Survival of the Fittest3
John blinked. Wondered if he had heard her correctly. "What?" Taken aback he could only stare. He glanced at the clock. "Why do you always want to talk at two am?" He looked back at her. "No."
She sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. It was easier not to look at his sleep-mussed hair, his handsome face. His naked body washed by the golden glow of the lights outside. The erotic memories inundating her body yet again. "I just mean...you...look, it's not like we're in a relationship. Well, we're together and all, but not dating. You know. The, the discretion and all. Which I understand. I do. It's just..."
He inwardly sighed, laid back. Folded his arms under his head, getting comfortable. "And..."
He prompted.
The words spilled out in a soft, serious voice. "I don't know what to make of this, John," she continued, unable to stop herself. "This intense attraction between us. I don't mean our, our relationship. I mean, I mean the, the sex."
His attention perked up at that one word. "What about the sex?" he asked, gaze roving. He wondered if she had pulled on panties. Couldn't tell. "Are you that upset about how I went down on you to–"
"No! It's not that. It's not even the sex. It's...it's...I can't stop, John."
"Can't stop what, Moira?" he asked, voice laced with both annoyance and disappointment.
"I can't stop thinking about you. Specifically in that way. In a sexual way. Just the memories of our, our time together make me react. It's always so intense, John! I've never been with a man who could bring me to climax so often. And it's not even that. One look, if it's the right look, one touch, one kiss, one flirtation and I, I become wet."
He shifted, reacting vividly, biting back his laughter, the glib sarcasm that flew to his lips. Intrigued and so aroused by her absolute seriousness. "And?" he prompted.
"What are you doing to me, John?" she continued, quite solemn. "I am so distracted, and my body keeps thrumming with those vivid memories. And that alone makes me feel things, want things, desire things. At first I thought it was the enzyme, some lingering remnant in your system but I was never exposed to it. Then I thought it was the subsonic pulse, but you were only briefly exposed to that. And the side-effects were quite the opposite of this."
John licked his lips, letting her ramble, enjoying her words. Still trying to tell if she had on panties or not as she shifted on the bed. The nightshirt hugged her hips, her rear, but he couldn't tell in the dark. He realized he could only tell by touch. "And?"
"Then I realized maybe it was you. Just you, John. The things you to do me."
"With you," he admonished, reviewing them in his head. In his body. Suddenly he wanted her. Wanted to see how far he could push, how far he could take her.
"With me," she corrected. "I mean, I know you certainly have had ample experience at this with your lots of women but I–"
"Some," he corrected tersely.
"Some," she corrected, smiled at his irritation for a moment. "But I can't imagine they would have left you if they were even half as, as affected as I am. So you must have left them. Left them to move on to the next woman. That's what I heard, I mean, so they say. You know. You know your own reputation. And that's fine, I understand that, I mean I knew that. I just...I've heard you usually don't spend all of this time on every woman so I–"
"Moira," he complained, sighed. "What the hell have you heard about me?"
"Unless your hormonal drives are excessively high," she continued, ignoring his protest. "So I wonder, John, how can you be doing this to me? Apart from my feelings for you. What I said when I was, I was drunk...when I...I know that my emotions would naturally color any kind of appraisal so I tried to think about this unbiased. Why are you doing this to me, John?"
"Must you scientists overanalyze everything?" he grumbled, as she shifted yet again. "I'm glad you don't analyze our lovemaking, Moira. I couldn't handle the pressure of performing under those conditions," he sincerely commented.
"Damn it, John, I'm serious!"she flared, hearing the amusement in his voice. "Why are you doing this to me?" She turned to stare at him.
He smiled. "I don't know, Moira. I don't care what the fuck you've heard about me. I'm with you now. That's all that matters. Why am I spending so much time with you, having sex with you repeatedly? Probably because I enjoy it, you enjoy it. I'm no biologist, not even a paleozoologist. I'm just a lieutenant colonel who is constantly thinking of you. Your mouth, Moira. The things you can do with that mouth of yours. The things I want you to do with that mouth of yours. Ah." He realized suddenly, seeing her flinch at his bold words, his direct suggestions. A predatory thrill pulsed in him. He imagined how he would convince her to go down on him. Persuade her. Cajole her. Seduce her to take him. "The words you say," he resumed with an effort. "The ball is in your court, baby. Both of them, actually."
"Damn you, John,"she said mildly, irritated at his dismissal, his amusement. His desires. She moved onto him suddenly, straddled him. Leaned down to kiss him. He ran his hands down to her hips. Felt the layer dividing them. Panties after all.
"Please, Moira," he scolded, sounding arrogant. "If you've heard half of what I think you have you knew going in I wasn't a hearts and flowers guy. So don't act surprised and don't you dare pretend you had no idea what I wanted. What you wanted."
She frowned. "Oh, I know, John. I know the kind of guy you are. No hearts. No flowers. Only sex." She straightened.
He smiled. "You never complained before this. What was it? Every single time? You climax every single time?"
"Shut up, John! See? This is what you do to me!" She took his hand, thrust it between her legs. The panties were damp.
"Ah...lovely," he said. His fingers caressed, probed but she shoved his hand off her.
"Every damn time! Every day! What are you doing to me, John?" She began to ride him, back and forth, up and down. Teasing his growing erection with every motion.
He sighed happily, reached for her thighs but she shoved his hands off her again. "Ah, Moira, ride me. Ride me hard, baby. Angry sex with you is going to be fucking hot!"
"Is that what you want? Angry sex? Or would you prefer something kinky?"
"Do whatever you want, Moira," he grinned. Lifting now to move with her. "Why else do you think I make you wet every day?"
"Is this what you want, you bastard?" she snapped. She moved faster, harder. All but stroking his trapped erection now. "You're the only man who can make me come in my clothes! You can give me an orgasm like this!" she declared, sounding angry. "Is this how you want it?"
"Yes, oh yes," he agreed, enjoying her anger. The feel of her increasingly sodden panties. "But lose the fucking nightshirt. And the panties."
She glared at him, but the desire was intense, hot. She kept moving on him. Yanked up her nightshirt and pulled it off her body, flung it to the floor.
John smiled as her loose hair flew, spilling down to her bare breasts, between them. Curling round her rosy, hard nipples. He groaned in excitement as her breasts bobbed up and down to the rhythm of her rocking. Harder. Harder.
Moira squirmed on top of him, caught his hands as they reached to touch. She forced them down onto the bed on either side of him. "No, John!"
"Do we need a safe word, Moira?" he teased, letting her bind him. Watching with increasing tension, arousal. Knowing he would have to take over soon. Take her.
"You think you're so funny! I can come like this, John. I don't even need your fucking ordnance inside of me!"
"Is that so?" John groaned, body tensing as she gyrated, trapping his now throbbing erection under her. Under the sodden, silky panties. He abruptly freed his hands, half sat to kiss her mouth, his hand on her lower back to keep her in place. Fingers sliding roughly into her panties now to pry, probe.
Moira yanked his hand away from her, pushed him back down. "No!"
"Then fuck me, Moira, please," he said. Still sounding smug.
"Please what, John?" she snapped. The need was spiraling. Murmurs escaped her lips.
"Fuck me, Moira. Fuck me now," he intoned in a growl. "Let me enter that sweet, sweet center of yours," he said hoarsely, unable to resist for much longer.
"No. You'll do something kinky," she replied between heavy, heavy breaths. "You fucking bastard," she accused mildly, closing her eyes to concentrate on the vivid sensations. The rush of impending orgasm.
He stared at her, enthralled. Her head thrown back, hair flying all around her. Bare breasts tempting his mouth. Her gyrating hips. The glimpse of her moist panties as she rocked, rocked on him. Her parted lips as she gasped, whimpered with inarticulate desire.
"No. The bastard you're fucking is not letting you go alone," he decided. He couldn't keep still.. The sight of her, the sounds she was making, the feel of her on him, so close and yet impenetrable made him grab her. He caught her hair, pulled her gently down to a searing kiss. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Then trailing rough kisses down her throat, her skin. To catch one breast in his mouth as his hand caught the other. Gently squeezing.
Moira's eyes flew open, back arching, shoving herself into him. He grabbed her hips, shoved her up and off. Flung her onto her back. He caught the wet panties and instead of pulling them down he ripped them apart at the seams.
Moira gasped, squirmed in quick arousal at the sound of torn satin. At the feel of his knuckles scraping against her wet opening, almost making her come right then. He shoved apart her thighs and slid inside her. Slid slowly with incredible restraint.
She gasped, moaned, rising to give him more access. John fought the urge to pound into her, to thrust hard, harder. Instead he slowly entered, pulled out. Entered a little harder. Paused. Groaned in sheer relief, sheer frustration. She was so wet, but tight. Muscles contracting around him, as if making him struggle for every inch. He gladly struggled, easing in slowly, in and out, ignoring the screaming demands of his body.
Moira writhed helplessly under him. Gasping. Grabbing. Moaning as he delayed, delayed. Her sharp intake of breath, her protracted whimper told him he was close to where he needed to be. He moved slowly, however, teasingly bringing her to the brink, but not yet. Not yet.
"John...please...John..." she whispered, thighs opening wider. Lifting to invite his complete amorous energies. She grabbed his arms.
"Please? Please what, Moira?" he retorted. Barely able to hold back he grunted. The friction building, building. Her body luring him deeper, deeper.
"Please, John! Oh John!" She writhed, lifted. Yanking him closer to kiss him. Run her mouth across his jaw to his ear. To circle. To nibble down his throat as he kept the slow momentum.
So close now she wanted to scream at him. "Fuck me, John,"she whispered, begged, implored.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth when John thrust into her. Hard. Moira cried out, lost her breath, arched in total surrender. John thrust rapidly now, completely filling her. Moira forgot to breath, crying out his name in a rising crescendo as the orgasm exploded into ripples of pleasure. Rocking her as it was almost unbearable. She remembered to breath again, moans and whimpers escaping her lips . Her fingers digging into his arms. Clutching tightly as she drowned beneath the waves and waves of sensual energy.
John thrust and thrust, not done. Nearly there now, her ecstatic cries urging him to go faster, harder. Deeper as she clung. His own hungers wild now, not easily sated. Not yet as he groaned, grunted. Taking her fully, possessing all of her. He came in a flood of spasms, body rocked into throbbing intensity. The hunger appeased. Released. Tension spiraling into pleasure now. He couldn't seem to stop moving. Taking her over and over until at last he slowed. "Moira...oh fuck fuck...Moira...you're going to kill me," he exhaled, fell on top of her. "Fuck, fuck," he muttered, crashing at last into replete abandon.
Waves were still echoing in Moira. She could still feel him inside her, taking her . So big, so hard. So long. Sliding along every inch of her. Her fingers relaxed to caress his bare back. His hot body was pressed to hers still. Trickles of sweat colliding with her own. She tried to speak. Couldn't. Swallowed. "John..." she whispered.
"I. Can't. Move." Each word was a challenge. He managed to croak them, but slid half off her, out of her. Feeling a dim shudder as her folds slid all along him. He kissed her shoulder, a breast as he buried his face in her wild hair. "Moira," he said low. "Are you still mad at me?"
His voice shivered across her skin. So low, so husky and intimate. "What? Was I?" she asked. His breath caressed her skin. She felt sticky, hot. Astounded again.
"Yes," he replied. Moved lazily to lay next to her on his side. His gaze traveled over her body.
"I guess not now," she wryly noted.
"Moira, please tell me you were never like this with another man. With any man," he stated gravely. He moved over her suddenly, stared into her eyes.
Moira stared back at his intense expression. "John?"
He smiled, kissed her. Ran kisses along her throat. Nibbled her earlobe to make her tiredly murmur. "Moira," he drew out her name in a possessive moan. "Were you?"
"No. No, John. I told you. I'm only like this with you."
He stroked her side, the scar near her hip. "Are you certain? You could kill a man with pleasure. And all that analysis. Have you?"
She laughed at his absolute seriousness. But humor glinted in his eyes. "No, John. Stop–"
"I'm serious, Moira. Men would die for this. Hell, I nearly did. You did too. I heard you. I can't think of anything else. I imagine all kinds of things with you."
"Kinky things?" she asked, frowning.
"Yeah. Some. Some fantasies I have of you and me involve kinky sex. But not all. Well, what you might consider kinky and what I consider...erotic." He thought a moment. "Mainly I just want to be inside you, or have you beneath me, or on top of me. Whatever. So wet," he smiled, hand sliding down to caress, to stroke as he shifted off her. His eyes were locked with hers as his fingers playfully slid along her cleft.
She shifted, blushed at his bold, intense gaze, his possessive touches. She tried not to move, not to murmur. She grabbed his hand but he kept it there, probing further, parting folds now, searching for the bud to make her stammer, moan. To make her hips rise. Her thighs part. "Oh John, John..."she whimpered.
He kissed her, a long, savoring kiss. "My Moira, so wet, so very wet...can you even imagine what I want to do with you? The ways I can bring you over and over. And over."
"You, John...you can't..." Her voice was strained, hoarse again as he mercilessly aroused her. Starting the cycle of pleasure again. She pushed but he kept his hand between her legs. She frowned, reached along to brush her fingers on his thigh. Found his cock instead becoming hard.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
He smiled. "No, Moira, not at all. I guess I should have warned you about my ordnance," he teased. Kissed her again. Mouth sliding down to her breasts.
"John? Really? Are you...you're not going to...are you?" Her voice was a breathless, helpless whisper.
He moaned as her fingers caught hold of him, tugging. Gently squeezing. "Moira, would you let me taste you? Touch you? Suck you to the brink?" he teased. "Would you put that delicious mouth on me? Take me into you?"
"John?" She tensed as her hand freed him. His erection springing to a life of its own. He paused, mouth at her waist now. Hand on her inner thigh while he kept stroking. Probing.
"Are you ready for any of that, Moira?" He felt the pure predatory thrill. Had her in his thrall. Knew he could probably make her do anything. Do anything he wanted. Take her in any way he desired. But he let the feeling pass. Didn't want to rush her, or pressure her.
Moira finally managed to shove his hand off her. She scooted up the bed, out of his reach. "John! John, I can't! I can't stand this...this...this intensity!" she complained, on the verge of tears. Of orgasm as her body throbbed again. "Please!"
"I love bringing you, Moira," he said, sliding up to her. Into her now as he moved quickly. Fast and hard. "I can't get enough of it," he muttered, as she writhed, flailed and cried out. Another climax spilling her into waves of pleasure. Of release. John came suddenly. "I can't, Moira, I want you all the damn time," he informed her. Kissed her. Rolled off her and breathed deeply of the warm air. The sexual taint. "That's it. I couldn't get it up again if I tried. Probably not if you tried." He laughed weakly. "Although that mouth of yours might just do it."
"Shut up, John," she said tiredly, exhausted. Amazed and alarmed.
"Every fucking time," he proudly asserted.
"Shut up. You would remember that," she complained.
"Always so wet," he continued happily, baiting her.
"John!" She elbowed him. "Enough about sex!"
"It's not enough, Moira, not for me either. And next time, forgo the damn panties."
"What is it with you and my panties? You ripped the last pair," she complained. Snuggled against him suddenly, seeking his warmth. Any trace of tenderness.
His arm slid round her. "Do you really want to know? It's not the damn panties. It's what's inside of them. It's what happens when you become–"
"Never mind!" She closed her eyes as he softly laughed.
John woke. He opened his eyes blearily. Morning light was just starting to filter into the room, casting the walls in shades of pale yellow. "Shit," he commented, glancing over at the clock. He found himself sprawled under Moira who was sound asleep. He smiled, enjoying the feel of her naked body on his, the warmth and softness of her skin. Her gentle breathing tickling his chest. Her loose hair spilling over them both like a blanket. He kissed her brow. Gently disentangled himself, scooting out from under her. He scrambled off the bed, hastily pulled on his discarded clothing. Looked around for his socks, but couldn't find them. Pulled on his shoes.
He turned back to stare at the bed. At Moira sound asleep on her stomach. He studied the curves of her back, her hips, down to her rear. Her bare rear, round and shapely. John smiled broadly. He sat on the bed. Ran his hand down her back, pushing her hair aside. Gently grasped her rear, squeezed. "Moira's pert little ass," he teased, leaning to whisper in her ear. Felt himself reacting, so tempted to take her like this. Could only imagine the pleasure. Her reactions.
Moira mumbled, shifted on the bed. "John," she whispered. A slight murmur escaped her throat.
He smiled, gently squeezed again. "It's fucking perfect, baby," he said low, kissed her cheek. He freed her, stood before she could wake or react. He stared for a long moment, then quietly left. Sauntered quietly, quickly down the hallways. Unable to stop the swagger in his gait. Unable to hide the grin on his face. He entered his room. Plopped tiredly onto his bed. Laid back. He had just closed his eyes, pleasant images of Moira in his mind when the alarm rang.
Moira stirred, reaching. "John? John!" She suddenly recalled feeling his hand on her rear, some teasing words whispered in her ear. She abruptly rolled onto her back, sat up and stared as full sunlight flooded the room. Grabbed the discarded nightshirt to her, although there was no one there to witness her nakedness. She eyed the messy blankets. Embarrassed. Enamored.
She quickly sprang off the bed to shower, to put on clean clothes. To straighten out the messy bed. She laughed, finding his socks tangled in the mess. Shook her head, debating how to return them.
John sat in the cafeteria. Having devoured his first omelette he was starting on his second. Looked up to see Rodney staring at him. "What?"
"Nothing. You usually don't eat that much, is all."
"Not as much as you, you mean," John smirked. Chewed and swallowed.
"Oh ha ha," Rodney fumed, but lifted a fork full of scrambled eggs to devour.
"Come to think of it, Rodney, no one, not even Ronon eats as much as–"
"Colonel Sheppard," Moira interrupted, standing at the table. Her gaze glancing over his black t-shirt, olive pants. She stared at all the food on his plate a moment. "I believe these are yours."
She dropped the pair of socks into his lap. "I wish you wouldn't mix your dirty laundry with mine," she accused, sounding annoyed.
John almost laughed, but instead scowled. "My apologies, Doctor O'Meara. Won't happen again. At least it won't be the laundry that will be mixing." He met her gaze, all innocence, but a smirk tugged at his lips.
She tried not to smile. "I see."
"Wait. How did you know those socks belonged to him?" Rodney asked.
"Oh. Easy," Moira smoothly responded, meeting Rodney's puzzled gaze. "Who else has feet that big?"
Rodney laughed. John scowled, but smiled. "That's not the only–"
"Keep your clothes to yourself, colonel," she interrupted, turned and headed back to the food.
John watched her grab some food, head out of the cafeteria. Ponytail swinging against her dark green shirt. Hips swaying in the khaki pants. Rear demurely covered but John was remembering how he had seen it that morning. Had seen her on the bed, so ripe for the taking.
"The laundry! Hello!" Rodney waved his hand in front of John's face.
"Huh?" John met his gaze, frowned. "What? I was distracted."
"Yeah, I noticed. That seems to be happening a lot lately," Rodney acerbically commented.
"What? Look, I'm not always distracted but–"
"No! The laundry! The laundry has been mixed up for two weeks now! I've mentioned it to Elizabeth but still nothing has happened to remedy the situation. I suggest you put that in your report if you ever get around to making one. And don't forget to add my own supply list to–"
"Gotta go." John stood. "All of those reports to do."
"Oh, now you want to do those reports? Well, don't forget to mention the laundry!" Rodney called after him as John strode across the cafeteria. He met the bemused expressions of other diners. "What? It's an important issue!"
"Moira!"
Moira jolted from her erotic reverie at the excited female voice. She turned on her stool to see Katie Brown rushing towards her, a big grin on her face. "Katie? Did that plant finally bloom?"
"No! The mission's a go! I just heard! Major Lorne will take a team of botanists and you're coming too! In fact Major Lorne insisted, since you know the planet and what we need."
"He did, did he? I bet," Moira commented. Could just imagine his dread of escorting a full team of scientists to another planet. "Wait. What mission?"
"What mission? To M1K436! Don't pretend you forgot! It's all we've been thinking about! Matthew was finally able to convince Weir of the importance of this botanical mission, given the reports from that planet."
"Oh. Right," Moira smiled. Memories of that mission focusing on John, not on the plants. "Wait. When are we going?"
"In two hours!" Katie consulted her watch. "It's my first off-world mission, Moira! What do I take? Apart from the specimen jars, and tweezers, and gloves, and bags, and maybe a mini microscope to examine any species on site! Oh! What do I wear?" The women laughed.