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TITLE: Nine Ways To Monday
SUMMARY: Elizabeth wakes up with a man in her bed.
CATEGORY: ahahahahahahahahahaa. *breathes*
RATING: NC-17
NOTES: Don't ask. Really. Don't.
Nine Ways To Monday
In the mornings, Elizabeth usually woke up slowly.
Her room in the unit faced south east, meaning that she could sprawl out comfortably in her bed and drowse while the sun made patterns on the north-west wall. It was an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours on a bright spring Sunday.
Only half-awake, she began stretching out across the bed, absently revelling in the sensation of cotton sheets against her bare skin.
Then she froze.
Someone else was moving in the bed.
Oh God. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.
Someone big and very male rolled over and slipped a lax arm over her hip, fingers casually resting just along the curve where her legs joined her buttocks.
Heat crawled over her skin, from the crown of her head down to her breasts. Almost as soon as that began, it was swamped in a tidalwave of desire. The craving pulsed through her, spearing through her body, shortening her breath.
She closed her eyes very tight and willed the hand to disappear.
It didn't.
Carefully, terrified of what she would see, Elizabeth turned her head.
It was as bad - or as good - as she'd hoped.
He looked a lot younger when he was asleep. Either that or he'd looked a lot older in the darkness of the club. Probably both. With the long dark lashes of his eyes closed, she wasn't subjected to the intensity of his gaze. She remembered only too well the way the wide mouth - sensuous behind the goatee that covered his lips and chin - had quirked as she opened her mouth to ask him in. Then he'd bent and kissed her, hard enough to steal her breath, deep enough so that her world spun. She'd given herself up to the meleé of desire - hot, hard, and hungry in his hands, his mouth, his flesh...
Oh God, what have I done?
The sheets had slipped halfway down his back - he lay on his belly with his head turned towards her - and she couldn't miss the reddish scoremarks that stood out against the deep tan of his golden-brown skin. Her handiwork of only a few hours ago.
Elizabeth forced herself to take a slow, deep breath and consider how she was going to get out of this.
Right now, he was still sleeping, thank God, but what about when he woke? She eyed him.
Short dark curls tossed carelessly over the pillow, sweeping back from a high, broad forehead. Elizabeth felt the sudden urge to brush her lips across the skin there, to trace her lips across his eyelids, down the long nose to the full lips that lay slightly parted in repose.
She slid out of the bed before she put thought to action.
The bathroom was the nearest escape and Elizabeth took it, snatching a short satin robe from the floor and throwing it over her nakedness.
Once the door was safely closed, she stared blankly at the wall tiling and swallowed.
For the first time in over a year, she'd had a man in her bed last night.
For the first time ever in her thirty-eight years, she'd had casual sex with a stranger.
If you could call the heated intensity of last night's encounter 'casual'.
What were you thinking? She pressed a hand to her forehead, then pushed herself off the door to go and stare at herself in the mirror. Were you thinking at all? You brought home a complete stranger - a man that you've never seen before in your life, because you definitely would have remembered if you had - and you screwed him nine ways to Sunday.
Her reflection stared blankly back at her, fine brows and delicate nose, large eyes - sort-of green, high cheekbones and forehead, dark curls that sat untidily about her face...
She was usually the sensible one: the designated driver, the person who said 'I don't think this is such a good idea'. What had happened last night?
What was she going to do now?
Almost of their own accord, her fingers reached for the tap and she wet a facecloth and ran it over her skin. It did nothing to cool her down, although it revealed tiny welts on her skin - on her shoulders, breasts, arms, belly, thighs. A hundred small wounds, all of them healing.
Elizabeth frowned, trying to make senses of the wounds. He...bit me? The thought prompted a vague memory of his mouth all over her body while she arched and twisted. Every kiss brought a new wave of pleasure, sharp as pain, sweet as an orgasm. Then he'd drawn himself up her body and positioned himself over her while she ran her fingers down his flank, feeling the tension in the muscles of his back and side, watching the hungry gleam of dark eyes, before he thrust...
She was panting, the facecloth dropped on the floor, her fingers clutching the fake-marble edge of the countertop as she relived the exquisite sensations in her mind. Beneath her robe, her skin was flushed, her body felt languorous, and if she touched her fingers between her thighs, she knew she'd be wet - wet and ready for him all over again.
In the mirror, her cheekbones were scarlet with a hectic flush. I'd screw him nine ways to Monday and not regret it.
What was wrong with her?
Elizabeth hadn't responded to a man like this in years. Not since her early days with Simon. And, yes, she got horny every now and then, but that was very different to last night's complete abandon.
Oh, God, can I even remember his name? R... Rowan? Roman? Ronon! That was it - Ronon. Ronon Dex.
And he was still out there, in her bed. She'd have to go past him to get to her living space.
She was in so. much. trouble.
I'll have to face him sooner or later, she reminded herself ruthlessly. And when I do, it would probably be better to be dressed.
Except that her clothes were out there in her bedroom, strewn across the floor.
Maybe she could sneak out past him, picking up her clothes on the way, then be dressed and ready for whenever he emerged from her room and her bed? Short of climbing out the bathroom window and sneaking around the side, it was the best plan she had.
It was the only plan she had.
And the instant she opened the door to the bedroom, she realised it was doomed to fail.
He was already awake, the thick-lashed eyes watching her from her bed with a look that heated her blood and dried out her mouth. And the smile that curved across his lips would have made angels scream and fall from heaven.
Elizabeth was no angel. Her body was already slick between her thighs, an instant, unstoppable response to just the sight of him awake and facing her.
"Good morning." His voice was deep, like velvet-covered gravel rolling softly along her senses.
"Hi." Elizabeth took one step out of the bathroom and felt her heart start pounding in anticipation. "I... Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby," he said, propping his head up on one hand, utterly comfortable in her bed for all that he was naked as the day he'd been born beneath the sheet that draped low over his hips.
He was doubly gorgeous awake, and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to cross over to the bed, yank down the sheets, and run her hands over every inch of that body. Her fingers twitched, remembering the silky-hot feel of him in the dark last night. He'd groaned at her touch, husking encouragements against her skin, and this time she wanted to see his expression as she trailed her fingers from his balls to his tip and he writhed beneath her touch...
For God's sake, he's ten years your junior if a day! Elizabeth told herself. Behave like the adult you are!
Her body wasn't behaving. Beneath the robe that now seemed entirely too short, her pulse was hammering, and the fine hairs on her body stood erect - as did her nipples. Her skin was remembering how his mouth had felt moving over her last night, how his hands had cupped her buttocks with sensuous appreciation as they danced, how his weight had pressed her down into the bed as his body moved in hers.
And he knew it, damn him as he rose from the bed, naked as the day he'd been born but a damn sight better looking. She couldn't help looking at him, at the muscular definition of strong arms, broad chest, lean abdomen...and the rigid length of his penis, fully erect.
Her fingers twitched, remembering the damp silk of his skin, the way he'd shuddered as she touched him, the sweet, slow thrust of his body into hers.
Her internal muscles contracted in tactile memory.
Elizabeth took refuge in politeness. "Do you want..." She swallowed, her mouth dry as she forced her gaze up to the handsome face and edged towards the door. "Are you hungry?"
He didn't even need to take half a step to block her, to skim his hands over her body, the warmth of his skin instantly burning through the thin material of her robe. "Starving," he murmured, bending down to touch his mouth to hers.
She didn't intend to kiss him back, she didn't intend to run her hands down his chest; and she certainly didn't intend to let him draw her back to the bed to straddle this thighs. "I..." Her voice trembled as he parted the edges of her robe, wavering on a sea of desire. "I thought you might want breakfast..."
In answer, he bent and his lips closed over her nipple. The current of desire became a tidalwave of pure lust. She grabbed for his shoulders, arching her back so he'd have fuller access to her body, and protesting when he lifted his mouth to survey her with lazy satisfaction. "I'll skip breakfast," he rumbled as his finger slipped into her pubic curls, tracing her clit. A fiery ache rioted through her body, every nerve singing. "We'll go straight for dessert."
How could she argue with that?
Still, Elizabeth wasn't about to let him play dominant. Even if he very much was.
The laughter in his eyes was as much of an aphrodisiac as the finger still stroking her, driving her wild. She splayed her hand along the rigid flesh, watched him groan and thrust into her palm. "You wanted dessert, Ronon..."
Something fired in his eyes, a dangerous gleam. "Say my name again."
"Say mine."
"Elizabeth." He added a thrust of the thumb to the soft rumble that formed the syllables of her name and she whimpered and pressed herself against him, trapping his hand between their bodies as she moved her hips to best take advantage of his fingers' movement.
"Ronon." Her murmur vanished against his lips, a kiss of salt and spice, dragging at her senses until she was dizzy. Lack of oxygen or wanton need? Elizabeth neither knew nor cared, not when his mouth was moving over her throat and shoulders, and his fingers were teasing her beyond rationality.
He was a big man, she realised as he pressed her down into the bed - big in more than one sense. His erection slid into her with sensual fullness, and he groaned as her flesh gave way to his.
Condom! The thought was dim and distant beneath the rising-falling pressure of his chest against hers.
I'm clean and so are you, came the reply.
She didn't ask how he knew. "We should..."
Do you want me to stop? Amusement tinged his voice. His voice? Elizabeth could barely think. She wanted him to move, to thrust, to take her, possess her. She wanted to feel like she was half her age and recklessly wanton again.
"No," she said, and bucked her hips against him, watching fire ignite deep within dark eyes. "I want you."
His smile was exquisite and predatory, but she wasn't afraid, although her breath was coming in sharp pants. "Then take me."
And Ronon began to move in her body, long slow thrusts that pierced her, agony and ecstacy as he rubbed against her with every shove.
Harder, higher, deeper, faster... Elizabeth opened her eyes to see him, glimpsed eyes gleaming with primal need and teeth that seemed far too long and ivory against the rosy dark of his mouth...
What...?
Ecstacy bloomed, hot and golden in her groin, and she lost her train of thought, lost his name against his skin, lost her sense of where she was, only knew the sheets beneath her shoulders and the man in her arms as they leaped and soared in floating ecstacy.
Oh, yes...
Later, blinded by pleasure and drowsy with exhaustion, Elizabeth ran her fingers up his spine to his nape.
Nine ways to Monday, she thought.
In her arms, Ronon began to shake - with laughter. Regret it?
In answer, Elizabeth stretched. Slowly. And felt him shiver. "Move like that again, and you will regret it," he growled.
"Mmph," she returned, settling herself comfortably on him. She was more tired than she'd thought. Ronon Dex had screwed her into exhaustion. "Promises, promises."
He laughed again. "I never make promises I don't keep."
And miles to go before I sleep. Elizabeth didn't know why that phrase popped into her head.
Not miles. Not even inches. She felt his smile, even though her lids were too heavy to keep open and sleep was dragging her back down again. Rest, sweetheart. I won't run out on you.
Oddly comforted by that thought, Elizabeth drifted slowly back into sleep.
- fin -
Th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all folks!
Ahahahahahahahahahahaha...
*cuts and runs*
SUMMARY: Elizabeth wakes up with a man in her bed.
CATEGORY: ahahahahahahahahahaa. *breathes*
RATING: NC-17
NOTES: Don't ask. Really. Don't.
Nine Ways To Monday
In the mornings, Elizabeth usually woke up slowly.
Her room in the unit faced south east, meaning that she could sprawl out comfortably in her bed and drowse while the sun made patterns on the north-west wall. It was an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours on a bright spring Sunday.
Only half-awake, she began stretching out across the bed, absently revelling in the sensation of cotton sheets against her bare skin.
Then she froze.
Someone else was moving in the bed.
Oh God. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.
Someone big and very male rolled over and slipped a lax arm over her hip, fingers casually resting just along the curve where her legs joined her buttocks.
Heat crawled over her skin, from the crown of her head down to her breasts. Almost as soon as that began, it was swamped in a tidalwave of desire. The craving pulsed through her, spearing through her body, shortening her breath.
She closed her eyes very tight and willed the hand to disappear.
It didn't.
Carefully, terrified of what she would see, Elizabeth turned her head.
It was as bad - or as good - as she'd hoped.
He looked a lot younger when he was asleep. Either that or he'd looked a lot older in the darkness of the club. Probably both. With the long dark lashes of his eyes closed, she wasn't subjected to the intensity of his gaze. She remembered only too well the way the wide mouth - sensuous behind the goatee that covered his lips and chin - had quirked as she opened her mouth to ask him in. Then he'd bent and kissed her, hard enough to steal her breath, deep enough so that her world spun. She'd given herself up to the meleé of desire - hot, hard, and hungry in his hands, his mouth, his flesh...
Oh God, what have I done?
The sheets had slipped halfway down his back - he lay on his belly with his head turned towards her - and she couldn't miss the reddish scoremarks that stood out against the deep tan of his golden-brown skin. Her handiwork of only a few hours ago.
Elizabeth forced herself to take a slow, deep breath and consider how she was going to get out of this.
Right now, he was still sleeping, thank God, but what about when he woke? She eyed him.
Short dark curls tossed carelessly over the pillow, sweeping back from a high, broad forehead. Elizabeth felt the sudden urge to brush her lips across the skin there, to trace her lips across his eyelids, down the long nose to the full lips that lay slightly parted in repose.
She slid out of the bed before she put thought to action.
The bathroom was the nearest escape and Elizabeth took it, snatching a short satin robe from the floor and throwing it over her nakedness.
Once the door was safely closed, she stared blankly at the wall tiling and swallowed.
For the first time in over a year, she'd had a man in her bed last night.
For the first time ever in her thirty-eight years, she'd had casual sex with a stranger.
If you could call the heated intensity of last night's encounter 'casual'.
What were you thinking? She pressed a hand to her forehead, then pushed herself off the door to go and stare at herself in the mirror. Were you thinking at all? You brought home a complete stranger - a man that you've never seen before in your life, because you definitely would have remembered if you had - and you screwed him nine ways to Sunday.
Her reflection stared blankly back at her, fine brows and delicate nose, large eyes - sort-of green, high cheekbones and forehead, dark curls that sat untidily about her face...
She was usually the sensible one: the designated driver, the person who said 'I don't think this is such a good idea'. What had happened last night?
What was she going to do now?
Almost of their own accord, her fingers reached for the tap and she wet a facecloth and ran it over her skin. It did nothing to cool her down, although it revealed tiny welts on her skin - on her shoulders, breasts, arms, belly, thighs. A hundred small wounds, all of them healing.
Elizabeth frowned, trying to make senses of the wounds. He...bit me? The thought prompted a vague memory of his mouth all over her body while she arched and twisted. Every kiss brought a new wave of pleasure, sharp as pain, sweet as an orgasm. Then he'd drawn himself up her body and positioned himself over her while she ran her fingers down his flank, feeling the tension in the muscles of his back and side, watching the hungry gleam of dark eyes, before he thrust...
She was panting, the facecloth dropped on the floor, her fingers clutching the fake-marble edge of the countertop as she relived the exquisite sensations in her mind. Beneath her robe, her skin was flushed, her body felt languorous, and if she touched her fingers between her thighs, she knew she'd be wet - wet and ready for him all over again.
In the mirror, her cheekbones were scarlet with a hectic flush. I'd screw him nine ways to Monday and not regret it.
What was wrong with her?
Elizabeth hadn't responded to a man like this in years. Not since her early days with Simon. And, yes, she got horny every now and then, but that was very different to last night's complete abandon.
Oh, God, can I even remember his name? R... Rowan? Roman? Ronon! That was it - Ronon. Ronon Dex.
And he was still out there, in her bed. She'd have to go past him to get to her living space.
She was in so. much. trouble.
I'll have to face him sooner or later, she reminded herself ruthlessly. And when I do, it would probably be better to be dressed.
Except that her clothes were out there in her bedroom, strewn across the floor.
Maybe she could sneak out past him, picking up her clothes on the way, then be dressed and ready for whenever he emerged from her room and her bed? Short of climbing out the bathroom window and sneaking around the side, it was the best plan she had.
It was the only plan she had.
And the instant she opened the door to the bedroom, she realised it was doomed to fail.
He was already awake, the thick-lashed eyes watching her from her bed with a look that heated her blood and dried out her mouth. And the smile that curved across his lips would have made angels scream and fall from heaven.
Elizabeth was no angel. Her body was already slick between her thighs, an instant, unstoppable response to just the sight of him awake and facing her.
"Good morning." His voice was deep, like velvet-covered gravel rolling softly along her senses.
"Hi." Elizabeth took one step out of the bathroom and felt her heart start pounding in anticipation. "I... Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby," he said, propping his head up on one hand, utterly comfortable in her bed for all that he was naked as the day he'd been born beneath the sheet that draped low over his hips.
He was doubly gorgeous awake, and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to cross over to the bed, yank down the sheets, and run her hands over every inch of that body. Her fingers twitched, remembering the silky-hot feel of him in the dark last night. He'd groaned at her touch, husking encouragements against her skin, and this time she wanted to see his expression as she trailed her fingers from his balls to his tip and he writhed beneath her touch...
For God's sake, he's ten years your junior if a day! Elizabeth told herself. Behave like the adult you are!
Her body wasn't behaving. Beneath the robe that now seemed entirely too short, her pulse was hammering, and the fine hairs on her body stood erect - as did her nipples. Her skin was remembering how his mouth had felt moving over her last night, how his hands had cupped her buttocks with sensuous appreciation as they danced, how his weight had pressed her down into the bed as his body moved in hers.
And he knew it, damn him as he rose from the bed, naked as the day he'd been born but a damn sight better looking. She couldn't help looking at him, at the muscular definition of strong arms, broad chest, lean abdomen...and the rigid length of his penis, fully erect.
Her fingers twitched, remembering the damp silk of his skin, the way he'd shuddered as she touched him, the sweet, slow thrust of his body into hers.
Her internal muscles contracted in tactile memory.
Elizabeth took refuge in politeness. "Do you want..." She swallowed, her mouth dry as she forced her gaze up to the handsome face and edged towards the door. "Are you hungry?"
He didn't even need to take half a step to block her, to skim his hands over her body, the warmth of his skin instantly burning through the thin material of her robe. "Starving," he murmured, bending down to touch his mouth to hers.
She didn't intend to kiss him back, she didn't intend to run her hands down his chest; and she certainly didn't intend to let him draw her back to the bed to straddle this thighs. "I..." Her voice trembled as he parted the edges of her robe, wavering on a sea of desire. "I thought you might want breakfast..."
In answer, he bent and his lips closed over her nipple. The current of desire became a tidalwave of pure lust. She grabbed for his shoulders, arching her back so he'd have fuller access to her body, and protesting when he lifted his mouth to survey her with lazy satisfaction. "I'll skip breakfast," he rumbled as his finger slipped into her pubic curls, tracing her clit. A fiery ache rioted through her body, every nerve singing. "We'll go straight for dessert."
How could she argue with that?
Still, Elizabeth wasn't about to let him play dominant. Even if he very much was.
The laughter in his eyes was as much of an aphrodisiac as the finger still stroking her, driving her wild. She splayed her hand along the rigid flesh, watched him groan and thrust into her palm. "You wanted dessert, Ronon..."
Something fired in his eyes, a dangerous gleam. "Say my name again."
"Say mine."
"Elizabeth." He added a thrust of the thumb to the soft rumble that formed the syllables of her name and she whimpered and pressed herself against him, trapping his hand between their bodies as she moved her hips to best take advantage of his fingers' movement.
"Ronon." Her murmur vanished against his lips, a kiss of salt and spice, dragging at her senses until she was dizzy. Lack of oxygen or wanton need? Elizabeth neither knew nor cared, not when his mouth was moving over her throat and shoulders, and his fingers were teasing her beyond rationality.
He was a big man, she realised as he pressed her down into the bed - big in more than one sense. His erection slid into her with sensual fullness, and he groaned as her flesh gave way to his.
Condom! The thought was dim and distant beneath the rising-falling pressure of his chest against hers.
I'm clean and so are you, came the reply.
She didn't ask how he knew. "We should..."
Do you want me to stop? Amusement tinged his voice. His voice? Elizabeth could barely think. She wanted him to move, to thrust, to take her, possess her. She wanted to feel like she was half her age and recklessly wanton again.
"No," she said, and bucked her hips against him, watching fire ignite deep within dark eyes. "I want you."
His smile was exquisite and predatory, but she wasn't afraid, although her breath was coming in sharp pants. "Then take me."
And Ronon began to move in her body, long slow thrusts that pierced her, agony and ecstacy as he rubbed against her with every shove.
Harder, higher, deeper, faster... Elizabeth opened her eyes to see him, glimpsed eyes gleaming with primal need and teeth that seemed far too long and ivory against the rosy dark of his mouth...
What...?
Ecstacy bloomed, hot and golden in her groin, and she lost her train of thought, lost his name against his skin, lost her sense of where she was, only knew the sheets beneath her shoulders and the man in her arms as they leaped and soared in floating ecstacy.
Oh, yes...
Later, blinded by pleasure and drowsy with exhaustion, Elizabeth ran her fingers up his spine to his nape.
Nine ways to Monday, she thought.
In her arms, Ronon began to shake - with laughter. Regret it?
In answer, Elizabeth stretched. Slowly. And felt him shiver. "Move like that again, and you will regret it," he growled.
"Mmph," she returned, settling herself comfortably on him. She was more tired than she'd thought. Ronon Dex had screwed her into exhaustion. "Promises, promises."
He laughed again. "I never make promises I don't keep."
And miles to go before I sleep. Elizabeth didn't know why that phrase popped into her head.
Not miles. Not even inches. She felt his smile, even though her lids were too heavy to keep open and sleep was dragging her back down again. Rest, sweetheart. I won't run out on you.
Oddly comforted by that thought, Elizabeth drifted slowly back into sleep.
- fin -
Th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all folks!
Ahahahahahahahahahahaha...
*cuts and runs*
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So, unlikely to get more. But I'm glad you enjoyed it. ;)
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Man I never get to wake up like that. *g*
(Um, are they somehow communicating telepathically? The italics at the end had me a little confused.)
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(Yes, there is telepathic communication. All italics in the story formatting are deliberate.)
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I think you changed gears on the italics somewhere in the middle, though -- at first they're just for Elizabeth's thoughts, and later it seems like the dialogue slips into italics.
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And thanks. :)
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I love the title, too!
*g*
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You're welcome! ;)
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Think of it as Vampires!Atlantis. If it helps...
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*Fans Self*
That was fantastic and fun! LOL.
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*offers air conditioner*
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*starts to cool down*
Whew, thanks!
:D
Yep yep
Re: Yep yep
I like Elizabeth/Ronon as a pairing because they try to be rational and reasonable, but usually end up being emotional and emotive.
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~Kim
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