FS/AND/SG1: Recognize Strangers
andrastewhite organized the Multiverse Challenge (multiverse2004). I wrote a back-up story for wisdomeagle, who requested Aeryn Sun/Beka Valentine/Samantha Carter.
Title: Recognize Strangers
Author: voleuse
Fandoms: Farscape/Andromeda/SG-1
Characters: Aeryn/Beka, Beka/Sam, Sam/Aeryn
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: You can't explain this night, my face, your memory.
Notes: No spoilers as far as I can gauge
i. coal fields in the moon on torn-up hills
Beka rolls her shoulders back as she steps into the bar. It's a gesture of defiance, and also provocation.
She's far, far out of her comfort zone, but there's good trade in this system, and she can deal with the quirks of the local thugs if it means she gets to smuggle a crate of exotic somethings that will earn half her weight in credit.
A group of tentacled things in the corner eye her, and Beka dares to smile at them.
"Not many women would invite Luxan interest." A woman at the bar, whip-tense and beautiful, tosses back her drink and eyes Beka. "Though I have heard stories."
Beka takes a stool next to the woman, stares carefully at the bartender, who stares carefully back.
Without a word, he pours her a glass of fellip nectar. She takes it, and stuck to the bottom of the glass is a slip of paper.
"Thanks," she mutters, and manages to palm the note, slides it under one of the bands of her shirt.
The woman clinks her glass against Beka's. "They know you here?"
"Not really." Beka sips the nectar, wrinkles her nose at the taste.
The woman shifts on her seat, leans closer to Beka. The look on her face is speculative, and her voice dips low and sultry.
"I have a room nearby. We could--" The next word is garbled.
Beka tilts her head. "Sorry? Didn't catch that last part."
The woman's mouth tilts into a smile. "Recreate."
"Recreate?" Beka frowns. "You mean...oh!"
The woman's hand has crept to Beka's knee. "Unless you don't--"
"No, I do," Beka interrupts. "I've just never," she stops. "You're serious?"
The Luxans in the corner are laughing, loud enough that the woman has to lean closer in order to speak.
Her hand flexes up Beka's thigh. "Are you interested?" she asks. She presses her palm just right, and Beka's hips buck up.
Beka turns the offer over in her mind. The drop-off isn't until tomorrow afternoon, anyway, and it's been ages since--
Two fingers, cool and perfect, press through cloth, against her clit.
Beka shudders. "What's your name?"
The woman slides her cheek against Beka's, and her fingers slide in, just a bit.
"Call me Aeryn."
*
ii. I have hundreds of names for the snow
It's been a long while since SG-1 has visited such a technologically advanced civilization. What's more, there's no evidence of the Goa'uld, or any other alien races.
One of the natives they encounter mentions, off-hand, something about an insectoid race, with names that sound like poetry. Daniel ends up badgering them into taking him to a library, and Jack follows with a shrug.
Left to their own devices, Teal'c and Sam decide to investigate the local market.
But when they cross through a local tavern, they get caught up on opposite sides of a bar fight, and somehow, Sam and one of the brawlers get dragged to a detention center.
As she gets cuffed, Teal'c says something about finding the others. Sam just hopes this isn't one of those societies that advocates zero tolerance.
At least, she thinks later, prison isn't so bad. The cell is small but private, with walls insteaed of bars. Plus, she's only sharing the room with the woman from the tavern, which is much less crowded than some of the holding cells she's seen.
The woman is sprawled on the only cot, and Sam realizes she's being watched.
"You're not from around here, are you?" The woman rolls onto her side.
Sam hesitates. "No."
"Figured." The woman sits up. "We're going to be stuck in here for a while."
Sam shakes her head. "I don't think so. My friends will get me out."
"Right." The woman laughs, stands and offers her hand to Sam. "Beka Valentine."
She grips Beka's hand. "Samantha Carter."
Beka grins, sits back down, but keeps hold of Sam's hand.
"You should relax." Her thumb circles against Sam's pulse. "They won't hurt us, but the paperwork takes ages."
Sam licks her suddenly dry lips. "Aren't they watching us?" she asks, even though it's not actually relevant.
Beka's other hand settles on Sam's hip, tugs her closer. "Probably not." She looks up at Sam through her eyelashes. "Unless you want them to. Probably get us out faster."
Sam closes her eyes as Beka pulls her down. Her legs straddle Beka's, and she can smell her, leather and sweat and something like roses.
Beka laughs, and Sam can feel it, through her clothes and down to her bones.
She grinds her hips down, bites back a gasp when Beka slides a hand up her spine, then down her front.
Blindly, she presses her fingers into Beka's hair, and Beka's mouth lands against Samantha's chest, dampening the cloth of her shirt.
Sam arches, and twists as Beka falls back onto the cot. She pushes a hand between Beka's legs, and when Beka groans, Sam smiles.
*
iii. it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders
When Aeryn can't take it anymore, she takes her Prowler down to the planet, down to an almost-empty field, because she's starting to think the middle of nowhere is the only place she can escape from talk about those frelling wormholes.
So when she sees a flare of blue across the field, and a woman with a gun appears over the top of a hill, Aeryn spews obscenity as long and loud as she can.
The woman approaches carefully, staring at Aeryn until the stream of invective has ceased.
Instead of threatening Aeryn, like any proper Peacekeeper would, the woman lowers her weapon and half-grins at Aeryn.
"I've had that kind of day, too." Carefully, she sets her weapon down and approaches the Prowler. "Is this your ship?"
Aeryn catches her expression, curious and covetous, and she attacks on instinct.
She expects to stun the woman at first leap, so she's startled when the woman rolls back. Then the woman grabs Aeryn's shoulder, slams her face-first into the ground.
Aeryn spits grass out of her mouth. "I'm impressed," she gasps out.
The woman's grip tightens on her shoulder, and one of her knees settles firm between Aeryn's thighs.
"Was that really necessary?" she asks Aeryn, and her breath is too hot against the back of Aeryn's neck.
Aeryn twitches, her hips pressing into the woman's leg. She doesn't mean to gasp at that, but she does.
The woman's grip loosens. "My name's Sam. I'm with...the Tauri."
"Never heard of them." Aeryn twists out of her grip, releasing the pressure on her shoulder, but Sam's weight still presses against her lower body. Aeryn thrusts her hips back and up, flush against Sam.
Sam rises on her knees, giving Aeryn room enough to flip over, but no more.
The look in her eyes makes Aeryn's skin prickle.
She should fight. She should get in her Prowler and fly back to Moya, but then she'd be back on Moya, which defeats the purpose of her temporary escape.
So when Sam settles back onto Aeryn's body, descends with a smile on her lips, Aeryn lets her.
And she's happy to return the favor.
###
A/N: Title, summary, and headings adapted from Carolyn Forché's Taking Off My Clothes.
Archived here. Originally linked here.
Title: Recognize Strangers
Author: voleuse
Fandoms: Farscape/Andromeda/SG-1
Characters: Aeryn/Beka, Beka/Sam, Sam/Aeryn
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: You can't explain this night, my face, your memory.
Notes: No spoilers as far as I can gauge
i. coal fields in the moon on torn-up hills
Beka rolls her shoulders back as she steps into the bar. It's a gesture of defiance, and also provocation.
She's far, far out of her comfort zone, but there's good trade in this system, and she can deal with the quirks of the local thugs if it means she gets to smuggle a crate of exotic somethings that will earn half her weight in credit.
A group of tentacled things in the corner eye her, and Beka dares to smile at them.
"Not many women would invite Luxan interest." A woman at the bar, whip-tense and beautiful, tosses back her drink and eyes Beka. "Though I have heard stories."
Beka takes a stool next to the woman, stares carefully at the bartender, who stares carefully back.
Without a word, he pours her a glass of fellip nectar. She takes it, and stuck to the bottom of the glass is a slip of paper.
"Thanks," she mutters, and manages to palm the note, slides it under one of the bands of her shirt.
The woman clinks her glass against Beka's. "They know you here?"
"Not really." Beka sips the nectar, wrinkles her nose at the taste.
The woman shifts on her seat, leans closer to Beka. The look on her face is speculative, and her voice dips low and sultry.
"I have a room nearby. We could--" The next word is garbled.
Beka tilts her head. "Sorry? Didn't catch that last part."
The woman's mouth tilts into a smile. "Recreate."
"Recreate?" Beka frowns. "You mean...oh!"
The woman's hand has crept to Beka's knee. "Unless you don't--"
"No, I do," Beka interrupts. "I've just never," she stops. "You're serious?"
The Luxans in the corner are laughing, loud enough that the woman has to lean closer in order to speak.
Her hand flexes up Beka's thigh. "Are you interested?" she asks. She presses her palm just right, and Beka's hips buck up.
Beka turns the offer over in her mind. The drop-off isn't until tomorrow afternoon, anyway, and it's been ages since--
Two fingers, cool and perfect, press through cloth, against her clit.
Beka shudders. "What's your name?"
The woman slides her cheek against Beka's, and her fingers slide in, just a bit.
"Call me Aeryn."
*
ii. I have hundreds of names for the snow
It's been a long while since SG-1 has visited such a technologically advanced civilization. What's more, there's no evidence of the Goa'uld, or any other alien races.
One of the natives they encounter mentions, off-hand, something about an insectoid race, with names that sound like poetry. Daniel ends up badgering them into taking him to a library, and Jack follows with a shrug.
Left to their own devices, Teal'c and Sam decide to investigate the local market.
But when they cross through a local tavern, they get caught up on opposite sides of a bar fight, and somehow, Sam and one of the brawlers get dragged to a detention center.
As she gets cuffed, Teal'c says something about finding the others. Sam just hopes this isn't one of those societies that advocates zero tolerance.
At least, she thinks later, prison isn't so bad. The cell is small but private, with walls insteaed of bars. Plus, she's only sharing the room with the woman from the tavern, which is much less crowded than some of the holding cells she's seen.
The woman is sprawled on the only cot, and Sam realizes she's being watched.
"You're not from around here, are you?" The woman rolls onto her side.
Sam hesitates. "No."
"Figured." The woman sits up. "We're going to be stuck in here for a while."
Sam shakes her head. "I don't think so. My friends will get me out."
"Right." The woman laughs, stands and offers her hand to Sam. "Beka Valentine."
She grips Beka's hand. "Samantha Carter."
Beka grins, sits back down, but keeps hold of Sam's hand.
"You should relax." Her thumb circles against Sam's pulse. "They won't hurt us, but the paperwork takes ages."
Sam licks her suddenly dry lips. "Aren't they watching us?" she asks, even though it's not actually relevant.
Beka's other hand settles on Sam's hip, tugs her closer. "Probably not." She looks up at Sam through her eyelashes. "Unless you want them to. Probably get us out faster."
Sam closes her eyes as Beka pulls her down. Her legs straddle Beka's, and she can smell her, leather and sweat and something like roses.
Beka laughs, and Sam can feel it, through her clothes and down to her bones.
She grinds her hips down, bites back a gasp when Beka slides a hand up her spine, then down her front.
Blindly, she presses her fingers into Beka's hair, and Beka's mouth lands against Samantha's chest, dampening the cloth of her shirt.
Sam arches, and twists as Beka falls back onto the cot. She pushes a hand between Beka's legs, and when Beka groans, Sam smiles.
*
iii. it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders
When Aeryn can't take it anymore, she takes her Prowler down to the planet, down to an almost-empty field, because she's starting to think the middle of nowhere is the only place she can escape from talk about those frelling wormholes.
So when she sees a flare of blue across the field, and a woman with a gun appears over the top of a hill, Aeryn spews obscenity as long and loud as she can.
The woman approaches carefully, staring at Aeryn until the stream of invective has ceased.
Instead of threatening Aeryn, like any proper Peacekeeper would, the woman lowers her weapon and half-grins at Aeryn.
"I've had that kind of day, too." Carefully, she sets her weapon down and approaches the Prowler. "Is this your ship?"
Aeryn catches her expression, curious and covetous, and she attacks on instinct.
She expects to stun the woman at first leap, so she's startled when the woman rolls back. Then the woman grabs Aeryn's shoulder, slams her face-first into the ground.
Aeryn spits grass out of her mouth. "I'm impressed," she gasps out.
The woman's grip tightens on her shoulder, and one of her knees settles firm between Aeryn's thighs.
"Was that really necessary?" she asks Aeryn, and her breath is too hot against the back of Aeryn's neck.
Aeryn twitches, her hips pressing into the woman's leg. She doesn't mean to gasp at that, but she does.
The woman's grip loosens. "My name's Sam. I'm with...the Tauri."
"Never heard of them." Aeryn twists out of her grip, releasing the pressure on her shoulder, but Sam's weight still presses against her lower body. Aeryn thrusts her hips back and up, flush against Sam.
Sam rises on her knees, giving Aeryn room enough to flip over, but no more.
The look in her eyes makes Aeryn's skin prickle.
She should fight. She should get in her Prowler and fly back to Moya, but then she'd be back on Moya, which defeats the purpose of her temporary escape.
So when Sam settles back onto Aeryn's body, descends with a smile on her lips, Aeryn lets her.
And she's happy to return the favor.
###
A/N: Title, summary, and headings adapted from Carolyn Forché's Taking Off My Clothes.
Archived here. Originally linked here.