Vacation in Hell (Farscape, for kazbaby, with apologies)
Title: Vacation in Hell
Fandom: Farscape
Pairings: I never thought I would do this. Crichton/D’Argo/Scorpius
Rating: Adult, in 1,092 words or less. But not less, because it’s exactly that.
Summary: It isn’t like a George Romero movie.
Disclaimer: Come on, do I look like I own this shit? The answer is no. The song I’m quoting below is from this great horror movie band. Everyone should check them out.
Notes: Thanks to apathocles for the beta. Written for kazbaby, for the dialzforzombies ficathon. I’m really sorry this is so late. It was a real bitch to wrap my head around, but thanks for the challenge. Sorry there isn’t more apocalyptic city action. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. AU, set sometime in the series, anytime.
Warnings: So I have this friend, Kez, who tells me that zombies give her nightmares. I don’t want Kez to read this. And you might have a hard time liking this if zombie porn squicks you, because, while I’m a fade-to-black kind of writer, I wouldn’t want to read this if I couldn’t dig zombie porn.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They’ve gotten to the point where they use the dead-the really dead-like sandbags over their trenches. They think the smell maybe confuses them. It makes John and D’Argo throw up for awhile, become permanent mouth breathers. Scorpius can handle it-of course he can. He probably ate the dead for breakfast once upon a time. John’s pretty sure he doesn’t do that now.
At least if he does he isn’t trying to eat them, the living. John can settle for that, easily.
If he ever gets out of here, he’s going to take the hottest, longest shower in the records of the universe. Sometimes he dreams about it, about peeling off his skin to escape the memory of this world, scrapping out chunks of his brain to forget.
Sometimes John isn’t sure he can survive this. Humans aren’t meant to.
Luxans aren’t either. D’Argo’s taking this the hardest; he’s surrounded by the smell of death, more so than John. D’Argo can’t pretend to escape it, but he won’t go out so easily. John’s ready to give up.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He sees her walking through the streets. Her vest is torn, he can see her bra; she belongs in Mad Max with all that leather. D’Argo and Scorpius are resting against the dirt. John had been keeping watch. They didn’t see him move fast enough to stop him.
She raises her right arm out of habit, but she isn’t holding the gun that belongs there. “Aeryn!” John hollers and leaps over the dead, runs into the abandoned city. “Aeryn!” She starts walking towards him.
“Crichton, no!” D’Argo yells.
John hugs her, holds tight. Aeryn turns her face into his neck-she’s so cold. John’s crying; he’s so happy to see her.
And then she bites him. John’s jugular spurts onto her face and D’Argo’s there. She lets John go to gnash her teeth after him, and he realizes. John falls to the dirt road and the world goes black.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Maybe the virus didn’t affect us,” D’Argo says. They’re standing there staring at Aeryn’s body. One blast went through her neck and jaw at close range, making a cauterized wound. Another took off the left side of her head. Bone shards and tissue had gone everywhere, but the only blood in the dirt was from John and D’Argo. There was nothing but tissue behind her, where it should’ve been.
John couldn’t bring himself to do something rational, like throw up.
“Face it, D. We’re zombies.”
“I feel completely normal,” D’Argo insisted.
John swallowed dryly. “I don’t.”
There’s a pause, and D’Argo admits, “I don’t either.”
Scorpius walks up behind them. He hadn’t left the safety of their trench until then. “I imagine the brain matter deterioration will go so far any time now that you’re just like the legends you described, Crichton.” He sounds so smug.
John feels serious pangs in his stomach, lets them go.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This place where they’re at, it has daylight for weeks. It doesn’t bother him quite as much as it used to. So he isn’t sure how much time it’s been that he’s been slouching on the dirt wall of their hole next to D’Argo when he gets the urge to lean over and nip at his cheek. The skin comes away with some worrying.
“Hey!”
It tastes good-well, no it tastes like baking chocolate, how it leaves your mouth feeling dry and cottony. But it makes John’s stomach feel so good that it’s like he ate a Hershey bar.
“Why did you do that?” D’Argo demands, leering and imposing. He glares; he leans over and rips off a piece of skin from John’s jaw with considerably less effort. And, holy shit and hello Twilight Zone, it feels good. Makes him hungry. John grabs at D’Argo’s mouth and takes a bit of the skin-his own skin-and it feels like.
It feels like foreplay to the best sex of his goddamned unlife. They kiss, savagely.
Scorpius had been keeping to himself, again, until now. The whole time they’ve been here he’s spent it trying to keep to himself, and that’s enough that suspicion is niggling at the back of John’s head but it’s easy enough to ignore.
Now he’s there at D’Argo’s back, pushing him in front of John, playing with his tentacles. D’Argo jerks against him, his leg between John’s. He groans at such a familiar sensation but so different; he can’t place what it is. But-“Sweet Jesus.” He wants it to go on. Scorpius grabs on to the back of John’s neck, pulls hard. He leans back into it, away from D’Argo’s mouth, and he hears himself make a guttural sound that D’Argo groans along with.
John thinks for a second, just a second, about how much they’ve changed, how absolutely out of character it is that he and D are letting Scorpius touch them while they’re having sex with their clothes on. That they’re having sex. That he doesn’t remember thinking of anything hotter than this, right now. Because he’s done this once, with his other best friend, and that just ended up messy and unsexy and damn. He wasn’t going to do that again, much less with Scorpy there and participating but then that brain cell must’ve died or something, because the moment of panic was gone. Scorpius’ mouth is on the chunk D’Argo took out of him, and Scorpius’ other hand is on one of the rings around D’Argo’s collarbone. And John needs to participate himself. It’s only fair.
He puts his hands all over D’Argo and Scorpius puts his hands all over John and there’s a certain inhibition that’s gone after that-no problem that it’s Scorpius, no problem that it isn’t Aeryn. In that moment he even likes this zombie shit; it isn’t anything like a George Romero movie. It’s like a parallel dimension, like after SciFi bought Sliders and the fat kid from Stand By Me left but his character went on in that different-looking double’s head who was the same person and.
Oh, God. John likes Scorpius’ hand on his dick. This isn’t normal.
But it’s not like abnormal is such a bad thing. His brain just decides to shut up and enjoy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Can't you see what this world's become?
When the dead feast off the living, yeah
And we're about to join the fun
-Murderdolls, “Dawn of the Dead” from the album Beyond the Valley of the Murderdolls
Feedback and concrit is more than welcome!
Fandom: Farscape
Pairings: I never thought I would do this. Crichton/D’Argo/Scorpius
Rating: Adult, in 1,092 words or less. But not less, because it’s exactly that.
Summary: It isn’t like a George Romero movie.
Disclaimer: Come on, do I look like I own this shit? The answer is no. The song I’m quoting below is from this great horror movie band. Everyone should check them out.
Notes: Thanks to apathocles for the beta. Written for kazbaby, for the dialzforzombies ficathon. I’m really sorry this is so late. It was a real bitch to wrap my head around, but thanks for the challenge. Sorry there isn’t more apocalyptic city action. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. AU, set sometime in the series, anytime.
Warnings: So I have this friend, Kez, who tells me that zombies give her nightmares. I don’t want Kez to read this. And you might have a hard time liking this if zombie porn squicks you, because, while I’m a fade-to-black kind of writer, I wouldn’t want to read this if I couldn’t dig zombie porn.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They’ve gotten to the point where they use the dead-the really dead-like sandbags over their trenches. They think the smell maybe confuses them. It makes John and D’Argo throw up for awhile, become permanent mouth breathers. Scorpius can handle it-of course he can. He probably ate the dead for breakfast once upon a time. John’s pretty sure he doesn’t do that now.
At least if he does he isn’t trying to eat them, the living. John can settle for that, easily.
If he ever gets out of here, he’s going to take the hottest, longest shower in the records of the universe. Sometimes he dreams about it, about peeling off his skin to escape the memory of this world, scrapping out chunks of his brain to forget.
Sometimes John isn’t sure he can survive this. Humans aren’t meant to.
Luxans aren’t either. D’Argo’s taking this the hardest; he’s surrounded by the smell of death, more so than John. D’Argo can’t pretend to escape it, but he won’t go out so easily. John’s ready to give up.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He sees her walking through the streets. Her vest is torn, he can see her bra; she belongs in Mad Max with all that leather. D’Argo and Scorpius are resting against the dirt. John had been keeping watch. They didn’t see him move fast enough to stop him.
She raises her right arm out of habit, but she isn’t holding the gun that belongs there. “Aeryn!” John hollers and leaps over the dead, runs into the abandoned city. “Aeryn!” She starts walking towards him.
“Crichton, no!” D’Argo yells.
John hugs her, holds tight. Aeryn turns her face into his neck-she’s so cold. John’s crying; he’s so happy to see her.
And then she bites him. John’s jugular spurts onto her face and D’Argo’s there. She lets John go to gnash her teeth after him, and he realizes. John falls to the dirt road and the world goes black.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Maybe the virus didn’t affect us,” D’Argo says. They’re standing there staring at Aeryn’s body. One blast went through her neck and jaw at close range, making a cauterized wound. Another took off the left side of her head. Bone shards and tissue had gone everywhere, but the only blood in the dirt was from John and D’Argo. There was nothing but tissue behind her, where it should’ve been.
John couldn’t bring himself to do something rational, like throw up.
“Face it, D. We’re zombies.”
“I feel completely normal,” D’Argo insisted.
John swallowed dryly. “I don’t.”
There’s a pause, and D’Argo admits, “I don’t either.”
Scorpius walks up behind them. He hadn’t left the safety of their trench until then. “I imagine the brain matter deterioration will go so far any time now that you’re just like the legends you described, Crichton.” He sounds so smug.
John feels serious pangs in his stomach, lets them go.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This place where they’re at, it has daylight for weeks. It doesn’t bother him quite as much as it used to. So he isn’t sure how much time it’s been that he’s been slouching on the dirt wall of their hole next to D’Argo when he gets the urge to lean over and nip at his cheek. The skin comes away with some worrying.
“Hey!”
It tastes good-well, no it tastes like baking chocolate, how it leaves your mouth feeling dry and cottony. But it makes John’s stomach feel so good that it’s like he ate a Hershey bar.
“Why did you do that?” D’Argo demands, leering and imposing. He glares; he leans over and rips off a piece of skin from John’s jaw with considerably less effort. And, holy shit and hello Twilight Zone, it feels good. Makes him hungry. John grabs at D’Argo’s mouth and takes a bit of the skin-his own skin-and it feels like.
It feels like foreplay to the best sex of his goddamned unlife. They kiss, savagely.
Scorpius had been keeping to himself, again, until now. The whole time they’ve been here he’s spent it trying to keep to himself, and that’s enough that suspicion is niggling at the back of John’s head but it’s easy enough to ignore.
Now he’s there at D’Argo’s back, pushing him in front of John, playing with his tentacles. D’Argo jerks against him, his leg between John’s. He groans at such a familiar sensation but so different; he can’t place what it is. But-“Sweet Jesus.” He wants it to go on. Scorpius grabs on to the back of John’s neck, pulls hard. He leans back into it, away from D’Argo’s mouth, and he hears himself make a guttural sound that D’Argo groans along with.
John thinks for a second, just a second, about how much they’ve changed, how absolutely out of character it is that he and D are letting Scorpius touch them while they’re having sex with their clothes on. That they’re having sex. That he doesn’t remember thinking of anything hotter than this, right now. Because he’s done this once, with his other best friend, and that just ended up messy and unsexy and damn. He wasn’t going to do that again, much less with Scorpy there and participating but then that brain cell must’ve died or something, because the moment of panic was gone. Scorpius’ mouth is on the chunk D’Argo took out of him, and Scorpius’ other hand is on one of the rings around D’Argo’s collarbone. And John needs to participate himself. It’s only fair.
He puts his hands all over D’Argo and Scorpius puts his hands all over John and there’s a certain inhibition that’s gone after that-no problem that it’s Scorpius, no problem that it isn’t Aeryn. In that moment he even likes this zombie shit; it isn’t anything like a George Romero movie. It’s like a parallel dimension, like after SciFi bought Sliders and the fat kid from Stand By Me left but his character went on in that different-looking double’s head who was the same person and.
Oh, God. John likes Scorpius’ hand on his dick. This isn’t normal.
But it’s not like abnormal is such a bad thing. His brain just decides to shut up and enjoy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Can't you see what this world's become?
When the dead feast off the living, yeah
And we're about to join the fun
-Murderdolls, “Dawn of the Dead” from the album Beyond the Valley of the Murderdolls
Feedback and concrit is more than welcome!