Fangfic 5

Warriors Of The Dark

by DevilKat

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asd/devilkat/fangfic05.php
Summary: Not Supplied

"Are you ready, my Colonel, to play Captain Blood?"

No shit, I jumped a good half foot. Standing in the balcony, watching the sunset...thinking of other things. Softer things. Danny.

Lestat had left the suite for the first time in weeks this evening. Kind of a relief; he's enjoyable company, but not relaxing in the least. And I needed to get some things done, contact my team. I've been worrying about worrying them, for weeks now. And the more I fretted, the more Lestat started to become...snappish, almost hateful. He's not just an egotist, he's the underground dictionary definition of the word. So although I'm sure he hasn't the slightest interest in me except as a verbal sparring partner and eventual soldier against the Gou'ald, it pisses him off that I might be thinking of someone or something ELSE in his overwhelming presence.

About the time I was guiltily wishing he'd run out for an hour or two so I could make some calls, he suddenly flung on a wine-colored leather jacket and actually left. Although not without a barb-wired remark touching fledglings and how damned boring they could be.

Just about long enough for me to make my calls. Which I did. Looking over my shoulder the whole damn time. Nothing had been said, but the idea had gotten through to me that warning my people and spoiling the surprise just might be a big no-no in his book.

If I were arrogant, I'd think my new power drove him away so I'd have time to call out. Thinking straight, I realize that he left on purpose so he could save face and let me get hold of my team at the same time.

Thinking straight caused me to worry more. I'd much rather consider myself a bad-ass than realize Lestat likes me enough to take a hike for me.

Now, though, he's back with a bullet. And his voice is like a silken rush of fire and honey, not bantering in the least. Too damn seductive. Damn, I'd gotten so used to trading potshots with him I'd forgotten he could do that.

Fatal tactical error. Don't want to hear that musical, reasonable voice. Though he'd only done it once before, when I was dying in a ditch and he was softly persuading me that yes, it would be so much better to swap corpuscles with him than give up the good fight against the Goats...ah, Go'auld.

I hate to admit it, but Lestat has taught me...a lot. Mainly about vampires and what they're made of, but...hell, other things. I'm smart enough to make it out of the balcony, double time. You don't let Lestat pin you into a corner. Fridge is full of beer-his treat, the evil so-n-so. I snag a cold one and pop it before even talking to him.

Oh, there's no doubt that he's a sick bastard. Guess where we'd been living for two of these four weeks? The Dakota, New York. Yeah, right. John Lennon lived in those luxury apartments, was shot just outside the place by a guy who looked so much like Stephen King it wasn't funny. It's an event that falls within scope of my generation, but he made sure I knew that he kept rooms there just for that reason. The...ambience, I think he said. I have no doubt he would've rented the dead dude's very suite of rooms if it had been available.

"Romance is your middle name, Lestat," I told him, shooting from the hip, truly not knowing what to say. "But if you really wanted to bait my hook, you shoulda rented the Jeff Dahmer suite."

Well, I guess it's an accomplishment to make a guy that old bust a gut laughing. I let him know that thought, too. Suicidal, thy name is O'Neill.

Once again, he loved the hell out of it. Christ, maybe if I grabbed his ass and told him how cute he was he'd get offended?

Don't worry...I'm not gonna try it.

We flew from there to San Francisco. Bastard has a private jet, of course. Just to be a butthead, I pestered him to let me drive. He called my bluff and proved himself an even bigger asshole than me by letting me do it.

I did my best to fly like a moron and scrunch his nerves into wadded up aluminum foil. Bastard took two minutes to study my technique, smiled serenely, gave me all the paperwork for touchdown at Oakland Airport-as if the onboard computer couldn't hack it--and proceeded to tilt a People magazine over his puss and doze off to sleep in the spacious luxury cabin while yours truly got stuck with all the dirty work. And fun, I must admit.

In San Francisco, we check into...I kid you not...a Ramada Inn. No ghosts, no murders...barely edible food, as I recall, so thank God we aren't needing room service. He's a totally unpredictable freak.

The truth of the matter is...and it shames the hell out of me to admit it...I like the guy.

He's a murderous fuck and he'd tear out your throat and never think twice about it if you annoyed him. Or probably, if you just BORED him. Maybe just for the fun of it on a given day.

But he's nobody's pussy and his system of honor, though maybe not quite your norm, is pure blazing steel. Once he's made a commitment, he's behind you completely. He'll kill for you. Hell, I think-if he could remember how-he'd die for you.

Maybe more importantly, at least from where the Stargate project stands...he'll invest in you. I got a voucher for a check in lottery-winner figures resting easily in my jeans pocket, and it ain't made out to the government. Wire transfer goes through tomorrow, and that won't be going into any government account either. My call, to see it goes where it'll do the most good in the Gou'ald fight. I'll be probing Daniel on this one; not because I love him, but because he doubtless has some experience with grants and things. All I know is getting a salary; this is something different.

Well, shit, who am I fooling? I may use part of it for a romantic cruise or something.

Of course, it's an unspoken given I better handle the battle I'm being paid for-that I was resurrected for-with my 100% best shot. And I can't help feeling a bit proud that Lestat doesn't even seem to question that.

Respect goes both ways.

"Perhaps when you finish drooling towards the state of Colorado, O'Neill, we can discuss getting you back where that erection will do you some good."

Oh. Did I mention that he IS a bastard?

Being me, I turn around and give him a sarcastic look and a lie. "Haven't had one for at least twenty minutes," I say. "YOU'RE here."

He goes very, very still. And since a vampire doesn't bother to pretend to breathe unless he's trying to pass as human, that's very still indeed. Think preying mantis in human form. Oops, I may have finally hit a nerve here.

I have, but it's one I didn't want to come close to in a thousand years.

Vampires can move faster than human sight can track them. It's a sweet little trick I'm dying to try against some arrogant snakehead bastard really soon. But I don't appreciate it now, because Lestat is too damn good at it and before I can blink he's right in my face, practically on top of me. I'd be tasting his breath if he had any.

"You're MUCH more attractive than when I first dragged you out of the mud, O'Neill," he purrs almost in my ear. "Perhaps it would be wiser not to flirt so blatantly." Then he's winding me into an embrace that...

Shit. Holy Shit.

My first impulse is to jump backward like a scalded cat; my second is to punch him out. This close, I can tell the merciless prick has fed; his pallor is less incandescent, and those blue-violet eyes sparkle just a trifle too much, as if he's a bit drunk. This pisses me off, even though I know he ...feeds...mostly delicately. He's an extremely powerful vamp; he doesn't need much. I almost think it's just the taste that haunts him, the memory of feeding that he needs, rather than the nourishment itself.

It's irrelevant. I'm not scared of getting bitten by him. Shit. Either fear or aggression will lose me the battle, here. Simply put...I'm in trouble.

Anyone who's read his friend's "Interview with" (and I have; yeah I lied, read all the books, so sue me) has probably got the idea that vampires don't even use their dicks. As good as eunuchs. All sex is sublimated through the feeding and blah blah blah.

Well, I'm here to say that Louis was either lying through his pointy fangs for some obscure purpose, or high as he could be on crack cocaine.

Biting is sexual, sure. You better believe it is. Not better, but certainly not...less. A different type of pleasure, though just as...intense. But vampires don't lose their other senses, their human desires, because they gain the pleasure of drinking human blood.

Hell, no. Case in point, one flame-blond, drop-dead-gorgeous vamp suddenly wrapped around me, pressed against me, and those sharp ivory teeth an inch from the soft flesh under my ear barely distract me from what's pushing too many inches of rigid, throbbing heat against my hip. Are we talking hard-on from hell, here?

Well...guess it depends on your viewpoint. Definitely more than I want to handle right now. So much for the "He has no interest in O'Neill" idea.

I haven't combined the two yet, mortal and immortal sex. I intend to, and I have no doubt that it will be the world-ending orgasm. Like flying into the heart of the sun and...if you survive...coming out as something strange and new. Beautiful and alien and invincible. The very thought of trying it scares the beJesus out of me.

But if you guessed that the person I was saving this epiphany for was NOT Lestat, you'd win your bet no contest.

All these fevered, startled thoughts take barely ten seconds to process after he wraps his arms around me.

"Jeeze, Lestat," I remark, casually if a bit breathlessly. "Thought you said you had better taste than to drink, uh, Blood Lite."

A bad attempt at humor, I guess; know I wince at it. He does softly laugh, but he also turns his head slightly, and one of those razor canines snicks my throat. And then he's tasting, yes, holy momma, he starting to suck, and whether it's a mistake, sheer accident or totally a well-thought out Plan A on his do-O'Neill list, I have to jerk back and push him away before I belong to him. Not to mention get a hard-on, too.

"Dammit Lestat!" I almost scream, and he blinks at me, surprises me by pulling back. Shimmering blue-violet eyes almost drowsy, not startled at my anger. "You are so not supposed to be slurping me down! Did I say 'bite me'? I don't think so!" And then, in case he really doesn't get it, "You are my...my trainer. I love DANNY!"

"Trainer," he repeats with a kind of gentle mockery. "Danny. Ah." He pushes forward again; I use all my strength to attempt to stop him and it's a pretty damn pathetic gesture. But all he does is lean in and give a long, gentle lick to the leaking slash in my throat. Healing it instantly. Wonder what Janet is gonna think about the amazing flesh-knitting properties of vampire spit?

He pulls away and more or less floats to the CD player, punching in a code. "Would you like to know what...Danny's...doing right now, O'Neill?" His eyes are drowsy, humorous, nearly friendly. His lips look soft, moist, almost human. Why the hell am I watching his lips anyway?

"Why don't you tell me since you will anyway?" I growl at him. I hate being rattled and confused like this. I hate him for having the power to do it. Daniel's name being almost caressed by that rich, smoky voice is not filling me with glee here, either. The sooner I'm home the better. Lestat is just too weird, too dangerous, too...everything.

Eyes cool and distant now, as if he's monitoring something a fair distance away. Dammit, he switched on that stupid song again, the ones that reminds me of Egypt and mummies and invasions by star-gods. "Oh, nothing special..." he murmurs, casting his eyes down and smiling at one or another of his three billion secrets. "He's just...sleeping."

I feel myself softening at the thought of Daniel sprawled across his bed; covers haphazardly tossed off, head thrown back and mouth half open. He doesn't snore loudly, but it's a fact most mouth breathers do saw the log to some degree. I've got it pretty bad, because I think it's...cute. Guess I'd think different if I were sleeping next to him, night after night...Jesus, O'Neill, think of something else before your worst nightmare starts idle chatter about erections again!

"Goddammit, where do you find this stuff? Not enough I've started to whistle Type O Negative tunes, you gotta play hymns to Osiris all freakin' day. Give a man a break here; I've heard of leaving the TV on all day, but this is getting to me!"

"Music-hater," he murmured gently as I snap off the rock and look for something less disturbing. Not finding anything the least bit relaxing in his collection, I opt for a beer to settle my nerves.

Thank God, he does seem out of his kissy mood and ready to spar with me once more. Well, good. Idle chatter can't cause me any trouble, now, can it?

We proceed to insult each other in a more-or-less amiable fashion for about thirty minutes. And then he indicates it's time to go. I thought he said TOMORROW night, but I'm not about to start arguing here.

I pull on all the black leather he's dished up for me. Which is kind of, ah, enhanced by the red silk shirt he seems to think is imperative. "You're sure no cape?" I pester him.

He sighs, and actually closes his eyes in a mockery of despair. "The black is more subtle and suits you nicely. Please don't indulge your dramatic tendencies more than you have to, Mr. Whiplash."

Damn, but his base of lore is broad. I can't help staring at him. And then...I can't help snickering.

His eyes open. He doesn't have a cape, but he does have one of those long, swirling black coats that the people in "The Matrix" all seemed to wear. Before I can even bitch he is tossing me one. I climb into it without protest. "It will get cold," he observes, then lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

"I was just thinking...of you...actually watching 'Rocky and Bullwinkle'."

He smiles at me. It's a little...bleak. "Talk to me after your first hundred years, and let me know how...bored...you are."

I'm popping and snorting as I pull on the coat, but somehow that last remark drags my mood down a notch. "Ah...what do you mean...get cold? I thought we were flying?"

"We are indeed." And I swear to God, the bastard scoops me into an embrace I don't need for nothin', and CARRIES me to the damned balcony window. Which windows fly open obediently...we are on the sixth floor. I weigh a good one hundred eighty pounds.

I see what he's getting at. I begin to struggle. "Hell no. Hell no, Lestat, hell fucking no. I am not flying into base tucked under your armpit as you swoop the skies like a big fucking bat. No no no no NO!"

"Not to base, " he somewhat murmurs. I'm so mad I'm careless, his eyes meet mine, and I'm lost. Drowning. And yet...

Did I mention before that I like him? Now...suddenly...I trust him. I must be crazy. I hang in his grip like a goon while he murmurs to me in that same soothing voice he used when he saved me from true death. Except that voice is in my mind.

Don't worry. I'll teach you. You'll have...fun. You like to fly, O'Neill. No worries.

I am strong, and I will resist. "Bite me." Oops. Something I'd been doing good at NOT saying to him, till now. I am not at my best here.

His eyes gleam. No, O'Neill. The opposite. Casually, one-handed, he grabs his collar...all that white silk and expensive frou-frou lace I've been sneering at for weeks. Rips it right down, as if he's tearing a paper towel.

Bares that white column of throat for me. Two inches from my lips.

Did I also forget to mention that the fangs pushing up and out is something like getting a hard-on? Oh, the BASTARD.

Take. That mental voice is soft as a dream. You'll need it for the flight. You'll need it if you intend...to face the sun. For more than a mission or two.

"Lestat..."

Take. Promise. I will bring you to your...friend. That elegant lip curls, after a second or two. Afraid?

BASTARD!

I bite. Hard. Can't do anything else. I drink the sun. Molten metal fills me, flows into me. I am filled with rainbows, fire, magic.

I had ideas of just sorta bouncing in through the Stargate...wherever Lestat's version of the Stargate IS. Hammond would pass out, Sam would be delighted to see me. Danny...don't know.

How can Lestat be nicer than me? He's going to take me to Daniel.

Biting an older vampire is not like sucking a human. His skin cracks like hard pottery, the blood pulses up sluggishly, golden honey. You...definitely...have to be invited. It's so hard to get through the skin, he could kill you three times before you knew it if you were a fledging just trying to cop a feel.

The power flows into me, and if he wasn't holding onto me I would be lost forever in the sheer ecstasy of it. He laughs, just a little bit. Sounds almost sad. Wizardry flows through my veins, through my brain, heart, every part of me. I am eternal, invincible, a piece of the sun, brother of the stars.

Then he's forcing me away. "Glutton," he whispers. Almost gasps. He throws his head back, all the golden honey hair flashing through the air like a storm of bright music. "Ready to fly, my Colonel?"

"Good to go...you promise?"

His eyes flicker like neon cobalt. "You'll learn to fly. And I'll take you to..."

Long pause. He almost sounds...regretful.

"To your Daniel. But for now..."

He draws me into him, and I don't resist. We walk off onto the balcony together.

He gives it a mocking look. The wrought-iron safety cage sort of...dissolves. Turns into melted licorice. For cryin' out loud...when you're good, you're good.

As we step off it together, as he catches me in his arms as tightly as he can, one last murmur of that velvet voice reaches me.

"You should probably know, O'Neill...I paid for that room with a credit card that is just as dead as we are."

"Under my name?"

He's offended. We're flying into the night, borne upon the moonlight wind, and he's huffed up thinking I think he's screwed me on a credit card bill. Boy, if I wasn't hot for Danny, he might almost have a chance. And then I'd be in real trouble.

"Forget I said it. I know you're not a crook, Lestat."

"O'Neill. How kind of you. If you don't freeze to death on the trip, permit me to mention that..."

"Yeah?"

"That you are the most absolutely irritating mortal I've ever met in my life."

"Fame at last," I say dryly, and then he's laughing and increasing the velocity, and I'm so busy trying to learn how to do this new thing that, well, I don't really have time to even think of Danny.

Hardly.

Next: Jack's Welcome Home