TITLE: Bathing Beauties

AUTHOR: Kazbaby

FANDOM: Farscape

RATING: NC-17 for bathhouse antics

PAIRING: John/Braca

NOTES: Set between Season 3 and 4. So very mild spoilers for that time period. Written for a good friend for her birthday.

All feedback is welcome. kazbaby13@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: Bathhouse, Steam, Sex. What more can a girl ask for? *g*

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Belongs to Henson Company.



Bathing Beauties
by Kazbaby

Water gently lapped at the sides of the sunken rectangular tub. Along with the soft hiss of steam entering through vents, that was the only sound in the room. John idly scratched his face, newly beardless and still itching. He was not-quite-floating, shoulders and neck resting on stone steps just under the surface. His whole body reveled in the chance to relax, absorbing the oils that scented the water and softened his skin. The sweet-smelling haze of steam aided that endeavor immeasurably. A small bowl of bath oil bubbles sat by the rim of the tub, and it was already half-empty. Screw what the guys back home might say, wasn't anybody here to see John Crichton taking a girly bath.

It was going to take a little time to get used to no longer having the beard, but without it, John felt more like his old self. He knew he needed to leave soon, keep moving before anyone recognized him. But after two monens aboard Elack without a real bath, this Earthman wasn't quite ready to leave. Even after a couple of thorough rounds in the shower, and after sitting in the mild steam room for almost an arn, John could swear he still smelled the stink of old sweat and wine.

His eyes drifted shut. It'd been three long solar days repairing the remaining transport pod enough for him make it down to the surface of the planet. John had argued with Pilot, trying to convince her that she didn't have to leave the burial ground to take him to the nearest planet. She was old and set in her ways, though. She said it was the least that she could do for the company and comfort he had given her and Elack in their final days.

Muscles relaxed even further as John stretched his arms over his head. Too much had been on his mind for so long. Just for a few a little while, he wanted not to think about anything. Not Peacekeepers searching for him, not Moya being pulled into a wormhole, not D'Argo and the others leaving, and most of all, not Aeryn. Her grave face remained constantly one breath away; all he had to do was close his eyes. Not even the effects of his custom brew could push her away from his mind for long.

When he had checked into the bathhouse, he'd tried to be casual in his inquiries regarding any Peacekeepers that had visited the planet recently. Especially any with dark hair and an attitude. His microbes fumbled over the answer, making little sense. It had taken him almost a quarter arn to figure out that the manager wanted him to sign a data pad, before she escorted him to a room and took his clothing. Reaching for them only got his hand slapped. John couldn't argue with the old woman's reasoning for wanting to clean them or hell, maybe burn them while he bathed.

Cool metal touched his wrist. A microt later he registered a click that broke up the tranquility of the room.

"What the fu..." Body twisting automatically, John's stomach clenched when he saw Braca's smug face looking down at him.

His vision doubled for just a moment, and he quickly blinked his eyes. Heartbeat racing faster, John wrapped his hands around the wrists holding his and jerked. Oily water on the slick stone surface had the desired effect, and Braca's eyes widened as he tumbled headfirst into the tepid bath.

Despite John's reluctance to move, instinct took over. Scrambling up the steps out of the tub, he ran for the door. It wouldn't open.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, slamming his body against the door's surface several times in quick succession. It didn't budge.

Splashing water brought his attention back to the tub. A wary gaze tracked Braca climbing to his feet, aiming his pulse pistol at John from at most two motras distance.

"No more games, Crichton. You make another attempt such as that, and it won't matter if humans do bleed out. Now, open the door."

"Can't do it...locked," he answered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, standing there naked and unarmed.

"What are you talking about?" Motioning with the pistol toward a bench against the wall, Braca checked the door himself as John sat down.

"Told ya, think I would still be here if it wasn't? You must have locked it when you came in." Staring at the Peacekeeper, John was surprised he no longer had the urge to escape. His heartbeat slowed, and his breath began to even out.

"Hold out your hands," Braca ordered.

Although he winced as the tight metal bit into his wrists, John didn't voice a complaint. He felt strangely...mellow. Braca unlocked one of the cuffs and looped it around one of the steam pipes that ran from floor to ceiling through the back of the bench. Warm mist billowed into his face as he worked, dampening his skin and uniform.

Braca grabbed John's free hand and placed it back in the restraint before holstering his weapon and returning to the door. John realized that he'd totally forgotten to even try to get away. He'd just let Braca cuff him. And even now, his eyes were glued the lieutenant.

Wet dark hair lay plastered to Braca's scalp, moisture dripping down his face and neck. John's eyes traced the length of the man's body. He found himself licking his lips, flushing with heat. Salt prickled on his tongue, and he brushed his face against his shoulder to wipe away the sweat beginning to trickle down.

Braca paced in front of the door for several microts before turning back toward him. Leaning back against the door, the Peacekeeper closed his eyes for a moment. Then he pushed himself upright, shoulders stiff, face tight. John couldn't tell if he was frustrated or only angry at the turn of events.

Back stiffening, John's wary gaze fixed on the pulse pistol as Braca unholstered it once more. He sighed with relief when the man placed it on the floor, not too far from the bench, but still out of John's reach. What appeared to be the cuff release joined the weapon.

'At least he's not going to shoot me just yet.'

Nervousness returned full strength when Braca unzipped the front of his jacket. John couldn't help but check out the slim line of the man's neck, the smooth skin of his chest and stomach. He felt a sudden flush of arousal, and his lower portions began to take notice.

'No, that did not just happen.'

He squirmed on the bench, inexplicably turned on, his whole body trembling with eagerness as Braca paced toward him.

'Damn it, there is no way Braca is turning me on!'

The Lieutenant stopped in front of him. His eyes were dark and intent, not so different than other times they'd faced one another. Except that the slight twist to his lips, the tongue curling at the edge of his mouth, the expression on that lean face all added up to a very different kind of hunger. Not for triumph, not for a fight. Lust.

And God help him, John could feel his own blood racing down to the erection rising between his spreading thighs.

Braca knelt down on the floor in front of him and grabbed John's face in his hands. He plunged his tongue into John's eager mouth, sucked John's back into his, stole his breath until he was gasping for air.

John's skin tingled when Braca's cool hands stroked down his neck, along the curves of his sides, every dragging finger sending an involuntary shiver through him. John's brain wanted to stop, but instead of pulling back, he found himself sinking into the kiss, the embrace. Unable to resist the taste and smell of the other man.

Long fingers traced their way across his stomach, rubbing gently. Braca pulled away. John unconsciously leaned after him, disappointed at the loss of contact.

Braca removed his jacket, letting it fall into a heap on the floor beside them. "Get off the bench and lean over it, Crichton."

Instead of vocalizing the biting remark of not being anyone's jailhouse bitch yet, John was surprised and dismayed when he
instantly obeyed. His eyes snapped shut with pleasure as smooth leather brushed against his ass. All protest vanished from his mind. Braca moved closer, pressing his smaller framed body against John's.

It felt good, better than good. John's legs spread before the thought fully formed, allowing Braca to settle between them.

Everywhere the Lieutenant placed his hands was suddenly white hot. John was burning up from the outside in. Unable to stifle a low moan, he jerked against the restraints, hands grasping empty air with the need to touch the other man.

"Do you want me to let you loose, Crichton?" Braca lifted his hands away. The moist air of the room felt cool on super-sensitized skin.

'Yes...' He wanted them back. "No...don't...stop," he pleaded. Conscious will sank away as he thrust his bare ass against Braca's legs, undulated his hips to rub his aching cock against the smooth warm stone below him.

Feeling light-headed, John pressed his face to the damp surface of the bench. He let out a sigh at the soft sound of a zipper and the rustle of leather. He couldn't tell if it was from relief or resignation. Or both.

One arm reached around John's raised hips. A low moan escaped him when Braca's not-so-gentle hand cupped his balls a moment before grabbing his cock and beginning to stroke. The other hand began to rub up and down his inner thighs, nearing his buttocks. Then it was gone, and John moaned at the loss of contact.

Braca's engorged cock pressed against him then, the round tip already damp. It bumped wetly a couple of times at John's entrance. Soft sucking kisses made a hot trail down his back, stopping just above the cleft of his ass. His body tensed with anticipation.

'Don't do this, you son of a bitch... Please do this!'

The Peacekeeper continued to work John's cock, rhythm increasing, its own moisture lubricating his strokes. John knew he couldn't last much longer. He thrust firmly into the strong grip, wanting, eager, desperate for release from a touch other than his own. Even Braca's.

Suddenly the hand stopped. John groaned and whipped his face around. "Don't..."

A smile curved Braca's lips. "Turn back around, Crichton. We're not done yet," he said, and patted John's ass before standing.

"No problem..."

'No problem?' Was that him? Frell...this had to be another moonshine fantasy, just twisted up into perverse knots.

The sound of water sloshing drew his attention, but John found he couldn't turn around to see what's going on. He was obeying, and couldn't stop. The small bowl from the tub, now filled with water, thumped onto the bench. Boots and clothing hit the floor, and then Braca snuggled back in behind him.

John closed his eyes once more when Braca picked up the bowl. Warm oily water began to slide down his back and ass. Hands rubbed slickly against the cheeks, and his breath hitched as a slick finger made its way inside him, joined a few moments later by a second. It was painful at first, but then the stroke and bump of Braca's strong fingers began to feel good, pleasurable. John pressed backward, wanting more. Needing more.

The fingers soon withdrew, and were replaced by the blunt pressure of Braca's cock pushing inward. It was slick, but still a tight fit. The Peacekeeper's movements were slow at first, but soon gained momentum. John thrust back, enjoying every sensation, groaning with pleasure. The fact that it was a man, that it was this man, didn't mean squat compared to the ecstasy spreading through his body.

He didn't know how much more he could stand as Braca thrust harder, faster, his loud moans mixing with John's until he collapsed in a boneless heap on top of him. His breathing was as ragged as John's. They lay there for a few microts, not moving.

When the Lieutenant finally moved away, he smacked John lightly on the ass. "Sit back up on the bench." Enervated by his long time in the steaming bath, it took John a few microts to climb back up and sit. His ass protested, but the sight of Braca's naked body distracted him. John's breath caught in his throat, and he ached to touch the shining skin, the sleek lines of muscle and bone.

Braca looked down at John, at the still rock-hard shaft weeping with precum. He smiled. Then warm wet hands fell on John's shoulders, sliding down his chest and sides as Braca slowly dropped to his knees. He stroked softly rocking hips, light caresses on the thin padding of skin and muscle. Then those hot slick hands slipped lower to tightly squeeze John's thighs before spreading them wide. Braca bent down and took the straining cock in his mouth.

John's back arched as the hot tight wetness took him. He wanted to grab Braca's hair as the man continued to slowly suck, massaging and teasing with his tongue. John's legs wrapped around the other man, tugging him closer. He grinned as Braca let out his own low-throated moan, vibrating up and down his shaft. It didn't take long before John's hips bucked fiercely, driving him into Braca's throat, groaning with the intensity of the orgasm. The room filled with stars. He thought he was going to pass out.

Neither man said a word, limbs intertwined, limp and silent with exhaustion.

The dimmed room lights flashed four times in quick succession.

"What was that?" Braca asked.

"I don't know." John heard a click and noticed the door swinging ajar. "The door," he said reluctantly.

The Lieutenant stood abruptly and began to dress. A wave of loneliness washed over John with the loss of contact. "Pull yourself together," he muttered to himself, but the emotions swirling in his chest wouldn't let him. He felt weirdly affectionate toward the Peacekeeper.

Braca looked disoriented as he glanced around the room. "Where are your clothes?"

"The old woman took them," John said fuzzily.

"Took them? Why?"

John shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I think it was because they stank."

Undoing the cuffs, Braca smiled at him and touched the side of his face gently. "We'll just have to get you some replacements then." He paused, then undid his jacket and held it toward John. "Wear this for now," he instructed.

John found himself quickly obeying, knotting the sleeves around his waist to form a kilt-like garment. The leather creaked with every movement, but it was Braca's, and it was oddly thrilling to wear clothing that the other man had worn, that bore his scent.

Braca opened the door, revealing several commandos leveling their guns at John.

"At ease!" Was the sharp response. "He's coming with us peacefully. Aren't you...John?"

The words slipped out before he even realized he was speaking. "Yes, I am."

The old woman appeared from around the corner. Ignoring the commandos, she dropped John's clothing into his hands, and then handed a data pad to Braca.

She smiled broadly while shoving John closer to Braca, gesturing back and forth between the two. She chattered on for several microts, and John couldn't understand a word of it. Finally she stopped and looked at him expectantly. He didn't know what else to do but nod and smile back.

The lieutenant quickly scribbled with the datapad's stylus and returned it to her.

"What did I just agree to?" John asked, starting to dress. He was reluctant to part with Braca's jacket, but finally gave it back. Their hands brushed together, and it was like a spark of electricity traveling straight to his groin.

"I have no idea, but I think it was payment for the room." Braca licked his lips and finally turned away.

John's legs felt like rubber as he walked beside Braca to the marauder waiting for them. His mind was screaming at him to cut and run, but his legs just kept right on, and the rest of him just wanted to wrap around the lieutenant and never let go. Every few steps, either one of them would brush against the other, each time sending a shiver through John. He could see from the light sheen of sweat on Braca's skin, from the darting glances of bright, clear eyes, that he was similarly affected.

The commandos hustled John to a small room in the back of the ship. He stepped inside quietly. Turning around to face Braca, he lowered his eyes, then peeked from under his lashes. "Can you stay?"

Braca shook his head sadly. "Not just yet. I'll return shortly." A thrill raced through John as the Peacekeeper quickly brushed warm lips against his.

He settled onto the room's small bunk, and tried to think of all the reasons he should be fighting this strange attraction. John fell asleep before he could form two coherent thoughts. Some time later, he awakened to the sound of the door opening.

"Did you sign something when you first arrived at the bathhouse?" Braca's expression gave nothing away.

"Yeah. Some sort of rental agreement, I think."

John watched in dismay as the Peacekeeper's jaw tightened for a moment. "You have no idea what you agreed to." Holding out a flimsy, Braca said," Read this."

John looked at it, but couldn't decipher all of the language. "What does it say?"

"It is an agreement of marriage, and one that the Council has to oblige if they want to keep that planet's resources."

John stared in open-mouthed shock. "Why didn't you know what the old woman was saying?"

Braca grimaced. "Apparently the effects of the treated waters there are well-known to the natives. No one goes there by mistake, Crichton!" He shook his head. "The woman was not a native of that planet. I have no idea what species she is, but I do know that you are now my 'mate.' That was an oath she swore us to."

"And now we have to honor it."

'I think I'm going to be sick.'

John rose from the bed, a slight ache lingering in his ass. The immediate response of, "Hell, no!" faded from his mind as Braca stepped forward to meet him.

'I think we're going to be just fine.'




The end.