|cozzybob (cozzybob) wrote in cozzybabbles,|
@ 2008-02-25 03:56:00
|Entry tags:||braca, farscape, grayza, scorpius|
[Farscape] For All The Times I've Said Yes
For All The Times I've Said Yes
Pair: Grazya/Braca, Braca/Scorpius
Warning: some slash, some het, rampant sexuality, rape in various forms (Grayza to Braca), bit dark, strong language, mentions of death. Farscape-ness with a dose of Cozz-ness for good measure.
Spoilers: Takes place shortly after the What Was Lost episodes at the beginning of season 4, with spoilers up until then.
Note: Inspired, at the time, by my current desktop, and how weirdly hot it is even though Scorpius is the ugliest villain since Jabba the Hutt. Maybe it's the leather? But then, Braca holding anyone by the leash is hot, no matter what's on the other end of it. For all the Braca fans out there! I know they exist, damnit. Somewhere.
Summary: Grayza wants to know if Braca regrets his actions on Arnessk.
She runs a blunt nail into the gland between her breasts, collecting sweat along her middle finger. It runs cloudy, and smells sweetly sour, like fellip nectar over kaddish fruit. Braca stands rigid and stares beyond that sweat-dosed finger as she runs it along his bottom lip, dipping inside to slide it over his tongue. He shudders and grabs her wrist with a sudden irrational urge to dominate, sucking the finger deeply to take all the drug that she has to offer, intending to be drunk on sex if this is to continue as he knows it will. She whispers some lost form of encouragement into his ear... submit Braca, the drug says, and follow your Commandant.
Lust that he does not feel makes him want like a tralk in a bar on a seedy commerce planet in the middle of the Uncharteds, and to be sane, to be him, he imagines her breasts flattened, her curves narrowed, her abs harder, her backside harder, her skin, harder, every bit of her hard and male and heady.
Women are too soft. When he touches her, he is afraid that she will break or tear or shatter. He wants her to break, he hopes that she breaks, but he fears that she will, and so he imagines that she is hard, a man, someone else entirely. Someone who is not soft. Someone he can want.
But he can never change her voice. She has a very precise voice... the low, lilting seduction of a woman in power, as she asks him, "Do you regret what you did on Arnessk?"
Removes her finger from his mouth, and he makes a strained noise that he cannot prevent. Man, he thinks, pretend that she is a man. Pretend that she is a man, and that he wants to do more than recreate with her.
She smells like spice and sour and hot and need. She smells like Grayza, and she smells like a woman. He wants to frell her into the wall, and rape her for all of the times she's ever deserved it. Loathe is he to have anything in common with John Crichton, but their hate for the Commandant is one of them. He hopes that Crichton kills this one too. He hopes that he does it slowly. He hopes that after Crichton kills her, Braca will finally attain the chance to kill Crichton as well, and then maybe he'll finally be the Captain his title claims him to be.
He has always said yes, but he wants to say no. Say no, Braca.
He does not answer her.
She gently sets her hand onto the back of his neck, and presses, pushing his face down into her bosom. Into her sweat, into her gland, into her breasts, into the things that make her who she is, a woman, not a man, not a man at all, but a beautiful, seductive, powerful tralk. A woman named Grayza, whom he hates more than he has ever hated anything in his entire life. More than the scarrans, more than John Crichton.
No. Not entirely. Crichton can't have her, but Braca will let him believe it. He'll let Crichton believe it, and then he'll kill them both. But for Grayza, he'll do it slowly. Slow and painful and bloody as all frell.
He shudders again, and with disgust. It is one thing for a woman to rape a man, and quite another to rape a man who is very homosexual. But sometimes, she makes him forget. Sometimes, he thinks she never knew, and other times he knows she knows and doesn't care at all.
The heppel still makes him her sex slave. It doesn't make her a man, but it does make him want, and sometimes... that is enough.
"Do you regret killing Scorpius, Miklo?"
They are on a first name basis, now, and the corner of his lip twists slightly with irony. He cannot remember her first name, but Scorpius only ever had one name, so this is okay. He pretends that she is Scorpius, pretends that her soft skin is but the coarse leather of his coolant suit. If he closes his eyes and concentrates just enough, he can pretend that this is as right as it ever was.
Does he regret?
Regret is something that Miklo Braca does not know. To regret, one must know loyalty, and there is only one man to whom Braca is truly loyal, and that is himself.
He runs a tongue along her breast, over her gland, and she sifts her fingers gently through his hair, enjoying his distraction from the question for what it is. He sighs over her skin, hot puffs wondering at the pale quality. Wondering what Grazya is, because he knows that she is not a full blooded sebacean. But Scorpius hadn't been either, and so this is okay as well. He is not disgusted of this.
Any other peacekeeper might have been, but Braca long learned to be immune to the racism of his people. Peacekeepers don't like homosexuality either, and if discovered, it's punishable by exile. Even PKs can't breed men who will only breed with other men.
He understands what it means to be different.
So he is not disgusted because she is impure and a tralk. He is disgusted because he hates her, and the drug has taken that precious difference away.
She fists his hair and rips his head back, glaring into his eyes. He has still not answered her. He does not intend to.
"You will answer me," she hisses. "Do you regret killing Scorpius?"
Are you a spy, Braca? Were you ever one? Should I doubt your unflinching loyalty?
Oh, she should. He knows that she should. Part of him wishes that she would, because then he would have the chance to hurt her for it. Scorpius is dead, what use does he have to stay here? Even his own men do not respect him. He is not a Captain, they whisper, little more than a walking erection with a fancy title under the Commandant and her boob-sweating ways. Say yes for Craise, say yes for Scorpius, bend over, Braca, and let that bitch suck your soul away.
For all the times that he has said yes...
No one ever respects Miklo Braca, but that is fine. He has the advantage of surprise, for the day that he will finally say no.
He will frell her bloody the first chance he gets, and then choke her with his semen. He will show her what it means to be loyal. Loyal to himself, and to his hatred. Braca is loyal to no one and nothing else.
He does not hate out of loyalty to Scorpius. No, as much as he had grown to respect the half-breed, nothing would nor had stopped him from betraying Scorpius if he ceased to be useful--and while Scorpius might have used Braca for his impeccable ability to follow without question (as everyone tended to do), Braca used Scorpius just as well for his own agendas, as he had done with Craise and was currently doing to Grayza.
But unlike his other superiors, Braca had actually liked Scorpius. They shared similar paths of hatred, and Scorpius, for a time, even pretended to respect him. It was new for Braca, and disturbing, and the entirety of their relationship. At first.
When Grazya interfered and turned Scorpius into a drooling beast, Braca felt something else, and it was not pity. The pity ran way to disturbed, and the disturbed ran away to curiosity, and the curiosity ran away to the exotic, until the exotic turned into lust.
He had enjoyed dominating Scorpius. He had held the chain of one of the most influential half-breeds in PK history, and more than that, he had ruled over his ruler--for once, for a few blissful moments beyond Grayza and her sick versions of reality, Braca was a man in his own element. He had followed nobody when it came to Scorpius' punishments. Scorpius had followed him.
Head still craned back from the fist in his hair, panting from painful pleasure that wasn't his own, he whispered, "I regret that I never frelled him while I had the chance, ma'am."
Braca was passed finding Scorpius' form unpleasant. Now he had never wanted anyone more.
And she smiled. She'd known. There was very little about him that Grazya did not know, and that was why she'd used Braca to torture Scorpius in the first place.
"But do you regret killing him?"
Braca had killed hundreds, maybe thousands in his lifetime. It's part of being what and who he is.
He does not regret.
He has never regretted anything in his life.
Braca was born out of PK breeding on the very same command carrier that had raised Aeryn Sun, but unlike Aeryn Sun, he was not conceived out of love, but rather out of orders and a strict genetic line held in pride by years of servitude in high rank and diligence. He had never met his parents, but he knew that one was a Captain and the other involved with High Command.
His genetic line was priceless. When he was born, he'd been born with promise.
The Peacekeeper language does not supply the words for mother or father, and Braca suspected that Sun either adopted Crichton's term, or rediscovered the old sabacean addage severely punishable if heard on the lips of a common soldier in the ranks. They'd destroyed Xhalax Sun's life because she had used that word--he read the file, he knew the case. High Command had forced her to kill her own lover, and then they put her at the head of Talyn's retrieval squad, hoping that she'd end up killing her daughter as well.
PKs do not take to fault in genetics. Xhalax had shown unnecessary attachments that bred into her traitorous daughter, and look at all of the damage that had ensued because of it. Two brilliant soldiers, both destroyed or contaminated--Crichton might be the name held responsible for the death of a gammak base, shadow depository, scarran dreadnought and Braca's home command carrier, but none were without Sun's valuable skills as a commando, some incidents more her to own credit than PK command would ever dare admit. Millions dead, and all because Sun learned how to love like her mother had. He doubted Crichton would have gotten far in the Uncharted Territories if Sun wasn't there to save his life every other day, and willing.
But Braca could understand that. He could understand why Xhalax would kill her lover more than anyone else, because he had done it just a weeken ago. And he had shown no mercy or regret.
"I regret that I never made him say yes, ma'am."
Scorpius would never say yes. If he hadn't for the scarrans, he wouldn't for Miklo Braca. But Braca had said yes for Scorpius a thousand times over, and enjoyed it.
"Braca." Tongue in his ear, tasting his lobe. Voice stern, harsh with growing impatience. "Do you regret killing him?"
"I regret nothing, ma'am."
She smiles again, and sharp white teeth latch onto his neck. She bites hard, hard enough that he cries out when a well of blood forms there. She pulls away, suckles at it, and drags her tongue along to savor his flavor.
He leans into her, hips rolling as her hand slides down to manipulate him though the leathers. The pain is pleasurable, pleasure is pain, he knows not the difference anymore. When she touches him, he scalds, mind inching closer to the Living Death with every breath of her drug and scent. He chokes on it, then hisses, and begins to pant, sweat beading at his temples. Her body presses against him, and he glues himself into her, pressing the hard shape of his groin into her own leathered crotch. Tonight, he will try to dominate her. Sometimes she likes it when he dominates her, sometimes she lets him believe that he can.
She bites again, nibbling along his jaw. He shivers despite their growing body heat, and she says, "Liar. Everyone regrets. Do you regret killing Scorpius?"
Arnessk, a planet worth dren on the scale of billions of other planets in the galaxy. And yet it was there that Scorpius had finally died, and there where Braca had killed him.
Grazya had forced Crichton to dig his arch rival's grave. The human did not believe that Grazya would kill Scorpius, and he didn't believe that Scorpius was as helpless as Grayza portrayed him to be. For that, Braca understood--Scorpius was cunning, and sometimes it was easy to underestimate him, no matter how many times the half-breed could fool those that surrounded him. But Grayza had a point to make, as with everything that she did... she let it be known that she was not working with Scorpius to fool Crichton; she was a woman who worked solely for herself and her superiors, and she needed the aid of no one to get whatever she wanted. Scorpius was nothing but a failure in her eyes, little more than a tool for her needs.
A tool that had to die.
She'd offered a gun to Crichton with a single charge left, meant to kill Scorpius, but he refused to take it. It surprised Braca, the human's utter foolishness. Grayza would not offer a gun without a charge--what would be the point in giving him a worthless gun? She wanted Crichton to kill Scorpius, because she knew that few hated the half-breed more than Crichton did, and she assumed that would gain a measure of trust in him. A debt.
But Braca knew Crichton far better than she did. The human was weak and compassionate, even for his enemies, and he would never kill so ruthlessly. Not without cause, and not even after everything Braca had watched Scorpius to do him. Crichton was a fool.
Braca was not. Grayza gave him the gun and she said not a word. She said not a word, and Braca killed Scorpius without hesitation. Braca killed him.
He remembered. He regretted nothing.
"Answer," she whispers over the bite on his neck, finger into his mouth again. Oil on his tongue, like bad raslak. Bitter aftertaste, sweet and sour, makes his body jerk from attack, scream with want and pleasure. He rubs himself against her, forgets that she is not a man, not Scorpius, not any of his risky past lovers.
She is a woman, and she is his Commandant. And he hates her.
Scorpius had looked to the sky that moment on Arnessk, dark tongue between his scarran teeth as he tried to accept what was coming to him. The tension in his body, the rippling cords of power under his thick coolant suit, muscles shivering with deluded sanity, lost control, eyes nearly as blue and powerful as Crichton's own echoed with some strained, forgotten emotion. It was hard to tell, to one who did not know him, but Scorpius had been afraid. Afraid of Braca. Afraid to die.
And Braca had enjoyed it.
Gun in Scorpius' spine, and Braca had enjoyed it entirely too much.
"Answer," she repeats. "Yes or no."
He is too far gone in memory to feel the tightening fist around his erection, and the pain that comes with it. He can only remember the way the light shot through the half-breed's body, and that terrible white liquid that spewed from his mouth--scarran blood. He remembered white scarran blood flowing from the hole in Scorpius' body, and how he fell into his own grave, as if planned that way, as if Braca had wanted it that way from the start.
He remembered standing there, staring, trying to show nothing at all but contempt. He remembered the Kalish being kicked into the grave beside his unmoving superior, and Grazya asking if he were dead.
Yes, she'd said.
He always said yes.
"No, ma'am." He shakes his head. He remembers. He remembers kicking Scorpius hard on the floor, and Scorpius begging with tortured eyes as Braca held him up by the chain around his neck. He remembers kicking him, and hurting him, and telling him with a sneer, This is for all the times I've had to say yes.
She lifts a brow at him.
He grabs her by the shoulders, shoves her into the nearest wall. He forgets himself in sex, he forgets that he is a follower, and not the Captain that he wants to be. He forgets everything. He forgets to say yes and please and ma'am.
"No," he says. "I don't regret killing him. I don't regret anything."
She is not convinced, but she likes it when he dominates her. That thin black brow lifts again, even as she puts her hands back into his hair. "Don't you really?"
"No," he says again, shaking his head. Conviction. If there ever was a man to be convicted... "No. I don't."
Miklo Braca never regretted anything in his life, except this.