Farscape Fic: Untitled Grayza Controls Wormholes (Amnesty)
Note: I went to look at my email drafts thinking they were ones I'd started with links to several stories, among them was the start of a story from 2010 and I have no bloody clue as to where I was going with it. It feels as if it's the beginning and end to a larger story but also feels sorta-kinda complete in its own way. So I guess you can consider it an amnesty fic now. Spoilers for What Was Lost and goes AU from there. Grayza/Crichton
I don't have a real title to this, just what I'd put on the subject line of the draft email.
There is nothing between them but sweat and skin as she bends him over the edge of the bed, bends him to her will and he weaves her a tale of wormholes that swallows stars.
Her eyes gleam with power, at the veritable power in his hands and under her thumb as she makes him beg to help her control the galaxy - if only she'll favor him with a touch.
It's more than she thought possible when she first heard the rumors of his gifts.
*
When he does not beg or plead for her presence, her scent upon his flesh, he dreams of death. But it does not come. She won't allow it and he cannot take it for himself. Cycles change and pass to seconds under her hand and still he does not die. Even long after she herself has succumbed to the welcome blanket of darkness. He mourns her, having forgotten his other life and he does not grow old.
Originally posted here. Feel free to comment there using OpenID if you don't have an account.|
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I don't have a real title to this, just what I'd put on the subject line of the draft email.
There is nothing between them but sweat and skin as she bends him over the edge of the bed, bends him to her will and he weaves her a tale of wormholes that swallows stars.
Her eyes gleam with power, at the veritable power in his hands and under her thumb as she makes him beg to help her control the galaxy - if only she'll favor him with a touch.
It's more than she thought possible when she first heard the rumors of his gifts.
*
When he does not beg or plead for her presence, her scent upon his flesh, he dreams of death. But it does not come. She won't allow it and he cannot take it for himself. Cycles change and pass to seconds under her hand and still he does not die. Even long after she herself has succumbed to the welcome blanket of darkness. He mourns her, having forgotten his other life and he does not grow old.
Originally posted here. Feel free to comment there using OpenID if you don't have an account.|
comments