Fic: Ten Mornings [NC-17]
-- one --
“You do know what time it is, don’t you?”
Startled by the sound of John’s voice, Elizabeth looks up from the file she was reading.
She readies a defensive retort, but it's soon forgotten when she realizes John is leaning against the door of her office - smiling; with two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I am very well aware of the time, Major,” she says, amusement tainting her voice.
“Just checking,” he retorts back.
Elizabeth eyes the coffee in his hands, steaming. “Is that for me?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.
“No, I just like carrying around two cups of coffee.”
She narrows her eyes at him, but the smile never leaves her face.
John sashays in; placing one cup of coffee on her desk.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He eyes the seat across her desk, but opts not to sit.
“What are you doing up so early? Couldn’t sleep?” he ventures.
She lets out a small laugh. “Something like that, yeah.” She rests her arms on the desk and leans forward. “You? Out for an early run I see,” she says, eyeing his workout clothes.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep either, so I thought I’d get an early start.” Feeling a bit awkward and sensing she really wants to go back to work but doesn’t have the heart to dismiss him, he retreats slowly. “Right. Back to work then.”
John turns back at the last minute. “Oh, maybe sometime you could join me for a run? We gotta keep fit, you know, for our… intergalactic duties.” Nice John, very smooth, he thinks.
“I’d like that.” She gives him a smile.
He’s surprised by her reaction, but decides not to question it. He runs out with a spring in his step.
-- two --
The door to Elizabeth’s quarters swooshes open and before she can even finish the action, John intervenes.
“Oh no! what do you think you’re doing?” John admonishes, while trying to balance the plates, glasses and various accoutrements on the tray he’s holding.
“Trying to extrapolate why the predicted mass of the quantum vacuum have little effect on the expansion of the universe?” Elizabeth deadpans, which is a feat in of itself since she’s doing her best impression of a woman steady on her feet.
John blinks; stunned. “Have you been listening to Rodney again?” he asks. “Doesn’t matter. You’re sick, you’re going back in bed.”
“John” Elizabeth admonishes back. ”I’m fine, I can go back to work.” She holds steady by leaning on her bedside table.
"You have a fever of 102. No. Back to bed, Missy.” John turns away from her, carefully placing the tray on her desk.
“What did you just call me?” she snaps.
His back to her, he cringes. John turns around slowly.
“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean you can get away with calling me ‘Missy’.” The irritation in her voice evident.
“See? You just admitted you’re sick. Now back to bed, before your breakfast gets cold,” he argues.
“Well played, mister.” Elizabeth relents, and climbs back into bed.
He beams while she glares.
-- three --
As always, it starts off with a crisis.
They’d been on high alert for a week before the Wraith attacked the city, leaving parts of the city in ruins. Now, it’s four A.M., and they’re all picking up the pieces.
This is how they deal.
He holds her close, his lips hovering over hers.
She’s clutching the collar of his jacket, not sure if to push him away or to pull him closer.
Elizabeth is shaking; whispers in the dark silence, “John I -“
“I know, Elizabeth.”
He pushes her back-back, against the wall of the closet; kisses her hard. Kisses her like he means it (whatever it might be); kisses her like he means everything. He swirls his tongue over her upper lip and she moans, his hips pressing harder against her as she --
“Dr. Weir, we need you back in the control room.”
-- four --
“Oh God John, faster.”
He moves inside her, slow and steady, her hands clutching at his back. Her small gasps echo throughout the room. He grasps her hips tightly, pushing at an angle and she breathes deep, clutching him in a way that makes him moan. “Fuck, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t stop.”
Christ, he thinks, and wraps his lips around her nipple. He begins to push harder, faster. He can’t take it, not anymore. Her body beneath his; grasping, wanting.
He pushes his hand between them and circles her clit. She comes hard, her cry a loud ringing in his ears.
-- five --
“We can’t keep doing this, you know.”
Their bodies tangled in her sheets; sleek with sweat.
“I know.” He reaches out to caress her skin.
-- six --
Give. It. Back.”
John holds the file up, out of reach.
“No. You said you were taking the morning off. It’s five AM Elizabeth. You’re not supposed to be working. We should be sleeping. Or having sex.” He ponders on that for a second. “You know what? I like the second option better.”
She advances and he steps back.
“I was just reading it,” she reasons.
“Yeah. Which are…” He lowers the folder until he can take a peak. “… water reclamation reports. Which constitutes working. So no, I am not giving back the file.”
Elizabeth gives him her patented glare. Her glares usually leave him rattled, but right now, it’s really just turning him on. Mainly because she’s giving it to him while only wearing a thin white tank top and red underwear.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this, Colonel.” She threatens; but really, he just thinks she looks adorable. “Give. Me Back. The File.”
He smirks at her and shakes his head. “Uh uh.”
She reaches for the file and tries to snatch it back.
John, of course, is quick on his movements and they end up wrestling for it, tumbling down on the bed.The kiss was inevitable.
So was Elizabeth getting back the file.
“No fair!” John protests. It really wasn’t.
Elizabeth jumps up from the bed, triumphant. She laughs at him, a good hearty laugh he rarely, rarely hears from her and he abandons the thought of fighting over some stupid file.
But only for a minute. She is still supposed to be taking the morning off. And they are still supposed to be having sex right about now.
He chases her around the room until they tumble back into bed.
“John! You’re lying down on the file!”
He silences her with a slow, drawn out kiss. They can print the file again later.
-- seven --
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth… look at me.” He lifts her chin up. “This was not your fault.”
She doesn’t look him in the eye. Instead she just whips her head back to the task at hand.
“Eleven people died, John. Eleven. Seven of them ours,” she spats out. Her face is tight; brow furrowed in a straight line, still holding in the anger and guilt. She breathes heavily.
“Dr. Tom Langton, Major Alfred Donner, Lieutenant Luis Vasquez,-“ she lists each of the names as she looks at the death certificates she has to sign off on.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says; repeats this over and over in his head.
She doesn’t say anything, just goes back to work. She grips her pen too tightly for John’s liking, and the dark circles under her eyes are more prominent in the light.
“Elizabeth, you need to rest,” is all he can say. He wishes he could take away the guilt and the anger, but he knows her too well. She carries them with her (too much, he thinks) and nothing he can say will change that.
“No. This needs to be done now.”
He knows no amount of arguing will make her stop. And the last thing either of them needs is another argument. “Okay. I’ll wait up.”
He leaves, fearing the worst.
-- eight --
She lies on the infirmary bed, machines and tubes attached to her. The beeping of her heart echoes in the otherwise silent room.
“I haven’t -- I don’t know-“ he stammers and stops; unsure of his words. He breathes deep; gently caresses her hand-- and says what he’s been trying to tell her all along.
“I love you Elizabeth, more than I could possibly say.”
-- nine --
“I am not a yo-yo Elizabeth! You can’t keep pushing me back and forth like this!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She hisses, the anger evident in her voice.
“I’m tired of this, Elizabeth. We can’t do this half way, not anymore. Either we’re together or we’re not.” John argues back. They’ve been at this for what seems like hours. It’s three AM and they’re both very very tired.
“We decided from the very beginning that we wouldn’t let it affect our jobs. That we would be discrete, because if ever the IOA got wind of this, I’d -“
He cuts her off, his voice raised. “What? Now that they know about us, we’re just supposed to break up? Is that it?”
“It’s better for Atlantis,” she pleads, sounding defeated.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He waits for her answer but it never comes.
John holds up his hands in deference. “You know what? Fine. If this is what you want, okay.” He heads towards the doors with clenched fists.
He’s been holding this in for far too long-his constant struggle to always make her see that what they have is worth it-- that they are worth it; and his resentment at her willingness to let go at the first sign of trouble. He’s tired and he trips; loses the battle of keeping his emotions in check. It’s taken its toll and he’s done trying.
He stops before the doors open and lets his anger get the best of him. “I’m willing to fight for you, for us, but I’m sick and tired of, of… you, giving up on us everytime it gets too damn hard. I’m done.”
He walks away and she feels numb.
-- ten --
“We have to get up soon.”
She’s nestled in his side, his hand under the covers, caressing her hip.
“You’ve been saying that for the past two hours ‘Lizabeth.”
She slaps him playfully. The smile on her lips bright; makes her look ten years younger.
“Besides, they can manage. The city hasn’t blown up yet,” he reasons, as his hands start an upward journey.
“Well, I did leave Rodney in charge, so it’s only a matter of time.”
“You did what?”
“I’m kidding John. Teyla’s manning the fort, for now.”
He tickles her in retaliation. They could easily spend the rest of the day in bed. He is, after all, easily distracted by the sight of Elizabeth, naked. And when she runs her tongue over that spot on his --- well, let’s just say, he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone think about leaving.
“So. Up for round…” he thinks about it for a moment. “…four?” he says; wagging his eyebrows.
Her eyes drift down his body. Oh yeah, she thinks; impressed.
“I knew I married you for a reason.”
- f -
“You do know what time it is, don’t you?”
Startled by the sound of John’s voice, Elizabeth looks up from the file she was reading.
She readies a defensive retort, but it's soon forgotten when she realizes John is leaning against the door of her office - smiling; with two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I am very well aware of the time, Major,” she says, amusement tainting her voice.
“Just checking,” he retorts back.
Elizabeth eyes the coffee in his hands, steaming. “Is that for me?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.
“No, I just like carrying around two cups of coffee.”
She narrows her eyes at him, but the smile never leaves her face.
John sashays in; placing one cup of coffee on her desk.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He eyes the seat across her desk, but opts not to sit.
“What are you doing up so early? Couldn’t sleep?” he ventures.
She lets out a small laugh. “Something like that, yeah.” She rests her arms on the desk and leans forward. “You? Out for an early run I see,” she says, eyeing his workout clothes.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep either, so I thought I’d get an early start.” Feeling a bit awkward and sensing she really wants to go back to work but doesn’t have the heart to dismiss him, he retreats slowly. “Right. Back to work then.”
John turns back at the last minute. “Oh, maybe sometime you could join me for a run? We gotta keep fit, you know, for our… intergalactic duties.” Nice John, very smooth, he thinks.
“I’d like that.” She gives him a smile.
He’s surprised by her reaction, but decides not to question it. He runs out with a spring in his step.
-- two --
The door to Elizabeth’s quarters swooshes open and before she can even finish the action, John intervenes.
“Oh no! what do you think you’re doing?” John admonishes, while trying to balance the plates, glasses and various accoutrements on the tray he’s holding.
“Trying to extrapolate why the predicted mass of the quantum vacuum have little effect on the expansion of the universe?” Elizabeth deadpans, which is a feat in of itself since she’s doing her best impression of a woman steady on her feet.
John blinks; stunned. “Have you been listening to Rodney again?” he asks. “Doesn’t matter. You’re sick, you’re going back in bed.”
“John” Elizabeth admonishes back. ”I’m fine, I can go back to work.” She holds steady by leaning on her bedside table.
"You have a fever of 102. No. Back to bed, Missy.” John turns away from her, carefully placing the tray on her desk.
“What did you just call me?” she snaps.
His back to her, he cringes. John turns around slowly.
“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean you can get away with calling me ‘Missy’.” The irritation in her voice evident.
“See? You just admitted you’re sick. Now back to bed, before your breakfast gets cold,” he argues.
“Well played, mister.” Elizabeth relents, and climbs back into bed.
He beams while she glares.
-- three --
As always, it starts off with a crisis.
They’d been on high alert for a week before the Wraith attacked the city, leaving parts of the city in ruins. Now, it’s four A.M., and they’re all picking up the pieces.
This is how they deal.
He holds her close, his lips hovering over hers.
She’s clutching the collar of his jacket, not sure if to push him away or to pull him closer.
Elizabeth is shaking; whispers in the dark silence, “John I -“
“I know, Elizabeth.”
He pushes her back-back, against the wall of the closet; kisses her hard. Kisses her like he means it (whatever it might be); kisses her like he means everything. He swirls his tongue over her upper lip and she moans, his hips pressing harder against her as she --
“Dr. Weir, we need you back in the control room.”
-- four --
“Oh God John, faster.”
He moves inside her, slow and steady, her hands clutching at his back. Her small gasps echo throughout the room. He grasps her hips tightly, pushing at an angle and she breathes deep, clutching him in a way that makes him moan. “Fuck, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t stop.”
Christ, he thinks, and wraps his lips around her nipple. He begins to push harder, faster. He can’t take it, not anymore. Her body beneath his; grasping, wanting.
He pushes his hand between them and circles her clit. She comes hard, her cry a loud ringing in his ears.
-- five --
“We can’t keep doing this, you know.”
Their bodies tangled in her sheets; sleek with sweat.
“I know.” He reaches out to caress her skin.
-- six --
Give. It. Back.”
John holds the file up, out of reach.
“No. You said you were taking the morning off. It’s five AM Elizabeth. You’re not supposed to be working. We should be sleeping. Or having sex.” He ponders on that for a second. “You know what? I like the second option better.”
She advances and he steps back.
“I was just reading it,” she reasons.
“Yeah. Which are…” He lowers the folder until he can take a peak. “… water reclamation reports. Which constitutes working. So no, I am not giving back the file.”
Elizabeth gives him her patented glare. Her glares usually leave him rattled, but right now, it’s really just turning him on. Mainly because she’s giving it to him while only wearing a thin white tank top and red underwear.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this, Colonel.” She threatens; but really, he just thinks she looks adorable. “Give. Me Back. The File.”
He smirks at her and shakes his head. “Uh uh.”
She reaches for the file and tries to snatch it back.
John, of course, is quick on his movements and they end up wrestling for it, tumbling down on the bed.The kiss was inevitable.
So was Elizabeth getting back the file.
“No fair!” John protests. It really wasn’t.
Elizabeth jumps up from the bed, triumphant. She laughs at him, a good hearty laugh he rarely, rarely hears from her and he abandons the thought of fighting over some stupid file.
But only for a minute. She is still supposed to be taking the morning off. And they are still supposed to be having sex right about now.
He chases her around the room until they tumble back into bed.
“John! You’re lying down on the file!”
He silences her with a slow, drawn out kiss. They can print the file again later.
-- seven --
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth… look at me.” He lifts her chin up. “This was not your fault.”
She doesn’t look him in the eye. Instead she just whips her head back to the task at hand.
“Eleven people died, John. Eleven. Seven of them ours,” she spats out. Her face is tight; brow furrowed in a straight line, still holding in the anger and guilt. She breathes heavily.
“Dr. Tom Langton, Major Alfred Donner, Lieutenant Luis Vasquez,-“ she lists each of the names as she looks at the death certificates she has to sign off on.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says; repeats this over and over in his head.
She doesn’t say anything, just goes back to work. She grips her pen too tightly for John’s liking, and the dark circles under her eyes are more prominent in the light.
“Elizabeth, you need to rest,” is all he can say. He wishes he could take away the guilt and the anger, but he knows her too well. She carries them with her (too much, he thinks) and nothing he can say will change that.
“No. This needs to be done now.”
He knows no amount of arguing will make her stop. And the last thing either of them needs is another argument. “Okay. I’ll wait up.”
He leaves, fearing the worst.
-- eight --
She lies on the infirmary bed, machines and tubes attached to her. The beeping of her heart echoes in the otherwise silent room.
“I haven’t -- I don’t know-“ he stammers and stops; unsure of his words. He breathes deep; gently caresses her hand-- and says what he’s been trying to tell her all along.
“I love you Elizabeth, more than I could possibly say.”
-- nine --
“I am not a yo-yo Elizabeth! You can’t keep pushing me back and forth like this!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She hisses, the anger evident in her voice.
“I’m tired of this, Elizabeth. We can’t do this half way, not anymore. Either we’re together or we’re not.” John argues back. They’ve been at this for what seems like hours. It’s three AM and they’re both very very tired.
“We decided from the very beginning that we wouldn’t let it affect our jobs. That we would be discrete, because if ever the IOA got wind of this, I’d -“
He cuts her off, his voice raised. “What? Now that they know about us, we’re just supposed to break up? Is that it?”
“It’s better for Atlantis,” she pleads, sounding defeated.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He waits for her answer but it never comes.
John holds up his hands in deference. “You know what? Fine. If this is what you want, okay.” He heads towards the doors with clenched fists.
He’s been holding this in for far too long-his constant struggle to always make her see that what they have is worth it-- that they are worth it; and his resentment at her willingness to let go at the first sign of trouble. He’s tired and he trips; loses the battle of keeping his emotions in check. It’s taken its toll and he’s done trying.
He stops before the doors open and lets his anger get the best of him. “I’m willing to fight for you, for us, but I’m sick and tired of, of… you, giving up on us everytime it gets too damn hard. I’m done.”
He walks away and she feels numb.
-- ten --
“We have to get up soon.”
She’s nestled in his side, his hand under the covers, caressing her hip.
“You’ve been saying that for the past two hours ‘Lizabeth.”
She slaps him playfully. The smile on her lips bright; makes her look ten years younger.
“Besides, they can manage. The city hasn’t blown up yet,” he reasons, as his hands start an upward journey.
“Well, I did leave Rodney in charge, so it’s only a matter of time.”
“You did what?”
“I’m kidding John. Teyla’s manning the fort, for now.”
He tickles her in retaliation. They could easily spend the rest of the day in bed. He is, after all, easily distracted by the sight of Elizabeth, naked. And when she runs her tongue over that spot on his --- well, let’s just say, he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone think about leaving.
“So. Up for round…” he thinks about it for a moment. “…four?” he says; wagging his eyebrows.
Her eyes drift down his body. Oh yeah, she thinks; impressed.
“I knew I married you for a reason.”
- f -