure out what was going on, or to maybe shamelessly beg for more sex, but something held him back.
Ronon suddenly went stiff and glanced back at the house. Rodney pulled away from the window, even though he knew the man wouldn't see him since the lights were all off- night vision on a feline level, one plus about being a vampire. By the time he stepped back up Sheppard and Teyla were gone and Ronon was heading back over to his own house.
For the first time since he'd moved in, almost two years now, Rodney wondered if he should've been a little firmer with Ronon about his wandering tendencies. Except that probably wouldn't have really mattered, since the gorilla could probably break down the front door in one hit.
The next day they acted like nothing had happened. Rodney, who was just a little freaked out by now, called Sam.
Sam hadn't meant to turn Rodney. In fact, she'd been even more drunk than him when they'd first met at Bar A. By the time they'd made it to Bar D, she was so far gone Rodney wouldn't have felt right just leaving her. He dragged her to her apartment and tried to leave her dumped on her bed, except she wrapped herself around him and refused to let go.
Rodney had never really considered himself gay. He was open-minded when it came to sex and didn't like people trying to stuff him into a well-defined and suffocating role. That night, he had sex with Sam because she was hot and she wanted him and they were both stupid-drunk. The turning was an accident that happened because it felt good. To her credit, once she figured out what happened, Sam came back to teach Rodney how to handle his new existence, except sober-and-freaking-out-Rodney is nothing like drunk-and-horny-Rodney and Sam nearly ended up bashing his head in a few times.
Ever since then, though, Sam became sort of his lifeline. He called her whenever he started getting worried about things, or whenever he thought he'd screwed up, or whenever his paranoia acts up. Because, really, even though 'death by old age' had been taken off the table, 'death by superstitious lunatic wielding sharp pointy stick' had been brought back into the equation and Rodney wasn't really sure he approved of the trade.
Sam was utterly unconcerned by Rodney's story, which meant he'd either finally pushed her too far or she was in on it, whatever it may be. She pointed out that it probably wouldn't end with his death, since Ronon could have easily killed him at any point- he certainly didn't need outside help for that. Rodney called her a wide variety of unfriendly names and she hung up on him.
She wasn't in on it, Rodney decided, which meant he was missing something so blatantly obvious Sam had picked up on it just from hearing his side of the story. This did not surprise him.
"Oh god yes," Rodney moans, fingers twisted into the sheets and eyes screwed shut. He's making an embarrassing array of noises but he doesn't care because every few seconds he finds a new one that makes the mouth around his dick tighten and increase the pace. Once he even gets Sheppard to chuckle and that is sheer agony in an oh-so-good sort of way.
Rodney risks opening his eyes and peers down the length of his own body, meeting Sheppard's half-lidded gaze, and then there's no looking away from those lazy eyes. Sheppard rewards the eye contact with a brush of teeth, just enough to have Rodney gasping and squirming and Sheppard's holding his hips down so he can't do anything except lay there and take it.
"Glad you- umm!- glad you came back," Rodney pants out, which could easily be one of the most monumentally stupid things he's ever said because by now he's a little convinced that Sheppard is actively plotting his demise. Still, the sentiment is there, and he keens high and long when Sheppard pulls his mouth off to answer.
"So am I," he grins, then kisses Rodney's thigh and returns to his interrupted activities and Rodney's entirely happy with that, thank you very much.
He got a nine-one-one text from Simpson before the afterglow wore off. Kavanagh had been let loose in the lab again and Simpson feared for life as they knew it if Rodney didn't get down there.
"Where're you goin'?" a sleep-rough voice slurred when Rodney tried to get up. The arm around his waist tightened and slid upwards a little, holding him down.
"My lab," Rodney answered, twisting around in an effort to free himself. "My idiots are on the verge of being idiots again."
Sheppard was more awake now. He squinted at the clock and scowled. "It's the middle of the night."
"Yes, well, unfortunately, world-ending catastrophes don't exactly keep to a schedule."
"But you haven't-" and Sheppard snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. Rodney finally squirmed free and began the hunt for his pants. "Never mind. Go take care of your idiots."
There was no asking when he'd return, or if Sheppard would still be there when he did. There was a brief, awkward pause in which Rodney tried to find the words to describe what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Then Sheppard buried his face back into the pillow and Rodney took the hint and left.
He wasn't really very good at this talking thing anyways.
Five days later he found Sheppard sitting on his front porch drinking tea with Teyla.
Rodney was tired. He had just gotten off a twenty-six hour shift and he was feeling every second of it. His back was sore- from his poor posture, although he would sooner die than admit it- his vision was blurry, and he was still so jacked up on coffee that he was literally trembling. He snapped at the two trespassers and swung the screen door open wide enough to nail Sheppard on the hip, hopefully leaving a nice big bruise. Teyla gave him a sympathetic smile and went back over to Ronon's. Sheppard followed him inside.
"I'm not in the mood for you," Rodney told him. Sheppard merely herded him against the wall and leaned into him, kissing and nipping at the back of his neck while his hands slid up Rodney's spine under his shirt. He dug his fingertips into the big knot between Rodney's shoulder blades and Rodney jumped and yelped at the unexpected pleasure-pain.
"I'm not surprised," Sheppard chuckled into his ear, carefully rubbing at the tense muscle, and Rodney groaned and dropped his forehead against the wall.
Sheppard pulled him away and dragged him back into the bedroom and proceeded to completely destroy Rodney with careful touches and gentle words and a really good massage and even better sex, slow and tender and mind-blowing. At the end, he pulled Sheppard closer and nuzzled at his neck and Sheppard lifted his chin to give Rodney better access. His breath hitched when the fangs broke skin but otherwise he didn't react, merely carding his fingers through Rodney's hair and relaxing against him.
Rodney slept for twelve straight hours that night. When he did wake up, he was wrapped around an amused Sheppard.
"I'm glad you've realized I'm not trying to kill you here," he said conversationally, and Rodney blinked at him. "Also, by the way, did you know you sometimes talk in your sleep?"
"Talk in my... oh, fuck." Rodney groaned and buried his face into Sheppard's hairy chest as the other man laughed.
After that Sheppard randomly appeared every other day or so. They never officially arranged anything, he just kind of... showed up. They didn't talk about it much, neither one of them wanting to ruin a good thing. They also didn't talk about the vampire thing, although Sheppard had to know.
Naturally the steady supply of sex had a positive effect on Rodney, and naturally the people around him noticed. Ronon showed up at his house less often but spent more time actually in Rodney's company, if that made any sense. Teyla he began to see as less intimidating and more serene, and he even let her talk him into trading out coffee for tea in the evening.
Carson sat Rodney down for a lecture. Presumably he was explaining the endurance levels of the human body and going over how much blood Rodney could take from Sheppard and how often, except he made the mistake of putting the words 'Sheppard' and 'boyfriend' in the same sentence. After that, he could have been sharing his favorite recipe for deep-fried baby for all Rodney paid attention.
Zelenka didn't even pretend to be subtle in his approval of the changes; in fact, he went out of his way to encourage this behavior. One day Rodney came home to find Sheppard at the kitchen table, a pack of condoms and a copy of the gay Kama Sutra on the table in front of him. He'd obviously been there long enough to pick out a few favorites, for the book was studded with colorful little post-it flags. He looked at Rodney with wide, hungry eyes for about three seconds before literally tackling him. Rodney had just enough time to see his address written in that familiar scrawl on the empty packaging and make a mental note to murder the Czech before Sheppard handily distracted him and kept him occupied well throughout the night.
Rodney made the mistake of calling his sister to share in his good will. He ended up arguing with her, of course. Sheppard wandered in once and did an immediate u-turn as soon as he heard the tone of that particular conversation.
One night, about four months after they first meet, Rodney abruptly decides that it's high time he start calling the guy something other than Sheppard. Because yes, it is his name, but the man currently has his cock buried in Rodney's ass and that sort of intimacy really ought to call for first names. So Rodney tries it once, testing out the shape of the word as it rolls off his tongue.
Sheppard goes still, which isn't nearly the result Rodney wants. He whimpers and grabs for Sheppard's hips to encourage movement but Sheppard ignores that. Instead he leans down, his face inches from Rodney's, his eyes burning.
"Say that again," he orders quietly.
"Please, John," Rodney pants, and at his name Sheppard makes a fierce growling noise and starts moving again, sharp hard thrusts. He bites at Rodney's collarbone and he's not the one with fangs but he's going to leave an impressive mark anyways. By this point Rodney is more than happy to beg and does so, using Sheppard's name sparingly enough that it still gets a very noticeable response whenever he does let it slip.
Once the last tremors of their orgasms wash over them, Sheppard collapses next to Rodney and groans.
"God, Rodney, sometimes I swear you're trying to kill me," he muttered, idly skating a thumb over the growing bruise on Rodney's fair skin.
"Mmm? What was that, Sheppard?"
The thumb suddenly pushes down hard on the offended area and Rodney gasps. Sheppard rolls over and drapes himself across Rodney, pinning him with insulting ease.
"Don't," he says, and there's something hard and unfamiliar in his eyes. "Not after that."
Rodney immediately relents, calls him John again and watches as the hardness fades out, replaced by a quiet relief. He kisses Rodney, long and deep and full of promises neither of them are up to keeping right now, and settles back into a more comfortable position. And Rodney says it, once more, just to hear his breath catch.
It took Rodney six months to find the courage to ask about that night he'd seen John in his driveway. He asked John over pizza, because the man was less likely to bolt that way. He did receive a deer-in-the-headlights stare and instantly knew that the answer was going to be an interesting one.
John had military training- Air Force- which Rodney knew because he still wore his tags. As it turned out, the military didn't train its soldiers to be light sleepers, it just tends to happen. John picked up on this and carried it with him even after his discharge. So that first night, when Rodney so carefully checked the mark he'd left, he'd pretty much highlighted to a wide-awake John that there was something unusual about it.
Naturally 'vampire' wasn't the first thing that sprang to John's mind. It did occur to him to wonder, however, after he spent ten minutes in front of the mirror investigating the wound. So he'd hung around until morning.
("That thing- in the morning- you were checking my pulse, to see if I had one, and you opened the curtains to- what would you have done if I had burst into flames?!"
"I probably would've felt kinda stupid, though not as much as I did when nothing happened.")
The encounter the following week had been mostly Ronon's fault. John had realized that of the two of them, only he had even the faintest idea of how to find the other, and so had wandered his way to Rodney's house to ask for round two, or possibly even a real date. He'd gotten sidetracked by Ronon and Teyla and had made a joke about Rodney's being a vampire. Ronon had immediately switched from casual and laid-back to guarded and wary and had growled out several inventive warnings of what would happen to John if he caused any trouble for Rodney and pretty much blew the whole no-such-thing-as-vampires thing right out the window.
Dealing with the knowledge of what Rodney really was had taken John a few days, but he'd come back.
"You're kinda harmless," John grinned. "I just couldn't really think of you as being a real threat."
"Harmless. Not the first time I've heard that." Rodney scowled at his pizza, then up at John. "So, what, you've been feeding me ever since? Figured I couldn't do this by myself? Just because you're the only person I've ever successfully hunted-"
John spat out a mouthful of beer at the words. "Jesus, Rodney," he said, not quite looking at him. Rodney blinked curiously, then tilted his head to the side.
"You are, you know," he continued, watching as John's fingers tightened around the can, his brain shifting gears from insulted and indignant to possibly getting sex soon. "On my first try, too. And you let me fuck you, which is always..." waving a hand around broadly; by now John's eyes were pinned on him and almost completely black, "always fun. Zelenka probably would've bet anything that I would fail at hunting but I didn't. I hunted you."
The last part was done in sing-song tone. John was already on his feet and halfway around the table; at that he growled and lunged at Rodney, knocking him right out of his chair and sending them both sprawling to the floor. By the time Rodney had caught up with current events John was straddling his waist and kissing him hard and fast.
"Ya know what?" he panted against Rodney's shoulder. "I think I'm okay with being hunted."
"Always wanted your very own vampire, huh?" Rodney gasped as those clever hands slid up his ribs, ghosting over his skin, the non-touch as effective as full contact.
"Yeah, but you've got this bad biting habit," John began, and Rodney growled and bucked him off, rolling over to pin John down instead. He nipped at the familiar spot on John's neck, pausing for a second and receiving a slight nod of permission, and bit down hard. John gasped at the sharp pain, then moaned, fingers digging into Rodney's shoulders.
Once he pulled away- and it was fairly quick, he only took a tiny bit- he sat back on his heels and smirked down at the glaze-eyed man beneath him.
"Love me, love my fangs," he chirped, then froze when he mentally replayed what he'd just said. John paused for only a moment before smirking. He wrapped a hand around the back of Rodney's neck and pulled him down. Neither of them were really comfortable with the kissing thing after Rodney had just fed but John ignored this, yanking Rodney into a deep kiss despite the lingering taste of his own blood.
"I think I can handle that," he muttered, and Rodney gave him a soft, shy smile, and nothing more really needed to be said.
Ronon has developed the alarming habit of going all guard-dog in the face of- highly prospective and never proven- vampire hunters, which is strangely touching, especially since there had been about a week where Rodney had been convinced Ronon was one himself. The caveman is no longer spending hours on end in Rodney's house, and he generally warns them before he randomly appears. Rodney has someone to take care of him now; Ronon's job is done.
After the third time he short-circuited Rodney's brain in as many lecture attempts, Carson gave up on him and switched to John, who could at least pretend to pay attention. Rodney found himself vaguely alarmed by this, since Carson had a gift for explaining that often left the lecture's recipient wondering if it was safe to even breathe, never mind engage in such risky acts as sex, and John wasn't familiar enough with the Scot to have built up a proper defense. Thankfully John didn't seem unduly bothered by it.
The first time Rodney allowed John into his work lab, they'd ended up having sex against one of the tables, which was exactly why John hadn't been allowed there prior to that. Naturally Zelenka walked in on them. Thankfully he did an about-face and left very quickly, and John managed to calm a hyperventilating and mortified Rodney down by means of shoving a table against the door and giving him the world's best blow job. The next day, Rodney and Zelenka decided without saying a word to pretend nothing had happened, right up until the part where Zelenka had looked at him and said, "Huh. You really are vampire."
And John... John is emotionally stunted and incapable of communicating on an intelligent level and has the maturity level of a twelve-year-old and hides his surprising intelligence for reasons unknown. He slouches and can completely take over any couch or bed he happens to be on and leave no room for anyone else. He sulks like a fifteen-year-old girl. He keeps taking the last of Rodney's hideously expensive Hawaiian coffee. He's too pretty by far, which means Rodney spends hours glaring at whatever flirty young thing is hovering around him this time. He is physically incapable of going to the lab where Rodney works and not touching things, especially Rodney himself. He hogs the TV during football season and cheats at chess. He insisted on a double date with Ronon and Teyla, which was a disaster, and then he did it again, except somehow that time it worked and now the four of them have a standing weekly dinner-and-maybe-movies arrangement. He won't talk about his Air Force days and yet gets pissy when Rodney refuses to share bad memories from his own past. His idea of conflict resolvement is to beat the crap out of the punching bag in the basement and then go for a four-hour run and expect everything to be all better when he gets back. He completely freaked the first time Rodney asked if he wanted to get a blow job for once, instead of always giving them, and yelled- through the bathroom door, see fifteen-year-old girl reference above- that there was no way in hell Rodney was getting those fangs near John's dick. He's frustrating and exasperating and sometimes scarily cold. And, horrendously cliché though it may be, Rodney wouldn't change him for the world.
Okay. So. Maybe being a vampire has its perks after all.
Even if he still occasionally forgets that he is one.