Summary: Just a ficlet that attacked me on a train home from Leeds. Probably some time in late S4. Please R&R if you can.
Spoliers: none. Although the end of Twice Shy is applicable to the title.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The fic is mine, the characters belong to Farscape and all who created it.
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Finding The Key
By Ennix Sun
They're the brightest blue she has ever seen, and constantly swirling between every conceivable variation of the colour. A world of feeling in each blink. A sparkle all his own. His eyes are always the first thing she remembers.
Then his face. A portrait which would always look like home. Rugged features, softened by those generous lips. A mouth that could pull a smile from nowhere, to light up his face and break her heart. And gateway to a voice she would forever cherish, always so different from one microt to the next. She's heard that voice scream itself hoarse in anger and frustration, then smile with a hidden peal of laughter or whimper in the ecstasies of love. But what she remembers most clearly is that gentle whisper, reserved solely for her, whenever he murmurs her name.
"Aeryn."
Her fingers suddenly flex impulsively imagining his soft golden hair, slipping over her skin in a silky caress. His eyelashes brushing her cheek, and she tingles all over. Then she'd find his lips and press against them hard, till the world disappeared and all that remained was their sweet kiss.
His skin always shone a subtle gold, simply begging to be touched. Soft and supple, the feel of it against her cold palms would light her senses and warm her heart. She would feel the pump of blood, flowing over hard muscle and bone, pulsing with a life so intense it drove her to seek more and more of his delicious flesh. He was so alive. She has mapped this man from top to toe, gently, hurriedly, with fingers, hands and more. Every curve, ever contour she knows by heart. She remembers them all now, in this moment.
Finally his hands. A special part of him. His most versatile feature. Able to bring death to millions with a single manoeuvre, only to gently soothe a raging soul microts later. By day they would shoot a pulse pistol with deadly consequence, the return to bring euphoric pleasure in the depths of night. She has felt his hands everywhere about her person. Tight around her shoulders in a comforting embrace, loose in her own in casual repose. Or clamped on her back with urgent desire, to slip over her hip and massage that perfect spot.
Then a finger creeping slowly over her brow.
Cold leather scraping her sensitive flesh.
She focuses. Awake. Notices the two leather clad hands silently cupping her face. She meets his cold, threatening gaze and her eyes widen in horror.
The moment of remembrance is over.
Scorpius twists and Aeryn's neck snaps on it's axis. A rag doll mockery falls lifeless to the floor.
And the blue eyes look on, leaking silent tears.