TITLE: "PeaceKeeper Discipline, Chapter 3"
RATING: NC-17 Violence, harsh language, BDSM, nonconsensual D/s
SUMMARY: D'Argo is drawn into the action, and John settles down to
business with he and Aeryn. Warning: This story involves some fairly
rough treatment of Aeryn and D'Argo, and a side of John that may
make some readers uncomfortable. If bondage and non-consensual BDSM
squick you, skip this series. In this story, John and D'Argo are
established lovers, but this is not part of my "Blood Brothers" series"
-- no schmoop here.
NOTES: For readers unfamiliar with leather sex, this portrayal of
John may be a little jarring, but I assure you, some of the meanest,
most devastating tops are the ones who are quiet and unassuming in
everyday life -- but once the scene starts, watch out!
FEEDBACK: Yes, please! [email protected]
He had been watching the scene unfolding in front of him with such
concentration that he almost did not hear John speak his name. When he
looked back at John, his lover was looking at him with a closed, blank
expression, lit only by the coolly appraising look in his eyes.
"What?" D'Argo snapped, feeling his face flush. His first, unbidden
thought had been to echo Aeryn's "yes, Sir." There was danger here, oh
yes, of a sort that he never dreamed existed.
"The belt." John said evenly, holding his hand out for it, still
looking at D'Argo, seeming to bore right into him and see that fear,
the knowledge of the danger. "Now, D'Argo." he added, a touch of
amusement in his voice.
D'Argo handed it over, and before he could blink, John had hold of
his wrist with his other hand, lightning quick and with no hesitation.
D'Argo was startled -- since when did Crichton move like that?
"Do you need some of what I've been giving Aeryn?" John asked quietly,
a vaguely unsettling smile quirking the edges of his mouth. The hand
holding D'Argo's wrist tightened, and even though John's hand was smaller
-- his fingers barely spanned around D'Argo's wrist -- he was strong.
Small bones shifted slightly under the press of his grip, and D'Argo
swallowed thickly. Another time, he would have easily broken John's
grasp, made him pay for speaking to him that way, for laying his hands
on him. But he found that just looking down into the shorter human's
eyes forestalled any thought of stopping him, moving away -- much
less striking him.
John's eyes looked up into his, still coolly amused and considering.
D'Argo found himself struck silent, unable to formulate an answer or
objection. He found himself fearing John in a way he could not explain
-- a feeling that was equal parts fear of John and fear of disappointing
John. Or of angering him. He did not know why he felt so sure that
angering Crichton when he was behaving this way would be dangerous, or
exactly what that danger was, but he knew it, deep in his bones...and
his quickly awakening cock seemed to be a part of that knowledge. A
small voice in the back of his mind jeered at him -- he was a Luxan
warrior, blooded and tested in battle. Who was this human that he
should fear him? What could this human do to him that he could not
prevent? Anything. Everything.
John released him, still smiling, and D'Argo was shamed to realize
that his other hand went immediately to his wrist, rubbing at the
reddened skin as if he had been burned by the touch. John slipped
around behind him, his attention fully on D'Argo now, Aeryn hanging
from her bonds, forgotten for the moment. D'Argo looked up into
Aeryn's eyes and saw her watching him, watching John, with sharp
interest -- the first spark of emotion she had shown since John
had wrung the fight out of her with only his voice and his deceptively
gentle violence. He could see the drying tracks of her tears on her
cheeks, and closed his eyes, realizing he could smell their salty tang
above the other scents in the room: the sweet-smelling musk that must
be her desire -- spiced with the edge of fear that he could also smell
on his own skin, the smells so similar that they blended together like
a barely-heard harmony; the sharper musk of his own desire, and its
counterpoint, the deeper scent of John and his arousal. But no fear
from John, just this heady, high smell of lust and the scent of the
leather belt in his hands.
The voice came from just behind him, close as a breath, and D'Argo
started, realizing that he had been unaware of John moving behind him,
so much of his attention caught by the smells of sex and fear in the
room that he had relaxed his guard for a second too long.
"Are you going to answer me? Do you need what I've been giving Aeryn?"
The last sentence, stressed word by word, breathed across his shoulder,
and he shuddered again. He knew the answer, could feel it in the way
his eyes lingered on Aeryn and her strained pose, arms cuffed above her
and held, roped around the ceiling beam, her pale face with its hectic
circles of red high on her cheeks. He could feel it in the blood
thundering in his head and in his cock, hard and aching, his senses
that felt both heightened and faraway. In the fear that he could almost
taste in the back of his throat -- metallic and repellent and compelling
all in the same swallow.
He answered the only way that he could, that he could allow himself
to, even though he knew it for a lie. "No."
"You're not being honest with me, D'Argo. I can't let that pass,
you know that, right?" John's hands gathered D'Argo's wrists behind his
back, and D'Argo felt the slide of the belt as it was gathered around
his arms, pinning them behind him at the elbows, felt his shoulders
wrenched back as the belt was snubbed tight and fastened, his arms
touching from elbow to wrist all along their length.
"It wouldn't be fair to you to let you get away with it. You need
this, just as much as Aeryn does. No, don't tell me that -- " he
shushed gently, his hand clasping D'Argo's jaw and stopping the
negative shake of his head. " -- I know better. It's all right,
babe. I've got you. You can let me do whatever I want to, because I
know better than you what you do and don't need."
John stepped away, moving back from both of them so that he look
at them and the tableau they presented. He watched them for a moment,
considering. After some thought, he moved behind D'Argo again and took
hold of his joined arms, pushing him forward, towards Aeryn. When
D'Argo was standing a less than a handspan from her, he jerked once on
his arms, stopping him.
"Lift her shirt."
D'Argo turned to him, opened his mouth to ask a question, but then
snapped it closed. He knew instinctively that he was not to speak
"Good, sweetheart. You're a fast learner. You'll do very well with
me. Lift her shirt, D'Argo." John stood there, arms crossed over his
chest and feet planted, watching.
D'Argo turned back to Aeryn, flexing his shoulders unconsciously,
pulling at the bonds holding his elbows together. After a moment, he
leaned forward, taking the hem of Aeryn's T-shirt in his teeth. She
hissed and flinched back at the touch of his face against the lower
swells of her breasts, the bare skin revealed by the lifting of the
material rippling. D'Argo paused, peering up at her, and she relaxed,
giving a brief nod to show she understood his unspoken words. D'Argo
straightened up, the hem of her shirt still clenched in his teeth,
and stopped, waiting.
"Good. Now pass it to Aeryn."
D'Argo cut his eyes toward John, question clear in them. John merely
nodded. D'Argo leaned toward Aeryn again, lowering his face to hers as
if to kiss her. Aeryn closed her eyes, swallowed visibly, then raised
her face awkwardly to D'Argo's, her balance faltering as she stretched
on the balls of her feet. Their mouths touched, and Aeryn's eyes snapped
open, focusing on D'Argo's. She opened her mouth, teeth grinding slightly
against D'Argo's as she searched for the material's edge, biting down on
it and tugging it away from him. D'Argo released it, pulling back from
her but not moving away.
"Very good." John's voice sounded both pleased and indulgent, and
D'Argo looked down into Aeryn's eyes again. She stood still, frozen in
that awkward, impossibly beautiful pose, the hem of her shirt clenched
in her teeth, lifting it over her bare breasts, revealing them in a vee
where the material was pulled in a taut arc to her mouth. He looked lower,
unable to help himself. She trembled slightly, and her breasts, fuller
and heavier than D'Argo had expected they would be, moved minutely with
her trembling, nipples hardening from the contact of the material against
them, barely brushing the hard nubs at the center of rosy circles.
D'Argo felt John behind him again, pulling him back away from her.
John remained behind him, and D'Argo heard a sound, cloth slipping
against something else -- /his belt/, his brain informed him. He felt
John's hand come down on his shoulder, pushing gently. He started to
drop to his knees, but John made a negative sound, still pushing him
straight down until he was squatting. John moved around to stand in front
of him, and he raised his head to look at him. A sharp smack, delivered
with only the tips of John's fingers to his cheek stopped him.
D'Argo dropped his chin, staring straight forward at John's waist.
Out of the bottom of his vision he saw John extend one foot, felt it
nudge against one boot and then the other, shoving his feet
farther apart until he wobbled on the edge of losing his balance.
"Stay that way." He saw John move away, move over to Aeryn, once
again doubling the belt and drawing it restlessly from hand to hand. He
heard John's low laugh, and realized, perhaps later than he should have,
that John was just getting started.