--- In SnW, kelly.m... wrote:
I like to think of every piece of list!spam as a little fic prompt from heaven. Or hell. Whichever's on call that night.
Anyone care to handle the thinking penis?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: 18+, not actual porn, but loooots of innuendo and words.
Pairing: Weir/Sheppard Genre: ... humor, random, porn, bad science.
Notes: Intelligent Penis. Title is a Luscious Jackson song, I have no idea if it's appropriate or not.
Deep Shag by ALC Punk!
John had known drinking the blue stuff was a bad idea. Unfortunately, he didn't know just how bad an idea it was.
His first indication was when he woke up one morning and discovered an overwhelming urge to find Elizabeth. And when he found her, well, his mind colored in a lot of lurid details that made him wonder what the hell he'd been drinking the night before.
It also made him dig out the tube of lube every member of the expedition was issued on arrival in Atlantis--that had, surprisingly, been Dr. Weir's idea. And he'd certainly approved.
Once that was taken care of, he noted the time and hurriedly cleaned himself up and got dressed. Really, someone should be shot for thinking up seven a.m. meetings. He ignored the fact that he'd demanded they set the mission briefing early so they had plenty of daylight once they got to the planet.
Sitting at the conference table, pretending to take notes as Rodney droned on about some technical aspect of their trip, John noticed that, well, he was thinking about Elizabeth again.
Hell, at this distance, he could smell the soapy-clean scent of her skin and the lemon from her tea, and possibly other things related to sex that he should certainly not be able to smell.
It kinda made him want to lean over and lick her neck to find out.
Which, really, would not be at ALL dignified in this sort of atmosphere. Frowning a little more than normal, he tuned back into the conversation as Rodney wound down.
"All right, sounds like a good plan." Elizabeth nodded to him, "Your team is go for this mission, colonel."
"Thanks." He hopped up, bumped the edge of the table and sat down again with a pained expression. "The rest of you get geared up, I'll be along shortly."
Teyla raised an eyebrow at him, amusement in her eyes, but left with Ronon following her like an obedient puppy. Rodney made an exasperated noise and also left, muttering about supplies, coffee, and the lack of respect he got from his teammates.
"Are you all right, colonel?" Elizabeth leaned over and looked at his face, concern in her eyes.
"Yup." He reached out and cupped the back of her neck, holding her still, and in sniffing range. "You smell nice."
She chuckled, "I took a shower this morning while you were lazing about in bed."
Really, it was an entirely inappropriate conversation, John reflected. But that didn't stop him from grinning, "Nice mental image, doctor."
Her eyebrows raised. "Did you hit your head on the way out of bed this morning, John?"
"Nope," he reassured her before he leaned the last fraction of an inch closer and kissed her. She tasted like tea and lemon, sugar and something that might have been a cherry turnover. A part of John was demanding to know why his palate was suddenly so discerning. The rest of him was fully concentrating on kissing Elizabeth Weir.
And that was when he had his final warning about certain matters. Without his volition, he pushed back in his chair and then pulled Elizabeth onto his lap. It shouldn't have worked, given that the chairs weren't really meant to hold two people. And also, she should have resisted. Really, Elizabeth Weir was not the type of woman to happily straddle his lap right after a briefing and kiss the crap out of him. Except that she was.
With her hands in his hair, and a soft little breathy moan escaping her when one of his hands brushed against her breast through her uniform.
Okay, he thought, or tried to, there was something definitely wrong about this. What, he wasn't entirely certain of anymore. But if he could just get a moment to think, it would come to him. Probably.
"Damn, and here I had two months from now in the pool." The voice interrupted the kiss, and Elizabeth jerked away from him, as Laura Cadman came right up to them, eyes taking everything in.
"Pool?" asked Dr. Weir, obviously struggling to catch her breath and her sanity.
She hadn't moved from his lap. Probably because John's hand had closed on her belt. He tried to tell his hand to let go, but it just wouldn't.
"Yeah." Cadman eyed them some more, "So. You two do this often?" As though it were perfectly natural for her to walk in on two of her superiors making out like teenagers.
John slowly got his fingers to release Elizabeth's belt. "No."
"Never." Pulling free of his lap, Dr. Weir shook her head and looked at Cadman, eyes wide. "I think... I think there might be something wrong with us."
"Oooh. Someone spiked your tea? Coffee? Aliens made you kiss? 'Cause, otherwise, not gettin' a wrong vibe off this." Cadman patted John's head. "You're looking a bit mussed there, sir. Might wanna fix that before heading through the gate."
"She's right." John was finding it really difficult to think, now. He could smell Cadman. Cordite and grease and something spicey that was probably something she'd eaten for breakfast.
Elizabeth reached up and keyed open her microphone, "Doctor Beckett, please report to the conference room." Then she closed her eyes. "John, stop looking at me like that."
A snicker came from Cadman, and she moved away from both of them to lean against the wall. "Think I'll stay and chaperone. Otherwise, you two might end up doing something you'll both regret."
Regret. Nope. John was pretty sure kissing his way all over Elizabeth Weir's body, making her arch beneath him and cry out his name was not something he'd regret. It would be really hot, actually. Really really hot. He groaned and shoved back further in the chair, hoping that distance would help.
Her eyes snapped open at the sound and the heat in her gaze froze him, mouth drying faster than he'd thought possible. "Stop looking at me like that," he croaked, unconsciously parroting her words back.
"Oh, this is getting better and better," Cadman crowed, "Really, the two of you are practically fucking without even touching. It's awesome!"
Dr. Beckett walked in on her words, "Awesome?" He queried, looking between the three. When none of the three answered, he moved and waved a hand in front of Dr. Weir, "Elizabeth? You wanted to see me?"
A shudder went through her, and she blinked at him. "There's something wrong, Carson. Both John," the way she said his name made his balls ache, and John bit the inside of his lip to keep from doing something he'd regret, "and I seem to be affected by something." She licked her lips, "I think it might have been in my tea."
"They were kissing," Cadman explained to the perplexed doctor, "Apparently, that's a bad thing."
"It is when it's all I can think about," John objected, voice husky. Gritting his teeth, he continued, "Doctor, I suggest you sedate us both, otherwise things are going to get messy."
"I like messy," noted Elizabeth, arching her back and rubbing a hand down her stomach, "clean and sterile sex is boring."
"Doctor!" John was not yelping. He was totally not yelping, except that he was. Because if she continued to talk like that and move like that, he was going to do very unprofessional things to her, "It can't be her tea," he said suddenly, "I didn't drink any."
"Fine. I'll run a battery of tests."
When Carson moved to take Elizabeth's arm, she jerked away from him and growled. He froze, then called to Cadman, "I'm gonna need your help."
"Yes, doctor. How may I help you?" Cadman's tone was sugary-sweet as she moved behind Elizabeth and suddenly pounced, hands and arms holding the other woman still as Beckett moved forward, needle suddenly in hand. It took a little, but he administered the sedative while John watched, feeling the threads of his control slipping away.
"Just a moment, Colonel."
John didn't remember standing, but Cadman suddenly shoved Weir at Carson and slid between the two men, "Colonel Sheppard, honey, you need to sit down."
"Fine." She moved, tackling him around the waist and sending them both crashing to the floor. John could smell her again, the scent of warm skin and salt. He twisted, trying to get the upper hand as she pinned him, rolling him underneath her and locking one arm behind his back. "Hurry, Carson, I don't think I can hold him much longer."
"He's not gonna appreciate the bruises."
"Neither do I."
Something pricked John's arm and things suddenly got heavier and darker. A lot darker. Suddenly, he couldn't even remember his own name.
When he woke again, things felt flat. Like a hand had smashed him into a pancake. John liked pancakes, they were fluffy, and tasted nice with syrup and whipped cream. Or, in a pinch, barbecue sauce. He'd done that at least twice when he was in college and there wasn't anything else to eat. A little water, a little pancake mix, a little barbecue sauce, and you had a meal fit for a rat. Still, it at least had kept him going.
"Ah, good," Dr. Beckett's voice sounded satisfied.
John opened his eyes and blinked. "Wha' happened?" He groaned as his head began to pound like someone was attacking it with a puddlejumper.
"It appears you picked up some sort of virus on your last mission that was dormant until this morning."
"Well, there was this blue stuff?"
"Ah, yes, undoubtedly, the carrier." Beckett paused, as if trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say, then continued, tone amused, "it hyped up your libido, produced far too many pheromones, and caused you to think about nothing but sex."
"So... not all that different, really. Except the pheromones thing."
"Possibly not. Unfortunately, due to your proximity, the pheromones infected Dr. Weir with a similar problem, resulting in the two of you, ah, attempting to have sex."
"Yeah. I remember that part." Boy, did he ever. He felt a little uncomfy talking it over with Beckett, though. "So, am I cured?"
"We flushed it out of your system, yes."
"Good." John sat up and began pulling the infirmary stuff off his arm, "'cause I'm going to go and sleep in my own room now."
"This place gives me the creeps, Beckett." he dropped the IV needle and sighed happily before levering himself around and dropping his legs over the side. It took a moment to get used to standing, but once there, he felt almost normal. His clothes were draped over a chair and he dressed quickly, ignoring Beckett's attempts to stop him. "Good night," he said, voice firm. Then he turned and headed for the door, and freedom.
"Good night, Sheppard." There was something vaguely amused in Beckett's tone, but John ignored it.
Elizabeth Weir was waiting for him outside his quarters.
"Don't talk," she suggested, moving quickly and pinning him against the wall.
John wanted to tell her that she was supposed to be cured, but, really, she'd said not to talk. Besides, there was something really hot about being pinned against the wall by Elizabeth Weir.
Stretching up against him, she brought her lips almost to his, "Dr. Beckett explained about the virus in a bit more detail to me. Apparently, it didn't infect all of you. Just a certain portion of your anatomy." When John merely grunted slightly, she continued, leg pressing against him in a way he was pretty sure was NOT condoned by the Geneva Conventions. "Your penis."
Which was really not a word he'd expected to hear from Elizabeth. "Uh..."
"Apparently," she continued, tone bland, but still pressed up against him, "the virus gave your penis a sort of animal awareness. An intelligence, if you will."
"So..." Something was beginning to dawn on John. Something he wasn't entirely certain he liked.
"You suddenly proved that men really do think with their penises, yes." A chuckle escaped her and she pulled away, patting his cheek. "Don't worry. You only have one brain again. Not sure which Carson left you with, though."
Ouch. Feeling thoroughly unmanned, John stared after her as she walked away.
There went an incredibly evil woman. Who also happened to be really hot. And his boss.
John glanced down at his slightly-tented pants. "Stop that. The brain is up HERE." he pointed at his skull, then sighed. He was talking to his penis. Really, maybe he should have had Carson lock him up for the rest of his life.
Trying to ignore everything, John headed into his quarters. Sleep would be a good idea. Really.