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feldmanAnother helping.
Jool stretches to reach her comms on the floor, her body a sinuous rolling curve of cream silk on the red fur of his bedspread. She leans over the edge of the bed, "What do you want, Crichton?"
He tries to tune the human out, running his fingers through her ringlets. They're losing their hot color, cooling to orange as her breathing returns to normal. No one is injured, it's just another one of the human's games--let him distract someone else. He slides his hand down her waist and hip, pulling her back against him firmly.
She whines into the comms, "Alright, alright. I'll look at him tomorrow, okay?"
He whispers a command in her ear, "After breakfast."
She passes it along to John. "After breakfast."
"But what if he's--"
Crais disables the comms as he takes it from her, and then tosses it to the floor. Her hair flares brighter as she grins at him.
~*~
John shrugs. It's not like he feels bad or anything, just a little tired and a lot hungry. He leaves Silent Bob to his brooding and heads back to the galley, To his pleasure, he finds Chiana there with a bowl of grolak batter.
"Hey old man, you hungry?"
"Starving, Chi."
"Good." She hands him the bowl. "Stir this while I heat up the oil."
"Can do." He watches her dart around the galley, letting her words pelt and soothe him like sitting in a shiatsu chair, while she gathers utensils and plates for a late night snack. She must have come right from the fresher, her hair is still damp and falling over her eyes in chunks that remind him of sweet creamy coconut. Not real coconut, but coconut filling, like you'd find in a Mounds bar.
Almond Joy's got nuts, Mounds don't. It's been years since he's tasted chocolate or coconut. He'd kill for a real honest-to-God candy bar.
~*~
John tries to shrug off the apprehension like a dog shaking off water. So what if Crais is right? He does smell a little strange, but it's not sweat and it's not the smell of sick, either. Maybe it is some kind of cologne, something Aeryn likes. Girl was raised in space, maybe dirt smells exotic to her.
He didn't ask his clone. He doesn't like hearing that voice when it doesn't come out of his own head, can't stand the deep bland monotone of it, the raw quality that sounds like someone driving down the highway on bare rims.
Tomorrow, he's going to get Jool to test everything. The boy's not right, and John needs to know what the hell's happening to him. Just in case it starts happening to his own body.
John pulls the journal from under his shirt, unbends a fold in the soft cover, and flips through to the last entry he remembers writing.
Bastard wrote in it after that.
At first, John doesn't want to read the new entries. He thumbs through to the blank pages and grabs them, about to tear them from the book like forgetting a bad dream, but his eye catches on the last written page.
~*~
When Aeryn strips for bed, she realizes that the top fastener of her leathers is still undone from earlier. She smiles, then her brow furrows as she realizes that if she'd run into the other Crichton he probably would have noticed. She removes the rest of her clothing quickly, pausing to prod at the recreation bruise on her shoulder. Teeth marks. Damned territorial males.
Humans must be as bad as the dogs Crichton told her about back on Dam-Ba-Da. Little wonder he fit right in with the bounty hunters
The last thing she needs is to find herself in the middle of another bad-tempered argument between that man and himself. She doesn't want to have to injure either one. How could she choose? It can't be a choice, because it's the same man, even if he doesn't see it. There has to be some way to put him back together again.
She tries not to let the stab of chagrin ruin her relaxed mood. Hopefully when he's recombined he won't talk so much, having learned better uses for that tongue.
Jool stretches to reach her comms on the floor, her body a sinuous rolling curve of cream silk on the red fur of his bedspread. She leans over the edge of the bed, "What do you want, Crichton?"
He tries to tune the human out, running his fingers through her ringlets. They're losing their hot color, cooling to orange as her breathing returns to normal. No one is injured, it's just another one of the human's games--let him distract someone else. He slides his hand down her waist and hip, pulling her back against him firmly.
She whines into the comms, "Alright, alright. I'll look at him tomorrow, okay?"
He whispers a command in her ear, "After breakfast."
She passes it along to John. "After breakfast."
"But what if he's--"
Crais disables the comms as he takes it from her, and then tosses it to the floor. Her hair flares brighter as she grins at him.
~*~
John shrugs. It's not like he feels bad or anything, just a little tired and a lot hungry. He leaves Silent Bob to his brooding and heads back to the galley, To his pleasure, he finds Chiana there with a bowl of grolak batter.
"Hey old man, you hungry?"
"Starving, Chi."
"Good." She hands him the bowl. "Stir this while I heat up the oil."
"Can do." He watches her dart around the galley, letting her words pelt and soothe him like sitting in a shiatsu chair, while she gathers utensils and plates for a late night snack. She must have come right from the fresher, her hair is still damp and falling over her eyes in chunks that remind him of sweet creamy coconut. Not real coconut, but coconut filling, like you'd find in a Mounds bar.
Almond Joy's got nuts, Mounds don't. It's been years since he's tasted chocolate or coconut. He'd kill for a real honest-to-God candy bar.
~*~
John tries to shrug off the apprehension like a dog shaking off water. So what if Crais is right? He does smell a little strange, but it's not sweat and it's not the smell of sick, either. Maybe it is some kind of cologne, something Aeryn likes. Girl was raised in space, maybe dirt smells exotic to her.
He didn't ask his clone. He doesn't like hearing that voice when it doesn't come out of his own head, can't stand the deep bland monotone of it, the raw quality that sounds like someone driving down the highway on bare rims.
Tomorrow, he's going to get Jool to test everything. The boy's not right, and John needs to know what the hell's happening to him. Just in case it starts happening to his own body.
John pulls the journal from under his shirt, unbends a fold in the soft cover, and flips through to the last entry he remembers writing.
Bastard wrote in it after that.
At first, John doesn't want to read the new entries. He thumbs through to the blank pages and grabs them, about to tear them from the book like forgetting a bad dream, but his eye catches on the last written page.
~*~
When Aeryn strips for bed, she realizes that the top fastener of her leathers is still undone from earlier. She smiles, then her brow furrows as she realizes that if she'd run into the other Crichton he probably would have noticed. She removes the rest of her clothing quickly, pausing to prod at the recreation bruise on her shoulder. Teeth marks. Damned territorial males.
Humans must be as bad as the dogs Crichton told her about back on Dam-Ba-Da. Little wonder he fit right in with the bounty hunters
The last thing she needs is to find herself in the middle of another bad-tempered argument between that man and himself. She doesn't want to have to injure either one. How could she choose? It can't be a choice, because it's the same man, even if he doesn't see it. There has to be some way to put him back together again.
She tries not to let the stab of chagrin ruin her relaxed mood. Hopefully when he's recombined he won't talk so much, having learned better uses for that tongue.
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Date: 2004-10-08 05:19 pm (UTC)ick. *giggles* ick ick ick. *scrubs brain*