Blood In the Water (Shark challenge)
Dec. 1st, 2005 04:37 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_flashficTitle: Blood in the Water
Author: Hth
Pairing: Sheppard/Ronon
WARNING: "Epiphany"-related, and hence, "Epiphany" spoilers
Another snippety adjunct to the Alpha Centauri series, written on a whim between my afternoon classes. It almost stands alone, and yet really, not quite.
Blood in the Water
by Hth
And if John didn’t have a lifetime’s worth of guilt for how the whole thing went down, he would have been angry, because okay, his timing is bad, but Ronon’s? Ronon’s timing is *bad.* Good, perfect. Whatever.
John’s never seen him miss.
“I need to ask you something,” he says while the door closes, which is weird. Ronon doesn’t do that thing where you ease in, doesn’t do You got a second? or Mind if I join you? He picks his moment, the moment where he can scent weakness, blood in the water like he’s a goddamn shark, and he fires just exactly as many shots as he needs to. John figures it’s been a long time since Ronon could afford to waste ammo.
“Not now,” he says shortly. Not now. Not now. Jesus, not now, because he’s still weak on his feet like he’s newborn – home again after so long, hopeful again after so long, Jesus, happy, happy like he’d almost come to accept he never would be again, in the place he belongs, with the person he belongs with. It’s all too new, too good, and he’s stark naked like this, no defenses at all.
“Sorry,” Ronon says shortly. “I have to. I need to know – about that place. What they did.” He moves forward, graceful, perfectly silent in ways nobody that big should be, until John finds himself listening for breath, a heartbeat, mesmerized and unnerved by the quietness of him. He can’t hear anything, but he can see, he can smell, he can feel Ronon’s heat too close to his skin. He lowers his head so the eye contact is better (that way that he does, Christ, John wishes he didn’t know what Ronon *does* when he’s circling, when he’s trying to get close to you) and says, “Please. Tell me how they did it.”
“How…what?”
“What d’you call it? Ascension? You were there six months, you had to see—“
“Shit, I don’t know.” His skin is prickling, heat and want and disappointment. Thank God he’s not here to – Why the hell isn’t he here to -- He wants to talk about *Ascension?* “They meditate.”
Ronon makes an impatient face and says, “Yeah, obviously. I mean – how do they breathe, how do they sit? Do they do certain things, say things – mantras?” John continues to look at him, confused and somewhat ego-bruised, until Ronon breaks off and turns away, grumbling, “Forget it, you don’t know, you weren’t watching.”
“I didn’t *care,*” John says, because it’s not like he’s unobservant or something. It was *boring,* that’s all. “Why do *you* care?”
He looks over his shoulder at John and twists his head a little, this shrug that conveys his utter bafflement over the question. “I don’t see why you don’t,” Ronon says, surprisingly soft.
“Because I like being *alive.* Ascension is – it’s a bad gig, Ronon. Life as a beam of light? What the fuck? Sooner or later we all have to shuffle off the ol’ mortal coil, but I want that to be as long from now as it can be – and don’t say you don’t get that, because you fight pretty hard to keep on living, so I know you believe in your afterlife or whatever, but you’re in no hurry to get there, I’ve noticed.”
“This is different,” Ronon says. “This isn’t death, it’s enlightenment. How can that not mean anything to you?”
“I like my body. I like jogging, I like turkey sandwiches, I like the way my stomach drops in a freefall, I like getting a buzz, I like getting my dick sucked.” Okay, tactical error. Ronon’s eyes go dark, and he’s turned back now, but he doesn’t react directly to that. John clears his throat and tries to steer on around that. “What can I say? It’s like the difference between flag football and real football – if you aren’t worried about breaking your bones, it’s just not the same.”
Ronon seems to swallow before he speaks, deep and steady. “Don’t talk to me about fear,” he says. “You don’t know.”
“I do know. You’re not the only person in the world who’s ever fought for his life.”
Ronon snaps, his hand closing like jaws around John’s arm, pulling his hand up against Ronon’s chest, and John can’t even twitch. “*Animals* do that,” he said. “They made me live like that, like I was an animal, and then I come here and that’s how everyone looks at me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! I had a code once, I had faith, I had a *life.*”
“This is life!”
“This is blood! This is starving and always fighting yourself while you’re trying to fight your enemy, because you’re too scared or you’re too mad and you can’t think straight until you get it under control! You know what life is? Life is the itch you get on your nose when you’re trying to sit still and listen, the leg cramps you get in your defensive position, it’s working all day every day to be strong and still not being strong enough to hold-- Life is the way I want to fuck you every single minute of my life and I can’t! This -- you want this? You can *have* this. If what they had was peace, I want it.”
He tastes like blood, too, when John kisses him, and then the sharp simmer of pain kicks in and John recognizes it’s his blood he tastes, from his lip. He doesn’t care. He had a lifetime’s worth of regrets in six months, and this was half the list. His hands scrabble over Ronon’s back without being able to get hold, so he wraps his leg around Ronon’s instead so that he doesn’t slide away. Ronon has one hand on his face, his hard thumb braced painfully right under John’s chin, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.
He’d rather die than go up in smoke, go up as white light – he’d rather die like *this,* red in tooth and claw. Ronon could break his neck right now, and he’d be grateful he hadn’t died in a fucking meadow of wildflowers somewhere, that he died with his mouth sore and his heart pounding and every inch of him awake.
Ronon gets his free hand in between them, shoves John’s upper body back by his shoulder. “You…” he says, accusing and helpless and irritated at once. He shakes his head, at a loss for words.
“I’ve had some time to think,” John says dryly.
“The last thing you’ve been doing with your time is thinking,” Ronon says, beating him for *dry* at a walk.
“You and I—“
Ronon shoves again – not too hard, just as hard as he needs to in order to dislodge John. No wasted ammo. “You,” Ronon says, “are the opposite of peace.”
“Now, I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty laid-back guy,” he says, reaching for Ronon’s shoulders.
Ronon twists a little bit as he takes John’s wrists and pushes them away – just twists enough to make his point. John doesn’t mind the sting. “Everything about you hurts,” he says, his voice quiet and even. Peaceful, almost. It stills John where he stands. Ronon shakes his head once and takes a step backwards. “Everything you do.”
“I’m…sorry,” John says. Not for this, not for just now. That, but – he’s sorry for all of it, and for all of them.
When he’s alone he lies down on his bed and touches his lip. His finger comes away slick with blood.
Author: Hth
Pairing: Sheppard/Ronon
WARNING: "Epiphany"-related, and hence, "Epiphany" spoilers
Another snippety adjunct to the Alpha Centauri series, written on a whim between my afternoon classes. It almost stands alone, and yet really, not quite.
Blood in the Water
by Hth
And if John didn’t have a lifetime’s worth of guilt for how the whole thing went down, he would have been angry, because okay, his timing is bad, but Ronon’s? Ronon’s timing is *bad.* Good, perfect. Whatever.
John’s never seen him miss.
“I need to ask you something,” he says while the door closes, which is weird. Ronon doesn’t do that thing where you ease in, doesn’t do You got a second? or Mind if I join you? He picks his moment, the moment where he can scent weakness, blood in the water like he’s a goddamn shark, and he fires just exactly as many shots as he needs to. John figures it’s been a long time since Ronon could afford to waste ammo.
“Not now,” he says shortly. Not now. Not now. Jesus, not now, because he’s still weak on his feet like he’s newborn – home again after so long, hopeful again after so long, Jesus, happy, happy like he’d almost come to accept he never would be again, in the place he belongs, with the person he belongs with. It’s all too new, too good, and he’s stark naked like this, no defenses at all.
“Sorry,” Ronon says shortly. “I have to. I need to know – about that place. What they did.” He moves forward, graceful, perfectly silent in ways nobody that big should be, until John finds himself listening for breath, a heartbeat, mesmerized and unnerved by the quietness of him. He can’t hear anything, but he can see, he can smell, he can feel Ronon’s heat too close to his skin. He lowers his head so the eye contact is better (that way that he does, Christ, John wishes he didn’t know what Ronon *does* when he’s circling, when he’s trying to get close to you) and says, “Please. Tell me how they did it.”
“How…what?”
“What d’you call it? Ascension? You were there six months, you had to see—“
“Shit, I don’t know.” His skin is prickling, heat and want and disappointment. Thank God he’s not here to – Why the hell isn’t he here to -- He wants to talk about *Ascension?* “They meditate.”
Ronon makes an impatient face and says, “Yeah, obviously. I mean – how do they breathe, how do they sit? Do they do certain things, say things – mantras?” John continues to look at him, confused and somewhat ego-bruised, until Ronon breaks off and turns away, grumbling, “Forget it, you don’t know, you weren’t watching.”
“I didn’t *care,*” John says, because it’s not like he’s unobservant or something. It was *boring,* that’s all. “Why do *you* care?”
He looks over his shoulder at John and twists his head a little, this shrug that conveys his utter bafflement over the question. “I don’t see why you don’t,” Ronon says, surprisingly soft.
“Because I like being *alive.* Ascension is – it’s a bad gig, Ronon. Life as a beam of light? What the fuck? Sooner or later we all have to shuffle off the ol’ mortal coil, but I want that to be as long from now as it can be – and don’t say you don’t get that, because you fight pretty hard to keep on living, so I know you believe in your afterlife or whatever, but you’re in no hurry to get there, I’ve noticed.”
“This is different,” Ronon says. “This isn’t death, it’s enlightenment. How can that not mean anything to you?”
“I like my body. I like jogging, I like turkey sandwiches, I like the way my stomach drops in a freefall, I like getting a buzz, I like getting my dick sucked.” Okay, tactical error. Ronon’s eyes go dark, and he’s turned back now, but he doesn’t react directly to that. John clears his throat and tries to steer on around that. “What can I say? It’s like the difference between flag football and real football – if you aren’t worried about breaking your bones, it’s just not the same.”
Ronon seems to swallow before he speaks, deep and steady. “Don’t talk to me about fear,” he says. “You don’t know.”
“I do know. You’re not the only person in the world who’s ever fought for his life.”
Ronon snaps, his hand closing like jaws around John’s arm, pulling his hand up against Ronon’s chest, and John can’t even twitch. “*Animals* do that,” he said. “They made me live like that, like I was an animal, and then I come here and that’s how everyone looks at me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! I had a code once, I had faith, I had a *life.*”
“This is life!”
“This is blood! This is starving and always fighting yourself while you’re trying to fight your enemy, because you’re too scared or you’re too mad and you can’t think straight until you get it under control! You know what life is? Life is the itch you get on your nose when you’re trying to sit still and listen, the leg cramps you get in your defensive position, it’s working all day every day to be strong and still not being strong enough to hold-- Life is the way I want to fuck you every single minute of my life and I can’t! This -- you want this? You can *have* this. If what they had was peace, I want it.”
He tastes like blood, too, when John kisses him, and then the sharp simmer of pain kicks in and John recognizes it’s his blood he tastes, from his lip. He doesn’t care. He had a lifetime’s worth of regrets in six months, and this was half the list. His hands scrabble over Ronon’s back without being able to get hold, so he wraps his leg around Ronon’s instead so that he doesn’t slide away. Ronon has one hand on his face, his hard thumb braced painfully right under John’s chin, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.
He’d rather die than go up in smoke, go up as white light – he’d rather die like *this,* red in tooth and claw. Ronon could break his neck right now, and he’d be grateful he hadn’t died in a fucking meadow of wildflowers somewhere, that he died with his mouth sore and his heart pounding and every inch of him awake.
Ronon gets his free hand in between them, shoves John’s upper body back by his shoulder. “You…” he says, accusing and helpless and irritated at once. He shakes his head, at a loss for words.
“I’ve had some time to think,” John says dryly.
“The last thing you’ve been doing with your time is thinking,” Ronon says, beating him for *dry* at a walk.
“You and I—“
Ronon shoves again – not too hard, just as hard as he needs to in order to dislodge John. No wasted ammo. “You,” Ronon says, “are the opposite of peace.”
“Now, I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty laid-back guy,” he says, reaching for Ronon’s shoulders.
Ronon twists a little bit as he takes John’s wrists and pushes them away – just twists enough to make his point. John doesn’t mind the sting. “Everything about you hurts,” he says, his voice quiet and even. Peaceful, almost. It stills John where he stands. Ronon shakes his head once and takes a step backwards. “Everything you do.”
“I’m…sorry,” John says. Not for this, not for just now. That, but – he’s sorry for all of it, and for all of them.
When he’s alone he lies down on his bed and touches his lip. His finger comes away slick with blood.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 09:49 pm (UTC)Now I *reaaaallllllllllly* want to see the convo between Rodney & John where John says "OK, you were right, OT3." (because I totally blame my Rodney/Ronan yen on you)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 09:50 pm (UTC)and they all sexed sexily every after.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 11:28 pm (UTC)Exaaaaaactly.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 09:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 10:20 pm (UTC)“This is life!”
“This is blood! This is starving and always fighting yourself while you’re trying to fight your enemy, because you’re too scared or you’re too mad and you can’t think straight until you get it under control! You know what life is? Life is the itch you get on your nose when you’re trying to sit still and listen, the leg cramps you get in your defensive position, it’s working all day every day to be strong and still not being strong enough to hold-- Life is the way I want to fuck you every single minute of my life and I can’t! This -- you want this? You can *have* this. If what they had was peace, I want it.”
and this:
Ronon shoves again – not too hard, just as hard as he needs to in order to dislodge John. No wasted ammo. “You,” Ronon says, “are the opposite of peace.”
“Now, I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty laid-back guy,” he says, reaching for Ronon’s shoulders.
Ronon twists a little bit as he takes John’s wrists and pushes them away – just twists enough to make his point. John doesn’t mind the sting. “Everything about you hurts,” he says, his voice quiet and even. Peaceful, almost. It stills John where he stands. Ronon shakes his head once and takes a step backwards. “Everything you do.”
I just loved the raw emotion of those exchanges. I've been loosely following the series, like a twat that doesn't feedback, but this addition really grabbed me. Really loved this.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 10:31 pm (UTC)*purrs* Going over to link to you for more of this series. *grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 11:18 pm (UTC)Great read!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 11:45 pm (UTC)Awwwwwwwwwwww! *gulp*
He’d rather die than go up in smoke, go up as white light – he’d rather die like *this,* red in tooth and claw. Ronon could break his neck right now, and he’d be grateful he hadn’t died in a fucking meadow of wildflowers somewhere, that he died with his mouth sore and his heart pounding and every inch of him awake.
Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.
I'm ridiculously invested in this series, in these wounded men who want so much and can't figure out yet how to get it.
::very happy sigh::
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 12:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 02:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-02 05:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-03 02:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-03 04:59 am (UTC)Echo above sentiments that epiphany fits in rather well with Alpha Centauri. However, the time dilation kinda sucks because I'm ruthless enough to be happy about having Rodney & Ronon alone together for 6 months. Any excuse to get John out of the way if he's going to get so irrational.
But yeah, way better for them that he gets 6 months to get over that kneejerk you-can't-have-my-bf! reaction.
& I'm rambling, but yeah, I love every bit of this 'verse.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-03 09:25 pm (UTC)And it's interesting how invested many of us readers are in this series of stories, in what we want to see happen between the three.
Myself, I thought the threesome bit was hot, but unlike a lot of people was glad when it settled back into just John and Rodney 'in love'. It's just that the threesome thing, as demonstrated in this series, is just a recipe for heartache. (In Reality, and I remind myself again that this isn't Reality, but Playtime) But I worry about Ronon getting jerked around and hurt and really want to smack John sometimes. The on again off again thing is just cruel. Which is why it was so great what Ronon says in this story about John being the opposite of peace. No kidding!
So you're doing a great job pulling me into the universe hook, line and sinker. I'm almost more emotionally invested in this than in canon! More, please.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-04 04:37 am (UTC)Wow -- great intensity that fits so perfectly after Epiphany. I'm loving the angst.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-04 09:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-04 12:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-05 09:27 am (UTC)