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crack_van2005-01-30 08:40 pm
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-01-30 08:40 pm
Amok Time by feldman (NC-17)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton, Mele-On Grayza
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubberneck
Author Website: Fanfic by Feldman
Why this must be read:
At the end of season 3 and in the very early episodes of season 4, Very Bad Things happen to John Crichton. Some he'll deal with, some he'll try to pretend never happened, and others, well... others will lead him down a twisted and torturous path toward becoming everything he hates.
Grayza is a character largely reviled by Farscape fandom for her role in the Very Bad Things that happen to John Crichton. But there's no denying she's whip-smart, ruthlessly ambitious, and as far as can be ascertained, truthful in her dealings... whether selling out an entire species in an attempt to negotiate peace, or using her unique talents to interrogate her puzzling Human prisoner.
Feldman's fic is set during episode 4.02, What Was Lost: Sacrifice and sheds all-too-painful insight into the tumultuous psyche of John Crichton (complete with his neural clone sidekick, Harvey) during his time in Grayza's thrall.
Her neck is surprisingly delicate under his grip, cool skin and soft points of hair sliding over his fingers.
She balances in her crouch, leaning into his hold but not resisting.
She signals her men back, and watches him with feral eyes the color of Elizabeth Taylor's. He digs his fingers in, feeling a bit like Richard Burton.
He should have realized right then that he wasn't the one in control of the situation. Instead, bluff for bluff, he pulls her off balance and kisses her.
He draws in a long lungful of her sweet smell, lips sliding, tongue slipping past the sharp edge of her teeth. Cool to the touch. You never get to feel the heat of a Sebacean woman until you kiss her deep, until you slide some of yourself into her.
She's quick on her feet, he'll give her that, her tongue soft against the swell of his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth with a gung-ho attitude. That spot behind the front teeth is a serendipitous find on her part, and he tries to hide the resulting intake of breath, tries to tamp down the weird swoon that pulls him away from the wall in pursuit when she breaks the kiss.
Disoriented, he reaches out to steady himself, the polished fabric of her leg slipping away from his touch as she stands. His head drops back, bouncing against the stone wall like the echo of her orders, like the echo of her gimp crouching down in the spot she's just left.
Amok Time
Pairing: John Crichton, Mele-On Grayza
Author on LJ:
rubberneck Author Website: Fanfic by Feldman
Why this must be read:
At the end of season 3 and in the very early episodes of season 4, Very Bad Things happen to John Crichton. Some he'll deal with, some he'll try to pretend never happened, and others, well... others will lead him down a twisted and torturous path toward becoming everything he hates.
Grayza is a character largely reviled by Farscape fandom for her role in the Very Bad Things that happen to John Crichton. But there's no denying she's whip-smart, ruthlessly ambitious, and as far as can be ascertained, truthful in her dealings... whether selling out an entire species in an attempt to negotiate peace, or using her unique talents to interrogate her puzzling Human prisoner.
Feldman's fic is set during episode 4.02, What Was Lost: Sacrifice and sheds all-too-painful insight into the tumultuous psyche of John Crichton (complete with his neural clone sidekick, Harvey) during his time in Grayza's thrall.
Her neck is surprisingly delicate under his grip, cool skin and soft points of hair sliding over his fingers.
She balances in her crouch, leaning into his hold but not resisting.
She signals her men back, and watches him with feral eyes the color of Elizabeth Taylor's. He digs his fingers in, feeling a bit like Richard Burton.
He should have realized right then that he wasn't the one in control of the situation. Instead, bluff for bluff, he pulls her off balance and kisses her.
He draws in a long lungful of her sweet smell, lips sliding, tongue slipping past the sharp edge of her teeth. Cool to the touch. You never get to feel the heat of a Sebacean woman until you kiss her deep, until you slide some of yourself into her.
She's quick on her feet, he'll give her that, her tongue soft against the swell of his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth with a gung-ho attitude. That spot behind the front teeth is a serendipitous find on her part, and he tries to hide the resulting intake of breath, tries to tamp down the weird swoon that pulls him away from the wall in pursuit when she breaks the kiss.
Disoriented, he reaches out to steady himself, the polished fabric of her leg slipping away from his touch as she stands. His head drops back, bouncing against the stone wall like the echo of her orders, like the echo of her gimp crouching down in the spot she's just left.
Amok Time