Dominance
White.
The light was pure, bright. Too bright, shining hotly into her eyes. A ball of whiteness that obliterated every other color. Every other sensation except the odd tingling of her bare foot. Moira O'Meara flinched, expecting pain. She pulled away, trying to scramble in the bed but was tangled in the sheets. "No...no...John...no..." she muttered, lost in a woozy, heavy state. Somewhere between slumber and intoxication. She fought, trying to surface. Her foot was prodded again. "No...I said no...no..." she muttered.
"There's nothing," Carson Beckett sighed, gloved fingers carefully running over the livid scars on Moira's bare foot. "It must have been a severe cramp, amplified by the hallucinogenic properties of the laudanum. I'll need to give her a muscle relaxant once she's clear."
"Clear?" John Sheppard stood near the bed. Arms folded across his chest, staring down at her. Expression unreadable. Revealing none of the turmoil he felt inside. Showing none of the concern flooding him.
"Yes." Carson rounded on John. "Do you have any idea how much was injected?"
"No. Maybe a, a full syringe..." He helplessly shrugged. Almost cowered under the doctor's blazing blue gaze.
"Good God, John! What are you trying to do to her? Make her a drug-addled–"
"No! I wasn't–"
"How could you allow this to happen?" Carson fumed, his Scottish accent becoming thicker as his anger breeched his calm exterior. "How could you let any quack give her drugs? Do you have any idea what that laudanum is doing, was doing to her? It's a wonder she hasn't crashed or gone into cardiac arrest or–"
"It wasn't his fault." Both men looked over as Moira struggled to sit. She eyed them wearily. Blinked against the bright lights.
"Moira, love, you need to rest," Carson's voice was soft, gentle.
"No." She waved his hand away. "It wasn't his fault, Carson. He wasn't himself. His mind was affected...oh...did you give him something for his headache?"
"Moira, you," John began, at once relieved and suddenly awkward.
"Don't touch me!" she flared as John made to take her hand. He drew back, frowned.
"Is she still coming down from–"
"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" she snapped. She sighed, ran a hand through her messy hair. She reached out to take his arm. "John..."
John glanced at Carson, who was watching, a stern expression on his face. John sat on the edge of the bed. "Moira, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let that croaker give you–"
She kissed him suddenly. A passionate, searing kiss. He pulled her into his arms, lengthening the kiss, deepening the motion of their mouths, their tongues. Forgetting there was an audience. Forgetting everything in that moment. It seemed to go on forever until Carson discreetly cleared his throat. "Oh! I..." Moira blushed, pushed John away from her. "What are you doing to me, John? Don't you ever listen?" She scrambled out of the bed.
"Moira, love, you need to rest–"
"No, Carson, I'm going to my room."
"Moira, you need to stay here," Carson tried again, but she pulled her shoe onto her bare, scarred foot.
"No!" She noticed her wet, dirty clothes. Noticed John's. Hastily she stood. "Just leave me alone! Just leave me alone!" She pushed past Carson, walking with a slight limp.
"Moira! You can't just up and leave my infirmary!"
"I'll talk to her, doc," John offered, as puzzled as the other man. "We're both exhausted and have these damn headaches."
"You? What the bloody hell did you do to her, John?"
"Me? Nothing! Nothing!" he snapped, moved to follow Moira. He strode down the hallways, caught sight of her entering her room. "Moira!" He sprinted but the door slid shut as he reached it. He banged his fist on it. "Moira?" He banged on it again as a surge of anger filled him. "Moira!" he harshly called.
The door opened. She glared at him. "What? What? What the fuck do you want, John?" she challenged. Brown eyes full of anger. Or passion.
John couldn't tell which. Didn't care. He grabbed her into his arms, into a searing kiss. He stepped into the room, forcing her backwards. He shut the door with an quick wave of his hand as his mouth took complete possession of hers. His hands slid down to her rear. To grasp. To squeeze. To suddenly lift her.
Moira broke the kiss to gasp as he lifted her, turned to push her against the wall. Her arms slid up to his neck and she kissed him, wrapping her legs around him as he pushed, pushed. Kissing her deeply now, shoving his body against hers in a simulation of sex. "John...John..." she managed to whisper, feeling his arousal, the hardness prodding, poking as she became aroused, wet. "Oh John, John, oh John," she whispered in his ear, teasing as he groaned, grunted.
John kissed her, carried her to the bed. She unwrapped her legs to stand, sliding down his body but he pushed her onto the mattress. Followed, shoving her legs apart to move over her. Kiss after kiss. Hands caressing, pulling. Prying. Yanking at her clothes, at his.
Moira shifted, clawing at his jacket, his shirt as he tore at hers. Yanking the zipper down on her pants. Thrusting his hand in to grope, to pull at the panties. To feel the sodden material.
"Wait, wait, wait," she warned breathlessly, shoving him to the side. She sat but he was already tearing off his jacket, kicking off his shoes. Every line of his body tense, impatient.
"Moira. My Moira...get out of those fucking clothes," he said low, voice husky with a surging, surging need.
Instead she moved to stand. Moved to him as he stood. Her fingers played up along his torso, his chest. She yanked off his shirt, ran her hand down to the front of his pants. Felt the hard, hard shaft straining, yearning. "John, can't you keep it in your pants?"
"Shut up, Moira," he said mildly, yanking off her jacket. He pulled off her shirt and ripped the bra from her.
Moira heard the fabric splitting but it only spurred her to unbutton, unzip his pants. She yanked them down, hands grabbing him, squeezing hard as he groaned. Pain and pleasure colliding. "Is this what you want, sweetie? Tell me, did your hat-check girl go down on you?"
"Not like you will, baby," he retorted, pushing her back to fall onto the bed. He yanked her pants and panties off together. Moira scooted, scooted up the bed but he followed, removing his shorts with a quick tug. He kissed her. Almost savagely ran his mouth down her throat to her breasts where he teased, sucked the hard nipples.
Moira gasped, arched, hands in his hair. Pulling hard as he sucked harder. His hand ran down between her legs to rub, rub, test her readiness as his own arousal throbbed, throbbed. "John! John!" she whimpered softly, writhing as he slid up to her mouth. Abruptly plunged inside her. Inarticulate moans, whimpers issued from her as he thrust, thrust, groaning quietly. Demanding relief, release, anger turning to passion.
"Moira, my Moira," he growled into her ear, keeping a steady momentum. Helpless to stop the overriding, inexplicable need to have her. To take her. To make her his all over again. Thrust after thrust, grunting quietly. Groaning her name.
Moira clung, clawed his back with her nails. As hungry, as inexplicably avid as he was. Spreading her legs wide, lifting to give him every access. Moving with him as the bed rocked, rocked. Rocked against the wall repeatedly. "John! Oh John, oh John!" she whispered hotly, feeling the pleasure spiral, spiral. The orgasm coming, coming. A tidal wave about to take her.
"Moira, Moira, oh fuck, fuck!" he intoned low, increasing momentum as the sexual interplay took over. Faster. Harder. Deeper as he thrust, thrust. The bed rocking wildly. Things flew off the table again. Something smashed into pieces but it only turned him on more. Faster. Harder.
She moaned. "John! Oh John, John, oh John!" Her hot whisper ended as a cry. The orgasm slamming, slamming. Pleasure escalating, brutal as he wouldn't stop moving, moving along her, in her, against her.
"Moira! Oh Moira, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he intoned low but groaned loudly as the spasms took him, pleasure rushing, rushing to the release. Her nails clawed his back again as he thrust, thrust, finally slowing. Slowing and breathing deeply. The pleasure spilling over him in waves.
Moira relaxed her hold as he slowed, slowed. Their bodies pressed together. Sticky. Sweaty. She guided his mouth to hers, kissed him repeatedly as he calmed. He stopped and fell upon her. A soft moan escaping his lips. Moira breathed deeply. Stroked his back. "Good God, John...you do like it rough, don't you?" she teased. Astonished and amused.
He smiled, caressing a breast, lifted to slide out of her. Shifted some of his weight off her. "Damn, Moira, I don't know what the hell that was. But I know you'll be all upset over it later. Like before..." He mused, but didn't care at the moment. Sated.
She shifted beneath him, trying to close her legs. "John...no wonder, sweetie! I think you broke my vase."
"Your what?" He looked at her, stared, then eyed the empty table near the bed. "Oh. Your vase. Got it. Sorry, baby, you–"
"No, you're not!" She saw the gleam of pride, amusement. She pushed. "Get off!"
He grinned. "I already did, baby."
"Shut up!" He laughed, rolled onto his back. Wiped his sweaty brow. "Ah, Moira...that was fucking fantastic! Your–"
"I need to shower! Look at us! Ugh!" She slid off the bed, went into the bathroom.
He laughed again, closed his eyes. "Don't be upset, Moira. We were both wet from the rain. Drenched. Sodden." He smiled. "And you like it rough sometimes too, baby." He heard the water pounding in the shower. Imagined her under it. Felt a stirring. "Damn..." he muttered, pleased and impressed.
"John? Aren't you coming?" Moira called coyly.
He smiled. "Moira, I am so coming!" He got off the bed, entered the bathroom. Paused to see her naked silhouette in the water. Watched her arch her back to wash her hair. "You know what will happen, baby. If I join you in there."
"I wouldn't invite you if I didn't want you, sweetie," she countered. Peeked out. Smirked. "Too late anyway, I see." She laughed, ducked back behind the curtain.
He scowled, but stepped in behind her. "My turn. Ah...that feels good!" He closed his eyes, let the hot water pound him, cleanse him. He smiled, feeling her hands on him. Lathering his chest, his back. Run along his shaft. "Baby."
"Shut up," she scolded as he opened his eyes. Gazed upon her wet body, dripping hair. She kissed him. Sliding her wet body along his. "Rinse off." She stepped out of the shower.
He quickly did so, stepped out to see her drying herself with a towel. Wet hair dripping down her bare back. Her hands moving the towel all over her skin, her body. Brisk, efficient movements yet he found the sight arousing, sexy. He grabbed one, hastily wiped his body but she turned, smiled. Stared at him. "What?"
Moira's loving gaze took in the water sparkling in his messy dark brown hair. Drops sliding down his sideburns, along his stubbly jaw. Down his neck to his broad shoulders. Glistening in his dark, coarse chest hair. Down his waist where he held the towel, concealing himself as he eyed her. Down his long legs to his bare feet. "Let me. Please." She gently took the towel to rub along his skin. Gentle. Slow.
He smiled, kissing her. Taking her towel to do the same. Sliding it over her breasts, then between her legs. Gently stroking. Teasing. Except the towel was gone and now it was his hand, his knuckles rubbing, rubbing to make her whimper, gasp.
She squirmed, dropping the towel. "John!"
He kissed her, drew her back to the bed. Moved over her. "I can't resist you when you are wet, baby. Hmm...nice and slow this time?" he wooed.
"Yes, John...make love to me," she agreed, gushing. Pulling him closer. Kissing him, sucking on his lower lip. Her body yielding to his, melting under his renewed attentions. "Oh! John!"
"What?" he asked, lifting his mouth from a breast as his hand stroked her inner thigh.
She stared. "I still hate you. We need to talk about what you did in–" she began, voice solemn.
"I hate you too, baby," he agreed. "You need a fucking therapist."
"John! I'm serious! You–"
"Or a serious fucking, I'm not sure which," he teased, oblivious to her objection.
"John! You..oh...oh God..." she murmured as he slid down her body, intent obvious as his mouth traveled a familiar path.