D'Argo crawled through the tight space of the ventilation shaft. It was an artery deep inside Moya, dark, damp and unsettling. He was glad he did not need to bring any bulky weapons or explosives with him this time. Well, he did have a small dagger hidden away inside his boot. He was never completely unarmed… at least not by choice. But this mission, although covert in nature, was not dangerous. It might prove embarrassing, however, should he be caught. So he plunged stealthily ahead through the narrow shaft in the direction of his target.

Soon he came to a gap in the flow of the artery. This was the place. He listened closely at the opening into the cell beneath him. All was quiet. Slowly and as silently as possible he pried the vent cover back. He needed to make an opening wide enough for his Luxan bulk to fit through, but he did not want to damage Moya or leave any telltale signs of his activity.

He stuck his head through the opening and, hanging upside down, confirmed visually that the coast was clear. He dropped silently to the floor and crouched for a moment getting his bearings. Then he dashed to the door and verified he was not about to be interrupted. Satisfied he now had some time he turned and went about his carefully planned mission.

D'Argo walked over to the unmade bed and ran his hand across the rumpled sheets that less than an arn ago had been wrapped about the object of his obsession. He could smell the human's scent still strong on them and bent over to take in more of the smell.

"Don't get distracted," he told himself. "Remember the mission." He turned from the bed and moved quickly to the closet. He opened it and peered inside only be disappointed. The shelf was empty. D'Argo quickly replayed yesterday's events through his head. He had arrived at Crichton's quarters to accompany the human to an exercise session. John emerged from the bathroom topless, his tan trousers unbuttoned at the waste. The sight of the human's exposed, hairy chest caused D'Argo's penis to stiffen. He remembered watching John grab a black T-shirt from this shelf in the closet and pull it on over his head. At the time there was at least one or two more and some underwear, but now the shelf was bare.

D'Argo felt a flash of anger to have come this close, gone to all this trouble, to have success snatched away. Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. In the back of the closet on the floor was a crumpled black cloth. "Yes!" he exclaimed quietly and picked it up. It was the T-shirt John had worn to their exercise session. D'Argo held it to his nose and deeply inhaled the olfactory cocktail of perspiration and pheromones that was John Crichton. This was even better than he could have hoped for! D'Argo quickly tucked the T-shirt inside his own shirt and made his exit through the air shaft completely undetected.

Back in his own quarters D'Argo sat on his bed and gazed at the black T-shirt in his hands. How he had let himself become so infatuated with this man he could not fathom. But there was something about John Crichton. The texture of his hair, the color of his eyes, the curve of his muscles and the sharpness of his wit all combined with the strongest pheromones D'Argo had ever experienced to make this human completely irresistible.

D'Argo held the T-shirt to his face again drinking in John's scent. He laid back on his bed laying the black cloth across his face. He opened his trousers and released his aching erection. With visions of the wisecracking human dancing through his mind D'Argo slowly brought himself to orgasm.

As the Luxan lay there drifting in the aftermath of his self-pleasure, he gradually became aware of a commotion down the corridor. He quickly hid the T-shirt beneath his pillow, cleaned himself up, buttoned his trousers and went to investigate.

Out in the hallway it was clear that the commotion was John shouting in his quarters. D'Argo stopped in his tracks at the door to John's cell. It was apparent the human had just emerged from the shower. He was dripping wet and wearing only a towel wrapped about his waist. His back was to D'Argo but the image of the near naked, dripping wet human caused D'Argo's penis to twinge again.

John was yelling into the comlink at Pilot, "I'm telling you they're gone… all of them!"

"I understand that, Crichton," Pilot was saying. "But I have not sent any DRDs to collect your laundry today."

"Well, then you've got some renegades," John yelled back obviously distraught. "They've taken everything!"

D'Argo backed away from the door before John saw him. He felt that under the circumstances he should make himself scarce. But as he turned he bumped into Aeryn.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"Uh… laundry… trouble," he managed to stammer back and slipped past her.

When he reached his quarters he looked back in time to see Aeryn tiptoeing back into her quarters. John's heated exchange with Pilot was still echoing down the hall. "D'Argo, you don't suppose…" he thought to himself and eased up the hallway to Aeryn's door. He peered inside just in time to see her pick up a pair of John's boxers from her bed.

Aeryn's eyes flashed up and caught D'Argo, surprise on her face. She held up the boxers and started to stammer an excuse.

D'Argo just held up his hand and said, "Keep them." Then he winked, and pointing a finger at her he whispered, "but the T-shirts are mine!"

A grin spread across her face as the realization set in. "Deal!" she exclaimed and dashed into the bathroom.

** THE END **

Donovan Keeper of John Crichton's T-shirts