Since I've indefinitely suspended work on the Farscape crossover, "Secrets Best Kept," a brief setup of the following vignette is in order—though you'd probably be able to determine what's occurred from context: The good captain has had a harrowing, life-threatening experience in "SBK," and he's escaped only just.

While this is one of those pieces utilizing a theme that some find a little too facile, I like to think it's executed well, here, with enough of a twist to keep the reader guessing.

And, of course, here's the requisite warning:

This is yet another in a series of eight or nine stories containing erotica within the body of the text. While I don't know what possessed me to begin occasionally writing fiction that contained such material, it's a tendency that has not yet run its course—if ever it will.

What concerns me in this case, though, is that even a story revolving around an encounter should have meaning, and not simply be an exercise in vomiting forth titillating prose—at least for me. I did have a point to make, here, subtle (or, if you prefer, negligible) though it is, and I genuinely wonder if it came across.

Of course, the final determination of that is yours.

"Stolen Moments"

By Joseph Manno

“I was a willow last night in a dream…

I bent down over a clear running stream…

“Sang you a song that I heard up above…

And you kept me alive with your sweet flowing love.”

- Ann Wilson

She found him sitting in the comfortably worn antique easy chair that was one of his sole concessions to luxury.

He was so still.

"How are you feeling?" Parihn whispered.

When Luciano Mantovanni gave no answer, the Orion drew first closer… and then, a startled breath.

He's asleep.

Parihn glanced at the nearby end table: For a change, it looked as if he'd actually obeyed a doctor's instructions, and taken the full dose of marinycin, a drug McCoy had prescribed to complete the healing process—probably even, to her amazement, when he'd been told to do it.

It just wasn't in his nature, she knew, to meekly take medicine; he usually preferred to rely on himself, and the Vulcan techniques for self-healing he'd learned in his youth. Though the kindly old admiral had reassured the crew their captain was recovering physically, the fact of his un-protesting obedience in the face of ongoing medical instructions worried her.

I don't think I've ever seen him drowsing in a chair.

For a moment, she watched his even breathing.

As a matter of fact, I was beginning to wonder if you ever slept, Cicero.

Parihn had just realized that for all the time they'd spent together over the last three years—talking incessantly, playing chess (and, on occasion, her people’s variant, khal var), or simply being in each other's companionable presence while indulging their own interests—she'd never, before now, seen Luciano Mantovanni truly at rest. Often she had fallen asleep here, either curled in the chair he now occupied, or on the couch… and sometimes even awoken on his bed, covered in a blanket: He'd been considerate and gentle enough to move Parihn without rousing her, more than once.

She'd never said a word, but felt safer with him than anywhere else.

Now, Parihn gazed intently at her friend—not for the first time, certainly, but for once without having to worry about disturbing him while so doing.

Even now, at rest, he didn't seem quite tranquil: His brow was slightly furrowed, and his expression one of faint unease—as if his mind were, even now, occupied with some problem he felt it his responsibility to solve. He was—to her, at any rate—an extremely handsome man; despite the fact that he was in his early forties, the only evidence of age he exhibited was the hint of silver at his temples. If someone had announced he was, like her, 28 years old, she would have believed it readily.

Why am I here?

Cicero had always said she was welcome at any time, even when he was elsewhere—considering the nature of their profession, her appearance at any and all hours had never exactly been an uncommon occurrence—but Parihn suddenly found herself wondering if she hadn't come here, tonight, hoping to see him just this way: While most observers would not have, even now, labeled his appearance either sweet or boyish, the Orion knew better...

…and, perhaps, saw him more clearly.

She felt a sudden rush of tenderness, found herself aching just to be near him…

…reaching…

…and abruptly drawing her hand back to her mouth in surprise, and dismay, at the thought, and near action.

I… I can't…

He sighed in his sleep; and then, in a thrilling, terrifying moment Vaerth Parihn knew she'd remember forever, clearly whispered a name…

…and the name he whispered was hers.

Suddenly, Parihn knew what, until that moment, she'd only suspected… and felt her heart swell within her.

What harm could it do? Just a touch…

She reached out, the backs of her fingers moving first with the line of his chin, and then higher, along the length of his cheek. The gentle brushstroke became a caress, and, over the next few moments, a series of them, as she soothed his face with her hands.

"Oh, Cicero…" she murmured, suddenly near tears, not knowing why...

…and knowing precisely why.

As with many brilliantly foolish people, it had taken nearly losing him to fully understand.

At that, he sighed her name again, and stirred… in more ways than one.

She glanced down and saw both that his robe had fallen open, and that he was responding to her nearness in a very complimentary fashion. Parihn, remarkably, felt herself blush…

…then noted, even more amazingly, a response of her own.

Even through the pheromone and hormone suppressants she took regularly, she had been touched by something that was, she knew with certainty, not just physical.

An idea—one that probably should have been immediately rejected—came to her… and, as she weighed it, took an astonishing, near-irresistible, hold.

It gave her pause. Parihn hadn't done anything like this with a man in some years… and she soberly reflected on whether the wondrously delightful tingle she felt would be worth returning to a part of her life that, in many ways, she'd left behind her. She examined her excitement—for genuine and intense excitement it was, no denying—and realized it was unique in her experience: No demands, no performance… simply something to savor, and treasure in the secret places of her heart.

We almost lost you yesterday.

Sera says we’re never getting home—that it’s not going to happen. I can't bear the thought of never…

Just this once, I want to be yours, and want you to be mine…

…at least for a little while.

Gently, she reached out with her thoughts, using the techniques T'Vaar had taught her, and brushed at the entranceway to his mind.

The resistance was minimal. He was, despite the near-full recovery, still extremely weary from his ordeal; she probably could have pushed past his barriers, which were only minimally in place… but, instead, she waited patiently, identifying herself to him on an unconscious level. The brief moment of uncertainty she noted dissipated immediately upon his recognition of her mental signature, and, before her eyes, he seemed to settle into even more deep and comfortable a sleep.

On some important level, he knew her… and was, she perceived, not unwilling. Instead, he was reassured at her presence, and the fact of that almost made her cry.

It wasn't precisely convention, or quite candid; but perhaps it could do.

She was nearly resolved to proceed… but then, looked at him again… fully realized how vulnerable he truly was, how deeply he trusted… and in a horrible moment of realization, Parihn suddenly understood that what had been so often done to her in the past, the disregard of and contempt for her conscious right to choose…

…was precisely what she had just nearly done.

"Parihn?" he whispered.

Oh, please, no….

Suddenly fearful of him, and worse, ashamed of herself, Parihn took an uncertain step back…

…feeling broken and alone.

"Parihn?"

Clearly startled, even frightened, by his sudden movement, she drew back, wide-eyed—almost, it seemed to him, panic-stricken—and turned away. Before she could flee, though, Mantovanni gently caught and held her arm, levering himself upright to stand. He then took her other hand and, for a moment, held them both in his own.

“Hey… what’s the matter?”

Her shoulders sagged, and before his eyes, Vaerth Parihn seemed to fold in on herself and crumble, an origami child before the weight of the world.

Despite his confusion, he wordlessly drew her to him and enfolded her in his embrace, where she trembled like a captive bird; then, whatever emotion Parihn had tried to contain at last overwhelmed her. She began to sob, shaking almost uncontrollably and murmuring words that made little sense at first to him…

…but clearly meant everything to her.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… I c–can't lose you…"

She pressed herself against him, repeating such phrases over and again…

…until, at last, safe in the shelter of his arms, her voice faltered, she quieted, and was finally still.

With a gentle tone, Mantovanni chided, "Lose me? What are you saying?”

Then, he added, “I'm right here."

Tenderly, he touched at her chin, tilting it upward until, almost against her will, she looked at him. And as he stroked her tear-stained face and held her eyes with his own, a remarkable transformation occurred: Over the span of a few heartbeats, she shuddered, nearly swooned…

…and her lovely features darkened from a pale dawn to a lush, verdant dusk.

Voice husky with the power of her allure, and the urging of her heart, she breathed, "Cicero."

And, with that single word…

…Luciano Mantovanni knew he was lost.

No words were spoken.

His mouth came down on hers in a kiss so forceful it might have been considered brutal if she weren't such a strong woman. But Parihn answered that passion with fire of her own, slipping her hands around Mantovanni's neck and stripping him of the long-useless robe with a downward sweep of her arms. Almost his last truly lucid thought was of being interrupted just now, in the arms of his beautiful young pilot—who was still fully clothed.

Fortune, however, was kinder than it could have been.

He marveled at her desperate desire, mirroring his own; a woman who was more graceful than any he'd ever known now actually fumbled at the clasps of her own uniform, until he once more caught her hands, and, gone in the throes of an endearing frustration, she let him do the honors.

Her uniform quickly went the way of the robe and, for a brief moment, each took in the sight of the other. If it had been a contest of restraint, neither would have done very well; but Mantovanni acknowledged that, in this case, he’d wanted to lose… and it was a defeat he bore well.

He claimed a second, more demanding kiss, bending her head back despite the fervent response. Then, leaving Parihn yearning for still another, he swiftly, surprisingly lowered his focus of attention, and drew almost an entire small breast into his mouth, tugging gently, tongue tending to the suddenly hard nipple. She gasped, exhaled in affronted delight… and left no doubts of her enthusiastic approval by twining her hands into his hair even as he shifted his attention to the other.

Before Mantovanni could do more—and he so wanted to do more—Parihn pulled at him, and he overbalanced. Desperate not to hurt her, he threw his arms out past their bodies to cushion the fall…

…and found himself coming to rest atop her on the carpeted floor.

When Parihn smiled briefly, shyly, at him, he suddenly knew that had been her intent.

It was not a time for prolonging the moment—at least, not this moment… and the sudden need in her eyes was far more than he could endure.

She writhed beneath him, urgent, demanding…

…and again, he surrendered at once to her will.

For one of the first times in her life, instead of being taken, Vaerth Parihn chose another, even as he chose her… and they moved together, as one.

As he entered her, wonderfully filled her, Parihn gave herself more fully to sensation—and another person—than she ever had before, subtly moving beneath him, instinctually prepared to use her myriad skills and talents to help make the coupling an unforgettable one. To her wonder and delight, they weren't needed at all.

He knew just what to do.

For long moments, her eyes were closed in blissful abandon, but something made Parihn open them; and, of course, she found him looking at her. His expression was one of naked tenderness and desire…

…and she felt as if her heart would burst within her.

He delved deeper, and she was at once joyfully replete. Parihn cried out, practically convulsed with pleasure, and felt herself propelled through a searing crescendo to a climax that left her breathless and reeling. In the midst of her own release, she felt him swell deliciously within her, also reach the heights… and pressed her cheek to his in a perfect instant of unmasked emotion.

In that one moment, for that one moment, everything that had ever been wrong in her life was made right.

Their mutual fever had not been broken, though; in fact, it had barely cooled. Soon, Parihn felt him stir to renewed life inside her. She moaned, needful still, sliding her insteps along his flanks in a sensual caress, as he again began to move.

And if the first time had been for them both, the rest of the night, she felt, was clearly a gift to her. Countless times, he brought her to a pinnacle of feeling, loving her with an intensity that left them wreathed in fire… and together, they burned through the night.

When, hours later, they were both weary and spent, she clung to him, refusing to let go the moment.

He didn't seem to mind.

At last, enclosed within his embrace, she slept…

…and dreamt of him, as well.

In the moments before ship’s dawn, Mantovanni arose, quickly showered, donned a uniform… and then, instead of leaving his quarters, found himself instead again sitting in the same chair he’d occupied hours ago, his thoughts turning to the true consequences of the evening past.

She comes to you for shelter… for protection, he thought.

She was vulnerable; she trusted you…

…and see what you’ve done to her.

He couldn’t bear up against it. His hands began to shake, and, for a moment, Mantovanni thought he might weep like he hadn’t since the death of so many friends when the first Liberty had been lost long ago.

Father in Heaven… what have I done?

He was gone from the bed when she awoke.

Parihn saw his robe on the floor where it had come to rest the night before. With a secret smile, she put it on, reveling in the smell of him, and moving silently into the next room—where she saw him sitting…

…his expression dark and terrible.

A sudden chasm of fear opened before her.

He’s sorry we were together.

Oh, no. What have I done?

“Cicero… are you all right?” she asked, keeping her voice sweet and hiding her own terror.

In that, it was the performance of her life.

He turned to regard Parihn with an expression she'd never seen from him, a strange alloy of attraction, affection… and what, on another man, she might have interpreted as dread, but at first dismissed the thought.

His answer, though, gave it new life.

Luciano Mantovanni said, "I don’t think so."