A Well as Deep as Mine

by Smitty

They didn't bother with the lights.

Elizabeth had been in bed for half an hour, had counted sheep and counted bodies, and written letters in imaginary copperplate script on her ceiling and thought of a million ways to say goodbye to Simon when it was her turn to face the camera.

When her doors opened, she rolled to her side and kicked off the covers, reaching for the light.

"Don't," he said in the dark as the doors shut behind him. Mack knelt on the bed, straddling Elizabeth's legs, and turned her face up to meet his. He'd been eating Power Bars and drinking water and coffee, the tastes mingling weirdly against her tongue.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him take her weight, let him shift her up against him and push her back down on the bed. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, the webbing of his belt rough against her calves and the inside of her knees.

"Whoa, whoa," Mack murmured against her mouth, but his hands were already up the back of her shirt and he was hard between her legs.

Elizabeth didn't argue with him, for once, and let her actions talk for her. She dragged his t-shirt out from his trousers and dragged it over his head, tasting cotton when it covered his face.

He snatched it off his head and tossed it away, then buried his face in her neck, finding and kissing the skin where her pulse throbbed hot and fast. She pushed her hips up against him, hands clenching on his shoulders, and shivered at the tremors riding up and down her skin.

"I missed you," he said.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and touched his face, her palm finding his cheek and his jaw. He'd been up for hours - the stubble pricked at her skin, which had calluses from the extra training he'd pushed on her.

They held meetings at the shooting range, planning counterattacks and defensive measures in between clips, rewarding each other with kisses for groupings in the kill zone. She hated it, she told herself, hated what she was preparing for.

But more and more, she loved being with him, and she'd held firm in her determination not to carry a weapon offworld. He turned an interesting shade of purple every time she mentioned it, but her guards carried extra pieces and she could hit the center at least a dozen out of fifteen shots.

Simon wouldn't recognize her, she thought as she rolled them, pushing Mack into the wall accidentally.

"Hey, hold on," he grunted, shifting until he was under her and tugging at his belt. "Let me get this thing out of the way."

She braced herself on his shoulders and lifted her hips, giving him room, giving him space between them.

He yanked his belt open and ripped open the buttons on his fly before burying one hand in her hair and tilting her face to him. "What is it?" he asked, and she imagined he was frowning, by the tone of his voice. His face was shadowed and she thought hers had been, too, but he'd seen something or sensed something - and Mack Sumner was not the most sensitive man she'd ever met.

"Not now," she said, planting her knees on the bed and tugging her shirt up over her head. He swept his arms around her waist and reversed their positions, barely keeping from dumping her off the bed by pressing his forearm against her side.

He cupped her breast in his hand and pressed his mouth to it, his tongue finding and teasing all her sensitive spots.

"Don't...stop," she murmured, wincing against the hot, prickly sensation of a slow arousal burning through her.

"What?" he asked, lifting his head. "You don't like this?" You liked it every time before, his tone said when his voice didn't.

"I like it," she gasped, "but it's not enough. I want...I want...."

"What?" he asked, his tone much different. "What do you want?"

"I want to come," she said without thinking about it. "Right now. I want you to fuck me. Or finger me. Or something, I just - "

He crushed his mouth against hers, his hand pushing her knee down to the bed and sliding up to find the center of her.

She moaned against his mouth, feeling her face flush red, and glad he couldn't see it.

"C'mon," he said, low and rough. "I got ya." He slid fingers in her, thick and tight, and she thought, Three? Two? No, three, three as he twisted them inside her and everything, everything crushed down into the blood tingling just under her skin and the fireworks behind her eyelids.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, found the air warm and humid between them, and turned her head out to the room, searching for the fresh ocean breeze.

"You okay?" Mack asked, still stroking her slowly inside and out, his free hand brushing her hair off her face.

"Yeah," she said, turning back to him and dragging him in for a kiss. Her mouth was dry and his still tasted like coffee.

"You want some water or something?" he asked, twisting his wrist as if to disengage.

"No," she said, grabbing his wrist. He stilled. "I want to come again," she said. "And I want you to come too."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You don't know what you do to me," he said, and kissed her.

He made to move his hand again and she squeezed his wrist. "Lemme go," he said. "You'll like this."

She let go of his wrist and let him slide his hand out, smelling herself on him when he touched her.

"Over," he said, guiding her hips to flip her onto her stomach.

"I don't - " she started, remembering a deep and philosophical discussion with Simon about positions and how she disliked the feeling of being rutted like an animal.

"You will," Mack promised, brushing aside the hair on the back of her neck and kissing the top of her spine.

She reached back and tugged her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck for him.

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, down her spine, and smoothed his hands over her hips and thighs, reaching in front of her to press his palm against her stomach.

"You feel that?" he asked, rubbing his hand lower.

"I know where my g-spot is," Elizabeth said, arching her back as he stroked her.

"Good," he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade. "You can tell me when I hit it."

He still had his uniform trousers on and she felt the rough grain of the rip-stop camouflage against her legs as he settled himself behind her and pushed inside.

She still didn't like thinking about it, but then she didn't really want to think.

Mack leaned over her, hands on either side of her, face pressed into her hair as he pushed against her.

He was warm and heavy and if she'd found him overwhelming before, she hadn't anticipated the sensation of his cockhead pressed against the front of her vaginal wall. "There," she breathed against the sheets. "Right there."

"'Lizabeth," he said as she went from her hands to her forearms. He put one hand on her shoulder and she lifted her hips back against him.

"Harder," she said.

"What?" It was instant - he had heard her, she was sure of it.

"This angle," she said, resting her forehead on the mattress. "Fuck me harder."

"Fucking hell," he said, running the flat of one hand down her back.

He steadied himself with hands on her hips and stroked the small of her back with both thumbs. "God, Elizabeth," he said, rocking in and up against her. His voice was hoarse and quiet, like the sound of his body against hers in the dark. She fit against him, open and strong, sensitive and full, letting her body flow with his thrusts. He shifted again, sliding deeper, and she adjusted, sighing as he slipped one hand down, between her legs, and rubbed his fingers against her.

Pressure coiled and swelled inside her but she'd meant what she'd said about wanting him to come too. She reached back and brushed her fingers over his hand and he responded, sliding his hand back to tangle his fingers in hers.

"Thought you wanted to come again," he said low, next to her ear.

"You first," she said, turning her head so his lips brushed her cheek.

"Sweetheart, you'd better come while the coming is good," he said, "because it's been a long day and I don't know how much more I've got in me."

Elizabeth choked out a laugh, fully cognizant of the strain in Mack's voice, and felt her own voice go raspy. "Mack," she sighed, just wanting to feel his name in her mouth.

"C'mon, honey," he said, breath warm against her face. "I wanna hear you say my name again."

"Mack," she said again, the crescendo building in her voice as well as her body. "Mack, Mack."

They talked like lovers in bed, she thought dizzily, even though they weren't. She and Simon were and she'd disdained pet nicknames and he'd respected that.

"Elizabeth," he gritted out. "Hold on."

She held on, tightly, to his hand, felt his hips bang against her, once, twice, hard, and then, then.


Mack was heavy on top of her, his hands shifting her over, over him, and she kicked, winding their legs together. They were hot and sticky and her hair was a mess, she realized, trying to rake it back, and there just wasn't enough room on her bed.

"Hold on," Mack said, and pushed her upward as he sat up and slid back against the wall. "Well, that was something else," he said ruefully, dragging her up onto his lap. He turned her face toward him and kissed her mouth lightly. "Still in one piece?"

"I don't know," she said, tilting her head back to let him kiss her again. "That was, ahI didn't expect that."

"What it what you needed?" he asked seriously.

Elizabeth looked at him, his face sober and eyes silver in the faint light of the moon hanging in her window, and she nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "I think it was."

She expected him to say something, a smug, "Good," or other affirmative, but he just kissed her temple and smoothed back her hair. "So what was bugging you?" he asked.

"Bugging me?"

"Earlier," he clarified.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and moved back, sliding off his back to lean against the wall. He looked a little regretful and she kicked at his outside leg with her heels. "You should take your pants off," she said.

He glanced down at himself and chuckled, no, laughed, warm and rich and it might have been the best sound in her room that entire night. "Guess I should," he said, lifting his hips and pushing his pants and boxers south of his hips. Elizabeth lifted her legs and helped him struggle out of the pants, kicking them off the bed when they finally came free.

"Rodney said that even with every mission report and as much information as we've gathered on Atlantis," she said, settling back down, "we still have better than half the remaining time in the databurst."

Mack raised his eyebrows. "What's he want to do with it?" he asked. "Send back a doctored version of Star Wars where Han Solo shoots first?"

Elizabeth shook her head - he'd already registered his opinion about her saying Rodney's name while they were in bed and lost that battle. It wasn't worth trying to get him to be nice.

"We were thinking that we could send messages home," she said, deliberately ignoring his suggestion. "To our families and loved ones. A last goodbye."

"That's bullshit," Mack said, tilting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. "'Member when they got that jumper stuck in the gate? You weren't giving up then and you're not giving up now. You can send your messages home but this ain't no last goodbye."

Elizabeth blinked in his general direction but the lights were still out and she tried ot force the surprise out of her voice.

"I just thought," she said carefully, filing his words away for later, "that we should send messages to the families of those who are no longer with us."

His hand tightened on her knee. "We should," he said. "Ordinarily, I'd accompany the CAO but - " He turned his head toward the window. "They should know."

Elizabeth reached out and rested her hand on the back of Mack's, his knuckles under her palm. "You can tell them," she promised, lacing her fingers through his. "Tomorrow."