"What are you doing?"
"You know, the chivalrous thing."
A hint of a smile plays at her lips. "Wouldn't the chivalrous thing have been to do this last night after we ended up on the floor in the first place?" He sets her down on the bed.
"Someone's a blanket hog," he singsongs. She pouts.
"Stop changing the subject." He clambers onto her bed and nips at her neck, beginning a slow path up to her lips. She smiles into his kiss, slow and tender. He grins back at her. She eventually finds his button-up shirt from the floor and slips into it, as well as a new pair of panties. She turns to enter the bathroom and sees him pouting. "I liked you better naked." She laughs. She brushes her teeth and washes her face. He meets her in the bathroom and braces himself behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. "John," she starts, slowly. "I have to do work today." His lips slowly trail from her neck to her ear.
"You don't have to. Who's going to make you?" he hums softly. "You're the boss." She pulls away and kisses him full on the lips, before idly running a brush through her hair. She dresses like a tornado, but still manages to look picture perfect. Before he can say anything else, she's practically at the door.
"See you at ten," she murmurs, before the door shuts.
"But," he says, indignantly to the silent room, a hint of frustration peeking through. "It's Valentine's Day." He hears the waves crash against Atlantis in sympathy. He growls and gets dressed himself. A plan, he thinks. That's what he needs. Before he leaves the room, a smirk decorates his face.
He meets her at ten, as she had said, for a meeting, which everyone seems to dread. Except for him. Because it's Valentine's Day and the meeting is Phase 1 of Operation Rescue-Valentine's-Day-for-Lizzie. He seats himself directly across from her on purpose. The meeting begins and they're talking about future defense plans against the Wraith and other things like that. He pays attention, but his eyes rake over her hungrily. Her eyes flit back and forth, restless. She ends the meeting early.
She retreats to her office and he follows in suit, taking his characteristic seat on the corner of her desk. She looks frustrated. "What was that?" she demands. He shrugs it off.
"What?"
"That look."
He still plays the confused card. "What look?"
She snaps. "At the meeting! You looked like you were going to—" She stops mid-sentence, and her face flushes bright red. Composing herself, she turns to face him. "Lewdly," she tries, weakly. "You looked at me lewdly."
Still caught on what she almost said, he shifts off of her desk and walks to stand behind her. He leans down, his face nuzzling her hair, his lips next to her ear. "I looked like I was going to what?" he whispers. "Like I was going to take you right there?" Her breath hitches in her throat and her eyes close, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, it registers with him that her office walls are glass, and easily seen by everyone. He dips his head down to kiss her pulse point, and she groans, softly. He pulls away and smiles. "Meet me for lunch." Her eyes are still closed. He starts to head for the door.
"What?" she asks, again, seemingly confused. He looks into her eyes and sees they're dilated, and a sense of satisfaction wells up in him.
"Meet me for lunch," he says. "And wear something nice." He starts to head out the door, but stops and heads back into her office. "A dress," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Wear a dress."
She tries to complete as much of her backlogged paperwork as possible, but it's hard when she can't get his actions out of her head. Just the thought of his lips on her skin, the mere memory, sends a shiver down her spine. At 11:30, the pen still lying limply in her hand, she figures it's useless and decides to run and change really quickly.
She grabs a simple dress from her closet, slips into it, and tops it off with some casual (she hopes) heeled sandals. She slips on a jacket, fixes her hair, and heads out into the hallway only to bump into Teyla. The Athosian woman looks a little disconcerted, but stops to talk. She smiles a warm smile and her appraisal only makes her a little uneasy. "Hello, Elizabeth."
She smiles, nervousness bubbling in her belly. "Teyla."
"You're dressed quite lovely today."
She flushes. "Thank you. I, um, I actually have to…"
There's a twinkle in Teyla's eye. "Going to meet someone special?" A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and Elizabeth smiles back.
"Well, uh, you know…"
"Enjoy yourself," Teyla calls after her. "And send him my greetings." The twinkle is still there, and it makes her think Teyla knows what's going on. She finally enters the dining hall, and sees him, sitting at a secluded table in a little nook by the corner. Her heels seem to click incredibly loud in her ears, and she finally arrives at the table, face flushed from the running and the embarrassment. He exhales loudly as his eyes float over her form.
"You look…amazing." She blushes.
"Thanks." She sits across from him, and he leans over the table to give her a quick peck on the lips. His brief caress awakens something within her though—probably something he started back at the meeting, and she pulls him forward by the collar of his shirt just as he's halfway back to sitting down. This kiss is passionate and explains everything, just by the way her tongue glides over his, and the way her hand snaked up to pull gently on his hair. When he pulls away for breath, her eyes are dark and hooded.
He places his hand on her thigh, pushing the fabric of the dress aside. "Elizabeth," he whispers, gruffly. "I've waited for this for so long." She rolls her eyes.
"Yes, John. You've waited an amazing five hours…" Her mouth falls open mid-sentence when his calloused thumbs begin working their way up to her inner thigh.
"Move closer," he commands. As she is obviously incapacitated by his magical powers of turning her into what can be best classified as goo, he reaches for the chair and pulls her as far forward as he can without crushing her between the table and her chair. He shifts forward and allows his arms a little more slack room.
He ghosts his fingers over her when she finally decides to close her mouth. Her hands find their way onto the top of the table. When he goes for the brash, roughly shoving aside her panties, and thrusting in two fingers, her hands twitch on the table, and he clenches his jaw. She's trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, but soft noises still fall from her lips. "Elizabeth," he commands, his self-control shredding by the second. "Look at me." Her eyes open, albeit reluctantly, and they're wandering, flitting from object to object, unfocused. His fingers pump faster and faster until her breath hitches in her throat, and her head falls on her arms. He hears her slur, "Oh, God, oh, God, John, yes, John…" Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth again, and he watches as she shudders before him.
Weakened, she lies somewhat limp on the table. "John," she murmurs. "You're going to kill me someday." He smiles, but scoops her up (ignoring her soft yelp of surprise) and hopes that her prone body is enough to hide evidence of his arousal. Ignoring the odd looks of the other people in the hall, he begins to head towards her room. Unfortunately, he has to encounter the one thing that he does not need right now besides the Wraith: Rodney.
He stands in the middle of the hallway and stares at the prone form in his arms. "Is she okay?" He starts. "Do you want to me to get Beckett?"
"No. Uh, Rodney, I just need to go, so if you wouldn't mind stepping out of the way…" He offers what he hopes appears to be a half-hearted smile. Rodney doesn't understand that he's a bit on edge right now.
"Yeah, sure." The other man sounds confused but steps aside and watches as he moves as quickly as humanly possible towards her room. When he arrives, he sets her gently down on the bed. Regaining a bit of her strength, Elizabeth begins undoing his pants.
"John, please," she whispers. He rips her panties, tossing the scrap to the side, and enters her.
He builds a rhythm, just like the one he built with his fingers previously, and she writhes beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulder. Her requests murmured softly. "Please, John, please, ah, ah," she cries. Her teeth bite into his shoulder when she quivers a second time beneath him. He follows her soon after. He pulls the comforter over them and her eyes gradually close as she falls asleep.
When she wakes, he is nowhere to be seen. She sits up, her eyes scanning the room, her ears keen, listening for the sounds of a running shower. Sadly, nothing. She suspects she's only pouting just a little until she goes to set her head back down on the pillow. A box lying on his side, with a note. She opens the box to find a diamond pendant. She quickly reads the note in his scrawled handwriting. There isn't much to read. There are only five words written on the page.
Happy Valentine's Day. Love, John.