by birthsister
Summary: Sometimes the test of friendship is who will come to comfort you in the dark.
Story Notes: This contains little teeny tiny spoilers for Look at the Princess, Nerve, Losing Time, Scratch and Sniff, and most of the important stuff from the third season. But unless you've seen the eps, the references probably won't make too much sense.
Disclaimer: You all know the drill. . . they aren't mine, I'm not making any money off them, and I do this only because it's such a marvelous playground to work with. Yadda yadda yadda.
The moans echoed in hollow chords down the corridor, punctuated at irregular intervals by sharp cries and muffled intensity. She knew when she found him he would be tangled in his bed covers, or floundering on a naked bed, everything flung to the floor and damp with his sweat.
This used to be Aeryn's job. Was most likely still, in some corner of the universe. But D'Argo honored his friend's pain with pride, and Jool simply couldn't be bothered, so it fell on her to be protector of his sleep. To be his anchor in the night, where he was once hers in waking. This stealthy creeping at odd hours, though for Aeryn it had always been more than that. Chiana kept odd hours, there was little that escaped her notice aboard Moya. Aeryn would march into Crichton's chamber with all the determination a lifetime as a soldier had given her, but as often as not, refuse retreat until nearly ship's morning.
She had tried that approach once, but had only found herself staring down the smooth, pristine barrel of John's weapon. Not Wynona, but a deadly enough copy. Especially wielded by a man with dream still in his eye, mistaking your pallor for someone else's, mistaking shadows cast by dim ship's night for a thermal regulatory suit on your similarly tall and thin frame. So she did what came natural to her, she crept up on his chamber in bare feet, she slipped up to his bed like a good little thief, replacing blankets and pillows unnoticed until she slid in next to him, her cool body pressed against his, settling his slumber.
The first night she shared his bed he had opened one teary blue eye and regarded her, a thousand thoughts flitting across his face in a microt before shifting towards the edge of the bed and sitting up.
"Chi..." he started, all brotherly instinct and tired insistence, "this isn't a good idea."
"You were dreaming," she responded, his rebuff even when there was such obvious need heartbreaking to her.
"Aeryn-" but the thought stopped itself when all levels of consciousness caught up to one another. Aeryn wasn't here. It wasn't her job anymore to wake him from his night terrors. She was serving that ambiguous duty to another right now and that in itself was cause enough for this John's restless nights.
He had stood up and walked away from where she still reclined in his bed, her skin still bearing a warm mental imprint of his body pressed against hers. She watched him reach for his pants, his undershorts clinging loosely to hips that had been whittled away by more than just physical hunger. She remembered the first day she had met him, standing guard in a gray T-shirt, trying to feed her through bars, holding her while she thrashed half mad and half defiant at her cage. She remembered then the feel of him pressed against her and he had been thicker, heavier. More substantial. Back when he was still a creature of his own world and not this one. Now, he was muscle and bone, not much padding left on his body, not much padding left on his soul.
"I'm awake now, Chi." He pulled his pants on and secured his holster. "Go back to bed."
And she had complied, not knowing what else to do for him.
She didn't hear from him for several more nights, but all that meant was that he wasn't sleeping, not that he wasn't dreaming. And she didn't sleep any better for it, herself. In her own empty chamber she would awake at odd intervals, listening like a mother for a child. Like a woman for a wayward lover. She tried to resist these fantasies, but they were always there, like a DRD trundling through her mind. She couldn't deny that she had hoped, still hoped, that in Aeryn's absence John would turn to her. John would drop the self-imposed brother act and treat her like, well, like she knew he was capable of treating women. When her hands fumbled under blankets and against pale, sweaty thighs it was always his touch she imagined. His odd, human taste on her tongue and his name filling her mouth.
The one time she had offered herself to him and been denied had been more than a 'thank you'. It had been her last desperate attempt to get something she longed for with all of her being before it was taken irrevocably out of her grasp. And when whatever powers the Universe wielded had granted him a stay of execution, she had resigned herself to whatever limits he set. If she had to be a sister, she would play the part. Until there were two Crichtons. That changed everything. The only problem, so far as she could tell now as she heard his footstep fall past her doorway, is that she couldn't tell exactly how things had changed. She was sister, mother, lover, and yet still had not had the privilege of exploring his more intriguing attributes.
When sleep did finally claim the human and his dreams with it, she made the determination to storm in as Aeryn would do, wake him with a no nonsense tap and go back to bed. It was a bad plan. John had looked embarrassed and apologetic as he reholstered his weapon and had even invited her to stay for a bit. Sticking to her original plan she refused and returned to her own chamber, undecided whether her pounding heart was from her near miss with Wynona's twin or the will power necessary to turn and leave his invitation behind.
And so, she did what she did best. She soothed him her in own way and not Aeryn's, slithering into his bed and holding him until two pale blue eyes regarded her quietly and she knew it was time to leave. As the weekens drifted into monens, he stopped resisting her comfort and would slump against her thin arms, as though finally thankful to have someone to share the pain with.
Even after the energy rider had claimed her John stayed close, pulling up a chair to the side of her bed, propping bare toes on her coverlet while she slept, holding her hand as she flailed out, relieved again and again of the being inside her. The possession itself had not been unpleasant. It was akin to being locked in a windowed room where she could watch another very much like herself rifle through her memories, steal a moment or two of life, and live a vicarious pleasure at John wrapped around her body in ecstasy. That in itself had made the take over almost worth it. What had been intolerable had been its removal. The pain an all pervasive psychic and physical experience that left her stripped of all energy and resources, a lifetime of emotional guards gone. Jool had called it a 'spiritual enema' but Chiana found that term to be barely adequate.
When sleep eluded both of them, John started teaching Chiana his Earth games. Chess, which she was deplorable at, and poker, which was similar enough to games of chance in her corner of the galaxy that they were evenly matched.
They had just taken a break from such a game and were raiding the center the chamber for food when Chi took the chance and asked, "If things had been different..."
John had paused and chewed his food very carefully. "I don't know, Pip. We have words for a girl like you where I come from."
"I think we have similar words out here, too." She answered bitterly. Was that what was holding him back?
John dipped his head and looked at her almost shyly from the corner of his eye. His lips quirked in a half smile of embarassment. "Naw, Pip. I was thinking more along the lines of 'jail bait'. That's kind of a hard one to get around." He turned his attention back to the stars, looking absently out the window while he ate, thinking of wormholes or Aeryn or most likely both. "You know, I don't even know how old you are."
Chi laughed. "Old enough to know better, young enough not to care."
His lips jerked upwards involuntarily and she was pleased with herself that she had made him laugh. But his eyes were serious when he turned to look at her. His hand came up to cup her face and smooth her ragged hair back.
"You know, I know you're smarter than you let on sometimes. And not just street smart. If you were dumb as a post, kicking, kissing, or crying your way out of a bad spot wouldn't have worked anyway. You can drop the dumb blond act."
"Are paler females on your planet of below average intelligence?" She smiled again when he nearly choked on his food.
"I'm SO glad Alex isn't here to hear you say that. To tell you the truth I wouldn't know who to put money on."
"Alex?" She cocked her head at him and watched his brief moment of humor slip away like clouds in the sky. But for the first time in a long time there was mirth in his eyes and she clung to it. They spent the remainder of the night talking about past loves, the fact that she had had too many lovers and not enough love, the fact that perhaps he loved too easily. And all the while they side stepped Aeryn's name as though she were an obstacle that must be avoided at all costs. And for Chiana, she was.
When they encountered LoMo, it was supposed to have been what John called 'shore leave', vacation, time away from her maternal duties and perhaps the opportunity to satisfy her love for a man she couldn't have with the lust of many men she could. As with everything in her life, it had been a gross disappointment, another empty experience to add to a cup that overflowed with nothingness. Even as the freslin left her incapable of saying no, it was always John who undressed her, always John who touched her, always John who visited her in a dozen different incarnations until, literally sucked dry and wasted she heard his voice come to her like a far off hallucination. It was unmistakable, the familiar inflections indigenous only to him. It had been a thrill to feel his hands on her, even if for him it had been for the benefit of the show, and she couldn't tell if it were her own mind ascribing the touch meaning or traces of the freslin. Either way, it had been supremely erotic despite the circumstances.
When she and Jool had finally slept off the experience, she had been livid with Pilot for exiling the males again. Five solar days without John stretched before her like a prison sentence. She tried to teach Jool his games but the red head was uninterested. Even John and D'Argo's constant bickering would have been a welcome diversion from the invasive quiet that haunted the hallways.
She caught herself in his quarters, absent spaces on shelves speaking to her in loud voices about his most precious belongings, now split up between two men. Absence. There was too much of it in her life. It made it capable for her to understand on more than just the basic level what he was going through, what he refused to discuss, what he longed for now against every indication that he shouldn't. When Jool caught her, her nature provided her alibi.
"I don't think Crichton would appreciate coming back to find even more of his belongings missing," she had said arrogantly, standing in the doorway in her ridiculous corset, hands on her hips and her mouth set like she were sworn protector of all she surveyed.
Chiana shrugged off her crouch and slid past her. "Yeah, well...there's nothing in there worth anything anyway." Not until John himself gets back, she thought.
D'Argo would have staggered off the pod if his feet had been able to coordinate themselves into any kind of step. Instead, he missed the last rung of the ladder and nearly fell, clutching the side of the rail for support. When he managed to pull himself back to his full height, his gait towards Chiana was steady and purposeful, a conscious placing of one foot in front of the other. She could smell him as he approached, musky Luxan with the sharper undercurrent of intoxicant, and lots of it. She raised her eyebrows at him.
Jool made a noise behind her. "Well, you two certainly had a good time, didn't you?"
Chiana's hand snapped out and caught one of D'Argo's face braids, yanking his head down to a level even with her own. "Where's Crichton?"
"Crichton?" D'Argo's broad brow dipped in confusion.
"Crichton? John? You didn't forget him did you?" Chiana tugged a little harder, hoping to jog the Luxan's memory.
"Oh, he's still on the pod. I suppose he'll make it down when he wakes up." D'Argo shrugged.
"What did you two do down there? It's a frelling commerce planet." Chiana paused, inspecting the huge Luxan body for injuries. "You two didn't get into trouble, did you?"
D'Argo laughed. "No, no. Honest. But keeping that human intoxicated is the only way to shut him up long enough to get any rest." Chiana read between the lines. Keeping John intoxicated was the only way to get him to sleep soundly enough for D'Argo to get any rest.
She sighed and nudged him towards the exit of the cargo bay. "Go bathe. And go find a dentic. Jool, c'mon and give me a hand getting the old man into his own bed."
Jool turned to leave. "Why should I? He's obviously fine and he'll find his own way when he sobers up."
Chiana saved her breath. Entering the transport, she could see John sitting on one of the passenger benches, his whole body slumped against the bulkhead. At his feet rested his duffel bag, haphazardly thrown together with pieces of clothing and personal items sticking out of the top. She suspected he and D'Argo had spent the majority of their stay on the bleak little world deep in a flagon of whatever local intoxicant could be found. John looked a little more pulled together than D'Argo did, but only because even at death's door he always looked a little more pulled together than the average man should. Or maybe she was just biased. Right now, however, she didn't like seeing him like this. If Aeryn were here, she'd have hauled him out of the transport by his mivonks, decrying such slovenly human behavior the whole way. Of course, if Aeryn were here he probably wouldn't be in this state in the first place.
She sat down next to him and swung one limp arm over her shoulders, trying to decide whether or not it was actually feasible to get him to quarters. The slit of an eye opened and regarded her before a smile warmed the cool slate of his face.
"Hey, Baby," he pulled her against him. There was only one person in the universe that she knew he called by that name, and this little Nebari wasn't it.
"C'mon, Old Man," she said, "let's get you back to quarters before you do something to embarrass yourself." She lifted upwards, shouldering as much weight as she could and wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. He stood, his body sandwiched between herself and the bulkhead.
He nuzzled her cheek. "You really should get more sun," he said.
"Uh huh," she grunted, taking their first step towards the transport door. It would be so much easier to just sit back down, enjoy the feel of his breath on her ear, the scratch of stubble against her cheek, let him pretend as far as his fantasy would take him... but she knew John. She knew he would hate himself and inadvertently her if anything like that happened right now. The memory was not worth the consequences.
Halfway back to quarters, she paused to gather him more solidly against her. A hand came up to cup her face and she froze at the intimate touch. Too many messages. Too much for her to process.
"Thank you, Pip," whispered against her hair. So he did know who she was. Or he had just come to that realization. "You take good care of an old man."
"Just returning the favor," she mumbled, urging him forward.
When she finally got him to his own chamber, he flopped on the bed and just lay there, his chest moving with each breath the only indication that there was still some life left in him.
"I'll, uh, I'll go back and get your bag. And I should check on D'Argo. You gonna be ok?" There was no answer so she left him as is, flopped across the bed, his feet still touching the floor.
He snuffled and whimpered. His linens were still on the bed only by virtue of his strangle hold on them, and at some point since she had deposited him there he had managed to bathe, though she could tell this more from the scent of the cleaning compound that still lingered in his quarters than by looking at him. Sweat poured from his face, mingling with tears that fought their way from clenched eyes.
Chiana deposited his bag near the door then took her customary spot on the bed, cradling his head against her while she smoothed the hair back from his brow. She knew who he was dreaming about. His screams he saved for Scorpius, loud cries for the men he killed, but this pure anguish was reserved for one woman and one woman alone. Her life, her death, it was all the same bleak landscape to him in dream time and rarely a day passed when Chiana didn't want to see Aeryn back aboard Moya not so much for John's sake, but so she could grab the woman by the throat and shake her until her teeth rattled. Certainly the twinning had complicated the whole issue, but even before there were two Crichton's Chiana couldn't help but notice how the ex-Peacekeeper led the human around by an emotional tether she seemed cruelly oblivious to. Or, even more cruelly, perhaps deeply aware of.
Chi tried to find a comfortable position against the human, but not expecting to be called to duty so quickly she still wore her belt and bodice. She carefully peeled off one glove with her free hand and deposited it unceremoniously on the floor, tugging off the other with her teeth. She tried to surreptitiously shrug off her bodice, but found it impossible without disturbing John, who had finally managed to slip into a quieter dream. Boots and pants joined her gloves on the floor, creatively undressing one more talent only one other person on the ship was aware of. Her black ribbed top tried to bunch up behind her as she scooted further down in the bed and she shifted awkwardly as she tried to adjust it. For all of her effort, the thin body suit she wore beneath her clothes shifted in uncomfortable places. She suddenly felt self conscious as she reached under the covers, her hand skimming between her body and his, trying to extricate her underclothes from her more sensitive body parts.
She finally settled her head back against the pillows, her forehead resting gently against his so that she could feel his breath tickle her lip, her arms circling his shoulders protectively. It was early yet tonight, and he was not a man who should chase his demons with intoxicant. His first night sober in most likely a weeken and they would re-establish their claim to him with a vengeance.
It was perhaps feeling his weight shift in her arms that woke her, or the hand that brushed casually through her hair. It didn't matter. Her eyes flew open to see her gaze returned by two haunted blue irises. It was beyond sickness and pain. Even when they had brought him back from the Aurora chair there had been a determination left in his gaze, a strength that refused to be beaten. In the first few weekens after Aeryn left, when his other obsession took over, she could at least see the life it sparked in him. Tonight, he looked broken. Defeated. He looked like a man who had seen enough of the world and was ready to trade in this life for another.
"Shshs," she tried to placate him back into sleep, "close your eyes." She ran her own finger over the new lines around his eyes. These hadn't been here when she had first met him, either. Even though he admitted his species aged faster than any of theirs, she doubted this much scoring by the march of time was part of his natural aging process.
His hand continued to caress her face, burying itself in the nest of her hair. She closed her eyes and involuntarily held him tighter as she felt his fingers roam the back of her neck, slipping in small, gentle circles against her skin. Was he awake enough to know it was her and not his lover? Although she had tried to find another word to describe Aeryn, if not for accuracy sake then for her own piece of mind, in the end she had reconciled herself to the fact John and Aeryn were lovers, whether or not their bodies ever gave into their desires.
"John?" She opened her eyes again but the only answer she received was his lips pressed questioningly against her own. Oh Hezmana, so easy to respond. So easy to ignore the places where his heart truly lingered. Her tongue flicked out and caught his lip just as he pulled back.
"Chi, how can you be so cheerful when we're all so alone?" His voice seemed to crack inside it's whisper.
"I have what you taught me," she replied, her whole body caught in a liquid hum at the feel of him touching her so intimately.
"And that was what?" Now one hand in her hair and the other against the small of her back.
"Hope. You taught me about hope." She didn't know what else to answer. But it had been a lesson she had picked up on the Royal Planet, locked away in another room listening to him rant about what he had left behind.
"And what do you hope for? Right now, what are you hoping for?" His voice had changed pitch, moving from hollow to husky.
"I think you know, John." She answered, closing her eyes as he leaned forward for another kiss. This time he didn't pull away before her tongue found his.
He tasted... clean. She didn't know how else to describe it, and she wanted to hold onto the memory in its every aspect. It was a treasure, this thing that could end at any microt, either because John came to his senses or because, with their luck, Moya was about to get sucked down a black hole. Whatever it was, this nameless thing, she wanted to put it in a box and hold onto it forever.
Both hands came up to cup her face and her mind reeled. So gentle. So gentle. She had known few men she could not treat as sexual prey, even if it meant pretending to be such herself. But such sex came with the price of expectation and for a professional-even a professional like Chiana for whom such acts were occasions of necessity and not so much choice-there were higher expectations. Even D'Argo had unwittingly been sucked into the fantasy, the gentleness of his early advances lost in a frenetic, mindless frell. He was a warrior, and allowances could be made for such zealousness in the face of love.
Jothee had been a slave. While one could say like father like son, his roughness came from a lifetime locked away with women he was only allowed brusque encounters with. There is no time aboard a transport, or in the dark shadow of a mine between guard rotations to learn finesse.
John's tongue still explored her mouth as he shifted in the bed and pulled the bodice off her shoulders. Her hands came up and covered his own. "John, I..." her usually quick tongue fumbled for words, "don't do anything you're going to regret."
"Where I come from that's the guy's line."
She cocked her head at him, aware that her body was coiled beneath his hands so tightly the wrong word could quite possibly send her into orbit.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. "You tell me when to stop. No regrets. You deserve better than that." She released his hands with a sigh and the bodice joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.
Kneeling in front of each other, Chiana ran her fingers through his light down of chest hair while he nuzzled her neck, his breath thick against her sensitive skin. His hands were large against her narrow shoulders, her own like delicate white shadows that followed the trail of hair down his belly to the waistband of his undershorts. Her hands traced the length of the waistband around to his back, two fingers dipping in to lightly tease the skin kept just out of sight by the black fabric.
What did she know about humans? Nothing when it came to this. Of course, what did John know about Nebari and he seemed to be doing just fine. Her fingers rushed up his spine, lost in a mindless flutter as he slipped the body stocking off her shoulders and nibbled lightly at a collar bone. His head dipped lower, his lips leaving a path of sensation in their wake. Her breasts bared, she felt exposed for the first time in cycles. How would she measure up to human standards? Hiding her uncertainty with bravado she pounced, knocking John backwards on the bed and landing astride his stomach.
"Take it easy, there, Mary Lou," he said, his hand coming up to pull her face down for another kiss.
"You should just lay back and let an expert handle this," she tried to tease, but he frowned at her.
"Sorry, Pip," he answered softly. "Expert or not, we do this together or not at all."
She nodded assent and he sat up, taking one charcoal nipple lightly, tentatively in his mouth. She hissed through clenched teeth, gripping his shoulders for support. He paused, his brow furrowing in that familiar look of concern. She shook her head at him. "No... it's... just, more."
The point of no return had been breached and all the uncertainty in their endeavors forgotten. It was hunger. Desperate, needy hunger. She could feel it in the set of his jaw as she touched his face, she could feel it in every muscle fiber right down to the center of his bones as he pulled her thin form tight against him. She was certain he could taste her own unabated need, his mouth roamed everywhere. Whether they could taste it or feel it or sense it, it was a loud acknowledgment. One night to satiate something that had been lingering for monens. Cycles even. Something as sumptuous as a meal shared between two starving friends.
She heard herself moan. Meals. Tastes, textures, sensations... His tongue abandoned her own to trace delicate lines from her ears to her neck. She threaded his hair through her fingers, pulling his head closer and nibbling daintily at an ear. She was rewarded with a low rumble from his chest and his hips shifted between her thighs.
She wanted to explore every dench. She pulled back, noticing for the first time that her body stocking was now bunched up around her waist, his hands tracing the flat bony planes of her stomach, his fingers roaming the fluid muscles of her back. She watched his eyes, half lidded with desire as she followed the contour of every muscle, his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Her hands toyed with the fine hairs of his fore arms before pulling his roving hands away from her body to interlace her fingers with his.
"Did I do something wrong," he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
She shook her head at him, not trusting her voice to do more than issue inarticulate sounds. She raised first one hand to her lips, her tongue slipping out to take each finger into her mouth, and then the other. She felt his response in the pulse at his wrist, in the shudder of his breath. She nibbled lightly at the first knuckle, working her way down until her tongue slid out between flesh and teeth and lapped lightly at his palm, a promise of more... interesting... experiences to come. He moaned loudly and pulled his hands free, shifting his weight and rolling so that she was beneath him suddenly.
His mouth nipped lightly at hers, his tongue resuming its explorations with urgency. She wondered briefly how she tasted to him, how different from human, or Sebacean, but the thought was lost as his hands found her breasts again, his fingers skimming lightly over nipples and followed close behind by mouth and teeth and tongue. Yet, even as she felt his need hard and clamorous between her legs his movements were never any less tender than she could ever expect from John Crichton.
She sighed loudly as his mouth continued its journey down her body, peppering kisses over her ribs, his tongue swooping at her navel before encountering the thin fabric of her underclothes. He sat up and knelt between her legs, his fingers hooked just inside the cloth, inching it downwards, giving her every opportunity to stop him. She cocked her head at him, a hand straining to slide across his jaw bone. She lifted her hips and felt the soft pelt of his bedcover beneath her bottom when she settled again. His movement was smooth and slow, the tips of his fingers sliding against her skin as the garment was peeled back to reveal nearly luminescent flesh in the dim lights.
She wanted him. Now. The cool air of the room brushing over her skin, the fur of the bed against her back, the scratch of his thigh against her calf as he knelt between her legs was maddening. He leaned forward and pulled her towards him, his two hands nearly spanning the entire width of her waist. He was silent, serious as his fingers outlined her hip bones, jutting from the smooth skin. His palm caressed the underside of her thighs, finding new areas to explore as they reached her bottom then abandoned that particular path for another.
Her body was shaking by the time she decided she couldn't take anymore and pushed herself up on her elbows. His eyes fixed on her, a plaintive gaze that asked if she had changed her mind.
Swinging herself around in the bed she made quick work of his own under clothes, tossing them carelessly on the floor with her own. He settled back on his haunches, his whole body nearly sagging into the bed as she finally ran her fingers lightly up and down the length of his erection. Crouching, she flicked her tongue against his nipples as he had done to her and felt that part of him that made him the male of his species jump in her hand.
"Oh, Chi," and her own insides tingled at the breathy sound of her name.
She nibbled lightly at his ribs, following the line of muscle down to suck gently at the spot where his thigh joined his body. All the breath seemed to go out of him, his legs shaking as they struggled to hold him upright. For such a complex man, his body was amazingly simple. She slid her tongue in a languid motion over his member and his hands flew backwards to catch himself. Satisfied that this was acceptable, she curled her tongue around the tip before sliding her lips down the length of him. She wondered at the tiny drop of salty, pearlescent moisture that gathered at the tip before making another long stroke with her mouth.
Smaller than Luxan, but definitely larger than the average Sebacean. A single appendage, unlike some species, but she already knew that from other less welcome explorations she had conducted which he had seemed to tolerate with more good humor than good will. An illicit charade in a Peacekeeper Officer's Club, playful advances in the wake of yet another fight between he and Aeryn before hands were brushed roughly away at Pilot's appearance. Little knick knacks of memory she had tucked neatly away. Clean, salty, smooth. She was amazed that something so simple could not only be so intriguing to her, but so needed. So wanted. So necessary.
"Chi. Chi, stop." She was snapped out of her reverence of his maleness by ragged words.
She lifted her head and tilted it in question.
"I'm only human," he smiled thinly at her. "I have limits. You keep doing that and I can't be responsible for what might happen. What WILL happen."
Still crouched, she eased away from him. "You're asking me to put the brakes on? Now?" It was half croon, half incredulous shock. So close, and now he was choosing to get all moral on her? She closed her eyes as he reached out to trace her lips with his thumb.
"No, I'm just saying ease back on the throttle a bit."
She opened her eyes and smiled, her teeth nipping at the pad of his thumb before dipping her head again.
Playfully, she kept her gaze steady with his and snaked her tongue out to lightly flick his sex with its tip. He closed his eyes and shuddered before pulling himself upright and lifting her effortlessly against him. He lay back, her body pressed against his, his hardness sandwiched almost painfully against her stomach. She shimmied her hips in a quick liquid motion and he groaned against her ear, rolling again to pin her beneath him. One arm supported his weight above her as the other hand strayed down her body, moving from the brief contact with a thigh to her center. The sensation was intense and unexpected. She arched against him, her hips moving off the bed to meet his hand, her cries strangled against his kiss.
His fingers traced small circles until nearly insane for want of release, she realized that perhaps her physiology wasn't nearly as straightforward to him as his was to her. She took his hand and placed it within the small, bony folds of her sex.
"Here," she said, and shivered as his fingers found their way under the small flap of skin that would have made her look sexless to anyone unfamiliar with her species.
She buried her face against his neck as his fingers probed the thin membranes. Light, delicate explorations for a man whose hands could encompass her whole rib cage. Whose hands were equally capable and deadly with tool and weapon.
He smoothed her hair back off her face, lips following finger tips over eyes and nose, against the pads of her cheeks.
"Can you be quiet?" A soft whisper against her ear. She nodded sharply, mentally walking a dangerous tightrope between control and wild abandon. John smiled as he inched his way down her body, his own chest skimming over her breasts, his chest hair an unfamiliar sensation first against her belly and then against other more sensitive, more private areas. She watched with mixed curiosity and anticipation as he slipped his arms under her thighs, his hands wrapping around to hold her hips.
His tongue found her and she arched back against the bed, her legs trying to push away from a sensation that was too intense for silence.
His hands held her firmly, one moving to rest full against her stomach, the other coming around to aid his tongue in its endeavor. "Shshsh," he admonished gently. "Hold still."
She felt the protective membrane pulled gently back and grabbed a pillow, burying her face in it just as John touched her again. Lips and mouth and tongue and the soft pad of his thumb sliding in her own moisture. Would it be so intense if she weren't already keyed up to a point she hadn't been aware she was capable of anymore? It didn't matter. Her mind, her body, her being was caught up in white sensation, sensual white noise. Conscious thought was lost as John consumed her.
It stopped as suddenly as it began while she panted heavily against the fabric of the pillow. She felt John's hands on her legs as he lightly pried her thighs from his head.
"You do realize," he said, pulling the pillow away from her face, "you can hurt a guy that way?"
She tried to shrug nonchalantly but all she could manage was a weak shiver. "I'm sure, though, it's probably on your top ten list of ways to go."
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. "Well, there's nothing like suffocation to break a guy's concentration."
"Well then," she crooned, "allow me to help you refocus." She reached beneath her, cupping him in her hand. His face turned serious again as she lowered herself on top of him, her whole body arching in one serpentine movement as she felt the length of him fill her.
She started moving against him and he closed his eyes, his hands coming up to hold her around the waist. Chiana bent forward and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.
"Oh, God. Chi," his hands moved from her waist to hold her tightly against him, his mouth matching the sudden urgent rise and fall of his own hips.
He rolled again, not breaking their connection and barely breaking their rhythm. She rose to meet each thrust, the flow and ebb of each movement causing her to tighten around him. Soon. Oh Hezmana, so close, so soon. She heard herself purr somewhere deep in her throat and moved her legs from where they wrapped around his waist to rest them on his shoulders.
"Jesus," he breathed, "you're like making love to a cat." Even his voice followed the rhythm their bodies had set.
Her body lingered on the brink of something her mind refused to allow her to fall into. Too soon. They could make love for the next weeken and it would be over too soon. She clutched him tightly, all arms and legs and naked strength. She wanted to tell him, her voice wanted to cry out 'I love you' but as she looked in his eyes she knew. As his arms gripped her shoulders and pulled her as tightly against him she knew. He didn't need to hear her words. Most likely he wouldn't have heard her if she had spoken them anyway, or more accurately he wouldn't have heard her voice speaking them.
She let herself go, falling into the thoughtless abyss, coming to as John drove himself deep, collapsing on top of her and nearly sobbing against her shoulder. "Oh God, Baby."
Chiana gathered her clothes quietly after he had slipped back into sleep. He had held her afterwards, his fingers absently stroking a hip, tracing the bony ridges of her spine, the touch growing lighter and lighter as he drifted into a solid sleep.
She wiggled her body, still damp with sweat, into her undergarment. Her pants, her boots. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and adjusting her top over her breasts when she felt furtive fingers brushing against her spine.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"S'okay, I wasn't really asleep." She looked in his eyes, glad the haunted look had somehow been banished for the time being, but saddened that there was still pain. There would always be pain. Even if she had actually been Aeryn, he would still wake with pain.
"Chi, I-,"she lay a finger against his lips.
"Don't say anything. I know." She picked up her gloves and belt, setting them next to her on the bed.
"You know," John said, rolling onto his back rubbing sleepy eyes with his hands, "you really are a lot wiser under that Spice Girl exterior than you let on."
"Yeah, well," she smiled at him, her lips curling upwards in spite of her attempts to be serious, "it keeps getting in the way of having a good time. It's a real pain in the eema."
John chuckled, almost like his old self. "Oh yeah, no good time to be had here."
"Go to sleep, Old Man." She stood to leave, pausing at the doorway to look back. He had rolled over onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin and tucking an arm under his head. He looked like a child, and for a moment she hoped she had managed to buy him a microt of innocence again.
Back in her own chamber, she stood under the shower, cleaning compound and water temperature forgotten as she mentally relived John's hands on her. Needs overlapped like images. Necessity overlapped need. And some of her own pain was abated. A moment for a moment. Fair trade between friends.