Minbari, Incense and Myrrh (1/4)
Title: Minbari, Incense and Myrrh (1/4)
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Babylon 5
Rating: R
Spoilers: Season 2 episode "Confessions and Lamentations"
Synopsis: A piece I thought up after watching 'Confessions and Lamentations', where Sheridan, Delenn and Lennier have a meal Minbari style. Which got me thinking on other Minbari rituals...
Pairing: John/Delenn
Genre: Adult
Disclaimer: Babylon 5 and characters belong to you know who.
Notes: If you're not of appropriate age in your district, go away now.
This story was written somewhere between 1993 and 1997
Winner 1997 "John/Delenn storybook" award for best erotic story
------------------------------------
Part 1
Vir hurried through the corridors of Babylon 5 as fast as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. His head was lowered, so as not to initiate eye contact with anyone who might feel the urge to make conversation and his arms were wrapped protectively around a large brown paper bag. It was the contents of the bag that were the cause of Vir's haste - the sooner he got them to Londo the quicker his role in this sordid little affair would be over. Vir glanced furtively from side to side. He was certain everyone he passed was aware of the contents of the bag - that they could see through the outer wrapping and would think that the items belonged to him, the Diplomatic Attache, rather than the Ambassador himself.
'Brown paper bag,' Vir muttered to himself, turning another corner. Londo hadn't bothered to get his items sent in the Centauri diplomatic pouch, which would have passed into the Ambassadors hands unremarked upon. No, of course not. It had been in the regular Babylon 5 surface mail. And Vir had been the one sent to retrieve the package.
"Naturally," Vir muttered, slipping into the turbo lift just before the doors slid shut. He was alone in the lift, and used the solitude to vent some frustration.
"Vir, do this... Vir, do that... Be quiet, Vir," he said, in perfect imitation of his superior. Maybe he should request a transfer to the war zone.
When he had arrived at the mail sorting facility the first time, the moon-faced attache had been puzzled by the snickers and odd comments made by the human postal workers. He had thought it was a strange human custom or joke he was missing the significance of - humans were, after all, a very strange species: always saying and doing strange things. So with stoicism that would have done a Minbari proud, he ignored them.
Until the customs inspector had opened the package and removed the items, one after one, laying them on the counter. And explained the human tradition of packaging certain types of items in brown paper. Vir's eyes had almost popped out of his head at what his employer had ordered. The young aide didn't know what half of them were for. It took a lot to make a Centauri blush with embarrassment, so most other races were not familiar with the physical signs, but Vir could feel the ends of his hair curl as the human made a series of off-colored jokes. Then the human had, in a voice loud enough to be heard in the docking bays, proclaimed the import duties imposed upon each item, and requested whether Vir would prefer to pay then, or have it charged.
Since that first excruciating ordeal, Vir had been forced to endure the indignity twice more. His suggestion to Londo that he have his... orders sent via the diplomatic pouch or through one of the specialty shops in Brown sector, had been ignored.
"What a surprise!" he said sarcastically.
"But Londo, I had to pay a *charge* on the items," Vir had protested. "A tax." If it was one thing the Centauri hated, it was Babylon 5's love of import duties and taxes. And Londo was especially vocal about it. Most of the time.
"Oh, you worry too much Vir," Londo had said in his characteristic rolling tones, waving a hand vaguely in Vir's general direction, as he sorted through his purchases. "You should relax more. In view of that fact, I give you the rest of the day off."
"But Londo," Vir had tried again, "the manner of the customs inspector and the postal workers...."
"Then I will file a protest with Sheridan over their behavior," Londo had replied sagely, pushing his employee out the exit of the quarters. "Go to the Zocalo. Have a drink. Have *fun*, Vir."
"But Londo..." The door had swished shut in his face.....
----------
The lift doors swished open, and Vir exited cautiously. He had almost reached the sanctuary of the Ambassador's quarters, and was relieved. Just a few more corridors...He swung around the corner to his right and barreled into a figure hurrying in the opposite direction. Both Vir and the person tripped, and the brown paper bag chose that moment to give way, spilling its contents to the floor for the world to see.
A six way Centauri suction unit, a package of aphrodisiacs from nine systems; a genuine French maid's costume ('What is a French maid?'); some lacy items Vir thought might be clothing, although there wasn't very much of it; a pair of shoes with very long spikes on the heels; a fully interactive video: 'How to have a Minbari and enjoy the experience.' And a number of other items that weren't immediately recognizable. Vir wasted no time in gathering them up, mumbling apologies to the person he had collided with. The postal workers had probably deliberately weakened the bag so a situation just like this one would occur.
"That is all right, Vir," he was reassured, as the figure stood. Vir froze. The voice was easily recognizable - the timbre and inflection unique on the station. The Minbari Ambassador. Vir's mind uttered a series of expletives he'd heard from a particularly nasty Drazi trader.
"Ah, Ambassador," he said outloud, scrabbling around with the items - and trying to hide Londo's damn Minbari video, "I didn't hear you..." He looked at her feet. The reason why he hadn't heard her walking along the corridor was now obvious - she was barefoot. Still crouching, he let his gaze travel upwards. And blushed for the second time in a month. Delenn had exchanged her usual concealing silk robes for something a little more... exotic. Exotic, and showing a great deal of pale, bare skin.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm in rather a hurry," she apologized, "I am running late."
Vir remained frozen in his crouched position, the ends of his hair still curled. What was happening on the station? First Londo, now Delenn?
------------------
Delenn breezed through the doorway to security and headed straight for Garibaldi, who's half-eaten sandwich fell back to the plate.
"Uhh... Ambassador," he said in a startled tone, his eyes wide, as he regarded her unusual attire. He swallowed audibly. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes there is, Mr. Garibaldi," she said quietly, leaning closer to him. "There is a ceremony that I am about to partake in, and I need your assistance to make sure it goes smoothly."
Garibaldi quickly locked his gaze on her face. He wasn't sure if Delenn was aware of it, but when she leaned forward like that her robe gaped. And in Garibaldi's opinion, from his unintentional glance, the view had been very nice. 'You will not think unclean thoughts about Ambassadors, Michael' he told himself silently.
It took her a few minutes to explain the particulars, and Garibaldi was shaking his head by the end of it.
"Delenn, I appreciate this is important to you," he said, running his hand back over his hair - what was left of it, at any rate - "but it's also damn dangerous."
"The fight is only symbolic," she protested, "no one is ever hurt anymore."
"Ambassador, a lot of your people don't like the Captain. What if one of them misses the symbolism and decides to get a few punches in?"
Delenn drew herself up to her full height. "A Minbari would never do that," she declared, "It would bring dishonor to their whole clan."
Michael decided to back away from that point - Minbari were very touchy where honor was concerned and he didn't want to start a diplomatic incident.
"What about the other races?" he countered. "If they see the Minbari fighting in public, what's to stop the Narn, Centauri or Drazi deciding to follow suit?"
"Mr. Garibaldi... Michael," Delenn leaned closer, lowering her voice even more.
Was that a new perfume she was wearing? he wondered.
"This ritual can only take place this evening, or we must wait another year. If your security personnel can keep they crowd under control, I can give you my word as the Ambassador that my people will not harm the Captain." She placed her hand on his forearm, her green eyes looking earnestly into his. "Please?"
'Damn, the Captain is one lucky man,' Garibaldi thought, momentarily mesmerized by the green glow. And the warmth of her hand on his arm.
"Ok, Delenn," he agreed reluctantly, "but this is on your head, remember."
"On my head?" She seemed puzzled by the term.
"Uhh... your responsibility, should anything go wrong," he re-phrased.
"Thankyou, Mr. Garibaldi." Delenn gave him a winning smile and spun from the room.
Michael looked on appreciatively, noting just how much Delenn's choice of wardrobe revealed.
A damn lucky man.
---------------------
John sat on the couch in his quarters, massaged his temples to try and ease the headache. It was days like this he wished he'd never accepted the position on Babylon 5 and remained a simple ship's captain. Life had been complicated enough for him on the station while they were still part of Earth Alliance, but since the secession it had become one continuos headache.
He'd retired to his quarters early, but taken the paper work with him. At least if he fell asleep doing it here, he'd be comfortable. Too many nights in the last few months had been spent doing paperwork. And there was no longer anyone to send it on to, anyway. But the logistics of solely governing a small city in space, with a quarter of a million inhabitants, was staggering. He'd read through the latest reports after a quick meal. Perhaps. Or perhaps he should just dump it all in Ivanova's lap and spend the evening with Delenn instead. A very tempting thought. He smiled, resting his head against the back of his couch - it certainly was an appealing idea. Maybe he and Delenn could have that little talk they'd been putting off.
The relationship had been progressing at a slow and steady rate - they'd moved from glances, to holding hands, to embraces then finally to kisses and caresses. Which was fine with John - he didn't want to rush into any relationship until he was comfortable, and with Delenn being Minbari, he had deliberately moved slowly to avoid misunderstandings. But now he wanted more. To go beyond what they had safely mapped out - to make love to her until she screamed his name in ecstasy. She had allowed his hands beneath her robes a few times and similarly explored him, but she had not allowed the physical aspect of their relationship to progress beyond petting.
In deference to her Minbari customs, he had respected her wishes - and tried to do some research of Minbari sexual customs and practices. All he could glean from hours of reading was that there was some sort of ceremony before a couple could engage in 'reproductive acts'. It figured. If there was one thing that characterized the Minbari, it was their love of ritual and order.
The door chime sounded, interrupting his reverie.
"Come," he called, eyes still closed.
"John."
It was Delenn. She must have heard him thinking about her.
He smiled, opening his eyes and preparing to make a comment on how he was just thinking about her. He never got that far, his jaw almost hitting the floor instead as he saw her.
The Minbari Ambassador was barefoot, her robe open to mid-thigh exposing a large expanse of pale skin. The neckline was similarly low, the swell of her breasts visible. And it was sheer - he could clearly see the outline of her body beneath. The rush of blood from his head to other parts of his anatomy left him momentarily dizzy.
"Delenn?" he gasped. He had to be dreaming: Delenn did not go around the station barefoot and wearing see through robes. Maybe someone was wearing a changeling net - impersonating her.
She held out a hand to him and pulled him to his feet. "Remove your clothes, and put this robe on," she instructed, handing him a bundle of material the same color as her robe.
"What?" John's eyes widened. He was definitely dreaming. No one ever said things like that to him, except in his dreams.
"Hurry, John," she said, pulling at the fastenings of his jacket. "It is almost time."
"Time for what?" he asked, accepting her help in undressing, removing the rest of his clothes. If she wanted him naked, who was he to argue?
She pulled the robe about his body, fastening it at the waist with a hidden catch and draping the folds to leave his chest exposed.
"To have sex."
---------------------------
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Babylon 5
Rating: R
Spoilers: Season 2 episode "Confessions and Lamentations"
Synopsis: A piece I thought up after watching 'Confessions and Lamentations', where Sheridan, Delenn and Lennier have a meal Minbari style. Which got me thinking on other Minbari rituals...
Pairing: John/Delenn
Genre: Adult
Disclaimer: Babylon 5 and characters belong to you know who.
Notes: If you're not of appropriate age in your district, go away now.
This story was written somewhere between 1993 and 1997
Winner 1997 "John/Delenn storybook" award for best erotic story
------------------------------------
Part 1
Vir hurried through the corridors of Babylon 5 as fast as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. His head was lowered, so as not to initiate eye contact with anyone who might feel the urge to make conversation and his arms were wrapped protectively around a large brown paper bag. It was the contents of the bag that were the cause of Vir's haste - the sooner he got them to Londo the quicker his role in this sordid little affair would be over. Vir glanced furtively from side to side. He was certain everyone he passed was aware of the contents of the bag - that they could see through the outer wrapping and would think that the items belonged to him, the Diplomatic Attache, rather than the Ambassador himself.
'Brown paper bag,' Vir muttered to himself, turning another corner. Londo hadn't bothered to get his items sent in the Centauri diplomatic pouch, which would have passed into the Ambassadors hands unremarked upon. No, of course not. It had been in the regular Babylon 5 surface mail. And Vir had been the one sent to retrieve the package.
"Naturally," Vir muttered, slipping into the turbo lift just before the doors slid shut. He was alone in the lift, and used the solitude to vent some frustration.
"Vir, do this... Vir, do that... Be quiet, Vir," he said, in perfect imitation of his superior. Maybe he should request a transfer to the war zone.
When he had arrived at the mail sorting facility the first time, the moon-faced attache had been puzzled by the snickers and odd comments made by the human postal workers. He had thought it was a strange human custom or joke he was missing the significance of - humans were, after all, a very strange species: always saying and doing strange things. So with stoicism that would have done a Minbari proud, he ignored them.
Until the customs inspector had opened the package and removed the items, one after one, laying them on the counter. And explained the human tradition of packaging certain types of items in brown paper. Vir's eyes had almost popped out of his head at what his employer had ordered. The young aide didn't know what half of them were for. It took a lot to make a Centauri blush with embarrassment, so most other races were not familiar with the physical signs, but Vir could feel the ends of his hair curl as the human made a series of off-colored jokes. Then the human had, in a voice loud enough to be heard in the docking bays, proclaimed the import duties imposed upon each item, and requested whether Vir would prefer to pay then, or have it charged.
Since that first excruciating ordeal, Vir had been forced to endure the indignity twice more. His suggestion to Londo that he have his... orders sent via the diplomatic pouch or through one of the specialty shops in Brown sector, had been ignored.
"What a surprise!" he said sarcastically.
"But Londo, I had to pay a *charge* on the items," Vir had protested. "A tax." If it was one thing the Centauri hated, it was Babylon 5's love of import duties and taxes. And Londo was especially vocal about it. Most of the time.
"Oh, you worry too much Vir," Londo had said in his characteristic rolling tones, waving a hand vaguely in Vir's general direction, as he sorted through his purchases. "You should relax more. In view of that fact, I give you the rest of the day off."
"But Londo," Vir had tried again, "the manner of the customs inspector and the postal workers...."
"Then I will file a protest with Sheridan over their behavior," Londo had replied sagely, pushing his employee out the exit of the quarters. "Go to the Zocalo. Have a drink. Have *fun*, Vir."
"But Londo..." The door had swished shut in his face.....
----------
The lift doors swished open, and Vir exited cautiously. He had almost reached the sanctuary of the Ambassador's quarters, and was relieved. Just a few more corridors...He swung around the corner to his right and barreled into a figure hurrying in the opposite direction. Both Vir and the person tripped, and the brown paper bag chose that moment to give way, spilling its contents to the floor for the world to see.
A six way Centauri suction unit, a package of aphrodisiacs from nine systems; a genuine French maid's costume ('What is a French maid?'); some lacy items Vir thought might be clothing, although there wasn't very much of it; a pair of shoes with very long spikes on the heels; a fully interactive video: 'How to have a Minbari and enjoy the experience.' And a number of other items that weren't immediately recognizable. Vir wasted no time in gathering them up, mumbling apologies to the person he had collided with. The postal workers had probably deliberately weakened the bag so a situation just like this one would occur.
"That is all right, Vir," he was reassured, as the figure stood. Vir froze. The voice was easily recognizable - the timbre and inflection unique on the station. The Minbari Ambassador. Vir's mind uttered a series of expletives he'd heard from a particularly nasty Drazi trader.
"Ah, Ambassador," he said outloud, scrabbling around with the items - and trying to hide Londo's damn Minbari video, "I didn't hear you..." He looked at her feet. The reason why he hadn't heard her walking along the corridor was now obvious - she was barefoot. Still crouching, he let his gaze travel upwards. And blushed for the second time in a month. Delenn had exchanged her usual concealing silk robes for something a little more... exotic. Exotic, and showing a great deal of pale, bare skin.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm in rather a hurry," she apologized, "I am running late."
Vir remained frozen in his crouched position, the ends of his hair still curled. What was happening on the station? First Londo, now Delenn?
------------------
Delenn breezed through the doorway to security and headed straight for Garibaldi, who's half-eaten sandwich fell back to the plate.
"Uhh... Ambassador," he said in a startled tone, his eyes wide, as he regarded her unusual attire. He swallowed audibly. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes there is, Mr. Garibaldi," she said quietly, leaning closer to him. "There is a ceremony that I am about to partake in, and I need your assistance to make sure it goes smoothly."
Garibaldi quickly locked his gaze on her face. He wasn't sure if Delenn was aware of it, but when she leaned forward like that her robe gaped. And in Garibaldi's opinion, from his unintentional glance, the view had been very nice. 'You will not think unclean thoughts about Ambassadors, Michael' he told himself silently.
It took her a few minutes to explain the particulars, and Garibaldi was shaking his head by the end of it.
"Delenn, I appreciate this is important to you," he said, running his hand back over his hair - what was left of it, at any rate - "but it's also damn dangerous."
"The fight is only symbolic," she protested, "no one is ever hurt anymore."
"Ambassador, a lot of your people don't like the Captain. What if one of them misses the symbolism and decides to get a few punches in?"
Delenn drew herself up to her full height. "A Minbari would never do that," she declared, "It would bring dishonor to their whole clan."
Michael decided to back away from that point - Minbari were very touchy where honor was concerned and he didn't want to start a diplomatic incident.
"What about the other races?" he countered. "If they see the Minbari fighting in public, what's to stop the Narn, Centauri or Drazi deciding to follow suit?"
"Mr. Garibaldi... Michael," Delenn leaned closer, lowering her voice even more.
Was that a new perfume she was wearing? he wondered.
"This ritual can only take place this evening, or we must wait another year. If your security personnel can keep they crowd under control, I can give you my word as the Ambassador that my people will not harm the Captain." She placed her hand on his forearm, her green eyes looking earnestly into his. "Please?"
'Damn, the Captain is one lucky man,' Garibaldi thought, momentarily mesmerized by the green glow. And the warmth of her hand on his arm.
"Ok, Delenn," he agreed reluctantly, "but this is on your head, remember."
"On my head?" She seemed puzzled by the term.
"Uhh... your responsibility, should anything go wrong," he re-phrased.
"Thankyou, Mr. Garibaldi." Delenn gave him a winning smile and spun from the room.
Michael looked on appreciatively, noting just how much Delenn's choice of wardrobe revealed.
A damn lucky man.
---------------------
John sat on the couch in his quarters, massaged his temples to try and ease the headache. It was days like this he wished he'd never accepted the position on Babylon 5 and remained a simple ship's captain. Life had been complicated enough for him on the station while they were still part of Earth Alliance, but since the secession it had become one continuos headache.
He'd retired to his quarters early, but taken the paper work with him. At least if he fell asleep doing it here, he'd be comfortable. Too many nights in the last few months had been spent doing paperwork. And there was no longer anyone to send it on to, anyway. But the logistics of solely governing a small city in space, with a quarter of a million inhabitants, was staggering. He'd read through the latest reports after a quick meal. Perhaps. Or perhaps he should just dump it all in Ivanova's lap and spend the evening with Delenn instead. A very tempting thought. He smiled, resting his head against the back of his couch - it certainly was an appealing idea. Maybe he and Delenn could have that little talk they'd been putting off.
The relationship had been progressing at a slow and steady rate - they'd moved from glances, to holding hands, to embraces then finally to kisses and caresses. Which was fine with John - he didn't want to rush into any relationship until he was comfortable, and with Delenn being Minbari, he had deliberately moved slowly to avoid misunderstandings. But now he wanted more. To go beyond what they had safely mapped out - to make love to her until she screamed his name in ecstasy. She had allowed his hands beneath her robes a few times and similarly explored him, but she had not allowed the physical aspect of their relationship to progress beyond petting.
In deference to her Minbari customs, he had respected her wishes - and tried to do some research of Minbari sexual customs and practices. All he could glean from hours of reading was that there was some sort of ceremony before a couple could engage in 'reproductive acts'. It figured. If there was one thing that characterized the Minbari, it was their love of ritual and order.
The door chime sounded, interrupting his reverie.
"Come," he called, eyes still closed.
"John."
It was Delenn. She must have heard him thinking about her.
He smiled, opening his eyes and preparing to make a comment on how he was just thinking about her. He never got that far, his jaw almost hitting the floor instead as he saw her.
The Minbari Ambassador was barefoot, her robe open to mid-thigh exposing a large expanse of pale skin. The neckline was similarly low, the swell of her breasts visible. And it was sheer - he could clearly see the outline of her body beneath. The rush of blood from his head to other parts of his anatomy left him momentarily dizzy.
"Delenn?" he gasped. He had to be dreaming: Delenn did not go around the station barefoot and wearing see through robes. Maybe someone was wearing a changeling net - impersonating her.
She held out a hand to him and pulled him to his feet. "Remove your clothes, and put this robe on," she instructed, handing him a bundle of material the same color as her robe.
"What?" John's eyes widened. He was definitely dreaming. No one ever said things like that to him, except in his dreams.
"Hurry, John," she said, pulling at the fastenings of his jacket. "It is almost time."
"Time for what?" he asked, accepting her help in undressing, removing the rest of his clothes. If she wanted him naked, who was he to argue?
She pulled the robe about his body, fastening it at the waist with a hidden catch and draping the folds to leave his chest exposed.
"To have sex."
---------------------------