Camouflage4
John's voice was harsh, stern even. But the undercurrent of desire, of arousal growled. Slid along Moira's skin like a caress. She stared up at him, fingers frozen on his erection even as it jerked slightly in her hands. As if it disagreed with the rest of him. "Sweetie?" She freed him. Stood slowly. Her body close to his. "Are you really saying no, John? Your lips, your succulent lips say no but your very, very hard cock says yes. Yes, please, in fact."
He smirked, but scowled at her. Glanced around the room. "I should spank that pert little ass blue, baby."
"Yes, why don't you, colonel? Then you can take me however you want." She touched his chest. Fingers playing against his shirt. "But answer my question first. How many?"
"Come on. I need to see exactly where that planet–" he began, moving past her. Shoving himself back into his pants awkwardly. Zipping and buttoning with tense fingers.
"How many?" she repeated, not moving. Glaring at him now. "John? Damn it, John, answer me!"
He ignored her. "I don't know what the significance of that planet is, if there is any, but I will soon enough. I'm thinking there could be something else in the flash drive, some deeper level of encryption. I wouldn't put it past the bastard to try something like that so we need to..." He turned. Realized he was alone in the hallway. "Four," he finally admitted with a heavy sigh. Waited. Cursing her stubbornness.
Moira stepped out of the room, staring at him. "What?"
"Four. The answer to your question. Happy now?" he snapped.
"I...four? Four!" she exclaimed, disturbed. She walked to him. Hit his chest. "Four? Four! You have four ex-lovers here now? You son of a bitch! You son of a–"
"You asked, baby," he retorted, catching her arms before she could hit him again.
"Four!"
"Get over it, baby, it doesn't mean a damn thing! We're together now," he argued.
"It does matter, you bastard! Four! Four!" she exclaimed in dismay.
"Why does it matter, baby? I'm yours now. It's not like I'm going to run out and sleep with any of them. I'm not going to cheat on you the way you..." The accusation spilled out of him before he could stop it. He froze. Tensing. He hadn't meant to say it. Had thought he had buried it. Was over it. Had moved on.
Moira stared. Smacked his arms off her. Glaring. "Did?" she completed his sentence for him. In a fraught whisper. Stunned by the accusation. The anger.
"I...I'm sorry, Moira...I...I didn't mean to say that, I didn't mean..." he stammered, trying to backpedal his way out of it, out of those dark emotions, those dark places in his mind.
"You did. You meant it, John. You still don't get it, do you?" she accused.
"Oh, I got it, Moira, I got it fine. What you did. For me. To save me. To–"
"Yes! That's the only reason, John! The only one!"
"Is it? I wonder, Moira, I really do."
"What? How could you even think–"
"Come on!" he flared, anger and jealousy rising to the surface. "You think I would ever want you to do that for me? To save me? To sleep with another man? To fuck some other guy to–"
"It wasn't another man! It was you, well, a version of you–"
"It wasn't me!" he almost shouted, furious. "Don't you get that, Moira? Or couldn't you tell? Could you tell the difference?"
"Of course I could! I–"
"Could you? Damn it, Moira, you slept with another man! I don't care if it was me, a dark side version of me, you still let him fuck you! Unless he raped you. Did he?"
"No! He wouldn't–"
"Ah ha!" He pointed at her. "What the hell am I supposed to feel about that? I mean I know it was me, a version of me, and you did it for me, but still it was another man! You slept with another man, a dark side version, no less! How the hell do you think that makes me feel, Moira? Damn it, you're my wife now!"
"You don't understand, damn you! You don't! I did what I had to do to save you! You! I had to bargain with the only thing I had, the only thing he wanted! The thing you want!" she explained, angry and distraught all at once. "John," she softened her voice, "I, I thought you were over this, were okay with this now..."
"I thought so too, but apparently not, Moira. How can I be? Shit!" He looked away from her. Trying to douse his anger, his jealousy. Understanding her reasoning, her motives, but it still gnawed at him. "It's because I know."
"Know what?" she asked, exasperated.
"That you love him! That you love him because he's me, but he's not! He's not me!" He grabbed her suddenly, pushed her against the wall, glaring at her. "I can't wrap my head around that, Moira, as much as I try, as much as I know it was me, a version of me otherwise you never would have done it, because you love me, you love him and would do anything for him, for me, but you still slept with another man! Can you understand that? Can you?"
She felt tears. His grip was tight on her arms as he held her pressed to the wall. "I...I'm sorry, John. Please...I..." She didn't know what to say. Felt guilty for what she had done, but at the same time knew she would do it again to save him. Knew her own feelings over that dark side version were as conflicted and tangled as his were over what she had done.
He gentled his grasp on her arms. "And you dare to give me shit over having four ex-lovers here in the city? You know what? I should go and sleep with one of them. To even the score. Would you like that, baby? Would you?"
She glared. Shoved him. Stepped away from the wall as he stepped back from her, freeing her arms. "Go right ahead, sweetie. If it will make you feel better you go fuck one of your four ex-lovers. Go on! How dare you even compare that to what I did for you! For you! So go! Go sleep with one of your lots some women then! I don't care! I don't care!" She shoved past him, strode down the hallway.
He turned to glare after her. "Maybe I will! Maybe I will, baby! I can have any woman in this city I want! All I have to do is snap my fingers!" He demonstrated.
"Then snap away, flyboy!" she taunted over her shoulder. Disappeared around the corner.
John strode into the control room, forgetting to limp until his leg began to ache. He stopped, tapped the comm unit. Glaring round the room. Everyone was looking elsewhere, extremely busy. "Reynolds, assemble Delta to the Jumper bay ASAP! Full gear!" He moved to a console, plugged in the coordinates of M35PF7. Except it was called P1R349 in his reality. He scowled. Turned. "Sargent, dial this address on my mark."
"Yes, sir!" the younger man agreed. Nervously recording them on a screen.
"John?" Elizabeth hastened to him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I need a recon of this planet. Via Jumper. It could have valuable intel. Excuse me."
"John! How do you know this? John!" Elizabeth called, but he was limping out of the room.
"Sir?" Jason Reynolds stood near a Jumper with his team. Seeing the colonel's ill-tempered mood he added a salute as did the other men. "Orders?"
John replied evenly, "Do a quick recon of the planet. I've received new intel but I need eyes on the site. Go in cloaked, do a quick scan and survey. Return in one hour. Do not engage any of the inhabitants. If it gets hot retreat. Film anything interesting."
"Yes, sir. What are we looking for, exactly?"
John considered. "Villages. Wraith. Anything unusual. Factories or laboratories. Any unusual life forms or plants. Just film whatever you see and do a full systems scan. Covert. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. Back in one hour."
"Go."
John watched the men enter the ship. Watched it power up. He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, dial that address now, then lock it down."
He sighed, limping out of the bay. Wishing he could lock down his own emotions as easily. Normally he could. But not now. Not concerning Moira. His Moira. He cursed to himself. Angry with her, with himself. Sexually frustrated since the argument had quelled any pleasurable activity. But he still wanted her. Lusted for her. He felt like smashing something, shooting something. Some outlet for his anger, his fury.
He considered the four ex-lovers. Or any other woman. It would be so easy. So easy. He hadn't been bragging about that. But he didn't want them. He wanted Moira. Moira beneath him, coming hard and fast. Giving herself to him. Giving him all of that love for him. So much love she had slept with his darker self to save him. No doubt to try to save that darker version too. He shook his head. He was his own worst enemy, literally. His most daunting rival was himself. But she had chosen him. Chosen to remain with him, here.
He headed for the exercise room.
Moira paced, paced in her room. Unable to work, although she knew she had to access the flash drive. Study the data in detail. Suspected that John was right, that there was another layer of information hidden in it somewhere. But she couldn't concentrate. John's accusations hitting her like a slap. His anger. His jealousy. His hurt. She wondered if he would ever trust her again. If she had irreparably broken that trust between them.
She sighed, forced back the tears. Tangled her fingers together as she paced, paced. Not knowing what to do, what to say. How to make it better. How to move past it. She knew he wouldn't cheat on her. Would not go to one of those women, or any woman. She trusted him. Which made her feel relief, but also guilty over what she had done. Loving both men, the same man, just different versions of that man. One more tragic than the other. One more bitter than the other. One consumed by the darkness, in ways she knew only too well. The other having merely shadows of that version. Shadows lurking beneath the surface.
She chewed her lower lip, debating how to make it right. How to soothe, console, reassure. Her thoughts becoming more and more erotic recalling their interrupted foreplay. She licked her lips. Could feel the enzyme encouraging such thoughts, such activities. She smiled. Decided.
John was swinging both sticks in tandem. Faster. Faster. Faster, whirling them in a wild rhythm as he forced Ronon Dex backwards across the room. Sticks clattering on sticks. Harder. Harder. Harder. Until one split and snapped. The two pieces flew across the room.
"Um, you do know this is practice, right?" Ronon asked, impressed. Shaking his arm as the vibrations from the broken stick made it tingle.
John paused, breathing heavily. A feral smile on his face. "Yeah. I'm not out for blood or anything."
"You sure?" Ronon questioned. Swinging his one stick now as John twirled his two fighting weapons. "Have some issues, do you?"
"Yeah. You could say that. Stop talking and fight!" He advanced. Ronon raised his stick to block and the two men began a circling stance. Weapons striking and striking.
"Woman problems?" Ronon asked, ducked as John nearly took off his head with both sticks.
"Shut up!" he snarled, advancing once more.
"Thought so." Ronon parried. "Moira?" He struck hard, knocking one of the sticks out of John's grasp as he reacted to the name. It flew, skittered across the floor and hit the wall. "You should go talk to her, Sheppard. Women like that kind of thing."
"Shut up!" John flared, pissed. His normally reticent friend was suddenly as talkative as Rodney. He swung the remaining stick. Both men placing their free hand behind their back. They circled, circled. Sticks clattering against each other as neither gained any ground. Nor lost any.
Moira silently entered the room. Stood watching. Watching John's every move. Arm muscles rippling as he plied the stick against his opponent. His t-shirt molded to his torso. Glued by sweat to his back muscles as they flexed. Pants clinging to his muscled thighs. His firm rear as he circled, circled. Feet moving with feline grace. There was a sexy agility about him, a wild danger that just threatened to rise to the surface. Lethal force held back but there, just waiting if needed. "Jo-hn," she half-sang in a sultry whisper.
John stumbled as the erotic invitation distracted him, startled him. Broke his concentration. He fell as Ronon's stick clipped his brow. "Ow!" he exclaimed, landing on his backside. His stick skittered across the floor as he lost hold of it. It rolled to Moira. She placed her foot on it. "Moira!" John snapped, annoyed. He put a hand to his brow.
"You okay?" Ronon asked, about to help his friend to his feet.
"Clear the room." Moira's voice was soft. Stern.
"Give me a hand here, would you?" John asked. Extended an open hand. But Ronon was looking at Moira. Without a word he nodded. Vacated the room.
John scowled. "Thanks a lot, Moira." He glanced at her, intending to say more. But looked again. Her loose hair billowed around her. She wore a gray woven shirt, a few buttons open to give him a glimpse of the swells of her breasts when she leaned down to grab the stick. The khaki pants hugged her hips as she walked to him. Her gaze devouring his sprawled form. The stick held firmly in one hand. "Moira?"
She moved to her knees in front of him, sat upon folded legs. Eyes wandering along his splayed thighs, bent knees. She lightly tapped his inner thigh with the stick. "That was careless, John. Careless," she scolded.
John swallowed. Could see the passion in her brown eyes. The desire for him. "It's your fault," he pouted. Watching her warily.
"Sorry, sweetie. Let me make it all better now." She unbuttoned her shirt. Scooted closer, moving between his legs.
"Um...huh? Moira...um..." he stammered, uncharacteristically uncertain. He stared. She wore a lacy, push-up bra that was a pale, pale green. She lifted a corner of the shirt. He stared at her mouth as she sucked, sucked the material. Soaking it. She moved close. Closer. Leaning over him as she wiped the trace of blood from his brow. The shirt gaped wide and John could see the front closure of the bra. Could see her rosy nipples poking the fabric.
"Careless, sweetie. So careless," she chided once more. Ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face, along his jaw. Playfully across his lips.
John was trying not to react. Surprised at her advances after their argument. Aroused by the purring desire in her voice. The hunger in her brown eyes. "Moira...I–"
She kissed him, cutting off his words, his protests, his objections. Catching his mouth with hers. Capturing those perfect, perfect lips to entwine with hers. To part as she deepened the kiss. Invited his tongue to play, to glide. Until she broke the kiss to let her mouth wander along his cheek. Along his throat. Tongue licking up to his ear as she tasted the sweaty, musky scent of him. She circled his ear. Bit gently. Sucking until he groaned, moving in reaction.
His hand slid up her arm, catching her. Gently pushing her back a little. "Moira, we...oh shit." He froze as she had hold of the stick again. Was tapping it ever so gently between his legs. Perilously close to his stirring cock.
"We need to have sex, sweetie," she informed, voice serious. Stick lightly, lightly tapping his thigh. Brushing along his cock for a moment.
John nearly gulped. "Um, okay, baby. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Just don't get too wild with that stick."
She smiled. "This stick?" She held it up, placed it aside. Grasped his cock. Stroking. "Or this one, sweetie? Can I get wild with this one?"
He smiled, moaning softly as her fingers plied him. "As wild as you want to get, baby. Here?"
"What's the problem, sweetie? Can't get it up here?" she teased, freeing him. She moved to grab the stick but he sat, caught her and roughly pulled her into his arms, into a lengthy kiss. But he pushed her away from him, keeping hold of her arms.
"Not here, baby. Not now. I don't have one with me."
"One what?" she asked, breathless. Staring at him. She could see his desire. His need flaring in his warm gaze. She could hear it in his husky voice. "It looks to me like you have all of the required equipment, colonel. And then some," she purred.
He smirked. "Hilarious, Moira. But I meant a condom."