This chapter was going to be part of the first, but it's all smut and quite long so I split them. Warning: Very Mature.
The Fifth Day of Lazarus
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Chap 1.5
Maureen's hand grabs at John's hair as the depth of her kiss increases, her heart yearning to get closer although there's no space between them as it is.
"I love you", he mutters against her, the words tracing over her skin, his lips refusing to pull back far enough to say it clearly. "I love you, I love you"
She sighs, and then leans away gently, a faint John on her breath as she forces her eyes open to look at him. "Show me", she whispers.
This time she is ready for the way his body launches against her balance and all but pulls her back onto the bed.
They have made love since reuniting in the tar pit - frenzied and frantic the night after they crashed on this planet, the preceding two weeks like a blur of constant panic. Perhaps they should have sorted out more - had a longer and deeper discussion about what exactly went wrong and why they fell apart with a whimper - but by omission they have both decided it doesn't matter enough to disrupt this fragile and happy path forward. John moved into this bedroom and they sleep peacefully side-by-side, and though nothing else has happened bar that emotionally charged night, time is a healing thing, and their living arrangements give them perspective. The battles they are facing now, together, are bigger and more important than the tiny incremental ways that Earth hurt them. The apologies and explanations in the Chariot, and all that came after, were enough for their hearts to start to learn each other again.
They both got on the Resolute; they both crash landed here on the Water Planet; they both decided they will resume their life together no matter the cost, their family whole again, learning from the mistakes they made and hoping never to repeat them. This time, neither is going anywhere, even if they could, and that's what matters most.
They have made love since reuniting, but this still feels like a first, and Maureen knows they have wiped the slate clean with this simple act of devotion, rings exchanged, ready to begin again.
John's body covers hers just heavily enough to press her against the mattress, and she relishes the feel of the entire length of him slotting into familiar places at familiar angles. She plucks at his tee-shirt to pull it up his back, sighing at the feel of his warm skin under her palms.
"The door", he mutters.
"Locked", she replies. She took care of that much earlier.
"You really do think of everything", he says with a smirk, his voice so low it's filthy. She smirks right back, because he's right.
"Almost everything", she says, moving her hands off him so he can pull his tee-shirt over his head and flick it away. His eyes find hers in askance. "I certainly didn't think we'd end up like this when we boarded the Resolute"
"Some things change", he says with a shrug.
She shifts her hips up against him, feeling the start of his erection press against her, and he groans in that delicious, familiar way. "Some stay the same", she replies with a smirk. Her fingers play at the elastic of his trackpants and he takes the hint without question, pulling them down and off and flinging those away too, and then he's naked, kneeling above her, and she can't remember the last time she was this content.
Her hand traces down his chest, the shape of muscles and scars a little changed with time but the feeling still the same. His hands run over her thighs where they frame his hips and her skin tingles with the unfamiliar sensation of being touched where few people see. She imagines what she must look like to him, splayed out before him dressed only in her black nightie, willing and a bit wanton, and wanting him so badly she almost aches with it. She imagines it's quite a sight, and that makes her smile.
"You know", he says, his hands continuing their slow worship. "No matter what planet we're on, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen"
Maureen knows she's attractive - he used to tell her so all the time - but it still affects her more than she expects to hear him say it to her again. She runs her hands over his chest and stomach, and then lower.
"You're not so bad yourself", she says back, the look on her face belaying the casual flirtatiousness of her tone. He's always been one of the most handsome men she's ever met, though he doesn't care to peacock about it too much. Just so long as he's impressing her, that's all that matters. She used to be better at telling him that he did impress her, frequently; she promises herself that she'll get good at it again.
John takes her hands off him and pushes them down into the bedding by her head, leaning his weight over her to kiss her, smirking at the touch of her tongue in the kiss. "You'll get your turn", he says. "But first let me savour this"
She sighs in agreement and then moans into his kiss, her whole body on fire, and it's not often she gives over control to someone else but John Robinson making love to her has always been one of the places she does. If only for a little while, at least. He likes to impress her and she likes to let him.
Maureen shuffles as his hands slowly start to push her nightie up, and she moves her body piece by piece so she's never not underneath him, her hands obediently remaining by her side while he licks and nips and kisses each inch of skin revealed. He pulls her underwear off as she's pulling her nightie over her head, and then she's completely bare too, the both of them panting with lust. He kisses her sternum and whispers beautiful into her skin. She gives up her barley and buries her fingers in his hair.
It's been years since they did this properly, and there was never anyone else in the picture while they were stuck in marriage purgatory. She wishes she could remember the last time between them, but it had been an ordinary night, before the letter arrived and shattered everything. Back when they had ordinary nights. It had been an ordinary, perfectly nice frolic in their bed back on Earth, just because they could, nothing remarkable about it, their movements practiced and satisfying. She can't even remember what day it was.
It doesn't matter now anyway.
John's hands trace over her skin, playing her body, because he still knows it so well. She holds him close to her because she likes the feeling of his skin against hers, his weight above her proving this is real. Other nights he might indulge her with his mouth all over – or she with him – and draw this out longer, but tonight they want it like this; his kisses never dipping lower than the underside of her breast while his hands work to ensure she will be ready for him. She's already close before his fingers even dip inside her.
And then he's leaning over and seeking out her eyes –asking if she's ready and willing without ever opening his mouth.
"Yes", she whispers, pulling him down to kiss the breath from his lungs as he enters her and steals her own. The memory of this – the long-held knowledge that the two of them feel amazing together – doesn't compare to the reality of experiencing it again. Her eyes catch sight of her left hand clutching his shoulder, the ring still an unfamiliar weight but looking like it belongs there, and a wave of serenity washes over her. This is how they always should have been. This is the piece that's been missing all this time. The two of them, not just together, but together, John and Maureen, the unit, the union, the team. They respect each other as individuals, but she has always marvelled at who they are when there's no space between them at all. They are better like this.
John's breath his heavy against her shoulder, not making a sound as he settles his weight over and inside her, getting used to the feeling again. Maureen wants to encourage him to move, to go, to touch, but doesn't want to send the wrong message that she's scratching an itch, and she wants this to last more than she wants it to end. Instead she runs her hands over his shoulders, his back, up into his hair and down over his ass; runs her feet up and down his calves and hooks one knee over the jut of his hip. And then she stays there creating friction out of no movement at all. The moments in between are when she feels the hottest – the clench of her muscles around him, the press of him against her; it's in the spaces of stillness that she feels most alive, greater than the sum of their parts. Fuck you, entropy, she thinks, and then they move.
He was always damn good at this, but he is also a good listener. He knows all of her sounds, the hitch of her breath just so, the moan she covers by biting her bottom lip. They've been parents for a long time and always had small children around – they know how to keep quiet enough not to get caught, and damned if she's going to break that record just because they're a million billion miles from where they started. But god, he doesn't make it easy.
Yet Maureen has always been an excellent student, and if there is one topic she delights in, it is John Robinson's body. Every trick she knows – every change of angle, or sweep of her tongue against his neck, or scratch of her nails along his back not quite hard enough to mark him – gets trotted out tonight like she's proving a point. Like she's reminding him it's her turn now, too. She can pinpoint the exact moment she begins to overwhelm him, because she feels him hum through his chest. And then he tightly grabs hold of her thigh, pressing it higher for leverage, hooks his forearm under the small of her back, and in one well-practiced manoeuvre spins them over so that she's straddling him as he flops gracelessly onto his back beneath her. In the process he slides out of her, but she quickly fixes that.
And then she's sitting above him, his smirking and contented face looking up at her, his hands still tracing all over the newly exposed parts of her, and the pace changes again. John wants her to go over first – he always does – and he likes being able to watch it happen. He also wants her to work for it; use his body in the best possible way.
Maureen realises all of these things at the same time, with a feral grin.
And so she does, and throws her head back when his hands wander – to caress and pinch and roll her flesh exactly how she needs it while she rises and falls above him. She plants her hands on his pecks and rounds her back, head bowed forward and breath panting between parted lips; she sits back up, and when she does, takes one of his hands from her breast and directs it lower. He doesn't need any further instructions. Time stops existing for a moment as she climbs, and when she shatters she keeps her eyes on him until they flutter shut of their own accord.
He rocks her gently back down, but they're not done yet. Her wide, delighted smile tells him they aren't done – the sweat is cooling on her back, but it won't take long to feel warm again when she gets him exactly as she wants him. Her hands trace over his chest; his length is still hot and hard inside her.
John wraps a hand around her back and uses the other to push himself to a seat, bringing his mouth level with her clavicle, and he kisses across her chest and neck in quiet worship. Maureen's eyes close, and both her hands card into his hair to hold him there, or pull him away, she's not sure. When he pulls back enough to meet her eye he looks hungry.
"Turn us back over", she whispers to him.
There's a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. It's not a request.
So he does.
Holding her hips tightly into him with one arm, he thrusts up with a grunt of effort and spins them both over, mindful of where the headboard and edges of the bed are, as he lands them back the way they started. Maureen gasps and plants her mouth against his shoulder at the hard sensation – almost too hard, but she asked for this – her knees staying high on his ribs and her ankles wrapping over the small of his back. This time he doesn't slip out. The sudden press inside when he lands above her, and the feeling of being manhandled like she hasn't been since they were younger, has her swallowing a groan as her teeth press into his flesh. She can hear his answering pants by her ear, his face buried in the pillow by her head while he collects himself.
"Sweet moves", she whispers. She's grinning to the ceiling with one hand clutching at his hair. He huffs once, like a laugh, and then props himself up above her.
"Thanks", he replies. He must see another retort forming on her lips because he kisses her before she can say it, effectively putting an end to their banter until he can get her off again and then finish the way his body is crying out for. He pulls away from her lips and gains his leverage.
"Want to show me some more?" she asks, grinning.
He takes great pride in the way her eyes roll back and the grin wipes from her face at the feeling of his first thrust inside her. This time he moves hard and steady, finding their favourite rhythm with ease. She's close, but she thinks he might be closer, and he doesn't flinch when she moves one of her hands down between them to help even the odds. They've done this a thousand times before and aren't particularly interested in getting adventurous tonight; there's time enough for that later, and they've gone past the point of no return now. She works herself exactly how she needs to, relishes John above her, and quickly approaches the crest and fall that has her sighing contentedly beneath him.
"Did you-?" he grunts, not once easing his pace.
"Yeah"
He makes another non-descript sound as he concentrates on letting go. She rests her feet flat against the back of his thighs and her hands on his back. Feels the sweat of their bodies and the small shocks of pleasure still jolting through her as, with a stutter, his relentlessness falters and he buries his face into the pillow near her ear to cover the groan of pleasure he can't hold back. She can't wipe the smile from her face.
Oh yes, she thinks. This is how we always should have been.
It takes them a long while to move, and when they do it's not far from each other. Everything feels hot, and sweaty, and tingly, and she loves it, but they have to sort themselves out before they can't move at all.
John catches his breath and leans up above her to meet her eye. "How were those sweet moves?"
She can't stop the laugh the bounds forth unbidden and unbridled, not concerned in the least if anyone hears her at this point. She runs her hands over his shoulders as her answer, her smile wide and deeply happy. He rolls off her with a grunt and she immediately moves with him, the two of them settling into the bed with her practically draped over his chest, laying on her stomach and propped on her elbow to look at him. John tucks her hair behind her ear and they take the moment.
"Do you think we win for the most remote place to renew our vows?" he asks, trying to play it cool, though she knows he is quite overcome by the gesture of tonight.
Ordinarily she would tease him right back – say some remark that makes her seem the colder one, the more practical one – but sometimes, when she needs him to know just how deep her affection runs or how seriously she takes something, Maureen becomes the sombre one to his clown, her still waters running deeper than most people give her credit. Sometimes, on days like today and nights like this one, she feels like she can't ever fully express to him just what he means to her.
She's always been aloof. With John she has always been determined to try harder not to be.
"I'm just glad we got a chance to say them", she says softly, looking him in the eye. There is more she'd like to say, or perhaps more where that came from; that she's sorry they broke apart so easily; that she knows she kept him at arm's length longer than she wanted to; that she always loved him despite the distance. And maybe John has his own list of regrets to match, or maybe he doesn't think it's important anymore, but his eyes reflect his understanding and she can see the echo of her sorrys written in the furrow of his brow, just so.
Her hand reaches out and she traces that one wrinkle at the top of his nose with the tip of her finger. He closes his eyes at the feeling.
"I meant every word", says John softly.
"So did I", she returns on a whisper.
This planet is one hell of a second chance, but neither of them is willing to waste it.
He folds her closer to him, pulling her on top of his chest, and she closes her eyes and breaths in deep, burying her face against his neck, letting this memory settle inside her where all their other happiness lives. Where all their future happiness will one day rest as a treasured memory, this sorry planet and their journey off it a story they can recall in their old age, she's sure.