Rating: well, it's a couple of thousand words of explicit sex. whaddaya think?
Summary: JS/EW/TE. In bed.
Notes 1: Kim asked. In her journal, then in RL. I wrote a bit. Then a bit more. Then it gained, like, all subtextual about the power struggle and stuff. That last bit may be lies.
Notes 2: I may have written a fair portion of this with my eyes shut, to spare my blushes. However, I choreographed a fair portion of this in a church. I may have issues.
Teyla is warm and wet and tight around his dick, and he really, really, really wants to touch her beautiful bouncing bounteous breasts, but Elizabeth has pinned his wrists to the bed, and this is so not how John thought he'd be spending the evening. It's good - it's fantastic - but it's frustrating, because while he's got a truly inspiring view, an image that will surely haunt his jerk-off sessions from now on, right now he's here, in bed with them, and he wants to touch. He really wants to touch. And kiss, and lick, and suck, and do whatever he can – Teyla's muscles, which normally he doesn't find sexy, but for once he doesn't have the best abs in the bed and he just wants to lick them. He wants to touch.
So he twists his wrists in Elizabeth's grip, and it's easy, even with most of her weight resting on those soft, small hands, so easy that he considers freeing himself, taking charge, but then they might decide he's more trouble than he's worth, might decide to kick him out, and that would be bad. So he stretches his fingers upwards, searching blindly, combing through curls of hair to find folds of slick, hot flesh, fumbling because it's hard to concentrate with these beautiful women rocking above him, trading lewd kisses, licking at each other's throats, Elizabeth muffling her gasps - and it's him doing that, his callused fingertips that she's rubbing against - in the curve of Teyla's breast, and he's wanted to do that ever since they met, wanted to nuzzle into that lush cleavage and never leave, but all he can do is watch, try to thrust up into her even though he can't get enough purchase, and all he can really do is lie here gasping and let her ride him, let them use him, and god it feels good to be used like this.
And then there must be some sort of communication between the two of them, because Elizabeth's moving off to the side and Teyla leans forward to take his hands and for a moment her breasts are right there above his face but even as he cranes his neck she's sitting back, taking her hands with him, but Elizabeth's hand on his chest makes it perfectly clear that he's not to move. That hand tangles briefly in his chest hair, then meanders down across his stomach, and his muscles clench helplessly as it passes.
And then Teyla stops. She damn well stops, just kneels there, with just the head of his dick still inside her, and he'd grab her and pull her down again if she wasn't holding his hands so firmly, and he'd thrust up into her if Elizabeth's hand wasn't pressing down on his hip, supporting her as she... oh. He gets it, suddenly, as she bends across him, as her head dips to the place where his body meets Teyla's, and he stares helplessly at the ceiling because he is not going to be relieved any time soon. Elizabeth's hair brushes across his belly, and there's a whisper of breath on his shaft, and then Teyla gasps, and her fingers tighten on his, and he has to look. He can't see much, where Elizabeth must be kissing and licking Teyla's most private parts, but he can see the shudders running through Teyla's body, see the way she's holding her hips so still, see her breasts move in time with her hitching breaths, and it isn't long - though it feels like it, lying trapped there - before she tenses all over and drops her head back and breathes, long and low.
And then she mutters something that might not even be a word, and Elizabeth sits up, ducks between Teyla's outstretched arms and straddles his stomach to lean against Teyla and kiss her long and lewd and her mouth must taste of Teyla's cunt, he can smell their arousal, but he can't see anything now except Elizabeth's back - and a lovely back it is, but not what he wants to be seeing when there are women sitting on him. Teyla relaxes, slides down on his dick and rests, impaled, kisses Elizabeth as though they have all the time in the world - and maybe they do, but he doesn't, because she isn't moving, isn't even clenching her inner muscles, is just sitting there.
So not cool.
John stretches his fingers as far as he can, and a moment later Teyla peers at him over Elizabeth's shoulder. He gives her his most imploring look, the puppy-dog eyes and pout combination that's gotten him into and out of more trouble than he cares to remember, and she just raises an eyebrow at him - it's not fair that she's immune to his considerable charms, though the fact that she's sitting on him might be a good argument that she isn't - then turns her gaze to Elizabeth for a moment. And then she releases him, slowly, her fingertips trailing over his palms and the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists in a surprisingly erotic fashion. And then he's finally free to touch, though he can't touch the way he wants to because of their positioning.
He traces Elizabeth's spine and every now and then she shudders, though he can't tell whether or not that's his doing. He can feel the heat of her above his belly but all he can do is play join-the-dots with the freckles on her shoulders and investigate the downy patch of hair in the small of her back, and even when he cups the soft rounds of her buttocks in his hands and she pushes back, it's not like she's paying attention.
So John slides one hand underneath her, to the slick center of her, and further forward he encounters other fingers, which must be Teyla's, because now both of Elizabeth's hands are clamped to flesh, one on Teyla's shoulder and the other on John's side. He places his free hand in the middle of her back, offering her support - and he doesn't have time to think about the metaphor because Teyla is pushing one of his fingers and one of her own up inside Elizabeth, where it's warm and tight - and oh jesus that just makes him think about where his dick is, not that he could forget but when he's doing something it's less urgent, he doesn't want to shake Teyla just to make her move or flinch or clench or anything at all. Not fair.
He breathes as deeply as he can, and thinks about flying, and is patient. He can wait, honestly. Elizabeth's cursing now, anyway, and dirty talk is something that doesn't normally do much for him, but this is the prim and proper Dr Weir muttering "fuck, more, ohgodohfuckinggod please" and obviously Teyla's taking good care of her because Elizabeth's voice gets higher and tighter than he's ever heard it before and it feels like she must be leaving bruises, she's wound so tight.
He strokes her back as she shudders into stillness. Finally, he thinks, it's his turn.
Elizabeth tumbles off to the side and turns on him with a slightly disturbing grin. Teyla lifts herself and drops gracefully on his other side - and how did Elizabeth get such a big bed, anyway? - and for a few moments he's utterly bereft. He's beginning to think this wasn't a good idea. It's the stuff of dreams, certainly, but the thing about dreams is that they're often very far from smart. But then their hands are on him, pushing, pulling, manoeuvering, and then he's on his knees between Teyla's welcoming legs with Elizabeth pressing up against his back - and it's a good thing Teyla's so flexible, really - and he works hard to suppress the sigh of relief when he sinks back inside Teyla, and this is so much better than before because now he can move.
Not that he gets much chance to do that before Elizabeth grabs at his hips and starts to guide him, her breasts pushing against his back, her pelvis pushing against his ass. He fucks Teyla, but the rhythm is Elizabeth's, and it's glorious but not fast enough, he wants to move, wants to fuck hard and hot, wants to rut like an animal, wants to feel Teyla writhe under him with the force of his thrusts and the heat of his attention and the feel of his mouth on her neck, not Elizabeth's hand on her flank. He wants Teyla's short nails scraping down his back, wants her clutching at his arms, wants that wanting look in her eyes to be directed at him, and even as he thrusts into her again he finds himself fiercely jealous of the way the two of them are looking at each other, the way they barely have to speak - and it's oddly silent in this bed, just harsh breathing, the occasional soft encouragement, and the steady percussive slap of flesh on flesh.
Elizabeth's hand slides down Teyla's belly, and her thumb must go somewhere interesting because Teyla actually squeaks, and then she grins up at them, all flashing white teeth even as she gasps and shakes and she's coming for the second time this evening, and they looked too damn pleased with themselves earlier as well, so of the several orgasms that have been had today by people in this bed, none of them are his, and it's probably rude to be counting but he really can't help it. John has a very acute sense of fairness.
He doesn't want to move when she pushes him, doesn't want to leave her warmth, but her hands are insistent, as are Elizabeth's, so he sits back on his heels and waits to see what happens next. Elizabeth straddles Teyla's waist and leans forward to kiss her, and John watches, hands fisted at his side, biting his lip so he doesn't start yelling how unfair it is. So not fair. So really, very, extraordinarily not fair. He would get himself off in a heartbeat if his right hand hadn't been getting far too much action already.
Elizabeth moves backwards to rest her head on Teyla's belly, wiggling her ass in an inviting fashion, and he so very nearly reaches out and grabs her. Then she looks over her shoulder, and says in an unbelievably composed voice, "Well, Major? Fuck me already." This is one order John is not about to argue with. He grabs her hips and thrusts into her tight cunt and he knows, he knows he's going too fast and too hard but they've been teasing him for what feels like days and oh fucking Jesus yes, yes, and that whimper from Elizabeth probably isn't the good kind but she's tilting her hips up, helping, and Teyla looks serene and sleepy-eyed as she strokes Elizabeth's hair and John doesn't care if he's hurting her because it feels so fucking good and he hasn't heard anybody complaining and he is so close to the edge he's not sure how he still has words.
John slides one hand up Elizabeth's back, detours a little to stroke Teyla's thigh, then grasps Elizabeth's shoulder. He's tempted to take her by the neck and push down, or push fingers into her panting mouth, or choke her so she fights, so she has to submit, so the great and bountiful Dr Weir has to just lie there and take it. And then Teyla pulls Elizabeth's head back, pushes two fingers into John's mouth, holds his eyes with a steady gaze and undulates in place and that's it, he's gone, hips pumping spastically and brain whiting out.
Somehow, he manages to collapse to one side rather than on top of his bedmates, though that may be more due to a helping hand or two than his own innate considerateness. He stares at the ceiling, gasping, and can't muster the energy to move his head even when he hears, "yes, Teyla, please, oh fuck yes." He's thinking very seriously about passing out, and is actually very close to it when someone pushes at his side.
"You should probably leave now, Major. We wouldn't want to start rumors." Damnably, Elizabeth sounds as calm as ever, and he doesn't look at her or Teyla as he rolls out of bed, strips off the condom and drops it on the floor - let her clean it up, he doesn't care - and heads for the little pile of his clothes left where he stripped for them earlier. He wonders if they're watching now, but he doesn't bother making it a good show for them; he already knows that this most likely won't happen again, because a couple of weeks ago Grodin was looking ever-so-slightly shell-shocked, and a couple of weeks before that it was Beckett, and he'd figured this would be McKay's turn, but no. John rumples his hair and poses ever so slightly before he turns to face the bed.
The two of them are curled up together, comfortable and accustomed, and he has to clear his throat before he can speak. "I'll see you at the morning briefing." He isn't surprised that neither of them look at him. He looks at them for a long moment before he turns to leave.
He locks his normal attitude into place, and locks the door on his way out.