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itsallovernowETA: Sorry about that. I can't even begin to image how I managed that!
ETA 2: This was so not worth the frustration, and anyone who's hung in this long deserves a medal:)
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sorlklewis asked, and mesascaper seconded, and since I'm encouraging the general writing of porn, here's commentary on Undertones Which is oh so definitely NC-17, for sex and for snark. This was much harder than I expected it to be because I couldn't really think of reasons why I chose certain words or phrases to describe the act of doin' it, but it was, as usual, an interesting exercise for me.
Okay, so I wanted to try the commentary on something that's primarily sex, partially because I wanted to see if I could get through it without blushing. This piece never got betaed, although I do edit even the non-betaed pieces. I just couldn't - still can't - quite deal with someone having to beta the old in and out.
Title: Undertones
Author:Thea
Summary: You can either talk, or find other ways to communicate.
This was really the idea behind the whole piece. I wanted to take the odd reunion at the end of Twice Shy (and really, the less of that referenced the better) and figure out where to go with it. My initial idea was just the alley scene - Near death and all of this edgy, achy, uncomfortable and mostly unhappy sexual tension, some bad guys appearing as deus ex machina, and a back alley frell in relief. But more evolved out of that idea.
Rating: NC-17
Author Notes: I should blame this on Searose, because she was trolling for porn. This is absolutely true. She was!! However, I should probably thank her instead, along with the host of other people who offered supportive feedback. It is, however, beta free. All mistakes are my own. I wouldn't blame this on anyone else.
Story Notes: This is definitely NC-17 for sexual content and situations. It's set between Twice Shy and Mental as Anything. It was supposed to be just porn. Darn characters, wanting to work things out.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. They don't belong to me and have been returned to their rightful owners.
Right here is where I almost had a heart attack at the idea of posting pure porn. When I first started reading fic - X-Files fic, I used to blush just reading the case files. It took me ages to overcome my aversion to reading the NC-17, and I had a similar experience with Farscape, so posting this was an odd sensation. I clearly lost that aversion, but still:) I knew the writing stood up pretty well, and honestly thought that the piece did what I wanted to, but it still made me blush to think of posting it.
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Part I
It was always blocked in my head as three distinct scenes, after I decided to expand it from the alley way. I wanted Aeryn's POV first because she's been more clear about what she wanted, and I think, accepted John's excuses partly because they fit her needs. I think she just needed him to have a justification, and ignored the flimsiness of it. And again, that's all I'll say about the TS tag. I'm a rabid shipper, we all know this, but even I have limits. However, that still leaves them in this weird limbo, and honestly, I don't think John's ready to let go yet, to take her back completely.
"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."
I'm still not sure how well this worked. John's playing a game because he's got a plan for them to stay on the planet. Saying no, while his actions indicate the opposite. He doesn't want anyone to know what he's planning, but that's harder to write than one might think.
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 practically feel the heat of him, the contrast between the softness of her breasts and his firm strength 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 reply, "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 bobbed his head rapidly 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 suppressed 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 struggling 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 bellow at him to stop, still fearing - knowing actually - that that mannerism rang of truth. Every once in a while she would catch him watching her with these looks of longing, of lust and pain, before jerking his gaze away, not even allowing her that. Frankly, she was ready to shoot him.
Okay, truthfully, these paragraphs sum up why I should have had this puppy beta'd. It's the good and bad of my writing in a nutshell - too wordy, too infodumpy, too much, and yet there's nice stuff in here, it just could have been weeded out or written as action. We don't need to know every thought flicking through Aeryn's brain. It's the old show not tell issue, and clearly, I'm still working it out:)
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, draining 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 heavily and got up, pushing away from the table, and left, her breathing ragged. She was furious with him and with herself, feeling her skin vibrate simply from watching him drink.
It was all she could do to 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.
So we circle back to the issue - he's making her crazy, and at this point, hitting him or fucking him is an equally appealing option. But again, I wish this was more showy, less expository. I think I'm always afraid that I'm not gonna make my point:) The first paragraph could have lost the final sentence and been just as effective.
"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 his heat soak into her skin, even through the leather of his gloves and her coat. 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."
Hee. John has a plan. Need I say more?
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."
Coms conversations are both a great device for communicating space and the world's worst cheat. But I so love Captain D'Argo:)
"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 arched her brow, 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 prior to boarding the transport pods accompanied by 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 guys in the morning."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
They finished their business with the shop 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 consider 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. Okay - again, to telly. I needed to convey this through movement or cut it and just keep the next sentence. 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. Worst of all, he seemed oblivious to what he was doing to her.
It had been far easier to steal herself against his anger and emotional withdrawal 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 share this same gratingly edgy anticipation. She wondered briefly if he had sought sexual release elsewhere. That cut unexpectedly, but she wouldn't have blamed him. Well, not completely.
Because it's one of my pet peeves. She gets sexual release as a thing unto itself. She's not gonna freak because John slept with someone else. But I think it would hurt a little because she understands, to a degree, his views on the matter which are a little less fluid. Because he certainly doesn't feel as generous with her sexual choices:)
It was into this distracted silence that they came. Six of them, stealing out from the shadows, chains and guns and menacing glares. 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 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 female 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," the thief bellowed, firing a pulse blast into the ground near John's feet.
"All right," he agreed, and together they fired at the impending threat.
Yeah. action. Quick, snarky action. Whoo Hoo. You knew all that bloody introspection would lead to something, right?
It was over quickly. Three lay dead on the ground. 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 fought against the urge to scream.
All of the past few cycles, all the death, the destruction, the agony and the loss, 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 illusions that John Crichton had been wearing over the past few weekens were gone, leaving him wild eyed with fear and rage and desire and that weird giddy glee that he developed in response to battle. He still had Winona in his hand, and his eyes flew over her, looking her up and down, checking for damage. The next thing she knew, he was flush against her body, mouth locked to hers, hard and bruising, 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. She didn't care, far too consumed with the desire to crawl inside him.
Sex and violence, and this was the image I started with, a desperate kiss in an alley, the gun pressed to Aeryn's cheek, all of their dichotomies in one big feedback loop.
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. 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 followed her instincts.
And then it comes back down to contact and love - and Aeryn never does things easily, even love.
Aeryn 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. 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.
A little foreplay, not too much, ramping him up, touching him and teasing.
"Aeryn, baby, you're killing me," he pleaded, scarcely audible.
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.
I wanted acknowledgment of TalynJohn, because she's living with both of them.
"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 small quivers of muscle strain, soothing him and soaking up 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," (phallic imagery anyone - the cock, the gun, open eyes, perhaps I'm doing a little too much hammering home of the sex=violence theme, on the other hand, Aeryn's not going to take any chances. I think she'd be far more embarrassed to get shot in the back then at getting caught with a cock in her mouth:) 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.
Again - sex, violence, risk and danger. The theme's that define them, and then the added challenge of making a blowjob in an alley sexy but not romantic or overly pretty, because giving head is many, many things - most of them good, but it certainly isn't pretty:)
She heard a thump as his head hit the wall, and continued to suck, contracting her throat, and feeling his fingers clench around her hair. 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 absorbed 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.
I want a new dictionary of words to describe someone coming. It's either cliched or just plain goofy, but it tends to relatively important - how's the readers supposed to get off if the character doesn't. And yeah, that's so one of my favorite lines - "We got on. We got off, well we tried to get off, but we got interrupted." Damn I miss my show!
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.
Aeryn proving a point had to be part of this section, because the action, that action is about control, it's not a mutual act, and I wanted her, um steering the ship, so to speak. This was deliberate, it was a gift, but also a reproach of sorts, a "look what you've been missing out on."
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, she repeated to herself, growing aware of what that meant. Here and now, she had earned the right to frell John Crichton in an alley.
I love that last line. However, the rest of the paragraph is too wordy.
"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?"
I've used this device before, but I'm overly fond of it. They kissed earlier, and it was messy and a little brutal, and she just blew him in a dirty alleyway. Sex, need, risk of loss, but this was about kindness, coming back to each other.
The trick, for me, was to change the pacing and the adjectives to reflect that shift, slow things down, make them sweet instead of edgy, and it's harder than I thought to change that pacing midstream.
She felt the smile overwhelm her face, the absurdity and the beauty of the moment too much, and nodded.
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Part II
Now we switch POV, which is again, something I'm overly fond of and some would say overuse, but I wanted to the different encounters steered by the different characters, and in some ways, I wanted them representative of the characters. That kinda worked, I think.
He'd planned the whole thing. Going down to the planet, having to stay to find parts, the coming storm wiping out communications, getting some time alone with Aeryn. He'd planned and plotted and consulted with Pilot, the universe's strangest Yenta, and had him make secret arrangements at one of the inns.
It had helped him keep his mind off of her, off of the lakka, allowed him to sink back into the haze of disappointment and resignation and paranoia that he'd been living behind since Scorpy joined them for this never ending slumber party from hell. He was comfortable in that place, years of sublimating his urges making the continued separation from Aeryn less difficult than he'd expected.
However, what he hadn't planned on were six plug uglies trying to shake them down on their way to Hotel California. He hadn't counted on the clench of terror around his throat and lungs at the risk of Aeryn being harmed before a little restitution could be made between them, and damn, he had certainly not counted on Aeryn Sun, love of his life, potential mother of his child, ex-PK and general bad ass going down on him in an alley after a near death experience.
I shamelessly, completely adore the above paragraph. It sounds like John - to me- it's sharp, it's a little reflective and it's a little dirty. It summarizes Farscape too me:)
He figured that the fact that he'd never been so turned on in his life was just a given. And he never could have, would have, should have, planned for the look on her face when she was finished. The secretive smile, the irate glare disappearing into a cat with cream, predatory, possessive look that made him gulp against it, filling him with such longing for her that he could barely control his urge to sweep her up, dash her over the threshold.
He could taste himself in her mouth, the unique flavor of her riding under the salt and cream( and dude, it's really hard to describe the taste of semen without making it sound gross, or again, pretty:), and found himself hardening again. He'd be damned, though, if they were going to do any more naked mamboing (okay, channeling Fox Mulder much? Years of X-Files devotion has definitely worked against me at times, as often, John Crichton ends up sounding like Mulder in his prime:)in public. He hadn't touched this woman intimately for years, someone else's lifetime ago, and while the disturbing double memories hinted at the places on her body that would make them both sing and dance, he wanted his own shot at discovery. So he pulled away from her with great reluctance, suggesting that they find the hotel. She didn't question him, just turned, indicating that she'd follow.
They checked into the hotel in silence, receiving a pass code and some suggestions for refreshment from unidentified species number 407, and then the door shut and they were alone.
His nerves were shrieking like rocked on cats, high and keening. This was it. Real reconciliation. More than tender, teary confessions in a golden hallway, this was his chance to apologize, to beg, to receive her ablutions and find some sort of peace between them. He was suddenly more terrified than he'd been in his life, more than the chair, more than the twinning, frell more than Grayza, he thought to himself as his stomach lurched at the sense memory. Aeryn held his heart, could hear it beat through time and space, could close her fingers around it, stopping it forever. She was hardly renowned for her gentleness, and he didn't know if he trusted her to get things right, but they had to start somewhere.
(Again, I like the last line, but the whole paragraph is too much. The Grayza ref is too heavy handed:)
He cleared his throat as they stood in the middle of the room, knees and elbows and awkwardness and not knowing what to say. She was as beautiful and mysterious as ever, her cheeks flushed from the firefight and the fellatio (dude, you rarely get to use alliteration with fellatio and I was gonna be damned if I passed on the opportunity). John felt his lips curve up at the word, high-fiving his inner 16 year old. The hottest girl in the universe had just sucked him off in public, and pain, secrets, mad scientists and critters were never going to dull that memory. (Because, rocket scientist, public enemy number 1, etc., John Crichton is still a guy:)
She looked at him suspiciously, though clearly still pleased with herself. "What?"
"Nothing," he said and stretched his mouth into a full-fledged grin.
"Hmph," she snorted, and turned, looking around the room, shrugging off her coat and laying it carefully over a chair. The bed was high and prominent, a central feature of the room, the other being a window that overlooked the city, several stories below letting in the dim light of the city.
Aeryn prowled around the room, running her fingers over things lightly, taking it all in, waiting for him. Her energy was catlike, anticipatory. She was set on a course and was clearly waiting for him to catch up, reminding him of the moment in the access shaft on the storm infested commerce station, her body pulled tightly against his, her offer of sex and the internal war he'd waged over rejecting it. She'd never been petty or coy about physical pleasure, only scared of the emotional ramifications. Now it seemed that even those fears had once again been laid aside.
Or maybe they'd just been transferred to him, he thought, suddenly seized with a sort of paralysis that he'd never known before, unable to move towards her, take her in his arms and make love to her. His chest constricted at the though of consummating this new relationship with her.
She'd loved him for a very long time, loved his twin more fully than he'd ever thought possible, and now had claimed him completely. But he was still stuck. He hated being at this disadvantage, physical and emotional. She had worked him in that alley like he'd never been worked, the orgasm coming so quickly that he felt like a teenager again, and now it sort of pissed him off. He wanted his chance. He wanted her at his mercy, just a little. He was also starting to feel schizophrenic at this pingpong of feelings and reactions.
For me, the tag to TS was a cop out, but not completely. I could see John using Scorpy as an excuse, and so I played that card. Yeah, okay, he's worried about Scorpy, but he's also scared and lonely and hurt and pissed off at Aeryn.
She stopped pacing, and turned again to him, tilting her head a little and looking at him intently. "I love you," she said, her voice soft and low, full of acceptance and not a little wonderment.
"Yeah," he forced out.
She pulled her lip under her top teeth, biting down gently and thoughtfully, looking a little hurt. Then she seemed to reach some sort of conclusion with herself. She nodded slightly, and stalked towards him, ignoring his wariness.
Standing in front of him, she leaned over, undoing her boots, removing them and her socks and setting them aside. She stood up, cheeks pink, and unfastened her gunbelt, placing it next to her boots. He couldn't tear his eyes off of her as she stood there, feet small and bare and vulnerable.
"Tell me what you'd like," she said gently, and it clicked into place. She understood, his doubts and fears, his hesitations, maybe even knew about the yin yang memories of herself and his twin. She was letting him make this call.
He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and thought for a moment.
"Take off your shirt," he ordered softly, "slowly."
She obliged, reaching for the edge of the black material and, inch by inch, raised it up, exposing the white of her belly, the lines of her ribs, her full breasts and finally stretched the shirt over her head, highlighting the lovely interaction of muscle and skin and curve that was her torso. She dropped her arms, releasing the cloth and waited for him.
"Now your pants," his voice felt raw, overused.
Her nimble fingers undid the clasp and zipper. She eased the leather off her long legs, bending slightly at the waist, causing her breasts to sway and his breath to catch. Her nipples hardened under the force of his gaze and she continued to wear that enigmatic look. She kicked the pants aside and stood there clad in the small black briefs and the shining weight of her hair. She was as calm and centered as he'd ever seen her, an almost military stillness in her bearing.
I needed to slow the scene down, so I had to really focus on the language her, make it languid, almost, a little uncomfortable, John calling the shots and getting her to do what he says, but I didn't want it to read as S&M, just a trade off, Aeryn understanding something about him that he was only figuring out, so the language had to read like choice.
He allowed himself to gawk, delaying the climax of this striptease. Her milky skin, flushed with desire, was incredibly arousing. He barely felt the need for more, and yet the realization that more was his for the taking hit him like a punch to the gut. He was sweating in the coat and gloves, but absurdly welcomed the barrier against her confidence. He was also growing harder by the second, his pants tight and constricting, so he permitted himself the final pleasure.
"Your underwear," he said, trying to make it a command, but hearing the words escape as more of a supplication. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed down, exposing herself completely to his eyes. Her dark, matted curls glistened with her own ardor for him, sharply contrasting with the whiteness of her skin. She was his own dark Lady Godiva, hair wrapped around her body and he fought back a moan. She remained at ease, but her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now.
He walked around her, circling, reminding himself vaguely of a man examining a show horse, and displeased with that analogy, he stepped up behind her, breathing in her scent and moving the mass of her hair off the side of her neck. He rubbed his cheek against the juncture of her shoulder and neck, hearing a slight scritch as his cheek scraped along her flesh, and then kissed her there, letting his tongue take in her salty sweetness. She tilted her head to the side to meet him and he pressed himself into her back, the firm tautness of her ass pressing against his cock in delicious torture.
Placement was important here, because having him behind her is a little sexier, a little edgier than face to face. Compiled with the fact that she's naked and he's completely clothed, it makes her more vulnerable and him a little less sweet, romantic John, a little kinkier, I guess.
He took one last second to be grateful that he was having this experience alone in his head before turning all of his attention to the woman in front of him.
Cupping her breasts in his hands, he relished the weight of them, the fullness and his ability to do this. He twisted the nipples gently, feeling her tiny noises of satisfaction echo against him. He had craved the warmth of her skin for cycles, and savored it even through the glove, which stood in sharp relief to her pale body. She arched against him, driving her ass more firmly into his groin. He glided his hand down her stomach and beyond to hold her in his hand, palm pressed against her pubic bone, eliciting a small mewling cry as his fingers teased her lightly. He felt lightheaded, giddy and insane. He kissed her neck again, letting his tongue slid along the thin, delicate skin and then bit down, suckling, marking her, causing her to tremble slightly.
Slowly he released her, murmuring, " Go and sit on the bed,"
She walked over to it hips swaying, but the slight trembling in her legs revealed that the fine edge of her control was slipping. She climbed onto the bed and turned, laying down on her side, emphasizing the feline comparisons and watched him intently. He realized by the smoky taste of leather that he was kneading his thumb between his teeth and lowered his hands. Her eyes were almost black, glazed and barely focused with the strain of maintaining the stillness that she was giving him.
I wanted her to do this, but she's a little nervous herself. She's just given John carte blanche to do what he wants, and I think, for her, the worst thing he could do was not want anything of her. I also wanted it apparent that he hadn't taken his gloves off, because, while this is definitely TMI, there's something inherently sexy about black leather gloves on bare skin, the contrast in texture, color, flesh against a barrier of something.
But he wasn't ready for this to be finished quite yet. He had seen, had flashing glimpses of her initial sexual encounter with his twin. It had been sweet and hard and loving give and take, and he wanted to burn the memory of them, here in this room, onto her brain so there would no longer be any confusion between the two men.
He sat down on the side of the bed and traced his fingers over her, skimming along her arms, her belly and breasts, drawing a line down the long length of her thighs, caressing the back of her knees. His brain recorded her responses, the sounds and twitches and indrawn breaths, memorizing them and storing them away for further use until he finally came to rest on her hip. Aeryn touched his hand, glancing pointedly at the gloves and waited. He shook his head. If he touched her skin to skin, he'd lose control, be powerless against her. Instead, he smiled and pulled her wrists together with his other hand, raising them above her head.
He bent towards her, brushing her lips with his, and then pulled back a little. Echoing her earlier demand, he said quietly, "Keep your eyes open, if you can."
Parallel structure - different encounters, hard and fast and exhibitionist, and then slow and torturous, but both on equal terms.
He then hooked his free hand under her knee, canting it up, exposing her. He could look into her eyes, could simultaneously see her open and wet, moisture glistening along her thighs. He shifted against the pressure of his erection, almost unbearably uncomfortable now, but he needed a little more time. His breath was shallow, and he was so hot and distracted that he wasn't sure he could finish this task. But he had waited for her for so long. He took a deep breath, steeling his own control for a few more precious microts.
John bit his bottom lip, her scent threatening his tenuous hold, and glided his hand off her hip, slipping between her damp curls. He rubbed his gloved fingers over her clitoris, spreading the moisture around before easing two fingers inside her. She gasped, but kept her eyes open and he smiled at her, pleased. He thrust inside her, slowly and forcefully, and then withdrew, coming back to circle over her clit again before plunging back in with three fingers. His grip on her wrist was tight and she strained against him, back arching, allowing him further inside. There would undoubtedly be bruises, but neither one of them was thinking that far ahead. All he could do was take in the smell and feel of her, the contractions against his hand as he continued to drive into her, answering her thrusting hips, and then she came with a cry, yelling his name, and it was almost enough to send him over the edge.
(Hee. I'll find them a good dry cleaners for the gloves. I promise. And dude, stick figure drawings were required for some of this - measuring out the feasability, flexability, wrist angle, comfort level, how long it would be fun for, whether his reach would be long enough, how much she'd have to contort her body. You'd think i'd have given up on writing sex after this, but mostly I just gave up on using furniture:)
He withdrew from her, releasing her wrists as she turned onto her back, panting. He rested his damp hand on her belly (the pieces I've read that have worked for me have realistic detail - sex is wet, messy, fun, etc. I was a little squeamish about detail at this point because it can also read as silly, or overly romantic and only in porn is spunk all that sexy:) also, I have a strange aversion to the word cunt, which makes it very difficult to describe, well, a cunt without using that word. Don't like pussy and vagina is too clinical. Penises have a raft of synonyms, why did we get shortchanged on the good ones?, noticed it shaking and tried to regain a modicum of composure, unsure now of what to do. The decision was taken out of his hands, so to speak. Aeryn sat up taking his hand in both of hers, raising it to her mouth and stroking her tongue along over his fingers before moving to the exposed flesh of his wrist where she bit him fiercely. Her patience was obviously over.
"No more barriers," she growled. "Take your clothes off now."
He obeyed more quickly than he'd ever done anything in his life, pants and boots and shirt and belt flying off to land in a heap on his coat before he finally peeled off the gloves. Her reflexes were still sharp and quick, heightened by her arousal and before he knew it, she had pulled him onto the bed, rolled him over, straddled him. She looked down at him, eyes black and serious, and clasping his cock tightly in her hand, forced herself down onto him, eliciting simultaneously moans from both of them.
He took a fraction of a microt to relish the heat, the slick tight feel of her, before sitting up quickly, locking his arms around her, digging his fingers into her hips, her skin burning through his palms. He met her thrust for thrust, their mouths battling, tongues tangling, genitals grinding.
He could feel her orgasm as she groaned it into his mouth, felt the tight contractions around his cock, prayed a word of thanks to whatever deities were hanging around, and flipped them so she rested on the end of the bed, her legs locked around his waist, driving into her with a stridency and violence he wouldn't have always considered himself capable of. The release built up from the center of his belly, a fiery explosion matched by his yell. Blackness swam over his vision and he collapsed on top of her, long legs curling around him, bodies entwined, catching their breath, coming back into themselves.
(Hee. Overdone. How many people really get knocked unconscious by orgasm:)
A few minutes later, he levered himself off her, moving to allow her to climb out of the bed and pull back the covers. He caught her wrist, turning her towards him, and took her face in his hands, moving his thumb along her cheekbones and resting his forehead against hers, the gesture heartbreakingly familiar. The musky scent of sex clung to them, and he grinned at that.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"I love you " she replied in that same low tone that she'd used before. "But don't ever make me wait like that again."
I couldn't leave her too submissive. This was a one shot deal for the man of the hour. Fortunately, he did his part and rose to the occasion:)
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Part III
Another POV switch, but I wanted it back in her camp, partly because writing Aeryn is easier for me, but also because I reign in the romanticism better with her, keep the sentiment from cloying the reader. John's such a bloody sap sometimes that it's easy to oversentimentalize him, but Aeryn keeps me in line.
This planet apparently (argh. I should have to give someone a dollar everytime I use the words seems or apparently:) didn't have complete nightfall. The light that filtered in, washing over them was gray and grainy, making it difficult to see detail, obscured further by the effects of the ion storm. It didn't matter much. She could feel the ridges of his fingers stroking slowly up and down her back, the touch so delicate that it was almost ticklish, but she didn't feel much desire to laugh. She fought against sleep, unwilling to waste their time together on something so mundane, but fatigue weighed her down and so she relaxed into the repetitive motion of his hands on her body.
He hadn't stopped touching her since he'd taken off the gloves.
They would have to get up soon, leave this room and this day behind, returning to a charade that she thought was probably pretty frelling pointless anyway. But, as she'd realized long ago, balancing the death of one lover with the life of another, there wasn't much she wouldn't do for this man, including feeding into his delusions and protecting him from her secrets, their futures.
"We've never done this?"
It was a question, but a vague one at best. His voice sounded scratchy and uncertain, the cry accompanying his last orgasm had ricocheted off the walls, tearing at them both. It was a wonder the establishment's other guests hadn't complained. Surely they'd never sounded this desperate, this primal on Talyn? She'd have to ask Rygel, she thought, marginally amused at her own perverse humor before turning her head to the side and looking more fully into his eyes.
He was beautiful. She hadn't forgotten that, his skin supple and yielding and hot against her. It tore just as easily, the bloody lines down his back testament to that. There were differences though. His frame more solid, yet leaner, no excess left on him. He was unafraid to bruise her, to bend her body, force her cries.Their relationship is different. They're different people. The sex should be different. Less delicate, more violent. It excited her, stirring up that erotic war for control, but aside from her ministrations in the alley, he hadn't let her explore, hadn't allowed her to touch and trace and seek out his differences. Instead, he'd frelled her into oblivion, using hands and mouth and tongue again when the rest of his body screamed for recovery.
But now he was again able to speak, and as usual, that put her at a loss. She tried to follow the path of his reasoning, see where the words had originated, took a guess, raising an eyebrow.
"That's not quite true," she replied. "It was a long time ago, but I wouldn't say never."
He moved his cheek against the pillow, indicating no, but his lips tilted upwards. "Not talkin' about sex. This, lying in bed, looking. Being alone, just us."
She considered that as his hands renewed their subtle journeying. On the false Earth, it felt alone, but that was one lie among many. So, no, they'd never rested together, alone on planet, naked and sated and aching, free for the moment from obligations and booming demands of their time and presence. On Talyn, every moment had been a gift, even the highjacked ones, and ignoring the world around them had been par for the course.
This really was different, and so she said, "It's true, I suppose. Never like this."
And in the meantime, she had been alone. No longer one among many, no longer partner or lover or shipmate of John Crichton. She knew what that felt like now. Understood a little more about the dichotomies of fate and choice.
He took his hand away, and she wanted to say no, please don't run away from me again, but when he rested his thumb on his lower lip, she knew he had something he needed to say, and so she tried to reaccess her previous stillness.
"There was a lot that I wanted to show you about Earth." She made a non-committal noise, that episode still a little too raw. "Lotsa stuff I wanted to do."
Earth still hangs between them, and I don't think she's completely forgiven him his behavior yet. But she's doing her own penance, I think. They're such a beautiful, fucked up pair.
She could lie here, look into his eyes, pretended this wasn't scraping her down to the bone.
"The beach on a bright summer day, and Mardi Gras, and Napa and drive-ins and, hell places you'd probably think were beautiful and useless, and they just seemed pretty useless to me when we were there, staring their ignorance in the face," He continued on, his voice washing over her, his willingness to talk a comfort, something she'd been so long denied. She could feel when the rambling drifted into the point of the conversation, and her body tensed, her fingers curling up together under the pillow.
His hand drifted back down to her and she unwound a little, feeling its weight on her hip. The tenor of this conversation wasn't apologetic and she didn't know where he was going with this, and it scared her. He was silent for a moment, staring at her intently, drawing tiny circles on the swell of her hip. Then he closed his eyes, the heaviness of the past few weekens finally winning out over the joy.
"I have this fantasy," he said, gravelly and hesitant. She finally felt a smile form. John Crichton's fantasies were something she understood. "It's not really about sex, but well, damn, baby." His hand curved, caressing and sliding down to stroke her buttocks. "Maybe it is about sex."
She continued to wait, regulating her breaths, feeling him match her, still keeping pace.
"We're on earth, my old apartment maybe, doesn't really matter. It's in the middle of the day and it's raining, and the light is gray like this. You're in my bed, naked and tousled and you watch me get up and stand by the window, looking at the rain. I put on Charlie Parker or Coltrane, and it's perfect, that moment, rain and Byrd and Aeryn Sun warm between my sheets. I sit down next to you and you pull me down and we kiss." He paused, eyes open now, but sheepish. "It's all I wanted. I'd look at you, in my father's house, talking to my sister, giving evil looks to Caroline, bein' nice to Bobby, and all I wanted was you and me and rain and my own bed, away from everyone."
That's very noirish, I think, very Blade Runnery maybe. Rain, and Charlie Parker - I love jazz, real jazz, and when they have John mention Bird in LATP, I did a little chair wiggle of glee because it just gave him new depth, the pretty boy listening to this genius horn player who was addicted to smack, making this music that makes you cry and want to rend your flesh, and it just seemed to fit, haunting music and rain, and his girl - a total earth boy fantasy.
She kissed him then, because what else was there to do, sliding her body over his, her thigh between his legs, nudging his penis, her breasts flat against his chest. His hands laced through her hair as she stroked his lips with her tongue, tasting the salt of tears and sweat and their own hopelessness.
This was a new fantasy, previous talks of Earth centering around things that would capture her attention, subtly persuade her to go with him. Reminiscing on family gatherings and youthful indiscretions and soft assurances that his family would welcome her. He still held Earth close to his heart, but removed himself from it's occupants, weaving together a tenuous future with their troubled past. She wanted to find the words to give him comfort, but there weren't any. She drew away, leaning on her elbow, resting her palm on his cheek.
"The universe keeps shafting us, baby. Doesn't seem to be any indication that it'll stop anytime soon," his throat sounded thick.
(That was maybe not the most judicious choice of adjectives, but maybe not wrong. It's hard to let go of sexually charged words after 20 pages of sex writing:)
She smiled sadly in agreement. "We're getting a second chance here." She nodded slightly. "But that's it. I, uh, it's all I've got left. I can't handle the in between anymore."
And she understood then, tried to reassure. "I'm not going to leave you again, John."
"You can't promise me that, Aeryn, you know you can't."
She acknowledged that. "If I leave, it won't be by choice. That's all I have."
He pulled her down towards him, foreheads meeting, breath mingling. "I guess it'll have to be enough."
They don't get a happy ending, even with their tryst, because it's not about happy endings. It is about getting laid, but not about getting happy. That had to be enough, I think.
Overall, I wish I'd had it beta'd, now, looking back. But I'm pleased with large chunks of it. I do think, had I written it after rubberneck started writing Little Acorns, it would have been a better piece of writing. I learn something new about writing every time I read something new of Feldman's. Less talk, more action, cleaner prose, clearer intent. I think I do lush pretty well, intimate pretty well. I don't do clean very well.
ETA 2: This was so not worth the frustration, and anyone who's hung in this long deserves a medal:)
Since
sorlklewis asked, and mesascaper seconded, and since I'm encouraging the general writing of porn, here's commentary on Undertones Which is oh so definitely NC-17, for sex and for snark. This was much harder than I expected it to be because I couldn't really think of reasons why I chose certain words or phrases to describe the act of doin' it, but it was, as usual, an interesting exercise for me.Okay, so I wanted to try the commentary on something that's primarily sex, partially because I wanted to see if I could get through it without blushing. This piece never got betaed, although I do edit even the non-betaed pieces. I just couldn't - still can't - quite deal with someone having to beta the old in and out.
Title: Undertones
Author:Thea
Summary: You can either talk, or find other ways to communicate.
This was really the idea behind the whole piece. I wanted to take the odd reunion at the end of Twice Shy (and really, the less of that referenced the better) and figure out where to go with it. My initial idea was just the alley scene - Near death and all of this edgy, achy, uncomfortable and mostly unhappy sexual tension, some bad guys appearing as deus ex machina, and a back alley frell in relief. But more evolved out of that idea.
Rating: NC-17
Author Notes: I should blame this on Searose, because she was trolling for porn. This is absolutely true. She was!! However, I should probably thank her instead, along with the host of other people who offered supportive feedback. It is, however, beta free. All mistakes are my own. I wouldn't blame this on anyone else.
Story Notes: This is definitely NC-17 for sexual content and situations. It's set between Twice Shy and Mental as Anything. It was supposed to be just porn. Darn characters, wanting to work things out.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. They don't belong to me and have been returned to their rightful owners.
Right here is where I almost had a heart attack at the idea of posting pure porn. When I first started reading fic - X-Files fic, I used to blush just reading the case files. It took me ages to overcome my aversion to reading the NC-17, and I had a similar experience with Farscape, so posting this was an odd sensation. I clearly lost that aversion, but still:) I knew the writing stood up pretty well, and honestly thought that the piece did what I wanted to, but it still made me blush to think of posting it.
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Part I
It was always blocked in my head as three distinct scenes, after I decided to expand it from the alley way. I wanted Aeryn's POV first because she's been more clear about what she wanted, and I think, accepted John's excuses partly because they fit her needs. I think she just needed him to have a justification, and ignored the flimsiness of it. And again, that's all I'll say about the TS tag. I'm a rabid shipper, we all know this, but even I have limits. However, that still leaves them in this weird limbo, and honestly, I don't think John's ready to let go yet, to take her back completely.
"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."
I'm still not sure how well this worked. John's playing a game because he's got a plan for them to stay on the planet. Saying no, while his actions indicate the opposite. He doesn't want anyone to know what he's planning, but that's harder to write than one might think.
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 practically feel the heat of him, the contrast between the softness of her breasts and his firm strength 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 reply, "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 bobbed his head rapidly 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 suppressed 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 struggling 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 bellow at him to stop, still fearing - knowing actually - that that mannerism rang of truth. Every once in a while she would catch him watching her with these looks of longing, of lust and pain, before jerking his gaze away, not even allowing her that. Frankly, she was ready to shoot him.
Okay, truthfully, these paragraphs sum up why I should have had this puppy beta'd. It's the good and bad of my writing in a nutshell - too wordy, too infodumpy, too much, and yet there's nice stuff in here, it just could have been weeded out or written as action. We don't need to know every thought flicking through Aeryn's brain. It's the old show not tell issue, and clearly, I'm still working it out:)
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, draining 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 heavily and got up, pushing away from the table, and left, her breathing ragged. She was furious with him and with herself, feeling her skin vibrate simply from watching him drink.
It was all she could do to 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.
So we circle back to the issue - he's making her crazy, and at this point, hitting him or fucking him is an equally appealing option. But again, I wish this was more showy, less expository. I think I'm always afraid that I'm not gonna make my point:) The first paragraph could have lost the final sentence and been just as effective.
"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 his heat soak into her skin, even through the leather of his gloves and her coat. 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."
Hee. John has a plan. Need I say more?
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."
Coms conversations are both a great device for communicating space and the world's worst cheat. But I so love Captain D'Argo:)
"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 arched her brow, 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 prior to boarding the transport pods accompanied by 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 guys in the morning."
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They finished their business with the shop 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 consider 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. Okay - again, to telly. I needed to convey this through movement or cut it and just keep the next sentence. 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. Worst of all, he seemed oblivious to what he was doing to her.
It had been far easier to steal herself against his anger and emotional withdrawal 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 share this same gratingly edgy anticipation. She wondered briefly if he had sought sexual release elsewhere. That cut unexpectedly, but she wouldn't have blamed him. Well, not completely.
Because it's one of my pet peeves. She gets sexual release as a thing unto itself. She's not gonna freak because John slept with someone else. But I think it would hurt a little because she understands, to a degree, his views on the matter which are a little less fluid. Because he certainly doesn't feel as generous with her sexual choices:)
It was into this distracted silence that they came. Six of them, stealing out from the shadows, chains and guns and menacing glares. 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 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 female 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," the thief bellowed, firing a pulse blast into the ground near John's feet.
"All right," he agreed, and together they fired at the impending threat.
Yeah. action. Quick, snarky action. Whoo Hoo. You knew all that bloody introspection would lead to something, right?
It was over quickly. Three lay dead on the ground. 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 fought against the urge to scream.
All of the past few cycles, all the death, the destruction, the agony and the loss, 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 illusions that John Crichton had been wearing over the past few weekens were gone, leaving him wild eyed with fear and rage and desire and that weird giddy glee that he developed in response to battle. He still had Winona in his hand, and his eyes flew over her, looking her up and down, checking for damage. The next thing she knew, he was flush against her body, mouth locked to hers, hard and bruising, 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. She didn't care, far too consumed with the desire to crawl inside him.
Sex and violence, and this was the image I started with, a desperate kiss in an alley, the gun pressed to Aeryn's cheek, all of their dichotomies in one big feedback loop.
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. 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 followed her instincts.
And then it comes back down to contact and love - and Aeryn never does things easily, even love.
Aeryn 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. 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.
A little foreplay, not too much, ramping him up, touching him and teasing.
"Aeryn, baby, you're killing me," he pleaded, scarcely audible.
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.
I wanted acknowledgment of TalynJohn, because she's living with both of them.
"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 small quivers of muscle strain, soothing him and soaking up 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," (phallic imagery anyone - the cock, the gun, open eyes, perhaps I'm doing a little too much hammering home of the sex=violence theme, on the other hand, Aeryn's not going to take any chances. I think she'd be far more embarrassed to get shot in the back then at getting caught with a cock in her mouth:) 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.
Again - sex, violence, risk and danger. The theme's that define them, and then the added challenge of making a blowjob in an alley sexy but not romantic or overly pretty, because giving head is many, many things - most of them good, but it certainly isn't pretty:)
She heard a thump as his head hit the wall, and continued to suck, contracting her throat, and feeling his fingers clench around her hair. 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 absorbed 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.
I want a new dictionary of words to describe someone coming. It's either cliched or just plain goofy, but it tends to relatively important - how's the readers supposed to get off if the character doesn't. And yeah, that's so one of my favorite lines - "We got on. We got off, well we tried to get off, but we got interrupted." Damn I miss my show!
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.
Aeryn proving a point had to be part of this section, because the action, that action is about control, it's not a mutual act, and I wanted her, um steering the ship, so to speak. This was deliberate, it was a gift, but also a reproach of sorts, a "look what you've been missing out on."
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, she repeated to herself, growing aware of what that meant. Here and now, she had earned the right to frell John Crichton in an alley.
I love that last line. However, the rest of the paragraph is too wordy.
"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?"
I've used this device before, but I'm overly fond of it. They kissed earlier, and it was messy and a little brutal, and she just blew him in a dirty alleyway. Sex, need, risk of loss, but this was about kindness, coming back to each other.
The trick, for me, was to change the pacing and the adjectives to reflect that shift, slow things down, make them sweet instead of edgy, and it's harder than I thought to change that pacing midstream.
She felt the smile overwhelm her face, the absurdity and the beauty of the moment too much, and nodded.
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Part II
Now we switch POV, which is again, something I'm overly fond of and some would say overuse, but I wanted to the different encounters steered by the different characters, and in some ways, I wanted them representative of the characters. That kinda worked, I think.
He'd planned the whole thing. Going down to the planet, having to stay to find parts, the coming storm wiping out communications, getting some time alone with Aeryn. He'd planned and plotted and consulted with Pilot, the universe's strangest Yenta, and had him make secret arrangements at one of the inns.
It had helped him keep his mind off of her, off of the lakka, allowed him to sink back into the haze of disappointment and resignation and paranoia that he'd been living behind since Scorpy joined them for this never ending slumber party from hell. He was comfortable in that place, years of sublimating his urges making the continued separation from Aeryn less difficult than he'd expected.
However, what he hadn't planned on were six plug uglies trying to shake them down on their way to Hotel California. He hadn't counted on the clench of terror around his throat and lungs at the risk of Aeryn being harmed before a little restitution could be made between them, and damn, he had certainly not counted on Aeryn Sun, love of his life, potential mother of his child, ex-PK and general bad ass going down on him in an alley after a near death experience.
I shamelessly, completely adore the above paragraph. It sounds like John - to me- it's sharp, it's a little reflective and it's a little dirty. It summarizes Farscape too me:)
He figured that the fact that he'd never been so turned on in his life was just a given. And he never could have, would have, should have, planned for the look on her face when she was finished. The secretive smile, the irate glare disappearing into a cat with cream, predatory, possessive look that made him gulp against it, filling him with such longing for her that he could barely control his urge to sweep her up, dash her over the threshold.
He could taste himself in her mouth, the unique flavor of her riding under the salt and cream( and dude, it's really hard to describe the taste of semen without making it sound gross, or again, pretty:), and found himself hardening again. He'd be damned, though, if they were going to do any more naked mamboing (okay, channeling Fox Mulder much? Years of X-Files devotion has definitely worked against me at times, as often, John Crichton ends up sounding like Mulder in his prime:)in public. He hadn't touched this woman intimately for years, someone else's lifetime ago, and while the disturbing double memories hinted at the places on her body that would make them both sing and dance, he wanted his own shot at discovery. So he pulled away from her with great reluctance, suggesting that they find the hotel. She didn't question him, just turned, indicating that she'd follow.
They checked into the hotel in silence, receiving a pass code and some suggestions for refreshment from unidentified species number 407, and then the door shut and they were alone.
His nerves were shrieking like rocked on cats, high and keening. This was it. Real reconciliation. More than tender, teary confessions in a golden hallway, this was his chance to apologize, to beg, to receive her ablutions and find some sort of peace between them. He was suddenly more terrified than he'd been in his life, more than the chair, more than the twinning, frell more than Grayza, he thought to himself as his stomach lurched at the sense memory. Aeryn held his heart, could hear it beat through time and space, could close her fingers around it, stopping it forever. She was hardly renowned for her gentleness, and he didn't know if he trusted her to get things right, but they had to start somewhere.
(Again, I like the last line, but the whole paragraph is too much. The Grayza ref is too heavy handed:)
He cleared his throat as they stood in the middle of the room, knees and elbows and awkwardness and not knowing what to say. She was as beautiful and mysterious as ever, her cheeks flushed from the firefight and the fellatio (dude, you rarely get to use alliteration with fellatio and I was gonna be damned if I passed on the opportunity). John felt his lips curve up at the word, high-fiving his inner 16 year old. The hottest girl in the universe had just sucked him off in public, and pain, secrets, mad scientists and critters were never going to dull that memory. (Because, rocket scientist, public enemy number 1, etc., John Crichton is still a guy:)
She looked at him suspiciously, though clearly still pleased with herself. "What?"
"Nothing," he said and stretched his mouth into a full-fledged grin.
"Hmph," she snorted, and turned, looking around the room, shrugging off her coat and laying it carefully over a chair. The bed was high and prominent, a central feature of the room, the other being a window that overlooked the city, several stories below letting in the dim light of the city.
Aeryn prowled around the room, running her fingers over things lightly, taking it all in, waiting for him. Her energy was catlike, anticipatory. She was set on a course and was clearly waiting for him to catch up, reminding him of the moment in the access shaft on the storm infested commerce station, her body pulled tightly against his, her offer of sex and the internal war he'd waged over rejecting it. She'd never been petty or coy about physical pleasure, only scared of the emotional ramifications. Now it seemed that even those fears had once again been laid aside.
Or maybe they'd just been transferred to him, he thought, suddenly seized with a sort of paralysis that he'd never known before, unable to move towards her, take her in his arms and make love to her. His chest constricted at the though of consummating this new relationship with her.
She'd loved him for a very long time, loved his twin more fully than he'd ever thought possible, and now had claimed him completely. But he was still stuck. He hated being at this disadvantage, physical and emotional. She had worked him in that alley like he'd never been worked, the orgasm coming so quickly that he felt like a teenager again, and now it sort of pissed him off. He wanted his chance. He wanted her at his mercy, just a little. He was also starting to feel schizophrenic at this pingpong of feelings and reactions.
For me, the tag to TS was a cop out, but not completely. I could see John using Scorpy as an excuse, and so I played that card. Yeah, okay, he's worried about Scorpy, but he's also scared and lonely and hurt and pissed off at Aeryn.
She stopped pacing, and turned again to him, tilting her head a little and looking at him intently. "I love you," she said, her voice soft and low, full of acceptance and not a little wonderment.
"Yeah," he forced out.
She pulled her lip under her top teeth, biting down gently and thoughtfully, looking a little hurt. Then she seemed to reach some sort of conclusion with herself. She nodded slightly, and stalked towards him, ignoring his wariness.
Standing in front of him, she leaned over, undoing her boots, removing them and her socks and setting them aside. She stood up, cheeks pink, and unfastened her gunbelt, placing it next to her boots. He couldn't tear his eyes off of her as she stood there, feet small and bare and vulnerable.
"Tell me what you'd like," she said gently, and it clicked into place. She understood, his doubts and fears, his hesitations, maybe even knew about the yin yang memories of herself and his twin. She was letting him make this call.
He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and thought for a moment.
"Take off your shirt," he ordered softly, "slowly."
She obliged, reaching for the edge of the black material and, inch by inch, raised it up, exposing the white of her belly, the lines of her ribs, her full breasts and finally stretched the shirt over her head, highlighting the lovely interaction of muscle and skin and curve that was her torso. She dropped her arms, releasing the cloth and waited for him.
"Now your pants," his voice felt raw, overused.
Her nimble fingers undid the clasp and zipper. She eased the leather off her long legs, bending slightly at the waist, causing her breasts to sway and his breath to catch. Her nipples hardened under the force of his gaze and she continued to wear that enigmatic look. She kicked the pants aside and stood there clad in the small black briefs and the shining weight of her hair. She was as calm and centered as he'd ever seen her, an almost military stillness in her bearing.
I needed to slow the scene down, so I had to really focus on the language her, make it languid, almost, a little uncomfortable, John calling the shots and getting her to do what he says, but I didn't want it to read as S&M, just a trade off, Aeryn understanding something about him that he was only figuring out, so the language had to read like choice.
He allowed himself to gawk, delaying the climax of this striptease. Her milky skin, flushed with desire, was incredibly arousing. He barely felt the need for more, and yet the realization that more was his for the taking hit him like a punch to the gut. He was sweating in the coat and gloves, but absurdly welcomed the barrier against her confidence. He was also growing harder by the second, his pants tight and constricting, so he permitted himself the final pleasure.
"Your underwear," he said, trying to make it a command, but hearing the words escape as more of a supplication. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed down, exposing herself completely to his eyes. Her dark, matted curls glistened with her own ardor for him, sharply contrasting with the whiteness of her skin. She was his own dark Lady Godiva, hair wrapped around her body and he fought back a moan. She remained at ease, but her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now.
He walked around her, circling, reminding himself vaguely of a man examining a show horse, and displeased with that analogy, he stepped up behind her, breathing in her scent and moving the mass of her hair off the side of her neck. He rubbed his cheek against the juncture of her shoulder and neck, hearing a slight scritch as his cheek scraped along her flesh, and then kissed her there, letting his tongue take in her salty sweetness. She tilted her head to the side to meet him and he pressed himself into her back, the firm tautness of her ass pressing against his cock in delicious torture.
Placement was important here, because having him behind her is a little sexier, a little edgier than face to face. Compiled with the fact that she's naked and he's completely clothed, it makes her more vulnerable and him a little less sweet, romantic John, a little kinkier, I guess.
He took one last second to be grateful that he was having this experience alone in his head before turning all of his attention to the woman in front of him.
Cupping her breasts in his hands, he relished the weight of them, the fullness and his ability to do this. He twisted the nipples gently, feeling her tiny noises of satisfaction echo against him. He had craved the warmth of her skin for cycles, and savored it even through the glove, which stood in sharp relief to her pale body. She arched against him, driving her ass more firmly into his groin. He glided his hand down her stomach and beyond to hold her in his hand, palm pressed against her pubic bone, eliciting a small mewling cry as his fingers teased her lightly. He felt lightheaded, giddy and insane. He kissed her neck again, letting his tongue slid along the thin, delicate skin and then bit down, suckling, marking her, causing her to tremble slightly.
Slowly he released her, murmuring, " Go and sit on the bed,"
She walked over to it hips swaying, but the slight trembling in her legs revealed that the fine edge of her control was slipping. She climbed onto the bed and turned, laying down on her side, emphasizing the feline comparisons and watched him intently. He realized by the smoky taste of leather that he was kneading his thumb between his teeth and lowered his hands. Her eyes were almost black, glazed and barely focused with the strain of maintaining the stillness that she was giving him.
I wanted her to do this, but she's a little nervous herself. She's just given John carte blanche to do what he wants, and I think, for her, the worst thing he could do was not want anything of her. I also wanted it apparent that he hadn't taken his gloves off, because, while this is definitely TMI, there's something inherently sexy about black leather gloves on bare skin, the contrast in texture, color, flesh against a barrier of something.
But he wasn't ready for this to be finished quite yet. He had seen, had flashing glimpses of her initial sexual encounter with his twin. It had been sweet and hard and loving give and take, and he wanted to burn the memory of them, here in this room, onto her brain so there would no longer be any confusion between the two men.
He sat down on the side of the bed and traced his fingers over her, skimming along her arms, her belly and breasts, drawing a line down the long length of her thighs, caressing the back of her knees. His brain recorded her responses, the sounds and twitches and indrawn breaths, memorizing them and storing them away for further use until he finally came to rest on her hip. Aeryn touched his hand, glancing pointedly at the gloves and waited. He shook his head. If he touched her skin to skin, he'd lose control, be powerless against her. Instead, he smiled and pulled her wrists together with his other hand, raising them above her head.
He bent towards her, brushing her lips with his, and then pulled back a little. Echoing her earlier demand, he said quietly, "Keep your eyes open, if you can."
Parallel structure - different encounters, hard and fast and exhibitionist, and then slow and torturous, but both on equal terms.
He then hooked his free hand under her knee, canting it up, exposing her. He could look into her eyes, could simultaneously see her open and wet, moisture glistening along her thighs. He shifted against the pressure of his erection, almost unbearably uncomfortable now, but he needed a little more time. His breath was shallow, and he was so hot and distracted that he wasn't sure he could finish this task. But he had waited for her for so long. He took a deep breath, steeling his own control for a few more precious microts.
John bit his bottom lip, her scent threatening his tenuous hold, and glided his hand off her hip, slipping between her damp curls. He rubbed his gloved fingers over her clitoris, spreading the moisture around before easing two fingers inside her. She gasped, but kept her eyes open and he smiled at her, pleased. He thrust inside her, slowly and forcefully, and then withdrew, coming back to circle over her clit again before plunging back in with three fingers. His grip on her wrist was tight and she strained against him, back arching, allowing him further inside. There would undoubtedly be bruises, but neither one of them was thinking that far ahead. All he could do was take in the smell and feel of her, the contractions against his hand as he continued to drive into her, answering her thrusting hips, and then she came with a cry, yelling his name, and it was almost enough to send him over the edge.
(Hee. I'll find them a good dry cleaners for the gloves. I promise. And dude, stick figure drawings were required for some of this - measuring out the feasability, flexability, wrist angle, comfort level, how long it would be fun for, whether his reach would be long enough, how much she'd have to contort her body. You'd think i'd have given up on writing sex after this, but mostly I just gave up on using furniture:)
He withdrew from her, releasing her wrists as she turned onto her back, panting. He rested his damp hand on her belly (the pieces I've read that have worked for me have realistic detail - sex is wet, messy, fun, etc. I was a little squeamish about detail at this point because it can also read as silly, or overly romantic and only in porn is spunk all that sexy:) also, I have a strange aversion to the word cunt, which makes it very difficult to describe, well, a cunt without using that word. Don't like pussy and vagina is too clinical. Penises have a raft of synonyms, why did we get shortchanged on the good ones?, noticed it shaking and tried to regain a modicum of composure, unsure now of what to do. The decision was taken out of his hands, so to speak. Aeryn sat up taking his hand in both of hers, raising it to her mouth and stroking her tongue along over his fingers before moving to the exposed flesh of his wrist where she bit him fiercely. Her patience was obviously over.
"No more barriers," she growled. "Take your clothes off now."
He obeyed more quickly than he'd ever done anything in his life, pants and boots and shirt and belt flying off to land in a heap on his coat before he finally peeled off the gloves. Her reflexes were still sharp and quick, heightened by her arousal and before he knew it, she had pulled him onto the bed, rolled him over, straddled him. She looked down at him, eyes black and serious, and clasping his cock tightly in her hand, forced herself down onto him, eliciting simultaneously moans from both of them.
He took a fraction of a microt to relish the heat, the slick tight feel of her, before sitting up quickly, locking his arms around her, digging his fingers into her hips, her skin burning through his palms. He met her thrust for thrust, their mouths battling, tongues tangling, genitals grinding.
He could feel her orgasm as she groaned it into his mouth, felt the tight contractions around his cock, prayed a word of thanks to whatever deities were hanging around, and flipped them so she rested on the end of the bed, her legs locked around his waist, driving into her with a stridency and violence he wouldn't have always considered himself capable of. The release built up from the center of his belly, a fiery explosion matched by his yell. Blackness swam over his vision and he collapsed on top of her, long legs curling around him, bodies entwined, catching their breath, coming back into themselves.
(Hee. Overdone. How many people really get knocked unconscious by orgasm:)
A few minutes later, he levered himself off her, moving to allow her to climb out of the bed and pull back the covers. He caught her wrist, turning her towards him, and took her face in his hands, moving his thumb along her cheekbones and resting his forehead against hers, the gesture heartbreakingly familiar. The musky scent of sex clung to them, and he grinned at that.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"I love you " she replied in that same low tone that she'd used before. "But don't ever make me wait like that again."
I couldn't leave her too submissive. This was a one shot deal for the man of the hour. Fortunately, he did his part and rose to the occasion:)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part III
Another POV switch, but I wanted it back in her camp, partly because writing Aeryn is easier for me, but also because I reign in the romanticism better with her, keep the sentiment from cloying the reader. John's such a bloody sap sometimes that it's easy to oversentimentalize him, but Aeryn keeps me in line.
This planet apparently (argh. I should have to give someone a dollar everytime I use the words seems or apparently:) didn't have complete nightfall. The light that filtered in, washing over them was gray and grainy, making it difficult to see detail, obscured further by the effects of the ion storm. It didn't matter much. She could feel the ridges of his fingers stroking slowly up and down her back, the touch so delicate that it was almost ticklish, but she didn't feel much desire to laugh. She fought against sleep, unwilling to waste their time together on something so mundane, but fatigue weighed her down and so she relaxed into the repetitive motion of his hands on her body.
He hadn't stopped touching her since he'd taken off the gloves.
They would have to get up soon, leave this room and this day behind, returning to a charade that she thought was probably pretty frelling pointless anyway. But, as she'd realized long ago, balancing the death of one lover with the life of another, there wasn't much she wouldn't do for this man, including feeding into his delusions and protecting him from her secrets, their futures.
"We've never done this?"
It was a question, but a vague one at best. His voice sounded scratchy and uncertain, the cry accompanying his last orgasm had ricocheted off the walls, tearing at them both. It was a wonder the establishment's other guests hadn't complained. Surely they'd never sounded this desperate, this primal on Talyn? She'd have to ask Rygel, she thought, marginally amused at her own perverse humor before turning her head to the side and looking more fully into his eyes.
He was beautiful. She hadn't forgotten that, his skin supple and yielding and hot against her. It tore just as easily, the bloody lines down his back testament to that. There were differences though. His frame more solid, yet leaner, no excess left on him. He was unafraid to bruise her, to bend her body, force her cries.Their relationship is different. They're different people. The sex should be different. Less delicate, more violent. It excited her, stirring up that erotic war for control, but aside from her ministrations in the alley, he hadn't let her explore, hadn't allowed her to touch and trace and seek out his differences. Instead, he'd frelled her into oblivion, using hands and mouth and tongue again when the rest of his body screamed for recovery.
But now he was again able to speak, and as usual, that put her at a loss. She tried to follow the path of his reasoning, see where the words had originated, took a guess, raising an eyebrow.
"That's not quite true," she replied. "It was a long time ago, but I wouldn't say never."
He moved his cheek against the pillow, indicating no, but his lips tilted upwards. "Not talkin' about sex. This, lying in bed, looking. Being alone, just us."
She considered that as his hands renewed their subtle journeying. On the false Earth, it felt alone, but that was one lie among many. So, no, they'd never rested together, alone on planet, naked and sated and aching, free for the moment from obligations and booming demands of their time and presence. On Talyn, every moment had been a gift, even the highjacked ones, and ignoring the world around them had been par for the course.
This really was different, and so she said, "It's true, I suppose. Never like this."
And in the meantime, she had been alone. No longer one among many, no longer partner or lover or shipmate of John Crichton. She knew what that felt like now. Understood a little more about the dichotomies of fate and choice.
He took his hand away, and she wanted to say no, please don't run away from me again, but when he rested his thumb on his lower lip, she knew he had something he needed to say, and so she tried to reaccess her previous stillness.
"There was a lot that I wanted to show you about Earth." She made a non-committal noise, that episode still a little too raw. "Lotsa stuff I wanted to do."
Earth still hangs between them, and I don't think she's completely forgiven him his behavior yet. But she's doing her own penance, I think. They're such a beautiful, fucked up pair.
She could lie here, look into his eyes, pretended this wasn't scraping her down to the bone.
"The beach on a bright summer day, and Mardi Gras, and Napa and drive-ins and, hell places you'd probably think were beautiful and useless, and they just seemed pretty useless to me when we were there, staring their ignorance in the face," He continued on, his voice washing over her, his willingness to talk a comfort, something she'd been so long denied. She could feel when the rambling drifted into the point of the conversation, and her body tensed, her fingers curling up together under the pillow.
His hand drifted back down to her and she unwound a little, feeling its weight on her hip. The tenor of this conversation wasn't apologetic and she didn't know where he was going with this, and it scared her. He was silent for a moment, staring at her intently, drawing tiny circles on the swell of her hip. Then he closed his eyes, the heaviness of the past few weekens finally winning out over the joy.
"I have this fantasy," he said, gravelly and hesitant. She finally felt a smile form. John Crichton's fantasies were something she understood. "It's not really about sex, but well, damn, baby." His hand curved, caressing and sliding down to stroke her buttocks. "Maybe it is about sex."
She continued to wait, regulating her breaths, feeling him match her, still keeping pace.
"We're on earth, my old apartment maybe, doesn't really matter. It's in the middle of the day and it's raining, and the light is gray like this. You're in my bed, naked and tousled and you watch me get up and stand by the window, looking at the rain. I put on Charlie Parker or Coltrane, and it's perfect, that moment, rain and Byrd and Aeryn Sun warm between my sheets. I sit down next to you and you pull me down and we kiss." He paused, eyes open now, but sheepish. "It's all I wanted. I'd look at you, in my father's house, talking to my sister, giving evil looks to Caroline, bein' nice to Bobby, and all I wanted was you and me and rain and my own bed, away from everyone."
That's very noirish, I think, very Blade Runnery maybe. Rain, and Charlie Parker - I love jazz, real jazz, and when they have John mention Bird in LATP, I did a little chair wiggle of glee because it just gave him new depth, the pretty boy listening to this genius horn player who was addicted to smack, making this music that makes you cry and want to rend your flesh, and it just seemed to fit, haunting music and rain, and his girl - a total earth boy fantasy.
She kissed him then, because what else was there to do, sliding her body over his, her thigh between his legs, nudging his penis, her breasts flat against his chest. His hands laced through her hair as she stroked his lips with her tongue, tasting the salt of tears and sweat and their own hopelessness.
This was a new fantasy, previous talks of Earth centering around things that would capture her attention, subtly persuade her to go with him. Reminiscing on family gatherings and youthful indiscretions and soft assurances that his family would welcome her. He still held Earth close to his heart, but removed himself from it's occupants, weaving together a tenuous future with their troubled past. She wanted to find the words to give him comfort, but there weren't any. She drew away, leaning on her elbow, resting her palm on his cheek.
"The universe keeps shafting us, baby. Doesn't seem to be any indication that it'll stop anytime soon," his throat sounded thick.
(That was maybe not the most judicious choice of adjectives, but maybe not wrong. It's hard to let go of sexually charged words after 20 pages of sex writing:)
She smiled sadly in agreement. "We're getting a second chance here." She nodded slightly. "But that's it. I, uh, it's all I've got left. I can't handle the in between anymore."
And she understood then, tried to reassure. "I'm not going to leave you again, John."
"You can't promise me that, Aeryn, you know you can't."
She acknowledged that. "If I leave, it won't be by choice. That's all I have."
He pulled her down towards him, foreheads meeting, breath mingling. "I guess it'll have to be enough."
They don't get a happy ending, even with their tryst, because it's not about happy endings. It is about getting laid, but not about getting happy. That had to be enough, I think.
Overall, I wish I'd had it beta'd, now, looking back. But I'm pleased with large chunks of it. I do think, had I written it after rubberneck started writing Little Acorns, it would have been a better piece of writing. I learn something new about writing every time I read something new of Feldman's. Less talk, more action, cleaner prose, clearer intent. I think I do lush pretty well, intimate pretty well. I don't do clean very well.
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Date: 2004-02-11 08:46 pm (UTC)Anyway, to repeat... my favourite bit is dude, you rarely get to use alliteration with fellatio and I was gonna be damned if I passed on the opportunity, because when I first read this story, I thought the same damn thing and was so glad you didn't pass it up. *g*
Again, great commentary. :)
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Date: 2004-02-11 09:00 pm (UTC)But glad you enjoyed it, and yeah. I so, so love that line, it's one of my favorite lines ever. And how sad is that:)
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Date: 2004-02-11 09:05 pm (UTC)::hand out hands expectantly::
Qualifiers are NOT your friends in fiction.
Nice job, btw. Fun to read, and informative.
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Date: 2004-02-11 09:53 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed the commentary. It certainly made me giggle in places:)
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Date: 2004-02-11 10:09 pm (UTC)Porn is good. And not my fault. [turns on Thea's Autonomy neon sign] But, whatever the causation, the result was a fun read!
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Date: 2004-02-11 10:39 pm (UTC)yay! porn commentary.
Date: 2004-02-12 03:42 am (UTC)I'm glad you didn't have a heart attack that kept you from posting pure porn *g*
I enjoyed your insights about your writing process and reading this story again. So.....are you ready to do commentary on any more of your stories???
;-)
Re: yay! porn commentary.
Date: 2004-02-12 05:48 pm (UTC)Re: yay! porn commentary.
Date: 2004-02-12 10:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 04:18 am (UTC)Because it's one of my pet peeves. She gets sexual release as a thing unto itself. She's not gonna freak because John slept with someone else. But I think it would hurt a little because she understands, to a degree, his views on the matter which are a little less fluid.
You see, this is exactly why I love the business with Caroline in "Terra Firma". Because we find out that John is also capable and practiced at separating sex, friendship and love. The viewers find out that Jenavia Chatto wasn't a fluke, she was a throwback to an old habit; and Aeryn finds out that John's insistence on combining sex and friendship and love with her isn't some Human cultural imperative--it's solely about John wanting all these things with Aeryn.
this was the image I started with, a desperate kiss in an alley, the gun pressed to Aeryn's cheek, all of their dichotomies in one big feedback loop.
It's a great keystone image, the danger and security of the weapon paired with the desperate comfort of the kiss (resonating with all those times he's grabbed her and kissed her as if trying to stop time, as if stealing one last good thing before voicing an awful truth and making it real).
Hee. John has a plan. Need I say more?
And like all of John's plans, real life intervenes decisively, radically changing the plan.
I think she'd be far more embarrassed to get shot in the back then at getting caught with a cock in her mouth:)
Duh, who wouldn't? *snicker*
there's something inherently sexy about black leather gloves on bare skin, the contrast in texture, color, flesh against a barrier of something.
Is it TMI if I say "amen"? Could be my general hand kink coming through, though.
As for the end comment, sometimes you pleasantly mortify me, make me feel crawly and strange and giddy all at the same time--it feels like the set-up for an awful prank, yet I bask in it nonetheless because I wouldn't post if I didn't want people to enjoy it--I just don't understand how you could be talking about me is all.
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Date: 2004-02-12 05:45 pm (UTC)Yes, yes, yes, yes!! Giving John his own motives and behaviours and quirks!! Making their relationship it's own thing, new on both sides!!
I think she'd be far more embarrassed to get shot in the back then at getting caught with a cock in her mouth:)
Duh, who wouldn't? *snicker*
Exactly, and doesn't it all come down to that:)
As for the end comment, sometimes you pleasantly mortify me, make me feel crawly and strange and giddy all at the same time--it feels like the set-up for an awful prank, yet I bask in it nonetheless because I wouldn't post if I didn't want people to enjoy it--I just don't understand how you could be talking about me is all.
The mortification is not intentional, dear. But understandable, that disconnect as one feels oneself balancing on this fine edge of knowing you're doing something really, really well, and then the fear that the rug will be pulled out from under you:)
But honey, you are that good, and my standards are high, so it's not false praise.
For me, as well, I think, you are sort of the antithesis of me as a writer(not exactly, that's not the right word) - in style, scope, clarity, pacing. You do all those things so well, and so easily, the language is never clumsy or cluttered or overly expository, and that's something I so struggle with that I just love seeing you write and learning from it everytime you do:) The things I want to learn to do well, you've already mastered, and yet you've lost none of the emotional draw of your characters. See. Good things. Not scary, overly praised things, just skills and flair and all things to be celebrated:)
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Date: 2004-02-12 07:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 05:35 pm (UTC)