Destiny - Part 4
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 4...
Late one night, as Serenity made its slow way to New Canaan, John awoke to a dull pain in his side. The pain was, as usual, Illyria. She sat beside him in bed, poking him sharply in the ribs.
*pokepokepoke* “Wake up, John. *poke* Why do mortals need to sleep so much? *pokepoke* A warrior should be ready to awaken at any moment.” *po-*
John caught her hand before she added another bruise to the constellation now dotting his ribcage. “Illyria,” he yawned, blinking tiredly. “What do you want? We’ve had sex three times already. It’s the middle of the night. Go to sleep.” He turned towards her, curling into his pillow with eyes barely open.
She rose to her knees, eyes gleaming with the undisguised ferocity he rarely saw outside of battle conditions. The instinctive, primal side of his brain began to kick the shit out of the civilized side - which was still mostly asleep - warning it to wake the fuck up or he could very well wind up something’s dinner.
John immediately sat up, fully awake, and asked, “Are you trying to kill me in my sleep again, Illyria? I thought we’d worked that out.”
Illyria rolled her eyes. “I clearly explained that killing you while you slumbered would bring me no satisfaction. You must be awake and screaming for it to be a worthwhile endeavor.”
John looked dubious. “Gee, thanks.” His brain finally registered what he’d just seen. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Illyria? Since when did you pick up that habit?”
Illyria shot him a steadfast glare, more in her usual vein. “I wish to spar. I need to feel flesh bruising under my hands.”
“You and your sweet talk,” John muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s discovered early on that giving in to these whims for violence that sometimes overcame her resulted in far less damage to both his physical and emotional well-being than any delay might avoid. In John’s mind, there was no better definition of pissed off than a sulking former Demon-God who reacted to any sort of amorous advance with a punch to the face because her consort had said no to a middle-of-the-night sparring session nearly five years previously. If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she could hold a grudge longer than most people kept a family pet. That lesson had been learned the hard way.
“No weapons,” John declared, buttoning his pants. “We don’t want to wake the whole ship.” He struggled to pull a T-shirt over his head. “And you fight as Fred,” he stated, his voice muffled under the fabric, “just in case.”
“Fine,” Illyria replied, looking almost excited. She shifted, an impatient grin breaking over Fred’s face. “Hurry up, slowpoke!”
“Yeah, yeah,” John grumbled, stretching until his back arched and his T-shirt rode up to flash a tan strip of belly. “I’m comin’.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Good God, woman,” John groaned against the cargo room floor. “Take it easy on the human in the room.”
Fred bounced on the balls of her feet around his prone form, taunting, “I will when one gets here.” She grinned cheekily, bouncing just a little too close, and John’s arm snapped out, grabbing her around the ankle and yanking her to the floor beside him. With a muffled squeal, Fred hit the deck, John rolling on top of her to straddle her high on her waist, his hands restraining her arms to the side of her head.
“Please tell me you give,” John pleaded, struggling to contain a yawn. He got his answer when Fred’s legs slipped under his arms and locked behind his head, bending his body back in an uncomfortable arch. “God-dammit, Fred. You’ve got legs like an octopus!”
John took a deep, calming breath, before adding, “Not that I usually mind, you realize, but I’ve had barely five hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, I’ve just had my ass handed to me by a dainty, delicate little flower of a woman - again -, and it’s left me a touch grumpy.”
John tried to move, but was stuck fast, so he absently rubbed his hands along her thighs. “Plus,” he continued, “I’ve got to keep talking so my lovely wife doesn’t realize I’m about to do this….”
At that, he reached beneath his arched back and goosed her, causing her to loosen her hold on his neck as she squirmed to get away from his probing fingers. John took this opportunity to free himself and to roll to his feet as she pushed herself upright, crouching in readiness to pounce. Fred looked furious for a second, cautiously standing upright as she said acerbically, “That’s cheating.”
John grinned, saluting her mischievously as he kept an even distance away, guard still up. “Not if it means I win.”
“I’m thinkin’ it was a tie,” Mal commented, leaning casually on the banister over the cargo bay. John and Fred stilled, looking up as they slowly edged towards each other, backs covered, facing out. The Captain glanced at Jayne standing next to him, open-mouthed and flushed. “You reckon’ the same, Jayne?”
Jayne swallowed, muttering hoarsely, “I’ll be in my bunk,” before darting off down the passage to the crew quarters.
Mal frowned at his disappearing back-up, leaning over to stare down at the sweat-dampened Winchesters panting softly below. “Appears we may have matters to discuss.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John and Fred sat across from Mal in the mess, looking steadily at the Captain as he eyed them in open assessment.
“Ya know,” Mal began, nodding at John, “I thought you might be a mercenary when you first got on my ship. But I’ve seen shiong-tsan sha-sho at work. Most tend to prefer big weapons over hand-to-hand fightin’.” Mal tapped his finger against his chin as if in thought. “I’m guessin’ cause it gives them the advantage.”
Mal leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table and loosely clasping his hands in front of him. “You two know how to use a gun?”
John nodded, saying, “I do, but I’d watch out if you gave her one.” He tilted his head in Fred’s direction. “She gets overenthusiastic when it comes to shootin’.”
Fred frowned. “My aim is excellent! Don’t listen to him.”
John rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Remind me to position myself behind you then, where it’s safe.” He grinned at her. “Your aim is excellent, m’dear, but you tend not to care who might be in the way.”
“Can she shoot or not?” Mal interrupted, his tone sharp.
“Yes,” John replied, “but hand-to-hand or bladed weapons are her strengths.” He patted Fred’s hand when she looked ready to argue. “You know it’s true.” She conceded by slumping back in her seat and glaring at him.
“So you’re the gun man?” Mal asked, just to be clear.
“Mostly,” John agreed. “I can keep my own in a fight, though.”
“Good,” Mal nodded curtly. “We’re headed for an arrangement on New Canaan. Could make use of extra hands.” Mal leaned back in his chair. “You interested?”
John and Fred’s eyes met in a quick sidelong glance. “Sure,” they replied in unison. “Sounds fun.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I cannot believe you impugned my ability to adequately use projectile weaponry,” Fred stated in a definitely Illyrian tone.
“I don’t want any of my great-whatever-grandchildren to get any extra holes,” John replied. “I’m leaning towards caution.”
Illyria sniffed, “Humans are so delicate.”
“Besides,” he added, “you can kill a person with your bare hands. Why do you need a gun?” He blinked at her, arching an eyebrow when he noticed her sudden shift. “Suit up, Illyria. We’re out in the open here.”
Illyria frowned down at her body as if betrayed. With an upward tilt of her chin, she was Fred again, her face set in a rather peeved expression.
“Cheer up, Sunshine,” John smiled mischievously. “If you’re very, very good, I’ll let you take shotgun on our next hunt. Deal?” Fred didn’t look much happier, but she nodded, following him into their room.
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 4...
Late one night, as Serenity made its slow way to New Canaan, John awoke to a dull pain in his side. The pain was, as usual, Illyria. She sat beside him in bed, poking him sharply in the ribs.
*pokepokepoke* “Wake up, John. *poke* Why do mortals need to sleep so much? *pokepoke* A warrior should be ready to awaken at any moment.” *po-*
John caught her hand before she added another bruise to the constellation now dotting his ribcage. “Illyria,” he yawned, blinking tiredly. “What do you want? We’ve had sex three times already. It’s the middle of the night. Go to sleep.” He turned towards her, curling into his pillow with eyes barely open.
She rose to her knees, eyes gleaming with the undisguised ferocity he rarely saw outside of battle conditions. The instinctive, primal side of his brain began to kick the shit out of the civilized side - which was still mostly asleep - warning it to wake the fuck up or he could very well wind up something’s dinner.
John immediately sat up, fully awake, and asked, “Are you trying to kill me in my sleep again, Illyria? I thought we’d worked that out.”
Illyria rolled her eyes. “I clearly explained that killing you while you slumbered would bring me no satisfaction. You must be awake and screaming for it to be a worthwhile endeavor.”
John looked dubious. “Gee, thanks.” His brain finally registered what he’d just seen. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Illyria? Since when did you pick up that habit?”
Illyria shot him a steadfast glare, more in her usual vein. “I wish to spar. I need to feel flesh bruising under my hands.”
“You and your sweet talk,” John muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s discovered early on that giving in to these whims for violence that sometimes overcame her resulted in far less damage to both his physical and emotional well-being than any delay might avoid. In John’s mind, there was no better definition of pissed off than a sulking former Demon-God who reacted to any sort of amorous advance with a punch to the face because her consort had said no to a middle-of-the-night sparring session nearly five years previously. If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she could hold a grudge longer than most people kept a family pet. That lesson had been learned the hard way.
“No weapons,” John declared, buttoning his pants. “We don’t want to wake the whole ship.” He struggled to pull a T-shirt over his head. “And you fight as Fred,” he stated, his voice muffled under the fabric, “just in case.”
“Fine,” Illyria replied, looking almost excited. She shifted, an impatient grin breaking over Fred’s face. “Hurry up, slowpoke!”
“Yeah, yeah,” John grumbled, stretching until his back arched and his T-shirt rode up to flash a tan strip of belly. “I’m comin’.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Good God, woman,” John groaned against the cargo room floor. “Take it easy on the human in the room.”
Fred bounced on the balls of her feet around his prone form, taunting, “I will when one gets here.” She grinned cheekily, bouncing just a little too close, and John’s arm snapped out, grabbing her around the ankle and yanking her to the floor beside him. With a muffled squeal, Fred hit the deck, John rolling on top of her to straddle her high on her waist, his hands restraining her arms to the side of her head.
“Please tell me you give,” John pleaded, struggling to contain a yawn. He got his answer when Fred’s legs slipped under his arms and locked behind his head, bending his body back in an uncomfortable arch. “God-dammit, Fred. You’ve got legs like an octopus!”
John took a deep, calming breath, before adding, “Not that I usually mind, you realize, but I’ve had barely five hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, I’ve just had my ass handed to me by a dainty, delicate little flower of a woman - again -, and it’s left me a touch grumpy.”
John tried to move, but was stuck fast, so he absently rubbed his hands along her thighs. “Plus,” he continued, “I’ve got to keep talking so my lovely wife doesn’t realize I’m about to do this….”
At that, he reached beneath his arched back and goosed her, causing her to loosen her hold on his neck as she squirmed to get away from his probing fingers. John took this opportunity to free himself and to roll to his feet as she pushed herself upright, crouching in readiness to pounce. Fred looked furious for a second, cautiously standing upright as she said acerbically, “That’s cheating.”
John grinned, saluting her mischievously as he kept an even distance away, guard still up. “Not if it means I win.”
“I’m thinkin’ it was a tie,” Mal commented, leaning casually on the banister over the cargo bay. John and Fred stilled, looking up as they slowly edged towards each other, backs covered, facing out. The Captain glanced at Jayne standing next to him, open-mouthed and flushed. “You reckon’ the same, Jayne?”
Jayne swallowed, muttering hoarsely, “I’ll be in my bunk,” before darting off down the passage to the crew quarters.
Mal frowned at his disappearing back-up, leaning over to stare down at the sweat-dampened Winchesters panting softly below. “Appears we may have matters to discuss.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John and Fred sat across from Mal in the mess, looking steadily at the Captain as he eyed them in open assessment.
“Ya know,” Mal began, nodding at John, “I thought you might be a mercenary when you first got on my ship. But I’ve seen shiong-tsan sha-sho at work. Most tend to prefer big weapons over hand-to-hand fightin’.” Mal tapped his finger against his chin as if in thought. “I’m guessin’ cause it gives them the advantage.”
Mal leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table and loosely clasping his hands in front of him. “You two know how to use a gun?”
John nodded, saying, “I do, but I’d watch out if you gave her one.” He tilted his head in Fred’s direction. “She gets overenthusiastic when it comes to shootin’.”
Fred frowned. “My aim is excellent! Don’t listen to him.”
John rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Remind me to position myself behind you then, where it’s safe.” He grinned at her. “Your aim is excellent, m’dear, but you tend not to care who might be in the way.”
“Can she shoot or not?” Mal interrupted, his tone sharp.
“Yes,” John replied, “but hand-to-hand or bladed weapons are her strengths.” He patted Fred’s hand when she looked ready to argue. “You know it’s true.” She conceded by slumping back in her seat and glaring at him.
“So you’re the gun man?” Mal asked, just to be clear.
“Mostly,” John agreed. “I can keep my own in a fight, though.”
“Good,” Mal nodded curtly. “We’re headed for an arrangement on New Canaan. Could make use of extra hands.” Mal leaned back in his chair. “You interested?”
John and Fred’s eyes met in a quick sidelong glance. “Sure,” they replied in unison. “Sounds fun.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I cannot believe you impugned my ability to adequately use projectile weaponry,” Fred stated in a definitely Illyrian tone.
“I don’t want any of my great-whatever-grandchildren to get any extra holes,” John replied. “I’m leaning towards caution.”
Illyria sniffed, “Humans are so delicate.”
“Besides,” he added, “you can kill a person with your bare hands. Why do you need a gun?” He blinked at her, arching an eyebrow when he noticed her sudden shift. “Suit up, Illyria. We’re out in the open here.”
Illyria frowned down at her body as if betrayed. With an upward tilt of her chin, she was Fred again, her face set in a rather peeved expression.
“Cheer up, Sunshine,” John smiled mischievously. “If you’re very, very good, I’ll let you take shotgun on our next hunt. Deal?” Fred didn’t look much happier, but she nodded, following him into their room.
TO BE CONTINUED...