Okay, so this is the next chapter.

Usual disclaimers… I don't own these people, or I'd have them locked up in a transporter for as long as it takes… which is probably about ten minutes…

Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 4

In His Dreams…

John Sheppard woke up in a tangle of sheets, sweat and arousal. He lay staring into the dark room, breathing heavily as his thoughts struggled to catch up with the fact that he was lying in his bed. The pillow under his head was soft and cool on his cheek, and his sheets were wrapped around his legs . He stretched out and freed his body from the sheets, and then let his body sag deeper into the mattress.

He'd been dreaming, an extremely vivid dream as his body could testify. He felt a strange bittersweet ache as he realised he was awake. And alone.

He'd been having an extremely stimulating dream about Elizabeth Weir of all people.

Not that John didn't have erotic dreams, just that Weir wasn't usually in them. He also couldn't recall ever having a dream that had felt as real. Most of his dreams were hazy concoctions involving the smooth, soft skin, good legs and other areas of some perfect female who would look at him with large, pleading, doe eyes and generally not say very much. They did not involve clever, petit, dark haired, women who could sometimes look straight into him with clever green eyes. Did he say clever? Yes his dreams did not usually require intelligence.

Dreams also didn't involve his boss. As a rule, he tried to avoid having erotic dreams about his commanding officers, it helped that most of them had been burly, hairy Air Force types and that biceps just didn't do it for him.

It didn't take a lot of effort for his thoughts to slide back into the dream. He could almost still taste Weir and feel how she had pressed her body against his...

He jumped out of bed. Don't go there, John-boy, he thought. He'd have to give his sub-conscious a good talking-to. A damn good talking-to. Having steamy, erotic dreams about Elizabeth Weir were not to be encouraged. He would not think about Elizabeth Weir in that way. Never. Ever.

The city systems had sensed that he was awake and had softly lit the room. He stepped into the shower, and turned the setting to cold, gasping as the needles of icy water struck his skin. Luckily showers hadn't figured in his dream, although it would have been extremely entertaining to pin Weir against the wall of the shower and....

He leant his forehead against the shower stall and groaned. This. Was. Not. Good. Think of something else. Anything. McKay's last briefing about some vacuum-energy thing to do with ZPMs. Weir had sat opposite Sheppard, her eyes wide and unfocused. He'd wondered at the time what was occupying her thoughts. He was almost one hundred percent certain she hadn't been listening, but somehow she had managed to ask the right questions when McKay had finally stopped. She had caught his eyes looking at her, and a small smile had flirted with her lips before she had refocused her gaze. Oh god, he remembered - her lips, softly parted and the way her tongue had…

Perhaps a session with Teyla in the gym would help work off some of this frustration. He made a mental note to book one with her when they met at the briefing later.

Stepping out the shower, he reached for a towel and dried himself off. The sensation of the towel on his skin reminded him of Weir's small, pale hands moving slowly across his body. He couldn't touch his skin it seemed, without feeling the memory of her. He looked at his hands, she had felt so incredibly real, her skin soft and toned, her ass…

Crap! The Wraith, think of the Wraith, and their pale, clammy skin and their bad breath.

He stood in front of the mirror, examining his face. At least his head didn't feel like it was going to explode or his eyes feel like they were dangling in front of his face on 10 inch stalks. He'd never had a hangover like the one he'd had yesterday. He'd never touch Athosian gin again. His hair, as usual was sticking out and his face was a field of bristle. He supposed he should shave. He stroked the skin just below his right ear.

Damn! The dream was back, he could feel whisper of Weir's breath as she softly moaned in his ear…

Throwing on his clothes he left the room and headed down the corridor toward the transporter. He needed to go and do something. His puddlejumper, he was sure, needed some maintenance. And if it didn't, he'd give it some maintenance anyway. It was still early for Atlantis, there were not many people about and the corridor was deserted. The soft, white light of early morning shone through the stained glass windows, scattering colors on the marbled floor. The transporter doors opened as he approached them and he stepped in, his eyes searching for and finding the hangars on the interactive map of the city.

"Hold on!" a voice called.

Oh crap. He leant against the transporter walls and closed his eyes. For a crazy second he was tempted to send the transporter on its way. He opened his eyes.

Weir burst into the transporter, ever so slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she panted slightly. Damn, she looked good. Damn he couldn't think like that. Damn. He felt his body tighten at the sight of her. Damn.

Suddenly, there was not enough oxygen in the transporter.

When she saw it was him, she stopped dead, her green eyes wide and huge. She looked shocked and pale - not the reaction he usually got from her. Usually, she smiled at him and, well, they had this thing with their personal space he and Weir. Today, she was as far away from him as she could get without actually leaping out of the transporter.

No wonder, he thought, it wasn't every day she came across her ranking military officer staring at her like he'd never seen a woman before in his life and panting in the transporter.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. But he was panting, he was sure of it.

"Doctor?" he tried to find some composure and settled for the tried and trusted method of being irrelevant and annoying, quirking an eyebrow at her and tipping his head slightly away from her. He tried a smirk, but that seemed to be beyond him.

"Major?" She was suddenly brisk and formal. "You were going somewhere?"

"Hmmm…" he said. "Er yes, the hangars. The puddlejumpers need some maintenance"

She frowned. "I thought they had a thorough inspection yesterday?" Her hand shot out, finding the control panel. She was heading for the command centre, he noted. He felt the slight jerk at the transporter kicked in.

"Er yes" He'd forgotten that. "But… erm… the air intake valve for the atmospheric engines on puddlejumper one was a little… erm… choked"

She looked at him suspiciously before turning her attention to a close scrutiny of the wall. He felt like he was 13 and had been caught, doing what 13 years old do...What a sleazebag he was, having thoughts like that about his boss. What kind of man did that make him? She was more than his boss, she was his friend. She was more than just a body, she had a fine mind and all he could think about this morning was pressing her against the side of the transporter.

Scum, he was scum.

Guilt plaguing him, he suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. He started to hum the song that had been playing in his head all morning.

Weir's head snapped round, "Major?" she squeaked.

"Doctor?" he said hoarsely. What the hell was up with her? She was as jumpy as a roomful of kittens.

"That tune…" she started.

"Fly me to the moon?"

"Yes"

"It was stuck, you know" he made a circular motion with his hand, "in my head"

"Oh" she turned back around.

Her next words took him by surprise. "Major, have you brushed your hair this morning?"

His eyebrows shoot through his forehead and hit the roof. His hair? She was talking about his hair? What was wrong with his hair? He was proud of his hair, he had a lot of it.

"Yes" he said, cautiously, looking at her closely. "Why?"

"It's a mess," she said primly, pursing her lips. "And while you're at it, you could do with a good shave."

The doors opened showing the quiet of the early shift command centre in front of them, and Sheppard was left his jaw hanging down somewhere near the floor as she walked out.