Title: Gale Force Winds
Author: A.j.
Fandom: “Stargate: Atlantis”, pairing John/Liz, spoilers for "The Storm" and "The Eye".
Rating: NC-17, baby!

Notes: This came about during a chat session with Little Red. She'd
mentioned a story she'd read where Rodney gave Liz a knee massage. Naturally
my head went smutty places. All mistakes are my own and this is unbeta'd, so
if you hate it... er. It's my beta's fault entirely!

Summary: "What would you do if Peter turned around?"

***

Elizabeth knows that letting Rodney give her a foot massage isn’t the
brightest thing to do. Realizes that letting him move his hands up and down
her calves while chatting about his and Carson’s latest joint project on the
communal couch isn’t a way to project professionalism. But she doesn’t mind
too much because she needs this contact with someone.

Feels safe with it being Rodney. Because this is friendship, and he needs
reassurance too.

But when John walks into the lounge looking for her, face tight and body
language unsettled, she knows that letting Rodney touch her like this is a
phenomenally bad idea. Then again, her timing has always been shaky at best.

“McKay. Dr. Weir.” He is smiling just a little, eyes flat and calm. She
feels it in her gut.

Rodney doesn’t seem to notice the under current. Elizabeth can’t notice
anything else. “Just giving Elizabeth a quick massage.”

John’s smirk is frightening in its lack of emotion. “Her knees bothering her
again?”

“They’re feeling better now.” Her voice is soft and low in the large common
room. Husky.

“Well,” John’s smile crawls up into his eyes, just a little. She’s going to
pay for this. Pay for it hard. And god help her, but she’s already wet from
the threat stamped all over her Major’s face. “That’s good to hear.
Remember, Dr. Weir. You wanted to have a meeting about the supplies later.”

It’s not a question and she’s nodding before his voice dies in echo. “Yeah.”

“Three hours good for you?”

She swallows and nods, shifting just a bit away from Rodney.

He shakes his head and smiles – widely this time. “Enjoy your massage.”

***

Three hours later, her knees are still feeling pretty damn good. They’re
actually quite great as they’re pushed up against John's sides, heels digging
under the table on which she’s perched. He is groaning into her ear, and she
can barely make out Peter and Mary through the large picture window behind
him. The window overlooks one of the small empty garden areas that are
slowly being persuaded back to life by a bored crew. Peter and Mary appear
to be cleaning out the debris the storm dropped in on it.

"God, John..." He is hard and hot and deep inside of her. His skin is tacky
with sweat – hers and his – and the only sounds he’s made since manhandling
her into this small anteroom and growling ‘Mine’ into her throat five minutes
ago is the occasional grunt.

Her pants are twisted around her ankles and boots and she’s trapped between
his cock and the table and the wall and Peter and Mary below them. She can’t
stop staring, can’t help but be terrified that the two crewmen will turn
around. Will see her. Will see *them*.

"What would you do if Peter turned around right now?" he breathes in her
ear... She gasps as he pushes into her hard, stopping when he his balls hit
her ass.

"Aah..."

He isn’t moving. Won’t move until she answers him. She knows this. "Would
you stare at him? Let him watch you?"

"You're a bastard, you know that?” she mewls quietly to the window and Peter
and Mary.

"Yep. A selfish bastard. And I want every... man... in this... city... to
know that you're spoken for.” She feels him smirk into her ear just before
he nips the top. His hips ease from side to side, slow and controlled, his
pubic hair grinding into her clit *almost just right*. “What would you do,
Elizabeth?"

"Do you want me to... answer?" Her voice cracks on the last word.

"I asked the question." His fingers dig into her hip and shoulder, pulling
her tighter against him. A short, hard grind and the little white lights
behind her eyes pop and dance.

"I... I'd let him stare..." And she would. To make this continue, she’d
strip naked in command and let him take her in front of God and Peter and the
rest of the control room. But he doesn’t need to know about the rest of
that.

Below them, she can see Peter turn towards Mary and start to laugh at
something - *pleasdon’tturnaroundpleaspleaseplease* - and her heart slams
hard into her ribcage.

His voice is low and gravelly and rakes down her spine in happy little
electric currents. "He'd watch you come. Just stare as I make you scream
and scream and scream. Because I won't stop because you are mine right now."

Later, she wonders why Peter and Mary didn't turn around. She's fairly
certain Holling and the Athosians should have been able to hear her on the
mainland. She is screaming and gone and the last thing she sees before
faceplanting into John's shoulder is his eyes. Determined and serious and so
intense that her stomach tightens again. He is looking at her. He is owning
her.

She comes back to herself, panting and boneless with him still as stone
inside her.

He is kissing her neck, softly. Laving it with quick darts of his tongue.
He's still hard, and his own breathing is rapid and irregular.

"You almost died yesterday."

She bites her lip and clings just a little harder to him. She won't remember
the look on John's face right now. If she does, she'll start to cry. And
this isn't about that.

"But I didn't."

His hands slid down her sides and to her back, adjusting her hips, tilting
her up and forward. She gasps at the change, his cock hitting something
exactly right. "God, John..."

And then he's kissing her. Hard and long and wet and good, and she can feel
him everywhere before he breaks the contact and meets her eyes again. He
raised his hand and stroked her cheek, running his thumb along her bottom lip
before giving three short thrusts and a grind.

"You are beautiful like this."

She leans back a little, letting his shoulders go, and shifting her arms
behind her. Opening herself up to him and this moment.

"You make me like this so easily," she gasped and arched her back, her hips
tilting higher and into him harder. She can still see the top of Peter's
head over John's shoulder. It is ducked over something and he's likely
explaining something to Mary. Peter is always explaining.

It is purely luck that he isn't turning around.

“You let him touch you.” The words are hard and tight, raking coarsely
across her shoulders and mind. For an instant, she can feel Rodney’s fingers
on her wool-covered knees, but reality and the scratchy hair of John’s thighs
against her own make her blink and refocus.

Carefully, she pulls back and stares him down. Lets him see, just for an
instant. “But he’s not here.”

John nods once, a nerve in his cheek betraying just how close he is. “I am.”

“You are.” She clenches down on him as hard as she can. Once. Twice.

And there he is. Pain lances through her shoulder as he bites down. Her
eyes water at it, but he is groaning into her, coming and coming and not
letting go. Not until he’s done.

In the distance she can see Peter and Mary laughing and throwing branches
over the railings. John’s hair is in her hand, and his sides are shaking.

She closes her eyes and lets herself hang on.

-fin-