Title: The Devil You Know

Daisy Chain, pt II

Author: BodyBreeder

Summary: D'Argo supplies John with a much-needed alternative to celibacy. Told you the slashy stuff was coming!

Spoiler warning: Can't say that there's any specific references here. I haven't seen Season II, so who knows if this still makes any sense at all!

Warning warning: Heaps of good ol' m-m sex, maybe the occasional bad word. No gerbils.

Archiving: Sure, go ahead!

Disclaimer: The characters are absolutely stolen; they belong to someone else entirely, but we have regular play-dates.

By BodyBreeder

Crichton was in a bad mood. Not the sort of `gee, must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed' bad mood that goes away after a coffee and a nice hot shower, but the kind of bad mood that could hang on indefinitely, a black Pig-Pen cloud of misery. He'd felt this way for days, ever since he and Aeryn were stranded planet-side in the Prowler and had explored the finer points of human-Sebacean sexual compatibility.

He liked to think his bad mood was only partly about the withdrawl of great sex only arns (it seemed) after he'd rediscovered it. That accounted for a large part of his persistent irritation, but (since he'd taken to masturbating with adolescent regularity), sexual frustration couldn't be all of it. No, it was the fact that Aeryn seemed to be handling the deprivation much better than he was.

Not to brag or anything but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been the dumpee. Well, okay, there was Alex, but that was a big exception. And anyway, his relationships with women didn't usually founder until the first rosy glow of great sex wore off. Being dumped in the midst of the fuck-struck phase of a relationship wasn't something he had much experience with, and it sucked. In his opinion.

At first, he'd just assumed that there was no way Aeryn would be able to keep up her end of the drought. He would have sworn that the passion he had seen her display revealed a sex drive at least as strong as his own, and, man, he was suffering after only a few dozen arns. Apparently PeaceKeepers were made of sterner stuff. Oh, sure, she seemed testier, and had a shorter fuse than usual (something to behold, since forebearance was never really an Aeryn hallmark), but she was showing no signs of weakening her resolve.

And he'd be damned if he was going to beg. Well, not yet anyway. It would be hard to beg, in any case, because Aeryn tended to leave any room mere microts after he arrived.

Still, vigorous workouts and frequent adjournments to his quarters to masturbate only went so far. He was grateful when D'Argo called him to the cargo bay to help move some containers of food Rygel had managed to scam. He figured that mindless physical exertion could only help.

"So, big guy. What's the deal?" D'Argo was carrying some truly huge boxy thing across the cargo bay. Even from a distance, Crichton could see the strain along his arms and thighs. That fucker had to be heavy.

"We must move these crates to the other side of the cargo bay. Rygel has arranged for another shipment later today, and we need to make room."

"Right," said Crichton, moseying up to one of the big boxes. He lifted. Shit. He'd be lucky not to strain something doing his. "What the hezmana is in these things, anyway?"

"I've no idea. Probably some Hynerian delicacy that no other being can digest." D'Argo's disgust was plain to see.

"Probably," Crichton agreed. "But anything beats those food cubes day in and out." He paused. "Where are Zhaan and Aeryn?" With elaborate casualness.

"Still on the planet. I think they're keeping Rygel under restraint, making sure he doesn't trade Moya for some new toy."

Figures, thought Crichton sourly. Naturally Aeryn couldn't be available to help with the heavy lifting. He cringed slightly at the depth of his disappointment at not being able to observe her perfectly fit body in action. Any action.

They worked for a while in silence. Crichton relaxed slightly under the effect of the heavy lifting, and the meditative rhythm of picking up, shuffling with, and depositing the crates across the cargo bay. The quiet, while not exactly companionable, was at least not annoying. However, the cartons were damned heavy, and after only an arn, Crichton's arms and thighs ached. Maybe this was a bit too much labour, after all. They were halfway done, and D'Argo showed no signs of slowing.

Crichton paused to catch his breath and rest his screaming muscles. He watched D'Argo methodically pick up and transport the boxes, muscles straining but not showing any signs of discomfort or fatigue. Man, if he'd have been on my team in college, we would have made it to the Bowl. In spite of himself, Crichton admired the bulge of muscle along the Luxan's thigh as he hefted the crate.

Back home, he had rarely felt like the smallest guy in the room, and here he was on a ship where he reallywas the smallest guy (not counting Rygel--and who would?). And even the women could beat the shit out of him. As they had amply demonstrated, more than once.

D'Argo was impressive; Crichton could see that. He had an athlete's reflexes, even if he had a warrior's non-existent sense of humour. But even that was sort of fun. It usually made him the perfect straight man. He was a guy, too, even if he wasn't human. Crichton felt that they'd bonded once or twice, just on that level.

And sometimes it was just nice to get away from females.

With a sigh that was only slightly self-pitying, Crichton bent to hoist another crate. He'd grown so accustomed to the silence that D'Argo's voice made him jump.

"John, you can rest if you want to."

"Huh? What? No, it's all right. I'm fine, I can keep going. We're almost done."

D'Argo smiled faintly. He would never admit it out loud, and rarely acknowledged it even to himself, but he admired this frail human's pride. He fully believed John would keep working until his muscles collapsed before admitting that he was overwhelmed by the task. "True. But if you harm yourself, you'd have to wait several arns until Zhaan returns from the planet to aid your recovery. Possibly you'd be in great pain."

Crichton dropped the crate he was carrying. "Well, thank you for that vote of confidence. Since you put it so nicely, yeah, I will take a break."

"And I will join you." said D'Argo, coming to sit beside Crichton and handing him a flask. Crichton drank deeply of the slightly spicy liquid, and passed the flask back to D'Argo.

"Feel better now?" D'Argo asked.

"Much. Thanks. This is thirsty work."

"I wasn't speaking about the work."

"Huh? Then what are you talking about?"

"It's no secret, Crichton; you've been in a terrible mood these last few days. Whatever is bothering you, perhaps it be better if you just ... dealt with it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, big guy," said Crichton defensively. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, and anyway, I have not been in a bad mood lately. Who said I was in a bad mood?" Goddamn, he was thinking, if Aeryn said anything to the others, she's toast!

D'Argo sighed. "It's there for anyone to smell, Crichton."

Crichton blinked. "What the hell are you talking about, D'Argo?" he asked, very quietly.

"You smell, Crichton. You are emitting a very distinctive and," he paused, slightly embarrassed, "distracting odour. It's not unfamiliar to me, and I think I know what's been bothering you."

"I smell?!" said Crichton, his voice rising. "You're telling me I smell bad?? Jeez, thanks D'Argo. And I thought my life couldn't possibly get any worse!"

"It's not something the others would necessarily notice," D'Argo hurried to point out. "Luxans have an extraordinary sense of smell. And I never said it was bad."

"Oh, great," said Crichton, not at all mollified. "So I just smell, period."

D'Argo looked confused. "No, you smell sexually frustrated. I don't know what this `period' is or what it smells like."

Crichton cringed into the crate against his back. I am NOT having this conversation, he thought. I am NOT discussing my sex life--or lack of a sex life--with an alien. A GUY alien, he amended weakly. But apparently he was.

D'Argo thought Crichton's silence indicated agreement, and continued, oblivious to the effect his words were having.

"Luxans also have a strong sexual drive," he said quietly. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Yeah, well, among humans, the topic is considered a bit more ... private, okay?"

"How can such a thing be private, when you're broadcasting your physical needs to anyone with a nose?" D'Argo argued bluntly. "At the very least, you should be more responsible for managing your sexual encounters. Luxans consider it rude when others do not do so."

"Thank god I'm no Luxan." Crichton muttered. "Look, D'Argo, I'm sorry I'm offending your, nose, but the situation is really out of my hands. So I'll stay out of your way--and your nose--until things change."

"Ah," D'Argo said, nodding sagely. "Aeryn is out holding you. I guessed as much. No wonder you are in such discomfort."

Crichton blushed to his toes. "It's holding out, D'Argo, and I never said that!" Jeezus, he thought. That's all I need; Aeryn comes back and find out that locker rooms across the universe are all the same. Consolation: at least she'll kill me.

"You didn't have to." D'Argo said calmly, ignoring Crichton's unease.

"What, you can smell her too?" Crichton asked, feeling relieved that he had company in this dubious club.

"No, it doesn't work with non-Luxan females."

"Oh. Too bad."

"Yes. That can be ... inconvenient."

They sat in silence for a while, Crichton continuing to hope for a meteor strike or spontaneous black hole; anything to escape this conversation.

"Sebacean women can be very stubborn, John."

"So I've noticed."

"It may be some time before Aeryn relents and you can resume....normal relations."

"Yeah, thanks, hadn't thought of that. Much."

D'Argo looked at him with surprise. "But you have other alternatives."

"My alternatives don't seem to be working too well, according to your overdeveloped sniffer."

"No, I mean, well." D'Argo stopped, clearly wanting to go on, but unsure how to proceed. Now he had John's attention.

"You're going to have to spell this out, big guy." Crichton sighed. "I don't have a frelling clue what you're trying to say."

D'Argo took a deep breath. "In Luxan society, it is the utmost insult to allow a respected guest to be ... uncomfortable in the way that you are presently uncomfortable. It's a matter of consideration for the others who have to interact with the, um, frustrated one, as well as common sense."

"Wait a minute," John interrupted. "Are you telling me that Luxans sleep with each other whenever one of `em gets a bit hot and bothered?"

"Certainly not," D'Argo clarified. "Cha'doth only happens between great friends and allies. I promised to be your ally and therefore I have that obligation."

"Whoa. Are you saying that you're offering to ... um, .... help me out of this predicament?" Crichton couldn't keep the hysterical edge out of his voice. This was either one helluva practical joke, or he was beginning to get a bit worried.

"Yes," beamed D'Argo, obviously relieved. "Exactly."

"Gee, well, D'Argo. Much as I appreciate the offer, and I really do appreciate it, man; we do things a bit differently where I come from. It isn't so easy to just jump into ... things with other people."

"I see. You humans prefer to endure this frustration out of a sense of fidelity?"

"No, not exactly. Well, for one thing, on Earth it's usually considered a pretty bad idea to uh, have relations, with anyone who is the same sex as you." He glanced at D'Argo to see how this was going over. He really didn't want to offend the Luxan; he'd already felt the effects of the Luxan hyper-rage once.

D'Argo merely looked surprised. "But that means disregarding half of your population as possible partners!" he said, with obvious incredulity.

"Uh, yeah, I guess it does," Crichton said. Hmm, never really thought about it like that. And there was that guy back in high school .... Hey, wait a minute! "It's not something I ever thought about before." In spite of himself, Crichton was intrigued. "You mean for Luxans, it's all the same?"

"Not necessarily. When I married Lo'lann, of course I adopted Sebacean ways. Sebaceans are less open-minded than Luxans about sexual matters, and I did not mind changing my habits for her. A Luxan of my rank would have been expected to have several devoted friends, and to share Cha'doth with them at their pleasure and his."

"Males and females?"

"Naturally. Luxans believe that sexual attraction is not about the organisation of genitalia. It occurs when spirit speaks to spirit. The specifics of the sexual act are of secondary importance."

"That sounds very evolved, D'Argo."

"But you know of nothing like this on Earth."

"Nope."

"That explains a great deal." D'Argo said.

Crichton looked at the Luxan sharply. For a humourless son-of-a-bitch, he sure sounded like he was laughing. "Let's get on with moving these crates."

****

An arn later, the crates were moved. D'Argo headed for the cargo bay doors, until Crichton called him back.

"About that stuff you were telling me earlier," he began. "You said I smelled distinctive but not bad. What did you mean by that?"

"Nothing, Crichton. Forget I said anything. I did not wish to offend you."

"I'm not offended. I'm curious. What did you mean?"

D'Argo sighed, but still would not look at Crichton. "Luxan sexual responsiveness is very much attuned to our sense of smell. That is all."

"I get that. So you mean that you, as a Luxan, get some kind of sexual whammy from the way I smell?"

"If `whammy' means pleasure and arousal, then yes, I suppose I do." D'Argo looked Crichton in the face at that, carefully searching the human's face for signs of disgust, anger, or disinterest. He saw curiousity and, perhaps, something else.

"So, if I were a Luxan, how would this, this, Cha'doth proceed?" Crichton's attempt at nonchalance was unconvincing even to himself, but D'Argo seemed willing to overlook that.

"I would attempt to allievate your distress." he said simply.

"Yeah. And would that hurt?" He felt slightly stupid for asking, but his experience of male-to-male sex being what it was, he figured it was better to know now.

"Not unless you wanted it to." was D'Argo's far from reassuring reply. Though the pitch of his voice and its softness caused John's cock to stir in his pants.

"I wouldn't," said John hurriedly.

D'Argo nodded. He walked slowly towards John, closing the slight distance between them. He stopped when he stood right in front of the human, their chests barely touching.

Gently, D'Argo raised his hands to stroke John's chest and sides. John was suddenly acutely aware of his sweaty t-shirt; at least for the few microts it took until D'Argo had removed it and thrown it somewhere across the cargo bay. D'Argo showed an amazing talent for ferreting out all the spots that were the most sensitive--his nipples, the skin along his throat, the ridges of muscle along his stomach.

For his size, D'Argo's touch was light and deft. His movements were sure and unself-conscious. He applied himself to the geography of this strange human with an attentiveness that John found totally disarming. In spite of his nervousness, John could feel his cock rising to nearly its full hardness.

D'Argo could obviously feel it too. He paused in his travels, brushed John's cock with his hand, noticed its answering leap and returned to rub it with more focus. John moaned involuntarily, his hips moving into D'Argo. John closed his eyes. D'Argo unzipped John's pants, eased them off, and knelt, eye-level with John's eager cock. D'Argo's hands continued to stroke John's thighs and ass, his strong grip exciting John more than he would have guessed possible.

Carefully watching John's face, D'Argo brought one hand to John's cock. He began to stroke it, quickly finding a rhythm that increased the tempo and frequency of John's moans. He kept his eyes on John's face, entranced by the transformations occurring there as the human became more and more excited. His features softened and relaxed, his mouth became something that demanded to be kissed.

Without missing a stroke, D'Argo rose and took John's mouth. Surprised into an unrehearsed reaction, John opened his mouth eagerly, and felt the ecstasy of D'Argo's flexible tongue.

The Luxan's moustache and beard rubbed John's face, creating a pleasantly heated friction. John's hands came up to grip the Luxan's head and keep his mouth firmly in place. D'Argo broke the kiss, and found himself looking down into John's astonished eyes. Seeing nothing but lust and pleasure in their blue depths, D'Argo bent to John's mouth again.

By now, John was moving his hips against D'Argo in an attempt to get some relief for his aching cock. D'Argo's shirt was gone, and his breeches were unlaced. John could feel some hardness against his stomach; its pressure was an unexpected source of excitement. As his hands fumbled with D'Argo's lacings, John could hear the Luxan's breath becoming more ragged. Exultation surged through him. Then D'Argo's breeches were off.

John's hands travelled down the Luxan's stomach to his groin. John pulled away from D'Argo's voracious mouth to fall to his knees, examining the Luxan's genitals more carefully. Aligned above the pubic area D'Argo had a series of three small holes, or valves forming an inverted triangle pointing down to his groin. Mivonks, some still rational part of John's brain supplied helpfully. He ran his fingers along their circumference lightly; D'Argo bucked his hips and moaned. Now that's more like it, John thought, and continued to experiment. The Luxan preferred a light, feathery touch; John played there for a while, then leaned in and blew gently across the mivonks' openings. When that seemed to please D'Argo, John touched one gently with his tongue. D'Argo yelled. John smiled, then moved down.

D'Argo moaned again, in frustration this time, but let John have his way. D'Argo's cock was about 5 inches long, very hard, and very smooth. Luxans had no body hair, John noticed, just the tattoos that ran the length of both sides of D'Argo's torso down to his cock. The tattoos continued up the sides of his cock to its head, which was covered in the abstract designs. John marvelled at their beauty even as he winced at what their presence implied.

Stroking D'Argo's cock brought approving murmurs from the Luxan, but nothing like the response generated by John's mouth on the mivonks. When in Rome, John thought, and proceeded--slowly--back to the mivonks. Before he could really establish a satisfying rhythm, D'Argo's hands pulled him back up. Pushing John against the cargo crates they'd rearranged, he again kissed him deeply. Before John could protest, D'Argo was on his knees again.

Then John's rigid cock was buried in the Luxan's mouth, and John was deprived of the power of speech. He leaned against the crates, hoping his knees would not give way, as the Luxan expertly wound his long tongue around his cock and squeezed. The pressure was exquisite, and John moved his hips into the Luxan's face as his excitement built. When John was sure that his pleasure had peaked, D'Argo gently sucked, and John's hips moved more frantically as he discovered new dimensions of sensation. D'Argo gripped John's ass and pulled him in more deeply, and John yelled as his come poured into the Luxan.

D'Argo maintained his grip on John's ass, which was a good thing, as John's knees felt unable to support his body weight. After a few microts, D'Argo rose. John reached for his mouth again, and kissed him deeply, savouring the new flavour that his come added to the Luxan's natural taste.

Before D'Argo could protest, John was kneeling before him, mouth once again fastened on the mivonks. If running his tongue along the edge of the mivonks pleased D'Argo, probing the holes with his tongue caused the Luxan to cry out in a way that interested John's depleted cock. Happily, John continued to tongue the sensitive orifices, while gently inserting first one, then two, then three fingers; one in each hole. They expanded easily to fit around his fingers, and he began to thrust delicately. D'Argo slumped against the crates in a way John recognised, and he redoubled his efforts. Hips bucking in counterpoint to John's thrusts, D'Argo gave an eerie cry just as clear blue gel erupted from the mivonks, forcing John's fingers out.

John rose and wrapped his arms around the larger man, raining delicate kisses along his tentacles. D'Argo shuddered. Resting his forehead against D'Argo's chin, John said only a little hoarsely, "You're right, D'Argo. That does feel better."

=30=