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Disclaimer: Not mine. Rating: Not for the kiddies. Porn. Angst.
Archive: Please ask.
SET: During The Siege. Contains spoilery type things.
Pairing: Weir/Sheppard. (telepathic squirrels are scary, dude)
Notes: Madonna's 'Skin'. 's all I'm sayin'. Oh. And I blame this on Claira, y'know, as a matter of course. not like this all the timeby ALC Punk! The world is ending around them. Atlantis is falling. And all Elizabeth Weir can do is sob out a plea as John Sheppard's fingers stroke her. Faster, harder, more. More. She thought it would be the end before. When the genii were holding her, eyes clothed in darkness and all she could do was wait. Sit proud and resolute, and wait. She knows they didn't have to give her back. He does, too. Mouth on her shoulder, teeth nipping, sharp pain as he draws blood, and the electric shock travels down her spine and she's convulsing around his fingers, her nails digging into the shirt covering his shoulders. "Major." She manages after a time, leaning against the wall, feeling the sweat cool on her skin. He's simply leaning against her, propping them both up. Still wearing clothing, and she wants more than that. Her hands claw at his shirt and vest and he catches one and kisses her while threading their fingers together. Catches the other a second later, and she doesn't object. It's a harsh kiss, full of anger and pain and things she doesn't want to name. And he tastes like blood. "Doctor." His breath is harsh in her ears as he leans his forehead against hers. "This..." His hands release hers and between the two of them, they get his pants open and down, his underwear out of the way (there's a running joke in Atlantis that Major Sheppard goes commando. Liz could tell them they're all wrong). And then he stops. "Major." Her hands come up, frame his face, and she has to see his eyes. Even here in this disused corridor of Atlantis, the power failed and gone (too many dead, no one buried, and Peter blown to little pieces), she can see the glint of his eyes. There might be tears. "John." "No talking." Hands on her hips maneuver her, and she spreads her legs, raises one and shifts and he moves, and thrusts, and she suddenly doesn't want to talk. She can do no talking. It goes right along with no thinking, and no thinking means she doesn't have to remember cold sweat and the taste of her own blood in her mouth as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. They could have kept her. They could have held her indefinitely, tortured her, shot her, maimed her, killed her. No one would have been able to save her. The possibilities are endless, so she doesn't consider them. Sheppard's rhythm breaks suddenly, and she kisses him, one hand under his shirt as he loses control and cries out against her neck. Again, there is silence, nothing but the two of them in this dark little world. She could say many things to him. Tell him that they didn't hurt her. That she won't ever do that again. That she'll always be safe. They would be lies. His arms tighten around her, and she wonders if he can read her mind. "They'll attack again soon." She breaks the no talking rule, first. After all, as the negotiator, that's her job. Breaking the ice. "I know." They're going to have to let go soon. She needs to clean herself up, to get dressed again (and in new pants, he ripped the zipper, getting to her). And then find the Colonel, who is probably uncaring that she's missing. Neither of them move, they simply continue to lean against each other, and Atlantis. Elizabeth wonders if this is how the world is going to end. Atlantis is being strafed into pieces out there. And all she can feel is John Sheppard's arms around her, and the wall is cold at her back.
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