Author's Chapter Notes: Written for LJ's notjustclosets ficathon. Huge thanks to Miera for betaing and making me add more description; remaining errors are my own, especially the page of additions I made after she saw it.
Takes place just after John shatters the glass wall of Elizabeth's office, before the off-world team leaves to search for bug nests and John's eyes change colour.
Takes place just after John shatters the glass wall of Elizabeth's office, before the off-world team leaves to search for bug nests and John's eyes change colour.
Elizabeth waits in her office only long enough for the maintenance crew to arrive and begin cleaning up the shattered glass before she takes off for the infirmary, but even that short amount of time turns out to be long enough to miss catching John. "I released him to his quarters," Carson tells her, managing to look sympathetic and guilty at the same time. "There's nothing I can do for the colonel here, and being confined to the infirmary seemed to make it worse for him."
She touches his arm, well aware that he's taking John's illness personally. "It's fine, Carson. Have you made any progress?"
The frustration on his face gives away the answer before he can speak. "Nothing yet. I still have a few technicians looking through the Ancient database while we try to devise a cure, but there's been no luck on either front."
"I'll leave you to it, then." She turns to leave, adding over her shoulder, "Contact me the minute you have anything," even though she already knows he will.
She nods a greeting to the guard outside John's room, waving a hand over the blue crystals beside the door and entering without hesitation, though she thinks she sees the lieutenant readjusting his grip on his weapon. Choosing not to dwell on the reasons for that vigilance, Elizabeth makes her way over to where John is standing, looking out the window. "Mind if I come in?" she asks, though it's not really a question, and John shakes his head as he turns to face her. "How are you?" He seems calm enough now, but she can't look away; her eyes are drawn to the mottled skin of his face.
He turns away from her, looking uncomfortable at her scrutiny. "I'm fine."
Elizabeth steps closer, raising a hand to touch a blue cheek. "Does it hurt?" It's something Carson hasn't been able to tell her, and she thinks maybe all of this could be a little easier to deal with if she knows he's not in pain.
The fingers of his left hand – the human-looking one – wrap gently around her wrist before she can touch him. "No," he answers, and though she can't explain exactly why, she knows he's lying.
She murmurs his name and moves closer still, so that she's nearly pressed up against him. John inhales sharply and tries to move back but she doesn't let him, grasping his shoulder to keep him in place and using the grip he still has on her wrist to pull him a step closer. Giving in, he presses the back of her hand to his unchanged cheek for a moment, closing his eyes, then lets her go. "You shouldn't be here," he says, sounding tired, and Elizabeth thinks maybe he's finally starting to worry about what's happening to him. His next words, however, suggest it's not himself he's concerned about. "Look what I did to your office. I'm not safe to be around, Lizabeth."
"You won't hurt me," she refutes confidently.
"But—"
"You won't, John." Out of words and knowing that nothing she can say will convince him anyway, Elizabeth opts for another means of reassurance: she leans up and kisses him.
John doesn't respond for a long few seconds but then he surrenders with a low groan, his hands threading through her hair as he kisses her back hungrily. She lets him direct the kiss, parting her lips when he does and meeting his tongue with her own while her fingers slide down his chest and stomach, pausing for a moment at his waist before moving around to the small of his back. When she starts tracing a path back up her hands are beneath his shirt, and she can feel the different texture on the right side of his body. The skin there is rougher, almost like scales against her fingertips.
John shudders and she pulls back immediately, suddenly alarmed. "Did I—" Did I hurt you? she meant to ask, but his lips crash back against hers almost painfully before she can finish the question. Deciding it wasn't pain which caused that reaction she runs her hands across his back once more, and he shivers again. She wonders what it feels like for him, but the thought doesn't last long because soon he has a hand under her shirt, his thumb lightly caressing the underside of her breast through her bra, and it's her who's trembling now.
It's only when her back all but slams into a wall that Elizabeth realizes that they've moved halfway across his room. The sudden stop seems to throw John off-balance because he raises his head, looking down at her with glazed eyes. She's breathing heavily but he's gasping for air and when he shifts, she feels him, hard against her hip. The knowledge sends a quick thrill of arousal through her, a familiar ache settling between her thighs. She manages to stifle the moan before it makes it past her throat.
John blinks several times and then he's looking at her, his gaze suddenly clear. "I can smell you," he rasps, and her breathing hitches. "I've been able to smell you since you got here, and when you touched me…." He doesn't finish his thought but she can read the intent in his eyes, in the way they're still pressed together from the waist down and how his thumb is circling her areola, through the thin material of her bra.
It takes Elizabeth a moment to find her voice. She takes his hand, his mutated one, and presses it to her other breast. "Touch me," she whispers, and then his fingers are tightening over her, his thigh manoeuvering between hers, and she can't help but cry out at the unexpected pressure against her clit. Belatedly, she remembers the guard just outside the door, but John muffles her cries with a kiss as she rocks against him.
She's close to coming when he suddenly pulls away, grasping the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head before she can protest the loss of him. She takes care of her bra and the button and zipper of her pants while he deals with her boots, and in less than a minute she's completely naked. Elizabeth reaches for his t-shirt next but jerks back, startled, when he barks a sharp, "No!"
Wide-eyed, she simply stares at him. After a moment John touches her cheek in what she takes as apology before leaning in to kiss her. It starts slow, but soon his hands are gliding over her skin, and he knows all the places to touch and stroke to rebuild the need. Elizabeth breaks their kiss to lean back against the wall, her eyes slamming shut when John slips a hand between her legs. It's his left hand, she notes vaguely, and though not as agile as his right it's still more than enough to arouse. Head tossing restlessly, she widens her stance, fighting back a moan as a single finger presses inside her, then circles lightly over her clit. Hips bucking, she fists her hands in John's shirt as he does it again and again.
Like before, he pulls away before she climaxes. He turns her so that her back is to him, and Elizabeth braces her hands against the wall. Behind her, she hears John unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper, followed by the rustle of clothes, and shivers in anticipation.
Instinct has her turning her head but he stops her, and the uncharacteristic gesture – he usually has a thing for her watching him when they're having sex – sparks her first moment of doubt. As much as she wants to believe so, is this really him? Beneath the alien skin taking over his body, is he still the same John Sheppard she's known for the past year and a half?
Then his hand is brushing aside her hair, scraping lightly at the nape of her neck before he kisses that spot just behind her ear that always makes her moan, and her sudden uncertainties melt away. Whatever he looks like, whatever might happen, right here and right now he's still her John.
One hand comes to rest on her hip, and a moment later she feels his cock against her. To her surprise, though, he doesn't enter her, but instead slides forward until his hips are against her ass. He pulls back slowly, and the feel of him against her sensitive folds is unlike anything Elizabeth has ever experienced. Though she can't see him in this position she knows that the discolouration along his right side extends further down, because this is not skin against skin. The texture is rough, coarse, a far cry from the familiar smoothness she expected, and it's almost more than she take.
John presses forward again and she lets out a choked moan, her head dropping down as she gasps for breath. She tilts her hips on his next thrust and the head of his penis rubs over her clit, and the noise she makes leaves her throat raw as she fights to keep from screaming so loud the guard will come running.
His hand closes over her other hip, the thick, sharpened nails digging painfully into her skin. She flinches away. "Too hard," she hisses, and he immediately pulls back his hand. Given his earlier concern that he'd hurt her and how he is with her any time she's injured, Elizabeth heads off the guilt she knows is coming by reaching back and taking his hand in hers, bringing it up to her breast. Behind her, he stills for just a moment. Then his lips are gentle against her shoulder, his hips regaining their rhythm, and in what feels like seconds she's too lost in the sensations he's creating to worry about anything.
His hand at her breast is more restrained than usual, but he still knows exactly how to touch her. Elizabeth's arms finally give out and her elbows buckle, her forearms pressed to the wall now. That small change in angle leaves John sliding more forcefully over her clit and just like that the pressure spikes, leaving her right on the edge. She sucks in a sharp breath, the heady smell of sex sending a jolt straight through her. Then John bites down on her shoulder, and her orgasm rips through her so fiercely that her vision greys out and she's left shaking in its aftermath. If not for the wall in front of her and John's arm around her waist, she thinks she might not be able to stand.
He's moving urgently against her now, his hands adjusting her hips to an angle that works for him, and Elizabeth is relieved that he's no longer hitting her too-sensitive clit. "Liz'beth," he pleads harshly, and she can hear the desperate edge in the tone of his voice. Knowledge of his body has her reaching down between her own legs, cupping her hand so that his head bumps against her palm with every thrust. He lets out a strangled moan, his arm tightening around her waist, and when she bends her fingers to caress the underside of his cock – that same, foreign texture as the rest of his transformed flesh – it's only seconds more before he comes.
He collapses half against her, breathing hard, and it's only now that Elizabeth realizes that he's still wearing his shirt and that his pants are barely past his thighs. At first his arm around her waist prevents her from moving as she struggles to turn around. Once he lets her go, even as close as they are, he somehow manages to pull his pants up before she can see him.
Their breathing is the only sound in the room. Though he's fully dressed and she's standing there, naked, his semen coating her inner thighs and one hand, in this moment it somehow feels like he's the one who's more exposed. Elizabeth doesn't know how to deal with this; John can be quiet or angry or sarcastic, but vulnerability is not something she's used to from him. Embarrassed, for herself or for him she doesn't know, she looks away first. God, her bedside manner more than sucks, and she's more aware of it now than she's ever been.
Surprisingly, it's John who breaks the silence. She looks up as he starts, "Elizabeth, I—" and then breaks off, glancing around the room before he shrugs helplessly. "I'm sorry," he says, and somehow she knows he's apologizing for the words he can't say.
She moves so that she's standing in front of him, well within his personal space; this time, when she reaches up to touch his cheek, he lets her. Before she can say anything, though, her radio beeps, and she reflexively takes a step back even as she answers. "This is Weir."
"Dr. Weir, it's Lorne. We're ready to go, ma'am."
"I'll be there in a few minutes, Major. Weir out." Her hand drops from her earpiece but otherwise she doesn't move, just stands there, watching John watch her.
His lips twist into something that passes for a smile. "C'mon," he says quietly. "Let's get you cleaned up before they start to wonder where you are."
She follows him wordlessly to his bathroom, where he uses a cloth to wipe her thighs while she washes her hands. She pretends not to notice that he only uses his left hand to touch her. After, he stands to one side looking uncomfortable as she gathers up her clothes and dresses, but when she straightens from tying her shoes he's right there in front of her, running a hand through her hair to smooth it down. "You should go."
She nods. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?" They both know she will be, but Elizabeth needs to say it out loud.
At the door, she pauses one last time. "We will beat this, John," she promises, even though she has no right to. He just looks at her, but she knows it's as much of an acknowledgement as she's likely to get. With a final glance and a desperate hope that the next few hours will bring a solution, she exits his room and heads for the control tower.
--end--
She touches his arm, well aware that he's taking John's illness personally. "It's fine, Carson. Have you made any progress?"
The frustration on his face gives away the answer before he can speak. "Nothing yet. I still have a few technicians looking through the Ancient database while we try to devise a cure, but there's been no luck on either front."
"I'll leave you to it, then." She turns to leave, adding over her shoulder, "Contact me the minute you have anything," even though she already knows he will.
She nods a greeting to the guard outside John's room, waving a hand over the blue crystals beside the door and entering without hesitation, though she thinks she sees the lieutenant readjusting his grip on his weapon. Choosing not to dwell on the reasons for that vigilance, Elizabeth makes her way over to where John is standing, looking out the window. "Mind if I come in?" she asks, though it's not really a question, and John shakes his head as he turns to face her. "How are you?" He seems calm enough now, but she can't look away; her eyes are drawn to the mottled skin of his face.
He turns away from her, looking uncomfortable at her scrutiny. "I'm fine."
Elizabeth steps closer, raising a hand to touch a blue cheek. "Does it hurt?" It's something Carson hasn't been able to tell her, and she thinks maybe all of this could be a little easier to deal with if she knows he's not in pain.
The fingers of his left hand – the human-looking one – wrap gently around her wrist before she can touch him. "No," he answers, and though she can't explain exactly why, she knows he's lying.
She murmurs his name and moves closer still, so that she's nearly pressed up against him. John inhales sharply and tries to move back but she doesn't let him, grasping his shoulder to keep him in place and using the grip he still has on her wrist to pull him a step closer. Giving in, he presses the back of her hand to his unchanged cheek for a moment, closing his eyes, then lets her go. "You shouldn't be here," he says, sounding tired, and Elizabeth thinks maybe he's finally starting to worry about what's happening to him. His next words, however, suggest it's not himself he's concerned about. "Look what I did to your office. I'm not safe to be around, Lizabeth."
"You won't hurt me," she refutes confidently.
"But—"
"You won't, John." Out of words and knowing that nothing she can say will convince him anyway, Elizabeth opts for another means of reassurance: she leans up and kisses him.
John doesn't respond for a long few seconds but then he surrenders with a low groan, his hands threading through her hair as he kisses her back hungrily. She lets him direct the kiss, parting her lips when he does and meeting his tongue with her own while her fingers slide down his chest and stomach, pausing for a moment at his waist before moving around to the small of his back. When she starts tracing a path back up her hands are beneath his shirt, and she can feel the different texture on the right side of his body. The skin there is rougher, almost like scales against her fingertips.
John shudders and she pulls back immediately, suddenly alarmed. "Did I—" Did I hurt you? she meant to ask, but his lips crash back against hers almost painfully before she can finish the question. Deciding it wasn't pain which caused that reaction she runs her hands across his back once more, and he shivers again. She wonders what it feels like for him, but the thought doesn't last long because soon he has a hand under her shirt, his thumb lightly caressing the underside of her breast through her bra, and it's her who's trembling now.
It's only when her back all but slams into a wall that Elizabeth realizes that they've moved halfway across his room. The sudden stop seems to throw John off-balance because he raises his head, looking down at her with glazed eyes. She's breathing heavily but he's gasping for air and when he shifts, she feels him, hard against her hip. The knowledge sends a quick thrill of arousal through her, a familiar ache settling between her thighs. She manages to stifle the moan before it makes it past her throat.
John blinks several times and then he's looking at her, his gaze suddenly clear. "I can smell you," he rasps, and her breathing hitches. "I've been able to smell you since you got here, and when you touched me…." He doesn't finish his thought but she can read the intent in his eyes, in the way they're still pressed together from the waist down and how his thumb is circling her areola, through the thin material of her bra.
It takes Elizabeth a moment to find her voice. She takes his hand, his mutated one, and presses it to her other breast. "Touch me," she whispers, and then his fingers are tightening over her, his thigh manoeuvering between hers, and she can't help but cry out at the unexpected pressure against her clit. Belatedly, she remembers the guard just outside the door, but John muffles her cries with a kiss as she rocks against him.
She's close to coming when he suddenly pulls away, grasping the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head before she can protest the loss of him. She takes care of her bra and the button and zipper of her pants while he deals with her boots, and in less than a minute she's completely naked. Elizabeth reaches for his t-shirt next but jerks back, startled, when he barks a sharp, "No!"
Wide-eyed, she simply stares at him. After a moment John touches her cheek in what she takes as apology before leaning in to kiss her. It starts slow, but soon his hands are gliding over her skin, and he knows all the places to touch and stroke to rebuild the need. Elizabeth breaks their kiss to lean back against the wall, her eyes slamming shut when John slips a hand between her legs. It's his left hand, she notes vaguely, and though not as agile as his right it's still more than enough to arouse. Head tossing restlessly, she widens her stance, fighting back a moan as a single finger presses inside her, then circles lightly over her clit. Hips bucking, she fists her hands in John's shirt as he does it again and again.
Like before, he pulls away before she climaxes. He turns her so that her back is to him, and Elizabeth braces her hands against the wall. Behind her, she hears John unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper, followed by the rustle of clothes, and shivers in anticipation.
Instinct has her turning her head but he stops her, and the uncharacteristic gesture – he usually has a thing for her watching him when they're having sex – sparks her first moment of doubt. As much as she wants to believe so, is this really him? Beneath the alien skin taking over his body, is he still the same John Sheppard she's known for the past year and a half?
Then his hand is brushing aside her hair, scraping lightly at the nape of her neck before he kisses that spot just behind her ear that always makes her moan, and her sudden uncertainties melt away. Whatever he looks like, whatever might happen, right here and right now he's still her John.
One hand comes to rest on her hip, and a moment later she feels his cock against her. To her surprise, though, he doesn't enter her, but instead slides forward until his hips are against her ass. He pulls back slowly, and the feel of him against her sensitive folds is unlike anything Elizabeth has ever experienced. Though she can't see him in this position she knows that the discolouration along his right side extends further down, because this is not skin against skin. The texture is rough, coarse, a far cry from the familiar smoothness she expected, and it's almost more than she take.
John presses forward again and she lets out a choked moan, her head dropping down as she gasps for breath. She tilts her hips on his next thrust and the head of his penis rubs over her clit, and the noise she makes leaves her throat raw as she fights to keep from screaming so loud the guard will come running.
His hand closes over her other hip, the thick, sharpened nails digging painfully into her skin. She flinches away. "Too hard," she hisses, and he immediately pulls back his hand. Given his earlier concern that he'd hurt her and how he is with her any time she's injured, Elizabeth heads off the guilt she knows is coming by reaching back and taking his hand in hers, bringing it up to her breast. Behind her, he stills for just a moment. Then his lips are gentle against her shoulder, his hips regaining their rhythm, and in what feels like seconds she's too lost in the sensations he's creating to worry about anything.
His hand at her breast is more restrained than usual, but he still knows exactly how to touch her. Elizabeth's arms finally give out and her elbows buckle, her forearms pressed to the wall now. That small change in angle leaves John sliding more forcefully over her clit and just like that the pressure spikes, leaving her right on the edge. She sucks in a sharp breath, the heady smell of sex sending a jolt straight through her. Then John bites down on her shoulder, and her orgasm rips through her so fiercely that her vision greys out and she's left shaking in its aftermath. If not for the wall in front of her and John's arm around her waist, she thinks she might not be able to stand.
He's moving urgently against her now, his hands adjusting her hips to an angle that works for him, and Elizabeth is relieved that he's no longer hitting her too-sensitive clit. "Liz'beth," he pleads harshly, and she can hear the desperate edge in the tone of his voice. Knowledge of his body has her reaching down between her own legs, cupping her hand so that his head bumps against her palm with every thrust. He lets out a strangled moan, his arm tightening around her waist, and when she bends her fingers to caress the underside of his cock – that same, foreign texture as the rest of his transformed flesh – it's only seconds more before he comes.
He collapses half against her, breathing hard, and it's only now that Elizabeth realizes that he's still wearing his shirt and that his pants are barely past his thighs. At first his arm around her waist prevents her from moving as she struggles to turn around. Once he lets her go, even as close as they are, he somehow manages to pull his pants up before she can see him.
Their breathing is the only sound in the room. Though he's fully dressed and she's standing there, naked, his semen coating her inner thighs and one hand, in this moment it somehow feels like he's the one who's more exposed. Elizabeth doesn't know how to deal with this; John can be quiet or angry or sarcastic, but vulnerability is not something she's used to from him. Embarrassed, for herself or for him she doesn't know, she looks away first. God, her bedside manner more than sucks, and she's more aware of it now than she's ever been.
Surprisingly, it's John who breaks the silence. She looks up as he starts, "Elizabeth, I—" and then breaks off, glancing around the room before he shrugs helplessly. "I'm sorry," he says, and somehow she knows he's apologizing for the words he can't say.
She moves so that she's standing in front of him, well within his personal space; this time, when she reaches up to touch his cheek, he lets her. Before she can say anything, though, her radio beeps, and she reflexively takes a step back even as she answers. "This is Weir."
"Dr. Weir, it's Lorne. We're ready to go, ma'am."
"I'll be there in a few minutes, Major. Weir out." Her hand drops from her earpiece but otherwise she doesn't move, just stands there, watching John watch her.
His lips twist into something that passes for a smile. "C'mon," he says quietly. "Let's get you cleaned up before they start to wonder where you are."
She follows him wordlessly to his bathroom, where he uses a cloth to wipe her thighs while she washes her hands. She pretends not to notice that he only uses his left hand to touch her. After, he stands to one side looking uncomfortable as she gathers up her clothes and dresses, but when she straightens from tying her shoes he's right there in front of her, running a hand through her hair to smooth it down. "You should go."
She nods. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?" They both know she will be, but Elizabeth needs to say it out loud.
At the door, she pauses one last time. "We will beat this, John," she promises, even though she has no right to. He just looks at her, but she knows it's as much of an acknowledgement as she's likely to get. With a final glance and a desperate hope that the next few hours will bring a solution, she exits his room and heads for the control tower.
--end--