He had been watching the scene unfolding in front of him with such concentration that he almost did not hear John speak his name. When he looked back at John, his lover was looking at him with a closed, blank expression, lit only by the coolly appraising look in his eyes.

“What?” D’Argo snapped, feeling his face flush. His first, unbidden thought had been to echo Aeryn’s “/yes, Sir./” There was danger here, oh yes, of a sort that he never dreamed existed.

“The belt.” John said evenly, holding his hand out for it, still looking at D’Argo, seeming to bore right into him and see that fear, the knowledge of the danger. “/Now/, D’Argo.” he added, a touch of amusement in his voice.

D’Argo handed it over, and before he could blink, John had hold of his wrist with his other hand, lightning quick and with no hesitation. D’Argo was startled -- since when did Crichton move like that?

"Do you need some of what I've been giving Aeryn?" John asked quietly, a vaguely unsettling smile quirking the edges of his mouth. The hand holding D'Argo's wrist tightened, and even though John's hand was smaller -- his fingers barely spanned around D'Argo's wrist -- he was strong. Small bones shifted slightly under the press of his grip, and D'Argo swallowed thickly. Another time, he would have easily broken John's grasp, made him pay for speaking to him that way, for laying his hands on him. But he found that just looking down into the shorter human's eyes forestalled any thought of stopping him, moving away -- much less striking him.

John's eyes looked up into his, still coolly amused and considering. D'Argo found himself struck silent, unable to formulate an answer or objection. He found himself fearing John in a way he could not explain -- a feeling that was equal parts fear /of/ John and fear of /disappointing/ John. Or of angering him. He did not know why he felt so sure that angering Crichton when he was behaving this way would be dangerous, or exactly what that danger was, but he knew it, deep in his bones...and his quickly awakening cock seemed to be a part of that knowledge. A small voice in the back of his mind jeered at him -- he was a Luxan warrior, blooded and tested in battle. Who was this human that he should fear him? What could this human do to him that he could not prevent? /Anything. Everything./

John released him, still smiling, and D'Argo was shamed to realize that his other hand went immediately to his wrist, rubbing at the reddened skin as if he had been burned by the touch. John slipped around behind him, his attention fully on D'Argo now, Aeryn hanging from her bonds, forgotten for the moment. D'Argo looked up into Aeryn's eyes and saw her watching him, watching John, with sharp interest -- the first spark of emotion she had shown since John had wrung the fight out of her with only his voice and his deceptively gentle violence. He could see the drying tracks of her tears on her cheeks, and closed his eyes, realizing he could smell their salty tang above the other scents in the room: the sweet-smelling musk that must be her desire -- spiced with the edge of fear that he could also smell on his own skin, the smells so similar that they blended together like a barely-heard harmony; the sharper musk of his own desire, and its counterpoint, the deeper scent of John and his arousal. But no fear from John, just this heady, high smell of lust and the scent of the leather belt in his hands.

"D'Argo?"

The voice came from just behind him, close as a breath, and D'Argo started, realizing that he had been unaware of John moving behind him, so much of his attention caught by the smells of sex and fear in the room that he had relaxed his guard for a second too long.

"Are you going to answer me? /Do you need what I've been giving Aeryn?/"

The last sentence, stressed word by word, breathed across his shoulder, and he shuddered again. He knew the answer, could feel it in the way his eyes lingered on Aeryn and her strained pose, arms cuffed above her and held, roped around the ceiling beam, her pale face with its hectic circles of red high on her cheeks. He could feel it in the blood thundering in his head and in his cock, hard and aching, his senses that felt both heightened and faraway. In the fear that he could almost taste in the back of his throat -- metallic and repellent and compelling all in the same swallow.

He answered the only way that he could, that he could allow himself to, even though he knew it for a lie. "No."

"You're not being honest with me, D'Argo. I can't let that pass, you know that, right?" John's hands gathered D'Argo's wrists behind his back, and D'Argo felt the slide of the belt as it was gathered around his arms, pinning them behind him at the elbows, felt his shoulders wrenched back as the belt was snubbed tight and fastened, his arms touching from elbow to wrist all along their length.

"It wouldn't be fair to you to let you get away with it. You need this, just as much as Aeryn does. No, don't tell me that -- " he shushed gently, his hand clasping D'Argo's jaw and stopping the negative shake of his head. " -- I know better. It's all right, babe. I've got you. You can let me do whatever I want to, because I know better than you what you do and don't need."

John stepped away, moving back from both of them so that he look at them and the tableau they presented. He watched them for a moment, considering. After some thought, he moved behind D'Argo again and took hold of his joined arms, pushing him forward, towards Aeryn. When D'Argo was standing a less than a handspan from her, he jerked once on his arms, stopping him.

"Lift her shirt."

D'Argo turned to him, opened his mouth to ask a question, but then snapped it closed. He knew instinctively that he was not to speak unless prompted.

"Good, sweetheart. You're a fast learner. You'll do very well with me. Lift her shirt, D'Argo." John stood there, arms crossed over his chest and feet planted, watching.

D'Argo turned back to Aeryn, flexing his shoulders unconsciously, pulling at the bonds holding his elbows together. After a moment, he leaned forward, taking the hem of Aeryn's T-shirt in his teeth. She hissed and flinched back at the touch of his face against the lower swells of her breasts, the bare skin revealed by the lifting of the material rippling. D'Argo paused, peering up at her, and she relaxed, giving a brief nod to show she understood his unspoken words. D'Argo straightened up, the hem of her shirt still clenched in his teeth, and stopped, waiting.

"Good. Now pass it to Aeryn."

D'Argo cut his eyes toward John, question clear in them. John merely nodded. D'Argo leaned toward Aeryn again, lowering his face to hers as if to kiss her. Aeryn closed her eyes, swallowed visibly, then raised her face awkwardly to D'Argo's, her balance faltering as she stretched on the balls of her feet. Their mouths touched, and Aeryn's eyes snapped open, focusing on D'Argo's. She opened her mouth, teeth grinding slightly against D'Argo's as she searched for the material's edge, biting down on it and tugging it away from him. D'Argo released it, pulling back from her but not moving away.

"Very good." John's voice sounded both pleased and indulgent, and D'Argo looked down into Aeryn's eyes again. She stood still, frozen in that awkward, impossibly beautiful pose, the hem of her shirt clenched in her teeth, lifting it over her bare breasts, revealing them in a vee where the material was pulled in a taut arc to her mouth. He looked lower, unable to help himself. She trembled slightly, and her breasts, fuller and heavier than D'Argo had expected they would be, moved slightly with her trembling, nipples hardening from the contact of the material against them, barely brushing the hard nubs at the center of rosy circles.

D'Argo felt John behind him again, pulling him back away from her. John remained behind him, and D'Argo heard a sound, cloth slipping against something else -- /his belt/, his brain informed him. He felt John's hand come down on his shoulder, pushing gently. He started to drop to his knees, but John made a negative sound, still pushing him straight down until he was squatting. John moved around to stand in front of him, and he raised his head to look at him. A sharp smack, delivered with only the tips of John's fingers to his cheek stopped him.

"Eyes front."

D'Argo dropped his chin, staring straight forward at John's waist. Out of the bottom of his vision he saw John extend one foot, felt it nudge against one boot and then the other, shoving his feet farther apart until he wobbled on the edge of losing his balance.

"Stay that way." He saw John move away, move over to Aeryn, once again doubling the belt and drawing it restlessly from hand to hand. He heard John's low laugh, and realized, perhaps later than he should have, that John was just getting started.

END CHAPTER 3