Conditioned Aversion6
Moira turned in the lobby of the quaint, rustic hotel. John hastened to her, coat all but drenched in the sleety downpour. Water dripped from the luggage he handed to the bellhop. "John?"
"Thanks." He stepped past her, smiled at the female receptionist who was ogling him. "We've booked a private room. O'Meara." He glanced at Moira. She raised a brow in question at the use of her maiden name, but said nothing. He smiled at her.
"Oh, yes, sir, our very best suite," the woman purred. "Doctor O'Meara, here are your key cards for room 7 on the third–"
"She's Doctor O'Meara," John smoothly corrected, taking the cards. "I'm just her boy toy. Thanks." He gestured for the bellhop to go ahead of them.
Moira laughed, followed the two men as they climbed the stairs.
Once in the small but cozy suite Moira took off her coat, turned as John followed the bellhop to the door. "Here. Thanks, and here," he handed the skinny man a hundred dollar bill, "make certain we are not disturbed. When we want something we will call you. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!" the bellhop happily agreed, taking the money.
John closed the door, turned to see Moira frowning. "What? It seemed classier than putting a sock on the door, or the Do Not Disturb sign."
She laughed. "Hilarious, John." She gazed around the room. "This is nice." A spacious bed dominated. Furnishings were in burnished wood, rustic but very expensive. Crimsons and browns lent a warmth to the room. She sat in a chair near the window, removed her boots.
John removed his coat. Sat to pull off his boots. "Are you hungry? We can order room service. Whatever you want," he offered.
"No. I'm not hungry, but if you are then go ahead."
"Not for food." He rubbed his jaw, winced as he experimentally moved his torso. Anticipating more vigorous, flexible motions.
Moira stood suddenly. She carried the bag to the side of the bed, flung her scarf over the opening. She perched on the edge of the bed, watching John as he stood. A fluid, graceful motion. He was staring fixedly at her. Gaze wandering up and down her body. Moira eyed the floor, nervous. "Um, John...I...don't be alarmed. I mean, I sort of...I slipped. Back into some of my old, um, habits. This last month was very difficult for me. I knew it was irrational and stupid but I couldn't help myself. I fell back into some of my old ways to relieve the stress, the fear, the loss, the fear of loss. I was afraid you were lost to me, John, and no one would tell me," she admitted softly, voice wavering. Tears falling in a sudden wave of repressed emotion.
John moved to her. Soft, slow steps. He touched her shoulder. "I, um, sort of did the same...but I swear, I swear to you I didn't mean to, I lost you, Moira. I couldn't find you and I...I'm here now, sweetheart, I'm here now," he backpedaled, uncertain. Dreading her reaction.
"I'm sorry, John! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She sprang to her feet, hugging him tightly as sobs escaped her at long last.
He held her close. Kissing her brow, taking her sorrow, her dread, her sheer relief. "Moira, you don't have to apologize, ever. Ssh, I'm here now. I'm here now...Moira...don't leave me," he muttered into her hair.
"I'll never leave you, John," she assured, pushing back a little to see his face.
He kissed her, cutting off their words. His mouth capturing hers, controlling as he soothed, calmed. But a different emotion was rushing, rushing. Not just lust but love. He wanted, needed her. Craved her love, her sympathy as his own demons clawed at him. "Moira," he said low into her ear. "I want you."
"John, oh John," she said earnestly, kissing him over and over. Pulling at his clothes, his body. She couldn't get close enough to him. Wanted only to drown in him, under him. She unbuttoned the flannel shirt. Ran her fingers over his chest, waist. Gently, seeing the bruises, the cuts. "John..." Desire was halted by concern.
"I'm fine," he said tersely. Her fingers soft, teasing. Her love washing over him but it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed all of her, to be entwined with her as intimately as he could be. He pulled her against him, kissing her passionately. Freed her hair from the ponytail holder. Ran his fingers through the swirling softness as his mouth devoured hers. He stepped back to slid up her shirt, to pull it off over her head as she assisted. He smiled at the dark green satin bra. "Moira."
His low tone was serious, raw. Made her body flood with desire, melt. She ran her fingers down to his belt. To unbuckle. To undo, unzip his pants. She slid her hand into the parted fabric and encountered him as he sprang to meet her. "Oh! My oh my, colonel...full deployment already?"
He smiled at her teasing, but groaned as she ran her fingers delicately along him. "Three months, baby. Careful there." He gently moved her hands away to pull down his pants. To step out of them. Smirked at her delight at his green checkered boxers. "Green still works, then?"
"Oh John!" she enthused happily. Making him shake his head in amusement. Love. She smiled. Kissed him but stepped away to remove her jeans. She turned away to wiggle out of them. Lean provocatively as the green panties encased her rear. She looked over her shoulder to see his gaze fixated there. "Pert little ass still does it for you, sweetie?"
He grinned. "Absolutely, baby. Fuck." As she turned to face him his gaze roved, roved. A hunger was asserting itself wildly now. "Moira, you are so beautiful," he commented hoarsely. He caught her arms. Moved her to the bed. Moved her upon it, kissing her. Catching the straps of her bra to pull down, down. To free her breasts. Touching, caressing. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, mouth quickly, quickly following.
Moira squirmed, scooting up the bed. Arching at his seductions. "John, oh John..."
He slid up to catch her mouth again. Hands rushing to her hips. Sliding the panties down, down, off as she bent her legs to aid him. She pulled him back up to her mouth as he pulled down his shorts, moaning as his erection throbbed, throbbed. "Love me, Moira, love me. I need your love, I need all of you, I won't let go," he wooed. Kissing her. Mouth moving across her cheek to nibble her earlobe. To gently bite. To lick behind her ear.
Moira squirmed wildly, arching and whimpering as each sensation was intense. His hands roaming her body, his mouth following. Touching, stroking. Every part of her longing for him, needing him. "John! Oh John, John...please, please...oh John!" Her hands slid over his arms, sides, back. She cried out as he sucked her hard nipples, gently nipping. Her fingers tightened on him, clutching as he was probing her opening now. "John!"
He paused, catching his breath, about to come before he even entered her. Felt her need, her arousal as vibrant as his. Her nails raked him as he kissed down to the scar on her side. Ran his tongue straight to her mound, nibbling until she cried out, squirming, thighs parting wider. Lifting to welcome him. He breathed in the scent of her, took in the taste of her. Slid up and entered with a loud groan. Paused in sheer ecstacy as she tightly enfolded him, clenching. Hot and wet stroking as he pulsed, thrust. A spasm took him. "God!" he groaned, forcing himself to slow down. "Moira...my Moira! I can't...I want to go slow but I can't...I need you, baby, I need to be so fucking deep inside you."
"It's all right, John, take me! Take me now!" she insisted, pulling at him. Eyes wide at the sexual sensations. She had forgotten how big, how long, how hard he could be. After three months it was shocking but arousing. Pleasurable.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth he thrust hard, hard. Groaning loudly. She cried out as the spiraling rush to climax began. Faster, faster as he filled her repeatedly. He lost himself in the physical need, elation. Grunting in pleasure as he moved faster, harder. Rocking the bed now with his energy, his hunger. But it wasn't enough, even as the pleasure spiraled, spasm after spasm with each deep motion of his cock inside her. "Fuck! Oh fuck! Moira, my Moira, I have to, I have to...oh fuck you are so sweet, so tight, harder now! Squeeze me, baby, all the way!"
Moira arched, tense, unable to stop clutching, clenching as she was rocking wildly along with the bed. Taking in all of him as she lifted, knees bent, bracing her feet as he pounded, pounded into her. She cried out as the rush of pleasure shook her. The climax slamming into her ruthlessly as he rubbed every target, achieved every goal with determined insistence. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she sobbed, writhing. Nails clawing his back as the orgasm exploded.
John felt a tidal wave of pleasure, of sudden release as her cries, her murmurs, her helpless whimpers finally gave way to the oh John litany he craved. He needed. Her pulsing and tightening only driving his own. He thrust and thrust, still rock hard. Faster, faster, unable to stop even as he came in a shudder. He kept thrusting, groaning and swearing. Straining into her now as each delicious sensation enveloped him.
Moira cried out again as another burst of pleasure blossomed. Shook her. "John! John!" she almost shouted, melting under him. Constant pleasure, constant friction making her tremble. The bed rocking wildly as he seemed unstoppable. Seemed to need more and more. She realized he was going beyond the needs of sex, of lust. Thrusting out his own despair, his own guilt, whatever demons haunted him. Tormented him. She held onto him, moaning, taking it all. Giving him everything she could to take away the pain, the guilt, the remorse. She gently kissed his brow, his lips when she could.
John was lost in sexual bliss. Then release. Sweet release. Then absolution as he took her. Claimed her. Cleansed himself. Her love washing over him. Her passion. Love making him whole again, freeing him from all thoughts, all guilt for a little while. Finally he slowed, slowed. Felt tears and fell upon her as he jerked, ejaculated inside her. Groaned with the last shudder. Drained.
Moira lost her breath, relaxed as he finally, finally stopped. She blinked back tears. Earlier tears of sorrow, relief. Tears of ecstasy, overcome by the relentless pleasure, passion. She caressed his back, felt the familiar scars from the Wraith attack. Felt the scratches she had inflicted on him. As if marking him as her own. Her John. "John?" she whispered.
He was silent. Unable to move, to think, to talk. He shifted a little, sliding out of her. "Moira," he croaked. Hiding his face in her hair as he slid up her body. "Moira, my God...nothing...no one is like this...I...how could I forget? How could I....Moira...Moira...I can't lose you, I just can't lose you..."
She kissed his brow, stroking his back. Feeling the anguish in his voice, wondering at it. His words puzzling, troubling. "John? It's all right, sweetie. Ssh. It's all right. You can tell me anything, John. Talk to me. Sweetie, tell me everything. It's all right, John. You won't lose me. I love you. All of you."
He lifted his head to see her face. Gently kissed her lips. "Moira...I'm sorry. I...."
She touched his lips, his face. Saw his tears and stared, transfixed. "I'm fine, sweetie, as are you. Talk to me, John. You said you, you forgot me? I tried to forget you...I mean the memories of you. They used to comfort me, but then as the months went on and on they would torment me. Make me long for what I lost. Make me worry endlessly if you were all right. I , I had to forget you during the day, pretend that I was fine so people, people would just, just stop being so–"
"Kind? Yeah, I know, sweetheart." He kissed her. Settled on her, loath to move, to let her go. He rested his head on her breasts. Fingers caressing her side. "Moira...."
"Tell me, John," she urged softly. Kissing his brow. "My John," she soothed. Considered how to ease it out of him. "What did he say to you, John?"
He sighed, shifted against her. He had unburdened himself physically, emotionally. But not completely. Glad not to start with the worst part he licked his lips. "It...it was a nightmare, Moy. A fucking nightmare. Like my inner voice had come to life in a physical form. My darker self. All of my guilt, all of my darkest deeds made manifest. Taunting me. Knowing all of my deepest, darkest. Goading me. Like a living, speaking guilt. You know what I mean, Moy, I know you do. That voice telling me I was going to lose you. In the same way. Hell, I almost did a few times. He tried to convince me I would lose you. I would fail you. And I did...I did...but I swear to God I didn't know! I didn't mean...I...I failed her, you know. I failed my buddies in Afghanistan. And Antarctica. And Atlantis. There will always be more, Moy, I know that. But I can't let one of them be you."
"John," she soothed, stroking. Gently kissing his brow, his hair. "You have saved so many. So many. But you can't save them all. You can't place that much pressure on yourself. And me...you have never failed me. Never."
"I did," he said low, emotion choking his voice for a moment. "But I swear it wasn't my fault! I mean not deliberately. I lost you, Moy. I buried you so deeply even I couldn't find you. Everyone was telling me about you and I couldn't remember you! I couldn't! As if you had been wiped from my mind. Carson said it was...it was...lacunar amnesia. To protect you. From the dark side version of me. From me, even. To bear the burden of your absence, your loss. And when I did remember, when I did find you...Moira, Moira, it was nothing, I swear! I swear!"
Moira kissed him. Kept stroking his back as he shifted on her again. "It's all right, John. Was it from a head injury?"
"Maybe, I don't know...I don't...all that matters is now." He lifted his head. Kissed her lips. Nuzzled her throat. "Right, Moy? You. Me. Here. Now. I love you, Moira. I love you." He kissed her again. Stroked her messy hair from her face. Tender motions of his fingers. "I have to, Moy. Place that pressure on me. It's my job," he continued, evading questions, comments. "After how I failed her...I killed...I may as well have killed her, them, all of them...by my fucking negligence, my selfishness." He rolled off her suddenly, draped his arm over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't go into details. I...you were right. We need to be drunk for that, Moy, drunk as we can be. God, I hate him. I hate him! I don't want to turn into him but I will. I know I will if I lose you. Lose your love."
"You'll never lose me, John," she soothed. Concerned, curious. Feeling a chill but ignoring it for now. It was more important to reassure him, to console him than to pick over the details. "You will never lose my love. I can promise you that." She turned towards him. Kissed his lips, his jaw. Down his throat. Fingers caressing his chest, his waist. Careful of his injuries. "John, you can tell me everything when you are ready. You won't lose my love."
"Won't I? You know, the only time I don't feel this shit is when I am with you. You keep all of that darkness at bay. You know what I mean, Moy. You're the same. And now...I've fucked it up and I can't deal with it. And you won't be able to either and it's killing me."
"We can deal with it together, John, whatever it is. All right? Not now, but later." She snuggled against him. Seeking his warmth, his love. "When you are ready. In your own time. Drunk or not. About this. About the past. Whatever you need to share with me, John."
"Drunk. For the past. Hell, maybe for this. But not now, please, Moira, not now. Shit. I just wanted to be with you. I wanted it sweet and slow. To explore every part of you. To let our exuberance flourish, not this emotional crap."
She smiled at his annoyance. "It's what you needed, John, like it or not."
"Well, I don't like it. Not at all," he groused.
She kissed him. Moved his arm from his face. Slipped on top of him, kissing him. Savoring the taste of him. The fullness of his lips. The stubble scratching her skin. He responded, arms moving around her. Mouth answering her own. "John?" She smiled. "I think we need more sex, don't you?" she suggested coyly.
He smiled.