#b5fic
Note
Ooooo… how about Burnout. John/Delenn on a tropical vacation? John introducing Delenn to horseback riding?
Burn Out: Break (respite from work, vacation, holiday fling)
Open for Prompts
As far as state dinners went, John Sheridan had had worse. His inauguration as reluctant Earth Alliance President came to mind: half of his Joint Chiefs wanted to shoot him; John was still recovering from his capture and could barely hold anything down. This was practically a dinner date. Violinist in the corner, decadent vintage on the table, freshly grown vegetables on the plate. A beautiful woman sitting opposite him. A beautiful Minbari woman – who would barely look at him, let alone talk. Still, it was better than his inauguration.
“How do you like the Ranch, Satai?” John asked his guest, gesturing to the Sheridan Family Farm that had, thankfully, remained unscathed during Clark’s reign of terror. “We have horses, chickens – even a few sheep. All the vegetables we’re eating are grown right here on this very farm.”
Satai Delenn did not answer straight away. John wanted to think she was struck dumb by his pretty face, just as he had been left speechless by her appearance during her first visit to Geneva, all those months ago. Instead, she was just waiting for her aide, Mister Lennier, to translate John’s words into Adronato. Lennier relayed John’s paltry attempt at small talk, accompanying his words with the young Minbari’s best impression of a chicken. The Secret Service agents behind John did their best not to laugh. The Minbari guards standing behind Delenn stared, bemused. Eventually, the Satai responded; her words falling like water from her tongue.
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Lennier’s own response was less than eloquent. “She likes it very much.”
“Great.”
The rest of the dinner fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated by John’s occasional attempts to spark some conversation. But it was not to be. So, John continued stabbing at his carrots and peas while mentally kicking Ivanova for suggesting this little exercise in the first place. After the war between their people, and with the Babylon Project falling through after the disappearance of Babylon 4, Earth and Minbar had had an…uneasy agreement. You don’t bother us; we won’t bother you. But John owed the Minbari a debt. For not killing him during the war, when that Satai knew damn well who he was. For the mysterious figures, cloaked in black with a green jewel upon their lapel and Adronato on their lips, who had rescued him from Mars. So, he’d pushed. First, a good-will visit from the Minbari leader to Geneva. Then, a personal visit to John’s family home. He even hoped to visit Minbar someday.
If hopes were horses, Johnny, you’d be a cowboy.
After dinner, Delenn and her people excused themselves to the guest house on the other side of the compound. John’s own security stood their posts. In a few days, ISN, Universe Today and all manner of press would descend for key photo opportunities. Right now, all he’d have was a very confused Minbari delegation and a headache the size of the Centauri Ambassador’s ego. So, John didn’t sleep very well. He considered asking one of his security detail to get up on the roof with a hose but didn’t need that headline on the front page. But before the sun came up, John slid out of the window and headed for the stables.
He expected to find his detail admonishing him for breaking protocol. He did not expect to find Satai Delenn standing, looking out over the hills and the subtle shifts in the skyline. “Satai. Are you okay?” Dammit. She didn’t speak English. He’d been trying to learn Adronato but was far from becoming fluent. He stuttered a few words in her language.
She laughed. “I am well, Mister President. Just…meditating on what has come before and what is now.”
John, hands shoved into his pockets to stop them from being thrown into the air in frustration, shuffled up beside her. “You know, last night’s dinner could have been a lot less awkward without Lennier translating everything.”
“Yes.” And she smiled, and the sun came up over the hills, and John was sure there was some diplomatic manoeuvring at work but right at that moment he did not care. He just wanted to see that smile again. “Your family home is lovely, Mister President. So much nature; so much…green. I would very much like to see your, uh—” She replicated the cluck-cluck sound that Lennier had made the night before. “—and perhaps your…horses? We have no such creatures on Minbar.”
John felt like punching the air in triumph. He was finally in the position to make real headway with the Minbari and he wasn’t going to waste a second. “Absolutely. How about after breakfast, we take the delegation—”
“—no.” Delenn’s hand slid over his arm, holding him firm. “Just…us. I find myself tired of shadows, Mister President.”
He nodded, once, understanding all too well. “Okay. Well, if there’s no shadows, then I’m John.”
“Delenn.”
Grinning, John ushered Delenn towards the stables. It was cool inside, the sound of rustling joining their singular footsteps, so long accompanied by others. They walked to the far end of the stables where Aggie stood, majestic. A beautiful coat of dark currant, accompanied by a thick umber mane – she was beautiful. Delenn stood, just as marvelled. A tentative hand reached out to touch Aggie; the horse quickly pressed itself into Delenn’s embrace. The Minbari immediately flinched, hand recoiling. Aggie snuffed, rejected.
“She’s fine.” John lifted the hand that had so readily touched his arm, guiding the fingers back to Aggie’s nose. “This is Aggie. Whenever I’m here – whenever I used to be here – I’d spend hours riding her.”
“You ride her?” Delenn asked, her touch soft. Exploring.
“Four hundred years ago, people used to ride to get around. Now, we do it for pleasure.” He placed a sugar lump in Delenn’s hand and watched with amusement as Aggie licked it right from her palm. Her laughter echoed throughout the empty stable. In a thin shaft of light, her face was alive with the simple joy of seeing a horse for the first time. John had to bear witness to that face for as long as possible. But he wanted more. More of this: more firsts; more moments with the wonders of the Universe laid bare. “I could teach you.”
“Would you?”
It had been a long time since John had taught his sister how to ride, but he remembered the basics. Leading Aggie and his other favourite horse, Hector, out of the stable, both John and Delenn checked that their respective security details were otherwise detained before they set out. John saddled both horses before he offered Delenn a boost. She stared at him, baffled, until he mimed putting her foot in his cupped hands. Together, they lifted Delenn onto Aggie – upon whom she promptly clutched around the neck. John eased her back, soothing both the horse and the Minbari Satai.
“She’s a good girl; you’re going to be fine. Feel her mane?” John guided Delenn’s fingers through the soft hair, his thumb running along Delenn’s skin. Her fingers explored his palm, the marks and scars and lines.
Her gaze caught his and her hands, inked in blue and silver, immediately retreated to the reigns. “Is this…correct?”
“You’re doing great. We’ll make a cowboy out of you yet.”
John then hoisted himself up onto Hector’s back, not missing the way Delenn’s eyes lingered on the muscles of his thighs gripping the horse, or the way his hands so easily manipulated the reigns. He guided her on how to press her heels into the flanks of the horse, how to steer Aggie in a specific direction. Then they trotted forward. The early exertion had left John’s shirt sticking to his skin; his jeans and boots sturdy yet informal. Delenn’s form was draped in an embroidered silk cloak of gold and green, her hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders. They made quite the picture: she a faerie queen from an old story; he a cowboy looking for the horizon.
They found it after a short while: just beyond the hills; just beyond the reach of their detail. Aggie had bonded with Delenn in an instant; she whispered words to her from a world that had never had horses as they looked out over the rising dawn. John just sat, watching Delenn. He remembered being taken with her the evening of the diplomatic reception; half-human features, startling green eyes, a voice that could lead good men to war. The first words she’d said to him still rang in his ears; his surprise plastered on a million copies of Universe Today: I am your friend – in peace.
Delenn turned to him, now; that achingly beautiful smile leading him to clutch Hector for purchase. “Thank you, John. This is…wonderful.”
“You’re welcome, Delenn. This is what I wanted from the trip. To show you all the wonders of Earth.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “You know, I am still surprised you agreed to come. I’m not exactly welcome among your people and I imagine there was…pushback to both your visits.”
A curious, meditative smile overcame Delenn. “You should not be surprised, John. After all, it was my Rangers that helped you escape Mars.” His eyes shot to hers. She then grinned, sinking her hands into Aggie’s mane. “We should return. Our…positions do not allow for much of this.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow I could show you over that ridge. And you can tell me what other secrets you’re holding back.”
“All in good time, Mister President. All in good time.”
With another grin, Delenn gently steered Aggie in the direction of home; John eagerly following suit. It was a pleasant ride: the early morning sun on their backs, fresh dew in the air, a lingering exchange of secretive smiles. A few of their security detail had stirred on the other side of the stables but John was able to quickly and quietly stow both horses. He eased Delenn down from Aggie’s back; the Minbari Satai stumbling into his arms. John held her close, feeling the warmth of her body through the material of her cloak. Our positions do not allow for much of this. If she was anyone other than the Chosen One, John would have kissed her. Tilted her chin up to meet his lips; whispered soft declarations in the silence of the stable. But Aggie let out a soft whine and the moment was broken.
But there was always tomorrow. There were no shadows on the horizon.
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"Night Shadows"
Susan/Talia, Teen and Up, 802 words
Talia's having nightmares after encountering Morden and his Shadows in "In the Shadow of Z'ha'dum". She seeks help.
Talia wakes up screaming. Again.
She tries to remember, but all she drags up are echoes of dread, cold, and darkness. Disembodied feelings. No images to accompany them, no real-world experiences to tie them to.
Unconfrontable.
Inescapable.
“If you do get nightmares after all? You know where to find me.”
Susan’s words keep playing in an infinite loop. She didn’t dare to take her up on them last night. Or the night before. But now...
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If Thoughts Could Kill— maybe the Captain’s log of interactions with the Minbari ambassador (like after a certain dinner in the Fresh Aire in 2259)?
If Thoughts Could Kill: Epistolary (texts, emails, letters, news articles, etc.)
Open for Prompts
Starstuff: A Complete History of the Greatest Love Story of the Third Age of Mankind
By Jadenn Sheridan of Mir
The blurb:
In 2261, Earth audiences were shocked by a highly discredited ISN documentary showing then Earth Alliance Captain John Sheridan allegedly engaged to then Minbari Ambassador Delenn of Mir. They were to marry the following year, prompting years of speculation that their arrangement was for diplomatic – or even nefarious – purposes.
This book, filled with news clippings, reports, text messages, audio recordings, and even interviews with Sheridan and Delenn, shows the real story of the ISA President and Entil’Zha by someone who knows them best.
--
An extract from Chapter III: Every Courtesy
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#john x delenn#babylon 5#b5fic#prompts#dd: fanfic#ship: john x delenn#the formatting on this fic was bad enough on AO3#hence no tumblr post#but enjoy!
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“Silk and Lace”
John/Delenn | Alien Roommate AU | FR12 | 2,008 words
Delenn keeps borrowing John's clothes. So he takes his new roommate shopping. Part of the Alien Roommate verse.
For @stardustinthesky, who is equally obsessed with Delenn wearing John's clothes.
So, I've started making some John/Delenn AU gifsets and, after I watched Tron, I fell in love with scientist John bringing his work home with him. You can see the gifsets here and here.
I'm open for prompts of this verse; feel free to prompt me at my tumblr. Happy reading!
“I think we need to buy you some clothes.”
Delenn glanced up from the novel she was reading – one of many stacked by the armchair in the corner – as a line formed across her brow. “Clothes?” She plucked at the shirt – his shirt – that she wore. “Is this not sufficient?”
Sufficient enough to keep me occupied with cold showers for the next month. John had come home from the observatory to find his alien roommate swathed in his clothes. A royal blue button-down draped over Delenn’s slight frame; the sleeves rolled back over her forearms, revealing the cerulean swirls that decorated her porcelain skin. Her legs were bare; beautiful, shapely legs that curled beneath her. Delenn was wearing his underwear – boxer briefs that he would never be able to wear again without thinking of her. No socks. Just a beautiful alien woman wearing his things.
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“It is—” John rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to linger on the curve of Delenn’s breasts under his shirt; the open collar revealing her décolletage. “—it’s more that, if you’re staying on Earth, you really should have your own things. We can go shopping this weekend, if you like.”
“Would that–would that be acceptable?”
John considered the logistics of taking his half-alien roommate-slash-fugitive out in Seattle to shop. Bester had long-since moved his attentions to the east coast; an extra-large baseball cap or a beanie hat should cover her bone crest. Thank God for the Seattle weather. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be together; we won’t be out for very long. Just need to get the essentials.”
So they made a plan for Saturday. Delenn was, again, dressed in borrowed clothes to venture outside the confines of his apartment. He’d donated a pair of jeans that were a little too snug; a different button down, one that he wore often for work (only thing that was clean; not so he could think about her at work, fantasise about smelling her scent on his clothes). A University of Washington sweatshirt and a Mariners beanie completed the ensemble. Delenn looked far too cute, drowning in his clothes. Cute enough to kiss.
“We should go,” John blurted as the thought – not for the first time – crossed his mind. He brushed past Delenn to open the front door. “We don’t want to run into too many people.”
Delenn nodded. “Of course.” She pulled the beanie hat over her still unfamiliar ears and took a tentative step outside the apartment. “Lead on, Doctor Sheridan.”
It was the first time Delenn was to leave his apartment since John had found her crashed ship and brought her home. He guided her down the fire escape, avoiding the tweaking net curtains and the elevator that rattled and groaned with every tug of the cables up and up. Unfortunately, his new roommate was far too curious for her own good. Delenn was fascinated by all the sights, sounds – smells – of Seattle.
“Delenn,” he gently chastised. “We need to be discreet.”
Her nose wrinkled at the mail boxes outside the apartment, a question dying on her lips, before joining him in heading for his car. “Are you to tell me, John Sheridan, that you would not be equally as inquisitive if you found yourself on Yedor?”
She had him there. “Fine. But unless there’s a Minbari equivalent of Alfred Bester, we need to be cautious.”
They eventually made it into John’s car; Delenn less dismissive of the primitive and destructive technology that got them around the city. The pair headed for a few boutiques downtown that Susan had recommended with an amused tone. The entire journey, Delenn’s nose was pressed against the glass, taking in the sights of the human world. Outside the confines of the car, her hand slipped into his automatically and they walked along the pavement, hips bumping as the early morning shoppers jostled them closer. Eventually they stopped at the first boutique, a little place with no CCTV and just enough foot traffic that the employees wouldn’t remember them if Bester ever came sniffing back around. The woman at the counter smiled as they entered, Delenn marvelling at the bell above the door.
“We have markets on Minbar,” Delenn explained. “The worker caste sell the wares they create out of joy, a sense of…service to themselves. But for places such as these, they often come to the homes of those who require them. Our clothes serve a very specific function. They are not intended to be ornamental. Like your…what did you call them?” Delenn turned and placed a hand above his chest, thumb brushing along his sternum. “The material with the oranges on them?”
“Ties?” She nodded, her face lighting up in delight at a new word for her vocabulary. “Yeah, they’re pretty decorative. I guess that’s part of our human charm – dressing nice.”
Delenn did not reply. Instead, she quickly became enamoured with the racks of clothes on display. She looked at each of them in turn, examining the fabric and stitching in great detail. When Delenn had first arrived on Earth, her clothing had been loose, in faded pink and tan, with little ornament save from a crystal pendant that now resided in a small keepsake box she kept under her side of the bed. John had no doubt that the Minbari cared little for fashion; Delenn had spent a week in his clothes, after all. But he also knew that she was fascinated by everything human and he’d have to make some considerable room in his closet.
“Can I help at all?”
John smiled politely at the shop assistant. “Hi. My girlfriend just flew in yesterday – she’s from Europe – but the airline lost her luggage. We’re looking to pick up a few things. Dresses, jeans, a coat, some pyjamas.” John swallowed. “Underwear.”
“Not a problem. Happened to me more than once. If I could drive to see my sister in Maine, I would.” She turned to Delenn. “What do you like the look of, sweetheart?”
“This.”
Delenn reached for a dress in velvet green. The sleeves and skirt were long; the bodice cutting low on her breasts. There was another, too, in burgundy that stole Delenn’s attention. This one had laces pulling the bodice tight, with lace embroidery over the skirt. She seemed to appreciate clothes that were textured, that felt unique under her fingertips. Together, the shop assistant and Delenn gathered every item Delenn said she wished to own and the three of them travelled to the back room where the changing rooms were located. The woman left them alone to source some underwear for Delenn (“Not sure of the American sizes, sweetheart? You look like a small to me; I’ll be right back.”) and John waited patiently outside for Delenn to try on the first dress.
She emerged in a soft pink dress, the fabric floating around her knees. Delenn twirled in front of the mirror. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you.”
Delenn flushed high on her cheeks. She turned her attention back to the mirror; once again, her fingers pulled at the edge of the beanie. “The hat, perhaps, does not suit?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you try the burgundy one?”
She darted in to change dresses, not questioning matching blue with burgundy. When Delenn emerged, her hands were smoothing over the silk fabric of the bodice; the pads of her fingers tying the laces in knots. John shot a glance over his shoulder, heart thrumming at the huge risk, but quickly yanked the beanie off of Delenn’s head. She stared, lost in her reflection. John had watched her, at home, running her fingers through the curls that fell over her shoulders; the half crest that adorned her skull. Now she stood, hands mapping her sides in the form-fitting dress. Her touch stole, not for the first time, to her ears, her throat.
“It is quite, uh, revealing?” Delenn asked. “Would the purpose of this dress be to attract a mate?”
“Not always. Women on Earth, they dress for themselves as much as a mate.” John leaned in; hand pressed to the small of her back. “Though it’s a good thing we’re not letting you out; you’d turn so many heads you’d be sued for whiplash.” Delenn’s gaze settled upon him, a question forming on her lips. “You look attractive, Delenn. Sexy.”
“Sexy.”
Delenn pondered his words while John retreated, wondering why he had called his alien roommate sexy when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Thankfully, approaching footsteps signalled for Delenn to retreat back into the dressing room, beanie in hand. Unfortunately, the shop assistant returned with a small bundle of bras and panties; black and green and red. Wisps of silk and lace. The woman winked at John as she laid them down beside him; the implication clear that Delenn’s ‘boyfriend’ would get equal joy out of the purchase. He crossed his legs, struggling not to fixate on the image of Delenn wearing very little. In front of him, Delenn continued to emerge wearing dress after dress, overjoyed by the weight of fabric in her hands and the swoosh as she spun in front of the mirror. They weren’t anything special; no designer labels, no fancy fabrics. But they were unique and they would be hers.
When the shop assistant brought over some nightgowns for Delenn to wear, John pressed his credit card into her hand. “We’ll take it all.”
They emerged from the boutiques laden with bags: a pair of sneakers, some ballet flats, an array of dresses, three nightgowns, a midnight blue robe with moons and stars embroidered upon the lapel, and a hat and scarf set that was not emblazoned with any Seattle sports team. After a visit to Theo’s second-hand bookstore on the corner, the pair returned to John’s – to their apartment. Saturday afternoon was spent clearing out one half of John’s closet and Delenn sharing extracts from her favourite sonnets in a battered paperback with lines rippling down the spine. She lay, head at the foot of their bed, skirts splayed across the sheets, as she recited poetry to him.
He was a goner.
But, to his relief, Delenn would no longer be wearing his clothes. There were nightgowns, with long sleeves and frilly lace. John would finally get his pyjama shirt back. Yet, when it came time for bed, John could only find his shorts. No shirt. That was when Delenn emerged from the bathroom in the soft, blue sleep shirt he wore; the familiar socks keeping her feet warm. She stared, sheepishly, at her toes encased in the thick wool socks.
John just shook his head and threw back the covers for them both to get under. All that work, all that money, and she was still wearing his things. “You’re a thief, Delenn. You know that, right? A thief.” Delenn just beamed and practically jumped in the bed beside him. He laughed as she began stacking pillows on her side. “First my shirt, then my pillows. What else are you going to steal, huh?”
“Minbari do not steal.”
“Oh yeah?” He yanked out a pillow from underneath Delenn’s head and tapped her stomach lightly with it. “What do you call that, huh? That shirt is mine.”
“I am…” Delenn trailed off as she searched for the word, wrenching the pillow out of his grip with far superior strength to his own. “Borrowing. I am borrowing your shirt. It smells like home.”
John was momentarily blindsided. It smelt like home. It smells like you. He retreated back to his side of the bed, giving up on a counter-attack, as he watched Delenn pull the duvet up to her chin. Ever since her transformation, her internal temperature had been unable to regulate. Seattle was too warm during the day; too cold at night. So they huddled together, under the sheets, sharing a pyjama set. John didn’t mind sharing, not really. He was happy to share his bed, his clothes, his apartment. His heart he’d given to her a long time ago.
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“Second Star to the Right”
John/Delenn | AU | FR12 | 777 words
John Sheridan explores the stars with his new roommate, Delenn - an alien who crashed on Earth a few months before.
John Sheridan couldn’t sleep. Running a hand across his face, John turned to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him. Delenn’s low, steady breathing had been a soothing balm when the Seattle rain hadn’t done its usual job. But even now, John remained restless. He’d liked to think it was the work; their latest exploration into deep space producing little of result – save for the woman next to him, of course. But he knew what it was. Before – before the chrysalis and the broken ship and the escape from Bester’s people downtown – Delenn had slept on his couch while he had taken the bed.
But now Delenn laid beside him, propped up on nearly every pillow John owned. Low, steady breathing mingling with his own. The scent of her shampoo – citrus, of course – lingered in the air.
He had to get out.
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Easing out of bed, John placed one foot down upon the threadbare carpet and reached for his glasses. No sooner had he slid them atop his nose than his bed mate stirred. “John? Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just–I just couldn’t sleep.” A thin strip of light from the streetlamp outside cut across Delenn’s features. The slight press of her teeth to her bottom lip – such a human gesture – left John with no uncertainty that she had been unable to sleep either. “Hey, do you want to see something cool?” Off her confused look: “Something amazing?”
Delenn’s head jerked vigorously in the affirmative; John couldn’t help but smile. He’d never encountered anyone who was as curious as he was; anyone as fascinated by mysteries, puzzles, the workings of the Universe. And that was their destination tonight: the Universe. Throwing on a college sweatshirt to cover his bare chest and a nearby pair of sneakers, John quickly crossed to the other side of the room and opened the window that led to the fire escape. Delenn, who slept in his pyjama shirt and a pair of his rolled-up socks, had foregone shoes. She often preferred to go barefoot; John guessed the socks were a concession, at least.
After helping Delenn out onto the fire escape, they climbed up to the roof. From there you could see across the whole city; skyscrapers and the Space Needle cutting across the landscape. But more importantly, above them all, was the stars. John felt Delenn’s hand slide into his as they traversed the roof to the telescope John had stashed up there when he’d first moved in.
“I like looking up at the stars,” John explained, as he positioned Delenn to look through the telescope. “I spent hours up here wondering what was up there.” He turned to look at Delenn, whose gaze stole back to his. “Now I know.”
Delenn flushed before turning her attention back to the telescope. “Many of these I know. We have…different names for them, of course.” She sighed. “It still feels strange. Looking up at the night sky; the stars in the wrong position. Only one moon.”
She tilted the telescope to focus on their moon; John remembered the delight on her face when he told her that they just referred to it as moon. Her scope kept searching, yearning. Proxima Centauri was the closest star to them – but that was 4.2 light years away. Minbar, Delenn’s home, was over 25 lightyears. Maybe one day, they would have the technology to peer 25 light years into the distance to see the large ice caps, the crystalline deposits. But not in 1982. Give it a few hundred years, maybe humanity would be in the stars themselves.
But John would never see Delenn’s home. Not unless she took him with her when she left Earth.
In front of him, Delenn seemed to sense the morose turn his thoughts had taken. She leant back, almost butting her bone crest against his shoulder. He grinned down at her. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just…up there. I always have been, I guess.”
“One day, John Sheridan—” Here we go. One day, John, you’ll realise there is more on the ground than up there. One day, John, you’ll realise that you’ve missed so much on Earth while you’ve been staring up at the stars. “—I’ll take you.”
Delenn’s words were said with such conviction, John almost expected her ship to be miraculously fixed so they could travel across the stars together. But it was not. So, they stared at the stars through John’s telescope; his body plastered across Delenn’s back to guide her, to ward off the chill of the night air. After a while, they weren’t even looking at the stars. Just each other.
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“Real Love is Forever”
John/Delenn | Post-Canon | FR12 | 908 words
In the end, Delenn of Mir disappeared quietly.
The opening and closing lines are from The Crow, added when this was part of a five times fic, and I could not bear to delete them as they fit the theme of this story so well. I have shamelessly been inspired by the end of Titanic. Happy reading!
People once believed that, when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can’t rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.
In the end, Delenn of Mir disappeared quietly.
While she remained a symbol of the Interstellar Alliance, there was no longer a role for a one hundred-and forty-year-old Minbari. There was no station to visit on a farewell tour; no friends to invite to a last supper. Susan and Michael and Stephen had long passed beyond the veil. There were children, however, and grandchildren – and even great grandchildren! But upon her last visit with her family, she had recognised something in David’s eyes. He would pass beyond soon, to join his father. Delenn would not bury her son.
So, she made the decision to leave.
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As far as her aides were concerned, she had departed in a small flyer on a quest involving Valen. She sought clarity in her final days; understanding where obedience would not do. It would cement her position as a religious figure among her people – a legacy that Delenn hoped would maintain the balance she had fought for, burned for. Some would wonder whether she would have travelled to Coriana VI. In truth, she had considered it. But that was a place for endings. She wanted to go back to the beginning.
The computer bleeped. “Approaching Epsilon 3.”
Babylon 5 had been gone for eighty years. Yet, there it stood. A beacon of light against the chasm of darkness. Delenn swallowed; her hand hesitating over the controls. Faith and reason warred within her. It was likely that her life support had become damaged as she had left hyperspace and this vision was merely a hallucination as she slipped closer to the veil. And yet – and yet. Her flyer drifted closer to the station. Swallowed whole, Delenn was dimly aware of the computer announcing docking procedures and allocated bays. Then, with an audible thump, Delenn’s flyer was docked on a station that had not existed in the lifetime of her grandchildren or great-grandchildren.
Delenn did not recall leaving the flyer. She had not changed out of her white robes, and yet her sleeves were pink, trimmed in blue. Her hands were unlined and she did not require the walking stick that she had used for many years now.
It was fitting, perhaps, that Marcus was the first to greet her. He had, after all, been the first to leave them. “Hello, Delenn. We’ve been waiting for you. We’d almost given up, to be honest. Mollari wanted to leave around 2300 but G’Kar talked him round.” He beamed at her. “Are you ready?”
“Is he here?”
Marcus’ eyes crinkled; he did not even have to question who he was. “He’s always been with you, Delenn. But, yes. He’s here.”
Together, Marcus and Delenn walked through the docking bay and into the empty arrivals area of Babylon 5. They continued to walk through the station; faces Delenn had not seen in so long stirring memories a century old. She turned with each passing soul – a word dying on her lips each time. There would be time, she knew, to talk to old friends about things that were, are, and yet to be. Now there would be nothing but time.
Somewhere on her journey, Marcus faded into the background. Her heart took her the rest of the way. Not to the Zen Garden, where they had spent many hours together. Nor to the Zocalo, where they had been reunited after John’s fall at Z’ha’dum. She had considered his quarters, or hers, or even Fresh Aire. But Delenn knew that this journey was not an ending. It was a beginning. Her heart took her back to the beginning.
Entering the Advisory Council chambers, Delenn found John sitting in his usual chair. He wore the Army of Light uniform he had left in all those years ago; the familiar creases and smiles of the man she had fallen in love with as they had begun their fight against the Shadows. She entered with no fanfare; no robe to hide behind. Just her heart. John rose, staring in disbelief and wonder as he had all those years ago. But unlike then, John crossed in front of the advisory table and gathered her up in his arms. Her hands mapped the line of his uniform; his fingers brushed a lone tear from her cheek.
“I–I can’t even describe how much I’ve missed you, Delenn.” John cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead lightly to hers. It seemed fitting that they shared her last breath. “Are you ready?”
She did not answer John in words. Instead, Delenn pressed her hand to the nape of his neck and brought him down for their first kiss in so many, many years. It was like the first time: full of passion yet almost as natural as taking a breath. Delenn could not bear to stop; did not care to stop. There was nothing to stop for. There were no battles to face; no crises to solve. Just eternity in his arms. As they paused to stare at the other, Delenn knew that John was thinking the same thing. Finally, I am home.
Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.
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INTO THE FIRE, hot chocolate
John/Delenn | Professor/Coffee Shop AU | FR12 | 1,775 words
Professors Mir and Sheridan share a hot chocolate together one cold December afternoon.
Shortly before four, Professor Delenn Mir left the Humanities building in search of tea – and Professor Sheridan.
A few months before, she had been ahead of Professor Sheridan – John, as the barista scribbled on his takeaway cup – and he had been lamenting that the coffee machine at Babylon Brew, the campus coffee spot, was not working. Knowing full well the pain of marking undergraduate papers with little caffeine, Delenn had ordered both herself and Professor Sheridan a takeaway cup of sama le’a – orange tea. She had considered it a safe bet; Sheridan was well-known to have a bowlful of oranges on his desk for himself and any vitamin deprived students.
She had returned to Babylon Brew the next day to find that Sheridan had bought her a mocha with chocolate shavings.
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So began their curious ritual. Every day, depending on who was done with their marking or classes first, they would order for the other. Delenn would order them tea; John, coffee. Occasionally they branched out into baked goods. After a particularly nasty meeting with the Dean of Students, Delenn had paid for two large iced lemon cookies to accompany John’s takeaway cup. A few weeks before, when Delenn had worked through lunch, John had paid for a sandwich to accompany her double espresso. So many coffees. So many cups of tea. Yet they had never once shared a drink together. It wasn’t for lack of trying: they stole moments together in corridors, after meetings. But John was working on a new book and Delenn had four doctoral students who were testing her patience.
So, four o’clock it was.
Today, Delenn swept across the quad with a smile on her face. Despite the rolling clouds beckoning in the early evening and the slight bite to the December air, Professor Mir couldn’t help but beam at any soul who walked past her. She was late today, which meant that John would be buying. Delenn could stand behind him in line; admire the broad line of his shoulders through the coat he wore, dark strands brushing the collar. She could stare openly at his warm smile towards the barista, the truly dreadful pun that would leave them both laughing in hearty embarrassment. Then Delenn could witness him stand at the counter, holding court as he waited for his name to be called. John wouldn’t check his phone. He would watch the coffee shop, gaze drifting from stranger to stranger until settling upon her. Their eyes would meet, heat pooling low in Delenn’s belly, as the world fell away.
Then John would offer his takeaway cup in salute and off into the cold he would go.
But as Delenn entered Babylon Brew that afternoon, she did not catch sight of John waiting ahead of her. Lips forming into a thin line, Delenn reluctantly joined the queue. Her eyes darted around the coffee shop, trying to find John in the throng of harassed students and caffeine deprived academics. But there was no infectious smile; no raspy laugh. Disappointment flooded through Delenn as she approached the counter. Perhaps I am earlier than I thought, she wondered, drawing upon the hope as she was called to the front. The peppermint tea, today, I think. With a slice of lemon drizzle cake.
“Professor Sheridan’s already been in,” announced the barista, quickly dashing all of Delenn’s hopes. “He bought you both a hot chocolate.”
Delenn nodded, offering a thin smile to the barista. “Thank you. I will wait—”
“—he’s over by the window.”
Her head jerked in the direction of the window overlooking the gardens; the view now cleared of departing students. There sat John. Coat off. Scarf abandoned. Cheeks slightly pink from the change in temperature. He raised his cup – a proper, porcelain cup – in her direction. There was a second mug in front of him. Two plates. An empty chair. Delenn barely thanked the barista again before she rushed to join John. He rose as she approached, pulling out her chair for her. Like this was a date. This was a date.
“I thought it was about time we actually sat down to drink,” John said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I was thinking the exact same thing.”
John’s grin grew impossibly wide. Delenn’s face split in two as she fumbled with the ties of her long coat, wrapped tight to ward off the winter chill. The coffee shop felt ridiculously warm – but perhaps that was just the presence of John so close; his heated touch as he helped remove her coat from her shoulders. Delenn felt his breath on the curve of her neck as his hands slid the wool from her form and draped it across the back of her chair. His gaze refused to leave hers as he re-took the seat opposite.
John gestured towards the two cups and plates. “I overheard you talking to the barista the other day that you’d never tried hot chocolate. Thought we should remedy that.” He pointed at the cup. “I went for whipped cream and chocolate shavings to give you the full hot chocolate experience. We also have some mince pies.”
Delenn stared curiously at the miniature pies placed in front of her, dusted in sugar with a holly leaf embossed atop the shortcrust pastry. “I have heard of these. They are the…the smaller form of the shepherd and the cottage?”
Her date stared, confused, before realisation sunk in. John shook his head good-naturedly. “No, no, it’s not like a shepherd or cottage pie. These have mincemeat in them.” Delenn raised an eyebrow. She thought that was the main ingredient in those previous pies. John just chuckled. “They used to have meat in them, but now they have dried fruit and spices – sometimes even a dash of brandy depending on who makes them. Grandma Sheridan used to get rid of half a bottle every Christmas.”
“I see.” Delenn lifted her fork to break the pastry into two. The filling seemed innocuous enough. Taking a tentative bite, she was surprised at the decadent flavours. The pastry was buttery and crumbled upon the plate; the filling was full of cinnamon and nutmeg. Delenn took another eager bite. “Despite your perplexing attitude towards naming, these are most agreeable.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” John took a bite of his own, using his fingers rather than a fork. Sugar dusted his fingertips; his dark shirt caught a few crumbs. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “You’re from Minbar, aren’t you?” Delenn nodded. She had taught at the University of Tuzanor for several years before coming to Babylon. “I teach a few kids from Yedor. They were telling the class the other day about the Solstice celebrations. Do you have any foods that remind you of this time of year?”
Delenn nodded, thinking instantly of her father cooking on the second day of the Solstice celebrations; their home filled with the aroma of spiced nuts and fruits. “We have…parcels made out of very thin pastry, dusted in sugar, and filled with a filling of our choosing. Fruit, nuts, chocolate – they are made together, baked together, and given to someone we love.” A blush rose high on Delenn’s cheeks as she imagined making the kai’tan and offering one to John. “It is considered an important Solstice tradition.”
“They sound great. You’ll have to make some for me.” A pause. Eyes met across the table before their gaze quickly fell away. John cleared his throat. “And I can make some of Grandma Sheridan’s mince pies.”
The thought of exchanging recipes and traditions and words of affection filled Delenn with joy. She chased it with her first sip of hot chocolate. It was more bitter than she had expected; the dark chocolate shavings cutting through the wisp of cream that clung to her top lip. The drink itself was not overly sweet but rich in warmth. Across from her, John chuckled at the picture she made with a cream moustache. His hand reached out to wipe the foam from her face but he hesitated. Delenn angled her mouth closer to his outstretched fingers. A gentle thumb swept across her top lip, before lingering on the delicate skin. Delenn could not help it. She drew John’s thumb between her lips and sucked. His blue eyes widened at the contact; a sharp intake of breath lost in the rush of the coffee shop as afternoon classes finished.
No one noticed as Professor Sheridan leant over the table to press his lips against Professor Mirs. No one noticed the way he cradled her chin as his lips – sweet and bitter – caressed hers. It was only the splutter of the cappuccino machine that prevented Delenn’s tongue from exploring the taste of John even further.
“We should have a drink,” John said, drawing in a ragged breath as he returned to his seat.
“We are having a drink.”
“An alcoholic drink.”
Delenn leaned forward, relishing this game of linguistic misunderstandings and the frustration and arousal it summoned in John. “Minbari do not drink.”
“Dinner, then,” John put forward, leaning back and taking a victorious sip of hot chocolate. “I want to see you over candlelight, Delenn. I want to eat a meal with you that isn’t a sandwich or a slice of cake. I want to close down a restaurant talking about everything and nothing with you.” He lifted his cup once more to his lips. “Dinner.”
“Or breakfast.” Accompanied by a twinkle in her eye and a sultry tone, the offer of breakfast left John spluttering his hot chocolate all over his shirt. Grimacing, Delenn quickly offered him the handful of napkins from the table and the one over. “My apologies, John. I should not have said that.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, dabbing at his shirt. “Just thought all my Christmases had come at once, that’s all. Why don’t we start with dinner and see where the night takes us?”
Delenn beamed. “Sounds perfect.”
After John had mopped up his hot chocolate, the two finished their drinks and talked at great length about their respective festive traditions. As a group of students hovered nearby, wanting their table, John and Delenn took their cue to head out for the evening. They found themselves in a small bistro just off campus where John, indeed, got his wish to close down the place, the pair talking about anything and everything. As for Delenn, the next time John bought her coffee, it was early in the morning, from the coffee shop down the street from his home, while she waited in his bed.
It was the best cup yet.
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“Goodnight Kiss”
John/Delenn | First Kiss | FR15 | 1,861 words
Set during 2.08, John and Delenn share a goodnight kiss. Part of the 'Alternate Kisses' series.
Happy reading!
In all his years of dating, John Sheridan had never had a better first date. They had spent the evening smiling, laughing – hell, they even closed down the restaurant! His date was an incredibly beautiful woman who had spent the entire evening hanging off his every word – other than the times she had been speaking, of course, and then it was him who was spellbound. The food had been the best he’d eaten in a long time and, other than mildly threatening a fellow patron at the start of dinner, John’s first date since Anna’s passing had gone down a treat.
The only problem was that it wasn’t actually a date.
Still, that didn’t stop him from slipping Delenn’s wrap around her shoulders, his thumb enjoying the sensation of her dress as he brushed her skin. “Well, Ambassador, thank you so much for the invitation to dinner. I can honestly say I haven’t had a better evening since I came aboard.”
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“You are quite welcome, Captain.” She swallowed; the movement of her bare throat distracting John for a long, hard minute. “May I escort you back to your quarters?”
John was momentarily thrown by Delenn’s proposal; he had been planning on making the same offer. So, he just bobbed his head and followed Delenn out of the restaurant and into the quiet corridors of Babylon 5. In his brief time on the station, he’d never seen it so still. John was loath to check the time, to break the spell of his evening with Delenn. She seemed reluctant to end the evening, too; they took a leisurely stroll from Red Sector to his quarters in Blue Sector, John taking the opportunity on multiple occasions to let his hand linger on the small of her back. Whether it was turning around the correct corner or entering the transport tube, John had the compulsion to just be close to her.
But, like their dinner, their journey was close to an end. A couple more corridors and they’d be at his quarters. “You know, it’s a little strange to be walked home. Pleasant but a little strange.”
“Is it?” Delenn’s lips formed a thin line. “I was under the impression, Captain, that the invitee escorts the invited home after a personal dinner.”
John laughed softly. “Well, usually it’s the guy that invites the girl out to dinner. I mean, not so much anymore, I guess.” He shrugged. Honestly, John knew little of current dating practices. He was, however, interested in how Minbari dated. Not for any specific reason, of course. “Among your people, is it the woman who takes the lead?”
“Yes. In all our courtship rituals, it is the woman who initiates them. She makes her intentions known to her prospective mate.” Delenn suddenly paused in the middle of the corridor, her green eyes turning abruptly to his. “Not that I consider this evening to be the first step in our courtship, Captain. While it is true that Minbari courtships often begin with a dinner to ascertain the compatibility of both parties, I truly intended for tonight to learn more about your people.”
“It’s fine, Ambassador,” John soothed, immediately registering the release of tension in her shoulders. “I didn’t assume you thought tonight was a date.” Although I’ve had that very thought. “It’s interesting, though: our ‘courtship rituals’ often start with an evening or an afternoon getting to know one another.”
Delenn inclined her head to indicate her understanding. “I have read of this. You often end such outings with a–a ‘goodnight kiss’?” Delenn grew tense again. “Mister Garibaldi has spent the last two years attempting to indoctrinate me into Earth cinema. I’m afraid I still do not understand the desire to be so physically intimate so soon in a relationship.”
“I’m probably not the best person to ask, Ambassador. I haven’t had a kiss, goodnight or otherwise, in close to three years.” Now it was John’s turn to tense up; he cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his pockets, and increased the speed to his door. Maybe it was better that they ended this night sooner than later after all. “I suppose sometimes a kiss can tell you a lot. You could have the most intense sexual chemistry on the planet and end up smacking your lips together like a fish when you finally do lock lips.”
“There is perhaps some merit to that. Our courtship rituals take time: intense preparation and meditation. While we believe in an emotional and spiritual connection, waiting until much later to explore a physical connection has left many couples disappointed when they realise that they are not compatible. Exploring it early could remove so much heartbreak – or offer many more months of joy.”
“So, maybe it’s best to just kiss and get it over with.”
John caught sight of the door to his quarters. He stood awkwardly by the lock, his identicard tapping an uneasy rhythm against his palm. His gaze stole to Delenn and she was no less breath-taking in the harsh overhead lights of Babylon 5. If anything, the corridor looked out of place when compared to the elegant woman in the black dress, teeth gently teasing her bottom lip. John knew he was attracted to Delenn. Had been since the moment she’d walked into the Council chambers. They had very quickly established a spiritual connection and emotional common ground. But the military commander of Babylon 5 couldn’t be attracted to the Minbari Ambassador. She couldn’t be attracted to him. Maybe it was best to just nip this in the bud with a quick, fumbling kiss.
“Well, I should probably turn in,” John offered half-heartedly. Delenn pressed in closer, her hand lingering against the lapel of his jacket. Her eyes hesitated on his mouth and John heard her intentions loud and clear. “Goodnight, Ambassador.”
John bent his head and gently pressed his lips to Delenn’s. It was an achingly soft first kiss: it left him more frustrated than sated. As he pulled away, he was gifted with an image of Delenn he would always carry with him: eyes half closed, lips pulled into a delighted smile, cheeks just slightly flushed. He was about to curse himself for giving himself ammunition for months of torture – this can never really happen – when Delenn’s hand slid around the nape of his neck and dragged his mouth back down to hers. Her lips were bold; her body pressed tightly against his. When they pulled away again, they were both breathing heavily.
“I—”
“—I am not yet ready to say goodnight, Captain.”
“Good,” he growled. “Neither am I.”
John’s arm slid around Delenn’s waist and pulled her flush against him. Quickly they resumed their passionate embrace. The hand on Delenn’s hip drew circles through the rich velvet of her dress; his other slid into the ornate arrangement of her hair and pressed against her scalp, the edges of her bone crest. Delenn’s gasp against his lips left him stiff and with the knowledge that he’d just found a Minbari erogenous zone. Delenn’s own touch was far from restrained, reserved – whatever impressions he’d had of the Minbari people had changed the moment their Ambassador had stroked his teeth with her tongue before tugging on his earlobe with her teeth.
“Captain.”
“Call me John,” he said, exploring the bare expanse of her throat with his lips. “We, uh, we need to take this inside.”
Pressing Delenn against the firm structure of his door, John allowed one hand to shove his identicard into the lock while the other caressed her side. Her head was pressed back against the metal door, body bowed under his ministrations. When the door didn’t give, he tried again. And again. And again. Eventually, he had to pull away from a very flushed Delenn to smack the locking mechanism. Her tongue laved at the line of his throat as he tried to thrust it in for a fifth time. Sixth time. Seventh time.
“Dammit.”
“Captain?”
John turned, stumbling into Delenn as he found himself face to face with an amused Susan Ivanova. She lifted two eyebrows at the picture he and Delenn made: more tendrils of dark hair were now curled over her shoulders; his own hair was sticking up at right angles from where Delenn had run her fingers through it. It was clear to anyone with eyes that he and Delenn were about to go inside his quarters and have sex. And whether the Universe wanted to save him from the inevitable headache that was making love to the representative from Minbar, Ivanova quickly explained that Earth Central had locked their quarters until they paid rent.
“That is egregious, Captain, Commander.” Delenn drew herself up to her full height, displaying a surprising amount of propriety for a woman with a hickey on her neck. “You serve this station and its cause day in and day out. Among my people, such service is rewarded with suitable living quarters and anything you would require to continue that service.”
“See?” John said, pointing a finger at Delenn. “Ambassador Delenn gets it.”
Ivanova snorted. “I’m sure she was about to.” While that may have gone over Delenn’s head, it did not go over John’s. He stared down his XO. She quickly cleared her throat. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I’m now off to go rent a room for the night.”
“There is no need for that, Commander,” Delenn interjected. She then turned to John. “I have been told that the seating arrangements in my quarters are particularly comfortable. You are both welcome to stay with me tonight. I would offer you my bed, as is custom of the arrival of a guest, but Minbari sleeping arrangements are a…longer discussion.”
John beamed. “Thank you, Delenn. Sure beats sleeping in my office and I am definitely not renting a room.” He turned to Ivanova. “Shall we go?”
His XO shook her head. “I think I’m going to sleep on Garibaldi’s couch. Or ask Franklin for his spare cot. Maybe you grab one; I’ll grab the other? I’d hate for there to be any discussion of favouritism or inappropriate conduct.” Ivanova’s eyes flashed and John had the decency to appear chastised. If anyone other than Ivanova had come past—
“—I’ll take Franklin up on his offer,” John said, knowing full well he would be sleeping, alone, in his office to prevent his libido from creating an international incident. Clearing his throat, he turned to Delenn. “Thank you for dinner, Delenn. I had a wonderful time.”
Delenn bowed her head. It seemed that cooler heads had prevailed. The Minbari government would have been equally thrilled with Delenn as Earth would have been had their little…dalliance been made public. If it had gone any further. “You are welcome, Captain. I hope we may do it again sometime.”
“I hope so, too.”
And despite Susan’s presence and the diplomatic implications, John ended his first date with Ambassador Delenn with a kiss upon her hand. Whether there would be a second date, John had no idea. But there was hope. And Babylon 5, if nothing else, was built on hope.
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“The Sound of Your Voice”
John/Delenn | PWP | FR18 | 1,473 words
Delenn leaves an erotic time-stamped message for John in his quarters.
Thank you to those few who have read a first draft of this story and said it was good enough to post. Happy reading!
John entered his quarters, immediately tugging off his jacket and kicking aside his shoes. It had been a long day dealing with the new Earth ambassador and all John wanted to do was have a hot shower, eat some food, and crash out in bed. As he entered his bedroom, however, he noticed that the sheets were mussed. Despite no longer being in Earthforce, John knew how to keep his billet clean and tidy. The pillows were propped up against the bed and there was some fabric underneath the corner of the duvet. John lifted it up with two fingers and found a pair of silk panties in charcoal grey.
The computer sprung to life. "You have a time-delayed audio message from Ambassador Delenn."
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John swallowed. He and Delenn had been dancing around each other for a few years now, sharing the occasional kiss, but the Universe kept getting in the way of anything further. Since they had begun working on the ISA together, however, things had become more…playful between them. Teasing. Downright erotic. John pressed the panties against his grin before collapsing against the mess of sheets. "Play."
Delenn's voice filled the air. "Hello, John. I apologise for missing you in your quarters. However, I hope you will forgive me for not leaving at once. Your—your sheets feel wonderful against my skin, John. I can smell your aftershave, your shampoo; it's almost like you're here with me, John. But you are not. There is nothing else for it. I shall have to touch myself on your behalf."
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, John." He knew that feeling well. "Join me on the bed. Undo the zipper on your trousers. But don't touch yourself yet, John. Can you do that for me?"
John would go back to Z'ha'dum for Delenn. So, he eased down his zipper, grateful for the breathing space. Delenn's own breath came out in little pants as she touched herself. John summoned the image of her writhing on his sheets. He pressed his hand to the cotton; was he imagining the warmth?
"I'm touching my breasts now, John. Holding them in my hands. Rolling my nipples between my fingers. If you were here, I'd want your mouth on them, John." The way she said his name was arousing enough. The picture she was painting led to him testing the textile strength of his boxers. Her breath caught in a moan. "I'm taking my time before I touch my cunt. I am intrigued to know how wet I can get without touching myself there. Are you intrigued too, John?"
"Delenn."
"John, it is important to me that we come together." She let out another gasp; John could see teeth marks in the corner of one of his pillows. When he finally got his hands on her, he'd nip and lick at her breasts until she saw stars. "You can touch yourself. Over your boxer shorts. Three brushes of your hand. I, too, will touch myself. Three strokes, John. Do not disappoint me by touching yourself further."
Those three stokes were exquisite torture. He was painfully hard; Delenn's moans and the slick sound of her fingers against the upper labial petals of her cunt were not helping. The front of his boxers had begun to dampen.
"John, I do not think I have ever been this wet. At least, not without the aid of something other than my fingers." HIs mouth was dry. Goddamn Minbari. "Three strokes, John. Rub the heel of your hand against yourself. Say my name. Say it, John. John. Oh, John."
Once a soldier, always a soldier: John followed his orders without question. His name fell from her lips thrice more; the last time a moan drew his name into two syllables. His hand reached out to palm the sheets where she had laid, naked, and fucked herself to thoughts of him. John’s left palm lingered over the rigid jut of his cock. What he wouldn’t give to touch himself; to bring himself close to the edge. But Delenn had ordered him to stay: so, he stayed.
“So good, John. So good.” He didn’t know whether she was referring to the feel of her fingers against her cunt or his behaviour. His stomach jolted at the idea of being good, at following orders, of being rewarded for his service. “I’m going to fuck myself with my fingers now, John. Two fingers. I’m imagining it’s you. Would you take me fast or slow? I can never quite decide.”
“Right now, Delenn, I just want you fast.”
As if she could hear him, she laughed. “Remove the last of your clothing, John. Let’s be here, naked, together.” He stripped off, kicking his ruined boxers across his bedroom. He laid down facing the spot where Delenn had been. “I will enter myself three times, John. Only three. I want you to stroke your cock three times. You can do it fast. You can do it slow. But only three times, John. Then I want you to take a deep breath and say my name.”
The first stroke on his cock was unbearably quick. John gasped as his hand slid around his hot shaft. His fingertips gathered the pre-cum at the tip of his cock and he stroked himself for a second time. The third stroke was slow; his right hand reaching down to cradle his testicles. He gave them a quick rub before placing both hands against the mattress. He drew in a deep breath and moaned her name. “Delenn.”
“How many times, John, have you laid upon this very bed and touched yourself to thoughts of me? How many times have you come, just like that, with my name upon your lips?” She gasped. “I have truly lost count of how often I think about you; how often I touch myself to fantasies of you. Before I started this recording, I thought of you coming in and watching me for a little while as I touched myself. I only realised you were watching when I was so close, I could feel my entire body trembling.”
“Delenn.”
“I am going to bring myself to that edge, John. I’m going to touch myself until I feel on fire but I have not yet begun to burn. Touch yourself. Stroke your cock quickly, rapidly, until you are on the verge of coming. Then I want you to stop, John. I want you to stop for me. Can you do that for me, John? Can you picture me stroking my cunt, thrusting two fingers inside myself, and still pull back? I have every faith that you can, John.”
Suddenly, his room was filled with the sounds of Delenn masturbating. Her breathy moans, intermingled with broken phrases in Adronato, spurred him on. He fucked his hand; his hips jerking forward as he listened to Delenn touching herself in tandem. If he closed his eyes, John could imagine that she was lying beside him. The smell of her perfume still lingered; he felt her presence in the room as if she was physically there. He’d give up the presidency of the Alliance just to watch her touch herself; to see the look of ecstasy on her face as she teased the slick petals of her cunt and thrust two, three fingers inside herself. That image brought John close to the edge and he had to physically wrench his hands away from his cock just to stop himself from falling right over.
“Goddammit,” John hissed; his release on a knife-edge. “Computer, how long remains of the audio message?”
“One minute remaining.”
“Thank God. Resume message.”
“John, John, oh Valen this feels—” The rest John barely understood; his Adronato more than rusty. But he understood that moan; that satisfied sound as Delenn chased her own pleasure. “I told you, John, that I wanted us to come together. I cannot wait any longer. I will touch myself: the little petal just above where I imagine your cock inside of me. It is the most sensitive. A few strokes; my thumb pressed hard…join me, John. Let us cross over the rim of pleasure together. No more waiting; no more holding back. Come for me, John. Come for me.”
John did not need to be told twice. Taking his shaft in hand, John pumped himself in time to Delenn’s deep, abiding moans. It took three strokes for him to come. Pleasure rippled through him; his hand jerking his cock as he rode out his orgasm. Afterwards, John wiped his hand clean and lay, boneless, against his sheets. The recording had, unfortunately, come to an end. But, hell, that was probably one of the best orgasms John had ever had.
He would have to find time in his busy schedule to return the favour.
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I’ll spin the mystery wheel! How does C5 sound?
Love a spin of the mystery wheel! Sadly, category C only goes up to 4 so I’ve opted for C1 instead. Enjoy!
C1: Divorced older John connects with Delenn on Earth | Open for Prompts!
“Sorry it wasn’t much. I’m not exactly a gourmet cook.”
Across the table from him, Ambassador Delenn just smiled at him. She reached for his hand, her thumb brushing the back of it. “It was lovely. Stop worrying.”
Yet all John could do was worry. Worry about the table setting, worry that he would accidentally poison the Minbari Ambassador to Earth. Worry that he would accidentally create some diplomatic incident that not even his Dad would be able to extricate himself from. But Delenn was smiling, laughing, and John was completely, overwhelmingly glad that he’d had the courage to invite her to dinner. Ever since they’d met at the diplomatic gala to welcome her to Earth, John had been smitten. Everyone – including the President – had been taken aback by Ambassador Delenn’s appearance. Most continued to stare; some in shock, others in disapproval.
John just couldn’t take his eyes off the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
As they finished dinner, John watched Delenn move gracefully around his home. He’d only been in the place a year or so, ever since the divorce was finalised. If John had had his way, he wouldn’t be beached in Geneva. But Joint Chiefs of Staff did not command star ships from space. They carried out military policy; they liaised with beautiful diplomats. Leaving the dishes in the sink, John joined said diplomat by the fireplace. She was admiring the photographs on the mantle.
“Are these your children?”
John nodded. “Yeah, that’s Ellie, our oldest, and Philip. He joined Earthforce as soon as he could, desperate to follow in his old man’s footsteps. Ellie…takes after her mother.” He took a sip of the sparkling water he’d poured before passing Delenn her glass. Her thumb traced a bead of moisture down the stem. “Did you and your husband ever want children?”
“We tried. We were…unsuccessful.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know much about Delenn’s personal life; a few titbits she’d shared over tea in the embassy or during their many, many walks through Geneva. There had been a husband; he had died about fifteen years earlier. Never remarried. Delenn seemed to sense his hesitation as her hand reached for his. “He was a dear, dear friend of mine. But it was a match borne of circumstance not love. It is a curious thing. I do not believe I have ever been in love until I met—” Her gaze shot to his. John drew in a shaky, disbelieving breath. Immediately, Delenn’s eyes focussed on his children. “Do you see much of them?”
“As much as I can. When I do, it’s usually the same old story. Trying to get me and their mom back together. I try and tell them that we’re much happier apart. Eventually, Ellie and Philip will start setting me up, saying I need to find someone. They don’t need to.” John laced his fingers with Delenn and brought her hand to his lips. He placed a kiss upon the back of her hand. “I’ve already found her.”
“John.”
Losing her touch – just for a moment – John took the stemware and placed them safely out of reach. He then reached for Delenn, cupping her face in his hands, before bending his head to meet hers. Their first kiss was soft and sweet; the slightly bitter taste of the sparkling water overwhelmed by the slide of her tongue against his. John slid an arm around Delenn’s waist, palm pressed to the small of her back, as she melted against him.
After his divorce, John had tried to move on. Clearly, he should have looked to the stars for love.
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“The One Who Babysits”
John/Delenn | Everybody Lives/Fluff | FR12 | 1,667 words [3/3]
The best babysitters in the known galaxy are President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn. Part of the 'David and Sofie' verse.
John Sheridan hobbled along the corridors of Blue Sector to what had once been his office. A few years had passed since Susan had taken ownership; his commendations and collectables packed up and set up in his new office on Minbar. She’d replaced the seal of the Earth Alliance with a seal of the ISA; her own commendations and mementos from home placed neatly on display. Today, there was another special item decorating Susan’s office: her daughter, Sofie.
Poking his head around the door, John found the six-year-old deep in thought, staring out across the gardens. Her leg, encased in plaster, was propped up on a chair. “Hey, Sofie Star.”
Sofie immediately brightened. “Hey, Uncle Johnny.” She lifted her leg an inch. “Snap.”
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“Object of my Desire”
John/Delenn | PWP | FR18 | 865 words
Upon her first visit to Earth, Satai Delenn takes the opportunity to indulge in a fantasy of Sheridan the Starkiller.
Blame @stardustinthesky. She reblogged a picture of Bruce in a speedo; I reblogged with the tags #I am considering John doing some modelling after the EM war and Delenn finds and lusts after these pictures.
So. Here we go. Happy reading!
(A reminder: I am open for any and all John/Delenn prompts! Feel free to bombard my ask box with anything I have mentioned, pics of Bruce/Mira...anything inspiring, I welcome.)
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Satai Delenn of the Grey Council nodded at the guards standing sentry at the entrance of her quarters before quickly sweeping inside. The two acolytes assigned to her moved to attend but they, too, were dismissed. Delenn wanted to be alone. She stole to the window, her view overlooking Geneva. Several of her colleagues on the Council had commented on the state of Earth; their disparaging language and tone had pierced Delenn’s heart. They are us; can’t you see? Give them time. Let them come to the stars. They will find their way.
Drawing in a sigh, Delenn tried not to reflect on her first visit to Earth. It was a goodwill visit to sign onto the Babylon Project. Yet the Earth government could not resist placing John ‘Starkiller’ Sheridan front and centre. A show of strength. And what a show he was. Delenn could still recall the handsome Earther who had pushed against his bonds, speaking words he had no grasp of yet the rasp of his voice had left Delenn captivated. Sheridan was the first Earther she had ever encountered and he was, quite frankly, the most enthralling of them all.
Removing her outer robes, Delenn settled upon the chair nearest the window and ran her fingers along the edge of fabric. “Computer, search for John Sheridan, calendar.”
One of the Warrior Caste had mentioned it, spitting the words in disgust that such a man was revered, deified. Yet, as the images loomed large in her quarters, Delenn could not understand their confusion. Can’t you see this man is a god? The calendar – twelve months to the Minbari nine – featured a litany of images of Commander Sheridan in erotic poses. Several of his pleasure centres were open to the eye of many a potential mate. Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, Delenn slid a hand underneath the soft silk of her robe, brushing a breast. Her fingertips followed the familiar cerulean swirl before the heel of her hand caught an erect nipple. Delenn allowed her fingertips to tweak and pluck, her eyes briefly fluttering closed at the sensation.
In front of her, the images began to cycle through the calendar. John Sheridan on the deck of an Earth ship, neck bare and collar open. John Sheridan working on a Starfury, covered in grime and sweat; his white shirt stuck to the plains of his body. John Sheridan on his family farm, bronzed torso on display amongst the orange blossom and fruit trees. By a large body of water; material clinging to the taut, muscular flesh of his upper thigh. By a hideously horizontal bed; a hand placed tantalisingly on the strip of flesh leading to his cock. Delenn’s hand slid further still, stroking the aroused folds between her legs. Two fingers brushed against the slick before she entered herself, catching the gaze of the image of John Sheridan.
“You’re so wet for me.” Delenn began to fuck herself slowly. The phantom sound of Sheridan’s voice continued to whisper in her ear. “Can you imagine what the Warrior Caste would say if they could see you now? Dripping wet for Sheridan the Starkiller.” Delenn parted her robe, bearing her form to the cool air of her quarters. Her nipples pebbled in response, her hips bucking against her hand. Delenn could almost feel the ghost of Sheridan’s touch against her breasts, the cerulean swirls of skin leading to her cunt. “Are you imagining all the things that I could do to you? Fucking you with my hands, my mouth – my cock? What does it say about you, Satai, that the first words you learned in English are the words to get you off, imagining Minbari enemy number one fucking you to the edge and back.”
In front of her, Sheridan’s image transformed to one of a vibe shower: his skin and hair damp; his eyes betraying a lust Delenn had not encountered amongst her own people. Couplings were always undertaken with great reverence – self-pleasure included. Nothing about what Delenn did now was reverent. It was pure and utter decadence: the throb of her cunt; the slick coating her fingers; the thrust of her hips grasping for purchase around a touch she would never possess.
“Don’t be so sure, Satai. You caught me staring, earlier. Sure, it might be recognition. But I lingered, Satai.” The pads of her fingers picked up pace on her lowest fold, rubbing the nerve in tandem to the imagined hum of pleasure against her ear. “I may not want to – but I want you, too.”
Delenn gasped as her orgasm rolled through her; her teeth sunk into the flesh of her other hand lest she cry out John Sheridan’s name in completion. She continued to stroke herself through the aftershocks; her movements languid as the computer showed her image after image of John Sheridan. He was a beautiful thing to behold. All fire and steel. A perfect match for ice and crystal. Things that were not to be.
“Computer, off.”
Delenn gathered her robes closed and went to cleanse herself of the day’s impurities. Out of the corner of her eye, the image of John Sheridan faded. Maybe in another life.
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“Trois”
John/Delenn/Mayan | PWP | FR18 | 2,754 words
Upon his return to Minbar, John Sheridan joins acolyte Delenn of Mir and her friend Mayan in a study of pleasure.
Blame @stardustinthesky, who mentioned about Delenn exploring pleasure at temple in her last fic. I've finally written a three some and you are to blame. Huge thanks to @chozenrogue who was my guinea pig about whether this was too filthy!
Happy reading!
Delenn of Mir was waiting for him at the space port. Her eyes, bright and unwavering, immediately caught his gaze as he descended from the transport. John offered a wave that she returned – timidly, at first, before with gusto. As always when he saw Delenn of Mir, John Sheridan felt an immediate pull. Right now, all he wanted to do was lift the small Minbari woman into his arms and never let go. But that evening, after a lousy few days in hyperspace, John settled for a hug. He wrapped his arms around the slight Religious Caste acolyte and welcomed the bite of her bone crest against his jaw. Delenn’s fingers clung to the material of his jacket; her superior strength fixing him in place.
Like he wanted to be anywhere other than here.
“Welcome back, John.”
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#john x delenn#john x delenn x mayan#john sheridan#delenn#babylon 5#b5fic#ship: john x delenn#dd: fanfic
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For your December promptathon: OBJECTS AT REST + kids ;)))
John/Delenn | Family Fluff | FR12 | 1,410 words
John, reeling from a nightmare, centres himself in family life with Delenn and their three children.
We've been talking about John and Delenn having more children, and John being a girl dad, and this fic came out of those discussions. Happy reading!
(N.B. The Minbari in this story has come from the *amazing* English-Minbari dictionary on jumpnow.)
No mercy. No fairness. No hope. No last minute escape. You’ve never escaped this room, Captain. You’re still there.
John Sheridan woke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. A hand lingered around his throat, still feeling the restraints around his neck and wrist. The metallic tang of that room – the taste of his own blood – clung to the back of his throat. John dragged a hand through damp strands of hair and drew in breath after breath of cold air. You’re not there, John. You got out, you got out, you got out.
As if sensing his discomfort, Delenn stirred beside him. “John? Are you alright?”
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“Yeah, just—” Nightmares. Ones I don’t talk about. Like the ones you have about the Starfire Wheel. “—a bad dream. I think I’ll go for a walk.”
A warm hand brushed his arm; Delenn’s soft gaze staring up at him from the mound of pillows she lay upon. She understood the need to be alone after one of those ‘dreams’; the chance to centre oneself in the early morning air before John faded into Entil’Zha. Faded into Dad. Delenn squeezed his hand. “Don’t be gone too long. Take Aggie with you.”
“I will.” He kissed her temple, making sure to adjust the sheets around his wife’s form to keep her warm in his absence. “Love you.”
“A'fel E'.”
Slipping out of the bed he had shared with Delenn for over twelve years now, John padded across the bedroom floor. He dressed quickly, stowed his denn’bok (a habit, a replacement for his ppg) on his hip and silently traversed the Presidential compound. John dodged dolls and model ships; stabbed his foot with a hair pin that should have been stowed away hours ago. He then made his way into the kitchen where Aggie, the Sheridan family golden retriever, was already bringing John her favourite toy.
John chuckled as he stroked her head. “Hey, Girl. Let’s get some fresh air.”
Outside the Presidential compound, John nodded to the two members of the Anla’shok on guard duty, Aggie trotting dutifully by his right side. The Rangers were used to the Sheridan Family Circus by now: President Delenn, Entil’Zha Sheridan, three children and a goddaughter that visited every few months, a giant golden retriever named after John’s favourite ship, and a gok that hissed at everyone apart from Della. ISN liked to do news reports every so often on the Sheridan family; Universe Today had even bribed someone to break into John’s parents’ home to steal pictures of their grandchildren. They claimed it was in the public interest to know about John, his children with Delenn.
Public interest my ass, John thought as he threw Aggie’s ball into the shadows of the garden. My family are not sideshow attractions.
After a while grumbling to himself about damn reporters, Aggie led him back home. John drew in another deep breath before he crossed the threshold – he wasn’t Captain Sheridan here. Not Starkiller, not Traitor, not the One, not even Entil’Zha. He was just John and Dad. Two titles he would have happily traded the others for.
Sliding open the kitchen doors, John was quickly greeted with a hairbrush and a scowl. “It’s refusing to co-operate this morning.” His eldest daughter, Della, continued to scowl – more at the hairbrush than at him. “Dad? Please? You’re so much better than this than Mum.”
“Okay, okay. Sit at the counter. You want a braid, like yesterday?”
Della nodded. She sat at the kitchen counter, offering her back to John. He quickly grabbed her hairbrush and began threading it through the dark strands, making sure not to catch the bristles on the sensitive ridges of her bone crest. The movement of the brush through the ripple of her hair was almost therapeutic; Della relaxed as easily as her mother with John brushing her hair. He then began to plait the dark curls, drawing them tight so they wouldn’t come undone during denn’bok practice afterschool. After tying the braid with a green band, John pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek.
“There, sweetheart. All done.”
“Thanks, Dad. You want some juice?”
John laughed. “You ever know me to turn down juice?”
His daughter laughed – his laugh, almost like hearing an echo – and pointed an amused finger at him as she headed for the refrigerator. “Only when you have a fever of a hundred and three.”
As Della poured them both a glass of juice, the rest of the Sheridan of Mirs filtered through the kitchen. Delenn, already dressed and ready for a day of running the galaxy, pressed an eager kiss against his mouth before preparing two cups of tea. Her gaze stole to his on more than one occasion; John having to mouth I’m fine to his wife in order for the tension to leave her slight frame. David, John and Delenn’s eldest and only son, entered the kitchen yawning; his sleep shirt riding up – their son all limbs as he headed into his teenage years. He offered a sleepy wave to his father before he began elbowing his sister out of the way of the orange juice.
“Behave, you two,” John offered, sternly, as Delenn shot them an equally reproachful glare. “Is your sister up yet?”
It was at that point that Jadenn, John and Delenn’s youngest, tottered in. Like her sister, she had Delenn’s bone crest. All of them had her eyes. But Jadenn had John’s ears and dimples. She bloomed into a smile as John caught her around the waist and pulled her into his lap, wrapping her up in a big hug. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning, Daddy. Can you do my hair this morning? And Susie’s? In a French braid?” Jadenn’s doll was thrust in John’s direction. A gift from Michael for Jadenn’s sixth birthday, it was a haunting tableau of glassy green eyes, off-centre mouth, and a glued-on bone crest that had fallen off on more than one occasion. The trauma of explaining to Jadenn that no, your crest will not fall off had been equal to the joy in watching Susan yell at Michael for having Jadenn name the devil doll after her.
Still, John did not want to do that doll’s hair. “You know, your mother has had long hair much longer than I have.” He tugged at the strands brushing the nape of his neck. “I used to have it much shorter than this.”
“But Dad,” David began, munching on a slice of toast smothered in jam. “You’ve had hair much longer than Mum.” He beamed down at his beloved mother, who was sipping tea with a smug expression that John suddenly yearned to kiss off her face. “And you’re so good at it.”
“It’s true, John. You did a wonderful job of my hair for the gala last week.”
John was being stared down by four Mirs. As Della handed him the hairbrush, he groaned. “You four don’t fight fair.”
“True.” As Delenn rose from the table to prepare their breakfast, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She then turned to Jadenn. “Neth’ai, perhaps your father can explain what he’s doing so you can prepare Susie’s hair, hmm?” That pleased both Jadenn and John – at least he and Delenn were on the same page about that bloody doll.
As John began brushing their youngest daughter’s hair, he felt the last embers of his dream extinguish. He was home, with his beautiful family and incredible wife, and he would be spending the day training recruits with the denn’bok before picking up his children with Aggie. Over, under, over, under. In, out, in, out. In front of him, John watched his daughter’s nimble fingers try and mimic his motions with Susie’s hair. David was reading a battered Hardy Boys paperback while sipping a cup of his mother’s favourite tea. Delenn was helping Della adjust her posture for the denn’bok; both falling into laughter as Della lost her footing and knocked over her glass of orange juice.
Over, under, over, under. In front of him, a content Jadenn settled against his front. John tied off her French braid and held her close, smiling at his daughter’s confused expression at the state of Susie’s own braid.
In, out, in, out. All love. All light. All laughter. No need to escape; every day was an adventure. John survived Z’ha’dum, Mars, the Earth Alliance.
He was still here. And he was so damn happy.
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Seeing that 2x18 gifset gave me this drabble/short fic idea:
It's one of the first times that John and Delenn have been able to sleep on the same bed for the entire night. The next morning Delenn informs him that he does indeed snore.
John stood in the doorframe of his son’s bedroom, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The silence was punctuated regularly by an abrupt snore, cutting through the air. As his wife joined him in watching their little stardust, John simply said: “David is snoring again.”
“Mmm,” Delenn offered, taking a sip of her tea. “Like father, like son.”
John gaped, reeling back his retort to a barely hushed whisper. “I do not snore.”
His wife just laughed. Leant in, kissed his incredibly grumpy face, and laughed once more. “John, I have been sharing a bed with you for four years. You snore. Deal with it.”
Drawing his frame taut, John tried to reconcile this new piece of information. He had, on several occasions, been told he snored. Elizabeth had mentioned it - but only during the annulment. Anna had considered it a problem with the air recycling system. Susan, Lennier - that one late night working on Alliance papers with G’Kar: they’d all said it. But not his wife, the love of his life. Not for four years.
“Why are you only telling me now? Like you said - it’s been years. Hasn’t it been bugging you?”
Delenn took another sip from her tea cup, occupying herself while readying her thoughts. “At first, perhaps. But I was so happy to be sleeping beside you, John, that I dared not question it. After a while...it became like the rain.” The tea cup was abandoned on a nearby bookcase and Delenn wound her arms around his neck. “I cannot sleep without it.”
John bent his head to steal a kiss from his very wonderful wife. They were, however, disturbed by a loud snore from their son. Taking Delenn’s hand in his, the pair retreated to the haven of their own bed and the sound of John’s own snoring.
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“Sacred”
John/Delenn | PWP | FR18 | 1,629 words
Entil'Zha Sheridan and Chosen One Delenn have sex in the control centre of the Valen'Tha.
Blame @stardustinthesky for this as well. We were talking about John/Delenn smutty ideas, I mentioned this one, and I was *strong-armed* into writing it. Happy reading.
John Sheridan was too keyed up to sleep. While usually he could blame his lack of ease on the damn Minbari beds, tonight it was the battle that kept him awake. After months – years – of planning, they had finally destroyed a Shadow vessel. It had crumpled in space, hanging like a dead spider from a thin, whisper of a web. The scream of the vessel had long since dissipated from his ears; instead, it was replaced by the phantom sensation of Delenn’s hand upon his chest as he returned to the Valen’Tha from the White Star. The scandalous looks from the other members of the Grey Council had brought nothing but a smirk to his face.
Yes, that’s right. Sheridan the Starkiller is Entil’Zha. Sheridan the Starkiller is the future mate of your Chosen One. I’ve got Valen’s coat around my shoulders and the chosen of Dukhat in my bed.
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