Dominance2
John woke hours later. He opened his eyes. Moira was sprawled on top of him, naked. He smiled. Stroked her back, but sighed. Knew the inevitable blame would come. The inevitable discussion of the rough sex, the amazing sex on that planet. He gently nudged her. "Moira? Moira!"
She muttered, "Shut up, John." She snuggled.
"Moira, it's morning."
"Not again, John. Strawberries," she muttered sleepily.
He smiled. "No...I...now? No, I mean I have to get up."
Moira sighed, slipped off him, turned away onto her side. She pulled the covers over her, snuggling in the blankets. "Strawberries," she repeated. Their safe word.
He smiled, kissed her softly. Stroked her arm. "Fine, Moira. Strawberries."
John sat in the cafeteria, eating a hearty breakfast. Thoughts flying over several things at once.
"So how is my patient?" Carson asked, joining him.
John shrugged. "Okay, I guess. That headache still comes and goes. Could I get more–"
"Not you! Moira," Carson clarified.
"Oh." John smiled, resumed eating. "She's fast asleep."
"Good." Carson debated. "John, what happened out there? What did you do to her, besides the laudanum?"
"What? I didn't do anything, Carson! The laudanum was an unfortunate mistake, but as I explained I wasn't myself," John defended, irritated.
"Yes, yes, but I'm not talking about that. What did you do to her, John? Why does she hate you?" Carson asked pointedly, a frown on his face.
John sighed, set down his coffee cup. "She doesn't hate me, Carson. That's Moira-speak for, um, um, something private. She'll corner me later and we'll take about it, I'm sure," he grumbled. Was half tempted to say exactly what he had done, had given Moira the fuck of her life, the double orgasm that had set her to weeping heights of ecstasy, but he refrained.
"It? What did you to her?" Carson persisted. Suspicious.
John's gaze narrowed. "I didn't do anything to her, Carson. I would never hurt her. Never. It's a private thing between us, all right? Frankly, it's nobody's business."
"Is that so, colonel?" Carson challenged, unconvinced. "Maybe I'll just ask Moira about it, shall I? And see what she has to say about all this."
"Go right ahead," John encouraged. "She won't say a damn thing because it is private. Personal." John stood, appetite vanishing. "That's all I have to say on the matter. Excuse me."
Moira woke, rolled over in the bed, reaching. Sighing happily. "John? John, that was wonderful! John?" She opened her eyes, sat to view the empty room. Frowned. Saw her clothes still scattered all over the floor. Saw the ripped bra. Smiled. Quickly she showered, dressed. Hastened to the cafeteria. Ravenous she gathered food and found a table. Began to eat with quick, large bites. Thoughts flitting, emotions rushing. She absently rubbed at her arm where the puncture mark itched.
"Moira."
She smiled. "Carson, please." She indicated the empty seat across from her. "I feel much better now. Thank you. That, that laudanum trip was...it was horrible!"
"I can imagine, love. How's the head?"
"A slight headache." She touched her forehead. A small bandage covered the cut.
"And the foot?"
"A little sore," she admitted, "but that was weird. The strong cramps, I mean. All of a sudden. They were so painful!"
"Hmm. Anything else?" He studied her expression. "Look, Moira, if something happened on that planet, when you were alone with John you can tell me."
"I don't understand," she said, puzzled. Colored suddenly as the sexual memories blossomed.
"You can tell me anything, Moira. You said you hated him," Carson gently reminded.
"Oh. That. I..." she hesitated. Hedged. "I was hopped up on opium. I probably said all kinds of crazy things."
"John said it was your way of saying something private."
"You asked John?" She sighed. "We...um...need to discuss a few, a few things, is all. Private things." She eyed the table. Almost tempted to tell him that John had given her such sexual pleasure she thought she was going to die from it all, that no man had ever brought her in such a fashion, repeatedly, but she remained silent.
"Sexual?" Carson asked, as if reading her thoughts.
Moira nearly choked on the water she had been drinking. She set the glass down. "Carson! It's private! Okay? John would never hurt me. Never. He never has! I don't hate him. I just say that when I...when I...look, it's nothing!" She stood. "It's between us, between John and myself, all right? We'll get it sorted."
"I just want to be sure you are all right, love," Carson soothed.
"I'm fine. Fine! Geez, John was right! It was easier in that nineteen twenties portal to be...anyway, I have to go. Do something. Somewhere." Carson shook his head, puzzled, concerned. Watched her leave, noting a slight limp to her gait.
"You seriously want to go back?" Elizabeth Weir quirked an eyebrow. Unconvinced.
"Yes." John sat in the chair opposite her. Her desk a solid barrier between them. His foot was tapping impatiently on the floor. "That portal alone is worth investigating, Elizabeth. The rate of their technological advances is unlike anything we've seen out here, and the fact that it closely resembles Earth circa nineteen twenty-three is remarkable! Now that the Ancient tech has been deactivated it should be safe."
"Should be?"
"It's a risk, I know," he admitted with a shrug, "but we're forewarned now. McKay's been itching to get at that machine. And more importantly we may be able to capture some of Ford's men. Finally learn his location and bring him back."
There was a silence. John stared hard at the desk. Elizabeth considered. Knew this to be a sore subject. "Don't you think Ford's men would have evacuated the premises by now?"
"Possibly. Probably. It's true the site has been compromised, but I can't see them giving up all that modern tech. The weapons. For all we know the portal's closed again. But we need to be sure. Anything useful cold be relevant to the galaxy, to our fight against the Wraith. I'll take two squads of marines, and McKay." He paused. Knew the hard sell was coming. "And Moira."
"Moira? Why? Is she recovered enough to–"
"Yes. She'll be wanting to go back to study her thylacines. Another mystery to be solved. We need to find out all we can from the locals."
"I don't know, John. What if you get trapped in there again?"
"I won't. I won't even go in this time. This is important, Elizabeth. An untouched world. Untouched by the Wraith, and mimicking our own culture. We have to know more." He leaned forward in the chair. Earnest. "This is the best lead we have had on Ford in months, and I won't allow it to be wasted."
"Fair enough," Elizabeth agreed, nodding. "You're right, John. But the thylacines?" A hint of amusement twinkled in her eyes.
John tried not to squirm in the chair. "Just as important, albeit in a different way. At the very least it may prove that the Ancients were on Earth a lot more recently than we've ever been led to believe."
"Did Moira put you up to this?"
"No. She doesn't know. Yet." He stood. "I'll assemble the teams. We'll leave in an hour."
Moira couldn't put it off any longer. She left her room, roamed the halls. Checked the conference room. Weir's office. Was headed for the Jumper bay when a squad of marines passed, walking in strict unison. She stepped aside, watched them pass. Turned to see John heading for the transporter. "John!" she called. "John, wait!" She hurried to the transporter as he looked up, waited for her. She darted in next to him, waited until he closed the door. Suddenly awkward they made the quick trip in silence. As they exited she said at last, "John, we need to talk."
"You need to prep, Moira."
"Prep?" She suddenly noted the TAC vest he wore over his black t-shirt. "Are you leaving?"
"We are," he corrected. "We're going back."
"What?" Moira followed him. "John, you can't go back!"
"Don't you want to study your thylacines?" he countered, entering the armory.
"Well, yes, of course! I just, I just figured you would refuse."
He turned to her suddenly, halting her before she crashed into him. "After last night?" he teased. Smiled. "You can have anything you want, baby."
"John," she said tersely, "I'm serious. We need to talk."
"No." His gaze flitted over her green shirt, dark pants. "I don't want to get into this now, Moira. All right? I don't have time to soothe you over your sexual hang-ups. We have to go on a fact-finding mission and that takes priority."
"Hang-ups?" She frowned. "We need to discuss this now, sweetie. Whether you like it or not! Damn it, John, Carson thinks you did something to me!"
"And whose fault is that? Honestly, Moira, I don't understand you! I didn't make you do anything. I didn't do anything you didn't want, or need, or enjoy...you really, really enjoyed everything we did. Every single pleasurable act. And if I shocked you by giving you multiple, multiple orgasms one right after the other, even a double than you–"
"John!" she objected, coloring at his blatant assessment. "It's not that! It's...we need to talk!"
"No. You need a shrink, apparently, because you have some serious sexual issues. Blaming me, accusing me when all I did was bring you repeatedly."
"John, shut up! You–"
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her. "What do you want from me, Moira? It's not my fault your few, few men never brought you the way I have, and will again."
She shoved free. "You arrogant bas–"
He smiled. "That's right, baby. Blame me all you want. You want it as much as I do. Maybe even more, is that it?" His brilliant green eyes sparkled.
"Shut up, John! I hate–"
"Of course you do." He pulled her into his arms, kissing her again. "You hate the fact I can make you so helpless, so vulnerable, so lustful, is that it?" he asked into her ear. Holding her close. His warm breath tickling her skin. "You hate you want me so much, so very much. That you want sex, baby, sex with me as much as I want sex with you. Does my Moira feel naughty at wanting me to fuck her over and over until she comes so hard she screams my name?"
Moira blushed. She shoved free of him, nearly fell. "I hate you, John! I hate–"
"Get over it, baby. You need to get over this bizarre guilt. I'm tired of it. Can't you just enjoy what we do? Am I going too fast for you, O'Meara? Shall I slow it down for you, baby?"
She stared at him, unsettled. Appalled. Rattled by his acute observations. "Maybe...maybe we should slow it down, Sheppard. You need to stop. Stop pushing, pushing–"
"I like pushing, pushing. You like it too, Moira. I never heard you say otherwise. Before or during. Only afterwards."
"You...I...you..." she stammered, but he touched her arm. Kissed her gently. "John?"
"We're going to that planet. Prep. We leave in..." he glanced at his watch, "forty minutes. You are with me. We can finish this...melodrama later."
"Melodrama? Damn it, John, you don't understand! I suppose none of your lots some women ever reacted like this when you–"
"No, they didn't. And I told you," he warned, raising his forefinger to her, "don't mention that again. It has no relevance to us."
She glared, but caught his hand. Stroked. Slid his finger into her mouth slowly. Twirled her tongue around it. He moaned, reacting. She drew it out slowly, gaze locked with his. "Do you hate me now, John? I can use those same tactics on you. Do I make you do things? Want things? Too bad, sweetie." She shoved his hand aside, turned and sauntered away from him. Hips swaying deliberately.
John stared after her. Finger wet. Eyes on her hair falling down her back. On her rear in the snug pants. He smiled. "Prep in thirty-five, baby! That's an order!" he called after her.
"Yes, colonel. Still hate you!" she snapped over her shoulder.
"Back at you, baby!" he called, annoyed. Amused. Aroused. Cursing inwardly he looked around, trying to remember why he entered the room in the first place.