WARNING: Farscape slash fan fic ahead -- if you are offended by m/m pairings, please exit to the right.

Pairing: John/D’Argo

Title: "Sword Brothers"

Rating: NC-17...oh yeah, this is definitely NOT for the faint of heart.

Contains: A little bit of harsh language, a little bit of angst, and a lot of oral sex.

Author: Aiobheann

Summary: Follow-up to "Blood Brothers." Crichton seeks an explanation of the blood oath he and D’Argo exchanged...and gets that and more.

Archive: MakeBelieve Archives, Luxan Appreciation League Erotica Archives

Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me, and no copyright infringement is intended. I just wanted to borrow them for bit -- they were too pretty to resist. *Thanks goes to Nessa of the Luxan Appreciation League...I owe you one.

By Aiobheann

Crichton paused uncertainly outside the door to D’Argo’s quarters. It was what passed for night on board the ship -- the others were in their quarters, presumably asleep. I’m gonna be bothering him, Crichton thought. He’s already asleep, and he’ll bite my head off for waking him up. He turned to go back to his own quarters, relived to feel justified in avoiding D’Argo for just a little bit longer.

He had been avoiding him, ever since the blood vow. He could tell that D’Argo was a little concerned that he hadn’t been talking to him. Several times, D’Argo had approached him, wanting to talk about what had happened, John assumed... but he hadn’t been ready to face him just yet. His feelings veered from guilt and disgust, to concern for what it might mean that he’d had sex with a man -- and enjoyed it. Oh, and there were the dreams...dreams where it was happening again, dreams that he woke from hard and aching. Dreams that confused and repelled him...but also drew him to reexamine the blood vow and the acts that led up to it. The way he had felt, the way he had given himself over to it...he worried at it, picked it apart, night after night.

He had come here before, determined to talk about it. This was the farthest he’d made it down the corridor so far, before losing his nerve and slinking back to his own quarters...to fall into haunted, fitful sleep. Night after night. Damn, he thought. If I don’t get this over with, I’m gonna crack up. He glanced at the door. But not tonight, he decided, and turned away from the door.

"Crichton?"

Shit. "Yeah, D’Argo. It’s me." he answered. "Did I wake you up?" He peered in, seeing D’Argo sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed.

"No. I was still awake. Come in." Crichton went in, standing awkwardly by the door, crossing and uncrossing his arms nervously.

"You wanted to talk?" D’Argo asked.

"Yeah. I, um...I’ve been thinking." Crichton began.

"About what?" D’Argo asked, but the look on his face said he knew, and wanted to hear Crichton say it. You don’t give an inch, do you? thought Crichton. Even now, you have to make me prove myself. All right, then.

"About the blood vow. About what happened." Crichton said, relieved it was out, terrified of what D’Argo might say next. He wanted to turn and run, get out here, forget it ever happened.

"I know that there is no equivalent on your world, Crichton. But it had to be done. If we are to live together on this ship, it had to be settled between us." D’Argo replied.

"But that’s just it. It’s not settled. I mean, I’m feeling pretty fucked up about this, D’Argo, and I don’t know what to do." He stopped, thinking. "I mean, I’m your ally now, right? So explain this to me. Explain, please, before I lose my mind over it, OK?"

D’Argo sighed. "Among Luxan warriors, there is a hierarchy, a class system. The strongest hold the most status, and the warriors beneath them owe them fealty and loyalty. In certain cases, the submission of a lower-status warrior to his better is required to insure the rank of the stronger and the loyalty of the weaker."

"In certain cases? Like what?" Crichton asked.

"Where there is dissention, competition...where the rank of the stronger is not being honored, or where the order has not been established. In those cases, submission is required, to settle the issue. Rank and status are very important among my people, Crichton. It could not stay undecided, if we are to live on this ship together, fight side by side." D’Argo looked away. "I am sorry that it had to be done."

"What about the blood vow? Is that always part of it?"

Still looking away, D’Argo replied, "No, not always. The blood oath is sworn between warriors who are allies." He looked up at Crichton. "You declared yourself my ally, Crichton. That is another reason the oath had to be sworn."

Crichton nodded. "I wish you had explained this to me before, D’Argo. It wouldn’t have been such a -- such a shock." He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor by the door. He understood now, but it didn’t change the way he felt about what had passed between them. He crossed his arms, elbows propped on his upraised knees, chin resting on his arms, thinking.

They were both silent, then Crichton raised his head, looking out the doorway. He couldn’t look at D’Argo right now, not while he thought of all the things he wanted to ask.

"What happens now? Are we just good friends? Is -- what happened -- ever going to happen again?"

"We are sword brothers, warriors who live and die side by side, sworn to protect each other. Sometimes, that oath comes to mean more than just...just friendship."

"You mean that sometimes, sword brothers become lovers." Crichton supplied, still looking away. <> "Yes."

"Did you have a...a sword brother...back home? Before you went to prison?"

"No. I had never sworn the oath. I was very young when I met Lo’laan...and by taking her as my wife, I broke with the ways of my people." D’Argo sounded so alone, John thought. He’s just as alone as I am. Maybe more. I can go home again, if I ever find home. He can’t.

Crichton got up and moved over to sit beside D’Argo.

"Am I really your sword brother? Or did you just do it because there was no one else?"

"Crichton, the vow is not something I would take lightly." D’Argo said forcefully. "I do not know what others of your kind are like, but you have shown courage. You have tried to help me, and the others, even when you did not understand. Even when it was easier to do nothing."

Crichton silently absorbed D’Argo’s words. To realize that D’Argo did respect him, after feeling for so long that he was nothing but a disappointment to him, pleased him. He considered his next words carefully, realizing that what he was thinking went against all that he had thought was central to his image of himself. As much as he rebelled against it, he had enjoyed it. Was it because he had been gone so long, had been deprived of closeness with another being? Aeryn...whatever he felt about Aeryn, she seemed to determined to close him out, and he realized how foolish it would be turn aside what D’Argo seemed to be offering. If he let his pride and ingrained prejudices move him, control him, he would be alone.

"D’Argo, it’s just hard for me to accept what happened. I mean, on earth, there’s a taboo against it -- a strong one. I was raised to believe it was wrong. But...I enjoyed it. Do you understand how much that messes me up? I think about it...I think about it all the time, and it’s driving me crazy."

D’Argo looked startled and upset. "I did not realize, Crichton. I was so consumed with what had to be done that I did not consider that I might be causing you dishonor."

"That’s just it. I’m supposed to feel that it was wrong, and I do, a little...but it’s been so long, and I just -- went with it. I never thought that I would...I mean, humans, most of them, believe that doing something like that makes you...weak. Feminine. That it’s against nature..." Crichton paused. "Do I believe that? I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know."

"Among warriors, on my homeworld, it is not a dishonor. It is simply accepted. Warriors form close bonds, bonds that sustain them when they are in battle. To fight beside your sword brother means that you fight beside your strongest ally...one who trusts you, would die for you, with no hesitation. Sword brothers who extend that bond to a shared life, and a shared bed, do so with their whole spirits, hearts. It is the most powerful bond among my people. Because I chose Lo’laan, I never had that bond...Perhaps I tried to form that bond here because I had nothing else left. I should not have, I see now. It was...selfish of me."

"Do you want to forget about it, then?" Crichton asked.

"That is not possible. The blood oath can’t be broken. We can continue as we are now...as allies, nothing more."

"Is that what you want?" Crichton asked, not sure what he was hoping the answer would be.

"I will leave it up you, Crichton. Your ways have to be honored, too. If it is not something you can accept...then so be it." D’Argo answered.

Stubborn bastard, Crichton thought. Part of him quailed away from being the one to have to say the words, from being responsible. He thought briefly of the way that it had felt to submit to the will of another, to have all decisions removed from his control, to be controlled. Then he reached beyond that, reached for the feelings themselves -- raw, physical...but also a comfort, in a strange way. A closeness, a shared experience with someone else who was there with him. Would be there for him. How likely would it be that he would ever have that again? Not with Aeryn. Just as surely as D’Argo’s culture and ways had pushed him toward Crichton, Aeryn’s breeding and culture pushed her away from him. PeaceKeepers fought alone, died alone. He didn’t want to live his life that way -- no matter what else his life brought, here in this place so far removed from all that was familiar, he did not want to be alone.

He steadied himself, decision made. "I want to be your sword brother, D’Argo. All the way. All the things you told me about...that is what I want." He turned toward D’Argo, holding out his right hand. The one that bore a line of pink scar tissue across the palm. D’Argo looked at him searchingly, and John looked back, as steadily as he could. D’Argo reached out and took John’s offered hand with his own.

"Are you sure? This what you want?" D’Argo asked, and Crichton could see slow excitement stealing into D’Argo’s expression, and his own desire, so long held back and ignored, hit him like a shock, as if he had touched a live wire he had been unaware was even there. Whatever this was, this desire and need, be it for closeness or just the simple aliveness of two bodies joining, could not be ignored or stayed. He gave in to it, and D’Argo seemed to sense it.

They came together, rough and plundering. No boundaries resisted the need they both felt, and any shame or fear Crichton had felt fell away, as it had the first time. There was only the sensation, the drive. He felt D’Argo’s hand twining into his hair, pulling his head back as D’Argo sought the soft flesh under the line of his jaw. He could feel the roughness of D’Argo’s beard contrasting with the surprising softness of his skin, of the ridges over his eyes, as they rubbed against his chin while D’Argo searched out the tenderest spots, sucking and nibbling at the cord of tendon that traveled down the side of Crichton’s neck.

Hands tangled in clothing, each struggling with the unfamiliar fasteners of the other’s garments. Crichton heard the tear of cloth as D’Argo wrapped his hand in the collar of his T-shirt and ripped it away from his neck, baring his upper chest and shoulders. Crichton pulled at the tunic D’Argo wore, finally succeeding in unclasping it and pulling it away, shoving it down so that he could get his hands under it and get at D’Argo’s back, feeling the pull and play of the Luxan’s muscles under his hands. D’Argo paused only to pull the tunic the rest of the way off, ripping off the half-gauntlets on his hands.

Hungry now for the feel of skin against skin, Crichton pulled away long enough to pull the ruins of his T-shirt off over his head. Before he could bring his arms down, D’Argo captured his wrists and pushed him back against the bed, pressing him down with his body as he reached for Crichton’s lips with his own. Crichton was left breathless by the kiss, so unlike any before this. No games, no uncertainty or control. No kiss he had ever shared with a woman had been like this...so utterly wild and urgent.

They rolled on the bed, Crichton struggling to get out from under D’Argo’s weight -- not to escape, but to get free to reach for the lacings of D’Argo’s breeches. Freed from the guilt that had haunted him when he remembered, in dreams, the feel of D’Argo’s cock in his mouth, he wanted to reclaim it now. D’Argo let him go, lying back and looking down at him, propped up on his elbows. He unlaced the breeches and spread the opening apart, dipping down to take the head into his mouth.

After a few minutes, D’Argo reached down to pull him away, but Crichton refused to be moved, knocking D’Argo’s hands aside, determined to take everything there was to take, to give back all that he had to give, and more. When D’Argo’s harsh breath turned into groans, he redoubled his efforts, and when D’Argo came, he let the hot fluid flow down his throat, feeling a fierce triumph that surprised and overwhelmed him.

Before he could move, D’Argo was pulling him up, turning him. He let himself be guided onto his back, watching as D’Argo stood long enough to remove his own boots and breeches, then bent to pull Crichton’s clothing from him before he rejoined him on the bed. D’Argo paused a moment, fondling John’s cock and examining it curiously, and John realized that D’Argo was startled that he was circumcised -- although not by the same means, as he had learned after the questions he had asked D’Argo about the bone knife Rygel had used on Moya. He opened his mouth to answer D’Argo’s unspoken question, but what came out instead was a strangled gasp as D’Argo took his cock into his mouth.

Crichton fell into the sensation, lost himself in it. He could feel the braids D’Argo wore trailing down the insides of his thighs, a delicious counterpoint to the warm and wet slide of the mouth on his cock. He rocked his hips with it, riding wave after wave until he came with a low moan. He opened his eyes when he felt the bed rock as D’Argo stretched out beside him. They lay side by side for a while, not speaking. Now that it was over, John was at a loss. What did you say after something like that?

Finally D’Argo got up and reached for his scattered clothing, laying the boots and tunic aside and putting on his breeches. He walked back over to the bed, sitting down beside Crichton, each of them frankly studying the other’s body. John reached out and trailed his hand down the tattoos that wound from D’Argo’s throat and onto his torso. D’Argo’s eyes flicked to Crichton’s crotch, and Crichton laughed.

"I know what you’re wondering, and it happened right after I was born. I don’t remember a thing."

"What’s the point in that?" D’Argo asked disgustedly.