Synthesis3
John stirred. Rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes as his leg protested the motion. His arm felt tight where the stitches were. He looked over at Moira. She was on her side, her back to him. Sound asleep. His gaze roamed over her back, hips, rear. He scooted closer. Gently lifted her shirt but she was lying on the bruise so he couldn't see it. He frowned. Kissed her cheek. "Moira," he whispered into her ear.
He slowly moved off the bed, muscles stiff. He yawned, stretched carefully. Arms out to his sides, over his head. He flexed his legs. Tested his weight on his injured leg. Grimaced as pain throbbed for a moment. He suppressed a groan, limped to his room, his bathroom. Cleaned up, emptied his bladder. Rinsed the dull taste of beer out of his mouth. Brushed his teeth for good measure. The last thing he needed was for Caldwell to smell liquor on his breath.
He combed his hair. Quietly changed into his normal BDUs. A black t-shirt, blue jacket, blue pants. Boots. He moved back to Moira's room. She hadn't moved. He smiled. Reassured she was finally sleeping. Secure. He grabbed a plaid blanket, draped it over her. Kissed her cheek again. Stared at her a moment. Thoughts flitting over their conversations, confessions. Emotions tangled. Love and jealousy. Worry and anger. He regretted what had spilled out of him, but trusted her. With a final look he left to report to Caldwell.
John entered the conference room. Cursed inwardly as Steven Caldwell was already waiting for him. Seated at the head of the table, hands folded upon it. The lights shone on his balding head. His expression was serious. Stern even. John closed the door, limped to take a seat further down the table. "Sir."
"How are you feeling, lieutenant colonel?"
"Better, sir." John waited. Moving his leg a little to find a more comfortable position for it. He flexed his arm slightly. Forced himself to not fidget, to not drum his fingers on the table.
"And how is Moira?"
John blinked, surprised at the question. "Recovering. But she's fine, otherwise, sir."
"Good. We were all worried about her." Before John could express his surprise or his gratitude Steven continued. "If you think I'm going to fault you for going after her, I'm not. Not at this juncture. You accomplished your mission. Ford is no longer a threat to this base or to its personnel. Nor is this alternate version of yourself." He shook his head. "Frankly I don't understand the half of this parallel universe theory, but Doctor McKay does."
"It's not a theory, sir. Not any more," John corrected quietly. Bracing himself. He knew what was coming.
"Yes. Apparently not any more." A pause. "There is, however, the matter of your men. This mission cost us dearly, as you well know, lieutenant colonel. A Jumper. Four marines. Two more from the ground assault."
"Two?" asked John.
"Yes. Andrews. His injuries were too severe. Doctor Beckett was unable to save him. And four wounded, but they will recover. Three teams, Sheppard. Three teams went in, and we lost six men plus a ship. I know you couldn't have foreseen Ford having a Wraith cruiser of all things, but still..."
John sighed. Tensing. "Yes, sir. I believed I had accounted for all contingencies, all possible outcomes. I was wrong. I certainly never expected Ford to have access to a Wraith cruiser, much less shoot down one of our own. I believed he only had ground forces, sir. Possibly a ship but nothing like a Wraith cruiser."
"Yes. And his ground forces?"
"Mutants. Well, most of them. Wraith and human experiments gone awry. He lost control of them. And there were those others, the mutated cavemen too. Without Ford whatever forces he has left will scatter. Those left alive, that is. I believe the, the colonel took the normal humans back with him to his reality. So they won't be a problem either."
"I see. The problem is you vastly underestimated the enemy. You let personal feelings play a part in this. No, not your feelings for your wife, but for Ford."
John frowned. "I got the job done, sir."
"Yes, lieutenant colonel, you did. But at what cost? We can't afford these kind of losses."
"Excuse me, sir, but are you saying I should have gone in with fewer men?"
"No, you should have gone in with better intel. Not so precipitously. Not injured as you were. I know there were extenuating circumstances, Sheppard, but you should have delegated your authority to the next in command and accompanied them as an adjunct, nothing more. Better decisions should have been made. The threat is eliminated, but what about the next one? Because we both know there will be a next one, and another after that. And we can't afford another disaster like this, can we?"
"No, sir," John agreed. Biting his back his own retorts, his own defense. Knowing Caldwell was right, however much he wanted to disagree.
"This falls on your shoulders, Sheppard. No one else's. I want you to consider that. And next time, when you face a similar scenario you will think twice before acting. Use your resources wisely, lieutenant colonel, because they are limited. Dismissed."
John blinked. Stood. "Yes, sir." He limped out of the room, trying to decide if Caldwell was going to demote him or leave him be.
Moira rolled. Reached. Empty blankets met her grasp. She woke, sat. "John? John!" She gasped, stared round, a blind panic assaulting her. She touched the plaid blanket that had fallen to her lap at her abrupt motion. She stared around the darkened room. Glanced at the clock. Swore seeing how much time had passed. She had been asleep for hours. "John!"
"Here, sweetheart." John entered her room. Limping he moved to the bed. "Are you hungry? I've got a sandwich in my room if you are."
Moira stared at him. He was clad only in a pair of checkered blue boxers. The bandages on his arm, his leg gleamed in the low lights. A bruise marred his hip. Another purpled his side. Cuts were on his arm. Her gaze roved up and down his body. Back to his handsome face as he stood. "John? Why didn't you wake me?"
"Scoot." He pulled back the blankets, slid into them. "I'm beat. Let's go to bed. Or in your case stay in bed. You needed to sleep, Moira." He smiled. "Lose the clothes. All of them. Even the socks, sweetheart."
"But, but the, the autopsy! The–"
"Carson can handle it on his own, or with his assistants. Besides, it's not like Ford is going anywhere, now is he?" He snorted at his grim humor.
She sighed, got off the bed. "Did you see Caldwell?"
"Yes."
"That...that can't have been easy," she noted. She yawned, moved across the room to the dresser. She pulled out a nightshirt. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." He sighed, frowning as she disappeared into the bathroom. He waited. Listening to the running water. The flush of the toilet. More water running. The soft rustle of clothing being removed.
She emerged, clad in a pale lilac nightshirt that fell to her bare knees. She moved to the bed. Slid in beside him. Sat, staring at nothing. Then reclined on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "You should talk about it, John."
"No. What is there to say, Moira? I fucked up. He knew it. I knew it. But at least I eliminated Ford, so that's something."
"John, you–" she objected, turning to him.
"No." He pulled the blankets from her. "I have to see." Before she could protest he pulled up the nightshirt. Tugging at it determinedly until she acquiesced and moved, wiggling so he could yank up the material. Eyes on her bare legs, on the skimpy lilac panties she wore. His gaze lingered there for a moment as a hunger assailed him. That triangle of darkness under the thin fabric enticing, inviting. His gaze moved onto the bare skin of her hips, waist. Her side.
"John," Moira said softly, noting his gaze. His prolonged stare. The quick motion of his tongue over his lips. She reacted, couldn't help it. His gaze serious, sexy. Desirous.
"Shit." He gently touched her side where the purplish bruise ran above her hip. A glaring mark on her pale skin. "Damn, Moira, I'm so sorry!"
"It's not your fault, John, I told you! I got in the way, I–"
"No." He leaned to her, kissed her gently. Scooting down on his side. He eyed the bruise again. Fingers gently moving around it. "Are you sure you're okay? Nothing is wrong? Internally?"
"No. It's just a bruise, John. Carson did a full scan. I'm fine. Stop fussing, will you?"
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart! Damn, I really clipped you, didn't I? Shit!"
"Stop apologizing, John! It was an accident. I shouldn't have gotten in the way! I...oh..."
He moved the nightshirt higher, higher. Slipped it up past her breasts. Baring them. He stared. Gently caressed, cupped. Rubbed the rosy nipples as they hardened under his touch. "So beautiful...so fucking beautiful..." he murmured. Gently he moved the two rings on the chain out of the way. Frowned, recalling the colonel's taunt. About the rings. About seeing them. No doubt seeing this as well.
"John?" she asked, voice soft, strangled with desire, worry. She touched his arm, moving.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered. Fondling. He slid down to kiss each one. Tongue swirling, sucking gently. Fingers tickling her side.
Moira gasped, moving. Reacting to him. She touched his hair, ran her fingers through it. Made soft, whimpering sounds as he gently sucked. Gently nibbled, pulling. Tasting. His fingers slid down to caress between her legs. "John...oh John...you...oh John..." Her voice caught in her throat, uncertain. Arching into him, unable to stop.
He lifted his head to kiss her mouth. To slide his tongue in to tease. He kissed across her cheek. Nibbled her earlobe. Licked behind it to make her squirm, whimper. He gently bit before he kissed down her throat. All the while caressing, caressing between her legs. Encouraging her thighs to part for him. To give him more and more access. Stroking along her cleft now.
"John, John," she breathed hotly, fingers tightening on his shoulder.
"Moira. My Moira, I long for you. I long to love you," he said huskily. Need growing. Demanding. Becoming hard against her hip, her thigh. Cock straining against his shorts. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured. Caught her mouth with his own. A deep, searing kiss.
"John, John, it won't hurt me, it won't," she pleaded. Tears in her eyes as she tensed, tightened.
"Yes, it will, baby...let me figure out an angle."
Moira pulled him closer, not caring if he hurt her or not. Needing his weight on her, in her. Needing to lose herself under him. She ran her fingers along his back, kissing him. Hungry kisses. Demanding. Nibbled his lower lip, sucking, pulling. Tongue entwined with his. Arching so her breasts slid along his chest. The coarse, dark hair teasing her nipples. She circled his ear, gently bit until he moaned. His cock jerking against her thigh.
John slid down carefully. His mouth running to her breasts again. Making her arch, squirm as his fingers relentlessly probed, probed. Pulled now at the panties, tugging them down, down. He paused, lifting to view her waist. The bruise. He yanked the panties off her as her legs bent, aiding him. His brow furrowed as his fingers skimmed her mound. Saw the sudden nakedness, the lack of hair on top. He looked up at her. "Baby...what is this?" His fingers played along the skin. He fought back the urge to thrust inside of her.
"I...I..." she stammered. "Nothing...just...I had to, um...I had to...um..."
"Um?" He stared at her embarrassed expression. "Fuck. I see."
"No, no, no, nothing like, like, like no! Not that, not that not–"
"Hush!" He kissed along her waist. Circled the bruise carefully. Tasted her hips, her pelvis. Ran his mouth along the bare skin. He groaned as he nearly came in his shorts.
Moira gasped, whimpered and arched. Legs opening. The sensation of his mouth on her almost too much, too intense. Tears spotted her vision again. "John, John," she whispered, caught between a sob and a moan.
"Fuck," he muttered, shoving her thighs wide. Fingers stroking her folds. Her wetness flooded at his touch. Her body squirming. Helpless. Lifting. He breathed in the smell of her. Bit his lip a moment as his erection was becoming painful now. Balls so tight he thought he'd burst. He yanked off his shorts. Kissed along her mound again. Hands on her inner thighs.
"John, John, no, no don't go down, don't go–"
"Mine, Moira. This is mine and I will make you beg me to stop," he growled. Mouth moving in earnest now, delving deeply to find his target.
Moira cried out, unable to stop. Writhing as he sucked, nibbled, found the nub and ruthlessly teased, tormented. As his fingers stroked up and down, up and down her folds, bringing her hard. Fast. Moira's hands clutched at him, grabbing, clawing his bare skin as she arched, lifted. Tears turning to those of pleasure, overwhelmed by his possession, his persistence. "John!"
He grunted, tasting her, taking her. Making her his again. Erasing all traces of the colonel. Erasing every doubt, every lingering sensation, scent, thought. Her soft sounds were becoming louder, louder. Faster, escalating into a crescendo as she came, rocking wildly under him. He felt her throbbing, clenching. Freed her and slid into her at last. "Ah fuck," he groaned.
Moira clutched, grabbed, inarticulate as he thrust, thrust harder. Easing himself deeper, faster, but keeping his weight off her injured side. It was awkward, arousing. The angle slightly different but he was stroking every sensitive area. So hard, so long that Moira lost her breath as he repeatedly filled her. "John, John, John!" she cried.
"Moira! If this hurts you let me know!" he insisted, but arched into her. Thrusting her faster and faster. Sliding into that wet heat as she clenched on him, pulsing to his own rush to orgasm. The bed began to rock wildly under them. The headboard slamming, slamming the wall. He groaned loudly, ignoring the protests of his leg, his arm. Everything concentrated on his cock at the moment, the pleasure riding him, riding her. "Fuck! Fuck that is so sweet! Sweet and mine! Mine, damn it! That fucking sweetness is all mine!" he growled. Shuddered as his body strained. Jerking inside her as he came.
"John, oh John! Oh God!" she whimpered, feeling every inch of him. The pleasure blooming into yet another orgasm. She winced as he fell upon her with an elongated groan.
Quickly he shifted his weight off to her other side. "Just a sec, a sec," he rasped against her breasts. Shivers of delight coursing along him now. Release. His breath coming hard, fast.
Moira relaxed, trying to catch her own rapid breaths. "Oh John, John...you...oh John..." She kissed him. Drew his face up to her as he slid out of her. Kissed his lips, his cheeks until he moved. Rolled onto his back.
"Fuck. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No. You could never hurt me, John."
"Did he? Hurt you, I mean? Did he hurt you when he fucked you?"
Moira tensed. Bit her lower lip. Knew he was waiting for an answer. She felt a chill along her skin. The air cold on her now that he was no longer intimately joined with her. "No."
John said nothing. Had wondered if she would lie to him. Evade the question. He felt the tension through his body, chasing the pleasure away. "Part of the deal, was it?"
His voice was stern. Husky. It sent a shiver through Moira. Made her lower body tighten. She licked her lips. Knew he was waiting again. "Yes. To save you."
"I see. To save me. You fucked him to save me." His voice was cold, dispassionate. But the anger rode under it like a dark wave. He turned on his side to look at her.
Moira was staring at the ceiling. Face flushed, hair a wild mess. "Yes." She kept her voice dull, a monotone. Heart hammering in her chest. Another shiver coursed along her skin. The cold air raising goose bumps on her flesh. Hardening her nipples. Cooling the heat between them.
John was silent. Gaze raking over her. Pausing on the bruise. Then on her crotch. His cock stirred again. Not satisfied. Not yet. "Get up."
She met his gaze, startled. Afraid he was throwing her out of the bed, out of the room. Out of his life. "What?" she squeaked.
He smiled. "I said get up. Onto your knees, baby. I'm going to fuck that pert little ass of yours now. That's mine too."
"Oh. I...." She moved to her knees on the bed. Touched the headboard, nervous. Knew he wouldn't hurt her but still she wondered about his mood. "John...I...look, it–"
"I don't want to hear it, Moira. I only want to hear you come." He moved behind her. Flung her hair over her shoulders to bare her back. He touched her hips, pulling her out to him. Ran his hand up between her legs. Slid his hands up to cup her breasts. To fondle and tease. He ran his mouth along her throat, down her back. Freed her breasts and smacked her rear.
"Ow! John, what the–"
"This," he squeezed her rear, making her squirm, "is mine. Got it, baby. This pert little ass is mine. Every fucking inch of you is mine. Mine! Not another version of me, but mine! Only mine! After tonight you won't forget that, will you?"
"John? John, I–" she gasped as he thrust into her, yanking her into a lean so she could take the hard length of him. He shoved his hips up, into her. Hands clasping her breasts again, kneading the nipples until she whimpered in protest. "John, John..."
"A little rough, baby," he informed. Slid his hands down to play along her mound. He began a careful rhythm. His leg protesting with every thrust but he didn't care. Only caring to assert his claim on her. To possess her repeatedly.
Moira squirmed. Grabbed the headboard as he was shoving, shoving into her now. Shoving her up even as one hand yanked her back into a lean. Even as the other deftly slid into the top of her cleft, finding the spot to make her whimper, moan. Sob as he was bringing her doubly now. She arched, head thrown back as John was in total control. Giving her wave after wave of growing pleasure. His need escalating to move faster, harder, but never crossing the line from pleasure to pain. Until his motions became frenzied. Nearly knocking them off the bed. Nearly shoving her headfirst into the wall. "John! John!" she cried, but his groaning, grunting overrode her strained voice. "John!" She cried out as the climax shook her, flooded her.
"Fuck, oh fuck!" he moaned, jerking wildly now as the release trapped him in her. Rode him hard, fast as she came around him now, urging him to follow.
"John! Strawberries!" she gasped, the safe word escaping her lips.
He instantly stopped, hearing it. Slid out of her. "Moira? Are you–"
She elbowed him, scrambled off the bed. "Damn it, John! What was that? Did you have to fuck it out of me, then?"
He moved off the bed, to her in a quick, swift motion. Startled she backed up, hit the wall. He caught her arms, pinned her there. "Yeah. I did, baby. Had to fuck him out of you so only I remain. Got it?"
"You son of a bitch! You–"
"Shut up." He kissed her. Mouth devouring hers. Body pressing to hers. "Ow!" He drew back, glared. "What the fuck?"
She smiled, having bitten his tongue. "Well, well, I thought you wanted it rough, sweetie? Was that too rough for you, John?"
He licked his lips. Touched his tongue. "Damn, Moira...I'm glad that wasn't my cock."
"Oh? Or do you wish it was, sweetie? Happy now?"