Saturday Morning by Trialia
Summary: Six-thirty in the morning, and there's a vision in his home he never thought he'd see. John/Elizabeth.
Categories: Stargate: Atlantis Characters: Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 686 Read: 4916 Published: August 21, 2008 Updated: August 21, 2008
Story Notes:
Written November 18, 2005. Minor spoilers for 2x02 The Intruder.

1. Saturday Morning by Trialia

Saturday Morning by Trialia
Leaning against the bar in the middle of his living room at six-thirty on a Saturday morning, with her hair still rumpled from bed, face flushed and eyes softer than he'd ever seen them, wearing nothing more than his college football jersey and black lace panties (somehow he'd known that if she were ever to wander around less than fully clothed she would still want her underwear, and he didn't know how he'd known to expect it; after all, she didn't dare go about like that on Atlantis), Elizabeth Weir was the loveliest vision of a woman he'd ever seen. More beautiful than the morning sun shining off the snow in Antarctica, he thought lazily as he grinned at her, utterly content, taking a long moment to absorb the feeling the sight gave him and the joy that she was here, here in his home, and she was his.

"Hey, Gorgeous. What's the plan for today?"

His heart did a funny little skip as she blushed, the pink of her cheeks becoming a deeper shade of the colour, reminding him exactly why he loved to make her blush like that, and did he ever.

"John..."

"You know," he suggested with a cheeky grin, "we could always go back to bed." His grin became a little more wicked as he winked at her, but she returned his smile and shook her head good-naturedly, turning to the bar and appearing to search for something.

"Too many briefings. We need to be over at the SGC by noon." She looked up at him, her head tilted prettily to the side-- as it usually was, or so he remembered, when she was about to either give in to a suggestion he'd made (and he could hope) or lightly refuse his request and change the subject. He soon figured out it was the latter of those two. "Where do you keep your coffee? I think it's a little early for alcohol."

Sheppard smiled again, moving over to encircle her in his arms, "You know, I'm not sure I actually have any left." It was true; he hadn't stocked up since the last time they'd been on Earth, just before they and their crew had taken the trip on the Daedalus to Atlantis for the first time. Elizabeth gave him a glance of mock irritation and the familiar little lift of her left eyebrow, turning in his embrace to rest her head against his shoulder.

He breathed out slowly, taking the time simply to enjoy her presence in his life, in his home and in his arms. He didn't know how he'd gotten this lucky, but he hoped to hell the run of luck continued. Not, he mused, that anything could match this situation for things that could make him happy. Not yet, anyway. She sighed against him, a sound of pure pleasure, and his right hand came up to stroke tenderly through her tangled curls; she leaned into the touch, almost purring. He chuckled, and their eyes met in a gaze of mutual enjoyment, holding the shared look for a long time.

This was where they both wanted to be.

After what seemed like hours, Elizabeth moved closer to him, giving him a brief, tight hug before pulling away. "Bathroom," she explained with a short, rueful laugh, "I still have morning breath."

He caught up with her by the living room door. "I don't care." He told her, and fit the action to the word by leaning down to kiss her, tongue trailing briefly over her lower lip as she backed away slightly.

"I do!" she laughed. She met his gaze playfully for a second before backing into the bathroom and locking herself in.

John Sheppard chuckled outside the door she'd closed behind her, shaking his head. That was the Elizabeth he knew-- his Elizabeth, his lover and his commander, and damn, if he didn't adore her even more for it. Her words echoed softly in his mind, and he couldn't help but smile inanely on the inside, and hope, on a different occasion, that she'd give the same reply.



-fin
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