Destiny - Part 8
Part of the http://zannes.livejournal.com/5304.html John/Illyria 'verse
Rating: R (overall)
Genre: Gen, Het, Supernatural/Angel/Firefly crossover
Pairing: John/Illyria
Characters: Firefly crew
Summary: John and Illyria finally have to deal with the Demon that destroyed his family. Will they be able to save John's descendants from the Demon's wrath? (bad language/sexual situations)
Author's Notes: Thanks to hakirby and lyonie17 for their continued beta-ing prowess. Hakirby is entirely responsible for all the added porn and lyonie17 is responsible for turning my modern-day English into Fireflyese. The Chinese translations are up for grabs. I trusted various websites to get those. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns both Illyria and Firefly. The lovely icon belongs to lyonie17.
Part 8...
Mal had become a pale grey shell of his former self - all that simmering anger hidden by the fragile shield of humor that kept him functioning appeared to be gone. It left an empty husk slowly filling with a new focus, one fueled by pure vengeance and retribution. John watched it from a wary distance, recognizing the signs that indicated the birth of another Hunter - of another John Winchester.
“Things will be different once the Demon is dead,” Illyria stated, placing a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder. “It was the continued quest that broke you, the absence of resolution.” She jerked her chin in Mal’s direction, the wraith-like figure of the Captain huddling around the controls of the ship as if they were the only thing holding him up. “There can be an end for him - a conclusion to his crusade.” Illyria tugged on John’s arm, forcing him to face her as she shoved him against the wall, her blue gaze boring relentlessly into his dark hazel eyes. With a resolute directness, she asked, “Can you let him have that? Give up what you have existed for so that your blood can have what you never did?”
John blanched, slowly nodding as his features crumpled, and he buried his face in her throat as he quietly sobbed, clinging to Illyria as if she were the only thing keeping him going - and she was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John’s soft voice cut through the solid darkness of their room. “Quit staring, Illyria. It’s…unsettling - even if I can’t see you.”
“You were not sleeping. I was merely waiting for you to admit to it,” she replied evenly.
The darkness settled once more around them, heavy and smothering. John shifted onto his belly, sliding his hands under his pillow to keep from reaching out for her, his eyes open but useless in the blackness as he struggled to make out the vague outline of Illyria beside him.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he assured her, his voice gentle in the safety of the darkness.
“I know,” she said.
He shifted closer to her, not daring to touch, the long line of her body only a suggestion of coolness along his heated frame. “I thought about it a lot, at first,” he confessed humbly. “It was…tempting when things seemed too much to handle - even more so after my boys were gone.”
Illyria’s muted voice came again. “I know.”
John caught his breath, his reply puffing out in a gasp of air, his tone tinged with sorrow when he truly heard what she was saying. “You knew?”
“I knew you considered it. You had said once that the only thing that kept you from it after Mary was your sons.” Something brushed along John’s bare back and pulled away, and he couldn’t determine if it were Illyria’s fingers or wishful thinking, all proof of the physical world concealed by the cloaking dark. Her voice came to him clearly, devoid of any hint of emotion. “I knew if you had the Colt you would consider using it - freeing yourself of forced eternity - a very human reaction.” She took a shallow breath, adding, “You sought it so diligently after your firstborn had passed.”
John nodded slowly, the movement lost in the dark. He clenched his hands uselessly under his pillow, the overwhelming need to feel her skin under his palms and her flesh between his teeth more essential than ever.
“It may have worked. I do not know.”
“What would have happened to you?” John asked, his skin prickling in the open air. “I always wondered - even when I was sure that I would if given the chance.”
John heard a faint rustling and he imagined it was Illyria shrugging, before she said, “I cannot stay here without you, I am not welcome in any other dimension…I presume I would be stored once more in the Deeper Well.” Her voice paused, before continuing, “I do not have the ability to fight them off as I once did.”
“They’d kill you?” John asked in disbelief, his voice rising in anger as his nails dug into his palms.
“No,” Illyria replied calmly. “I would remain very much alive and aware for the eternity I was locked away.”
John’s hand slid over the sheets, grasping Illyria’s when he found it. He wove his fingers through hers, clasping her hand tightly and drawing it close to his face, his breath brushing hotly against the back of her hand.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he promised against her skin. “I have everything I want.” He pulled her closer, giving in to his desires now that he’d purged his secret, needing the affirmation of Illyria’s body to ensure he’d been granted absolution.
Her voice caressed him, the tone lighter than before. “I know.”
John pulled Illyria back against his chest, burying his face in the nape of her neck as he murmured nonsensical reassurances against her throat. Illyria could barely make out what he was saying, the soft susurrations and rhythmic cadence buzzing along her skin, making her nipples tighten as the heat of his body spread along the line of her back.
John’s hand pressed over her chest, feeling for the calm drone that passed for Illyria’s heartbeat before brushing his palm over her peaked nipple and cupping the subtle heaviness of her breast. The hardness of his cock pressed firmly against the cleft of her buttocks as his hand wandered lower, splaying over the slight roundness of her belly. John cupped it protectively as his lips slid over her shoulder, his endless whispered litany of praise and promises unceasing as he slipped inside her.
John shuddered against Illyria as he finally slid home, his body tensing at the tight feel of her around his dick. He kept his hand on Illyria’s belly as he rocked against her, holding her in place as his thrusts slowly grew deeper and more urgent. As John neared climax, his words became clearer, every exhalation dropping a hint as to what he was repetitively promising against the muffling silence of her blue-hued skin.
…need you…
…always want…
...belong to me…
…forever…
The last vow was branded into Illyria’s skin with the cut of sharp teeth on her shoulder as John came, pulling Illyria with him as his body molded against her back with nothing on this earth or the next able to come between them.
John buried his face in her hair, feeling the coarse blue strands brush familiarly over his cheeks as he tried to catch his breath, his grip on Illyria never lightening. With John’s breath panting harshly against the curve of her throat, Illyria reached for his free hand trapped beneath her, pulling it to her lips to whisper her own pledges against the hammering pulse of his wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Malcolm Reynolds, is it?” came Durran Haymer’s smooth, cultured voice over the intercom. “What are you doing here? Last time you came around, you robbed me of a very unique treasure.”
“I told your man - it’s about what we had in common. Saffron, Yolanda… whatever she was called. Remember the red-head?”
“Of course I remember,” came Durran’s voice dryly. “It’s been taken care of. Again, why are you here?”
“Let us in and I’ll tell you,” Mal directed.
There was a long pause before the voice crackled over the intercom again. “How charming.”
The gate buzzed and Mal, John and Fred were escorted inside by an elderly gentleman dressed in uniform black. They were led to a sparsely furnished solarium with huge windows taking up a large portion of the walls on one side of the room, where Durran Haymer was sitting comfortably in a leather lounge chair, facing the wide view of the sea and sky the room offered.
“You look like hell,” Durran commented. “Life on the Rim taking its toll?” Durran’s eyes swept to John and Fred, watching them warily. “You know I have security on standby, so if you’re hoping to steal anything else, please take that into consideration.”
Mal stalked over to hover near an oblong glass case along the far wall, his hands pressed flat against the pane.
“Hands, Mr. Reynolds. My staff just cleaned that.”
“I need it,” Mal murmured roughly, his voice sounding oddly dry and scratchy. He flicked his gaze to Durran, adding, “I need to borrow it for just a little while.”
John moved carefully up beside him, staring down at the encased weapon, his jaw tight with tension. “That’s it,” he said to Fred, his tone flat.
John turned to face Durran, demanding, “How did you get this?”
“My great-great…etc. grandfather found it in Texas.” He smiled serenely at Fred who had glided up beside John. “That was on the Earth-That-Was.” Durran stood and made his way toward the middle of the room, where the Lasseter once held supremacy over his other artifacts.
“Not where,” John growled. “How?”
Durran’s face smoothed over and he replied evenly, “My grandfather made a deal with the Devil.” He shrugged, and with a wry smile added, “At least, that’s how the story goes.”
John’s insistent, unwavering stare made Durran shift in his stance, urging him to continue. “He was about to lose his farm and was drinking away his last dime when an old man with black eyes sat at his table. The old man looked scared and told him he had something he needed to get rid of - if they found him with it, they’d destroy him. Grandfather was half-drunk and feeling reckless, and said that maybe if he had more money than Bill Gates he could manage it. The old man looked relieved, said, ‘It is done,’ and left the gun on the table.”
Durran shrugged again, “Next day, he hit the biggest oil strike in Texas history. It’s how my family made all of its money before we left the Earth-That-Was.” He nodded his head at the case Mal was still touching possessively. “It’s a kind of iconic family good luck charm. It’s not worth anything monetarily with the modifications made to its frame.”
“I need it,” Mal whispered harshly.
Three sets of eyes swung to Durran’s face, boring into him with intense and infinite persistence, the weight of their judgment hanging heavily over him even as he casually walked back behind the chair he’d been sitting in just to put space between them. “Take it,” Durran said suddenly. “I understand.” His eyes brushed by them, flicking up to the ceiling over their heads. Squinting up with eyes slightly unfocused, they could make out sigils and runes woven into the carvings decorating the flat, gray expanse.
“I understand,” Durran said again. “Please take it with you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sharp screams echoed down the passageways of Serenity, disturbing the reassuring hum of machinery and the calm peacefulness of the black cloaking the ship. “He’s coming!” the shrill voice shrieked. “He’s coming! He’s coming! He’s coming!” The crew ran into the small lounge outside the med bay from where the shouts seemed to be originating, pausing at the sight of each other when they saw no one there. John and Illyria came in moments later, looking rumpled and unkempt, having been torn from their slumber by the reverberating cries.
Jayne jumped when River slammed against the window opening into the med bay, her hands bloody, leaving streaks of gore along the glass.
“He’s coming,” River panted, her chest heaving as her breath fogged the pane. Her gaze flicked from Mal to Zoe to Illyria and to John, her pupils bleeding wide from the rush of endorphins.
“He’s here,” she hissed.
John’s eyes hardened as her gaze swung to meet his and her body suddenly stiffened, falling back on the floor in convulsions, her slight frame bowing on the cold tiled floor as Simon rushed into the room, trying to hold her still.
Simon came out a few minutes later, blood streaked over his shirt. “Her hands…she was beating on the walls trying to get out,” he explained with a wince. “I sedated her. She was…hallucinating. She said she was trapped inside her own skull.” He rubbed weakly at his forehead, leaving a streak of blood along his hairline.
“Ya mean she’s fuckin’ loony again,” Jayne said. “I thought she was over that.”
“It is the influence of the Demon,” Illyria explained, her head cocking to the side as she stood at the med bay window, staring through the blood at the quiet figure of River draped across the exam bed. “His presence on this plane - his gathering of power - she is tapping into that. It is to be expected with her gifts.”
“Could be useful,” John added with a shrug. “Give us a lead. The psychic genes might finally come in handy for once.” Simon frowned at him, his dark brows lowering over his cool blue eyes.
John’s features smoothed over and he added with pronounced concern, “I’m sure River will be fine.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Rating: R (overall)
Genre: Gen, Het, Supernatural/Angel/Firefly crossover
Pairing: John/Illyria
Characters: Firefly crew
Summary: John and Illyria finally have to deal with the Demon that destroyed his family. Will they be able to save John's descendants from the Demon's wrath? (bad language/sexual situations)
Author's Notes: Thanks to hakirby and lyonie17 for their continued beta-ing prowess. Hakirby is entirely responsible for all the added porn and lyonie17 is responsible for turning my modern-day English into Fireflyese. The Chinese translations are up for grabs. I trusted various websites to get those. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns both Illyria and Firefly. The lovely icon belongs to lyonie17.
Part 8...
Mal had become a pale grey shell of his former self - all that simmering anger hidden by the fragile shield of humor that kept him functioning appeared to be gone. It left an empty husk slowly filling with a new focus, one fueled by pure vengeance and retribution. John watched it from a wary distance, recognizing the signs that indicated the birth of another Hunter - of another John Winchester.
“Things will be different once the Demon is dead,” Illyria stated, placing a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder. “It was the continued quest that broke you, the absence of resolution.” She jerked her chin in Mal’s direction, the wraith-like figure of the Captain huddling around the controls of the ship as if they were the only thing holding him up. “There can be an end for him - a conclusion to his crusade.” Illyria tugged on John’s arm, forcing him to face her as she shoved him against the wall, her blue gaze boring relentlessly into his dark hazel eyes. With a resolute directness, she asked, “Can you let him have that? Give up what you have existed for so that your blood can have what you never did?”
John blanched, slowly nodding as his features crumpled, and he buried his face in her throat as he quietly sobbed, clinging to Illyria as if she were the only thing keeping him going - and she was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John’s soft voice cut through the solid darkness of their room. “Quit staring, Illyria. It’s…unsettling - even if I can’t see you.”
“You were not sleeping. I was merely waiting for you to admit to it,” she replied evenly.
The darkness settled once more around them, heavy and smothering. John shifted onto his belly, sliding his hands under his pillow to keep from reaching out for her, his eyes open but useless in the blackness as he struggled to make out the vague outline of Illyria beside him.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he assured her, his voice gentle in the safety of the darkness.
“I know,” she said.
He shifted closer to her, not daring to touch, the long line of her body only a suggestion of coolness along his heated frame. “I thought about it a lot, at first,” he confessed humbly. “It was…tempting when things seemed too much to handle - even more so after my boys were gone.”
Illyria’s muted voice came again. “I know.”
John caught his breath, his reply puffing out in a gasp of air, his tone tinged with sorrow when he truly heard what she was saying. “You knew?”
“I knew you considered it. You had said once that the only thing that kept you from it after Mary was your sons.” Something brushed along John’s bare back and pulled away, and he couldn’t determine if it were Illyria’s fingers or wishful thinking, all proof of the physical world concealed by the cloaking dark. Her voice came to him clearly, devoid of any hint of emotion. “I knew if you had the Colt you would consider using it - freeing yourself of forced eternity - a very human reaction.” She took a shallow breath, adding, “You sought it so diligently after your firstborn had passed.”
John nodded slowly, the movement lost in the dark. He clenched his hands uselessly under his pillow, the overwhelming need to feel her skin under his palms and her flesh between his teeth more essential than ever.
“It may have worked. I do not know.”
“What would have happened to you?” John asked, his skin prickling in the open air. “I always wondered - even when I was sure that I would if given the chance.”
John heard a faint rustling and he imagined it was Illyria shrugging, before she said, “I cannot stay here without you, I am not welcome in any other dimension…I presume I would be stored once more in the Deeper Well.” Her voice paused, before continuing, “I do not have the ability to fight them off as I once did.”
“They’d kill you?” John asked in disbelief, his voice rising in anger as his nails dug into his palms.
“No,” Illyria replied calmly. “I would remain very much alive and aware for the eternity I was locked away.”
John’s hand slid over the sheets, grasping Illyria’s when he found it. He wove his fingers through hers, clasping her hand tightly and drawing it close to his face, his breath brushing hotly against the back of her hand.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he promised against her skin. “I have everything I want.” He pulled her closer, giving in to his desires now that he’d purged his secret, needing the affirmation of Illyria’s body to ensure he’d been granted absolution.
Her voice caressed him, the tone lighter than before. “I know.”
John pulled Illyria back against his chest, burying his face in the nape of her neck as he murmured nonsensical reassurances against her throat. Illyria could barely make out what he was saying, the soft susurrations and rhythmic cadence buzzing along her skin, making her nipples tighten as the heat of his body spread along the line of her back.
John’s hand pressed over her chest, feeling for the calm drone that passed for Illyria’s heartbeat before brushing his palm over her peaked nipple and cupping the subtle heaviness of her breast. The hardness of his cock pressed firmly against the cleft of her buttocks as his hand wandered lower, splaying over the slight roundness of her belly. John cupped it protectively as his lips slid over her shoulder, his endless whispered litany of praise and promises unceasing as he slipped inside her.
John shuddered against Illyria as he finally slid home, his body tensing at the tight feel of her around his dick. He kept his hand on Illyria’s belly as he rocked against her, holding her in place as his thrusts slowly grew deeper and more urgent. As John neared climax, his words became clearer, every exhalation dropping a hint as to what he was repetitively promising against the muffling silence of her blue-hued skin.
…need you…
…always want…
...belong to me…
…forever…
The last vow was branded into Illyria’s skin with the cut of sharp teeth on her shoulder as John came, pulling Illyria with him as his body molded against her back with nothing on this earth or the next able to come between them.
John buried his face in her hair, feeling the coarse blue strands brush familiarly over his cheeks as he tried to catch his breath, his grip on Illyria never lightening. With John’s breath panting harshly against the curve of her throat, Illyria reached for his free hand trapped beneath her, pulling it to her lips to whisper her own pledges against the hammering pulse of his wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Malcolm Reynolds, is it?” came Durran Haymer’s smooth, cultured voice over the intercom. “What are you doing here? Last time you came around, you robbed me of a very unique treasure.”
“I told your man - it’s about what we had in common. Saffron, Yolanda… whatever she was called. Remember the red-head?”
“Of course I remember,” came Durran’s voice dryly. “It’s been taken care of. Again, why are you here?”
“Let us in and I’ll tell you,” Mal directed.
There was a long pause before the voice crackled over the intercom again. “How charming.”
The gate buzzed and Mal, John and Fred were escorted inside by an elderly gentleman dressed in uniform black. They were led to a sparsely furnished solarium with huge windows taking up a large portion of the walls on one side of the room, where Durran Haymer was sitting comfortably in a leather lounge chair, facing the wide view of the sea and sky the room offered.
“You look like hell,” Durran commented. “Life on the Rim taking its toll?” Durran’s eyes swept to John and Fred, watching them warily. “You know I have security on standby, so if you’re hoping to steal anything else, please take that into consideration.”
Mal stalked over to hover near an oblong glass case along the far wall, his hands pressed flat against the pane.
“Hands, Mr. Reynolds. My staff just cleaned that.”
“I need it,” Mal murmured roughly, his voice sounding oddly dry and scratchy. He flicked his gaze to Durran, adding, “I need to borrow it for just a little while.”
John moved carefully up beside him, staring down at the encased weapon, his jaw tight with tension. “That’s it,” he said to Fred, his tone flat.
John turned to face Durran, demanding, “How did you get this?”
“My great-great…etc. grandfather found it in Texas.” He smiled serenely at Fred who had glided up beside John. “That was on the Earth-That-Was.” Durran stood and made his way toward the middle of the room, where the Lasseter once held supremacy over his other artifacts.
“Not where,” John growled. “How?”
Durran’s face smoothed over and he replied evenly, “My grandfather made a deal with the Devil.” He shrugged, and with a wry smile added, “At least, that’s how the story goes.”
John’s insistent, unwavering stare made Durran shift in his stance, urging him to continue. “He was about to lose his farm and was drinking away his last dime when an old man with black eyes sat at his table. The old man looked scared and told him he had something he needed to get rid of - if they found him with it, they’d destroy him. Grandfather was half-drunk and feeling reckless, and said that maybe if he had more money than Bill Gates he could manage it. The old man looked relieved, said, ‘It is done,’ and left the gun on the table.”
Durran shrugged again, “Next day, he hit the biggest oil strike in Texas history. It’s how my family made all of its money before we left the Earth-That-Was.” He nodded his head at the case Mal was still touching possessively. “It’s a kind of iconic family good luck charm. It’s not worth anything monetarily with the modifications made to its frame.”
“I need it,” Mal whispered harshly.
Three sets of eyes swung to Durran’s face, boring into him with intense and infinite persistence, the weight of their judgment hanging heavily over him even as he casually walked back behind the chair he’d been sitting in just to put space between them. “Take it,” Durran said suddenly. “I understand.” His eyes brushed by them, flicking up to the ceiling over their heads. Squinting up with eyes slightly unfocused, they could make out sigils and runes woven into the carvings decorating the flat, gray expanse.
“I understand,” Durran said again. “Please take it with you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sharp screams echoed down the passageways of Serenity, disturbing the reassuring hum of machinery and the calm peacefulness of the black cloaking the ship. “He’s coming!” the shrill voice shrieked. “He’s coming! He’s coming! He’s coming!” The crew ran into the small lounge outside the med bay from where the shouts seemed to be originating, pausing at the sight of each other when they saw no one there. John and Illyria came in moments later, looking rumpled and unkempt, having been torn from their slumber by the reverberating cries.
Jayne jumped when River slammed against the window opening into the med bay, her hands bloody, leaving streaks of gore along the glass.
“He’s coming,” River panted, her chest heaving as her breath fogged the pane. Her gaze flicked from Mal to Zoe to Illyria and to John, her pupils bleeding wide from the rush of endorphins.
“He’s here,” she hissed.
John’s eyes hardened as her gaze swung to meet his and her body suddenly stiffened, falling back on the floor in convulsions, her slight frame bowing on the cold tiled floor as Simon rushed into the room, trying to hold her still.
Simon came out a few minutes later, blood streaked over his shirt. “Her hands…she was beating on the walls trying to get out,” he explained with a wince. “I sedated her. She was…hallucinating. She said she was trapped inside her own skull.” He rubbed weakly at his forehead, leaving a streak of blood along his hairline.
“Ya mean she’s fuckin’ loony again,” Jayne said. “I thought she was over that.”
“It is the influence of the Demon,” Illyria explained, her head cocking to the side as she stood at the med bay window, staring through the blood at the quiet figure of River draped across the exam bed. “His presence on this plane - his gathering of power - she is tapping into that. It is to be expected with her gifts.”
“Could be useful,” John added with a shrug. “Give us a lead. The psychic genes might finally come in handy for once.” Simon frowned at him, his dark brows lowering over his cool blue eyes.
John’s features smoothed over and he added with pronounced concern, “I’m sure River will be fine.”
TO BE CONTINUED...