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[personal profile] cocoa_smut
Title: Bright, Rich, Sweet (3 of 6?)
Authors: [livejournal.com profile] muck_a_luck and [livejournal.com profile] cocoajava, posting in [livejournal.com profile] cocoa_smut
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill, Jack O'Neill/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A vampire cannot live by (chicken) blood alone. Jack becomes a vampire.
Content/warnings: Does one warn for bloodplay in a vampire story? Het content
Words:Approx 25,000-30,000 overall, 5,237 this part
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, we are certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, we'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advisory-type capacity, with my fee to be negotiated at that time. :D
Archive rights: Absolutely none. Our journals only. [livejournal.com profile] cocoa_smut and [livejournal.com profile] brainofck
The Matrix: Taste. The Matrix is located here.
Beta: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] green_grrl and [livejournal.com profile] zats_clear for beta services and editorial advice.

Chapter 2



He needed to drink human blood and he had to be able to have sex with his... victim? partner? He needed anonymous but willing.

So here he was, outside The Crypt Club. When the idea had occurred to him, he figured he'd have to go at least as far as Denver for a place like this. But no, here it was, right in the Springs.

He stood out in the crowd. The bouncer gave him an appraising once-over. Jack was too tall, too grey, too old, and frankly, too Air Force. But he had dressed all in black and his real vampire pale skin and ruby red lips made him look surprisingly the part, despite all that. Maybe being unique was an asset. The bouncer waved him through, as he caught interested glances from several young women and men waiting in line.

He stood in the stone arch of the entry way, soaking it all in. It was more than a little over the top. Kids – Christ, they could be his kids how the hell was he going to fuck one of them? – in pale make up, pulsating and twisting to grinding, percussive music in the swirling fake fog. As he made his way to the bar, he saw there were stone nooks in the wall. Crypts, he thought and rolled his eyes. They were big enough for a couple to dance close together, and one kind of bent around a little and he was sure the two in there were doing it up against the wall.

He shook his head and made his way to a bar stool. Down the long counter, a young man was stretched out, one "vampire" with a distinctive, and very human, aqua halo gnawing at his neck and the vamp's vampy girlfriend sucking a big bruise on their victim's wrist.

Jack cringed. This was the reason he was here. Half of these people wanted to be vampires, but the other half were looking for someone to suck their blood. Jesus, he was too old for this crap.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked. Jack was relieved to be able to go through the familiar rituals of small talk with the barman, until he realized he really couldn’t order anything. He grimaced.

"One of those, maybe," he said, waving toward the kid on the bar and offering a small, fangy smile.

The barman, who was older than his clientele, sized him up, much as the bouncer had. Maybe he could tell that Jack was new to this, but was confused by Jack's skin and teeth and probably apparent hunger.

"Blood dolls you have to get for yourself, master," he said deferentially. Jack snorted, but figured it must be part of the culture, to acknowledge "vampires."

"You should have mirrors. I can't watch the room," Jack said. The barkeep smiled. "I'm Jack, by the way," he said, offering the man his hand.

"It's rude to have mirrors where there are so many of… you," the barman said, accepting the handshake with apparent caution.

Jack snorted.

"So much irritating mythology." Jack muttered.

The barman smiled again, more broadly this time.

"My name is Marcus," he said. "And I think you will find that the girl in the back booth with the henna'd hair and the corset would be very interested in your attention." He indicated her with a nod and raised eyebrows.

Jack turned. She was easy to spot, watching him from over the rim of her glass. She was wearing a black leather corset, tightly bound over a softly billowing blouse, but it was cut low, leaving her neck and shoulders bare and tempting. She wore what he recognized as a blood vial on a leather cord around her neck. He wondered whose blood she kept there. She glowed a rich gold, like Daniel. It made him wonder yet again about the meaning of the aural spectrum. Maybe Daniel had learned something about that from Gyan's books. Jack should ask him.

"See, Marcus," he said, turning and clapping the man on the shoulder. "With a pro like you, who needs mirrors? What's she drinking?"

"She likes petit sirah and absinthe. Take her the one you prefer," he suggested with a knowing smile.

Jack had no idea if it made any difference, but he took her the wine. He remembered absinthe from the 70's and it was a pain in the ass. If he was going to do this, he didn't want to spend all night here playing Bohemian poet.

She watched him make his way across the room to her table. Her expression was one of weary boredom, but he could see the pulse in her throat quicken as he approached. He set the wine on the table and slipped into the booth across from her. She took it like she was accepting an offering, sipping it and smiling thinly.

"I prefer absinthe," she said coldly.

"I don't," Jack countered. He flashed her just a glimpse of fang.

She let out a long slow breath, and took another sip of wine. Well, the fangs had been bared, it was her turn to react. She would have to admit, they were good fangs.

Sure enough she reached across the table and ran a feather touch around his lips.

"Do you know how to play these games, childe?" she asked softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "Do you know about the sharp, sweet pain? The art of the bite? It has been a long time since..."

She trailed off so softly, Jack doubted a normal human could have heard her.

She seemed to shake off the glamour, then, giving him another thin smile and drawing back her hand.

"Why do you think I would be interested in a childe like you?" she swirled the wine in the glass, watching the glycerin cling to the crystal and slowly recede.

Jack decided to go with the honest answer, figuring in this place, it would fit in fine.

"Because you glow golden. The last time someone gave me their blood freely... that person had the same aura as you do. That's all I need to see."

She eyed him, considering. She set her glass down, reaching across the table and slipping her hand into her small black velvet purse. When she drew her hand out again, she was wearing on her index finger a thick silver ring, decorated with a single rose surrounded by two silver thorns. Carefully she brought her hand back up and wrapped her fingers back around the glass. The thorns curled out and down over the edge of the ring to scrape lightly against her skin.

The light scratches made Jack's own heart skip a beat.

"You're very sure of yourself," she said calmly.

He shrugged.

"Plenty of other candidates in this place if you're not interested," he said, playing it cool. "But nobody here glows like you do."

She tightened her grip on the glass. The thorns pierced her skin and two bright droplets of blood appeared. Her blood smelled tangy, like citrus. She did not wince, she did not look down at her hand. She raised the glass and finished the wine. As she set it back on the table, one droplet of glistening blood slipped free to splash on the tabletop. She leaned back and gave him a thorough once over. She paused a beat, then suddenly stood, her cropped and bustled skirt showing off long, long legs and high, high boots.

Jack followed her out.

She moved through her front room, lighting the wicks of three hurricane lamps with real old fashioned wooden matches. The smell of sulfer and smoke mingled with the scent coming off a large vase of half-wilted roses. She flicked the switches on two small brass lamps on either side of her ancient, battered couch. Jack wondered why she bothered. They were fitted with dim bulbs and mostly covered by scarves, making the room moody, but hardly any brighter. He thought she could have picked her couch up from the side of the road, but she had thrown a beautifully embroidered cover over it. There were cloth hangings on the walls, too, rather than the posters he would have expected. She reached into one of the shadowed corners and turned on her stereo, quickly adjusting the volume down to something more appropriate to the hour. The music was different from the metal and grind of the club. It had an operatic quality that appealed to Jack. The song came on mid-verse, the chorus chanting "…I'll bleed forever."

"Can I get you something to drink, childe?" she asked him. He was sure this was some insult he wasn't getting, and that the offer of a drink was a challenge, a suggestion that he was not what he claimed to be.

"Only you," he said, with what he hoped was the right sinister flirtatiousness. He smiled a little more broadly for her than he had in public. Her eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight of his full fangs before narrowing suspiciously.

She disregarded his comment and opened the fridge anyway. There were three cut-glass decanters on the top shelf.

"This would be true blood, kind sir, as I would not be so crass as to offer my visitor a pale imitation." Her voice had taken on a new tone, her words giving Jack the impression of listening to someone from days past. Here in her own little lair, she seemed to be dropping the tough attitude she’d affected in the club. Had he passed a test of some sort? Jack could smell the scent of the blood that had seeped out past the glass stoppers into the refrigerator. It was human. He didn't flinch. She was just the kind of loony he was looking for.

"I didn't come here for cold bottled A-negative," he replied, surprising her by knowing the type.

She tilted her head and gave him a long, inquisitive look, the lines of her neck stretched and emphasized by her pose. Slowly she moved closer, reaching to tug the thin material of her blouse even lower on her shoulder. The ring was still in place, her finger now a dappled mess of dried and oozing blood. She pulled the ring carefully free and set it on the kitchen counter, then lifted her bloody finger to Jack’s lips.

"A sample, to see if this particular vintage is more what the gentleman craves?"

Jack didn't even bother to reply. He caught her wrist firmly and brought her hand to his mouth, touching her wounded finger with his tongue, cleaning the blood away with delicate licks. Then he leaned forward and buried his fangs in her waiting neck.

She gave a sudden surprised intake of breath, but then relaxed against him with a blissful sigh.

Jack reveled in the burst of power, the sweet and salt of her pulse on his tongue.

He was careful. He didn't take too much. After a few minutes of pure indulgence, he released her. Her head lolled back and he could see her dazed, pleasured smile.

"That was astounding," she murmured. "If only you didn’t have to stop.”

He couldn't believe how tempted he was to drink and drink and drink. He should have eaten more before he went out. But he wasn't sure it would matter. He was so hungry.

"Let's fuck instead," he muttered roughly, feeling vaguely guilty for taking advantage of her state, but firmly reminding himself that this was probably what she had been expecting all along, not to mention that at this point it would be worse for her if they didn't have sex.

He was infinitely relieved when she simply said, "It would be my pleasure, childe."

He carefully lowered her to the kitchen floor.

The orgasm was almost as good as the feeding.

He had thought about what he would do, after. He had decided that if he could find someone, he would try to selectively control what they remembered about the event.

As she was falling asleep after her own shuddering climax, he whispered, "The sex was great. The fangs were fake."

She muttered happy agreement and drifted off.

He left her sleeping on a floor. She woke to find a note scrawled on her refrigerator door: Maybe I'll see you again at the Crypt. He signed it with a delicate smear of blood from her own neck.




He spent the rest of the weekend following her.

She slept in on Saturday, emerging around 1400.

The hours passed easily as he waited, enjoying first the smells of the evening and the bright movement of the quarter moon and the stars, then the delicate and changing beauty of the sunrise and the conversations and activity of passersby as traffic began moving along the downtown street outside her building. The newly tinted windows of his truck protected him from the sun and the curiosity of the people walking by.

When she finally did emerge, he slathered his face and hands in SPF 30, and pulled on his hat and goggles. She got ahead of him while he prepared, but it didn't matter much. Tracking her by her scent on the pavement and in the air was ridiculously easy. She was walking fast, her destination the coffee shop two blocks west.

He adopted his cloak of don't-look-at-me as he stepped into the shop and took a table along the side wall, out of her direct line of vision.

She was slouched in a comfortable-looking stuffed chair, all dressed in black with dark shades hiding her eyes. Her perfectly done makeup made her ghostly pale. She was talking softly on her cell. He easily listened in.

"... no idea. I must have been incredibly drunk. But he did have the best set of prosthetics I have ever seen, and that's saying a lot."

He listened harder and could hear a man answer, "I would have thought prosthetics would have been a negative."

He saw in profile her look of offended disgust.

"No... Not... I can't believe you said that," she replied in irritation. "If you're not going to listen seriously, I'm calling Del."

"Oh, come on," he said, laughing. "It had to be said. The whole vampire schtic is so queer. And the fact that you find fake teeth to be sexy. Even Del thinks you're crazy, you know. So, are you going to see him again?"

She considered.

"Maybe," she said, apparently ignoring his comment about vampire schtick. Maybe they had had that argument so many times it wasn't even worth commenting on anymore. He could think of several topics like that he and Daniel shared. "Not many guys are that good with the fangs. It felt fantastic when he bit me."

The guy groaned.

"God, and we all know how much you love the marks," he snorted. "You are such a sicko. You should probably go out and get a tetanus shot."

"Hey, you asked. Plus, the sex was amazing."

"OK. Total TMI. Time for you to call Del, now."

"He had a luscious cock," she went on maliciously.

"Not listening!" he yelled.

"I could see his ass pumping in the mirror," she lied just to bait him.

"I'm hanging up now," he warned.

"His cum tasted so..." she didn't bother to finish the sentence after the call disconnected.

She chuckled to herself and started scrolling through her phone book, looking for someone else's number. When she didn't get an answer, she finished her coffee while reading the paper.

She had a bandage over the bite on her neck, but otherwise seemed fine. She didn't have any of the flu-like symptoms Daniel had shown. She was full of energy, her aura glowing a bright copper. Under the artificial paleness, he could feel the healthy flush of her skin. The dark kohl around her eyes just made them shine more brightly.

He followed her all afternoon as she went to bookstores, a used CD place, the organic grocer, then home to eat and get ready to go out. The Crypt was as busy and full of faux vampires and their enthusiastic victims as it had been the night before. Here, she removed the bandage to display the rapidly healing bite mark openly. She kept aloof though, completely disinterested in all the potential vampires who approached her.

Eventually, she went home alone.

She seemed healthy all day, no obvious side effects. Jack went home for some sleep, but came back early Sunday morning for another round of incredibly dull surveillance.

He ended the weekend convinced he had the solution. He had fed on this woman. She had suffered no ill effects. Jack felt healthy himself for only the second time since this whole vampire fiasco had started.




Daniel glared at him.

"So who was it? Some poor woman who has no idea what she's getting into?" he asked quietly after Carter and Teal'c left their table in the mess.

"Look, Daniel. I did what everybody's been wanting me to do for weeks. I've solved the feeding problem," Jack practically snarled. "It's not important how."

"Well, it's not me, and it's not Sam, and I can't imagine you've gone to anyone else here in the program if you won't come to us, so I have to think you've picked someone up from the outside. Do you know how dangerous that could be? What if they react badly to the feeding? What if they go to the doctor? What if they contract the virus?"

"Daniel, everything's fine. Just drop it."

Then he got up and left for his afternoon briefing with SG-15. Because when was the last time Daniel dropped anything?




He met her again on the next Friday night.

"You're looking very pale tonight," he said as he slipped into the booth across from her, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You know, you're pretty dismissive of this game considering how well you play it," she retorted. But as she coolly eyed him over her wine, he heard her heart skip, then speed up. "Oh, and nice disappearing act," she growled.

He shrugged.

"I forgot to ask your name," he replied.

"What do you care?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Not that big a deal," he agreed. "It would make it easier to think about you."

Another skipped heartbeat, though she still didn't give him her name.

"Come on, then," she said abruptly.

That night he got her into the bed and naked before the sucking and fucking began.




Daniel was sitting in his truck one night. The sixth night. The seventh night. He was already losing track, adapting to this relationship with her. Jack planned carefully. He learned the he did best if he fed at least every four days.

It exposed him to discovery by anyone who cared enough to watch. And he supposed he hadn't really tried to cover his tracks. Still, he swore to himself, cursing his own carelessness and he glared at his unwelcome passenger and climbed into the driver's seat.

"She's very pretty," Daniel said. "What's her name?"

"I don't know. She refuses to tell me," Jack replied.

"You don't know. You've been here at least 9 times by my count, and you've never once looked at the name on her buzzer?"

"I don't use the buzzer," Jack said lightly.

"What does she know about you?"

"Nothing," Jack said defensively. "She thinks the whole thing is an act. In her mind, we're just a couple with complementary kinks having really great sex."

Daniel was staring hard at him.

"You're doing that mind powers thing on her, aren't you?"

Jack shrugged.

"Jack, she's a real person. You can't just manipulate her and expect there to be no repercussions. You've been seeing each other for well over a month. What does that mean to most women?"

Jack set his jaw.

"She doesn't see us that way."

Daniel's probing stare became a look of open disbelief. He shook his head.

"This is not going to end well."

Jack scowled.

"It's not ending, Daniel. It's working fine."

"Whatever you say, Jack," he said, and opened his door, hopping down and slamming it behind him.

Jack watched him walk down the block to his car. He didn't know what to think. The air in the cab reeked of Daniel's jealousy.

Jack took a moment to rest his head on the steering wheel.




She rarely came out to the Crypt during the week, but she liked the vampire game and when he let himself into her apartment to wait for her to come back from class one Wednesday afternoon, she was only a little startled to find him lounging on her couch. She didn't send him away.

"What are you doing out and about? Aren't you supposed to be dead in your coffin?"

"Common misconception," he said dismissively. "Alas for the romance, I just need to wear sunscreen and a hat."

She snorted and walked back into the apartment. He drank her blood in the dim light allowed in by the heavy drapes on her bedroom windows. He made love to her languidly, drawing it out, enjoying the ride now as much as the rush. They climaxed together. He left as soon as he got his brain to resolidify between his ears, with the usual whispered reminder that the teeth were fake, he wasn't a real vampire.

Every time he said it, he felt a little dirtier. Stupid Daniel.




Sometimes she was moody, but mostly that didn't matter to Jack. He could move things along quickly enough during their encounters that he was gone before he had to deal with her issues. But the moody meetings were becoming more common and it was becoming harder to avoid the emotional confrontations that Daniel had predicted.

"You drug me or something. Don't you."

It was a statement, not a question. Jack gave her blank stare.

"Nope," he said.

"Yeah. You're the real thing, I forgot. Of course you do. I never wake up when you leave. I don't sleep like that. I never have. It has to be something – in the fangs or something."

Jack just shrugged.

"I want you to show me how you do it."

"No drugs," Jack repeated, letting some anger seep into his denial.

"No, not the drugs," she said. "How you pull off the whole vampire thing. How you use the teeth. Maybe I want to be the vampire for once."

Daniel's moment had arrived.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. The real thing, like you said."

She laughed.

"There's no such thing as vampires."

"Then what are all these people here for?" Jack gestured around the Crypt.

"They're here for the fantasy. I know it's a fantasy. It's a great fantasy, and you're good at it. And I want to know how it's done."

Jack sighed in exasperation, though he knew he had no right to be irritated with her. This had been going on for weeks, and Daniel was right. He couldn't think that it was going to remain simple and uncomplicated for much longer.

I hope you're happy now, Danny boy, he thought. No more free lunch.

Yet it was something like a relief when he leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered into her familiar ear, "You don’t have any idea who I am. You broke it off with your 'vampire' boyfriend because he was cheating on you with other necks."

"I do know you," she protested, but her denial was hazy and slurred.

"No, you don't," Jack said soothingly, putting all his will into making her block out weeks of him. "You've never seen me before. You don't find me the slightest bit interesting."

"Do I know you?" she asked in confusion.

"Nope, you've never met me," he assured her. "I just come around this place sometimes."

He pushed back his chair and left.




She flipped through her tattered little leatherbound book. Twenty-six alphabetized pages of friends and not a one she thought she could call right now. Well, maybe Del. He was probably out though, and she wasn't in the mood to compete with a clubful of noise for his attention. As a matter of fact, she wasn't in the mood to even think about clubs tonight... but she did anyway. She tossed the book over to bounce off the couch cushions and went off to dress for her evening. At the club.

She stood in the center of her bedroom and stretched, arching like a cat and tugging her arms up high over her head, focusing on the feel of the muscles stretching. It was an old trick from childhood, and still sometimes provided some comfort. She felt some of the tensions ease, but the fear was still firmly in place, settled down in a dark lump behind her belly.

Digging through her overcrowded closet, she shoved aside an armload of scarves and pushed back past a rather fetching black velvet minidress to pull a pair of artfully torn jeans off a hook on the back wall. She threw her red chenille bathrobe onto the bed and shimmied into the pants. Back at her dresser, she pawed through piles of shirts. Ah, right, might as well! She slipped the old Crypt Club t-shirt over her head. It had been a free handout the night the club had opened. Fitting she'd be wearing it on her last night there.

Stepping down the worn granite steps, she aimed her ancient Doc Martens towards the Crypt.

The cold night air helped clear her mind a bit and let her think. She knew she'd lured someone home. Nothing unusual there. But dammit, up until recently she'd always kept her head about her, she knew where the lines were drawn, and when she crossed them, it was by her own choice. She'd always faced the next morning knowing just what she'd done, and with whom.

Lately she felt like a woman who'd been fucked out of her mind. Literally.

She flashed a sarcastic smile at the kid slouching in the faux stone doorway who'd muttered "Well, look who's slumming" as she blinked to adjust her eyes from afternoon light to the near-midnight darkness of the club. She chucked him under the chin and whispered "Go suck a crucifix", then made a beeline for the bar.

"Don't let anyone buy me absinthe tonight, Marcus."

He whipped around at the sound of her voice and raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, good evening to you too, little doll."

She cursed a surprising stream of sailor-speak just above a whisper. "Don't call me that!" She glanced left, then right, scanning the crowd, noting any unfamiliar faces. She wondered if paranoia was always this invigorating. "I swear the hooch you let these guys bring me fucks with my memory, Marcus. That's never happened anywhere else. And you know what? Don't let anyone bring me a drink tonight. If I want one, I'll come up here myself and order it. Now give me a glass of… um, Bordeaux." She leaned forward, feet going up on tippytoes. "No, not the open bottle. From that one." She pointed at a full, tightly corked bottle of wine.

She perched on a stool at the bar and sipped her drink, one foot jiggling nervously as it dangled. She couldn't stop scanning the room, watching the faces, peering into every nook and cranny, those shadowy depths just as familiar to her as her own apartment. Familiar, but not friendly. That beat up old fake skull on the bar that served as a tip jar, yeah, it used to amuse her, but tonight it seemed to be grinning a little too dangerously. The men roaming the room had lost that sexy predatory look she'd loved so much, and just seemed like a gang of unruly men. She sighed. Vampire glamour, like Elvis, had definitely left the building.

She stole a maraschino cherry from Marcus's bowl, then dropped it. Nothing from an unsealed or open container could be trusted.

And that's what it came down to, didn't it? Trust. She fell deep into thought, poking the discarded cherry around the bar top, leaving a sticky curvy line as it rolled about. In a place like the Crypt Club, everyone held onto a thin line of trust, by necessity. The dolls had to trust the masters not to inflict serious injury, and the masters had to trust the dolls not to scream for the authorities when they realized they'd be living with a bruised neck and broken skin for a week after their fun.

Trust is what had grounded her in this fantasy life. It's what she could never explain well to her friends, how she could trust a stranger with her life. There was a thrill in giving herself over, playing the victim on her own terms. This past year had been the most exciting, romantic adventure she'd ever stepped into. But that fragile thread of trust had been snapped, and with it, all her hopes of finding what her soul craved in this place. Someone didn't believe in trust, and instead of being the doll, she now felt like nothing more than a convenient chewtoy.

She finished her drink, and told Marcus goodbye. Forever.

There was still a glimmer of sunset left in the sky when she exited the Crypt. She'd never left the place before dark. She was wired with paranoid energy and decided to do a little shopping on her way home. Seconds To Go, her favorite thrift shop, wasn't too far to walk.

The clerk in the shop considered her a favorite customer, and had saved aside some vampy things for her. She shook her head and managed a crooked smile. "Something a little steamier, I think. It's time for a change."

The girl was wearing an old skeleton key on a velvet ribbon around her unbruised neck, and a happy grin on her face. "Steamy? Ohhhhh, I just got into Steampunk last month. It's awesome! Are you a size seven shoe? There's a pair of boots, cuffed, brown leather, and there's spats to match! Spats! From the seventies! Who knew they even had spats that long ago!"

She stifled a laugh at that innocent remark, but couldn't hide her smile. "Ah, childe… " She shook her head, chiding herself quietly. Her name's Kaitlin. Not childe. "I think yes, some steamy boots! I've got some corsets already, and a black velvet skirt, I could pull it 'round with some brass buckles… oh, and I think I have a leather vest that would look nice on you. Want to come over when you get off work, Kait? We can have a girls night in, get some pizza, toss in a movie and dress ourselves in Victorian finery. It's a brave new world, and we've got to look our best for it."

It will take great strength to pull me through,
This challenge unseen, which I must do.
To make a "me" I never knew,
But I'm already spent.


(From "Downtrodden" by Abney Park)



Date: 2008-04-11 01:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cocoajava.livejournal.com
Aw feh! You created the playground, I just jumped in to mess around in your sandbox for a while! Totally fun!

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