Kin Recognition12
Moira caught John's arm before they reached the inhabited part of the city. She hugged him, torn between happiness and worry. "John! Oh John, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I put you into this untenable position! You should have told me! You should have let me go!"
"Never." He kissed her, met her sorrowful gaze. "I don't regret any of it, Moira. Nor should you. Except having to tell you. I hate upsetting you, sweetheart."
"Then don't keep things from me, John," she retorted. Sighed. Kissed him. "Let's go. You to yours to sleep. Me to mine to clean up and get a few things. Then I'll meet you in yours, okay?"
"Moira," he said, her resigned tone upsetting him, "it doesn't have to be this way. We can–"
"Can what? Act like we're together? I don't think so, John, not after what you've told me."
"And that's why I didn't want to tell you!" he complained, frowning.
"You should have!" she retorted, but sighed again. Leading him into the hallways. "And it isn't even your fault, is it? All these stupid rules and stuff. John, why is it so very different now? Now that we're married as opposed to being lovers? Because of the legal paperwork?"
"Yeah. But those restrictions were easier to circumvent when we weren't hitched." He caught her hand, stopping her. "Moira, come with me now. To mine."
"No, John." She freed her hand, moved to her room.
John sighed. Cursed to himself. Moved to his room. He sat on the bed, removed his shoes. Weariness washing over him. Physical. Emotion. His muscles protested, suddenly sore now that the euphoria of the sexual pleasure was fading. He smiled, however, recalling Moira's boldness, her exuberance. Her love and desire for him. He pondered what to do. How to make her happy again, to divert her from this topic.
Moira headed to John's room. Bag slung over her shoulder. Tray in her hands. Thoughts and emotions scattered, struggling between happiness, worry. Between elation and anger.
"Moira! Moira, have you seen John?" Rodney asked, hastening to walk beside her. Glanced with curiosity at her bag, the tray laden with food and drink.
"Yes."
He waited. Frowned. "Well?"
"He's in his room. Resting. Recovering from the mission."
"Oh. His room," Rodney tested. "Interesting. Not yours."
"No. Why would he be in my room?" she snapped. "He's in his."
"No, I meant his, not ours?"
"Yours? You have a room with John? Funny, he didn't mention that," she sarcastically noted.
"No! No, I meant you! You and John! If you still have separate rooms you can't be married, or even engaged, right? I knew he was pulling my leg! I knew it! There's no way Carson is getting his five dollars even if John is trying to connive some kind of prank on me to–"
"Yes, Rodney, it's all about you! This whole thing is all about you! John's a riot, isn't he? Excuse me!"
Moira stomped into John's room. Shut the door behind her. Had to smile as she set the tray on the table. John was sprawled on his back on his bed. Limbs flung in every direction. Clothes askew from their earlier activities. Snoring softly. She smirked, staring at his handsome face. Disheveled hair. Stubbled jaw. Handsome form in repose. The strong, lean lines of his body. Muscles relaxed. Long arms. Long torso. Long legs. She moved to the bathroom to set down her bag. Returned to sit on the bed. Touched his arm. Ran her fingers through his hair. "John? John?" she whispered into his ear. Kissed his full lips. Circled his ear.
John stirred, snorted. Smiled. "Moira?"
"Who else? No, don't answer that, flyboy. Wake up, would you?"
He opened his eyes. "Hey, baby," he said sleepily.
She smiled. Sighed happily. "Oh John...you look so gorgeous, so deliciously unkempt. Good enough to eat. I should have brought some chocolate to dribble on you so I could nibble. No, I should have brought caramel sauce. To dribble and then lick every drop."
His smile broadened. "Moira...damn, baby...sounds good to me. But first I need a–"
"Beer? On the table."
He sat. "Wow. And a–"
"Turkey sandwich? Done. And you need to get cleaned up, colonel. You're a mess. I'll start the bath for you, shall I?"
He stared as she stood, moved to the table. Stole some French fries from his plate and entered the bathroom. He sprang off the bed, moved to the table. "Moira, you know me so well." He drank the beer. Devoured the food, suddenly ravenous. "Moira!" he called round a mouthful, "did you eat?"
Moira came out of the bathroom. Hair loose. Water was running noisily as it filled the tub. "Yes, John. I couldn't wait. I was starving!" She snagged some more fries.
He smiled, raised a brow. "Are you sure you ate?"
She snagged some more. Took a sip of his beer. "Ick. Yes." She returned to check the bath.
"Moira, I found the rings. I'll show you later, okay? Oh crap. We have to talk about that."
She came back out to snag more fries. "Talk about what?"
He smiled. "About how you should be naked in that tub waiting for me. If you love me you would be, Moira," he added, giving her a suggestive look.
"Oh. Okay."
"Wha..." He stared after her as she disappeared into the bathroom. He finished his meal quickly. Downed the beer in hasty swallows. Stripped to his boxers, tossing his clothes carelessly onto the floor. He entered the bathroom. The low lighting was soft, golden. The scent of lavender and jasmine tickled his nose. The bathtub was full of bubbles.
Moira was seated in the water. Back to him as she pinned up her hair. "Hope it's not too girly for you, flyboy," she teased.
He smiled. Stripped off the boxers. "Very girly. I do not want to smell like flowers."
She laughed. "Then I guess I'll bathe alone. They don't have a P90 scent."
"They should." He got in behind her. Sat and grabbed her. She squealed his name as he pulled her onto his lap, laughing as water flew everywhere. "Ah baby, yes oh yes! Squirm, Moira, squirm that pert little ass on me!"
"John!" she laughed, settled on him as the warm water and bubbles soothed. "How's that?"
He kissed her shoulder, reclined to rest his back on the warm tub. "Ah...my body aches, Moira. This feels good. That pert little ass is making me ache in a different way, though."
"Clean up, soldier!" She scooted off him, turning to face him. Only her shoulders and the tops of her breasts were visible as the soap suds concealed her. Her hand ran along his thigh. He moaned. She kissed him, straddled him. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer, closer as he lifted her to see the suds course down her breasts.
"Ah baby, baby, I want to lick every inch of you. Every fucking inch."
Her eyes widened, feeling him beneath her. "John? You–"
He nodded. "Oh yes, Moira. I could take you here, right now. I could take you just like this, or underwater." She slipped off him, dunked him. "Hey!" he spluttered, splashing out of the water as she laughed. Suds streamed down his hair, his face.
"Oh John! I think I like you wet too!" she teased. Scooting but he ran his hand up her thigh. Between her legs. "John!"
"Ah yes, damn..." He kissed her. Tongue probing as his fingers did the same. Making her squirm, churn the waters around them. "My Moira. I cannot wait to get inside you. To bring you over and over and over."
She shoved his hand off her. Touched his chest. "Get clean, solider."
"I'd rather be dirty, baby. Very, very dirty. Stand up. Please. Please, Moira." His green eyes sparkled with merriment, with desire.
She frowned. "You know I hate it when you look at me like–"
"Oh, I know. I know." He smiled. Tilted his head in a flirtatious manner. Voice low. Possessive. Endearing.
"You are such a son of–"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just stand up for me, baby."
She sighed. Kissed him. Stood slowly. John watched intently, his gaze smouldering, sensual. Raking over her as water and suds dripped from her naked skin. Slid from her breasts, her waist, her hips, between her legs, her thighs, her rear as she turned away, turned back. Knowing what he wanted, what he liked but uncomfortable nevertheless. "John..."
He scooted to her. Cupped his hands full of water as he stood. Dripped the water over her breasts, then between her legs, rinsing the suds. Moira shifted, aroused, embarrassed. Body tightening in response. Allured by the sight of his own naked body doused in water and suds. Soapy bubbles sparkling in the dark hair of his chest, his arms, his legs, between his legs where his obvious interest in her protruded. He moved to his knees, splashing water. "Moira," he growled. He kissed up her wet thigh. Higher. Higher.
"John, no, John, oh John," she whimpered, losing her breath as his mouth slid across her wet skin. Sliding intimately, licking the water. Sucking. Caressing the folds as he searched. She shoved him back, almost fell but he was standing now, dripping wet. Pulling her against him, against his very hard erection. Kissing her hard, deep. Hands sliding, slipping round to squeeze her rear. She squirmed, moaned. Thighs parting. "John! John, John, oh John!"
He stepped out of the tub, taking her with him. "Wrap."
"We need to dry off before–"
"Wrap!" he ordered, hoisting her up and onto the counter so suddenly she grabbed his arms, shoulders. Nearly squealing. Her feet flew off the floor.
"John!" she gasped, wrapping her legs around him as he kissed her. Hard. Ran his stubbled skin roughly over her throat to her earlobe. To gently bite, startling her again. She murmured, squirming as he nibbled down her throat. Ran his tongue down to her wet breasts. Sucking. Licking. The rough texture of his tongue playing over her sensitive nipples. She arched, moaning, whimpering. Tensing in the surrender to his possessive, aggressive demands until he bit, pulled, bit again. "Ow!"
He pulled back, freeing her nipple. Smirked. "Sorry," he said gruffly, sounding more amused than contrite. He entered her with a hard thrust. Moira squirmed, slipping on the counter, falling backwards but John grabbed her rear, squeezed. Thrusting into her. Kissing her repeatedly until he broke away to groan loudly.
"John! Ssh! Oh John!" she cried as the friction mounted, mounted.
Thrust after thrust, pounding her into the counter until he grunted. Slid out of her. "Hold on."
"You oh!" He lifted her, carried her to the bed. Dropped her onto it. She scrambled but he moved over her, on her, in her as he took her again. "John! Oh John!" She tried to lower her voice, becoming inarticulate as he created a swift momentum. The bed rocking under them.
"Come on, come on, baby, you always come oh God that is so sweet! Fuck me, Moira, as tight as you can, baby, harder!"
"Quiet! John, geez, what is your oh John, almost, John!" she gasped as he thudded into her. Moira grabbed onto him. Her mouth sliding down his throat as he thrust, thrust, coming in a shudder. "John! John!" she whimpered, muffling her voice on his skin. Nearly crying out in excruciating longing until the orgasm slammed into her. Pleasure sharpened, swirling. She cried out repeatedly as he thrust, thrust, taking her with ruthless precision now. Groaning in relief as he came. "John! John, please!" she whispered, writhing.
John smiled, unable to stop. He slid his fingers under her, hoisting her up, up as she arched, clawing at his arms uselessly. Grabbing her rear, sliding all over her. Finding every spot to give her maximum rushes of sensation, even as he filled her, as she took all of him into her. Shuddered with the crash of release. He freed her, let her drop to the bed. Fell upon her with a long, satisfied moan of pure male possession. "Ah fuck! Fucking sweet, my Moira. So much for being quiet, baby, damn. I couldn't stop. Those sounds you make. They keep me going, so fucking hard. So lush...I want to take every inch of you, baby."
Moira hit his arm as he lay upon her. "Damn it, John! Don't make me so loud! What the hell was that? All that, that biting and you, you, you–" she spluttered, hot and flustered. Body thrumming with sexual pleasure, satisfaction.
He lifted. Kissed her. A slow, loving kiss as he slid out of her. He leaned to fling a blanket over their wet, naked bodies. "Shut up, Moira. You loved every single second of how I took you." He moved half over her. Held her close, settling. "God I'm so tired," he sighed. Smug.
"Damn it, John! Must you always push and push!" she complained. Hit him again. "You make me so–"
"Satisfied? I bring you climax after climax, baby, and I will again." He rolled onto his back, pulled her on top of him. "I still want to tie you up and go down so deep you'll–"
"No!" She squirmed, but settled as he kissed her brow. Arm holding her in place. "Will you put that damn ordnance away, colonel?"
He laughed. Enjoying her chagrin. "Hell no, Moira. My mercurial Moira. Such a fantastic fuck too."
"Shut up, John! You, you...you..."
"I leave you speechless, don't I, baby? You've never had such blissful pleasure in your life, have you? Go to sleep. You are staying here tonight. My wife. My bed. Mine."
She moved but his arm tightened on her. "John! You, you–"
He kissed her. "As much as I enjoy your squirming, baby, it's time to go to sleep. Intense, escalating passion and sex, Moira. Have you noticed if hasn't stopped? Ever since the wedding we've been having the most intense orgasms."
"You, you...you..." she stammered, still overcome, astonished by his seductions. His skills. His male possession of her repeatedly.
"Moira, sleep." He closed his eyes. "You can hate me later, baby. If you can walk, that is," he snorted his amusement.
"Hilarious, John! What the hell was–"
"Sex, as you so helpfully explained to me earlier. Oh! Didn't I tell you? It's bring Moira Sheppard to tears of ecstasy night. And we've only just started."
She sighed, but happily. Snuggled as he rolled onto his side, pulling her close to him. She kissed him, closing her eyes. "Oh! The rings?"
"Later, baby. Sleep." He was already drifting into a pleasantly drained slumber.
"Sweetie...John...you..." She fell silent, secure in his arms. In his bed. In his love.