They do not speak as she unfastens her coat. Heavy leather slides off her shoulders, falls around her feet. Crais' hands rest lightly on her arms, warm through the fabric of her shirt, but he doesn't touch her anywhere else. She wonders what he's waiting for.
She still doesn't know what changed his mind. If this, too, is about revenge, or only a soldier's biological needs, too long denied.
She doesn't care. His voice was a lifeline, cutting across the din of pulse fire when she thought all hope was lost. Without him and Talyn, they would all be dead.
The rush of battle has faded, leaving her aching and weary. She stands still, a soldier at inspection as he moves behind her, reaches for the hem of her shirt. Eyes front, fixed on a bulkhead across the room, soft red curves incongruous beside familiar Peacekeeper instrument panels. He leans closer and she lifts her arms mechanically. She cannot remember when she slept last.
He pulls her shirt up, exposing pale skin and dark mottled bruises, souvenirs of blows she can't remember. Her eyes half close as his hands stroke down her back, tracing old scars.
Only D'Argo knows where she is. She thinks he knows why, but he said nothing to stop her. The other mercenaries have been paid, crates of stolen currency loaded and delivered. But there are debts borinium ingots will not pay, and these are hers alone.
Recycled air is cool, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Her mind is strangely detached from what's happening, even as his hands move to cup her breasts, welcome heat against sweat-damp skin.
D'Argo knows what she is doing. But he will never know what relief she felt, steering the transport pod out of Moya's shadow, scarred golden hull shrinking behind her.
Crichton is safe but far from well. Zhaan is with him now, and if anyone can help him, she can. As soon as the last crates are delivered, D'Argo will be with him too, a steady presence that may make little difference.
When he wakes, he will ask for her.
Warm breath on her neck, strong arms pulling her closer, wet heat as Crais' lips follow the curve of her throat. She leans into him, head back against his shoulder, her face turned away. She knows exactly what she is doing. Cowardice unworthy of a soldier, to run from a comrade in need. But Crichton needs more than comradeship from her, more than she knows how to give. She cannot face his pain now.
Crais' hand covers her breast, kneading gently at first, then harder, calloused fingers stroking, squeezing. Her eyes close as she turns her head, blindly seeking his mouth, catching his lower lip between her teeth, his beard coarse against her tongue. He's pressed close against her now, his lips covering hers, tongues sliding together, wet and rough and urgent.
She's surprised to find she needs this as much as he does, turning to face him as she breaks the kiss, unzipping his jacket and slipping one hand beneath his shirt. He's breathing faster, harsh now, a rough hitch there as she slides her other hand between his legs.
This is what she knows. A firm squeeze, and she feels him harden under her touch, shoves aside all thoughts beyond immediate physical sensations. Two soldiers after a mission, aching and tired but still charged from the fight. A simple, fierce hunger that has nothing to do with the tangled mess of feelings Crichton provokes in her.
Crais only wants her body. He will not ask her to save his soul.
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Title: Simple Things
Author: Flora [email] [website]
Details: Standalone | R | het | 3k | 12/16/04
Characters: Aeryn, Crais
Summary: There are debts borinium ingots will not pay, and these are hers alone.
Notes: AU, post LGM
Disclaimer/Other: Thanks so much to StarsGoBlue for betaing this!
I don't own any of these characters, I'm not making any money off of this, please don't sue.
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