Parasitism10
John watched Carson and the marines set up the containment vessel in the temporary shelter on the Alpha site. They uncovered it to reveal the wriggling mass still locked in its cocoon. Carson busily fussed over it, hooking up monitors and bringing the computers online. He gestured and a marine followed him to a corner of the tent to set up the video feed.
"Sir?" Jason asked.
"Keep a close eye on Beckett," John ordered, turning to the major. "If he starts to behave irrationally or oddly, or if he attempts to free that thing haul his ass back to Atlantis. Along with your men. And kill that thing."
"Yes, sir."
"And if you deem that thing an immediate danger kill it. Radio me in one hour."
"Yes, sir."
"Carson!" John advanced towards him. "Monitor that thing. Radio me in an hour. You can compare your findings with Moira's back on Atlantis."
Carson turned to him. "I really need her here, colonel."
"Not going to happen," John refuted. His tone brooking no argument. "Reynolds, you're in charge." John eyed the men. Eyed Carson who appeared disgruntled. Glanced at the slimy grub in the vessel. Left.
Moira sighed, flexing her foot. She glanced at the lieutenant who was stoically standing near her chair, eyes on Alan as he worked nearby. Both men glancing repeatedly at the clock as the minutes turned to an hour. "Lieutenant, you must be hungry. Why don't you go get lunch? It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"Can't, doctor. I have my orders," the young man stubbornly insisted.
Alan frowned, joining them. "Oh for God's sake, man! It's been nearly an hour! How long are you going to keep Moira tied to that chair?"
"Until Colonel Sheppard returns," the younger man stated.
"Bollocks!" Alan headed for Moira. "I'm going to release her, lieutenant. That way you will still be following your precious orders and Moira can get up before she loses feeling in her extremities!"
"No, doctor, you can't." Tim had moved to his feet.
"Sorry, son, but I've had quite enough of this!"
Tim drew his gun. "Doctor, back away, now. You can't free her!"
Moira looked from one to the other, startled.
"What?" Alan laughed. "Are you serious, young man?"
"Very, doctor. I have my orders. Orders that are never to be questioned. Especially orders concerning Doctor O'Meara."
"Really?" Moira asked, surprised. Alarmed.
"Your boyfriend seems to have gone overboard," Alan remarked. "Lieutenant, what are you going to do? Shoot me?" he scoffed. The two men stared at each other.
The moment was comical, but oddly tense. Everyone in a frozen tableau. Alan about to take a step round Moira's chair. Moira still tied to the chair, staring from one man to the other. Tim standing behind her, gun aimed directly at the medic.
John stared, brows furrowing in disbelief. Impressed at his orders being followed to the letter. "Stand down, Andrews."
Clearly relieved the lieutenant lowered, holstered his gun. "Yes, sir."
"Sheppard! What the–" Alan began angrily.
"For the record, Doctor Gregory, Andrews wouldn't have shot you. Well, he would have, but only to disable you. He's following my orders. Mine. Andrews, dismissed." John stepped to Moira, eyed her.
"Is it still alive?" she asked, meeting his gaze.
"That's your first question? I expected at the very least a furious monologue."
"Don't you worry," she smiled, "it's coming. So?"
He stepped behind her. Unbuckled the belt, slipped it off the chair. He moved in front of her to let her watch him slide it back into the loops of his pants. He fastened it as she flexed her arms, shifted on the chair. "You–"
"No." She stood, tested her weight on her foot. "It's better. Medicated." She stretched in front of him, arching her back, thrusting her breasts towards him. Angling side to side. "So?"
"Huh?" John was staring as the blue t-shirt hugged her breasts. The khaki pants snug on her hips. Her loose hair fell past her shoulders. "Oh. The thing. Yeah. Still alive. Carson's calling in an hour. Progress report. Can you–"
"Walk? Yes." She limped, winced. Took his arm. "Damn it. An hour?"
"Plenty of time for you to yell at me," he teased.
"Good. I'll need an hour, at least. Let's get lunch. I'm starving!"
He smiled, slowly guided her to the cafeteria. "Moira, now that you are calmer you can see why you couldn't go. That thing is, was exerting some weird influence over you. Argue all you want but it does. Did."
"You tied me to a chair, John," she mildly accused.
"I know, but I'm not apologizing, Moira. You weren't making sense. You could hardly walk. I was doing what I had to do at the time for your own good," John explained.
"You tied me to a chair, John!" she repeated more stridently. "How could you? How can you even justify that?" She freed his arm suddenly, stepped to lean against the wall.
John sighed. Knew the argument was inevitable. "Do we have to do this now? In the middle of a hallway?"
"Yes! Yes, we do!" she argued, angry. "You tied me to a chair, John! You–"
"What do you want me to say, Moira? I'm sorry? I'm not. Now let's go get lunch."
"You tied me to a fucking chair, John!" she nearly shouted. Glaring.
He stepped close, kissed her suddenly. A long, passionate, tongue twisting kiss. It made Moira run her hands up his chest to his neck, drawing him down to her, into her. She swooned onto him, murmuring in her throat. His arms surrounded her, pressed her body to his. He drew back to smile. "Better, my Moira?"
"Are you going to tie me to a chair again?" she asked, dazzled. Mollified. Aroused.
"Only if you want me to, baby," he replied. "Yours?"
She smiled. "Yes. Now?"
He glanced down at their bodies. "Um, yes. We can eat later."
"John." She kissed hm, took his arm. He led her to her room. She entered, plotting. Limped to the bed, turned as he closed the door. "Oh Jo-hn," she wooed in a sing-song voice.
He smiled, stepped to her. Kissed her, drawing her against him again. "I know exactly what you want, baby."
"You do, sweetie?" she teased. Ran her hands down his chest, his waist. Ran her hand down to his crotch. "I'm still mad at you, John. Very, very mad." She kissed him. Ran her mouth across his jaw to his ear. "Angry sex, sweetie," she whispered. Kissed down his throat. Fingers caressing along his thigh. "John,"she sighed, moved awkwardly to her knees. Kissing his waist as she lifted his shirt. "John, can you find my loofah for me?" She unzipped his pants.
John moaned, shifted his stance. Fingers in her hair, knowing full well what she was doing but not about to stop her. "Ah, baby, seems like you are trying to find mine." He licked his lips as she unbuttoned, unbuckled, pulled down his pants.
"Hmm, John...oh John...such ordnance, colonel," she wooed, ran her mouth along his shorts, his thigh. Tickling the bare skin.
He smiled, reacting. He caught her arms, gently pulled her to her feet to kiss her passionately. He lifted her to set her gently on the bed. Pushed her onto her back. He moved over her, kissing her. "Move your foot. Off."
She complied, pulling him closer. "Sweetie, sweetie, don't you want angry, angry sex?"
His hand slid up under her shirt, bra. To fondle. To tease. "Yes, I want angry, angry sex, Moira. You are going to be even angrier afterwards," he informed against her skin.
"What? No, sweetie, not if I have invited you," she argued.
"No sweetie during sex," he reminded, pushing up her shirt, bra. Replacing his hand with his mouth now.
Moira arched, moaning, fingers in his hair. Losing focus for a moment as her body began to thrum with desire. "Oh John, oh John..."
He circled, sucked the nipples. Ran his hand down between her legs to aggressively rub. "My Moira," he wooed. His fingers were becoming damp as she squirmed. He slid up to capture her mouth again. A long, searing kiss as he unbuttoned, unzipped her pants. Forgetting her agenda for a moment as the tension, the need built. Built.
She pushed him onto his back. Slid over him to kiss him repeatedly. Until she rolled off, yanking down her pants, her panties. Removing them awkwardly. "John, oh John..." She rolled back onto him, kissing him hard. Shoving her hands under his shirt to run her nails down his bare skin. Harshly.
"Ow! Moira?"
"Angry, John...don't you like angry?" she teased. "Oh, I see. You can tie me up, tie me to a fucking chair but I can't rough you up a little?"
He grinned, caught her. Moved her onto her back. "Foot. Off." She slid it off the bed, opening her thighs. He yanked down his shorts, kissing her again. "Ah, baby, you have no idea how rough it's going to be afterwards."
"Why do you keep talking about afterwards when you haven't even started?" she taunted, but arched, gasped as he entered her. She moaned, clung and rocked with him as thrust hard. "Oh John! Oh John!"
"You're coming right now, baby, so hard you'll hate me," he teased. Kissed her.
She whimpered, rocking wildly with him. Moans escalating as the pleasure circled, circled. Then slammed so abruptly she cried out, unable to stop. "John! Oh John! John!"
"Moira, you wanted angry, baby...oh fuck! Fuck, fuck!" he growled, pounding, driving into her until he came in a rush. A straining shudder. He slowed, but kept moving, propelled by the delicious momentum until she whimpered softly. He groaned, groaned, then rested on her. He quickly snatched a ribbon from her pillow sham. Kissed her lengthily. He tied their wrists together in a tangled knot.
Moira felt his hand on her wrist but was too distracted by his passionate, passionate kisses. His fading hardness still inside her. She moved beneath him. "John, oh John..." she whispered. He freed her, but rested on her. Kissed her throat. Teasing her earlobe until she murmured.
"My Moira...I need to tie you up more often, baby."
"Hilarious, John. Rest a moment..."
"I think I will. You're not going anywhere, baby. That's for damn sure." He smirked, shifted most of his weight off her. Closed his eyes, relaxing. "Moira. I'm sorry we couldn't make it to our sex room."
"Love nest," she corrected, caressing his back, his arm. She kissed his brow. She waited, trying not to distracted by the enjoyable sex. The sudden orgasm. The loving concern. To not be distracted by John, so handsome, warm. So devastatingly expert in how to pleasure her, himself.
When she felt him relax at last she moved slowly. Paused. His arm seemed stuck to hers. She moved her arm, stared. Saw the ribbon tying them together. "John? John! Damn it, John!" She hit him.
He laughed, raised his head to see her trying to awkwardly untie the ribbon. "It won't work, baby. I'll have to cut us apart once we're done."
"John! What is this? Some new kinky game?"
He laughed. "No. You really think I don't know what this was? Hmm? Distracting me with sex. Hoping I'd fall asleep so you could sneak off and somehow charm your way to the Alpha site? After your similar stunt in nineteen twenties land I know better."
She sighed. "Damn it," she muttered. "But you–"
"Had sex with you anyway? Hell, yes! I'm not going to ever refuse that, baby. Ever. Especially when you are trying to seduce me to your schemes."
She frowned, but laughed. "Why am I not surprised?" She kissed him. "Seriously, sweetie, untie me now. I am hungry and we can't miss the call from Beckett."
"Ah ha! Still? Damn...I was hoping sex would clear you of this weird obsession. Well, we can always keep trying."
"Obsession? My only obsession is with you, colonel."
He smiled. "If only, Moira." He kissed her. Sat and scooted down to retrieve his pants. He procured a pocket knife.
Moira moved with him. Peered past him to see lacy green material peeking out of the pocket. "John? What is that?"
He glanced there. Smirked. "What? That? Oh. I honestly forgot it was in there."
"You...you...is that...is that a pair of my–"
"Trophy, honey. Mine. Wow... I think I took them off-world with me," he teased.
"John! I don't believe you–"
He laughed, moving over her again. "Believe it, baby. Though I suppose you can have them back now. They're not up to specs any more."
She hit him. "You are sick, do you know that? Sick! Untie me, now!"
He grinned. Kissed her. "How about after five, no six–"
"Shut up! Untie me!" she ordered, hitting him but he kissed her. Shoving intimately against her. Revealing he was becoming aroused by their teasing and arguing.
"Are you sure, baby? This sounds like genuine angry sex ,and it turns me on. Hard, so hard."
She shoved. "Shut up, John!"
He laughed, scooted. "Hold still." He moved their bound wrists up and carefully slid the knife under the ribbon. Cut the material. "There. You...hey!"
She shoved him. Scrambled to the edge of the bed. Yanked on her panties. "Damn you, John Sheppard! What the hell is wrong with you? Tying me up, tying me to you! Faking that sex knowing all along what I was–"
"I didn't fake that sex, Moira, no way! Nor did you. You couldn't fake an orgasm like that."
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut the hell–"
He caught her. Shoved her onto her back. Kissed her. Tempted to take her again. Annoyed and aroused. "Keep your voice down! Keep your tongue in my mouth and I will shut up," he offered, resumed kissing her. She pushed, hit him, but then pulled him onto her. Murmuring wildly as he shoved her thighs apart. Grabbed at the panties. He yanked them off her as an insatiable lust consumed him. Drove him. Thrumming in his head, his body.
"John! John, I want you! I want you inside me!" she breathlessly ordered, fingers clawing at his arms. His back. Feverish with lust, need. Kiss after kiss until she moaned, arched. He thrust, thrust hard, fast. Sliding into her without any preamble. Moira writhed, clung. Pushing and pulling him as the pleasure built, built. Built.
"Wider! Wider!" he growled, shoving her legs apart, bending her knees. Forgetting about her injured foot as he groaned. Swore profusely. "Fuck!" He pulled out of her, sat. Breathing heavily. Staring down at his unrelieved erection. Tense. Painful.
"John?" Moira sat, catching her breath. Felt as if she had been on a wave and then was suddenly dropped to the land.
"What the hell is wrong with us, Moira? Fuck, I can't get it to down. My whole body is like a, like a–"
"I'll get it down, John, don't you worry," she purred. "Come here." She touched his back. Kissed his throat.
"I...I don't want to hurt you, Moira," he said, voice husky. Slithering along her skin, along every nerve. He licked his lips. He yanked off his shirt, threw it across the room. "Shit. I need–"
"Me." She pulled off her shirt, her bra. Leaned close. "Come to me, John. Whatever this is we need to, um, alleviate it now. I trust you, sweetie. You won't hurt me. You never have." She stroked his bare back. Kissed along his shoulder. "John...shut the hell up and just take me."
He smiled, turned to her. Beamed seeing her naked. "Moira." He kissed her, moved them once more upon the bed. Groaned. "Fuck...I need to be inside you, baby."
"Then fuck me, John," she encouraged. Gasped as he slid into her. His mouth wandering. Hands wandering. Moira whimpered, moaned and squirmed. Momentum took over and they were locked together in a hot, hot rush.
Moira cried out softly, clung. Arching as his mouth greedily took her breasts. Almost painfully possessing the flesh. She clung but he grabbed her wrists, held them up to the headboard.
Thrust after thrust, their moans, their wordless grunts and exhalations in perfect sync. A weird, wordless but vigorous joining. The bed rocked in tandem. Moira tried to free her arms but John held them firmly. Trapping her. Shoving her up, up the bed until she splayed her palms against the headboard. Pushing herself down before her head slammed into it. Pushing herself down to take all of him as he thrust, thrust.
Moira whimpered as the climax crested, pulled her under in a trembling, throbbing wave. "John..." she managed to whisper. Her voice a breathless gasp.
He kept moving until at last he moaned loudly. Tensed. Swore. Shuddered his release in a long spasm of relief inside her. "Moira..." he growled. Fell on her. Finally freed her wrists to relax his arms on either side of her. Breathing deeply as exhaustion hit him. Finally sated, able to ease himself out of her. "Fuck," he whispered. Orgasms rushing, rushing.
She melted under him. Legs still flung wide. Knees bent but now straightening slowly. She ran her hands up his back. Breathless. Speechless. Alarmed by his hungering passion. The threat of violence so close but never realized. She swallowed. Astonished at her own insatiable desire for him. The wild sexual demands for copulation. Wondered at it.
John moved. Pushed himself up to almost distractedly kiss her. "I was right."
"Huh?" she asked.
"I was right," he repeated. "You. You are a fantastic fuck, Moira."
"John?" she asked, but he smiled, satisfied. Appeased. He sat, moved off the bed to gather his clothes. To dress. Moira sat, scrambled to grab the blankets to cover herself. Puzzled by his uncharacteristic behavior she stared. "John?"
He glanced at her. Fixing his clothes. "Fantastic, baby," he repeated. "Almost the tightest but certainly the sweetest I 've ever been in, and I've been in plenty, believe me. But yours...yours is my absolute favorite."
She stared, clutching the blankets to her. "John?"
He buckled his belt. "Don't you worry, baby. That sweet ass of yours is my little secret. As are those fucking beautiful tits. Gotta go. See ya." He swaggered out of the room.
Leaving Moira to stare, open-mouthed.