Title: A Taste of Honey

Daisy Chain pt. iii

Author: BodyBreeder

Summary: Crichton tries to resolve his too-many-partners dilemma. J/D

Spoiler warning: Can't think of a one.

Warning warning: explicit m-m sex, occasional bad words. Gerbils still absent.

Archive: Sure!

Disclaimer: These characters are SO not mine! They're completely stolen, and belong to someone else; we only play together.

by BodyBreeder

Crichton lay awake, for the second night in a row, unable to get to sleep. His--what? Affair? Seduction? Interlude??? with D'Argo was two days ago, and Crichton still couldn't make sense of it. What had possessed him? Okay, sheer frustration and momentary lust-induced insanity might fly as an excuse.

Except if that was the excuse, why did he find himself continuing to think of D'Argo in distinctly un-platonic ways?

Suddenly, in Command, as the Moya crew gathered to observe some anomolous readings, he'd find himself contemplating the spread of the Luxan's shoulders--with admiration and, well, yes, admit it, interest.

Jeezus. Across the known universe, all his preconceptions about the cosmos shattered, probably separated from all he'd known and loved forever, and wham! He finds out he's a pinch-hitter?? It was completely impossible. It was embarrassing.

For the second time in as many nights, Crichton reviewed his entire sexual history. Try as he might, he couldn't see any signs of latent homosexuality anywhere. He just found D'Argo devastatingly attractive. Right. Explain that. And anyway, if he was gay, that would theoretically solve one of his problems: he'd stop having these unfulfillable fantasies about Aeryn, wouldn't he?

Except he wasn't. In some stroke of truly cosmic unfairness, Crichton was tormented by erotic thoughts and fantasies about both D'Argo and Aeryn. Even though Aeryn continued to ignore him, continued to pretend (with infuriating and insulting ease, dammit) that nothing had ever happened between them. It was driving Crichton crazy.

And now he had the same problem with D'Argo. Well, not exactly. D'Argo wasn't ignoring him, exactly. D'Argo was being unnervingly solicitous, as if he somehow sensed that what Crichton needed was time to sort through these complex and conflicting feelings.

Crichton sat up abruptly. Except that's not going to work, he thought. No way is this getting better because I'm mulling it over. Crichton swung his legs out of bed. I need some air.

****

Pacing the ship this deeply into the sleep cycle was strangely restful. The muted light, the quiet corridors, contributed to a sense of calm peace that was hardly typical of life aboard Moya. But the atmosphere was not enough to soothe Crichton's restlessness. He paced from Command to the Terrace, then decided that maybe a snack ...

Crichton had entered the mess before he noticed the shadowy form lounging against the far wall. D'Argo. Shit, Crichton thought. He looked for a convenient exit; tried like hell to come up with a convincing excuse to turn around and just leave. Tried to ignore the way his pulse began to race; refused to look at how the dim light made D'Argo's skin look rosy and inviting. Failed on all counts.

"Hey," he said, lamely.

"Good evening, John." D'Argo's deep voice was soft and resonant.

"I just wanted a ... snack."

"Yes?" D'Argo sounded polite but disbelieving.

"Yeah. Well, good night." Clutching several unwanted food cubes, Crichton turned to leave.

"Wait, John." In one fluid move, D'Argo got up and moved toward Crichton, came to rest in front of him, so close their chests were almost touching. "I fear that you are uncomfortable about what has happened between us. That was not my intention. I intended no offense."

D'Argo's proximity sent a warm flush down the length of Crichton's body. He could feel the heat from the Luxan like a physical presence. He leaned into D'Argo, completely unable to prevent the motion. Food cubes crumbled, unnoticed, to the floor.

"No offense taken," he whispered, voice barely audible. His head came up and his mouth found D'Argo's, hands desperately pulling D'Argo's mouth closer. D'Argo gasped, and Crichton took advantage of that to thrust his tongue against the Luxan's. The kiss was rough to begin with, and moved on to something that missed savagery by a fraction. When John pulled back, breathless, his lips felt bruised. He stroked D'Argo's beard almost absently. The sharp intake of breath was his only indication that D'Argo was at all affected.

What the hell are you doing, John-boy? Some still functional part of Crichton's brain was reeling. This is NOT what you need! While the rest of Crichton's brain--and his body, too, most definitely his body--seemed to disagree.

"We need to go somewhere ... more private," John murmured against D'Argo's mouth.

D'Argo made a perceptible effort to pull himself free of John's caressing hand. "Let's go."

They barely made it to D'Argo's quarters. Whatever reservations John had about his relationship with D'Argo had still not communicated themselves to his body. Everything about D'Argo inflamed his senses; the deeply muscled body that he could feel along his whole length, the slightly sweet taste of D'Argo's skin, and the tremors he could feel wracking the body pressed so closely to his own. Whatever its source, this was a passion that was not going to be deferred.

The doors to D'Argo's quarters were not even closed before John was loosening the black tunic D'Argo wore, sliding his hands under the trousers to grip his ass and pull his hips more tightly to his own. D'Argo hesitated only long enough to remove John's boxers and t-shirt, then they stood, naked form to naked form, cocks fully erect and rubbing against each other, kissing with a ravenous hunger.

Panting, D'Argo pulled back, moved as if to fall to his knees. Without premeditation, John stopped him. Motioned toward the bed. D'Argo moved to lay back on the bed, John beside him. As if this move had exhausted his resources, John lay still. D'Argo moved up on one elbow to look down at the human. John's skin was ivory, glowing slightly in the half-light. D'Argo stroked his chest with a hand gentle for all its size. John leaned into the caress, closing his eyes. D'Argo bent, his mouth following the trail his hand made, across John's chest, around his nipples, down his belly. The little flicks of his tongue made John's skin twitch and shiver; D'Argo liked that.

John's cock, hard and eager, bobbed a welcome. D'Argo moved to take John's cock in his mouth, relishing the smoothness and the musty smell of John's arousal. John's hips bucked, trying to maximize contact with D'Argo's wet warmth.

"No, not yet," rasped John, his eyes opening. "If you do that, this is going to be over way too soon."

Obediently, D'Argo stopped, moved back up to look at John. "Tell me what you want."

"I dunno. Is there some kind of ...," he stopped, laughed softly, "protocol for this situation?"

D'Argo smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I seek to give pleasure to you, as you do for me. Our bodies will create their own rituals."

"You got that right." John laughed again, then rolled over to face D'Argo.

Gently, with curiousity tempering his passion, John began to explore D'Argo's face. The brow ridges over his dark eyes were sensitive to John's touch, but his beard was far more responsive.

Dropping nibbling kisses along D'Argo's jaw and onto his beard caused D'Argo to twitch and, once or twice, moan out loud. John reached behind D'Argo's head to pull the Luxan closer and realised that the tentacles along D'Argo's head had stiffened somehow.

Now, THAT'S interesting, John thought, almost scientifically. He pulled away from D'Argo long enough to bring a tentacle around to his mouth. A gentle lick caused D'Argo's hips to rise off the bed.

Even better.

He rolled onto D'Argo, to get a better angle. He put the end of the tentacle in his mouth and sucked softly. D'Argo's whole body jumped; John could feel the Luxan's mivonks rippling. In fact, that was beginning to feel most distracting.

He pulled more tentacles around until his mouth was full of them, slightly spicy-tasting and oddly but not unpleasantly resistant. They flexed against his tongue and John found himself enjoying the feeling, wrestling them with his tongue. However, his concentration was going; the rippling of the mivonks had intensified; it was like having a massage along the length of his cock. He moaned around D'Argo's tentacles.

D'Argo's hands were gripping his head; there was no question of stopping what he was doing. John redoubled his efforts, and D'Argo was soon writhing beneath him, mivonks caressing John's throbbing cock. The indistinct stimulation was infuriating; it excited John without providing enough direct pressure to make him come. John teetered on the edge of orgasm, hearing D'Argo's moans grow louder and louder.

D'Argo's orgasm lifted his whole torso off the bed, lifting John with it. The sudden warm rush of goo propelled John over the edge of his own climax, and he roared with the sudden release it brought.

John lay, cradled in D'Argo's body, their fluids mingling and gluing their bodies together; both loathe to break the connection between them. Finally, reluctantly, John slid off the warm haven of D'Argo and lay snugged against his comforting bulk. Dimly, before he dropped off into sleep, he remembered that he was supposed to be having trouble sleeping.

=30=