Hibernation11
Moira stared at him. John was pouting. Lower lip out, wet. Puppy dog eyes so sad but sparkling with love, merriment. He was a delicious mess. Hair sticking up at all angles on his head. Faint stubble lining his handsome face, strong jaw. Sweat trickling, tangling on his lean, muscled torso. In his dark chest hair. In the hair along his arms. "John..." she complained.
"Please, please, please, sweetheart! I'll do anything, give you anything, do everything you want just please, please let me have a picture of this!"
She laughed, sighed. Found him irresistible. Oh all right, sweetie!" she grumbled. "But I want a naughty picture of you in return."
"Whatever, sweetheart, thank you!" He leaned close, kissed her. Full of glee, almost giddy he bounced off the bed. "Don't move! Don't move that pert little ass, baby! Shit. Where's the camera?"
She laughed. "Third drawer. Mine. John, I want you in that white shirt, the linen one? And nothing else."
"Okay, give me a sec to find it. Don't move! Don't you move an inch, baby!" She laughed as he sprinted to his room. Admired the flexing of muscles along his thighs, his back, his rear.
Moira sighed fondly. Glanced behind her to see the rose petals sticking to her skin. Shook her head at his insistence, his enthusiasm. She watched him as he returned. The white shirt adorning him, unbuttoned, barely concealing his cock as he grabbed the camera. "John–"
"Don't move! Oh baby, you are so beautiful I ache for you. Hold still." He circled the bed, finding the right angle. "Okay. Wait." He moved to the bed, arranged the petals.
She shifted as his fingers moved along her rear, her lower back. "Only one, sweetie!"
"Whatever, baby. Okay." He stepped back from the bed. "Damn. Fuck that is sweet. Open your legs."
"What? No way, John!"
"Moira, it will be artful. Trust me. Open your legs just a little. Come on, baby, just a glimpse of that sweet, sweet center there oh fuck yes. Little more. A little more. There! Lift up a little, just a little oh God that is absolute perfection! So beautiful, so fudging lovely," he praised, voice lowering as he gazed raptly at her.
Moira flattened, closed her legs. Coloring as her body was reacting to him. "Enough!"
"Okay, baby, thank you."
She rolled onto her side. "John, you, no! You son of a bitch!" She sat, blushed as he lowered the camera with a smile. "Damn it!" She grabbed a blanket to cover herself, glaring at him.
He laughed. Moved to the bed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist...wait! One more, baby, to keep me warm at night when you are not here. Lower the blanket."
"No! I am not making a porno calendar for you!"
"No, we are making artistic, tasteful pictures. Please, baby. You know what I want. One more, Moira. Give it to me. Give me those fucking beautiful tits."
She sighed. "Fine, you pervert! Then it's my turn!" She considered. "Oh. I know what you want, you naughty boy." She mussed her hair, drawing it in front of her. Arranging it as she let the blanket fall to her lap. Licked her lips. Licked her finger, sucking to make it wet. She drew it down to one breast. To one rosy nipple peeking through the curtain of her hair. She circled it, making it wet. Hard. "Okay, sweetie. One shot." She bit her lower lip.
John was staring avidly. A moan escaping his lips. So aroused he nearly dropped the camera. "Fuck, er fudge. Oh! Oh, the camera!" He quickly took the picture. "Baby, you are giving me such a hard-on!"
"My turn!" She scrambled off the bed, wrapping the blanket around her. She grabbed the camera from him. Pushed him. "Get on the bed, flyboy!"
He laughed. "Yes, ma'am! Hell, I'm at half salute anyway," he jested.
She took a picture as he clambered on, his rear peeking out under the shirt as he moved. "That is one fine, fine ass you have there yourself, colonel."
"How do you want me, baby?"
"I wish you'd ask me that more often," she suggested with a smile as he sat, facing her. Draping the shirt over his arousal.
"I will. You'll need a wide angle lens if we don't finish this pretty quick," he teased, making her laugh. "I'm serious, Moira! You will need a wide angle lens for the magnificence that is John Sheppard."
"Or a zoom lens, sweetie?" She laughed at his playful scowl. "Can you guess what I want, John?"
"Besides me? Oh I think I can, baby. Artistic. No full frontal," he warned. He opened the shirt all the way down, but draped it to discreetly cover himself.
"Oh John," she pouted, "at least give me a peek of that ordnance."
"A peek? Fine, baby, but you better hurry before you get a full deployment." He moved the shirt a little. "There?"
"Yes, oh yes, John...do the lip. The lip makes me so hot."
"Yeah, I know that, baby. The weirdest things make you horny." He licked his lips, making his lower lip wet. Pouted. Shifted. Petals were stuck to his bare leg. His thigh. "Well?"
"Sorry, sweetie...you are so fucking beautiful I forgot what I was doing," she said, taking the picture. Her voice serious, soft. Making him smile.
He stared at her. The blanket draped around her, giving him enticing view of her naked body as she moved, changing the angle of the picture. "Enough, baby! This is getting serious now," he warned. "Moira, fudge me."
She laughed. Hastened to the dresser to set the camera down. Returned to the bed and stood looking at him. "Oh John, thank you! You are so gorgeous I want to crawl over every inch of you, sweetie. I want to kiss every inch of you!"
He smiled. Reclined in a sprawl. "Then come here, baby. Fudge me, Moira."
She laughed. "Are you kidding me? After that last exuberance I can barely feel anything!" But she pounced on him, making him groan, laugh. She draped the blanket over them, squirming along his body and kissed him. "John! Oh John, John. Whoa there, soldier!"
He laughed at her expression. "Hell yes, baby, reporting for duty. Here." He gently moved her off him. "I have to have that pert little ass, baby, I do. I want it so bad, so bad, please!" He kissed her, moving her up onto her knees. Moira turned to face the headboard as he moved right behind her. She grasped the piece of furniture. "John, John, I don't think this will hold. Hell, I don't think I can hold another–"
"You'll be fine, baby. Don't you worry." He ran his hands along her body. Kissing her shoulder, her throat. "I want you, Moira. Mine. Completely and utterly mine, to do with as I please. To pleasure you beyond anything we've done so far. To enslave you to my sexual desires."
She shifted, his low voice sexy, teasing her ear. His words erotic. She gulped. "Um, John..." She sighed in surrender as he ran his hands along her body again. Adjusting her stance, her hips. Squeezing her rear. Parting her thighs. He began to kiss her back. Slowly moving down her spine. Down and down.
Moira moaned, tensing, flooding at the dance of his lips across her skin, his fingers along her thighs, her pelvis. She arched as he neared her rear. Hands on her thighs, caressing, playing along her skin. Skimming her mound, her folds as he gently, gently bit. She cried out in a whimper of surprise, of lust. He thrust into her suddenly, groaning in delight, in relief, in hunger as she enfolded him. "John!" she cried, clutching the headboard, tensing.
"Easy, Moira, my Moira," he groaned, abruptly so hard he nearly came. A shudder coursed along him and he slowed a moment. "Fuck...okay, baby...here we go." He slid his hands up to knead, to clasp her breasts. Kissing her shoulder, her throat, nibbling as he began an increasing momentum. Thrusting deep, deep. Faster and faster.
Moira was squirming, moaning in pleasure as she clung to the headboard. John's energetic thrusts nearly lifting her off her knees, nearly shoving her into the wall. "John! Oh John, no, no, no, please, please, oh God, oh God!" she whimpered as one of his hands slid down to her mound. Teasing the cleft, rubbing until his long fingers delved, dove to what he sought.
"A double fudge for my Moira," he said, voice low, grunting with each thrust. "Moira! Fuck, Moira, oh God that is so sweet! Sweet and snug and wet and mine, all mine!"
"John! Oh John, John, how can you be so hard?" she gasped, astounded by his stamina, his lust, his sheer sexual appetite. She cried out repeatedly, soft, straining noises with each of his harder, faster thrusts. Swept away by the sexual intercourse. Her noises rising higher, higher as his fingers delved, probed at the same rhythm as his cock. Pleasuring her all over until she sobbed, melted. The climaxes nearly making her scream.
He groaned, grunting loudly. Her sounds making him hungrier, hungrier. Her tremulous voice and sobs a counterpart to his purely male sounds. Domination. Orgasm straining, straining to fill every inch of her, ply every fold, to keep fucking and fucking her until he burst inside her. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he growled, moaning as the sensations flooded. Shook him. "Moira! Moira, Moira!" he exulted as the orgasm hit. Spasms and shuddering nearly making him fall. But he only pushed harder, faster. Their mutual climaxes entwining, locking them into a frenzy.
"John!" Moira cried, sobbed. "Please, please, John oh John I can't I can't I can't John!" The pleasure was so intense it was verging on pain. He was so big, so long, still so hard, and his fingers were merciless, brutal.
Hearing her distress John slowed, slowed with an effort. He freed her, fingers sliding out of her. He erection was fading fast now, having crested and ridden wildly. Drenched in sweat like she was he breathed deeply of the sex heavy in the air. He pulled out of her, fell onto the bed beside her, collapsing. On his back. He pulled her down onto him. Rolled so she was beneath him. Kissed her repeatedly, mouth now as insistent as his cock had been.
Moira couldn't breathe. Tears blinded her. John's tongue was in her mouth, his kisses long, deep, as if he would devour her. His body heavy on hers. Hot. Sticky. Sweaty. She pushed, pushed. He relented, freeing her mouth but sprawled on top of her, catching his breath. Shifted some of his weight off her but not all. Head on her heaving breasts. Cock pressed to her crotch, refusing to allow her legs to close. "John..." she gasped.
"Not yet. Not yet." His voice was as raw as hers. But while hers held astonishment, even worry,, his held smugness. Satisfaction.
"John!"she complained. Weakly hitting his arm. "What are you trying to do to me? Fuck me to death? Go for twenty?"
He weakly laughed. "No to the first, maybe to the second. Damn!"
"John! John!" Moira didn't know what to say. Words failed her.
He kissed her. Rolled off her at last and wiped his sweaty brow. "Fuck! I mean fudge! Baby, I blame that pert little ass of yours. I can never get enough of it. And table sex...fuck that was hot! My balls ache, Moira," he complained, "and at least it's gone down for awhile. Fudge!"
Moira snuggled, needing comfort. But hit him suddenly. "I hate you, John! I hate you! Why do you do that to me? Why? My God, my God...you were so, so, so...." Words failed again as she blinked back tears.
John sighed. "I know." He slid his arm around her, kissed her brow. "Ssh, Moira. It's all right. We needed it. You. Me. To get past all of this shit, okay? A thorough and complete fucking. It's all right now, sweetheart."
"All right? How can it be all right?" she flared, lifting to glare at him. "You son of a bitch! I bet you do this to all of your lots some–"
"No. Only you get me so fucking hard and so damn horny I think I'll die if I can't have you as hard and deep as I need. So fucking lush," he muttered, drowsiness taking him.
"John!" She hit his arm. "Don't you dare fall asleep! Don't you dare–"
"Can't help it, baby, so hush now. You're in my arms. Safe. Secure. Pleasured beyond your wildest dreams. Sleep. We'll be fine, Moira. No more talk. Fudge. Just fudge..sweet, sweet fudge," he muttered, voice drawling as he fell into a heavy doze. Holding her close.
Moira snuggled, sniffling. Clinging to him as she yanked the blanket over them. "John, John, we can't keep having sex like this! We just can't, okay? Okay?"
His answer was a snort. A snore.
She sighed, upset even as her body exulted in the way he had taken her. The aggressive passion. The double orgasms. The driving need between them. She considered the maelstrom they had been through. All the confessions about their dark, guilty pasts. The betrayals that weren't really betrayals but still rankled. The horrible separation. The exuberant reunion. Their six-month anniversary. Their marriage. The love. The sex. The sex which even seemed to impress him, at times. She sighed again. Shook him. "John? John!"
"Strawberries, Moira," he muttered into her hair. Falling back asleep with snore. But his arm tightened on her, as if guessing her intention to flee.
Moira snuggled. As if she could hide herself against him. Erase the wild passion, the sheer sexual appetite they had indulged repeatedly. Working out all the stresses, the problems between them. Around them. He seemed to take it all in stride but she couldn't. It was too startling, too astounding. Confusing her, alarming her.
She pulled out of his arms, turned away from him to stare at the darkness. But he spooned against her, needing her snug against him even in sleep. His arm slid around her waist. His snores softly fluttering her hair. She touched his arm, caressing. Debating.
