Warm Things

Fandom: Pitch Black

Category/Rated: Het, T

Year/Length: 2004/ ~925 words

Pairing: Riddick/Jack

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Warning: Nuthin bad. A little language, a bit of inappropriate thoughts, and pointless fluff. I know, Pitch Black pointless fluff.

Summary: It's been two and a half years since they lived threw hell. Riddick takes stock of all the changes in his life.

Author's Notes: This completely disregards Chronicles of Riddick. Sorry. Also, make Jack as old as you're comfortable with. I personally see her as around seventeen, but if you want her to be older, make her older in your head.


Two and a half years ago he hadn't remembered what 'warm' meant. Something to do with safety, comfort, maybe even happiness. But almost all the memories his twisted mind cared to recall were drenched with cold and hurt and anger. 'Warm' was nothing but a load of bullshit some prick like Johns had come up with to get in some chicks pants.

That had been two and a half years ago. A hell of a lot could change in two and a half years. And at some point in the last two and a half years, Riddick, thought of as evil incarnate by a large amount of his contemporaries, had rediscovered 'warm'. Even stranger, he had found that he liked it. Liked it in a way that compelled him to seek it out, like cold and hurt and anger compelled him to seek out his blade and slice something moving and breathing till blood soaked his hands.

'Warm'. It even tasted nice rolling around in his head, set a tingle in his fingertips, an itching in the corners of his mouth that was the suppression of a smile. The good things in his life were 'warm', and Riddick had come to realize that two and a half years ago nothing in his life could have been described as 'good', either. Now the list of 'good' and 'warm' seemed to be growing.

He decided that he liked this change in circumstances.

A second later he decided that his favorite good, warm thing was taking far to long in the bathroom. He stood; refocusing his eyes from where he had been staring blankly threw the wall. They'd only landed the ship an hour ago, and he'd been watching for mercs. There was a good number of men acting suspicious, but not in his general vicinity, and so he disregarded them, and turned towards the bathroom.

A ratty blanket served as the only door between living space and bathroom, and he pushed threw it without a second thought.

Jack didn't squeal or throw anything at him, just raised one pale brown eyebrow and let one corner of her mouth hitch up. She was in the middle of a bath, using up the last of the water in the ship so they could fill the tanks up with fresh on this planet. He stood very still for a moment, simply watching her and thinking about warmth.

She was still a tall, lean girl, but he'd never been one to like fat. Her soft brown hair was wet, plastered to her head; a few of the wet tendrils just long enough to mold themselves to her neck in enchanting patterns. She was watching him still, big green eyes that slipped from his goggles, to his lips, to his chest and then back. The grin on her face was fast becoming lecherous, and he took a step towards his favorite warm thing.

He wanted her, needed her, and before he'd went through hell those had been actions associated only with killing.

He pulled his shirt up and over his head, throwing the thin black fabric into a corner and taking another step towards the tub. Her eyes opened and closed in a slow, lazy blink, and she rose partially out of the water, one hand extended towards him, eyes half lidded. He was a man, and he was an animal, and neither of those things refused an invitation like that.

He reached her, and she plastered her hand against his stomach, her hand warm and wet and good.

"Having fun without me?" he murmured, as her other hand came up and she wound her fingers threw a belt loop, tugging him closer to the tub. Warmth seeped up his spine, leaving a sweet taste in his mouth. He had the brief, fleeting thought that this was a moment that he could gladly live in forever. This was a moment that he could use to scrub his mind free of all the bad years. It embodied warmth and good and...

Her hand, her long thin warm hand slid down, flipping open his pants with one deft smooth moment and then she was sliding away from him, the water rippling in her wake. "Come on in, the water's fine." He was a man, and he was an animal, and neither of those things refused an invitation like that. He was out of his pants and easing himself carefully into the water, the tub could barely hold both of them, before he even thought about it.

And then she was straddling him, an accomplishment that would be difficult for anyone without her long legs, sitting with a pleased look on his stomach.

Nothing in his life had been easy, the past two years were no different, but damnit if it wasn't worth it for this. Damnit if it wasn't worth it to be this close to his favorite warm thing, and to be able to tell himself that he'd never have to let her go.

And later, when she was lying on his chest, her thin body plastered against his, her breathing so slow and even that he'd have thought she was asleep if he hadn't felt her eyelashes dancing across his shoulder with each blink. He eyed her back, around the forth vertebrae, and pressed a kiss there that was a dozen promises. She made a pleased rumble in the back of her throat, and he held her closer and closed his eyes, and wondered how long he could make the warm last.

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