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The Talyn Suite, VII: A Night at Home
by Robyn Bender, E-mail: robynbender@yahoo.com

About The Talyn Suite, VII: A Night at Home

Category: Romance / Drama (J/A)

Summary: A night without a crisis. Just some conversation, some fooling around, a few new frontiers. Please read the Talyn Suite 1-6 first.

Rating: NC-17, for graphic depiction of sexuality. (If any Robyn Bender fic has been too intense for your taste, you may not want to ride this ride. If your tolerances are exceeded in mid-flight, simply skip to the last three paragraphs and exit calmly.) Remember, "The only crime against nature is to retreat from love." (Athol Fugard)

Copyright Notice: Farscape is the intellectual property of the Jim Henson Company and Hallmark Entertainment. This original work of fan fiction is protected in the USA by the Fair Use provisions of the Copyright Act of 1976 because I do not intend to sell it at any price.

Spoilers: Shortly before Infinite Possibilities: Daedalus Demands. Some time has passed since Relativity and Talyn Suite 6: The Cliff.

John sat back on the bed with his legs stretched out. He flipped through his notebook and wrote a few lines. Aeryn was in her tee shirt and shorts, perched at the counter, stripping the rifles. Familiar smell of chakron oil, the sound of parts sliding and clicking apart. He felt a funny rush of nostalgia. Nice to sit in the evening, watching a woman doing her work. Man, that went back, across his whole life. Alex studying, Aunt Ruth quilting, Mom checking data -- that sense of rightness, safety, things in their place.

Back to his notebook. This thing that was... calling him. Hadn't been able to pin it down. Good thing he'd already made it through IASA -- no way he could pass a psych exam, now. Bad dreams, seeing monsters, aliens pumping stuff to his brain -- Be a frelling All-Star, you'd make Grand Rounds. But the funny thing was, he felt pretty good. Pretty solid. How crazy was that? Well, yeah, there was Harvey -- but himself, his own stuff, he wasn't that bad. On the drexim mist, he'd been pumped to the gills -- and the worst thing he'd wanted to do that whole day was goof off with Aeryn. Nothing so bad. Even took it easy on Capt'n Queeg. No Heart of Darkness came bubbling out. Who knew?

But this thing, this lure. It wasn't just the usual voices. This was new and improved, industrial strength. Beamed straight to his cortex, delivered right into his cozy home. Even with Aeryn, he'd sat around for a couple of days, figuring how to bring it up. 'Uh, babe, this time, I'd like to fly TOWARD it...' And the spooky thing was, she'd had Mom's reaction. That same little nod, hardly even a shrug. The man isn't normal, we all know that. Sure, it worried her some, but she'd take it as part of the Crichton package, the way things were.

'It worried her some --' God, I sound like Im channeling Dad. 'It's no big deal, she handles it fine.' Oh, you bet. She's smart enough that it scares her, bad. She could lay out ten ways it could crash and burn. She could draw you a frelling map, right now. But she'll turn us around, deal with the neighbors, do whatever we need to do. She's on the team.

He'd begun to see what his folks had had. The geeky girl and the cocky pilot -- the stuff a kid couldn't understand. He always came back. She could always deal. 'Til death did them part. Hollered and swore and wanted to strangle each other sometimes, but nobody thought about walking away. 'Son, sheep are the ones who screw around. Eagles, wolves -- they mate for life.' Get a bond like that, any crazy damn thing could fly.

"Where's Winona?" she asked, not turning around. It startled him back. He groped for his holster, down on the floor. He checked the safety and padded over to hand it to her. For a minute he loitered there, nuzzling at the back of her neck. She hummed in acknowledgement, not looking up. I'm taken. I'm had. It's all over for me. I am. Not. Single. Not any more. He dropped back to the bed. Just another quiet evening at home, the little woman checking my sidearm, getting us combat-ready. Just hang with the person who loves you to bits, who's always there --

Huh. We haven't spent a night apart. Boy, that sure broke the family mold. All those times Dad left. Duty, honor, see you in a couple of months. Always kept a bag packed. Going TDY. Going off into quarantine, launch getting close. What was that like? Time after time -- that last night with your wife, before you went up. 'Baby, you know I'm coming back.' Make her glad she's got you, make a good memory, make her forget that she's sad. Soak her up, so you take that with you. And in the meantime, she'd take what she could -- 'We have contact, Houston -- Major Crichton is conscious and waving --'

Aeryn's voice broke through: "Here you go." She handed his pistol across the bed and sat down beside him. She'd been quiet tonight. Running the checklist. Home defense. John holstered Winona and cleared off his things. He turned and saw her undoing her hair, and sat to watch. Like the fairy tales, the cowboy movies -- She lets down her hair. Girls know that stuff, the way you catch your breath when they do it. And Aeryn doesn't. Not doing things to put on a show. It was all right out there. 'I want. Want you. Want more.' Did she even really know how she looked? The bones in her face were so prominent, sharp. Roman, Greek -- the kind of goddess with spears and chariots and thunderbolts. He ran his fingers along her temples, kissed her shoulders, messed with her hair. "You don't make this easy to do," she said.

"Oh, you don't need to do that, yet," he murmured, his lips on her earlobe. She tried to ignore him -- a hard thing to do, as his hands stole under her clothing. But how could he sit that close, and not touch her? Be a sin and a shame. His palm found her breast, cupped around it, supported its weight. His thumb flicked lightly across her nipple. Got a little smile out of that. She gave up on brushing and started to braid.

"Must you be so frelling distracting?" she asked. Had her stern face on, working up a good scold. "Nobody else --" Her voice trailed off. When she spoke again she was quieter, rueful. "I think how uniquely annoying you are, and then I remember..."

"The other guy?"

"Yes." One very uncomfortable word.

"That ugly, loud-mouthed sonofabitch. Wouldn't let me finish bleeding to death." He looked at her wryly. "...the bastard!"

"You'd have done it for him," she said flatly.

"Would I?" He pulled off his shirt, his shorts.

"I think we know that." Her voice was firm. "The two of you weren't a bit different, then." They sat in silence. "He could be dead," she said quietly, fastening her braid.

"Yes, he could. Or he could have gone home." She stripped off her clothes and slipped into bed, propping her head up to watch him. He lay back on his pillow, his thumbs massaging his temples. She was watching his hands, watching him poke at the scar on his forehead. "This mark I've got -- it's not growing out. Every time I look in the mirror to shave, I know who I owe. Big time. Only reason I'm here is, Mom raised him right. The guy couldn't walk away."

She frowned. "But what can you do?"

"Hell, I don't know," he sighed. "If we see him again --" He reached for her hand, and brushed it softly over his lips. He could picture the other guy, sitting alone -- picturing what we're doing right now -- "You know he's gotta be having bad dreams. Sees me screwing up, and getting you killed. Ugly shit he can't stop. Makes him wake up scared." He was thinking out loud now, poking at this thing in his head that felt so bizarre. "But, then, the thing is, I know too much. Every piss-poor flaw in his cramped little heart. Every secret sin."

"Don't," she said. She was frowning again.

He stroked her cheek. "But, baby, you know, you're good with jerks. You could do a lot to improve him." He opened his arms to embrace her, pulling her close. "When I'm touching you, I get less stupid. Might work for him, too." You died for him once, he thought.

"Strange mood you're in."

"Strange life I've got."

"Be a lot more strange if we're all in one place. Two of you, one of me? Make me as crazy as you."

"What would make me crazy is losing you." Which is right where he is. He was silent again. "Two and one? That's only... taboo in my tribe. All I know --" He paused, and she shifted, fitting herself against his chest. "What I can't do, is leave you. Anything else, we could stumble on through. Just one dumb step at a time. Seen a lot of impossible things. Probably be seeing some more."

She kissed him lightly. No need to speak, her meaning was clear: 'Enough of that, Crichton. Leave it, please.'

He let it go. Don't really need to borrow trouble. Got plenty right here. "You were great, today."

"Hmmm?" she said.

"With Crais. And Rygel."

"Oh, that," she said. "Well, one of us needed to sound... not insane."

"Yeah, that's right," he laughed. "You're good with that, too." He circled his hand on her back, feeling the warmth as she snuggled closer.

"Last night. Was it in your dreams?"

"Sort of. Dad was there, a lot."

"Your father? The real one?"

He sighed. "His voice. His face. He kept -- popping up. Where he didn't belong. Didn't fit, not quite."

"So. The Ancients?"

"I think so, yeah."


He spoke more softly. "I know. It worries me, too. But the weird thing is, it doesn't feel wrong. Doesn't feel like something I ought to be fighting." He hugged her close. "Not giving you much to go on, am I?"

She shrugged. "No, you're not." Her mouth found his. "So, you're going to make it worth my while."

He laughed. "Ill do my best. You know I will." He kissed her again, emphatically and with flagrant promise. When he broke the kiss, he was chuckling.

"What?" she demanded.

"I had better be good. If you're cleaning my guns. Packing my parachute, cutting the deals with the others." His hands were drifting down her body, browsing around. "Better be damn sure you want me around. Be royally frelled if you didn't."

"Be frelled regardless, I think."

"You think?" He wriggled his hips, pressing against her.

"Mmmm." He felt the soft buzz as she hummed against him. Her hand closed on his cock as she kissed her way down his throat to his chest. She squeezed him hard as her teeth fit precisely around his nipple. He was squirming under her hands.

"Hey, I'm getting the sense that you want something, here."

"Mmmmmmm." Yes. That's a yes.

He grabbed her head and pulled it back up. Gonna make your heart pound. He kissed her hard and rolled to cover her, ground his hips downward. We're gonna howl at the moon. She rolled them back over. Gonna wrestle, babe? Gonna push me around? He flopped onto his back, still kissing, looked up at her face with a smile.

"So. You're taking over?"

"Haven't had you all day." She kissed him again. She lifted herself and sat curled beside him, looking down at him, at his body. Licked at his nipple, ran her cheek down his chest. She rolled her head so it barely brushed him, rubbing softly across his skin. Wisps were escaping her braid already, so light and soft. Disorderly. Loose. She scooted her feet up beside his face, her toes diving under the pillow. She stroked her head down his belly, his hips, and came to rest at his thighs. She settled against him, arranging his legs to suit her. She lay with his leg pulled across her, firm on her belly, solid and close. He just let her do it, smiling as she was finding her spot. Her cheek, her face was right at his cock, her favorite place. One of her favorites. She was so close, sniffing him, brushing his cock with her lips. No moisture, no tongue, still perfectly dry. That delicate friction, teasing, threatening more. She ran her hand down his leg, and came to rest holding the arch of his foot, squeezing that hard. She massaged his sole, his toes, one foot, then the other. He groaned and stretched, lifting his head to see her better.

She was eyeing his cock, with that knowing appraisal. Had him straining, already, a clear bead of moisture catching the light. He dropped his head, lying back, stroking her thighs with his palm. She leaned closer and took his tip in her mouth, holding it gently, while she grasped at his legs. His hand homed in to her pussy, finding her slickness. She took him further into her mouth. She just let him rest there, moist and warm, while her hands began stroking. His thighs, the skin all around his cock, the skin down behind his balls, the creases between, warming him, bringing his skin alive. "That's nice," he said softly.

It made him smile, this easy friendship she had with his cock. How she always wanted to get up close, how she'd hang around. Have a long, friendly visit, just shooting the breeze. In the shower, whenever she scrubbed his back, her other hand always slipped around him, staying in touch. Her knowing touch, knowing, exactly, how he liked things, how she could blow him away.

Her touch so smooth, her lips so tender, the flicker and plunge of her tongue. The slowness, softness that sparked at his nerves. And it pleased her so much. That was all over her face, right now, and it hit him deep in his chest. That look on her face when she looked at his body. Aeryn, wanting. To be that much wanted. It could still surprise him, make him want to look over his shoulder, sometimes -- who could Aeryn want that bad? Her lust coming through, so open, so frank -- it always gave him a contact high. Full of surprises. We keep finding more. Now that his body had settled down, he was acting his age, not shooting off the first minute she touched him. He could take more, now, and she took him further, again and again. Things went deeper, wilder, sweeter, now.

He didn't remember rolling toward her, wrapping his arms around her hips, grasping her thighs. He was flying blind, on that homing beacon. Got those magnetics down in your gut, the ones that say HERE. THIS WAY. His head had twisted, hiding his face between her legs, seeking her, mouthing around her. Such a good way to lie -- how had they found this? He couldn't remember. Something she liked, as soon as they tried it. Look at him closely, see his parts clearly, play with him however she liked. Turn him into a quivering wreck without breaking a sweat. Yeah, she liked that fine. He could get to her, too. Lie back, lounge around, but have her right there, see her, smell her, right by his face. So many good things in his reach. All that skin touching -- his leg flung over her belly, her head on his thigh. And her hands on his feet, such nice things she did to his feet, he'd gotten to like that in no time at all.

Fine way to warm up, to get things going. Make her squirm, make her laugh. Couldn't help himself. Couldn't not do it. Haven't had you naked for arns and arns. Been too long, babe, gotta get caught up. He was eating her, now, had his mouth all over her, tongue darting in, taking long, deep licks. His palm on her hipbone, pulling her toward him, twisting her body, he held her in place. Got you right where I want you. Taste and textures all melting together, that moisture seal, that melding of his lips and hers, that intimate kiss. His other hand trailing around her pussy, Let's have an assist. Take what she likes, and then improvise. So much going on, so much in her body. Her clit, its firm little shaft, the cushion around it, its roots just under her skin. The tender folds at the edge of her pussy, between his fingers, rolling under his tongue. Oh, I know your body. I know what it does. Know where I can take you, know how you sound when you're out of your head, what shows on your face when you smash through the wall.

Primal, direct, fresh every time. He was drinking her in. He craved her, absorbed her. Had to test what his body could bear. She burned all the way through him, melted him down, down to the good stuff, the stuff you could trust. Taking us where the maps didn't go. No need to white-knuckle, no holding back, enjoy the whole ride. Nothing prepared me for you.

Her hips bucked suddenly, sharply. A muffled moan. Alarm. Don't stop. More, want more. Her mouth had gone relaxed on his cock, he could feel her wet throat, her lips on his shaft, no teeth in the picture. God, I'm a trusting sonofabitch. How does she do that, while she's going off? Her body was trembling, he held her hips while his tongue kept working, he pressed his lips and sucked hard, sucked wetly. She let his cock go, she clung to the sole of his foot and was clutching it hard, so hard. "John!" That was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She had her open mouth on his leg, she was grinding her body against him, rhythmic. "OH." He relented, he let her slip back, he just kept his mouth softly there, warming her, letting her settle. "Oh. That was good." He was stroking her, smiling. She fell back limply, flat on her back. He stretched his arm across her body. They lay still a moment, clasping each other's hands.

She rolled toward him again, kissed the head of his cock. He jumped and choked. Hot mouth. Tender skin. He was activated, all right. She laughed, and let go. His shaft had gotten so hard, so full. He could feel it straining. Her hand was avoiding it. Going to take her time, I guess. He let his hands come up over his eyes, rubbing his face. She was stroking his skin, his thighs again. Her fingers were pushing up under his balls, finding his prostate through the skin, making him jump from a deeper place, that voluptuous cushion below his cock. Made things fill even more, made the skin stretch tighter. His nerves were revved. He was going to be a total wreck. He was counting on that.

She'd slipped in him already. Slippery and sly. He was straining toward her, as hard as he could. Nothing that he was doing on purpose. His belly was so rigid, so tight. Her hand still coming IN, so slick that there was no drag, no burn. He was shameless, gone, with nothing held back. Don't care what you see. She kept pushing him deeper, further, harder. So hot, so hot that it made him dizzy. His teeth caught on his lip. No. Bad idea. His back teeth grinding, his leg hanging off the edge of the bed, felt good, good to feel any edge, anywhere. A cry escaped him, a long, open note.

Her "Hmmm?" floated up, a mellow purr. Impossible, what she was doing, the way she could make him come without coming. Guys couldn't do this. How much can I take? A sudden swoop went around his cock. He jerked suddenly, deep, a powerful stretch, his pelvis straining up toward her -- too late -- her hand disappeared already. Get a grip, hold on, you can ride it, easy. He tried to hang on. A creaking noise, a stutter, his throat--

She let go. He dropped. It all stopped. He was panting, curled tight, wrapped around her, breathing on purpose. Getting it back.

"You're psychic, baby. Stopped. Just in time."

"Pretty hard to miss." Chuckling softly, deep in her throat. The sound was heading up his way. He felt lips on his face and opened his eyes. There she was, right there, the poster girl for cheerful debauchery, loving what she was doing to him.

"I love you, Aeryn. You know that, right?" He was still short of breath. She looked right at him, shook her head YES. Smiling. Moisture in those beautiful eyes. God, she was there. He fell back, hugging her shoulder, letting her snuggle against him. "Gotta regroup. It's your turn, for a while." Hey, baby, whatever. Just say the word. Just give me a minute.

"Then you should touch my arse," she said. More. I want more.

"Happy to do that, ma'am," he sighed, letting his hand drift down her spine. When he found her butt he pulled her to him, snugging her close, feeling how she shifted her weight.

She nestled against him. "You know," she announced, "we could frell there, I think."

That snapped him awake. Well, not that he'd never had that thought, but to hear her say it -- just like that -- It actually took him aback. "Uh -- yeah. We might. But -- sometimes, babe, that can hurt." As I've been told, in a tone of voice I don't want to hear again. Surely to God, not from you.

"You worry too much." 'Shut up,' she explained. Next she'd be daring him. Priceless. He had to smile. A guy could end up at gunpoint, here. Such problems he had.

He reached for her hand and swung it across her, catching her eye. He placed her two fingers against his cock, and stroked them, stroked on past them, down to his base. Seemed like a long way down, to him. "It's just -- That's more than you're used to. Just might not work out." And I'm not, not, not going to harm you, Aeryn.

She grasped him firmly, below his balls, lifting his package. He jumped at her touch. "If I had a cock, wouldn't you want it?"

Couldn't fight that logic. Hell, want it all.

"I can touch you, for sure. Let's start with that." He rolled away, let her roll to her back. He felt excited, unsettled, letting the pictures run through his head. Just the thought that she wanted him, wanted to take him, whether that happened or not. She'll know what she wants, soon enough.

He reached for the lube and slicked up his fingers. His right hand started to play with her clit. Run those chords she likes, those good old progressions. His hand slid to her hip, to the swell of her butt, those resilient, well-muscled curves. He gave her a squeeze and then settled down facing her, sitting between her thighs, one hand reaching up her body, one down. She stretched out before him. God, what a picture. Her pale, unmarked skin was catching the light, almost glowing against the dark covers. She was spreading her legs to give him room, to invite him in -- her knees a bit raised, her ankles slipping around his back. What a beautiful gesture, to offer him that, to open her body before him.

His left hand was stroking between her curves. There it was, that smooth little dip, just a dimple, so small and discreet. It made him smile. Her pussy's lips were so generous, lush, a jungle orchid. This was tidy and modest, so understated, just barely there. He spread silk on his finger, and stroked it against her. The liquid was cool. She likes that feeling. He slipped his fingertip just inside, just that first sweet inch, pause in that ring of muscle. So strong, so smooth. Muscular woman. He knew what a sensitive spot this was, so many excellent nerves, right here. He was in no hurry. Lots to enjoy.

She stretched out her arms and arched her torso, opening her chest, settling in. He knew how that felt, just exactly, that first little pressure, that wish. Give me more. He slipped a bit further, feeling her structure, her shape. Past those muscles, she seemed so delicate, tender, soft as an infant's skin. The walls felt pink, pale pink, so thin -- the same rose-petal touch as her lips, curved to just fit the pad of his finger. When she touched him, this had to be what she felt. He felt a little jolt at the thought -- what it was like to take that role, to be reaching inside a body, to enter. To cross all those lines. Such an intimate touch, how a body could be so welcoming, trusting. Come in, I want you. Feel how I want you. Wouldn't be like this, not at all, if I didn't. Bodies don't lie.

She was warmer here, her warmest place, the core of her body. He was slipping into her silky flesh, a caress in slow motion. Her breath deep and steady, she knew how to breathe. When he leaned his head down between her breasts, he could feel her heart gearing up. Ah, she was excited. As his hands kept moving, one quickly, one slowly, he bent to her breasts and kissed them, suckled. Her hips were circling, rocking softly, matching his rhythms up at her clit. He drew back his hand to spread more lube, slicking her, stroking. She relaxed to take him, still so delicate, smooth and soft. Her hand ran across his forehead, his hair. They were linked by their hands, breathing in tandem. He needed more of her skin, he needed less air between them. He squeezed her mound gently, then reached up her body, shifting so he could have more contact, lie closer to her.

"More," she murmured, deep in her throat. Here we go, he thought. We've got all the time in the world. Steadily, slowly, he eased his hand, his fingertips reaching that final ring, so delicate, different. He just barely touched it, just flickered his fingers around its edge, and he felt it yield as he brushed it. Sometimes she had done this to him, slipped through that ring above his prostate. It always made him breathless, helpless. God, if you took me, that's right where I'd go. That hit him like a shock in his spine. His hand was flush to her skin, up firmly against her. She was breathing so slowly, hypnotically, that rhythm putting them both in a trance. His fingertips poised in that feathery ring, just fluttering softly, easy, coaxing, tickling. She moaned and stretched, pressing her body against him. 'Wouldn't you want it?' Oh, baby, God, yes. He knew that melting sensation, oh yes, he knew that slow dissolve, so well. "I love you, Aeryn," he murmured again, and saw her nodding.

"That's good," she sighed. When she lay this still she seemed smaller, softer. It made him notice his own body's size, notice how much he outweighed her. Not the usual thing between them, at all. She opened her eyes and wet her lips. "Let me have more." He shook his head at her, smiling. He drew back and drizzled more lube on his hand, more on her body, annointing her flesh, and then slipped in again, without resistance, so easy, so warm. She rolled her hips back and forth, lay closer against him. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. "Yes. Please." He edged his fingers a few inches backward, then eased them so gently inward again. He spread his fingertips, stroking her flesh with careful moves. He caught himself holding his breath again, part of him always aware he could hurt her. Prime directive, no matter what else. His senses were narrowed, alert, acute, the world reduced to his hands. He took it all in, in extreme slow motion, every frame in extreme sharp focus, as sharp as his dreams.

Her hand found his cock, her fingers wrapped firmly, grasping him tight. He jumped in response and he heard her say, "I want you, Crichton." She's really going to do this. His throat felt tight. He could hear his own heart, but he felt strangely calm. She can handle herself. It was all so vivid, working his nerves. He was stroking her body, kissing her belly, pressing his eyes to her breast -- oh, with my body I thee worship. Her astonishing body. Her body between his two hands. His excitement still building, he kissed her again. A good thing, to kiss, since his mouth had gone dry.

"I give up," he said. "You win. You've got me." That got him a throaty laugh. Those were words she liked, from a naked man. He eased slowly out and dried his hand on the little towel. He rolled to his back and held out the bottle. "Use plenty on me. Use more than enough." She still had his cock, barely squeezing it, hefting it, testing. She looked so greedy. He loved that look. He watched as she drizzled the milky liquid all over his crown. It clung there, glistening. She swooped her hand around and around. "Oh, yes," he gasped. She swooped again. "You've got me close." She smiled and rolled to her back. "Oh, no, you don't. Get back up here," he said. "You're the pilot, tonight." She shot him a look. He gestured to his cock, standing ready. "I don't need to move. I'm not going to last very long at all." He saw a glimmer of argument, but then she shrugged. Tolerant woman. "Just do whatever feels good."

She rose and straddled his waist, resting her body against him. He felt her pussy, against the skin of his belly, so swollen, so wet. She reached back to locate his cock, and rose up on her knees. She guided his tip to her ass, warm on warm, wet on wet, skin flush against skin, their bodies just touching. She hovered a moment, poised up above him, her fingers sensing him, sensing herself. Just that touch was a thrill, to feel her hand, to feel that dimple right there against him. Then slowly, slowly, she slipped her weight downward, still holding him firmly in place with her hand, and his crown just popped in -- a tight, warm grasp around its whole surface. A wave rushed from his cock to his belly, his throat. She was poised again, sensing. Her face was distant, turned inward. She dropped a bit more, and his crown was in a place less constrained, still snug, but more -- oh, God, it felt good. His eyes had closed. He was breathing more deeply. Happy cock, happy boy. His hands gripped her thighs as they straddled his torso, holding her up. Bring it on, oh babe, take it easy, God help me. His cock was so lit, so wet, he was totally there. She had all his attention. He felt warm, firm pressure from every direction, perfect, even, complete. And he heard his name, in her deep, breathy voice. And then she was moving.

Christ, she was moving. Up just a little bit, down a touch more. He could feel it all, every bit of his skin was screaming alert. So slick, so good, he could feel no friction, just exquisite pressures. Up a little, then, Holy Mother, down, DOWN. There was her weight, on his pubic bone, on the tops of his thighs. He was totally, totally there. He must have cried out. She touched his face. His eyes came open and stared into hers. She sat motionless, balanced, so still, so calm. She was staring, herself. Serious face, liquid eyes, pupils wide and dark. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She leaned down to kiss him, wetly, hungrily, clutching his shoulders. The circuit had closed -- her tongue in his throat, his cock buried in her. Light in his chest, things breaking open, things splitting apart, you've got me, you've got me. His hands swept up her hips and came to rest curving around her waist, just lightly, just paused. "That okay?" he asked softly.

She took a deep breath and spoke clearly, carefully, looking right at him. "It's a different thing." He nodded, concerned. Her hands slid down his body, finding his waist. Then she straightened her spine, held her shoulders erect, shifted back on her tailbone, still looking right into his eyes. His hands went up to her breasts, tried to just touch her, tried not to cling. Another slow breath, and her face was lit by a dreamy half-smile. "It's... intense," she said. Her words shivered through him.

"Yes, it is," he murmured. Her turn to nod. "Just sit for a minute," he said, hardly trusting his voice. "Just let us take it all in." She looked distracted -- sensing, testing, absorbing. Her great concentration, turned inward. His fingers stroked the skin of her waist, so smooth, so pale. Their breathing had fallen in synch again, even deeper, slower. He watched her ribs rise and fall, it was his breath moving all through her body, her heart in his ears. She made tiny motions, settling, shifting. He felt every move so acutely, each one ricocheted through his stillness. He thought of her body adjusting around him, how it might feel to surround his cock, to enfold him, to be entered this deeply, with this much ease. I think I know how it feels. Maybe. Up to a point. His belly was twitching in sympathy. He pictured the spot where their bodies joined, her opening soft and relaxed against him, her own weight holding her solidly there. He swallowed hard. There were times when just one of her fingers could make him moan -- this had to be different, this had to be more. This perfect fit -- it astonished him. "Aeryn --" he said, and his voice had a quaver, "God, you are just the most beautiful sight." They were so relaxed, both so relaxed, floating across the abyss.

She smiled at him, smiled through her trance, and the look on her face was so haunting -- he was swept with envy, swept with desire. He wanted to feel her coming around him, he wanted to watch her face while she felt that, he wanted to do that together. Man with a mission. "Would you like -- Can I touch you?" he asked. He brushed his fingertips over her clit and that made her shiver. She rolled her weight backward to give him room. Oh, that was affirmative, pilgrim. He worked his hand around her clit, around all those wonderful spots. He ran a finger slowly between her lips. They had grown so aroused, so cushioned, so rich and warm to his touch.

She had found her balance and settled back, so his cock had become the base of her spine. His right hand, business hand, teased her pussy, darting just in and out of her lips, slipping inside, so he'd actually entered her there as well. She caught her breath and he did, too. He'd touched himself, sweet Jesus, he had -- he could feel his own cock, he was touching it through that thin wall of flesh. He almost came at the shock.

He could feel how his cock was filling her, firm and curved, and his cock could feel his own fingertip, muffled, that delicate stroke -- Of course you can, bozo. It's all right there. But he just hadn't been expecting that. For a moment he felt afraid to move, overwhelmed by where he had found himself. Another circuit completed. The whole world was his cock, her spine, her thighs as they clutched him, her weight on his hips, her wonderful flesh at his fingers. His eyes had closed. It was taking too much of his brain to look. He needed to breathe. More than anything else, he needed to touch her.

He lavished himself on her clit, made that his focus, stroking, teasing, caressing her skin to find its shaft, its root, feeling how full it had grown. She made it so easy, moving softly, her whole body opened, in easy reach. Then she was rocking, rocking, squeezing hard against his hand, climbing that curve that would lead her right through the sky. When he felt her begin to contract he drew back his fingers just to her lips, give her room, give her plenty of play, but he kept his hand on her clit, squeezing it, rolling. He was watching again -- God, how could a man not watch this?

Her face hovered over him, up above those beautiful breasts. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth flared open, grimacing, stretching her jaw. Her whole expression was feral, fierce. There was so much strain in her jaw, enough raw force to bite off his arm. How can I be where I am? he thought.

Now her hips and pelvis were steadily rocking, gaining momentum. Deeper in, his cock felt her fluttering, jerking. She threw back her head and her braid brushed his legs. She was arching her chest, stretching taller, majestic, gritting her teeth and biting her lip. God, he was going to kiss her soon, kiss her hard and deep. It was all so sharp, so clear, every cell in the skin of his cock feeling every muscle that rippled around him. How intense a tiny motion could be, those quantum forces. And then she was moving on purpose, moving reflexively, all mixed together. Rhythm on rhythm, astonishing jazz, too complex to track. She was rocking, circling, none of the old in-and-out, but trembling, clutching deeply around him. He couldn't imagine what she was feeling, but he saw it taking her over, wholly, completely. All he could manage was, "Yes, baby. Yes."

Then he grabbed for her thighs again, startled, off balance, realizing that he was gone himself, flying before he knew it. She'd just set him off, no thrusting, no hands, she'd just drawn it out of him, out of that place of stillness and feeling. It rushed through his cock from deep in his chest, from his gut, from the soles of his feet -- it took everything, more than he thought he had. Pressed flat on his back, he was driving against her, hammered, imploding, with nowhere to go but deeper, deeper. She drove herself down; he surged upward, into her. His muscles were working, beyond his control -- nerves firing everywhere, hips jerking hard, his thighs in spasm. God, he was seeing things, colors, flashes, all flying to her, into her body, the power and heat of his orgasm, deep in her body. He looked up and saw her, riding him solidly, gracefully, seated so well he could not throw her off. She's good. She's got me. She's good.

She came back to herself and bent down, grasping his shoulders, lifting him up while his hips were still trembling. Now he was upright, sitting, still in her embrace, clutching her onto his lap, and her whole weight bore down on his cock, her pussy tight to his waist, her legs curled around the small of his back and her arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders. She was kissing him, kissing him, one perfect circuit, one system, one body. He could move his hands on her back, he was sliding his palm up and down her spine, her beautiful bones, and he noticed his fingertips brushing the boys, they pressed up against her, pressed right to her skin, and he knew that was right where he was, oh yes, there, exactly, his cock standing right up that line of bone, right there, and he was the one with the tears on his face.

He was dumbfounded. Flooded. No way to hold it. Way beyond what his brain could describe. He was just a container. A bowl, overflowing, a bell, struck hard, struck from somewhere beyond his own will, just vibrations, harmonies, echoes. He sat there and cried, drenched with a sense of blessing. Words came to him, they came clear, so clear: 'John, it's all a gift.' Every inch of her body was golden. The breath in their bodies filled him with awe. Thank you, someone, thank you, anyone, keep her with me. Keep her. Keep her. He pressed his face into her body. It was all he could do, and it was enough.

Concluded in Part 8: The Work of Her Hands


"It all links." -- Eddie Izzard


More stories: The Talyn Suite ends with 8: The Work of Her Hands, a coda to Infinite Possibilities: Icarus Abides. For a matched pair of post-Fractures stories from the point of view of MoyaJohn and Aeryn (the Aeryn who has lived through the Talyn Suite, that is), see Just Tell Me What I Want and Just Say What You Can. Finally, there is The Well-Known Act, a cheerful bit of PWP.

Feedback? Please. Email: robynbender AT yahoo DOT com. I am curious to know your reactions to the Suite as a whole, or to hear which part(s) strike you the most in retrospect.

Thanks to Dani Moure, SaraD, Canadadoc, and LAScaper, who have always provided helping hands just when they were needed, and to TennesseeStiff, who gets the "moving and joyous" thing as well as liking the hot bits. There's a special place always for AR, my Alpha Reader of thirty years, who provides the working reference for all the things that Crichton couldn't do on television. And it is a great good thing in my life to know Cassandra and RydraWong, who have such gifts for seeing possibilities and for listening things into being. Without those two, these stories would have been very different.

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