albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[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.]

[She will feel him go very tight and struggle to pull her head to look him in the eyes. His stare is crisp, pointed, and there are tears at the very edges of his eyes that won't fall.]

Yes. I do.

[John's arm starts to shake from the effort. He's already pale, making his emotionally strained expression even more pronounced.]

[It hits her harder than it ought to, the sight of him like that. She feels her resolve buckle, determination crumbling easily in the palm of his hand. In the tangle of his fingers wound up in her hair.]

And Aeryn? The one you left behind? [The words don't sound natural leaving her mouth. Another Aeryn. Another her. Another reality or timeskip or-- something.

A trick, a hoax. Her own reflection.]

[That makes him laugh, unhinged. Abruptly, he goes limp and let's his hands fall away from her completely. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes close.]

Right. The one I left behind.

[She's not wrong -- not totally. He had turned her down after she tried to come back. But it wasn't so black and white. Trying to explain that to Aeryn -- any Aeryn -- would be impossible.]

[Aeryn chases him, even as he goes limp. Sets her mouth over his in a kiss that's too chaste to read as anything but; he's broken, weary, afraid. He needs whatever security she has to offer.]

Crichton. I don't know what it is you're fighting right now, but I know myself - and I know what you mean to me.

Which means that whatever it is you two are going through, she must still feel the same about you.

It's not that simple anymore. It's not just about--

[It hadn't been that simple in a long time. But he won't say that. He does meet her eyes after she tries to comfort him -- its hard to tell if she had any effect.

But then he reaches up again with a very slow exhale. He can do this.]

Look -- you're right. This isn't your problem.

Could be. [She ducks down into the skid of his fingertips. Lets them roll against the contours of her face.] But I get the feeling you don't want to let me in.

Trust.

[He shakes his head gently and continues to give in. She's right about this, at least.]

That's what it comes down to.

You know I trust you, John. I gave up my life for you. [And despite the literal implications, in this case she means what she used to be entirely, the only thing that made her feel like she had a part to play-- a place to belong-- in this great, wide, limitless expanse.]

[Of course, John takes it quite literally -- he has no perspective of where or when she's from, so when she decides to bring up her death, his stomach drops and he falls utterly stiff and silent again.

He doesn't want to commit to inform her of her own death, so he says nothing. His body betrays the knowledge well enough. The corners of his eyes continue to shimmer, and he tries to disguise the wipe of his eyes as best he can.

She wouldn't use that against him. She must not know -- right?]

I know.

[His voice cracks.]

[She's not good at this. Emotions are an entirely new concept, and talking about emotion is even more so. There's too much pressure that she might say the wrong thing, switch to the wrong topic.

Somehow it feels like she already has.]

Or...[It's slow; she knows better than to make the suggestion.] You could stay.

Can't stay. Too much at stake.

[She did say the wrong thing, but Crichton has accepted that it is because she doesn't know any better and not because she was trying to hurt him. So he tries to settle back in her hands, letting his eyes close.]

Probably shouldn't have come in the first place.

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