Propagation9
John stirred. Rolled, but found himself entangled. He opened his eyes blearily. Blinked. He was alone. One arm was up over his head. His wrist still bound to the headboard by a silver manacle. He smiled broadly. Shifted on the bed, looking down his body. He was naked. Droplets of sweat glistened on his skin, in his hair. Although he felt a slight shiver as cold air wafted over him. He recalled the sex. Wild. Almost boisterous. Moira riding him. Riding him hard, nails clawing him, her body bouncing on his. Her mouth nearly biting as she kissed and licked and nibbled. Exhausted but happy he had fallen asleep right afterwards.
"Moira?" He reached up with his free hand to unhook himself. Sat. Stared round the shadowy room. Stared at the table. Candles flickered. Casting sporadic light on the presents, the cake. On the two covered plates of food. His stomach growled at the delicious aromas escaping. He stared at the two glasses full of wine. "Moira?" he called.
"Just a sec, John!" she called from the bathroom. "It's harder getting into this thing than I thought. You and your damn sperm."
He smiled. "Getting into what?" His mind filled with all sorts of lascivious images. "On second thought just stay out of it, Moy."
She emerged. Hair loose, cascading around her shoulders. A black dress was melded to her form. The V-neck revealing her breasts down to the lacy black bra. The curves of her hips hugged tightly as was the baby bump. The dress was sleeveless. She walked to the bed, legs and feet bare. She frowned, pulling at the material. Turning so he could see her rear snugly outlined in it. So clearly he could tell she had something very skimpy indeed between her and the dress. Something that left her rear nearly naked. Nearly. She turned back to him. "This is as good as it gets, John." She sighed. "It's hard enough to dress nicely, let alone try to be sexy."
"Fuck. You are beautiful, Moy. Shit. You are...wow. What's the occasion?"
She met his roving gaze. "Our anniversary, silly! We're having a proper dinner, then presents. No," she held up a hand as he moved to get off the bed, "dress nicely, John. Like it's a date."
He sighed. "Moy? I'm starving!"
"Dress up, sweetie. This is a special evening. Our first wedding anniversary, plus two. Now go!" She pointed to his room.
He smiled at her tone. "As ordered, baby. Geez!" he grumbled. Grabbed his scattered clothes and trudged to his room. Stumbled into the big present. "Ow! Crap."
"Something nice, sweetie," she called. "It's a date!" She sat at the table, waiting. Lifted the covers to reveal the food. She sipped some wine. "Tonight, John!"
"Just a sec! You said nice!" he retorted to her playful teasing. "A date. A dinner. After the fact, of course, like we need to have a date when we're married for crying out loud," he grumbled to himself, fussing over his clothes, his appearance. "Moy, there had better be icing like you promised me!"
"Promise? Did I promise? I don't recall that, sweetie," she teased. "Hmm...I'm not sure now."
"Hilarious, Moira!" He emerged, running a hand through his hair. "Happy now, sweetheart? This as good as it gets on short notice, baby. And I'm starving! The things I have to do for you, Moira Sheppard," he grumbled.
Moira smiled, staring dreamily at him. He had donned a black woven shirt, generously unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Black slacks enclosed his long legs. His feet were bare. He sat next to her. She leaned close, kissed him. "Thank you, sweetie. No! Wait!"
He froze. Put down his fork and knife. Woefully eyed the steak just waiting to be devoured. He sighed. Met her gaze. "Now what?" he whined.
She fingered the wine glass, smiled at him.
"Oh crap. A toast?" he asked in dismay.
She laughed at his consternation. "Yes, sweetie. It is our wedding anniversary! Our first! This may be old hat to you, John, but it's new to me! Being married and all."
"Should you be drinking wine?" he retorted.
"A glass won't hurt. Besides, I may get tipsy," she offered.
"Ah. Okay, then." He glowered. "But you still want a toast? Shit. Look, Moy, I'm not good at these things, you know that. You know how I feel, damn it! Why do I have to keep telling you? You know, all right? Geez, Moy! It's like you don't even listen to me when I do tell you, so why would I need to make some stupid, flowery declaration of my feelings when I–"
Moira laughed, cutting off his ire. "All right, John! Goodness! I know you hate the romance crap, the talking but wow!"
He smiled. "Yeah. I do. So can we–"
"Wait!" She studied him a moment. He fought not to squirm under her scrutiny. Feeling like one of her specimens under a microscope. "You know, John...I never thought...I mean...can you believe we've been married a whole year? It doesn't seem like it to me."
"Nor to me, sweetheart," he replied, relaxing. Resigned to wait. His stomach growled.
She smiled. "In a sec, sweetie." She grew serious. Touched his hand as it rested near the plate. "I never thought I'd be married at all. Certainly not to you. And certainly not five months pregnant on our first anniversary. Plus two."
"Yeah. I never expected that either, Moy. Me and my damn sperm. But I want our son."
"Yes, I know. I'm just saying how–"
"Yeah, you said last night. Chance. Expediency. Negligence. Not at all, Moira. We may have met by chance but you initiated our relationship and I actively pursued you. We wed quickly, but we were going to be married in any case. We may have been overly passionate on Pleistocene Park but I would have gotten you pregnant eventually. So nothing is by chance. Not a damn thing." He fingered her wedding ring. "I'm a colonel, Moy. I plan out every strategy, every possible outcome. Even the unexpected ones have contingency plans."
He licked his lips, eyes on the gold band encircling her finger. "I knew. I knew we'd get here. Not when but I knew we would. It's all I ever wanted. You. Me. John junior. So no, it wasn't my chance. It was...us." He met her gaze. "Okay? Can we eat?"
She smiled. Felt tears. Leaned to kiss him. "Yes, John. I'm starving! If you didn't talk so damn much!" She laughed at his scowl.
"Hilarious, Moira!" He smiled.
The plates were clear of food. Moira was nibbling on the last piece of her chocolate cake. John downed the wine in quick swallows. He met her gaze. "There's still plenty of icing, baby."
"Open your presents, flyboy."
He leaned close, kissed her. "I'd like to start by opening you." He stood. "But I'll go get yours." He crossed to his room. Carried in some presents, making two trips.
Moira smiled. "All that? When did you–"
"What? Like I didn't know this was coming? I'm leaving the big one in there. I think it's broken anyway."
"What is it?"
"Never you mind. Now, open your presents, sweetheart. I'll open mine. Then...hmm...icing?"
She laughed. "You are becoming obsessed with–"
"Yes. I am. Aren't you? Don't you crave it, Moy?"
"Shut up!" But she giggled.
He laughed. "Ah, you do! Sweet! This is going to be so fucking good, Moy. Maybe too good. Maybe we should take it to the sex room. And don't you worry. I'll return the favor. Repeatedly. Until you beg me to stop."
Moira shook her head. "Sure you will. You'll be out in five, colonel."
He laughed. "Probably. Maybe I should do you first, baby." His gaze wandered over her. "I'll have to peel you out of that dress, though."
"Open your presents!" She smacked his hand off her thigh.
He kissed her. "As ordered, baby."
Moira smiled, pleased at his reactions to his presents. His enjoyment of the football DVD set. The dark green woven shirt with subtle gray stripes. His laughter over the miniature fighter plane set. The gray t-shirt with the legend Galaxy's Sexiest Dad. His satisfied smile at the photos she had made for him. One of her in the white dress with roses. The one she had worn when they had gotten married. One in the sexy green dress she had worn on their impromptu honeymoon. She touched his knees at his silence. "John? It is what you wanted, isn't it? Photos. Decent photos of me. I had Katie take them months ago when I could comfortably fit into those clothes and not look so, um, pregnant."
He smiled. Met her gaze. Set the photos aside. "It's exactly what I wanted, Moy. All of it. Especially this." He tapped the photos. "They're not wedding photos but they're close enough. And I can frame them."
"Yes. You–"
He leaned close and kissed her. A long, passionate motion of his mouth on hers. "Thank you, sweetheart. Now you." John sat back, enjoying her reactions, her exclamations. Her smile at the books on paleontology. The larger sized shirts. One with the legend Sheppard Baby On Board. Her laughter over the skimpy black lace bra and thong. With matching black fuzzy socks. Her gasp at the golden bracelet lined with hearts and diamonds. Her smile at the little white bear dotted with red hearts, a match to the white and green one. He wondered at her silence over the way she held the last little box in her hands. "Moy? Look, I know it's extravagant, but the second I saw it I knew it was for you. From me. I was told it was a birth stone. You know, for the birth of a baby. Our baby. Because you are. Having a baby. My baby. Our baby. Moy?"
She met his gaze, tears in her eyes. Setting the box aside as she held up the ring. It was a simple gold band. A tanzanite gemstone in a heart shape glimmered, its blue and violet hues rich and lovely. Two diamond hearts adorned it on either side. "John...you...I...you...I love...I love everything! Everything! But this! This...it's too much!" she declared. "Do you have any idea how rare this gemstone is? How exotic? How expensive! Damn it, John," she cried, moving to her feet, "we have a baby on the way! A baby! Your baby! And you can't be throwing your money around on such exquisite, beautiful things such as this no matter how rich you are! It's so beautiful, John! Do you have any idea how beautiful it is?" she asked, sitting again. Staring at the ring as if she was entranced.
He smiled, amused at her haranguing. "Yes, I do. Why else do you think it reminded me of you, sweetheart?"
She looked at him, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Melting. "Oh John..."
He grinned. "Whoa! That was good, wasn't it?"
She laughed. Stood. "John..." She pulled him to his feet, sliding the ring onto her finger. "I love you, John!" She hugged him.
"I love you, Moy. Happy anniversary. Plus two." He kissed her.
She drew back from him. "Hey! What about the big one?"
He smirked. "Oh, it's right here, baby. Locked and loaded. Only waiting for the icing."
She laughed. "No! I meant the big present!"
"Oh? Oh! The one I broke? Yeah, that?"
"That."
He kissed her again. Kept kissing her as he guided her towards the bed. Hands wandering over her body. Feeling the skimpy underwear under the dress. "Delicious, Moy." He pulled free. "I'll get the icing."
She pulled him back to her. "No! I want my big present, John."
"I'm getting it, baby, and believe me, you will be getting it too, don't you worry."
She laughed. "Not your ordnance, sweetie! Fine! I'll go look myself!" She moved to his room. Stared at the big rectangular package in shiny blue paper on the floor. She knelt, folding her legs under her. Touched it. "Wow...it is big. And hard."
He laughed, moving to her. "You could have discovered that as well, baby. Very hard. And big."
"Stop it! Can I unwrap it?"
"Absolutely." He moved in front of her. Caught her hands and drew them to his zipper. "Here."
She laughed, pulling her hands free. "No! That!" She pointed past him.
"Oh. That? No. There could be broken glass, Moy, so no."
"Glass? What is it?"
"Let me see if I can fix it first, all right? Here." He drew her to her feet. "Let's go." He led her back into their room.
"You could at least tell me what it is," she sulked.
"Can't. Classified intel, baby. Unless you seduce it out of me. But be warned. I'll only talk for icing. Icing on my cock," he clarified with a smile.
