Survival Instinct
White.
John Sheppard stared at the melting ice cream. The swirls of white that could have been vanilla but he knew were caramel. The darker chocolate swirls intermingling in the carton. Beneath it all he knew lurked the sweet center, a pure dollop of caramel that Moira O'Meara enjoyed immensely. Her reaction almost orgastic. But John had other ideas about how to induce those particular feelings and sensations in her.
Grabbing the carton he turned, surveyed the cafeteria. There were not many people in the room at this odd hour. Too early for dinner but too late for lunch most were drinking, snacking, chatting quietly. He spotted Moira sitting in the back, sipping a soda, absorbed in a thick book as she turned the pages. He smiled, but schooled his expression to neutrality. Headed for her.
Moira studied the various pictures of mosses and lichens, scanned the text. Eyes glazing over the Latin names and she briefly smiled. Realizing she was having the same reaction John did when she rambled on in Latin about animals and evolution. A carton of ice cream appeared in front of her. She eyed the flavor written on the side. Met John's gaze as he smiled, sat across from her. He dropped a spoon into the creamy depths. She made a face. "No, thank you. I don't think I ever want to eat that again."
John quietly laughed. Brilliant green eyes sparkling. "Really, Moira? It is your favorite. And now mine." He touched the spoon. Scooped some ice cream into it and slid it into his mouth. "Funny, that. I can't seem to get enough."
She frowned, recalling the way he had dripped the ice cream on her naked body. Had proceeded to lick every last drop off her skin. "John," she warned, brown eyes narrowing.
He spooned another bite. "Mmm," he hummed. Slid the spoon slowly from his mouth. Ran it teasingly along his lower lip. "This is very, very good...you were right, Moira. But something...something is missing. Some other flavor," he said slowly, an intimate edge to his voice making her react. Blush. "Some other com--" he drew out the word, "–plimentary flavor I tasted last time."
"John! You are so not funny!" she snapped, shifting on the chair. Irritated.
He smiled, swirled the spoon, ate some more. Slid the spoon out slowly as her gaze was riveted on his mouth. He tapped it against his lips. Turned it to lick the back of the spoon, catching any stray drops of ice cream, of caramel. "Mmm...I just love the taste of that sweet, sweet center," he intoned. Sensuality all but thrumming in his voice. In his gaze as he stared at her.
"John!" She snatched the ice cream from him. "Stop it! We are not doing that again!"
"Moira? Of course we are, baby. Only this time you'll be the one doing the licking." He raised his brows, grinning at her. Enjoying her flustered stare, her annoyance. Her arousal. "We've waited long enough. Tonight. Twenty-one hundred. Yours."
"Huh?" She asked, trying to tear her gaze from his mouth as he licked his lips. The sheer sensuality of his mouth trapping her. The curves of his soft lips, full and kissable. The lower one wet now, inviting her to nibble, to suck. Tongue darting with the promise of passion. Pleasure. The memory of deep, long kisses making her heart race, her pulse pound.
John smiled, lounging back in the chair. But he sighed. "Nine o'clock, you civvy," he teased. "Just like I said. Twenty-one hundred. Yours. The three of us," he pointed at the carton she clutched in one hand, "are going to have a very, very gooey time."
"What? You...this...I..." she stammered.
"Are you sure you don't want a taste now? Of the ice cream, I mean. Or do I?" he teased, shifting in the chair to give her a generous view of his crotch. The tight grey pants outlining his own reactions to their flirtation.
"You, you...you...fuck you, John," she mildly scolded, irritated, embarrassed, aroused all at once.
He laughed. "Yes, Moira, please, that is the general idea. Wow, you really are a biologist, aren't you, baby?" He smirked as she glared at him, grabbed the book off the table. "Oh, Doctor O'Meara, do you need a spare?" He laughed. "You know, Moira, normally I'm not into threesomes but if it turns you on then I guess I'll–"
"Sir? Colonel Sheppard?"
At the interruption John straightened in his seat. All passion, all playfulness gone from his face. He slowly turned his head to eye the nervous man standing near the table. "Captain Hughes."
"Sir! Um, sir, there's been a fight, well, fights in the exercise room," the man stammered, shifting his weight from foot to foot under John's irritated glare.
"Isn't that what it's for?" John quipped, but hardly amused at the interruption. He could feel Moira's gaze on him, studying. Reacting.
"Yes, sir. But not this. I mean, several men have been injured, sir. Larson's arm is broken! And Dobbs has a bloody nose. He says it was an accident, all of it, but several men are down and Larson sent me to get you to–"
"He? Ronon?" John guessed.
"Yes, sir."
John sighed. Glanced at Moira. "Lead on, Hughes." He stood, waited until the captain's stride moved him several paces from the table. "Don't forget, Moira. Yours. Twenty-one hundred. Tonight. Ice cream, but no spoons." He smiled as she frowned.
"Hilarious, John. Stand down," she retorted, clutching the carton in one hand, the book in the other.
"Don' t you dare start without me. Either of you." He chuckled at her dirty look, strode after the waiting captain.
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Ronon Dex swung. And swung. Spun on his heels. Fists flying. Arms grabbing, whirling, pinning his opponents in tremendous holds, then releasing them. Legs flying up to kick, to injure, to maim with expert blows. To disable. They came at him all at once and Ronon took them all with a fierce grin of enjoyment on his face.
Until he was left standing in the middle of the exercise room. Muscles taut, but not too tired. He stared, blinked. Stared again at the carnage that had ensued. Men were sprawled on the floor. Blood stained the wall. Groans and swearing filled the air. Ronon flexed his hands into fists, then stretched his fingers. Met John's gaze suddenly as the other men entered the room. Stood staring around in disbelief, in bewilderment. "Uh...Sheppard...I..."
John stared at him. Brows furrowed. "I wanted you to train these men, not kill them."
"Sorry. I guess I got carried away. I didn't mean to hurt anyone," Ronon offered, shrugged. Rubbed at his split lip. The scabbing bruise was itching.
"Get to the infirmary, all of you," John ordered. Watched as they helped each other to their feet. Bloody. Battered. Bruised. John noted the broken sticks lying on the floor. "Carried away?"
"Yes. I couldn't stop. I just kept...it felt so good! I mean...I didn't mean to hurt anyone," Ronon repeated, uncomfortable. "I just felt like I needed a, a..."
"Release," John realized. Swore. "Must be the enzyme. Carson said it should leave our bodies naturally...and in your case that would be this way. How do you feel now?"
"Me? Fine. More than fine, actually." He grinned, flexed his arms. "Care to test me?"
"No. Just go for a run, or something," John advised.
"Hey, Sheppard, where's Moira?" Ronon asked, a smile on his face. A knowing smile.
John scowled. "Not funny. Until we get this shit cleared out of our systems we won't be released for active duty."
"Huh. Seriously, where is Moira?"
"Mine," John simply stated. Eyed the sticks, the blood. "Clean this up, will you? I've got work to do." He strode out of the exercise room, shaking his head.
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Matthew Parrish sat back, hands on his thighs. "Extraordinary! I've compared all of these samples and so far the results are the same! See for yourself!" He turned the microscope towards Katie Brown. "That enzyme's chemical properties are astounding! Subtly different in the moss itself, in the flowers, and in the distilled water we were drinking. As if it adapts to each new source, each new modification of its environment!"
Katie studied the slide. "I see! Wait! Are those blood cells?"
"Yes, mine. I wanted to see how it was affecting my system on a purely molecular–"
"Matthew!" Moira hastened to them, book slung under her arm. "What have you done? Please tell me you didn't imbibe any of that enzyme, however diluted!"
"What?" He met her gaze, shook his head. "Of course not, Moira. The sample is from me. Now. We still have a residual amount, as Carson said, in our systems. It's not breaking down."
"What?" Moira stared. Set the book on the counter. "Are you sure?"
"See for yourself," Katie invited, stepping back from the table. "At least it's not breaking down quickly. It's almost a symbiotic relationship with the cells."
Moira stared into the microscope. "Oh no...but how? This is a diluted version! The raw form is much more potent! The moss itself, the flowers! When ingested."
"This form is much more insidious," Matthew explained, moving to his feet. "And in my case it was introduced directly into my bloodstream, via my injury. And drinking it. But I think that the injury itself may have been the perfect conduit for the enzyme to adhere to the cells."
"Wonderful. How do you feel?"
"Fine. Well...to be honest, a little light-headed. Like I'm coming down from a high. Withdrawal symptoms," he stated, swaying a little. He rubbed his brow.
"It should work itself out eventually. Go lie down, Matthew. You don't look so good," Moira advised, glancing at Katie who nodded. "We can finish this for now. The work will still be here tomorrow."
"Yes...that's a good idea, Moira. How are you feeling?"
"On edge...like you said...withdrawal." She considered. "I better let Colonel Sheppard know. And make sure Evan is okay. And Ronon. They won't know what to expect."
"None of us do," Matthew remarked.
****************************************************************************
Evan Lorne was running. Strong, steady paces as he circled the city, running through the long, abandoned hallways of the upper levels. Shadows and lights stripling his form as he pumped his legs, swung his arms. Could feel his heart beating faster, faster. Taking deep, shallow breaths as the energy surges compelled him to keep moving. Instead of feeling tired he felt exhilarated
He finally paused to catch his breath, to rest. He walked leisurely back down to the occupied levels. Felt stares as he passed people. Smiled, shrugged. Caught sight of Moira exiting the botany lab and jogged up to meet her. "Moira!"
She smiled, stared. "Evan? What have you been doing?" She stared at his messy hair, sweaty t-shirt and running pants.
"Working out. Well, jogging. I feel like I'm in a cage, cooped up in the city for this long."
"It's only been a week, well, almost a week," she amended. Touched his arm. "It's the enzyme, Evan. You're having withdrawal symptoms. Matthew's having problems too."
"Problems? I feel fine! More than fine. I could still run rings around Atlantis if I wanted. What about you?"
"I'm fine, just a little...tense. It seems to be affecting us in different ways," she said, thinking of John. But he had seemed fine too. Normal.
"I bet. Oh...I get it. I guess you don't have to go running. Not with seeing Sheppard and all. I bet you've got another way to work off this excess energy."
"What? Evan!"she scolded. "No! It's not like–"
"So he's dumped you, then?"
"No! I just meant we haven't...we...oh never mind!"
Evan laughed. "Whatever, Moira. Frankly I'm surprised to see you here now. I mean, if Sheppard is feeling even half of what I'm experiencing...well...don't let the bedbugs bite."
"Evan Lorne!" she scolded, but he laughed.
"Just kidding, Moira. Gotta run. Need a shower." He sprinted down the hall, out of sight. Moira stared after him, puzzled. Concerned. She shook her head, quickly strode to find John. Wondered why they weren't similarly affected.
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John leaned against the console, lazily running his fingers over the controls. The machine hummed to life, lighting up quickly. He laughed, freed the buttons. Let his hand rest on the top of the console. "You see? What did I tell you? Magic fingers."
The blond technician laughed merrily, smiling. Eyes all but devouring him. "You did, colonel. You do have the magic touch, don't you?" she suggested, blue eyes flashing with seduction.
"I do. In more ways than one," he hinted, smiling as he tilted his head. Green eyes brilliant as they glanced over the woman's body. The curves under her bland blue shirt and slacks. The blond hair piled on top of her head.
Moira was staring, overhearing the exchange. She coughed as she approached, gaze glancing briefly at his rear caressed by the gray pants he wore. The double holster strap around his thigh.
"Colonel Sheppard, excuse me. I need to speak to you. About the mission."
John glanced at her, turning slightly. Raised a brow. "Mission's over, Doctor O'Meara. Besides, I'm rather busy here right now." He smiled at the woman. "So...you were telling me all about your operating system?" The woman beamed at him.
Moira rolled her eyes. "This is important, colonel. It concerns the residual affects of the enzyme. Surely you've noticed."
He glanced at her again. Saw her ire. Enjoyed it. "Noticed what, exactly? Ah. Are you experiencing any sudden residual affects, doctor? Do you need my assistance to assuage any particular culinary cravings you may have?"
"No! But apparently you are having withdrawal symptoms, colonel!" She calmed herself. "Seriously, John, I need to talk to you about this. It's affecting us in different ways."
"I already know, Moira, and Carson assured me it was only temporary. Until we work it out of our systems." His gaze lingered on her. "I'm fine. Not affected like the rest. Now, if you don't mind I have work to do." He turned back to the woman gazing dreamily at him. "Where were we? Ah, yes, operating systems."
Moira sighed. "Just don't have a manual overload, colonel," she quipped angrily, stalked away from him. He snorted with laughter, turned to watch her leave.
***************************************************************************
Moira stared into the microscope. Shook her head. "Matthew was right," she muttered. "I'm no botanist but there is a difference in each sample, in each sequence. How can that be when it's all the same enzyme? It's modifications are almost like a bacteria."
John smirked, entering the botany lab. Finding Moira alone, muttering at a microscope. Leaning over to peer into the lens. "Is one of the residual affects talking to oneself?"
Moira straightened, looked over her shoulder. John was sauntering towards her. "Where's Katie? I was talking to her." She turned back to the microscope, ignoring him.
John reached her. Touched the small of her back. Fingers caressing. "Now, Moira," he began in a conciliatory tone.
"Managed to tear yourself away, did you, colonel?" she snapped, unable to help herself, the flare of jealousy.
He gently laughed, stepped closer. Leaned to say into her ear, "There's no need to be jealous, Moira. Is it my fault women find me desirable?"
"It must be quite a burden for you, John. Go away. There's no room in this lab for your ego."
He laughed again. Most women fawned over him. But not Moira. She was giving him the cold shoulder. He found it refreshing. Charming. Arousing. "Maybe not. But I know where there is room for my ordnance. A nice, snug fit but fit all the same."
"Shut up, John!" She elbowed him, glaring at the microscope. Felt hot suddenly. "Go back to your technician if you need to deploy!"
He turned the stool towards him, a quick, abrupt motion of his hands grabbing the seat. Yanked her to her feet and kissed her, arms encircling her to press against his body. She shoved herself back from him but he held her close. Smiled. "I could," he considered, tilting his head in obvious flirtation, "but I don't have to go to all that effort, do I? You're mine already, Moira. And I only want your sweet, sweet center."
She glared, pushed again but he wouldn't budge. Kept her in place. "You arrogant bastard! I don't belong to you!"
"Yes, you do," he mildly noted. "In fact I am seriously thinking of restricting that pert little ass of yours to this base solely for my pleasure. And for yours," he added as an afterthought.
Moira hit his chest. "What the hell is wrong with you? It must be the enzyme! I tried to tell you earlier about the residual affects but you were too busy lining up your next conquest!"
"Conquest?" He raised a brow, amused. "The only conquest I am planning on is you. Tonight. The ways I want to take you, Moira, will take you."
"Damn it, will you let go of me!" she flared, pushing. But he like a rock, unmovable. She felt a strange frisson, feeling how strong he was, how easily he could overpower her. Although she knew he would never hurt her. "It's the enzyme! Of course with you the affects would be sexual, now wouldn't they? The enzyme is making you–"
"Blah, blah, blah," he retorted. "Enough about the fucking enzyme, Moira. This is me. You." His hands slid down to grasp her rear, to gently squeezed. "I want sex. With you." He kissed her. So passionately she lost her breath. She grabbed his arms as he leaned her back, back, into the table, tongue probing, possessing. Hands squeezing, squeezing, sliding lower now, between her legs. Hearing the murmur trapped in her throat he pulled back, righting her. "See? Mine.
Take it or leave it, baby. So?"
"Wha..what?" Moira was dazed, dazzled. Anger replaced by desire. His tongue and fingers creating a rushing desire in her. A rushing need.
John smiled. "Here? Or your bed?"
She collected herself. Shoved free. "Stop calling me baby!" she flared. "Go take a cold shower, colonel!"
"Only if you get that pert little ass in there with me, baby," he teased.
"Shut up, John! Go away!" Instead she strode to the doorway, furious, yet elated.
"Baby, baby," John called after her, amused. Aroused. "Tonight, baby!"
"Shut the hell up!" she snapped over her shoulder. His laughter chased after her.
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Moira looked at her door as a knock sounded. She glanced at the clock. The glowing numbers read nine thirty. Another knock. Then a voice. "Moira?" John's voice. "Ice cream delivery for Moira O'Meara. Spoons optional."
She sighed, moved to open the door. John stood, hands empty. He smiled. "What took you so long?" she asked, blocking the threshold as he stood in the hallway. She crossed her arms under her breasts, frowning at him.
"Sorry. I have things to do, you know. Being military commander of Atlantis and all." His gaze raked over her loose, billowing hair. The lavender nightshirt she wore that fell to her bare knees. The fuzzy socks on her feet.
"Such as chatting up well-endowed blonds?" she griped. "I'm sorry, colonel, but you seem to have misunderstood. Nothing's going to happen here. Besides, you're late, colonel, so goodnight." She made to close the door.
John caught her hand before she could activate the panel. "Whoa, whoa, there, doctor. I don't think so. I told you, baby, that was nothing. So...jungle queen. Are you wearing any panties under that?" He caught the hem of her nightshirt in his hand, lifted it up.
She swatted his hand away, dropping the material back to her knees. "John Sheppard! You–"
"It's time," he brusquely said, trying to move past her but she blocked him.
"Time for what, John?" she asked innocently. "To go to sleep. Then go. You have your own bed, don't you?"
"Hilarious, Moira. Yes, I do have my own bed, but I prefer yours." He gently moved her aside, entered the room. Strode to the bed. He turned to watch as she closed the door. "You're beautiful, Moira."
She looked at him, disbelieving. "You'd say anything to get what you want.. I'm still finding grime in places."
He laughed, sat to remove his shoes, socks. Stood to remove his belt. "Tell me about it. I don't know how many times I've washed those socks and they're still dirty!" He pulled off his black t-shirt. Removed his gray pants. Laid back on the bed, scooting up to the pillows. Let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ah...God...that feels so good!"
She smirked, shook her head. "I sometimes think you're only here to have sex with the bed, and I just happen to get in the way."
He laughed, opened his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Moira. I sleep on your bed. I have sex with you. On this bed. Or in it. Only you, Moira," he assured. "Despite your stubbornness."
She laughed, moved to sit next to him. Leaned over to turn out the lights with a wave of her hand. "I'm still a whole week behind on my Wraith tissue analysis, and now two issues behind on my paleontology journals that came when we were gone. And a paleozoological paper on what we found on Pleistocene Park, not to mention this new botanical research into the..." She paused as he pretended to snore loudly. She elbowed him, laughed as he did. "I suppose you missed your latest magazine about guns and ammo?"
He rolled onto his side towards her, ran his hand down her back. "Yes. Two issues." He gently drew her down to him. Rolled her onto her stomach as she propped herself up on her elbows. "About the latest weaponry." He swept her hair aside. He slid up the nightshirt. She moved as the fabric caught, came free. "About military precision." He kissed her shoulders, ran his mouth down her back, down her spine to her rear. "About military thrust." He cupped her rear, squeezed. "About the tightest pert little ass in the galaxy," he said against her back, moving over her. Shifting.
"John?" she asked, voice catching in her throat as his hands slid down to part her thighs. He debated, wondered if she was ready for that yet. Considered. "Lift. Roll," he instructed, deciding to wait. He slid off her. She rolled onto her back. He smiled, kissed her. "We should put the light on," he suggested, hands wandering slowly over her body.
"No...this is good enough," she retorted. The glow from the city lights illuminated his handsome face. The contours of his body. Hid her tension, her curiosity at what he had been intending but decided against. She watched him sit and wriggle, removing his boxer shorts.
"Loose the nightshirt," he instructed. Looked down at his watch, fiddling with the buttons.
"What are you doing, John? Are you going to time us now?" she asked, sitting up to pull off the nightshirt, set it to one side, in easy reach.
He laughed. "Hmm...there's an idea. No. Setting the alarm. Four in the morning should do it."
"Do what?" she asked, mystified. She ran her hand up his bare back.
"Should give me time to get back into my clothes, and back into my room before anyone sees me," he explained, still focused on the watch. The glowing dial as he set the alarm.
Moira sighed, scooted closer to him, hand running up and down his bare arm. "Surely that doesn't matter any more, does it? I mean, Evan and Ronon know. Now. As does Carson. I want you to stay all night with me, John. I want to wake up with you in this bed."
"That's more than enough who happen to know," he argued. "More than enough," he grumbled. "I told you, Moira, I want our private life private."
"You mean yours," she accused.
"Yes," he agreed. "Although I'm sure half the base knows something's going on, given our loud enjoyment. Well, yours, baby...your noisy exuberance." He met her gaze, grinned.
She frowned, smacked his arm. "Shut up, John! Oh! So that's why you rarely call my name when you come? Instead you issue a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush."
He smirked. "Yeah. Intense, satisfying sex always makes me do that."
"Hilarious, John. I guess that makes sense. Instead of grunting out a different woman's name very few weeks."
He frowned. "That's not funny, Moira."
"Much easier for you, colonel, isn't it? Not to have to remember which of your lots–"
"Some, some damn it!" he interjected but she continued.
"–of women to call out when you get what you want from them. I guess I should stop calling your name during climax," she persisted relentlessly. Drew away from him.
"No. Don't you dare! I love that. I need that, baby," he argued, voice low as his gaze raked over her. He reached for her but she swatted his hand.
"Oh! I know! I'll refine it. Oh John. Oh John, oh John, John Anderson!"she mimicked her breathy, whimpering tone when she came under him.
John scowled. Pushed her onto her back. Moved over her and pinned her beneath him. "Who the hell is John Anderson?" he nearly growled, gaze boring into hers.
Moira smiled. Wondered if he had any idea how hot he was when he was pissed. Gaze so intense she felt a thrill in her body, a tightening response. She shifted under him, against him. "John Anderson is a computer tech. He re-wired my system once. And it was good, so very good, you wouldn't believe it! Oh John Anderson!" she softly moaned.
He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Shoving his body against hers. Keeping her pinned beneath him. "Enough, Moira! It's not funny!"
"No, it's not, John! Your obsession with discretion verges on paranoia, do you know that? Oh! I know! I'll just say this. Oh sweetie, oh sweetie, oh sweetie!"
"No! You will not call me that during sex," he ordered sternly. Kissed her again. A deep, probing kiss to make her murmur, react. Ran his mouth along her throat. "You will say oh John like you always do when I bring you." He nibbled her earlobe, tongue darting to lick behind to make her whimper, arch into him. "Got it, baby?"
"John, oh John," she whispered, hands roving over him as he ran his mouth down to her breasts, sliding along her body.
"Hmm..." he groaned, considering. Lifted his head to meet her amorous gaze. "My Moira, what do you think? Full throttle? Or a full, slow recon?"
She smiled. "Hmm...colonel. I'm thinking a slow, leisurely recon. Lots to explore and survey."
"Good. Just what I was..." The knocking on the door made him pause in his slow seductions.
"Damn it. Not now," he grumbled against her breasts. "Get rid of whoever."
"Yes?" she called, squirming as his mouth moved lower, lower. "John, wait!" she cautioned in a terse whisper. Fingers in his hair.
"Moira? It's Katie. Have you gone to bed?"
"Yes," John answered, voice muffled at her waist.
"Yes," Moira replied loudly, drawing out the word as John's mouth covered the scar on her side. Then wandered to her hips. His fingers playing along her sides, slightly turning her. "John, wait!" she hissed, moving but he only continued downwards. Stubborn.
"Oh, sorry! I'll see you tomorrow then?" Katie Brown asked, staring at the closed door. Wondering at Moira's odd tone of voice.
"Yes, goodnight," John answered against her skin. Fingers pushing apart her thighs. Wider. Wider still as he shifted on her. Warm skin scraping hers. Hair tickling.
Moira gasped. "Yes. Goodnight," she managed to articulate before she muffled her moan, her breathless gasp against her hand. Her body jerked, lifted of its own accord as he kissed and nibbled his way lower, lower. Determined now as her arousal drew him like a magnet. Like a bee to the nectar as his kisses traveled along her inner thigh, then plunging into the welcoming opening. Moira's moan was strangled in her throat, a whimpering exhalation as her body tightened, flooded, squirmed wildly beneath his attentions. His strong hands on either thigh keeping her in place.
John freed her, lifted up suddenly. Her noises of excitement and surprise arousing, amusing. He smiled. "Should I stop, Moira?" His gaze burned over her body.
"I...I...no. John, John, don't stop, don't..."she whispered in a stammer, as if ashamed to voice such desires out loud.
"Good. Slow, slow recon for my Moira. And I don't even need the ice cream," he teased, kissing along her thigh again. Making her body dance to his teasing seductions. Her need accelerating, pulsing until she thought she couldn't bear it any longer. Her soft cries of his name escalating louder, louder. Until he couldn't hold back any longer. So hard and stiff now he slid up, up, into her to achieve mutual satisfaction. Release.
Moira's throat became hoarse from all the sounds she couldn't stop. The cries of passion, of pleasure, only to be echoed by John moments later. The straining crescendo of climax after climax breaking upon the still air. The only other sound the rhythmic motion of the bed as it was pounded, pounded. Harder and faster. Faster still, a virtual vibration slamming the wall until the result was achieved . The sounds grew softer, faded. The bed became still. Quiet.
John rolled onto his back, wiped his brow. He licked his lips, sat as thirst seized him. Echoes of pleasure running along his body. His skin sweaty, sticky. He laid back, too tired to move. Glanced over at Moira. She was breathing heavily, breasts rising into the gold city lights. Sweat trickled. "Moira," he said, voice low. Almost raw.
"John." Her voice a whisper. "Oh, sorry! Oh John Anderson," she weakly retorted.
"Hilarious, Moira." He closed his eyes as she rolled next to him, cuddled against his side. His arm slid round her. Stroked her side. "Give me...ten, maybe eleven. Fuck that was hot."
"Ssh, John. Go to sleep." She took hold of his wrist, turned it to see his watch. The blue gleaming dial. "You have to leave in about six and a half hours, so you can sleep at least for five, right? Wouldn't want it getting round that the colonel is having sex with some lower echelon scientist, now would we?"
"Enough." He lightly slapped rear, making her jerk against his body. "It's as much for you as for me, Moira. So deal with it. I don't want anybody interfering in our business, all right? What's between us is only between us."
"What does it matter? You–"
"It does. Now sleep. Give me...an hour. Then we'll go again." He kissed her brow, arm tightening around her. "Full throttle this time."
"This time? What was that just now? Half?"
He smiled. "Yeah...I guess. Now hush." He opened his eyes, waiting. Waiting. Once she had succumbed to fatigue he disentangled himself, slipped off the bed. He grabbed his pants. Procured a bracelet from the pocket. He slipped back onto the bed. Gently he caught her wrist, fastened the bracelet around it. "There." He laid next to her. "Moira."
She snuggled against him, oblivious. Slid on top of him suddenly. "John...don't go," she muttered sleepily. Fingers tangling in his chest hair. "Don't go."
He kissed her brow, stroked her back. "Ssh, Moira. Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet," he assured. Fell asleep pondering her words, her concerns. His own.