&fic;

 

When the Rainbow is Enough

by sugargroupie

NC-17, 2503 words

Summary: they've developed a shorthand in proximity.

Disclaimer: Not mine; O'Bannon, Henson, Kemper, et. al.

Notes: Set obscurely in season 4 with no major spoilers. I'll just call this AU and be done with it. Unending thanks to the lovely StarsGoBlue for the beta, remaining mistakes are mine. This specifically answers a prompt put forth by Thea a while back requesting laundry and detritus; and a question I posed a few months ago on my LJ concerning angst-free J/A moments in S4.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

She rises naked and loose-limb from the bed and navigates her way through the dark quarters to the fresher. When she returns, the lights are low and John is sitting on the edge of the bed with a black shirt in his hand.

"Hey baby," he says, and wipes the tip of his recently spent cock with the shirt before tossing it to the floor.

Aeryn eyes the article for a moment then shifts her gaze to his. She knows that look; he's up to something. "Was that mine?"

John shrugs and leans back on his hands, giving her an open view of his body. He tilts his head and curves his mouth in a deliberate smile she pointedly ignores.

"Looks like you'll be doing my laundry, then." She pulls her hair into a loose tail at the base of her neck and walks further into the room.

To be fair, their clothes were already dirty before the sex, courtesy of a commerce planet that held more dust than merchandise. Orange particles of detritus shed from their skin as they'd stripped naked and entered the shower.

The bathing hadn't come until much later, but she doesn't mind the grainy sands in her sheets. They can be added to the pile of laundry John does later.

John catches her by the arm as she crosses his path, and she lets him pull her forward to stand between his legs. His hands are already sliding around the backs of her thighs, up to her ass and he holds her there. Fingers press into the flesh as he stares up at her face. "What?" she says.

"Nothing." He shakes his head lost in thought. "Just looking."

She feels the pads of his fingers dig into her hips now, a slight pressure before he rests his palm flat on her belly. Aeryn runs her fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower and the sex. His breath is warm on her skin when he leans his head below her breasts, so close that she could angle his chin just right to feel his mouth.

"Is that all," she wonders aloud, expecting John to answer because that's what he does, talking enough for the both of them. Here in this room and at this moment, she wants his voice, raspy and vibrating against her skin, calling her name but saying so much more underneath.

"Touching," he answers. "Tasting." He backs up his words with wet heat on the curve of her breast, drawing up to her nipple. He flicks his tongue in teasing strokes, eyes shining with laughter as she tightens her grip on his hair. "S'good," he murmurs and finally takes the nipple in his mouth, nibbles the tender flesh with his teeth. Aeryn allows her head to fall back on a sigh and a moan, on the low pull of her sex.

Earlier, with the dirt and grime rubbing into their skin as they frelled, it was hard and fast and left welcomed bruises. Now she wants to take her time, and for John to take his. She wants to inhale his scent and take him into her mouth; wants to hold him inside her and set his fingers to her mouth as she comes.

Wants to do it all on clean sheets this time, but she finds that working together in spite of the annoyances -- wet bodies rolling around in loose earth -- offsets any disadvantages that arise.

* * *

Six arns earlier.

The trouble with traversing through Tormented Space isn't just about finding any planet, but a hospitable one that doesn't try to kill Moya or her crew. When they first entered the planet's atmosphere, Irus had appeared non-threatening. Aeryn suspects she should have saved her judgment until after they'd actually landed.

A fine layer of dust cakes under her nails, brownish-red in stark relief against her pale skin, and she digs her fingers deeper into his hair.

John says, "Let me see," as he peers over his shoulder and makes a face when she shows him her hands. "Ugh, what is this crap?"

"No idea, but it's in the atmosphere." Aeryn scans the area, takes in the low hum of voices, far too few buyers and sellers haggling over prices, the utter quietness of what should be a busy commerce sector. "We'll just have to deal with it for now."

She can feel the small grains chaffing her back, underneath her shirt and the firm pressure of John's hand, and how the dust found its way beneath her clothes she'll never know. But the dust, coupled with the mildly humid weather are only an annoyance she can push to the side in favor of finding a replacement coil for her Prowler.

A heavy gust of wind whips her hair around her face and she turns opposite its direction. Dust swirls around them. John's voice carries over the howl of wind as he says, "Let's get this over with," and Aeryn nods, breaking away from their huddle to begin her search.

The weather becomes nearly intolerable just as she's finalizing her purchase. John is at her elbow as the wind picks up speed, staying close as they pass by merchants preparing their stands for the coming storm. They've developed a shorthand in proximity; the absence of space, and the breadth of it, is its own language. She bumps her shoulder into his and he follows. He brushes his arm against hers and she changes direction.

They take shelter in an empty dwelling that looks hollowed out from cycles of abandonment. She's not entirely surprised to find that a few of the merchants had the same idea, but she can sense the tension in John's body, the way he holds himself in preemptive action against the other occupants. With an imperceptible nod from Aeryn he easily shores the armor and bearing of a soldier, discarding it with a sigh before leaning back against wall. As if by mutual agreement, they step no farther than the short corridor that leads deeper inside the shelter.

Aeryn positions herself at the entrance to watch the storm. Small funnels of debris race across the commerce sector, and are dispersed by the forceful winds before they have a chance to increase in size. Strangely the sky is clear, tinged violet and bright, almost blinding. She's never seen weather patterns like this before. Not when she was still a Peacekeeper, and certainly not after. Even on Earth the word storm had implied a degree of overcast.

She wonders how Moya and Pilot are faring.

"Spoke with one of the locals before the sand storm hit." John slowly opens his eyes and focuses outward to the harsh elements.

"And?" she prompts, after he falls silent.

John pushes away from the wall and comes to look over her shoulder. "And, she said they come quick and often, but the upside is that they don't last long."

"It's a wonder they get any business here at all."

"Take a look, Aeryn. This place gives 'barren' new meaning." John's not wrong. Irus vaguely reminds her of Sykar; but instead of farming and false security, the distant relatives have gone directly for the hardware itself. They have a considerable amount of standard PK issue weaponry and parts, for such a desolate world.

John moves closer now, placing his hands on her hips and sliding beneath her shirt to rest on her belly. His touch is light, accommodating for the near-oppressive humidity, but it's enough that she wouldn't mind frelling him on the floor right now if they were alone. Put that glazed look in his eyes, taste the rush of lust and love on his mouth. She shifts her weight to one leg and lets herself lean back into his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking to see how far the dust goes," he murmurs close to her ear, fingertips swirling patterns across her skin.

She cups him through his leathers and he swells into the curve of her palm. "Far enough, I'd say." John leans his head on her shoulder, breath hitching against her neck. Aeryn permits a smile breaks free -- just a brief flash of teeth, amusement lighting her eyes, and then it's gone.

John steps back, granting them both a reprieve. There will be time for indulgence later.

As soon as the dust settles, they head back to the pod. John chokes with every deep breath he takes, but his smile is genuine, and matches her relief at leaving the stifling planet.

*

The residual dust leaves their leathers cloying on over-heated skin. John yanks off his short jacket first and it lands with a thump on the shelf in her room. Aeryn watches as it slithers to the floor and removes her coat next, throwing it on top of John's. The cool air in her quarters is like water on her flesh; she hurriedly toes off her boots and stuffs her socks inside. Even better, she decides, after peeling away her pants and shirt, dropping them in a corner to be dealt with later.

In typical contrariness, John disrobes from top to bottom. Shirt and pants first and there's a minor obstacle with the boots that's done away with quickly. He pulls her close and kisses her, and she tastes the dust and salty sweat of him. She allows the kiss to deepen and rubs her hip against his cock, digs her fingers into his shoulder and manages to push away.

John catches her by the waist as she turns around and hauls her back to his chest. "Where do you think you're goin'?" He palms her breasts through her bra, squeezing them until she moans and cants her hips back into his.

"Shower," she bites out. John slips his hands underneath her bra, rolls one nipple with his fingers. Countering one touch with another, Aeryn reaches around and slaps his backside as he rubs his cock against her and he stops, chuffs in laughter and starts again. "You could join me," she invites breathlessly while letting her fingers work to convince him.

She feels him shake his head and give voice to his dissent. "Not yet," he whispers against her jaw -- the scratch of stubble and dust mixing together between them. John positions his hands to pull at her bra and she relents, knocks his hands away to remove the barrier. He works on loosening her hair instead, buries his nose deep as it falls around her shoulders like a soft weight.

Aeryn turns and throws her arm around his neck and gives him an unhurried kiss, nipping at his lips as they rock into each other. His thumbs hook into the sides of her briefs and drag down, pausing just above the curve of her ass, and he jams his hands beneath to cup her fully. John boosts her up in his arms, squeezing the cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

He carries her over to the bed and falls back with Aeryn on top. She straddles his thighs and yanks his underwear down, beautiful cock springing free. She takes hold and strokes up and down, deliberately watching his face, how his head falls back with a deep sigh. Scooting up until her clit meets the base of his sex she rocks her hips in measured rhythm and braces her hands on his chest. John splays one hand on her lower back and she leans forward, husky groans unfurling from her throat as her climax builds.

Aeryn lays her cheek against his, feels the flutter of his eyelashes as she grinds down on his cock; feels one hand glide up her thigh and two teasing fingers help push her over the edge.

He's nuzzling her neck and cheek as she attempts to catch her breath. She kisses his mouth and caresses his arms, smatterings of dust brushed away by her fingers. John is solid underneath her, and so very warm that she's suffused in heat. She finally rolls away, grateful for the cooler temperature as the air prickles her skin. After a few microts he stands from the bed and takes her hand, tugging her so they're standing back to chest again. He clumsily stumbles back into the bench near the wall and pivots until she's staring at Leviathan skin, gasping at the sudden shift. They both shake with laughter.

Aeryn reaches out both hands and claims the wall, already arching back into him as the humor of the moment melts into urgency. John draws the head of his sex down the crease of her buttocks and glides between her legs. When she tries to reach back to grab his cock, he joins their fingers and places her hand back on the wall. He stretches her leg out and she immediately props it on the bench, opens her body and wants to close tight around him.

John leans his weight into Aeryn and she compensates by dropping her hips and shifting back. They simultaneously release a harsh breath as he buries himself deep with an upward thrust. She is grateful that he doesn't start slow, but slams into her with no pretense, no less degree of need and possession.

He cups her sex with one hand, holding her pelvis as he frells her and she breaks on a moan, slick and wet pleasure tightening around his cock. Her head falls back on his shoulder and she breathes through her mouth from the exertion, from the force of his cock and his hips stretching her wide, digging deep. Aeryn rolls her hips back, catches him mid-thrust and he groans in her ear, squeezes their joined hands on the wall.

She can taste the edge of orgasm, how it thrums like violence along her skin, and hovers on his lips as he nudges her face with his for a kiss. The bench shifts beneath her foot and she bears down, flies apart with the release and she can't hold back the cry that rips from her throat.

She sinks into the pleasure, automatically meeting his more frantic thrusts until his own orgasm bleeds back, and he collapses half against the wall, half against her.

They maneuver limbs and space and make it back to the bed. Once the afterglow has run its course, she means to take a shower, rinse off the weather and sex and start over again. John snores softly beside her, dirt-smudged and lax and hers.

She feels content for the moment, and she smiles.

* * *

Dust still permeates the air when Aeryn returns to her quarters later that night. She finds John asleep in her bed, gold sheets covering half his backside. She strips down and slides in behind him. And as she tucks her chin on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his chin she smells amnexus fluid and bath soap, and she likes the mixture.

She breathes in the scent of laundry and detritus, and falls asleep.

*

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