If My ‘Verses Fell through a Wormhole…
Title: If My ‘Verses Fell through a Wormhole…
Fandom: Farscape (with a tiny crossover to Stargate Atlantis)
Series: a “what if” sidestep into some of my established AU 'verses
Characters: John Crichton, Stark, Scorpius, Aeryn
Pairings: John/Stark, John/Scorpius, John/Aeryn, John/John Sheppard
Orientation: Slash, Het
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,446
Notes: Happy Holidays to kazbaby, who has provided me with lovely, lovely art this year. :)
Also submitted for the farscape_land Big Bang.
Prompts: at the bottom
~Magor ‘verse~
About a week before Christmas, John Crichton had been quite content working in his lab at IASA when all hell broke loose. The ground started to shake, which was unusual, since Florida had never been prone to earthquakes. Then the wall of his lab started to glow, it became almost translucent, then turned into a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking everything in the lab through it, including John. There was nothing to grab hold of to stop his wild tumbling across the labrotory.
He was sucked through what had to be a wormhole. Unfortunately, so was the steel lab table he’d been working at, and he was conked on the head by it. He didn’t experience much of the trip after that.
When he regained consciousness, a man with a half-mask was standing over him, staring down at him with his one good eye. He was dressed in a raggy robe. His hair was standing on end, and there didn’t seem to be much sanity in that single eye. When he spoke, the words were completely garbled. When John just stared at him, rubbing his head, the man threw up his hands and spoke louder.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying, buddy,” John grumbled. His head had a huge lump on it and it hurt. He wanted the guy to stop shouting at him. It seemed to work; the man fell silent and tilted his head, then made a rolling motion with his hand, the universal sign for ‘go on.’ “I guess you don’t speak English?”
The man held his hand up and then muttered under his breath in a rhythmic chant. Then he waved his hand. John felt something like a warm breath of air wash over him, and he sneezed.
“Do you understand me now?”
“What? How? What just happened?”
“Simple translator spell.” The man shrugged and stepped back, holding a hand out to help John to stand.
‘Translator spell? Spell? What the hell?’ John thought to himself. He wobbled on his feet and stared at the stranger. “Where am I?”
“Katratzi, this is my workshop.”
Looking around at the artifacts in the room, John realized he was very far from Kansas, very far indeed. “How did I get here, who are you?”
“I’m Stark. I brought you here, my friends are dying. My research revealed that I needed something called a doctor, so I cast about for a world that had such a person.”
Holding up “Whoa, buddy, I’m not that kind of doctor, I’m an astrophysicist.”
The single eye blinked and Stark seemed distressed. “I don't understand.”
“I’m a scientist. I’m not a medical doctor, I can’t do anything about sick people.”
“This is dreadful, this is horribly dreadful. What am I to do now?”
“You don’t have anyone that takes care of the sick?”
Stark pursed his lips and snapped, “Of course we do, we have healers. But this is beyond their ability to fix with spells. What does an astro-phanana do?”
Ignoring the mispronunciation, John replied. “Well, I could help if you needed anything to do with astronomy; I’m pretty good with quantum mechanics, particle physics, thermodynamics and statistical mechanics,” and at the man’s blank look, he added, “Math, I’m very good at math.”
Stark made a sign with his fingers and breathed out, “Math! Science! Goddess help us all, I’ve brought a scientific blasphemer into our midst! The Council is going to sanction me, they might toss me in a cell and forget all about me. You’re more than useless to me, you’re a menace, and you’re going to ruin me. Go over there. Just get as far from me as you can. Go sit by the table over there while I figure out what I’m going to do.”
“This isn’t my fault, you brought me here!” John protested, refusing to move.
“Go over on your side of the room. This is my side, that is your side. Stay over there while I think.”
~*~
There wasn’t much to be done. John had to stay on this alien planet, since it turned out Stark didn’t know how to send him back. He wasn't a full Magor yet, whatever that was. John couldn't get very cohesive information out of Stark most of the time. They couldn't appeal to the the Council for help about the situation, since both he and Stark would get carted off to the alien version of the pokey for John's unlawful existence. When Crichton begged for information or something to do, Stark handed him books and made him sit on his side of the workroom, reluctantly allowing John to try to help out. The books helped to alleviate Crichton’s boredom.
He found he had some talent here, in this pre-industrial world that ran by magic. He was able to cast simple spells. He was not so good at potions, however. He tried mixing one that was supposed to relieve some of the symptoms of the illness plaguing Stark’s friends. He tasted it and it wasn’t horrible and it didn’t kill him after three small doses spread out over two days.
Since Stark had a mild case of the disease himself, John asked him to try it, telling him he'd already tested it on himself.
Within an hour of Stark drinking the potion, John felt the pull of lust. He couldn't stop himself from looking over at Stark. After two hours, Stark was crossing the workroom with purpose. He grabbed John and kissed him, hard. John returned the kiss with equal ferocity. When they broke for air, John said, “I don’t get this. What the hell is going on?”
Stark shook his head, as if trying to clear it, holding John’s hand and caressing his fingers. “What did you use in that potion? Show me the spellbook.”
Leading him to it, John pointed to the ingredients list. As Stark bent over the huge tome, John couldn't resist leaning in and kissing his cheek. This was out of control. He didn't even like the man. But yet, he did. A lot. This morning, he thought Stark hated him, and now he was holding hands and casting mooning glances at John. It had to be the potion causing this.
“Where did you get fala root? Fala root is out of season.”
“Right over there.” John pointed to a jar on a shelf.
Dropping John’s hand, Stark went to the shelf and pulled down the jar. His forehead wrinkled as he pulled the root out and sniffed it. “Labeled wrong. This is katralla root.”
“What is that used for, Stark?”
“Sleeping spells, long sleeping spells. And, oh Goddess! There’s tyno leaf in here as well. When katralla root is mixed with tyno leaf, it forms a base for…” Stark gulped and looked at John helplessly.
“What?”
“A love spell. It forms the base for a love spell.”
“Oh, crap on a cracker!” John exclaimed. Stark nodded and pulled John into his arms, kissing him again.
Sighing, John decided they could figure it out later.
~Goddess ‘verse~
Sometimes it was very boring being a trickster god. Scorpius sat in his throne room looking around. The Peacekeeper sycophants were bowing and scraping as they should, feeding him the energy he needed to maintain his power. But it was boring. He needed something new to play with.
He pushed up from the throne and stalked to the prison level, seeking a new toy.
There was a Sebacean huddled in the corner of the cell. He tossed a little energy at the creature to get its attention. “You, come along,” Scorpius ordered imperiously, using his scary ‘do not disobey me’ voice.
The Sebacean slowly climbed to his feet and shuffled across the cell, silently following Scorpius to the chair room. The chair was one of his favorite distractions. He wasn’t certain what he was going to ask this one. Most of the Peacekeepers he put in the chair couldn’t tell him anything new or exciting. But it was fun watching them in the chair and giving them suggestions to follow while they were susceptible.
Standing on the rotating platform and letting the Sebacean scream for a while amused him. Then he slowed the spin and leaned in to ask casually, “Where are you from, Peacekeeper?”
“Not a Peacekeeper. I’m human.” Scorpius was impressed, most of them blubbered at this point, but this one gritted his teeth and managed to grind out the answer.
“Where are you from?”
Giving a pained chuckle the man replied, “Ever heard of Florida?”
“No.”
“That’s where I’m from.”
Tapping his chin, Scorpius asked, “And how did you get here?”
“Wormhole.”
How delightful! Something new. “Tell me about wormholes.”
The next hour was painful for the human and amusing for the god. By the time it was done, Scorpius had a plan, something new he could use to heat up the war between the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans.
When he slowed the chair, he tossed a few suggestions at the man. The usual stuff; he would obey, he would serve, he would be dutiful. Then he told him to forget it. He was bored of people doing everything he asked just because they were under obligation to do so. “I give you back your free will. You will not follow blindly.”
The man blinked as he looked up at Scorpius and then shuddered and recoiled. Too late, Scorpius realized that the suggestion he had just made had made the human impervious to the glamour that his true form from the lower beings.
“What are you called, human?”
“John. John Crichton.”
“Do I repulse you, John Crichton?”
Crichton tilted his head. “You’ll take some getting used to. I had an aunt that kind of resembled you. She wore a lot of lipstick though.”
“You’re not afraid of me.”
It had been a statement, not a question, but Crichton answered it anyway. “No.”
“This might be the start of a very interesting relationship, John Crichton. You’re the best toy I’ve found in years. Come along, I’ll see that you’re fed.”
~Angel ‘verse~
The woman appeared in his path as he was walking alone towards the launch pad. She appeared out of thin air in the space of a heartbeat. She blocked his path, fists on her hips, a scowl on her lips as she tossed her long dark hair back over her shoulder.
“Where’d you come from?” John asked, startled to see a civilian here, especially a beautiful civilian clad in tight black leather pants and a tight black tank top.
“Very, very far away. You’re a pain in the eema, do you know that John Crichton?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared. “So I’ve been told. What’d I do to you, lady?”
She pointed a finger towards his nose. “You! You dense, dense man! Three other Protectors were assigned to you, and still, here we stand, back at the danger point, with you about to hurl yourself to your death. You have ignored every single attempt to dissuade you from this path. You have to listen to do as I say."
“Do the wardens at the hospital know you’re out and about, sweetheart? Maybe there's someone I can call to come and get you and take you back to the nice comfortable institut..."
“Look, I’m the last one they’re sending, after that, you’ll be written off as a hopeless cause and lamented as lost. You’ve been so obtuse that our usual methods have not worked at all. I’m forced to reveal myself to you. You've put us to great trouble. I had to get a dispensation to do this.”
Crichton was getting annoyed at her annoyance; he didn’t even know this crazy woman. “Do what?”
“Stop you from getting onto that module. If you do, you will not survive.”
“Right. Look lady, this project is the culmination of years of work. There's a lot of time and money involved. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for the launch.” He tried to skirt around her.
She sighed heavily and moved back into his path. “I’m your Protector. I am trying to protect you.” They did an odd sort of dance as he kept trying to get past her.
“Fine, you don’t believe me, you think I’m a crazy person. Perhaps this will convince you!” She stood back a few steps and closed her eyes. Then she winced in pain and hunched over. As John watched, large black wings erupted from her back, tearing through the thin material of the tank top. She was shaking from head to toe as she straightened up and stared at him, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’m your frelling Protector,” she rasped huskily. “And I am telling you: don’t get on the module.”
Shocked, John stared at the… angel. He reached a hand out as he walked forward, brushing his fingertips against the edge of her wing. “These are real. You’re a real angel.”
“Protector, though we’ve been called guardian angels in the past. After all this, do you believe me now? You cannot do this, not yet. Another time, but not now, not yet.”
“You’re in pain.”
She nodded reluctantly as blood dripped onto the floor from her back. The feathers were coated with it. “Shifting form on this plane is difficult and only done in extreme cases.”
“So, I’m an extreme case?”
“You are. You’re destined to stop a war; you are needed in the future. Your actions, your sacrifices in another time will save millions and millions of lives. Please, wait.”
Faced with the proof of the existence of higher powers, John slowly nodded. He had rushed a few things along the way and the module could stand some upgrades; waiting might not be a disaster. Battling the IASA for an extension would be the most difficult thing. “The suits will have a conniption.”
“They are far easier to persuade than you have been, John Crichton. I will deal with the suits on your behalf. Just promise me you will not fly today.”
“Okay, I won’t fly today.”
She smiled. “Very good, thank you.” She clasped her hands to his cheeks and dragged his head down, pressing their foreheads together. Then she kissed his lips softly. “We’ll meet again, I promise, John.”
“What’s your name?”
“You’ll only have to ask me again the next time, I’m afraid you won’t remember much of this. In this form, I am able to blur your memories. But this had to be your choice. Farewell John, until later.”
~Telpa ‘verse~
Soaking wet from the rain and the waves that had hit them hours ago, Crichton stood at the wheel of the Galleon Moya trying to keep her on course. It wasn’t easy; it was as if the ship had a mind of her own.
Captain Sun came up behind him, dropping her hands onto the wheel beside his, pressing up against his back. “We’re putting in at the port. I’m tired and I’m hungry for real food and I want sex, lots and lots of sex, in a real bed instead of my bunk or your hammock.”
Tilting his head to the side to allow her access, he smiled as she planted a trail of wet kisses along his neck. “Mmmm, salt. Crichton, I do so like when you’re sea-flavored. We should be in sight of land soon, according to the charts, you can get out of the rain.”
She stayed behind him until Chiana shouted down from the crow’s nest that land was in sight. Captain Sun waved in acknowledgement and gestured for the cabin girl to come down. It really wasn’t too safe up there in this weather, even for one as nimble and sure footed as Chiana.
“I’ll be in my cabin packing.” She kissed his cheek and left him, brushing past D’Argo on her way. The first mate chuckled at Crichton as he watched the Captain leave. Crichton ignored the big man’s humor at his expense.
Captain Sun was the oddest owner he had ever had or heard tell of. She treated all the telpa in her crew as if they were free-born men and women. She treated Crichton like a lover, not like a body telpa, which he was. He was a highly trained and expensive body telpa, in fact. He had cost sixteen zercs at auction when she purchased him from an exclusive training house.
In all the time he’d been on board the Moya, he had never seen the captain raise her voice or use a tool of discipline against any telpa. It was bizarre, how the crew obeyed her without need for punishment or inducements. They simply liked being treated as almost equals; it was incentive enough to want to remain aboard the great treasure ship, serving the Captain. When he'd been purchased, Crichton had not expected to develop feelings for his new owner, but he had. He could not bear the thought of ever leaving the Moya or Captain Sun. This was not the life he had ever expected to have, but he was surprisingly content, this had become his home.
Later that night, he was sprawled across the big bed at the inn, happily exhausted. Captain Sun was drawing figures on his belly with the tip of one finger. “Do you have a given name, something besides Crichton?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She propped her chin on her hands and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” he smirked at her.
“Aeryn.”
“John.”
“Odd name. Ja-han.”
“Pretty common where I’m from.”
She smiled at him. “”I’d like it if you called me Aeryn, when we’re alone. Ja-han.” She snuggled against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
~Keri ‘verse~
John Crichton had not expected to be shot through a wormhole during his experiment. Like most people on Earth, he had grown up thinking Atlantis was a myth. He was therefore surprised upon his inelegant landing to find himself surrounded by armed military dressed in Earth government issued uniforms, men that claimed to be from Atlantis.
After their medic field dressed the wounds he had sustained during the crash, he followed along after the one that had introduced himself as Major Lorne. John had his gaze firmly fixed on the man’s thighs. He had never been able to resist a man in uniform, and especially not one that wore a thigh holster. They took him through a ring of some kind that generated a wormhole. They were not very obliging when he wanted to study the ring and started asking questions about the mechanics of the device.
Major Lorne led him up a flight of stairs. John was looking everywhere at once, trying not to stare at Lorne's butt or thigh holster. He nearly tripped on his way up the stairs. This place was amazingly alien. He knew the military had found their way to other planets, but he didn’t know they actually had a base on one, that information was apparently above his security clearance. They reached a door and Lorne cleared his throat to get the attention of the man sitting at the desk. “Overseer, there’s someone here you really, really need to see.”
The man looked up and his jaw dropped as he stared at Crichton. “Cam?”
Looking around to check if someone was standing behind him, John shook his head. “No, I’m John.”
“Very funny.”
“Excuse me?” Crichton asked in confusion. The guy was smoking hot and wearing a damned thigh holster. His mouth was watering, despite his confusion.
“I’m John, just who the hell are you?” The Overseer circled around his desk, glaring at Crichton.
“John Crichton. I’m a research scientist working out of Florida. I crashed on your Alpha Site, apparently. My ship is totaled.”
Beside him, Lorne was nodding. “It’s a miracle he walked away from it, sir.”
With a dark glare at both Crichton and Lorne, the overseer shoved past them and stormed from the room. Crichton was completely baffled and looked over at Lorne, who seemed to be a decent guy.
“I should probably apologize. That was a little mean. You could pass for his keri - the resemblance is uncanny. If he’d lived… I thought… it’s been a long time, I thought it would be a happy surprise. Wrong, I guess.”
“His keri died? And I look like him?”
Lorne nodded. “Sorry to put you on the spot like that.” He looked at the ceiling. “Uh oh, he’s coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“City told me.”
There was no time to get Lorne to explain that statement. The Overseer stomped into the room and straight up to Crichton. He grasped Crichton’s chin firmly, looking into his eyes as he turned his head from side to side. He suddenly dropped his hand away, shaking it as if he had been burned by the contact. Crichton felt it too, the identification through the skin that the other man was panor. “Crap, you’re a keri too! What kind of panor’eten let you offworld?”
Crichton crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have one.” Behind him, Lorne let out a whistle.
“How did you get into the space program?” the Overseer asked.
“I have friends that were willing to prevaricate for me," Crichton replied. He shouldn't have given his real name. That had been an automatic response, a stupid slip of the lip. Now they’d report this incident and the police would find him and they’d enforce the court order and make him take a panor. This sucked, a lot. His life’s work was ruined and he was going to lose his freedom. The overseer was right, even if he bonded, no panor would let him go back to the project, his hard won career was over. "What are you going to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. What’s your area of expertise?”
“Astrophysics.”
Clearing his throat, Lorne said, “I’m sure Rodney can use some help.”
The Overseer nodded. “For now, we’ll get you settled in quarters. You can work in the physics lab with our chief scientist, Doctor McKay.”
The way he was leaning against the desk was drawing Crichton’s attention directly to his thighs and gun belt. This was not good, not good at all.
“I’ll put a security detail on him, sir. It wouldn't do to have an unbonded running around loose,” Lorne volunteered.
“You’re not sending me back?”
“We have no way of doing so at the moment. This was a one way mission for the expedition. You’ll have to adapt like the rest of us. By your reactions, I’m guessing there is a court mandate on your head back home, isn’t there?”
“Yes, Overseer.”
“Just call me Sheppard, okay? I’ll be calling you Crichton. The John thing would just be weird.”
“Suits me, Sheppard.”
Sheppard waved his hand. “Get him settled Lorne. And keep him out of sight. We’ve got forty unbonded panor in the city. He’s like water in the desert.”
~*~
The first few nights, Lorne brought meals to Crichton’s quarters. Chatting with Lorne, Crichton learned he was bonded, and that his keri was a scientist with the expedition. On the fourth night, Sheppard turned up with the meal tray. “I wanted to see how you’re settling in.”
“So far, so good. McKay took a little getting used to, but he’s grown on me, I like him.”
“You like Rodney?”
Shrugging, Crichton dropped the tray on his table. “Sure. He’s smart.” He glanced over and sighed, Sheppard was wearing a gun belt.
“Look, uhm, I wanted to apologize, we got off on the wrong foot.”
Crichton held up a hand. “I understand, Lorne explained a little.”
“It’s been over five years. He… he wasn’t you. He wasn’t a rebel, he didn’t buck the system. He did everything a good keri is supposed to do.”
“What happened to him?”
“Car accident. He was carrying. The sac ruptured before they could get him out and he hemorrhaged.”
“That sucks. Sorry, man.””
Sheppard nodded and sat down in the chair beside Crichton’s. He’d learned to wolf down the tava root. It was better not to taste it. He needed the nutrition and it was filling, it just tasted like wet newspaper.
“Do you have some personal objection to taking a panor?
Crichton shrugged. “Just that I like my work. I didn’t want, I don’t want to lose that.”
“What if you found a panor who would let you have a career?”
Crichton snorted and shook his head. “Those are few and far between, Sheppard.”
It was Sheppard’s turn to shrug. “I don’t think I’d mind if my keri had something to keep him occupied during the day. As long as he was safe and didn't put himself at risk when I wasn't there to protect him.”
Tilting his head, Crichton looked at Sheppard appraisingly. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, my second father was a very liberal guy; he instilled it in my brother and I, I'm a bit of a rebel.”
“Do you mind if I try something?”
Sheppard looked interested. “I guess it depends on what it is.”
"Just a little test." Leaning over, Crichton touched his fingers to Sheppard’s face. Then he pressed their lips together in a fairly chaste kiss. Sheppard allowed it to stay that way for a few seconds and then deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and licking at Crichton’s lips. When he pulled back they stared at each other, breathing heavily.
“Wow. Okay. That was…”
Sheppard ran a hand through his hair. “Dangerous. We can’t do that again. I can feel myself getting revved up. You taste so friggin good.”
Crichton’s hand had dropped to Sheppard’s knee and he had worked it up and was stroking his thigh, fingering the strap of the thigh holster. This was very dangerous indeed. But he didn’t want to stop.
He really didn’t want to stop, and that concerned him, enough so that he jumped up, crossed the room and put the sofa between them. “I need to think. I need space to think. I can’t do that with you in the room. You’re right, I’m reacting already too, we should cool down. Call me on the radio tomorrow, we’ll talk.”
Reluctantly, slowly, Sheppard got up and left.
Crichton rand both hands through his hair, tugging on the ends of it as he thought. This was so totally unexpected. He was stranded in the ancient city of Atlantis, and he was considering taking on a panor - his life had gotten more than a little twisted around.
The End, for now.
Prompts:
Hurt Comfort Bingo: “Love Spell/Potion Gone Wrong”
Ancient City Bingo: “Thigh Holsters”
Alternate Universe Bingo: “Age of Sail”
Fandom: Farscape (with a tiny crossover to Stargate Atlantis)
Series: a “what if” sidestep into some of my established AU 'verses
Characters: John Crichton, Stark, Scorpius, Aeryn
Pairings: John/Stark, John/Scorpius, John/Aeryn, John/John Sheppard
Orientation: Slash, Het
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,446
Notes: Happy Holidays to kazbaby, who has provided me with lovely, lovely art this year. :)
Also submitted for the farscape_land Big Bang.
Prompts: at the bottom
~Magor ‘verse~
About a week before Christmas, John Crichton had been quite content working in his lab at IASA when all hell broke loose. The ground started to shake, which was unusual, since Florida had never been prone to earthquakes. Then the wall of his lab started to glow, it became almost translucent, then turned into a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking everything in the lab through it, including John. There was nothing to grab hold of to stop his wild tumbling across the labrotory.
He was sucked through what had to be a wormhole. Unfortunately, so was the steel lab table he’d been working at, and he was conked on the head by it. He didn’t experience much of the trip after that.
When he regained consciousness, a man with a half-mask was standing over him, staring down at him with his one good eye. He was dressed in a raggy robe. His hair was standing on end, and there didn’t seem to be much sanity in that single eye. When he spoke, the words were completely garbled. When John just stared at him, rubbing his head, the man threw up his hands and spoke louder.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying, buddy,” John grumbled. His head had a huge lump on it and it hurt. He wanted the guy to stop shouting at him. It seemed to work; the man fell silent and tilted his head, then made a rolling motion with his hand, the universal sign for ‘go on.’ “I guess you don’t speak English?”
The man held his hand up and then muttered under his breath in a rhythmic chant. Then he waved his hand. John felt something like a warm breath of air wash over him, and he sneezed.
“Do you understand me now?”
“What? How? What just happened?”
“Simple translator spell.” The man shrugged and stepped back, holding a hand out to help John to stand.
‘Translator spell? Spell? What the hell?’ John thought to himself. He wobbled on his feet and stared at the stranger. “Where am I?”
“Katratzi, this is my workshop.”
Looking around at the artifacts in the room, John realized he was very far from Kansas, very far indeed. “How did I get here, who are you?”
“I’m Stark. I brought you here, my friends are dying. My research revealed that I needed something called a doctor, so I cast about for a world that had such a person.”
Holding up “Whoa, buddy, I’m not that kind of doctor, I’m an astrophysicist.”
The single eye blinked and Stark seemed distressed. “I don't understand.”
“I’m a scientist. I’m not a medical doctor, I can’t do anything about sick people.”
“This is dreadful, this is horribly dreadful. What am I to do now?”
“You don’t have anyone that takes care of the sick?”
Stark pursed his lips and snapped, “Of course we do, we have healers. But this is beyond their ability to fix with spells. What does an astro-phanana do?”
Ignoring the mispronunciation, John replied. “Well, I could help if you needed anything to do with astronomy; I’m pretty good with quantum mechanics, particle physics, thermodynamics and statistical mechanics,” and at the man’s blank look, he added, “Math, I’m very good at math.”
Stark made a sign with his fingers and breathed out, “Math! Science! Goddess help us all, I’ve brought a scientific blasphemer into our midst! The Council is going to sanction me, they might toss me in a cell and forget all about me. You’re more than useless to me, you’re a menace, and you’re going to ruin me. Go over there. Just get as far from me as you can. Go sit by the table over there while I figure out what I’m going to do.”
“This isn’t my fault, you brought me here!” John protested, refusing to move.
“Go over on your side of the room. This is my side, that is your side. Stay over there while I think.”
~*~
There wasn’t much to be done. John had to stay on this alien planet, since it turned out Stark didn’t know how to send him back. He wasn't a full Magor yet, whatever that was. John couldn't get very cohesive information out of Stark most of the time. They couldn't appeal to the the Council for help about the situation, since both he and Stark would get carted off to the alien version of the pokey for John's unlawful existence. When Crichton begged for information or something to do, Stark handed him books and made him sit on his side of the workroom, reluctantly allowing John to try to help out. The books helped to alleviate Crichton’s boredom.
He found he had some talent here, in this pre-industrial world that ran by magic. He was able to cast simple spells. He was not so good at potions, however. He tried mixing one that was supposed to relieve some of the symptoms of the illness plaguing Stark’s friends. He tasted it and it wasn’t horrible and it didn’t kill him after three small doses spread out over two days.
Since Stark had a mild case of the disease himself, John asked him to try it, telling him he'd already tested it on himself.
Within an hour of Stark drinking the potion, John felt the pull of lust. He couldn't stop himself from looking over at Stark. After two hours, Stark was crossing the workroom with purpose. He grabbed John and kissed him, hard. John returned the kiss with equal ferocity. When they broke for air, John said, “I don’t get this. What the hell is going on?”
Stark shook his head, as if trying to clear it, holding John’s hand and caressing his fingers. “What did you use in that potion? Show me the spellbook.”
Leading him to it, John pointed to the ingredients list. As Stark bent over the huge tome, John couldn't resist leaning in and kissing his cheek. This was out of control. He didn't even like the man. But yet, he did. A lot. This morning, he thought Stark hated him, and now he was holding hands and casting mooning glances at John. It had to be the potion causing this.
“Where did you get fala root? Fala root is out of season.”
“Right over there.” John pointed to a jar on a shelf.
Dropping John’s hand, Stark went to the shelf and pulled down the jar. His forehead wrinkled as he pulled the root out and sniffed it. “Labeled wrong. This is katralla root.”
“What is that used for, Stark?”
“Sleeping spells, long sleeping spells. And, oh Goddess! There’s tyno leaf in here as well. When katralla root is mixed with tyno leaf, it forms a base for…” Stark gulped and looked at John helplessly.
“What?”
“A love spell. It forms the base for a love spell.”
“Oh, crap on a cracker!” John exclaimed. Stark nodded and pulled John into his arms, kissing him again.
Sighing, John decided they could figure it out later.
~Goddess ‘verse~
Sometimes it was very boring being a trickster god. Scorpius sat in his throne room looking around. The Peacekeeper sycophants were bowing and scraping as they should, feeding him the energy he needed to maintain his power. But it was boring. He needed something new to play with.
He pushed up from the throne and stalked to the prison level, seeking a new toy.
There was a Sebacean huddled in the corner of the cell. He tossed a little energy at the creature to get its attention. “You, come along,” Scorpius ordered imperiously, using his scary ‘do not disobey me’ voice.
The Sebacean slowly climbed to his feet and shuffled across the cell, silently following Scorpius to the chair room. The chair was one of his favorite distractions. He wasn’t certain what he was going to ask this one. Most of the Peacekeepers he put in the chair couldn’t tell him anything new or exciting. But it was fun watching them in the chair and giving them suggestions to follow while they were susceptible.
Standing on the rotating platform and letting the Sebacean scream for a while amused him. Then he slowed the spin and leaned in to ask casually, “Where are you from, Peacekeeper?”
“Not a Peacekeeper. I’m human.” Scorpius was impressed, most of them blubbered at this point, but this one gritted his teeth and managed to grind out the answer.
“Where are you from?”
Giving a pained chuckle the man replied, “Ever heard of Florida?”
“No.”
“That’s where I’m from.”
Tapping his chin, Scorpius asked, “And how did you get here?”
“Wormhole.”
How delightful! Something new. “Tell me about wormholes.”
The next hour was painful for the human and amusing for the god. By the time it was done, Scorpius had a plan, something new he could use to heat up the war between the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans.
When he slowed the chair, he tossed a few suggestions at the man. The usual stuff; he would obey, he would serve, he would be dutiful. Then he told him to forget it. He was bored of people doing everything he asked just because they were under obligation to do so. “I give you back your free will. You will not follow blindly.”
The man blinked as he looked up at Scorpius and then shuddered and recoiled. Too late, Scorpius realized that the suggestion he had just made had made the human impervious to the glamour that his true form from the lower beings.
“What are you called, human?”
“John. John Crichton.”
“Do I repulse you, John Crichton?”
Crichton tilted his head. “You’ll take some getting used to. I had an aunt that kind of resembled you. She wore a lot of lipstick though.”
“You’re not afraid of me.”
It had been a statement, not a question, but Crichton answered it anyway. “No.”
“This might be the start of a very interesting relationship, John Crichton. You’re the best toy I’ve found in years. Come along, I’ll see that you’re fed.”
~Angel ‘verse~
The woman appeared in his path as he was walking alone towards the launch pad. She appeared out of thin air in the space of a heartbeat. She blocked his path, fists on her hips, a scowl on her lips as she tossed her long dark hair back over her shoulder.
“Where’d you come from?” John asked, startled to see a civilian here, especially a beautiful civilian clad in tight black leather pants and a tight black tank top.
“Very, very far away. You’re a pain in the eema, do you know that John Crichton?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared. “So I’ve been told. What’d I do to you, lady?”
She pointed a finger towards his nose. “You! You dense, dense man! Three other Protectors were assigned to you, and still, here we stand, back at the danger point, with you about to hurl yourself to your death. You have ignored every single attempt to dissuade you from this path. You have to listen to do as I say."
“Do the wardens at the hospital know you’re out and about, sweetheart? Maybe there's someone I can call to come and get you and take you back to the nice comfortable institut..."
“Look, I’m the last one they’re sending, after that, you’ll be written off as a hopeless cause and lamented as lost. You’ve been so obtuse that our usual methods have not worked at all. I’m forced to reveal myself to you. You've put us to great trouble. I had to get a dispensation to do this.”
Crichton was getting annoyed at her annoyance; he didn’t even know this crazy woman. “Do what?”
“Stop you from getting onto that module. If you do, you will not survive.”
“Right. Look lady, this project is the culmination of years of work. There's a lot of time and money involved. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for the launch.” He tried to skirt around her.
She sighed heavily and moved back into his path. “I’m your Protector. I am trying to protect you.” They did an odd sort of dance as he kept trying to get past her.
“Fine, you don’t believe me, you think I’m a crazy person. Perhaps this will convince you!” She stood back a few steps and closed her eyes. Then she winced in pain and hunched over. As John watched, large black wings erupted from her back, tearing through the thin material of the tank top. She was shaking from head to toe as she straightened up and stared at him, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’m your frelling Protector,” she rasped huskily. “And I am telling you: don’t get on the module.”
Shocked, John stared at the… angel. He reached a hand out as he walked forward, brushing his fingertips against the edge of her wing. “These are real. You’re a real angel.”
“Protector, though we’ve been called guardian angels in the past. After all this, do you believe me now? You cannot do this, not yet. Another time, but not now, not yet.”
“You’re in pain.”
She nodded reluctantly as blood dripped onto the floor from her back. The feathers were coated with it. “Shifting form on this plane is difficult and only done in extreme cases.”
“So, I’m an extreme case?”
“You are. You’re destined to stop a war; you are needed in the future. Your actions, your sacrifices in another time will save millions and millions of lives. Please, wait.”
Faced with the proof of the existence of higher powers, John slowly nodded. He had rushed a few things along the way and the module could stand some upgrades; waiting might not be a disaster. Battling the IASA for an extension would be the most difficult thing. “The suits will have a conniption.”
“They are far easier to persuade than you have been, John Crichton. I will deal with the suits on your behalf. Just promise me you will not fly today.”
“Okay, I won’t fly today.”
She smiled. “Very good, thank you.” She clasped her hands to his cheeks and dragged his head down, pressing their foreheads together. Then she kissed his lips softly. “We’ll meet again, I promise, John.”
“What’s your name?”
“You’ll only have to ask me again the next time, I’m afraid you won’t remember much of this. In this form, I am able to blur your memories. But this had to be your choice. Farewell John, until later.”
~Telpa ‘verse~
Soaking wet from the rain and the waves that had hit them hours ago, Crichton stood at the wheel of the Galleon Moya trying to keep her on course. It wasn’t easy; it was as if the ship had a mind of her own.
Captain Sun came up behind him, dropping her hands onto the wheel beside his, pressing up against his back. “We’re putting in at the port. I’m tired and I’m hungry for real food and I want sex, lots and lots of sex, in a real bed instead of my bunk or your hammock.”
Tilting his head to the side to allow her access, he smiled as she planted a trail of wet kisses along his neck. “Mmmm, salt. Crichton, I do so like when you’re sea-flavored. We should be in sight of land soon, according to the charts, you can get out of the rain.”
She stayed behind him until Chiana shouted down from the crow’s nest that land was in sight. Captain Sun waved in acknowledgement and gestured for the cabin girl to come down. It really wasn’t too safe up there in this weather, even for one as nimble and sure footed as Chiana.
“I’ll be in my cabin packing.” She kissed his cheek and left him, brushing past D’Argo on her way. The first mate chuckled at Crichton as he watched the Captain leave. Crichton ignored the big man’s humor at his expense.
Captain Sun was the oddest owner he had ever had or heard tell of. She treated all the telpa in her crew as if they were free-born men and women. She treated Crichton like a lover, not like a body telpa, which he was. He was a highly trained and expensive body telpa, in fact. He had cost sixteen zercs at auction when she purchased him from an exclusive training house.
In all the time he’d been on board the Moya, he had never seen the captain raise her voice or use a tool of discipline against any telpa. It was bizarre, how the crew obeyed her without need for punishment or inducements. They simply liked being treated as almost equals; it was incentive enough to want to remain aboard the great treasure ship, serving the Captain. When he'd been purchased, Crichton had not expected to develop feelings for his new owner, but he had. He could not bear the thought of ever leaving the Moya or Captain Sun. This was not the life he had ever expected to have, but he was surprisingly content, this had become his home.
Later that night, he was sprawled across the big bed at the inn, happily exhausted. Captain Sun was drawing figures on his belly with the tip of one finger. “Do you have a given name, something besides Crichton?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She propped her chin on her hands and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” he smirked at her.
“Aeryn.”
“John.”
“Odd name. Ja-han.”
“Pretty common where I’m from.”
She smiled at him. “”I’d like it if you called me Aeryn, when we’re alone. Ja-han.” She snuggled against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
~Keri ‘verse~
John Crichton had not expected to be shot through a wormhole during his experiment. Like most people on Earth, he had grown up thinking Atlantis was a myth. He was therefore surprised upon his inelegant landing to find himself surrounded by armed military dressed in Earth government issued uniforms, men that claimed to be from Atlantis.
After their medic field dressed the wounds he had sustained during the crash, he followed along after the one that had introduced himself as Major Lorne. John had his gaze firmly fixed on the man’s thighs. He had never been able to resist a man in uniform, and especially not one that wore a thigh holster. They took him through a ring of some kind that generated a wormhole. They were not very obliging when he wanted to study the ring and started asking questions about the mechanics of the device.
Major Lorne led him up a flight of stairs. John was looking everywhere at once, trying not to stare at Lorne's butt or thigh holster. He nearly tripped on his way up the stairs. This place was amazingly alien. He knew the military had found their way to other planets, but he didn’t know they actually had a base on one, that information was apparently above his security clearance. They reached a door and Lorne cleared his throat to get the attention of the man sitting at the desk. “Overseer, there’s someone here you really, really need to see.”
The man looked up and his jaw dropped as he stared at Crichton. “Cam?”
Looking around to check if someone was standing behind him, John shook his head. “No, I’m John.”
“Very funny.”
“Excuse me?” Crichton asked in confusion. The guy was smoking hot and wearing a damned thigh holster. His mouth was watering, despite his confusion.
“I’m John, just who the hell are you?” The Overseer circled around his desk, glaring at Crichton.
“John Crichton. I’m a research scientist working out of Florida. I crashed on your Alpha Site, apparently. My ship is totaled.”
Beside him, Lorne was nodding. “It’s a miracle he walked away from it, sir.”
With a dark glare at both Crichton and Lorne, the overseer shoved past them and stormed from the room. Crichton was completely baffled and looked over at Lorne, who seemed to be a decent guy.
“I should probably apologize. That was a little mean. You could pass for his keri - the resemblance is uncanny. If he’d lived… I thought… it’s been a long time, I thought it would be a happy surprise. Wrong, I guess.”
“His keri died? And I look like him?”
Lorne nodded. “Sorry to put you on the spot like that.” He looked at the ceiling. “Uh oh, he’s coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“City told me.”
There was no time to get Lorne to explain that statement. The Overseer stomped into the room and straight up to Crichton. He grasped Crichton’s chin firmly, looking into his eyes as he turned his head from side to side. He suddenly dropped his hand away, shaking it as if he had been burned by the contact. Crichton felt it too, the identification through the skin that the other man was panor. “Crap, you’re a keri too! What kind of panor’eten let you offworld?”
Crichton crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have one.” Behind him, Lorne let out a whistle.
“How did you get into the space program?” the Overseer asked.
“I have friends that were willing to prevaricate for me," Crichton replied. He shouldn't have given his real name. That had been an automatic response, a stupid slip of the lip. Now they’d report this incident and the police would find him and they’d enforce the court order and make him take a panor. This sucked, a lot. His life’s work was ruined and he was going to lose his freedom. The overseer was right, even if he bonded, no panor would let him go back to the project, his hard won career was over. "What are you going to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. What’s your area of expertise?”
“Astrophysics.”
Clearing his throat, Lorne said, “I’m sure Rodney can use some help.”
The Overseer nodded. “For now, we’ll get you settled in quarters. You can work in the physics lab with our chief scientist, Doctor McKay.”
The way he was leaning against the desk was drawing Crichton’s attention directly to his thighs and gun belt. This was not good, not good at all.
“I’ll put a security detail on him, sir. It wouldn't do to have an unbonded running around loose,” Lorne volunteered.
“You’re not sending me back?”
“We have no way of doing so at the moment. This was a one way mission for the expedition. You’ll have to adapt like the rest of us. By your reactions, I’m guessing there is a court mandate on your head back home, isn’t there?”
“Yes, Overseer.”
“Just call me Sheppard, okay? I’ll be calling you Crichton. The John thing would just be weird.”
“Suits me, Sheppard.”
Sheppard waved his hand. “Get him settled Lorne. And keep him out of sight. We’ve got forty unbonded panor in the city. He’s like water in the desert.”
~*~
The first few nights, Lorne brought meals to Crichton’s quarters. Chatting with Lorne, Crichton learned he was bonded, and that his keri was a scientist with the expedition. On the fourth night, Sheppard turned up with the meal tray. “I wanted to see how you’re settling in.”
“So far, so good. McKay took a little getting used to, but he’s grown on me, I like him.”
“You like Rodney?”
Shrugging, Crichton dropped the tray on his table. “Sure. He’s smart.” He glanced over and sighed, Sheppard was wearing a gun belt.
“Look, uhm, I wanted to apologize, we got off on the wrong foot.”
Crichton held up a hand. “I understand, Lorne explained a little.”
“It’s been over five years. He… he wasn’t you. He wasn’t a rebel, he didn’t buck the system. He did everything a good keri is supposed to do.”
“What happened to him?”
“Car accident. He was carrying. The sac ruptured before they could get him out and he hemorrhaged.”
“That sucks. Sorry, man.””
Sheppard nodded and sat down in the chair beside Crichton’s. He’d learned to wolf down the tava root. It was better not to taste it. He needed the nutrition and it was filling, it just tasted like wet newspaper.
“Do you have some personal objection to taking a panor?
Crichton shrugged. “Just that I like my work. I didn’t want, I don’t want to lose that.”
“What if you found a panor who would let you have a career?”
Crichton snorted and shook his head. “Those are few and far between, Sheppard.”
It was Sheppard’s turn to shrug. “I don’t think I’d mind if my keri had something to keep him occupied during the day. As long as he was safe and didn't put himself at risk when I wasn't there to protect him.”
Tilting his head, Crichton looked at Sheppard appraisingly. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, my second father was a very liberal guy; he instilled it in my brother and I, I'm a bit of a rebel.”
“Do you mind if I try something?”
Sheppard looked interested. “I guess it depends on what it is.”
"Just a little test." Leaning over, Crichton touched his fingers to Sheppard’s face. Then he pressed their lips together in a fairly chaste kiss. Sheppard allowed it to stay that way for a few seconds and then deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and licking at Crichton’s lips. When he pulled back they stared at each other, breathing heavily.
“Wow. Okay. That was…”
Sheppard ran a hand through his hair. “Dangerous. We can’t do that again. I can feel myself getting revved up. You taste so friggin good.”
Crichton’s hand had dropped to Sheppard’s knee and he had worked it up and was stroking his thigh, fingering the strap of the thigh holster. This was very dangerous indeed. But he didn’t want to stop.
He really didn’t want to stop, and that concerned him, enough so that he jumped up, crossed the room and put the sofa between them. “I need to think. I need space to think. I can’t do that with you in the room. You’re right, I’m reacting already too, we should cool down. Call me on the radio tomorrow, we’ll talk.”
Reluctantly, slowly, Sheppard got up and left.
Crichton rand both hands through his hair, tugging on the ends of it as he thought. This was so totally unexpected. He was stranded in the ancient city of Atlantis, and he was considering taking on a panor - his life had gotten more than a little twisted around.
The End, for now.
Prompts:
Hurt Comfort Bingo: “Love Spell/Potion Gone Wrong”
Ancient City Bingo: “Thigh Holsters”
Alternate Universe Bingo: “Age of Sail”