A/N: Written for the LiveJournal community: 100situations. This was prompt no. 9: cheat. To see the whole table, visit http/hyacinthian. Other than that, enjoy.
He leans back with a smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest. She should not have agreed to this. Not at all. But she's Elizabeth Weir. She'll get through this fine. As long as he stops smirking. Quickly releasing a breath, she pulls her shirt up and over her head, throwing it casually to the floor. His eyes rake over her hungrily, before returning to meet hers again, dark and hooded. Okay. He can't do that any more either. She'll make it a new rule. Law. Something.
He takes the cards again, and reassembles the deck. He shuffles and deals. She looks at her cards, and tries not to reveal anything. But her cards? They suck. Suck badly. She licks her lips, trying to think of the next move. Why is she even thinking about playing them? Why? She plays them, and he wins again. Not at all surprising. He looks at her expectantly, an eyebrow quirked. She takes off her pants, and it joins her shirt on the floor when it hits her.
She is sitting in front of John Sheppard in her underwear. John Sheppard. The military commander of Atlantis. She. Elizabeth Weir. This is bad on so many levels. Because in no way can her sitting in front of him in only her underwear end up good. Besides the sex. Because the sex would be good. She shakes her head. Them having sex is bad. Rules. Against the rules.
"Elizabeth?"
She looks up to meet him in the eye. "Mm?"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. Why?"
"It's your turn to deal." Ohh. Right. She takes the cards from his hand, her fingers brushing his in the process, and shuffles them methodically. She deals them and closes her eyes, hoping for something good this time.
They play their hands.
She wins.
She. Elizabeth Weir. She finally won one hand against him. Finally. She smiles. Okay. Try not to look too excited that he's going to have to take off his shirt. He removes his shirt, and her eyes rake over him from head to toe. She licks her lips. And tries not to think about kissing him. Which fails. Miserably.
So they keep playing. And she wins. And she starts to think that maybe some higher power has finally realized that for all of the good things she's done in her life, she's earned enough to deserve a naked John Sheppard. In the same room. With her. Where she can freely look at him.
She shuffles. They play. She wins.
I won. …I won.
He sits there, a slight flush on his face, looking a little nervous. She quirks an eyebrow and smirks.
"Elizabeth," he begins.
"Yes?"
"You cheated."
"I did no such thing."
"You cheated!"
"I can't help it if you're a bad poker player."
"You cheated!"
"Don't be a sore loser, John." There is a devilish glint in her eye. Her eyes flit over him quickly, resting on the sight of his boxers for a second. "Come on, flyboy. Drop 'em."