Survival of the Fittest2
Moira entered the cafeteria quickly, glanced up at the clock. It read 6:30. She grabbed a tray, chose some food, desert, not really caring. She moved by many tables, most of them full. Passing John's she met his inquiring gaze, raised eyebrows. She shrugged, strolled to find a seat amidst a group of biologists.
John glanced at her, sipped his water. He finished his meal, debating how to proceed. And when. He scanned the room, a casual regard for the various residents as they ate, as they talked, as they argued amiably. Found his gaze lingering on Moira again as she was shaking her head, pointing her fork at another scientist.
"Why don't you just go to her?"
"What?" Ronon's blunt observation made him met his friend's amused stare.
"Moira. Just go to her. What's the big deal?"
"Nothing. I...there's no room," he lamely explained. Deciding not to deny it.
"Then make room," Ronon stated. Amused at the odd reluctance when usually his friend was so forth-coming in everything else.
John smiled. "Is it that obvious?"
"No. Not too obvious..." Ronon teased, smirking.
"Apart from her walking into a wall, you mean," John smiled.
Ronon shook his head. "No. Not that. I meant you. Apart from you staring at her like a man dying of thirst stares at a glass of water."
"Really? Me?" John asked, surprised.
Ronon laughed at his genuinely shocked expression. "You," he confirmed.
Moira tore her gaze from that table, wondering why Ronon was laughing so heartily. Saw John's dismayed, annoyed expression. She let her eyes linger on his disordered but combed hair, clean-shaven face. Blue t-shirt and grey pants. He drank some more water. Long swallows. Licked his lips without even being aware of it.
She shifted on her chair, impatiently willing him to her as the other biologists left. There was room at his table but she felt a strange reluctance to intrude. Remembering his preference for discretion. Instead she finished her food. Waited. Sipped some water. Waited. She stared at her ice cream. Inspiration made her smile.
"Why does it have to be such a secret?" Ronon asked, recovering from his hilarity.
John shrugged. "It's not. I mean, it doesn't have to be." He watched Moira eat a spoonful of ice cream. Deliberately, eyes meeting his she swirled the spoon in her mouth, pulled it out slowly, sucking on it.
"That doesn't seem to be the case."
"I like my private life private," he further explained, glancing back at her. She was eating another spoonful. Drew the spoon out slowly. Ran it along her lips. Licked the top edge of the spoon, tongue darting. Smiled at him. John inwardly groaned, drawn like a magnet. He looked at the table. At Ronon. "It's–"
"You don't have to explain. Enjoy." Ronon stood, patted John's shoulder, nearly knocking him out of the chair as he left.
Moira could not help but moan. She closed her eyes as the ice cream hit her tongue. It's mixed flavors a sweet delight. She audibly expressed her enjoyment in a wordless hum.
John heard the audible moan, the elongated vowel. Losing his resolve he stood, headed for her as his body reacted. He sat across from her. "If you two want to be alone I'll leave."
She opened her eyes. John smiled. She smiled, slipped the spoon from her mouth. "This is amazing, John!"
"It's only ice cream, Moira," he scolded. "I admit it can be good, very good, but I thought you only made those particular sounds when I slid my–"
"It's not just ice cream," she countered quickly before he could complete his sentence. "It's a chocolate caramel swirl with a pure caramel center that is incredible! Here. Try." She spooned a glob, held it towards him.
John glanced around the room. Most seemed absorbed in their own conversations, their own meals. He leaned across the table, opened his mouth and took hold. She slowly slid the spoon out of his mouth as his licked the ice cream off it. He let it melt on his tongue, swallowed.
"All right. Very, very good," he conceded, sat back to smile.
She laughed, shook her head. "You don't understand. You're a man."
"True," he agreed, watching her take another savoring bite. She ran the spoon along her lips when it was empty. Turned it to lick the caramel off the back.
"Hmm...oh John," she sighed, breathed deeply. Exhaled. "A sweet caramel center."
"Hmm...oh Moira," he countered, voice falling lower, "I do enjoy a sweet, sweet center."
"I don't know," she considered, sighed. "This might be better than sex, John."
"Really?" He raised a brow. "I don't think so, Moira." He snatched the carton of ice cream from her.
"John!" she protested, pouting.
"I don't like rivals," he reprimanded. "You can have some more later."
"Just a little more? Just a bite?"
"I said later," he refused, but smiled. "And yes, several bites if you want."
She smiled. "John...I took your advice."
He waited, but she was silent. Amusement in her brown eyes. A challenge. "Okay, it's been two weeks, Moira. What advice?"
"You don't remember?" she asked, as if shocked. "Then give me back my ice cream." She reached for the small carton.
He held it away from her. "No. At least give me a hint."
She sighed, stood. Leaned over the table. "Fine. But I still want my ice cream." She paused as his gaze fell inevitably to her breasts, enfolded in the snug green t-shirt. "Commando, Colonel Sheppard," she whispered. Straightened.
John thought a moment. Then a slow, knowing smile spread along his handsome face. His brilliant green eyes sparkled as he gazed upon the tight t-shirt, only noticing now how the material did not reveal any trace of a bra. His gaze lowered to her hips, her crotch in the khaki pants. Wished she would turn around.
Moira felt a hot wave wash over her as he perused her body with pleasure. She sat down on the chair. "Can I have my ice cream?"
"No, Doctor O'Meara. Later. After I have mine."
Moira stood again as his gaze seemed locked on her breasts. On her hardening nipples poking the fabric. "When? John," she scolded, bumped the table at him.
He met her gaze slowly. Smiled. "Now."
"Where?"
"Yours."
"Fine."
"Good."
She laughed as he did. She strolled out of the cafeteria, playfully swung her hips as she knew his gaze was locked on her rear now. Anticipatory thrills inundated her. She walked quickly to her room, entered. She looked at the bed, but whirled as he knocked a few seconds later. She opened the door. He stood, holding up the ice cream carton. "Good. Are you coming?"
"Yes, as are you," he assured with a grin, a wink. He entered the room as she laughed. She shut the door. "Did you bring two spoons, or do I get to enjoy it all alone?"
"Didn't you try that already, Moira?" he teased, moving to set the ice cream on the bedside table. "I said no cheating." He moved to her as the room grew darker except for the city lights glimmering from the window.
She laughed, turned as he ran a hand up her back, under her shirt. With the other he pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair. It swirled free, cascades of brown that fell to the middle of her back. She moved into his arms, kissed him as his hands slid out of her shirt to run up her front. To fondle a breast. To run his thumb over and over the hard nipple until she softly moaned.
"Where is the ice cream?" she suddenly asked.
He laughed as she spotted it on the table. "Is that all you can think of, Moira?"
"No...I...where are the spoons?" she persisted.
"We don't need spoons."
She eyed him, stepped away, sliding his hand out of her shirt, off her breast. "John? Are you...you aren't into anything...um...kinky, are you?"
"Kinky?" he asked, laughed. He pulled her against him, kissing her. Catching her hair in his hands to run his fingers through the silky softness. "Define kinky, baby," he whispered in her ear. He guided her to the bed, pushed her suddenly onto it. Moira scooted up towards the pillows but he grabbed her ankles, stopping her. "Not so fast, Moira. Define kinky."
"No. The last thing you need is an idea," she scolded.
"Unzip."
"No. I'm worried about my ice cream, John."
He laughed at her seriousness. "Believe me, you'll both enjoy it." He moved over her, kissing her, hands wandering against her clothing. Caressing. Grabbing playfully. His mouth busy in its own seductions, lips probing hers, making hers yield to his. Opening to allow his tongue entrance.
Moira rolled them so she was on top. She sat on him, thighs apart. She swept back her hair. "Tell me."
He smiled, silent, content as she teasingly moved up and down. A gyrating arousal that kept brushing him over and over. Making him react. Making him hard. Her fingers played along his waist, sliding under his shirt. Tugging teasingly at his belt. She lifted, unzipped his pants. Lifted, undid his belt. Lifted, undid the button on his pants. "Ah, Moira," he sighed, "this bed is so comfortable."
She laughed. Moved off him. "Fine, flyboy. Go to sleep, then," she teased as he lazily kicked off his shoes. They noisily hit the floor. She scooted to the edge of the bed, removed hers.
"Socks too," he reminded, sat up to pull off his. He stood, caught her ankles again as she scooted up on the bed. He stroked her scarred foot. "Unzip."
She hesitated, more concerned about her ugly foot, but John seemed undisturbed by it. His focus elsewhere. She laid back, touched the button on her pants. Hesitated as she abruptly realized she was completely bare under the clothing. "John?"
"Unless you want to start without me. I wouldn't mind watching that," he suggested with a smirk. A slow smile.
"Shut up!" she scolded, coloring at his words. His gaze. As he pleasantly laughed.
"You'd better hurry or your precious ice cream will melt," he advised seriously.
Moira frowned. She pulled her shirt down, stretching the fabric to cover her as she unbuttoned, unzipped her pants. "I told you...I don't do kinky."
"Actually you've never told me that," he refuted. Slowly, slowly pulled down her pants, getting a glimpse of what he wanted before she pulled down the shirt. Held it over her.
"I am now, John," she stated. Staring at him.
He smiled. Licked his lips. Pulled off his shirt, tossed it aside as her gaze wandered over his strong arms, his lean torso. His silver dog tags glinted in his dark chest hair. He removed his pants, left his blue plaid boxers on. Slowly pushed her legs apart. He moved over her, climbing onto the bed. Ran his mouth up one bare inner thigh.
"John..." Moira breathed tersely. Tensing.
Feeling her tense he opened his boxers, pulled them off as he slid up her body. "Trust me, Moira," he soothed, kissing her. Distracting her with kisses, tongue probing as he slid her shirt up, up, over her breasts. Scooting against her he blocked her view. She pulled him closer, hands running up his bare arms. Fingers tangling in his chest hair. Sliding to run down his back as his mouth possessed hers. Kiss after kiss, each more passionate, more demanding. More intense as she murmured in her throat. Fingers sliding to run through his hair now. With one hand John reached over, grabbed the ice cream and scooted back. Stuck his finger into the cold concoction. Caught a melting glob. He slid off her to trail it onto her breasts.
Moira started, gasped as the abrupt cold, sticky liquid his her bare skin. She stared as John proceeded to lick the trailing liquid, deftly circling, circling until he captured most of the ice cream, then her rosy, hard nipple in his mouth. Moira squirmed , arched up to his possessive mouth. Losing her breath. Moaning in arousal, pleasure. Her body thrumming with desire. "John," she gasped in a long, long breath.
He licked his lips, moved up to kiss hers. "Hmm...you're right, Moira. This is very, very, very good." His fingers dipped again, spread some between her breasts to trickle down her waist. "Oops, sorry," he muttered. Moved his mouth to lick and kiss the mess.
"John...oh my God...John!" she reacted almost violently. The cold, the heat. The wet, the moist all colliding in a sexual rush. Her fingers caught in his hair as he diligently circled her other breast, licked round the nipple. "Oops, missed a spot," he growled, his breath hot on her skin. His erection very hard now, pressing into her thigh. "John...John...no,no..." she stuttered as his teasing kisses led him down between her breasts. Down her waist. Following the trail of ice cream like a road map.
Moira moaned, squirmed. Trying to move him, hands sliding to grasp his shoulders, to helplessly push. But his weight pinned her down. "No...John...please, please," she moaned, half embarrassed, half excited. Intensely aroused. She flushed at the erotic sensations.
He persisted, ignoring her words as her body all but welcomed, begged him to continue. "I love the sweet, sweet center too," he intoned against her skin. His voice a strained, sexual bass as his mouth moved down, down. Her hands uselessly pulled at his shoulders, his arms. Her body shifting wildly, but he ignored it all, teasingly hovering over her cleft. "Oops, one more drop," he said into her skin, diving in like an explorer to reach his goal.
"John! No, no, please, oh please, oh God, oh please, John!" she exclaimed. Practically bucking under him as he delved into her now, searching, tasting, seeking the exact spot to make her come in a rush. Moira cried out, frantically clawing at the blankets under her hands as his tongue, his lips took her in ways she had never experienced. Body tightening, flooding now as she whimpered in helpless pleasure.
"Fuck," he growled, freeing her. Slid straight up her body, plunging in now, thrusting with almost unbearable need. Faster. Faster. Bringing her again, even more intensely now. He grabbed her wrists, pressed her hands against the bed as he loudly groaned. Moving deeper, deeper. Harder until her knees bent, her body rose to give him more access. Until he thrust harder still, quicker, as if unable to quench his lust for that snug, wet opening. The friction of their bodies joining, joining. The bed was rocking wildly, so violently a book fell off the table. Until she nearly screamed his name in a moaning whimper over and over. Until he came in a rush of spasms and straining. A string of expletives escaping his lips as the pleasure shook him, drained him. Finally released all the tension, all the need.
Breathing deeply he fell upon her, exhausted. Sated. Slid out quickly as a last shudder caused him to spurt on the blankets, on her thigh as he almost lazily released her. Moira was breathing fast, fell back against the bed, relaxing her knees, her legs. She felt hot, flushed. Sticky. Even a little sore but the orgasms intensely lingered. Coils of pleasure in her body.
"John..." she whispered. Swallowed. Throat dry. Parched.
John rolled onto his back, depleted. "Moira." He swallowed. His voice harsh. Raw. "Was that too kinky?" he teased. Tone smug. Satisfied.
"Oh my God," she murmured , startled. Amazed. Embarrassed.
"I agree," he said. "I honestly don't think I can move. Or stand. Good thing it's your bed. It's much more comfortable."
Uneasily she pulled her shirt down. Felt dizzy. Reeling from the sex. Hot. "I...I don't know what to say..." she stammered between breaths.
"Thank you would be nice," he quipped, "but I should thank you. No. I should thank the ice cream." He laughed again, a pleasant, knowing sound. He finally rolled onto his side to look at her. "Moira?" He touched her arm, kissed her lips, her throat. "Sweetheart, did I go too far?"
"No..." she said slowly, uncertain. "I...I..never...I..." She closed her legs.
He slipped his arm across her waist, across the t-shirt. "Moira," he said into her ear. Voice low. Sensual. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd be pleased."
"No. I mean, I am. I..." Words failed her as she stared at the ceiling. Trying not to look at him but feeling him so close. So warm. "I've never done something like, like that. Something so purely, purely...erotic. Purely, um, sexual..."she tried to explain, voice serious.
John smirked, held in his laughter. Amused and allured all at once. "But you liked it," he countered, wondering how far to go. Finding a delicious thrill at the thought of inculcating her in the various erotic ways of having sex. Of initiating foreplay.
"Yes, oh yes!" she gushed, causing him to relax, to tighten his hold on her. "I just...where do you come up with these things, John?"
He laughed quietly, as she seemed unaware of the unintended innuendo. "From you, Moira. You and that seductive mouth. You seduced me first with that ice cream. The antics with the spoon. Come on, you know exactly what you were doing. What you were suggesting."
"Yes. I mean...suggestion is one thing. Actually, um, doing it, that, is another. I'm not used to that, to...to..."
"You will be," he smugly stated. "We'll take it slower, Moira. All right?" He drew her against him, kissed her gently. Soothing, loving kisses. "Just let me know and how far."
"I...okay, John," she stammered, embarrassed.
"Good. I'm surprised, Moira. With you being a biologist and all."
"Paleozoologist," she corrected, causing him to smile. "John..."
He had closed his eyes, happily tired. "Yes, Moira?"
"Have you...have you done this kind of thing with your lots of women?"
"Some," he corrected. "Some women. And no. Not this exact thing."
"But something like–"
"Does it matter, Moira?" he asked. He opened his eyes to see her grave expression. He moved over her, kissing her. "I'm with you now. That's all that matters, right?"
"Yes. I was just, I was just curious." She touched his face. He kissed her fingers. "John..." She felt a wave of tears, inexplicable.
He kissed her again, rolled so they were facing each other. Held her close. "Go to sleep, Moira. We can talk later." Already he was drifting into sleep. Concerned, but not overly so. Finding her embarrassment, her shyness amusing. Arousing. Intriguing.
Moira sighed, snuggled against him, seeking warmth, reassurance. "I forgot you are an alpha."
He smiled. "Damn right," he muttered.
Moira stared at the darkness, trying to pinpoint the cause of her concern. The experience had been startling, unexpected. Erotic beyond belief. Orgasmic. She could feel her body reacting just thinking about it. She rolled over onto her other side. John spooned against her, arms snug around her waist, body pressing close, warm. His relaxed breathing caressed her throat. His hand sleepily wandered up to gently clasp a breast, sliding under the shirt. He settled against her again, shifting.
John shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Every time he was about to fall asleep she would move. Disrupting his relaxation. Pressing her bare rear against him so had to readjust in case she inadvertently aroused him. Not that he would mind that. He caressed her breast lazily, trying to fall asleep once more. Idly wondered what she was thinking or feeling. So tired he didn't want to address it. Not yet. Not after the amazing sex, the orgasmic release. The most intimate possession.
His breathing slowed, slowed, thoughts drifting, drifting into oblivion. Until she shifted again, practically lifting her rear up into him. As if inviting him to take her that way. He debated, considering the idea. "Moira," he intoned low, moving against her as the inevitable arousal was making him react.
Moira felt his obvious reaction to her motions. "Sorry, sorry, John!"
"Go to sleep," he muttered, sliding his hand from her breast down to her waist. He slid one of his legs partly between hers. Let himself relax, relax. Fall, fall into peaceful, sated post-coital weariness. But she moved again, half turning, half turning back, rear brushing him up and down. He needed only to slide his leg, bend his knee to brush her intimately. His fingers stroked her waist, slid to her hip. Stopped himself before he wandered lower. "Moira, what is it?" he finally asked.
"Sorry, John," she whispered. "I, I can't get comfortable." Normally being entangled with him was enough to ease her into sleep. Not now. She was wide awake. Responding to the feel of him against her. The semi-hardness as she kept rubbing against it. She wanted him to touch her, then did not. Wanted the mutual joining, the shared rise and fall. "John?"
"Hmm, Moira, sleep," he muttered. So close to oblivion and delicious memory.
Moira kept still. Waited. Waited until he had fallen asleep. His hold relaxing. She eased out of his arms, off the bed. Moved to pull on a pair of panties. Pulled off the t-shirt and replaced it with a nightshirt. She sat at the table near the window, chin in her hands, thinking. Thinking. Trying to decide what to do but the memory of that erotic encounter, of their several erotic encounters invaded her mind, her body. Finally she turned in the chair to stare at John.
John had rolled onto his back, limbs flung in every direction. The city lights threw a golden gleam onto his arms. His chest. His waist. The rest was lost in the darkness of the room, but Moira could well imagine what was concealed. Could feel it as her body seemed to ache for it, long for it. Even now. She stood. Walked over to the bed. "John? John?" She nudged his arm. Shoved. Shook.
John muttered, opened his eyes. "Huh?" He sat up, yawned. "Moira?" Her hair was a messy swirl around her. A pale green nightshirt concealed her body but clung to her curves.
"John...are you going to break up with me?" she asked at last, standing near the bed. Staring at him. Expression so serious, so somber.