Parasitism
Blue.
The color was a bright, glowing shade against the darkness of the night. Numbers reflecting the time. Two o'clock in the morning. Vivid numbers standing out in the blackness of her room. A minute later a zero was replaced by a one. Moira O'Meara sighed, sat. Unable to sleep. She stared round her room, debating. Smiled at her own weakness, her own need. She sighed again, slipped out of the tangled covers, deciding to succumb to it.
She pulled on a fuzzy lavender robe and slippers. Combed her hair with her fingers and made her way out of her room. Down the two hallways. The city was silent. Atlantis was at rest. Lights played along the floor, dim pools of amber to guide her along the way to her destination.
Reaching it she knocked. Bit her lower lip a moment, uncertain. Knocked again. "John? John, it's Moira," she needlessly identified. Waited.
She waved her palm over the panel. To her surprise the door opened. She entered his room, stood in the engulfing darkness, closing the door behind her. She slowly neared the bed. Smiled. John Sheppard was on his side, asleep. Blankets shoved down to his waist. His dark t-shirt melted into the darkness of the room, of the night. It had ridden up a little and Moira got a glimpse of his bare flesh before his striped pajama pants took over and covered the rest.
"John?" She removed her robe. Her slippers. Slid in under the blankets next to him. Gently nudged him. "John?" She shook his shoulder.
"Huh?" he muttered, rolling onto his back. He opened his eyes, instantly alert but relaxed, seeing her. "Moira? Sweetheart, what's wrong? Are you okay? What time is it?" He glanced at the clock, back at her. Blinking the vestiges of sleep from his mind.
She caressed his shoulder. "Sorry, John. I...I couldn't sleep. I...I missed the feel of you next to me," she admitted. Smiled. "You're so warm, John."
"Hey, you're the one who said we needed to slow it down, remember? So we have. Until I can find the time to devote my full energies to you." He smiled.
She leaned close, kissed him. "I said slow it down, not stop it." But she sat back from him, uncertain again. "I...I'm sorry. I..." She slid out of the blankets. "Go back to sleep." She moved to the bathroom.
John sat, watching her. A slight limp marring her gait. The folds of her lavender nightshirt clinging to her curves. Her hair a messy fall down her back.
Moira filled a glass with water. Drank slowly. Staring at the sink, as if unable to meet her own reflection.
"Is it your foot?"
Startled by his voice, his abrupt nearness she dropped the glass. He deftly caught it, set it on the counter. "John! You...go back to sleep."
He pressed himself against her, arms around her now to take the glass. To fill it. He drank thirstily. Long swallows, tilting his head back. He licked his lips, set the glass aside once more.
"Foot?"
"No. My foot is fine. Sore, but that's all. I was thirsty. I should be resting it, actually, my foot, that is, so you go back to–"
"Sleep? No." His arms slid round her. He drew her against him. Kissed her throat, gently moving her hair out of the way. "Moira, are you going to tell me now?"
"Tell you what, John?" she asked. Staring at the empty glass. "I told you, I couldn't sleep."
"Yes, but what is bothering you, sweetheart? Besides missing me in your bed," he added with a quick smirk. But sobered. His hand slid down to gently caress between her legs. "Is it the sex?"
"No, John. Of course you'd go to that. Don't tell me you can get it up right now."
He gently laughed. "Maybe. I'm serious, Moira. Is it the–"
"So am I, John. No wonder you're the sex guy," she teased. "You are the–"
He abruptly turned her to him. Kissed her. A deep, voluptuous kiss that made her murmur, nearly swallowing her tongue or his, she couldn't tell which. He pulled up her nightshirt, grabbed her rear and lifted her. Set her on the counter.
The cold made her squirm. She grabbed his arms for support. "John?"
"Is that all I am to you, Moira? The sex guy?"
"Huh? What–"
"Is it? Just the guy who can bring you to frequent, shattering climaxes?"
"Yes! I mean, no! You are so much more than that, John! You know that! You–"
"Are you shocked that I'd even care?"
"Yes! I mean no! John, what the hell is wrong with you? You know I love you!" she declared, staring at him. Bewildered.
He relaxed, unaware of the tension he had been holding in his body, in his voice. "I know, honey. Sorry." He kissed her, stepping closer. Parting her thighs with a gentle touch. "I just...you are upset and won't tell me why. And we have slowed it down, just like you wanted, but shit, Moira, there's slow and there's this, which is nothing."
She caressed his shoulders. "I know, John, but you've been so busy running the city while Elizabeth is gone, and I've had so much work to catch up on in the lab...well...look, its nothing to do with you, John."
"With Lorne, then?" he asked, hands sliding to caress her sides. "But that can't be because he went with Elizabeth along with a team of marines."
She kissed him. Stroked his thigh with her feet. "Can I get down now?" At his smirk she smiled. "I meant off the counter, flyboy. Keep it in your pants, Sheppard."
He sighed. "I have been, O'Meara, and it's not happy, I can tell you that."
"Hilarious, John." She lightly pushed. "Move. The counter is cold."
He laughed. "Aww...poor baby's pert little ass is cold? Well, we can't have that, now can we? I can warm it up real good. Nothing's worse than a cold ass."
She laughed. "Too true, sweetie. Now move!" She shoved him again. "Can we go back to bed? To sleep."
"Sleep?" he teased. "I guess. Maybe. Since you won't talk to me."
"I thought you preferred it when I didn't talk."
"Yeah, usually, but this–"
"Hilarious, John!" She hit his chest. "Will you move?"
"Only for a kiss."
She smiled, leaned close and kissed him. "There, all right?"
"No. Wrap." She wrapped her legs around him, grabbing onto him as he lifted her off the counter. Carried her to the bed. She laughed as he dumped her onto it. As she slid into the blankets he followed her. Moved over her and kissed her repeatedly until he rolled onto his side. Pulled her close. "Now sleep, Moira. You need to sleep. I need to sleep. Unless you want to–"
"Talk? No. I'm done talking, John. I'm done with all that melodrama and stuff, okay? I just want to be with you. Only you." She snuggled, closed her eyes.
"Okay. I was going to say sex, but okay. Are you sure you don't want to have–"
"Sex? Go to sleep, John, please."
"Ah. It is the sex, then." He waited, but she was silent. He caressed her back, staring tiredly at the darkness. Mulling her words, the unspoken sentiments. The emotions hidden beneath their teasing. Enjoying the feel of her in his arms, in his bed. Having missed it too. He closed his eyes, felt himself drifting back to sleep.
"John," she said suddenly, interrupting his almost slumber, "maybe, maybe we have slowed it down too much. I mean we needed to slow it down. The sex, I mean. Well, not the sex. The frequency. No. Maybe the intensity. If that is even possible." She shifted against him. She stroked his chest, wishing he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. "John..." She sat, feeling tears. "I'm sorry! The intensity, not just the sex, that's intense enough but the rest of it. I'm sorry. I can't seem to dial it down. The intensity for you. When I'm near you, hell, even when I'm not near you! I want you, John. But I need to stop this, don't I? I need to dial it down! The intensity. I can do that, so people, so people won't notice when I'm..." She felt a blush warming her cheeks. "I mean when I stare or remember or desire...or feel that delicious desire, that rush of passion and love and I can't take my eyes off of you, all I want to do is to find you, taste you, feel you, feel your..." She stopped, caught in her rush of words, admissions. "I'm sorry."
John was staring at her, at the serious expression on her face. Her loose hair swirling around her, dark against the pale lavender nightshirt. He shifted, aroused by her soft voice, her words. Her words an intoxicant to him. "Moira, it's too late for that, so why even bother? I'm not going to even try to deny my feelings for you anymore. How I watch your every move, listen to your every word, every sound. Study every motion. How I want you all to myself. How I want this escalating attraction, this wonderful passion leading to the most intense sex we've both ever had to keep going. Over and over. And over. We've slowed it down. The sex, I mean. But not the intensity. Not the frequency. Not now. We have a few days together now. No interruptions, no interference, Moira. And I'm planning something special so...no."
She met his gaze. "What? Something special?"
He sat, ran his fingers through her hair. Kissed her. "Yes. Is this why you are upset? Over the intensity? Truth be told it's rattled me too. The emotional stuff, not the sex, I mean. Well, yeah, maybe the sexual bliss but I absolutely adore it. Don't you?"
"Yes. I...oh shit." She looked away, embarrassed. He turned her face to his, kissing her. "It's just, just the, the–"
"Let me guess. The interruptions? The interference?" he asked, gently stroking her rosy cheek. He ran his thumb over her lips. "I know, baby, but fuck it. They'll just have to get over it. They'll just need to get used to the fact that we are lovers. Very, very exuberant lovers."
She smiled at his seriousness, but frowned. "Too exuberant, sweetie. We have to be, um, quieter. Less–"
"No. More. Only more, Moira." He kissed her, guided her onto her back. Moved over her, onto her. Pulling the nightshirt up out of the way. Shifting on her to do so.
Her hand ran up his arm. "John?"
"Your words, Moira. How can I not want you when you tell me all of that? I want you all of the damn time." His hand slid between them to undo his pants, to wiggle out of them. He smiled. "Ah, baby, no panties...sweet."
"John!" She squirmed under him, yielding despite herself. "See? The intensity! Oh John," she whispered as he kissed down her throat. Hands roaming. Body pressing, pressing.
"I want you every day, Moira," he reiterated, shifting to free himself. Her legs parting to welcome him, to take him. "It's all I can do not to pull you out of that damn lab and find a place, any place to take you, to bring you, to hear you come with my name on your lips, your body beneath mine, your sweet, sweet center just aching to be filled."
"Oh John, John," she murmured as he kissed her repeatedly. Ran his hand gently up her thigh to caress, to tease. To test her readiness. "I can't stop thinking about it, about you, about this," she confessed breathlessly. She moaned as he slowly, slowly entered her. A careful rhythm.
He groaned, sighed happily. "Oh Moira, I know. I can't either. Half the time I've got a hard-on just waiting to get you in my bed, in your bed, hell, not even a bed," he informed her. Moved a little faster, harder. "Ah baby, you feel so good, so good..."
She kissed him. "Ah, sweetie, that feels so good, so good," she purred at his gentle, erotic lovemaking. "How can we resume our normal duties? Acting like we don't want this–"
"Every day?" he finished for her. "Hell if I know. But we don't have to worry about that yet."
Words ended as they drowned in the tides of passion, of friction. Pleasure rushing, flowing from one to the other and back again. Sounds mingling as their bodies did. Soft sighs and moans, ejaculations of names and exclamations as they rode the pleasure, crashed into climax after climax until the motions slowed, subsided almost lazily.
John smiled, resting on top of her. Tangled in the blankets. Entangled with her. The spent passion hovering on the air. On their bodies. He kissed her. "Give me a sec, baby. Please tell me that all the talking is done. I need to sleep. I'm going to be useless tomorrow, er, today."
She smiled, rolled with him as he slid to his side. She cuddled close, reveling in the echoes of pleasure, of intimacy. "No more talking, John. No post-coital talking, that's the rule. Go to sleep, honey. I don't think you'll be completely useless, colonel."
"Hmm..maybe not. Better not be," he muttered. "Now hush!"
"Yes, sir!" She waited as he closed his eyes, settling comfortably. "John?" She smiled at his groan of annoyance. "I've been thinking...are you sure we're not having too much–"
"No! Not having too much sex, now shut up and sleep," he admonished. Kissed her brow. "Please, Moira."
She kissed him. "As ordered, sweetie."
Moira rolled out of John's arms. Elbowed him as he snored. Loudly. "John! John!" She shook him. "John Sheppard!"
He muttered, rolled onto his back. "What?" he snapped.
She laughed at his tone. Kissed him. Sat. Shook him again. "John, wake up!
"Only for sex, Moira," he sleepily informed, rolling onto his stomach. "It's my day off."
She shook him again. "John! It's nine in the morning!"
"Sex?" he muttered, eyes opening.
"No. You need to move that–"
"Sleep." He closed his eyes.
She kissed him. "Fine, sweetie. But you need to get that fine, fine ass in gear." She swatted.
"Moira!" he complained, but didn't budge.
She laughed. "Fine, colonel. Enjoy your day off, colonel."
"Sex?" he asked again.
"Not now, sweetie. It's no longer torture John's cock day, I'm afraid."
"Oh. Damn. Hey, is it suck John's cock day?"
"Shut up, John!" He laughed as she pulled on her robe, her slippers and left the room.