Furrygirl@usa.net

Wandering through Moya's meandering hallways, John heard music. Soft, electronic-sounding music. Pretty. Rounding a corner, he found himself at D'Argo's - open, oddly enough - door.

Gee. How'd I end up here? John thought sourly, wishing devoutly that his subconscious were a tangible thing so he could give it a swift kick or twelve.

D'Argo was sitting on the small bed at the back of the room, playing an instrument that looked basically like a lyre. Of course, Aeryn looked basically like a human - you can't trust appearances around here, John, don't you know that?

D'Argo's eyes were closed, and his face was serene, almost...blissful. John looked at him. Really looked. An indeterminate amount of time later, while cataloguing his body's reactions to the mere sight of the Luxan lummox, John decided that his earlier assertions of sanity had been way, way off.

D'Argo was still playing, and his eyes were still closed - he had given no indication that he was in any way aware of Crichton's presence, and John was considering sneaking away and banging his head against the wall for an hour or so. If he just moved slowly, tiptoed away very quietly - - -

"Crichton."

Shit.

"Would you like to tell me why you're hovering in my doorway? Come in or get out."

Despite the fact that the logical bit of his brain was voicing its strenuous objections, in Crichton went.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the lyre-ish looking thing in D'Argo's hands.

"A shilquen," D'Argo said. "A Luxan harp."

"Oh."

D'Argo stared at John as John stared at his own feet, and grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Say something, say nothing? Look at D'Argo, keep looking at his feet? Stay, go? To be, or not to be? Dammit all to hell, he was too old to be this mixed up about shit like this.

Of course, this really wasn't the type of "dating scene" he was used to, not by a long shot.

John bit his lip, almost overcome with a mad urge to giggle and start singing "Only You".

"I was, uh, passing by," he squeaked, his voice about three octaves higher than it should be. He cleared his throat and continued, "and I heard the music, so..." he trailed off, getting the distinct impression that D'Argo was smirking at him.

The silence that followed this non-explanation was nearly absolute, so deafening in and of itself, that, when D'Argo cleared his throat rather loudly a few seconds later, Crichton jumped about a foot in the air.

"Jesus!" he said when he'd landed. "What is with you, huh? Are you pissed off at me or something? You've been acting weird as hell, D'Argo, staring at me all the damn time, hollering at me even more than usual - what? Is this about the tentacle thing, I mean, are you still pissed about that? Cuz if you are, jeez, man, lighten up already!"

During this only semi-coherent diatribe, D'Argo did not speak a word, did not make a sound, did not move a muscle, and never took his eyes off Crichton. He didn't even blink, for fear he'd miss something entertaining.

Crichton was trying to catch his breath. He looked - glared, really - at D'Argo, and saw something that really annoyed him.

The damn Luxan was smirking at him. Oh, he was trying to hide it, but he was failing miserably.

"Why are you here?" D'Argo asked suddenly, his smirk softening into a...smile? Jesus. The last time John had seen that look on the big guy's face was when he thought Zhaan was Lo'Laan...

"Me?" John chirped. Damn, he must be in love. Either that, or possessed by cartoon characters. "I...I was just, uh..."

"You were just, uh..." D'Argo mimicked and stood up, looming over Crichton. "You just, uh...what? What is it you came here for, John?"

The damn smirk was back - with a vengeance, and all of a sudden, John wanted nothing more than to wipe that superior look of D'Argo's face, to unnerve D'Argo as much as D'Argo was unnerving him. He felt an evil grin curving his lips, and almost crowed with pride when the arrogance and sadistic glee in D'Argo's eyes faltered infinitesimally.

In the space of an instant, John considered his options. He could tell D'Argo what he wanted. He could show D'Argo what he wanted. Or, screamed the All-American Flyboy part of his mind, you could get the righteous fuck out of here and go look at Naked Zhaan some more!

Shut the hell up, he told the voice. I'm having fun.

The evil grin still firmly in place, Crichton looked up at D'Argo and said,

"You an Alpha dog, big guy?"

"A Luxan warrior can be nothing less," D'Argo replied smoothly.

"But," John said, "what if someone else says he's the Alpha dog? What happens then?"

D'Argo let his eyes slide slowly, deliberately, over John's face and down his body, making no attempt to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.

"In that case," he said, his voice a low growl, "there would be a...struggle for dominance."

Emboldened, more by the look in D'Argo's eyes and his tone of voice than by the words themselves, John took one step towards the Luxan.

"A struggle," he repeated. "To the death?"

D'Argo shook his head. "Merely until one man yields. Submits to the other...entirely."

Crichton smirked. "No one ever cuts a deal?" he asked. "I'll be Alpha tonight, you can be Alpha tomorrow? There's no Luxan translation for Let's just cuddle?"

D'Argo frowned in confusion, and John laughed a little. "Sorry, big guy, I'm being a smartass. Seriously, though, can't there just be...equality?"

D'Argo was silent for several long moments, and when he spoke again, he didn't look at Crichton.

"The equality you seek," he said slowly, "exists only when the Bond is forged."

It was John's turn to look confused. "The bond?"

"The Blood Bond. The Sword Brothers' Oath."

"Sword Brother? What, like best friends?"

D'Argo nodded. "Allies." After a long pause, he said, "Friends."

Crichton swallowed jerkily. "Lovers?" He was relieved when D'Argo nodded again, seemingly unsurprised by the question.

"That requires...commitment." D'Argo said. "The Oath must be completed, the Bond must be accepted, before such a step is taken."

"Damn," Crichton said. "I'm going to, uh, sit down."

"Fall over" might have been a better term. John's knees decided to take a short break without notifying him beforehand. Thankfully, he was near the bed, and sat down heavily upon it, instead of falling to the floor and acquiring another D'Argo-related bruise.

D'Argo just looked at him, watching him attempt to process the information.

All or nothing. D'Argo knew that through such unexpurgated truth, he might lose the one thing he desired above all others, but this was the way it had to be.

The voice of his blood was clear.

And Crichton hadn't run away screaming. Not yet, anyway.

Drawing a deep breath, John looked up. "No wham, bam, thank you brother, huh?"

D'Argo smiled, an almost wistful expression ghosting across his face. "All or nothing, John."

"That's a lot to ask."

"I know," D'Argo replied softly, his gaze locking with Crichton's. "But to be true to my people's traditions, and to be true to my own heart, I can ask nothing less."

John laughed, albeit very shakily. "Damn," he said.

D'Argo smirked. "You've said that before,"

"And I'll say it again." John looked up at D'Argo, all the laughter draining from his face. "You're dead serious, aren't you?" he asked, almost in awe. "You...you'd to it right now."

"I would," D'Argo stated plainly, the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

All or nothing.

"Jesus, big guy," John said. "This was not what I was expecting. Not in a million years - cycles."

D'Argo glanced at him, then looked away. "I know. I'll understand if - "

Crichton cut him off. "Have I said no? I just need to...think, okay? Sleep on it, maybe." He got up and headed for the door. Once he reached it, he turned to look at D'Argo.

"Any...advice you can give me, big guy?"

D'Argo looked at him in silence for a few long, drawn out moments. "There is only one thing I can tell you, John Crichton. Listen to the voice of your blood."

THE END ...for now...