tanaquific (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tanaquific) wrote2014-09-01 08:49 pm
tanaquific) wrote2014-09-01 08:49 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Farscape - Cuts both ways - General
Title: Cuts both ways
Fandom: Farscape
Rating: General
Contains: nothing beyond canon
Words: 1,490 words
Summary: Who's keeping John's hair trimmed in the Uncharted Territories? A birthday present forscribblesinink
Disclaimer: This story is a transformative work based on the Jim Henson Company/Nine Network/Hallmark Entertainment/A&E series Farscape. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it.
Author's Note: Thanks to Scribbler (scribblesinink) for the beta.
oOo
John peered at his reflection in the dim mirror and confirmed what he'd suspected: he needed a haircut. Because he hadn't exactly packed for an extended trip when he'd climbed into his module. He'd managed to fashion a razor a couple of days after he came aboard, so he'd kept the stubble in check, but likely there weren't any hair clippers on Moya. Wouldn't hurt to ask, though.
"Hey, Zhaan." He found her in the maintenance bay, mixing up one of her potions. "I need a haircut."
Zhaan regarded him over the top of the flask she was holding up. "Your hair looks quite acceptable to me, John."
"Yeah, well," he ran a hand over his head, "it's a bit longer than I usually wear it. Don't suppose there's a set of hair clippers on board. Or scissors. Shears." He mimed cutting with his fingers.
Zhaan frowned. "Shears? Yes, I think I have seen some. In a chest on the other side of the maintenance bay."
"So, would you...?" Again, John made a cutting motion.
Zhaan's gaze drifted upward. "Alas, John, I am inexperienced with hair." She drew her hand over her own bald head. "Perhaps you should ask someone else?"
"Yeah. Right. Thanks. Shears over there?" He indicated a set of shelves behind him and she nodded.
As he searched the boxes on the shelves, he went through the options in his mind. No way he was asking Rygel—and besides, the little guy was almost as bald as Zhaan. D'Argo might do it; at least he had hair.
Aha! John felt a moment of triumph as he discovered several pairs of shears. Sorting through them, he selected a pair that seemed sharp and the right sort of size. Well, that was half the challenge solved.
D'Argo was in command, tinkering with one of the control consoles. "Hey, big guy." John slapped him on the back. "Do me a favor?"
D'Argo gave him a brief look, wrinkling his nose, before turning back to the console. "What kind of favor?"
"I need a haircut." John held up the scissors. "Was hoping—."
"Luxans do not cut hair." D'Argo's tone was snappish. "Their own or anyone else's."
"Uh, okay." John raised his hands to show he meant no offense and took a step back. "That a religious thing?"
"Yes." D'Argo moved his hands over the console, his whole stance indicating the conversation was over.
Taking the hint, John backed away. Heading out of Command, he considered the two remaining members of the crew. Pilot likely didn't have the necessary manual dexterity in his hands. Which left—.
He sighed. "Pilot, where's Aeryn?"
Pilot's reply came with the usual calm efficiency. "Officer Sun is in her quarters."
John sighed again and turned his steps in that direction. Reaching Aeryn's quarters, he knocked quietly on the door. "Hey."
She looked up from doing some kind of maintenance on the pulse pistol on her lap, her eyebrows raised questioningly.
"I need a haircut and I was hoping...." He held up the scissors.
She regarded him silently for a long moment, biting her lip, before she rolled her eyes. "Very well." She stood up and holstered her weapon.
John waved his hand at the door controls and hurried inside before she changed her mind. Handing her the scissors, he settled himself on a stool in front of the mirror.
She moved up behind him. "What do you want me to do?"
"Uh, just... shorter?" He reached up and caught a tuft of hair between his fingers so the end poked out. "Just trim the ends off?" He let his hand drop.
"Hmm." She gently put her splayed fingers on his head and tilted it forward a little. He felt her catch a chunk of hair and then let it go a couple of times, as if testing out how best to proceed, before the snap of the scissors finally came and he felt a soft tickle against his neck as the first trimmings drifted down.
Holding himself very still, he let her work, all the while acutely aware of her as she moved around him: her warmth and her scent and her fingers gently brushing against his neck from time to time. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Yeah, this was a really bad idea, just like he'd expected—and a really good one....
"There." He sensed her step back. "Done. Shorter." She sounded slightly defensive, very much reminding him she'd only done what she'd done at his asking.
Opening his eyes, he ran a hand over his hair. It felt a little uneven and a look in the mirror confirmed it. But it wasn't bad for a first attempt.
"It's great. Thanks." He stood and turned to face her, his shoulders twitching as the hair that had worked its way inside his T-shirt tickled his skin. Should have remembered to wrap something around his neck.
She ran her gaze over him, evaluating her handiwork. Then she held the scissors out to him. "Perhaps we can find better tools on the next commerce planet we visit. For next time."
"Sure." He took the scissors from her with a nod of the head.
Walking away from her quarters, he let loose the grin he'd managed to suppress until he was out of sight. So there was going to be a next time....
oOo
"Hey."
Aeryn looked up from servicing her pulse pistol, sighing inwardly at the interruption. She still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about John. Mostly angry that he'd frelled up her life. Sometimes irritated at how helpless and incompetent and at the same time entirely arrogant he could be. Occasionally surprised by a moment of pity as he flailed in unfamiliar territory. All of the time trying to ignore the shiver of desire she felt whenever she was close to him.
His hesitant air softened her exasperation. He knew he was bothering her and he didn't want to be bothering her, but he clearly felt he had no choice. And his request was simple enough.
She raised her eyes to consider his hair. Surely not long enough yet to trouble him—many Peacekeeper soldiers wore theirs longer—though it had grown noticeably in the quarter of a cycle since they'd first met. And she had no training or skill as a personal groomer. Yet her fingertips tingled at the thought of touching it, of touching him.
This is madness!
But she was already irreversibly contaminated.
"Very well." She stood and holstered her pistol.
Moving up behind him as he settled himself on a stool in front of the mirror, she breathed in his scent. He smelled good, the way he always did. Which was ridiculous. He was a barbarian from a backward planet no one had ever heard of. She shook her head, trying to clear it. "What do you want me to do?"
"Just... shorter?" He showed her. "Just trim the ends off?"
She put her hand on his head, fingers splayed, feeling the tickle of his hair against her skin. Pressing gently, she tipped his head forward to make it easier to work, altering her own stance a little. He was tense under her hands, but very still. She looked down at his shoulders: broad and strong, the muscles firm under his clothes. He had not been unpleasant to look at during the time she had waited for him to wake, when they had been imprisoned together on her first day here.
She lifted her hand away and gave herself a little shake. Concentrate, Officer Sun!
Catching a lock of his hair, she drew it between her fingers, as he had done, testing a few times until she was sure. Then she began, cautiously, to snip....
She knew she hadn't made a particularly good job of it. There had been places she'd cut off too much and others where she'd been too afraid of cutting too much to cut enough. The shears were also not as sharp as perhaps they should have been. But he'd seemed pleased with the result.
"Perhaps we can find some better tools on the next commerce planet we visit," she suggested, as she handed them back. "For next time."
"Sure." He nodded and turned away.
She watched him leave. He wouldn't need his hair cutting for another quarter of a cycle. But she'd been thinking, as she worked, that she really should teach him a few basic self-defense techniques. That way, he might actually be some use in a fight, rather than a burden.
Self-defense classes would mean getting even closer than cutting his hair, putting her hands on him and his on her. But that wasn't why she was considering the idea. No, that wasn't it at all. It just made perfect sense for her to help him improve his skills, so she didn't have to babysit him quite so much.
Maybe she'd suggest that to him tomorrow.
Fandom: Farscape
Rating: General
Contains: nothing beyond canon
Words: 1,490 words
Summary: Who's keeping John's hair trimmed in the Uncharted Territories? A birthday present for
scribblesininkDisclaimer: This story is a transformative work based on the Jim Henson Company/Nine Network/Hallmark Entertainment/A&E series Farscape. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it.
Author's Note: Thanks to Scribbler (
scribblesinink) for the beta.John peered at his reflection in the dim mirror and confirmed what he'd suspected: he needed a haircut. Because he hadn't exactly packed for an extended trip when he'd climbed into his module. He'd managed to fashion a razor a couple of days after he came aboard, so he'd kept the stubble in check, but likely there weren't any hair clippers on Moya. Wouldn't hurt to ask, though.
"Hey, Zhaan." He found her in the maintenance bay, mixing up one of her potions. "I need a haircut."
Zhaan regarded him over the top of the flask she was holding up. "Your hair looks quite acceptable to me, John."
"Yeah, well," he ran a hand over his head, "it's a bit longer than I usually wear it. Don't suppose there's a set of hair clippers on board. Or scissors. Shears." He mimed cutting with his fingers.
Zhaan frowned. "Shears? Yes, I think I have seen some. In a chest on the other side of the maintenance bay."
"So, would you...?" Again, John made a cutting motion.
Zhaan's gaze drifted upward. "Alas, John, I am inexperienced with hair." She drew her hand over her own bald head. "Perhaps you should ask someone else?"
"Yeah. Right. Thanks. Shears over there?" He indicated a set of shelves behind him and she nodded.
As he searched the boxes on the shelves, he went through the options in his mind. No way he was asking Rygel—and besides, the little guy was almost as bald as Zhaan. D'Argo might do it; at least he had hair.
Aha! John felt a moment of triumph as he discovered several pairs of shears. Sorting through them, he selected a pair that seemed sharp and the right sort of size. Well, that was half the challenge solved.
D'Argo was in command, tinkering with one of the control consoles. "Hey, big guy." John slapped him on the back. "Do me a favor?"
D'Argo gave him a brief look, wrinkling his nose, before turning back to the console. "What kind of favor?"
"I need a haircut." John held up the scissors. "Was hoping—."
"Luxans do not cut hair." D'Argo's tone was snappish. "Their own or anyone else's."
"Uh, okay." John raised his hands to show he meant no offense and took a step back. "That a religious thing?"
"Yes." D'Argo moved his hands over the console, his whole stance indicating the conversation was over.
Taking the hint, John backed away. Heading out of Command, he considered the two remaining members of the crew. Pilot likely didn't have the necessary manual dexterity in his hands. Which left—.
He sighed. "Pilot, where's Aeryn?"
Pilot's reply came with the usual calm efficiency. "Officer Sun is in her quarters."
John sighed again and turned his steps in that direction. Reaching Aeryn's quarters, he knocked quietly on the door. "Hey."
She looked up from doing some kind of maintenance on the pulse pistol on her lap, her eyebrows raised questioningly.
"I need a haircut and I was hoping...." He held up the scissors.
She regarded him silently for a long moment, biting her lip, before she rolled her eyes. "Very well." She stood up and holstered her weapon.
John waved his hand at the door controls and hurried inside before she changed her mind. Handing her the scissors, he settled himself on a stool in front of the mirror.
She moved up behind him. "What do you want me to do?"
"Uh, just... shorter?" He reached up and caught a tuft of hair between his fingers so the end poked out. "Just trim the ends off?" He let his hand drop.
"Hmm." She gently put her splayed fingers on his head and tilted it forward a little. He felt her catch a chunk of hair and then let it go a couple of times, as if testing out how best to proceed, before the snap of the scissors finally came and he felt a soft tickle against his neck as the first trimmings drifted down.
Holding himself very still, he let her work, all the while acutely aware of her as she moved around him: her warmth and her scent and her fingers gently brushing against his neck from time to time. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Yeah, this was a really bad idea, just like he'd expected—and a really good one....
"There." He sensed her step back. "Done. Shorter." She sounded slightly defensive, very much reminding him she'd only done what she'd done at his asking.
Opening his eyes, he ran a hand over his hair. It felt a little uneven and a look in the mirror confirmed it. But it wasn't bad for a first attempt.
"It's great. Thanks." He stood and turned to face her, his shoulders twitching as the hair that had worked its way inside his T-shirt tickled his skin. Should have remembered to wrap something around his neck.
She ran her gaze over him, evaluating her handiwork. Then she held the scissors out to him. "Perhaps we can find better tools on the next commerce planet we visit. For next time."
"Sure." He took the scissors from her with a nod of the head.
Walking away from her quarters, he let loose the grin he'd managed to suppress until he was out of sight. So there was going to be a next time....
"Hey."
Aeryn looked up from servicing her pulse pistol, sighing inwardly at the interruption. She still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about John. Mostly angry that he'd frelled up her life. Sometimes irritated at how helpless and incompetent and at the same time entirely arrogant he could be. Occasionally surprised by a moment of pity as he flailed in unfamiliar territory. All of the time trying to ignore the shiver of desire she felt whenever she was close to him.
His hesitant air softened her exasperation. He knew he was bothering her and he didn't want to be bothering her, but he clearly felt he had no choice. And his request was simple enough.
She raised her eyes to consider his hair. Surely not long enough yet to trouble him—many Peacekeeper soldiers wore theirs longer—though it had grown noticeably in the quarter of a cycle since they'd first met. And she had no training or skill as a personal groomer. Yet her fingertips tingled at the thought of touching it, of touching him.
This is madness!
But she was already irreversibly contaminated.
"Very well." She stood and holstered her pistol.
Moving up behind him as he settled himself on a stool in front of the mirror, she breathed in his scent. He smelled good, the way he always did. Which was ridiculous. He was a barbarian from a backward planet no one had ever heard of. She shook her head, trying to clear it. "What do you want me to do?"
"Just... shorter?" He showed her. "Just trim the ends off?"
She put her hand on his head, fingers splayed, feeling the tickle of his hair against her skin. Pressing gently, she tipped his head forward to make it easier to work, altering her own stance a little. He was tense under her hands, but very still. She looked down at his shoulders: broad and strong, the muscles firm under his clothes. He had not been unpleasant to look at during the time she had waited for him to wake, when they had been imprisoned together on her first day here.
She lifted her hand away and gave herself a little shake. Concentrate, Officer Sun!
Catching a lock of his hair, she drew it between her fingers, as he had done, testing a few times until she was sure. Then she began, cautiously, to snip....
She knew she hadn't made a particularly good job of it. There had been places she'd cut off too much and others where she'd been too afraid of cutting too much to cut enough. The shears were also not as sharp as perhaps they should have been. But he'd seemed pleased with the result.
"Perhaps we can find some better tools on the next commerce planet we visit," she suggested, as she handed them back. "For next time."
"Sure." He nodded and turned away.
She watched him leave. He wouldn't need his hair cutting for another quarter of a cycle. But she'd been thinking, as she worked, that she really should teach him a few basic self-defense techniques. That way, he might actually be some use in a fight, rather than a burden.
Self-defense classes would mean getting even closer than cutting his hair, putting her hands on him and his on her. But that wasn't why she was considering the idea. No, that wasn't it at all. It just made perfect sense for her to help him improve his skills, so she didn't have to babysit him quite so much.
Maybe she'd suggest that to him tomorrow.