Title: Her First Rose
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Kate Heightmeyer/Elizabeth Weir
Written for: havocthecat
Prompt: your slightest look easily will enclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
from somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
by e.e. cummings
Author’s Notes: A tiny, vague spoiler for The Return, Part 2
. Nothing huge.
Elizabeth Weir is a player, a complete and utter player. She’s just not a player in the way that some people might describe John Sheppard. No, she’s not a player like that at all.
Elizabeth has the fingers of a musician. She has long, thin, delicate-looking fingers that would look so utterly beautiful dancing across the keys of a piano, or wrapped around a violin. Those fingers are some of her finest features.
Of course, my fascination with Elizabeth’s fingers is not just confined to how wonderful they would look in some theoretical situation. My experience with those fingers has been physical, practical, as well. I’ve lost count of the times those fingers have brushed ever so lightly across my skin, drawing moan after moan from my mouth. Those fingers have been all over my body, weaved tightly in my hair, grasping my hips so hard they leave bruises in their wake, and fluttering about in my wet cunt, making me cry, scream, and beg.
It feels like that each time she touches me, Elizabeth unveils a new part of me, some new facet that I had previously been unaware of. The irony of that is not lost on me. How can the psychologist in this city help the other expedition members discover unknown parts of themselves if she herself is so ignorant about her own psyche?
But Elizabeth is skilled at doing this. She pulls me apart piece by piece, and I absolutely love it. Like right now. Right now, Elizabeth has me a shaking, quivering mess bound to my own bed. I can feel a thin sheen of sweat on my brow but cannot move my arm to wipe it away.
And she is not done. Elizabeth has been sitting next to me, watching me as she brings me closer and closer to completion with those fingers. Now that I’ve come back down from that precipice, I am conscious of her eyes upon me. Her eyes can easily mesmerize me, like a snake would a mouse.
It is she who breaks the gaze. Her fingers appear again even as she disappears down below my waist. They brush along my lips, caressing, and I need no encouragement to take them into my mouth and taste my own juices.
I suck on those fingers contently, only to whimper and convulse when I feel a tongue run along my wet folds. Oh god, I love it when she does this. Who knew the feeling of wet on wet could be so erotic?
Her tongue laves my clit only briefly before she continues her way down, exploring even though she knows every part of my body by heart. Elizabeth moves lightly, and I never know where she will go next. There is no pattern. I moan a bit and try to nudge her with my leg, trying to convince her to concentrate where I want her the most.
Usually when I dare to do that, she often gives me that look and I move no more. But tonight Elizabeth appears to be in a giving mood. She takes my hint and her tongue begins circling my clit in earnest. Every time she brushes against it, I can’t help but jerk, groaning around the fingers that are now slowing pumping in my mouth.
Elizabeth continues winding me up to the point where I am seeing stars and would be begging for release, were it not for those fingers. Just when I think I can take no more, she leans in just a bit more and grasps my clit between her teeth, biting down ever so gently. Its enough and I nearly come off the bed as my orgasm flows through me like a raging river released from a dam.
Her fingers disappear from my mouth as I finally slump back against the pillows, exhausted. I can feel the bed moving, and Elizabeth crawls up to curl into my side, throwing one of her legs over mine possessively. Her fingers work at the scarves that have kept my arms immobile and they finally come loose. Immediately, ignoring the ache in my shoulders, my arms come down to wrap tightly around Elizabeth.
“Welcome home,” she whispers in my ear, her voice as light as a cool breeze. It is the first time she has spoken to me since I came through the Gate. I don’t mind.
It’s good to be home.