Five times John and Elizabeth made a mess of the kitchen
Title: Five times John and Elizabeth made a mess of the kitchen
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: strong R, just to be on the safe side. Adult content, but not too descriptive. Still, not suitable for minors.
Genre: five scenes ranging from mild angst to fluff
Spoilers: season 2, "The Long Goodbye". Also, AUish.
Warnings: as mentioned, adult content, and no beta. I dearly hope my grammar won't make you cry.
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis, its characters and concepts do not belong to me. I am not making money with this story, it's been written purely for fun.
A/N: written for my fellow sparkies from GateWorld Sparky forum! *hugs* I love you, you bunch of enablers!
*
John doesn't expect to find anyone in the kitchen at this hour. And he doesn't scream, no, he makes a manly sound of startled surprise when someone at the other end of dimly lit kitchen drops something onto the floor.
"Major," a voice comes across the room, slightly breathless, but very familiar.
"Doctor," he echoes.
"What are you doing here?" she asks as the lights flicker on (it's enough for him to think about it, and it still creeps him out) and the light fills the kitchen. Her shrill scream still rings in his ears and his heart is still racing. He isn't easily scared, obviously, but he isn't used to floating cities and space vampires sneaking around or energy beings looking like expanding darkness.
“I could ask the same,” he says and relaxes a little. He notices bare feet and dark circles around her eyes and does the math. Nothing puts you to sleep like warm glass of milk. She looks toward her feet.
“Was thirsty,” she says, looking for something to clean up the mess on the floor.
“Um - hum,” he says. She gives him a pointed look.
“Just like you were too, I suppose,” she says, finds a rag under the counter while he retrieves paper towels and kneels next to her. They can call it thirsty, he thinks. It works.
“Something like that,” he agrees, and tries to make it sound easy. They clean up, and make a short work of it, and it seems easy. John steals a quick glance at her face while she's picking up pieces of the broken glass, wrinkled brows and focused gaze and exhaustion beneath, and sighs. Soon they're done and getting up from the floor. He thinks, counts the weeks in his mind, and walks toward the fridge to find more milk. She doesn't protest when he warms it for both of them and hands her a cup.
“No girly screaming this time, Doctor,” he says and she gives him a grin.
“Likewise,” she answers and drinks contently.
He knows his secrets are safe with her.
*
“You shouldn't be allowed near a kitchen,” he says, bent and picking up pieces of glass and shattered plastic and metal.
“Likewise,” she says and gives him a glare. He smirks, he didn't really mean that, and she knows he didn't mean it like he said it.
“You must really hate cooking,” he continues. The kitchen is a mess after two murderously inspired aliens had taken over John and Elizabeth's bodies and made a mess - not just literally.
“You can't even imagine,” she says and grins at him. He holds her eyes for a moment and then grins himself. She accepts this game as a way of the mutual cleaning up process. Half assed jokes are safe. “I suck at cooking,” she says, and that she means.
“You also look mean with a gun,” he says. It's a step too far.
Her grin falters, she hates guns. Her hands pause, holding pieces of a bowl the chef used for salads.
“You're much deadlier with words,” he adds quickly and takes the pieces from her hands.
They continue cleaning up and talking about the mess while trying not to talk about them. Elizabeth knows all will be good. Not just yet, but very soon.
*
“Crap,” he slurs. He's drunk, and he is aware that he's drunk. “I think it's broken.”
She laughs. “If I were you, I'd avoid the Chef for the next few weeks,” she says, leaning against the polished counter and looking at the mess on the floor.
“Make it a month or two,” her look is mean and teasing and she is definitely drunk too.
“Elizabeth,” he drawls, ignores the food and the broken bowl, and walks toward her. He needs to lean against the counter. She smells like cherries. Like cherries and night and Elizabeth. It's nice. She lifts her eyebrow at him, smiling brightly, yes, she is definitely drunk.
He likes it.
“How is he going to find out who did it?” he asks, leaning closer.
“Maybe he'll guess?” she says. “You're known for making mess.”
“Maybe you'd tell?” he asks.
“Actually, you're quite famous for your mess making abilities,” she furthers. He inches even closer. Her eyes look big, and green, and she is so close. He shouldn't do this. She keeps smiling.
“You'd tell,” his voice drops lower. Smile disappears, she is looking at his lips.
“Maybe?”
“What should I do, then?” he asks, moving to stand in front of her, bracing himself against the counter and trapping her between his arms. She doesn't look away. He really shouldn't do this.
“Stop me,” she says and it sounds like a dare.
He looks at her lips.
“Stop you?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. He can almost taste her breath.
“As in stop you from talking?”
“Obviously,” she says.
He does exactly what he was told.
*
It stars innocently - a fight over a cake turns into a cake fight, and somehow John's lips end up where they shouldn't (on her neck) and she grabs a piece of cake and pushes it into his face. They laugh and then she's eating cake off John's chin, and he is feeding her with his fingers. And then there's his tongue, in her mouth, and she doesn't even try to push him away - because it feels so good, and it has been so long, and this is John, and she wants him more than she is willing to admit.
They continue to steal each other's air and breath and the clothes litter the floor. It turns serious quickly, too quickly, as she lets him take her against the counter. It's fast and hard and so good. They grunt and moan and drop something onto the floor in their abandon. John's mouth is hot and his body is solid and strong and Elizabeth holds on and lets herself go.
Later, when she can stand on her bare feet, she looks at the mess. John's breathing is fast and hard and she can feel his heartbeat, thudding in his chest.
“We should clean up,” she says.
“Yeah,” he breathes into her neck.
“And pick up the clothes,” she adds. He just nods, still holding her. “And the cake,” she rubs his back gently.
“You have cake in your hair,” he says.
She pushes him slightly, just enough to look at him.
She smiles. “We can clean that up later.”
*
“We are going to make it,” he says, like it's a mission, looking around small kitchen and wooden working surface.
In a way it is. Two of them in the kitchen at the same time is usually a recepie for disaster.
“I actually like your enthusiasm, but, John -” she kisses him back, then swats his hands away. “Behave, before we knock something over.”
“Gotcha,” he teases. She knows he is teasing, but it still infuriates her, and he thinks she is cute like this. She glares at him. Three years, and it still works in the same way as before, and they are happy. It's not perfect, but it's real, solid happiness.
“If you don't behave, I will kick you out of my kitchen, or better! I will leave you make the cake for Rodney all by yourself,” she says. John knows a hollow threat when he hears one.
“Elizabeth,” he almost laughs, pulls her against him, her back pressed to his front, nose in her hair. “I am done teasing, I promise. But you're forgetting one thing.”
“Really?” she asks, hands covered with flour. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, and he can almost feel her frustration. He knows she wants this to work out, badly, because it's Rodney's first birthday after Atlantis, and one of the rare times they'll get together. Carson and Laura are coming too. Katie is bringing the flowers. Evan is off world, but he had sent a birthday card.
John loosens his hold, drops a kiss onto Elizabeth's curls and whispers.
“You can kick me out, but between two of us? I am a better cook,” he says.
She laughs, turns around and swats him again. John knows there will be mess in the kitchen.
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Rating: strong R, just to be on the safe side. Adult content, but not too descriptive. Still, not suitable for minors.
Genre: five scenes ranging from mild angst to fluff
Spoilers: season 2, "The Long Goodbye". Also, AUish.
Warnings: as mentioned, adult content, and no beta. I dearly hope my grammar won't make you cry.
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis, its characters and concepts do not belong to me. I am not making money with this story, it's been written purely for fun.
A/N: written for my fellow sparkies from GateWorld Sparky forum! *hugs* I love you, you bunch of enablers!
*
John doesn't expect to find anyone in the kitchen at this hour. And he doesn't scream, no, he makes a manly sound of startled surprise when someone at the other end of dimly lit kitchen drops something onto the floor.
"Major," a voice comes across the room, slightly breathless, but very familiar.
"Doctor," he echoes.
"What are you doing here?" she asks as the lights flicker on (it's enough for him to think about it, and it still creeps him out) and the light fills the kitchen. Her shrill scream still rings in his ears and his heart is still racing. He isn't easily scared, obviously, but he isn't used to floating cities and space vampires sneaking around or energy beings looking like expanding darkness.
“I could ask the same,” he says and relaxes a little. He notices bare feet and dark circles around her eyes and does the math. Nothing puts you to sleep like warm glass of milk. She looks toward her feet.
“Was thirsty,” she says, looking for something to clean up the mess on the floor.
“Um - hum,” he says. She gives him a pointed look.
“Just like you were too, I suppose,” she says, finds a rag under the counter while he retrieves paper towels and kneels next to her. They can call it thirsty, he thinks. It works.
“Something like that,” he agrees, and tries to make it sound easy. They clean up, and make a short work of it, and it seems easy. John steals a quick glance at her face while she's picking up pieces of the broken glass, wrinkled brows and focused gaze and exhaustion beneath, and sighs. Soon they're done and getting up from the floor. He thinks, counts the weeks in his mind, and walks toward the fridge to find more milk. She doesn't protest when he warms it for both of them and hands her a cup.
“No girly screaming this time, Doctor,” he says and she gives him a grin.
“Likewise,” she answers and drinks contently.
He knows his secrets are safe with her.
*
“You shouldn't be allowed near a kitchen,” he says, bent and picking up pieces of glass and shattered plastic and metal.
“Likewise,” she says and gives him a glare. He smirks, he didn't really mean that, and she knows he didn't mean it like he said it.
“You must really hate cooking,” he continues. The kitchen is a mess after two murderously inspired aliens had taken over John and Elizabeth's bodies and made a mess - not just literally.
“You can't even imagine,” she says and grins at him. He holds her eyes for a moment and then grins himself. She accepts this game as a way of the mutual cleaning up process. Half assed jokes are safe. “I suck at cooking,” she says, and that she means.
“You also look mean with a gun,” he says. It's a step too far.
Her grin falters, she hates guns. Her hands pause, holding pieces of a bowl the chef used for salads.
“You're much deadlier with words,” he adds quickly and takes the pieces from her hands.
They continue cleaning up and talking about the mess while trying not to talk about them. Elizabeth knows all will be good. Not just yet, but very soon.
*
“Crap,” he slurs. He's drunk, and he is aware that he's drunk. “I think it's broken.”
She laughs. “If I were you, I'd avoid the Chef for the next few weeks,” she says, leaning against the polished counter and looking at the mess on the floor.
“Make it a month or two,” her look is mean and teasing and she is definitely drunk too.
“Elizabeth,” he drawls, ignores the food and the broken bowl, and walks toward her. He needs to lean against the counter. She smells like cherries. Like cherries and night and Elizabeth. It's nice. She lifts her eyebrow at him, smiling brightly, yes, she is definitely drunk.
He likes it.
“How is he going to find out who did it?” he asks, leaning closer.
“Maybe he'll guess?” she says. “You're known for making mess.”
“Maybe you'd tell?” he asks.
“Actually, you're quite famous for your mess making abilities,” she furthers. He inches even closer. Her eyes look big, and green, and she is so close. He shouldn't do this. She keeps smiling.
“You'd tell,” his voice drops lower. Smile disappears, she is looking at his lips.
“Maybe?”
“What should I do, then?” he asks, moving to stand in front of her, bracing himself against the counter and trapping her between his arms. She doesn't look away. He really shouldn't do this.
“Stop me,” she says and it sounds like a dare.
He looks at her lips.
“Stop you?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. He can almost taste her breath.
“As in stop you from talking?”
“Obviously,” she says.
He does exactly what he was told.
*
It stars innocently - a fight over a cake turns into a cake fight, and somehow John's lips end up where they shouldn't (on her neck) and she grabs a piece of cake and pushes it into his face. They laugh and then she's eating cake off John's chin, and he is feeding her with his fingers. And then there's his tongue, in her mouth, and she doesn't even try to push him away - because it feels so good, and it has been so long, and this is John, and she wants him more than she is willing to admit.
They continue to steal each other's air and breath and the clothes litter the floor. It turns serious quickly, too quickly, as she lets him take her against the counter. It's fast and hard and so good. They grunt and moan and drop something onto the floor in their abandon. John's mouth is hot and his body is solid and strong and Elizabeth holds on and lets herself go.
Later, when she can stand on her bare feet, she looks at the mess. John's breathing is fast and hard and she can feel his heartbeat, thudding in his chest.
“We should clean up,” she says.
“Yeah,” he breathes into her neck.
“And pick up the clothes,” she adds. He just nods, still holding her. “And the cake,” she rubs his back gently.
“You have cake in your hair,” he says.
She pushes him slightly, just enough to look at him.
She smiles. “We can clean that up later.”
*
“We are going to make it,” he says, like it's a mission, looking around small kitchen and wooden working surface.
In a way it is. Two of them in the kitchen at the same time is usually a recepie for disaster.
“I actually like your enthusiasm, but, John -” she kisses him back, then swats his hands away. “Behave, before we knock something over.”
“Gotcha,” he teases. She knows he is teasing, but it still infuriates her, and he thinks she is cute like this. She glares at him. Three years, and it still works in the same way as before, and they are happy. It's not perfect, but it's real, solid happiness.
“If you don't behave, I will kick you out of my kitchen, or better! I will leave you make the cake for Rodney all by yourself,” she says. John knows a hollow threat when he hears one.
“Elizabeth,” he almost laughs, pulls her against him, her back pressed to his front, nose in her hair. “I am done teasing, I promise. But you're forgetting one thing.”
“Really?” she asks, hands covered with flour. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, and he can almost feel her frustration. He knows she wants this to work out, badly, because it's Rodney's first birthday after Atlantis, and one of the rare times they'll get together. Carson and Laura are coming too. Katie is bringing the flowers. Evan is off world, but he had sent a birthday card.
John loosens his hold, drops a kiss onto Elizabeth's curls and whispers.
“You can kick me out, but between two of us? I am a better cook,” he says.
She laughs, turns around and swats him again. John knows there will be mess in the kitchen.