Title: Peacetime Manoeuvres, Daisy Chain, pt I

Author: BodyBreeder

Summary: AU. Suppose Aeyrn and Crichton end up somewhere with too much time on their hands? Not terribly slashy, but be patient, it's on its way.

Spoiler warning: Haven't seen season II, so no spoilers for that; some spoilers for season I, especially A Human Reaction, The Flax and Nerve.

Warning warning: Adult themes, heaps o' sex and bad language, no doubt. But no gerbils.

Disclaimer: The characters are all absolutely stolen property and belong to someone else. But I let them play.

Peacetime Manoeuvres: Daisy Chain
by BodyBreeder

Another frelling misson, on another frelling planet filled with God knew what lurking around them, waiting for a slip-up or innocuous move that would turn out to be surprisingly lethal. In this case, the atmosphere of threat was perfectly enhanced by the thickening fog.

"We should head back soon, Aeryn," said Crichton. "It's blacker'n sin over here, and looks like it's going to get worse before this fog lifts."

"When we find the source of the power surges, I'll be happy to get back to Moya. I'm not going back up there with nothing to report." Aeryn's fierce sense of professionalism, aka her stubborn refusal to admit that anything, even an unknown phenomenon, was going to get the better of her, was really beginning to grate on Crichton's nerves. And they'd only been down here for a few arns. "But you can feel free to wait in the Prowler if all this fog makes you nervous."

Hell. Easy for Aeryn to be so focussed. She didn't have a childhood's worth of memories of *Creature Feature* movies specialising in the creepiness of fog.

The sudden snapping off to their left, coupled with the flash of light that was the clearest expression of the power surges they were supposed to be investigating gave Crichton hope that maybe the mystery of this drenning planet would be solved sooner rather than later.

"Did you get that, Crichton?" Aeryn's voice crackled over the voice-set. "I'm going over to get a better look. Stay here."

Sure, thought Crichton. Like I have a choice. They had resorted to using the voice-sets once they realised that the fog would prevent their maintaining visual contact with each other. Unfortunately, as the fog thickened, it also seemed to be interfering with their communications. Right on target, Crichton figured; soon they'd be unable to communicate at all, isolated in this bloody fog, just waiting to be critter food for whatever menace this planet harboured. The stalwart crew of Moya weren't exactly filled with positive experiences of new life forms, and Crichton didn't figure he'd come across the reaches of space to be lunch for some alien species.

"Crichton, get over here now!" With a rising sense of panic, Crichton recognised that tone of voice, though he'd never have guessed that Aeryn could achieve that same combination of surprise, fear, and alarm that he himself had become so familiar with.

"On my way, Aeryn," he called, already scrambling through the thigh-high grasses. "Aeryn, answer me; what's happening?" The static on his head-set was uninterrupted. "AERYN!" Still nothing.

Crichton took the head-set off one ear, listening for any sound around him. What he got was the muffled and claustrophobic silence of the fog. He strained his eyes, looking for the Sebacean's pale skin in the murk. Knowing it was probably useless, he continued to call out, stumbling over the treacherous ground, uneven under the covering of thick grass. "Aeryn!"

Suddenly, Crichton felt a clammy touch along his hip. Without even thinking about it, he raised his improvised tech kit, wishing he'd forced Aeryn to share the armoury that every PK seemed to carry with them everywhere. At least he could, what?, club whatever-it-was to death.

"Crichton?" The familiar inflection, equal parts exasperation and irritation, sent a surge of relief through him. Which was immediately forestalled by the barrel of the pulse rifle snug against his head.

"Jesus Christ, Aeryn! Couldja point that thing somewhere else?" She dropped the barrel of the rifle, a touch too slowly for Crichton's comfort.

"Let's just get back to the Prowler. Now."

"Hey, what about the `results before defeat' routine?"

"We're going, Crichton. Now." Aeryn dragged his arm, already half a stride ahead of him.

"What the hell's the hurry all of a sudden? Aeyrn, dammit, talk to me. What's going on?"

Aeryn suddenly pivoted, and Crichton could see her face, drawn and tense. "Can we talk about this later? In the Prowler? We don't want to be here right now."

Surprised into acquiescence, Crichton followed her back as she strode off through the grass, still holding his arm.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. "Hey, can I have my arm back? You're gonna dislocate my shoulder yanking on it like that."

"I think we should make sure we don't lose each other in this fog," said Aeryn in a flat voice. "If you hurry up, I won't be yanking on your arm."

"Right, sure," said Crichton, not at all reassured by Aeryn's sudden burst of attentiveness. "You will explain all this, right?"

Well, hell, who knew they had *Creature Feature* in PK training?

****

By the time they'd returned to the Prowler, Aeryn could not bring herself to let Crichton get even a few paces behind her. Even though it meant constantly waiting, or labouriously shortening her stride, she found herself keeping pace with him. And she could not, no matter what she tried, bring herself to let go of his hand. It was getting harder to ignore the puzzled looks he kept shooting in her direction, but then she had the advantage of a well-earned reputation for insensitivity so she figured that bought her some time.

In the Prowler, she immediately locked down the outside doors and double-checked the access panels. Everything seemed undamaged and secure. She activated the comm channel to Moya.

"Aeryn, is that you?" Zhaan's unruffled voice, cool and somehow blue filled the Prowler.

"Yes, it's me. Crichton and I are back in the Prowler. You need to look more carefully at the patterns of the power surges, Zhaan. I think they have a natural source here, something ... organic. I can't really go into the details right now, but just check the data, okay?"

"Thank Kha'laan!" The relief in Zhaan's voice was unmistakable. "We were beginning to worry, Aeryn. Pilot and I have discovered that the power surges on the planet seem to be coinciding with thickening of the planet's cloud cover. We are getting disturbing readings of some kind of large-scale predation happening at the same time."

That got Crichton's attention. "Wait, how do you know that?"

Zhaan's voice was tight, uneasy. "Pilot says that he reads many life-signatures which peak and then rapidly dissipate. This suggests that there is some kind of ..."

"Mass execution happening down here?" Crichton's voice mirrored his sense of disbelief. "Without us seeing or hearing anything unusual?"

"You forget, Crichton. What about the light bursts, and the crackling noises?" Aeryn interrupted.

"When did you suddenly begin to take those seriously?" Crichton shot back defensively.

"When I saw the singed ground and all the bodies in the clearing before I found you again." Aeryn's quiet voice did not quite disguise the fear that rippled through her body at the memory.

"What bodies??" Zhaan and Crichton said in unison.

"I can't be more specific. There wasn't enough left to identify, just bits and pieces all over the place. It was like an explosion site but there was no evidence of a detonation--at least none that I could see."

"Jesus." Aeryn's erratic behaviour suddenly had a reasonable but frightening explanation. He had preferred it when it was just another funky PK quirk.

"Aeryn, John. I think you should come back to Moya." Zhaan's voice was firm and decisive.

"We can't. The power surges are increasing and we can't be sure that they won't interfere with the Prowler's navigation and controls. We have to stay here until the activity decreases." Aeryn's voice was flat again, and very controlled.

"Then don't leave the Prowler," said Zhaan. "under any circumstances."

"Don't have to tell me twice," muttered Crichton under his breath. Anything that gave Aeryn the heebie-jeebies, he wanted to avoid big-time.

****

"That should be enough to get by comfortably for a while, at least, as long as we don't get greedy." Aeryn looked with satisfaction at the pile of supplies they had foraged from the Prowler's stores.

"Good thing Spanky didn't decide to come down to sample the air," observed Crichton.

"Right." said Aeryn, looking right through him. "Here's your blanket. I'll sleep over here."

Crichton unrolled his bedding, trying to make a homey-feeling nest against the bulkhead. "So, Aeryn," with studied casualness, "what exactly did you see? I mean, what are we up against?"

She looked at him, her eyes almost black. "I have no idea what it is. Like I told Zhaan, I saw nothing in particular; certainly nothing recognizable. I saw bits and pieces of bits and pieces. What I saw might have been alive, once, a very traumatic while ago."

"Oh."

"Good night, Crichton." And then she rolled herself into her blanket, back to him, and feigned sleep.

Crichton tried to imitate Aeryn's tactics, with much less success. His drifting mind, eager for something to latch onto besides the likelihood of their imminent demise at the hands of some impossibly powerful creature (helpfully depicted in his imagination as having two chainsaws instead of hands, and a wood-chipper body) wandered over the last time he and Aeryn had spent any time together in the Prowler alone. In the flax. Come to think of it, they had faced imminent death then, too; although a much more peaceful death, and really, they had handled the stress from that near-death experience a lot more creatively than this. In his humble opinion.

He remembered the desperation of their kiss as they thought they were going to die; he could bring to mind exactly the feel of Aeryn's breasts under the t-shirt she wore (once they got the damn suit off), the weight of her resting on his hips, the outline of her body arching above him, promising so much ...

As a distraction, this memory had some serious disadvantages. Now he was horny and scared. No way was he going to get any sleep AT ALL.

Which was the last thought he remembered, as he was struggling to wake up, Aeryn's screams ringing terrifyingly in his ears.

****

Aeryn sat up, confused and disoriented. Where? her muddled brain tried to ask--not on a troop ship, though familiar in that sense anyway; not on Moya, her bunk was too uncomfortable--? She tried to recall what had awakened her, realised with astonishment that it was screaming, realised with even more astonishment that that unnatural noise was coming from her. And tried to stop. With no success. She finally clamped her hands over her mouth. That muffled the screams and allowed her to take inventory. She was definitely not all right. She was shaking, sweaty; in spite of her PK training, all those cycles of mastering her body's responses to pain, fear, panic, she was helpless now.

Across the cabin of the Prowler, she could see Crichton, also sleep-fuddled, and--she noticed with sinking heart--awake.

And on his way over to her side of the Prowler.

"Aeryn? Aeryn, are you all right?" His voice, in spite of being thick with sleep, was exactly the right pitch--low, calm, strangely soothing.

Aeryn tried to ignore him. Unsuccessfully.

"Um, uh," With cringing embarrassment, Aeryn realised she could not trust her voice. She cleared her throat. "Yes, fine."

Slight break in her voice--maybe he wouldn't notice?

"Like hell." In a microt, he was squatting beside her,looking intently at her. Even in the dim interior light of the Prowler, she could see his eyes darkened with concern. She looked away.

"I thought PeaceKeepers didn't dream." he said, quietly.

"That was no dream." Aeryn said, in a tone that suggested--she hoped--that he should go back to his own bed, right now.

"Nightmares, dreams, same thing," he said, undeterred by her tone. "I thought you guys didn't dream."

"We don't. We're not supposed to. Not by the time we are adults, not even by the time we're out of the nursery."

"Oh, I get it. The famous PeaceKeeper discipline. You all think you can prevent your subconscious from doing its thing, too, huh?" The criticism in his voice was perceptible, but he tried to disguise it under his sarcasm as usual.

"Just go back to sleep, Crichton."

"No way. Not till you tell me what you were dreaming about." He shifted so that he was sitting, his back against the bulkhead, knees to chest, sitting perpendicular to her. "I'm not really tired anyway. I can never sleep once I've woken up."

Aeryn closed her eyes briefly, hoping against hope that when she opened them, none of this would have happened, and she'd be back on Moya, preparing to pilot the Prowler on some innocuous mission.

She opened them. No joy. Crichton lounged against the bulkhead, his body outlined tautly against his white t-shirt and boxers. Absently, Aeryn noticed how comfortingly solid he looked, the way his broad shoulders and body tapered into his hips. She checked his expression carefully, alert for any sign of amusement, condescension, ridicule. She saw only the slightly dopey look Crichton always wore when he was concerned. She sighed.

"Look, it's nothing. Really. The scene out there today, it just got to me, that's all."

"You had a dream, no, a nightmare--a very rare PeaceKeeper nightmare--over some squished guts from something you don't even recognise?" The disbelief in Crichton's voice somehow seemed friendly and not antagonistic.

"You weren't there. It was ... pretty gruesome." She shuddered, partly for effect, and partly because her control was slipping again.

"Yeah. Right. And you've never seen gruesome before."

"Oh, I've seen gruesome all right," Aeryn retorted, stung into a more genuine reply than she'd intended, "and it's a lot harder to forget than that stuff out there." She stopped, unwilling to go on, but not sure she could stem the words any more than she could ignore the memories. She said nothing, hoping Crichton would get bored, give up, fall asleep.

But of course he didn't. Her inferior in so many ways, but lots of stamina and tenacious as a Hynerian smelling a bargain.

"If you try to sleep without talking about it, Aeryn, your bad dream will just come back."

She looked at him skeptically. "Really. Is that supposed to be a scientific fact or something?"

He smiled, shrugged in the dim light. "Even better than science. Mom used to say it, so it must be true."

Aeryn craned her neck to look at him. "Your mother. I don't think I've ever heard you talk about her."

Crichton shrugged again. "Not much to tell. I don't remember her very well."

"She gave you advice about nightmares."

He laughed softly. "Yeah."

"Is that really all you remember?"

Crichton shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, give me a break. I was only about 7 when she left."

"She left?" Aeryn couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. "I assumed she'd died."

"She may as well have. I haven't seen her since."

"Oh." They sat in silence for a while, Aeryn intrigued in spite of herself but uncertain how to draw Crichton out. It had never needed doing before. "I somehow thought you had stronger family units. I mean," she added hastily, "after hearing you talk about your father, and seeing you together."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't really my dad, remember. But you're right. It wasn't exactly Leave it to Beaver." The silence stretched again. She had almost fallen asleep against his warm bulk when he woke her singing an incomprehensible song just under his breath.

"Froggy went a'courtin' and he did ride, uh huh,uh huh, Froggy went a'courtin' and he did ride, sword and pistol by his side, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh"

It went on for some time. Aeryn listened, fascinated. At the end, Crichton lapsed into silence for a microt, then said, "She used to sing that to me at night."

"That's a very weird song, John."

"Naw, it's a great song, Aeryn. You must have a tin ear." He shifted a bit behind her. Aeryn moved, prepared to pull away, but his arm tightened around her waist and she settled back into him. He bent his head till he was talking into her hair, his breath making her hair move in little puffs. "It must have been a lousy life for her, y'know. We moved all the time, because of Dad's work, from one shitty little prefab house to another, always making new friends, Dad working 24/7, only a rambunctious little rug-rat for company. She was smart, too; she could have done anything, but Dad never stayed anywhere long enough for her to get something going. And then I came along, and the possibilities just vanished. She tried hard, though; gotta give her that. Can't blame her for things not working out. Happens all the time."

"Did your Dad tell you this?"

"The old man? Hell no! I just kinda put it together for myself. I don't think Dad would ever have talked to me about it, if he had a choice."

"But he did talk to you about it."

"Yeah." John winced. "In third grade, this little snot-nosed prick, Tommy Duvane. What a shit he was. He started in bugging me about it--hell, it was a small town, everybody knew. Probably knew more than me. Definitely knew more than me; I was still waiting for her to come back." He laughed, an edgy, uncomfortable sound. "Anyway, that kind of thing, you try not to listen, but some of it always sticks, y'know?" He paused, and Aeryn nodded slightly.

She did know.

"Said Mom ran off because of me, because I was too much to handle. I was a pretty lively kid, always into something; guess I ran her ragged. Well, I knew Tommy was full of shit, but I couldn't get what he said out of my head. I stopped eating, couldn't sleep. That made me miss Mom even more. I'd have these nightmares where she'd come back, but I couldn't talk to her, she couldn't hear me." He shivered. "Man, those were awful. I'd wake up screaming, Dad would come in, and I'd know it was true; she was gone, she'd left because of me." He stopped, breathing hard.

"What happened?"

"It really freaked my dad out. He was driving me home from ball practice one day, about a week after Tommy started in on me. He just pulled the truck over and said we weren't going anywhere until I told him what was going on. I lasted about ten minutes, then spewed the whole story. Dad was pretty great, actually. Told me it had nothing to do with me, it was about him and mom, I'd understand some day. He said that mom really loved me but she just couldn't stay."

"And you believed him?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. I know I wanted to, and him telling me gave me a reason to. One of the hardest conversations with the old man I ever had, though." He stopped and looked down at her. "Never had another nightmare about mom. Started eating and sleeping again, too."

She nodded, saying nothing.

"This isn't exactly my dad's half-ton, and I can't say that I could get us going again even if you do decide to give, Aeryn, but there's just us here. No nosy DRDs skulking, no Chiana to eavesdrop, no Rygel looking for blackmail info. So how about it, Aeryn? You know, talking about it might help." The gentleness of his voice undid her. In spite of her best efforts, the shaking was back, and she couldn't regulate her breathing. She was gulping great sobs of air, but she still felt like she was suffocating. Before she even registered that he'd moved, Crichton was sitting beside and slightly behind her, his arms around her, holding her. It seemed impossible not to rest her head on his collarbone, right where there was a hollow that might have been designed to cradle her head. She could feel his hand on her head, stroking her hair.

"Come on, Aeryn. Can't be worse than telling your dad that some 5th grade punk made you cry in front of the whole school by telling you some home truths."

"It's just that there's never any warning about the really bad stuff; have you noticed that?" She craned her head to look at him without really pausing for his reply. "One minute you're on patrol as usual, okay, maybe things are a little funky but you're new to the unit, you don't really know how fast things can get really bad--I mean frelling bad. Then you're pinned down, with your whole unit, there's blood on your uniform and the guy in front of you just suddenly isn't unless you count the blood and stuff sprayed all over the nearest five soldiers." She paused again, shaking badly. When she could control her voice again, she went on. "Then everything goes quiet, except for the dying. We lost 40% of the unit in that one ambush."

"That sounds terrible Aeryn. I can see why it would give you nightmares."

She looked at him strangely. "That's not the nightmare part. After the quiet, we got our orders to advance. We found the nest of snipers that had pinned us. They were kids, barely old enough to hold the rifles. We killed them all. Not very quickly." She looked away. "They were pretty tough at first; battle-hardened for all their youth. The planet had fought hard against the PeaceKeepers, this was a last stand, and they knew it. But they almost all died badly." She lapsed into silence.

After a while--maybe a few microts, maybe days--she lifted herself out of his arms slightly, unwilling to feel him withdraw from her. She knew he would want to be far away from her, wouldn't even want to touch her after he'd heard that; it would be another reminder of her PeaceKeeper past that kept driving them apart. Most of the time, that was okay with her--she needed emotional entanglement like she needed a trip to the Aurora Chair--but Crichton had this way of making her reconsider her most basic assumptions. It's what made him so annoying to be around. That and the untranslatable expressions he was always using.

To her surprise, he resisted her pulling away. Instead, he drew her closer. Even more remarkably, he didn't say anything. They sat there, entwined, for what seemed like arns.

Soon enough, she found herself getting over the shock of the nightmare, even the shock of confiding in someone, anyone, the guilty memory she had carried alone for so long. Her mind wandered, and in its wanderings kept returning to the feel of Crichton under her cheek, to the strength and warmth of his body against hers. Through the thin t-shirts they both wore, she imagined she could feel every ripple of muscle along his chest.

The blanket was bunched around her hips and thighs, but she could still feel him along the length of her leg and the expanse of skin along her arm rubbing against his arm holding her was becoming very--distracting. She knew she should probably move away, and she even honestly tried to, once, but she seemed to be even less in control of her body than during the nightmare. Apparently, her body had its own agenda, and she was not going to direct it.

She turned so that her breasts made more contact with the front of his chest. The friction of her t-shirt as she moved, plus her sudden awareness of the warmth of his body and the quality of his breathing tightened her nipples. She could feel them rub against his chest and paused inwardly, waiting for him to recoil. Instead, she heard the catch of his breath and felt the hesitation in his breathing.

Her hands came up and began to caress the sides of his body, enjoying the way the muscles jumped when she stroked him. She snuck her hands under his t-shirt, and was rewarded by the raising of goosebumps along the trail her hands made. She lifted her head and began to kiss along the line of his collarbone, stretching up to his neck. She remembered when they were on the false Earth and he had kissed her this way, delicately sampling her skin before kissing along her shoulder. It had undone her at the time. She was gratified to feel Crichton's breath quickening; clearly it had the same effect on him.

She turned so that she was on her knees in front of him, parting from him just long enough to sit back on her heels and look at him.

"So," he said, his voice husky and uneven, "this is really gonna happen this time, right?"

"You mean you could stop?"

"Not in this life." He leaned in, took her face in his hands and kissed her; a gentle kiss that rapidly became anything but. His lips parted, and Aeryn pushed her tongue inside his mouth, drawing her tongue along the edge of his teeth and tangling with his tongue sampling her mouth.

He moved his hands down the length of her torso, pausing to grip her breasts and test their weight with his palms. He stayed there, cupping her, and she could feel herself resting there so comfortably it was almost unbearable. Then his hands continued their foray down to her waist, and he pulled her closer to him. She could feel the length of his erection against her pelvis--frell, the thing was enormous--and the sudden hot rush of desire left her breathless.

Her kisses became incoherent; she wanted to taste his skin, to have her tongue mark him finally as hers. The thin cotton that still separated them was simply too confining; her hands wrestled to take off his t-shirt, push down his boxers. His hands paused in their explorations to do the same to hers.

They were kneeling, face to face, and she could feel him along the length of her from neck to knee. It was completely disarming, to feel the warm expanse of him, and only want him closer. She dipped her head, and followed the line of his throat to his collarbone. From there, she laid a trail of kisses along his chest, biting gently at his nipples (`---what the hezmana are those for?--'), gratified by his quivering response. She could feel his erect cock prodding her belly, its silky tip slightly moist. She felt a surge of wetness at her center and had to lean into him briefly to regain her balance.

Tracing her path first with her hands, then more slowly with her mouth, she covered his stomach with licks and kisses. She couldn't remember ever wanting so much: to feel his skin under her hands and mouth, to make him moan and whimper in that satisfying way, to feel his hips bucking, trying to get some friction for his weeping cock. When she tried to move herself onto him, to finally end the building tension in her, he laughed.

"No way, darlin'. I didn't wait this long for it all to end so fast." Delicately, he pushed her over until she was lying and he was between her knees, still kneeling. "Let's see what's what here, before we get too carried away." His eyes dilated, lips slightly parted, he bent to her sex. Her dark curls were glistening, and he could smell the musky scent of her arousal.

Suddenly, Aeryn's eager approach gained new appeal. But no. He was resolved to do this properly; who knew when he would get another opportunity.

He gently kissed her belly, smiling as he felt her skin jump when he lightly ran his tongue over her. He moved to her thighs, separating them and stroking the delicate skin on the inside.

His mouth was eager for her, to taste her and explore exactly how different Sebaceans were from humans. He began to lick her, alternating long sweeping strokes with his tongue with more aggressive and shorter licks. Her hips rolled, thrusting up into his tongue. It was taking all his concentration to pay attention to his pacing and her reactions to his explorations. The folds of her sex were fascinating, rosy and enticing, and apparently very sensitive.

Still, she collected herself to ask, in a rough voice, "John, what are you doing?"

"Nothing to worry about, I promise. The only thing you need to do is lie back and enjoy the ride--and tell me what you really like."

"I really like that."

"Well then." And he bent down again, tonguing her until he found a particularly sensitive spot. He tried sucking that, and found his head gripped by two strong hands. Still, she was remarkably quiet about it all; he really wanted that to change. Without breaking the rhythm of his mouth, he brought his fingers gently to her slippery entrance and pushed. She groaned and pushed back, until two fingers were deeply buried. She fucked his fingers softly, then as he intensified his sucking, her rocking got more and more vigorous. She began to make small noises, nothing coherent, quickly stifled. When he brought his other hand up to finger the tight bud of her ass, her breathing became ragged. Suddenly, her hips pushed her sex even closer to his face. He could feel her muscles contracting against his fingers, making his cock twitch eagerly.

He licked her gently, enjoying her musky flavour (remarkably like Brie cheese, he thought incongruously). She pulled him away and brought his mouth to hers, kissing him so deeply their teeth knocked together. hey lay entwined for a few microts.

"Are all human males like you, John?" she whispered.

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean," Aeryn said, rising up on her elbow and looking down at him with her black/green/blue eyes, "do you all do that?"

"Well, maybe not everyone, but the smart ones sure do." Crichton smiled. "Why? Don't tell me there's something that the famous PeaceKeepers don't do better than everyone else in the universe!"

Aeryn reached down to stroke the length of John's cock, suddenly dramatically reducing his capacity for rational thought. "That makes two reasons to hope the PeaceKeepers never discover your planet and obliterate the natives, John. PeaceKeepers would never do anything remotely like that. It would be like ... submitting." She moved her hand around the head of his cock, rigid now to the point of pain. She watched his face intently, aware of the warm rush to her pelvis as his eyes lost focus and his breathing quickened. She continued her ministrations, intensifying her pace as her other hand began to explore.

She was fascinated by his testicles; Sebacean men lacked these organs, or at least didn't have them in this form. She held them gently, watching John carefully to gauge how much pressure brought him pleasure, and how much was too much. She ran the tips of her fingers along their circumference, watching the muscles along his thighs start to quiver. She made little swirls with her fingertips, almost absently unless you noticed how calculated each stroke was.

Unlike Aeryn, John was anything but quiet--small surprise, thought some infinitely tiny rational part of Aeryn's brain. His moans and encouraging phrases were oddly exciting. Aeryn was used to silent sex: what else was possible on troop ships that never allowed for even the most basic privacy? Now John was bucking his hips, trying to maximize the friction against her hand.

In one smooth move, Aeryn was over his hips, lowering herself onto his cock. She settled on him completely, engulfing him in her wetness, and then paused. To his surprise, Aeryn's passage was cool--part of her Sebacean physiology he guessed. It was unimaginable, how much that coolness intensified his desire. This was not going to last, no matter how hard he thought about dead puppies.

Before Aeryn could begin to move on him, John flipped her over. He suddenly needed to thrust, and he couldn't get the leverage he so desperately wanted with her on his hips. She rolled with him, never shifting her hips from where they were locked against his. He moved against her, pausing to check her expression as he thrust, making sure he wasn't pushing too deep or too hard. Aeryn's hands found his ass, and squeezed, pulling him into her. Reassured, he let himself go.

Aeryn could feel the soft hair of John's chest tickling her breasts; the friction caused her nipples to harden. John groaned and tried to press his chest harder against her. He held himself on one hand, and used the other to roll one erect nipple between his fingers. She moaned; he bent and, sacrificing the most excellent thrusting rhythm he'd just found, used his mouth and tongue to tease her nipple, biting gently. Aeryn moaned louder and bucked her hips against his.

He stopped, looked in her eyes. "I want to hear you come, Aeryn; you understand me? Bring down the roof; there's no one to hear but me."

Aeryn's eyes widened.

"If you do, next time I'll do whatever you want--that's a promise."

Aeryn moaned again, louder, and moved her hips against him. Pleading for him to resume the rhythm, she ground her sex against his pubic bone. John was transfixed by her abandon; he tried really hard not to give in to his own need to thrust against her softness. For about a microt, he succeeded, then he was lost.

John's thrusts were exquisite suspense. Aeryn could feel something building, something that she never associated with fucking. The something that was stretching her, making her whole body resonate, gave her no choice. She made whimpering noises which horrified her when she recognised them but was powerless to prevent. The whimpering escalated into inarticulate cries, and then something was free, and it was too much to contain; she was frelling screaming and how the hezmana did John do that?

John was remembering exactly how much he loved this dance, the slow search to find a rhythm together, the sense of urgency that built and built until the anticipation was too much and there was nothing to do but fall, endlessly. Man, he'd missed this!

He tried to make it last, tried to span out the suspense as long as he could, knowing that in the end the headlong rush was as much fun as falling. Aeryn's scream, the sudden rush of wetness lubricating his thrusts, and the firm grip against his cock as her muscles contracted with her orgasm were too much. He exploded, and it came all the way from his fucking spine--how did she do that?--and that was the end of all rational thought.

He collapsed against her, half expecting her to roll out from under him, or at least push him off. To his surprise, she shifted slightly to accommodate his weight on her hips and shoulders, but carefully to avoid squeezing out his deflating cock.

He brushed her damp hair, curlier where it was wet with her sweat, off her forehead. He kissed her softly. She lay, eyes closed, allowing him this intimacy; for once, her expression was unguarded. He was shocked to see how delicate her face was, without the shield of her PeaceKeeper reserve.

"We are definitely getting better at that every time we do it." The words were out before John could call them back, and he flinched inwardly, waiting for Aeryn's inevitable recoil.

To his surprise, she laughed, a low rumble that he'd never guess she possessed. "Kind of makes you wonder what happens when we really get it right." she said.

With a reluctant sigh, he felt himself slip out of her. He rolled to lie beside her, one hand propping up his head, the other continuing to stroke the length of her torso, pausing only infrequently to caress her breast.

"Man, that is definitely better than I remember," he said, closing his eyes. "I may be willing to listen to all your arguments about PeaceKeeper superiority after all."

"You don't hear me making any of those arguments." Aeryn said, and something in her tone made him open his eyes to look at her. She caught his glance and shrugged minutely. "We've already surpassed any record I've ever heard about for duration and variety of PeaceKeeper sex."

"You've gotta be kidding me," John blurted. "PeaceKeepers don't excel at sex? I thought that was a universal hobby."

"Maybe for the rest of the known universe. PeaceKeepers are too busy--how did you put it?--oh yes, `subduing the lesser races' to worry much about sexual technique."

"Yet another reason to be on the other side," muttered John.

"For once you and I agree, John."

He looked at her again. He was torn between his curiousity and his worry that a wrong word or phrase would piss her off and cut short this uncharacteristic conversation. As usual, curiousity won out.

"So, um, you haven't always had the best experiences with sex," he said tentatively.

Aeryn shot him a wary look. Seeing curiousity but not pity in his face, she answered. "Let's just say that PeaceKeepers do not place much emphasis on ... physical relations, except as a form of recreation. And recreational time is not a priority in PK training." She looked carefully away. "I was infantry, John. Most of my life has been spent in group quarters, in an environment that doesn't indulge or even recognize bonds between individuals. Have I felt sexual attraction before? Yes. Have I acted on that attraction? Yes, but always quickly and very carefully." She sighed. "Sexual relations between officers is accepted, but reluctantly. Sex in general is supposed to weaken the independence of the soldier, or, worse, create bonds between individuals instead of with the unit."

She was still looking away, a vague expression on her face. Her body had tensed, and John found himself wishing he hadn't opened this conversation, after all. He wondered who she was thinking of, then realised he didn't really want to know.

"Sounds kinda rough," he said neutrally. His hand had come to rest on her waist; he began to lightly stroke her hip.

"Yes, well." Aeryn's tone resumed a fraction of its customary chill. "PeaceKeepers aren't famous for their ability to bond emotionally."

John couldn't help laughing at that. "You got that in one, darlin'," he said. "There are exceptions to every rule, though." He moved from her hip to her thigh, stroking the long muscle that ran along the front of her leg. "You know, there are remarkable similarities between Peacekeepers and college guys." Seeing Aeryn's confusion, he elaborated, "You know, young human males. You've just summed up the sexual philosophy of most 15 to 25 year old men."

"Really," Aeryn said, "So once again, our species are not so dissimilar."

"Yeah, well, we grow out of that phase," John hurried to point out. "Plus, it's nothing anybody's very proud of. Much less something to build a culture around." Shit, he was thinking. This is beginning to sound like an argument.

Fortunately, Aeryn was becoming distracted, noticing the heat trailing his hand from her hip to thigh. She propped herself up on an elbow too, looking John directly in the face. She stroked along the line of his cheekbone with her free hand, realising as she did so how often she had wanted to do exactly this. "So this is a familiar situation for you, John?" she asked softly.

He laughed, leaning into her caressing hand, kissing her palm. "No, having mind-blowing sex with a delicious alien woman-- can't say I've seen that in Penthouse Forum all that often." He paused, thinking. "You know, I think I maybe took longer to grow out of that college phase than I really wanted to admit. With Alex, I thought ..." He broke off, eyes darkening and shifting in focus.

Though his hand continued its trek from hip to thigh, back to hip, and across her belly, making it hard to concentrate on his words.

He focused his gaze back on Aeryn suddenly and said, "I thought I really loved her. Man, we seemed so compatible. We hardly ever fought; at least until she wanted to take that damn job. But now, it seems like maybe we just didn't connect the way I thought we did.

Maybe we didn't fight because, why bother." He dipped his head. The shift in his mood disturbed Aeryn. She may mock the perky John, but this more somber version was oddly unsettling.

"It all seems pretty shallow now," he finally said. "It's a helluva thing; takes getting kicked across the known universe to give a guy the proper perspective." He kept his head down. Aeryn tried not to think about this Alex person, tried not to wonder whether she had made John lose himself in her body. Impulsively, she pulled his head up and kissed him, her tongue in his mouth, desperate for his taste.

She shifted her body closer to his, felt the stirring of his cock along her hip and belly. She felt a surge of desire, and a darker triumph--that he wanted her, that she could make his body respond to hers, that she was here and Alex, whatever she might once have been to John, was not.

In spite of her rising passion, Aeryn felt awkward; intimidated by the strangeness of John's body. There was so much she wanted to explore. How exactly did you do it? John had made it all seem so effortless and natural; Aeryn cursed the PeaceKeeper reflexes that had always kept her focused on being the one to get the orgasm, even if it meant neglecting the other person's body and responses.

She realised she had never had the luxury of just lying beside another naked body, free to sample and taste as she wanted.

She started with his chest. Sebaceans had little body hair; she had never seen chest hair before, and its texture fascinated her. Wiry but softer than the hair that drew a line from John's belly to his quickening sex, she rubbed her face against it. She remembered his responses to her caresses of his nipples, and repeated her efforts, pleased when he writhed and began to moan.

Emboldened by her success, she straightened beside him and levered herself onto his cock. Though he was hardening, he was not yet fully erect; this suited Aeryn's purpose since she wanted to enjoy him at her leisure this time. He grunted his surprise when her weight landed on his hips again, and laughed a little.

"Whoa, we're back to this again. You really have a thing for being top dog, doncha, Aeryn?" She could hear the mingled amusement and desire in his voice, and didn't take offense at his banter.

"I believe the words you used were, `whatever you want'," she murmured. "Any objections? Are you planning to go back on your word so soon?"

"Not at all," John said, panting a little as Aeryn found her rhythm and began to rock on him. He was fully hard, now; something he'd have found hard to believe was possible so soon after his last explosive orgasm. Apparently Aeryn knew some tricks of her own.

Then all efforts at conversation dwindled, and there was just the slick sound of Aeryn riding him, and of her slipperyness on his cock. Her hands stroked the length of his torso, kneading his muscles and starting little brush fires along his chest and sides. He lost himself in her rhythm, gave up trying to match her pace, or impose his own and just let go. The benefits of this approach were soon apparent, and Aeryn arched above him, breasts clearly outlined even in the dim light of the Prowler. Her long, dark hair framed her face, which was thrown back in a stance of complete concentration.

Her beauty was something flammable, eyes closed, focused on something so internal that there was no trace of her habitual mask. She was utterly feral, utterly herself and John was unexpectedly reminded of her alienness.

Her movements stopped; at least, she stopped rocking. It took John several microts to notice that though she had stopped moving on him, she hadn't stopped moving. She was contracting and relaxing the muscles of her passageway, massaging his cock like nothing he had ever imagined. It was like several cool hands, all concentrating on applying exactly the right pressure in exactly the right places at exactly the right intervals to drive him completely out of his mind. Only his fear that any move on his part would disrupt her concentration kept him from thrusting madly into her until the pressure building so unbearably in his balls exploded.

He gripped her hips and hung on for dear life.

Aeryn could feel her climax building. The contraction and relaxation of her muscles was putting the perfect pressure on her clit from the inside, and the quirks of alien anatomy meant that John's pubic bone stimulated her from the outside as long as she held herself perfectly still on his rigid cock. Having found the exact right spot, she was careful to keep herself from moving from it. Her enforced stillness made it harder than ever to keep quiet, and she soon abandoned the effort. John would be pleased, some dim part of her forebrain noted, but the rest of her was all hind-brain, caught up in the pleasure of this moment.

When the tension in her was peaking, and she was sure that she would be hoarse from the moaning, she heard John cry out and felt his come against the center of her self. A few more squeezes and she was coming too, convulsing on his still-hard prick. At rest again, she twitched with tiny aftershocks.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" John whispered, his voice ragged and still breathless.

Aeryn was uncharacteristically overcome with remorse. "I hope I did not offend you, John," she said, beginning to move off of him. "I took you at your word. Perhaps that was not fair of me ...."

"No, no. Where are you going?" he said, his hands on her hips keeping her from moving at all. "Believe me, that is not a criticism. Where I come from," he laughed slightly at the pun, "you would get a medal for that. Hell, I'll give you a medal for that."

She smiled at him; the sight made him realise how little of this Aeryn made it past the PeaceKeeper facade she hid behind. "Well, remember the troop ships? An imperceptible fuck is a lot more useful than your more showy varieties."

"Showy? Are you calling me showy? I could be offended. If I could walk, talk, or think coherently, I could be offended." He smiled back at her. Man, I could really like this Aeryn Sun, he thought to himself. Wonder how often she gets let out of her cage. Wonder how to get the key to the cage?

"It's a credit to your open-mindedness that you think so, John. Not everyone has such admirable tolerance." A dark shadow flickered across her features, erasing the much-younger and more carefree Aeryn he had briefly glimpsed. With a sigh, she moved off of him, collapsing beside him on the remains of her bedroll. "If I could walk, I'd go over and get your bedroll."

"Nope, really. I think that's my job," said John, making an honest attempt to sit up. And failing. "On the other hand, it's not really that cold, and I like sleeping close." He pulled up Aeryn's rumpled blanket and stretched it over their bodies. If he spooned her, snuggled right up against her back, it covered them both. "There, see. That's why they keep us resourceful types handy."

"Yeah, right. For your resourcefulness." said Aeryn, snuggling pointedly into his now-soft cock with her ass.

"Is that disrespect I hear in your voice, Officer Sun?" John asked with mock indignation, in his best PK Captain accent. "I'll have you up on charges for that."

"Maybe tomorrow," murmured Aeryn. "I really need to get some sleep."

***

John swam into consciousness slowly, aware of a pervasive sense of well-being that was as enticing as it was unfamiliar. Unwilling to disrupt whatever dream-state had inspired such lassitude, he kept his eyes closed and stretched delicately.

And bumped up against a warm body. `What the hell?' A warm rounded body; a body that responded to his shifting by settling more firmly against him. That did it; curiousity overcame reluctance, and he opened his eyes. To see Aeryn Sun's black hair cascading down her back--a back that was mere inches from his chest. The pieces of the past 24 hours fell into place, and John remembered everything--though the creature(s) that had led to their entrapment in the Prowler got remarkably short shrift. It had been a long time since John had felt this particular well-laid relaxation.

His desire to fondle the female form lying so enticingly available warred with his fear that Aeryn would awaken with a determination to forget that last night had ever happened. He would have said that great sex was impossible to ignore, but then on the fake Earth, she had woken before him and acted like their love-making was just another strategic exercise. And, yeah, okay, he'd admit it; that had rankled a bit. Okay, maybe more than a bit.

Hormones won over psychology, and John extended his arm carefully around Aeryn's waist to stroke her breast. When she slept on, he carefully lifted himself onto one elbow to look at her.

In sleep, her face had no vestige of the PeaceKeeper. Her mouth was generous and sensual; looking at it he was reminded of her passionate kisses the night before. Altogether her face was simultaneously more sculpted and more gentle in relaxation. Her dark brows arched across her forehead like raven's wings, and her thick eyelashes rested on her pale skin. He missed her remarkable eyes, their colour shifting with her moods; on the other hand, as long as she slept, he wouldn't see her retreat behind their cold darkness, shutting him out.

He dropped his head back to their makeshift bed, and pressed up against her back. Her ass, round and taut, made a comfy nest for his cock, which was beginning to wake up, too. His hand ran from her breast to her thigh, enjoying the bands of muscle that criss-crossed her body. The hard softness of her fascinated him.

Suddenly Aeryn's yielding body went rigid under his hands. He stopped his movements, resting his hand lightly on her raised hip. He knew she was awake, he could feel her breathing change, could feel her disorientation. He waited for her to find her bearings. To her credit (and, he admitted, to his surprise), she did not move away from him.

"Good morning, Aeryn," he said softly.

"Hello John," she said stiffly. "We should get out of bed."

"Why?"

"Why? Because it's morning. We have things to do."

"Things? What things? The fog is still out there; I checked." He lied uneasily, figuring what the hell.

Aeryn rose and checked the sensors, completely at ease in her nudity. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her standing so freely, struck again by her beauty. "You're right. The fog is still as thick as it was yesterday." John silently thanked the gods he hadn't realised he'd been praying to.

"Like I said. So come back to bed." He patted the bedroll in an inviting manner. Seeing her hesitation, he said, "Come on, Aeryn. What else you gonna do? Watch the fog roll in?" Still she stood, wavering, undecided. "Unless you're chicken," he taunted, in a last-ditch effort.

"Chicken? Why should I be--a small feathered creature? Really, Crichton," she shook her head in disgust.

Cursing the ineffectiveness of the translator microbes, John tried again, "No, not chicken baawk baawk baawk, but chicken, you know, scared." His attempt at clarification was lost as Aeryn began to giggle at his poultry imitation. Still chuckling, she came back to the bed. Score one for the Earth-boy, John thought.

She stretched beside him amongst the bedding, not bothering to cover herself. She noticed his cock, still optimistically half-erect. "Hmm, somebody clearly got enough sleep!"

"Yeah, well, I've just recently been reminded how nice it is to have one of these," John said, only slightly defensively, "Can't blame a guy for being eager."

"No, definitely not," Aeryn murmured, coming in for a kiss. Their lips met, and the awkwardness of a few moments ago was rapidly forgotten. Her hands gripped the back of his head, bringing his mouth harder and more thoroughly against hers. His hands drew gentle circles on her breasts, converging on her nipples, teasing them until she arched into him, moaning against his mouth.

He broke the kiss, moved to her throat, raining kisses down along the veins he could see running under her translucent skin down to her breasts. She shivered under his tongue, her hands still loosely cupping the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp, massaging it gently.

"You really are ... extraordinarily good at this, John," she whispered.

"What can I say? I love my work," John said, coming up to nestle in Aeryn's throat again.

"I can see that," Aeryn laughed.

"No, really," John protested. "Morning sex is absolutely the best, you gotta agree."

"Mmm" said Aeryn.

"No, really," insisted John. "Don't you agree? I mean, you're all warm and nestly, you're not tired, it's a beautiful new day, and you get to start it with a great fuck. What could be better?"

Sighing, Aeryn put her hands on either side of John's face and looked him in the eyes. "I really wouldn't know, John. Morning sex has never really been an option for me. Remember, PK and all that? Morning drills, breakfast in the mess, all those other infantry sleeping in neighbouring bunks ... Is any of this ringing a bell?"

"What? ... you mean ... really?" His earnest shock at her deprivation made Aeryn laugh again. "Man, we have got to do something about that! Aeryn, you're missing one of the great experiences of the universe--well, I think so anyway."

"Hmm. Let's see, John. It's morning, you're here, and I'm here, and we're both willing--I'll assume that if it's all right with you," she said, nodding at him and receiving his answering nod, "so I'd say it's a go. I'm all for experimental science after all."

"It's not that simple," he said. "We have to mimic the just-woke-up state. It's a crucial part of the experience. Here," he gestured, directing her to lay with her back to him, "this is how you were, and I was here," positioning himself behind her, snugged up close, "and we were, um ..." His voice trailed off as he began stroking her sides again.

Aeryn obligingly backed into him harder, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of his hardening cock pressing against her ass. John enjoyed the sensation, too; but he did not want all this to end just yet. He pressed into her, his cock finding its way between her cheeks and staying there, cradled in her warm flesh.

Aeryn stiffened slightly, then relaxed again as John just rested against her, his hands continuing to trace complex diagrams across her breasts and belly. She reached back, smoothing his sides with long, langorous strokes. He twitched reflexively, and she smiled. She liked the way his cock brushing along her ass brought his balls into contact with her pelvic floor. The soft hair covering his testicles brushed against the sensitive skin there, the velvety texture of his skin was intoxicating. Not to mention that the gentle slapping of his balls as they made contact put her in mind of more vigorous thrusting.

Hezmana, she was wet already, and could feel the crest of desire building in her again. As if he could sense her need, John's hands moved down from her torso to tangle in her pubic hair, fluffing and smoothing the dark curls. She pushed against his hand, then groaned in frustration as she realised that pushing against his hand meant breaking contact with the rigid pressure against her ass. She immediately pressed back into him, his cock bobbing its approval.

She smiled, and tried to angle her hips so that she could press into his hardness and still give him optimal access to her eager and throbbing core. John seemed willing to follow this plan, and he brought his hips more firmly against her ass. Both hands were now busy reaching around her, one hand playing idly (but with ever-focused purpose) with the outside of her sex, the other pushing first one, then two, then three fingers into her cool wetness. That was good, but she wanted more.

A combination of raised hips, and firm pushes finally brought his erect cock down, so its head nudged against her pelvic floor. Aeryn gasped, and John brought his hand away from her wetness long enough to grip the base of his cock. Aeryn's hand tangled with his; both were intent on the same purpose: to put his cock where his hand had so recently been. In one smooth thrust, John buried himself in her completely. The fullness of his cock, and the unexpected angles of pressure made Aeryn cry out, which served to intensify John's desire. He moved with long, slow strokes, pausing as he pulled almost all the way out. Aeryn was beside herself by his self-control -- she would never have suspected John capable of this kind of discipline. She pushed her ass back and up every time he withdrew, in a vain effort to maintain the delicious friction that was sizzling her nerve endings.

His hand stimulating her from the outside was driving her wild; she used her own hand to press his more firmly into her. If he broke his rhythm now, she was sure she would do serious damage--to him and any other being that was handy. He sensed her desperation, or else found his own self-control slipping, because he increased the intensity of his fingering.

Without warning, Aeryn's insides melted; a glorious riot of golden honey as the friction against her sex shattered into a cascade of electricity. She yelled--yep, seemed to have gotten over that quiet sex thing pretty completely all right--and ground back and down into John. He moved his hands to grasp her hips, pulling her into him with every thrust. Aeryn's climax went on and on, each thrust of John's behind her bringing some new variant of death by pleasure.

John's thrusts became erratic and soon he, too, was yelling; Aeryn could feel the heat of his come against her walls, could feel every frelling drop as it scalded her.

They lay together, boneless, until their breathing finally slowed.

"That's two votes for morning sex, then," said Aeryn, hoarsely.

****

Several arns later--arns in which the two lovers had sampled the emergency rations stashed in the Prowler (stale food cubes), and reviewed the sensor readings for the planet outside (shedding absolutely no new light on either the source of the power surges or the slaughter Zhaan and Aeryn suspected was occurring regularly)--the comm crackled to life.

John, dressed only in his boxers, turned from the instrument panel he had been scrutinizing. Aeryn, sitting in the pilot's chair completely naked, froze.

"Aeryn, John. Are you there?" Zhaan's voice filled the Prowler.

"We're here, Zhaan. Go ahead."

"Pilot has made some predictions based on Moya's record of the power surges. In about an arn, there will be a brief window when the Prowler might be able to make it back to Moya."

"Thank you, Zhaan. How long will that window be open?"

Aeryn was amazing. No one on Moya would ever guess that Zhaan's news filled her with deep despair. Her voice was steady and unemotional.

"Pilot says maybe half an arn, or an arn at most. There's no way to guess when the next opportunity might arise; Pilot seems to think this is our best option."

"No problem Zhaan. We'll see you inside of two arns then." Aeryn took off the headset and sat back in the pilot's chair.

"Well, damn," John said softly. "I don't think that the castaways are supposed to feel this pissed off about the rescue."

"It does seem that the timing is ... unfortunate." Aeryn's voice was carefully flat. "But inevitable after all."

"Yeah, sure," John began, not at all happy with Aeryn's tone or the hardening of her face. "We knew it was gonna happen. So this really doesn't have to change anything, does it?" Knowing even as he asked that Aeryn's hardening features were his answer. Still, he couldn't prevent himself from making one last, desperate effort. "Aeryn, listen to me. There's no law against this," he gestured helplessly at the Prowler, taking in the crumpled bedding, the musky smell of their love-making, them. "No one on Moya's gonna care what we do or who it's with."

"We don't have time for this right now, Crichton. We have to get the Prowler ready for take-off." Aeryn's face remained resolutely closed.

John was over to the pilot's chair in microts. He bent over Aeryn's seated form, his arms on either side of her. "Dammit, Aeryn, I'm not going to let you do this again! Look, this doesn't have to be anything, it doesn't have to be the love of the goddamn universe, or anything except what it is. Fun. Consoling. Fucking thrilling. But let it be what it is! Please."

Aeryn turned her head, looking around him at the console. Feigning interest in the utterly unremarkable readings. Ignoring him the way she was trying to ignore the emptiness in her belly, the hollow feeling that made her feel she was going to collapse upon herself. "Excuse me." She turned to move around his arms, imprisoning her in the chair.

"Aeryn. Look at me." John's voice suddenly broke, and he crouched down beside her, his back braced against the console. The gentleness and despair of his tone snuck under Aeryn's defenses, which had been prepared for anger and bluster, but not this heartrending sadness. She looked at him, her eyes a green so dark they were almost black. Her mask slipped and she was herself again, Aeryn Sun, not Officer Sun at all. This woman was no PeaceKeeper.

She slid out of the chair onto his lap. Then her arms were around him, clutching tightly even as her mouth ravaged his. His boxers were gone, and his hands gripped her body, trying to memorise its terrain against the long weekens ahead. He slid into her, and it was like the welcoming glow of a fire on a cold night. She gripped him, and opened for him, and it seemed altogether too magical to ever not have. Surely they would die without this; a life without sex was not natural, for any species. They moved together urgently and with an undertone of sadness that defied the joyousness their actions created.

She found that spot on his pelvis again, and rocked herself on it, obliterating her sorrow in wave after wave of spasming muscles. John buried himself in her, knowing that if this wasn't going to be his forever, it was at least his for now. His cock possessed a much simpler emotional life than he did, and it sang with every thrust until his climax sledgehammered through him, impossibly powerful. Grief was apparently an unheralded aphrodisiac.

They sat, arms and legs wrapped around each other, each stroking the others' hair, until their arn was almost up. Then they disentangled their limbs, dressed silently, and put the cabin back in order.

"Moya, we're on our way back. See you in half an arn."

=30=