"Aw, damn."
He wasn't quiet enough; she heard him and turned around. "What?"
He stretched out, but the space, the room to move, felt wrong. Sometime before he woke, she'd moved away slightly. Now she sat, looking at the spacescape swirling outside of Moya's terrace. There was space between them, a chill where there had been heat. Was that what roused him? He missed having her beside him, touching her.
"I fell asleep," he told her.
"I noticed." The faintest echo of a smile, just barely quirking her lips.
Was that drool, that pale streak on her shoulder? His drool? "I was supposed to be comforting you." That was the difference: he couldn't feel her as had become familiar. Instead of being the fiery centre of the room, she was banked. Quiet. Not a distance, but a dimming. A rheostat someone had turned down.
"You did. If you'll recall, I fell asleep first."
"Not by much. And you woke up first." He rolled and reached out again to skim his hand over her shoulder. An excuse to touch her, to find the spark. "I drooled on you."
"You snored, too."
That brought him up short. "I didn't snore. I snored? No way." He succeeded in bringing an actual smile to her face, but she still didn't flare to life. "Aeryn?"
"Why would it matter?"
Mental whiplash. "Why would what matter?" His mind was slow; he wasn't used to waking up without alarms going off and life-and-death choices to make. Better than caffeine, and, in its own way, just as addictive.
"Falling asleep. Who woke up first."
"Because I wanted to watch you sleep."
"Why?"
"It's a Human thing."
"No, it's not." After a long moment, her eyes winked at his blank expression. "I watched you sleep."
He felt the grin break over his face, and they looked at each other, sharing the amusement, the moment. But it couldn't last. Even as he watched, the shadows stole back into her eyes. She was still restrained, constrained within herself. As far inside as he'd ever seen her around the Peacekeepers. He didn't want to see her doing that here, on Moya, with him. Unconsciously, he reached out to touch her cheek, trying to find that spark again. "Hey. How are you doing?"
"It's tomorrow."
Not an answer. "I know you're a Peacekeeper uber-babe, but not even you could be expected to get over all that in just one night."
"No, and I won't, but . . . it's too easy to dwell on it. The -- loss." She sighed, obviously having difficulty with that last word, if not the concept. "Can you imagine, there was a time when I wouldn't have even thought about how I felt. I am a soldier, and there is no room for emotion or pity in my life." Her voice was calm, even. "I exist to do my duty. The perfect Peacekeeper." That phrase seemed to bring amusement to her.
"Yeah, but that was yesterday. You got better."
That sparked a chuckle. "Yes. As you say, I got better."
"Having second thoughts?"
"It's too late for second thoughts."
He froze. Her tone was dry, and she wasn't looking at him. Was she--?
And then she flared to life, he could feel the crackle as she turned her head to pin him with a full-on electric gaze. "No!" she said loudly. "No, John. Don't think that. It wasn't meant . . . that way. I'm here. I'm not going back."
"I wondered," he said roughly, his world still rocking unsteadily around him. "If you wished you could go back." I'm scared you'll wonder.
"I'm here now," she said, and slowly the fire banked beneath the ice. She looked out again at space, away from him. "I know what I've done, John. I've accepted it."
He reached out, snagged her. Dragged her back to him, tired of their distance. "I'm sorry, Aeryn. You've lost so much."
"And I'm only now beginning to understand how much I've gained, in return. My self. My freedom. My -- friends." She shrugged, calm in his arms. "Everything has changed in just a few microts. Last night I was a Peacekeeper, a Ghost. Today I am . . . Aeryn Sun."
"Not a Peacekeeper."
"No."
He suddenly realized she still had her hair tied back, Peacekeeper style. He drew the tail down between his fingers, found the tie at the end. Turning her slightly to the side to gain better access, he brought his other hand into play, working at the knot. It took him a moment to figure out -- wasn't like Crais ever asked him for help, after all, and Gilina's hair was always short, kept at tech length -- and then he was unwinding the cord. Amazing how such a thick mass could have been so tightly bound up. Now there was a euphemism for the entire PK culture. Combing through the waves with his fingers, he tossed the cord aside absently.
She had beautiful black hair. It must have been a bitch to sleep with it tied back, he thought as she sagged back against him. His fingers moved through the silky strands, and it was natural to massage her scalp, starting at her temples. "That was pretty darn tight. I shoulda thought about that before you fell asleep."
"I've slept that way many times before."
Her voice was a pleasant buzz against his chest. "But you still get that Excedrin headache." He liked it better down. He liked the way it looked, draped over his arm. He liked the way she looked, draped over his arm.
"You're smiling." Her fingers traced his lips, proving that he was, indeed, smiling. "It looks good on you."
I look good on you. "It's called a shit-eating grin." When she frowned, he shook his head. "Dren-eating."
"An ugly name, for something so--"
He cocked his head. "What?"
"I was going to say . . . beautiful." Her fingers stilled on his lips, and her pupils contracted.
Beautiful probably wasn't a word she used a lot, as a Peacekeeper. "You can say it now," he whispered against her hand.
"I know."
God, she was beautiful. Sleek in a long-sleeved shirt and leather trousers, half-reclining against him. Their jackets were off, providing more bulk underneath their pillows. The smell of warm leather drifted over them as they breathed against each other, soft slow movements accompanied with faint sounds of clothing sliding over skin, loud to his suddenly sensitive ears.
"Aeryn--" Her fingers were still on his mouth, and he ached to capture them, to suck a single finger and watch her eyes darken with passion. "--Aeryn, I'm not reading this wrong, am I? This thing between us?"
"This thing?"
He'd gone down this road before, so he pressed on, even if it felt like he was back in the tenth grade with Jessica. "Aeryn, you do know -- I mean, this isn't just recreation, right? For you? Because it's not. For me."
"I remember what you told me once." Her fingers trailed down his cheek, soft against the night's stubble. Cool against hot skin. "'It's real'."
What he'd told her, on the Ice Planet. "Yeah. Very real." He took a deep breath. "I can't just . . . do this with you and walk away. I hold on."
"I know."
"Do you?" He shook his head and lightly chucked her chin. "I'm still trying to get back to Earth. Eventually. I can't go back now--"
"But you will," she finished for him. "Because you're John Crichton."
He smiled, but it was careful, guarded. Too easy to let their connection, that heat, overwhelm him. He needed to resist it, think about what he was trying to tell her. "I'm serious, Aeryn."
"Recreation between us--" and her hand never left his face but damn if he didn't feel that stabbing pulse in his groin,"--would be a problem if you found a way back to your home again?"
"Only if you didn't want to go with me." He'd said it aloud to her. Already too late for him: he would hurt, if she chose to stay. Earth, or Aeryn? He'd been out here so long, he knew to remain wasn't a question of survival. He'd lived, he'd loved, and he'd even found happiness, somewhere in between Scorpius, Grayza, the Scarrans. Could he stay, could he make that forever type of choice, if Aeryn were here?
That wasn't the point, though. He did hold on, and he didn't let go. There was a lot, inside of him, that was still on Earth. His dad. His friends. His home. If she decided not to return with him, he would have to choose between all that he'd found and all that he'd been.
Same choice she had made, in leaving the Peacekeepers.
He'd made the choice once before, when the old woman had given him the visions. When Scorpius had drilled his face into a table and shown him a holo of Earth. Yes, John Crichton had been willing to give up Earth then, because he didn't want to cause all the destruction he would bring in his wake.
How much easier it would be, how much better, to give up Earth for something, someone like Aeryn. Something he could run to, rather than from.
"I don't recreate," he told her. "I have sex. I make love."
"Love."
"Yeah."
"I don't know what that is." She didn't look away.
"It's . . . more than just touching." And he trailed his fingers down her hand, skimmed his nails lightly over the inside of her wrist and heard her breath skip. More than just touching. "It's when you care."
She laughed and dropped her hand, and he felt the sudden snap. Disconnect. "Ah. Care. Yes. I know that feeling. I've cared for one other person, John Crichton."
Velorek. She had cared for Velorek.
She had found that out too late.
John was still waiting, patient. She smiled at him, because she wanted something to cover the pain she felt at the memory. "I killed him, too."
His eyes darkened, and he leaned forward. "I killed Gilina," he said, and his voice was harsh. He raised his hand to her so she could see the scars, the burns. "I killed her with my bare hands."
That had been the clone. He had been the tool, but the clone had driven his actions. "I killed Velorek for a slot. Because I wanted to go back to piloting Prowlers." That role, that duty, had meant everything to her back then.
"You're a different person now."
"That doesn't change yesterday." She had killed Rayne to save a planet that was already dead. "You know that too."
"I know. But there's today, Aeryn. And tomorrow. And you can change that."
Her eyes never left his face. He didn't know everything, but even so he trusted her. "I'm scared, John."
He sighed. Leaned forward, slowly, so she could see him coming. Buried his face in her hair, leaned against her, and his sigh blew strands across her face. "I know. And I'm not trying to push you, Aeryn. I'm willing to take it one day at a time."
"I can't say what the future holds. I don't know myself." Her hands never left his face, her fingers curling around his jaw to push him away and look into his eyes. Remembered the first time she'd seen him, touched him. The Gammak base, and the pain, and the shock, and even now, after all these cycles, there was still that current humming through their hands. "It's the only answer I have. How much more do you want from me?"
Everything, his face said, but he didn't say it aloud. He didn't have to, didn't choose to drive it in. He was not cruel. He tried.
She could do no less for him, not when he waited for her.
"John." She raised her chin, met his gaze full on. Spoke aloud, even as her stomach roiled. "Teach me this word."
He stared at her. Blinked. "You don't believe in slow changes, do you?"
"I seem to have some free time." Her hands reached across, her fingers touched the fastening to his trousers. No time to open it, however, before his hands dropped down to cover hers. Puzzled, she saw a flash of emotion across his face and quirked her eyebrow in question.
He cleared his throat. "I was just thinking . . . I wanted it to be good. For us. You know, wait for the right time. The first time." He was turning red, she noticed, and his hands were suddenly cold on hers. "We've known each other for cycles. About each other, really. But we haven't had a lot of time to really get to know each other."
How did that matter? What did Humans do, and what were they required to know? She withdrew her hands slowly, suddenly unsure. But then it clicked: the way he looked at her, not at her body but her eyes, the way he edged away even when she could tell he was hardening underneath his trousers.
If he was a Peacekeeper, she would simply have leaned over and put her hand back on that heat, dared him to disprove he wanted her. If he had been a Peacekeeper, she would simply have said "here" and "now" and it would have been enough.
But John . . . John always demanded more of her. She sighed, sat back. Told her stomach to quiet down and sorted through the thoughts in her head. This was John. Not her kind, no matter how familiar he seemed. No Sebacean had ever touched her like this, made her feel fear and pleasure at the same time. No Peacekeeper had ever been able to make her crave the shock she felt at a simple touch.
She knew he felt that energy, when she touched him. That should have been enough. Was more than she'd ever had before. But this was John, and he needed words, too.
Frell.
"John, most of the known universe is still searching for the wormhole knowledge in your head. My people think I'm dead. I'm safe, so long as they continue to think that. Which means they'll discover my existence in less than three monens."
He didn't say anything, still watching her. She still needed to find more words. The right words.
"As far as the rest of the universe is concerned, there will never be a good time. You and I know better than to believe that." She couldn't help it, she reached out and touched him, his mouth, because that was what she wanted on her, she wanted him to give her the words by pressing them into her lips. The heat flushed through her, not the Living Death but something so painfully close. Her body thrummed at the contact and her eyes widened and she found the words.
"When I touch you, like this . . . then it's just you and me. And this . . . is always the right time. Every time."
There was a moment where he just couldn't think, couldn't comprehend. Their connection clicked into full duplex, and he rode it eagerly: her touch passed that fire back through his skin, the shock overrode his senses. Lust slammed into him, lust and love and awe, unfolding wildly through his body as her words came to rest within his skull.
"When I touch you, like this . . . this is always the right time."
Those simple words proved the best turn-on he'd ever felt. Because it was her. And because she was telling him this now. Here. Telling him it was okay, more than okay, to dream about her, touch her, care for her. Love her, without restriction or inhibition.
He cleared his throat. With effort. "Aeryn . . . I gotta warn you--" Yeah, he'd locked the door after they'd come in, and neither he nor Aeryn had been bothered by the comms yet. Sliding his hand under her shoulder, he moved her closer to him, underneath him. "--that comment's gonna have some serious repercussions."
"Hmmm?" She hadn't stopped touching him, the delicate scratch of fingers over his lips, and she arched into him.
Now his mouth was just inches from hers. "I'm going to make you remember those words," he whispered over her lips.
Her hand slid into his hair as she considered his words -- damn she was good if she could still think -- and then she shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to live with that." Then she pressed him the rest of the way towards her.
But there was something-- In the way she kissed, the way she grabbed him, shoved him downwards, the way the sparks sputtered in the thickness of his skull, something--
He pulled back. "No."
She stared at him, pupils contracting into tiny little pin-pricks, and her face was completely devoid of expression. He stared down at her and willed her to meet his gaze, to come back from wherever she'd gone for that moment. "I'm not a Peacekeeper, Aeryn."
"What -- what are you talking about?" Her voice was unsteady, and he saw the first glimmers of uncertainty in her eyes.
He cupped her cheek, kept her there, underneath him. "You," he said, "and me. And whatever we have between us. Don't put something else in our way."
"I don't understand." Still that slightest edge between them, a coolness. Distance in her eyes and voice when her body was so close.
But he wanted it all, the shock the pain the heat, and he wouldn't, couldn't, settle for less. "Don't do this to me, Aeryn. Do it with me. It's not about just grabbing a body." His hand snaked around her neck, jerked her roughly up against him. Her eyes widened, but he didn't let go. "It's about you." He breathed across her cheek, traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. Softened his touch. "It's about us."
Her cheek dipped, she turned into him. "Show me." Her breath was a warm caress over his skin. Her tongue darted out. Licked his lips, and when he pressed, she bit him gently, suckling the skin. "Like this?" she murmured.
Her smile was spiced punch on her lips, and he licked the curves and tasted the edges where the swell of sensitive flesh met skin. This was Aeryn-woman, not Aeryn-Peacekeeper. This wasn't sex, her style. Wasn't about getting off or getting some or getting laid. It was about sharing: lips, hands, tongues. It was about breathing: his, hers, theirs, the way they overlapped each others' rhythm, the way he could taste her just by breathing her in.
Lips touched. Breaths mingled. Heads slanted. Tongues tangled. Pressing her back against the blankets, he shifted his weight onto his elbows as he moved to cover her, his tongue thrusting deep into her throat. A promise of what was to come. He was sliding against the inside of her mouth, slipping around her wet soft warmth. She sucked at him, drawing him down, and it was hair-raising, electrifying each nerve ending. Senses flared to life, blood surged, thoughts fled, and the headiness of her befuddled him. His hands wound through her hair, palmed the crown of her head, held her to him so he could explore.
Her tongue fluttered in his mouth, a maneuver that made him groan. He could feel her smile against his lips. Her hands were creeping underneath his shirt, nails raking his skin and tracing the dip of his spine down to his waistband. Reaching underneath. He wanted her to keep going, he wanted her to wait, but either option required getting out of the soft bindings of her hair.
When he couldn't take it any more, when he was bursting at the seams and tired of the barriers between them, he reared back, panting. Weight braced on his arms, fingers still curled around the locks of her hair, he looked down at the woman beneath him. The sight stopped all brain function.
He hadn't celebrated Christmas since he'd come to the UT; just another one of those concepts he'd left behind on Earth. He kept a rudimentary calendar, but he'd lost precise definitions of time, had too many days, between Harvey and Scarrans and the pervasive darkness of space, lost to madness. He was growing older, his body kept that clock ticking and the grey hairs coming, but things like birthdays, Christmas: all had fallen by the wayside.
This was Christmas now, not the specific day, but instead the feeling he'd gotten as a child, when he'd looked at the tree, ducked underneath to count the presents. The tantalizing boxes, wrapped, promising hidden treasures from someone he loved.
She was gift-wrapped for him, leather and chakkan oil and dark silky hair, a fitting container for everything she was. Deadly. Beautiful. His. Her smile was for him, her hands curled around his biceps and drew him down to her, demanding his return.
"Are you always this slow?" she groaned.
"No," he smiled back. "Sometimes I take my time." Shifting his weight to his knees, his fingers found her shirt zipper, the cold metal so tiny in his hand. He watched her face as he drew the black tab down. Is this okay?
She looked into his eyes and smiled. Yes. Her own hands drifted up, skimming his hips, sliding underneath his shirt. He inhaled sharply, his muscles contracting, as cool fingertips lightly raked his belly, then up across his back, trailing fire and electricity that sparked through his nerves. Hurry.
But he wasn't going to hurry this one. The parting zipper revealed an expanse of ivory flesh. It didn't go all the way down, he found suddenly, and he couldn't think past the end of the zipper, the cleavage it revealed. His mouth. His mouth needed to be on that skin--
She laughed -- the sound wrapped around him, seduced him -- and, pushing him, moved to sit up. In one smooth, sudden movement, she reached down, caught the hem of the shirt, and peeled it off, taking some sort of sports bra with it.
Efficient woman.
He kept his eyes on her face. His peripheral vision was bouncing info off his synapses, sending important messages to every part of his body, letting him know it was more than ready to keep going. "That was my job."
She quirked her eyebrows, her expression challenging. "I was impatient."
He cleared his throat, trying to remember how to breathe, how to speak. "You know I'm gonna have to make you put that on again, so I can do a proper job."
"Next time."
There was a throaty promise in her voice. Oh, yeah, there was going to be a next time, and a next time, and a next time. But now, his body reminded him, was this time. Right now. It was happening. Now.
Reaching out, he buried his hands in her hair and tugged. Drew her close for another kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips to taste her again, to drink down her fire, feel how their connection curled through his body and slid down his cock. Her breasts pressed against his chest, begging for his touch, and she murmured in her throat. Her fingernails scraped his skin as she grabbed at his shirt hem. "This isn't off," she whispered. Now it was her turn to push him off, and he was pliant in her hands as she dragged it over his head.
Instead of pulling it completely off his arms, however, she twisted the material slightly, trapping his hands in front of him. He raised his eyebrows. She had a wicked look on her face, which set off a slow burning in his gut, a counterpoint to the pounding in his ears.
"Aeryn--"
She licked her lips. "Next time, then."
"Next time," he repeated, not caring what he was saying, what he was promising. Next time or some time thereafter. Right now he needed his hands, because his palms were aching to cup her, to hold her. When she finally released him, he reached out immediately, pulling her back to him so she was kneeling between his legs.
She promptly cocked her hip, raised her shoulder, and he was flipped neatly over onto his back, rolling into the soft padding of their nest. No time to react before she pounced on top of him, straddling him.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she told him, and leaned down to lick a path from his belly to his throat. Her thighs bumped against his groin, his erection painful under the leather. Her nipples were pebbles drawn against his chest, her hair a silk curtain that dragged lightly at his skin, Chinese torture.
"I f-figured you for a quick learner." His hands traced the lines of her shoulderblades, down her back, curved around her buttocks, urging her onward, upward. Leisurely exploration, pressing her against him, feeling her length, letting her feel his. As she nibbled her way up his neck, breathy little tastes, he slid his fingers down the seam of her ass, between her legs where he could rub her through her leathers.
She bit him, but he didn't stop the circular motion. God, he wanted to rub himself all over her, face and fingers and cock, to nuzzle and lick and taste. He wanted to map her with his hands and his tongue, drink her down and in. He wanted so much of her; he wanted to be inside her right now--
She pushed against his hand impatiently. "John--"
He looked at her flushed face, felt the growing fire in his belly, the tightness of his trousers. Knew he didn't have much more time, or rather, much more control, so his hands circled around her waistband to find the snap. A simple matter made so much more difficult by the requirement to concentrate, to coordinate fingers and movements and draw down the zipper. She slid off him, her hands going to her waistband.
"No. My job." He held her arms, wrapped one hand around her wrists. Supporting her as he turned to lay her down in their nest of warm blankets and discarded clothing. He pulled her arms over her head so that she was spread before him, outstretched, long and lean. "Leave them there."
"What?"
Her hair was wrapped in loose coils around her arms, black silk bands. "How much self-control you got, Aeryn?" he dared her. Smiled as his fingers trailed over her wrists, down her arms. "How long can you resist?"
He didn't wait. Started at the hollow of her throat. Dipped his tongue into the cup of skin, felt it surge with her pulse. Trailed a wet path down between her breasts. A side trip to circle one rosy nipple with his tongue, curl it around and into his mouth.
Her body arched up into him, feeding him more of her. He could feel her shoulders shaking, and he smiled against her breast as he reached one hand out for the other nipple. The lightest pinch, coupled with a tender nip, and she gasped and groaned.
"Patience," he whispered, blowing cool air over sensitive skin.
"If you don't hurry up," she gritted out, "I will be forced to do this my way."
"That would be a shame," and he kissed his way down to her belly button. "Think of what you'd miss out." Tongued her belly button. Her muscles fluttered underneath his tongue.
"Frell!"
"Yeah." The skin showed by the open snap of her trousers was pale, enticing, and he had to kiss his way slowly down that triangle. A flush of saliva flooded his mouth at the thought of her taste. "Good frell."
Her fingers slid through his hair, urging him down. He buried his face in that vee, inhaled her scent. Blew lightly down the crease.
"John--!"
"Yeah--" He got to his feet. The trousers, the only remaining barriers to her, were loose enough that it was a simple matter to slide them off her and let them join the pile.
And then she was in glorious splendor before him, a pale lovely vision of limbs and flesh, wreathed in a waterfall of hair. He could only stare for a moment. She smiled up at him, and the fantasy collided with reality, the awareness that she was here, now, his.
"You're still clothed." She coiled, a quick move on to her knees before him, and her hands were at his snap. "My turn."
And he gasped as she slid her tongue into his belly button, her hair falling around his hips. "Aeryn--"
She smiled as she rose sinuously to her feet, hands walking up his body. Her fingers trailed over his side, his scar, but it was a caress, not a curiousity. "Hush, John. I'm learning."
"I'd say." Her breasts trailed fire up his chest. Her attention, her presence, was a physical thing she laid over him with every brush of skin, every breath. Lightning in a bottle.
"Ghost training," she said lightly, tracing the words against his skin. "Learn your opponent's methods. Beat him at his game." She wove around his face, breath hot against his lips. But she didn't kiss him. No. She stepped back. Naked, clothed only in her hair and that wicked smile.
He cocked his head, feeling bereft. He wanted her hands and her mouth on him. "I thought it was your turn."
"I'm going to watch you," she purred, and her eyes dared him to perform for her.
It was both painful and pleasurable. He lingered over the zipper of his trousers, seeing how her lips parted, her pulse ticked underneath the hollow of her throat. Another turn-on, to perform this striptease for her, while still feeling the prickling of self-consciousness, of first-time awkwardness. If she was going to torture him, he was going to return the favour. So it was a slow wiggle out of his trousers, peeling them over his thighs. Feeling his cock spring free, see how her eyes were drawn to him, how she smiled. Extricating himself from the binds of his clothing, moving slowly, making her wait for him.
When he was free, leathers puddled to one side, she reached out for him. They slid down to the floor together, skin bared to the chill of air, the press of lips, the scrape of fingernails, the touch of tongues. She felt cool to him, she was pale against him, she was soft underneath him. She lit fires everywhere she touched him: kissing his shoulder, tonguing one flat nipple, tracing the line of a rib back to where it crossed his scar.
His hands roamed her flesh, tracing the lines of her throat, flowing down to span each breast, to cup them, her stiff nipples nestling into the sensitive skin of his palm.
Oh God.
He pushed her onto her back, but her hands tugged at his hips, bringing his pelvis down firmly against hers. She arched, and he felt the fine hairs scrape at his sensitive groin, felt himself slide against damp heat.
He groaned, his arms trembling, feeling a surge of heat, of blood. He was so thick and heavy--
Her thighs parted, and he nestled naturally at their juncture, restraining himself from just plunging himself into her. So hard, he was so hard, and she was soft and moist. He could feel her heat against his hot shaft, and his body turned, the head of his cock arrowing towards home. No. He had -- just -- enough control to wait, to tease both of them.
His biceps flexed as he pushed back, a few inches away. Hovering over her, slowly rocking back and forth. Showing her how he would move inside of her. He felt her body quiver as the head of his cock bumped across her belly, the slightest smear of liquid, and both of them shivered from the intimate touch.
She growled and tilted her pelvis so that the head of his cock was thrust into soft curls, a spiderweb tangle of torture. "Now."
"Wait, baby, wait." God, he was begging her, she was taking away his self-control. She was a heady drug, their connection sparking and shocking him out of learned manners. She was dangerous to him, she sapped his thoughts and sense, made him want to suck open-mouthed and plunge recklessly. He couldn't just thrust into her, like his body cried out for. No. She could talk him into the right time, but there was also a right way.
She moaned, a sound that dug at his core and added fuel to the fire between his legs, and she grabbed his hips, but he wouldn't couldn't do that just yet. Leaning over her, taking most of his weight on one arm, he reached down with the other. Fingers tangling in her curls, he parted the swollen lips, sucking in his breath at the friction of his finger over smooth flesh. The pads of his fingers were immediately slicked, and he slid easily down that glistening path. Yes. She was wet, and hot, and open beneath him.
Her thighs closed around his hand, trapping him.
He looked up at her face, but her eyes were shut, the tendons on her neck standing out. "Open your eyes," he whispered hoarsely. Her body wanted him, she told him with the way her pelvis surged up against his hand, but he wanted to see behind the blue veil of her eyes.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and he stopped breathing. Wormholes, drawing him down, showing him the way.
"Aeryn."
"John." Asking him.
His fingers stroked her cleft, spreading the pearls of moisture up and down, clit to slit, and saliva flooded his mouth again at the thought of her taste. He would have brought his hand to his lips, but as though she'd heard him, her hips lifted, demanding his attention again. One finger slipped at her movement, slid down slick labia. It was the most natural thing, to find that entrance.
"Now." Telling him, and her body thrust upward.
His finger slid easily inside, parting her folds to move deeply into the moist channel, and his palm cupped her, held her. Her body rocked back at the penetration, but before he could move away, she thrust forward again, taking him deeper inside, and now he could feel her flutter around him.
Oh, God. Now he had to close his eyes, to try to regain control. This is how she would be, when he was in her. His cock flexed at the thought, but he ignored those demands, continued to push deeper, one finger, two, slowly to make sure it was okay. She was tight and he wouldn't bet on how much control he'd have when he was finally in her.
She writhed and clenched, drawing him deeper still, until he was buried to the knuckle, her curls trapped against his palm, her wet heat spilling onto his skin. His thumb, sliding back along her crease, found the sweet spot of her clit, and she surged against his hand.
Sure as hell ain't Peacekeeper sex--
Her hands were reaching for him, but he twisted out of the way. If she touched him -- well, he was already trembling, almost bursting, so close. "Aeryn," he breathed, and bent to kiss her, to steal those moans that spilled from her lips while his fingers still curled inside her. He was jealous, he wanted to miss nothing of hers, at this moment. Her tongue flicked out, then dove into his mouth, pushing down his throat, insistent. She was fire and ice, burning his lips, his tongue, his fingers. She was demanding, using her tongue to tell him what she wanted, show him how she wanted.
Shocking his senses, torture like he'd never felt before. This he would crave, day after day--
He drew back, but she followed, arching off the blankets, mouth and hips to his, arms locked around his waist, her body a tight arc to keep his tongue and his fingers inside her.
Can't hold back much longer--
"God, baby, you're gonna kill me, " he panted, and drew back, kissed the side of her mouth, her nose. Struggled to find breathing space, moving space. Control. Withdrew his hand from between her thighs, his fingers from that velvet glove, the scent of her blossoming around them, rich as leather, silk, musk. Filling him just like he ached to fill her. He wanted to taste her, oh god, but that would tip him over the edge, and there was still so much to do.
"If you don't hurry up, I won't wait for your way," she gritted out.
"What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."
"All Earth males--?"
"No," he breathed into her ear. "Just you and me, and what you do to me."
She nipped his neck, her hands cupping his ass. "Next time I'll show you exactly what I can do to you."
Next time--
He straddled her, and she moved to accommodate him, thighs spreading for him, her calves snaking to lock around his legs. One hand reached up to touch him, to close around his girth and draw him down to her. He sucked in his breath at the feel of her cool fingers wrapping him. Suddenly glad she hadn't done that before, because he was so damn close to coming all over her.
"Aeryn," he gritted out, warning her. So close his teeth ached and his body screamed to just push go down thrust there there--
"John," she growled back. I know but you're the one who made me wait.
She guided him down to her. Her body welcomed him in, knees, thighs, labia narrowing down until it was just that one small area of heat. He felt smooth lips part underneath his blunt tip, felt the heat and the moisture kiss him, swallow him. There was a moment's resistance, two people pushing at each other, and then suddenly, a move, he didn't know who or how or what, but he was inside of her, two bodies becoming one--
Contact.
--and he was sliding and he was in and she was velvet and melted chocolate and he was in.
Her eyes were drifting closed again, and he traced the line of her jaw with slick fingers to get her attention. A glistening kiss over her skin. "No," he whispered urgently, and braced himself against her, fighting his body and the current humming between them. "Look at me."
She whimpered, moved her hips restlessly underneath him and pushing at him with her body, but he pulled back, gritting his teeth, ignoring the demanding fingernails scraping at his back, his body's own screaming urges. "I know, baby. Look at me--" He needed to see her, to keep her here. She wanted to sink into herself, to wallow in the sensations. He knew -- god knew he wanted to do the same thing -- but he couldn't bear even that much distance between them. Not this time. They were going to do this together, holding each other. "I wanna see you," he muttered.
"John--"
"Come with me, Aeryn. All the way, baby."
He could see her throat working, emotions quicksilver on her face. When she did open her eyes, there was blue on blue. Now it was easy to look at each other, they were locked, couldn't look away. A humming rose to fever pitch in his body, his shaft was slipping into her inch by hot tight inch. She rose around him, encasing him, taking him in, deeper, deeper. Velvet, chocolate, Southern Comfort and swimming in the lake on hot humid nights--
Until he slid home, his groin pressed against hers, nothing between them except skin and breaths and the fire that spiraled between them, the shock that danced through their bodies as he felt an almost physical click. Their connection was a living thing, growing, enveloping them. Her eyes widened, his likely did the same, as they felt the heat, the light the pain the pleasure. She cradled him, cushioned him. Soft and hard. They fit together, steel and velvet and he couldn't tell who was which.
It was only the beginning. He slid out, slowly, watching her lids flutter, feeling her hips follow his. He was so hard, but she was smooth around him. He slid into her silk again; there was no barrier, no hesitation, in accommodating him. They already fit together. The slight friction was just more pleasure dancing along their nerves.
Every time he pushed, he felt the movement, the energy, pass into her, her body rippling in response. Like a dance, a wave she rode and curled back on to push at him and he gasped when the wavefront hit him, passed through him from the head of his cock down the shaft through his belly spreading. Conservation of momentum, a ball they tossed back and forth, faster, faster. Her hips lifted higher, demanding more of him. Her thighs locked around his; he felt the quiver of her muscles.
"John," she breathed. Asked. Begged.
"Yeah, baby, I know." He leaned down, kissed her hard because he couldn't be gentle any more. "Come with me, Aeryn." His fingers found hers. Tangled together. Held on. "Now."
She smiled. Lifted her hips quickly, suddenly, to seat him firmly within her. Laughed at the way his arms faltered, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Then she was staring into his eyes. "John," she whispered, "yes. Now."
She was his undoing, her smell her feel her eyes her touch. Her words. Yes. He covered her with his body, his kisses, the weight as he bore down into her core, her heat, touching her from within, mingling with her juices and her velvet folds and her self. Silk, velvet, steel. A forging. A glorious race, faster, harder. Merging. Falling. Burning.
She writhed around him, outside, inside, clenching and holding and pulling and pushing. He shuddered, unable to hold on to the height himself, and wrapped her tightly with him as he fell. Could only share take touch and hold. Groan. Spill into her and it felt so good because she fluttered around him, sparks everywhere in his skin and behind his eyes, he felt her juices sliding down his shaft and slicking his balls.
Wet. Hot. Home. Aeryn--
He slipped back into his body piecemeal, moments passing before thoughts came, counting fingers and toes, feeling sweat beading on his skin. Reminding him who he was and where he ended. This was his breath, that was hers; this was his pulse, that was her heartbeat. His legs were intertwined with hers; he was still inside her, sprawled atop her, and the cool air felt good against the heat off their skin. Underneath his body still thrummed, hummed with their rhythm.
He had to swallow before he could speak, moisten his throat. "Am I too heavy?" Without waiting for an answer, he flexed, to move.
Her arm, wrapped around his neck, tensed, holding him, and one leg locked itself around his hips. "No," she murmured, "don't. You fit."
"Yeah," he said, nuzzling her temple, "I do." Perfectly. This is where I belong. "But I still outmass you." Holding her carefully, bracing her, he rolled. Difficult to do without unlocking them, but he did it, slowly, carefully, and she clenched to hold him in, her arms wrapped around him to hold on. Now he was on the bottom and she was on top, and gravity held them together, her hair looped over his chest and tickling his ribs. One hand still wrapped around her waist, he fumbled for the blankets, drew the ends across their bodies. When the heat burned off, they would be chilled.
"Mmmm." Her smile was sleepy, content, and he felt the banked fires. He wasn't concerned. Not with that look on her face.
I did that. A sense of wonderment, pride and accomplishment. He stroked her hair back from her temple, pulling away sweaty strands that clung to her skin. "I'd take that as a compliment to my prowess, but I know you didn't get a lot of sleep."
"No," she murmured. "I didn't."
"Next time I'll try not to keep you up so late."
"Next time I'll try not to wake you up so early."
"Next time." Yeah, those were now his favourite words. "Next time we sleep in." He pulled her just a tad bit higher -- oh that was nice, the way her breasts moved on his chest, soft and warm, and the way he slid inside of her, flaccid, nearly slipping out but she clenched again to hold him in. He pillowed her head in his shoulder. Breathed her in. "Sleep. It's my turn to watch."
The smile still curved her lips, and he buried his face in her hair, rubbing his nose over the crown of her head. He felt the withdrawing, the presence of the ice, as she slipped slowly into herself. Not a problem. He knew where the heat was, and how to touch it. She would only grow, and he couldn't wait to see how brightly she would burn.
This was his future. In his arms.