One Man's Island (McShep, NC-17ish)
Title: One Man's Island
Rating: NC-17ish
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: There is no possible summary for this.
AN: sethoz asked for a werewolf!John story. A fluffy werewolf!John story. So of course it's rather dark and angsty, but, um. sethoz said it's fluffy if it has a happy end?
I also make it my entry for philosophy_20's prompt #9 - Orientation. Set somewhere in season two, although there shouldn't be all that many spoilers apart from a mention of Ronon.
~~~
One Man's Island
John stopped next to a rock formation, leaning against it, trying to catch his breath. The smooth stone was feeling cold under his palm, and he stared at his hand, flesh ashen in the bright moonlight. It looked like it always did; human, he thought bitterly, his ears twitching as they picked up the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush. Rodney. He closed his eyes, suddenly too weary to run anymore.
"I need to be alone," he had mumbled before he had taken off into the hills, past Teyla and Ronon who of course didn't understand his sudden need for privacy, but who would respect it. Rodney on the other hand had started following him almost immediately, his worried shouts left further and further behind as John ran, whole body itching with that horrifyingly familiar tingle which was making his skin prickle and his follicles ache and his teeth hurt, and he let out a sound that wasn't quite a sob as he felt himself change. The full moon was shining brightly enough to let him see where he was running, illuminating the forest with its pale light. A moon just like Earth's; like a slap in his face when he had felt so safe here, so convinced that nothing like this would happen, that he could stop trying to get along on his own and start feeling secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to hide from anyone at least once a month.
Behind him, Rodney stumbled through the bushes, skin brushing over fabric as he leaned his hands on his knees, panting hard.
"Colonel! What the-" Then a sharp intake of breath, utter silence, and John didn't have to turn around to know that Rodney was staring at him, at the long, furred ears, the shaggy black tail that had ripped a hole through his BDUs. What Rodney couldn't see from that angle were John's eyes, a yellowish brown instead of their usual plain hazel colour, and the emphasised canines that would stay hidden as long as John kept his mouth closed. It was a small favour.
Twigs breaking, leaves rustling as Rodney shifted a little closer, giving those little half-breaths that meant he was searching for something to say.
"Sheppard?" Soft voice, hesitant, nervous. His hand balled into a fist against the cold stone, John allowed himself a short, bitter smile. He hadn't heard Rodney reach for his gun, not yet, and that was probably the only thing that made him turn around. Meet his eyes.
"Hey, buddy," he said quietly, hesitantly wagging his tail, although he wanted nothing more than draw it between his legs and run again.
Rodney was still staring, mouth half open. And yes, John knew what he looked like, but he was still ashamed, still feeling painfully self-conscious under that close scrutiny, remembering that night in Afghanistan when they had been held up in the hills and the moon had come out and the men he had thought his comrades had left the monster to fend for itself. They had taken another route, gunfire in the distance, and he had been the only one to make it back alive, arriving at the base just after the sun had risen, battered and exhausted and feeling like dirt. Feeling like a freak.
And Rodney stared.
"Rodney? This would be the moment for you to say something." The waggle had just about stopped, his tail drooping between his legs.
"Rodney?" he asked again, hating himself for the begging in his voice.
Rodney blinked.
"You're a werewolf," he said, his voice scratchy, like he had to force the words out.
"Lycanthrope," John corrected automatically, and winced. "And it's just a quarter, really," he added lamely.
He could smell Rodney from where he was standing across the small clearing, the scent sharp and familiar in his nose. Dinner's strong stew and watery wine on his breath. Lingering traces of the puddle jumper's metallic tang. Blood, faint and old, a leftover from a previous mission, half-hidden by the overlying stench of detergent. His aftershave. Sweat. Nervousness. No fear, though, not yet, and that was why John wasn't bolting, although his hands trembled and all he wanted was to run.
"You're," Rodney started again, and stopped. John smiled, hoping like hell it didn't come off as insecure as he felt, carefully keeping his mouth closed. Rodney blinked for a second time, and then his eyes widened. "You're a werewolf," he whispered.
"Lycanthrope," John insisted feebly, and cursed himself. Stop it. His tail was waggling again, just a little, and God, he was pathetic.
But if anyone appreciated the use of proper language, it would be Rodney, a scientist like no other John had ever met. Rodney, with his stupid crush on him and his constant worry, who had only ever judged him by what he was seeing, never by what other people were saying. What he was seeing now was the offspring of a human and a half-blood, not quite of one kind and even less of the other. A loner, an outcast, someone so far from anyone you'd choose to be your friend that it was just not funny anymore. Everyone knew you had to stay away from monsters.
Everyone knew you had to be afraid.
Everyone but Rodney McKay.
"Have you always been that way?"
What kind of person would ask a question like that when they suddenly found themselves eye to eye with a fucking werewolf? And it threw John for a loop, made him fumble for words, not knowing what to say.
"I… yes?"
Rodney seemed to have regained his balance, staring with open curiosity at John's slightly wobbling tail. "Does it hurt?"
Did it- he wanted to know if it hurt?
"Rodney, it can't possibly be this easy!"
And yes, Rodney's you're-dumb-but-I-like-you-so-let's-not-talk-about-it look, full force.
"Colonel, we're in another galaxy, being chased by creatures who are half man, half bug, and completely evil, while the people who were defeated by said half-bugs float around the universe as giant, glowing squids. I won't freak out over you being a werewolf. Compared to most of the stuff we've run into so far, that sounds almost normal."
"But-"
"But of course it would have been appreciated if you had told me. I mean, fine, so your genetic makeup is even more screwed up than we thought, but what did you think we would do, start to make silver bullets for our nine mils? Seriously, Colonel. A little trust here."
And Rodney looked so indignant, so hurt, that John had to reach out and close his hand around his friend's bicep, noticing the complete absence of a flinch and still not daring to believe in it.
"Why aren't you afraid?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, and part of him wanted to knock himself over the head, but he had to know, he had to.
Rodney stared at him.
"Are you feeling an overwhelming urge to bite me?" he demanded to know.
"No, of course not!" John gave back, perfectly aware that his canines were perfectly visible every time he spoke.
"Then why should I be?" A question filled with strangely innocent impatience, and when he looked into those wide blue eyes, John found nothing that hadn't been there before, and was enough to take a deep breath and pull Rodney into a shaky embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered, feeling a little ashamed for being so emotional, but not enough to let go, especially when Rodney's arms came up to rest hesitantly on his back. "Thank you."
"Um. You're welcome?" It sounded a little uncertain, but sincere, and John could feel Rodney's heart pounding, hear the little gulps of breath he made. Rodney's scent was everywhere, so John pressed his nose against the soft skin where shoulder met neck, inhaling deeply, breathing him in. Then Rodney's curious hand brushed against his tail, and John bucked, unable to suppress the short moan that escaped him, or the shudder that went through his whole body.
"What was that?" Rodney asked, but when John opened his mouth to answer, those damn fingers scratched their way into the fur right at the base of his tail, and all that came out was an embarrassingly loud groan. Instinctively, he pulled Rodney tighter against him, and there was just no way the other man wouldn't notice exactly 'what that was'.
"I'm- oh!" Squeezing, and what the hell did Rodney think he was doing there?
"McKay-" another squeeze, the other hand cupping his ass, pulling him in to rub himself against Rodney, and oh, they were both hard.
"No, let me," Rodney panted, and then there was humping, stroking, moaning and a pitifully short time before John was coming, barely resisting the urge to sink his teeth deeply into Rodney's shoulder. He clasped Rodney's ass instead, pulling the cheeks apart and digging his fingers into the cleft, pressing down.
"John-" The word broke off with a gasp, and then Rodney was coming as well, shuddering against him, the sharp scent of his release almost enough to drive John crazy. Maybe this was what his mother had meant when she had said that their kind didn't choose their mates by looks alone. Because while he'd had his fair share of sexual encounters, none of his partners had ever smelled like this. Of course, none of them had been Rodney.
They were still holding each other, Rodney's warmth seeping into places John had never even known were cold. But when Rodney tried to kiss him, he turned his face away, feeling the shame of what he was burn hotly on his cheeks.
His teeth were far too sharp for that kind of thing right now.
"Don't."
It was as if he had blown out a light. Rodney's whole face went blank, then he pulled back with an almost violent jerk, stumbling a little as he brought a few steps distance between them.
"So what, you're not only a werewolf, you're also in heat?" he sneered, blushing furiously as he rearranged his clothes. "Glad I could be of service, then."
"Rodney, that's not-"
"Forget it, Colonel." John didn't think he'd ever seen his friend that angry, face pale and eyes glittering in the moonlight. "I guess you'll be able to find your way back home when the sun rises?"
"Rodney-"
"Fine. I'll see you, then."
With that, Rodney turned and stalked away, stomping through the underbrush like a man on a mission. John hurried after him, ignoring the way the damp fabric at the front of his pants was chafing in places that really didn't need to be chafed, feeling a little betrayed at Rodney's sudden anger.
"Damn it, McKay, at least give me a chance to explain!"
"Oh yes, because everything here is about you."
"Rodney, I'm a werewolf!"
"Lycanthrope," Rodney corrected, smiling briefly and without the slightest trace of humour. John stopped, watching the other man march away and wishing he could have gritted his teeth.
"Fuck you, McKay."
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Rodney turned, walking back to where John was standing and jabbing an finger against his chest, shaking with fury.
"No, fuck you, Sheppard, for being so goddamn self-centred you have to make this about, about…" he gestured wildly at John's ears, his tail, "about this, because what the hell did you think that was back there, a curiosity fuck? You what, develop a tail and furry ears and that overwhelming animalistic aura that pulls in innocent victims like me? Oh, and let's not forget how your eyes changed their colour; everyone knows I can barely hold myself back when I see someone with brown eyes!"
"Rodney, I know that's not why you did it."
"Well, fine, since I have no idea why you did it. What was it, relief, too long without contact, what? And I swear to God, if you feed me some line about 'it was the beauty of the moonlight', I will shoot you instantly."
"No, it wasn't-" a deep breath, "it wasn't anything like that. I wanted… I wanted to." There, he'd said it.
Rodney let out an impatient sigh.
"Well, good. Because personally, I think moonlight just sucks, because you can't see all that much and everything just looks bland."
"But Rodney, I'm a-"
"I don't care! If you don't want to do this, fine, but at least give me a better reason than 'oh my gosh, I have a tail'!"
"'This'?"
"This!" Rodney waved a hand between them. "A… a relationship. I mean, you have to know that I… I'm…" he broke off, huffing in annoyance as he ran out of steam.
"I know you have a crush on me," John offered slowly, cautiously.
"Please." Rodney snorted, but his eyes were serious. "I don't do crushes."
How could he just say things like this? Like John was just a normal guy, someone you could hand your heart and rely on to keep it safe. Like he wasn't… wasn't some animal, like he wasn't…
"Rodney," he said in as kind a voice as possible, "look at me. This isn't what you want."
"I think I'm old enough to decide for myself what I want. And I want, um." Rodney blushed slightly, with a sudden shyness John found too cute, but he was wise enough not to voice that thought. "I want this. You. I want you."
Only a fool would say no to a gift like this. John was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid; he knew that Rodney wouldn't make that same offer twice. If he rejected it now, he'd never get another chance. So he took a step forward, his heart beating high in his throat, looking for the right words, a clever way to say 'yes, please, yes'.
"Rodney," he sighed instead when he reached him, noticing the little smug grin and not caring as he inhaled that perfect scent, put his arms around that perfect man, who was cranky and irritable and had a thousand other faults that made them good together.
They stood like that for a long time, each soaking up the other's presence, swallowing around words they wouldn't say, not yet. Then Rodney pulled back a little, eyes searching John's face.
"Do you want to go back to the Inn?"
John thought about Teyla and Ronon, two people who had seen him at both his best and his worst, and stood at his side no matter what. He looked at Rodney, unexpected friend and even more unexpected lover, and decided that maybe, he could trust. At the very least, he could try.
"Yeah. Let's go."
~~~
Happy End. Please don't hit me. ;)
Rating: NC-17ish
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: There is no possible summary for this.
AN: sethoz asked for a werewolf!John story. A fluffy werewolf!John story. So of course it's rather dark and angsty, but, um. sethoz said it's fluffy if it has a happy end?
I also make it my entry for philosophy_20's prompt #9 - Orientation. Set somewhere in season two, although there shouldn't be all that many spoilers apart from a mention of Ronon.
~~~
One Man's Island
John stopped next to a rock formation, leaning against it, trying to catch his breath. The smooth stone was feeling cold under his palm, and he stared at his hand, flesh ashen in the bright moonlight. It looked like it always did; human, he thought bitterly, his ears twitching as they picked up the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush. Rodney. He closed his eyes, suddenly too weary to run anymore.
"I need to be alone," he had mumbled before he had taken off into the hills, past Teyla and Ronon who of course didn't understand his sudden need for privacy, but who would respect it. Rodney on the other hand had started following him almost immediately, his worried shouts left further and further behind as John ran, whole body itching with that horrifyingly familiar tingle which was making his skin prickle and his follicles ache and his teeth hurt, and he let out a sound that wasn't quite a sob as he felt himself change. The full moon was shining brightly enough to let him see where he was running, illuminating the forest with its pale light. A moon just like Earth's; like a slap in his face when he had felt so safe here, so convinced that nothing like this would happen, that he could stop trying to get along on his own and start feeling secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to hide from anyone at least once a month.
Behind him, Rodney stumbled through the bushes, skin brushing over fabric as he leaned his hands on his knees, panting hard.
"Colonel! What the-" Then a sharp intake of breath, utter silence, and John didn't have to turn around to know that Rodney was staring at him, at the long, furred ears, the shaggy black tail that had ripped a hole through his BDUs. What Rodney couldn't see from that angle were John's eyes, a yellowish brown instead of their usual plain hazel colour, and the emphasised canines that would stay hidden as long as John kept his mouth closed. It was a small favour.
Twigs breaking, leaves rustling as Rodney shifted a little closer, giving those little half-breaths that meant he was searching for something to say.
"Sheppard?" Soft voice, hesitant, nervous. His hand balled into a fist against the cold stone, John allowed himself a short, bitter smile. He hadn't heard Rodney reach for his gun, not yet, and that was probably the only thing that made him turn around. Meet his eyes.
"Hey, buddy," he said quietly, hesitantly wagging his tail, although he wanted nothing more than draw it between his legs and run again.
Rodney was still staring, mouth half open. And yes, John knew what he looked like, but he was still ashamed, still feeling painfully self-conscious under that close scrutiny, remembering that night in Afghanistan when they had been held up in the hills and the moon had come out and the men he had thought his comrades had left the monster to fend for itself. They had taken another route, gunfire in the distance, and he had been the only one to make it back alive, arriving at the base just after the sun had risen, battered and exhausted and feeling like dirt. Feeling like a freak.
And Rodney stared.
"Rodney? This would be the moment for you to say something." The waggle had just about stopped, his tail drooping between his legs.
"Rodney?" he asked again, hating himself for the begging in his voice.
Rodney blinked.
"You're a werewolf," he said, his voice scratchy, like he had to force the words out.
"Lycanthrope," John corrected automatically, and winced. "And it's just a quarter, really," he added lamely.
He could smell Rodney from where he was standing across the small clearing, the scent sharp and familiar in his nose. Dinner's strong stew and watery wine on his breath. Lingering traces of the puddle jumper's metallic tang. Blood, faint and old, a leftover from a previous mission, half-hidden by the overlying stench of detergent. His aftershave. Sweat. Nervousness. No fear, though, not yet, and that was why John wasn't bolting, although his hands trembled and all he wanted was to run.
"You're," Rodney started again, and stopped. John smiled, hoping like hell it didn't come off as insecure as he felt, carefully keeping his mouth closed. Rodney blinked for a second time, and then his eyes widened. "You're a werewolf," he whispered.
"Lycanthrope," John insisted feebly, and cursed himself. Stop it. His tail was waggling again, just a little, and God, he was pathetic.
But if anyone appreciated the use of proper language, it would be Rodney, a scientist like no other John had ever met. Rodney, with his stupid crush on him and his constant worry, who had only ever judged him by what he was seeing, never by what other people were saying. What he was seeing now was the offspring of a human and a half-blood, not quite of one kind and even less of the other. A loner, an outcast, someone so far from anyone you'd choose to be your friend that it was just not funny anymore. Everyone knew you had to stay away from monsters.
Everyone knew you had to be afraid.
Everyone but Rodney McKay.
"Have you always been that way?"
What kind of person would ask a question like that when they suddenly found themselves eye to eye with a fucking werewolf? And it threw John for a loop, made him fumble for words, not knowing what to say.
"I… yes?"
Rodney seemed to have regained his balance, staring with open curiosity at John's slightly wobbling tail. "Does it hurt?"
Did it- he wanted to know if it hurt?
"Rodney, it can't possibly be this easy!"
And yes, Rodney's you're-dumb-but-I-like-you-so-let's-not-talk-about-it look, full force.
"Colonel, we're in another galaxy, being chased by creatures who are half man, half bug, and completely evil, while the people who were defeated by said half-bugs float around the universe as giant, glowing squids. I won't freak out over you being a werewolf. Compared to most of the stuff we've run into so far, that sounds almost normal."
"But-"
"But of course it would have been appreciated if you had told me. I mean, fine, so your genetic makeup is even more screwed up than we thought, but what did you think we would do, start to make silver bullets for our nine mils? Seriously, Colonel. A little trust here."
And Rodney looked so indignant, so hurt, that John had to reach out and close his hand around his friend's bicep, noticing the complete absence of a flinch and still not daring to believe in it.
"Why aren't you afraid?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, and part of him wanted to knock himself over the head, but he had to know, he had to.
Rodney stared at him.
"Are you feeling an overwhelming urge to bite me?" he demanded to know.
"No, of course not!" John gave back, perfectly aware that his canines were perfectly visible every time he spoke.
"Then why should I be?" A question filled with strangely innocent impatience, and when he looked into those wide blue eyes, John found nothing that hadn't been there before, and was enough to take a deep breath and pull Rodney into a shaky embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered, feeling a little ashamed for being so emotional, but not enough to let go, especially when Rodney's arms came up to rest hesitantly on his back. "Thank you."
"Um. You're welcome?" It sounded a little uncertain, but sincere, and John could feel Rodney's heart pounding, hear the little gulps of breath he made. Rodney's scent was everywhere, so John pressed his nose against the soft skin where shoulder met neck, inhaling deeply, breathing him in. Then Rodney's curious hand brushed against his tail, and John bucked, unable to suppress the short moan that escaped him, or the shudder that went through his whole body.
"What was that?" Rodney asked, but when John opened his mouth to answer, those damn fingers scratched their way into the fur right at the base of his tail, and all that came out was an embarrassingly loud groan. Instinctively, he pulled Rodney tighter against him, and there was just no way the other man wouldn't notice exactly 'what that was'.
"I'm- oh!" Squeezing, and what the hell did Rodney think he was doing there?
"McKay-" another squeeze, the other hand cupping his ass, pulling him in to rub himself against Rodney, and oh, they were both hard.
"No, let me," Rodney panted, and then there was humping, stroking, moaning and a pitifully short time before John was coming, barely resisting the urge to sink his teeth deeply into Rodney's shoulder. He clasped Rodney's ass instead, pulling the cheeks apart and digging his fingers into the cleft, pressing down.
"John-" The word broke off with a gasp, and then Rodney was coming as well, shuddering against him, the sharp scent of his release almost enough to drive John crazy. Maybe this was what his mother had meant when she had said that their kind didn't choose their mates by looks alone. Because while he'd had his fair share of sexual encounters, none of his partners had ever smelled like this. Of course, none of them had been Rodney.
They were still holding each other, Rodney's warmth seeping into places John had never even known were cold. But when Rodney tried to kiss him, he turned his face away, feeling the shame of what he was burn hotly on his cheeks.
His teeth were far too sharp for that kind of thing right now.
"Don't."
It was as if he had blown out a light. Rodney's whole face went blank, then he pulled back with an almost violent jerk, stumbling a little as he brought a few steps distance between them.
"So what, you're not only a werewolf, you're also in heat?" he sneered, blushing furiously as he rearranged his clothes. "Glad I could be of service, then."
"Rodney, that's not-"
"Forget it, Colonel." John didn't think he'd ever seen his friend that angry, face pale and eyes glittering in the moonlight. "I guess you'll be able to find your way back home when the sun rises?"
"Rodney-"
"Fine. I'll see you, then."
With that, Rodney turned and stalked away, stomping through the underbrush like a man on a mission. John hurried after him, ignoring the way the damp fabric at the front of his pants was chafing in places that really didn't need to be chafed, feeling a little betrayed at Rodney's sudden anger.
"Damn it, McKay, at least give me a chance to explain!"
"Oh yes, because everything here is about you."
"Rodney, I'm a werewolf!"
"Lycanthrope," Rodney corrected, smiling briefly and without the slightest trace of humour. John stopped, watching the other man march away and wishing he could have gritted his teeth.
"Fuck you, McKay."
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Rodney turned, walking back to where John was standing and jabbing an finger against his chest, shaking with fury.
"No, fuck you, Sheppard, for being so goddamn self-centred you have to make this about, about…" he gestured wildly at John's ears, his tail, "about this, because what the hell did you think that was back there, a curiosity fuck? You what, develop a tail and furry ears and that overwhelming animalistic aura that pulls in innocent victims like me? Oh, and let's not forget how your eyes changed their colour; everyone knows I can barely hold myself back when I see someone with brown eyes!"
"Rodney, I know that's not why you did it."
"Well, fine, since I have no idea why you did it. What was it, relief, too long without contact, what? And I swear to God, if you feed me some line about 'it was the beauty of the moonlight', I will shoot you instantly."
"No, it wasn't-" a deep breath, "it wasn't anything like that. I wanted… I wanted to." There, he'd said it.
Rodney let out an impatient sigh.
"Well, good. Because personally, I think moonlight just sucks, because you can't see all that much and everything just looks bland."
"But Rodney, I'm a-"
"I don't care! If you don't want to do this, fine, but at least give me a better reason than 'oh my gosh, I have a tail'!"
"'This'?"
"This!" Rodney waved a hand between them. "A… a relationship. I mean, you have to know that I… I'm…" he broke off, huffing in annoyance as he ran out of steam.
"I know you have a crush on me," John offered slowly, cautiously.
"Please." Rodney snorted, but his eyes were serious. "I don't do crushes."
How could he just say things like this? Like John was just a normal guy, someone you could hand your heart and rely on to keep it safe. Like he wasn't… wasn't some animal, like he wasn't…
"Rodney," he said in as kind a voice as possible, "look at me. This isn't what you want."
"I think I'm old enough to decide for myself what I want. And I want, um." Rodney blushed slightly, with a sudden shyness John found too cute, but he was wise enough not to voice that thought. "I want this. You. I want you."
Only a fool would say no to a gift like this. John was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid; he knew that Rodney wouldn't make that same offer twice. If he rejected it now, he'd never get another chance. So he took a step forward, his heart beating high in his throat, looking for the right words, a clever way to say 'yes, please, yes'.
"Rodney," he sighed instead when he reached him, noticing the little smug grin and not caring as he inhaled that perfect scent, put his arms around that perfect man, who was cranky and irritable and had a thousand other faults that made them good together.
They stood like that for a long time, each soaking up the other's presence, swallowing around words they wouldn't say, not yet. Then Rodney pulled back a little, eyes searching John's face.
"Do you want to go back to the Inn?"
John thought about Teyla and Ronon, two people who had seen him at both his best and his worst, and stood at his side no matter what. He looked at Rodney, unexpected friend and even more unexpected lover, and decided that maybe, he could trust. At the very least, he could try.
"Yeah. Let's go."
~~~
Happy End. Please don't hit me. ;)