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aliarasTitle: The Blues
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aliaras
Fandom: SGA
Pairing/Character: John/Weir
Rating: NC-17 (DUBCON, D/s)
Spoilers: Just for 2-06, Conversion
Summary: So you know how Blue!John slams Weir up against a wall...
Notes: I have written SGA fic!...of the PWP variety. (I swear that interesting PG-13 AU fic I started is coming, too.) So I found an interesting meta post insabinelagrande's journal while looking for fic. And it set off a plotbunny. And ficcing is so much more fun than cleaning my room. sabinelagrande was also kind enough to beta said fic. All commments, concrit, etc totally welcome. Totally lame title up for revision.
She knew she shouldn’t want to come back. John was dangerous in his mutated state. But she had to tell him about the mission – she was the leader, the one who was in some way responsible. And beyond that, she was his friend, and nobody else was going to do it.
He was worse than he’d been before. She couldn’t help noticing where the blue skin had spread - up his face like a beard, symmetrical now, eyes and neck gone - and felt a twinge of shame at the part of her that was disturbed. This was John, still John. She had to remind herself of that.
“The nest was too well protected. We were unable to retrieve the eggs. They tried their best,” she said, trying to soothe his inevitable anger.
“Best?” It was amazing that the one word could convey so many emotions: despair, disgust, hurt that she failed him, that they all failed him.
She tried to explain. “The bugs attacked,” she said, hoping he would understand the impossibility of the mission.
“Try again,” he said- no, ordered, in the same tone he’d used with her earlier, the one that made her go slightly weak at the knees. She ignored that bit of herself and kept arguing, trying to convince him with logic that might have worked in his unaltered state.
Except, this wasn’t his unaltered state; and if he was John, it was a rather different John- and oh god, he had her pinned up against a wall.
She focused on the firm steadiness of the pillar behind her back, reminding herself to stay calm. "We lost Walker and Stevens. I won't send another team. I won't risk more lives," she said, her attempts at keeping an even tone failing miserably. He kept holding her there, just looking- oh god, was she getting turned on? She was breathing quickly, and not all of it was fear. That thought doubled the arousal, and she tried very hard not to notice the pool of warmth growing between her legs. "Put me down," she said, cursing the slight break in her voice.
She could see that he'd noticed. His expression shifted slightly, one side of his mouth twitching into a smug half-grin. “Elizabeth. Are you enjoying this?” She couldn’t answer, just keep breathing as he raised a hand to the side of her face, running it down over her neck and shoulder. It was pebbly and cool, and the sensation made her shiver and break out into goosebumps.
He let her down just slightly and she tried one last time to push him away. She shouldn’t be letting him get away with this; she was his boss and he was… pinching a nipple between forefinger and thumb and she groaned, melting against the pillar. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.
His hands had grown claws, and his half-smile became a positively wolfish grin when he realized what they did to her. He released her from the wall and half pulled, half pushed her onto the bed. She could tell he was still mostly lucid by how he could still manage to remove a shirt and bra. He rolled her face-up and straddled her, the telltale bulge of his pants obvious at this angle. “Now, Elizabeth. Are you going to be good, or do I have to keep pinning you down?”
“I...you don’t have to...” she gasped, her hips involuntarily grinding against him as he went back to work with his hands. She should really be trying to escape, to get away from him; he wasn't in his right mind. He leaned down and covered her mouth with his own, his tongue darting in briefly before he moved to her neck. His teeth had gotten sharper, and she started whimpering and squirming uncontrollably as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin. Of course, if she ran off, there was no telling what he would do. He leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth, and she was completely gone, left with only the sensations of his hands and mouth everywhere and the quickly growing need to have him take her.
He must have thought the same, because abruptly his weight was gone. She had no idea how he managed to remember about condoms in his condition but it was good that he did. It occurred to her that even if he hadn't, she would still have gone along with him - if she'd had a choice. The thought should have terrified her. He kneeled on the bed next to her, yanking her pants down to her ankles and spreading her thighs, caressing them lightly, eyes never leaving her own. Slowly, deliberately, he ran a finger up over her pussy and clit. "Beg," he said.
He was wild, posessive; the animal instincts that had nearly taken over his own created a blend that very clearly was not John Sheppard, goofy Air Force Pilot. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen. Somewhere in the back of her mind a small part of her was gibbering away that she shouldn't do this, shouldn't be so turned on by a big strong caveman act, she was a good feminist- his finger pressed harder, the claw threatening to dig in, and the thought was lost. "I said, beg."
"Fuck me," she croaked. He raised an eyebrow. "Fuck me, please, now, fuck me..." her voice trailed off as he straddled her, entering her in one quick stroke. He settled into a maddeningly slow rhythm, holding her hips down when she tried to get more. She groaned in frustration. "Please," she whined. He grunted and shifted slightly, changing his angle to something incredible. She was floating, panting and moving with him, feeling every thrust. He brought her hand down to her clit, and she rubbed herself, groaning in delight. She was writhing on the brink of orgasm, trying to pull him in closer, deeper. He leaned over and growled something in her ear that sounded a good deal like "mine" and she came harder than she could ever remember coming, all of her muscles spasming around him.
He must have come too, because when she recovered he had stopped moving. He was still over her, breathing hard, still half-inside.
“John,” she said, hesitantly. He jerked, looked down at her – really looked, and leapt off the bed, ripping the condom off and zipping his pants before fleeing into the hallway, knocking out the guards on the way.
She pulled up her pants and went hunting her shirt and bra. The bra was a lost cause - torn, rather than unlached, but she put the shirt on and followed after him. That part of her brain that wasn't sure what the hell just happened was back, alternating 'what the fuck' with 'this is going to be so awkward later'. She ignored it. Sheppard was loose. Nasty stuff was about to go down in her city, again. She checked the guard’s pulse – still alive – and grabbed his radio. “This is Weir, we have a security breach. Colonel Sheppard's quarters.”
Author:
aliarasFandom: SGA
Pairing/Character: John/Weir
Rating: NC-17 (DUBCON, D/s)
Spoilers: Just for 2-06, Conversion
Summary: So you know how Blue!John slams Weir up against a wall...
Notes: I have written SGA fic!...of the PWP variety. (I swear that interesting PG-13 AU fic I started is coming, too.) So I found an interesting meta post in
sabinelagrande's journal while looking for fic. And it set off a plotbunny. And ficcing is so much more fun than cleaning my room. sabinelagrande was also kind enough to beta said fic. All commments, concrit, etc totally welcome. Totally lame title up for revision.She knew she shouldn’t want to come back. John was dangerous in his mutated state. But she had to tell him about the mission – she was the leader, the one who was in some way responsible. And beyond that, she was his friend, and nobody else was going to do it.
He was worse than he’d been before. She couldn’t help noticing where the blue skin had spread - up his face like a beard, symmetrical now, eyes and neck gone - and felt a twinge of shame at the part of her that was disturbed. This was John, still John. She had to remind herself of that.
“The nest was too well protected. We were unable to retrieve the eggs. They tried their best,” she said, trying to soothe his inevitable anger.
“Best?” It was amazing that the one word could convey so many emotions: despair, disgust, hurt that she failed him, that they all failed him.
She tried to explain. “The bugs attacked,” she said, hoping he would understand the impossibility of the mission.
“Try again,” he said- no, ordered, in the same tone he’d used with her earlier, the one that made her go slightly weak at the knees. She ignored that bit of herself and kept arguing, trying to convince him with logic that might have worked in his unaltered state.
Except, this wasn’t his unaltered state; and if he was John, it was a rather different John- and oh god, he had her pinned up against a wall.
She focused on the firm steadiness of the pillar behind her back, reminding herself to stay calm. "We lost Walker and Stevens. I won't send another team. I won't risk more lives," she said, her attempts at keeping an even tone failing miserably. He kept holding her there, just looking- oh god, was she getting turned on? She was breathing quickly, and not all of it was fear. That thought doubled the arousal, and she tried very hard not to notice the pool of warmth growing between her legs. "Put me down," she said, cursing the slight break in her voice.
She could see that he'd noticed. His expression shifted slightly, one side of his mouth twitching into a smug half-grin. “Elizabeth. Are you enjoying this?” She couldn’t answer, just keep breathing as he raised a hand to the side of her face, running it down over her neck and shoulder. It was pebbly and cool, and the sensation made her shiver and break out into goosebumps.
He let her down just slightly and she tried one last time to push him away. She shouldn’t be letting him get away with this; she was his boss and he was… pinching a nipple between forefinger and thumb and she groaned, melting against the pillar. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.
His hands had grown claws, and his half-smile became a positively wolfish grin when he realized what they did to her. He released her from the wall and half pulled, half pushed her onto the bed. She could tell he was still mostly lucid by how he could still manage to remove a shirt and bra. He rolled her face-up and straddled her, the telltale bulge of his pants obvious at this angle. “Now, Elizabeth. Are you going to be good, or do I have to keep pinning you down?”
“I...you don’t have to...” she gasped, her hips involuntarily grinding against him as he went back to work with his hands. She should really be trying to escape, to get away from him; he wasn't in his right mind. He leaned down and covered her mouth with his own, his tongue darting in briefly before he moved to her neck. His teeth had gotten sharper, and she started whimpering and squirming uncontrollably as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin. Of course, if she ran off, there was no telling what he would do. He leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth, and she was completely gone, left with only the sensations of his hands and mouth everywhere and the quickly growing need to have him take her.
He must have thought the same, because abruptly his weight was gone. She had no idea how he managed to remember about condoms in his condition but it was good that he did. It occurred to her that even if he hadn't, she would still have gone along with him - if she'd had a choice. The thought should have terrified her. He kneeled on the bed next to her, yanking her pants down to her ankles and spreading her thighs, caressing them lightly, eyes never leaving her own. Slowly, deliberately, he ran a finger up over her pussy and clit. "Beg," he said.
He was wild, posessive; the animal instincts that had nearly taken over his own created a blend that very clearly was not John Sheppard, goofy Air Force Pilot. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen. Somewhere in the back of her mind a small part of her was gibbering away that she shouldn't do this, shouldn't be so turned on by a big strong caveman act, she was a good feminist- his finger pressed harder, the claw threatening to dig in, and the thought was lost. "I said, beg."
"Fuck me," she croaked. He raised an eyebrow. "Fuck me, please, now, fuck me..." her voice trailed off as he straddled her, entering her in one quick stroke. He settled into a maddeningly slow rhythm, holding her hips down when she tried to get more. She groaned in frustration. "Please," she whined. He grunted and shifted slightly, changing his angle to something incredible. She was floating, panting and moving with him, feeling every thrust. He brought her hand down to her clit, and she rubbed herself, groaning in delight. She was writhing on the brink of orgasm, trying to pull him in closer, deeper. He leaned over and growled something in her ear that sounded a good deal like "mine" and she came harder than she could ever remember coming, all of her muscles spasming around him.
He must have come too, because when she recovered he had stopped moving. He was still over her, breathing hard, still half-inside.
“John,” she said, hesitantly. He jerked, looked down at her – really looked, and leapt off the bed, ripping the condom off and zipping his pants before fleeing into the hallway, knocking out the guards on the way.
She pulled up her pants and went hunting her shirt and bra. The bra was a lost cause - torn, rather than unlached, but she put the shirt on and followed after him. That part of her brain that wasn't sure what the hell just happened was back, alternating 'what the fuck' with 'this is going to be so awkward later'. She ignored it. Sheppard was loose. Nasty stuff was about to go down in her city, again. She checked the guard’s pulse – still alive – and grabbed his radio. “This is Weir, we have a security breach. Colonel Sheppard's quarters.”
