TITLE: One Down
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
SUMMARY: Forging new memory.
RATING: R
POSTED: April 19, 2003
AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks to Kernezelda for assuring me it wasn't trite; Apathy for braving wrathful discovery by her family for the sake of non-J/A sex; and Maayan for pushing me when my first-time blushes got in the way. It's one thing to think, do, or read it. It's an altogether different thing to write this stuff down.
STORY NOTES: Spoilers all the way to the end. This could stand alone, I suppose, but it makes more sense if you've read Answer of the Moment first.
DISCLAIMER: If I could make money off this, I would have done it sooner. Read.
He was having that dream again. It rode the thin edge toward nightmare, but never quite made it over because...
His wrists didn't hurt.
They always hurt. When the side of the leather that Grayza loved, like a good PK should, rubbed the wrong way and dug in, they hurt like hell. That's when he bit his tongue until the pain he chose came out on top.
But they didn't hurt now. His shoulders sure did. Stretched. And that usually meant--
His right arm jerked, straining as a touch skimmed down, down, and then up off his fingers, which twitched before he could stop them.
Well, that was certainly different. What? No slap, no pinch?
Another touch, a warm hand placed firmly at the small of his back, made him arch. Not in protest. This touch soothed as he pressed into the unyielding surface beneath him, faintly relieved that it didn't scrape new holes. The hand stroked up his back, easing muscles that had tensed in expectation of distress. While he hoped it would return -- spread the joy -- he wondered why it was that, even when his mind made up the rules, he could never seem to control his own body.
He kept his eyes squeezed tight enough that no one would be able to pry them open. Sometimes by rejecting the dreams, refusing to look at them, he could fool them into coming back another night.
Then a flutter, an almost soundless sound drifted past him. There wasn't supposed to be noise. He turned his head, ready to yell.
"Is this what you wanted, Crichton?"
Hot breath washed over his ear as the whisper entered his thoughts. He floundered before his brain finally decided to join his body on full alert.
"Sikozu?"
"No, no." A finger pressed on his lips. It hurt not to open, just a little, and taste, but the finger lifted before he could try. "No...speaking."
He shook his head as memory kicked in. Okay, time to open the eyes. Now.
It didn't help. He could feel the cloth tied around his head, brushing against his lashes. She had followed his instructions to the letter and it wasn't constricting, but it wasn't coming off either. Not -- he tugged -- with his hands tied so securely away from his face.
She'd done a good job. That was why he'd asked her, wasn't it?
"So..." He felt her circle to his left side, the fingertips she trailed across his shoulders chasing away the phantom of Grayza's nails dragging there with nearly enough pressure to draw blood. While he controlled the shudder that threatened, he couldn't stop one shoulder from hunching when a finger ended up in his ear. She chuckled. Damn, she was enjoying this. "...what should we...address first?"
Turning toward her voice, he opened his mouth to suggest that maybe this wasn't exactly the best idea he'd ever had. Her tongue tracing his lips froze the breath in his chest. She retreated again with a "tsk," leaving him unsure if he could speak. But this time he had to feel.
He licked his lips -- once, again, savoring a new memory. Good.
"Do you know why I agreed to go along with this charade, Crichton?"
He frowned into the cloth, not wanting to know. Not while it was working. Which wouldn't be for long, if she kept up this line of conversation. Hell, any conversation.
She didn't continue, thank god. She did make him remember why he'd told her about Grayza's blessedly short-term affection for the blindfold when her touch danced up his neck and every muscle seized. As it had cycles before, the shocking inability to anticipate made his breath come shallow. Not panting. He wasn't prepared to admit to that.
Her hand slid up into his hair instead of around his throat and he sighed, feeling his heart resume a rhythm. She began massaging his skull and he forced back a groan -- crap, he hadn't thought to include that on the list of Aeryn-related no-nos -- and tried to shake her free. She held on. For a moment. With a stroke across his covered eyes she was gone again and he sagged.
She was awfully good at this. She'd said she was, and by now she had stopped lying to him, but it was still something of a surprise to experience the truth. And he wasn't going to think about who she had honed her expertise on. That was just begging for another nightmare.
So he ignored that thought the way he had ignored the look in her eyes when he had come close to pleading. He'd rather focus on the trust that had developed -- not the first time when she had snuck out on him, or the last time when they had both confided what they were seeking, but that point when he realized he had stopped looking over his shoulder for her.
Her heat settled next to him, the points of her knees digging into his side before she shifted to lean over his back. Hair danced over his arm and tickled his cheek a moment before the blindfold whipped away. He let his forehead fall forward to rest on the table that he now recognized they were on.
"You are sure...?"
He lifted his head and found hers tilted to examine him in the weak light forcing its way in from outside. The dimness of the room made the differences in her skin, the mottled pattern around her temples that ran down her neck and further, as he had learned, less obvious. It also hid the expression in her eyes. He relied on himself to conceal his own as he nodded.
She rose up and straddled him to reach for the felt-like fabric holding his wrists, loosening it just enough for him to twist around under her, grateful to be pressing against flesh instead of metal. But once he was looking up from his back at the fact that, yes, all of their clothes had indeed gone missing, the ties tightened again. He stared, and her sharp smile started a flutter in his stomach.
"You set the parameters, I choose the path."
He remembered, he just hadn't thought about what that would mean.
Even though he could see her now, could watch her head descend, where she chose to start surprised him. The slick sensation of her tongue sweeping down the center of his chest pushed his head back between his arms, the better to savor that it wasn't something with a painful point creasing his skin. Although the cold trail left behind had its own thrilling edge.
The suction of her mouth at the base of his stomach, followed by her teeth, made him look back down. They had never...did he want...?
She glanced up and met his eyes. Before he could look away she tilted her head and pushed to her knees, leaning over him again with a subtle negative shake of her head. He started breathing again when he realized that he didn't have to make that decision.
And stopped, everything stopped when he felt her fingers close over him. Light, teasing, stroking. Now he was panting. Catching her rhythm, he pushed upwards, not an easy task with his leverage compromised, but well worth the effort when her touch became firmer. Then the quick bite of her nails made him taste blood on the inside of his lip. She knew just what action would cause which reaction by now, something Grayza never could capture from him in the short time she had him in her hands.
He held onto that knowledge as the memory of the laughter that had erupted at his last encounter with Sikozu -- when, figuring they had progressed to that stage, he had tried to explain the concept of "fuck buddies" -- ran through his head. Both the knowledge and the laughter were reflected back at him now in her eyes, locked on his while she played.
Then she blinked, he blinked, and she was gone. He gasped. Cold. So cold without--
"Shit!" He twisted to ease the spike that shot down his spine as his arms protested being held in one place while his mind tried to make them go to another. What was he doing, reaching for her? Even if he wasn't in this current predicament of his own making, she went where she wanted. But he wanted her back here, on him, and where the hell was she?
A tug, and he tilted his head back just in time to see and feel the felt give way. At least there was enough feeling left in his arms to bring them down with some kind of control instead of having them flop in his face. Small mercies. He rolled his shoulders twice and then spun around to latch onto her arm.
"We're not done yet." Yes, he was growling.
"No." Her sideways smile soothed and incited at the same time. Quite the talent. "We are not."
He pushed off the table, needing to be the taller one. She moved back, but wasn't backing down. No, she led him the two steps to what passed for a bed on this podunk planet. It was soft. That was all he cared about when he pushed her onto it and watched her bounce once before the weight of his knees on either side of her stilled the mattress.
"Having fun?"
"Mmm..." That coy under-the-lashes look; she was well aware of its effect. Even if she wasn't, she could hardly miss the way he responded.
When she reached for him again, he put pushed her flat before sliding his hands down her arms and pinning her own as he tasted her neck. She squirmed, still seeking. He nipped at the underside of her chin, right below her ear, to complete the distraction and keep her from grabbing back control by grabbing onto him. Her fingers clamped on his and he smiled. Worked like a charm, every time.
When she raised her hips with a growl, he ignored her request, pushing her back down with a hand on her stomach and holding her there with little circles across her ribcage.
"Crich-ton..." Fascinating how a hard sound could still be hissed.
"Not yet."
The hiss turned into a moan as he scooted down to place his mouth where his hand had been, touching her with soft kisses where he knew that she would rather rough bites, needing to soothe. The taste of her -- it was something that surprised him every time. Sweet sweat instead of salty. Made him wonder what her blood was made of.
Her back arched when he got to her breasts. He knew some actions and reactions as well, and this was one of his favorites. Hands flat on the bed, she pushed herself up against his tongue. And then her hands -- yep, there they were, kneading his shoulders when he took a nipple into his mouth and started to suckle. His occasional ability to predict was as important as anything else tonight.
Unwilling to abandon his current occupation just yet, he sent a hand down her body to explore. She was wet, dripping. While first one, then two of his fingers slid in easily and the heat, as always, forced a brief grimace, knowing what lay beyond lured him on. He no longer needed to jerk back, check that she wasn't searing skin away to bone, melting his fingers the way metal deformed under her hand when danger called for it. He couldn't remember why he hadn't fled the first time. He did remember his cry.
Needing to share that initial jitter of sensation, this time he curled his fingers, scraped his nails inside her, and she squeaked. He looked up at her, surprised by the sound -- theirs was a silent affair in more ways than one -- and watched her throw her head back and gulp for air. He dragged his nails harder, saw her shudder, and moved up over her while filing that new reaction away.
Thank god she was made the same basic way as a human -- no need to worry about remembering that tab A went in slot D.
Her eyes slitted open as he nudged into the wetness, teasing her while steeling himself for the burn. She gave him a challenging smile and he thrust forward. A gasp from both of them. Feeling her ripple around him, he let his held breath go.
In, out, fast-fast, slow. The steps changed every time, but it was the partner that made all the difference as to whether the dance ever got old. Tonight only seared that lesson into his mind.
Her arms came up to hug him to her. As they continued to move, he gave in to the urge, bending down to kiss her, full and deep, tongues and everything.
She jerked back.
"What--?"
"Shh." The comforting sound was for himself as well as her. Where had that come from? The unspoken rule. Broken. He couldn't regret it.
He leaned in again, this time making it tender despite the urgency building at the base of his spine. And felt another memory slip into place when she responded.
No fear. No bruising. No cringing. No aftertaste. No regrets. Thanking her for all of that wasn't a hardship. Slowing down, twisting his hips so sensation made her squeeze him tight, was more than a pleasure.
She bit her lip. He saw her eyes spark. Her hands tightened on his and she twisted the other direction, slid along him with a twitch at the end that wiped his mind clean of everything except: Do it again. Yeah, again.
Breathing, smelling, hearing, they all paled before touching, feeling. Outside, smooth. Inside, hot. Circling, spiraling, spinning...dizzying. Locked eyes provided a center. Tight muscles made everything ache.
One more moment. One more gasp.
One. almost
More. there
Please. NOW
How long until oxygen resumed its regular flow to his brain and lungs? He didn't know. He did know when she decided to pull back.
He snagged her hand and tugged her down to lay tucked into his body, needing the contact to finish off the memory, cement it in place. One rule broken, why not another? After a moment of silent disagreement, she relaxed against him all at once. He stroked her hair, wondering if she would purr.
"So why did you agree?"
A long silence. She sighed. "There are many reasons, Crichton, but only one I will give you."
"That's okay. Make it a good one and we'll call it even."
"And who decides good, you or I?" The humor in her voice made him absurdly happy. The leftover endorphins couldn't hurt either.
"For this? It's all you."
She turned her head to look at him, and the seriousness in her eyes made him pause.
"Never...has anyone requested that I do this...with kindness."
He blinked, reeling at the edge of wonder in her voice, but before he could say anything, she turned away again and settled more firmly back against him. End of conversation.
Willing to accept, for now, he was ready to drift off without dreams when her soft voice held him up.
"May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Was it successful? Did we 'exorcize the ghost'?"
His arm tightened around her and it took a firm order to relax before he felt capable of responding.
"One of them."
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