Emergency fic filter: "The don't do it list"
Because shadadukal was in dire need of smut. She asked for John, exercising his wrist. It called for S1 fic and the whole thing pretty much wrote itself. Warning - unbetaed. Read it at your own risk.
Title: The don't do it list
Pairing: John/Elizabeth (well, it's John and his right hand actually)
Rating: very NC - 17
Summary: John is suffering sex - deprivation. Working for the female boss, who happens to be insanely hot, is not helping.
Enjoy!
-- x --
John loved to - do lists.
To - do lists meant important things weren't forgotten. To - do lists meant less screw ups. To - do lists were his friends, and he had one for almost everything (which was a well hidden fact about him. Only his younger brother knew of his to - do lists).
John had his pre - mission to - do list, he had his pre - briefing to - do list, he had emergency meetings to - do list.
He also had the hand job to - do list. It was very handy too, the pun not intended. It saved him from embarrassing situations, while still allowing him to keep his sanity because eight months without sex? Was bad. Very, very bad, indeed.
The handy list, how John also called it, said, never to do it after listening to Rodney and Zelenka fight. Jerking off with Rodney’s ranting and Czech swearwords echoing in his head was not amusing.
The list also said, don’t fantasize about the expedition’s shrink. Kate was a hot lady, very hot indeed, but talking to her after using her as his mind porn? Bad idea. He made that mistake only once.
Also, don’t do it before the sparring practice with Teyla. Teyla usually wore that split skirt, which was way too dangerous for any man’s concentration, let alone his. He was suffering from entirely too long sexual deprivation, which couldn’t be healthy. Could one die from it? John wasn’t certain. Only thing he knew was that Teyla usually kicked his ass twice as bad if he wasn’t disciplined and put his needs before his sparring practice.
Ouch.
Actually, the handy list could have easily been renamed into “don’t do it” list.
Don’t do it during the lunch break, don’t do it anywhere in the public areas, no matter how deserted, and don’t do it during the day.
But most of all don’t do it while thinking of your boss. (Being military and working under some cranky asshole Colonel was suddenly whole lot of easier. Having an absurdly gorgeous woman for a boss wasn’t good for John’s sanity).
Jerking off while fantasizing about said woman was worse. Much, much worse.
At the beginning John’s usual tactics that he used to redirect his thoughts from a woman who was off limits toward more acceptable porn material had worked. Being divorced, after all, required some skills for not thinking back about the happy days of the failed marriage and naked goodness that was never going to be again. Hence, John considered his mind disciplined in that way.
But, Elizabeth Weir was probably going to be the death of him.
She was pretty. Heck, she was hot. She was also smart, and that was very hot too. Everything about her was hot - the way she tapped her fingers on the desk, the way her eyebrow ricocheted when she wasn’t going to let him have his way; her eyes, her lips, her hair, her voice. Damn it, her voice could sound so throaty and sexy. The way they were flirting, the fact that she was flirting back in that cool and intelligent way, and still was out of his reach; that was both hot and incredibly frustrating because on those occasions half of his mind almost believed he could have her.
On the worst of days, seeing her toy with the stylus she had on her desk was enough to send his mind into gutter. It was beginning to be that bad.
Lately, bringing himself relief meant lying stretched out on the bed while mentally going through the most boring aspects of the previous day (jerking off before bedtime meant falling asleep to blissful post orgasmic haze and less chance of being interrupted), while trying not to think of any woman from expedition, most notably his boss.
Unluckily for him, the previous day was quite hot and John had spent almost an hour with Elizabeth on the main balcony, looking for a breeze. Nothing unusual about that, but instead of what he considered Elizabeth - uniform (red shirt, unflattering regulation pants), she had a tank top with spaghetti straps and form fitting, butt flattering denim pants.
Also, no bra. Every time the wind blew a bit, he could clearly see her tight little nipples… and there went his mid, again.
John couldn’t help it, he imagined her topless in an instant. He was one of those (rare? or perhaps not so rare) men who loved small, firm breasts. He could feel his mouth watering as he reluctantly allowed his brain to think about them - the breasts in question were small enough to fit into his hands, they looked perky under the fabric of her top. He was certain, if he was to hold them just once, his calloused hands on her soft skin, he would come just from that feeling alone.
But right now he was torn between the need to come and futile attempts not to use Elizabeth as his jerk off fantasy. He usually succeeded, but only partially. He had several magazines that failed to turn him on properly because at this point they were boring - yet they were a good place to start. Then, usually, he'd simply let his mind run away with a fantasy until the release hit him. Just like every night, he tossed the magazine away as the flesh in his hand hardened, but after several minutes of “safe” porn fantasies, his mind supplied him with a naked, sweaty Elizabeth spread under him, eyes half closed and mouth open, whimpering and pleading with him, harder.
His hand stopped as he reluctantly pried his eyes open, telling himself Elizabeth wasn’t his porn star. Or anyone’s for that matter. Hopefully. No, no, don’t go down that road again, dammit.
But his brain refused to cooperate. She probably had someone back on Earth. Perhaps she missed the sex too. If she did, he would gladly be of service and help her relieve the need.
Oh, fuck. His cock stiffened to the point of painful and he gently stroked the sensitive skin, suddenly feeling miserable and lonely.
Tired, horny and covered with sweat, John gave up the battle that was already lost. The flesh of his cock welcomed the hold of his hand; which sped up as he allowed himself to think how it would be with her. She’d be tight, like most women are after not having sex for a long time, but that also meant she’d be fucking turned on, moaning and pleading as he’d undress her. She’d let him part her legs, spread her wide and eat her out until she came straight into his face, and he’d have to hold himself hard to keep from coming.
Then he’d push into her, carefully, and feel her muscles still fluttering. He would groan against the feeling of heat and tightness, and then kiss her breathless while beginning to move. She’d pant and groan, her voice would be strained and throaty, only getting louder. He’d tell her to touch herself and he’d watch while kneading her breast and teasing her nipples until she’d come the second time around.
She wouldn’t mind him rolling her over and pushing her up and onto her knees, parting the cheeks of her firm butt and then sliding into her from behind. He’d hold her hips and push into her in earnest, fuck her for all he’s worth. She’d groan at every push, maybe even scream - he would love to hear her scream, to feel her hot and wet around him, hold her and fuck her until he came all over her naked butt.
It was a harsh, sudden, breathtaking orgasm that left him gasping for air. The hand that held his flesh was wet. The hairs on his legs stood up slightly as the cool breeze filtered past the curtains and into his room. John’s whole body felt spent as he wiped his hand on his stomach.
Fuck, he thought. He shouldn’t have done that. First off, he was supposed to look Elizabeth in the eye tomorrow. Won’t be possible without seeing the mental image of her lying spread legged under him. And secondly, he was supposed to escort her to those negotiations on whatever the planet’s code was. His brain was in no condition to supply him with that piece of information; all he could think about was spending two days with Elizabeth, alone.
God help him. His brain and his don’t do list certainly won’t.
-- x --
So tell me. Who wants a sequel? Say "I"! *g*
Title: The don't do it list
Pairing: John/Elizabeth (well, it's John and his right hand actually)
Rating: very NC - 17
Summary: John is suffering sex - deprivation. Working for the female boss, who happens to be insanely hot, is not helping.
Enjoy!
-- x --
John loved to - do lists.
To - do lists meant important things weren't forgotten. To - do lists meant less screw ups. To - do lists were his friends, and he had one for almost everything (which was a well hidden fact about him. Only his younger brother knew of his to - do lists).
John had his pre - mission to - do list, he had his pre - briefing to - do list, he had emergency meetings to - do list.
He also had the hand job to - do list. It was very handy too, the pun not intended. It saved him from embarrassing situations, while still allowing him to keep his sanity because eight months without sex? Was bad. Very, very bad, indeed.
The handy list, how John also called it, said, never to do it after listening to Rodney and Zelenka fight. Jerking off with Rodney’s ranting and Czech swearwords echoing in his head was not amusing.
The list also said, don’t fantasize about the expedition’s shrink. Kate was a hot lady, very hot indeed, but talking to her after using her as his mind porn? Bad idea. He made that mistake only once.
Also, don’t do it before the sparring practice with Teyla. Teyla usually wore that split skirt, which was way too dangerous for any man’s concentration, let alone his. He was suffering from entirely too long sexual deprivation, which couldn’t be healthy. Could one die from it? John wasn’t certain. Only thing he knew was that Teyla usually kicked his ass twice as bad if he wasn’t disciplined and put his needs before his sparring practice.
Ouch.
Actually, the handy list could have easily been renamed into “don’t do it” list.
Don’t do it during the lunch break, don’t do it anywhere in the public areas, no matter how deserted, and don’t do it during the day.
But most of all don’t do it while thinking of your boss. (Being military and working under some cranky asshole Colonel was suddenly whole lot of easier. Having an absurdly gorgeous woman for a boss wasn’t good for John’s sanity).
Jerking off while fantasizing about said woman was worse. Much, much worse.
At the beginning John’s usual tactics that he used to redirect his thoughts from a woman who was off limits toward more acceptable porn material had worked. Being divorced, after all, required some skills for not thinking back about the happy days of the failed marriage and naked goodness that was never going to be again. Hence, John considered his mind disciplined in that way.
But, Elizabeth Weir was probably going to be the death of him.
She was pretty. Heck, she was hot. She was also smart, and that was very hot too. Everything about her was hot - the way she tapped her fingers on the desk, the way her eyebrow ricocheted when she wasn’t going to let him have his way; her eyes, her lips, her hair, her voice. Damn it, her voice could sound so throaty and sexy. The way they were flirting, the fact that she was flirting back in that cool and intelligent way, and still was out of his reach; that was both hot and incredibly frustrating because on those occasions half of his mind almost believed he could have her.
On the worst of days, seeing her toy with the stylus she had on her desk was enough to send his mind into gutter. It was beginning to be that bad.
Lately, bringing himself relief meant lying stretched out on the bed while mentally going through the most boring aspects of the previous day (jerking off before bedtime meant falling asleep to blissful post orgasmic haze and less chance of being interrupted), while trying not to think of any woman from expedition, most notably his boss.
Unluckily for him, the previous day was quite hot and John had spent almost an hour with Elizabeth on the main balcony, looking for a breeze. Nothing unusual about that, but instead of what he considered Elizabeth - uniform (red shirt, unflattering regulation pants), she had a tank top with spaghetti straps and form fitting, butt flattering denim pants.
Also, no bra. Every time the wind blew a bit, he could clearly see her tight little nipples… and there went his mid, again.
John couldn’t help it, he imagined her topless in an instant. He was one of those (rare? or perhaps not so rare) men who loved small, firm breasts. He could feel his mouth watering as he reluctantly allowed his brain to think about them - the breasts in question were small enough to fit into his hands, they looked perky under the fabric of her top. He was certain, if he was to hold them just once, his calloused hands on her soft skin, he would come just from that feeling alone.
But right now he was torn between the need to come and futile attempts not to use Elizabeth as his jerk off fantasy. He usually succeeded, but only partially. He had several magazines that failed to turn him on properly because at this point they were boring - yet they were a good place to start. Then, usually, he'd simply let his mind run away with a fantasy until the release hit him. Just like every night, he tossed the magazine away as the flesh in his hand hardened, but after several minutes of “safe” porn fantasies, his mind supplied him with a naked, sweaty Elizabeth spread under him, eyes half closed and mouth open, whimpering and pleading with him, harder.
His hand stopped as he reluctantly pried his eyes open, telling himself Elizabeth wasn’t his porn star. Or anyone’s for that matter. Hopefully. No, no, don’t go down that road again, dammit.
But his brain refused to cooperate. She probably had someone back on Earth. Perhaps she missed the sex too. If she did, he would gladly be of service and help her relieve the need.
Oh, fuck. His cock stiffened to the point of painful and he gently stroked the sensitive skin, suddenly feeling miserable and lonely.
Tired, horny and covered with sweat, John gave up the battle that was already lost. The flesh of his cock welcomed the hold of his hand; which sped up as he allowed himself to think how it would be with her. She’d be tight, like most women are after not having sex for a long time, but that also meant she’d be fucking turned on, moaning and pleading as he’d undress her. She’d let him part her legs, spread her wide and eat her out until she came straight into his face, and he’d have to hold himself hard to keep from coming.
Then he’d push into her, carefully, and feel her muscles still fluttering. He would groan against the feeling of heat and tightness, and then kiss her breathless while beginning to move. She’d pant and groan, her voice would be strained and throaty, only getting louder. He’d tell her to touch herself and he’d watch while kneading her breast and teasing her nipples until she’d come the second time around.
She wouldn’t mind him rolling her over and pushing her up and onto her knees, parting the cheeks of her firm butt and then sliding into her from behind. He’d hold her hips and push into her in earnest, fuck her for all he’s worth. She’d groan at every push, maybe even scream - he would love to hear her scream, to feel her hot and wet around him, hold her and fuck her until he came all over her naked butt.
It was a harsh, sudden, breathtaking orgasm that left him gasping for air. The hand that held his flesh was wet. The hairs on his legs stood up slightly as the cool breeze filtered past the curtains and into his room. John’s whole body felt spent as he wiped his hand on his stomach.
Fuck, he thought. He shouldn’t have done that. First off, he was supposed to look Elizabeth in the eye tomorrow. Won’t be possible without seeing the mental image of her lying spread legged under him. And secondly, he was supposed to escort her to those negotiations on whatever the planet’s code was. His brain was in no condition to supply him with that piece of information; all he could think about was spending two days with Elizabeth, alone.
God help him. His brain and his don’t do list certainly won’t.
-- x --
So tell me. Who wants a sequel? Say "I"! *g*