In Restless Dreams I Walk Alone7

He didn't like waiting.

He resumed pacing, wondering at the delay. He knew Moira was coming to him. She was engaged in some kind of argument now. He tracked the rise and fall of her voice. The cadence of anger, sorrow. Recognized the man's voice who was arguing with her. Lorne. He scowled. He wouldn't let anyone keep her from him. No one got between them. No one.

He wondered if that was why he was in the cell.

Had someone intervened between them? Tried to keep Moira from him? Tried to dissuade her from being his wife, his lover? He had killed men for doing less. Trying to come between them. Daring to threaten her or cajole her. Or hurt her. A memory glimmered. Something to do with Moira. With Seamus. The little boy had needed protecting. But from whom? Or what?

He prayed it hadn't been himself.

It couldn't have been him. He would never hurt his sons or his wife. And Moira was coming to him now. Arguing on his behalf, no doubt. She had accepted him. Accepted him in every way. Every way. A salacious smile came and went when he recalled the sex. Sex with Moira, even as mutated as he was. She had given herself to him freely, with love, sensing his need. The desperate need to be normal, to be accepted, to be loved even like this.

Even when he didn't deserve it.

John stood near the bed, the worry on his face replaced by surprise, then hunger. Moira was completely naked as she gazed upon him. The dim light threw shadows along her curves, but John could see well enough. Even better as his pupils contracted. His gaze roved over her long, loose hair as it swirled around her. Strands falling across her bare breasts. His gaze lingered, then moved lower to more intimate areas. He licked his lips.

Moira studied him. Touched his chest gently. One forearm was a tangle of blue scales and bumpy lesions which he had not had earlier. The Wraith mutations extending down to transform his entire hand. His chest was normal, but his waist was beginning to become altered, especially on the right side. Below that he was fully human, even to the partial erection her nudity was engendering. She smirked, despite the circumstances. "I see some things never change," she gently teased. Met his gaze.

John met hers. Smiled. Touched her side with his human hand. "Moira...I...oh fuck...I..."

But she flung herself onto him, kissing him. Ignoring the roughness, the oddness. The different taste of him, feel of him. He was still John, no matter what changes had occurred.

Suddenly any restraint John had broke. He shoved her onto the bed, slid on top of her. Kissing her eagerly, grunting as his mouth and hands wandered. Wanting. Needing. Forgetting any reluctance, any concern, any self-conscious worries. Moira surrendered to him. Ignoring the distaste. The abrasion of the scales on her skin. His roughness. Tongue thrusting into her mouth. Body on hers. Hands grabbing, clasping. One human. One not. She steeled herself. Opened her legs to him. His scales slithering on her tender skin now. His sharper teeth nipping at her breasts, then lower, lower.

John heard her soft noises, the discomfort. Didn't care as he was being driven by pure need, pure lust. He rubbed his cheek, his jaw, his scaled throat along her skin. Driven to distraction by the feel of her. Soft skin. The scent of her familiar. Home. His. He nibbled along her mound and she squirmed, tiny sounds of either protest or worry or discomfort issuing from her. He inhaled deeply. Pausing to run his tongue along her mound, up to her belly button. He paused. Lifted his head to see her watching, brown eyes wide. He smiled. "You're ovulating."

"What?" she stammered, shocked at the comment.

John didn't wait for a reply. He lifted, thrust into her at last. Hot. Eager. Groaned at the feel of her enclosing him, taking him. The slight resistance only turning him on, making him more determined. Eager. He thrust hard, harder. Paused suddenly. Met her gaze. "Moy? Are...are you sure about, about this?" As if a trace of his humanity had suddenly surfaced.

Moira met his gaze, tensing. Staring. His eyes were cat-like, slitted. The shadows crossing his body, concealing the more human aspects and revealing the Wraith ones. A weird parody of her husband making love with her. She drowned his concern in kisses. Taking his face between her hands and guiding his mouth to hers. Making soft sounds to arouse him. "John, oh John, oh John," she whimpered into his ear. Circled and bit the way he liked.

John grunted. Eagerly thrusting now, rubbing his body along hers again. Scratching her skin over and over as his mouth took hers, nibbled at her throat. Trying not to bite. Wild motions of his body on hers, in hers. Taking. Giving. Tongue flicking on her skin. Nails running along her side in a parody of hers running up his back. Then down. The bed rocked, jolted by his momentum. Enthusiasm. Need.

Moira clung to him, pulling him closer, closer still. Wincing at the scales scratching all over her skin. His tongue licking at the scratches now, slithering over her breasts until he arched and drove into her repeatedly. She held nothing back as she gave herself to him. Gave him her body, her love. He was creating pleasure in wave after wave.

He came suddenly. A harsh ejaculation inside her. A hard, jerking thrust. He shuddered, growled harshly. Fell upon her, still moving in her. Moira blinked back tears. Stroked his back, his hair. She kissed his hair as he pillowed his head on her breasts. Tongue flicking lazily at the tiny scratches. Tiny lines of blood. His breathing calmed, calmed.

"John?"

"Moira," he muttered. Closing his eyes to just feel her. Feel her pliant, soft body under his. Bathing in her love. In the sex. But he frowned. Slid out of her. Lifted to see her face. "You didn't come."

"It's all right, John."

"No! You always come. So fucking sweet."

"Ssh." She touched his lips. Heart almost breaking over their perfection. Unmarred by the virus. Yet. "Don't you worry, sweetie."

"I'll make you come, baby. I promise. Give me...give me...five."

"Ssh, sweetie," she cautioned. Glanced at the closed door where the boys slept. To the other door where she knew a marine had been posted. She bit her lower lip, worrying.

He kissed her. A long, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her. But he freed her mouth. Tilted his head. Suddenly looked at the door. Moira's fingers tightened on his arm.

"John?"

"Ssh." He shifted on her, loath to move. His eyes glinted in the dim light. Muscles poised like a cat ready to pounce. "Fuck. Fucking bastard," he muttered.

"John? It's all right, sweetie," she tried to soothe. Caressing his arm.

He met her gaze. Assessing. Lifted to view her body under his. Met her gaze again. Scowled. "No. It's not all right, Moira. Fucking eavesdropping on us now?" He moved but she stopped him.

"No, John. It's fine, okay? Let's just go to sleep now, okay?"

"No. You are mine. No one fucks with us. No one!" he growled. He kissed her. Slid off her. Moved with incredible speed and silence to the door. Stood listening.

Moira scrambled to sit, tangled in the blankets. "John, no! Please, come back to bed! John!"

He held up a hand to silence her. Sniffed. "Morrison. I can smell that awful aftershave he uses. Fucker." John moved back to the bed.

"Please, John, it's all right. Come back to bed with me. You'll frighten the boys. Please, John."

He ignored her. Pulled on his clothes, the cloak, the hood. Anger in every line of his body. He eyed her as she sat, blankets pulled haphazardly over her naked body. "You stay right there, baby. You are mine. No one is going to fuck with us."

"John! You can't–" she began to move.

"I said stay there!" he flared. Whirled and strode to the door. Opened it.

Michael Morrison whirled, startled. "Sir?" he squeaked, trying not to stare.

"Get the hell away from my room, Morrison," John growled.

"Sir? I was, I was–"

"That's a direct order from your commanding officer! Get away from my room!"

Moira had scrambled into a nightshirt. She ran to the door, pushing next to John. "It's all right, major. Go on. We're fine."

Michael stared at her. Her disordered hair, disheveled appearance. Tiny dots of blood could be seen on the nightshirt as it hugged her body. "Doctor Sheppard? You–"

"Colonel Sheppard is giving you a direct order, and if I have to say it again it will be the last thing you ever hear. Now go!"

"Yes, sir, yes, sir!" The marine stumbled away from the room.

"Mommy? Mommy! Daddy, daddy!"

Moira turned as John closed the door. The two little boys were lingering in the doorway between the two rooms. She hastened to them. "It's all right, darling. Honey, don't cry. Here we go now." She guided them back to their room. "Daddy was just upset at that man but he's gone now. Go back to sleep. Everything's fine now. Don't you worry." She kissed them, settling them back into their bed.

Once soothed she closed their door. Stood in her room. John was standing near the window. The room was plunged into darkness. He had removed the cloak but retained his clothes. She stepped to him. Touched his shoulder. "John? It's all right. Come back to bed."

"Did I...did I scare them?"

"Your raised voice did. That's all. They're fine now. Come on, John, please." She gently tugged his arm.

He remained where he was. Staring out at the night. The dark waters lapping the pier below them. He could hear the waves as if he was standing on the pier. He could smell the salty air if he inhaled deeply. "I...I don't know if I can do this, Moy," he admitted.

She slipped in front of him. Hugged him. "Of course you can, John. It just takes time. We will find a better treatment, I promise. We won't give up! You need to be patient."

His arms went round her. But he freed her, pushed her into the window. Glaring. "I'm sick of being patient, Moira! I'm sick of all of it! I may look like a freak but I don't feel like one! I feel fine! I've never felt better, except when I take those fucking treatments! Don't you dare treat me like I'm an invalid! Like I am anything less than your husband, your lover!"

She touched his chest. "All right, John. Of course not. I won't treat you any differently."

He released her. "Sorry. Let's go to bed, Moy." He drew her to the bed. "Moira...if...if you left me...I would understand. I would. I mean, if you left me...went to that other reality through the anomaly to be with that other John Sheppard...I mean he's a bastard and all but at least he's not mutating like I am. If you did that I wouldn't–"

"That's never going to happen, sweetie," she soothed. Knowing how much it had cost him to even suggest that. To let her go to his darker doppelganger. "Never. Let's go to bed, John. It's all right. We'll find our way, don't you worry now."