albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

Fine just-- [She doesn't want to. Feels like she shouldn't; like something is off and threatening to drown the both of them.

But she also knows she can't stop him. ] be quick.

[He leans back so she can see him smile.]

Thank you.

[And then he disappears out the door. He isn't quick -- finding a mystic who is willing to try and communicate with his twin is easy, but finding one actually capable of doing so without him giving up any body parts is another thing entirely. Everyone on this end of the planet seems particularly interested in chopping up a Sebacean.

Eventually, he does find what he needs at a decent price, but he comes out of the encounter no more clear than he had been going in. Typically, the mystic had tried to reel him back in with talks of his mother, of D.K. --

When Crichton eventually does make it back to the room, he's pale and sick but upright. He's not even sure how he managed to make it back to the upper levels without passing out, but he's back.]

[She's there waiting still by the time he does. Arns spent at the edge of his bed, doing more deep, careful thinking about the situation than she'd ever wanted to in a hundred lifetimes.

But she's there, and she catches him-- easily-- the moment he stumbles in.] What happened? --What did you do?

[He tries not to put all of his weight on her, even though he's aware that she is perfectly capable of handling it. The help isn't scorned -- he needs it just to get inside.]

Had a talk...or ten. I'll be fine, just--

[He gestures awkwardly toward the bed.]

Little help?

[Aeryn knows already. Knows he's withered and wilted and it doesn't take either a genius or a doctor to figure out that much.

So she does as he asks: wordlessly helps him to the bed, pulls off his thick coat and forces him to lie back so that he can get much needed rest. Doesn't lock the door. Doesn't really know better, given the place and time.]

[Laying down relaxes the dizziness in his head a bit. It doesn't stop the visions of others at the corners of his eyes, but it keeps him from feeling as if he needs to vomit.

John doesn't think to lock the door either -- he can't think much of anything. He's starting to wonder if the mystic had drugged him, if he was calling the Peacekeepers to pick him up.

Subconsciously, he reaches for his leg, checking to make sure he hadn't accidentally left Winona behind. Of course, he hadn't, which leaves him to look up at Aeryn.]

Anyone stop by?

Just you. [It's gentle. Patient. His hair is matted down across the curve of his brow, and Aeryn moves to brush it back away from his sweat-stained skin.]

Who did this?

Good.

[The contact might have been unwelcome earlier, but there is no complaint from John now. He even lets his eyes drift shut.]

I did. Just part of the process. Told you, I'll be fine.

[He doesn't look fine. In fact he looks more the opposite. Aeryn's fingers, though, don't stop skidding soothingly across his scalp.]

Was it worth it?

Hard to say.

[The real answer was no, it wasn't worth it, but telling that to Aeryn wouldn't help either of them. So he's content to let her think he's simply had a setback.]

But I guess I'll find out when we get back to Moya.

[She's quiet after that, lips thinned out without the pull of a frown. Slides her thumb down to brush across the angle of his cheek.]

When you go back to Moya.

[Yeah, he figured she would say that. His head rolls to the side, into her hand whether its ready for it or not. Its almost a sign of defeat. He doesn't hide his lack of surprise well.]

Right. When...I go back to Moya.

[It's sorely needed contact for the both of them, really. Aeryn leans in, burying her face in the underside of his jaw, palm acting as a barrier between his cheek and the pillow he's laid out over.

She should say something. Ought to get the words out while there's time and the city's oddly quiet. Ought to-- and doesn't.

Aeryn Sun was never much good with words over action, anyway.]

[John isn't expecting words and, actually, he isn't expecting action either. What he expects is exactly what he's getting -- contact without commitment.

He wants that commitment, but he's not proud enough to work for it while he's so vulnerable.]

Thanks.

[Its a little hollow.]

For staying, I mean.

[She scoffs out a laugh at that, the line of her mouth pulling sharply against his skin. Not exactly cheerful or charming, but neither of them fits that description right now. ]

Where else would I go?

Dunno. But you seemed pretty determined to try anyway a few arns ago.

[With how weak the process had made him, its all John can do to lift his arm from the side of the bed to brush back the hair off her face, combing it blindly behind her ear as his sense of touch guides him through the curve of her cheekbones since committed to memory.]

A few arns ago I thought I could go somewhere else. [Aeryn tucks her chin, skidding the high point of her cheekbone across his palm and down further into the collar of his jacket. It's not asking for permission or waiting for guidance; she's beyond all that at this point. ]

[He feels it, just as he feels his strained and tired heart start to pound again as she moves -- so much that he has to shift a bit just so his lungs can get air.]

What changed?

[A weighted pause as a reminder sinks into his gut.]

Did you try?

I don't need to try.

[He shifts, she follows; Aeryn uses the way he turns to catch the edge of his mouth with hers, covering it with a kiss that's more hungry than what would be appropriate.

His heartbeat carries. It always does. ]

[That.

That's not what he expects. Its so far removed from the disappointment he had already prepared himself for that he begins to unravel helplessly right in her hands.

His entire body locks up and then simultaneously melts away into the kiss, both hungry and exhausted -- relieved but afraid. He makes a noise somewhere behind her lips, his hand immediately tangles in long tresses of hair with the intent of pulling her away.

But he can't. He just can't.]

[She knows. And if she wanted to, she could do it for him. Give him the freedom he deserves under these twisted circumstances and shove him off the second he's strong enough to head back to Moya.

But that seems far almost. A future concept rather than a current idea, and Aeryn keeps him there like that-- chasing the edge of his breath with her teeth, her tongue-- for longer than she has any right to. But there's tension in her frigid fingertips, and she needs it. ]

[He's certain he must be dying -- that this is all a sick fever dream that he can't escape and any minute Aeryn will dematerialize right between his fingertips.

Crichton's desperation doesnt abate, leaving his mouth perfectly pliable against hers as he weakly tries to get a better angle between both his exhaustion and delerium.

He should stop her, no matter how right it feels. Eventually, John forces their lips apart so he can breath, heavy and uncertain.]

Edited 2014-06-21 19:32 (UTC)

[Crichton draws the line, and beyond that, Aeryn doesn't force him. The broad arch of her nose scuffs across his; she lets him breathe as much as he wants without her imposing.]

Stop being afraid of me, Crichton.

[Her words make him swallow thickly. If only it were that easy. John's hand runs through her hair almost apologetically.]

You won't come back with me.

[He's reminding himself. She may not be up to speed, but she's still running away from him.]

I can't live like that, Aeryn.

You don't need me to go back with you. [She cants her head into the skid of his fingertips. Lids her eyes and breathes out across his wrist. Cool air, patient gestures.]

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