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falling through your clothes

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She should be used to this by now. Uly disappears, they learn that Terrians were involved, she panics, Uly reappears, all is well.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

But she can never quite convince herself to calm down when her son is missing. She’s no longer a shaking, inconsolable mess, but she can’t focus and she certainly can’t sleep.

And that’s why John can find her, every time, just at the edges of their camp. Close enough that she can’t be considered wandering off but far enough away from the others to give the impression to almost everyone that she’d like to be left alone.

“Find anything in the trees?”

His voice startles her and she can hear the amusement in his tone. He enjoys teasing her. Sometimes it makes her want to smack him. Other times, and these are the times that they get into trouble, it makes her want to kiss him.

Lucky for him, he’s caught her on a kissing day.

“He’s fine, Adair,” John assures her between kisses. He knows she gets like this, desperate to feel his bare chest under her fingers, only when she’s so full of worry that she’s going to explode if she doesn’t find something else to do.

“Danziger, shut up,” Devon mutters against his lips before tugging him downward.

It’s only then that he notices the sleeping bag laid out over the rough ground. He should be annoyed that she clearly planned this out, expecting him to come find her. He should scold her for presuming that this was the logical conclusion to her evening.

He should glare and turn around and leave her to the panic and worry and let her stew in the knowledge that they’re on this strange planet with even stranger aliens that seem to need her son and that it is all her fault. He should disappear back to the lights and dying fire of the camp and not give her any hope for distraction.

And yet he’s supremely interested in divesting her of her clothing, and even more interested in sliding his fingers into the dampness between her legs.

She gasps and he tells her to be quiet. They’re still close enough to the camp that if she gets loud (and he knows she can, because there was that time in the caves with no one anywhere near them) someone will hear and come running, thinking the worst. Given that she’s hidden them in the trees and shadows, with their luck someone will trip over them before they can find their clothes and that’s an explanation John does not want to have to give to Yale.

Devon bites her lip and looks up at the stars through the trees as John lowers his mouth to her breasts. “John,” she whispers, nearly a beg, and her eyes fall closed.

He’s always wondered whether her use of his first name when she hits the point of needing him so badly that her voice takes on a tone of keen desperation actually means anything, or if his last name is just too unwieldy for a mind inescapably clouded by arousal. He’d prefer the latter, at least for now, but doesn’t write off the future.

She opens her eyes to glare at him when he removes his fingers but the glare dies when she realizes that he’s working on his pants. She reaches to help, but he bats her hands away, perfectly capable of unbuckling his belt on his own.

He silences her moans with a kiss as he moves above her, matching her frantic rhythm.

Devon loses herself in John and surrenders everything to the crisp, alien night.


She wakes up in the morning fully clothed and in her own tent, alone. John pokes his head in and tells her they found Uly and Julia’s checking him out now, but that everything looks okay. She wants to say something about last night, to apologize for that happening again, but he shakes his head and throws her a crooked smile.

“Anytime,” he whispers cheekily as she slips past him on her way to see her son.

This time, she slaps him. But she smiles when she does it.