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itsallovernowOkay, obviously, this is the sex gone wrong piece. Part I was post The Flax. This is post Jeremiah Crichton. Still beta free, still a loose frame.
Baby, Can I Drive Your Car?
Part II - Riding on the Vespa, Cruisin' Down the Champs Elysees
Turned out that he'd learned something on Acquarra after all. Well, he'd learned lots of somethings, but top of the list right at the moment was that horny is a state of mind, and that he, John Crichton, was still sort of the guy he'd always thought he was. A good guy. One who hadn't yet turned back into a dumb-ass frat boy choosing his fear of blue balls over doing the right thing.
Sitting on the table, waiting for Zhaan to put together a basic cold cream, something to help his cracked elbows and scaly skin, he picked at the scabs on the back of his knuckles and thought about sex and sunburn. Never'd had a sunburn as an adult without the help of a little Jergen's, a little aloe and a little elbow grease, body rubbed down by a pretty girl, a nice bronzey sheen shining through days later.
He scratched his fingers through his beard, and wondered if she could whip him up some aftershave. Back among the prisoners of the damned and he found he wanted a clean jawline again, no matter how strong the temptation to keep Aeryn wary and glaring. He'd show her hairy! But, his mind asked, jumping up and down, jumping to conclusions, you really think she'd let you between those fine white thighs with this beast covering your face? Girl didn't look like she'd be willing to put up with rug burn on the tender parts.
Probably didn't matter, anyway though. Odds were that he'd lost his chance ages ago, and his little vacation was unlikely to have made her any fonder of him. Hell, he should keep the beard. Distinguish himself from the PK's, turn into Grizzly Adams and let birds nest in his whiskers. Or maybe he should just rehydrate his tired body, shave himself clean and find a grey eyed Sebacean to beg absolution from. He'd been so damned gentlemanly on Acquarra, and now he was starting to regret the surety of his convictions.
In theory, he knew that a soldier girl with a keen interest in his dick was one thing, a young woman with a crush quite another, no matter how long it had been since he'd had sex with some else's hand. A long time, he thought, it'd been a long time, even counting the aborted encounter with the Peacekeeper and her steady grip. And it didn't matter that the girl in question was of age and consenting. Lishala was a good girl, a nice kid with a warm smile and a willing body and despite all of those factors, sleeping with her would have reeked of taking advantage.
So he'd beat off in the warm island air, thinking a lot about milky skin and black hair, sharp white teeth. He'd also thought a lot about Naomi Campbell and Winona Ryder and Cameron Diaz and that thing Luanne Johnson used to do with her tongue and her circled fingers and Julie's heat, her bouncy 19 year old breasts, Alex's slow smile and Caroline's wet mouth, so it wasn't like Aeryn had held precedence. At least, not exactly, but he'd seen her buck naked more recently than the others, felt her mouth on his, her hands busy, skin soft under his fingers. Made sense that she'd be part of the spanking party, sometimes the sole star of it.
And yeah, maybe he'd fantasized a little bit about the island girl with the shiny hair and the long lashes, but the point was, he hadn't done anything about it. So, he was more or less back where he started, homeless and horny, back on Moya with a little tropical time off. He was luckier than he deserved to be, back here, on the run. Dumb luck and bad luck and at least on Acquarra no one was after his ass from anything more than a little harmless slap and tickle. He sighted. Maybe he should have slept with Lishala.
"John!"
Was that his name?
"Crichton!"
Yup, definitely his name.
"There you are," said Zhaan, voice round with amusement. "You seem to have drifted off there for a few microts." She smiled, wise and a little wicked, eyes sweeping down quickly to his threadbare pants, his inquiring crotch, then slid back up to grin merrily at him. "I hope your return to us wasn't too…painful."
"Nah, sorry?" He grinned back, blushing a little, grateful for the beard. "That all done?" He gestured to the bottle she held, reaching for it. "Appreciate it."
Zhaan held the container slightly away from him, and pursed her lips slightly, like she wanted to say something else. He hadn't had a blow out apology session with anyone but D'Argo, and the longer they all went, the more it felt like waiting to being scolded in the teacher's office. He'd been way past the point of pissy when he'd stormed out, rode that anger into the ground, and now he's shamefaced, embarrassed at his behavior.
"I uh…" he fumbled for the right words, but Zhaan waved him off handing over the lotion and looking at him pointedly.
"I was not the one who chose to continue looking for you," she said gently. "I am happy that you are unharmed, and maybe," she paused, cool fingers on his cheek, "a little sorry that you will once again be pursued by the Peacekeepers."
He nodded.
"Are you disappointed," she asked, kind again, "that you were found?"
He didn't have an answer to that. "Didn't intend get lost," he said evenly, "Didn't expect to get found. Maybe it all evens out."
She gave him a serene half-smile, cupping his cheek fully in her palm, then patting it softly, making him think of his Mom, of that sort of kindness with has more to do with faith and belief and honesty than with action.
***
He fell asleep shortly before dinner, snoring through the meal, collapsed on the bed, waking roughly at Prime Time, dry mouthed and disoriented and vaguely wistful for Must See TV. Sitcoms and a few beers would really hit the spot right about now. His body had adjusted to the actual passage of sun and moon fueled days and the imposed time cycle on Moya would take some getting used to again. As would the idea that, once more, he was a fugitive, wanted and hunted.
He got up, splashing water on his face, rubbing at his bare chin. The skin was irritated from shaving, reddish, but still paler than the rest of his face. He looked older than he remembered, lines around his eyes, his mouth. He scrubbed at his hair, itching his head like a kid trying to shake out beach sand or dirt.
His clothing was filthy, ruined and foul. He dug through the drawer and found the pair of black pants that he'd shoved in there ages ago, dug out a grey t-shirt. When he was dressed, he tapped his com, "Pilot, yo, how you doin' big guy?"
Pilot kept his voice mild and snark free, still repenting from the unexpected Starburst and John again felt shame steal up his neck. "We're glad to have you back, Commander. What can I do for you?"
"Nothin', not much. Just wonderin' where everyone was, if we had any supper left."
Pilot hesitated. "The others are occupied, but Officer Sun is in the hangar. She is…repairing… her Prowler."
"Really," he laughed. "Aeryn's gone grease monkey on us?"
"I don't believe," Pilot said carefully, "that the repairs are going as well as she'd like."
"Any idea what's wrong?"
"She said that it was making a funny noise?"
"What sorta noise?"
"Crichton!"
"Sorry, I'll ask Aeryn."
"I wouldn't… advise that… at the moment." That was Pilot at his most diplomatic.
"Point taken," John said, jovial, and contemplative now.
***
"Crichton!"
"Ow." He rubbed the lump on his head, and angled his skull out from under the hood of the module. "Jesus, Aeryn, who'd you guys yell at when I was gone?" He looked over his shoulder at her, balanced on the ladder.
"How did you fix it?" There was way too much accusation in that tone, not enough gratitude for his liking.
"You're welcome, Ms. Sun, any time."
She flashed him a murderous look. Her hair was loose, curling slightly like it was clean. Her cheeks had spots of color, eyes bright. Girl was in a fighting mood. Good.
"What did you do to my Prowler?" She was seething, color high, voice throaty and he felt a grin play around his lips. She wore angry very, very well and any lingering thoughts of doe eyed island girls vanished in the heat of Aeryn's Sun's hot fury.
"Relax," he turned, leaning his elbows on the module, hanging out for all the world like James Dean of the silver skies. "Rerouted one of the power couplings, swapped out a faulty filter for one in my module that hadn't fried yet."
"You don't know anything about fixing it!"
"Dial it down a little Aeryn, the DRD's talked me through it, and an engine's an engine. I didn't do that much."
Her lip curled back in a snarl.
"I tried everything," she sputtered.
"No," he said gently. "You didn't. You tried, did a good job, rewired a couple circuits that I wouldn'ta thought of, installed a clever system for fuel conservation, I think. But you didn't try everything. You missed some of the basics, looking for the harder fix. Why didn't you have the DRD's help?"
Her jaw set hard, but she backed down a little, took a deep breath. "Fine," she said, teeth gritted. "Thank you for fixing our single mode of defense."
He rolled his eyes, but let it go. "Got an idea," he said, biting his lip, hooking a thumb in his belt loop. "How you could maybe even things out."
"Keeping you from being captured by the Peacekeeper's hasn't been enough?" But there was an undertone of teasing in the sarcasm and he pushed his luck.
"Not…exactly."
He hopped off the ladder, standing face to face with her. "How're your callouses?"
She struggled to keep her grin in check, failed for just a moment and he felt a little flutter, low in his gut, tickling his groin. Damn, she had one hell of a smile.
"Hard," she said. "Can barely feel any sensation anymore."
He felt his pulse race, surprised and pleased that she could make the switch so fast, be furious one minute, frisky the next. "Maybe you need a second opinion," he offered, "A little hands on healing"
"Perhaps I do," she said slowly.
He grabbed the rag off the steps, wiping the grease off his hands, tossing it behind him. He stepped forward. "That mean you didn't meet any randy Sebacean boys over the interim?"
She just continued to watch him steadily as he approached.
"Didn't change your mind about D'Argo?"
Her lashes swept down. "What makes you think I'd have chosen D'Argo over Zhaan?"
He sputtered, " I… uh… nothing?" he answered voice rising on the last syllable and she laughed, a rich chuckle. "You playin' me?" he asked, closing the gap between their bodies.
She just raised an eyebrow, gave him a tiny noncommittal shrug. He rubbed his fingers together, and then slid them over her shoulder, brushing her hair behind her back, exposing her neck. The nerves were starting up again, his breathing shallow.
"Aeryn," he said, looking her in the eye. "Thanks. For lookin' for me."
Her shrug was just as noncommittal, but her voice held a trace of hesitation. "We've all acted rashly. It didn't seem quite fair to abandon you due to bad luck." She set her jaw and her eyes narrowed. "But if the pursuit had put Pilot or Moya in danger, understand that we would have left you there, abandoned the search without hesitation, John. You were lucky."
"Yeah," he breathed out, lowering his forehead so that it was millimeters away from hers. "I know. I think it was luck, right?"
His fingers stroked over her throat, down along her collarbone and over the line of her shoulder to rest on her neck.
"Planet full of nubile young women," she said, chuckling again, and his eyes widened as she shook her head. "Do not send D'Argo out on recon unless you want a list of available…"
"Booty?" he interrupted.
"Willing females." She agreed.
He was transfixed by the pale skin of her throat, by the dip and hollow and he slid both hands into her vest, pushing it off her shoulders. She twitched, let it fall to the floor.
"You still didn't attend to your… urges?"
"Got blisters on the equipment from self-gratifcation," he said wryly, "But the most willing girl was one I didn't want to touch. The others looked at me like a furry alien, only a step or two above Rygel." He laughed, "Maybe lower. No one bowed down to me."
"Not very practical," she chided lightly. "So you've changed your mind, then?"
"Are you asking if I'd like a second chance at tryin' to frell your brains out?"
"Yes," the word was far too sultry in her mouth. He gulped.
"That'd be a yes," he said, low and rough. "Make us both a little more… efficient."
"Reduce tension," she agreed, and reached for his belt, nimbly undoing the buckle. He didn't stop her.
"Right here?" He didn't think his voice squeaked too badly. Ready to play it up, play it cool, play doctor with the commando.
"MMM." Zipper slid down and the pants rode low on his hips.
"Not worried about getting caught?"
"Not particularly."
"Adrenaline junky," he teased, winding his fingers through her hair, thumb stroking the back of her neck.
She tilted into it, her own fingers slipping into the waist of his shorts, brushing the back of her knuckles against the line between belly and cock.
"Frell," he whispered. "No really, Aeryn. You wanna risk someone walking in on us?"
She snorted. "I grew up in a barracks, Crichton. Sex is hardly something secret."
"Still…" He sucked in his breath as her fingers made that next crucial slide.
"Doesn't seem to be bothering you overly," she teased as he curled his hands over her hips, fighting with the clasp of her pants.
"Test pilot," he grinned against the skin of her neck, tongue sliding out to suckle on her earlobe and she made a low hum in her throat.. "Barracks huh? Big day of bein' bad-ass commandos, then going back, juices flowing, rockin' the casbah all night, givin' each other high fives in the morning?"
"Shut up Crichton."
Right, better things to do with her mouth. His pants fell to his ankles and he palmed her ass, squeezed, slid his hands up under her thin shirt to stroke her lower back. She moaned. Ah, she liked that. Good to know.
She pushed at his underwear with both hands and got them far enough down to get a good solid hold on him.
"Goin' straight for the gusto, eh?"
She gave him a firm squeeze and he stopped talking. Frell, she circled the base of his cock with her fingers, the pressure tight and constricting, firm and sure.
"Oh, god," he groaned and stopped trying to tease. Yanking at her shirt, he pulled it down over her shoulders, taking the bra with him until her breasts were bared. The motion trapped her arms, stilled the pressure on his sex and she let go, wriggled her arms free and went for him again. He dipped his head, tongue on the swell of her breast, hand down the back of her pants, the firm curve of her ass filling his palms.
Heat and scent and his ass bared to all and sundry and he just did not fucking care, couldn't think beyond the sweetness of her grip on his cock, the taste of her skin, the guttural noise she made as his teeth closed over her nipple and he sucked. She squeezed and then started to work him more vigorously.
He could feel the build up, the heat in his groin, didn't think he was that close to climax but his hips thrust forward, pumping into her hand. He grabbed her ass more tightly, fingers slipping down, sliding over her entrance, against the crack of her buttocks, wrist at an awkward angle to do much more than tease. She growled, thumb pressing into the tip of his penis. He shuddered, feeling the twitch of near orgasm shake through his whole body. His pants trapped his feet and he didn't want to move around too much, end up falling on his ass.
"Aeryn," he heard the low warning in his voice the desperation, "You need to back off."
But he couldn't let her go, got closer instead, hips aligned so he could slide his fingertips up inside her from behind. He thrust with his fingers and she bore down, frying his circuits with the hot slick pressure of her body around him. She bumped her hips forward, trapping his cock between them, squeezing. It was too much, the friction of her body and her hand against his cock and he buried his face again in her neck, feeling the rush, balls tight, whole frame engaged in something beyond his control. Shit, he thought he could last long enough to get inside her. She turned her hand, fingertips brushing over his balls and that was it.
"Fuck," he growled, and bit down on her shoulder, cheek against her throat, coming like a freight engine. Shouting, he shot into her hand, shuddering, hips thrusting, body so far into overdrive that he couldn't stop the short jerky motions even when she let go.
He kept his eyes closed, disgusted and frustrated with himself. Hadn't gone off like that since he was a kid, sixteen and randy and stupid. "Shit," he muttered.
To her credit, Aeryn wasn't the one who backed away. He disentangled his hands from her pants, from her body and stared at the floor, trying to wiggle away without careening to the floor, feet trapped..
"Well," she said, finally, and looked at her fingers. She sniggered a little, then, in a gesture that almost made it all right, wiped her hand across his shirt.
"Nice," he said, sarcastic. He could feel the full body embarrassment mixing with the sleepy rushed buzz of orgasm. "Usually,…" he trailed off and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparking with amusement, not disgust. Her breasts were full, lush and pale, the shirt shoved awkwardly underneath them, stretched. Her pants were unzipped, hanging jauntily and she looked like she'd at least had the beginnings of a good time.
"Is that normal, for humans?"
If it had been anyone else, he'd have called the sound she made a giggle. "No!! Yes. It's been a long time," he said defensively, yanking his underwear up to cover himself, ignoring the semen growing tacky on his thigh.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice more intent now.
"Puttin' it away," he muttered. "I think you're a curse."
"So that's it," she asked, starting to sound a little less amused, a little more annoyed, waving her hand dismissively. "You're not capable of anything else?"
"Of course I'm capable of… well, not right away, but I can do other things!" His pride ached and he couldn't keep the petulance out of his voice, the protest.
The lights went out.
"Shit!"
Moya lurched, stopping and starting like a teenager learning to drive stick. John hit the ground, knees thudding against the flooring as his pants kept him immobilized.
"Shit. Shit!"
"Pilot?" Aeryn's voice was instantly back in full commando mode. "Pilot!"
"Frell," she swore, not getting an answer and he heard boots pounding out the door.
"Aeryn," he yelled. "Goddammit, Aeryn."
Baby, Can I Drive Your Car?
Part II - Riding on the Vespa, Cruisin' Down the Champs Elysees
Turned out that he'd learned something on Acquarra after all. Well, he'd learned lots of somethings, but top of the list right at the moment was that horny is a state of mind, and that he, John Crichton, was still sort of the guy he'd always thought he was. A good guy. One who hadn't yet turned back into a dumb-ass frat boy choosing his fear of blue balls over doing the right thing.
Sitting on the table, waiting for Zhaan to put together a basic cold cream, something to help his cracked elbows and scaly skin, he picked at the scabs on the back of his knuckles and thought about sex and sunburn. Never'd had a sunburn as an adult without the help of a little Jergen's, a little aloe and a little elbow grease, body rubbed down by a pretty girl, a nice bronzey sheen shining through days later.
He scratched his fingers through his beard, and wondered if she could whip him up some aftershave. Back among the prisoners of the damned and he found he wanted a clean jawline again, no matter how strong the temptation to keep Aeryn wary and glaring. He'd show her hairy! But, his mind asked, jumping up and down, jumping to conclusions, you really think she'd let you between those fine white thighs with this beast covering your face? Girl didn't look like she'd be willing to put up with rug burn on the tender parts.
Probably didn't matter, anyway though. Odds were that he'd lost his chance ages ago, and his little vacation was unlikely to have made her any fonder of him. Hell, he should keep the beard. Distinguish himself from the PK's, turn into Grizzly Adams and let birds nest in his whiskers. Or maybe he should just rehydrate his tired body, shave himself clean and find a grey eyed Sebacean to beg absolution from. He'd been so damned gentlemanly on Acquarra, and now he was starting to regret the surety of his convictions.
In theory, he knew that a soldier girl with a keen interest in his dick was one thing, a young woman with a crush quite another, no matter how long it had been since he'd had sex with some else's hand. A long time, he thought, it'd been a long time, even counting the aborted encounter with the Peacekeeper and her steady grip. And it didn't matter that the girl in question was of age and consenting. Lishala was a good girl, a nice kid with a warm smile and a willing body and despite all of those factors, sleeping with her would have reeked of taking advantage.
So he'd beat off in the warm island air, thinking a lot about milky skin and black hair, sharp white teeth. He'd also thought a lot about Naomi Campbell and Winona Ryder and Cameron Diaz and that thing Luanne Johnson used to do with her tongue and her circled fingers and Julie's heat, her bouncy 19 year old breasts, Alex's slow smile and Caroline's wet mouth, so it wasn't like Aeryn had held precedence. At least, not exactly, but he'd seen her buck naked more recently than the others, felt her mouth on his, her hands busy, skin soft under his fingers. Made sense that she'd be part of the spanking party, sometimes the sole star of it.
And yeah, maybe he'd fantasized a little bit about the island girl with the shiny hair and the long lashes, but the point was, he hadn't done anything about it. So, he was more or less back where he started, homeless and horny, back on Moya with a little tropical time off. He was luckier than he deserved to be, back here, on the run. Dumb luck and bad luck and at least on Acquarra no one was after his ass from anything more than a little harmless slap and tickle. He sighted. Maybe he should have slept with Lishala.
"John!"
Was that his name?
"Crichton!"
Yup, definitely his name.
"There you are," said Zhaan, voice round with amusement. "You seem to have drifted off there for a few microts." She smiled, wise and a little wicked, eyes sweeping down quickly to his threadbare pants, his inquiring crotch, then slid back up to grin merrily at him. "I hope your return to us wasn't too…painful."
"Nah, sorry?" He grinned back, blushing a little, grateful for the beard. "That all done?" He gestured to the bottle she held, reaching for it. "Appreciate it."
Zhaan held the container slightly away from him, and pursed her lips slightly, like she wanted to say something else. He hadn't had a blow out apology session with anyone but D'Argo, and the longer they all went, the more it felt like waiting to being scolded in the teacher's office. He'd been way past the point of pissy when he'd stormed out, rode that anger into the ground, and now he's shamefaced, embarrassed at his behavior.
"I uh…" he fumbled for the right words, but Zhaan waved him off handing over the lotion and looking at him pointedly.
"I was not the one who chose to continue looking for you," she said gently. "I am happy that you are unharmed, and maybe," she paused, cool fingers on his cheek, "a little sorry that you will once again be pursued by the Peacekeepers."
He nodded.
"Are you disappointed," she asked, kind again, "that you were found?"
He didn't have an answer to that. "Didn't intend get lost," he said evenly, "Didn't expect to get found. Maybe it all evens out."
She gave him a serene half-smile, cupping his cheek fully in her palm, then patting it softly, making him think of his Mom, of that sort of kindness with has more to do with faith and belief and honesty than with action.
***
He fell asleep shortly before dinner, snoring through the meal, collapsed on the bed, waking roughly at Prime Time, dry mouthed and disoriented and vaguely wistful for Must See TV. Sitcoms and a few beers would really hit the spot right about now. His body had adjusted to the actual passage of sun and moon fueled days and the imposed time cycle on Moya would take some getting used to again. As would the idea that, once more, he was a fugitive, wanted and hunted.
He got up, splashing water on his face, rubbing at his bare chin. The skin was irritated from shaving, reddish, but still paler than the rest of his face. He looked older than he remembered, lines around his eyes, his mouth. He scrubbed at his hair, itching his head like a kid trying to shake out beach sand or dirt.
His clothing was filthy, ruined and foul. He dug through the drawer and found the pair of black pants that he'd shoved in there ages ago, dug out a grey t-shirt. When he was dressed, he tapped his com, "Pilot, yo, how you doin' big guy?"
Pilot kept his voice mild and snark free, still repenting from the unexpected Starburst and John again felt shame steal up his neck. "We're glad to have you back, Commander. What can I do for you?"
"Nothin', not much. Just wonderin' where everyone was, if we had any supper left."
Pilot hesitated. "The others are occupied, but Officer Sun is in the hangar. She is…repairing… her Prowler."
"Really," he laughed. "Aeryn's gone grease monkey on us?"
"I don't believe," Pilot said carefully, "that the repairs are going as well as she'd like."
"Any idea what's wrong?"
"She said that it was making a funny noise?"
"What sorta noise?"
"Crichton!"
"Sorry, I'll ask Aeryn."
"I wouldn't… advise that… at the moment." That was Pilot at his most diplomatic.
"Point taken," John said, jovial, and contemplative now.
***
"Crichton!"
"Ow." He rubbed the lump on his head, and angled his skull out from under the hood of the module. "Jesus, Aeryn, who'd you guys yell at when I was gone?" He looked over his shoulder at her, balanced on the ladder.
"How did you fix it?" There was way too much accusation in that tone, not enough gratitude for his liking.
"You're welcome, Ms. Sun, any time."
She flashed him a murderous look. Her hair was loose, curling slightly like it was clean. Her cheeks had spots of color, eyes bright. Girl was in a fighting mood. Good.
"What did you do to my Prowler?" She was seething, color high, voice throaty and he felt a grin play around his lips. She wore angry very, very well and any lingering thoughts of doe eyed island girls vanished in the heat of Aeryn's Sun's hot fury.
"Relax," he turned, leaning his elbows on the module, hanging out for all the world like James Dean of the silver skies. "Rerouted one of the power couplings, swapped out a faulty filter for one in my module that hadn't fried yet."
"You don't know anything about fixing it!"
"Dial it down a little Aeryn, the DRD's talked me through it, and an engine's an engine. I didn't do that much."
Her lip curled back in a snarl.
"I tried everything," she sputtered.
"No," he said gently. "You didn't. You tried, did a good job, rewired a couple circuits that I wouldn'ta thought of, installed a clever system for fuel conservation, I think. But you didn't try everything. You missed some of the basics, looking for the harder fix. Why didn't you have the DRD's help?"
Her jaw set hard, but she backed down a little, took a deep breath. "Fine," she said, teeth gritted. "Thank you for fixing our single mode of defense."
He rolled his eyes, but let it go. "Got an idea," he said, biting his lip, hooking a thumb in his belt loop. "How you could maybe even things out."
"Keeping you from being captured by the Peacekeeper's hasn't been enough?" But there was an undertone of teasing in the sarcasm and he pushed his luck.
"Not…exactly."
He hopped off the ladder, standing face to face with her. "How're your callouses?"
She struggled to keep her grin in check, failed for just a moment and he felt a little flutter, low in his gut, tickling his groin. Damn, she had one hell of a smile.
"Hard," she said. "Can barely feel any sensation anymore."
He felt his pulse race, surprised and pleased that she could make the switch so fast, be furious one minute, frisky the next. "Maybe you need a second opinion," he offered, "A little hands on healing"
"Perhaps I do," she said slowly.
He grabbed the rag off the steps, wiping the grease off his hands, tossing it behind him. He stepped forward. "That mean you didn't meet any randy Sebacean boys over the interim?"
She just continued to watch him steadily as he approached.
"Didn't change your mind about D'Argo?"
Her lashes swept down. "What makes you think I'd have chosen D'Argo over Zhaan?"
He sputtered, " I… uh… nothing?" he answered voice rising on the last syllable and she laughed, a rich chuckle. "You playin' me?" he asked, closing the gap between their bodies.
She just raised an eyebrow, gave him a tiny noncommittal shrug. He rubbed his fingers together, and then slid them over her shoulder, brushing her hair behind her back, exposing her neck. The nerves were starting up again, his breathing shallow.
"Aeryn," he said, looking her in the eye. "Thanks. For lookin' for me."
Her shrug was just as noncommittal, but her voice held a trace of hesitation. "We've all acted rashly. It didn't seem quite fair to abandon you due to bad luck." She set her jaw and her eyes narrowed. "But if the pursuit had put Pilot or Moya in danger, understand that we would have left you there, abandoned the search without hesitation, John. You were lucky."
"Yeah," he breathed out, lowering his forehead so that it was millimeters away from hers. "I know. I think it was luck, right?"
His fingers stroked over her throat, down along her collarbone and over the line of her shoulder to rest on her neck.
"Planet full of nubile young women," she said, chuckling again, and his eyes widened as she shook her head. "Do not send D'Argo out on recon unless you want a list of available…"
"Booty?" he interrupted.
"Willing females." She agreed.
He was transfixed by the pale skin of her throat, by the dip and hollow and he slid both hands into her vest, pushing it off her shoulders. She twitched, let it fall to the floor.
"You still didn't attend to your… urges?"
"Got blisters on the equipment from self-gratifcation," he said wryly, "But the most willing girl was one I didn't want to touch. The others looked at me like a furry alien, only a step or two above Rygel." He laughed, "Maybe lower. No one bowed down to me."
"Not very practical," she chided lightly. "So you've changed your mind, then?"
"Are you asking if I'd like a second chance at tryin' to frell your brains out?"
"Yes," the word was far too sultry in her mouth. He gulped.
"That'd be a yes," he said, low and rough. "Make us both a little more… efficient."
"Reduce tension," she agreed, and reached for his belt, nimbly undoing the buckle. He didn't stop her.
"Right here?" He didn't think his voice squeaked too badly. Ready to play it up, play it cool, play doctor with the commando.
"MMM." Zipper slid down and the pants rode low on his hips.
"Not worried about getting caught?"
"Not particularly."
"Adrenaline junky," he teased, winding his fingers through her hair, thumb stroking the back of her neck.
She tilted into it, her own fingers slipping into the waist of his shorts, brushing the back of her knuckles against the line between belly and cock.
"Frell," he whispered. "No really, Aeryn. You wanna risk someone walking in on us?"
She snorted. "I grew up in a barracks, Crichton. Sex is hardly something secret."
"Still…" He sucked in his breath as her fingers made that next crucial slide.
"Doesn't seem to be bothering you overly," she teased as he curled his hands over her hips, fighting with the clasp of her pants.
"Test pilot," he grinned against the skin of her neck, tongue sliding out to suckle on her earlobe and she made a low hum in her throat.. "Barracks huh? Big day of bein' bad-ass commandos, then going back, juices flowing, rockin' the casbah all night, givin' each other high fives in the morning?"
"Shut up Crichton."
Right, better things to do with her mouth. His pants fell to his ankles and he palmed her ass, squeezed, slid his hands up under her thin shirt to stroke her lower back. She moaned. Ah, she liked that. Good to know.
She pushed at his underwear with both hands and got them far enough down to get a good solid hold on him.
"Goin' straight for the gusto, eh?"
She gave him a firm squeeze and he stopped talking. Frell, she circled the base of his cock with her fingers, the pressure tight and constricting, firm and sure.
"Oh, god," he groaned and stopped trying to tease. Yanking at her shirt, he pulled it down over her shoulders, taking the bra with him until her breasts were bared. The motion trapped her arms, stilled the pressure on his sex and she let go, wriggled her arms free and went for him again. He dipped his head, tongue on the swell of her breast, hand down the back of her pants, the firm curve of her ass filling his palms.
Heat and scent and his ass bared to all and sundry and he just did not fucking care, couldn't think beyond the sweetness of her grip on his cock, the taste of her skin, the guttural noise she made as his teeth closed over her nipple and he sucked. She squeezed and then started to work him more vigorously.
He could feel the build up, the heat in his groin, didn't think he was that close to climax but his hips thrust forward, pumping into her hand. He grabbed her ass more tightly, fingers slipping down, sliding over her entrance, against the crack of her buttocks, wrist at an awkward angle to do much more than tease. She growled, thumb pressing into the tip of his penis. He shuddered, feeling the twitch of near orgasm shake through his whole body. His pants trapped his feet and he didn't want to move around too much, end up falling on his ass.
"Aeryn," he heard the low warning in his voice the desperation, "You need to back off."
But he couldn't let her go, got closer instead, hips aligned so he could slide his fingertips up inside her from behind. He thrust with his fingers and she bore down, frying his circuits with the hot slick pressure of her body around him. She bumped her hips forward, trapping his cock between them, squeezing. It was too much, the friction of her body and her hand against his cock and he buried his face again in her neck, feeling the rush, balls tight, whole frame engaged in something beyond his control. Shit, he thought he could last long enough to get inside her. She turned her hand, fingertips brushing over his balls and that was it.
"Fuck," he growled, and bit down on her shoulder, cheek against her throat, coming like a freight engine. Shouting, he shot into her hand, shuddering, hips thrusting, body so far into overdrive that he couldn't stop the short jerky motions even when she let go.
He kept his eyes closed, disgusted and frustrated with himself. Hadn't gone off like that since he was a kid, sixteen and randy and stupid. "Shit," he muttered.
To her credit, Aeryn wasn't the one who backed away. He disentangled his hands from her pants, from her body and stared at the floor, trying to wiggle away without careening to the floor, feet trapped..
"Well," she said, finally, and looked at her fingers. She sniggered a little, then, in a gesture that almost made it all right, wiped her hand across his shirt.
"Nice," he said, sarcastic. He could feel the full body embarrassment mixing with the sleepy rushed buzz of orgasm. "Usually,…" he trailed off and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparking with amusement, not disgust. Her breasts were full, lush and pale, the shirt shoved awkwardly underneath them, stretched. Her pants were unzipped, hanging jauntily and she looked like she'd at least had the beginnings of a good time.
"Is that normal, for humans?"
If it had been anyone else, he'd have called the sound she made a giggle. "No!! Yes. It's been a long time," he said defensively, yanking his underwear up to cover himself, ignoring the semen growing tacky on his thigh.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice more intent now.
"Puttin' it away," he muttered. "I think you're a curse."
"So that's it," she asked, starting to sound a little less amused, a little more annoyed, waving her hand dismissively. "You're not capable of anything else?"
"Of course I'm capable of… well, not right away, but I can do other things!" His pride ached and he couldn't keep the petulance out of his voice, the protest.
The lights went out.
"Shit!"
Moya lurched, stopping and starting like a teenager learning to drive stick. John hit the ground, knees thudding against the flooring as his pants kept him immobilized.
"Shit. Shit!"
"Pilot?" Aeryn's voice was instantly back in full commando mode. "Pilot!"
"Frell," she swore, not getting an answer and he heard boots pounding out the door.
"Aeryn," he yelled. "Goddammit, Aeryn."
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yoiks!
Date: 2004-12-15 01:01 am (UTC)Re: yoiks!
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Date: 2004-12-15 01:52 am (UTC)This one's all about the dialogue and the interaction between John and Aeryn. Lovely, as always.
And I winced when poor John went off early. He can't catch a break at all! Poor guy.
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Date: 2004-12-15 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2004-12-15 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-15 07:55 pm (UTC)"Yeah..."
"No, no, Bad Frell!"
Hee! I am loving this! More please!!!
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Date: 2004-12-15 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-15 08:57 pm (UTC)Neither of them is gonna get laid, are they?
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Date: 2004-12-15 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-16 02:28 am (UTC)And whee, Aeryn is gonna think him so useless now! lol Poor Johnny!
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Date: 2004-12-16 05:22 pm (UTC)But I don't think she views him as all that useless:)
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Date: 2004-12-17 01:51 am (UTC)I'm SO glad you are continuing with this!! I read the first one and was like "ack! Oh that's just wrong, that can't be all!" and then read this one and it's like "ahhh, how much trial and error do they get to have?" ;)
Who needs Harlequin when you have Thea!Porn??
*adds a candle to the shrine and hopes the smoke alarm doesn't go off* ;)
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