aj
in
sparktober
Fic: There Will Come a Time
HA. So, happy October 19th?
Title: There Will Come a Time
Author: A.j.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Only explicitly through season two.
Notes: Huge thanks to lyssie for the beta!
Summary: There was an evolution to every relationship. A progression, if you will.
---
The first wet dream he ever had about Elizabeth Weir was while they were still in Antarctica.
Something everyone always forgets (especially Rodney) was that John was one of the ten or so military pilots stationed, full-time, at McMurdo. He’d ferried and hauled most of the people who’d ended up going to Atlantis at one time or another. He’d been mightily confused about most of them, but with one black mark and the sword of Damocles already swinging over his career, he’d been intelligent, and apathetic enough to not ask questions.
Elizabeth had been one of his regulars.
Looking back, it had made a lot of sense. She’d been the de facto PR face of the IOA. Putting out fires and soothing feathers had been her bread and butter. In the three months that he’d played secret-base chauffeur, he’d transported Elizabeth to and from Weather Base Four at least twice a week. At the time, he’d just chalked it up to administrative drama. Which wasn’t wrong, exactly, but wasn’t in stabbing distance of right either.
So, yeah. Wet dream. Elizabeth.
And it wasn’t like it had been a disrespectful wet dream. And yeah, that sentence made no sense because hi, wet dream, but he knows what he means.
It's just. Well.
Right, so Antarctica was a really, really long way away from pretty much everything. Including women. Truth was, there hadn't been much to do in the arctic besides reading, bitching, and jerking off. And while Annabella Sciorra's photograph (and Nancy's for that matter) was attractive and offered a rich one-sided relationship, there was something to be said about a woman who could talk back.
And god bless Elizabeth and her unfailing grace, it wasn't long after their first flight that she started to chat him up. Nothing flirty or romantic (he hadn't known about Simon then, but he'd known there was someone. The woman screamed 'taken' stronger than the state of Georgia pushing peaches) but interested. As interested as you could get over comms and twenty-minute chopper rides over reflective ice fields anyway. She'd been nice to him at a pretty low time in his life, and while it was more of a cab-driver/passenger relationship, she'd had him laughing more than once at her stories about her dog.
Given those circumstances, the dream (dreams, but whatever) hadn't been much of a surprise.
He didn't remember the details. Just a general impression of wet and sticky and good. The only thing that really stuck in his mind and was something that haunted him for pretty much the rest of his life was the smirk. It's one that he eventually became incredibly familiar with. That evil twist of her mouth followed by a popped eyebrow and that look in her eye. The one that made it dead clear that she knew exactly how hot she was and she had the skills and sex drive to back that shit up.
Later, she mostly used it after she'd won an argument. Or wanted to make him squirm. Or was making fun of him. So, basically, she used it on him at least once a day.
Which, frankly, was pretty fucking great. Because every, single time she did, he'd flash back just a little. Nothing clear, just the ghost of dream fingers down his spine, or a tightening in his gut, or the remembrance of heat wrapped around his dick.
---
The first time he jerked off to the mental image of Elizabeth was after she marched her stressed little ass back through the Stargate, hauling a nuke with her.
Watching her stand there, three plus days of little to no sleep written plainly on her face, John had been hit by the most inappropriate wave of sexual heat he'd experienced since his last blow job. He wasn't a romance novel hero (or even all that good at telling women he liked them liked them) so he didn't have to wrestle with his base urges not to throw her over a table or anything, but dear God, he'd wanted her.
She'd walked in to enemy territory, alone, and talked them out of one of their biggest weapons. She'd single-handedly raised their odds from non-existent to minimal with nothing but her sincerity, determination, and desperation masquerading as bravery.
He'd learned the details later - much, much later - but just then, there'd been nothing but the blinding knowledge that she'd not just put her money where her mouth was, she'd pretty much put everything where her mouth was.
And won.
After he'd come back into a more sensible headspace, there'd been too much going on for him to do much more than give her arm a brush and declare a very heartfelt "thank God you're okay" before being rushed off into another planning session. Still, when he'd finally made it back to his quarters for a much needed three hours of sleep...
Generally he didn't like jerking off to the idea of women he knew. Call him weird, but there was something just awkward about imagining women he worked with or met at a gas station or passed on the street in a sexual way. Not that he wasn't attracted or didn't have thoughts in the moment, but it seemed wrong to whip out his dick with the purpose of imagining those women naked and fucking him or sucking him off. And Elizabeth. Well. Elizabeth was just something else. Alternately his boss, his partner in crime, and friend, she knew him better than most people in Atlantis. They hung out. And talked about their feelings and she totally made fun of him without actually saying the words.
As dumb as it sounded, Elizabeth was special, and she deserved more than some lotion and a few quick tugs.
But goddamn.
Stressed and frustrated beyond the telling, he'd thrown himself back on his bed and let his imagination run wild. Remembered the cold anger she'd displayed when ripping him a new one after the virus incident. And how she'd picked herself up off the ground after Kolya and his band of jokers had invaded.
Hand down his pants, he came to the image of Elizabeth, ram-rod straight and glaring.
It wasn't the last time.
-
The first time John kissed Elizabeth, neither of them were quite themselves.
It ends up as one of his more persistent regrets.
After the awkward exams and stilted conversation in the med bay, he'd faked a nap until she'd tired of reports and Tetris and drifted off.
He has no idea how long he spent watching her, mentally traced the curve of her jaw in the dim night lighting, just wishing for a do-over.
-
The first time he and Elizabeth ever had sex involved three peace treaties, Teyla, and a pint of orange juice.
None of those things had been involved in the act itself, but they'd been directly responsible in varying degrees.
At least, that's the story he told himself whenever he considered talking about it.
He didn't though. Tell the story. Not out loud. He'd never been one to brag about conquests or women he'd slept with. He'd never denied lovers or made light of whichever relationship he'd been in at any given time, but he'd never been like some of his buddies. He'd never bragged or given details.
He'd never known what to say.
And with Elizabeth...
The first time he and Nancy had ever fucked (and he knew their first time'd had nothing to do with love), he'd known there was something different. Something deeper than he'd felt with his other girlfriends. He'd actually stopped in the middle of a particular acrobatic thrust to just watch her. To see what she'd looked like when he'd run a hand down her side. She'd been beautiful, laid out below him, cursing at him to get back to it for fuck's sake.
He'd never regretted marrying her. Regretted the end of their relationship and the circumstances that'd brought it about? Sure. But never regretted her.
In his entire life, he'd never had sex with someone after being in love with them. Not until Elizabeth.
He knew it before he'd tucked her hair behind her ear. Knew it as she'd turned into him, eyes laughing and smelling of oranges and salt water. Knew it as he'd leaned in, kissed her and nibbled her lower lip like he'd been wanting to do for months. Maybe years.
She'd been beautiful above him, naked and writhing. Fingers alternating between working his nipples and her own. Her hips had been hot and sticky under his hands, damp from their combined sweat. He'd left bruises there, yellowed marks that'd faded entirely too quickly for his tastes.
He remembered, with perfect clarity, the feeling of her clenched around him, head and hair thrown back in complete abandon. Remembered the way she'd moaned and rocked around his dick and under her own fingers. It's an image he'd take with him to the grave, no question.
And when she'd curled against him, sated and smelling of sex and sweat, it'd been better than every fantasy he'd ever had.
-
When John told Elizabeth that he loved her for the first time, she believed him.
-fin-
Title: There Will Come a Time
Author: A.j.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Only explicitly through season two.
Notes: Huge thanks to lyssie for the beta!
Summary: There was an evolution to every relationship. A progression, if you will.
---
The first wet dream he ever had about Elizabeth Weir was while they were still in Antarctica.
Something everyone always forgets (especially Rodney) was that John was one of the ten or so military pilots stationed, full-time, at McMurdo. He’d ferried and hauled most of the people who’d ended up going to Atlantis at one time or another. He’d been mightily confused about most of them, but with one black mark and the sword of Damocles already swinging over his career, he’d been intelligent, and apathetic enough to not ask questions.
Elizabeth had been one of his regulars.
Looking back, it had made a lot of sense. She’d been the de facto PR face of the IOA. Putting out fires and soothing feathers had been her bread and butter. In the three months that he’d played secret-base chauffeur, he’d transported Elizabeth to and from Weather Base Four at least twice a week. At the time, he’d just chalked it up to administrative drama. Which wasn’t wrong, exactly, but wasn’t in stabbing distance of right either.
So, yeah. Wet dream. Elizabeth.
And it wasn’t like it had been a disrespectful wet dream. And yeah, that sentence made no sense because hi, wet dream, but he knows what he means.
It's just. Well.
Right, so Antarctica was a really, really long way away from pretty much everything. Including women. Truth was, there hadn't been much to do in the arctic besides reading, bitching, and jerking off. And while Annabella Sciorra's photograph (and Nancy's for that matter) was attractive and offered a rich one-sided relationship, there was something to be said about a woman who could talk back.
And god bless Elizabeth and her unfailing grace, it wasn't long after their first flight that she started to chat him up. Nothing flirty or romantic (he hadn't known about Simon then, but he'd known there was someone. The woman screamed 'taken' stronger than the state of Georgia pushing peaches) but interested. As interested as you could get over comms and twenty-minute chopper rides over reflective ice fields anyway. She'd been nice to him at a pretty low time in his life, and while it was more of a cab-driver/passenger relationship, she'd had him laughing more than once at her stories about her dog.
Given those circumstances, the dream (dreams, but whatever) hadn't been much of a surprise.
He didn't remember the details. Just a general impression of wet and sticky and good. The only thing that really stuck in his mind and was something that haunted him for pretty much the rest of his life was the smirk. It's one that he eventually became incredibly familiar with. That evil twist of her mouth followed by a popped eyebrow and that look in her eye. The one that made it dead clear that she knew exactly how hot she was and she had the skills and sex drive to back that shit up.
Later, she mostly used it after she'd won an argument. Or wanted to make him squirm. Or was making fun of him. So, basically, she used it on him at least once a day.
Which, frankly, was pretty fucking great. Because every, single time she did, he'd flash back just a little. Nothing clear, just the ghost of dream fingers down his spine, or a tightening in his gut, or the remembrance of heat wrapped around his dick.
---
The first time he jerked off to the mental image of Elizabeth was after she marched her stressed little ass back through the Stargate, hauling a nuke with her.
Watching her stand there, three plus days of little to no sleep written plainly on her face, John had been hit by the most inappropriate wave of sexual heat he'd experienced since his last blow job. He wasn't a romance novel hero (or even all that good at telling women he liked them liked them) so he didn't have to wrestle with his base urges not to throw her over a table or anything, but dear God, he'd wanted her.
She'd walked in to enemy territory, alone, and talked them out of one of their biggest weapons. She'd single-handedly raised their odds from non-existent to minimal with nothing but her sincerity, determination, and desperation masquerading as bravery.
He'd learned the details later - much, much later - but just then, there'd been nothing but the blinding knowledge that she'd not just put her money where her mouth was, she'd pretty much put everything where her mouth was.
And won.
After he'd come back into a more sensible headspace, there'd been too much going on for him to do much more than give her arm a brush and declare a very heartfelt "thank God you're okay" before being rushed off into another planning session. Still, when he'd finally made it back to his quarters for a much needed three hours of sleep...
Generally he didn't like jerking off to the idea of women he knew. Call him weird, but there was something just awkward about imagining women he worked with or met at a gas station or passed on the street in a sexual way. Not that he wasn't attracted or didn't have thoughts in the moment, but it seemed wrong to whip out his dick with the purpose of imagining those women naked and fucking him or sucking him off. And Elizabeth. Well. Elizabeth was just something else. Alternately his boss, his partner in crime, and friend, she knew him better than most people in Atlantis. They hung out. And talked about their feelings and she totally made fun of him without actually saying the words.
As dumb as it sounded, Elizabeth was special, and she deserved more than some lotion and a few quick tugs.
But goddamn.
Stressed and frustrated beyond the telling, he'd thrown himself back on his bed and let his imagination run wild. Remembered the cold anger she'd displayed when ripping him a new one after the virus incident. And how she'd picked herself up off the ground after Kolya and his band of jokers had invaded.
Hand down his pants, he came to the image of Elizabeth, ram-rod straight and glaring.
It wasn't the last time.
-
The first time John kissed Elizabeth, neither of them were quite themselves.
It ends up as one of his more persistent regrets.
After the awkward exams and stilted conversation in the med bay, he'd faked a nap until she'd tired of reports and Tetris and drifted off.
He has no idea how long he spent watching her, mentally traced the curve of her jaw in the dim night lighting, just wishing for a do-over.
-
The first time he and Elizabeth ever had sex involved three peace treaties, Teyla, and a pint of orange juice.
None of those things had been involved in the act itself, but they'd been directly responsible in varying degrees.
At least, that's the story he told himself whenever he considered talking about it.
He didn't though. Tell the story. Not out loud. He'd never been one to brag about conquests or women he'd slept with. He'd never denied lovers or made light of whichever relationship he'd been in at any given time, but he'd never been like some of his buddies. He'd never bragged or given details.
He'd never known what to say.
And with Elizabeth...
The first time he and Nancy had ever fucked (and he knew their first time'd had nothing to do with love), he'd known there was something different. Something deeper than he'd felt with his other girlfriends. He'd actually stopped in the middle of a particular acrobatic thrust to just watch her. To see what she'd looked like when he'd run a hand down her side. She'd been beautiful, laid out below him, cursing at him to get back to it for fuck's sake.
He'd never regretted marrying her. Regretted the end of their relationship and the circumstances that'd brought it about? Sure. But never regretted her.
In his entire life, he'd never had sex with someone after being in love with them. Not until Elizabeth.
He knew it before he'd tucked her hair behind her ear. Knew it as she'd turned into him, eyes laughing and smelling of oranges and salt water. Knew it as he'd leaned in, kissed her and nibbled her lower lip like he'd been wanting to do for months. Maybe years.
She'd been beautiful above him, naked and writhing. Fingers alternating between working his nipples and her own. Her hips had been hot and sticky under his hands, damp from their combined sweat. He'd left bruises there, yellowed marks that'd faded entirely too quickly for his tastes.
He remembered, with perfect clarity, the feeling of her clenched around him, head and hair thrown back in complete abandon. Remembered the way she'd moaned and rocked around his dick and under her own fingers. It's an image he'd take with him to the grave, no question.
And when she'd curled against him, sated and smelling of sex and sweat, it'd been better than every fantasy he'd ever had.
-
When John told Elizabeth that he loved her for the first time, she believed him.
-fin-