Dust by analise

Spoilers:None 
Rating:NC-17 
Category: J/A, PWP 
Archive: Anywhere,just let me know 
Summary: John and Aeryn are trapped together planetside in a tiny room amidst a
Peacekeeper shore leave.

Feedback: Yes, please. analise@2cowherd.net 
Disclaimer: The Farscape characters don't belong to me. Obviously.

Notes: Pretty much irredeemable fluff. Not much plot here, kids. Just your
basic justification for smut :)

++++++


The red dust was thick, swirling in plumes and spiraling twists, cloaking the
dry, cracked streets in a sparkling haze, obscuring the crowded boardwalk just
below the window. She stood, with hands gripping the poly sill, leaning out
furtively, squinting into the soup. She hated it. Hated the dust. It got into
her eyes and her hair and her skin. It clogged her weapon and it crackled
between her teeth.

Of course, the main reason she hated it were the black shapes that swam in it.
Black leather. Peacekeepers. More than she cared to count, flickering in and
out on the arid streets like a signal trying to break through steadily
worsening static. It had been the dust that had obscured the descending
Marauders when they'd swarmed out of the sky. It had been the dust that had
trapped them here. Trapped her here with him.

Shoving back into the room, she slammed the cheap shutters with perhaps more
force than was necessary. This entire situation was not what she needed right
now. Not even close. She glared at the closed shutters for a long moment,
finding the sight of the stained and worn synthetic material to be preferable
than what was at her back. Finally, unable to continue staring at the dusty
slats any longer without silently admitting weakness, she turned around with an
air of sullen martyrdom.

He was lying on his back, legs sprawled over the end of the undersized bed, one
arm flung across his eyes. Asleep? Not sure whether to be pleased or angered by
the fact that he was not awake, she raised her gaze to the stained ceiling and
leaned her head back against the closed window with a silent sigh. Rotted
fruit, she thought. Perhaps dead bodies. How about Rygel? Rygel without his
robes on? She shuddered slightly and slanted her eyes back to his supine figure
almost rebelliously. He had not moved. How dare he be able to sleep when she
was wound up like a child's toy? How dare he take this so calmly? How dare he
look so frelling incredible even when he was covered with enough dust to start
his own farm?

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms tightly against her body. No problem.
So they were stuck in this tiny room for a day or two. So there was a full
Carrier in orbit and the port was swarming with Peacekeepers? It really wasn't
that bad, provided they stayed out of sight. They could just lay low till shore
leave ended. It wouldn't be long. She knew from experience that shore leave was
a brief affair in the lives of a Peacekeeper. She just had to last a few days
packed in here with him.

A few lousy days.

Crichton didn't even have to move to mock her thoughts. His body was statement
enough. Muscled limbs in black leather, a lean, gorgeous form that just begged
to be explored. Why, she asked herself for the thousandth time in the past
hour, why wasn't she allowed to go over to him and peel that gray shirt off his
chest? Why couldn't she map the surface of his body with her tongue? Oh right.
She had told him that it wasn't a good idea. That taking their relationship in
that direction could be distracting and dangerous. Right.

Without thinking, her left hand curled into a fist and smacked into the crumbly
plaster wall.

+++

She had thankfully closed the window shutters. Which was good. The dust levels
in the room didn't need any help. It was, he pondered, better this way. Better
to just lie here with his eyes shut. So far he was sure she thought him asleep.
Perhaps she might go out for cigarettes or a walk or a case of Bud. He could
hope, anyway. Hadn't Mr. Jenkins, his ninth grade english teacher, told them
that there was always room for hope?

All bullshit. If his teacher had been there at that moment, he would've gotten
a punch in his round, mustached face.

They were both trapped in this tiny room for better or for worse, through
sickness and in health, till death did they part, for at least the next few
days. Moya was gone, hiding furtively in a nearby asteroid field, waiting for
the Carrier that had entered orbit to exit it with the same speed and lack of
warning it had arrived with. Shore leave. Who would have ever thought that
Peacekeepers even took shore leave? And who would have thought that they would
have done so on this godawful dustball?

Asleep. He was just going to pretend to be asleep for the entire time.
Shouldn't be too hard and he would get to keep his eyes closed. That way he
wouldn't have to look at her. Long curves. A slender neck that just begged for
his mouth to drag down it. He wouldn't have to imagine what her skin would feel
like under his palms or what she might taste like under his tongue. Pretending
to sleep was the ticket.

Of course, what happened when she wanted to sleep too? There was just the one
bed, and it was narrow. She would be scant millimeters from him. That silky
skin would brush against him, her fragrant hair would tickle his nose, one
long-fingered hand might slide up his ribcage...

God. Wrong. There had to be something else to think about or he was going to
blow his cover and she was going to know he wasn't asleep. That he was a
pathetic loser who couldn't control his own body. He desperately needed to
shift his hips on the low, narrow bed. His pants seemed to be getting tighter.
Tammy Faye Bakker? Cathy Lee Gifford? It wasn't working, he could smell her.
That unique and intensely sexy scent that belonged to her alone. It didn't
matter that she no longer wore a perfumed scent in her hair, she already
smelled like Aeryn Sun, ex-peacekeeper and love of his life. He clenched his
jaw. It was a battle not to get up and cross the mere feet between them, grab
her and devour her alive.

But he could control himself. He'd done it before, done it for the past cycle,
and he would not be the one to beg. Of course, he couldn't recall that they had
ever been trapped in 10 square feet of space before with only one bed. Unless
he counted the first time they had met, and he didn't.

She was the one who had said that there could be no acting on it. This thing
that coiled and roiled between them so thickly it was almost visible. At the
time, for some insane reason that he couldn't fathom at the moment, he had even
agreed. He remembered something about wanting her to *want* to make love to
him, not just 'recreate'. Whatever. It all seemed very faint and foolish now
that he was faced with the unvarnished ache of just how much he wanted her, had
always wanted her. And there were no distractions here, nothing except the two
of them and the fact that the only true barriers were the floating dust
particles in the air between them and the echo of words she had uttered a monen
ago.

*She* had spoken those words, built that barrier, and he would not break it. It
was hers to break.

Damn the stubborn wench anyway.

+++

Her blue eyes lit on the tiny fresher door and she arrowed in on it like it was
her salvation. Quickly and quietly, she stalked across the narrow room, trying
not to look at him as she did so. The fresher. She would clean up, that was
good. Lots of dust all over her, she needed a good cleaning. That might take up
a small amount of time, maybe more. At least she wouldn't be in the same room.
Trapped in the same tiny space. Aching for him in the same...

Managing to slide the door shut without slamming it, she moved to activate the
water-shower. The hostel they had found to hole up in had been low-tech and
nothing to brag about, it had simply been convenient. Cheap in every way, one
narrow bed, one narrow room and one decaying water-shower. Any port in a storm,
as he had said. At the time, ducking out of the way of an entire squad of
Peacekeepers tramping down the boardwalk, she had agreed readily. Scorpius was
no longer looking for them, but that fact had nothing to do with the hunted
status that still hung over all their heads.

She turned on the water and let it warm up while she stripped out of her dusty
clothing with no small amount of relief. Already steam was pouring out of the
tiny, polyform cubicle, thickening the air and obscuring the rust-streaked
mirror. When she stepped under the hot stream she was almost able to forget the
tight ache in her body.

For about two microts.

She ducked her head into the warm spray and let it beat into her scalp. The
water tickled its way down her body, streaming and stroking along her skin. It
couldn't be this hard, she thought. She was in control of her own actions, her
own feelings. She could and would survive being locked in a tiny room with
Crichton for a few days. No problem.

It only took thinking his name to stoke a burning flame in her belly, bringing
to light just how tenuous the grip on her own control was. The tingling rush
that he seemed able to evoke just by letting those blue eyes meet her own.

He was against this horrible abstinence, she knew, but he would play along.
Because *she* thought it was important, he would. That alone spurred another
surge of feeling through her that set her skin to flush. He did this thing for
her. If only he knew the toll that it took on her as well. Over two cycles of
sexual tension was nothing to scoff at. Even when she had been furious with
him, when she had denied the emotions he evoked in her, she had still always
been incredibly attracted to him.

Now that she had accepted that she most certainly loved him, gloried in the
fact that he loved her, it just seemed a thousand times worse. Was it fear? Her
mind recoiled from the idea of cowardice, but it rang with no small amount of
truth. She had once asked him what *he* was afraid of, but perhaps she
should've asked that of herself. She was not, a sharp voice spit fiercely,
scared. He had her love, he had her heart, but she was not ready to relinquish
her soul. She should not have to.

But he wanted it all, that was obvious enough. It was a given that sex between
them would be more than just a release of their tension. It would be *more*. He
would take no less than everything she had.  It was only fair, a quieter voice
whispered, after all, he has given everything he has to you already.

Only fair. She let her forehead fall against the water-beaded polyform surface
of the cleansing cube. Their recent ease with each other, their camaraderie,
had become a joy to her, but it did not make the ache decrease. In fact, she
seemed to feel the thin web of her control slipping into transparency with each
passing moment she spent with him. What would become of her if she gave in to
what he wanted? Would she vanish? Incorporated into something else, something
new. Something 'him' and not 'her'.

And the real dangers, the ones she used as a shield against his emotions, they
were there too. They were not in a gentle universe, and they were not safe.
Would she let her guard down one moment too long when she should be vigilant?
Hezmana, what if she lost him? He would take part of her with him. The pain
would be unbearable. It was too great a risk. Too terrifying to contemplate.

She shivered, almost eagerly letting her mind veer from such uncomfortable
thoughts to ones she had both more and less control over. The heat that seemed
to be building to intolerable levels between them. The myriad means of
releasing the pressure that had always worked before.

One hand found its way to the cheap cleansing sand and she let it fill her palm
before working it into a lather and stroking it down her body. She did want
him. So badly. Slipping over her curves, she let her hands slide up over her
breasts, cupping the weight of them, teasing the already taut nipples. It was
so much better to imagine that it was his male hand that followed her lead, his
long fingers that slid down her ribcage and over her hips. His broad, rough
palms and his calloused fingertips, the weft and weave of his caress. When her
fingers slid between her legs and her head tipped back under the warm water,
his face was all that she could see behind her closed lids.

+++

What was she doing in there?

He had given up the pretense of sleep once she had left the room, no longer
needing to pretend to keep his eyes closed. He stalked over to the window and
opened the shutters with a bang, staring out into the street just as she had
done before she'd vanished into the fresher. He grimaced into swirling dust
that was starting to turn a garish marroon as the planet's single red star set.
Peacekeepers. Still there. Hundreds of em. He closed the shutters just as
quickly and began to pace the room, shaking the new coat of dust out of his
hair, dust that had accumulated just from his brief peek outside.

She had been in the shower for what seemed like arns. It was all he could do to
keep from imagining her in there. Picturing those long limbs slicked with
water, her hands stroking across her skin. God.  He could feel his groin
tightening again with the thought.

Closing his eyes, he sank down onto the edge of the bed, running clawed hands
across his scalp, feeling grit roll under his fingertips. There was no way he
was going to make it for another couple days. He might as well just kill
himself now.

It was much easier to deal with on Moya. Well, perhaps not easier, but when you
were occupied with daily tasks, with the others, with the vast spaces of the
Leviathan, it wasn't as bad. It was even nice. Since she had finally uttered
those magic words, she had been everything that he loved about her. Their
closeness, their companionship, had been something that he took enormous
pleasure in. Every second he spent in her company was a joy. Working, joking,
teasing, touching. He had not been happier since the days before he had climbed
into Farscape One and tumbled through the rabbit hole.

He let himself fall back onto the low, swaybacked bed, opening his eyes and
staring at the grimy ceiling. Old stains patterned the cracking plaster and he
tried to force his mind to make them into shapes that did not involve Aeryn
Sun. That didn't involve her wet body or her long black hair hanging in glossy
soaked strands that would curl and stick to her body...

That was it.

Rolling off the bed, he stalked to the fresher door and pounded it twice. The
water was still going.

"Aeryn? I'm going to go out and get us some food. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait to decipher her watery squawk of surprise and horror, he simply
grabbed up his long PK coat and slammed out of the room before she could stop
him. Sure, he was being ridiculously stupid to go out. They had specifically
holed up in order to stay out of sight. But it was dark now, and the fact was
that they would need food.

Of course, it would have been smarter to have the real Peacekeeper do this job,
but she was busy being naked in the shower. His smile was unpleasant and not at
all amused.

Down the narrow, cramped staircase, past the front desk and the bloated
creature that played the part of innkeeper, and he was free. Free to choke and
sneeze on the dust, anyway.

The wind and the sand funnels had died down somewhat once the star had set, but
everything was still covered with fine red dust. Rather belatedly, he pulled on
the cheap standard issue nose filter and focused on trying to not breathe
through his mouth.

There were Peacekeepers everywhere, but for the most part they all seemed to be
occupied. Whether with various intoxicants or with the local whores, they
weren't paying any attention to a lone Peacekeeper who might or might not be
acting a little bit odd. He watched with distaste as one soldier grabbed at a
passing local woman before he was reined in by his companions. Drunk sailors,
he thought. What the hell was the difference between the Peacekeepers, drunk
and on shore leave, and any other military bunch, drunk and on shore leave? If
there was anything worse than a whole frelling crowd of peacekeepers, it was a
whole frelling crowd of drunk peacekeepers out looking for trouble.

Food, he reminded himself, that was why he had fled the torture chamber. He
would find it, and hurry right back. No need to tempt fate. Trouble tended to
find him far too easily.

++++

Frell Crichton and his unpredictable insanity. Furious beyond words, she paced
the tiny room and concentrated on all the reasons why she shouldn't go out
after the human. One, she would likely kill him on the spot if she found him,
and that might attract undue attention. Two, she was actually relishing the
break from the urge to rip the clothes from his body... and it was nice to have
something else to think about. Three, it would probably make it worse if she
went out there. After all, there was a fairly good chance she would be
recognized a great deal easier than Crichton would. Wanted beacons or not, he
had not spent his life among the Peacekeepers and it was entirely possible that
she might have gone through training with any number of the sebaceans currently
wandering the streets.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the hard bed, realizing that she was still
wrapped in only a drying cloth and that her hair was dripping down her body in
increasingly cold runnels. She *was* hungry, she thought tensely. It had been
almost an entire solar day since she'd eaten on Moya that morning. Food would
be good.

Was she trying to rationalize her worry away? Was it that bad that he should be
out of her sight? That he might expose himself to harm? Hezmana, what if he got
hurt and she wasn't there to help him? The thought bit at her heart, making it
leap in protest. This, she reminded herself, was the very thing that she was
afraid of. What would be left of her if he was gone? What had she become that
he was more important than her own self now?

And under it all, there was the whispering voice that told her it was too late
for all her reluctance. Her soul was no longer hers to give. She studiously
ignored the voice and quickly and efficiently built back her wall of resistance
brick by brick. Nonsense. She was still her own person. She could exist without
John Crichton. And love had nothing to do with the sexual frustration that hung
so thickly between them.

Frowning at the thinness of her own reasoning, she got up and returned to the
fresher to put her clothes back on. It would help nothing if he returned and
she was only wearing a cloth. Her skin tingled at the thought and she beat down
the sensation with a mental club. Traitorous body. Turning her head away, she
swung her pants against the wall, trying to dislodge some of the dust. Clouds
of it puffed up, staining the floor and plaster, sticking to her damp skin. It
seemed distasteful to put her filthy leathers back on after showering off all
the grit, but there was nothing else to wear. Neither of them had come down to
this dustball with any intention of staying over an arn or two before the
Carrier had changed their plans.

A loud thud caught her attention, and she stopped in mid-whap, her dirty
leathers swinging from her fist. It wasn't the door, it sounded like it was
coming from the hallway. Another thud, and this time she heard a woman's voice
raised in muffled distress.

Frowning, she pulled her pulse pistol from from her discarded belt and moved
silently to the front door. Easing the door open manually on its slider, she
peered into the hall cautiously. All she could see was a cluster of black
leathern backs. Grunts. Ground troopers. She grimaced. Trouble.

There were three of them, and they had an attractive young couple penned
against the narrow wall of the hostel's corridor. She could almost smell the
raslak from where she stood.

"C'mon sweeting, dontcha think we'd be a lot more fun that this little yereet?"
The words were not quite slurred, but she could hear the softening syllables
that marked him well on his way to falling-down drunk. Pressing her lips
together, she hesitated. Three against one were not smart odds.

"Just let us pass. Don't make us call the proprieter." The man's voice was high
with fear. Aeryn wanted to shake her head. These PK grunts were like a pack of
wraygs when they were loose from the chain of command. Show weakness to them
and they tore you apart. The poor guy really was a yereet, easy game.

The grunts moved, almost as if they were circling in for the kill. The fact
that they were unsteady on their feet, their cheeks flushed with intoxicants
and who knew what else, meant they were no less dangerous than a pack of the
wraygs she compared them to.

She could see the couple clearly now, between black leathern backs. The man was
clinging to his pretty little woman, clearly terrified but more than willing to
do his best to protect her. She immediately felt bad for thinking him weak. He
was merely scared. The woman's shirt was already torn down one side and his
left eye looked puffy.

She felt an unknown emotion welling in her chest then, one she couldn't
identify. The two looked ready to die for each other. Some epiphamies are soft
and subtle, declaring their revelations in whispers instead of shouts. For
Aeryn, something seemed to snap very, very quietly in her. She stepped out into
the hallway, her arm hanging ready at her side, every muscle tense.

"Excuse me, boys." Her words were not loud, but all three sets of bloodshot
eyes snapped her way. It was only when smirks stretched their lips and leers
folded their features that she remembered that she was only wearing a wet,
clinging drying cloth.

Ah well, nothing to do for it. She lifted her weapon, never dropping eye
contact with the biggest one. A small, cold smile twisted the corners of her
mouth up. She wanted to remind them that, wet or not, she was no soft,
defenseless prey.

The couple had taken advantage of her distraction and had darted down the
hallway, disappearing into their room with a clang of their deadbolt. Only once
they were out of sight did she let herself relax the tiniest bit. The grunts
had lost their easy entertainment, but she had no doubt that they would try and
find a replacement. Perhaps a dripping wet sebacean wrapped in a flimsy cloth?

"You think you want to use that big, bad pistol on Peacekeeper soldiers,
sweeting?" The biggest one was grinning confidently. When he looked at her, he
saw prey just like that couple.

Aeryn was proud to admit that, if she had made any mistakes in her life, none
of them could be attributed to her fighting skills. She was quick, strong and
agile, and she worked hard to keep it that way. However, she was no fool and
she was smart enough to know when a situation had the potential to go very
badly.

They were drunk and feeling no pain...probably no fear either. Shooting one
would still leave her with two to contend with because they would be all over
her by then. Not to mention the fact that all three likely had on the
lightweight body armor that all PK ground troopers never got dressed without.

She backed up a few slow steps to widen the space between them, her pistol
still trained on the leader. He seemed unconcerned with his own death staring
him in the face. Another lovely side effect of intoxicants.

"Now, now beautiful, you don't want to use that thing. If you shoot one of us,
the other two will grab you. You know what the penalty is for killing a
Peacekeeper?"

She knew. Not that any of them were in any condition to run out and report her.

Her eyes never left the grunt's face. He was even closer now, moving as if she
were a timid animal that might bolt at a sharp move. There really wasn't any
other choice. If they reached her, they would overpower her easily.

She fired.

++++

John ducked back under the low doorframe of the Hostel building, an instant
rush of relief flooding him as soon as he got off the boardwalk. The PK
revelers were only getting more and more raucous with each passing minute. He
figured there had to be major bribery going on for any spaceport to allow a
Carrier shore leave on their planet. Or maybe the port officials just weren't
given a choice. That would be just like the charming Peacekeepers he had come
to know and love.

He winced slightly as the sound of breaking glass followed him into the cramped
passage. The locals had mostly vanished from the streets as soon as the sun had
gone down, leaving only those shopkeeps and barkeeps brave enough to garner the
soldiers' drunken business. Those few who had fled for the safety of their
homes had basically left their assorted stores to be ransacked and looted for
whatever the PKs felt they wanted.

Anarchy.

Pulling off his nose filter and tucking the small cloth bag of the only food
he'd been able to procure under his arm, he took the stairs two at a time. It
had been moronic to go out, he knew that even more now. He also knew that he
could expect Ms. Sun to point that out. Loudly and more than once. Maybe
arguing would distract him from the sexual tension between them.

The sound of a pulse pistol going off around the corner from the stairwell
froze him in his tracks. His own weapon found its way into his hand without
thinking and he pressed himself against the corner before peering cautiously
around it.

Shock was the first thing that flooded his nerves, fury was the second.

A PK grunt lay on the worn boards of the passage flooring, clutching his upper
leg and groaning. The wounded man was not who he was looking at, however.
Dressed only in a clinging towel and the damp cloak of her long hair, Aeryn was
struggling against two others. One had managed to get behind her, clamping her
arms still while his partner tried to pry her pulse pistol out of her hand. The
only reasons they had not yet succeeded was because they were both drunk and
Aeryn was no soft sell.

Even as he flung himself into a run down the hallway, one of her knees blurred
upwards, slamming into the man's crotch. The black back doubled over, letting
go of her as he curled into a fetal position around his genitals and fell to
the ground. John dove in and struck, clocking the man on the back his skull
with the butt of his pistol. The big grunt gasped once and went still.

When he lifted angry eyes to the man who held her, Aeryn had already gotten one
arm free, driving her elbow into his gut and lashing her heel into the front of
his knee. The wet cracking noise the limb made was gratifying, gratifying in a
way that might have made him ashamed another time. The man collapsed to the
ground, whimpering.

The hall was suddenly quiet but for the pounding of his heart in his ears. They
stared at each other for several heartbeats. She was breathing hard but seemed
unhurt. He trembled with the effort of fighting back his anger. Anger at the
men, at himself for leaving, and even at her.

"What the hell happened here?" his voice was only a step above a growl. A part
of him knew that his anger was only a reaction, but he could do nothing to
control it. Seeing her clamped between those two PK bastards had shoved a red
hot poker between his eyes.

There was a match for his own rage in her eyes. She didn't seem to care that
she was practically naked as she stared him down. And an irrational part of him
boiled that those bastards had almost seen more of her than she would ever let
him see.

One second. Two. Aeryn's mouth opened once, but shut again before the bitter
words could pour out.

Then she turned and stalked back into their room. John barely caught the door
before it slammed behind her. The look in her eyes told him that she would have
gladly locked him out. Gritting his teeth, still hip-deep in his own fear and
anger, he shoved the door open with a squeal of reversing gears, slipped
through and let it slam behind him. Three long strides and he caught her before
she could vanish into the fresher again. The bag he carried dropped unnoticed
to the floor as he spun her around and their eyes met, sparks flying off their
clashing gazes.

All the words he had planned, whatever they were, the argument - the
admonishments - they disappeared into a mist of non-existence in the span of a
sucked-in breath. All he could see was her skin, the pink flush in her cheeks,
the bright blue of her eyes, the damp, curling tumble of her hair, the thin
towel that formed a second skin against her beautiful body.

The only thing that came out of his mouth was empty air. His anger had
transformed into something entirely other - but no less passionate - in that
instant.

Perhaps a second, perhaps longer, they stood, frozen, staring at each other.
Caught in a silent tableau, the only movement was in the imperceptible
straining between their bodies. That invisible weight that had been hanging
there for two cycles expanded exponentially, stretched intolerably... until the
barrier simply *snapped*.

He couldn't have said who struck first, only that they met in the middle, her
soft mouth under and over his, her arms twining behind his neck, dragging her
body, his body close, closer. His own hands were sliding, slipping over her
curves, the one still cradling her head, the other finding a smooth perfect
curve in the middle of her back, pressing her into him.

She was sweet under his tongue and teeth, ambrosia to his starved senses. He
could count the number of times he had tasted her like this on one hand, yet
each new experience exposed unimaginable heights of sensation. Without thinking
he lifted her, pressing the length of her against him, reveling in the pressure
of her legs wrapping around his hips as he pushed her up against the old
plaster wall.

His mouth tore itself from hers with an effort before moving to sample the soft
skin of her jaw, her neck, the tender place behind her ear. Her hands were
stealing up under his coat, his vest, his t-shirt, slim fingers dipping into
the waistband of his pants. He felt like he was on fire, like his skin had
transformed into a combustible substance. Hot breath chuffed against her
collarbone as he scooted her further up the wall, his hands stroking up her
long legs and under the towel to cup the smooth skin of her bottom in his
palms, pressing her against the hard proof of his erection.

His mind was submerging into a haze of heat and desire, unable to think past
the sensation, the blind need.

And so he was surprised when he heard the word issue from his own mouth.

"Wait".

++++

She had not planned for the torrent of emotions that rocked her when Crichton
had come up behind her attacker in the hall. Not relief, only a dim sense of
rage that he had left in the first place. If she had taken a moment to examine
it, she might have seen the warning signs.

The anger she saw in his own face had only set her off. He was angry at *her*?
For what? She'd turned and stormed into the room, not caring if he was shut
out. Let him sleep in the hallway next to the PK grunts.

He had caught her arm in an iron grip before she made it five steps into the
room, spinning her around with a control she found galling. And she looked at
him, making her first and last mistake.

Oh Hezmana. It was pulsing on the surface, almost tangible, the thing between
them. His expression made her knees weak and sent a flood of tingling need
through her that was strong enough to rattle bones. It was crushing her lungs,
making it hard to breath, hard to think. She felt like a lone blade of grass
standing upright before an onrushing torrent.  She could not stand before it,
and she didn't want to. Every barrier she had half-heartedly erected crumbled
like dust in the face of it. And when his mouth crushed down on hers, she
thought she might simply die from the pleasure of it.

Crichton. Crichton was alive under her hands, the bunching muscles at the back
of his neck, the soft brush of his hair against her fingers, the trails of
sensation skittering all through her body. There were reasons, her fear
shouted, unheard under the cacophony of her heart pounding in her ears, reasons
why this should not happen. She brushed the caution away like a pestering
insect.

His broad hands were sliding up the backs of her legs, lifting her. She felt
the flat surface of the wall at her back and she brought her heels up to hook
behind his hips, pressing herself against the delicious hardness of his
erection. His mouth was forging wet, hot trails along her neck, sending
shuddering waves of pleasure cascading down her limbs, tingling in her
extremities, focusing on the inferno in her groin.

Broad hands cupped her ass, pressing her tighter against him, pushing her
upwards so his mouth could travel downwards, and she felt her rational brain
begin to shut down. So when she heard his voice grate against her skin, she
blinked, confused and muddled.

"Wait."

What? Wait? Wait for what? Panting softly, she licked her lips, watching his
eyes follow the movement hungrily. He looked like a wild thing, the blue of
those irises burning into her skin like a brand.

"I have to know." His words were measured, heavy and thick with the weight of
his desire. He did not let her go, instead tightening his grip on her, leaning
into her more fully, looking straight into her eyes. His mouth was so close to
hers that she could taste the moisture of his breath.

He had to know something? He wanted to talk? Now? Her brain was still
struggling to catch up. It was hard to concentrate when his lips were slightly
swollen like that, when his eyes glittered and his skin gleamed with moisture.
She leaned forward and kissed him again, this time slow and soft, painting his
lower lip with her tongue. He gave a low groan and pushed her away with an
effort that set a vein pulsing in his neck.

"Please, baby. I have to know if you're just caving in to the physical need...
coz, god help me, I *know* what this thing is between us. But I have to have
more." His whisper was low and harsh, his body suddenly tensed as if to flee.
It hit her like a bath of cold water, remembering. Her fingers bit into his
shoulders, her lips thinning. There was a need, a desperate one. But was it
all?

More? Could she give him more? She already knew the answer to that. She had
always known it.

Strangely, the things that came to her were the faces of the couple in the
hallway what seemed like arns before. Strong, even in their fear. Strong
*because* of each other. Such a tiny thing, a small thing. It was their
strength even in their obvious weakness. She suddenly recognized the thing that
had snapped in her earlier, it had been a decision, but not one of the moment.

Her eyes travelled over his features, so dear to her now. She would, she knew,
die for him. She had no doubt that he would die for her. What danger was there
in their relationship that was not already present? It was all about fear, she
finally admitted. It always had been. Would she be able to face the situation
that those two in the hall had faced with confidence or with terror because of
what she had to protect now?

She smiled then, gently, her hands coming up to either side of his face. She
knew what she had to do to convince him. So simple, really. Her lips met his
forehead and she could see the doubt that was stamped there written in each
crease. There was a brief spasm of regret for that uncertainty. That she had
caused it for no other reason than her own cowardice. She, who hated to admit
to fear of any kind.

"I love you, John Crichton." She smiled fiercely as she said it.

It had already been said, but it bore repeating. At the incandescent look on
his face, she wanted to say it again. He reached out and tucked a stray curling
strand tenderly behind her ear.

"I love you too, Aeryn Sun." His voice shook almost imperceptibly as he
suddenly lifted her off the wall and carried her, wrapped around him, to the
worn old bed and set her down.

Outside, the sounds of smashing glass and hooting revelry was starting to die
down a little bit as the shore leavers slowly succumbed to drunken slumber and
unconsiousness. Neither of them paid any attention to it, intent only on each
other. 

This was suddenly new. This was slower, less feverish. This was a reverence she
had never experienced.

He folded her lips under his, a slow, intimate exploration that, by the time he
inched his mouth down her neckline, had left her dizzy. Tracing her collarbone
with the tip of his tongue, he painted a fiery trail that made her gasp out
loud.  She felt like she was quaking under his touch, and her hands came up to
run through the soft bristle of his hair, loving the feeling of sable brushing
her fingertips.

A soft breath puffed from her lips and she closed her eyes when he tugged the
drying cloth open, exposing her to the dusty air. She didn't dare look at his
face, didn't dare do much more than arch up under the heat of his tongue and
the texture of his teeth. Aching, she was aching for more, the pressure
building to its previous levels, only slower. More powerfully. His hands
stroked back the cloth, curling under her rib cage to both hold her still and
pull her closer. The hard edge of his teeth grazed a sensitive nipple and her
fingers closed convulsively against the back of his head, silently urging him
on as he devoured her breasts, one at a time.

Her legs were still wrapped around his slim hips, and she could feel the scrape
of his leather pants against her calves. Abandoning his hair, her hands slid
down the sleek muscles of his back and then around to the fasteners. He groaned
against her flesh when she finally loosened them and used her feet to drag them
down his hips. The smooth, hard heat of his erection burned against the inside
of her thigh and she rubbed against it, thrilling in the desperate sounds he
made against her skin.

So slowly. She'd never experienced anything like it, never had hands cradle her
like precious crystal or had a mouth worship her form so lovingly. She felt
full to bursting, the pressure, the pleasure, the need. With a burst of
willpower, she pushed him up and off her, rolling them so that she sprawled
over his narrow hips, only a whisper away from the thick, hardness of him. Not
yet. Quivering with the effort, she refrained from sinking down on him. Not
yet.

Aeryn finally dared look into his face, a wash of light flowing into the room
from outside the dingy shutters, painting his features with tints of electric
blue. He was looking up at her with an expression that hurt her heart and
brought pinpricks of moisture to her eyes.

If she had only known what her fear had kept her from.

She settled herself carefully onto his lap, pressing tightly against him,
refusing him entry just yet, but glorying in the tight gasp, the drooped lids,
the amazing power she held over his pleasure. Pulling John up to meet her face
on, she yanked off his coat, vest and shirt with alacrity, exposing the hard
planes of his beautiful torso. He jerked against her, kicking off the last of
his pants until they were simply flesh to flesh with no barriers in between.

Another kiss, this one long and lingering, exploratory. Drawing taut the lines
of sensation, tugging and nibbling, gently drinking each other in. Her hands
were busy tracing lines along the muscles of his chest, the ridges of his ribs,
the flat plane of his quivering stomach. Hands stroked up and down her back,
her hips, her arms, her thighs, clutching her closer and closer until she felt
her breath shortening. She didn't care.

When she rocked against him, canting her bottom in the cradle of his upper
thighs, his mouth opened against hers and his hands moved down to still her
hips. Those perfect eyes found hers in the dim light, found them and held them
as he slowly shifted her weight, lifting her up ever so slightly and then
pressing her down again.

The sensation tipped her head back, the weight and heat of him entering her,
stretching her, filling her. A tiny gasp caught in the back of her throat, her
entire body arching into him. His head dipped to suckle on her throat, nibbling
and teasing the slim line of it, still holding her there, not moving. Simply
holding.

She felt a wetness against her collarbone that was not his mouth and her hands
curled up to cradle his head in the hollow under her chin, pressing her cheek
down into the soft pelt of his hair.

They remained, unmoving for a long moment, feeling each others' heartbeats and
reveling in the closeness, the perfection of their unity.

She was the one who finally moved, rocking gently, feeling him press deeper
inside her, groaning out loud at the sensation. His hands were on her hips
again, almost bruising as he lifted her, guiding her, guiding him. Her head
fell back once more, her mouth opening to the ceiling, her hair spilling down
her back.

He was her entire universe in those moments. Time measured only in the sound of
a gasp, the pounding of a pulse. She could feel it coming, marching on a
thousand feet, surging towards her on a thousand wings. Her fingers clutched at
his shoulders and she could feel it swelling in him too, as closely as they
were joined. They began to move as one, harder, faster, the sounds of their
cries filling the room and beating against the dusty plaster walls.

When his shout battered against her skin, she felt herself expand inside,
coming hard enough to see stars behind her eyes, shuddering her ecstasy against
the damp surface of his chest, clutched together in the unbreakable circle of
each other's arms.

They were silent for a long, long moment, breathing heavily against each other,
refusing to let go just yet. She was still shuddering slightly as the waves
receded slowly, leaving her almost dizzy with it. He finally broke the
stillness by nuzzling the damp hollow of her neck.

"What," his voice sound odd and loud to her ears in the hollow quiet of the
room, "...what exactly, changed your mind?"

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to tell him that it had never been as simple as
a decision. That it had never been anything like that. Instead, she laid her
cheek against his, curling her legs around his hips tightly, still joined.

"Nothing changed my mind, Crichton." Now she pulled back to smile into his
face, one finger coming up to touch his lower lip. So beautiful. "I always
knew, inside, that it was only fear keeping me back."

"Come on. What changed?" He kissed the tip of her finger, half teasing, half
serious. "Something changed."

This time, she did laugh, low and soft, a little self-deprecating.

"I guess I just realized that being afraid doesn't make me weak."

He snorted.

"What the hell does that mean? I'm afraid I don't have my Aeryn Sun Decoder
Ring with me at the moment."

"Look," she grinned. "I don't know. You're talking too much again. If you need
an excuse...blame it on the frelling dust."

He looked at her for a long moment, and she could see that he did understand.
That he understood that it had been fear that had kept her distant. Her fear of
giving away everything and ending up with nothing. He could see all that, and
she was glad for it.

"All right," he kissed her one more time. "The dust it is."

END