lierdumoa | Update

So back when

svmadelyn was doing her 13 challenge I started writing a fic where Rodney gets turned into a siren. I then decided it would be better in John's POV and started rewriting the entire thing.

I finally finished rewriting scene one, which is 1500 words of what is basically a sex scene without the orgasm.

"Fine!" Rodney said, gathering his legs under him and pushing himself into a stand. "I'm fine, I think," he said, then paused.

His voice was different. At least, it sounded different to John. He watched as Rodney swallowed, hand lifting to his throat. Not just John, then. The tone had been more melodic than it ought to have been. The words echoed more. It reminded John a little of the way wraith spoke. Well, there was a creepy thought. It was probably nothing, though for some reason he had the strangest urge to. To.

Something. He couldn't place it.

Rodney carefully stepped out of the chamber, pressing his hand to the same panel John had pressed and closing it behind him. "Hey, my voice sounds..."

John found himself trailing his eyes down Rodney's back. Inspecting for damage. He had the funniest impulse. This weird, almost-paranoia telling him that eyes weren't enough and he should feel for bruises, just to make sure.

Rodney turned back around. "...weird. Does my voice sound weird to you?"

"I sounds..."

But it wasn't the sound. More like the vibration of the words. Rodney's voice was tickling down his back like magic hands in a cheap motel bed. He chuckled at the comparison. "It feels different. It's like—" He chuckled again. He felt. Off.

Rodney was eyeing him suspiciously. "John, did the light made you high or something? You're not making any sense."

Sharp words. Violent, almost. Whatever had happened to Rodney's voice intensified exponentially. It was like the magic hands suddenly grew freaking talons and they were stabbing straight through his back towards his groin. He stumbled forward, the feeling so bright and pointed that for a moment John couldn't even process it.

Rodney rushed forward, catching by the shoulders. John swayed unsteadily towards him before catching himself. "I'm. I think it's."

"Oh God, it's caused brain damage or something. Oh God, I got hit harder than you, why aren't I? I should call Beckett. We should. Beckett can—"

John covered Rodney's mouth with his palm to stop the battery of words. Too much. John was shaking. He could feel himself shaking. The white flare of sensation had turned into a low, hard ache of. Of.

No, it.

No.

Rodney yanked John's hand away from his face. "Alright, no need to be rude, I'm just trying to—"

"Stop. Talking," John gritted out, desperately fighting a swell of, ah Christ, this was not happening.

I am so horridly out of practice writing John. Pretty much everything I've written over the past half a year has been Rodney's POV. Most of which is still unfinished and unposted and sitting on my harddrive growing mold. Hopefully I'll get back into the groove of wriitng his POV soon and the writing will start to go faster.

I spent the past week watching far more Gilmore Girls than is healthy. One of my multiple personalities must really hate herself. Now I feel more obligated than ever to write that Dark Angel/Gilmore Girls crossover if only so that all this pain wasn't for naught.

I just used naught in a normal sentence. Daaaaaamn youuuuuu Joanna Lindsay.