Fic: slide your way through this charade - Farscape
title: slide your way through this charade
author: sugargroupie
rating/w.c: NC-17, 1270 words
summary: the good news is, he's not half Scarran.
notes: everything this story is - genderbender crackfic; an AU of an AU; an unrealized reality (but not pertaining specifically to UR). written for lalastrange. roughly drafted and beta-free. there is a second part.
*
When John is thrust ass-end up back to Earth, he is at first grateful that in this reality he's not half Scarran. He takes a moment to catch his bearings before checking the surrounding area. It never occurs to John to check over himself.
It's only when he runs his hands through his hair after a frustrated attempt to remember how he ended back on Earth does he realize how truly screwed he is.
John's last clear memory was of Aeryn threatening to push him over in the Neural Cluster if he didn't make himself useful somewhere else. Normally he gets off on that, because sometimes Aeryn is never more sexy than when she's threatening him verbally, or has her body pushed against him within the context of getting semi-violent.
Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.
His recall gets hazy after that. He assumes that he escapes to his ship where he somehow ends up down the rabbit hole once again.
The bright side, he can't help but remind himself, is that he's fully human. John raises his hands, looks at fingers with a thin layer of dirt beneath the nails from his constant tinkering on things on Moya. He's still wearing his short leather jacket, black t-shirt that clings to his breasts, leather pants and boots.
It takes a moment to sink in.
John's first instinct is to palm them as he stares in shock, because that's what he does when Aeryn's are on display, or not. She has really great breasts.
It's almost like he's feeling himself up, but there's no pleasure derived from it. This is clinical, like testing the merchandise, and they feel real. There's a soft weight to them that's as familiar as any woman's he's ever touched.
They're real, he thinks again. Too real.
Later, he'll remember a strange noise coming from his mouth in reaction to his discovery that is neither scream nor groan, but just as effective. John has just enough awareness to think about other body parts, or lack thereof, but he stifles the urge to check.
He's not sure he can take the disappointment.
* * *
John decides to put the identity crisis aside for the moment in favor of finding shelter of some kind. Preferably with a mirror so he can see just how ridiculous he looks with his big head on a tiny body.
Aside from that, he needs to figure out what year it is before doing anything else, lest he fucks things up beyond repair. Again. And as much as he would love the company of Aeryn, or even Chiana and D'Argo, it's probably best that he's here alone.
Instead, John settles for the next best thing as he decides on a plan of action: What would Aeryn do?
* * *
The halfway house they'd occupied during one of their last trips planet side is still in disrepair, and more importantly, still vacant; a small blessing.
John heads straight for the bathroom, remembering from his last trip that the small window inside filters in just enough workable light. Fortunately there's also a mirror, which is cracked and dirty, but he can still see his reflection.
He has no idea who's staring back.
It's not his face at all. The eyes are the same, as is the mouth. His hair is longer, a darker brown, and his head is proportional to his body. John cracks a weak smile. Teeth are the same, he notes, and he recognizes his mouth.
Read the person between the lines and it's all John Crichton, with a few noticeable differences.
That thought segues nicely in John's head, forcing him to face the moment he's wanted and dreaded equally - the whereabouts of his dick.
He's tried not to think about it, but it was hard not to notice how he never had to adjust himself on the walk over. Usually his hand migrates without conscious thought, just to make sure the boys are all right.
Taking a deep breath he goes for it, and grabs nothing but leather and lips.
"Shit," he says quietly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. If he's honest with himself he expected as much, but having it confirmed still stings.
It's safe to assume he's all woman now. Studying his new face and body, he humors the obvious and wonders if a name change is in order.
"What is the female version of John?" he murmurs to his reflection, chuckling hollowly at the double meaning. The silence and his reflection are answer enough.
* * *
When John was younger, he played with himself just like most boys his age. Explored, examined, touched; did it because he was bored, because he was curious, because it felt good.
Now that he's tucked inside a new body for the time being, he thinks there's no time like the present to navigate new terrain. He starts in the same way he did with Aeryn - where he would've spent hours, if they'd had them, instead of snatching spans of time where they could - carefully investigating each line and curve, while being led by each new discovery.
Still standing before the cracked mirror, John undresses down to his briefs, which now hang low on his hips. He sniffs each crevice of soft skin and traces his fingertips across toned muscle.
And though it's not intentional, he finds himself making comparisons. His hips, for instance, are wider than Aeryn's, but her breasts are fuller.
John cups his breasts again, sighs softly as his nipples harden against the palms of his hands. It's freaking him out a little that he's getting aroused from an inspection, and he hasn't even gotten between his own thighs yet.
He's worked himself up to heavy breathing, the nape of his neck damp with sweat, by the time he's ready to wiggle his fingers beneath the band of his underwear. He spreads his legs and leans against the door, taking in his reflection. He sees a woman with flushed skin, and lips that are slightly dry from his constant licking. He's about to slide fingers that are smaller than he's used to, into a pussy he can claim has his own now, and jesus, he's turning himself on.
John tests one finger slowly, revels in the slickness, the snug fit as his muscles contract. Then he closes his eyes, pictures Aeryn standing right there, breathing on his mouth, her breasts rubbing against his, her fingers in his cunt.
Oh, god.
He adds another finger, and Aeryn crooks one of them towards her, rocks it in and out, just as she'd shown him so many years ago. He can almost feel her other hand grab hold of his hip, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass as she presses closer.
The sensations are overwhelming. His body overheats, causing sweat to break out across his chest. John slides one finger deeper and lays his thumb on his clit, but it's Aeryn touching him, pressing her nose against his cheek, her wet lips so close to his.
His thumb makes circular motions, his fingers thrust, his hips buck; he'd stopped watching himself as a woman he barely knew long ago, and now all he can see in the mirror is Aeryn.
She fucks him while he fucks himself, and holds on to him as he comes on his fingers with sound, because there's no one around to hear him.
John slumps against the bathroom door, his hair catching in the tiny splinters of old wood. Aeryn fades away as his skin cools, and he considers what to do next.
##
tbc...?
author: sugargroupie
rating/w.c: NC-17, 1270 words
summary: the good news is, he's not half Scarran.
notes: everything this story is - genderbender crackfic; an AU of an AU; an unrealized reality (but not pertaining specifically to UR). written for lalastrange. roughly drafted and beta-free. there is a second part.
*
When John is thrust ass-end up back to Earth, he is at first grateful that in this reality he's not half Scarran. He takes a moment to catch his bearings before checking the surrounding area. It never occurs to John to check over himself.
It's only when he runs his hands through his hair after a frustrated attempt to remember how he ended back on Earth does he realize how truly screwed he is.
John's last clear memory was of Aeryn threatening to push him over in the Neural Cluster if he didn't make himself useful somewhere else. Normally he gets off on that, because sometimes Aeryn is never more sexy than when she's threatening him verbally, or has her body pushed against him within the context of getting semi-violent.
Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.
His recall gets hazy after that. He assumes that he escapes to his ship where he somehow ends up down the rabbit hole once again.
The bright side, he can't help but remind himself, is that he's fully human. John raises his hands, looks at fingers with a thin layer of dirt beneath the nails from his constant tinkering on things on Moya. He's still wearing his short leather jacket, black t-shirt that clings to his breasts, leather pants and boots.
It takes a moment to sink in.
John's first instinct is to palm them as he stares in shock, because that's what he does when Aeryn's are on display, or not. She has really great breasts.
It's almost like he's feeling himself up, but there's no pleasure derived from it. This is clinical, like testing the merchandise, and they feel real. There's a soft weight to them that's as familiar as any woman's he's ever touched.
They're real, he thinks again. Too real.
Later, he'll remember a strange noise coming from his mouth in reaction to his discovery that is neither scream nor groan, but just as effective. John has just enough awareness to think about other body parts, or lack thereof, but he stifles the urge to check.
He's not sure he can take the disappointment.
* * *
John decides to put the identity crisis aside for the moment in favor of finding shelter of some kind. Preferably with a mirror so he can see just how ridiculous he looks with his big head on a tiny body.
Aside from that, he needs to figure out what year it is before doing anything else, lest he fucks things up beyond repair. Again. And as much as he would love the company of Aeryn, or even Chiana and D'Argo, it's probably best that he's here alone.
Instead, John settles for the next best thing as he decides on a plan of action: What would Aeryn do?
* * *
The halfway house they'd occupied during one of their last trips planet side is still in disrepair, and more importantly, still vacant; a small blessing.
John heads straight for the bathroom, remembering from his last trip that the small window inside filters in just enough workable light. Fortunately there's also a mirror, which is cracked and dirty, but he can still see his reflection.
He has no idea who's staring back.
It's not his face at all. The eyes are the same, as is the mouth. His hair is longer, a darker brown, and his head is proportional to his body. John cracks a weak smile. Teeth are the same, he notes, and he recognizes his mouth.
Read the person between the lines and it's all John Crichton, with a few noticeable differences.
That thought segues nicely in John's head, forcing him to face the moment he's wanted and dreaded equally - the whereabouts of his dick.
He's tried not to think about it, but it was hard not to notice how he never had to adjust himself on the walk over. Usually his hand migrates without conscious thought, just to make sure the boys are all right.
Taking a deep breath he goes for it, and grabs nothing but leather and lips.
"Shit," he says quietly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. If he's honest with himself he expected as much, but having it confirmed still stings.
It's safe to assume he's all woman now. Studying his new face and body, he humors the obvious and wonders if a name change is in order.
"What is the female version of John?" he murmurs to his reflection, chuckling hollowly at the double meaning. The silence and his reflection are answer enough.
* * *
When John was younger, he played with himself just like most boys his age. Explored, examined, touched; did it because he was bored, because he was curious, because it felt good.
Now that he's tucked inside a new body for the time being, he thinks there's no time like the present to navigate new terrain. He starts in the same way he did with Aeryn - where he would've spent hours, if they'd had them, instead of snatching spans of time where they could - carefully investigating each line and curve, while being led by each new discovery.
Still standing before the cracked mirror, John undresses down to his briefs, which now hang low on his hips. He sniffs each crevice of soft skin and traces his fingertips across toned muscle.
And though it's not intentional, he finds himself making comparisons. His hips, for instance, are wider than Aeryn's, but her breasts are fuller.
John cups his breasts again, sighs softly as his nipples harden against the palms of his hands. It's freaking him out a little that he's getting aroused from an inspection, and he hasn't even gotten between his own thighs yet.
He's worked himself up to heavy breathing, the nape of his neck damp with sweat, by the time he's ready to wiggle his fingers beneath the band of his underwear. He spreads his legs and leans against the door, taking in his reflection. He sees a woman with flushed skin, and lips that are slightly dry from his constant licking. He's about to slide fingers that are smaller than he's used to, into a pussy he can claim has his own now, and jesus, he's turning himself on.
John tests one finger slowly, revels in the slickness, the snug fit as his muscles contract. Then he closes his eyes, pictures Aeryn standing right there, breathing on his mouth, her breasts rubbing against his, her fingers in his cunt.
Oh, god.
He adds another finger, and Aeryn crooks one of them towards her, rocks it in and out, just as she'd shown him so many years ago. He can almost feel her other hand grab hold of his hip, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass as she presses closer.
The sensations are overwhelming. His body overheats, causing sweat to break out across his chest. John slides one finger deeper and lays his thumb on his clit, but it's Aeryn touching him, pressing her nose against his cheek, her wet lips so close to his.
His thumb makes circular motions, his fingers thrust, his hips buck; he'd stopped watching himself as a woman he barely knew long ago, and now all he can see in the mirror is Aeryn.
She fucks him while he fucks himself, and holds on to him as he comes on his fingers with sound, because there's no one around to hear him.
John slumps against the bathroom door, his hair catching in the tiny splinters of old wood. Aeryn fades away as his skin cools, and he considers what to do next.
##
tbc...?