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crack_van2004-09-28 12:51 am
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-09-28 12:51 am
A Treatise on Being a Man Jealous of a Machine by Red (R)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton, Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
themonkeycabal
Author Website: Province of the Red
Why this must be read:
Red's ability to channel John Crichton is uncanny. Usually she's torturing him, or blowing him up, or sending giant robots and gorillacrabs and psychotic, eyeball-popping criminals to make his life a misery.
In this fic, however, Crichton faces what is undeniably his toughest challenge: how to get into Aeryn Sun's pants without losing teeth, gaining bruises, or ending up concussed. I narrow my eyes and stare at the top of her head, wondering if I think just hard enough at her, will she pick up on the "do the studly scientist" vibe?
You can't help but be captivated by Red's Crichton. You'll want to hug him and take him home and keep him all to yourself.
Reaching up, I brush the hair away from her face and move in to catch a whiff of that very Aeryn scent. She smells like battle and sex and spice. I feel myself start to slip away. I am so lost, so destroyed, and I have no fear of it.
"Crichton," she growls softly, another warning.
She could move if she was serious, she could stand up and leave, but hasn't yet. She's also not looking at me, but I can tell by the tension in her body that she's not so interested in her papers anymore.
I grin in triumph. No damn, dirty specs will defeat the will of a man on the hunt for some lovin'.
I slide up the bench, closer to her, and one thigh nudges hers, while the other moves up behind her ass, trapping her, and I consider just what she might be in the mood for. It's hard to tell right now, she's not moving, her eyes are still fixed on the documents. She's still waiting to see what I'm going to do, I think.
What am I going to do?
Well, there's that illicit public sex, but that's not what I'm after. It's too quick, doesn't generally involved complete nakedness, there's the threat of interruption, all points that don't gibe with my intention of taking my time today.
There's a hard, hot frell. What Aeryn herself, fondly calls a "fuck". She likes the human word for that particular brand of sex, she says it sounds more like it. I'm not in the mood for this one either, at least, not at first. Maybe later.
There's the battle frell, which is similar to the fuck, only it tends to leave bruises. More on me than on her. It's like some sort of martial art, only naked, and at least one of us gets off. This is, without any doubt, a leftover from her PK days. I don't really like to think much about that. This one, however, usually starts with an ambush, not a slow, seduction, so it's right out.
There's angry sex, which is a little bit like the battle frell, but neither of us are pissed at each other right now, though I suppose I could push her enough and it could turn into angry sex. I wouldn't have minded this one earlier, when I was cruising to get some sort of reaction out of her. Naked, sweaty tussles can be a good time and definitely satisfying in their own way.
No, none of those are quite right. There's intense sex, and slow sex, and sex where she giggles and she never giggles, and wild sex, and tender sex, and sex where I want to melt into her body and where I can't tell which parts are mine and which are hers.
A Treatise on Being a Man Jealous of a Machine (or, You Talk Too Much, Shut Up)
Pairing: John Crichton, Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:
themonkeycabal Author Website: Province of the Red
Why this must be read:
Red's ability to channel John Crichton is uncanny. Usually she's torturing him, or blowing him up, or sending giant robots and gorillacrabs and psychotic, eyeball-popping criminals to make his life a misery.
In this fic, however, Crichton faces what is undeniably his toughest challenge: how to get into Aeryn Sun's pants without losing teeth, gaining bruises, or ending up concussed. I narrow my eyes and stare at the top of her head, wondering if I think just hard enough at her, will she pick up on the "do the studly scientist" vibe?
You can't help but be captivated by Red's Crichton. You'll want to hug him and take him home and keep him all to yourself.
Reaching up, I brush the hair away from her face and move in to catch a whiff of that very Aeryn scent. She smells like battle and sex and spice. I feel myself start to slip away. I am so lost, so destroyed, and I have no fear of it.
"Crichton," she growls softly, another warning.
She could move if she was serious, she could stand up and leave, but hasn't yet. She's also not looking at me, but I can tell by the tension in her body that she's not so interested in her papers anymore.
I grin in triumph. No damn, dirty specs will defeat the will of a man on the hunt for some lovin'.
I slide up the bench, closer to her, and one thigh nudges hers, while the other moves up behind her ass, trapping her, and I consider just what she might be in the mood for. It's hard to tell right now, she's not moving, her eyes are still fixed on the documents. She's still waiting to see what I'm going to do, I think.
What am I going to do?
Well, there's that illicit public sex, but that's not what I'm after. It's too quick, doesn't generally involved complete nakedness, there's the threat of interruption, all points that don't gibe with my intention of taking my time today.
There's a hard, hot frell. What Aeryn herself, fondly calls a "fuck". She likes the human word for that particular brand of sex, she says it sounds more like it. I'm not in the mood for this one either, at least, not at first. Maybe later.
There's the battle frell, which is similar to the fuck, only it tends to leave bruises. More on me than on her. It's like some sort of martial art, only naked, and at least one of us gets off. This is, without any doubt, a leftover from her PK days. I don't really like to think much about that. This one, however, usually starts with an ambush, not a slow, seduction, so it's right out.
There's angry sex, which is a little bit like the battle frell, but neither of us are pissed at each other right now, though I suppose I could push her enough and it could turn into angry sex. I wouldn't have minded this one earlier, when I was cruising to get some sort of reaction out of her. Naked, sweaty tussles can be a good time and definitely satisfying in their own way.
No, none of those are quite right. There's intense sex, and slow sex, and sex where she giggles and she never giggles, and wild sex, and tender sex, and sex where I want to melt into her body and where I can't tell which parts are mine and which are hers.
A Treatise on Being a Man Jealous of a Machine (or, You Talk Too Much, Shut Up)