[ooc; nexus100; 076]
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Characters: Elizabeth Weir (AU), John Sheppard (AU), mentions of OCs
Prompt: Who?
Word Count: 752
Rating: R for non-graphic sexual situations
Summary: It felt a bit like love.
Author's Notes: Alternate universe! This is based around events in the 'verse of snackonthis.
Elizabeth was in college when she met him.
The day had started out unremarkably enough; it was a Saturday, and she spent the morning studying for an upcoming poli-sci test. Then, though, the afternoon was spent trying to talk her roommate out of dropping out to support her fiancé's endeavors (she recalls now that Andrea -- Andy -- hadn't listened to her, but she doesn't know that five years and change later, Andy would leave her husband for Candace Stauk, a willowy brunette with an amazing garden).
When it became clear that she wasn't getting through to her friend, Elizabeth put on her coat and her scarf and tied back her long (currently blonde; the result of what her mother would later call 'youthful experimentation') hair. She walked out of the apartment and down the street and around the nearest blocks a few times before she stopped in front of the 'usual' bar. It was popular with the local students and Elizabeth had been there more than a few times, with men and with friends and occasionally -- like that night -- alone.
He was playing pool when she walked in, and she glanced at him the same way she took in everyone else in the bar. His game lasted about as long as it took him to decide she was worth the challenge, and she raised her eyebrow when he leaned against the bar next to her and asked if he could buy her a drink. She said no the first time, and the second, and by the third she wasn't really drinking at all, just holding the glass in her hands while she listened to him chatter at her, fascinated by the way he could talk without saying anything of substance.
He said his name was John, and she told him 'Elizabeth' without a surname because he hadn't given his. He smiled -- crookedly -- and she wanted to blush without knowing why, but she didn't. When she got up to leave, he offered to walk her home and, for reasons that will years later still escape her, she let him. She led him by a circuitous route, drawing out their time together because maybe, maybe if she got him alone for long enough he'd tell her something meaningful.
Andy wasn't there when they reached her apartment (Elizabeth wasn't surprised). She didn't invite him in, but he came in with her all the same, and she (still wonders why she) didn't kick him out. They stood together by her window, mugs in hands, and she could still taste the bourbon he'd had in the bar underneath the sharp, strong coffee when he kissed her. He put their mugs down and pulled her closer in what felt like one smooth movement (it wasn't), and she blamed it on the alcohol and pretended she wasn't lonely.
They stumbled together to her bedroom (she couldn't have sex on Andy's sofa) and she hit her head against the doorframe, laughing and leaning into him. It was at that point that he picked her up, rumbling against her throat. They fell together on her bed and it was awkward and fumbling and above all very young. He came first and she didn't at all, until his hands smoothed up her thighs and higher still and she remembers thinking it was very thoughtful of him. Catching her breath, she watched him in the darkness, smiling when he trailed his hands up to tug her hair loose and run his fingers through it with a familiarity he had no right to.
They talked quietly, after that. He would tell her something and then she would tell him something else; she told him secrets and he told her half-truths. There was laughter, and something quieter and easier to hold onto. She remembers feeling as though she'd found someone who really understood her, or at the very least wanted very much to try. It was new and exhilirating and when he smiled down at her, she was so sure that she'd finally met someone she could imagine herself with (she told him that she'd never been in love and he smiled and told her there was still time). In the morning, she slipped her phone number into his pants, her name scrawled above it (but no last name, because that was something they both had to earn).
He never called.
Characters: Elizabeth Weir (AU), John Sheppard (AU), mentions of OCs
Prompt: Who?
Word Count: 752
Rating: R for non-graphic sexual situations
Summary: It felt a bit like love.
Author's Notes: Alternate universe! This is based around events in the 'verse of snackonthis.
Elizabeth was in college when she met him.
The day had started out unremarkably enough; it was a Saturday, and she spent the morning studying for an upcoming poli-sci test. Then, though, the afternoon was spent trying to talk her roommate out of dropping out to support her fiancé's endeavors (she recalls now that Andrea -- Andy -- hadn't listened to her, but she doesn't know that five years and change later, Andy would leave her husband for Candace Stauk, a willowy brunette with an amazing garden).
When it became clear that she wasn't getting through to her friend, Elizabeth put on her coat and her scarf and tied back her long (currently blonde; the result of what her mother would later call 'youthful experimentation') hair. She walked out of the apartment and down the street and around the nearest blocks a few times before she stopped in front of the 'usual' bar. It was popular with the local students and Elizabeth had been there more than a few times, with men and with friends and occasionally -- like that night -- alone.
He was playing pool when she walked in, and she glanced at him the same way she took in everyone else in the bar. His game lasted about as long as it took him to decide she was worth the challenge, and she raised her eyebrow when he leaned against the bar next to her and asked if he could buy her a drink. She said no the first time, and the second, and by the third she wasn't really drinking at all, just holding the glass in her hands while she listened to him chatter at her, fascinated by the way he could talk without saying anything of substance.
He said his name was John, and she told him 'Elizabeth' without a surname because he hadn't given his. He smiled -- crookedly -- and she wanted to blush without knowing why, but she didn't. When she got up to leave, he offered to walk her home and, for reasons that will years later still escape her, she let him. She led him by a circuitous route, drawing out their time together because maybe, maybe if she got him alone for long enough he'd tell her something meaningful.
Andy wasn't there when they reached her apartment (Elizabeth wasn't surprised). She didn't invite him in, but he came in with her all the same, and she (still wonders why she) didn't kick him out. They stood together by her window, mugs in hands, and she could still taste the bourbon he'd had in the bar underneath the sharp, strong coffee when he kissed her. He put their mugs down and pulled her closer in what felt like one smooth movement (it wasn't), and she blamed it on the alcohol and pretended she wasn't lonely.
They stumbled together to her bedroom (she couldn't have sex on Andy's sofa) and she hit her head against the doorframe, laughing and leaning into him. It was at that point that he picked her up, rumbling against her throat. They fell together on her bed and it was awkward and fumbling and above all very young. He came first and she didn't at all, until his hands smoothed up her thighs and higher still and she remembers thinking it was very thoughtful of him. Catching her breath, she watched him in the darkness, smiling when he trailed his hands up to tug her hair loose and run his fingers through it with a familiarity he had no right to.
They talked quietly, after that. He would tell her something and then she would tell him something else; she told him secrets and he told her half-truths. There was laughter, and something quieter and easier to hold onto. She remembers feeling as though she'd found someone who really understood her, or at the very least wanted very much to try. It was new and exhilirating and when he smiled down at her, she was so sure that she'd finally met someone she could imagine herself with (she told him that she'd never been in love and he smiled and told her there was still time). In the morning, she slipped her phone number into his pants, her name scrawled above it (but no last name, because that was something they both had to earn).
He never called.