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. She

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