Fic: Proclivities, Part Four
Title: Proclivities, Part Four
Summary: Through a series of unfortunate events, Elizabeth Weir finds herself as the latest Lady Caldwell. How ever will she manage?
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1699
Rating/Contents: NC-17; airships, painplay, etc
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell, background John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: No, I didn't forget about this story. Much.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
PART FOUR
They sat around the conference table, Elizabeth and her crew on one side, Caldwell and his secretary, Marks, on the other. Elizabeth knew that Cowen's visit was fresh in everyone's minds; despite the success they'd had in the past week, the spectre of the Genii hung over them.
"Gerald Baxter," Rodney said. "His background is in the lesser sciences, true, but he's got some interesting ideas about wing design, particularly the shape of the individual beams comprising the-"
"We approve of him," Caldwell broke in.
"Agreed," Elizabeth said. "The next one, if you please?"
Rodney looked miffed, but he continued. "Aiden Ford."
"A guy from my old unit," Sheppard explained. "Good soldier and a decent pilot."
"I have some reservations," Caldwell said. "As I recall, he had some," he paused, "shall we say, trouble separating himself from the enemy during the war."
Sheppard's expression turned sour. "You're the last person who needs to be talking about that."
They stared each other down, the silence rapidly growing uncomfortable. "We'll table him for the moment," Elizabeth broke in, wanting little to do with whatever bad blood was between them. "Who's next?"
Rodney fussed with the papers in front of him, picking up the next resume. "Charles Haemon."
"A former employee of Cowen's," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "An obvious ploy."
"Too obvious," Ronon said.
"Quite," Caldwell replied. "They'll have someone else."
"That's easy enough," Rodney said, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the trash. He laid out the final papers from his stack. "And these three?"
"Childhood friends," Teyla explained. "I would trust them with my life."
"I found nothing of interest," Caldwell said, waving a hand.
Elizabeth pushed back from the table, signalling the end of the meeting. "That's settled, then."
The assembled stood, filtering out of the room. Elizabeth ended up directly beside Caldwell as they both attempted to leave. "After you, I insist," Caldwell said, holding out his arm.
"Thank you," she said, passing through the doorway. "Will you stay for tea?"
"I must return to the warehouse to oversee the new shipments," he said.
She nodded. "Then I will see you for supper."
"Of course," he said. "Until then. Ronon," he said, nodding to each of them in turn, "Teyla, Doctor McKay." His mouth took on the funny quirk it always did when he spoke to John. "Sheppard."
Elizabeth watched him go, not looking at her team, who were suspiciously quiet. She knew what they weren't saying, what she knew they would if they could; the stiff civility between her and her husband was just as alarming as if they'd been screaming at one another. Elizabeth knew no other way to treat him; cold formality had come to characterize the whole of their relationship. She supposed it was just as well. She'd married in order not to upset the sensibilities of the ton, and she had a marriage just as inoffensive as anyone could possibly hope for.
She put it out of her mind, turning to John, who was not so subtly trying to get her attention. "Elizabeth," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "About Ford-"
She looked up; Caldwell was across the room, consulting with Marks as he walked towards the door. "I have every intention of hiring him," she said quietly. "Mistakes were made during the war. I've had nothing but glowing reports of him since."
"It won't be easy to convince Caldwell-"
"This remains my facility," she said firmly. "I respect his opinions and take his concerns into account, but I make the final decisions here."
She could see from John's reaction that she'd been a bit more forceful than she intended. "Good," he said. "I'll let Ford know."
"Do that," she said. She turned away, looking at Rodney and Zelenka, who were pretending not to eavesdrop. "Now, I was promised a walk through the skeleton of the new ship, if it is indeed completed."
"It is wonderful," Zelenka gushed. "Come, I will show you."
Elizabeth let him lead her on, trying to focus on her business and her ships, ignoring everything else.
--
He came into her room again that night; he'd learned to wait until Laura left her, so he didn't need to bother with her corset or, god forbid, her dresses.
She lay down in bed, spreading her legs and turning her face away, and allowed him to array himself over her. He kissed the side of her face, just once, as he pressed inside of her; it was as uncomfortable as usual, though he treated her as if she were made of glass.
Things began as they normally did, but the situation quickly deteriorated. It was difficult not to notice that he was soft, slipping unpleasantly in and out of her. She did her best not to interrupt him, so as to prevent any further humiliation on his part; the situation was unfortunate enough already.
After a few more pointless thrusts, he gave up and rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face.
"I don't understand why you keep doing this to me," Elizabeth said, before she could stop herself.
He sighed, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "A man has needs, Elizabeth."
"Be that as it may, you obviously don't-" She swallowed. "You might as well go back to your whores, if you want your needs fulfilled. You obviously don't want me."
"Is that what you think?" he said. "Goddammit, Elizabeth-"
"Steven!" she exclaimed, shocked at his language.
He looked at her, his gaze piercing. "Are you my wife or aren't you?"
"Yes."
He stared at her harder, and she was caught by the intense, nameless emotion in his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
It was a far more difficult question, but she already knew the answer. "Yes."
He sat up. "Then come here and let me show you what I want."
She hesitated, wary of his predilections, of what he might do to her. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"Yes," he said unabashedly, "and if you don't like it, I'll stop."
Elizabeth saw no reason why she should like it; the idea was preposterous. "Is this what you do with those girls?" she asked.
"No," he replied, and the longing look on his face made her regret having asked.
She let him gather her up, sitting her down in front of him, her back to his chest. She stiffened as he traced his hand down over her stomach. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
He sighed. "If you'll stop worrying, you might enjoy it."
She let herself settle back against him, not fighting this time when his hand found its way between her thighs. She bit her lip as he began to move his fingers, rubbing delicately over her sensitive flesh.
"Relax," he chided.
It was hard not to resist, at least at first, this audacious treatment. But his hands kept stroking her so gently, drawing pleasure whenever his fingertips found the perfect spot, that too soon she forgot to worry.
His hand found its way to her breast, massaging softly. He toyed with her nipple, circling his fingertips around it, before taking it in between his thumb and forefinger. He tightened his fingers by increments; it was nothing at first, but it blossomed into real discomfort, a hot point of pain that seemed to be connected to her whole body at once.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Do you like it?" he pressed, his fingers clamping that much tighter.
She could stop him, she knew. She could protest at this offense, this utter violation; he was not monster enough to hold her here against her will. She could flee the house, if need be, or scream for help.
"Yes," she admitted.
He kissed up the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, paying special attention to those spots that made her sigh. "It gets better," he whispered, his fingers moving faster. It had never been like this before between them. He had taken his pleasure from her, true, but he never seemed to enjoy her body like he was now, playing her like a cherished instrument.
A sort of hysteria came over her, making her thrash against him; he held her tightly, his fingers unrelenting as they moved over her flesh. Tension was building inside of her, pushing her towards somewhere she'd never been, something she scarcely knew the outline of. The pain was a counterpoint, a bright white spark lancing through the morass of feeling clouding her head.
"That's it," he said, his voice soothing in her ear even as his fingers did wicked things to her. "Just relax and let me."
He pinched down harder on her nipple just as he pressed two fingers inside of her, working them in and out quickly, filling the ache inside of her. Her vision swam black, her whole body clenching; she threw her head back onto his shoulder, her breath coming in gasps. The feeling seemed to go on forever, rolling over her in wave after wave of sensation.
She collapsed against him, glad of his strong arms encircling her, but he gave her little respite. He lifted her up bodily, pushing inside of her, and it felt different than it ever had before; it felt like exactly what she needed. She gave herself over to him fully, reaching back to circle his neck with her arms, drawing him ever closer. That feeling of hysteria washed over her again; she found herself moving, pushing, working blindly towards that wonderful peak. He pushed her towards it, closer and closer, until she finally tumbled over it again, crying out. She felt his release inside of her, but it was a far distant feeling, insulated by the warmth that suffused her.
He pulled himself away from her very carefully, pulling her down to lay beside him on the bed. "Stay with me," she said, though her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open.
He brushed her damp hair off of her forehead. "How could I leave?" he told her.
She let herself be pulled down into sleep, his arms still around her.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/328782.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Through a series of unfortunate events, Elizabeth Weir finds herself as the latest Lady Caldwell. How ever will she manage?
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1699
Rating/Contents: NC-17; airships, painplay, etc
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell, background John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: No, I didn't forget about this story. Much.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
PART FOUR
They sat around the conference table, Elizabeth and her crew on one side, Caldwell and his secretary, Marks, on the other. Elizabeth knew that Cowen's visit was fresh in everyone's minds; despite the success they'd had in the past week, the spectre of the Genii hung over them.
"Gerald Baxter," Rodney said. "His background is in the lesser sciences, true, but he's got some interesting ideas about wing design, particularly the shape of the individual beams comprising the-"
"We approve of him," Caldwell broke in.
"Agreed," Elizabeth said. "The next one, if you please?"
Rodney looked miffed, but he continued. "Aiden Ford."
"A guy from my old unit," Sheppard explained. "Good soldier and a decent pilot."
"I have some reservations," Caldwell said. "As I recall, he had some," he paused, "shall we say, trouble separating himself from the enemy during the war."
Sheppard's expression turned sour. "You're the last person who needs to be talking about that."
They stared each other down, the silence rapidly growing uncomfortable. "We'll table him for the moment," Elizabeth broke in, wanting little to do with whatever bad blood was between them. "Who's next?"
Rodney fussed with the papers in front of him, picking up the next resume. "Charles Haemon."
"A former employee of Cowen's," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "An obvious ploy."
"Too obvious," Ronon said.
"Quite," Caldwell replied. "They'll have someone else."
"That's easy enough," Rodney said, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the trash. He laid out the final papers from his stack. "And these three?"
"Childhood friends," Teyla explained. "I would trust them with my life."
"I found nothing of interest," Caldwell said, waving a hand.
Elizabeth pushed back from the table, signalling the end of the meeting. "That's settled, then."
The assembled stood, filtering out of the room. Elizabeth ended up directly beside Caldwell as they both attempted to leave. "After you, I insist," Caldwell said, holding out his arm.
"Thank you," she said, passing through the doorway. "Will you stay for tea?"
"I must return to the warehouse to oversee the new shipments," he said.
She nodded. "Then I will see you for supper."
"Of course," he said. "Until then. Ronon," he said, nodding to each of them in turn, "Teyla, Doctor McKay." His mouth took on the funny quirk it always did when he spoke to John. "Sheppard."
Elizabeth watched him go, not looking at her team, who were suspiciously quiet. She knew what they weren't saying, what she knew they would if they could; the stiff civility between her and her husband was just as alarming as if they'd been screaming at one another. Elizabeth knew no other way to treat him; cold formality had come to characterize the whole of their relationship. She supposed it was just as well. She'd married in order not to upset the sensibilities of the ton, and she had a marriage just as inoffensive as anyone could possibly hope for.
She put it out of her mind, turning to John, who was not so subtly trying to get her attention. "Elizabeth," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "About Ford-"
She looked up; Caldwell was across the room, consulting with Marks as he walked towards the door. "I have every intention of hiring him," she said quietly. "Mistakes were made during the war. I've had nothing but glowing reports of him since."
"It won't be easy to convince Caldwell-"
"This remains my facility," she said firmly. "I respect his opinions and take his concerns into account, but I make the final decisions here."
She could see from John's reaction that she'd been a bit more forceful than she intended. "Good," he said. "I'll let Ford know."
"Do that," she said. She turned away, looking at Rodney and Zelenka, who were pretending not to eavesdrop. "Now, I was promised a walk through the skeleton of the new ship, if it is indeed completed."
"It is wonderful," Zelenka gushed. "Come, I will show you."
Elizabeth let him lead her on, trying to focus on her business and her ships, ignoring everything else.
--
He came into her room again that night; he'd learned to wait until Laura left her, so he didn't need to bother with her corset or, god forbid, her dresses.
She lay down in bed, spreading her legs and turning her face away, and allowed him to array himself over her. He kissed the side of her face, just once, as he pressed inside of her; it was as uncomfortable as usual, though he treated her as if she were made of glass.
Things began as they normally did, but the situation quickly deteriorated. It was difficult not to notice that he was soft, slipping unpleasantly in and out of her. She did her best not to interrupt him, so as to prevent any further humiliation on his part; the situation was unfortunate enough already.
After a few more pointless thrusts, he gave up and rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face.
"I don't understand why you keep doing this to me," Elizabeth said, before she could stop herself.
He sighed, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "A man has needs, Elizabeth."
"Be that as it may, you obviously don't-" She swallowed. "You might as well go back to your whores, if you want your needs fulfilled. You obviously don't want me."
"Is that what you think?" he said. "Goddammit, Elizabeth-"
"Steven!" she exclaimed, shocked at his language.
He looked at her, his gaze piercing. "Are you my wife or aren't you?"
"Yes."
He stared at her harder, and she was caught by the intense, nameless emotion in his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
It was a far more difficult question, but she already knew the answer. "Yes."
He sat up. "Then come here and let me show you what I want."
She hesitated, wary of his predilections, of what he might do to her. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"Yes," he said unabashedly, "and if you don't like it, I'll stop."
Elizabeth saw no reason why she should like it; the idea was preposterous. "Is this what you do with those girls?" she asked.
"No," he replied, and the longing look on his face made her regret having asked.
She let him gather her up, sitting her down in front of him, her back to his chest. She stiffened as he traced his hand down over her stomach. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
He sighed. "If you'll stop worrying, you might enjoy it."
She let herself settle back against him, not fighting this time when his hand found its way between her thighs. She bit her lip as he began to move his fingers, rubbing delicately over her sensitive flesh.
"Relax," he chided.
It was hard not to resist, at least at first, this audacious treatment. But his hands kept stroking her so gently, drawing pleasure whenever his fingertips found the perfect spot, that too soon she forgot to worry.
His hand found its way to her breast, massaging softly. He toyed with her nipple, circling his fingertips around it, before taking it in between his thumb and forefinger. He tightened his fingers by increments; it was nothing at first, but it blossomed into real discomfort, a hot point of pain that seemed to be connected to her whole body at once.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Do you like it?" he pressed, his fingers clamping that much tighter.
She could stop him, she knew. She could protest at this offense, this utter violation; he was not monster enough to hold her here against her will. She could flee the house, if need be, or scream for help.
"Yes," she admitted.
He kissed up the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, paying special attention to those spots that made her sigh. "It gets better," he whispered, his fingers moving faster. It had never been like this before between them. He had taken his pleasure from her, true, but he never seemed to enjoy her body like he was now, playing her like a cherished instrument.
A sort of hysteria came over her, making her thrash against him; he held her tightly, his fingers unrelenting as they moved over her flesh. Tension was building inside of her, pushing her towards somewhere she'd never been, something she scarcely knew the outline of. The pain was a counterpoint, a bright white spark lancing through the morass of feeling clouding her head.
"That's it," he said, his voice soothing in her ear even as his fingers did wicked things to her. "Just relax and let me."
He pinched down harder on her nipple just as he pressed two fingers inside of her, working them in and out quickly, filling the ache inside of her. Her vision swam black, her whole body clenching; she threw her head back onto his shoulder, her breath coming in gasps. The feeling seemed to go on forever, rolling over her in wave after wave of sensation.
She collapsed against him, glad of his strong arms encircling her, but he gave her little respite. He lifted her up bodily, pushing inside of her, and it felt different than it ever had before; it felt like exactly what she needed. She gave herself over to him fully, reaching back to circle his neck with her arms, drawing him ever closer. That feeling of hysteria washed over her again; she found herself moving, pushing, working blindly towards that wonderful peak. He pushed her towards it, closer and closer, until she finally tumbled over it again, crying out. She felt his release inside of her, but it was a far distant feeling, insulated by the warmth that suffused her.
He pulled himself away from her very carefully, pulling her down to lay beside him on the bed. "Stay with me," she said, though her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open.
He brushed her damp hair off of her forehead. "How could I leave?" he told her.
She let herself be pulled down into sleep, his arms still around her.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/328782.html.
comments over there.