Mimicry
Gold.
The ambient glow from the lights dotted the hallway of Atlantis. Circles of yellow marking out a precise distance from each other. Marking out each closed door to each room occupied by the inhabitants of the city. Leaving the rest of the hallway swathed in darkness. Not total darkness but a dark blue glimmer from the walls.
John Sheppard's footsteps echoed on the hard floor as he trudged along. Each step of his boots reverberating in the silent air. Making it sound like someone was following him, but he was alone. Reaching his destination he stopped. Stood. Stared at Moira Sheppard's door. He raised one hand, clenched in a fist. Mere inches from the barrier between them.
He glanced up and down the hallway, but it was deserted at this late hour. He waved his hand over the panel. But the door did not open. Was locked. He frowned. Debated. Knew he could just go to his room. To his bed. He knocked on the door. Knuckles rapping loudly. "Moira? Moira!" he called calmly. He knocked again, louder. Raised his voice. "Moira! It's me. John. Obviously. Moira!" He knocked again, fist pounding now. He smirked. "Moira? Moira Sheppard!" he half-sang after a swift glance around the hallway.
After a few minutes the door opened. John smiled as Moira stood, sleepily eying him. Long brown hair a tangled mess falling past her shoulders. Clad in a pair of sand-colored pajamas with a pattern of sabertooth tigers on them with a pair of fuzzy purple socks on her feet she appeared surprised. Adorable. "John?" she asked, for a moment thinking she was in a dream. His handsome face bore a smile, but he looked tired. Weary. Scruffy. Black t-shirt under his blue jacket. Blue pants. Gun in his thigh holster. Boots.
John gave her his best innocent expression. His best puppy-dog eyes. Pursed his lips in an almost pout. "Oh? Were you sleeping, honey?"
She smirked. "Hilarious, John!" She grabbed his belt, yanked him into the room. Shut the door. Hugged him. "John! Did you just–"
"Yes," he answered, kissing her. Freed her to smirk. "It was only afternoon on M1R579. I must say, Moira, those jammies are awfully cute, but not at all sexy."
"They're not supposed to be sexy, sweetie. This is what real women wear to bed when they are not expecting their lover to pound down the door," she remonstrated.
"Oh."
"Oh?" She laughed. Kissed him again, enjoying the feel of his lips, his mouth. The warmth. "You do know it's two am, colonel?"
"Yes. But as I said, it was two pm on M1R579. And you should always, always expect your husband to pound down the door, Moira Sheppard." He smiled at her beaming grin. "Still? Wow, baby. What's it been now? Three or four weeks since we–"
"Hardly any time at all, sweetie. Come to bed, John." She caught his belt again, drew him towards the bed. The blankets were pulled back from the pillows and sheets. Inviting. "You look exhausted, sweetie. Very worn out. But I don't see any bruises or scratches or cuts. What went wrong?" She sat on the bed.
John sighed. He removed his jacket, dropped it listlessly to the floor. Licked his lips. "What didn't? Another band of Wraith worshipers this time, but at least no actual Wraith. Unfriendly villagers, but at least no fucking harvest festival to endure."
"Well, that's something positive," she remarked, watching him.
"Yeah. The only thing," he grumbled. Pulled off his t-shirt, mussing his hair. He dropped the garment to the floor. Stretched languidly, as it to entice her but was oblivious as he worked out weary muscles.
Moira stared, gaze raking over him as he flexed his arms, his torso. Turning this way and that. Muscles rippling, receding as he moved. The city lights throwing faint light onto his arms, chest. Glinting on his skin, on dark body hair. On the wedding ring hanging on the chain with his dog tags. A golden circle submerged in coarse, dark hair.
"No Ancient tech, which Rodney complained about the whole time," John ranted, not noticing her desirous gaze. "No one to fight except the worshipers which Ronon complained about the whole time. No trading or any attempt at commerce which Teyla complained about the whole time. A total waste! Everyone was so fucking cranky." He stretched his arms over, then behind his head. Sat next to her. Untied his boots. Yanked them off and dropped them to the floor with a thud. "All I wanted to do was to get the hell out of Dodge and come straight to you. My Moira."
She smiled. Ran her hand up his bare arm. Kissed his shoulder. "And you have, John. Strange, everyone being so cranky. But not you?"
"Not me. I'm the nice guy."
"Oh, that's right. Let's get some sleep, sweetie. You look exhausted."
"Sleep?" He met her gaze, fingered the buttons on her pajama top. "Didn't I make myself clear, baby? I didn't come pounding on your door to sleep." He smiled. Eyes glinting suggestively. "I came to come."
"Hilarious, John. You are too tired, honey. And I'm going off world tomorrow. Remember? M19532. A creature sighting of some sort."
"Oh. Yeah. Right. Shit." Nevertheless he kissed her. A long, passionate kiss to part her lips. To taste her, tease her. His fingers plied the buttons on her top. Another kiss and he moved her onto her back. Followed. "I'll just remove you from that mission, baby. I can do that, you know. Military commander and all."
She stroked his face, his scruffy jaw. "No, you can't. Remember? No favoritism either way. You said so yourself."
"I did?"
"Yes. Along with the whole covert marriage thing."
"Damn," he mourned.
Moira kissed him. Hands running along his arms. His chest. She fingered the dog tags, the wedding ring. Saw his obvious disappointment, unhappiness. Loved him for both. "But we can still have sex, sweetie. You seem to need it."
He brightened considerably. "Oh baby, I do. I do!" he insisted into her ear. Ran his mouth down her throat. Then up to nibble her earlobe. Tickling. Pulling slightly. A gentle pressure. Hot breath tickling. Wet tongue teasing.
Moira murmured, reacting. Responding. She ran her hands down to undo his belt, his pants. He unbuttoned her top. Frowned at the pale chemise he encountered.
"Geez, baby, how many layers do you have on?" he complained, scowling.
She laughed at his consternation. Impatience. "I was cold, sweetie. So cold. Sorry, colonel, if I am not prepped for rapid deployment."
He smiled. Kissed her. "Don't you worry, baby. I'll have you prepped in no time." He pushed up the chemise, fingers running along her skin. "Ah...there." He caressed her bare breasts. Mouth quickly, quickly following.
Moira sighed happily, arching into his eager mouth, offering herself as she felt the desire flood, flood her body. She squirmed beneath him but he rolled off her. Sat to remove the rest of his clothes. "Ah, John, John....it feels like weeks since we've–"
"Had sex? I know, baby. I know!" he agreed, fingers flying to remove his pants, his shorts. He turned back to watch her wiggle out of her pajama bottoms. "Wait."
"Wait?" she asked, fingers pausing on her panties.
John smiled. Kissed her, running his hand up her thigh to touch the lacy blue material. "Hmm, baby...just like I want." He caressed, kissing her repeatedly. Fingers teasing, probing the increasingly damp material.
Moira squirmed, legs opening wider, wider as his fingers danced against her intimately. "John? Oh John, John," she wooed.
He ran his mouth down her throat, teasing her breasts again. Making her arch, squirm, gasp and whimper as the desire grew, grew. "Moira. I want a nice trophy while you are gone, baby," he teased. Groaned as his hardness tightened, throbbed impatiently.
"John, oh John. Oh John!" she gasped, moving but his fingers were relentless. Skilled. Bringing her closer, closer. Even through the fabric. His mouth captured each breast, each nipple to gently tug, tease. He shifted against her bare thigh. "John! John, what's taking you so long?" she demanded, impatient. Eager. She clutched at his arms.
He smiled. Lifted his head to meet her passionate gaze. "Oh? You are ready for full deployment, baby?"
"Hilarious, John! You–"
He yanked down the panties. Yanked them off her and shoved her legs wide. Thrust in suddenly, deep. Hard. Groaned with pleasure as he began to move faster, faster. A quick rhythm. "Tighter! Tighter, baby! Squeeze the fucking life out of me! Oh yes, yes! Fuck!" he exulted, giving himself over to the purely physical delights, sensations.
"Oh John! Quiet, quiet!" she warned, but his name escaped her lips in a loud whimper as he thrust, thrust faster. Rocking the bed violently. Kissing her repeatedly. Moira bent her knees, arching, moaning as he drove into her relentlessly. Creating wave after wave of pleasure. He strained and she cried out, the climax emptying in a burst of pleasure. "John! Oh John! Oh John, John, John!" she barely articulated.
"Fuck! Tighter, baby, so tight, so wet, so tight you yes, yes, yes!" he grunted. "Moira! My Moira! Mine!" He moaned loudly, shuddered as the release took him, gave him a burst of pleasure. He fell upon her. Relaxing as the tiny spasms jerked, jerked, then stopped. "Oh baby, baby...I so needed this! So needed this," he admitted happily.
Moira relaxed under him, straightening her legs. Caressed his back, his hair as she showered kisses on him. "John. Oh John...maybe you should come to my bed irritated more often."
"Our bed. Ours," he corrected, slipping out of her. Settling half on her. He kissed her. Caressed a breast. "Stay with me, Moira. Damn I wish you weren't leaving tomorrow. I want more. More sex. More time with you. More everything."
She smiled as he closed his eyes. "Me too, John. I've missed you."
He sighed. "This won't be enough by far. And I'm too tired to do it again. Right now."
"When I get back, sweetie. We'll have time."
"Will we? We'd better, baby. We need at least three or four sexual encounters to assuage our cravings. Maybe five."
She smirked. "At least, honey. Go to sleep."
John woke. He rolled, almost falling off the bed before catching himself. He had forgotten how close to the edge he was. Without Moira's body to brace him. He sat, bleary-eyed. "Moira? Moira!" He glanced at the clock. "Shit!" He sprang out of the bed, grabbed his earpiece. "Sargent, what's the status of Lorne's team?" he demanded.
"Colonel Sheppard, they are about to depart, sir."
"Belay their departure! Have Lorne stand down until I get there." He hastily pulled on his rumpled clothes, not caring.
"Yes, sir." The sargent hit the comm. "Major Lorne, you are ordered to stand down per Colonel Sheppard's orders."
"What? Why?" Evan Lorne asked. He frowned, eyed Moira as the event horizon glimmered behind them. Beckoning.
"What? I don't know why–" Moira began, as surprised as Evan.
He shook his head. "Nevertheless I am certain this involves you, O'Meara, in some way."
"I don't know why–" she repeated.
"Moira!" John's voice interrupted her.
Moira whirled as John strolled into the 'Gate room. He beckoned her. Waited. She walked over quickly, ignoring Evan's eye-rolling expression. "John? What–"
"Why didn't you wake me?" he asked in a quiet voice. Gaze taking in her green t-shirt, khaki jacket and pants. Pack slung over one shoulder. Ponytail in place.
She answered in an equally soft voice, "You were sound asleep, John. You needed it. And," she added with a loving smile, "you just looked too, too good to awaken."
He smiled. "Even so, Moira. You can stay here if you want to stay here. I mean, I can get you off this–"
"John, you know you can't. Remember? Besides, flyboy, you already got me off."
He grinned. "Yeah, well...I'd like to do it again. And again. What did I say? Six, seven more times? Moira, you know what today is, don't you?"
She smiled. "No, John. What is today?" she asked, playing along, irresistibly drawn. Although very aware of Evan's gaze boring into her back. Impatient to leave. But not daring to interrupt his commanding officer.
John stepped closer, said low, "Today is Moira's choice day. Chocolate or caramel? All over, everywhere, every place...no boundaries...only...bindings."
"Damn," she regretted as he licked his lips. Raised his brows in suggestive flirtation. Promise.
John chuckled. "Get that pert little ass back here ASAP, and keep it safe, baby. This day will be repeated, but only if you're back in a few."
"Promise, sweetie?" He nodded. She smiled. "As ordered, colonel. Get some rest, sweetie. Even you can't successfully deploy on only half stamina."
"Really? I thought I did last night, as I recall."
She touched his hand a moment, uncertain. "John." Deciding she quickly kissed him. A brush of her lips across his. Then she whirled and headed for the waiting team. All eyes on her, on them. Evan appearing impatient. Aaron Josephes appearing surprised. Thomas Kavanaugh looked bored, uninterested. "Okay, let's go," she said matter-of-factly.
"Aww...can't bear to leave lover boy?" Evan sarcastically noted, making her scowl. "Sir?"
"You have a go, major," John allowed. Watching them. Feeling the whisper of Moira's lips still on his. The ghost of passion.
"Finally," Evan muttered. With a gesture he led his team through the Stargate.
