Fic! "Love Stories" (2/2) NC-17

[mylittleredgirl]

Headers and Part I here!

- FIVE -

John never completely lets down his guard off-world, especially when Elizabeth joins his team away from Atlantis, but between the warm fire and the music and the incense on the breeze, he's about as close as he gets.

The Oweli are an agrarian race living on fertile ground, with a long history of trading grain for Athosian furs. They suffer from the Wraith as much as any other Pegasus planet, but they're unusually chipper about it.

"We celebrate life," their leader, a pint-sized woman named Kawesa, told Elizabeth. "If we are to die tonight, we do not want our last evening spent in worry and fear."

That might explain why every time John has been here, the natives are either preparing for, enjoying, or cleaning up from a wild party.

"It's a miracle anyone has the energy left to get any farming done," Elizabeth says. The music - a pounding rhythm of mostly drums, bells, and voices - is so loud that she almost has to touch her mouth to his ear to be heard.

John had the same thought and mentioned as much to Kawesa their first time here. "They sleep in the heat of the day," he explains. Elizabeth's hair tickles his face. "It gets up over 100 by mid-morning, then rains every afternoon."

The regular combination of sun and rain has resulted in crops so tall they shade the Oweli huts. The towering fields also provide a nice playing field for the kids racing around with borrowed Atlantis flashlights.

Teyla has joined the mix of Athosians and Oweli dancing around the fire while McKay and Ronon explore the food and home brew, but John's content here. It's nice spending time with Elizabeth with no one paying attention. She touches his chest whenever she makes a point, leaves her hand there longer than she has to. Their chain of command survives his arm around her waist, holding her close enough to hear each other over the music. His lips brush her temple when he leans down to tell her something. His heart races and his body warms, but the city doesn't fall.

He's finding a way to be comfortable with this, with wanting her, with her wanting him. There's a war on, the purse-holders on Earth are watching them both, and they don't have time for complications. It can't go anywhere, and somehow that makes all their breakfasts together okay, sharing a table in the most private corner of the mess hall while she plans her day and he plans his. She'll surprise him mid-afternoon with two mugs in her hand just when he's thinking about coffee. They still do reports together in the lounge on Thursdays, and sometimes they don't even turn on their computers.

Just last week, he talked her into self-defense training. If the slide of her body next to his has fueled his fantasies every night since - well. The IOA can't fault a man for dreaming.

He's finding a balance between what he wants and what he has, and that makes it easier. He doesn't think he'll freak out again if Tarden comes back in the picture or she chooses to take up with someone else, but he's just as glad he hasn't had to test that yet.

Elizabeth stands on her toes to speak in his ear again, indicating a young woman by the fire. "I think she likes you."

He bats her hand down. "Will you stop?"

He can almost feel her smile. The smell of incense burning in the fire makes all his senses more alert. He's felt this before at Oweli parties - not intoxication, just... awareness.

She laughs. Her breath on his face makes him shiver. "I think she's cute."

He nudges her shoulder again. "Why don't you go after her, then? I'm not in the mood to become a farmer."

Elizabeth laughs again. Her mouth brushes his ear when she asks, "A what?"

John pulls her around the corner of the nearest building to block some of the noise. The Oweli always invite them to stay there, in the central common house. Teyla and the other Athosians usually accept, but John doesn't join them.

He explains, "The Oweli women own all the land. If I slept with her, I'd be agreeing to work her farm until she finds another mate."

Elizabeth smirks. "That sounds like a useful tradition." Her lips are so close that he can feel every word. "Of course, I don't own any farmland."

His mouth dries. Her hair falls over her eyes in a way that makes him want to see her first thing in the morning, well-loved and messy. "Longing for the simple life, Doctor?"

Her hand is resting on his shoulder, so close to the bare skin of his neck. "I guess I'm a city girl myself. You?"

He's not qualified to answer, because right then, he wants to be whatever will let him kiss her. He's getting hard just thinking about it.

He should go back to the fire circle - she should go - but neither of them move. There's almost no space between them, her hand on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, he can smell her mixed in with incense and smoke and he's quickly forgetting why they aren't already lovers.

He's not thinking straight. They're off-world, they're surrounded by subordinates and trading partners, they weren't going to do this and he doesn't trust himself to make decisions with blood rushing away from his brain. He's not going to talk her out of it, God he's not going to talk her out of it, but she's got to make the first move.

"Elizabeth..."

"If we..." She licks her lips, and then asks the question he's been wondering for two years now, every time they're playing too close to the edge. "Do you think we can just do this once?"

She must know the truth. They might keep their hands off each other in the future, but if they do this, he thinks she'll own him just as thoroughly as an Oweli bride. He can't make himself argue, though, not when his body's already pressing her back toward the wall, when he can taste her in the inches of air between them.

He's lying, but he says, "Yeah, we can."

She leans closer. He can feel her breath on his face, hear the sound she makes in the back of her throat mixed in with the drums and music, and she's so close, waiting, like she's giving him one last chance to change his mind. It's taking everything he has not to close the gap himself, not to push her up against the wall and kiss her until neither of them can talk.

"Christ," he breathes, almost begging, his whole body on fire. "Kiss me."

She does.

His hands are in her hair, his heart's in his throat, and he can't stop. It's not a kiss, it's Elizabeth, it's two years of wrong turns and lucky breaks and every time he's come home to find her waiting on the other side of the Stargate. It's two years of her face and her body and her in his fantasies, two years of wondering, two years of wanting so many things - peace, victory, survival for their people - and wanting her.

Her tongue slips between his lips, pulling him in closer, and he both can't believe they're here and can't believe they waited this damn long.

He braces one hand against the wall to keep them both standing as their knees falter. Over the pounding drums he hears her voice, the same voice that calls him back from missions and wakes him in the infirmary and tells him You did good, I trust you, we can get through this together, and here all she's saying into his mouth, "Oh, God, John."

They're moving too fast for him to say anything at all. His hand slips under her shirt and she palms him through his uniform pants and if this doesn't stop, if they don't come to their senses-

He imagines her naked against this wall, legs around his waist, open for him and him finally, finally inside her.

-but there are people just on the other side of this building, kids in the grain fields behind them, and he might want her now, but even he's not reckless enough to do it out in the open.

He pulls away with all the will he has left. She's breathing hard, smiling, and he feels like he's been kicked in the chest. She's so beautiful. He thinks she's waiting for him to say something, and everything he's never told her is pounding hard against his ribs.

He takes her hand. "Come on."

The common house is dark and unoccupied, with six fur-covered beds in the single open room. The Oweli aren't big on privacy, and for once, John isn't either. The natives wouldn't care, the Athosians wouldn't care, and the truth is, he'd trust his team with this. He suspects they all - maybe even McKay - already know how he feels about her.

And right now, when Elizabeth kneels on the bed farthest from the door, her lips damp and inviting and her body just waiting to be touched, decorum is the last thing on his mind. A thousand people could be watching and she'd still be the only one he cares about. She locks eyes with him, drawing him closer with that same inexorable pull that dragged him across two galaxies, and it almost feels like she's pulling him inside out.

There are a lot of things he should probably say, but what comes out is, "Are you okay doing this off-world?"

She tilts her head and gives him a dangerous smile. "I don't get out much."

He gets it. They can't do this on Atlantis, not when she's on radio and in charge and has everyone's lives on her shoulders.

She peels her jacket off and he follows suit, heart pounding, unclipping his sidearm and untying his boots. Before he can strip off anything else, she pulls him down to the bed and covers them both with furs, and he kisses her.

She challenges his comfortable rhythm, fills their kiss with unexpected stops and starts that make him moan. It feels familiar, reminds him of how they've dragged each other to their edges since the day they met, how she never stops pushing him to be a better leader and a better man.

He should have expected she'd feel like this, but none of his fantasies even came close.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt off before he overheats, and she pushes him onto his back. She crawls over him, tangling her legs with his, kissing patterns up his bare chest that are doing devastating things to his self control. He digs his fingers into her hips, pulls her pelvis down to his, and groans when she rocks against him, again and again. He never wants her to stop.

They're both wearing too many clothes, but she doesn't let him pull her shirt past her arms. "The door," she says, and while she probably means it as a warning, while it probably should be a warning, the thought of someone coming in here and seeing him and her like this only makes him harder against her. He pushes her shirt up enough to suck her breast into his mouth and he slides his tongue over her nipple, and he can't believe he's here. She's all he wants.

The pounding music outside swallows his name when she says it, but he can feel it through her chest, through his mouth. She grabs tight to his hair and keeps talking, words he can't hear, and she's grinding down on his erection and it's so good already, even through both their clothes. He says things into her skin - God, Elizabeth, yes, - and shudders with the sensation rolling across his nerves. This is her, his partner, the only other person who gets the weight of their shared command. Sparks of pleasure are going off behind his eyes already, and he's not going to last long, not when she feels like this, and god dammit, he's wanted for two whole years to know how Elizabeth sounds when she comes.

The primal yelling of the Oweli singers outside makes his blood burn with something ancestral and primitive. In a rush of adrenaline he flips her over onto her back and opens her pants. She unbuckles his in turn, and he gasps when she slips her hand in and grabs him, skin to skin.

God.

Then her hips are free and he can smell her, can feel her, and it's almost too much. She trails her fingers up the underside of his erection and he's exploring her, mapping her nerves by the shifting smile on her face. When she nods, he slips one finger inside her.

She's staring up at him, hot and hungry and just as caught up in this as he is, and he has the thought out of nowhere that he wants her to be the last woman he ever fucks.

The last woman he ever loves.

She must see it in his face - sees something, because she touches her free hand to his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He licks his lips, revelation running through him like a second pulse. He's more than okay. He kisses her, his hand still warming between her legs, his erection pulsing in her hand, and then he lifts his head enough to ask, "You?"

"Yes."

He stays still for another moment before he can move. She could ask him anything and he'd tell her, with nothing held back.

All she says is, "Come here."

He kisses her, and then it's arms and legs and clothes, his pants around his ankles, her boots untied and kicked off. Her hand fists in his hair as he works her up with his thumb and slides two fingers inside her, and she bosses him around in words half-swallowed between the music and his mouth: higher, faster, right there, God. He wants to taste her, wants to feel her every way he can, but they don't have much time before his team comes looking, and her hips are working with his hand and he can't make himself stop even long enough to move. He gasps when she pulls his hair and her other hand shoves his to where she needs him, and the knowledge soaks into his body. She's showing him how to bring her off, where to touch her, how to alternate gentle and fast to match her rhythm and even if this is the only time they do this, he won't forget. He curls his fingers, sucks her tongue into his mouth, and kisses her with everything he has, thinking, come on, Elizabeth, come on-

When she cries out, it's almost in time with the drums. She comes apart and he keeps touching her, keeps sliding his thumb faster and faster, keeps his fingers curled inside her as her muscles tense and release and shudder. He wants to make her feel this as long as she'll let him.

Her whole body shivers as she comes down, and it makes him ache with need. He presses his face to her neck, kisses the hollow of her throat, tries to slow his breathing along with hers while his heart beats like a wild animal in his chest. All he can say is, "Want you."

She pulls her legs entirely free of her pants and brings her knees up. He's hers, he thinks, and for the first time, that doesn't scare him.

He pushes in slowly, trying to feel every tilt of her hips, every millimeter. She's tight around him, warm, and his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow when everything in him wants to slam into her, wants to let out two years of tension as fast as he can, but she taught him patience and he can't imagine anything better than this.

He's finally here, and of everything he could do, he laughs.

He can barely see a thing in the dark room, but he knows she's smiling that one grin that seems to be his alone.

"What?"

He shakes his head. It's her. It's her, and she wraps her legs around his back and pulls him closer and he can feel her all over his body.

She starts to talk.

"You feel good," she says, mouth pressed to his ear. He moves with the rhythm of her voice, in and out. "I want you. John, I want this."

He nods agreement into her hair, the curve of her neck, her cheek. He's kissing her everywhere he can except her lips, because he doesn't want her to stop talking. Words have never turned him on before, have always seemed shallow compared to skin and sweat and sex, but trust Elizabeth to break all his patterns.

"I've dreamed about this," she says, tilting her hips so he slides in even deeper. "I've always wanted to know how you feel."

He groans into her shoulder when she tightens and he jerks and the feeling is almost too good. He wants to do this properly, wants to do this again in his bed and her bed and when they have time and a door that locks and he has the rest of his life to find all the ways to make her scream-

Elizabeth shifts under him, sending a sharp need all the way up his spine. He grinds against her, hoping she'll feel what he feels-

"Like that, like that, John-"

She grabs one of his hands, drags it to her breast, and when she makes a sound that almost pushes him over the edge he has to kiss her. He's not thinking anymore, can only feel as his balls tighten, as he rides the changes of her breath and her body, and she clenches around him, dragging him along.

"I- I-" she's losing words between kisses and sharp breaths, and John wants her to come, wants to feel inside what she feels like, wants to stop talking and listening and breathing and everything except feeling this, with her, this-

She arches off the bed with that scream and he's falling apart along with her. He needs something more, keeps thrusting as she shakes around him, buries himself as deep as he can until he can't get closer, and God, when he's feeling so much he can't even breathe, he comes.

And then, for a minute or two or five: nothing.

He's still inside her, softening, arms braced at her sides bear most of his weight, and he doesn't want to move. She kisses his cheek and he wonders if she feels the same. He wants to stay like this, to sleep for days right here on an alien world with only her and a fur blanket. He doesn't want to deal with anything except how good she feels and how good he feels with her.

They can't, of course. He's just trying to put it off for a few more hours.

She's the first to speak. "Hey."

"Hey."

He slips out from between her legs and rolls onto his back. She brushes her hand over his forehead, traces the features of his face, and he smiles. Elizabeth's rarely speechless for anything, and she's quiet long enough that he prompts, "You okay?"

She nods. "I just wanted to enjoy this."

He knew this wasn't the start of a permanent thing, knows that she can't be his girlfriend while they're also saving a galaxy, but it still hurts like he's losing something.

He sucks in a deep breath for strength. It feels important to say, "This wasn't just sex."

She laughs. "I know that. For me either, in case you were worried." She brushes a kiss to his forehead, lingers longer than she has to.

John stretches a little, afterglow lethargy fading from his limbs. He props himself up on his elbow and pulls her shirt down, covering her breasts. When he thinks about the war waiting outside for both of them, he feels exhausted. Maybe being a party-loving Oweli farmer isn't such a bad lot.

He clears his throat and tries to sound like he knows what he's doing, here, with her. "They have these parties all the time, you know. If you ever feel like taking a quick trip."

She closes her eyes and lays a gentle hand on his cheek. "I think we both know we can't keep doing this."

He does. He knows that. He tries to smile, to take the edge off what he's feeling. "I'd really like to, though."

She laughs, and that makes him feel good, at least. She looks at the door for a long moment before curling up into his side. He wraps an arm around her, presses his nose to her hair.

She says, "I would, too. But-"

"Elizabeth. I know."

He kisses her, because right now, he can.

It takes them a while to set themselves right, longer than necessary. She straightens his shirt while he combs his fingers through her hair.

He'll be able to resist her in Atlantis, once they're clean and her uniform doesn't smell so much like him.

Her fingers twine with his as they walk toward the door, ready to return to the party, the Stargate, Atlantis. He tugs on her hand to stop her.

He doesn't know if he can do this - walk away from her, avoid her until it feels normal again, chalk it up to one sober night off-world where they made a questionable decision. The fear of what might happen if he can't is heavy in his throat.

He brushes a loose hair from her shoulder. He has to say something. "I think we both know this isn't the last time."

She kisses him gently, the kind of kiss that doesn't belong in a one-night stand.

She doesn't argue. "Someday, I hope."

When they beat the Wraith. When their people are safe. When they survive.

He takes a deep breath, lets go of her hand, and opens the door.

- SIX -

He showers when he gets back to Atlantis and goes to bed alone, but he still smells her on his skin when he wakes up.

He takes another shower and turns the water cold before he's late. He's not sure if she'll show up - he's not sure he should show up - but breakfast together is part of their normal routine, and...

Well, if he can't wake up next to her after having sex on another planet, he'd like to at least see her before they're thrown into the emergencies of the day.

He heads to the mess hall early, hoping to beat her there and get some coffee in him before he has to act like nothing happened, but she's even earlier.

His heart jumps into his throat when he sees her, remembering her body underneath his, her hands on his face, her mouth, her-

Coffee. He definitely needs coffee.

He feels like everyone is watching him as he puts his breakfast tray together, but of course, she's the only one who is.

He keeps his expression neutral as he sits down. Otherwise, he thinks he'd be grinning like an idiot and everyone in the mess hall would know just from that. "Fancy meeting you here."

She raises an eyebrow and then nudges the salt shaker toward him before he can reach for it. He can almost see the smile she's keeping back. "All rested?"

He smirks. He should have expected she would play with him a little. "I don't know. I feel a little sore."

She ducks behind her mug of coffee. He's not sorry for making her blush, but he hopes no one's watching.

He over-salts his scrambled eggs and tries to calm his heart rate. A litany of irresponsible ideas are spilling through his brain as he pays too much attention to her mouth. What would really change? If he undressed her every night, he'd still respect her leadership. They'd still meet for breakfast.

Elizabeth clears her throat. "We're sending the final quarterly reports back to Earth today. Is there anything you still need to add?"

"I added all the revisions they requested. It's in the file." He'd still answer her question the same way. Wouldn't he? Still, Earth's probably a good thing to keep in mind before he does something to get them both fired. "All two hundred revisions. Are they ever going to let up on us?"

"The IOA review committee needs to show it has some control over us to prove their own worth." She's stirring her spoon around her bowl of oatmeal - or whatever alien grain is masquerading as oatmeal today. He follows the path of her fingers, remembering how they felt in his hair, bunched in his shirt, on his bare skin. "It's getting ridiculous, though. I'll be sure to point out in my cover letter how they're wasting a lot of our time, not to mention the precious manpower and energy resources they're so concerned with."

He grins. Elizabeth tearing down IOA blowhards is one of life's greatest pleasures. "I love it when you do that."

It's not a word he uses - not even casually.

He swallows. He feels itchy in his chair, suddenly sure he needs to be somewhere else, but she's smiling at him like nothing's wrong and he thinks, maybe, they can do this.

He forces himself to take a breath. They had sex once, but they do this every day. She defends him from bureaucrats and shares his table and passes the salt, and eventually, he might even get used to how it makes him feel.

He finishes his coffee and tries to look casual - at least, as far as everyone else in the mess hall is concerned. "Want my help drafting your hate mail? I've got a few bones I'd like to pick with the IOA myself."

Elizabeth smiles and stands up from the table. He's almost surprised she doesn't reach for his hand. "I'd love it."

He remembers what she said - Someday, I hope - as he gets up to join her.

Someday, he'll find a way to tell her for real.

- END -