Conditioned Association3
Moira smiled, feeling a surge of love, of sympathy for her husband. Knew he was exhausted. Probably sore. But she knew they would be thinking of this and unable to sleep. Not that she wanted sleep just yet. She found herself wanting him, needing him. He was incredibly sexy. Tousled hair. Scruffy beard. Red shirt clinging to his muscles, to his lean form. The red and blue bottoms outlining his hips, legs. Other parts of his anatomy. She shifted on the chair again.
John opened the dresser drawer, unlocked the strong box he kept there. Grabbed the flash drive. Stood a moment staring at the meager contents. Scowled. Briefly touched a photo. Shut the box, the drawer. Trudged back to Moira. He set the flash drive on the table. Plopped onto the chair again.
"Thank you, sweetie. Why don't you curl up in bed?"
He frowned. "And let you watch this alone? Hell no." He patted his thighs. "Here. Like we always do."
She inserted the drive into the computer. Accessed the screen. The blue planet icon. She hesitated. Keenly aware of her awakening desires, arousal. Knew he would be too. She moved to straddle his lap, her back to him. She shifted, getting comfortable.
His arms encircled her. One hand resting on her abdomen, as if to shield his child from what was to come. He sat up, so close now his breath caressed her cheek, her ear. "Go ahead. Who are the fourth couple?"
"You remembered? Wow. Let me think a minute."
"Take two," he teased. Stroking her thigh with his other hand. Drinking in the scent of her. Strawberries. Vanilla. A whiff of floral essences. The weight of her body on his. Solid. Real. He shifted a little, smiled. Felt the softness. Felt the pants, her panties. A subtle moistness that made him lick his lips. He kissed her throat. "Why don't we just go to bed, baby," he suggested in a low voice. Tired but warm. Sore but aroused.
"Not yet, sweetie. Okay...maybe this..." She typed in the previous sequences until another name popped on the screen. "Fionn Mac Cumhal," she read. "In his early heroic days, and his lost love Sadb, who is, who is taken from him in the form of a beautiful deer after giving birth to his son Oisin." At his silence she continued, typing the name onto the screen, "you may remember Fionn from the third couple? The aging king who pursued Grainne and Naoise?"
"Yes," John said quietly.
"Oh. That was it," she commented.
The screen flashed. The colonel appeared. A darker, rougher, more haggard version of John. Moira drew back a little, unsettled. John enfolded her in his close embrace. Her back against his chest now. Stared at the colonel. His darker self. The one who had lost his version of Moira. At that moment John understood. Having almost lost his. Having almost lost so much more. He started as the colonel began to speak. In Gaelic. Gruff voice harsh, foreign to John's ears. He couldn't understand a word of it, except Moira's name. "When the hell did I learn Irish?" he muttered. "Moy? Translate."
Moira was transfixed. Startled by the similarities, the differences to the man with her now. Astonished at his use of Gaelic. The words flowing from him in his low voice. "In a sec," she whispered, riveted.
John felt her tense. Her gasp. Her hand suddenly on his, pressing it to her abdomen. He twisted round to gauge her reactions. Saw her surprise, dismay. Sympathy. Jealousy flared a moment.
"Shit! Moira, translate now! Word for word! Every word! Exactly!" he demanded, as the image faded. Silence.
"My God..." she whispered. "It's my fault. My fault..." she stammered.
"What is? Moy?" he said, frustrated.
She turned to meet his gaze. "We could have prevented this, John! Well, not prevented it but we could have been forewarned, prepared. I should have accessed the message sooner! Why did I wait? Why? I should have–"
"I should have let you, Moy. You kept trying but I wouldn't let you. It's my fault," he realized. "Word for word. Now."
"It's not your fault, John! No, none of this is–"
"Word for word," he repeated tersely. Quietly. "Every word. Or I will send it to Earth and have someone there do it for me, and I'd rather not."
"Of course, John! I'd never lie to you!"
"I know. But don't omit a single word either," he advised sternly.
Moira kissed him. Turned back to the screen. "I'll have to rewind it, then play it. Word for word, John. Every word." She played it again. Spoke in time to the colonel's raspy voice as she translated aloud for John. "Moira, I knew you would crack the last code. The last message. My sweet Moira, this is for you alone. If you haven't encountered second queen to pawn you soon will. If our ATA Wraith invade your reality they will communicate with the other queens telepathically. They will know about you, Moira. The threat you pose. Your DNA and the poison you developed. Moira, you can't, you cannot let John impregnate you. Not now. Not ever." She paused, swallowing.
John's hand was firmly pressed to her abdomen. "Too late for that," he said quietly. "Go on."
Moira continued. "The risk factor is too high. To Atlantis. To you. To the unborn child. You must come to me, Moira. You will be safer here. You will be safe and any child we have will be safe. You do understand the potential a child of ours possesses. The ATA genetic codes of both of us, plus the double. They will kill to possess it. Possess you. You cannot have a child with John. Not there. Here you can. With me. My sweet Moira, only here with me can you be safe. If there was a second queen she will know about the breeding program. The harvest. If the ATA Wraith come through the Stargate then God help you all. Moira, only I can save you. Protect you. Love you. Understand you as John never could, never can. Give you a child to raise safely. I will wait for you, Moira."
Moira fell silent. Nervous. She closed the link. The laptop. Could only imagine John's reactions. Guilt. Blame. Realization. Anger. Jealousy. His fingers were still caressing her thigh, her abdomen. But the rest of him had gone very still. Moira caressed his hand at her abdomen. She proceeded cautiously. "John. You know part of this is him playing you. He knew I would show you, tell you. Translate every word for you. Word for word. He's deliberately baiting you. Taunting you."
"I know." John's voice was low. Grave. "But he's right. You were right. If we had heard this intel earlier we would have been forewarned. At least I could have gotten you to safety."
"No. I'm not leaving you, John."
"To Pleistocene Park, at least," he continued, staring at the roses adorning the table. "I'm making too many mistakes, Moira. Mistakes he never would have made. Damn him!" The fury came and went.
Moira turned to him, swung her legs together now to sit sideways. She kissed him. "No, John. We've all blundered but we came through. All of us. So don't you go blaming yourself for everything, because everything is not your fault! I won't let you wallow in more guilt, John! I won't! Please!"
He met her gaze. Touched her bruised lip. Her cut cheek. Fingers gentle. Tender. "I've been selfish, Moy. So goddamned selfish. I should have sent you to Earth the second we learned you were pregnant. I should send you there now. I should–"
"No! No, I won't hear you talk like that, John! I'm not leaving you, nor is John junior. So stop those contingency plans right now!" She kissed him, nestled against him. Stroked his chest. The red t-shirt. She idly wondered if he had on red boxers. "I love you, John. You. I am carrying your son, colonel. Yours."
"We may not have a choice, Moy," he grimly observed.
"There's always a choice, sweetie."
"And what was that? Double?" he asked, gaze narrowing as she almost visibly flinched. "Moira? Tell me now, damn it!"
She sighed. "It's...Carson discovered it when he was scanning the baby, to make sure the baby was okay. The baby is okay, John, don't you worry. It's fine. The baby, the baby just has a, a double."
He stared at her. "A double what? Wait...wait...a double ATA gene? Well, we knew that, didn't we? Yours and mine, right, and then yours which gives you the double–"
"No, John, we were wrong. It's not me. It's the baby. The baby has two. Ours, yes, and another one. And no, we have no idea what it means but Carson assured me the baby was healthy and strong and only time will tell." She stood. "Let's go to bed. I want to be in bed with you, sweetie, please. John?" She caught his hand. Led him there. Turned off the lights. Got under the covers. "John?"
He relented. Mind reeling over everything. He got in next to her. Frowning. Relishing this, just the simple act of getting into the same bed with her. Even with no sex, just comfort. Cuddling. Sleep. Having come so close to losing her he was almost afraid to go to sleep. To take his eyes off her. Off their child. "We may have to send you to–"
She kissed him, cutting off his words, his decisions. She pushed him onto his back. Slid over him. Kissing him over and over. His arms went around her. She stroked his hair. Ran her mouth to circle his ear. To bite until he groaned.
"Moy?" he asked, uncertain, although her intentions seemed clear. Very clear as her body pressed against his. All curves and softness inviting him, luring him. Her mouth returned to his. Kiss after kiss. She nibbled his lower lip. Her hands sliding up under his shirt. Nails raking gently on his skin, tugging his hair. "Moy?" he repeated.
She smiled, lifted up a little to view his handsome, perplexed face. "Sorry, John. You look so, so fucking...scrumptious."
"Scrumptious?" he asked, raising a brow. Not sure whether to be amused or offended. Not caring as her body squirmed on his.
"Hmm, yes, absolutely rough and ready, sweetie. Well, not quite ready yet. Didn't you tell me that all women want your cock inside of them? John...I am a woman." She kissed him. Her had slid down to caress. Grasp gently. Then a little harder.
"You most certainly are, baby, but now? I mean...I mean now? Are you up for it?"
She laughed softly. "Oh, I am. The question is, colonel, are you? Up for it? Let me see if you can get it up for me." She kissed him again, caressing. Stroking.
"Oh fuck..." he groaned, reacting to her wooing. "I'm sure you can if I can't," he quipped. Relaxed and tense all at once. "Moy? What about John junior? Hasn't he had enough of being jostled around?"
"He's strapped in secure, sweetie. And besides, you could never hurt him. Or me. And he needs turbulence training, doesn't he? He's a fighter, like you. I saw you, John." She kissed him, gliding down to pull up his shirt. To kiss along his waist.
He groaned, shifting. "Saw me?"
"I saw you. Before I passed out. I saw you kill the queen." She slid to kiss his mouth. Trailed her kisses to his ear. "So strong, so brave. One massive thrust to impale her, all the way through..." she breathed into his ear. "All that strength, anger...thrust..." She circled his ear, bit gently. Harder. "Are you hard now, colonel? Can you deploy that thrusting ordnance in me?"
John groaned, giving in at last. Needing her, wanting her. He kissed her passionately. Rolled them so she was beneath. Kisses passionate, yearning. Hungry. Tongue plying hers as his hands slid along her body. Shoving up her top to caress bare breasts. To stare, then mouth them eagerly. Sloppily.
Moira moaned happily, arching into his mouth. As his tongue plied her nipples. His scruffy face sending a delicious abrasion through her. "Oh John! John, John, John!" she enthused, eager, breathless. Legs spreading wide. Needing him, wanting him. But he stopped suddenly. Moira felt the cool air on her wet nipple as he met her gaze, lifting his head. Her fingers sliding from his hair to his broad shoulders. "John?"
He kissed her, gentler now. Fingers sliding out of her crotch where they had been stroking, caressing her cleft, making her wet. Making her whimper, squirm. "Moira," he said deeply. Cock throbbing now against her. So intense, so hungry. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, John, please!" She pulled him into a kiss, pulling at his shirt. Making soft, whimpering sounds that aroused the hell out of him. He kissed her repeatedly, yanking down the pajama pants, the panties as his fingers probed. Slid in to make her gasp, moan, arch. "Oh John! John, John, please oh God! John, John, fuck me, just fuck me!"
He drowned her arousal, her demands in kisses. Shoving her legs wide as he freed them of all hampering materials. She pulled down his pants, found no boxers. Nothing at all but his eager, hard cock to slide inside her. He groaned, grunting as he thrust, thrust into her. Throbbing with need, hunger. Desire.
Moira moaned loudly, crying out and clinging as he thrust harder, faster. A frenzy building. Relentless sliding over her, in her, bringing her hotly. She was pulsing, clenching repeatedly on him now. The bed was rocking wildly. The broken headboard slamming the wall. Writhing wildy under him. "John! John!" she cried as the climax flooded. Waves of pleasure, possession inundating her. "Oh John! John, John, John!"
"Fuck! Oh fuck!" he growled, straining inside her. Reveling in the feel of her. The snugness, the tightness. Propelling him onward, onward, friction building. Coming hard and fast. "Moira! Oh God that is sweet! Moira, Moira, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exclaimed as he came. Shaken by spasms as the release guided each thrust now. He slowed, slowed. Fell upon her. Scooted his weight off to kiss her. Kiss her repeatedly now, tongue gliding. Down her throat as she murmured, catching her breath. Down to her breasts. Down to her waist. "Sorry, John junior," he muttered, "I had to have your mom in a real bad way...so fucking sweet." He rolled onto his back. "Oh fuck, fuck...fuck!" He breathed heavily, smiled.
"Fuck indeed," she said breathlessly, causing him to snort with amusement. She rolled towards him. Snuggled on top of him. Yanked the blankets over them. She kissed him. "Oh John. John...I can't. I can't give this up, I just can't!"
"You won't have to, baby, I can't give it up either. Fuck."
She kissed him again, squirming on top of him. "Oh John. You won't dream at all tonight. Just sleep. Soundly."
"Promise?" he asked, caressing her back. Already drifting into a blissful slumber. "We could go again, baby. Give me five...ten...eleven..."
She smiled at his sleepy voice. His replete tone. "Later, sweetie. Go to sleep. Oh John," she purred into his ear, kissing him. Down his throat again.
"Oh Moira, Moira Sheppard," he said lovingly. "My Moira."
"My John," she whispered, staring at the darkness. Wide awake. Secure. Protected and loved. She sighed. Kissed him again. "John?" She nudged him. "John? Jo-hn," she sang into his ear. "Were you serious about eleven, sweetie?"
"Wha...huh...you...ssh...eleven?" he muttered, half asleep already. Relaxed. Sated. Secure with Moira on him, with him.
"It was too quick, John. Intense and satisfying but too quick. You...John?" He was asleep, out like a light. She smiled. Couldn't wait to tease him in the morning. She snuggled on him, thinking. Thinking of all the men, the guilt they felt, mirrors to John's own guilt. She plotted, planned. Knew she had to assuage all of it or they would be mired in it. Especially John. She fell asleep at last, secure in his arms.