Bridge Over Troubled Water8

Moira swallowed. She swallowed again, nervous. She balanced on one crutch, looked up and down the hallway. It was empty. Quiet. She hesitated. It was late morning. Just another day in Atlantis, except that both she and Colonel Sheppard had almost drowned in the early hours of the morning. Evan was still looking for her missing camcorder. She felt naked without it, as if a piece of her was missing. She knew it was ridiculous, stupid, like she was a child that needed her teddy bear but she couldn't help the feelings.

She knocked on the door. "John? Colonel Sheppard?" She raised her voice. Knocked again, rapping her knuckles on the hard door. "Colonel Sheppard!"

"What?" he barked, opening the door.

Moira stared. He was irate, pissed. He was incredibly sexy, dangerous. His hair was wild, sticking up all over the place in delicious unkemptness. He had on a black t-shirt that was rumpled and a pair of gray BDU pants that were clinging to every hard, long line of his lower body. His handsome face was shadowed by stubble. His green eyes were hard as diamonds. His full, perfect mouth was forming a scowl that she found utterly irresistible.

John stared at her, his gaze roving up and down, over her shorter, loose hair, over her lilac shirt and khaki pants. The cast was a white lump on one foot as she leaned on one crutch. "Well?" he snapped, impatient, but curious as to why she had come to his room.

"I…I'm sorry." He was silent, meeting her gaze. His expression revealed nothing. She frowned at his silence. "About last night, um, this morning. You, you risked your life to save me when I fell. Thank you." Still he was silent, as if waiting for something. He touched the wall, almost slouching in the doorway now, his pose indicative of a casual impatience, almost boredom. He lifted his arm, hand running along the doorframe and his shirt lifted, giving her a teasing glimpse of his flesh. "I, I know it must have been difficult, I mean since I was sinking and the cast, the cast was weighing me down and the current was awfully fast and I just wanted to thank you and to say I am sorry but you really shouldn't have done what you did that precipitated this whole thing in the first place." She paused, taking a breath as her nervous voice revealed a stammer. She stared down at the cast on her foot, unable to meet his unforgiving gaze.

"Ah."

Her gaze shot up to him. "Ah? Ah? That's all you have to say to me?" she flared, angry. Her brown eyes flashed ire as he just stood there, looking at her, expression neutral. As if they were discussing the weather or some other innocuous topic.

John's lips quirked into a smile as her anger aroused him. "Yeah."

"Fine. Thank you, Colonel Sheppard." She turned and started to hobble down the hall. "You fucking bastard," she muttered under her breath.

John smiled. He sprinted after her, caught her arm and nearly knocked her off her feet. "Not so fast, O'Meara. In."

"What?" She was pulled gently towards his room. Into his room. She stared round, balancing on the crutch as he shut the door and drew her to the bed.

"Sit. Sit!" he ordered.

Moira sighed and sat on the bed, placing the crutch next to her. "Well?"

"Well?" he echoed, sitting next to her. His thigh pressed hers again. "Carson says to wait, but I say fuck that. I'm tired of waiting, Moira. So fucking tired and now that you are here I can't quite remember half of whatever it was I saw or thought I saw and then, then there's the other Moira and she's with the other me, you know, but Carson says that doesn't mean that will happen here and I know that."

"What?" she asked, baffled by his words. "John, you're rambling. You…you're drunk!" she accused, smelling a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

"Is it any wonder, Moira?" he challenged. He touched her arm. "Moira." He leaned close but she drew back, making a face. He chuckled at her reaction. "Hey, baby, I may not be entirely sober but I know what I want. And how I want it. And how often I want it."

"Charming, colonel," she acerbically noted, but he smiled and drew her to him. "John!"

"Now." He kissed her. It was a sloppy kiss as his mouth devoured hers. Easing her lips open a little roughly and then thrusting his tongue in to play, to probe. At the same time his hand dove between her legs and he shoved his fingers between her legs. He made a deep, grunting sound feeling her heat and could only imagine how snug and tight she would be.

He almost shivered at the thought of it.

Moira squirmed at his probing but returned the kiss. Suddenly she was as eager as he was. She pulled him onto her as she fell back onto the bed. Kiss after kiss as she opened his legs and all but invited his fingers to caress and stroke intimately. Her fingers slid up under his t-shirt and her nails clawed his bare back. She could feel his muscles flexing, all that strength, all that maleness and she could only imagine how it would feel to have that all over her, inside of her.

She almost gulped at the power he had.

John groaned into her mouth and ran his kisses along her throat. He nibbled her earlobe and undid her pants. He unzipped them and thrust his hand into them. His fingers encountered the silky material of her panties and he grunted, feeling her heat, her moistness as her body reacted vividly to his. "Fuck," he growled against her skin. His fingers probed, slid under and felt the nakedness of her mound, realized she must have shaved nearly everywhere.

He almost came in his pants.

Moira squirmed at his touch, at once gentle and rough. His fingers were probing her panties then her bare skin, stroking her into erotic readiness. She whimpered, gasped and arched as he yanked open her shirt, popping buttons in his haste to see her breasts. She pulled his face to hers again and devoured his mouth, sucking on his lower lip and nibbling as they simultaneously scooted awkwardly up, up the bed to be fully on it now.

Her lower body flooded as his fingers aggressively stroked.

"John!" she urged, voice breathless. He lifted, freeing her mouth to see the lilac bra. To see her breasts trapped in it, but the rosy nipples were hard points poking the lacy fabric. He smiled. He ran kisses along her throat as he yanked down the bra to bare her breasts. He ran his mouth down to them, sloppy kisses until he reached his goal and began to nibble, suck in earnest now.

Moira gasped, arching, grabbing as the sensual sensations were vivid, were unlike anything she had experienced with other men. The scuff on his face was an erotic abrasion, enticing. His mouth and tongue sucking and nibbling as his fingers still plied her cleft with more forceful intentions. Moira whimpered, cried out softly as he was practically bringing her and they weren't even naked yet, weren't even close to actual sex. "John!"

"Ssh!" he warned, but groaned and lifted to view her face. His fingers stilled between her legs. He eyed her. "Now? I mean, like this? Now?"

She caressed his arm. "Yeah."

He smiled. But he sat suddenly, freeing her although his erection was a painful pressure against his pants now. "Why?"

"What?" she asked, feeling a shiver as the cool air hit her wet nipple. She shoved down her bra, closed her shirt over her and shifted as his gaze ran all over her body, then back to her face.

"Why?" he repeated. He couldn't believe he was stopping, he was hesitating. But something didn't feel right although his body argued that everything felt right. Very right.

Moira stared at him, suddenly self-conscious at her disheveled state, at the way her body was responding to his, wanting his, wanting him in a very naughty way indeed. "Um…isn't that obvious, colonel?" She sighed as he didn't even smile. She sat awkwardly, shifting on the bed, moving her cast with a wince of pain. "John?"

"Why?" he repeated for the third time.

"What do you want me to say, John? Isn't it obvious? Sex." She touched his thigh, playfully ran her hand up to catch the hard length of him. He groaned as she squeezed, squeezed. "Wow, colonel, that is some heavy ordnance you are carrying. Do you have a permit for that?"

John snorted. "Moira! Answer the fucking question!"

"Wouldn't you just rather fuck me, colonel?" she asked sweetly.

"Ah."

"Not that again! What?" she snapped, freeing him. "John!"

He moved to his feet, rather awkwardly as his pants were tenting out in a very obvious way. "Get out."

"What?" she exclaimed, stunned. She stared at him but he was quite serious.

"You heard. Get out."

"What? What's the problem, John? You can get it up, obviously. I mean really obviously," she sneered, eying his crotch for a moment before meeting his gaze. "John? Are you trying to tell me you don't want sex because junior there certainly does. It's all right, sweetie, I won't bite unless you want me to. John? Don't you want to have sex with me?"

"Of course I do, damn it, but not like this!"

"You mean you want to do it in another position?"

"No! Yes! No, you know what I mean, Moira! Fuck!" He turned away from her. Trying to control his emotions, his physical reactions. He wanted nothing better than to pounce on top of her and just take her, but he forced himself to wait.

"Then what's the problem, colonel?" She moved to her feet, grabbed the crutch. "Oh, I get it. I'm not your type, is that it? No. What, then? I thought that's what you wanted from me, just some quick sex to get this whatever it is, this false whatever out of our heads? Is that it? It's a good idea, actually, John. So what's the problem?" She ran her hand up his back against the t-shirt. She could feel his tension. "I'm sure your performance would be more than adequate."

"Fuck!" John swore. Her teasing and sarcasm weren't making him angry. Her words were making him horny. He whirled, caught her, and propelled her backwards against the wall. She gasped; dropping the crutch as he gently shoved her against the wall and kissed her. A hot, searing kiss as he thrust his body onto hers, roughly angling in a simulation of sex.

Moira whimpered, moaned as his very hard erection was poking her intimately, slamming into her. Her pants were still undone and suddenly both pants and panties were gone as John yanked them down, down and practically ripped them off one leg. He groaned, undoing his pants, unzipping them with a savage intensity as his gaze bore into hers suddenly. Just as suddenly as he thrust up into her.

Moira cried out in surprise, in excitement, in wonder at the sheer size and length of him. She arched, grabbing onto John's arms as he thrust and thrust, shoving her up the wall with each exertion. He groaned loudly, lustfully, happily as she was exactly as he had imagined her to be. Lush and wet, tight and hot and he increased momentum. He grabbed her bare rear and squeezed so tightly she yelped. He angled her, stepping back a bit so she could fully accommodate him.

"How's that, baby? So fucking sweet," he growled, grunting as they were racing, racing towards the climax now.

"John! John, oh my God, John, John, John!" she stuttered, stammered, whimpered as the pleasure was a hot, swirling rush that engulfed her. She cried out loudly as the orgasm shook her, the climax so vivid she thought she would die right there on the wall.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" John exulted, groaning so loudly he sounded as if he was in pain but he wasn't. He came wildly as she tightened and pulsed over him. Wave after wave of orgasm relieving him, pleasuring him. He kept moving. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough by far.

"John!" Moira cried again as he relentlessly plied her, plied her until she cried out again, tears in her eyes as the pleasure and the possession were almost too much. She clawed his arms, squirming but he was so big, so long she couldn't get away from him if she tried.

John kissed her, hard. His tongue thrusting in time to his cock now until he suddenly freed her after one long, hard penetration that practically shoved her up to the ceiling. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed, set her on her back upon it and fell onto her. He kept kissing her, kissing her, yanking away the bra to touch every inch of her, to kiss every inch as she squirmed and writhed under him.

He sat suddenly. Breathing hard, but there was a lazy, smug satisfaction in his eyes that made her stare, that made a cold dread wash over her.

"John?" she asked softly.

He licked his lips. "You can get out now."