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itsallovernowM. says to me last night, after far much too much alcohol - on his part, I was happily sober- "I am the John Crichton of Los Angeles. If we go to a party and I introduce myself as John Crichton, you have to promise not to laugh." I told him I was fairly sure that there was no way in hell that I could keep that promise.
I know that I don't want to be able to follow the neurological path that gets him from point A to point B in his reasonings.
Okay, so this is in rough draft, and it is only part 1 and it's a lot less pornaliscious than I had intended, but that will be rectified in Part II. Stupid characters with their stupid feelings and self-awareness*g*. And![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
searose, do you think that the top secret verbs of speaking could be followed up with some top secret verbs of people gettin' it on? Anyone? Season 4, post Twice Shy.
And I promise, there will be actual furniture in Part 2. No more walls. It's becoming a habit.
Undertones
“He’s losing his mind and I’m frelling following,” she thought to herself as she watched his gloved hands dance over the parts laid out in front of him.
“Mmm, I don’t really see what we’re looking for,” he said in disappointment, picking up the component they needed and handing it to the merchant who nodded at him. This exchange had been going on for the past 200 microts, and after some initial confusion, the dealer and the human had worked out a system. “But if you think you can find what we need, we could maybe stick around until tomorrow.”
Aeryn moistened her lips, watching the play of muscles under his jacket as he shrugged his shoulders back and stood up straight. She shifted her stance, fighting the urge to step behind him, press her chest into his back and stroke her hands down his arms, making him sigh and murmur to her. She could feel the heat of him, the contrast between the softness of her breasts and the firm strength of him and she mentally slapped herself back into awareness of her surroundings, frustrated and annoyed at her inability to discipline her traitorous mind.
She heard the vendor repy, “I think we might be able to arrange that. You’ve made a list of what you are seeking, yes?”
“Yeah, if you could deliver them to our pod first thing in the morning, we’ll pay a little extra.” Pleased with the transaction, the vendor nodded as John handed him the money.
Aeryn remained in puzzled, if uncomfortable, bemusement. When John had suggested that they take the pod down to the planet, accompanied by D’Argo, Rygel and Chiana, she had readily agreed. The leviathan was growing increasingly claustrophobic for her. Since John’s revelations two weekens before, he had barely spoken to, let alone touched her. When they did speak, it inevitably turned into a fight as she surpressed so much of what she wanted to say, finding those words replaced with lists of petty annoyances.
She understood the potential danger, or at least respected his fears, but he was making things even more difficult than before. In an effort to keep her safe, keep his distance, obey her request to cease and desist with the lakka, he’d been trying to avoid her. It seemed fate really was conspiring to bring them together, though, and their paths routinely crossed even within the behemoth of a ship, ratcheting up the tension, forcing false politeness onto their encounters.
John would speak blankly and calmly, wearing that air of unhappy resignation that he had perfected on earth and she wanted to scream at him, still fearing, knowing actually, that that mannerism rang of truth. However, every once in a while, she would catch glimpses of him watching her with these looks, of longing, of lust, of pain, before he jerked his gaze away and frankly she was ready to shoot him.
Yesterday, in the kitchen, she’d been eating her meal, bickering with Chiana, ignoring Noranti, when she heard him walk in. She glanced up to see him stroll over to the cooling unit and remove something to drink. He poured the liquid into a cup, leaned against the counter, hip cocked. She continued to watch him, unable to look away, as he tilted his head back, swallowing the refreshment in slow gulps, his throat exposed and vulnerable, eyes half shut. He put the cup down, gaze locked with hers, and slowly slid his thumb over his lips, brushing away the liquid then resting the pad of his thumb on his mouth. She swallowed, and got up, pushing away from the table hurriedly, and left, her breathing ragged. She was furious, feeling her skin vibrate simply from watching him drink.
She could barely keep her mind on routine tasks and she wanted him so badly that her body ached. She yearned for some sort of physical release -pain or pleasure, either would be welcome, anything to distract her. Sex or violence, at this point she could barely tell the difference, and she took a brief moment to hate him for making her feel so like a Peacekeeper.
“Aeryn, Aeryn!” his voice was sharp, concerned, pulling her out of another reverie. “You ok?”
His hand was wrapped around her upper arm and he was shaking her gently. She looked at him, shook her head, and inhaled deeply, feeling the heat of him, through the leather of his gloves and her coat, seep into her skin. It was the most contact they’d had in weeks.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, “Just clearly losing my frelling mind.”
He didn’t release her, just raised an eyebrow, and she sighed. “It’s nothing.”
She pulled her arm reluctantly out of his grasp. “We should go.”
He stepped back from her, giving her another of those assessing looks that drove her mad. Surprisingly though, it was accompanied by a glint in his eye that she hadn’t seen in goddess knew how long.
“Actually,” he paused, drawing it out, “No.”
He tapped his com, ”D., how you guys doing with supplies?”
D’Argo’s growled response was instantaneous. “We’re loaded to the gills, and I haven’t lost or sold Rygel or Chiana. Yet. We’re heading to the pod now.”
John laughed, “I had some trouble finding the parts, but one of the dealers thinks he can get them to me by morning.”
“Fine, then we’ll - Rygel, if you don’t put that back and come over here, I will leave your slimy hide on this planet - meet you at the pod. You can come back down tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, D. They’ve got decent accommodations here. I could load up and head out first thing. Besides, according to this guy, there’s a storm coming.”
Aeryn raised an eyebrow, looking at the cloudless sky, imagining D’Argo doing the same.
“Um, John?”
“Seriously, he said a storm. I’ll be fine. It’s just one night, and I could use a little down time.”
“I don’t like the idea of you remaining here alone.”
“Don’t worry big guy. Aeryn’s here, and she’s not thrilled, but she’s willing to play bodyguard.”
“John are you sure that’s a good idea?” D’Argo asked, the memory of their argument that morning before boarding the transport pods and the sound of broken crockery undoubtedly still ringing in his ears.
Aeryn looked at him questioningly, the same thought running through her head.
“We’ll play nice. I promise.”
“Aeryn?”
“Yes it’s fine D’Argo. The vendor thought he’d be able to get the parts tonight. We should be on board early in the day, and I think we can make it through an evening together.”
She watched the corners of John’s mouth curl up, and fought to not give him an answering smile.
“Cool. We’ll see you in the morning guys.”
They finished their business with the owner, and walked through town towards a refreshment house they’d passed earlier in the day.
“We should make arrangements for the evening,” Aeryn ventured, still confused, but beginning to suspect that Crichton was up to something.
“Mmm, yeah, probably,” but he didn’t sound like he was paying attention. He was walking very close to her, keeping pace, and his arm brushed hers repeatedly. It was companionable, reminiscent of their early days on Moya when he seemed to find it his mission in life to invade her personal space.
Craving any kind of contact with him, she didn’t move away, but she was getting nearer and nearer to lashing out at him as the dueling tensions of anger and need escalated in her blood. They were alone on this planet, and all she had to do was turn, back him into the alley, and frell him up against the wall. Simple, quick, easy, release and then maybe her brain would function again. And worst of all, he seemed oblivious to what he was doing to her.
It had been far easier to steal herself against his anger, his emotional withdrawl because even though it was painful, she felt that it was somewhat deserved. This was different. He’d said he loved her, wanted her, and she read no lies in his kiss or his touch during that brief moment in Moya’s corridor, but he didn’t seem to be feeling the same gratingly edgy anticipation as she did. She wondered briefly if he had sought sexual release elsewhere. That cut unexpectedly, but she wouldn’t have blamed him. Well, not completely.
It was into this distracted silence that they came. Six of them, stealing out form the shadows, chains and guns and menacing glances, and a physical threat was so far from Aeryn’s mind at this point that the first thing she did was bark out a burst of laughter.
It was met by Crichton’s cynically amused, ”Are you frelling kidding me?”
They turned simultaneously, back to back, pistols drawn.
“This is a very bad idea,” Aeryn remarked.
“You talking to me or them, babe?” The largest of the scum moved towards her.
“Them.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
“Shut up,” the largest of the men growled.
“Guess they really don’t know who we are.”
Aeryn snorted, drawing a bead on the man closest to her. The reality of the situation was becoming more apparent and her heart was beating quickly, pumping her adrenaline up to battle readiness.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll take the woman with us after we rob and beat you.”
John sighed an exaggerated sigh. “Every planet, and they’re always dumb.”
Aeryn shrugged, feeling the leather of her coat brush against his back, her nerve endings so alive she could almost feel them spark.
“I’d apologize to her.”
“Shut up,” he bellowed, firing a pulse blast into the ground near John’s feet.
“All right,” he said, and together they fired at the impending threat.
It was over quickly. Three lay on the ground, and the others, wounded and surprised, had fled. Aeryn’s chest was tight and she expelled her breath, holstering her pistol and looking around, ire rising so quickly and tightly in her throat that she wanted to scream.
All of the past few cycles, all the death, the destruction, the pain and the loss, and the tragedy of finding Earth, and they almost ended their lives in some back alley at the hands of mindless thugs? She rounded on Crichton, prepared to launch her barrage of anger at him, and froze at the sight.
All of the illusion that John Crichton had been wearing over the past few weekens was gone, leaving him wild eyed with fear and rage and desire and the weird giddy glee that he developed in response to battle.
He still had Winona in his hand, and he stared at her, looking her up and down, checking for damage. The next thing she knew, he was flush against her body, his mouth locked to hers, hard and bruising, his gloved fingers wrapped so tightly in her hair that it was pulling from the roots, causing her eyes to tear up involuntarily. His other hand held the pulse pistol, and she could feel the butt pressing into her cheek, but she didn’t care, far too consumed with the desire to crawl inside him.
She could barely tell where one body ended and the other began, clenching his head in her hands, fingernails digging into his scalp for purchase, to give permanence to her threat to never let him go. She tasted blood, felt his tongue slide over her teeth, whimpered against him in frustration. She didn’t know which of them was trembling, didn’t care, felt so lightheaded that she saw stars behind her closed eyes and jerked her head back, away from him. He tried to follow her mouth with his, and she dug her nails in further, wincing at the dent Winona was making in her own skull.
He opened his eyes, panting, disoriented, looking at her in that way that only John Crichton ever had. He made a noise in protest, and she was flooded with her love for him, edgy and messy and violent love in its fullest sense. She released his head, moving her hands to cup his face, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, letting the feel of his skin resonate through her, and she followed her instincts.
She levered her hip against him, relishing the feel of his growing erection, and turned him, moving them both towards the wall. Clarity was returning to his blue eyes, and he angled his lips into a half grin. He relaxed his hold on her, dropping his gun hand down to rest on her waist, his other hand still tangled in her hair, and grunted as his back hit the wall of the alley. She reached down, took his hand and squeezed it more tightly around Winona.
She could hear her voice, low and throaty, barely above a whisper, as she said, “Hold onto her and keep your eyes open, and for frell’s sake, don’t talk.”
She brushed her lips over his, flicking out her tongue, feeling his moan deep in her belly, fueling her desire. She placed her hands on the warm curve of muscle, trailing her fingers down the soft cloth, circling his nipples, and then tugging the shirt out of his leather pants. Holding her cool palms on his waist, she leaned her head onto his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart thump against her ear. She turned, pressed her lips to that spot, lightly rubbing his sides all the while.
“Aeryn, baby, you’re killing me,” he pleaded, scarcely above a whisper.
She just smiled against his chest, and then knelt in front of him, unsnapping his gun belt. She could see his erection through the constricting leather and stroked her fingers along it, causing him to shudder in earnest.
“Aeryn,” he could barely form her name.
She licked her lips, finding that this, being here in this alley, with him, was making her hotter than she had been in a very long time. Since Talyn, she acknowledged briefly and then bit down on that thought, concentrating on the man in front of her, nuzzling him with her cheek, feeling the groan ripple through him as she unfastened his pants and slid them down his thighs.
“Aeryn,” he begged again, sucking in his breath sharply as the shock of cool air assaulted his skin. His fingers contracted around Winona, and he looked down at her, his eyes dark, threading his fingers through her hair. He trembled with the effort to concentrate against the situation.
Her palms caressing his upper thighs, she lightly stroked her thumbs up to the seam where thigh and groin met, absorbing the ripples of muscle strain, soothing him and relishing his warmth, the musky smell of him, the sight of his penis hard and trembling in front of her.
He tried again to say her name as she moved one hand to encircle him, squeezing gently, and she said more softly this time, wanting to ease him, “Hold onto Winona, don’t close your eyes, and no more talking,” and with that she darted out her tongue, teasing him into another moan, before taking him in her mouth, meeting the grip of her hand.
She heard a thump as his head hit the wall, and continued to suck, contracting her throat, and feeling his fingers wrap around her hair for purchase. He was making tiny noises of pleasure and protest, and she moved her other hand to his balls, stroking and caressing, scratching delicately with her fingernails before gliding them back along the perineum and beyond, careful pushing just enough into him so that his hips bucked against her, and he yelled out,
“Oh, fuck me!” causing her to giggle despite her concentration, and then it was moisture and warmth and touch and suction, his hips moving and her mouth responding and as he came with another hoarse shout, she soaked up all of him - the salty bitter taste, the shocky tremors of his body, the tug against her skull and brought him gently back to her, wiping her lips and laying her head briefly on his belly, enjoying the feel of his breath returning to normal.
This moment, this action, proved to her that he was indeed hers. He tasted the same, reacted the same, said her name in the same desperate way; and while he wanted to maintain a separateness of identity, would be hurt and unhappy about her revelation, she could also add in there that wanting this, to do this to him and for him and abandoning the need to wait until a proper time and place, was for him alone.
She had loved John Crichton with everything she had, but never would have taken him in her mouth in a dark, stinking alley because she knew he was hers. When they finally gave in to each other, they’d been able to wait because there was no doubt, no fear of the other person, just joy and delusion and oblivion. This was different. Here and now, she had earned the right to frell John Crichton in an alley.
“Aeryn,” he whispered again, his voice uncertain but strangely reverent.
“Aeryn, come here,” he begged, lifting her chin up, urging her to rise. She resisted minutely, first tugging his pants back up, refastening his gunbelt, and then stood. He touched her face, and pulled her towards him, angling into her mouth and kissing her so gently she thought her heart would thump out of her chest. His tongue stroked hers and she shivered. They stood there for a very long time, mouths teasing and venturing, until he pulled away, looking into her eyes with something akin to understanding.
He swallowed, “How about we go find that hotel now?”
She felt the smile overwhelm her face, the absurdity and the beauty of the moment too much, and nodded.
I know that I don't want to be able to follow the neurological path that gets him from point A to point B in his reasonings.
Okay, so this is in rough draft, and it is only part 1 and it's a lot less pornaliscious than I had intended, but that will be rectified in Part II. Stupid characters with their stupid feelings and self-awareness*g*. And
searose, do you think that the top secret verbs of speaking could be followed up with some top secret verbs of people gettin' it on? Anyone? Season 4, post Twice Shy. And I promise, there will be actual furniture in Part 2. No more walls. It's becoming a habit.
Undertones
“He’s losing his mind and I’m frelling following,” she thought to herself as she watched his gloved hands dance over the parts laid out in front of him.
“Mmm, I don’t really see what we’re looking for,” he said in disappointment, picking up the component they needed and handing it to the merchant who nodded at him. This exchange had been going on for the past 200 microts, and after some initial confusion, the dealer and the human had worked out a system. “But if you think you can find what we need, we could maybe stick around until tomorrow.”
Aeryn moistened her lips, watching the play of muscles under his jacket as he shrugged his shoulders back and stood up straight. She shifted her stance, fighting the urge to step behind him, press her chest into his back and stroke her hands down his arms, making him sigh and murmur to her. She could feel the heat of him, the contrast between the softness of her breasts and the firm strength of him and she mentally slapped herself back into awareness of her surroundings, frustrated and annoyed at her inability to discipline her traitorous mind.
She heard the vendor repy, “I think we might be able to arrange that. You’ve made a list of what you are seeking, yes?”
“Yeah, if you could deliver them to our pod first thing in the morning, we’ll pay a little extra.” Pleased with the transaction, the vendor nodded as John handed him the money.
Aeryn remained in puzzled, if uncomfortable, bemusement. When John had suggested that they take the pod down to the planet, accompanied by D’Argo, Rygel and Chiana, she had readily agreed. The leviathan was growing increasingly claustrophobic for her. Since John’s revelations two weekens before, he had barely spoken to, let alone touched her. When they did speak, it inevitably turned into a fight as she surpressed so much of what she wanted to say, finding those words replaced with lists of petty annoyances.
She understood the potential danger, or at least respected his fears, but he was making things even more difficult than before. In an effort to keep her safe, keep his distance, obey her request to cease and desist with the lakka, he’d been trying to avoid her. It seemed fate really was conspiring to bring them together, though, and their paths routinely crossed even within the behemoth of a ship, ratcheting up the tension, forcing false politeness onto their encounters.
John would speak blankly and calmly, wearing that air of unhappy resignation that he had perfected on earth and she wanted to scream at him, still fearing, knowing actually, that that mannerism rang of truth. However, every once in a while, she would catch glimpses of him watching her with these looks, of longing, of lust, of pain, before he jerked his gaze away and frankly she was ready to shoot him.
Yesterday, in the kitchen, she’d been eating her meal, bickering with Chiana, ignoring Noranti, when she heard him walk in. She glanced up to see him stroll over to the cooling unit and remove something to drink. He poured the liquid into a cup, leaned against the counter, hip cocked. She continued to watch him, unable to look away, as he tilted his head back, swallowing the refreshment in slow gulps, his throat exposed and vulnerable, eyes half shut. He put the cup down, gaze locked with hers, and slowly slid his thumb over his lips, brushing away the liquid then resting the pad of his thumb on his mouth. She swallowed, and got up, pushing away from the table hurriedly, and left, her breathing ragged. She was furious, feeling her skin vibrate simply from watching him drink.
She could barely keep her mind on routine tasks and she wanted him so badly that her body ached. She yearned for some sort of physical release -pain or pleasure, either would be welcome, anything to distract her. Sex or violence, at this point she could barely tell the difference, and she took a brief moment to hate him for making her feel so like a Peacekeeper.
“Aeryn, Aeryn!” his voice was sharp, concerned, pulling her out of another reverie. “You ok?”
His hand was wrapped around her upper arm and he was shaking her gently. She looked at him, shook her head, and inhaled deeply, feeling the heat of him, through the leather of his gloves and her coat, seep into her skin. It was the most contact they’d had in weeks.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, “Just clearly losing my frelling mind.”
He didn’t release her, just raised an eyebrow, and she sighed. “It’s nothing.”
She pulled her arm reluctantly out of his grasp. “We should go.”
He stepped back from her, giving her another of those assessing looks that drove her mad. Surprisingly though, it was accompanied by a glint in his eye that she hadn’t seen in goddess knew how long.
“Actually,” he paused, drawing it out, “No.”
He tapped his com, ”D., how you guys doing with supplies?”
D’Argo’s growled response was instantaneous. “We’re loaded to the gills, and I haven’t lost or sold Rygel or Chiana. Yet. We’re heading to the pod now.”
John laughed, “I had some trouble finding the parts, but one of the dealers thinks he can get them to me by morning.”
“Fine, then we’ll - Rygel, if you don’t put that back and come over here, I will leave your slimy hide on this planet - meet you at the pod. You can come back down tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, D. They’ve got decent accommodations here. I could load up and head out first thing. Besides, according to this guy, there’s a storm coming.”
Aeryn raised an eyebrow, looking at the cloudless sky, imagining D’Argo doing the same.
“Um, John?”
“Seriously, he said a storm. I’ll be fine. It’s just one night, and I could use a little down time.”
“I don’t like the idea of you remaining here alone.”
“Don’t worry big guy. Aeryn’s here, and she’s not thrilled, but she’s willing to play bodyguard.”
“John are you sure that’s a good idea?” D’Argo asked, the memory of their argument that morning before boarding the transport pods and the sound of broken crockery undoubtedly still ringing in his ears.
Aeryn looked at him questioningly, the same thought running through her head.
“We’ll play nice. I promise.”
“Aeryn?”
“Yes it’s fine D’Argo. The vendor thought he’d be able to get the parts tonight. We should be on board early in the day, and I think we can make it through an evening together.”
She watched the corners of John’s mouth curl up, and fought to not give him an answering smile.
“Cool. We’ll see you in the morning guys.”
They finished their business with the owner, and walked through town towards a refreshment house they’d passed earlier in the day.
“We should make arrangements for the evening,” Aeryn ventured, still confused, but beginning to suspect that Crichton was up to something.
“Mmm, yeah, probably,” but he didn’t sound like he was paying attention. He was walking very close to her, keeping pace, and his arm brushed hers repeatedly. It was companionable, reminiscent of their early days on Moya when he seemed to find it his mission in life to invade her personal space.
Craving any kind of contact with him, she didn’t move away, but she was getting nearer and nearer to lashing out at him as the dueling tensions of anger and need escalated in her blood. They were alone on this planet, and all she had to do was turn, back him into the alley, and frell him up against the wall. Simple, quick, easy, release and then maybe her brain would function again. And worst of all, he seemed oblivious to what he was doing to her.
It had been far easier to steal herself against his anger, his emotional withdrawl because even though it was painful, she felt that it was somewhat deserved. This was different. He’d said he loved her, wanted her, and she read no lies in his kiss or his touch during that brief moment in Moya’s corridor, but he didn’t seem to be feeling the same gratingly edgy anticipation as she did. She wondered briefly if he had sought sexual release elsewhere. That cut unexpectedly, but she wouldn’t have blamed him. Well, not completely.
It was into this distracted silence that they came. Six of them, stealing out form the shadows, chains and guns and menacing glances, and a physical threat was so far from Aeryn’s mind at this point that the first thing she did was bark out a burst of laughter.
It was met by Crichton’s cynically amused, ”Are you frelling kidding me?”
They turned simultaneously, back to back, pistols drawn.
“This is a very bad idea,” Aeryn remarked.
“You talking to me or them, babe?” The largest of the scum moved towards her.
“Them.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
“Shut up,” the largest of the men growled.
“Guess they really don’t know who we are.”
Aeryn snorted, drawing a bead on the man closest to her. The reality of the situation was becoming more apparent and her heart was beating quickly, pumping her adrenaline up to battle readiness.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll take the woman with us after we rob and beat you.”
John sighed an exaggerated sigh. “Every planet, and they’re always dumb.”
Aeryn shrugged, feeling the leather of her coat brush against his back, her nerve endings so alive she could almost feel them spark.
“I’d apologize to her.”
“Shut up,” he bellowed, firing a pulse blast into the ground near John’s feet.
“All right,” he said, and together they fired at the impending threat.
It was over quickly. Three lay on the ground, and the others, wounded and surprised, had fled. Aeryn’s chest was tight and she expelled her breath, holstering her pistol and looking around, ire rising so quickly and tightly in her throat that she wanted to scream.
All of the past few cycles, all the death, the destruction, the pain and the loss, and the tragedy of finding Earth, and they almost ended their lives in some back alley at the hands of mindless thugs? She rounded on Crichton, prepared to launch her barrage of anger at him, and froze at the sight.
All of the illusion that John Crichton had been wearing over the past few weekens was gone, leaving him wild eyed with fear and rage and desire and the weird giddy glee that he developed in response to battle.
He still had Winona in his hand, and he stared at her, looking her up and down, checking for damage. The next thing she knew, he was flush against her body, his mouth locked to hers, hard and bruising, his gloved fingers wrapped so tightly in her hair that it was pulling from the roots, causing her eyes to tear up involuntarily. His other hand held the pulse pistol, and she could feel the butt pressing into her cheek, but she didn’t care, far too consumed with the desire to crawl inside him.
She could barely tell where one body ended and the other began, clenching his head in her hands, fingernails digging into his scalp for purchase, to give permanence to her threat to never let him go. She tasted blood, felt his tongue slide over her teeth, whimpered against him in frustration. She didn’t know which of them was trembling, didn’t care, felt so lightheaded that she saw stars behind her closed eyes and jerked her head back, away from him. He tried to follow her mouth with his, and she dug her nails in further, wincing at the dent Winona was making in her own skull.
He opened his eyes, panting, disoriented, looking at her in that way that only John Crichton ever had. He made a noise in protest, and she was flooded with her love for him, edgy and messy and violent love in its fullest sense. She released his head, moving her hands to cup his face, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, letting the feel of his skin resonate through her, and she followed her instincts.
She levered her hip against him, relishing the feel of his growing erection, and turned him, moving them both towards the wall. Clarity was returning to his blue eyes, and he angled his lips into a half grin. He relaxed his hold on her, dropping his gun hand down to rest on her waist, his other hand still tangled in her hair, and grunted as his back hit the wall of the alley. She reached down, took his hand and squeezed it more tightly around Winona.
She could hear her voice, low and throaty, barely above a whisper, as she said, “Hold onto her and keep your eyes open, and for frell’s sake, don’t talk.”
She brushed her lips over his, flicking out her tongue, feeling his moan deep in her belly, fueling her desire. She placed her hands on the warm curve of muscle, trailing her fingers down the soft cloth, circling his nipples, and then tugging the shirt out of his leather pants. Holding her cool palms on his waist, she leaned her head onto his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart thump against her ear. She turned, pressed her lips to that spot, lightly rubbing his sides all the while.
“Aeryn, baby, you’re killing me,” he pleaded, scarcely above a whisper.
She just smiled against his chest, and then knelt in front of him, unsnapping his gun belt. She could see his erection through the constricting leather and stroked her fingers along it, causing him to shudder in earnest.
“Aeryn,” he could barely form her name.
She licked her lips, finding that this, being here in this alley, with him, was making her hotter than she had been in a very long time. Since Talyn, she acknowledged briefly and then bit down on that thought, concentrating on the man in front of her, nuzzling him with her cheek, feeling the groan ripple through him as she unfastened his pants and slid them down his thighs.
“Aeryn,” he begged again, sucking in his breath sharply as the shock of cool air assaulted his skin. His fingers contracted around Winona, and he looked down at her, his eyes dark, threading his fingers through her hair. He trembled with the effort to concentrate against the situation.
Her palms caressing his upper thighs, she lightly stroked her thumbs up to the seam where thigh and groin met, absorbing the ripples of muscle strain, soothing him and relishing his warmth, the musky smell of him, the sight of his penis hard and trembling in front of her.
He tried again to say her name as she moved one hand to encircle him, squeezing gently, and she said more softly this time, wanting to ease him, “Hold onto Winona, don’t close your eyes, and no more talking,” and with that she darted out her tongue, teasing him into another moan, before taking him in her mouth, meeting the grip of her hand.
She heard a thump as his head hit the wall, and continued to suck, contracting her throat, and feeling his fingers wrap around her hair for purchase. He was making tiny noises of pleasure and protest, and she moved her other hand to his balls, stroking and caressing, scratching delicately with her fingernails before gliding them back along the perineum and beyond, careful pushing just enough into him so that his hips bucked against her, and he yelled out,
“Oh, fuck me!” causing her to giggle despite her concentration, and then it was moisture and warmth and touch and suction, his hips moving and her mouth responding and as he came with another hoarse shout, she soaked up all of him - the salty bitter taste, the shocky tremors of his body, the tug against her skull and brought him gently back to her, wiping her lips and laying her head briefly on his belly, enjoying the feel of his breath returning to normal.
This moment, this action, proved to her that he was indeed hers. He tasted the same, reacted the same, said her name in the same desperate way; and while he wanted to maintain a separateness of identity, would be hurt and unhappy about her revelation, she could also add in there that wanting this, to do this to him and for him and abandoning the need to wait until a proper time and place, was for him alone.
She had loved John Crichton with everything she had, but never would have taken him in her mouth in a dark, stinking alley because she knew he was hers. When they finally gave in to each other, they’d been able to wait because there was no doubt, no fear of the other person, just joy and delusion and oblivion. This was different. Here and now, she had earned the right to frell John Crichton in an alley.
“Aeryn,” he whispered again, his voice uncertain but strangely reverent.
“Aeryn, come here,” he begged, lifting her chin up, urging her to rise. She resisted minutely, first tugging his pants back up, refastening his gunbelt, and then stood. He touched her face, and pulled her towards him, angling into her mouth and kissing her so gently she thought her heart would thump out of her chest. His tongue stroked hers and she shivered. They stood there for a very long time, mouths teasing and venturing, until he pulled away, looking into her eyes with something akin to understanding.
He swallowed, “How about we go find that hotel now?”
She felt the smile overwhelm her face, the absurdity and the beauty of the moment too much, and nodded.
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 02:29 pm (UTC)Oh, hell yeah. That was good, Thea. Really good. You've picked up on something I only noticed when I watched DWTB Saturday night: the violence and the extremeness of John and Aeryn's relationship after Talyn. And yeah, ITA, Aeryn's earned the right to frell John Crichton in an alley.
Re:
Date: 2003-06-09 03:45 pm (UTC)I think the violence layered into their relationship is so fascinating. From a writing pov, it's difficult to convey in the show don't tell mode. (For me at least).
She rarely lashes out at him physically any more, able to do so much more damage to him in other ways, yet her physical aggression is such a turn on for him, and vice versa. John's the alpha male, he's loud and blustery when need be, and has learned to embrace his violence and this is a draw for Aeryn, I think, especially after Talyn. I want to show, in part 2, that for all of the reconcilliation, they can still cut each other to shards as they love each other.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 06:49 pm (UTC)Um that was less than you intended? *clears throat* Well then, I guess I should be careful of where and when I read Part II. *g*
Seriously, that is some porn you wrote there, actually it isn't. that was some hardcore erotica. It had a point and plot. *bg* And I love the insight you are giving into their relationship. It is harsh and passionate, and angry and oft times violent. Their love for each other has so much more crap on it that it shades how they act with each other. Tenderness and gentleness are not part of their reality right now. It can be, and at some point much later, it will be again (yup I'm a romantic at heart), but in this moment,at this time there are other drives pushing them, fueling their needs, and you hit in on the head, so to speak. *g*
So when's the rest happening?
no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 10:09 pm (UTC)Actually, the top secret file has had quite a few additions since you got your copy, and one segment is animalistic sex/seduction talk. You want the next revision?
no subject
Date: 2003-06-09 10:12 pm (UTC)If she doesn't I do! *bg* Lord the mind boggles!
Oh..god!
Date: 2003-06-09 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 01:12 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 09:44 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 09:49 am (UTC)And thanks so much for the next version of TSVOS. Believe me, they will be well used in part 2!
Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 09:52 am (UTC)I'm working on part 2 right now, and hopefully the rough draft will be finished by today, but my actual job has to take precedence today because I leave for vacation tomorrow morning.
Re: Oh..god!
Date: 2003-06-10 09:57 am (UTC)Cold Shower Time
Date: 2003-06-10 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 11:31 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 11:45 am (UTC)More is finished, but needs some clean up before I even post the rough draft. Sometimes when I write porn, it seems like there are too many limbs or to few limbs, or that people are doing things that just aren't physically possible. I'll post it before I leave work today, though.
Re: Cold Shower Time
Date: 2003-06-10 11:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 01:27 pm (UTC)Then you reread it and it's like 'where the hell did that octopus come from?' or you realize that something very bizarre just happened to gravity because you never actually moved them from the doorway to the bed and people are humping mid-air or something.
And then there's the problem with word use: some words just aren't as thoroughly covered in the Oxford Concise Thesaurus as one might hope.
*sigh*
Still, someone's got to do it, right? ;]
Re: Cold Shower Time
Date: 2003-06-10 02:14 pm (UTC)I've enjoyed it so far. Once again, good job on that snippet of a fic. Can't wait to see more!
Re:
Date: 2003-06-10 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-10 08:37 pm (UTC)