&fic;

 

Unrefined

by sugargroupie

NC-17, 1000 words

Summary: He's carved his own niche.

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

Notes: PWP, season 4. For those who poke for porn. Thanks to Kernezelda for the beta. Mistakes remain mine.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

They meet on tier 16 this day, different from the last time and the time before that. John can't remember the numbers, and truthfully it doesn't matter. He remembers touch and taste, the dampness of her skin and wet warmth of her mouth; recalls great sex wrapped in love on the tip of his tongue. Feels like desperation, and he shouldn't want it.

Aeryn is waiting for him when he enters the room, bio-mechanoid door whining shut with a familiar clink. We only have a little over half an arn, she says, and their duties can't be neglected for a frell. She smiles when she says this, lips full and inviting and he kisses her mid-sentence -- wants to do obscene things with her mouth. Later, he promises himself.

John is used to performing on a tight schedule by now. They've made rules for their meetings; wear what's necessary, keep talking to a minimum -- because John, there are so many other things you could be doing with that mouth -- and never rendezvous on the same tier. He wonders if she learned that in Peacekeepers, to recreate against time. Probably. Wonders if she put it to practice the second time she left...

Don't go there.

Gentle fingers thread through his hair and trail down as Aeryn frames his face with both hands, kissing him, inhaling him like the air she needs to breathe. Their tongues mesh together and she sucks on his bottom lip, arms looping around his neck to bring his body against hers. He's already hard, sliding into the curve of her hip. John thinks of the time constraints and brings his hands down to unfasten her leathers, eagerly pushing them down Aeryn's hips. He sighs into her mouth when he has a handful of ass.

John reads the laughter she tries to hold in, and Aeryn settles for a playful glare instead. Sliding a hand between his legs, she cups him with one squeeze and his breath catches in his throat -- leans into her grasp. She's quick about it, works her hand underneath his pants and grabs hold of his cock before he can say a word.

"Hey, be careful there," he murmurs, and nuzzles her cheek, can't help but touch her. "That's the only one I have."

He hears a noncommittal hum as he nips the side of her neck, swirls his tongue in the sweet spot behind her ear. She arches into the caress. He's learned quickly how to play her body and he's carved his own niche. This Crichton has been here.

The first item he conquers is her shirt. Pulls it over her head and sets his tongue to the smooth flesh of her shoulder, glides down to her breast. Circles once around her nipple and then again until it swells under the wet pressure.

She groans in his ear, groping blindly for any surface of his skin she can reach and presses her thumbs into the muscle of his hips. She pulls at his t-shirt, stretching the fabric until he's forced to step back and then he's also naked from the waist up. John spares a moment to watch the graceful efficiency of Aeryn undressing, toeing off her boots and removing her pants and underwear with precise movements.

John's leathers fall around his ankles and his girl has that look in her eye. She's never had much patience, and his isn't what it used to be. It's supposedly gotten better, but never when it comes to Aeryn. He grasps the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss, quick strokes of his tongue, and lifts her up into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist and he has every intention of making it to the bed until she tightens her hold and rubs against him.

Mindful of the pants around his legs, John shuffles backward until he hits the grated door and instinct takes over. This is why they meet in places their shipmates won't go. Sex, fucking, making love -- it's all very loud with Aeryn. The door rattles with her grip, hands curling tight around the bars, feet bracing against the metal on either side of his hips. Her determined expression and set mouth briefly remind him of a kid climbing the monkey bars. But there's nothing child-like about Aeryn, not like this.

Grey eyes meet his and she raises herself a few denches, then lowers until he's sheathed inside her completely. He shivers at the contact, the tightness and no breathing room that he's grown to crave. She clenches, pleasure rippling through his cock, and he takes the hint. It's slick wet friction as they move, his hands sliding from her hips to her backside directing her strokes up and down on his cock. John's eyes close and he concentrates on Aeryn's wet flesh and the cant of her pelvis rocking against him. He breathes deep as she wraps one arm around his neck and seeks out his mouth; sinks further inside her.

John wants to laugh because he's being nailed against the door, but he's never been so turned on in his life.

Aeryn's skin is flushed, warm to the touch. She's close. Strong fingers dig into his back, hot mouth on his ear and she's riding him hard and fast. His limbs shake from the exertion, sweat pouring off both their bodies, but the banging rhythm of the door is the least of his concerns. John trails a hand across her thigh, between her legs and swirls his thumb across the mound in teasing strokes. Leaning into the cradle of her neck and shoulder, he sucks in a breath as his balls tighten -- groans his release into her moist skin.

The recall is fresh as he savors their obsession and love on his tongue. Everything old is recycled new. "I love you," Aeryn moans into his neck right before she comes, and John tastes the desperation all over again.

*

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