Disclaimer: Believe me, no one WANTS this one! My apologies to Henson and Co., to Farscape, and especially to Ben and Claudia,....will they ever forgive me? Will you?

Rating: G--bodice ripper sex only. Enough of it to choke a horse actually.

Summary: Will John ever admit his love for Aeryn? Will they ever consumate their relationship? Will anyone survive? Can this summary be any more trite and redundant?

Archiving: ASK FIRST please.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

Dig in, folks. I wrote this for the fic challenge/contest on Page O' Farscape, hope ya like it. Let me know if you do, it's my first try at humor and satire, and it took me an entire hour and a half to write (from first word to spell check...NO beta on this one!) (brave, aint I?)
REMEMBER: my tongue was planted firmly in cheek on this one!! LOL

The black night was deep, as deep as a really big well. Really big. The Leviathan Moya soared gracefully in the depths like a big mollusk. Really big. Honest. Inside, the stalwart people who manfully manned her were hard at work...umm...manning her. Except the women, they were busy buffing their nails. Moya was at peace, but they on the other hand were not. Life's that way, sometimes.

John Crichton stood in command, his steely blue eyes locked on the view screen. His muscular torso was clad in a brief leather vest, slightly open to give the womenfolk a better view. His hands were clenched and resting on his hips, the better to display his buff biceps. Chest hair curled invitingly from under the vest (ok, so he shaved D'Argo when no one was looking and glued it on, but let's not be nit picky) and his strong legs were spread out in a manly stance. He was the picture of masculine beauty, and he knew it (ok, I'm gagging, anyone else????).

To his left, Aeryn Sun stood where she could bask her eyes on his perfection. Oh, how she longed for the day when he would sweep her into his arms and carry her womanly self into his room and settle her gently (so he wouldn't hurt her frail, womanly self) onto his huge bed as she melted before his riveting gaze. He would ravish her then, letting his hands stray under her plunging neckline as he kissed her, making sure she kept her eyes open all the time so she wouldn't miss a minute of his handsome features. Oh, it would be perfect....

But no, Aeryn Sun had to wait until he had fulfilled the vow he had sworn to be celibate until he had taken revenge on some guy. She didn't know who, and it isn't important to this story. It's not even important enough to clarify whether he's taking revenge *for* someone or *on* someone, it's just semantics and a paragraph filler. Plus I just wanted to frustrate a few more people.

She sighed then, a small, tiny sound, so timid and weak, so frail, so womanly. She was certain John would become overwhelmed with the urge to protect her if she emitted these sighs frequently. So far, he had only asked her if she had gas. Masking her disappointment when he didn't respond, she passed the back of her hand across her brow as if wiping away her fears and troubles. When that didn't turn his gaze from the viewscreen, she pouted prettily, leaning over the console and resting her chin on her hands, her rather copious posterior, clad in pretty pink leather, displayed like a big ol' ham on a dinner plate. This got his attention.

"With all that gas you've been having Aeryn, that might not be a really good position to stand in," was all he said, barely turning his steely gaze from the boring as hell screen.

Standing up abruptly, Aeryn stamped her dainty foot prettily. "John Crichton you are just *horrible*! You are the meanest man I have ever met!" Tears began to flow despite her obvious anger. She just couldn't help it, she was a woman. "OH! I HATE YOU! I wish you had never been born!" With that she wailed, covered her face with her hands and fled from the room, leaving a trail of tears behind her.

Somewhat confused, John Crichton shifted his hands (clenched at his hips, remember) to the console in front of him, making sure that his posture while leaning over the console was still manly and appealing. He frowned and thought about what had just happened between Aeryn and himself. He just didn't understand women, but one thing he did understand was that they needed a strong male hand to guide them. After all, they were the weaker, simpler sex. He stood upright again, coming to a decision. He smiled then, because he knew what Miss Sun needed. With a confident grin (he always looked his best when he was confident), he turned and left command to follow Aeryn.

Meanwhile, in her room (decorated in stiff pink muslin and shimmering mauve satin embroidered with cute little bunnies and horsies), Aeryn Sun had thrown herself face down on her bed for a good cry. Men were such beasts! She pounded her tiny fists into the soft bed, wailing in an appealing manner and doing a really good job of not smearing her makeup. After all, a girl must look her best at all times, including during the obligatory sob fest. But OH! John Crichton was a terrible man, to ignore her and not even notice how pretty she was, and then to comment on her bodily functions! (she did make a mental note not to eat any more of those Sovorian Beans Rygell had purchased). It was more than a woman should have to bear.

A soft (but manly) step alerted her to his presence. She peered up over her crossed arms to see him, so strong and manly and handsome as he posed in the doorway, his sculpted chest with it's thick hair (when did he get that much chest hair? she thought. Did he keep the badger he shaved off his face?), his incredibly buff biceps, his leather clad legs and buns, and this sentence just never ends. But even as she caught her breath in wonder and delight, she remembered that she was mad at him, so she began to wail again.

"OH go away!" she sobbed. "You are nothing but a *beast*!!"

"No Aeryn my darling, you are mistaken. I'm not a beast, I'm just a man, with a man's faults. Not many, of course, but one or two. I mean, look at me, I'm damn near perfect..." Suddenly realizing he was getting sided tracked in his own narcissistic way once again, he carried on. "But I never meant to hurt you, my love. Speak to me, don't spurn me! Don't turn your back...hey, is that a zit? Wow, that one is *huge*! You really should stay away from greasy foods. I do, and I never get zits. Tell you what, I'll loan you some of my special facial mask, it should work pretty good on your back. But we'll have to get it in bulk now..."

Once again, he realized he had sidetracked himself and began anew, accompanied by Aeryn's increasing wails.

"But Aeryn my love, I'm sorry if I hurt you, I never meant to. It's just that I am consumed by the thought of revenge for...what'sisname....you know...that guy I'm getting revenge for...whatever. I'm consumed with thoughts of revenge and mere womanly problems just don't enter into my scope of existence. I hope you can forgive me." He sounded so honest and sincere and so damned *cute* that Aeryn stopped sniffling and turned over (hiding that *huge* zit in the process).

"Really? Y-y-your sorry?" she blubbered.

"Yes, sincerely," he replied, kneeling on the bed with his broad hairy chest thrust out (Holy shit, D'Argo must be BALD now!) and his chin jutting at a fetching angle. His devilish blue eyes glinted once, twice, and then she began to squint so he quit. She was so unattractive when she squinted....

"OH, John!" she squealed girlishly, throwing her arms about his waist and sobbing in relief, "I am soooo happy!"

Keeping his composure, because being composed was just as important as looking confidant, he patted her reassuringly on the back (missing that *huge* zit by a mile) and spoke soothingly, as if to a high strung horse. "I am too pumpkin. In fact, I think I've had it with this celibacy thing, I mean, why do I have to keep it in my pants just to get revenge?"

Looking up abruptly, her eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh, JOHN!" she squealed again, piercingly this time. "Do you *mean* it?"

Wincing at the pain in his ears (and at how it must make him look to wince), he smiled reassuringly. "Why, yes I do Aeryn. Let's get it on, let's boogie woogie all night long..."

She closed her eyes rapturously as he ravaged her, sighing and squealing in heartfelt abandon (whatever the frell that is) until she was swimming in the ocean of love, buoyed by his passion, carried away by his ardor, spent with love and simply aswoon with joy (ok, here we go again...*gag*). And then, just when she thought it couldn't get any better, she....

...woke up, clutching the bodice ripper novel John had found in some remote corner of his Farscape module, sweating and shaking as if she had just come from battle. She glanced at the book and growled with disgust. Frell that Crichton, she would get him for this!

Marching down the hall, she turned in at Crichton's door and yanked him awake with her steely right hand. Watching as he fell helplessly to the floor, she reached down and uncerimoniously wrenched him to his feet by the hair on his head (NOT the hair on his chest, which she was happy to see was it's normal, straggly self).

He began to protest feebly, not completely awake yet. "Aeryn, what the hell's goin' on?" he muttered. But he was too late. He never saw the pantak jab as it connected with his chest, he simply crumpled, his blue eyes (steely blue, riveting blue, gag me she thought) rolling upwards in his head like those of a toy. Satisfied, Aeryn Sun tossed the book (Heaven in his Eyes it was called, by Scarlette von Angst) on his chest and smirked at his prone body.

"Take that, you beast," she said triumphantly and left the room.