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itsallovernowTitle: Heart Like A Wheel Means Racecar Dreams
Author: Thea
Notes: Farscape, S2 (Late, no spoilers). NC-17. Porn. Just porn. And valentines.
Beta free. I'm the only person to blame.
Heart Like A Wheel Means Racecar Dreams
She's sitting in the galley with D'Argo, eating the remains of a foodcube packet that they'd managed to dig up, while the others unload the transport pod. It's only fair, Aeryn thinks, focusing on the blandness of the foodcubes, on the bite of the kirot tea, only frelling fair. She had agreed to Zhaan and Crichton accompanying Chiana and Rygel on the excursion without either her or D'Argo because the planet had a weapons ban and very primitive technology.
Because it seemed like very little could go wrong. Because Pilot had needed assistance and part of Aeryn was craving the potential quiet of working in Pilot's den, focusing on nothing but his needs and Moya's.
Because D'Argo needed some space from Chiana and they'd all needed space from the constant frelling and bickering that had defined the past weekens interaction between the two lovers.
So when word came that despite all their precautions - What precautions? Aeryn whispers to herself as she untangles her tools from the morass of leviathan circuitry. Prayer and blind luck. Were they ever going to have a moment's peace? - in spite of the total lack of trouble to be found, Zhaan was at the helm of the pod, warming it up while John and Chiana and Rygel fled the scene, Aeryn wasn't terribly surprised. She'd commed D'Argo, and headed for the galley and when the pod had landed, she'd ordered the fleers to unload whatever goods they'd managed to secure. Zhaan had given her a strangled sort of thank you and retreated to her quarters. D'Argo just rolled his eyes and Aeryn pretended that the tiny headache she'd woken up with hadn't just evolved into a massive, throbbing distraction in her temples.
From all reports, everyone had returned with the same number of appendages they'd left with, and really, what more could one ask for these days?
They'd been passing the packet of food cubes back and forth along with the occasional grunting commentary on the potential for trade down on the planet and what that might mean in terms of material acquired when John saunters in.
"Cool," he says, "Lunch," he says with that sort of brash joviality that he's been wearing like a uniform the last monen or so. The one that falls apart when she catches him alone, eyes sort of vacant and tired, hopeful around the edges. The one that keeps him close to her, so close she wants to tear skin with her teeth to get away from him. The one that keeps her up nights when he's somewhere else. She didn't know until John that somewhere else wasn't always a physical place.
Aeryn passes him a foodcube as he sits down on the table, body angled so that he can see D'Argo and press his foot to her thigh at the same time. That's John, she thinks, making a circle with his body, expanding himself elsewhere so that he's never alone. A few weeks ago, on a sunny planet with a sharp breeze, he'd drawn geometric shapes in the dirt for a couple of kids. Drawn a circle and a tangential line, and she feels like that, bumped up against his arc, pressed to the curve of his will and presence.
"Oh," he says, after swallowing, after picking up her glass and draining it. "Gotcha something."
Aeryn cocks her head, eyes him steadily and he smiles for her, wicked and sweet and she fights hard to keep from smiling back. He fumbles in his utility belt and pulls out a square of black cloth, puts it down on the table in front of her, folds back the cloth.
Four slim silver cylinders wink up at her and she picks them up, studying them.
"New and improved, the latest in chakkan oil technology," John says and she does grin then, touching her fingertip to the entrance of the canister. "Dude was having a sale. They're refillable and if they don't work with our model of gun, well, they're still kinda pretty."
Turning the cylinder over in her hand, she can see light and color reflected in its surface, can see traces of John's vest, his mishmash of a uniform, her own dark hair and the muted color of the table.
She tilts her head to face him, ready to offer honest gratitude, and stills at the look on his face. It's … inscrutable, his mouth tilted up and eyes… distracted.
"What?" she asks, instead of the thank you she'd meant. He shakes his head, tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Just…," he pauses then shrugs and Aeryn catches D'Argo out of the corner of her eye.
He's watching John like he sees something she can't, tension running through his body. But then John smiles, brushes his fingers against her bare arm and hops off the table. "Little differences sometimes kick you in the ass."
He moves to the counter, fumbles underneath it looking for something and fails to find it, braces his hands against the counter and kind of rocks on his heels. "It gets old after awhile, the sheer total fucking lack of familiarity."
Aeryn blinks, looks quickly at D'Argo who shrugs his shoulders in a "Don't look at me, I don't have a frelling clue" shrug. She scowls. He'd seen … something, denying it now to himself and she wants to punch him. Wants some frelling help here. But John keeps going, and all she's got room for in the scope of her attention is him.
"Girl'd rather have ammo cases than flowers, and I get that. It's an adjustment, but it's cool. But sometimes, I'd like to KNOW I'm on the right mark, you know? Know whether it's a pet or produce, whether I'm watching C-SPAN or porn, having sex or fixing the speedster, saying hello or fuck you very much."
"Did something happen…" she starts to say sharply, and John waves her off. "Nothing weirder than usual. Lots of pink down there. Made me think of Valentine's Day. Hearts and flowers and Hallmark." He hums softly to himself and it sounds to Aeryn like you've got to hide your love awaaaay. "Just processing my skewed new reality a little more than normal," he says and smiles again at her.
The sheen has gone off the gift and she can feel blood throb in her temples as her head screams in pain.
John is halfway out the door when he turns, comes striding back with the whole force of his personality, coming right up to her, sliding his hand through her hair to cradle her neck and then bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss is an utter surprise, hot and wet and brutal and she grabs at his vest, kissing him back for all of her surprise until he pulls back, breath hot against her cheek.
"What the frell was that?" D'Argo barks out, voice far, far too amused.
John's voice is low, lacking any of the amused adrenaline she'd have expected. "Sometimes," he says, and it is directed at her, "you've gotta make your own reality."
He lets her go and she feels his absence immediately, looks back down at the cartridges instead of watching him walk out the door.
D'Argo waits for a few 100 microts, finishes the food cubes, then says, "Are you going to do something about that?"
Aeryn thinks about it, wraps the cylinders back up in the silk and tucks them into her own utility pouch. "Yes," she says. "I am."
***
Aeryn is waiting for him outside his quarters. When he wants something, he generally just breaks into her room, waits inside. Experience has taught him that she's less likely to kick him out than let him in. But she's always weirdly polite, allowing him to invite her inside, giving him that illusion of space and privacy.
Her presence is a surprise after the impromptu kissing in the kitchen, the one that didn't end up with him getting his ass handed to him on a plate, and he likes that she can surprise him, that her presence is enough to make him feel like the day wasn't a total wash. Well, it hadn't been a loss before. She'd liked the gift, and he'd kind of loved the way her whole face lit up with amusement, with a little joy at the fact that he'd gotten something right, the way her mouth felt against his as she kissed him back full of surprise and a solid amount of want.
She has her arms crossed over her chest, and a small smirk on her face and he thinks there's a 50/50 chance that if he plays his cards right, he'll get a chance to wipe that smirk away and replace it with something a little more … feral.
"Fertility festival?" she says, eyebrow quirking and he shifts his odds to maybe 60/40, not sure if they fall in his favor.
He runs his hand over the sensor and the door slides open. "See you talked to Zhaan."
Aeryn snorts. "Sex god? They wanted to make you a sex god?" She's actually laughing now, and follows him through the doorway.
"I don't know that they exactly wanted me to be a god of sex, or sacrifice me to the god of sex." He strips off his vest, his belt, sits on the bed to get rid of his boots and looks up at Aeryn. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, mouth wide and warm and laughing and he just feels lit from the inside out at the sight of her.
"Details were kinda getting lost in translation."
She nods. "Perhaps you shouldn't be telling alien races in the midst of a fertility festival about human holidays."
He lets his boot thump to the floor, works off the other one.
"Just looking for common ground," he says, toes off his socks, sounding pissier than he means to. But really, why was the universe such a fucking mess? "Should have known they'd take that whole giving your heart thing literally."
"John," she says, and slides the zipper down on her vest, leaving it open to reveal tantalizing amounts of pale, pale skin.
He's mesmerized. Transfixed, and she's expecting some sort of answer. But all he's got is a wraith in his head, and a serious case of interstellar homesick blues, and this woman, here in his room.
He stands up, and slides his hands along the bare skin of her waist, circles her ribs. Cravings. He craves her, is hardening just at the feel of her skin against his palms, at her proximity, her laughter.
"Whatdya want, Aeryn?" he whispers in her ear, slides his mouth along her neck, tongue darting out to touch the hollow of her throat. She shivers a little, hooks her fingers inside the waistband of his pants.
"I thought we might fix the prowler," she says, and tugs him forward until his cock is flush to her groin. "Maybe clean out the circuitry in the pod. It's frelled from the last time…"
He stops her mouth with his as he pushes her vest of her shoulders and then things are pretty uncomplicated. Her fingers are nimble and clever and cool, forcing down his pants as he yanks off his shirt. He takes his time undressing her, kneeling, helping her with her boots, sliding her pants down those long legs, mouth to her sex and she gasps, grasps his hair, pulls him up to face her.
They're both naked, panting and sweaty, looking at each other. A moment in time and he wants to drink her in, her pale, cool body. Her dark hair and serious eyes. The way she looks at him, sees him. He's better for her, wants to be better because of her, wants to cling to whatever sanity he's got left for her. She grounds him like a livewire, keeps the sparks of his sanity focused, contained and he reaches for her, suddenly needing to close the distance. When he saw her outside his door, he'd wanted to question it. Now all he wants to do is hold on.
He palms her nape the same way he had in the kitchen, kissing her with drugging desperation, hiking up her body so that she wraps her strong legs around his waist and then he turns, stumbles fumbles them to the bed, enters her as she slides along his sheets. She arches, bucking against him, keeping him so close that he can barely thrust and it's amazing – hot and wet and tight, her teeth against his lip, fingernails digging into his ass, her breasts against his chest.
He grabs her hands, threads his fingers through hers and forces them over her head. She smiles, wicked and a little dazed, mouth wet and swollen, releases her death grip on his hips. He slides almost all the way out of her, and then thrusts forward hard enough that her breasts jiggle, groans so low he can feel it in his cock.
"John," she says, gasping, and he feels that too because she doesn't usually say his name during sex, says Crichton, or more, or there, or fuck, or things in Sebacean that don't translate, but rarely his given name.
"What, baby," he struggles to say, suddenly too near something on the other side of lust, something ridiculous and tender that'll ruin the moment. "What?"
"Just so you know," she tightens her internal muscles, squeezing around his cock and he nearly blisses out completely. "Just to be perfectly clear. This is sex."
He starts to laugh, losing his rhythm completely, laughing so hard that all he can do is collapse on top of her, weighing her down, feeling the length of her body pressed against him, kissing his laughter into her mouth as she wraps her arms around his shoulders rolls them until she's sitting up and he's sheathed inside her. She closes her eyes, fucks his brains out, thigh muscles strong and supple, beautiful breasts right there to be touched, clit red and ripe and he does his best, touches her everywhere he can – breasts and thighs and ass, hand wrapped around her ankle, fingers between her lips, sits up finally as she comes so he can kiss her as they finish fucking, so he can feel her whole body as he comes off inside her, gripping her hips to keep her steady and not boneless, crying out against her tongue as he sees stars, feels her.
He's incapable of movement after that, would have liked to join her in the shower, but there was a lot of running and almost dying today, all before the sex, and what he wants is for her to come out of the shower all clean and sweet and slide into bed with him so he can wake up in the middle of the night and slide into her, arms around her, mouth against her neck, ass pressed to his cock.
But what he's going to get is a bed with a hell of a wetspot, and specter dreams, and Aeryn's scent on his skin. He'll bathe in the morning.
She dresses in the fresher, and when she comes out she does indeed smell as pretty and clean and cool as he'd imagined. And they've played this out before: him staying, her going. It always leaves him a little hollow, her a little torn.
But she sits beside him on the bed, hand on his bare chest.
"Thank you for the gift," she says, and he plays with her fingers.
"You don't have to thank me," he says, and finds he means it. She'll get there, he thinks, can see in her eyes and in her actions that she's almost all the way to love. He can wait for the words.
She bends down to kiss him, sultry and sweet with too much tongue for a girl on her way out the door, but he doesn't press. He's feeling drowsy, puts her hand over his heart as she moves to go.
"You know," he says, and then waits too long. Her eyes are serious, watching him intently, "My reality isn't so bad right now."
She takes away her hand, but continues to look at him. "D'Argo would say that it's because we're all frelled," she says, mouth sardonic, but when she smiles – small, quiet, just for him – it erases the sting from her words. "I suppose tonight, it's some more than others."
And again he's surprised, delighted to find that after all, she can leave him laughing.
Random Story Notes: So I haven't been writing much FS lately, in part because the only stories I have left to tell are bigger than I have time for. And because of shiny and new, and because how much porn can one person write about one pairing? But I missed these people, these characters and it was relief to write them again, if just to prove that I could to myself. It's such a different exercise than writing Cam and Vala, and it was good to think I could draw those distinctions. This came out far freer of angst than normal S2 smut, and since I've been trying to work on combining sex and fun in fic, I'd count that as a success.
Author: Thea
Notes: Farscape, S2 (Late, no spoilers). NC-17. Porn. Just porn. And valentines.
Beta free. I'm the only person to blame.
Heart Like A Wheel Means Racecar Dreams
She's sitting in the galley with D'Argo, eating the remains of a foodcube packet that they'd managed to dig up, while the others unload the transport pod. It's only fair, Aeryn thinks, focusing on the blandness of the foodcubes, on the bite of the kirot tea, only frelling fair. She had agreed to Zhaan and Crichton accompanying Chiana and Rygel on the excursion without either her or D'Argo because the planet had a weapons ban and very primitive technology.
Because it seemed like very little could go wrong. Because Pilot had needed assistance and part of Aeryn was craving the potential quiet of working in Pilot's den, focusing on nothing but his needs and Moya's.
Because D'Argo needed some space from Chiana and they'd all needed space from the constant frelling and bickering that had defined the past weekens interaction between the two lovers.
So when word came that despite all their precautions - What precautions? Aeryn whispers to herself as she untangles her tools from the morass of leviathan circuitry. Prayer and blind luck. Were they ever going to have a moment's peace? - in spite of the total lack of trouble to be found, Zhaan was at the helm of the pod, warming it up while John and Chiana and Rygel fled the scene, Aeryn wasn't terribly surprised. She'd commed D'Argo, and headed for the galley and when the pod had landed, she'd ordered the fleers to unload whatever goods they'd managed to secure. Zhaan had given her a strangled sort of thank you and retreated to her quarters. D'Argo just rolled his eyes and Aeryn pretended that the tiny headache she'd woken up with hadn't just evolved into a massive, throbbing distraction in her temples.
From all reports, everyone had returned with the same number of appendages they'd left with, and really, what more could one ask for these days?
They'd been passing the packet of food cubes back and forth along with the occasional grunting commentary on the potential for trade down on the planet and what that might mean in terms of material acquired when John saunters in.
"Cool," he says, "Lunch," he says with that sort of brash joviality that he's been wearing like a uniform the last monen or so. The one that falls apart when she catches him alone, eyes sort of vacant and tired, hopeful around the edges. The one that keeps him close to her, so close she wants to tear skin with her teeth to get away from him. The one that keeps her up nights when he's somewhere else. She didn't know until John that somewhere else wasn't always a physical place.
Aeryn passes him a foodcube as he sits down on the table, body angled so that he can see D'Argo and press his foot to her thigh at the same time. That's John, she thinks, making a circle with his body, expanding himself elsewhere so that he's never alone. A few weeks ago, on a sunny planet with a sharp breeze, he'd drawn geometric shapes in the dirt for a couple of kids. Drawn a circle and a tangential line, and she feels like that, bumped up against his arc, pressed to the curve of his will and presence.
"Oh," he says, after swallowing, after picking up her glass and draining it. "Gotcha something."
Aeryn cocks her head, eyes him steadily and he smiles for her, wicked and sweet and she fights hard to keep from smiling back. He fumbles in his utility belt and pulls out a square of black cloth, puts it down on the table in front of her, folds back the cloth.
Four slim silver cylinders wink up at her and she picks them up, studying them.
"New and improved, the latest in chakkan oil technology," John says and she does grin then, touching her fingertip to the entrance of the canister. "Dude was having a sale. They're refillable and if they don't work with our model of gun, well, they're still kinda pretty."
Turning the cylinder over in her hand, she can see light and color reflected in its surface, can see traces of John's vest, his mishmash of a uniform, her own dark hair and the muted color of the table.
She tilts her head to face him, ready to offer honest gratitude, and stills at the look on his face. It's … inscrutable, his mouth tilted up and eyes… distracted.
"What?" she asks, instead of the thank you she'd meant. He shakes his head, tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Just…," he pauses then shrugs and Aeryn catches D'Argo out of the corner of her eye.
He's watching John like he sees something she can't, tension running through his body. But then John smiles, brushes his fingers against her bare arm and hops off the table. "Little differences sometimes kick you in the ass."
He moves to the counter, fumbles underneath it looking for something and fails to find it, braces his hands against the counter and kind of rocks on his heels. "It gets old after awhile, the sheer total fucking lack of familiarity."
Aeryn blinks, looks quickly at D'Argo who shrugs his shoulders in a "Don't look at me, I don't have a frelling clue" shrug. She scowls. He'd seen … something, denying it now to himself and she wants to punch him. Wants some frelling help here. But John keeps going, and all she's got room for in the scope of her attention is him.
"Girl'd rather have ammo cases than flowers, and I get that. It's an adjustment, but it's cool. But sometimes, I'd like to KNOW I'm on the right mark, you know? Know whether it's a pet or produce, whether I'm watching C-SPAN or porn, having sex or fixing the speedster, saying hello or fuck you very much."
"Did something happen…" she starts to say sharply, and John waves her off. "Nothing weirder than usual. Lots of pink down there. Made me think of Valentine's Day. Hearts and flowers and Hallmark." He hums softly to himself and it sounds to Aeryn like you've got to hide your love awaaaay. "Just processing my skewed new reality a little more than normal," he says and smiles again at her.
The sheen has gone off the gift and she can feel blood throb in her temples as her head screams in pain.
John is halfway out the door when he turns, comes striding back with the whole force of his personality, coming right up to her, sliding his hand through her hair to cradle her neck and then bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss is an utter surprise, hot and wet and brutal and she grabs at his vest, kissing him back for all of her surprise until he pulls back, breath hot against her cheek.
"What the frell was that?" D'Argo barks out, voice far, far too amused.
John's voice is low, lacking any of the amused adrenaline she'd have expected. "Sometimes," he says, and it is directed at her, "you've gotta make your own reality."
He lets her go and she feels his absence immediately, looks back down at the cartridges instead of watching him walk out the door.
D'Argo waits for a few 100 microts, finishes the food cubes, then says, "Are you going to do something about that?"
Aeryn thinks about it, wraps the cylinders back up in the silk and tucks them into her own utility pouch. "Yes," she says. "I am."
***
Aeryn is waiting for him outside his quarters. When he wants something, he generally just breaks into her room, waits inside. Experience has taught him that she's less likely to kick him out than let him in. But she's always weirdly polite, allowing him to invite her inside, giving him that illusion of space and privacy.
Her presence is a surprise after the impromptu kissing in the kitchen, the one that didn't end up with him getting his ass handed to him on a plate, and he likes that she can surprise him, that her presence is enough to make him feel like the day wasn't a total wash. Well, it hadn't been a loss before. She'd liked the gift, and he'd kind of loved the way her whole face lit up with amusement, with a little joy at the fact that he'd gotten something right, the way her mouth felt against his as she kissed him back full of surprise and a solid amount of want.
She has her arms crossed over her chest, and a small smirk on her face and he thinks there's a 50/50 chance that if he plays his cards right, he'll get a chance to wipe that smirk away and replace it with something a little more … feral.
"Fertility festival?" she says, eyebrow quirking and he shifts his odds to maybe 60/40, not sure if they fall in his favor.
He runs his hand over the sensor and the door slides open. "See you talked to Zhaan."
Aeryn snorts. "Sex god? They wanted to make you a sex god?" She's actually laughing now, and follows him through the doorway.
"I don't know that they exactly wanted me to be a god of sex, or sacrifice me to the god of sex." He strips off his vest, his belt, sits on the bed to get rid of his boots and looks up at Aeryn. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, mouth wide and warm and laughing and he just feels lit from the inside out at the sight of her.
"Details were kinda getting lost in translation."
She nods. "Perhaps you shouldn't be telling alien races in the midst of a fertility festival about human holidays."
He lets his boot thump to the floor, works off the other one.
"Just looking for common ground," he says, toes off his socks, sounding pissier than he means to. But really, why was the universe such a fucking mess? "Should have known they'd take that whole giving your heart thing literally."
"John," she says, and slides the zipper down on her vest, leaving it open to reveal tantalizing amounts of pale, pale skin.
He's mesmerized. Transfixed, and she's expecting some sort of answer. But all he's got is a wraith in his head, and a serious case of interstellar homesick blues, and this woman, here in his room.
He stands up, and slides his hands along the bare skin of her waist, circles her ribs. Cravings. He craves her, is hardening just at the feel of her skin against his palms, at her proximity, her laughter.
"Whatdya want, Aeryn?" he whispers in her ear, slides his mouth along her neck, tongue darting out to touch the hollow of her throat. She shivers a little, hooks her fingers inside the waistband of his pants.
"I thought we might fix the prowler," she says, and tugs him forward until his cock is flush to her groin. "Maybe clean out the circuitry in the pod. It's frelled from the last time…"
He stops her mouth with his as he pushes her vest of her shoulders and then things are pretty uncomplicated. Her fingers are nimble and clever and cool, forcing down his pants as he yanks off his shirt. He takes his time undressing her, kneeling, helping her with her boots, sliding her pants down those long legs, mouth to her sex and she gasps, grasps his hair, pulls him up to face her.
They're both naked, panting and sweaty, looking at each other. A moment in time and he wants to drink her in, her pale, cool body. Her dark hair and serious eyes. The way she looks at him, sees him. He's better for her, wants to be better because of her, wants to cling to whatever sanity he's got left for her. She grounds him like a livewire, keeps the sparks of his sanity focused, contained and he reaches for her, suddenly needing to close the distance. When he saw her outside his door, he'd wanted to question it. Now all he wants to do is hold on.
He palms her nape the same way he had in the kitchen, kissing her with drugging desperation, hiking up her body so that she wraps her strong legs around his waist and then he turns, stumbles fumbles them to the bed, enters her as she slides along his sheets. She arches, bucking against him, keeping him so close that he can barely thrust and it's amazing – hot and wet and tight, her teeth against his lip, fingernails digging into his ass, her breasts against his chest.
He grabs her hands, threads his fingers through hers and forces them over her head. She smiles, wicked and a little dazed, mouth wet and swollen, releases her death grip on his hips. He slides almost all the way out of her, and then thrusts forward hard enough that her breasts jiggle, groans so low he can feel it in his cock.
"John," she says, gasping, and he feels that too because she doesn't usually say his name during sex, says Crichton, or more, or there, or fuck, or things in Sebacean that don't translate, but rarely his given name.
"What, baby," he struggles to say, suddenly too near something on the other side of lust, something ridiculous and tender that'll ruin the moment. "What?"
"Just so you know," she tightens her internal muscles, squeezing around his cock and he nearly blisses out completely. "Just to be perfectly clear. This is sex."
He starts to laugh, losing his rhythm completely, laughing so hard that all he can do is collapse on top of her, weighing her down, feeling the length of her body pressed against him, kissing his laughter into her mouth as she wraps her arms around his shoulders rolls them until she's sitting up and he's sheathed inside her. She closes her eyes, fucks his brains out, thigh muscles strong and supple, beautiful breasts right there to be touched, clit red and ripe and he does his best, touches her everywhere he can – breasts and thighs and ass, hand wrapped around her ankle, fingers between her lips, sits up finally as she comes so he can kiss her as they finish fucking, so he can feel her whole body as he comes off inside her, gripping her hips to keep her steady and not boneless, crying out against her tongue as he sees stars, feels her.
He's incapable of movement after that, would have liked to join her in the shower, but there was a lot of running and almost dying today, all before the sex, and what he wants is for her to come out of the shower all clean and sweet and slide into bed with him so he can wake up in the middle of the night and slide into her, arms around her, mouth against her neck, ass pressed to his cock.
But what he's going to get is a bed with a hell of a wetspot, and specter dreams, and Aeryn's scent on his skin. He'll bathe in the morning.
She dresses in the fresher, and when she comes out she does indeed smell as pretty and clean and cool as he'd imagined. And they've played this out before: him staying, her going. It always leaves him a little hollow, her a little torn.
But she sits beside him on the bed, hand on his bare chest.
"Thank you for the gift," she says, and he plays with her fingers.
"You don't have to thank me," he says, and finds he means it. She'll get there, he thinks, can see in her eyes and in her actions that she's almost all the way to love. He can wait for the words.
She bends down to kiss him, sultry and sweet with too much tongue for a girl on her way out the door, but he doesn't press. He's feeling drowsy, puts her hand over his heart as she moves to go.
"You know," he says, and then waits too long. Her eyes are serious, watching him intently, "My reality isn't so bad right now."
She takes away her hand, but continues to look at him. "D'Argo would say that it's because we're all frelled," she says, mouth sardonic, but when she smiles – small, quiet, just for him – it erases the sting from her words. "I suppose tonight, it's some more than others."
And again he's surprised, delighted to find that after all, she can leave him laughing.
Random Story Notes: So I haven't been writing much FS lately, in part because the only stories I have left to tell are bigger than I have time for. And because of shiny and new, and because how much porn can one person write about one pairing? But I missed these people, these characters and it was relief to write them again, if just to prove that I could to myself. It's such a different exercise than writing Cam and Vala, and it was good to think I could draw those distinctions. This came out far freer of angst than normal S2 smut, and since I've been trying to work on combining sex and fun in fic, I'd count that as a success.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:19 pm (UTC)and you write these characters so true, it always feel as if i'm either watching an episode or just really there when i read your writing.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:30 pm (UTC)also, hot as hell and why do I continue to torture myself by reading these at work?
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:35 pm (UTC)And thank you dear!!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:36 pm (UTC)Could we please make me extra time?
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 11:37 pm (UTC)Gather 'round, all you clowns
Date: 2007-02-16 01:35 am (UTC)She grounds him like a livewire, keeps the sparks of his sanity focused, contained
Wonderful, wonderful. About sex, and not about sex.
I love it. Thank you!
Re: Gather 'round, all you clowns
Date: 2007-02-16 07:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 03:32 am (UTC)And you write Cam and Vala distinctively different from John and Aeryn and do a lovely job with all these characters. Thank you! So glad to be able to see more of your writing.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 06:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 07:05 am (UTC)I am so very grateful that you write in this fandom.
seva
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 07:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-20 07:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-20 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 08:57 am (UTC)"Just so you know," she tightens her internal muscles, squeezing around his cock and he nearly blisses out completely. "Just to be perfectly clear. This is sex.
Absolutely perfect:) A lot of times when I'm reading something it's the characters fanon voice that I'll be hearing but I got canon Aeryn coming through loud and clear here.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-13 12:49 am (UTC)I've been searching out fic, have read quite a bit...and this was so beautifully hot and so wonderfully in character. I was floored.
I'd c&p a lot of lines, but really, really loved this:
"I suppose tonight, it's some more than others."
because I can hear Claudia/Aeryn saying this, see her saying this.
I could see this as an actual episode. I wish we could have.
Kudos
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 06:07 pm (UTC)