The rest of you are advised to have insulin at the ready.
Title: Best Seats in the House
Category: Atlantis, Sheppard/Weir, romance, FLUFF OMG FLUFF
Summary: A night at the movies.
Elizabeth rolls over in the sheets, pinning him to the bed as she reaches past him for the last handful of popcorn.
"Hey!" John levels his eyes at her, but it's hard to even pretend mad when Elizabeth Weir -- mild-mannered diplomat, civilian leader of Atlantis, and maybe the sexiest thing he has ever laid eyes on -- is lying in his bed half-naked to watch a movie with him.
It's hard to actually watch the movie under those conditions, too, but that's okay. It's not like he actually had to rent the movie on Atlantis, though it did take quite a bit of his free time to figure out how to project the thing through the Ancient monitors in the personal quarters. Still, having Elizabeth-skin to play with and kiss and tickle (she slaps him when he does, but not hard, and he secretly thinks she enjoys it) is well worth the metaphorical price of admission.
And the last of his snack food.
"Mine now," she gloats, licking a popcorn kernel from the collection in her hand.
John never realized how seductive popcorn could be -- it was something he thought of more as a microwaveable substitute for actual food -- but then, Elizabeth has a unique talent. He actually had to leave a briefing once when the end of her pen kept finding its way to her mouth, and he doesn't think she'll ever let him forget that moment of weakness.
Not his fault, he swears. She's a force of nature.
And one he's absolutely, ridiculously enchanted with.
He's pretty sure she'd laugh it off if he told her, and that's okay. It gives him a chance to get used to this. He has to be careful, after all; it's one thing to be stupid-in-love with a beautiful woman, it's quite another if she's a woman you're required to make life or death decisions with on a weekly basis. He's as surprised as anyone that the universe didn't implode after their first foolish, drunken indiscretion.
Or when it was repeated the following night, sans alcohol.
Or when it has been almost three months -- except for two painful weeks in the infirmary, possibly the best months of his life -- and he now finds himself routinely using the phrase "Your place or mine tonight?"
"Minx," he accuses her, reaching for her handful of hoarded popcorn.
She yanks it out of reach and scurries to the other side of the bed as gracefully as she can with her legs tangled in bedsheets. "Not my fault you didn't steal enough from the kitchen."
"I was expecting you to share," he points out, trailing a hand up the inside of her bare leg.
She's less weak to him than he is to her, at least when it comes to physical incursions into each other's personal space, but she still evidently falters at his touch. He celebrates with a grin.
"Fine," she says, fishing out a single popped kernel and offering it to him.
He accepts it with his mouth, taking an extra moment to bite gently at the end of her finger in a way he hopes is more sexy than it is ridiculous.
There's a pause while she watches him, amusement steadily growing in her features. Months ago, before they started doing this, he never would have imagined that she even could look this relaxed. He likes to think he's good for her.
"What, you want more?" she teases, pulling the remaining popcorn an inch further away.
"Well..." Her fingers were coated with salt and butter, and he can only imagine her lips will taste the same. He starts to crawl up her body. "I want something."
Through some miracle of contortion, she manages to free one foot from the sheets in time to plant it in the center of his chest. With a roll of her eyes, she pushes him back before he can reach her for a kiss. "You're going to miss the movie." She tosses the kernels left in her hand into her mouth with a triumphant crunch.
He moves her foot aside and holds her ankle to the bed. "I've seen it." It's true. They only have about twenty-five movies in their library, after all, and not all of them are in English.
There's more wrestling, and with an errant swing of an arm he knocks the popcorn bowl to the floor, spilling the few remaining old maid kernels onto the carpet. Elizabeth uses the distraction to pin his shoulders to the headboard, not far from where he was sitting when they actually were watching the movie, and fixes him with a superior look.
She has to know that he's just being nice by letting her win these minor skirmishes. It'd be playing dirty to use any of his actual hand-to-hand skills, though sometimes he thinks he should put more effort into teaching Elizabeth how to defend herself and that doing so half naked would be a wonderful, time-saving way of combining activities.
"Maybe I want to see it," she points out.
He's nice, but he's not all that nice, and he breaks the grip she has on his shoulders to get close enough to kiss her. Mmm. Popcorn.
"Bad guy dies," he says between her lips. "Hero gets the girl."
Elizabeth swats the hand that's reaching for the back of her head and gives him a look. "Not every movie ends that way."
"I'm just saying you're not going to miss much. We can leave the sound on."
She rolls her eyes dramatically and settles down with her head on his chest to watch the screen. "It's almost over," she promises.
"Mmmm... depends," she teases, tracing a fingernail along the muscles of his chest in a way that makes him jump. "Can I make you get up and get more popcorn?"
He reaches for a pillow and gently swings for her head with it. She fights it off with a giggle. Before they started doing this, he hadn't imagined she would ever giggle, either.
"You only love me for my secret junk food stashes."
She smiles up at him, hair mussed from the pillow and cheeks still a bit flushed from their recent round of mattress wrestling. "You're on to me," she agrees before nuzzling closer.
His arm has settled comfortably around her, and he squeezes her tighter for a moment. He can feel her smile against his bare chest when he does, and it makes his heart beat faster.
The credits start to roll after the predictable finish -- the hero really does kill the bad guy and get the girl -- and John slides down the headboard until he's at eye level with Elizabeth.
"So?" she asks, offering a kiss. "What's the verdict on the junk food?"
The next kiss is longer, deeper, so much so that he almost forgets to answer the next time they break for air. "I'll owe you for next time."
"Acceptable," Elizabeth decides, kicking the sheet away completely so that she's free to roll on top of him. "I never really liked popcorn anyway."