John rolled over in his bed, hit a large, hot, immoveable, and slightly
furry object, and woke up. "You better be Ka D'Argo, cuz if yer not
he'll rip yer head off." This declaration might have struck more terror
into the hearts of his bedmate if it had been delivered so a reasonably
intelligent being could understand what was said. Or if it hadn't been
Ka D'Argo.

"John Crichton, you really ought to know who in Hezmana's sleeping in
your bed."

"Prolly true, sweet thing, but this Luxan guy kep' givin' me fellip
nectar, and I went t' bed drunk." He yawned and scrubbed at his face.
"And alone.  What time is it and why are you here?"

"Four arns into the sleep cycle." He yawned, ostentatiously because
Luxans do not naturally yawn, threw an arm around the human's waist,
and tucked John's head underneath his chin. "Good night."

John pulled on one of the rings embedded in his lover's chest.  "No
sleep for you.  I'm awake now.  Why are you in my bed?"

D'Argo groaned and rolled away from his smaller tormentor. "I couldn't
sleep," he muttered. "I crawled in your bed so I could fall asleep.
Let's sleep, John."

"Why couldn't you sleep?  Come on, D'Argo, if you're going to disturb my
rest in the middle of the night, don't I deserve a straight answer?"

"Yes, you do.  In the morning.  Over breakfast.  After we have slept,
Crichton."

"Oh, all right. I was cold anyway." He was quiet for a few minutes and
then stage whispered, "Hey, Choirboy, that's your cue. You're supposed
to wrap me up in your big, manly arms and keep me from freezing to
death."

D'Argo, who had been waiting for an invitation, turned around and
cuddled up against his companion.  "What is a choirboy?"

"In the morning.  Over breakfast."  A long, luxurious yawn.  "After
we've slept.  Let's sleep, D'Argo."

***

There was something very wrong with the room in which he'd awoken.  The
bed was too hot, the wall was on the wrong side of the bed, the room
smelled overwhelmingly of John --

Who was not lying here, next to D'Argo, asleep in his bed. D'Argo sat
up, ran a hand through his hair and his beard, and wondered how he could
possibly leave his lover's room. In the middle of the sleep cycle, with
everyone presumably asleep or in their rooms, sneaking around Moya's
corridors naked hadn't seemed like such a big deal. But now, when it was
(he looked at the chrono affixed to John's wall) an arn into the
activity cycle, Aeryn would be running through the corridors as part of
her conditioning routine, Rygel would be headed toward the mess, and
Pilot would be actively monitoring the activities of all the crew.  And
the only thing of John's that would fit him was the sheet.

The door opened and John walked in with a large pile of fabric and a
couple of familiar food containers. "I brought you breakfast in bed." He
waved the food containers. "Or at least the beginnings of it." He put
them down on the bed next to D'Argo, then shook out the fabric and laid
it across a chair, revealing loose Luxan casual clothes. "And something
to get you out of my quarters without showing your all and sundry to all
and sundry."

D'Argo nodded. John sat down, still dressed in the pajamas he had gone
to bed in the night before. He pulled two spoons out of his pockets,
handed one to his lover, and picked up the container which held a bright
orange, frozen glob. D'Argo leaned back against the wall at the head of
the bed and watched as the human played with his food. He stuck the
spoon in his cup and twirled it around several times, until the
consistency was somewhat more mushy. Then he scraped around the sides of
his container, carefully gathering the liquid runoff that his hands had
melted. He slurped this from the spoon. He plunged his spoon deep into
the center of the cup, carefully cut out the core of the 'Frosty', and
tried to bring it up in a single column. It broke in half, of course,
but John just laughed and shoved what was left on the spoon in his
mouth. He tilted his head backwards, opened his mouth, breathed 
outwards, and waited for his food to liquefy in his mouth. He could
never wait long enough for the entire glop to melt, and today was no
exception. He swallowed what was left, coughed, and looked through his
lashes at the man sitting on his bed. D'Argo hadn't moved.

"I don't understand you, D'Argo.  I've been eating my, er, breakfast the
same way for the past ten days, and every time you look at me as if
this were some strange human ritual I've forgotten to explain to you.
Why?"

"You never have explained to me why you eat your 'breakfast' in the same
manner."

Crichton looked at him with an expression of complete disbelief.  "It's
just the way I eat a Frosty, Choirboy.  When DK and I were in grad
school, every Sunday night, we'd go to the drive through at Wendy's, get
bacon cheeseburgers and Frosties, and come back and watch the X-Files.
And the whole thing," he pointed with his spoon at what was left of the
orange slush, "just evolved over the course of years.  No biggie."

D'Argo chuckled. "I understood almost nothing you said. Just enough to
understand that it was some strange John Crichton ritual you'd forgotten
to explain to me."

"Whatever.  Just eat up so we can go get some real breakfast.  I'm
hungry and," he looked at his cup, "two tablespoons of Luxan come is not
gonna cut it."

D'Argo turned his attention to his own cup, but his spoon never made it
inside.  "Someone has eaten half of this."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Only half of what should be here is in this cup."

"I don't frelling believe this."

D'Argo looked at his lover closely.  John's voice was tight and low, and
his scent was changing.  "It's not that bad."

"I don't frelling believe this."

The human smelled *aggressive*, and D'Argo could see his posture
changing, becoming alert and ready to attack. "I was mistaken. Only a
quarter, no, a fifth of it is gone." This was a blatant lie. Closer to
two-thirds of the mixture had disappeared, but now was definitely not
the time to share.

"I don't frelling believe this."  John was up and pacing.  His breath
was more rapid, his skin was flushed, he curled, then uncurled his
fingers, never quite forming fists.

"John, it was an accident.  We can forget about it."

"I don't frelling believe this!"  The shout was not quite loud enough to
be heard outside of the cell.  At least, D'Argo hoped it wasn't.  He
watched, in horror and fascination as John got closer and closer to the
door.

"Perhaps Pilot could watch to prevent future accidents.  The DRDs could
guard it."

John slammed out of the door, yelling for Pilot.  D'Argo went to follow
him, realized he was still naked, went back and put on his pants, and
grabbed the shirt and put it on as he walked toward the mess.

"I am attempting to scan all of the DRD input from the mess area, now,
Crichton.  There were nearly twenty different DRDs who spent more than
five minutes in the kitchen, and I am attempting to reconstruct a
sequence of events."  Then Pilot did something odd.  He burst out
laughing.

"What is it, Pilot?" demanded D'Argo, who had finally arrived.

"I have reconstructed the relevant sequence of events.  It will take an
additional 50 microts to gather some relevant recordings from quarters."

"Hurry the fuck up, Pilot!" shouted John.

"I have an audio file compiled.  You should remember, Crichton that
there was no malicious intent in anything that was done.  Audio play
will begin now."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Chiana?"

"Yes, Aeryn?"

"I'm hungry. Let's go to the mess and see if there's anything to eat."

"Alright, I'm easy."

"Why, yes you are."

Smothered mutter of indignation. 

("There is an interval of approximately one-quarter arn," reported
Pilot.)

"Why do you get the orange stuff and I get white stuff?"

"Because you're eating something in order to appease me, and there's
twice as much orange stuff as white. And because I'm the big, bad
commander, and you are an insignificant tech. How's it taste?"

"Kinda bitter. Salty, too. You know, Lord and Master, sometimes you take
this roleplaying stuff just a little too far." Sarcasm lands on the
floor in great, gushing waves. 

"What? What? Chiana, you're not making any sense. Anyway, I like this
orange stuff. It's sweet and creamy. Here, have a bite." 

Seductive slurp. Puzzled mutter. Horrified gasp of recognition. Violent
rejection by severe, repeated spitting. "Stop eating that. I don't know
how it's possible for that to be in our freezer, but it is, and unless
you and D'Argo have a much closer relationship than I think you do, you
need to put that down." 

"A close relationship to D'Argo? What does frozen orange goo have to do
with D'Argo?" 

Whispered muttered to self, "It's the white goo I can't place. I've
never had anyone who made anything like it. It's really unusual ...,"
voice drips off as realization hits. 

"Chiana, Chiana, what's wrong? Why are you turning colors? I don't think
Nebari are supposed to *be* that shade of blue! Chiana, stop it this
instant or I'm going to have to whack you." 

"John Crichton. They're gonna kill us. We'll be dead. Aeryn, D'Argo and
John are going to kill us very dead, unless we can hide the evidence."
Absent-minded slurping goes on for several seconds. 

"Well, eating all of this whatever it is, is one way to hide the
evidence. But they'll notice it's gone." 

"Oh, frell, what am I eating?" 

"I don't know, Chiana; you won't tell me." 

"Look, we'll just put these back in the freezer, we'll go to bed, and
we'll play it real cool in the morning. That's just what we'll do. Wish
I had some dunga milk to mix with the white goo, though. It tastes kind
of like bianchi, and it should freeze up to the same texture." 

"The white goo is bianchi? But, I thought bianchi was blue? And furry?
And was a seaslug from halfway acro--" 

Slurping sound that results from one person attempting to inhale the
tonsils (or nearest Sebacean equivalent) from another. Sound from
frantic rubbing of naked girl flesh on other naked girl flesh. 

"Aeryn, you're not hungry anymore, are you? Let's just ... go to bed.
We'll talk it all over in the morning. But, let's not talk anymore, what
do you say?" 

"Just as long as we don't sleep either." Audible leer, a feat managed
only by those Peacekeepers with high potential as Senior Officers. The
smarminess implied by such an ability seems required. 

"No, we won't sleep, baby. You're gonna frell me into a million pieces."
Enthusiastic kiss, followed by the barely audible whisper, "Or else John
and D'Argo are going to break us into a million pieces tomorrow." 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The rest of my recordings are not relevant to your inquiry, Commander."

John burst out laughing.  "I don't frelling believe this." His shoulders
shook with laughter.  D'Argo thought that he might break something and
put a hand on his shoulder.  "This," he gestured toward the ceiling, "is
so unbelievably fucked up."  He giggled semi-hysterically.

"It's ... gone?"  D'Argo rubbed Crichton's back gently, in little,
soothing circles.  "You are done with your anger?"

The giggles slowed down, ended in a sigh.  "Not gone, no.  But how can I
yell at someone for eating an unmarked dish in a common food storage unit?
Especially when she's scared herself half to death already."  John
walked toward the storage unit in question, started rummaging around.
"Besides, I was never exactly mad at anyone else."

D'Argo stayed where he was, but turned around to watch John's progress.
"Who were you mad at, then?"

"I don't know.  Look," John stood up, turned back to face D'Argo, "were
*you* ready to tell everyone we're frelling?"

D'Argo frowned, confused.  "They already know, I am sure."

John shook his head.  "They suspect.  But if we don't tell them, they
don't know.  And I'm not ready to tell them."

"Why?"

"I want to pretend that this isn't --." He stuck his head back in the
open doorway.  "You want some tea with breakfast?"

D'Argo walked over to John, then walked as far inside his personal space
as possible without touching.  "Pretend this isn't what, human?"

John elbowed him, dispassionately, and didn't bother to turn around at
his lover's soft grunt.  "Goddamnit, *Luxan*, I told you to stop with
the He-Man moves.  Do you want likoberries or toast for breakfast?"

D'Argo turned away, walked to a cabinet filled with unappealing little
edible wafers. "I'll just get some food cubes and go. I need to clean
and inspect the weapons today, anyway."

***

D'Argo decided to go for a walk in the hallways after an unpleasant
dinner.  He and John had been glaring at one another, Chiana kept
shooting scared glances at him, and Aeryn had been shooting bemused
glances at her.  The only thing positive that had come of it was an
agreement by everyone that private food would be kept on the bottom
shelf of any food storage unit and labeled with its owner's name.

He had been walking only a short time when he smelled Chiana.  He
couldn't hear her, so he pretended she wasn't there.  Her scent didn't
fade, but neither did it increase.  He wondered if all of his troubles
could be layed at her door, but he was basically a fair person.  Like
John said, one can't really blame someone for eating something unmarked
in a common storage unit.

And, honestly, he wasn't having so many troubles. This thing with John
wasn't troubled, he didn't think. He still had time to put pressure on
it, to push at it until he could see what was going on. See why John
wanted to make their thing a secret. Their thing, what kind of language
was that? D'Argo had the sudden, horrible vision of a hologram showing
John's cock in his mivonks being sold by Rygel as abstract art. But that
was more their things than their thing.  Except he couldn't call it a
relationship if John just called it frelling.  Which he had, at the
horrible, aborted attempted at breakfast.

He heard a soft whoosh-whoosh behind him and whirled around to face
Chiana.  "What do you want?"

She stopped walking forward. She looked frightened, though he'd asked in
a perfectly normal tone, not the aggressive growl he used to intimidate
people. "To apologize.  We meant no harm, D'Argo, and we want to repair
any that was done."

He nodded.  "Did you explain to Aeryn?"

"I didn't tell her anything she hadn't figured out herself."  Chiana
made some head motions which reminded him unpleasantly of the Skykarian
supervisor Volmae.  "I wasn't sure those were really your sexual
secretions anyway."  Her voice made this almost a question.

He leaned forward a little, puffed himself up a bit, in order to loom
over her. "Don't tell her anything. It would upset me." This, he
thought, is precisely what John means by He-Man tactics.

***

He entered his chamber without turning on his light.  He removed his
clothing, and slipped into bed.  He hit something.  "John?"

"D'Argo."  It was a statement, simple confirmation of his existence with
no inflection.

"Why are you in my bed?"

There was a pause, a long one. Then so softly D'Argo barely made out his
words, "I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

D'Argo refused to let himself react to that statement.  The feelings
that rose up in him were a confusing mix, and the only one he recognized
immediately was anger.  He did not wish to act on his anger.  He opened
his mouth, and said, "I can't do this."

He felt John moving around on the mattress, felt him get off the bed,
heard him walk toward the door.  Before it opened he said, "Wait."

"I've never forced myself on anyone.  If you don't want me around, I'm
gone."  John stayed facing away from D'Argo, but he didn't move to go
out.

"Chiana washed your t-shirt."

"Excuse me?"

D'Argo got up walked closer to the human, but was careful to keep from
looming, from getting too close.  "I take your t-shirts after we spar.
When Chiana did my laundry yesterday, she got the last one.  I couldn't
smell you; I couldn't sleep.  That's why I went to your bed.  Why were
you in mine?"

John turned around and faced him, leaned against the door.  "D'Argo,
tell me straight out what you're trying to say, what you're asking.  All
of this manly man bullshit is great for basketball, but if you get off
the same wavelength, it's hell making your way back."

D'Argo nodded.  He could do blunt, he could do honest.  "Why do you have
sex with me?"

John hissed.  "You don't pull your punches, Choirboy." He reached
behind himself, turned on the lights and flinched.  Then he nodded
toward the bed.  "Sit down."

D'Argo sat with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest.
John sat in front of the door, legs folded, head bent.

"I don't know.  It feels good.  You feel good.  You taste good.  You're
willing, able, and over the age of consent."  He looked up.  "Are you
gonna stop if I give the wrong answer?"

"I don't know the right answer."  D'Argo swung his legs up on the bed,
presenting his profile to John.  "I haven't done this before."

John blinked slowly.  "What's this?"

"This thing we're doing."

"This thing?"

"That we're doing."

"What are we doing?"

"I don't know, John.  I thought we were--."  He growled suddenly, and
began muttering imprecations under his breath.

"I can't understand what you're saying.  It doesn't explain a frelling
thing!"  John leaned forward, got right up in the Luxan's face.  "You
are jerking my chain, trying to make me into something I'm not.  What
the frell do you want?  Why are you doing this?  Why do we have to talk
about all of this?  I liked what we were doing before."