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crack_van2004-09-15 10:51 pm
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-09-15 10:51 pm
Canthas by Thea (NC-17)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thassalia
Author Website: none
Why this must be read:
Thea's fic is always rich in characterization, mood, and the little details of setting and atmosphere that make her worlds live and breathe, and those who inhabit them real beings--flesh and blood, and flawed.
Thea's smutfic completely shatters conventional notions of PWP. The sexuality smolders, but it's the sensuality of the mind--the intelligence with which Thea writes her characters, and that she bestows upon them--that arouses and proves to be eminently satisfying.
The light is strange on Canthas, full of faded pinks and golds. It warms her skin to a pale honey. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, rich with color, brushing against her bare shoulders and the cool leather of her vest. They stroll lazily, glad for the change of pace, the change of venue and it pleases him to see her this relaxed away from Moya, easy in her skin, easy with him.
Canthas is a small planet off of what counts for the main shipping lines in the UT's, and they're as safe here as they are anywhere. Light filters through the trees that shade the outdoor market, crinkled golden leaves catching the warmth of Canthas' twin suns. The air is thick, hazy from the surrounding lakes and it feels like moving through silk, everything moderate, languorous and calm. Even the humidity is different out here, not so much oppressive as effervescent. He's lightheaded walking through the market with her, skin brushing as they move along shoulder to shoulder.
Aeryn hesitates by a table of glittering components. The spread is a mixture of weapons, tiny bolts,sealants and things he still can't identify but which shine in the warm light, sparking bright like the alien shapes they are. Aeryn moves towards the table and he misses the feel of her arm against his. She leans over to inspect the components laid out upon a velvety cloth and her vest slides up, exposing the milky strip of skin between shirt and pants, the leather pulling taut over her ass.
Normally he'd be happy just to enjoy the view, the curve of her flesh and her strong back, fine skin, but he feels loose here, unfettered by the buzzing ghosts in his brain. He takes a risk, steps forward close behind her and brushes the back of his fingers over the bare skin, then splays his hand out, fingertips slipping up under the vest.
The sensation is heady, the slippery silk of the vest lining sliding over the back of his hand. The luxurious feel of her skin and the muscle underneath against his palms. His blood beats in his ears, the situation round and full with possibility. She might withdraw, shrug away, lash out verbally or physically. Or she might do exactly what she does.
Canthas
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:
thassalia Author Website: none
Why this must be read:
Thea's fic is always rich in characterization, mood, and the little details of setting and atmosphere that make her worlds live and breathe, and those who inhabit them real beings--flesh and blood, and flawed.
Thea's smutfic completely shatters conventional notions of PWP. The sexuality smolders, but it's the sensuality of the mind--the intelligence with which Thea writes her characters, and that she bestows upon them--that arouses and proves to be eminently satisfying.
The light is strange on Canthas, full of faded pinks and golds. It warms her skin to a pale honey. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, rich with color, brushing against her bare shoulders and the cool leather of her vest. They stroll lazily, glad for the change of pace, the change of venue and it pleases him to see her this relaxed away from Moya, easy in her skin, easy with him.
Canthas is a small planet off of what counts for the main shipping lines in the UT's, and they're as safe here as they are anywhere. Light filters through the trees that shade the outdoor market, crinkled golden leaves catching the warmth of Canthas' twin suns. The air is thick, hazy from the surrounding lakes and it feels like moving through silk, everything moderate, languorous and calm. Even the humidity is different out here, not so much oppressive as effervescent. He's lightheaded walking through the market with her, skin brushing as they move along shoulder to shoulder.
Aeryn hesitates by a table of glittering components. The spread is a mixture of weapons, tiny bolts,sealants and things he still can't identify but which shine in the warm light, sparking bright like the alien shapes they are. Aeryn moves towards the table and he misses the feel of her arm against his. She leans over to inspect the components laid out upon a velvety cloth and her vest slides up, exposing the milky strip of skin between shirt and pants, the leather pulling taut over her ass.
Normally he'd be happy just to enjoy the view, the curve of her flesh and her strong back, fine skin, but he feels loose here, unfettered by the buzzing ghosts in his brain. He takes a risk, steps forward close behind her and brushes the back of his fingers over the bare skin, then splays his hand out, fingertips slipping up under the vest.
The sensation is heady, the slippery silk of the vest lining sliding over the back of his hand. The luxurious feel of her skin and the muscle underneath against his palms. His blood beats in his ears, the situation round and full with possibility. She might withdraw, shrug away, lash out verbally or physically. Or she might do exactly what she does.
Canthas