His Girl Friday

Okay, first of the “extended” chapters. I was a little drunk when I wrote the smut, but then I've done some of my best work when waisted. That will also account for most if not all of the spelling mistakes...

The spear sailed through the air, impacting the surface of the water dead on, but missing the target by over a foot. A silvery, salmon-like fish darted away down the river, out of sight.

“God damn it!” Sheppard hissed as he recovered the spear and went back to standing patiently on the rock overlooking a calm pool of crystal-clear water, “Tom Hanks made this look so easy in Cast Away.”

“That was a film, John: this is, surprisingly, real life.” Weir smiled from where she sat on the other bank, tending the one fishing line they had found in their survival kit, “And while your 'Me Tarzan, You Jane' routine is somewhat humours to watch, you're scaring away the fish.”

Sheppard muttered something under his breath and sat cross-legged on the rock, eyes scanning the valley for any signs of danger.

“I've been thinking.” He said after some time, “We should try and find whoever took that bear and left the spears and the machete.”

“You think that's wise?” Weir looked up, “I'm no anthropologist, but I think its clear from the fact that we've not seen or heard anything else for almost a month now, that they don't want anything more to do with us.”

“Then why take the bear? Why leave the weapons?”

“A mark of respect?”

“To who? Us or the Bear?”

“Good question.” Weir thought on it for a moment, but any reply she was planning was forgotten when there was a series of tugs on the fishing line, “I've got something!”

“Easy, easy!” Sheppard looked for an easy way to get across the gap between the two rocky outcrops, and immediately discounted jumping; he was sure he could make it, but his hands and feet were still wet from recovering the spear and the last thing he wanted to do was slip and break his neck. “Ease it in gently; you don't want to snap the line.”

“These things are tested to over two hundred pounds: I don't think it'll be braking any time soon.” Weir reassured him, “And I do now how to fish.”

“Summer camp?” Sheppard asked as he carefully made his way down to the river and the continently placed stepping stones.

“No; my father.” Weir explained as she slowly reeled in the line, “One of the few things we did together.”

“I'm not complaining.” Sheppard reached the other side and made his way up onto the rock, trying to ignore the fact that Weir had removed her tunic and was wearing only a light t-shirt and a sports-bra. He forced himself to concentrate on the fish, “You sure you got it?”

“I'm afraid I don't think it's that big.” Weir likewise forced herself to concentrate, ignoring the feel of having Sheppard's body so close to her own. “I can manage it.”

“Well, don't let it go; it's dinner.” Sheppard lowered himself onto the edge of the outcropping and looked down into the river, “I don't suppose your daddy taught you how to gut them too?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Weir smiled as the fish broke the surface; it was lager than she'd dared hope, but was still splashing about in a bid to get away. “But if you think I'm cooking it as well...”

“Relax: I'm a god when it comes to the grilled.” Sheppard grabbed the fish as soon as it was within reach and pulled it onto the bank, “Damn, I wish we'd bough the camera; it's a trophy catch.”

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True to his word, Sheppard was able to grill the fish to perfection, along with a selection of native fruits that he had run through the scanner before they had shut it down. The new fire was a lot closer to the back of the Jumper, protected on three sides by a low wall that they had put up in the hopes that it would make the camp harder to spot from a distance. Sheppard also insisted that they used only dry wood to minimise the smoke. Weir took a bight out of something that looked like an apple but tasted oddly of peaches; the soft flesh of the fruit all but melted on her lips, sending a steam of juice down either side of her mouth.

“We have to take some of these back to Atlantis with us.” She insisted as she tilted her head back to try and recapture as much of the sweet liquid as she could, “We could make a killing with them back on Earth.”

“I'm not sure we're allowed to make any money out of what we find off-world.” Sheppard smiled as he took a might of an identical fruit, “And I'm sure the IOA would want a cut.”

“Hell, with this stuff we could make the entire expedition self-financing.” Weir laughed, feeling strangely warm despite the relatively cool night air. She slipped her jacket off her shoulders and pulled her t-shirt out of her pants. Leaning back, she shifted her weight to the right, trying to protect her still slightly painful left arm.

Sheppard shifted somewhat uncomfortably, trying his best to ignore the way Weir looked: he felt oddly light headed, almost as if he'd been knocking back beers all night. But that was stupid; they had nothing alcoholic, and even if they did, he'd only been drinking water. Looking around, he saw the remains of the fresh-fruit salad he'd put together; almost all of the 'apples' were gone, and as he watched, Weir took the last one and took a big bight.

“Elizabeth.” He found the words came out slightly slurred, “I think there's something funny about that stuff.”

“I think it's wonderful.” she laughed, her mouth full of the pulp, juice running down her chin. She looked at him oddly for a moment, then smiled, “I think you're wonderful too.”

“You're drunk.” He warned her.

“So are you.” Weir moved closer closer, almost leaning over him, “You're also cute.”

“Maybe we should...” Sheppard started to back away, but Weir placed a finger on his lips to stop him.

“Enough talking.” Her lips moved in to hover over his, “I've wanted to do this for a long, long time.”

Sheppard's complaints died unsaid as their lips met, the sweet tang of the fruit mixing with something else, something that could only be Elizabeth Weir. His lips opened automatically, and her tough invaded his mouth, as she shifted her weight until she was pushing him down onto the deck. Her hands gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it up and over his head. Not wanting to be outdone, Sheppard took hole of the bottom of Weirs t-shirt and pulled it up far enough to slid one of his hands up inside and cup her breasts through her bra, her nipples turning rock hard under his expert fingers. She groaned into his moth, bighting his lower lip as she started to under his belt.

“Not so fast!” Sheppard grinned as he rolled them over so he was on-top. He moved down her body until he could pull her bra up and suck on one of her nipples, his teeth pulling on it.

“Oh God!” Weir groaned, pulling both her shirt and bra over her head and flung them to one side. She then shifted her hips, pressing herself against Sheppard while also getting enough freedom to pull down her pants, leaving her in just her socks and panties. She looked up at him and smiled, “You're over dressed.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, kicking off his shoos and pulling down his pants before kissing her deeply, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Weir smiled coyly as she slid her panties down, slowly revealing her trimmed pubic hair; it was a little ticker than she normally kept it, but it had been over a month since she'd last had a chance to deal with it. Sheppard leaned over her, supporting himself with one arm while the other moved round to cup one of her breasts, his thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipple, making her gasp in surprise. She responded by reaching down and taking his manhood from his briefs: taking it in her hand, she started to stroke it softly.

Sheppard let his hand drift lower as he continued to kiss his responsive new lover, moving down over her flat stomach to her crotch. He brushed across her clit, sending shivers up and down Weir's spine, then placed the palm of his hand against her clit while he slowly pushed his index finger into her damp core. She gasped as his finger entered her, but any sound was lost in the sweet embrace of their kiss. She responded by subconsciously moving her legs further apart, making things easier for him as he started to move his finger in and out, building up his pace until she broke away from their kiss, groaning as she reached orgasm.

“You are so beautiful...” Sheppard smiled as Weir struggled to get her breath back.

“Oh God....” She grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and pulled him down so he was lying on top of her, “I need you, now.”

Sheppard withdrew his finger and entered her with one long, slow thrust. Weir arched her back as she felt him fill her; her body still on edge from the powerful orgasm he had already given her. He rested his elbows on either side of her so her could reach down and kiss her, while she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down so their bodies met, the soft hair of his flat chest brushing against her tender nipples. He started to move his hips, building up a rhythm without braking contact with her lips. Weir met him thrust for thrust as he started to plant kisses across her lips, down her jaw and neck, across her collarbone and back up to her ear, which he nibbled on.

Sheppard lips returned to Weir's as she crossed her legs behind his back, trying to pull him in even further. He thought for a moment of his past lovers: the only real romance of his life had been in his ex-wife, but that had ended badly, probably attributing to his rather cavalier attitude towards women in the years since. After that he had drifted in and out of brief liaisons with the several women, but they'd always left, claiming he was too afraid of commitment.

His attraction to Weir had been instantaneous: there'd been an unmistakable spark between them the moment they first met, something had not felt in a long time.

“John!” Weir moaned as she climaxed for the second time since, pulled him as close to her as she could, wanting to feel every square inch of his body pressed up against her own. He felt her contract around him and let himself go: empting himself into her, he all but collapsing onto the deck. She pulled her body to his own as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go.

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Weir opened her eyes and swore; there should be some kind of law against the sun being that bright first thing in the morning. Her head felt like it was two sizes to small, and her mouth was uncomfortably dry. There was also an odd sensation that she had two extra hands: one resting on her thigh, the other held against her abdomen...

She opened her eyes slowly and looked down: they were most definitely NOT her hands, and she WAS naked under what was unmistakably NOT her sleeping bag. Reaching back with her free hand, she felt soft, warm skin that was definitely not hers, but was pressed up against her back. She also became aware of a soft, slow breath against the back of her neck, and memories of the night before started to fall into place. Her mind raced as well as it could while suffering from what felt to all intense and purposes to be a major hangover, and she grimaced when she remembered the way she had acted. Then she felt a thrill run down her spine when she remembered just how Sheppard had reacted, and how they had acted together.

It had been a long time since she'd last been with a man: she'd still considered herself involved with Simon during her first year in Atlantis, and then after he'd told her that he couldn't be a part of the life she'd chosen for herself, there hadn't been many chances to find someone else. Yes, she had been attracted to Sheppard, but he'd always cone across as a little to free with his affections for her to take him seriously as a potential partner, and she wasn't the kind of woman who went in for one-night stands. And there had been no one else who had interested her in the same way, so she had just accepted that she was going to have to put her personal life on hold for the next few years.

And now this, which complicated matters. She liked, maybe even loved Sheppard, but as a friend and college, nothing more. And now? Now there was going to be a 'thing' between them, one way or another, and she wasn't sure she could deal with that. She had always, always kept her professional and private lives separate; it was a rule she lived by. She'd seen all too many office romances end badly to ever want to risk it. She could blame the fruit: he had said that there was something funny about it. It obviously had some kind of intoxicating affect on humans, so on second thoughts it was probably best not to take any back to Atlantis with them.

Sheppard shifted, opened his eyes and swore under his breath.

“Elizabeth?” He asked somewhat hesitantly.

“John.” How she managed to keep her voice level was beyond her.

“Maybe we should get dressed?” Sheppard suggested after a while, “I'm going to roll over to my left, so if you move to your right, I'll be able to get my arm free.”

“Okay.” Weir nodded slowly, “One tree?”

“On three. One, two, three!”

They moved slowly away from each other and sat up, back to back, each looking around for their own cloths, or at least enough to cover themselves. Finding what they could, they got dressed quickly and in silence, neither of them daring to look at anything but the bulkhead.

“I think we can agree that apples are off the menu.” Sheppard said somewhat slowly, risking a glance over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Weir nodded again, refusing to meet his eye, “How much do you remember?”

“Truthfully?” Sheppard winced, “All of it, even if I do have the worst hangover of my life. I mean, what kind of fruit gets you that drunk, gives you a killer hangover, but doesn't have the decency to wipe out your short-term memory?”

“I think we can agree that it would be best if we never mentioned this again, and leave it out of our reports.”

“I can live with that: I'm not a 'notches on the bedpost' kind of guy.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few minute's, neither of them willing to move, let along speak. A million thoughts ran though their heads, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

“So...” Sheppard took a deep breath, “Coffee?”

To Be Continued...