Cream
Rating: PG-13/Very mild R
Setting: Post PKW
Spoilers: Hardly
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to Henson, et. al. No copyright
infringement intended. No money being made.
The usual suspects provided the drive-bys. Thanks muchly.
**********************
He watched her walk and let his mind roam where his hands couldn’t.
Through the ribbon of black silk that bounced down her back to that spot
between her shoulder blades that made her purr when he trailed his fingers
feather light over it.
The scent of that hair as he undid its binding letting it spill all around him
while he played hide and seek in the strands, nuzzling the join of her neck and
shoulder, his lips lightly caressing the satin smooth skin as her head tilted
to encourage his attention.
His eyes tracked the elegant line of her spine where his tongue had traced such
intricate patterns on her exquisite skin, translucent in the silver moonlight
that bathed this planet during its night cycle.
He slid his teeth over his lower lip to bite down a leer as he sucked in his
breath, eyes burning bright with the memory of their last night cycle together.
They’d still been engaged as the sun rose.
She’d looked even better naked in his bed beneath him as the yellow-orange-red
of the rising sun had painted broad brush strokes against the midnight blue of
the sky… the color of that dress you’d so lovingly divested her of …
lighting it up through the cobalt blue of her eyes to the cerulean blue of
their matching travel wear …pajamas… that looked so much better on her
than… you. The color does nothing for your baby blues. But it sure as hell
did wonders for her.
He scratched surreptitiously again, wondering if it was anticipation or his
imagination that made his skin feel like it was crawling.
Gotta love the Hynerian fetish for blue.
He couldn’t wait for this night cycle. Three solar days and two night cycles
with her all to himself. In the best pleasure palace Hyneria had to offer.
Rygel’s gift to them.
Good to have friends in high places.
He was a man with a plan.
He had a mission.
And all he had to do was move the turn over of final security arrangements for
the new dominar along.
So he watched the sway of her hips wrapped in fine firesilk the color of the
sky. He drummed curled hands against his thighs, fingertips itching to run over
the cloth hugging her curves, slide under the silk, shucking it over her curves
and down her long, lean legs.
Razor blades, rusty nails…
He shook violently in spite of the warmth of the room, and shifted himself
slightly as he followed her to their table. Their hosts were already seated
awaiting their arrival and rose at the sight of her. He ignored them as he ran
his hand along her arm and guided her to her seat.
“Gentlemen,” he sat himself, letting his hand come to rest on her thigh,
smiling slightly as he felt the outline of the sheath there in place of her
pistol. Oh, yeah. You know your girl. No guns allowed at the resort. “Let’s
get this show on the road.”
**********************
“What is your problem?” Aeryn hissed as she struggled to adjust an antsy D’Argo
more comfortably in her lap. “Your son is squirming almost as much as you.”
“You don’t itch?” John demanded in an aggrevated whisper. “Maybe D does and
that’s why he’s squirming.”
“He’s squirming because I won’t let him pull out my hair and he wants to get
down and explore all the pretty lights. What is your problem?” Aeryn repeated
with a sharp exhale, wincing as her child succeeded in snagging a handful of
hair and pulling.
A delighted squeal filled the transport as Aeryn slid narrowed eyes to glare
daggers at her husband.
“Nothing,” he replied sullenly, sinking further into his seat and scratching at
his midsection.
You love watching your plans go south.
**********************
Their rooms were opulent even by Hynerian royal standards. He barely noticed
the finery as Aeryn began settling D’argo in and he wandered through the main
reception area to the master suite.
The bed took his breath away. He took his hand away from scratching his side to
run it along the feather soft coverlet.
Big enough for gymnasts and acrobats, cool and soft and smooth as pudding.
Oh, yeah. Your plans rock.
“John?” Aeryn’s voice, oddly tinged with worry, floated over from behind to
tear him from his mental meandering. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he spun on his heel to face her, slightly off balance as he reached
up and behind and tried to get to the spot between his shoulder blades where
his skin was currently crawling, begging to be scratched. “Let’s get D some
dinner and then…”
“The frell it’s nothing,” she said, stalking across the room. “You haven’t
stopped scratching since we got on the transport.”
“It’s nothing, Aeryn. Let’s just…”
She ripped open his shirt and scowled at him.
“Let’s just call the healer, John. You’re turning blue.”
Dammit.
*******************************
“That’s it,” the healer announced as he finished a cursory exam. “You’re
allergic to firesilk.”
“But I’m blue,” John snarled through clenched teeth.
“That is a signature symptom. The afflicted individual acquires the color of
the silk they’re wearing.”
“The baby seems fine,” Aeryn said, slapping at John’s hand as he tried to
scratch.
“Yes. The little one obviously did not inherit his father’s…sensitivities.”
Aeryn’s snicker caused him to turn and slide narrowed eyes to glare daggers at
his wife. She turned innocent eyes at his silent accusation until he turned
back to the healer, ignoring a barely muffled snort.
“My…sensitivities aside,” John drawled, “can you fix this?”
“Of course. A simple organic remedy that should work overnight.”
“Fine. Whatever,” he growled. “Where is it?”
“I’ll take you there immediately.”
“Take us where?” John yelped as Aeryn’s hand slapped his.
“Let’s go,” Aeryn hissed as she slapped at John’s wandering hand again.
“Hey,” he barked. “I wasn’t scratching.”
“Whatever,” she flung back over her shoulder as she shifted D’Argo on her hip
and followed the healer.
*************************
He sat sprawled waist deep in the soaking tub, spine slid up tight against the
contoured backrest, arms settled in the sculpted armrest, head wrapped in a
cloth cap and tilted back, eyes closed.
“Feeling better?” Aeryn’s low, throaty question sent a shiver up his spine as
he opened one eye to take her in.
She was standing just inside the doorway with her arms behind her back.
“I’m sitting in a tub of…chocolate pudding,” he said, sounding like a petulant,
grounded teenager.
He opened his other eye to watch her walk across the room to hunker down at the
foot of the tub.
“Well,” she began, leaning her arms on the ledge, “D’Argo’s been fed and he’s
down for the sleep cycle.”
“And I’m still sitting in a tub of pudding,” he grumbled, slouching lower.
“It’s an organic remedy,” she purred, dipping her finger into the goo before
drawing it into her mouth.
“Yeah,” he breathed, “organic.”
“I’ve heard that the locals consider it also a…desert. Much like they do on
Earth. And guess what they use to go with it?”
“What?” The word came out in a croak as he slid himself up and closer to her.
She reached down and brought up a can. Inclining her head, she upended it and
shot a stream of white into her open, waiting mouth.
He watched at complete attention as she lowered her chin and snaked out her
tongue to lick her lips.
He swallowed heavily as his eyes followed her tongue and asked hopefully,
“Whipped cream?”
“No, not exactly, John,” she corrected, licking her finger. “It’s cre!me’.”
“Wench,” he growled with a grin, suddenly hungry.
She brought up her other hand along with a wicked smile and flicked her wrists,
shaking two cans at him.
“Tub’s big enough for two, baby,” he drawled, eyes bright and gleaming.
She stood in one fluid motion, graced him with another feral smile, and rucked
her satin nightshirt up over her head.
“Come on in,” he licked his lips and winked. “The pudding’s fine.”
She stepped gracefully over the ledge, long, lean legs the color of Chantilly
cream disappearing by inches as she lowered herself to join him, eyes wide open
and locked on his as she reached for the can.