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bookworm_2005


The Bookworm's Musings

Adult Themes are discussed and linked to in this Journal - Read Responsibly!


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EAD– SWAT Kats/Stargate Atlantis Crossover Fusion: Heat (PG13)
kitty
bookworm_2005

In honor of Evil Author Day, I’m posting some of my WIPs and not-quite-abandoned drafts. Yes, I know Evil Author Day was actually yesterday, but I missed it. So I’m doing it today instead.

SWAT Kats/Stargate Atlantis Crossover Fusion: Heat

John/Rodney pre-slash; combat violence

=========

John lays his ears back and growls threateningly at the approaching marine. Behind him, he can feel Rodney trying to slip past him, trying to join the melee and fight for the right to mate with Elizabeth, but John is having none of it.

Rodney had been sitting next to Elizabeth when she had suddenly gone into full heat, and so was covered with her enticing scent. Naturally, that has made him a target of every male in the mess hall, the chosen one who must be defeated in order to gain her favor. Every male but John, that is.

There is no way that John is going to allow his friend (mate, his mind whispers) out into what is rapidly turning into a bloodbath. Almost every male in the room is now fighting for Elizabeth, who wails out an enticing call, letting everyone within earshot know that she needs.

As soldiers, the Marines habitually keep their claws long and sharp and ready to do serious damage, instead of clipping and dulling them like the civilians do. His friend is large, muscled, and very determined, but none of that will matter when his opponents are all highly skilled in the art of weaponless combat. Rodney would be seriously injured or perhaps even killed. Unacceptable.

John himself feels no compulsion to go to Elizabeth except that of a friend, wishing to ease her pain. He feels no need to challenge the fighting marines for her, no need to prove his worth in her eyes.

Instead, he has two goals at this moment: protect Rodney, and prevent Rodney from going to Her. Rodney is his! His to protect, his to claim, and there is no way he is giving over his claim to anyone else, not even Elizabeth!

Distantly, he is aware that there is something odd in his thinking, but he’s preoccupied with driving off challengers and keeping Rodney boxed into his corner. He can feel the rage rising up within him as he unsheathes his own claws and drives away the ever-more persistent males.

Eventually, panting, he realizes that there’s no way he’ll be able to hold them off forever, especially once most of the weaker members are eliminated through infighting. He needs help.

He needs to take control of the situation: people are going to get killed if this goes on. He can't summon more males – that will just make the problem worse. He needs someone who won't be affected, someone who can take control, who can make the tactical decisions that are eluding him at the moment. Teyla. He needs Teyla.

Snarling, he lashes out at a marine who ventures too close, scoring a definite and bloody hit. As the marine staggers back, holding his wounded arm and shoulder, John takes advantage of the momentary lull to reach up and toggle his radio on.

"Teyla. Teyla, report to the Mess Hall, Elizabeth went into Heat and it's turning into a bloodbath down here. Hurry!"

"Understood, John. I am on my way."

Dimly he hears her summoning others over the radio, her voice cool and commanding, but his attention is drawn back to the battle as another challenger rushes him. That’s alright. Teyla will know what to do; he can trust her to manage things. Turning his focus back to the situation at hand, he finally lets the blood-rage take him.

***

The world is red. Pain, anger, rage. Protect, protect, PROTECT! Drive away the enemies, keep his Mate safe. Slash, claw, punch, kick. His claws tearing through fur and flesh. His teeth sinking into his enemies, ripping and shredding. The taste of blood in his mouth, the scent of it in the air – heavy, salt, copper. Victory, success. Enemies driven away, only to be replaced by others. Slash, claw, punch, kick.

Another enemy approaches. Snarl a warning. Slash out with sharp, bloody claws. Enemy moves back, out of reach, but doesn’t leave. What? Snarl a claim: My Territory! Enemy remains. Why? Scent the air. No fear, no threat. Not an enemy? A voice, words…

“…Be at ease, John. It is I, Teyla. I am no threat to your mate. Be at ease, John…” Over and over, calm and steady.

Teyla. Not an enemy. Not a threat. Not male. Female. Family.

Slowly, the blood-rage begins to recede.

Someone (Rodney! Mate!) licks his ear soothingly, and then begins to groom him. The blood-rage leaves him as suddenly as it came.

“Teyla? Rodney?”

“Yes, John, it is I…”

“Finally! It’s about time! What were you thinking, Sheppard?! I’m not helpless, you don’t have to let yourself be ripped to shreds to protect me. I could have handled it…” The grooming slows so that Rodney can speak, but it doesn’t stop entirely, the gentleness contradicting his mate’s sharp words.


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