And now, I go be productive.
Title: Ain't No One Else Around
Series: The goddamn genderswap what still needs a name
Summary: Sometimes John just watches Meredith sleep.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 759
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Pairing: John/Meredith
A/N: 1) So I keep telling arymabeth that this is the verse where I accidentally turned John into Edward Cullen, and I'm really not kidding about that. 2) This is just a PWP, but know that it takes place sometime during season 4. The timing is important to other stuff that I haven't finished yet. 3) Dudes, as I was moaning to lallybroch, I have been trying to write John/Mer porn for like TWO FREAKING WEEKS. The first attempt turned into non-con (I know!), the second turned depressing, the third and fourth (which were sex pollen and lesbians, respectively, which you would think I could write in my sleep) stalled out completely. I guess I just had to hit the right angle (heh). 4) I stole the title from TV on the Radio, because apparently I don't listen to any other music. It's as bad as me and Paul Simon titles. Whatever. Think of it as a soundtrack.
Sometimes John just watches Meredith sleep, sits up against the headboard and watches the regular rise and fall of her breasts and stomach, listens to the soft, snuffling snores she makes now and again. She looks so gorgeous, so vulnerable when she's worn out, her face gone slack and peaceful. He doesn't want to touch her, doesn't want to do anything to mar the mundane perfection of her when she's like this; he just wants to be there, next to her, and try to listen for her heartbeat.
He feels maybe a little obsessive when he does it; but he's maybe more than a little obsessed with her, so he figures it's appropriate.
He shifts the wrong way, and she blinks awake slowly, looking at him with soft eyes, her expressive mouth curving into a sleepy smile. "Woke me up."
"Sorry."
She crooks a finger at him. "C'mere and make it up to me."
He grins at her, dirty and genuine, dropping down to the mattress and getting right up next to her. She hooks her leg around his thighs, twines her hand into his hair, pulls him close to kiss his mouth, slow and messy and sweet. Sometimes he thinks he likes her best like this, pliant and sleep-warm, so unconcerned, so responsive, every little brush of his hand or his lips making her sigh or moan. It's a side of her that nobody ever sees; it's a part of her that he doesn't have to share with anybody else, and there are so precious few things he can say that about.
"What do you want?" he murmurs into her ear.
"You woke me up," she tells him, "so you have to do all the work."
He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Really?"
She nods sleepily. "New rule."
He rolls them over, pressing kisses along her jawline before leaning down to nip at her throat. "Are you expecting me to complain?"
"I'm expecting you to get on with it," she says, swatting his ass playfully. "I haven't got all night."
He tugs her sleep pants down over her hips, urging her up so that he can slide them off and toss them to the floor. "You're so bossy."
"You love it," she fires back, tugging at the waistband of his boxers until he takes the hint and gets rid of them. Her tank top is next, and he has to stop and just admire her for a minute, all of her smooth, soft skin laid out for him, and every single inch of it is his, his, his.
"Spread for me," he tells her, vulgar just because he can be, just for the thrill it gives him when she does just that, just opens up and lets him have whatever he wants.
His fingers slip easily into her, his thumb tracing slow circles on her clit. "You ready for me?"
She hums, pressing back against him. "You can't tell? Thought it was kinda obvious."
He rolls his eyes; Meredith pecks him on the cheek. "C'mon," she says softly. "Want you in me, John," she tells him, reaching down to guide him, letting out a satisfied groan as he pushes inside of her. She grinds up against him, her eyelids falling shut, her mouth falling open; and there's nothing urgent about it at all, just their bodies sliding together, quiet and sweat-slick.
It's so good, so easy, just right, special and theirs and still like a revelation even though they've done it a hundred times or more. Meredith just keeps moaning, half-asleep and half-transported, and John can't get enough of it, can't get enough of her. He just keeps moving against her, his body driving into hers, her legs wrapped up around his waist to urge him closer, tighter, more.
She comes without any fanfare, just gasps out his name and clutches at him, her short fingernails biting into the skin of his back; he tumbles over with her, panting, pressing into her as deep as he can go, until it feels like there's no telling where he stops and she begins.
She lets her legs slide down off his back, their calves tangling together; and he knows he should probably move, because it's going to be really uncomfortable in a minute or two, but right now, he's really content to just lay on top of her and let her hair muffle the sated noises he keeps making.
"Lemme up," she says, pushing at his arm. "I should go to the-" but she falls asleep beneath him before she even finishes the sentence.
Series: The goddamn genderswap what still needs a name
Summary: Sometimes John just watches Meredith sleep.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 759
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Pairing: John/Meredith
A/N: 1) So I keep telling arymabeth that this is the verse where I accidentally turned John into Edward Cullen, and I'm really not kidding about that. 2) This is just a PWP, but know that it takes place sometime during season 4. The timing is important to other stuff that I haven't finished yet. 3) Dudes, as I was moaning to lallybroch, I have been trying to write John/Mer porn for like TWO FREAKING WEEKS. The first attempt turned into non-con (I know!), the second turned depressing, the third and fourth (which were sex pollen and lesbians, respectively, which you would think I could write in my sleep) stalled out completely. I guess I just had to hit the right angle (heh). 4) I stole the title from TV on the Radio, because apparently I don't listen to any other music. It's as bad as me and Paul Simon titles. Whatever. Think of it as a soundtrack.
Sometimes John just watches Meredith sleep, sits up against the headboard and watches the regular rise and fall of her breasts and stomach, listens to the soft, snuffling snores she makes now and again. She looks so gorgeous, so vulnerable when she's worn out, her face gone slack and peaceful. He doesn't want to touch her, doesn't want to do anything to mar the mundane perfection of her when she's like this; he just wants to be there, next to her, and try to listen for her heartbeat.
He feels maybe a little obsessive when he does it; but he's maybe more than a little obsessed with her, so he figures it's appropriate.
He shifts the wrong way, and she blinks awake slowly, looking at him with soft eyes, her expressive mouth curving into a sleepy smile. "Woke me up."
"Sorry."
She crooks a finger at him. "C'mere and make it up to me."
He grins at her, dirty and genuine, dropping down to the mattress and getting right up next to her. She hooks her leg around his thighs, twines her hand into his hair, pulls him close to kiss his mouth, slow and messy and sweet. Sometimes he thinks he likes her best like this, pliant and sleep-warm, so unconcerned, so responsive, every little brush of his hand or his lips making her sigh or moan. It's a side of her that nobody ever sees; it's a part of her that he doesn't have to share with anybody else, and there are so precious few things he can say that about.
"What do you want?" he murmurs into her ear.
"You woke me up," she tells him, "so you have to do all the work."
He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Really?"
She nods sleepily. "New rule."
He rolls them over, pressing kisses along her jawline before leaning down to nip at her throat. "Are you expecting me to complain?"
"I'm expecting you to get on with it," she says, swatting his ass playfully. "I haven't got all night."
He tugs her sleep pants down over her hips, urging her up so that he can slide them off and toss them to the floor. "You're so bossy."
"You love it," she fires back, tugging at the waistband of his boxers until he takes the hint and gets rid of them. Her tank top is next, and he has to stop and just admire her for a minute, all of her smooth, soft skin laid out for him, and every single inch of it is his, his, his.
"Spread for me," he tells her, vulgar just because he can be, just for the thrill it gives him when she does just that, just opens up and lets him have whatever he wants.
His fingers slip easily into her, his thumb tracing slow circles on her clit. "You ready for me?"
She hums, pressing back against him. "You can't tell? Thought it was kinda obvious."
He rolls his eyes; Meredith pecks him on the cheek. "C'mon," she says softly. "Want you in me, John," she tells him, reaching down to guide him, letting out a satisfied groan as he pushes inside of her. She grinds up against him, her eyelids falling shut, her mouth falling open; and there's nothing urgent about it at all, just their bodies sliding together, quiet and sweat-slick.
It's so good, so easy, just right, special and theirs and still like a revelation even though they've done it a hundred times or more. Meredith just keeps moaning, half-asleep and half-transported, and John can't get enough of it, can't get enough of her. He just keeps moving against her, his body driving into hers, her legs wrapped up around his waist to urge him closer, tighter, more.
She comes without any fanfare, just gasps out his name and clutches at him, her short fingernails biting into the skin of his back; he tumbles over with her, panting, pressing into her as deep as he can go, until it feels like there's no telling where he stops and she begins.
She lets her legs slide down off his back, their calves tangling together; and he knows he should probably move, because it's going to be really uncomfortable in a minute or two, but right now, he's really content to just lay on top of her and let her hair muffle the sated noises he keeps making.
"Lemme up," she says, pushing at his arm. "I should go to the-" but she falls asleep beneath him before she even finishes the sentence.