Title: In the Blood, ch 10

Author: Whytewytch

Word count: 1,692

Rating: NC-17 to be safe

Spoilers/Warnings: Mention of "self love"

Characters/Pairings: Evan Lorne, OFC

Summary: Justinia begins her training.

The gym doors hissed open and Doctor Morgan stepped through. Her hair was down from its usual bun, in a ponytail that swished along her neck as she looked around, apparently searching for someone. John never could resist a woman who was looking for someone.

"Come here often?"

Morgan turned quickly, and John's mouth quirked up at the corners as he tried not to chuckle over her obvious discomfort.

"Colonel. I am here under orders, waiting for my sparring partner."

"Well, I'm free. I'd be happy to—"

"I'm sorry. I'm under orders from Colonel Carter."

Visions of the new doc and his commander sweating and groaning as they wrestled on the ground had John clearing his throat and shifting his stance. Damn, that was hot! "You, um, you're sparring with Colonel Carter?"

"No. She said that I must be taught by…"

John followed her gaze to the door. Major Lorne strode in and John chuckled. This was going to be good.

"Enjoy, Doc. I know I will."

Justinia's mouth went dry, and then suddenly it seemed like she couldn't swallow fast enough to stem the tide of saliva. Evan was dressed in black gym pants with a black short-sleeved shirt.

A round tattoo took up most of his upper right arm, and was half covered by the shirt. She was surprised that she hadn't really noticed it before. Oh, you noticed it, Justinia. It just looks even more dangerous when he's in a black tee. Mother would never approve. Somehow, that thought made it even more appealing.

Evan looked irritated, put out, and incredibly, incredibly hot. His head swung around, almost immediately zoning in on her. He advanced on her and Justinia couldn't help it—she stepped back. He raised an eyebrow at her retreat and slowed his pace; a small smile played along his lips. His eyes had darkened to nearly the black of his shirt.

"Doc." His greeting was succinct, but that one little word, spoken intimately in such a public place, sent a shiver down her spine. She realized he hadn't called her anything but "Doctor Morgan" since she snubbed his invitation to the movies. She was torn between relief at his seeming forgiveness and worry over what that forgiveness might mean.

Evan entered the gym, sure he must have beaten her there. He was annoyed to find the gym so full. Usually it was the smaller, more intimate gyms for special training that were full of people exercising. He hoped to find a small, quiet space where he and Morgan could train. He looked around for a spot and his eyes found her almost immediately. She stood with Colonel Sheppard by her side; the colonel wore a satisfied smirk on his face as his gaze met Evan's. Damn it! Why do I get so mad when I see her with another man? Christ, Evan, get a hold of yourself. She's as cold as they come, best to leave her alone.

He moved toward her, checked his pace when he saw her shrink back, nearly bumping into Colonel Sheppard. He smiled to put her more at ease, but inside he was a mess. Her hair was down in a ponytail that made him think even more about releasing it. His breathing sped up as he thought about how good it would feel to run his hands through her long, blonde hair, to bury his nose in it and smell it, to taste it on his lips when he kissed her neck. Her cheeks were nearly feverish with color and her eyes were wide. She wore a royal blue top that brought out the soft blue of her eyes and was a perfect contrast to the golden hair that brushed her shoulders and upper arms. Her arms, always before covered by her uniform, were well-defined but slender. The shirt fit her closely and it was apparent that his fantasy paintings had not been far off the mark in the size of her breasts. Evan stifled a groan as he noticed that she was either cold or excited.

"Doc," he greeted her briefly. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

"Major." Her voice was barely a whisper; Evan watched as she swallowed. He noted with some surprise that the floor around them was now clear; many of the people who had been exercising now sat casually on the tiered benches lining the gym. He glanced up to see the not-too-subtle amusement written on the faces of Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla; Colonel Carter's face was inscrutable. So that's how it's gonna be. Fine.

He let his gaze drift over Morgan's tense body.

"Doc, do you have any self-defense training? Hand to hand, weapons, anything?"

"Father thought I should, but Mother thought I should devote my time to my studies. They agreed that if I needed to, I would be making enough money to hire a bodyguard."

Evan frowned. The more he heard of her parents, the more he knew exactly why she was so screwed up. "Have you ever hit anyone?"

"No. It would serve nothing. Why would I do that?"

"Maybe because they were attacking you?"

"But that's why I'd have the bodyguard."

"And your bodyguard is where right now?"

Morgan looked around, her gaze finally settling back on him. She shrugged and began chewing her lower lip.

"I don't have one right now."

"Then you need to learn to protect yourself. We'll start with the basics. Let me see you throw a punch. Hit my hand."

Evan held up his right hand, palm to her, and Morgan complied. Her arm was too loose, the punch without force. "That was good but this time, do it as hard as you can." Morgan punched once more with only a slightly better result. Evan sighed. This was going to take a while.

Justinia knew she had disappointed Lorne in their first sparring match. She had seen the frustration in his eyes. She stepped into her room and put down the PDA, stripping off her sweaty clothes on her way into the bathroom. She turned on the water, setting it for hot, and stepped under the steaming spray. The nearly scalding water pulsed away a lot of her stress as it cleansed her, but she was still anxious as she stepped out and dried off, wrapping a towel around her hair and putting on her night shirt.

She walked over to the couch and sat down, opening her laptop to try to do some work. She was expanding on Dr. Beckett's research with the ATA gene therapy, trying to find a way to make the percentage of people who took to it higher than the current forty percent. She was focusing her research more on family lines than DNA strands, tracing back the ancestry of those who carried the gene the strongest and comparing them to those who did not possess the gene. In many cases, she had to make assumptions and fill gaps with hypotheses. Too many people in the modern world only knew who their grandparents were and maybe their great-grandparents, but no more.

Her own bloodlines could be traced back to early settlers in the British Isles. She had not needed the therapy. Unable to get him out of her mind, she punched Major Lorne's name into her database, sifting through a hundred or so Lornes in the USAF until she found him. Major Evan Lorne, attached to Space Command, stationed at Norad, and originally from San Francisco.

She typed his names individually into her database to trace their etymology and found his bloodlines could also be traced to the British Isles. His last name most likely came from Scotland, from the area around the Firth of Lorn on the west coast of that country. His first name was most definitely Welsh, but first names meant nothing usually. She would have to find out how Major Lorne had acquired the gene, whether he had been born with it or received the inoculation.

Evan let the water wash over his body. First the hot water to cleanse his skin and relax his muscles, then the cold water to calm other parts. Being so close to Doc Morgan and seeing the uncertainty and vulnerability in her eyes had him once more thinking of her in ways that made his body ache with need. Well, that and seeing how tight her shirt had been. The cold water was not enough but he stayed in the shower, trying to push images of Morgan out of his mind. Justinia. Damn it! He wanted to call her by her first name, wanted to call out to her while he buried himself in her, but a part of him was afraid his dick would fall off from frostbite.

Damn Colonel Carter and damn the IOA, anyway. He wanted to tell them exactly where to put their orders. He wanted to tell them to ship Morgan back to Earth. He wanted to tell them to beam her into the middle of a star. Unfortunately, Evan was a good soldier. He would do as he was told. Even if it put him through Hell on every mission. She was only here for a year. That was only another—Evan groaned—forty eight weeks, give or take. Evan searched his mind desperately, wondering how much leave he had saved up, realizing it was nowhere near forty eight weeks. He could always put in for a transfer, but he was stubborn enough that he would not let her chase him away. They would simply have to deal with it, make the best of it. After all, they would only see each other on missions. And for her training. And at de-briefings. Evan's mind, which had been calming down, went somewhere he didn't want it to with the word de-briefing and his softening cock began to harden once more. It was no use. He soaped up his hand, wrapped it around himself and slowly went insane as he jerked off.