A Farscape Tid-bit

Not sure where this came from... but it wanted to be written. So, here it is. (Obviously, my inner Fornit wants a John/Chi story. So. Damn. Bad.)

"But… uh. You and Aeryn…" she tilts her head to the side, looks down at him in his chair. There's a glimmer of smile at the corner of her mouth. Not that it ever left in the first place. "The royal planet. Jenavia? I'm not stupid, Crichton."


"That. That was different. We…" should he use that line? Sure. Why the hell not. "We were on a break."


"A break?" she echoes, sets her drink on the table, runs a finger around the rim. Gloves. Always with the gloves. And why does he care?


"Yes. A break."


"So," she slides one foot forward, bumps his knee aside with hers. She's doing that thing where she opens her mouth just a little. Pink tongue on gray lips. His body reminds him, in a sort of nagging way, it's been a long dry spell. "Is this a break?"


"A break?" now he's the parrot. Johnny wanna… woah. Not going there. What was in that last shooter?


She takes another step and he has to grab her hips. Has to, or she'll be in his lap. Or at least across it. And that's bad because?


Her smile is wider because Chiana always knows. When it comes to sex, she has a way of spotting things, a weird instinct. A sex-beacon. Sex-beacon? He glances at his own drink.


"No. Sorry, Chi," he pushes her back, despite his body calling him a selfish prick. Oh, the irony folks. Har, har, har! "Not tonight."


"Fine," and just like that, she turns it off. It's a gift.


She flops down in her chair, grabs her drink, stuffs the straw in her mouth. Her eyes are narrow. Chi thinking. Look out world. "Tell me why."


Explaining human morality -or at least his version- to Chiana. In a whore-house on the Ka'ali homeworld. Exactly how he wanted to spend his night. "Sorry, Pip. Not tonight."


"Not tonight?" it's a different smile. Less teasing. Maybe. He's too drunk to figure it out.


"Not..." he puts his hand flat on the table, levers himself up. When he sways -what was in that last shooter- she reaches up, fingers wrapping half-way around his wrist. The warmth of her palm bleeds through the leather of her gloves. Those gloves, again.


"Not tonight," he says.


He meant to say 'not ever'. Really he did.

Hugh Glass

Hubby knows how much I love ordering things offline. It's frightening, really. My love, oh, and my husband, too. (*rimshot* No? Too much? Anyway...)

He wanted a book on Hugh Glass. Holy cow. What an interesting story! I'm totally ripping this man's life off for a fanfiction plot. Totally.