TITLE: Revelations 1:

Author: Alison M Dobell

SUMMARY: "Crichton meets Stark in a peacekeeper cell and learns something about the mask he wears."

Rated 'R'.

Hints at m/m sensuality. A "FARSCAPE" story bordering on slash.

The usual disclaimers apply. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Any comments to: AlisonMDobell@aol.com

"A FAIR TRADE"
A "Farscape" story
Written by Alison M. DOBELL

* * * * *

He lay on the floor of the cell trembling and shaking so badly he could not focus. Stark watched him for several minutes, cautious and wary. He saw Crichton shudder violently, empathised with his pain knowing that the shock of the chair was reverberating through his system. He crawled slowly over to the human and eased him on to his back so that he was now lying across his lap looking at the ceiling. Crichton did not speak, showed no sign of recognising him or any real awareness. He was shaking so badly, his eyes red rimmed and staring. Stark felt his heart go out to him and gently stroked his hair as he cradled him. "Sssh, it's alright."

Gently he spoke to him, his voice soothing the tremors that wracked his body with pain. Crichton clung to the sound of his voice, comforted by the warmth of his body and the touch of his hands. Images flashed in his head accompanied by the pain of the Aurora Chair as it ripped his memories from him. He shuddered again. Stark held him a little closer, his words soothing, his left hand running slowly through his hair and calming him, his right hand on his chest holding him close, keeping him safe. The sound of his voice complimented the touch of his hand and was oddly hypnotic. After a while he stopped being so aware of the pain, the images. His world began and ended with Stark. Odd that but it felt good. It was the only thing in his world that did not give him pain. Stark's right hand stroked his chest, his words now a soft murmur against his right ear. His eyes were growing heavy. He was so damn tired. He recalled the light when Stark had removed his mask, the beauty of the thoughts he had shared briefly with him. The place Stark had kept hidden for so long from Scorpius. A place filled with peace and love. A place of healing. The memory of that brief gift helped to keep his fear at bay, to still the keening voice of his pain wracked body. He could feel the man's lips beside his ear, the air stirring against the side of his face, but was unable to distinguish the words. He was too tired and the world around him was beginning to blur and fade to black.

Stark looked at the human and held him as he drifted off to sleep, gently rocking him and stroking him to lull him into a state of calm. Once asleep, he observed his strange cell mate more closely and wondered what his story was. Why were both Scorpius and Crais so fanatical about this human? Crais had said he wanted him dead but Scorpius wanted something from him. That meant the human would not be allowed to die. At least. Not yet. Not until they had what they wanted from him. Stark leaned back against the wall and started to sing softly to himself and closed his eye. Gently he let his consciousness slip and eased himself effortlessly into the sleeping man's thoughts. A dream in exchange for the nightmare of waking.

It was strangely lit this place in which he found himself. Crichton turned slowly, somehow knowing he was dreaming. There was an other world quality to what he was seeing which in itself was amusing. Everywhere he had been lately had been another world. Why should his frelling dreams be any different? This place seemed to be mainly white. White sky, white ground. He half expected to find he was standing on a cloud but no, it appeared to be solid ground. As far as he could tell without anything to give him a reference he could use as a bench mark. When he finished turning round he was surprised to see his cell mate looking at him. What was he doing here? 'Hey, this is my dream. Do you mind?' The Banik slave just looked at him. There was something mesmerising about him. Something sympathic and calming. He found himself walking towards him, wanting to know more about his companion. After all, if they were going to share hell together they might as well get acquainted.

Crichton tilted his head as he stopped in front of Stark. "How long you been here?"

"Two cycles."

He gave him a sympathetic look, not sure that he would have survived two cycles in the chair. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know. Survive the chair."

"I can block my thoughts." Stark accepted Crichton's curious scrutiny. "You look Sebaccean."

"I'm not, I'm human."

"So you say."

"You?"

"I'm from the Banik slave race."

"A slave race? How'd that happen?"

That seemed to amuse Stark though Crichton had no idea why. "This." He pointed to his mask. "It made me a slave. Ironic that here it has saved my life."

"What is it?"

That was when he removed his mask for the second time. The light dazzled Crichton but did not burn him. Instead it drew him closer, fascinated him even as it showed him things beyond his comprehension. The pictures were the least of it. The mask also seemed to touch him on an emotional level. He almost cried out when Stark refastened his mask. He spoke with awe in his voice. "What was that?"

"A gift."

Crichton slowly reached out a hand and touched the mask. Stark was watching him closely but did not pull back, did not seem offended. Crichton paused. "Do you mind my curiosity?"

He considered the question and replied slowly. "No."

"What else can you do?"

For a long moment Stark said nothing. He was looking intently at Crichton as if taking the measure of him. "How much do you want to know?"

"What?"

"How much curiosity do you have? How much courage?"

Crichton laughed, unsure what Stark meant but confident that the man would not harm him. "I'm curious. What does courage have to do with it?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I don't even know you, Stark."

"No." Said Stark softly. "You don't."

When silence fell uninterrupted Crichton began to frown a little causing a deep line to form a crease across the bridge of his nose. "So are you going to tell me?"

"Not tell you, show you." He paused a beat. "If you are sure."

Crichton only paused a moment. After all, what else was there to do in this place? "Okay, show me what you got."

Stark took a step towards him then reached up and removed his mask. "Look into the light." He said softly. Crichton looked, felt the light envelope him, his cares no longer a part of him. The wonder of what he was seeing spoke to his emotional centre and made him dizzy with a kind of joy that was deep and seductive and totally alien to him. Stark ran a hand down the side of his face, speaking gently to him as he would a child.

"Wha...what are you doing?"

"Showing you what I can do."

"Oh. That's alright then."

As Stark touched him, the images and thoughts in the mask moved through him. Drew him in. It was like stepping into a magic painting only the things you had thought of as solid lost their form, all of your bearings became immaterial as if you yourself had lost cohesion with your surroundings. It was weird and unsettling. Then he felt Stark touching him, his hand a caress that grounded him in an odd kind of reality.

"You're touching me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"So you won't get lost."

Even as he opened himself up to the wonder he still found Stark's answer odd. "Why would I get lost?"

Stark took his hand away and instantly Crichton had the sensation of falling rapidly. He cried out and reached for Stark. His hand steadied him, halted his blinding descent and filled him with a ton of emotions that crashed against his emotional shores with bewildering intensity. "What the hell was that, Stark?"

"Your answer."

For a moment he said nothing. Colours were swirling round him, shapes changing as if in direct response to his emotions, his thoughts. "What's happening now?"

"I'm allowing you control."

"Control?"

Stark looked into his eyes. Crichton blinked, confused. When Stark did not answer him, he tried again. "Explain control."

With a slight smile, Stark brushed a light kiss against his startled lips then stepped back and watched his reaction. Crichton saw the emotional reverberations in colours, shapes and sensations. It was weird, it was like painting by touch without the use of a pallet. "How the hell did you do that?"

He smiled. "I didn't, you did."

"I sure as hell didn't kiss you!"

"No, I did that."

"Why?"

"So you could see what I see."

"You see that?"

Stark nodded. "More or less."

Crichton gave him a suspicious look. "What do you mean more or less?"

"You would not be able to stand the sensation of what I see, how I feel things."

He thought about that. "Show me."

"Are you sure?"

Crichton nodded quickly before he could change his mind. After all, this was just a dream right? He could stop it any time he wanted to. Stark took him at his word and this time kissed him properly, exploring with his tongue as he took him in a gentle embrace that gave the human a strange rush of emotional sensations that completely frelled with his brain. He could not think straight, his thoughts were more than images or words, they were feelings drawn with a multitude of sensations that set his whole body on fire. When Stark kissed him he could feel the kiss on every part of his body, the moisture of his tongue washing over him and sending him over the edge with erotic fantasies the envy of any wet dream. He wanted to stop him but could not bear him to stop. It was ecstasy and overload all at once. He came out of it with such a sudden rush that he felt as if he had just come. It left him breathless and stunned. "Wow! You feel that all the time?"

Stark shook his head. "Not all the time."

He did not even want to ask Stark what it felt like when he made love. He had the unnerving feeling that the Banik slave would show him. He was curious but not that curious. He woke with a start and felt Stark stir against him. He froze. Stark settled and did not wake. He was fast asleep, his arms protectively around Crichton where they had fallen asleep. Crichton lay there in silence listening to his heart thudding in his chest. He had been dreaming yet it had seemed so real. He looked up at Stark's face. The mask was on and he was in a deep sleep. Crichton wondered about Stark, wondered about the mask. Remembered the gift Stark had given him. He yawned feeling sleepy, his eyelids growing heavy again. He considered moving out of Stark's arms but did not want to disturb him. He looked so peaceful and had been through so much plus he felt warm here. Safe. Strangely protected. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep again. Stark was patient, gentle and infused him with a feeling of calm. Waiting for him so that he could rejoin him in the dream. A dream in exchange for a nightmare. It was after all a fair trade...


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