Parasitism3
Moira sat, scrambling off John's hot, hard body. She looked round, expression full of love, of passion. Astonishment. She ran her fingers through her hair. Down her side. Briefly touched between her legs, eliciting a groan from John was avidly watching. Wanting. "Wow." She leaned across him, her breasts brushing his waist. Her hair falling to curtain her face in a wavy mass of brown strands. Tickling his bare chest. She sat back from him, pulled on her bra. Then her shirt.
"Damn, baby, don't get dressed on my account, please," he commented. "We're just going to have to shower anyway."
"Hilarious, John." She met his warm, sensual gaze. Swallowed. But her throat was dry. "I can't believe...I can't believe what you did with me. Oh John...I've never. You weren't kidding."
He smiled. Ran his hand up her naked thigh. "No, baby, I wasn't. You know how serious and sincere I am about sex. Even solicitous. Whether or not my cock is deep, deep inside you."
She smirked, smacked his hand. "Enough, sweetie." She looked around the floor. Eyed their scattered clothes.
"Don't even bother, Moira," he advised, guessing her intentions. "They're my trophy now. They are far too sodden to put back on, and I want them. So fucking sweet."
She made a disgusted face, noise, causing him to laugh. "Ick! Sweetie, between your kinky sexual desires and your bizarre fascination with my panties I don't understand you."
"What is there to understand?" He sat, snatched the panties before she could. "Hmm...ripped too. Even better."
"John!" He laughed. She grabbed his, waved them in front of him. "Here. You even ripped yours, flyboy." She dumped them into his lap. Suddenly kissed him. She leaned close, closer, hand sliding along his thigh, towards his hand clenching the panties. He guessed her intent, moved his hand back behind him as he returned the kiss. Prolonged it. Gently pushed her.
"No. Mine, baby." He grinned.
She hit his arm. "Fine. Pervert."
He laughed. "Your pervert, baby."
She shook her head, stood, turning away to pull on her pants.
"Damn, baby...that pert little ass is all mine. All mine!"
"Yes, sweetie. Speaking of that why don't you move your fine one, colonel? And put that lethal ordnance of yours in your pants, Sheppard."
He smiled. "Why don't you stop taking it out of my pants, O'Meara?" he rejoined. Finally moved to get dressed. Snatched his earpiece off the floor and slipped it on.
She sat, pulling on her shoes. Threw his shirt at him. Watched him lazily zip his pants, button them. Adjust the belt. Lean to grab socks, boots. He buttoned his shirt, ran a hand through his hair. "Where–"
"Pocket." He patted his pants, gave her a rakish grin. Raised his brows. Eyes sparkling. "Mine. I intend to stroke these lovely, drenched beauties all the rest of the day."
"John!" She laughed, shook her head. "You are so–"
"Yours, baby." He pulled her to her feet, kissing her. Arms enfolding her. "So...no melodrama? No blame? You don't hate me? Maybe I didn't do it right," he mused.
She smiled, kissed him. Hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. "Oh you did it right, colonel. I can feel you. Every time I move I feel another tiny orgasm."
He smiled. "Really? Damn..." he slid his hand between her legs. "Ah, baby, so fucking sweet."
"Enough, sweetie!" She gathered her hair into a quick ponytail. "Let's get out of here, sweetie. We need to make ourselves presentable. Get back to work."
"Do we?" he pouted. But took her hand, led her. "Do you approve of our love nest, baby?"
"Yes, sweetie. I like the privacy and the lights."
"Me too. Hmm...how are we going to move a bed up here?"
"We're not, sweetie. I don't want anyone else knowing about this room."
"Yeah. I don't want our sex room to become public knowledge."
"Love nest, sweetie."
"Whatever." He guided her down the stairs, the hallways. To transporters until they reached a familiar hallway. "Hey, Moira, do you know what tomorrow is?" he teased.
She smiled. "Yes, John. It's lower the intensity day, sweetie."
He laughed. "No. I don't think that's it. I think–"
She kissed him, shoving him against the wall. "No. Now behave, colonel. I'll see you later. Get cleaned up, would you?" She strolled down the hall, turned back to him. "Oh, colonel. Thank you."
He grinned. "No. Thank you, doctor. Thank you!"
John looked at his watch again. Sighed. Stared at yet another completed report. Smirked when he considered how impressed Elizabeth would be with his efficiency. He drummed his fingers on the conference room table. Thoughts, memories straying again to Moira. The exuberant sex. Memories of her body above him, beneath him. The taste of her mouth, her skin, her lush sweet center. He recalled her naked body under the myriad colors rippling over them. The wild disarray of her hair. The sweat glinting on her skin. On her rosy nipples. The pungent odors of arousal, of sex. The ripe promise, the sweet wetness, heat he ached, ached to fill.
He moaned, shifted on the chair. Forcing his mind back to the reports. Away from the sensual images. But he licked his lips, recalling the passion, the surrender. The erotic cadence of her coming. The litany of his name from soft arousal to excitement. To loud, long breathless orgasms. All of her sounds getting him off, making him hard even now.
"Fuck," he quietly swore, shifted again. Glanced at his watch. Ran a hand down to dampen his own reactions. Checked his watch again. Debated. Shoved the last report aside, deciding.
Moira looked at the clock again. Sighed. She shifted on the stool in the biology lab. Smiled feeling the echoes of pleasure all over her. Blushed. Trying not to think of John. John, teasing, tormenting, seducing her resistance with kisses so passionate, so deep. His tongue playing deliciously on hers. Across her cheeks, down her throat. His tongue swirling on her breasts. Kissing, tasting, teasing her nipples into exquisite sensitivity, hardness. His mouth trailing on her skin, on her scar, on her thighs. She touched her warm cheek, recalling where else he had gone. The extraordinary sensations. His intimate knowledge.
He had been everywhere at once. Probing, teasing, taking every pleasure and giving it back to her. Finding every sensual spot and ruthlessly bringing her until she melted in a pool of absolute climaxes, one after the other. Entering her repeatedly, seemingly forever in a rush. So hard, so long, so fast. Exuberance taking them both. The purely male sounds issuing from his throat, the litany of swear words quaking as he came inside her.
"Fuck," she muttered, pulling back from the memories. The stubbly growth on his jaw so rough on her skin. His mussed hair. His intense, smouldering gaze. His lean, muscled body possessing hers. She bit her lip, shifting on the stool again. She focused on the microscope in front of her. Chiding herself as her emotions spilled over in a longing sigh. Her body thrumming with renewed desire.
John shoved the data pad across the table. Reclined back in the chair, ran his hands on his thighs. His body was tense. Every muscle poised towards sex, relief. His hard-on becoming a stiff demand, uncomfortable. He swore to himself, but smiled. Knew that Moira wouldn't refuse him. Imagined her kissing him, straddling him. Her mouth all over him and finally, finally going down on him. His thoughts weren't helping and he chided himself. He stood, adjusted his jeans. Adjusted them again. Scowled. Strode out of the room with stomping steps.
Moira replaced the slide with another, sighed. "There's some significant differences but otherwise I don't think we can rule out a subspecies quite yet."
"Except for the aquatic ones," Alan Gregory observed, his clipped British accent slicing the air.
"Yes, those. The genetic applications and adaptations are quite–"
"Doctor O'Meara," came John's voice from the doorway, "it's time. For your ordnance check."
Moira turned on her stool. Stared. Smirked at his lounging position, arms folded across his chest. Head tilted. Expression serious. Sexy. His discomfort obvious. "Colonel Sheppard?"
"Colonel Sheppard, must you insist on this now?" interrupted Alan. "Moira and I were just coalescing some important genetic data in regards to the–"
"Yes. I must insist," John replied, voice clipped. Curt. "Doctor O'Meara. If you would."
She sighed. "Sorry, Alan. Colonel Sheppard insists on more proficiency when it comes to ordnance. Although I'll never be as succinctly proficient as he is," she admitted, walking over to him slowly.
He met her gaze, amused. "Nearly so, doctor, nearly so. With lots and lots...and lots of practice. This way, please."
"Of course, colonel." She followed him. Strolled behind him. Amused at his rather awkward gait. "John, is this really necessary? Oh, I can see it is."
"Absolutely," he replied.
"That's right. You are always serious, sincere and solicitous about this. So what are we talking here? A nine millimeter? A P90?"
"A fucking bazooka, baby," he informed harshly. At her laugh he paused, turned to view her. "Move that pert little ass ahead of me!" He swatted her rear as he passed him.
"Ow! John, geez! It's been...what...three–"
"Four and a half hours and I can't stop thinking about you, me, the triple, the works, now move it, baby!"
She darted away from him, laughing. "Yes, colonel! My ordnance is fine, by the way. Finally." She paused at her door, turned to tease, "just a little tingle now and then. And a little damp because I can't stop thinking of you either."
He shifted, gaze narrowing in admonishment. "In."
"Hmm...maybe, sweetie." She laughed, entered the room. He followed on her heels, closed and locked the door. She quickly moved to the table near the bed. "First." She set the vase full of roses on the floor. Removed the books. A few knickknacks.
He laughed. "Good thinking, baby. This bed's gonna go through that wall this time."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, gasped as he grabbed her. Yanked her against him, hands sliding down to caress between her legs. Kisses running roughly down her neck. "Wow, John!" She shifted, shoved. "That is a fucking bazooka!"
"About to go off, baby, fully loaded," he agreed gruffly.
She turned. Kissed him. Kept kissing him. Pushed him back onto the bed. "Shoes."
He snarled, but sat to yank off his boots. He scooted up the bed, trying to relax. "Moira, please...no prolonged foreplay this time."
She smiled. Removed her shoes. Slid over him. Kissed him, squirming to make him groan. "Where is the fun in that, sweetie? Afraid you'll come in your pants?"
"Hilarious, Moira!" he scolded.
"Whoa, soldier, just maintain position," she warned, catching his hands before he could tear at her pants. She slipped off him to remove them. Slid out of her panties. Looked over her shoulder to see him staring. Raw hunger on his face. She laid next to him, kissed him.
He pulled her onto him, kissing her. Cupping her rear in his hands. All but shoving her onto his erection. "Now, Moira, now! I'm going to come all over your bed!"
"Ssh, sweetie." She ran her mouth across his jaw. Circled his ear and gently nibbled. Licked down his throat. Ran her nails lightly down his chest, his waist. Fingers tugging at the fabric. She unbuttoned, unzipped his jeans. Yanked them open. He groaned, moving. She tugged his shirt free of the jeans. Ran her mouth along his waist. Lower. Across him, up the now protruding length of him caught in his shorts.
"Ah fuck, fuck. Moira," he breathed. Clenched his hands on the blankets. "Fuck me, Moira, fuck me now!"
She slid up to catch his mouth again. Sat up to straddle him. Trapping his erection beneath her. "Ssh, sweetie!" she warned. "We're not in our love nest now." She took his hand. Kissed his fingers. Took one into her mouth to suck.
John jerked, groaned. Trying to thrust. "Moira! Oh God! Moira, you are killing me!"
"Ssh!" She drew his hand out of her mouth. Down her clothed breasts, along her hard nipples. Down to her opening where he could feel her wetness. She lifted, freed him and yanked open his shorts. Took him into her slowly.
John sighed, thrusting. "Ah fuck! Moira! Moira, fuck me! Fuck me with that sweetness!"
"John, keep your voice down!" she warned, gyrating on him. Moving up and down to take him, possess him. He caught her hips to guide her as she whimpered. She rode, rode the pleasure. Circling with every thrust. Every motion. "Oh John, oh John, John," she said in an exaggerated whimper, knowing it would make him more excited, more aroused.
"Ah baby, fuck me! Fuck me now, Moira! Fuck me hard. Hard enough to hurt!"
She freed him suddenly, slid up to cover his mouth with her hand. "Damn it, John! Keep it quiet, would you? Does the whole base have to know you're coming?"
He kissed her hand, moved it off his mouth. "I was coming, so please, Moira...fuck me." He grabbed her. Rolled so she was beneath him. "I have to go full throttle, baby, so hold onto me." He thrust into her, moaned. "Tighter! Tighter, baby! Yes! Yes! Hold it like that! So fucking sweet! So fucking sweet!"
"John! Shut up, would you?"she flared as his voice was loud, gruff. But she arched, widening her legs as he began to plunge in and out. The bed began to rock under them. "John! Oh John, John!" she softly strained, trying to keep her own voice down.
John had no such qualms, his need escalating. "Fuck! Fuck! Moira, tighter! Tighter, so tight, oh yes! So fucking wet...snug...all the way....that's it! That's it!" he exulted, thrusting deeply, plunging the length of him into her faster and faster. The friction wild, hot. The bed was rocking crazily, the springs creaking noisily. The headboard slamming into the wall in a rough staccato.
"John! Quiet!" She grabbed his face, yanked his mouth to hers to try to silence him. His grunts and groans stimulating but loud. So loud. She whimpered, moaned but he pulled free.
"Sorry! Can't! Can't...oh fuck here we go, baby, hold onto me now."
"What? You...ohhhhh–" She strained, tensed, swallowing the exhalation of a moan, a whimper as her pleasure centers exploded. Blossomed into climax as she writhed, squealed and nearly dislodged him. "John! John!" she cried, but forced her voice lower. "Oh John, John, John!" She flooded, pooled around him, under him, helpless now.
"Moira! Oh baby, fuck me hard!" he ordered happily. Thrusting in another prolonged escalation. He rode her pleasure, slammed into his at last. Shudders shook his body, violent shivers as the spasms erupted, erupted. Until the last thrust expended all of his energy, his need. He fell upon her. "Moira, Moira, oh baby....fuck me so fucking hard I came twice," he muttered, impressed.
"John, please, please be quiet and watch your mouth," she scolded weakly, more amused than upset by his exuberance, his pleasure. His profanity and ecstatic commentary. She caressed his back under the shirt. Kissed his brow, his cheek. "John? Are you all right, sweetie?"
"Fine. Now." He breathed deeply. "Fantastic, Moira. That was my triple, baby." He lifted, slid out of her. "Fuck. Give me five, no ten, no..."
"Hours now, colonel?"
He laughed. Kissed her. Shifted his weight partially off her but settled comfortably. Stroked her hair, kissing her. Soft, gentle kisses. Sated now, not as hungry, demanding as earlier. "Maybe days, actually," he amended. "Damn. I forgot. Forgot about the aftershocks from a triple." He lazily slid his hand under her shirt, her bra. Fingered a breast as he rested his head on her. She stroked his hair, his back with gentle fingers. "Moira? Are you angry? You are very quiet."
"I'm just happy, John. Exhausted. Just thinking."
"Oh oh," he muttered. Closed his eyes. "No post-coital. That's the rule, baby. God, I'm tired."
"I wonder why, flyboy," she laconically noted. "John, do you realize we've been having–"
"Not too much sex, but maybe, just maybe too intense? Just a little," he replied.
"A little? More than a little," she chastised, moving under him.
"Moira, wait. Please. Let's enjoy the moment. I've got to crash for at least an hour. Then we can go have dinner. All right?"
"Okay, John."
He sighed, lifted his head. "Do you really want to talk right now, sweetheart?"
She kissed him, relenting. "No. Sleep. One hour. Then dinner."
"Thank you, baby." He rested his head on her again. Lazily caressed her breast. "Do you want me to move?"
"No." She caressed his hair, shoulders, back. Sliding her hands under his shirt. Relaxing under him. His warmth. His solid weight. His love. His passion. Hers. She pondered the increasing intensity. The knowledge. The trust. The intimacy. She closed her eyes, feeling him relax on her. Hand resting on her breast. Breathing slower, even. Falling into sleep.
She wondered if anyone had overheard him. Or her. Dreaded if they had. She moved slightly, fingers still playing on his back under his shirt. Secure in his solid warmth. She let herself doze, finally succumbing to the elated exhaustion.