Aeryn closes her eyes. Her universe devolves to sound and sensation.
The brief screech of the strategy table as it slides a short distance across Command. The sibilant
hiss of the air circulation vents, overlain by John’s heavier breathing. Whisper and creak of half-
discarded leather. Vigorous impact of skin against skin.
Growing excitement, her body mounting to the inevitable conclusion of friction and love. The
escalating fizz of over-stimulated nerves.
And the fast-paced slap of small feet against bio-mechanoid plating.
“I’m trying!” John says.
“No. The other frell. D’Argo!”
John has trouble getting his pants fastened in time.
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *