The temple fell silent, the holy woman's single attendant having departed long ago with her body, presumably for burial. John waited in the foyer, staring through the open door into the chamber beyond, sitting on the dais with his hands loosely clasped between his knees. He waited, for arns it seemed, listening intently for a sign from D'Argo, some sound or signal that he should stay or go.

When all he heard was silence, nothing more, he could wait no longer. Walking as quietly as he could, he stepped into the chamber. Before him lay the huge bed, and even though he did not possess D'Argo's keen sense of smell, he could detect the scent of sex still hanging in the room, and it maddened him. The little time he had spent standing outside this room while D'Argo shared his body with the Oracan had been hellish -- the sounds he could hear all too well had mocked the noises of the bed they shared as bondmates. Even if he had not promised to return to Moya, he would have gone anyway -- listening and knowing tore at him, but the images he conjured to torture himself once he was back on Moya were even worse, somehow.

Looking away from the bed, he saw D'Argo, slumped in a chair, his blade held point down between his feet, eyes downcast. When D'Argo didn't look up, he spoke softly into the silence.

"You want me to get lost?"

"Why would I want you to do that?" D'Argo responded without raising his eyes.

"In case you needed some time alone."

"I do," D'Argo answered, and John steeled himself to leave him, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay, even if it meant standing there, keeping watch over him, for as long as it took.

"But not yet." D'Argo finally looked up at him, and John went to him and knelt in front of the chair, gently taking the blade from his hands and laying it aside. D'Argo sat still and pliant, giving up his blade without protest, and when John took his hands in his own, he neither pulled away or grasped John's hands in return.

"John, I'm sorry. I -- "

"Hush." John turned his hands over, tracing first the new wound across one of D'Argo's palms, and then the long-healed scar across the other. At this, D'Argo finally moved, lifting John's hand and tracing the matching scar on John's palm. John turned his hand to press it against D'Argo's, lacing his fingers with his bondmate's and squeezing tightly.

"I have to ask you something," John said, looking down at their joined hands.

"Anything."

"Don't ever make me give you to someone else like that again. Ever."

"I won't."

"I don't mean just fucking someone else, all right? I mean, don't put your life in someone else's hands like that. You could have died."

"I know."

"I swore to watch your back, and you walked away from me. You did something that I couldn't protect you from, went somewhere that I couldn't follow, and I can't stand to see you do that again, okay?"

D'Argo nodded, swallowing thickly. When he spoke, it was in Luxan, and John's translator microbes did not translate it.

"What was that?"

"It is part of the ritual of the Bond we swore, the chant of Joining. I didn't say it at the time, but I should have. I didn't know what it would be between us, and I didn't want the words to be empty."

"Can you tell it to me again?"

D'Argo paused, struggling to translate the High Speech of ritual into something John could understand.

"I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and my dying, both equally in your care. I will be a shield for your back, and you for mine. Yours will be the name I call in the light of day, and in the dark of my bed. My blood is your blood, my breath your breath. I am yours, in all things, and so it will be, always."

John studied him carefully for a moment. "Say it again."

A little puzzled, D'Argo began again, and was startled when John joined his voice with his, repeating the words as D'Argo spoke them.

When he was finished, John reached out and curled one hand into D'Argo's hair, pulling him closer. "Those are /not/ empty words. I mean it. You're mine." The last two words were breathed against D'Argo's mouth, into a kiss that was returned with sudden passion. D'Argo had not moved from the chair he sat in for arns, but now he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around John fiercely, pulling him in and holding him.

Clumsy with need, D'Argo surged up out of the chair, pulling John with him, and John turned him, pushing him backward toward the bed. He shrugged out of his coat, letting it drop to the floor behind them, hands fumbling with the fastening of the slick silk robe D'Argo wore while D'Argo pulled at the clasps of his vest.

John pushed him down, intent on exposing every inch of D'Argo's skin that he could get at, biting and nipping at his neck, shoulders, chest. D'Argo tried to roll them over onto their sides, and John resisted, holding him down firmly with one hand, stripping away the rest of D'Argo's clothing with the other.

"John -- "

"Hush," John said again, and stood up, undressing quickly, shedding what clothing D'Argo hadn't pulled from him. When he moved back onto the bed, it was to spread himself over D'Argo, covering him with his body, grinding against him and pinning him down. D'Argo struggled under him, trying to get the leverage to move, to roll them over and take control. John raised up on his elbows, staring down, holding D'Argo's gaze with his own. Though smaller, John was now nearly as strong as D'Argo was, and he used every bit of that strength, along with every ounce of control and intensity he possessed, holding D'Argo down both physically and with the force of his will.

"No. You're mine -- " He thrust his hips hard against D'Argo's, driving him down into the mattress and rubbing the length of his cock against the cleft of D'Argo's ass. " -- and I intend to make sure you don't forget it."

D'Argo looked up at him, reading what was in his eyes, and then dropped his arms away from John's back, stopped struggling for control. John rose up onto his knees over him, still staring into his eyes.

"Give me your hands."

D'Argo offered his hands to him immediately, palms up, in an unconscious gesture of submission. John grasped his wrists, leaning down to fold D'Argo's arms up and over his head, placing them at the nape of his neck, pinned against the bed. "Keep them there."

Leaning back on his heels, he stoked his hands over the plane of D'Argo's chest teasingly, fitting his palms to the curve of his ribs, outlined by his raised arms. D'Argo shuddered under his caress, arching his back and moaning between clenched teeth. Light, fluttering touches feathered down D'Argo's chest and belly, ending at his thighs, where John turned his hands to take hold and lever his legs apart, moving to kneel between them.

Stroking upward from his thighs, John curled one hand around D'Argo's cock, fisting up and down on the shaft loosely, still light and teasing.

"John, please -- "

"Please, what?"

"Don't -- I can't stand it -- "

"Don't tease you?" John murmured, dipping his head down to allow the breath carrying his words to skate across the head of D'Argo's cock.

"Yes."

"Fine." John dipped his head further, took D'Argo's length into his mouth, all pretense of teasing and gentleness gone. He moved quickly, almost roughly, and when he sensed D'Argo was close, both by the cries he knew meant that he was at the edge and by the tensing and shuddering of D'Argo's body, he pulled back and let him spill his seed into his hand, moving up over his body to look into his face as he came.

They stayed that way for a moment, John kissing him tenderly, letting him relax and catch his breath, and then John leaned back, settling himself more firmly on his knees and heels, spreading his legs and pushing D'Argo's legs apart as well. He positioned himself as close as possible, watching D'Argo's face as he reached down and probed with slick fingers, once again gentle and teasing. When D'Argo moaned and pressed forward, seeking more, he withdrew his fingers and replaced it with the head of his cock, drawing D'Argo's legs up and into the crook of his elbows, raising him up onto his own spread thighs and holding him there.

Never looking away from D'Argo's face, he entered him slowly, watching his lover's reactions, needing to see what he was doing to him, with him. When D'Argo again pushed toward him, he began to rock his hips, using his arms where they curled around D'Argo's legs to pull him into each thrust.

D'Argo rocked with him, letting John see every nuance of feeling that passed over his face, holding nothing back. The slow thrusts gradually became faster, deeper, and John leaned down toward him as far as he could, D'Argo moving his hands from behind the nape of his neck and bracing them against the bed, raising his torso up to meet John in a kiss.

"Mine," John ground out, his face inches from D'Argo's when the kiss broke.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I am yours."

"Again."

"Yours."

Over and over John asked it, and D'Argo answered, the words becoming a chant and then a wordless singsong as John moved faster, driving them both into a place where words were simply no longer possible, or needed. When John came, he cried out D'Argo's name, and D'Argo called out his as well, their voices echoing in the domed ceilings of a dead temple, filling it, for one moment, with life.

END