Game of Concentration
by ALC Punk!

"You couldn't have." Dr. Weir was glaring. And she knew it. She also knew Rodney and his team of linguists were wrong. *Had* to be wrong.

"Look, Elizabeth," McKay waved a hand, "I am rarely--if ever--wrong. And this translation says--"

"But this city belonged to the Ancients!" Okay. Maybe she was being a little vociferous.

Maybe. Except that currently, none of them could see Major John Sheppard. Except for her. And she didn't want to look down under her desk where he was being a complete bastard. A light finger traced up the inside of her left leg and she fought back a shudder.

"Dr. Weir," one of the linguists started, his voice stiff.

"Yes! Fine." She interrupted. "You're right. Or not. I don't care right now. Just--go away."

McKay arched an eyebrow at her, "Feeling tense, Elizabeth? Because I'm sure I could help with that." And he began to walk around her desk.

"No." She gritted her teeth as fingers teased at the bare skin behind her knee. Damn, she was going to regret wearing a skirt to work today for the rest of her life. "I'm fine. I just have reports to finish."

"All right." He eyed her for a moment, then began to smirk. "Should I find Major Sheppard for you? I've noticed it relieves your tension to yell at him."

Find him? Hah. She knew where he was. And she was SO yelling at him. As soon as--her train of thought cut off. As smirking lips touched the skin of her thigh.

Oh, god. "You do that." She managed.

Ushering his linguists out, McKay shot her one last look, and then was gone.

The door swung shut behind him.

"I'm going to kill you."

His answer was to nip his way up the inside of her thigh.

A groan escaped her. "Major--"

"Shhh." The breath wafted along damp skin, and Elizabeth seriously considered whether she'd chosen the best place for an office.

Football stats, she thought desperately, as his lips and tongue began playing with her. Except she hated football... Scary movies, Scream, House on Haunted Hill--no. Violence made her want to--yeah, there was a train of thought to cut off. Treaties. Mountains of paper that required her signature and clauses and forthwiths and-- "Oh, god." Her muscles clenched as he shifted his angle of attack.

Elizabeth was really very glad she'd chosen such a massive, solid-looking, opaque desk.

Her hands clenched on the desk as she fought the urge to moan or growl or (dear god, this was so unfair) scream.

And then he stopped.

He. Stopped.

She stared down at him as he pulled back and looked up at her. "Liz?" The tone was definitely slightly breathless, but since she was breathless, she was okay with that.

"Finish it." Her own voice was raspy with the need to vocalize her pleasure.

But the glass walls of her office would definitely *not* keep the sound from escaping. And there were appearances to keep up.

"Right." And he dove back in, his lips and tongue and fingers going that little bit harder, that slight bit faster.

Her eyes slitted and her back arched and she held in the cry that demanded its release. Like the devil she knew him to be, he simply strove harder, as if determined to force her to make some sound. But she was getting better at being silent, considering his penchant for sex in semi-public places.

"Oh." The word was nearly sub-vocalized as she came, eyes shutting tightly, knuckles going white on the edge of her desk.

When she finally relaxed, John was kissing the skin of her thighs again, carefully drying her with his handkerchief and tongue. A few last shock-waves traveled through her and then she completely slumped in her chair.

"Better?"

"Mhm."

A soft chuckle and he kissed her knee one last time, then began scrambling out from under her desk.

He was at the door before she'd mustered the energy to sit straight again. Her muscles were now happily mushy, and she was really hoping there wouldn't be any emergencies. At least not for an hour or so. "John?"

"Dr. Weir?"

"Go wash your face, then see if Teyla can confirm McKay's translation."

"Yes, ma'am." He mock-saluted her, hankie still in one hand.

"I'll... see you later."

"Yeah." He reached for the knob, then looked back at her. "Lunch?"

"Lunch." She confirmed.

And then he was gone, leaving a rather contentedly relaxed (and vaguely scandalized, although she was getting used to Sheppard's way of pushing the boundaries) leader of Atlantis. A city that was, apparently, leased.

-finis-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!