TVU Challenge 708: Otherwordly (Farscape fic, PG-13)
Written at the last minute for TVU challenge 708: Otherwordly. Sorry for any mistakes, no time even for a self-beta.
The show is Farscape. Spoilers apply, as does a Shippiness Warning.
Not mine (Gah! Shame!)
Words: ~670
Otherwordly
“How come I’ve never heard you use any of these words?” Aeryn Sun looked up from the latest book that she had been using to expand her English vocabulary and fixed John Crichton with a serious stare as he approached the couch where she was sitting.
“Such as?” John grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner as he inveigled himself alongside her.
“Well, for a start, what about this one?” A long finger jabbed at the page. John peered at the offending word.
“Numinous?” he laughed. “Seriously? You’ve never heard me use the word numinous before?”
“No,” Aeryn stated flatly and without apparent humour. “Why the frell do you think I would ask you if I had? And I don’t think you even know what it means anyway,” she continued, quickly obscuring the definition with a spread of her hand.
“Of course I do,” John stared into her eyes in that most distracting way of his. “Numinous is how I feel whenever I am with you:” she snorted indifferently. Fortunately he did not heed his dismissal. “Fearful yet fascinated, in awe yet attracted, almost overwhelmed by…” he reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing a fall of hair back from her face, behind her ear. His hand stayed there. It was most distracting.
“Yes, well, that is all very well,” she replied, lowering her eyes for a second, not out of coyness, but instead to guide her fingers as they flicked through the pages to another word. “But I bet you don’t know what this one means...”
John glanced down at the page.
“Serein?” John sounded out the word, frowning and confused, unable to make out the definition through Aeryn’s long, obscuring fingers. “I’ll grant you that’s an obscure one. So what does it mean, cleverclogs?”
“I don’t know,” Aeryn shrugged. “It’s your stupid language...” She moved her fingers and they stared at the page together.
“Serein: noun.” He allowed his words to pour over her like treacle. “The fine, light rain that falls from a clear sky at sunset.” Only John Crichton could make reading a dictionary sound sexy.
“Does that remind you of anything?” Aeryn enquired, her own voice low and husky, her gaze locked on his. They stared silently into each other’s eyes. Aeryn licked her lips. John’s hand fell to her shoulder and stayed there. Time slipped by, unregarded and unimportant. Aeryn was pretty sure that he, like her, was remembering their first time together, on the run, wet through from the rain, convinced they were both going to die. That last thought was too upsetting for her. She didn’t want to ruin her mood, so she distracted herself by teasing John once again.
“Obviously not,” she almost smiled. John openly grinned. “How about an easier one, then?” She jabbed at the dictionary.
“Resfeber?” John sounded out the syllables carefully. “Well, a bit more obscure, but…” his fingers slid up her neck, causing her to shiver involuntarily. His hand slipped under her chin, lifting her face until her eyes locked on his. Their faces were only drenches apart now. “Resfeber is an almost frenzied race of one’s heart in anticipation of the journey to come.”
“And what journey would that be?” Aeryn asked as steadily as she could manage as his forehead gently rested against her own.
“Off to our quarters,” his nose rubbed against hers. “And then.” He paused. Her eyes urged him to finish. “To bed.” His lips closed on hers for the briefest, yet most unchaste of kisses.
“Well, you’ll just have to live without your resfeber,” Aeryn spoke in a low, teasing growl. John’s eyebrow arched questioningly as she snaked one her hands around his neck and the other around his back. The dictionary fell to the floor, forgotten for now. “Because you’re not leaving here for the next arn or so,” She finished with a chuckle as she used her weight to push him down onto the long, black leather couch.
The end.
The show is Farscape. Spoilers apply, as does a Shippiness Warning.
Not mine (Gah! Shame!)
Words: ~670
Otherwordly
“How come I’ve never heard you use any of these words?” Aeryn Sun looked up from the latest book that she had been using to expand her English vocabulary and fixed John Crichton with a serious stare as he approached the couch where she was sitting.
“Such as?” John grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner as he inveigled himself alongside her.
“Well, for a start, what about this one?” A long finger jabbed at the page. John peered at the offending word.
“Numinous?” he laughed. “Seriously? You’ve never heard me use the word numinous before?”
“No,” Aeryn stated flatly and without apparent humour. “Why the frell do you think I would ask you if I had? And I don’t think you even know what it means anyway,” she continued, quickly obscuring the definition with a spread of her hand.
“Of course I do,” John stared into her eyes in that most distracting way of his. “Numinous is how I feel whenever I am with you:” she snorted indifferently. Fortunately he did not heed his dismissal. “Fearful yet fascinated, in awe yet attracted, almost overwhelmed by…” he reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing a fall of hair back from her face, behind her ear. His hand stayed there. It was most distracting.
“Yes, well, that is all very well,” she replied, lowering her eyes for a second, not out of coyness, but instead to guide her fingers as they flicked through the pages to another word. “But I bet you don’t know what this one means...”
John glanced down at the page.
“Serein?” John sounded out the word, frowning and confused, unable to make out the definition through Aeryn’s long, obscuring fingers. “I’ll grant you that’s an obscure one. So what does it mean, cleverclogs?”
“I don’t know,” Aeryn shrugged. “It’s your stupid language...” She moved her fingers and they stared at the page together.
“Serein: noun.” He allowed his words to pour over her like treacle. “The fine, light rain that falls from a clear sky at sunset.” Only John Crichton could make reading a dictionary sound sexy.
“Does that remind you of anything?” Aeryn enquired, her own voice low and husky, her gaze locked on his. They stared silently into each other’s eyes. Aeryn licked her lips. John’s hand fell to her shoulder and stayed there. Time slipped by, unregarded and unimportant. Aeryn was pretty sure that he, like her, was remembering their first time together, on the run, wet through from the rain, convinced they were both going to die. That last thought was too upsetting for her. She didn’t want to ruin her mood, so she distracted herself by teasing John once again.
“Obviously not,” she almost smiled. John openly grinned. “How about an easier one, then?” She jabbed at the dictionary.
“Resfeber?” John sounded out the syllables carefully. “Well, a bit more obscure, but…” his fingers slid up her neck, causing her to shiver involuntarily. His hand slipped under her chin, lifting her face until her eyes locked on his. Their faces were only drenches apart now. “Resfeber is an almost frenzied race of one’s heart in anticipation of the journey to come.”
“And what journey would that be?” Aeryn asked as steadily as she could manage as his forehead gently rested against her own.
“Off to our quarters,” his nose rubbed against hers. “And then.” He paused. Her eyes urged him to finish. “To bed.” His lips closed on hers for the briefest, yet most unchaste of kisses.
“Well, you’ll just have to live without your resfeber,” Aeryn spoke in a low, teasing growl. John’s eyebrow arched questioningly as she snaked one her hands around his neck and the other around his back. The dictionary fell to the floor, forgotten for now. “Because you’re not leaving here for the next arn or so,” She finished with a chuckle as she used her weight to push him down onto the long, black leather couch.
The end.