One week later

"So how are you feeling today?"

Elizabeth shakes her head. "No better."

"I should probably help, then."

She's about to say something when John pushes her back up against the wall and swallows her words with a kiss.

It's among the worst ideas she's had in her adult life, but his tongue is in her mouth and his hands are sliding under her shirt and then his thigh is pressing hard between her legs and oh that's an interesting angle.

This isn't the first time they've slipped into a supply closet in the middle of the day, but it's the first time she hasn't had a meeting coming up soon to give her a deadline. And suddenly their occasional mostly-innocent little four-minute trysts have turned into something more, something that started out with laughter and a stolen kiss or two and is quickly growing more and more frantic.

His breath is hot on her skin. "Any improvement?"

"Definitely still feeling - oh - some lingering effects."

"Sounds serious," he murmurs, biting her earlobe. "I should probably check you out. For your health, you know."

He slides his hands under her shirt, and she catches her breath. John has a remarkably playful side, and every time they've done this foolish, immature thing, she ends up not only flushed and sweaty, but smiling like a fool for the rest of the day. He knows her entirely too well, she realizes, and she'd worry about it, but that doesn't seem like a priority at the moment.

The closet is cramped, and she can't help but wonder if they're purposely choosing to meet in these tiny closets where there just physically isn't room for them not to touch each other.

But then, with no warning, his hands go still on her.

"Why are we doing this?" he blurts out.

The question hits her like a brick, and everything is a jumble as she tries to figure out why he's not actively taking her shirt off anymore.

"Why - what?" She lets out something like a laugh, though it might just be confusion, because he's never the one who stops this once it starts. "I assumed you knew that when you walked in."

"No, I mean -" he huffs "- we're in a storage closet. We both have rooms. You even have an office." He shrugs. "Might not be so crowded."

The thought makes her catch her breath, because once she gets John Sheppard into her bed, she has a lot - a lot - of creative ideas for just what she wants him to do to her body. "I didn't realize you made house calls."

"Oh, yeah," he drawls, leaning in for a kiss that makes her toes curl. "You're long overdue for some bed rest, Doctor."