Rules of Engagement

Summary: Mindless fluff.... J/A take some "quiet time" after Twice Shy

Rating:NC-17

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She'd been stacking the frelling boxes for the better part of an arn, stacking and counting and cataloging. She was sick of it. Rygel was supposed to be helping her but the little Freznot had taken off as soon as the transport pod landed. Said he'd negotiated their supplies and that was it. He'd done his part. She should have known he'd renege.

She wasn't sure why she'd volunteered for inventory control in the first place.... Oh yes, to keep herself away from Crichton. Crichton and his frelling rules.

She sighed. She was still a soldier for all she'd become more. She was used to rules, liked them even. Rules were supposed to make life simple. Leave it to Crichton to figure out a way to make them more complex.

"Rules of Engagement" he called them, and they were supposed to govern this relationship that they weren't having. Keep Scorpius guessing by keeping their emotions in check.

The rules themselves weren't the problem, and as much as she hated to admit it, they made sense. It was the execution that was driving her out of her head.

She stood up and stretched her back. Kicked a few cartons of Rygel's fragile Amekei eggs, partly in frustration and partly in revenge. It was hard living together yet being apart. Acting aloof when all she wanted to do was kiss him. Shying away from his touch when she ached to feel his fingers against her skin.

"Frell fate," she thought. Frell Scorpius and frell herself for leaving and putting them in this mess in the first place. She paused and dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. She could have done nothing else at the time and hindsight, as Crichton often said, was always 20/20.

There was a slight noise and when she turned, hand instinctively on holster, there he stood as though he'd heard her thinking about him. When she raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth he shook his head, and she realized that he must be here about something other than inventory control because he'd just invoked rule number one.

No speaking unless it's anger or business.

It was O.K. to yell at each other because voices raised in anger do not show love, but as a result they found themselves fighting a lot. Fighting relieved the tension and that made it something real and when you're living a lie you take real even if it hurts.

But he wasn't speaking now. Just standing at the doorway staring at her with this indecipherable look on his face and his thumbs tucked into his belt. That disconcerted her. Humans loved to talk and her human loved words more than most, so the absence of them made her nervous.

She put the tally sheet down and walked towards him, shoulders hunched, arms extended frontward, palms up, and shaking her head. The universal sign for, "What the Frell?" And although it would have been easier to turn her com off and ask him what the heck he wanted, she couldn't, because that would have been breaking rule number two.

"Don't turn off the coms except when anyone else ordinarily would."

That meant no private channels and not visiting Pilot's den, or anywhere the signal tended to scramble, too often. Oh, they made up the odd excuse, and Pilot, bless him, sometimes helped, but that gave them a quarter arn's whispered conversation or a 30 microt cuddle and then it was back into the fray again, pretending nothing was up.

So she really wasn't prepared for him to grab her, and even less prepared for the kiss.

Her mouth opened against his. Shock mixed with a little bit of anger at both the risk, and his impudence. But then his tongue slid hard against hers and she forgot about the anger, the impudence and everything else except the heat pulse firing through her belly and the fact that rule number three:

"No public displays of affection," had obviously been forgotten.

Her knees went weak, so when he backed her up against a tower of ammunition crates, she leaned against it without complaint. And the part of her brain that was still functioning normally told her he should get his hands off of her gun belt, and she should get hers out of his hair, because if they didn't rule number four:

"No touching," would soon be history.

She'd argued with him while they pretended to be looking at some prowler parts in the busy spaceport on Endavate II that no touching was the same as rule number three, or at the very least should just be an addendum. But he'd given her the smile so rarely seen on him these days and told her, no. Public displays of affection were soft and sweet, but touching... touching portended lust. And he'd slid his hand down and grabbed her backside by way of demonstration, and laughed when she couldn't hold back the grunt.

Speaking of holding back, she supposed she shouldn't be sliding her hands up under his shirt, or working her tongue in his ear, but it was hard for her to concentrate with the heat of his erection burning her through already too restrictive clothes, and the fact that he'd somehow managed to make her vest zipper disappear.

And his mouth on her breasts... they hadn't made up a rule to deal with that one yet.

Part of her wanted to stop, no correct that part of her knew they needed to stop, the door was half open, anyone could walk by and see, and if he kept stroking her like that soon anyone would be able to hear. But the body remembered what the mind strove to forget and somehow hearing, seeing, knowing, none of that was as important right now as "feeling."

And what she was feeling now was the cool air of the cargo bay and the blunt tips of his fingers as they peeled her pants down over her hips.

She yanked him upright, stopping him from struggling with the obstacle of her right boot because, already having cleared the left, time was of the essence and there was no rule for what they were about to do. He made quick work of dispatching Winona and his hands gripped her waist hard as he boosted her against the crates, and she wondered for a microt if she were going to have bruises.

Then thought was swept away by the force of penetration, and her legs gripped his waist as the crates dug into her back. She breathed open mouthed in time with the thrusts, scrambling to keep her hold on his shoulders and concentrating on not giving the pleasure voice. On memorizing every detail, the beat of his heart, the feel of his fingers digging into her thighs, the way his teeth flexed against the skin of her neck... And she prayed, prayed that it would go on forever.

But all too soon his hand spasmed on the wall next to her head and she knew he was close.

He had enough presence of mind to kiss her when she came, keep kissing her while he came too. And that was O.K. because silence gave the ecstasy greater force, and he almost dropped her when they were finally through.

They leaned weakly into the crates until the world settled back down.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead against his, part in habit and part to make sure this was real. And a bit of her was sad because it shouldn't be like this between them, like some barracks level back ally frell, but most of her was trying to commit the act to memory because she didn't know when they would be able to be like this again, love like this again. And the thought that they could, did, despite everything conspiring against them... that gave her hope.

He finally stumbled a step back and when she looked up she slapped her hands against her mouth and almost choked.

They looked ridiculous.

There she stood, vest open, breasts spilling out and her pants trailing forlornly off of one leg. His pants were puddled somewhere around his knees and his shirt neck was twisted up over the back of his head.

He frowned at her reaction until he looked down at himself, and then reached awkwardly over one shoulder, grabbing at his shirt while biting his lips against a laugh.

She sat down on the floor, wincing as Moya's cold surface hit her rear, and tried to fit the leather pant leg over her boot again.

They'd made very little progress when Pilot brought it all to an end.

"Commander?"

"Yes Pilot," he replied, yanking the shirt back over his head with such force that it caused a small tear.

"Captain D'Argo needs you on Command. He's... been com'ing you but I told him the DRD's had last reported you in the neural chamber and you probably couldn't hear."

He sighed with relief and kissed the air in the general direction of Pilot's den.

"Thanks Pilot. Tell D I'll be right there."

"Certainly." And then there was a pause. "Uh Commander?"

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Officer Sun?"

He stared right at her, another rare smile playing at his lips. "No, but I passed Rygel earlier and he said she was in Cargo bay 7 doing inventory control. She might still be there. Do you want me to check?"

"No," replied Pilot. "Chiana was looking for her. I can just send her there."

She struggled faster and he helped, buckling her weapon back in place and using his fingers to straighten her hair.

He held her close and rubbed his nose against hers, and as much as she loved it, she pushed at him to hurry, because it wouldn't take long for Chiana to get there.

"I love you," he whispered, his mouth tickling her ear and she smiled, because that was rule number one, gone at last, then kissed him one last time, watched him disappear...

And went back to counting boxes.