Fic: Happy Everything
Dec. 24th, 2010 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Happy Everything
Summary: Every party could be better.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 911
Rating/Contents: NC-17, public sex
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: One more little thing before I go to bed and wait for Santa (I'm not sure why, as I've already opened all the presents that he left me). Happy porn, everybody.
It's the annual Atlantis "Happy Everything" party. Elizabeth's pretty sure that they have as many winter celebrations as they have members of the expedition, which doesn't even count the Athosians and their several winter festivals; accordingly, they have every holiday accoutrement known to man, up to and including a Festivus pole.
It's two hours in, and Elizabeth is starting to feel just a little edgy. It's not the party itself- she's a trained diplomat, after all, so it's her business to be able to party all night. It has much more to do with the fact that she's been tracking Caldwell with her eyes all night, watching him watch her. This game she isn't unfamiliar with either; it's just that she's got much less patience for it.
Finally his orbit takes him into hers; they're suddenly standing quite close together, talking to different people. "Doctor Weir," he says, as if in passing; his tone is that same slightly condescending one that he has all the time, but his eyes are dark and full of promise.
"Colonel Caldwell," she returns, and if there's the barest inclination of her head towards the door, no one else is watching to see it. She turns her back on him to talk to one of the new biologists who's just arrived on the Daedalus; the man has no idea that she's counting off minutes in her head, waiting to extract herself gracefully.
She does, of course, finding the perfect excuse to make her way out of the party and into the darkened hallway outside. She doesn't see him at first; she keeps walking until she's well beyond the pool of light marking the doorway. Suddenly she sees him, leaning against the wall, and even in the dark she can feel his eyes on her.
He reaches out and snags her by the wrist, pulling her in and kissing her, his lips demanding, his hands all over her. She gives as good as she gets, letting the wall take her weight so that she can pull him against her, hooking a leg around his thighs.
She doesn't know how long they stand there, making out like teenagers, but he's the one who breaks it up. "Turn around," he whispers, and he doesn't wait for her to start moving, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her towards the wall. "Hands on the wall." She obeys, partly to humor him and partly for the secret thrill it gives her when she does what he says.
"This goddamned skirt," he says, flipping it up over her hips and running his hands over her ass. He snorts in amusement, pulling at one of her garter straps and letting it go with a pop. "Fancy."
"It's actually very practical," Elizabeth informs him, listening to him opening his zipper and wishing he'd get on with it.
"That's not why you wore it," he says, chuckling. "This either," he adds, plucking at the ribbons holding her panties together at the sides. "All wrapped up like a present."
She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't get around to saying anything caustic. He's already pushing his fingers inside of her, where she's wet and so ready for him, and she stops caring about anything but getting more.
"Greedy," he chides her, smacking her lightly on the ass, but he gives her exactly what she's wanting, urging her legs a little wider and pressing into her, pushing all the way home in one long movement. She grinds back against him, pressing her face into the crook of her elbow to keep her moans from escaping.
He fucks her hard and fast, kissing and biting at her neck, and she just knows he'll be leaving inexplicable marks, but they're totally worth it. She pushes back against him as best as she can, their bodies working together blindly. They're loud, they're so loud, but the noise of the party is drowning them out, people's laughter and singing and general drunkenness creating a sea of sound. Everyone who matters to her is standing not fifty feet away; the thought of them catching her like this, with the man who's supposed to be her greatest adversary, really shouldn't be making her feel hotter, but there it is anyway.
He's getting close; he grabs her by the hips and fucks into her with short, hard strokes. She wants to touch herself, wants to get off so badly, but her hands are cemented to the wall, right where he wants them. He's moving faster now, deeper and harder; one of his hands snakes around to rub at her clit and she comes, bucking hard against him. A couple more thrusts and he's following after her, clutching at her to keep her still while he empties himself into her.
It's a moment before they're able to collect themselves well enough to get cleaned up and put back together. The panties are the hardest part; she's not entirely sure the easy access is worth the two of them puzzling over the damn things for a full minute to get them back on.
"You first," she says, when they're dressed, running her hands down his shirt to make sure it's smooth and straight.
He leans down, giving her one last kiss. "Your quarters later?"
She almost tells him no, argues that it's too risky. "Bring your tie," she says instead, and he grins.
She goes back to the party, and no one is the wiser.
Summary: Every party could be better.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 911
Rating/Contents: NC-17, public sex
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: One more little thing before I go to bed and wait for Santa (I'm not sure why, as I've already opened all the presents that he left me). Happy porn, everybody.
It's the annual Atlantis "Happy Everything" party. Elizabeth's pretty sure that they have as many winter celebrations as they have members of the expedition, which doesn't even count the Athosians and their several winter festivals; accordingly, they have every holiday accoutrement known to man, up to and including a Festivus pole.
It's two hours in, and Elizabeth is starting to feel just a little edgy. It's not the party itself- she's a trained diplomat, after all, so it's her business to be able to party all night. It has much more to do with the fact that she's been tracking Caldwell with her eyes all night, watching him watch her. This game she isn't unfamiliar with either; it's just that she's got much less patience for it.
Finally his orbit takes him into hers; they're suddenly standing quite close together, talking to different people. "Doctor Weir," he says, as if in passing; his tone is that same slightly condescending one that he has all the time, but his eyes are dark and full of promise.
"Colonel Caldwell," she returns, and if there's the barest inclination of her head towards the door, no one else is watching to see it. She turns her back on him to talk to one of the new biologists who's just arrived on the Daedalus; the man has no idea that she's counting off minutes in her head, waiting to extract herself gracefully.
She does, of course, finding the perfect excuse to make her way out of the party and into the darkened hallway outside. She doesn't see him at first; she keeps walking until she's well beyond the pool of light marking the doorway. Suddenly she sees him, leaning against the wall, and even in the dark she can feel his eyes on her.
He reaches out and snags her by the wrist, pulling her in and kissing her, his lips demanding, his hands all over her. She gives as good as she gets, letting the wall take her weight so that she can pull him against her, hooking a leg around his thighs.
She doesn't know how long they stand there, making out like teenagers, but he's the one who breaks it up. "Turn around," he whispers, and he doesn't wait for her to start moving, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her towards the wall. "Hands on the wall." She obeys, partly to humor him and partly for the secret thrill it gives her when she does what he says.
"This goddamned skirt," he says, flipping it up over her hips and running his hands over her ass. He snorts in amusement, pulling at one of her garter straps and letting it go with a pop. "Fancy."
"It's actually very practical," Elizabeth informs him, listening to him opening his zipper and wishing he'd get on with it.
"That's not why you wore it," he says, chuckling. "This either," he adds, plucking at the ribbons holding her panties together at the sides. "All wrapped up like a present."
She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't get around to saying anything caustic. He's already pushing his fingers inside of her, where she's wet and so ready for him, and she stops caring about anything but getting more.
"Greedy," he chides her, smacking her lightly on the ass, but he gives her exactly what she's wanting, urging her legs a little wider and pressing into her, pushing all the way home in one long movement. She grinds back against him, pressing her face into the crook of her elbow to keep her moans from escaping.
He fucks her hard and fast, kissing and biting at her neck, and she just knows he'll be leaving inexplicable marks, but they're totally worth it. She pushes back against him as best as she can, their bodies working together blindly. They're loud, they're so loud, but the noise of the party is drowning them out, people's laughter and singing and general drunkenness creating a sea of sound. Everyone who matters to her is standing not fifty feet away; the thought of them catching her like this, with the man who's supposed to be her greatest adversary, really shouldn't be making her feel hotter, but there it is anyway.
He's getting close; he grabs her by the hips and fucks into her with short, hard strokes. She wants to touch herself, wants to get off so badly, but her hands are cemented to the wall, right where he wants them. He's moving faster now, deeper and harder; one of his hands snakes around to rub at her clit and she comes, bucking hard against him. A couple more thrusts and he's following after her, clutching at her to keep her still while he empties himself into her.
It's a moment before they're able to collect themselves well enough to get cleaned up and put back together. The panties are the hardest part; she's not entirely sure the easy access is worth the two of them puzzling over the damn things for a full minute to get them back on.
"You first," she says, when they're dressed, running her hands down his shirt to make sure it's smooth and straight.
He leans down, giving her one last kiss. "Your quarters later?"
She almost tells him no, argues that it's too risky. "Bring your tie," she says instead, and he grins.
She goes back to the party, and no one is the wiser.
