by SorlkLewis, E-mail: email@example.com
Summary: The universe was static and they finally had each other.
Spoilers: everything's fair game, post We're So Screwed
Notes: The, um, 'plot' held me hostage. Thanks to those at Kansas, for the feedback and the shove. This story's a first for me, so be gentle. The good, the bad, and the ugly feedback welcome. firstname.lastname@example.org
Disclaimer: Farscape is © & ™ Jim Henson Productions, Rockne S. O'Bannon, etc. The Farscape universe and characters are creations and property of Rockne S. O'Bannon, etc. I'm just playing in the big kids sandbox for a little bit.
He watches her adjust the water. The days have blurred together and he can't remember the last time. Before Katratzi and Grayza and a nuclear bomb in a field of flowers. Before the end of the world. She's right. They both need this.
He knows he should be the one helping her undress, but doesn't resist when she pulls his shirt over his head. Exposed. He's been exposed too much. Scorpius and Grayza and the whole fucking universe. When he looks up, she's already dropped her shirt to the floor, their boots in the corner. He skims his hand along her stomach, over the angry red spots that mar her skin. A reminder of another brush with death. Of life that could be.
John doesn't know it, but he's done this all before. Another time, another place. Memories he'd never know. It's the same touch, just a little rougher, a little colder. Not his fault. The consequences of time, the scars you couldn't see.
She pulls him to his feet and rests her forehead against his. It's enough to not say anything. Carefully she works at his leather pants. He's already half hard, but this isn't about the sex. Never was. His trousers pool on the floor. Repeat. Now there's nothing left for either of them to do and she finally notices how he's changed. Older, leaner. A little more self conscious. Not quite the same man she remembers.
And that's fine. She takes his hand and pulls him under the warm spray of water. It's better than rain because he really can't remember the last time it wasn't mechanical. Aeryn runs her hands through his hair, over his shoulders. "Is this okay?" she asks.
He nods and tries to not think about Grayza. This, with Aeryn, it's slow. Undemanding. Nothing like Arnessk on the rocks. Shaken and stirred. John reaches behind himself and waves his hand over the sensor, the water going ice cold. It's sharp and brings him back.
He brushes his lips against hers and intertwines their fingers. To her, his mouth is soft and sweet and hasn't changed. This thing between them doesn't taste like yesterday anymore. He kisses her hungrily, a starving man in the vacuum of time, and they both wonder at what could've been. Could've, would've, should've.
Hands skim along her curves, exploring what is only their second time. Aeryn has to remind herself of that painful reality. He's exposed again because she knows him intimately and it doesn't work the other way around. He doesn't stop to think about it so it's fine. Everything's fine now.
It's natural when he pushes her up against the wall. He's gentle about it. Supports her when her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and it's pretty uncomplicated from there. A dichotomy of their relationship. The black and white and gray all at once. He holds her there, runs his lips down her throat and kisses her shoulder, the cold water beating on his back, grounding him against Aeryn's electricity. She's his wormhole, his super nova. His everything.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"What for?" It's not his fault. None of it. He's the victim of fate.
And it's like the first time. Earth. Minus the sunshine.