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Local Greeting Custom
Written for the Mistaken Identity challenge.

Title: Local Greeting Custom
Rating: Adult for mild groping
Word Count: 1,309
Characters: Chiana, Crichton(sort-of), Other
Spoilers: Sometime through S4, nothing specific
Summary: Chiana's up to her usual tricks and makes a play for Crichton's support
Disclaimers: Farscape is the property of Henson and numerous talented others. No infringement intended, no profit here. Same goes for Stargate SG-1.

Unbeta'd, just wrote this today, mistakes are mine. Might consider adding to this at some point later on.



Chiana keeps looking behind her to make sure she hasn’t been followed, leans on the mortar wall for support while she catches her breath. She’s put a good lead between herself and her pursuers, but isn’t stupid enough to think they won’t keep looking for her and knows she can’t afford to rest for too long. She’s got to get back to Moya and put some serious space between herself and this rock. Hopes the others have gotten what they need by then because it’ll save her a lot of grief and maybe a lot of explaining.

She can hear the sounds of water splashing on the ground, just around the corner of the building she’s hiding behind. She peeks out and sees a Sebacean male. He’s dressed in black; a short-sleeved shirt and long pants, big heavy boots and she’d swear he was a Peacekeeper if he wasn’t so familiar.

He’s got his back turned to her, bent over a well, pumping the water with one long arm while the other cups and splashes it over the back of his neck and face. Cooling off; the temperature out here deters most Sebaceans from venturing outside during the hottest part of the day. But he doesn’t have much to worry about because he’s no Sebacean.

Her eyes scan up and down his legs, the shape of his back, comes to rest on his eema.

Crichton says ‘ass’, but she likes the sound of eema better and Chiana smiles as she gets an eyeful.

He’s not supposed to be at this end of the bazaar. He should be with D’Argo, several clicks away, but this change of plan might actually work to her advantage.

Chiana’s gotten herself into a bit of trouble and whether she wants to admit it or not, it looks like she could do with some help. She’ll have to ‘fess up about the jewelry and the coins and he’ll be livid, that’s for sure, but that just means she’ll have to be sweeter than Dekka syrup and slicker than Lutra oil. It may not really barter much of his support, but it's at least fun to try.

She knows Crichton needs it, needs touch, a little warmth now and then, nothing serious, and she doesn’t mind filling the vacuum that Aeryn’s left behind. He still pushes her away every time; him and his noble frelling intentions, but she gets it, understands his need to keep her safe, even if it is from himself.

But that doesn’t mean she has to like it and pushing those boundaries with Crichton is damned fun. Nothing better than copping a feel here and there, watching the way his eyes glaze over when she nuzzles that warm spot on the inside of his thigh, the way his body almost swoons when she strokes his neck and plays with his hair. It’s not all about sex; it’s just the best way in she knows.

She’s creeping up behind him, notices his clothing is different, not wearing his leathers. Just as well in this heat. Maybe he’s in this sector because he purchased some new clothing, although D’Argo won’t be too happy about it, said this wasn’t a personal shopping venture; supplies only. She loves D’Argo, but he really is a big, bossy, drag sometimes.

Now, surprising Crichton isn’t advisable, unless you actually want to get shot, that is, but his weapon is lying on the ground next to him, just out of reach and that’s not his usual style. Huh.

Come to think of it, she’s never seen that one before. The thing looks deadly, but primitive. Another new purchase, maybe? Well, he could have done way better and Aeryn will have something to say about it for sure.

There’s a large pack next to his weapon and she doesn’t recognize it either. Maybe Crichton has finally caught on to boosting stuff on his own. Now that she can get behind. They’d make a great team - that is, if he wasn’t on every frelling wanted beacon in the Uncharted Territories.

There’s something else that’s funny, too. Winona’s holster and thigh strap are missing. Now that’s really odd. Old man’s either losing his touch or his paranoia, and she’s not sure any of them can afford either - time to find out what’s Crichton’s been up to today. She’s hoping it’s no good, then he’ll be less apt to start preaching about the mess she’s in.

She’s light and quick and gets a hand over his eyes and the other down the front of his pants before he can turn around. He gasps and grunts in surprise and when he does twist around to face her, she kisses him hard. She’s even able to slip her tongue in his mouth before he grabs and pulls her away, holding her at arms length.

“Whoa! Whoa!” he says, a little out of breath. “Jackson didn’t mention the locals were this friendly.”

Well at least he’s not angry. She has no idea who Jackson is or why he’s playing stupid, but he does look very cute when he’s this perplexed, when his face scrunches up like that.

She’s licking her lips, tasting the water off his face from the well. His hair is wet and spiky, droplets teeming down his cheeks and neck. The black tee is slick and clinging to his chest. Her tongue flicks out, settles back in her mouth sated with his taste. It’s nice, he tastes clean and good, but it’s…strange.

“Crichton, you really are dense sometimes,” she says, squirming her hand back into the waistband of his trousers, slipping further down than before. He hesitates before he drags her hand away, his body calling the shots first, and she watches eagerly as his eyes roll back in his head and his jaw works itself, like he can’t stay still. She can feel his cock twitch, waking up to the feel of her hand.

But typical for Crichton, it doesn’t last, and he snakes away from her, still holding her at bay, eyes big and wide looking at her like he’s never seen her before.

“Why don’t we start with ‘Hello’, and you are?”

“Very happy to see you,” she says playful and kittenish and grabs the back of his head to hold him still so she can nip his jaw line.

He smells good, really good, but it’s nothing she remembers associating with Crichton. She starts sniffing him all over.

“Ma’am, whoa! Hey now! Much as this is the nicest reception I’ve ever had, you need to stop that,” blurting out a giggle as she hits a ticklish spot, but doesn’t stop trying to gently push her away, wrestling with her arms, torso going concave, withdrawing from her as much as he can.

She usually doesn’t get this far with Crichton. By this time he’s already used a little more muscle to make sure she’s gotten the point, or dumped her right on her eema. Right now he’s treating her with the kid gloves and she doesn’t know why.

She catches a glint of something around his neck and snags it between her fingers. She yanks it closer to inspect and he lurches forward, trying to keep his balance and not fall back into her space.

There’s an odd-looking chain and two oval-shaped, dull metal clips dangling over his throat. Chiana can make out embossed writing of some sort, but it looks like his English and it might as well be ancient Luxan for all she knows. She wonders where the frell he got it and why. It’s ugly, doesn’t appear to be a metal that has any sort of value.

She realizes he’s studying her, cocking his head back and forth, curious and smiling.

“Okay, maybe I should introduce myself first. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, at your service, ma’am.”

END