Sparky, silly, established, PG-13-ish.
She does this on purpose, because she hates him.
"Elizabeth..." John groans, muffling some of the whine in his pillow. "It's six in the morning."
She's not even listening, because she's drying her hair, but he's pretty sure she won't take pity on him and let him out of their six-thirty meeting with Colonel Caldwell. She has a habit of scheduling things at completely ridiculous times of day, like because they're on a 28-hour clock in Atlantis she's no longer constrained to basic human standards of normal business hours.
It doesn't bother her, because she's a morning person. And a night person. Elizabeth doesn't sleep, ever, and he's tired.
Sure, he's been back from his latest mission for 24 hours already, but for most of those Elizabeth was in closed session deliberating the scientific budget, so it doesn't really count. Dammit, he wants to sleep for three more hours, have wild I-missed-you-all-week sex, and then curl up with her for the rest of the morning. Instead, here he is, the sad victim of a relationship with a workaholic who was built without an off-switch.
Really. Never sleeps, to the point where he doesn't even have a chance of turning her alarm clock off before it goes off in the morning. He thought he was an insomniac until he started staying the night in her quarters and keeps waking up to find her poring over Wraith writing samples at three in the morning.
She's still drying her hair, so he tosses a pillow at her to get her attention. "E-liz-abeth!"
"I'm not making up an excuse for you to Caldwell," she informs him. "I'm done in the shower, if you want it."
He mutters something that might be profane, and she smothers a grin, and damn if he doesn't forgive her right there for scheduling this meeting at an ungodly hour on a day when he doesn't even have to go off-world.
By the time he's out of the shower, she's gone, and by the time he makes it to their meeting -- ten minutes late, only -- there are already eighteen problems on the table and there's no way he's going to be able to go back to bed.
When the meeting's over, he hops in the transporter with her, and gives her one more item for her to-do list: "My place tonight. 2100. No later."
"Okay," she smiles distractedly, looking over the file in her hands. "But we've got that thing tomorrow, early..."
"Fine, fine. 2100, remember?"
She arrives at 23:30, naturally, by which point he's given up on the fancy Athosian candles and the bath he poured for them -- it was warm up until an hour ago, and even without jaccuzi jets, would have been great in the double-sized Atlantis bathtubs -- and he just tries to kiss her before she has the chance to object.
Too late. "I've still got some things to work on... Zelenka melted something down in the lab... should I go back to my quarters afterwards?"
He doesn't quite bang his head against the wall, but he thinks about it. "No, no, it's fine. I'll leave it unlocked. You'll have to wake me up in the morning, anyway."
She trails a hand down his arm. "You could... wait up for me?" There's lust in her eyes, the same expression that he secretly hoped for years that he'd one day be lucky enough to see on her face like this, but he'd sort of like his schedule to be inconvenient for her for a change.
"Sorry. I think I'm gonna turn in."
She pouts. Sometimes that works on him. Okay, most of the time, but only because he never really thought Elizabeth was the sort who pouts, and it throws him off.
"We could always do it in the mornings if you pushed those meetings back," he suggests. Two birds with one stone.
"Mmm, I'd just love to explain that one to Rodney, wouldn't you?"
"I'll do it," he immediately volunteers.
"You'd enjoy it too much."
She goes to check on whatever's on fire in the science labs, and he drains the bath and goes to bed.
When Elizabeth wakes him up, it's five a.m., and he doesn't realize he's even awake until it clicks that this sensation is too good to be a dream.
"'liz...?" He reaches for the clock, but she pins his hand to the bed and slides up his body, licking her lips.
She's naked, he realizes belatedly, and suddenly he's a lot more awake. He sees her naked a lot, in theory, but it has been a whole week.
"What's this about?" he asks, and wonders if she got tired of her Wraith Berlitz class.
"This," she says, hovering an inch from his mouth, "is a compromise."
She kisses him until he has to push on her shoulders a little, needing to catch up on air. Definitely awake. "You just don't want me to sleep through the meeting."
She smiles. "Any objections?"
"No. No objections. Can't think of any." He's babbling now, because she asked him a question but she's stripping him naked at the same time.
"Shush," she orders, but kindly, and he rolls her over in the blankets, and when the alarm goes off at 0600, she's the one to reach over and hit the snooze button.
It's definitely a compromise he can live with.