Walking on eggshells. John sat in the galley staring at the weird stuff that passed for food on this ship and knew he had never properly appreciated the meaning of that old cliché until he'd found himself stranded in a place where no one knew what a chicken was let alone what an egg looked like.

He'd never been too fond of clichés. After all, they were … clichés. But now his brain seemed full of them. Eggshells. And grass. As in the "grass is always greener, etc." Things he'd taken for granted and might never see again. He'd thought life had been rough being the son of a real live American hero, had wanted to make a life and name for himself. Talk about a fool longing for greener grass, not to mention being careful what you wish for.

Eggshells, grass, clichés, his father. Oh, God, his father. While being a famous astronaut's son might have been a pain in the ass, John loved his father dearly and the fear he might never see him again was like acid in his blood. The acid all but boiled every time he thought about what his dad must be going through. At least John had the luxury of knowing his father was alive. He guessed when his ship had been swept into the wormhole he'd simply vanished from all the monitoring equipment NASA had had trained on him. Must have looked a lot like he'd been vaporized.

There had always been two certainties in his life – he loved his dad, and his dad loved him. The pain his father must be in. … No two ways about it; John had to get home and fast. All he had to do was stay alive long enough to figure out how to do it. Which brought him back to eggshells.

Not only had he ended up who the fuck knew where, but his best chance for survival was hanging around with a bunch of fugitives who had their doubts about his ability to contribute much. Oh, he'd figured out how to get the ship away from Crais, but no one had missed the fact Crais himself was after them because John had killed the man's brother. It was an accident, but Crais wanted revenge on something more tangible than the whims of fate.

Which meant his fellow fugitives were all busy weighing whether or not keeping him around was worth the risk. John would have felt a hell of a lot better if he wasn't fairly certain the smartest thing any of them could do was show him the nearest airlock.

Not having any great desire to visit an airlock – spacesuit optional – he'd spent the last few days trying to stay out of everyone's way and/or endearing himself when he could. Not the most brilliant strategy he'd ever come up with, but the best lemonade he could make out of the lemons he'd been dealt.

He groaned inwardly at the mix of clichés, then jumped as a deep voice growled, "What are you staring at, human?"

"Nothing," he rushed to reassure the Luxan warrior who had somehow managed to sit down across the table from John without his noticing.

Ka D'Argo growled, a sound which made an angry bear sound friendly, and John quickly found the sight of the blue cubes making up his own breakfast fascinating. The moment his gaze dropped to his plate, the growl took on an approving edge versus a murderous one.

An improvement on the survival scale, but John flushed with restrained anger. If he were the submissive type, he wouldn't have gotten beaten up half as often as he had in grade school, but here he was pretending food cubes held the secrets of the universe. Disgusted with himself, but preferring to avoid anything leading to disembowelment, he opted for getting the hell out of Dodge versus asserting his manhood.

He stood up, reaching for his tray at the same time he opened his mouth to utter some polite exit line, but D'Argo stopped him with a snarled, "Sit!"

John considered some snide comment about not being a dog, but figured it wouldn't be worth the bruises. Besides, he'd end up having to explain what a dog was and he wasn't in the mood to emphasize his sense of isolation. He sat and went back to plate gazing.

From the sound of munching which followed, he assumed D'Argo was satisfied. 'Imagine my delight,' John thought sourly, then sighed. He couldn't think of anything else to do but eat the blue food. "Green eggs and ham, John I am. Think green eggs and ham," he muttered.

"What is ham?" D'Argo asked.

John frowned. He hadn't meant to speak, but apparently his long-winded nature had been unable to endure the silence in the room. As D'Argo had not growled, snarled, snapped or in any other way sounded like some carnivorous creature stalking its next meal, John chose to answer him. "It's a meat that comes from an Earth animal." Without thinking, he lifted his head as he spoke, his gaze meeting D'Argo's.

No growl, no declarations of 'fight or die' followed. Merely another question, "And these ham creatures are green?"

John smiled. "Pigs, the animal is called a pig."

"Why would you call your meat something different than the animal?"

"Well, we don't always. Chicken comes from a chicken."

An hour later both their plates were empty and D'Argo had learned the basics of Earth meats and their related animals. Or at least John thought he'd explained it all.

"So, a hamburger comes from a cow; a ham comes from a pig."

"Right."

"Is this cow green?"

"No, far as I can remember, we don't eat any meat that comes from a green animal."

D'Argo gave him a long look that spoke eloquently of ritual dismemberments. "Then why did you say 'green eggs and ham'?"

His eyes wanted to drop, but John refused, keeping his gaze fixed on the Luxan. "Literary classic. It's about not rejecting things before you try them."

A smile snaked across D'Argo's face. "Sound advice," he said, rising. "I'm certain it will serve you well in the days to come."

John stared after him. Now, what the hell had he meant by that?

A week later John jerked awake. Heart pounding, sweat glistening on his skin, his glance darted around his former-cell-turned bedroom seeking any sign of danger lurking in the shadows. Nothing. No creature out of a bad sci fi flick, no crewmember out to lighten the ship's load. Nothing.

He sat up with a groan, then tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. Not an easy task when 'fitful' would have been an overly generous description of how he'd slept. Tossing, turning, nightmares eased by anxiety dreams, he felt like a moldy old dishrag someone had forgotten to throw out.

Despite the lack of quality it was certain to hold, sleep beckoned at him, trying to pull him back into its nasty clutches, but he couldn't give in. No sleeping in for this guy. Maybe his royal Muppetness could lounge around all day – for the time being Rygel could bank on all the credit he'd earned for freeing the others from their cells during the original escape. John had to work his way free of the debt he'd caused by being Crais' current obsession.

A big debt. Huge. Tremendous. Never ending? He shuddered, cold at the notion he'd never earn his place aboard Moya, never have anything but an endless stream of night terrors.

Stiff, cold, tired. Maybe a shower would help. He jerked on a moth-or whatever-eaten robe he'd found in ship's stores and made his way down the hall to the communal shower room. Funny how some things about prisons seemed universal. The cells aboard Moya were large, fairly luxurious, but an inmate still had to slog down the hallway to get cleaned up.

Stepping into one of the small, open-ended cubicles, he sighed. He'd have sold his soul for a long, hot shower, but Moya's hypersonics cleaned a guy up and didn't waste water so who was he to complain? The tingling sensation as the night's sweat and grime was dealt with on a microscopic level did help. Some. A beggar, not a chooser, he made do and hit reset when his thirty-odd second shower finished. More tingling. Reset again. Tingle. Reset. Tingle. Re-

"That is not one of your better ideas, Crichton."

He jumped at D'Argo's voice even as he flushed with annoyance at how often he did. John wanted to shout at D'Argo for sneaking up on him, instead he glared at his own feet. "What?" he muttered, his jaw clinched to keep himself from uttering another word.

"Overuse of hypersonics can damage."

"Oh. Thanks." Like almost everything else, he'd had to figure the showers out on his own. Been nice if someone had told him he could hurt himself before he'd overindulged every morning. Probably lost his ability to reproduce or something by now. Of course, if he didn't make it home and back to his own species, such a worry was of little consequence.

A grunt answered him, and bored with being embarrassed John looked up in time to see D'Argo remove his own robe. The view was … impressive. The equipment didn't look all that different from a human male's, but it was longer and thicker than any cock John had compared himself to in a host of locker rooms over the years. Probably compensation for the lack of balls, although as he understood it, the three ridges above the cock surved the same purpose as testicles. Still the cock wasn’t outrageously bigger – he guessed an Earth woman could handle it, but he doubted a virgin would find it appealing. Then again, it looked very … wet? Slick? Something.

The 'quick glance' timer went off in his head, but curiosity slowed his looking away.

"What interests you, human?"

A second flush – this one from true embarrassment – colored his face. "Sorry, I just. … Why does it look wet?"

Some things must be universal because D'Argo did not ask what 'it' John was referring to. "The womb of a Luxan female is not lubricated. That, as well as the seed, comes from the male."

"Huh. But isn't it … messy?" D'Argo must have to wear some sort of plastic guard to keep his clothes from getting wet if it was like … that … all … the time. …

D'Argo was regarding him with something closely resembling a smirk while his cock began to rise as well as glisten.

The proverbial penny dropped. Oh, God. He hadn't expected to be the … virgin worried about. … Oh, God. His brain tried to shut down from a panic overload, but he hadn't stayed alive in this wacko corner of the universe by going blank.

Okay, John, think it through. D'Argo seemed to get off on dominating him, so he'd probably been damned stupid not to see this coming. After all, he'd seen Oz. Plus the big guy was from a warrior culture, common enough in Earth history for such a lifestyle to lend itself to sex with other males. Trouble was, those cultures tended to have a shitload of protocol going along with the sex. For all John knew, if he let this happen, by tomorrow he'd be castrated with a tattoo across his forehead reading 'property of the big guy.' Pass on that. On the other hand, if reasoning with a turned on Luxan was anything like reasoning with a human male in a smilar state, getting back to his quarters with his virtue in tact was going to be close to impossible. Thus the problem became how did he get fucked without ending up in the middle of some Luxan ritual? Time for a some brains over brawn, but his brain didn't seem to want to work.

Wait a minute, Oz. John almost smiled. "I take it you're interested in a game of 'drop the soap.'"

D'Argo frowned. Since John was not from a warrior culture, the big guy had obviously not expected there to be any Earth social niceties getting in the way of Luxan etiquette. "What is this soap?"

"It's slang for an age-old tradition among my people." If you considered prison movies ageless, but it wasn't John's fault Luxan's couldn't get cable. "See we humans use something called soap to wash ourselves. It's a little bar that gets slippery when wet. When a guy wants another guy, he propositions him in the shower. If that guy accepts, he pretends to drop the soap so he has to bend over to pick it up. Good times follow, no strings attached."

"'Strings?'"

"Entanglements. Commitments. Further rituals." Tattoos, sharp knives, tutus or whatever else would get him labeled 'Luxan boy toy.'

D'Argo frowned. Must not be what he'd had in mind, but John had outlined a protocol for this precise situation which meant if D'Argo didn't honor it, he couldn't expect John to honor any of his ways.

If John got really, really lucky, D'Argo would decide he could spring matching cock rings on the human another day and go with John's flow. Or he could throw his usual fit, nail John's ass to the floor, then announce how things would be from now on. Experience told John to brace himself, but D'Argo smiled. Uh oh.

"There is no soap, Crichton."

He did his best to manage a seductive look. He probably looked constipated instead. Oh, now there was a useful image. "You can assume I already dropped it."

The smile grew. "Very well, human, we will do this your way. Today. Pick up the soap."

The feral aspect of D'Argo's grin sent the flaw in his plan screaming through John's mind. "Um, about that soap, big guy. It's um fairly new at being dropped. In fact, you should pretty much assume it's never been … used." Okay, so he'd always suspected he swung both ways, he'd just never quite gotten around to exploring that side of the street.

To his relief, while neither grin nor erection dimmed, the animal-like hunger faded from the Luxan's expression. "As I expected. Get on your hands and knees."

Right. Okay, he could do this. Nothing to it. Hands and knees -- damn the floor was hard. Spread the legs and relax. Relax? Not this century. All right, so there was a flaw in the plan. Every good flaw had a plan. No, that wasn't right. Every good plan had a- A sound somewhere between a shriek and a squeal broke his train of thought. That or it was the hands gripping his ass. Of course, if such were the case, he'd have to admit he'd been the one to make the sound.

"Hush, little one," D'Argo rumbled, his lips brushing John's shoulder.

'Little one?' Not exactly the declaration of equality he was hoping for. Of course, what could he expect when he'd spent the last couple of weeks calling D'Argo 'big guy.' Stood to reason if one was big, the other … wasn't. Face it, John, you are seriously fucked here. … Probably could have phrased that better.

A large hand settled on his back and pushed his head down. John got the hint and folded his arms to give himself a head rest. A process which raised his ass higher and gave him enough balance to widen the spread of his legs. . Way to handle this with dignity, John.

He heard the sound of a Luxan tongue deploying -- hey, maybe he'd get lucky and D'Argo would knock him out first. Nah, too slow to be a stun strike. What? … !!!!

A warm wetness slithered across his anus, causing John to yelp in surprise. He would have bolted to his feet and across the room, but D'Argo kept him in position with one hand. Could have at least pretended he needed both of them. Bastard.

The tongue continued to probe and he quickly amended his uncharitable thought to talented bastard. He squirmed, a pleasure response, not an attempt to escape. Good. Felt good. Should have known D'Argo could do something like this, but what could John say? He'd never been a size-queen.

He gasped when the snake-like tongue slithered inside him, stretching him while making his cock sit up and take notice of the proceedings. Whatever his mind might have to say on the matter, his ass and his dick were definitely having a good time. To his chagrin, the first thrust backward to deepen the probe, with the other began to leak with excitement. Stupid anatomy. How was he supposed to maintain any deniability in this if his body insisted on making him an active participant?

Mmm, if only it didn't feel so damned good. More squirming, stretching his opening with his own slutty movement. Oh, yes, he could come from this alone.

Naturally, the cosmos having it in for him, D'Argo withdrew his tongue at the precise moment John decided he didn't care if it took up permanent residence inside him. "No!" he wailed, thrusting backwards seeking impalement from something he knew must already be tucked safely away.

D'Argo chuckled, gripped John's hips, then something a lot harder and wider than a Luxan tongue shoved into him.

His eyes widened so much he thought they might fall out when the cock grew even larger once it was fully sheathed inside him. "D'Argo?" he whispered, suddenly afraid. This might not have been one of his brighter ideas.

Lips brushed his shoulder blades, then strong arms encircled him. "Do not worry, human. I have reached the limits of my expansion."

"That's … reassuring," he gasped. Felt like someone had jammed a baseball bat up his ass.

D'Argo began to thrust. Slow and steady, the shear bulk of him ensuring John's prostate got a grand old workout.

Trembling beneath wave after hot wave of pleasure coursing through his body, John decided baseball might just be his game. "Play … ball," he groaned, and began to bring his own hip movement into things.

He started babbling, begging for D'Argo to do it harder, faster, deeper, then he was just screaming as his body shattered into a billion nerve endings keening with pleasure.

Passing out high on his list of priorities, he slumped to the floor, a limp, sated heap still joined to a rutting Luxan. Somehow he found the energy to wriggle his hips, and whispered, "Come on, big guy, let it go."

D'Argo bellowed his agreement, his cock pumping his seed into John's body. And pumping. And pumping. Jeez, how much cum could a guy have? About the time John was beginning to wonder if he was going to drown from the inside out, it stopped.

A rumble of unmistakable contentment echoed through the room. A purr?

John groaned in its aftermath as D'Argo pulled out of him. He tried to tell himself it was merely from overtaxed muscles, but he knew the sound had as much to do with loss as soreness. More revelations than he wanted to deal with in one morning and definitely something to leave out of the recordings he made for his father. 'You see, Dad, I got lost in space, decided I was gay, and like playing bitch in heat for a big alien dude.' Uh huh. Some things a guy simply did not tell his father, but maybe he could find what passed for a shrink in these parts, because any minute now he was certain he was going to start freaking out.

He heard D'Argo stand up. Time to make a fast exit, big guy? "Hey!" he yelped, finding himself going from sprawl on the floor to sack of potatoes over one shoulder at hyper-speed. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, eyeing the distance between his head and the ground. Looked like an impressive fall.

"Taking you back to our quarters."

'Our?' "That is not part of 'drop the soap'!" Well, not all the time, but D'Argo could hardly know that.

"We are no longer in the shower," the deep, highly amused voice informed him.

"Only because you carried me out. We call that cheating where I come from, dude."

"My people call it strategy."

"D'Argo, put me down." He considered adding 'please,' but figured it would weaken his already lame-ass position. He blushed. Poor choice of words.

"In good time, human. In good time."

"Ah, Crichton, D'Argo, good morning."

Oh, God, Zhaan. Now, would be a great time for the deck to open up and swallow him alive. Although he was vindictive enough to hope D'Argo got spaced with him.

Verbal protests having gotten him nowhere, he tried to squirm off the shoulder, his mind racing to come up with a way to salvage some dignity out of this situation. It earned him a hard slap on the ass. "OW!"

"Be still, human," D'Argo ordered.

"You hit me!"

"I punished you. There is a difference."

"Not seein' it," he grumbled, but ceased struggling, when he probably should have been fighting. Damn, macho prick. But what a prick. He sighed. No doubt about it, he was in deep shit here. Testosterone count, 0; sex drive, 1. Or was that 'won'?

Zhaan chuckled.

"'s not funny."

"Of course not, John. May the Goddess bless your union."

Oh, great, now the divine was being lined up against him. In one of those little moments of 'cosmos picking on the human,' his ass chose that cue to allow D'Argo's seed to begin seeping out of him. He squirmed at the sensation and earned another swat. "OW! Stop doing that!"

"Stop squirming."

"I really could get to hate you, you know. And, in case it has missed your attention, I've sprung a leak here."

"Yes, I know. It is most decorative."

"It tickles, damnit."

"Get used to it."

Zhaan laughed outright this time. "I'll leave you to your joining then," she said, then walked past D'Argo and up the passageway, giving John the satisfaction of glaring at her retreating form.

D'Argo began walking again. Much too slowly for John's peace of mind. He groaned at an all too familiar whirling sound. "Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?" he hissed.

"Silence."

"This giving orders thing is getting old." He felt the movement of air over his ass and guessed another swat was imminent. "Okay, okay. Silence it is."

"I should live so long," D'Argo growled, but the hand moved away from ground zero. "And what do you want?" Rygel had obviously rode up on his hover-throne.

"Nothing. I was merely wondering if you intended to keep him unclothed. His apparel should be worth a few credits."

"What!?! Spanky, you keep your lousy mitts off my stuff!" This time when he squirmed, D'Argo did not hit him, but he didn't loosen his hold either.

"He is human, not Luxan. Nor am I a traditionalist. I will allow him to dress."

Allow? "Gee, what a guy."

"Crichton. …"

"Yeah, yeah, 'shut up.'"

Rygel harrumphed and scooted off to do whatever completely unhelpful thing was on his agenda for the day. Goodbye and good riddance.

Again with the slow walking. Not even close to the clueless wonder the rest of the crew thought of him as, John figured out what was going on. "D'Argo."

"Yes?"

"You're displaying me, right?"

"Of course."

Great, color him Bambi's mom tied to the hood of some 4x4. "You know I'm going to kill you, right?"

"I know you'll try." His voice held an insulting degree of amusement.

"Smug bastard."

"That he is." Aeryn. "So you decided to claim him."

"Actually, it was sort of my idea," John muttered, but he was ignored.

"Yes, and I do not share."

"As if I would want a Luxan's leavings."

Love you, too, babe. Well, not really. They'd snarled at each other a few times in a manner which normally led to sex in movies, but so had he and D'Argo. Looks like the hare won this race. Oh, great, now even he was thinking of himself as some sort of prize. "Excuse me, much as I hate to interrupt this testament to macho bravado, I'm getting real tired of this." The air stirred. "You hit me again, D'Argo, and I'll … withhold sex for a week!"

The hand did not strike. Aeryn laughed. "Oh, you two deserve one another."

"Gosh, thanks. D'Argo, how about we go to your quarters and you fu-frell me through the mattress." Anything to get off this shoulder. Besides, all of this trophy-shit was beginning to turn him on again. Definitely going to need that starfaring shrink, but ah, well.

"Sounds like an excellent idea." This time his stride was the swift broad one of a Luxan with a mission.

John looked at Aeryn as they departed. She smiled at him. If there had been some battle for his attentions he hadn't known about, she had conceded defeat without malice. He couldn't feel any sense of regret either. Possibilities were part of life. He'd narrowed them down to one when he'd dropped to his hands and knees instead of running screaming to the safety of his room. Funny how that option had just now occurred to him. Yeah, he'd made his choice all right. Luxan boy toy it was. So much for submission not being his thing.

He gave her a smile, then D'Argo turned into his quarters, and John lost sight of her. But he was pretty certain they'd be okay. Or at least as okay as he was with any of this psycho-crew.

The world tilted, and he came to rest on D'Argo's bed. The man in question stood looking down at him with a moist erection and a possessive twinkle in his eye.

John drew his legs up and spread his knees. Enough to give him a view, but not access. "Time to set a few ground rules, big guy."

"Rules?" D'Argo gave him a look strongly suggesting he thought John was naïve, but cute.

He ignored it. "Rules. Just because you switched from 'drop the soap' to 'bag the babe' doesn't mean the babe is going to submit to your every whim. In other words, I get a say in things or I'm outta here."

"I can stop you."

"Yeah, but it would take more than a spanking to do it. You willing to really hurt me?"

D'Argo sighed. "What are your rules?"

"No tattoos, piercings, removal of body parts," he rattled off the list of concerns he'd had in the shower room, "or choosing my wardrobe."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, no more punishing me. … Unless we're alone."

D'Argo smirked. "Are you finished?"

"For now." He pulled his legs up, offering himself. "See anything you want?"

"Definitely."

"Then take it."

D'Argo was inside him so quickly, John's mind barely processed the movement. Should have hurt. Hell, it should have torn him apart, act 1 or no act 1, but the Luxan glided into him with ease. "Yow! Luxan lube, accept no substitute."

The big body above him moved in a heavy sigh. "Must you chatter so incessantly?"

"Part of my charm, stud. Oh, one more rule."

"Now what?"

"You keep anyone from throwing me out an airlock."

"Rest assured, little one, I am the only one with the right to throw you anywhere."

"Somehow, that isn't as reassuring as I'd hoped it would be."

D'Argo smirked. "Perhaps you aren't as mentally deficient as I believed."

"Shut up and frell me." Damn, Luxans. Talked to much. Fortunately, they had other talents. Oh, man, did they have other talents.

the end

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