Kin Recognition4
John relaxed. Stretched languidly in the big bed. Enjoying the sheer comfort of the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets. His body replete at the moment. Satisfied after nearly two months of abstinence. The absence of Moira no longer an issue. The sex exuberant, fulfilling. He loved pushing her, pushing her, shocking her and bringing her so intensely. Smug that he was the first to be with her in so many ways. Methods.
He closed his eyes, dozing lightly. Enjoying her company, her teasing. Her love. He frowned. Considering that little box in his pants. Knew he had to secure her before the IOA took her from him. Pondered when to do it. How. His thoughts flitted to the dead fiancee. Her relatives and their coldness, their blame. He found himself wondering about that. It angered him, their callous disregard. He was ready to defend her, protect her. If he only knew from what.
He heard her softly humming a melody, out of tune but it only charmed him. Sexual anticipation made him stir. He listened to the pouring water as it filled the tub. He imagined her moving around the room. Naked. So soon to be wet. Drenched head to toes. All his. His for the taking.
He considered that little box again. His decision. The necessity for swift action. He found himself recalling his first wife. Comparing her to Moira. Preferring Moira despite her mercurial mood swings and scientific rambling. He felt a weird sense of kinship with her. As if whatever lurked in their respective pasts somehow linked them. Joined them, however dark. However blameworthy.
He rolled onto his side, settling. He wasn't ready to tell her. Just as she wasn't ready to tell him. But the very fact that he was even considering telling her was far more than he had ever felt for anyone in a long time. Realized it was probably the same for her.
"John?" Moira stepped out of the warm bathroom. She had wrapped a towel around her naked body. She smirked. Saw him dozing. She neared quietly. Stared at him. Caught by emotion. Caught by love. That he had traveled so far to be with her. No doubt incurring the wrath of his superior officers. Maybe even Doctor Weir. Marveling over his concern. His determination. His love.
She bit her lower lip, feeling a surge of emotion. Fought it. Did not want to ruin their perfect night together. She recalled the sex. His skills even more remarkable than she had remembered. His boldness astonishing. His expertise amazing. He made her feel things, want things, do things that no other man had ever done before. Not even her fiancee. She felt a stab of guilt. Guilt at comparing them. Guilt at even preferring John. Preferring John's surer, stronger love.
But she knew. Knew she had to let him go. That their relationship was too intense. Was progressing too swiftly. Possibly towards an undeniable conclusion that she wasn't ready to face. Would probably never be able to face. Not even with John. As much as loved him. Needed him. Wanted him. And as much as he seemed to love her. Moira still could not quite believe the depth of his feelings. As if they were still ephemeral, would pass and he would move on to the next woman. As if he would see who she really was and turn away. She couldn't bear that. Would rather end it now than go through that.
She slipped onto the bed. Pushing it all aside. Showered soft kisses on him. Light, teasing motions of her soft lips along his. Along his face, his throat. Savoring the pure masculine taste of him, the scent. The roughness of his emerging stubble. The fullness of his perfect lips. The long neck. She circled his ear until he softly, softly moaned. She sat. Roughly shoved him. "John! John Sheppard!"
His eyes flew open at her tone. "Huh? Oh, sorry, baby! How long–"
"Ten minutes, John." She sighed, pouted as he eyed the towel. "Oh well...if you are too tired I'll just bathe alone. And I don't even have a loofah with me. I don't know what I can use to scrub my body. All over. Every inch." She licked her lips.
He smiled, sat. "Lead on, baby. My ordnance is ready for deployment after that."
"Right," she scoffed, standing. "You'll be lucky to deploy at all, sweetie."
He followed her into the bathroom. Paused to see candles glimmering in the darkened, warm room. Bubbles sparkled in the large bathtub. Rose petals floating on the iridescent waters. "Wow...you've been busy, sweetheart."
"I had to do something while you dozed off like that," she complained. "Oh! I hope this isn't too romantic for you, John." She dropped the towel to the floor. Stepped into the tub. Settled. Smiled. "Oh God...this feels so good, so fucking good!" she teased.
He smirked. "Hilarious, Moira! What exactly do you have in there?" He splashed in opposite her. Settled. "Ah...fuck! You're right. Damn that is good!" He took the glass she offered, eyed the fizzy contents. "Champagne?" For a wild moment he wondered if she had guessed his intentions, had discovered the little box in his pants.
She shrugged, momentarily dislodging bubbles from her breasts. "Yes. Why not? I love you, John." She glanced at the candles flickering, suddenly somber. "I love you."
He smiled. "I love you, Moira. Although this excessive romance stuff is not exactly my kind of thing, but I'll go with it." He clinked his glass against hers, startling her as she eyed him. They drank the champagne. John licked his lips. "Not bad."
She smiled. "I know, you'd prefer a beer, flyboy." She stretched her legs, nudging his. "This is so perfect, John. Like some romantic fantasy."
"I was thinking sexual, but yeah, that too," he coyly agreed.
She nudged his leg in reprimand. "I'm serious, John! You. Me. Here. Now. The perfect night. Our perfect night," she mused softly, eyes on the golden liquid in the glass. She set it aside.
"One of many," he agreed, "although most will not be like this, I'm afraid." He glanced to the open doorway. Chided himself for not bringing the little box with him. Realizing he could have done it here, placed the ring in the champagne glass. He sighed inwardly. But suddenly Moira was sliding onto him, over him. Her wet skin warm on his. "Moira?"
She smiled. Caressed his chest. "John, oh John...let's make this night last forever," she sighed happily. "Just you. Me. Here. Now."
"Fine by me, baby," he agreed, kissing her. Hands sliding along her sides after he set the glass aside. "Ah, yes."
She laughed, sliding along him. "Oh colonel! Not bad at all..."
He grinned. "Baby, when you stand up I'll be at full salute." He cupped her breasts, kneading the nipples into hardness as she squirmed on his lap. He kissed her.
"John," she cooed, "oh John!" She kissed him repeatedly. Then scooted, slid back across the tub out of his reach. "You are nearly at–"
"Oh yeah," he agreed. Licked his lips. "Stand."
She blushed. Glanced round the room but the candles were the only witnesses. She stood. Soap and bubbles sparkled as water sluiced down her naked skin.
"Oh fuck," John muttered, staring. The sight arousing. "You are so beautiful, Moira. So ready to be plucked. By me. Repeatedly."
"You'll say anything to get laid, John," she refuted.
He stood. Pulled her against him. Kissing her roughly. Mouth demanding. He grabbed her rear. Squeezed as he shoved her into his erection. Wet bodies sliding together. "Sorry, baby, I need to fuck that sweet, sweet–"
"John! Don't spoil the romance!" she complained. "You are spoiling it by your–"
"Coarseness? Sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, stepping out of the tub. Guiding her.
"No, we need to dry off and then–"
"Can't wait," he rejoined. Swiftly backing her into a wall. He was rock hard. Tension unbearable. "Moira, I want you. I want you all wet and hot and ripe. Mine. Mine for the taking." He kissed her. Spun her round to face the wall. "I want that pert little ass now."
"John? John, you oh John!" She gasped as he squeezed her rear, pulled her out a bit. Entered her with a quick but careful thrust. She moaned, tensing. Wet hands sliding on the tiles. Body hot, wet, gushing as he thrust, thrust. Groaning loudly with each intimate motion.
His hands slid down to grab her breasts. To ply. To tease. His mouth running along her back, her shoulders. Gentle bites to make her squirm, gasp in surprise. But he held her in place. Hands on her hips now, guiding her onto him, wider. Leaning her more and more. Angling for the best position. Angling for the best way her slick folds could encompass all of him. "Fuck! Fuck that is so fucking tight! Moira...Moira...full throttle, baby," he growled. Moving harder, faster now as his body took over to sate its demands.
Moira moaned, whimpered as the pleasure grew, grew. As he went deeper, faster, harder. As his wet hands slid down to her cleft. To ply, to play at the crest of her opening. All the while thrusting into her with a delicious, lustful possession. His grunts punctuating each movement. She tensed, realizing he was going to give her a double. She was breathless. Speechless as her words fell to moans, to whimpers. She cried out softly as she was rocked, rocked wildly. Orgasms nearing, nearing.
John grunted, losing himself in sexual pleasure. Seemingly unable to get enough of her. To ease his throbbing erection, his balls caught in tense demand, strain. Her animalistic sounds only making him more aroused, as they matched his own. The welcome release began. A series of spasms and shudders that rocked him. He thrust quicker, quicker. "Fuck! Fuck, oh fuck! Moira, my own fucking Moira!" he rasped.
"John! Oh John, please, please, oh John oh John!" she cried as she came. One orgasm rushing after the other. Her knees nearly buckled as the tidal wave of shattering climax melted her.
"Moira, Moira, my Moira!" he enthused, groaning in sheer relief, pleasure as he came. The rush of orgasm. The pleasure of their joining. The sexual exuberance riding them both.
Moira felt tears. A strangled sob as the climax was so intense, so vibrant. If not for the wall she was being continually thrust against she would have collapsed. Her hands grabbed uselessly at the tiles. Wet fingers sliding, sliding. "John! Oh John, please, please...John!" she stammered.
John finally slowed. Expending the last of his energy, as if reluctant to let her go. His breathing ragged. He slid out of her, leaned against her. Kissed her shoulder. "Moira. Moira, Moira, fuck, oh fuck...my Moira...I never want to leave that sweet, sweet center. I just want to crawl up inside here so fucking tight and snug and so–"
"You nearly did, damn you," she agreed tiredly, straightening as he moved off her at last. "John! John, I...you... I can't...I can't..."
"Make it to the bed?" he guessed. "Nor can I, baby. Wait a sec. Just..." He turned her to face him. He kissed her. Kept kissing her as he led her to the bed. He fell back against it, pulling her with him to land on top of him. She slid free, under the sheets. He followed. She drew away, but then snuggled close to him. Kissed him. His arm encircled her.
"John...John..you...you...how the hell do you keep it up so long?"
He smiled. "Practice, baby. Lots. And you. Moira. You make me so hard."
"Ssh." She closed her eyes, settling into him. "I'm so tired, sweetie. If you want more you'll have to wait."
He laughed weakly. "I'll wait. Shit...you drain me dry, baby. But I love it. We probably woke the whole hotel with that exuberance. At least you did...God I love you loud! Like that. It turns me on, baby. Hearing how I pleasure you."
"John...remember the rule. No post-coital talking."
"Oh. Yeah. Right. Guess you'll have to punish me later."
"You wish."
He kissed her. "Tie me up, baby. Will you? Tie me up and go down on me."
"There's no headboard, sweetie."
"Oh. Right. Crap."
She softly laughed. "Sorry, honey."
He sighed. "I'll think of something. Sleep."
"John...this evening...this evening has been perfect...I...I just want you to know that."
"Okay...it has been." He frowned. "Why? Why do I need to know that? Moira?"
"Sleep, sweetie. Talk later," she whispered. Falling into a blissful sleep. Falling into the warmth of his body, his love. The intimacy.
John stroked her back, closed his eyes. Succumbing to exhaustion, happiness. The feel of her in his arms. Safe. Secure. His.
John woke hours later. He was sprawled comfortably in the bed. Could feel Moira's leg but the rest of her was sprawled near him across the expanse of satin sheets. He smiled. Yawned. The room was dark. He sat, stretched. Lazily checked the clock. Looked at his clothes. Draped neatly over the chair. Saw her dress spilled on the floor.
He looked at Moira. She was asleep. Hair a wild mess around her face, on the pillow. He saw the extravagant necklace still on her. It twinkled in the dim light. He looked back at the chair. At his pants where the little box resided. He sighed. Trying to assess her response to his yet unasked question. To assess the fallout from all angles.
He laid back down. Turned to her and closed his eyes. Falling back into oblivion.
Moira rolled. Rolled. Scooted until she found John. Although she liked the expansive bed she missed the intimate contact with John's body. His warmth. His solid security. She snuggled against him. Slid onto him and nudged him. "John?"
He was fast asleep. But his arm slid lazily over her, welcoming her. As he always did. She smiled. Rested her hand on his shoulder. Happy. Content. Wondering if she could delay the inevitable. Delay the break-up for a little while longer. Loath to give this up. To lose this. She fell into a light sleep, debating what to do.
The thought struck her. Woke her abruptly. Moira scooted, seeing the sunlight streaming into the room. She eyed the clock. "John! John, John!" She shook him.
He woke, blinked. "Moira," he smiled. "As always. I like waking up with you on top of me. Naked. Sated."
"John! Don't we have to get back to the SGC today?"
"Yes. This afternoon," he answered, wondering at her sudden distress. He smiled. "I made certain we had the morning to ourselves, Moira. If we...you know..." His suggestive smile, glint made her frown.
"No...you made certain...you oh no!" She sat, scrambling off him.
"What?"
She sighed. Ran a hand through her hair. "We...we can't do this, John!"
"Do what? We already did it, baby. Several–"
"Not that! This! If you made certain...the SGC, Atlantis...knows you're here? With me? I was wondering about this room, the hotel, the...that they would just let you go like that. Come here, I mean, with me...but they would have to know you were..."
"Yes. Just in case. And of course they know you are with me. Why? Oh..." he realized, "they'll know we are in a hotel together, having lots and lots of sex? Who doesn't know that?"
"Don't you see?" she complained to his teasing tone, "this won't work! This won't! Don't you see?" she flared, staring round the room. "All of the, the bother, the melodrama over wanting a closer room, and my, my dead...anyway, they'll jump to wild conclusions! However unlikely and inappropriate! Damn it, John, we have to break up!"
"What?" He was wide awake now. Staring. "Moira?"
"I'm sorry, John. I didn't want to do it like this. Now, I mean. I...this was wonderful! This was so wonderful and loving and romantic and orgasmic, my God it was orgasmic!" she declared, distracted for a moment. "But we, look, I'm sorry! It's my fault. I never should have let things go this far, I shouldn't have allowed myself the luxury of, of loving you so much, of wanting..."
"What? What are you saying, Moira?" he asked, bewildered. He sat. Touched her arm. Fingers caressing. "You love me so you have to break up with me?"
"Yes." She sighed. Met his gaze. "John...we can't...I can't...look, it's out of control now...it's...look, we have to at least appear to have broken up or they will jump to wild conclusions about our romantic getaway and how a closer room escalated into the M word and they'll assume you did but you don't and I won't so when they assume you asked because of this they'll know I won't and I can't because of him and this love, John, this love is just more than I ever thought I'd have or own and I can't because you won't want me after you know me."
John's brow furrowed, trying to follow her anxious, convoluted words. "Wait. Slow down. You...they'll think this romantic getaway was so I could propose to you?" he deciphered.
"Yes. I..." She gestured at the room. "We have to be careful, John. We can't. I mean...we...look, it's just too..."
"Will you?" he asked suddenly. Throwing caution to the wind, his own hesitation aside. Curbing her worry, her panic.
"What? Be careful? Yes, of course, we'll downplay this whole wonderful time and then, then John I think we truly need to, to break–"
"No. Not that. Will you?" he repeated. Serious. Gaze locked with hers. Fingers slipping down her arm to clasp her hand in his. He waited. But she was silent. Staring. Startled. He closed his fingers over hers. His own expression solemn. Sincere. "Moira? Moira O'Meara...will you marry me?"