Fic: The simple things
Title: The simple things
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Elizabeth, Lorne/Cadman, and we'll see about the rest. That's it for now.
Rating: M
Warning #1: Adult content
Warning #2: my taste in music may not meet universal approval, however note that most of the musical references in here are jokes.
Type: complete AU, slightly cracky and crazy
Summary: eeek, I'm awful with summaries. But here's the deal. Twenty - something year old John Sheppard has a band and they want to be rock stars, Rodney McKay is their agent and this is their first important gig. Not everything goes according to plan, though, and they still need a name for their band.
A/N: this was supposed to be my Big bang fic but I couldn't possibly finish it on time. It's not completely done yet, but parts of it are written and I'll be posting it, regularly, I hope. Feedback is love. I owe a HUGE thank you to
the_scary_kitty who did the first round of beta reading on this story and to
tenacious_err who helped me polist it until it was all shiny.
*
The sweet talkin' son of a preacher man
*
It was going better than anyone had expected. John ordered a beer and waited, nodding back to a dark haired woman who flashed a smile in his direction. Attention was definitely a nice thing, he thought and waited, looking toward the members of his band. Well, technically, it was his and Mitchell's band. They still didn't have the right name. This week it was The Jumpers. John hated it, but Mitchell thought it was funny.
That McKay fellow wasn't joking when he said this place would be packed. John had a good feeling about it, and he'd heard of this club before, but it was reserved for real bands. Well, now they had an agent (or at least a guy who was trying to become an agent), and despite the guy's "modest" conviction that he was God's gift to business, music and the Universe itself, John had a good feeling about him. Considerable arrogance aside, Rodney McKay had the pit bull mentality when it came to work. That couldn't be bad. Screw modesty, it was overrated anyway.
While Rodney was sharing a reluctant drink with four weird looking guys with long, bleached hair, John's friends were drowning out another round of beers. John, the almost non-drinker, was supposed to tell them when to cut it out. He could see by the way Evan was leaning toward Laura that he was tipsy enough. One more beer and he'd mess up his cords.
One of the guys at Rodney's table, Todd was his name, raised a glass. Apparently, McKay gained another client. Or rather, clients. John grinned in McKay's direction. He needed a girl instead of Todd, Bob, Steve and that no name guy who never said anything. (The only thing John saw him doing was playing cards and bass guitar. He kicked ass at playing bass. John did think about calling him "Mr. Vegas" after he cleaned their pockets in a poker game two days ago).
John walked toward the band table, carrying the single beer he intended to drink. He could hear Evan's voice as he came closer.
"Isn't this place supposed to sink? You know, the name and all," Evan leaned close enough for Laura to smack him lightly. John grinned inwardly at their antics - he was so stubborn about taking her out and she was equally stubborn about refusing, although, John believed, it was only a matter of a day. Lorne's charm could melt an ice berg. Not that Laura was one, she simply enjoyed torturing him.
"I'm not going out with you, Lorne," she said and he pulled a hurt face. It made her laugh. Laura rocked in so many different ways, not only in playing the drum. She was actually better than Stackhouse who had to leave them two months ago after a pretty bad car accident.
"Ow. Now I'm really hurt. Okay, I'm taking her out," he said pointing toward the crowd.
"Who?" asked Ronon. That guy was new too - not as new as Laura, but Mitchell still liked to tease him for being a newbie, especially about his chosen artistic name. When asked why he picked The Specialist, Ronon always answered The Edge was already taken.
Lorne pointed toward a table not too far from them, and if John wasn't mistaken he was looking at two women talking to one guy. Well, lucky bastard.
"The blond?" asked Mitchell.
"She's taken. The brunette," said Lorne. "She's single and she's hotter," grinned Lorne, winking at Laura who smirked and tossed her long blond hair aside.
"I beg to disagree," Mitchell objected. "Besides, this one looks more like Sheppard's type," Mitchell waggled his eyebrows.
"I can hear you're mentioning my name, and I have to ask why," John said, dropping into his chair.
"The man and his beer are here," Mitchell's grin got wider. "We just made a bet."
"We did?"
"Yes, we did, Lorne. Either you take that chick out,” Mitchell looked at John, then pointed toward the brunette, “or I get to name the band."
That, certainly, was a bad enough threat.
"No more beer for you guys. You're already too evil for your own good," said John and took a sip. Then he looked toward that table - the blond and her boyfriend got up as soon as someone turned on the juke box. Huh. The brunette was left behind and didn't look miserable about it, just alone. She was definitely single, thought John as he took another sip.
"A shot of instant courage, John?" asked Laura.
"Instant courage would be tequila," answered John and smirked.
"Well, it's instant something, and that lady over there is lonely," Mitchell leaned back in his chair. "Just look at her. You like smart looking women, don't you?"
John glared at him, but it was quite futile. He already warmed up for the idea because that woman over there - well, there was something about her, and John was feeling lucky tonight. He drowned the beer, which got him wolf howls, applause and a not bad Dusty Springfield impersonation from Laura.
*
Just when Elizabeth was planning to leave, he had showed up. She would remember it well, how he just appeared out of nowhere, and the crowd closed behind him. He planted his butt on the table, just like that, managing somehow not to knock over Sam's glass. That had to be one graceful, skinny butt, she thought as she realized who he was. Overconfident musician, by any other name, yet there was something quietly timid in his grin.
“Hey. You're alone,” he stated, grinning down at her. The guitar player, thought Elizabeth. He sang too, and he sang well, but that other guy did more than him. Perhaps she had stared a bit too much at him and he took it as invitation, but his floppy hair was such a funny contrast to his serious rocker attitude.
“Technically I'm not,” she straightened a little and crossed her arms over her chest. The thin, dorky looking guy arched an eyebrow.
“Well I don't see anyone here,” he grinned a bit, ignoring two glasses in front of him. Elizabeth pointed to the dance floor, where Sam happily smooched with Pete. Elizabeth was not feeling jealous about that. Apparently Pete was distraction enough to help Sam stop thinking about that dress she didn't like. “Ah,” the dorky looking guy observed the couple for a few moments. “Don't tell me you're playing the third wheel.”
“I'm not,” protested Elizabeth. Although she was. The man moved from the table to Sam’s seat and she got a better view of his face. He was kind of cute and had green-ish eyes, something she couldn't see while he was on the stage. He had thick, dark hair which danced on his forehead, the hairdo making him look boyish and cute.
“Then you're alone,” he concluded rather happily. He was both cute and annoying.
“I’m here with my friends,” insisted Elizabeth. Really, this whole idea was a bad idea, but Sam and Pete were too endearing and stubborn to resist. One just couldn't stop Sam after she put her mind to something. That, and Elizabeth really needed to go out, after a month of hiding at home and contemplating what her relationship with Ladon, now technically her ex, was lacking. It was lacking something, that was plain and certain. Sam spent days talking her into this. Elizabeth wasn't all that easy to be talked into things. This place was cool, a boat rock club with really unusual name. Atlantis. It even had a balcony. And a band, a rock band. It was very different than the jazz clubs Ladon loved; loud, completely unsophisticated, with beers spilled over the tables and packed with people who actually danced.
“Your friends are way too busy right now and that leaves you alone,” the guitar guy was nothing if not insistent. “Anyway, if you want me to go…,” he offered, or rather pretended to offer and she was feeling ambivalent. Having talkative company was nice. Part of her felt uneasy about a complete stranger coming up to her and flirting with her like this. Part of her was incredibly intrigued about that naughty grin decorating his face and the fact that he came to her. Which hadn’t happened in a long time. “But. I'd kinda like to stay.”
He looked like he was about to do just that. Talk about confidence. If Elizabeth was honest with herself, she did like confident types - one of things she liked about Ladon too.
Elizabeth glanced away for a moment, trying to hide a grin of her own. Okay. So, he found her attractive or interesting or both. She could talk to him a bit, yes? Where was the harm in that?
“Okay, I suppose you can keep me company if you like,” she answered, giving him an amused little smile that was in no way intended as any kind of encouragement. Not at all. He flashed her a smile of his own and the sight left her with warm tingles all over. He wasn't just cute, he was completely handsome.
“So,” he began. “I bet you don’t come here often.”
-
“Can you do me a favor?”
Cameron Mitchell turned around, holding a Budweiser in his hand. John had told them to knock it off, but at this point he didn't really care if someone got drunk. Mitchell's smile was big and wide, too wide for someone completely sober.
“Sure. What’s up?” Mitchell grinned easily at John, who scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“Do the singing in the next round?” asked John, trying to sound casual. Cameron frowned in a confused fashion, because John usually wanted to sing his own rounds. However skipping a round wasn't unheard of. Lorne saw right through him, though. “Two Coronas,” John ordered casually.
“Mitchell, I think you're going to lose a bet,” concluded Evan, smirking. “So, what's her name? Did you get her number yet?”
Cameron had that expression. John was willing to bet the favor he was asking for was going to cost him something.
“Oh, no problem then. I shall sacrifice my sore throat for the happiness of my friend,” Cameron raised his beer bottle. John frowned. Evan leaned closer.
“And his chances of getting laid. Because it’s been what? Four months?”
John rolled his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me of that,” John grabbed two Coronas when the bartender handed them to him.
“Wooo, look at him. He’s even buying a chick beer,” mocked Mitchell. John rolled his eyes at him. “La cervezza,” he drawled.
“Real men drink Bud, until they need to get laid,” Evan poked John’s shoulder. He always enjoyed pointing out on how John’s sex life could use improvement. “Go and knock her off her feet, and all. I hope she can cook well.”
“I’m not getting married yet, Lorne.”
“You never know, man. First thing, you’re buying Coronas. Next thing, who knows? This one could be a perfect mom to your future babies,” Lorne was grinning over his beer and Cameron was laughing, giving him the thumbs up. They were so annoying and John couldn't bring himself to hate them for it.
-
She was looking a bit nervous when John came back. She was probably one of those nice girls who met guys through their friends instead of picking them up at bars. Still, when she looked up, she smiled and John flashed her a toothy grin, with dimples, before sitting down and placing the Coronas on the table.
“I took the liberty to...,” he pointed to two bottles with slices of lime. “It seemed like a gentlemanly thing to do,” he added, taking his in the hand.
“I wasn't aware you were such a gentleman,” she smirked. “But, nice thing if you are.”
“You don't know me at all, and I don't know you,” he said, raising his bottle. “I could be anything,” he winked. She was still smirking, looking both uneasy and amused - but something was telling him she wasn't the type of person to back off from a challenge.
John definitely liked that.
“Well, you’re a guitar player,” she grinned, pushing the slice of lime inside of her own beer bottle, then took a sip. Whoa. A girl who drank straight from a bottle was hot on his list.
“That’s right, I am. How about getting to know each other?”
“Fine by me.”
“Fine.”
“I'm Elizabeth,” she said. Pretty name, John thought. It suited her.
“I'm John,” he grinned back.
“Nice to meet you, John,” she said, clinking her bottle against his. Behind him, his band started playing, and Cameron was singing “You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling”. Elizabeth’s smile was mischievous, she got the joke, and John thought Cameron deserved to be punished with watching "Top Gun" again. Especially that beach volleyball scene.
-
Some time later he waxed philosophical. It was the longest music related conversation she ever had with someone.
“It's about the attitude. You have to tell something. A story. Something, you know?” there was a goofy grin on his face as he talked. Three beers and two hours later, Elizabeth was still chatting with the guitar player. He skipped two rounds, the rest of the band teased him, they even stopped by shortly and seemed nice.
It was unexpected. Sort of. They were talking and he wasn’t trying to talk her into bed. He just talked, and he was both funny and smart. Pete and Sam stopped by, and after half an hour they seemed to be okay to leave her alone with him. If she was really honest, she was more than okay to be left alone with him.
“But not every song is a story,” countered Elizabeth. John leaned in closer, because the music was loud and they could barely hear each other talk.
“But every good song is telling something. Every good song is making a point, or you make a point with the way you play, or how you play. What you play, why you play …”
“Sounds like you want to make a difference,” she remarked, observing the changes on his expressive face. The smile became a smirk as he lifted invisible defenses. “I didn’t think you were such an idealist.”
“Nah. People like Johnny Cash can make a difference. I’m just doing a decent job. Hopefully.”
“You chose a very high ideal to look up to,” she said amusedly.
“You don’t get far if you look up to people who do a lousy job,” he observed serenely. “But if you look at Cash… he did remarkable things by being simple.”
“Simple?”
“Uh-huh. The stuff that really matters is simple.”
Elizabeth couldn't be sure, but he had a rebel vibe about him. She decided to tease him, just a bit.
“How about jazz? Jazz isn’t simple, but it’s remarkable,” she crossed her arms and leaned back. If one thing about jazz was true, then it was its unpredictability.
“And most people don’t understand it. Jazz is the posh music,” replied John flatly.
“I can’t believe you just said ‘posh.”
“Well, it is,” he frowned. “It’s musical jerking off.” Elizabeth snorted and he seemed just a little bit hurt because she wasn't taking him seriously.
“And you don’t like that?”
“Not really,” he raised an eyebrow and she thought absently he looked sexy.
“Too complicated for a rockstar?” she teased. That got her another hurt expression.
“I didn’t say I don’t get it. I don’t enjoy it, there's a difference. You sit, play, perform something that was never heard before. It’s improvisation at its best and sometimes it sounds great, but not everyone is Kieth Jarret. Miles Davis makes my ears hurt,” he said, looking pleased with himself and challenging her to disagree, but she just wanted to laugh.
“Why, Mister Guitar Player, that sounds like a blasphemy,” she said and did laugh. “However I do agree with you,” she added and quietly admitted that, yes, certain types of jazz made her own ears hurt too. She repeated it out loud, which encouraged John to lean forward, with that dangerously beautiful smirk on his full lips.
“You want a blasphemy? Frank Sinatra is overrated,” he waggled his eyebrows and she cracked up. “What? Dean Martin is so much better. Hey! Don’t joke around with stuff like this,” he pretended to pout as she kept on laughing.
-
When she thought back, Elizabeth knew she should have taken it as a warning sign, one flashing in bright red, complete with blaring claxons or something to let her know it was really a bad idea.
John promised to find her a hedgehog in his back yard as they were driving in his car, listening to The Eagles. Okay, baby hedgehog he said, and they were supposedly the cutest thing ever. She was quite sure he wasn't supposed to be able to convince her into something so easily, because puppies. What could be cuter than puppies? She was a dog person.
However, that wasn't the point.
John didn’t say anything about making out against the side of his car, but she didn’t mind. It had to be all that beer, she had five of them. Or maybe six? She didn’t remember, but his hand was slightly cold when he sneaked it inside of her shirt and cupped her breast through her thin bra. Beer, whatever, the Tom Petty song which wasn't really a Tom Petty song he played for her, his smirk, or perhaps the fact that she was more adventurous than she was willing to admit.
Their lips came apart with a wet sound and she groaned when he pinned her firmly against the car. She stretched her neck and felt him bite her, blunt teeth on her skin. Her brain was doing a poor job of reminding her that they were in a public place, but she tugged his shirt out of his pants nevertheless.
She was slightly surprised with herself when she bit him back, and he pulled her hips against his crotch. She could feel him, already hard in his pants. Then he was rucking her skirt up and sliding his hands under it. She didn’t wear pantyhose, thus dealing with her panties was easy, and in mere moments his hand was where she hadn't planned to have it, but damn it. When he pushed a finger inside of her, she only spread her legs further apart and her head banged against the car. She moaned, as John attacked her neck all over again.
“Damn it, you’re so wet,” he breathed, biting her again. She was going to have hickeys, but it didn’t seem to matter. John groaned loudly when she grabbed him in between his legs, and felt him throbing inside of his jeans. “God, Elizabeth, I have to… I want...”
“Yes,” she panted. They were going to have sex.
“But I don’t wanna do it here,” he licked her ear as he slid another finger inside of her and kept pumping into her slowly. Her mind was foggy and she didn't want him to stop. His voice was a deep growl in her ear when he said he wanted her.
Her mouth agreed before her brain could engage, and then they were kissing, until they finally disentangled enough to walk to his house.
They were alone and they didn’t even bother to turn on the lights on the way to his bedroom. Getting naked took less than two minutes, but finding his condoms and putting them on felt like an eternity and then she was under him, and his face was in between her legs. She cried out to the ceiling, imagining that lethal smirk of his against her, arching every time she felt his tongue entering. Lips and fingers made her come hard within minutes and then he was entering her for real. He treated her just the way he played his guitar. It was embarrassing, but he reduced her to sounds.
Sex wasn’t usually like this. Sex with her ex was like walking the road you walked every morning and knowing every stone and turn. John was so new and unpredictable, she had no idea how she would react.
As it turned out, both of them reacted quite explosively.
They set a fast pace as he mounted her, but slowed down an orgasm later, and it went on, until they both simply collapsed on his bed. It seemed he couldn’t get enough of her, arranging her on his bed the way he wanted, parting her legs and opening her, and she didn’t mind. All of that determination, all of his attention aimed at her was leaving her speechless. She didn't mind when he pushed in her from behind, it felt wild and too good, and he didn't mind her riding him and holding his arms pinned over his head as she slowly moved while they kissed each other everywhere their lips could reach. But on top of everything, it was heartfelt sex. There was something about his voice when he whispered tenderly in her ear. He kissed her, long and tender before they both fell asleep. She let him hold her, and felt his solid, yet lithe body next to her when she closed her eyes. Elizabeth felt wonderfully exhausted, like she never actually did after having sex, and didn't wonder why it felt so right when she closed her eyes.
Only in the morning did she realize this hadn't been a good idea at all.
-
When John finally found them - it wasn't hard, they were exactly where he left them last night - he wished he had stayed and got drunk right along with them.
“Booo. Looks like someone didn't get laid,” said Lorne, rubbing a spoon against his nose. It fell off, of course. John dropped into a chair next to Lorne, opposite to Ronon, and waved to the bartender to ordered coffee for everyone.
Laura seemed still sober enough to fill him in on the news.
“We have the name for the band. Even you'll like it,” she stuck her tongue out. She was giggling a little more than usual, but otherwise, she could fool even him.
“Do tell, Cadman,” he sniffed his coffee when the new guy placed it in front of him, wondering if Elizabeth liked it. He had wanted to make coffee for her this morning. She seemed nice and not the kind of girl who'd run away without even a note.
“The Furlings,” snorted Cameron. Boy, he was drunk. The name sucked, naturally, even the names Mitchell came up with while sober sucked. Ronon snickered at John's expression.
“Don't tell me man,” he leaned into his massive palm, “she did you and then she left?”
John frowned and thought it was time to face it like a man. She was the most gorgeous thing he had seen in a long while. You got naked, had sex, had lots of sex, and then she left. No note, phone number, nothing. End of story.
“That's pretty much it,” he said, and switched his coffee cup for whatever was in Ronon's glass. “Nothing to add,” he shrugged.
The four of them stopped snickering. Laura bit her lip, and Cameron looked a bit like a kicked puppy.
“Yikes,” he said.
“We're sorry?” tried Lorne.
John shook his head, they only meant well when they put him up to this. And heck, he wasn’t sorry.
They were silent for a while, until Ronon nudged his arm lightly.
“Hey, dude. What do you think about the name?”
John took a sip of the suspicious content in Ronon's glass, it burned down his throat. It felt soothing and John hated that.
John looked at Ronon, and Ronon kept looking at John. The others waited, they obviously had tons (or maybe liters) of fun while coming up with that incredibly stupid name, but it wasn't going to stick until John said it was good.
John could actually hear Cameron holding a breath, and Laura allowed Evan to hold her hand openly. They were all looking at John, appearing more sober than they could possibly be. Sometimes, things were bad, but they weren't that bad after all.
“It sucks,” he said and smirked. “It stays.”
TBC.
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Elizabeth, Lorne/Cadman, and we'll see about the rest. That's it for now.
Rating: M
Warning #1: Adult content
Warning #2: my taste in music may not meet universal approval, however note that most of the musical references in here are jokes.
Type: complete AU, slightly cracky and crazy
Summary: eeek, I'm awful with summaries. But here's the deal. Twenty - something year old John Sheppard has a band and they want to be rock stars, Rodney McKay is their agent and this is their first important gig. Not everything goes according to plan, though, and they still need a name for their band.
A/N: this was supposed to be my Big bang fic but I couldn't possibly finish it on time. It's not completely done yet, but parts of it are written and I'll be posting it, regularly, I hope. Feedback is love. I owe a HUGE thank you to
the_scary_kitty who did the first round of beta reading on this story and to
tenacious_err who helped me polist it until it was all shiny.
*
The sweet talkin' son of a preacher man
*
It was going better than anyone had expected. John ordered a beer and waited, nodding back to a dark haired woman who flashed a smile in his direction. Attention was definitely a nice thing, he thought and waited, looking toward the members of his band. Well, technically, it was his and Mitchell's band. They still didn't have the right name. This week it was The Jumpers. John hated it, but Mitchell thought it was funny.
That McKay fellow wasn't joking when he said this place would be packed. John had a good feeling about it, and he'd heard of this club before, but it was reserved for real bands. Well, now they had an agent (or at least a guy who was trying to become an agent), and despite the guy's "modest" conviction that he was God's gift to business, music and the Universe itself, John had a good feeling about him. Considerable arrogance aside, Rodney McKay had the pit bull mentality when it came to work. That couldn't be bad. Screw modesty, it was overrated anyway.
While Rodney was sharing a reluctant drink with four weird looking guys with long, bleached hair, John's friends were drowning out another round of beers. John, the almost non-drinker, was supposed to tell them when to cut it out. He could see by the way Evan was leaning toward Laura that he was tipsy enough. One more beer and he'd mess up his cords.
One of the guys at Rodney's table, Todd was his name, raised a glass. Apparently, McKay gained another client. Or rather, clients. John grinned in McKay's direction. He needed a girl instead of Todd, Bob, Steve and that no name guy who never said anything. (The only thing John saw him doing was playing cards and bass guitar. He kicked ass at playing bass. John did think about calling him "Mr. Vegas" after he cleaned their pockets in a poker game two days ago).
John walked toward the band table, carrying the single beer he intended to drink. He could hear Evan's voice as he came closer.
"Isn't this place supposed to sink? You know, the name and all," Evan leaned close enough for Laura to smack him lightly. John grinned inwardly at their antics - he was so stubborn about taking her out and she was equally stubborn about refusing, although, John believed, it was only a matter of a day. Lorne's charm could melt an ice berg. Not that Laura was one, she simply enjoyed torturing him.
"I'm not going out with you, Lorne," she said and he pulled a hurt face. It made her laugh. Laura rocked in so many different ways, not only in playing the drum. She was actually better than Stackhouse who had to leave them two months ago after a pretty bad car accident.
"Ow. Now I'm really hurt. Okay, I'm taking her out," he said pointing toward the crowd.
"Who?" asked Ronon. That guy was new too - not as new as Laura, but Mitchell still liked to tease him for being a newbie, especially about his chosen artistic name. When asked why he picked The Specialist, Ronon always answered The Edge was already taken.
Lorne pointed toward a table not too far from them, and if John wasn't mistaken he was looking at two women talking to one guy. Well, lucky bastard.
"The blond?" asked Mitchell.
"She's taken. The brunette," said Lorne. "She's single and she's hotter," grinned Lorne, winking at Laura who smirked and tossed her long blond hair aside.
"I beg to disagree," Mitchell objected. "Besides, this one looks more like Sheppard's type," Mitchell waggled his eyebrows.
"I can hear you're mentioning my name, and I have to ask why," John said, dropping into his chair.
"The man and his beer are here," Mitchell's grin got wider. "We just made a bet."
"We did?"
"Yes, we did, Lorne. Either you take that chick out,” Mitchell looked at John, then pointed toward the brunette, “or I get to name the band."
That, certainly, was a bad enough threat.
"No more beer for you guys. You're already too evil for your own good," said John and took a sip. Then he looked toward that table - the blond and her boyfriend got up as soon as someone turned on the juke box. Huh. The brunette was left behind and didn't look miserable about it, just alone. She was definitely single, thought John as he took another sip.
"A shot of instant courage, John?" asked Laura.
"Instant courage would be tequila," answered John and smirked.
"Well, it's instant something, and that lady over there is lonely," Mitchell leaned back in his chair. "Just look at her. You like smart looking women, don't you?"
John glared at him, but it was quite futile. He already warmed up for the idea because that woman over there - well, there was something about her, and John was feeling lucky tonight. He drowned the beer, which got him wolf howls, applause and a not bad Dusty Springfield impersonation from Laura.
*
Just when Elizabeth was planning to leave, he had showed up. She would remember it well, how he just appeared out of nowhere, and the crowd closed behind him. He planted his butt on the table, just like that, managing somehow not to knock over Sam's glass. That had to be one graceful, skinny butt, she thought as she realized who he was. Overconfident musician, by any other name, yet there was something quietly timid in his grin.
“Hey. You're alone,” he stated, grinning down at her. The guitar player, thought Elizabeth. He sang too, and he sang well, but that other guy did more than him. Perhaps she had stared a bit too much at him and he took it as invitation, but his floppy hair was such a funny contrast to his serious rocker attitude.
“Technically I'm not,” she straightened a little and crossed her arms over her chest. The thin, dorky looking guy arched an eyebrow.
“Well I don't see anyone here,” he grinned a bit, ignoring two glasses in front of him. Elizabeth pointed to the dance floor, where Sam happily smooched with Pete. Elizabeth was not feeling jealous about that. Apparently Pete was distraction enough to help Sam stop thinking about that dress she didn't like. “Ah,” the dorky looking guy observed the couple for a few moments. “Don't tell me you're playing the third wheel.”
“I'm not,” protested Elizabeth. Although she was. The man moved from the table to Sam’s seat and she got a better view of his face. He was kind of cute and had green-ish eyes, something she couldn't see while he was on the stage. He had thick, dark hair which danced on his forehead, the hairdo making him look boyish and cute.
“Then you're alone,” he concluded rather happily. He was both cute and annoying.
“I’m here with my friends,” insisted Elizabeth. Really, this whole idea was a bad idea, but Sam and Pete were too endearing and stubborn to resist. One just couldn't stop Sam after she put her mind to something. That, and Elizabeth really needed to go out, after a month of hiding at home and contemplating what her relationship with Ladon, now technically her ex, was lacking. It was lacking something, that was plain and certain. Sam spent days talking her into this. Elizabeth wasn't all that easy to be talked into things. This place was cool, a boat rock club with really unusual name. Atlantis. It even had a balcony. And a band, a rock band. It was very different than the jazz clubs Ladon loved; loud, completely unsophisticated, with beers spilled over the tables and packed with people who actually danced.
“Your friends are way too busy right now and that leaves you alone,” the guitar guy was nothing if not insistent. “Anyway, if you want me to go…,” he offered, or rather pretended to offer and she was feeling ambivalent. Having talkative company was nice. Part of her felt uneasy about a complete stranger coming up to her and flirting with her like this. Part of her was incredibly intrigued about that naughty grin decorating his face and the fact that he came to her. Which hadn’t happened in a long time. “But. I'd kinda like to stay.”
He looked like he was about to do just that. Talk about confidence. If Elizabeth was honest with herself, she did like confident types - one of things she liked about Ladon too.
Elizabeth glanced away for a moment, trying to hide a grin of her own. Okay. So, he found her attractive or interesting or both. She could talk to him a bit, yes? Where was the harm in that?
“Okay, I suppose you can keep me company if you like,” she answered, giving him an amused little smile that was in no way intended as any kind of encouragement. Not at all. He flashed her a smile of his own and the sight left her with warm tingles all over. He wasn't just cute, he was completely handsome.
“So,” he began. “I bet you don’t come here often.”
-
“Can you do me a favor?”
Cameron Mitchell turned around, holding a Budweiser in his hand. John had told them to knock it off, but at this point he didn't really care if someone got drunk. Mitchell's smile was big and wide, too wide for someone completely sober.
“Sure. What’s up?” Mitchell grinned easily at John, who scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“Do the singing in the next round?” asked John, trying to sound casual. Cameron frowned in a confused fashion, because John usually wanted to sing his own rounds. However skipping a round wasn't unheard of. Lorne saw right through him, though. “Two Coronas,” John ordered casually.
“Mitchell, I think you're going to lose a bet,” concluded Evan, smirking. “So, what's her name? Did you get her number yet?”
Cameron had that expression. John was willing to bet the favor he was asking for was going to cost him something.
“Oh, no problem then. I shall sacrifice my sore throat for the happiness of my friend,” Cameron raised his beer bottle. John frowned. Evan leaned closer.
“And his chances of getting laid. Because it’s been what? Four months?”
John rolled his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me of that,” John grabbed two Coronas when the bartender handed them to him.
“Wooo, look at him. He’s even buying a chick beer,” mocked Mitchell. John rolled his eyes at him. “La cervezza,” he drawled.
“Real men drink Bud, until they need to get laid,” Evan poked John’s shoulder. He always enjoyed pointing out on how John’s sex life could use improvement. “Go and knock her off her feet, and all. I hope she can cook well.”
“I’m not getting married yet, Lorne.”
“You never know, man. First thing, you’re buying Coronas. Next thing, who knows? This one could be a perfect mom to your future babies,” Lorne was grinning over his beer and Cameron was laughing, giving him the thumbs up. They were so annoying and John couldn't bring himself to hate them for it.
-
She was looking a bit nervous when John came back. She was probably one of those nice girls who met guys through their friends instead of picking them up at bars. Still, when she looked up, she smiled and John flashed her a toothy grin, with dimples, before sitting down and placing the Coronas on the table.
“I took the liberty to...,” he pointed to two bottles with slices of lime. “It seemed like a gentlemanly thing to do,” he added, taking his in the hand.
“I wasn't aware you were such a gentleman,” she smirked. “But, nice thing if you are.”
“You don't know me at all, and I don't know you,” he said, raising his bottle. “I could be anything,” he winked. She was still smirking, looking both uneasy and amused - but something was telling him she wasn't the type of person to back off from a challenge.
John definitely liked that.
“Well, you’re a guitar player,” she grinned, pushing the slice of lime inside of her own beer bottle, then took a sip. Whoa. A girl who drank straight from a bottle was hot on his list.
“That’s right, I am. How about getting to know each other?”
“Fine by me.”
“Fine.”
“I'm Elizabeth,” she said. Pretty name, John thought. It suited her.
“I'm John,” he grinned back.
“Nice to meet you, John,” she said, clinking her bottle against his. Behind him, his band started playing, and Cameron was singing “You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling”. Elizabeth’s smile was mischievous, she got the joke, and John thought Cameron deserved to be punished with watching "Top Gun" again. Especially that beach volleyball scene.
-
Some time later he waxed philosophical. It was the longest music related conversation she ever had with someone.
“It's about the attitude. You have to tell something. A story. Something, you know?” there was a goofy grin on his face as he talked. Three beers and two hours later, Elizabeth was still chatting with the guitar player. He skipped two rounds, the rest of the band teased him, they even stopped by shortly and seemed nice.
It was unexpected. Sort of. They were talking and he wasn’t trying to talk her into bed. He just talked, and he was both funny and smart. Pete and Sam stopped by, and after half an hour they seemed to be okay to leave her alone with him. If she was really honest, she was more than okay to be left alone with him.
“But not every song is a story,” countered Elizabeth. John leaned in closer, because the music was loud and they could barely hear each other talk.
“But every good song is telling something. Every good song is making a point, or you make a point with the way you play, or how you play. What you play, why you play …”
“Sounds like you want to make a difference,” she remarked, observing the changes on his expressive face. The smile became a smirk as he lifted invisible defenses. “I didn’t think you were such an idealist.”
“Nah. People like Johnny Cash can make a difference. I’m just doing a decent job. Hopefully.”
“You chose a very high ideal to look up to,” she said amusedly.
“You don’t get far if you look up to people who do a lousy job,” he observed serenely. “But if you look at Cash… he did remarkable things by being simple.”
“Simple?”
“Uh-huh. The stuff that really matters is simple.”
Elizabeth couldn't be sure, but he had a rebel vibe about him. She decided to tease him, just a bit.
“How about jazz? Jazz isn’t simple, but it’s remarkable,” she crossed her arms and leaned back. If one thing about jazz was true, then it was its unpredictability.
“And most people don’t understand it. Jazz is the posh music,” replied John flatly.
“I can’t believe you just said ‘posh.”
“Well, it is,” he frowned. “It’s musical jerking off.” Elizabeth snorted and he seemed just a little bit hurt because she wasn't taking him seriously.
“And you don’t like that?”
“Not really,” he raised an eyebrow and she thought absently he looked sexy.
“Too complicated for a rockstar?” she teased. That got her another hurt expression.
“I didn’t say I don’t get it. I don’t enjoy it, there's a difference. You sit, play, perform something that was never heard before. It’s improvisation at its best and sometimes it sounds great, but not everyone is Kieth Jarret. Miles Davis makes my ears hurt,” he said, looking pleased with himself and challenging her to disagree, but she just wanted to laugh.
“Why, Mister Guitar Player, that sounds like a blasphemy,” she said and did laugh. “However I do agree with you,” she added and quietly admitted that, yes, certain types of jazz made her own ears hurt too. She repeated it out loud, which encouraged John to lean forward, with that dangerously beautiful smirk on his full lips.
“You want a blasphemy? Frank Sinatra is overrated,” he waggled his eyebrows and she cracked up. “What? Dean Martin is so much better. Hey! Don’t joke around with stuff like this,” he pretended to pout as she kept on laughing.
-
When she thought back, Elizabeth knew she should have taken it as a warning sign, one flashing in bright red, complete with blaring claxons or something to let her know it was really a bad idea.
John promised to find her a hedgehog in his back yard as they were driving in his car, listening to The Eagles. Okay, baby hedgehog he said, and they were supposedly the cutest thing ever. She was quite sure he wasn't supposed to be able to convince her into something so easily, because puppies. What could be cuter than puppies? She was a dog person.
However, that wasn't the point.
John didn’t say anything about making out against the side of his car, but she didn’t mind. It had to be all that beer, she had five of them. Or maybe six? She didn’t remember, but his hand was slightly cold when he sneaked it inside of her shirt and cupped her breast through her thin bra. Beer, whatever, the Tom Petty song which wasn't really a Tom Petty song he played for her, his smirk, or perhaps the fact that she was more adventurous than she was willing to admit.
Their lips came apart with a wet sound and she groaned when he pinned her firmly against the car. She stretched her neck and felt him bite her, blunt teeth on her skin. Her brain was doing a poor job of reminding her that they were in a public place, but she tugged his shirt out of his pants nevertheless.
She was slightly surprised with herself when she bit him back, and he pulled her hips against his crotch. She could feel him, already hard in his pants. Then he was rucking her skirt up and sliding his hands under it. She didn’t wear pantyhose, thus dealing with her panties was easy, and in mere moments his hand was where she hadn't planned to have it, but damn it. When he pushed a finger inside of her, she only spread her legs further apart and her head banged against the car. She moaned, as John attacked her neck all over again.
“Damn it, you’re so wet,” he breathed, biting her again. She was going to have hickeys, but it didn’t seem to matter. John groaned loudly when she grabbed him in between his legs, and felt him throbing inside of his jeans. “God, Elizabeth, I have to… I want...”
“Yes,” she panted. They were going to have sex.
“But I don’t wanna do it here,” he licked her ear as he slid another finger inside of her and kept pumping into her slowly. Her mind was foggy and she didn't want him to stop. His voice was a deep growl in her ear when he said he wanted her.
Her mouth agreed before her brain could engage, and then they were kissing, until they finally disentangled enough to walk to his house.
They were alone and they didn’t even bother to turn on the lights on the way to his bedroom. Getting naked took less than two minutes, but finding his condoms and putting them on felt like an eternity and then she was under him, and his face was in between her legs. She cried out to the ceiling, imagining that lethal smirk of his against her, arching every time she felt his tongue entering. Lips and fingers made her come hard within minutes and then he was entering her for real. He treated her just the way he played his guitar. It was embarrassing, but he reduced her to sounds.
Sex wasn’t usually like this. Sex with her ex was like walking the road you walked every morning and knowing every stone and turn. John was so new and unpredictable, she had no idea how she would react.
As it turned out, both of them reacted quite explosively.
They set a fast pace as he mounted her, but slowed down an orgasm later, and it went on, until they both simply collapsed on his bed. It seemed he couldn’t get enough of her, arranging her on his bed the way he wanted, parting her legs and opening her, and she didn’t mind. All of that determination, all of his attention aimed at her was leaving her speechless. She didn't mind when he pushed in her from behind, it felt wild and too good, and he didn't mind her riding him and holding his arms pinned over his head as she slowly moved while they kissed each other everywhere their lips could reach. But on top of everything, it was heartfelt sex. There was something about his voice when he whispered tenderly in her ear. He kissed her, long and tender before they both fell asleep. She let him hold her, and felt his solid, yet lithe body next to her when she closed her eyes. Elizabeth felt wonderfully exhausted, like she never actually did after having sex, and didn't wonder why it felt so right when she closed her eyes.
Only in the morning did she realize this hadn't been a good idea at all.
-
When John finally found them - it wasn't hard, they were exactly where he left them last night - he wished he had stayed and got drunk right along with them.
“Booo. Looks like someone didn't get laid,” said Lorne, rubbing a spoon against his nose. It fell off, of course. John dropped into a chair next to Lorne, opposite to Ronon, and waved to the bartender to ordered coffee for everyone.
Laura seemed still sober enough to fill him in on the news.
“We have the name for the band. Even you'll like it,” she stuck her tongue out. She was giggling a little more than usual, but otherwise, she could fool even him.
“Do tell, Cadman,” he sniffed his coffee when the new guy placed it in front of him, wondering if Elizabeth liked it. He had wanted to make coffee for her this morning. She seemed nice and not the kind of girl who'd run away without even a note.
“The Furlings,” snorted Cameron. Boy, he was drunk. The name sucked, naturally, even the names Mitchell came up with while sober sucked. Ronon snickered at John's expression.
“Don't tell me man,” he leaned into his massive palm, “she did you and then she left?”
John frowned and thought it was time to face it like a man. She was the most gorgeous thing he had seen in a long while. You got naked, had sex, had lots of sex, and then she left. No note, phone number, nothing. End of story.
“That's pretty much it,” he said, and switched his coffee cup for whatever was in Ronon's glass. “Nothing to add,” he shrugged.
The four of them stopped snickering. Laura bit her lip, and Cameron looked a bit like a kicked puppy.
“Yikes,” he said.
“We're sorry?” tried Lorne.
John shook his head, they only meant well when they put him up to this. And heck, he wasn’t sorry.
They were silent for a while, until Ronon nudged his arm lightly.
“Hey, dude. What do you think about the name?”
John took a sip of the suspicious content in Ronon's glass, it burned down his throat. It felt soothing and John hated that.
John looked at Ronon, and Ronon kept looking at John. The others waited, they obviously had tons (or maybe liters) of fun while coming up with that incredibly stupid name, but it wasn't going to stick until John said it was good.
John could actually hear Cameron holding a breath, and Laura allowed Evan to hold her hand openly. They were all looking at John, appearing more sober than they could possibly be. Sometimes, things were bad, but they weren't that bad after all.
“It sucks,” he said and smirked. “It stays.”
TBC.