Best two out of Three
This was written for svmadelyn's Kink/Cliche challenge.

I got three prompts and started three stories, but I only finished one in time.

My prompts were: Phone Sex; Finger-fucking; Sex with Clothes on

I got two out of three into this one. The other stories will show up here eventually.

This is rated NC-17

SGA Fic

No Spoilers (and it is not, in case you've been following this journal, Ring Eye Fic)



Successful Trade

It wasn't every trade agreement that required Atlantis's lead diplomat to drink the indigenous leader under the table, but it came up pretty often.

Sheppard was a good man in a fight, but he was a cheap drunk. Two shots of Athosian grain alcohol generally set him staggering, an arm looped around McKay or Dex, possibly singing something about Teyla's breasts. It wasn't pretty. That, combined with McKay's food allergies, made Team One good for first contacts but not so much for extended negotiations.

So they had a system. Weir and Lorne and his team handled the negotiations that required feasting or drinking or lots of socializing. Dr. Weir was a trained and talented diplomat and sociologist, so it was her field of expertise. Plus, she held her liquor really well.

She held it well enough that Lorne sometimes fantasized about taking her out to hustle pool in Colorado Springs if they ever got back there together. She always knew when to quit, knew how much she could take and still do her job, so she never got sloppy or sick. Once she told Lorne that, during the first year on Atlantis, she'd have knocked back an entire bottle of Everclear, easy, if it would have bought them a ZPM. They were past that point of desperation now though, and she always knew how to draw the line when she was just plain drunk.

A drunk Dr. Weir was pretty much just like a sober Dr. Weir, only maybe a little bit unsteady on her feet. Oh, he'd heard a little more about her personal life - and her personal opinions of Stargate Command Policy - than he otherwise might have, but it was nothing really inappropriate. If she stumbled a little when he was helping her back to the gate, he never teased her about it. He was respectful and friendly and maintained his distance, and never thought about carrying her back to her room or his.

On MGX-347, Lorne found himself standing just behind her shoulder, balancing the Matriarch's bodyguard on the other side of the room, watching her knock back a shot of the local hooch. There were three marines waiting outside, but she'd only been allowed to bring one man into the trade pavilion with her. He'd had to give up his P-90 and tac-vest to get that far.

He was a little concerned but also excited. Although the negotiation was supposed to be for some stringy carrot-like vegetables, the Matriarch had offered to throw in a ZPM for free, like a colorful hostess-gift, if Dr. Weir would join her for a drink. A second ZPM would mean more trips through the Gate, more access to Earth and more normal leave-time. And Lorne needed some leave-time. It was starting to get a little too easy to brace Dr. Weir's body against his own while he dialed the gate. He was starting to look forward to the missions with drinking a little too much.

********************

The Matriarch was looking straight into her eyes, amused. All the basic requirements of the trade agreement had been met, and Elizabeth knew she was going to walk away with more Not Quite Carrots than she would ever get the population of Atlantis to eat, but there was the ZPM, the real goal of the trade, still waiting for the Matriarch's approval.

"Another?" The Matriarch's voice was rough, a little unsteady from the drink they'd already had.

Elizabeth smiled back at her. "If you'll join me." She picked up her cup, which was roughly shaped out of clay, filled with Sekalt, a syrupy gold liquor. She held it up as though to honor her hostess. She wasn't actually sure of how much more she could handle. The first drink had flushed her cheeks and sent a wave of warmth across her whole body. Two cups later, all of her senses felt sharp and bright. The honey in her cup almost overwhelmed her with its heavy scent, bright sparks of firelight caught her eye with every flicker of her lashes, and behind her she could hear Major Lorne shifting infinitesimally from foot to foot his breath soft and steady in her ears

The Matriarch's smile was slow and sensuous. She beckoned to the young man behind her; he was half bodyguard, half serving boy. When he reached forward to refill her cup, the Matriarch caught his wrist and ran her hand slowly up his arm. Elizabeth heard the sound of skin on skin, and felt a shiver across her palm, as though it was her own hand sliding against him.

The Matriarch lifted her newly filled cup and brought it to her lips, "To Atlantis?" she asked, quirking a brow at Elizabeth.

"To Atlantis." Elizabeth replied, inclining her head in thanks.

Gold fire slid down her throat. She took a deep breath, and in this one the scent of honey was mixed with gun oil and clean sweat. Lorne wasn't any closer to her than he had been a moment before, but she could feel the heat of his body at her back. She took another breath and focused her eyes with an effort. She lifted her glass again and the Matriarch's bodyguard reached for the wine jar.

His arm brushed the Matriarch's and she shivered. Elizabeth found her eyes on the other woman's breasts, shaking with deep-drawn breath, sparkling with sweat. Lorne shifted again and Elizabeth barely heard the Matriarch say, "Enough. I see you have brought your own man with you."

"My man?" Elizabeth said faintly. "I don't…"

"I had hoped to join you with one of ours, but I will leave you to enjoy the Sekalt. We will meet again in the morning."

Elizabeth lowered her eyes. Her cup was empty. When she raised them again, it was to the sight of the Matriarch, pulled up against her guard's body, opening her mouth to his tongue as he pulled her away. Elizabeth gave a little laugh, it sounded high and false in her own ears.

Lorne was speaking behind her. She heard him say "Ma'am" and "Call it a night" and "That old girl really…" and she felt anger chase the drunken flush along her skin. The bodyguard might have been young, the Matriarch might be older than Lorne or Elizabeth, but there were a hundred Earth cultures where, if the genders had been reversed, the relationship would have excited no comment.

She stood up too quickly, trying to turn to face him, and her legs got tangled in her chair. He was quick to grab her arm, but even with his hand supporting her, her legs kept wanting to fold. She didn’t feel drunk, she felt exhilarated. When her body crashed into his, and his other arm caught her around the waist, she was glad for its support.

She was gladder still for his sweet, warm breath across her face and the smooth angle of his jaw. She started to tell him she was fine, but he was so close and the line of his mouth looked so tight, that she couldn’t help tipping her face against his, catching his lower lip between her teeth, and swallowing his gasp.

**********************

Her body was slight and soft against his, easy to hold and support. Her eyes were wide, pupils blasted and dark. He'd been watching her carefully, expecting her to tip over, to faint or fall at any second. He was more than ready to catch her when she stumbled, but utterly surprised when her mouth fell against his,

A better man, a better soldier, might have pushed her back immediately, but the agonizingly gentle tear of her teeth across his lip ripped open every fantasy he'd had about her. He was pushing her against a wall and plunging between her legs, he was feeling her mouth shaping words and ideas and orders, soft and sucking along his balls, he was bending her across the conference room table, licking a line of wet between her legs, sucking at her clit until her thighs squeezed close around his face.

He pushed her away.

She pushed back against him, gasping, and he caught her shoulder, spinning her around and pinning her back against his chest with one arm. He heard a whimper start up in her throat, felt her hips and ass grind back against him, and he tried to shift backwards while keeping hold of her wriggling body. He was much stronger than her; his arm across her chest was more than enough to keep her from turning around and finding his mouth again.

She was mewling softly, faintly shifting, and heat flashed over his body as he realized that she was deliberately rubbing her breasts against his arm. He dropped his other hand to her waist, trying to still her.

"Dr.Weir! Ma'am! Elizabeth." He kept his voice low and tight against her ear, knowing that a loud noise would bring three marines crashing in on them. He was painfully aware that this might look more like an embrace than a restraining hold from the outside.

She gasped out a ragged breath, and tipped her head back against his shoulder. The soft white skin of her throat was exposed, so close that it was almost overpowering. He tipped his head slightly, fighting the urge the lick the long column of her neck.

She whimpered again and thrust her hips back against him, wringing an involuntary groan from his throat.

"Major, Major" she gasped out, and he stilled at that, surprised by the thick sound of her voice, surprised by the coherent words coming out of her mouth.

"Ma'am." He answered. "If I let go, will you - You won't…." he couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

"I will." she gasped back, starting to move again, "I think the -"

"The drink -" he said, trying to keep from pushing against her. "You seem -"

"I have to…"

"Have to?" His mind was whiting out. She sobbed and shifted her hips again, using the precious little bit of movement that his arms allowed to rub her body against him.

"Please."

Still tentative, terrified of misinterpreting, he slid his hand across her waist, along the waistband of her BDU's - smooth skin and heavy fabric under his hand. A second, barely vocal "please" made him move his hand down.

"Hell, Hell, I'm going to Hell, right after the Court Martial" he thought, and pushed past the tight elastic line of polyester and cotton, down across the taut plane of her stomach, until his fingers tangled in the beginnings of her curls.

****************
Lorne's arms were steel bands across her chest and hips, keeping her upright, which she should have appreciated. Instead she was focused totally on the flex and pull of muscle, the delectable smell of him.

"Close so close" she thought, and another shift of her hips pushed his hand down almost far enough. She could hear his breath stuttering in her ear, and knew - of course she knew - how very inappropriate it was, but she could feel the drink, hot honey expanding in her stomach, pounding through her body. She wished she could say something clinical to Lorne about body temperature and damaging blood pressure spikes, but all she could think was "Come come, I have to come".

Lorne had been on a Stargate team for years before he ever got to Pegasus. He had to know something about alien rituals, and the surprising results of diplomatic negotiations. She pushed her hips back against him again, and hoped he was finally catching up with her. He was hard as a rock against her lower back, and she wished she were a little taller; that generous double handful of cock against her ass might have been enough to do it, even if he wouldn't touch her anywhere else

"Dr. Weir", he said again, right in her ear, "Ma'am" - she could hear his voice cracking and hoped it meant that his will was about to crack as well, because she could feel pressure building between her legs, and she couldn't control her breathing anymore.

She was panting hard enough to see sparkles at the edge of her vision, and "God" she thought, "Just get on with it!"

When she moved forward again, his hand slipped further down - finally finally under the waistband of her panties. He was breathing as hard as she was, his mouth against the side of her face- no longer bothering to gasp out apologies or ask for permission. She wanted to reassure him, so she tipped her head back again and moaned the first thing that came into her head, the only thing she could force out her mouth, his name, over and over.

He turned his face hard against her neck, sliding his hand down further, to where she was wet and wanting. Her body arched again in response to blunt fingers dancing too gently along the outside of her. She wondered if she'd die of want when he still didn't push in, didn't take anything. The soft stroke was a maddening contrast to the strength of his other arm across her body. He had her pinned and he wouldn't move enough, although she could feel him shaking, so she turned her face against his, the hint of stubble rasping against her face, and darted her tongue out to taste the edge of his jaw.

The noise he made when she touched his skin was almost as good as the taste of salt and sweat in her mouth.

His hips jolted forward and his hand jerked down, fingers between her swollen lips at last, dragging against nerves that were screaming for more, for pressure for penetration, for the stretch and slide of the heavy cock she could feel against her back.

********

He couldn’t bring himself to push inside her. The wet heat cupped in his hand was almost too much as it was. The sensitive head of his cock was shoved against his pants, straining toward her, each shift of her body pulled him tighter and tighter, until he was almost ready to come against the sweet curve of her back.

He felt her head move again, knew that one more "Please" would do him in, make him bend her over and rip through her clothes and his own. He ran his other hand up over her body, roughly catching her nipple, sliding along her chest and neck until he reached her mouth, and plunged inside: one finger then two, warm wet velvet sucking around him, soft, but not as soft or slick as she was below.

She swallowed around his fingers and his cock surged. Sweat beaded along his chest where she was tight against him, and the backs of his thighs burned as they arched together.

He heard a low sound from her throat, heard himself growl in response, and danced the fingers between her legs around her opening. She was tight, so tight that he could circle the outside of her over and over without ever slipping in.

***********

His fingers in her mouth, his arm across her chest, his other tight across her waist, Elizabeth was all but helpless. She could move, but not enough. She started jerking against him, almost involuntarily, trying to get him inside, imagining rough-built fingers stretching her, fucking out the ache that had grown unbearable.

**************

She jerked against him, butting up against his cock, jolting his mouth open in a soundless cry, even as she sucked his fingers tight, thrusting her tongue around him.

His mouth watered. He imagined her tongue thrusting against his own instead, and bent his head forward again. The movement shifted his hips forward again, knocking hers up a little further, and her felt the hand between her legs push in, his forefinger breaching her entrance, up and in.

He nearly came just from that feeling and closed his teeth on her neck to muffle his cry.

***********

The bright hot pain of his teeth against her, the push and penetration of his finger lifted her up and up and over, and she was almost crying, coming apart against him, and feeling him start to shake against her, following her fall.

************

They returned to Atlantis the next day, trade successfully completed. The Marines hauled several bushels of Not Quite Carrots, Elizabeth triumphantly carried a fully charged ZPM, and Major Lorne had a bottle of Sekalt in his pack.