I express affection by antagonizing people and/or licking them.
Have some crackfic! And it's Farscape crackfic! With an orgy! 8D
...yeah, I'm gonna blame badplanmobile and defenestratorrr for this. As usual.
Title: Getting Along
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: John walks in at an inopportune moment. Again. Then things get really silly.
Rating/Warnings: Uh. R? Ish? For orgy? It isn’t explicit, like, at all, but it’s still an orgy. So I dunno. Also, crack. Lots of that.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Farscape. This is a work of fiction, and a completely cracked one at that.
“Hey, D’Argo,” says John, palming the door open, “Pilot says there’s still something weird going on in the neural clusters, did you- oh, hey, Chiana.”
D’Argo groans and vaguely attempts to pull a blanket over them. Meanwhile, Chiana tilts her head at him. “You know, you can’t keep walking in like this, John,” she says. “Either get out-” she grins, which probably doesn’t bode well- “or join in.”
“Uh, Chiana,” D’Argo says, “you can’t just-”
But she’s already reaching out and pulling him over, pulling his shirt off and caressing his chest. It’s… a nice chest, actually. D’Argo blinks. “Okay,” he mutters, “maybe you can.” He shrugs- as much as anybody can shrug lying down- and reaches out to pull John onto the bed with them.
John considers protesting, but then Chiana does something excellent to his neck and he reconsiders.
---
Zhaan glides down the corridor and brushes her palm over the door control. “John, are you still here? Pilot said you went to- oh.”
She watches calmly for a few moments, ignoring the outraged noises that John started making when the door opened. They’re quickly replaced with other noises, anyway.
“Hmm,” she says. “You’re going to need an oil I have, I think. I’ll be right back.”
She runs into Aeryn on the next tier. “Zhaan, have you got a moment?” she says. “There’s something wrong in the neural clusters, and John and D’Argo aren’t answering their comms.”
“Ah,” says Zhaan, “there’s something you may want to see.”
---
Stark is in the lab, staring intently into space with a hand up like he’s going to touch something invisible. He snaps out of it when Zhaan comes in, followed by Aeryn, and smiles.
“I hoped you would come here, Zhaan,” he says. “Moya wants us to do… something. I can feel it.”
“Of course, Stark,” says Zhaan, returning his smile. “There’s just one thing I must attend to first.” She runs a hand over her rows of supplies, and selects a small bronze-colored bottle.
Stark’s visible eye lights up. “What are you two going to do with that?” he says, looking between Zhaan and Aeryn.
“Am I missing something?” Aeryn says, frowning.
Zhaan laughs, at the same time. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. This is for Chiana and D’Argo and John.”
“Ohhh,” says Stark, knowingly.
“Oh,” says Aeryn, “wait- what?”
“I told you you might want to see this,” says Zhaan.
“Zhaan. Explain.”
Zhaan just smiles enigmatically and turns to leave again. Stark follows immediately, all enthusiasm.
Aeryn throws up her hands. “This had better be good,” she says to herself.
---
“Here,” says Zhaan, opening the door again, “this should help enhance your experience.”
Chiana- who’s on top, currently- twists to look at the door and blinks. “Frell, Zhaan, I thought you were just getting an oil!”
D’Argo lifts his head to look around John. “Oh, for-” he mutters, “why doesn’t everyone join us?”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” says Stark, beaming. He goes over, tilting his head to inspect an angle, calculating a trajectory with his hands. “Let’s see- how does this work- your side, my side, your side- D’Argo’s side- Chiana’s side- aha, yes!” And he insinuates himself, somehow, into the tangle of limbs.
Zhaan looks at Aeryn. She’s leaning on the doorframe , arms folded, eyebrows raised, with the smile that means she is emphatically Not Laughing.
“Aeryn?” she says. “The invitation does seem to be open.”
“You do realize you’re all insane,” says Aeryn, but she’s still smiling.
John looks over from the middle of the pile and grins, a tiny bit manic and a tiny bit disbelieving, like he’s just starting to process how insane the world has gone. “Hey, Aeryn, come on in,” he laughs. “It isn’t a party without you.”
Aeryn gives up and follows Zhaan over. Why not, stranger things have happened to them all.
---
Pilot patches back into his link with Moya. She’s trying to get his attention again.
They don’t so much talk as exchange thoughts, condensed ideas at mind-speed. I’m sorry, Moya, he thinks, everyone is unusually distracted today. I’ll contact them again. We’ll get your neural clusters fixed as soon as possible.
It isn’t that, comes the thought back from Moya. That was a- She’s searching for an unfamiliar concept. A ruse. Look.
She patches Pilot the feed from D’Argo’s room. For several moments, Pilot watches in silence. Then he puts a hand over his forehead. Moya can’t see the gesture, of course, but it’s a habit he’s picked up from the crew.
This is going to go badly later, he thinks.
The pattern of neural impulses that comes through the link is the Leviathan equivalent of a smile. But they’re getting along now.
---
Rygel’s throne-sled hovers past the open door. A few moments pass, and then he hovers back in reverse.
He watches briefly, completely unnoticed. Then he gives a little snort of laughter and hovers away. While they’re all distracted, now’s the perfect time to go through their things.
...yeah, I'm gonna blame badplanmobile and defenestratorrr for this. As usual.
Title: Getting Along
Fandom: Farscape
Summary: John walks in at an inopportune moment. Again. Then things get really silly.
Rating/Warnings: Uh. R? Ish? For orgy? It isn’t explicit, like, at all, but it’s still an orgy. So I dunno. Also, crack. Lots of that.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Farscape. This is a work of fiction, and a completely cracked one at that.
“Hey, D’Argo,” says John, palming the door open, “Pilot says there’s still something weird going on in the neural clusters, did you- oh, hey, Chiana.”
D’Argo groans and vaguely attempts to pull a blanket over them. Meanwhile, Chiana tilts her head at him. “You know, you can’t keep walking in like this, John,” she says. “Either get out-” she grins, which probably doesn’t bode well- “or join in.”
“Uh, Chiana,” D’Argo says, “you can’t just-”
But she’s already reaching out and pulling him over, pulling his shirt off and caressing his chest. It’s… a nice chest, actually. D’Argo blinks. “Okay,” he mutters, “maybe you can.” He shrugs- as much as anybody can shrug lying down- and reaches out to pull John onto the bed with them.
John considers protesting, but then Chiana does something excellent to his neck and he reconsiders.
---
Zhaan glides down the corridor and brushes her palm over the door control. “John, are you still here? Pilot said you went to- oh.”
She watches calmly for a few moments, ignoring the outraged noises that John started making when the door opened. They’re quickly replaced with other noises, anyway.
“Hmm,” she says. “You’re going to need an oil I have, I think. I’ll be right back.”
She runs into Aeryn on the next tier. “Zhaan, have you got a moment?” she says. “There’s something wrong in the neural clusters, and John and D’Argo aren’t answering their comms.”
“Ah,” says Zhaan, “there’s something you may want to see.”
---
Stark is in the lab, staring intently into space with a hand up like he’s going to touch something invisible. He snaps out of it when Zhaan comes in, followed by Aeryn, and smiles.
“I hoped you would come here, Zhaan,” he says. “Moya wants us to do… something. I can feel it.”
“Of course, Stark,” says Zhaan, returning his smile. “There’s just one thing I must attend to first.” She runs a hand over her rows of supplies, and selects a small bronze-colored bottle.
Stark’s visible eye lights up. “What are you two going to do with that?” he says, looking between Zhaan and Aeryn.
“Am I missing something?” Aeryn says, frowning.
Zhaan laughs, at the same time. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. This is for Chiana and D’Argo and John.”
“Ohhh,” says Stark, knowingly.
“Oh,” says Aeryn, “wait- what?”
“I told you you might want to see this,” says Zhaan.
“Zhaan. Explain.”
Zhaan just smiles enigmatically and turns to leave again. Stark follows immediately, all enthusiasm.
Aeryn throws up her hands. “This had better be good,” she says to herself.
---
“Here,” says Zhaan, opening the door again, “this should help enhance your experience.”
Chiana- who’s on top, currently- twists to look at the door and blinks. “Frell, Zhaan, I thought you were just getting an oil!”
D’Argo lifts his head to look around John. “Oh, for-” he mutters, “why doesn’t everyone join us?”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” says Stark, beaming. He goes over, tilting his head to inspect an angle, calculating a trajectory with his hands. “Let’s see- how does this work- your side, my side, your side- D’Argo’s side- Chiana’s side- aha, yes!” And he insinuates himself, somehow, into the tangle of limbs.
Zhaan looks at Aeryn. She’s leaning on the doorframe , arms folded, eyebrows raised, with the smile that means she is emphatically Not Laughing.
“Aeryn?” she says. “The invitation does seem to be open.”
“You do realize you’re all insane,” says Aeryn, but she’s still smiling.
John looks over from the middle of the pile and grins, a tiny bit manic and a tiny bit disbelieving, like he’s just starting to process how insane the world has gone. “Hey, Aeryn, come on in,” he laughs. “It isn’t a party without you.”
Aeryn gives up and follows Zhaan over. Why not, stranger things have happened to them all.
---
Pilot patches back into his link with Moya. She’s trying to get his attention again.
They don’t so much talk as exchange thoughts, condensed ideas at mind-speed. I’m sorry, Moya, he thinks, everyone is unusually distracted today. I’ll contact them again. We’ll get your neural clusters fixed as soon as possible.
It isn’t that, comes the thought back from Moya. That was a- She’s searching for an unfamiliar concept. A ruse. Look.
She patches Pilot the feed from D’Argo’s room. For several moments, Pilot watches in silence. Then he puts a hand over his forehead. Moya can’t see the gesture, of course, but it’s a habit he’s picked up from the crew.
This is going to go badly later, he thinks.
The pattern of neural impulses that comes through the link is the Leviathan equivalent of a smile. But they’re getting along now.
---
Rygel’s throne-sled hovers past the open door. A few moments pass, and then he hovers back in reverse.
He watches briefly, completely unnoticed. Then he gives a little snort of laughter and hovers away. While they’re all distracted, now’s the perfect time to go through their things.