itsallovernow: (SACoC)
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Hee hee. That's not true. The SACoC challeneges were started with the best of intentions!

Early Season 2. Post MTB, and pre Vitas Mortis. Trying something different with the dialogue, and taking a page from [livejournal.com profile] rubberneck. Oh, and beta free. Anyone wanna have a go at it? And damn I miss Fall and the first hints of Winter.



Blink and You'll Miss It.

His head felt thick and muffled, stuffed with what his mother used to call cotton wool, and it was buzzing like a bee to boot. Grey flakes of snow flitted down from the sky, and while it wasn’t bitterly cold, the air nipped and grazed. John pulled the Peacekeeper jacket around his body, wishing for something more insulated than the leather coat and twill pants to keep out the chill of the wind. Chiana, wrapped in her long grey traveling coat, clutched his arm and hugged herself to him tightly as they tried to move unobtrusively through the busy crowd.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She had to shout a little to make her voice heard, and he grimaced as it interfered in the buzzing. There’d been a lot of that since their great escape from the Gammack Base, a lot of shouting and a lot of buzzing. His head rarely felt clear anymore. And now this. Still, he was pretty sure nothing serious had been damaged.

“I’m fine, Chi. Just got in the way there.”

She wiggled her body closer to him.

“You got shot.” She sounded unhappy, and he tried to make light of the situation.

“Nah, they just winged me.” He worked to keep his voice light, tried to through the buzz, buzz in his brain. He was grateful for the warmth of her lithe form next to him.

“Let me see.”

One of her hands pulled away from his arm, snaking down the front of his thigh, and he jumped as if he’d been goosed and angled his pelvis away from her.

“Chiana, I’m fine.” It was chiding and prudish, but the last thing he needed today was to have Chiana rooting around in his pants.

The wind cut through him, and he shivered. Chiana ducked her head underneath his arm, wrapping herself around his body, and he found that despite his protestations, he was leaning on her.

“We need to find Aeryn and D’Argo.”

He nodded and steered them into an empty corner, out of the flow of traffic, to com the others.

“Where are you?” Aeryn sounded impatient, but also a little worried.

“On the edge of the market. We ran in to a little trouble.” A cycle with Aeryn had taught him that dissembling was pointless. Besides, he was too cold and tired to care about being yelled at. But she didn’t yell, merely sighed and replied tightly.

“If your trouble looked like mercenaries and Peacekeepers, we all seem to have found it.”

John closed his eyes, and leaned more heavily on Chiana. The buzzing was getting worse.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

There was a pause while Aeryn swore softly to herself in Sebacean before answering bitterly.

“It means that I need to find you two and D’Argo, and we need to stay hidden until the Peacekeepers leave.”

“Ok.” That seemed reasonable enough “We’ll stay here, and try to keep out of sight. We’re near the edge of the market, close to the stall with the used coms components.”

His lungs felt heavy, and Aeryn didn’t say goodbye, merely stopped talking. John rested his head against the wall behind him, ignoring the rough grit against his scalp.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Her hand was warm on his back, up under the coat where she had a pretty solid grip on him.

“I told you I’m fine.”

That came out more sharply than he had intended it to, and he nuzzled his face in her snow-dampened hair, a mute apology. But she didn’t take offense, just rubbed his back in gentle strokes through the soft cotton of his shirt.

It didn’t take long for D’Argo to find them, his own Luxan-in-the-Arctic ensemble doing little to alleviate the discomfort on his face.

“I frelling hate the cold.”

John managed a grin. It had been the filler for everything D’Argo had said for the past several arns. “They don’t have the part we need. And I frelling hate the cold. We could only afford a little bit of fresh produce. Food cubes are cheaper. And I frelling hate the cold.”

John thought that if he could work out a time signature, D’Argo could have a nice little ditty going there. I hate the cold, I hate the cold, I really hate the frelling cold.

“John. John!!”

D’Argo’s voice was sharp, bright with concern and when he opened his eyes, he was met with light blue and glossy black orbs way too close to his face, and he jerked back, scraping his head against the wall.

He winced.

“Sorry, D. Must have faded out a little there.”

D’Argo raised an eyebrow, adjusting his cloak.

“Come on. Aeryn’s waiting for us. We can’t go back to the docking port until the frelling Peacekeepers leave.”

The cold seemed to bring out the sailor in D’Argo. He huffed and swore, hefting the sack of food cubes onto his shoulder, looking like an ogre in a fairy tale, and John realized that these mental meanderings weren’t quite normal. He felt woozy and when he moved to follow D’Argo, Chi still gripping him tightly, his feet were sluggish and stilted, refusing to step with the exactness that he was used to.

“Crichton, just hold on to me.” Chiana hefted his weight just like D’Argo had hefted his Santa sack, and they headed back out into the swirl of snow.

It was getting worse, the flakes falling more rapidly, thick and wet, sticking to his cheeks and nose and eyelashes, and he started to hum, figuring that it wouldn’t be all that embarrassing to explain to a bunch of aliens that he did indeed know all of the words to My Favorite Things. That thought pleased him, along with the memory of Livvy, young and loud, perched on Susan’s lap singing lustily as he lay on his stomach in the den and made fun of the Von Trapp family outfits.

“Crichton!”

That short, edged concern was back, but this time the voice was low, and female and matched by a squeak of pain as his weight settled too heavily on Chiana.

“What the frell is wrong with him?”

Aeryn was suddenly under his other arm, her hair damp against his cheek, smelling clean and dark, and her body listed him to the side. Chiana squeaked again.

“Hezmana, Aeryn, You’re taller than I am. Hold on to him!”

Two women, warm and sweet under his arms, their bodies lithe, breasts pressed close as they tried to steady him. He felt his head loll as the buzzing evened out to a steady drone, white noise on the TV.
The Von Trapps long gone, but the tune remaining. He tried to sing a few words, but the notes came out slurry and odd.

D’Argo repeated the query, as they dragged him through the hallway of a small, dank inn.
“What happened?” His tone brooking no room for argument, and John knew Chi was going to tell him.

He started to interrupt, but got distracted by Aeryn’s hair in his mouth, and the feeling of heat radiating up his body, starting with his thigh. He thought maybe they were going up some stairs, tried to be helpful, heard Chiana tell D’Argo to give her a microt and then his world turned upside down as the warm women let him go and D’Argo grunted, taking John’s mass over his shoulder, a trade off for the food cubes.

“I was pretty good this year, Santa,” he mumbled, “So maybe you shouldn’t give me away.”

They were going up the stairs, and they were inside, which accounted for the change in temperature and the fact that he wasn’t getting snowed on anymore. His leg hurt, and D’Argo’s heavy grip on it wasn’t doing much to alleviate the pain.

“He got shot.” There was no arguing with her this time. “And he wouldn’t let me look at the wound. He said he was fine.”

Chiana sounded very young and very scared, and he tried to reassure her from this no view on the world.

“Tattletale," he mumured. "’m fine, Chi. Really. Just a scratch.”

Or at least that’s what his brain said, right before things fuzzed out.

When he woke up he was laying on his back on a cramped bunk in a dark room. The bed was uncomfortable, and the room didn’t look terribly clean. It didn’t smell so hot either. Aeryn was sitting very close to him, adding to the cramped feeling, but he was willing to feel a little boxed in by her body.

Her hair was loose about her shoulders, curling from the snow, and he reached forward to wrap his fingers in the silky strands. But his arms were reluctant, and his hand flopped on the bed like a drying fish. He looked at the limb with surprise and then noticed that he was cold, well that certain parts of him were cold. His teeth clicked together, chattering and Aeryn reached down to the foot of the small bed, spreading a threadbare coverlet over him. She put her hand on his cheek, cool fingers still soothing, and said, “Hush,” as she placed a needle on the side of his neck and shot something home.

This time Chiana was sitting on the bed with him, her body curled up under her coat, her back against the wall. His eyes felt sticky with sleep, but the buzzing was gone. The room still smelled fetid and close, and across his line of vision, on the other side of the tiny room, D’Argo sprawled in a chair, head hanging back, muffled snores sawing out of his open mouth. Chiana saw that he was awake and gave him a small smile. She jerked her chin at the Luxan, and twisted her lips.

“It’s a wonder he’s ever gotten anyone to share his bed.”

John’s mouth was dry, and he swallowed thickly, trying to work up a little spit. He felt better. Better enough to realize how not better he’d been before.

“What happened?” His words felt as thick and clumsy as the rest of his body.

“You passed out, most likely from blood loss.” Aeryn didn’t sound amused, in fact she sounded a little scared and a little angry.

The echo of that fear rang in John’s head as a sudden thought occurred to him. Aeryn moved out of the doorway as he willed his stiff limbs to cooperate. She stood over him, the weak early morning light filtering in, silvering her battered flight jacket, and catching on her long hair. John slid his hand down under the blanket, encounter his tee shirt and finally his bare thighs, and he felt a blush start on his cheeks.

Aeryn tried to smile, but it faded almost immediately and she sounded distant and icy when she sat down beside him on the bed, which creaked menacingly under the weight of three bodies.

“Please tell me that it wasn’t false modesty that kept you from asking for help with that wound.”

He bit down on his lower lip and Chiana yawned and looked at him curiously.

“I always figured that you wore underwear,” she said, her amusement not the least bit hidden, “but I wouldn’t have taken advantage of you in a weakened condition.”

“Why don’t you get a few arns of rest before we try to leave.”

It was halfway between a command and a suggestion, or as much suggestion as Aeryn was capable of making, but Chiana just shrugged under the coat and unfurled herself, being careful to avoid his bad leg as she crawled off the bed.

She turned, pulling the coat around her.

“I’m glad you’re ok.”

She sounded small again, tired and a little sad.

“Not your fault, darlin’. I really thought I was fine.”

Aeryn hadn’t moved and he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“I’d like to check the wound again.” Definitely not a suggestion, or even a request.

John sighed, the blush spreading across his cheeks and neck. She gently pulled the blanket down and uncovered his right side, allowing the drape of the sheet to cover his genitals and other leg. The wound from the pulse pistol curled around his inner thigh, and Aeryn must have bandaged it, because he could feel a barrier to her touch on the skin around the wound. Her fingers stroked along the sensitive flesh, resting briefly in the hollow where his inner thigh joined his torso. A minute stretch to the left and her fingers could brush along his balls and he felt the blush staining his chest, suffusing him.

She prodded the wound, chasing away the brief flood of lust as pain welled up, bright and acute. His leg twitched and she lay the flat of her palm high up on his thigh, her fingertips resting near the bone of his hip. It was a surprisingly tender gesture for Aeryn, and not at all unalluring and he felt very, very underdressed. He’d thought of plenty of situations where he’d be tangled naked in his sheets, looking up at Aeryn Sun, but this set of circumstances had never figured in.

“We,” she started and then paused, her lips curling with a hint of humor. “When we realized the extent of the situation, we removed your pants. The blood is dry, and they won’t be pleasant to wear, but we assumed you wouldn’t want to be without them.”

He attempted to sit up a little to look at her more closely, to at least see the tableau of her pale hand on his thigh, but exhaustion rushed through him and he dropped back down onto the pillow. Aeryn moved her hand, curling it around his hip, stroking her thumb over the dip in his pelvis. The pain had receded, the blood racing south at her touch, and he was sure she could see the outline of his slowly stiffening penis under the thin sheet. She seemed transfixed by the texture of his skin, and when she spoke again, her voice was throaty and full.

“You should have let Chiana look at the wound.”

“Felt ok,” he lied, and her strokes stilled. He knew better. Don’t lie to Aeryn. The consequences weren’t worth it.

“All right,” he gave in. “It felt like crap, hurt like a sonofabitch, but I didn’t think I was bleeding very much.”

The gentle rhythm of her thumb started up again and he closed his eyes.

“We haven’t had a lot of time to do laundry lately,” he continued, a little embarrassed,” and I didn’t really fancy hanging my ass out in the wind and snow just so Chiana could check out a scratch.”

Aeryn took her hand away, and covered him back up with the sheet and the blanket.

“It wasn’t a scratch.”

“I got that.”

He was trying to placate her, hoping that softness would get those skilled, cool hands back around his thighs, but seeing as they were sharing this room with two other people, and he could barely sit up, he figured it was probably best to leave well enough alone.

She started to rise from the bed, but he put his hand on her knee, easing her back into place.

“My last pair.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“Those were my last pair of pants. Guess we need to do some more shopping.”

Her body was colder than his, but the heat from her skin still seeped into his hand, and he fought back the urge to pull her down beside him and fit his battered body to her long frame. Even with D’Argo and Chiana dozing in their respective corners, he was willing to bet that she’d let him do it. Might even welcome the contact. He spread out his fingers.

“Maybe get you some new clothes, too.”

She nodded, and covered his hand, lacing her fingers through his.


ETA: Kerne reminded me that I hadn't used my SACoc icon. Which was a serious omission:)
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