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He shouldn't have let her talk him into this, but something twists deep and hollow inside of him, something like curiosity burrowing its way through his stomach. He's, admittedly, a little bit into this.
Anna is a good person, and she cares for others… in a way that borders on obsessive at times, in a manner of caring that could backfire if she isn't careful. It's one reason why John loves her so much. She hasn’t been jaded yet, she still sees the good in people, even when that good has been burnt and disfigured beyond recognition. But Dr. Morden seems nice enough, if not a bit reserved and intentionally mysterious, and John knows that she just wants to help.
Anna tells him Dr. Morden's story, the tragedy that enveloped him and forced his head underneath the water until he stopped struggling—and then Anna revived him, or so they claim. As John takes in the sight of Morden, he still looks entirely dead. John can tell in an instant that he is bad news, that he is someone who will always be anchored to his loss—John can see it in his eyes, has seen so many soldiers and families fall victim to that same pain while staring into him with the same glazed-over lifeless eyes he sees in Dr. Morden now.
But he's also quite handsome, once you get past the discomfort he evokes. Okay, John can deal with this. Anna said she didn't touch him and wouldn't touch him until John arrived, and he trusts her. He has no reason not to.
Well. They haven't seen each other properly in over a year, but—
“John Sheridan,” says Dr. Morden, who extends a hand out. When John takes it, he jolts at the contact; Morden's hands are frozen, but they grow warmer quite quickly at his touch. “I've heard a lot about you. It's…” he clenches his jaw, and through teeth: “...nice to meet you.”
“Nice… to meet you too. So, should we, uh, should I—”
He speaks with slow caution, and watches his beautiful wife lunge at this sad, sad man with ferocious hunger. Morden is a bit hesitant in the beginning, shakes when Anna kisses him, but he melts into her, melts underneath her, as if the one thing capable of making him feel any semblance of anything now is John's wife and John's wife only.
He didn't think of his wife for over a day, she had told him, because of me.
This is going about as well as expected.
John watches and watches as they kiss, shifts on his feet as warmth grows inside of him. He doesn't know what the plan is; he doesn't want to sit down and watch his wife get fucked by another man, even if the thought does sound slightly appealing in the moment, for some reason— he can't think straight.
John Sheridan likes women and women only. He's experimented once or twice, but guys are not really for him. Dr. Morden is surprisingly attractive, though, and it only gets worse when Anna peels his suit jacket off, his button-up, and then his undershirt. His chest now bare, he takes her shirt off, presses his chest against hers as she breathes soft praise into his mouth. But Morden is getting too familiar—this is John's wife, after all, and he should come first. Ah, is that a selfish thing to think?
Anna pulls away as he tries to direct her to the king sized bed in their suite. She instructs him to continue undressing, and turns to John, who pulls her close with the same ferocity and kisses her, kisses her, grabs every curve of her body with an untamed passion. He's trying to make his mark, to assert himself, but over on the bed Dr. Morden is extremely naked—except for his necklace—and also extremely hard. John knows that he's thinking this is just a show, this is all for him.
It might be, John thinks, but that doesn't matter now.
She leads John to the bed by his hand, pulls him down on top of her. He slips her undergarments off, and hears a sharp inhale from Dr. Morden when John kisses over Anna's exposed breasts—as if she's too beautiful, bright enough to blind him.
John can understand that.
His fingers crawl between Anna's legs, circling through her and slipping inside of her. She moans into his mouth, pants his name, as John curls his fingers and comes up to make eye contact with Morden. He isn't sure what he's trying to communicate at this point, and Morden only smiles in response, making John shiver with either discomfort or arousal—he can't tell the two apart any longer.
John continues moving his fingers at a generous pace until he hears Anna breathe out a name that is not his own, summoning Morden to her side, reaching out for his knees. John pulls his fingers out of her and retreats, and honestly, it is a little hot to hear her breathe fuck me to someone else as she looks directly at him. He’ll always be the one she centers. And this—well—she claimed it would bring new life to their marriage, recreate that spark after all of their time apart, and this is, at the very least, certainly interesting.
Morden stands at the edge of the bed, positioning Anna's legs to spread right open just for him, just for him. He presses his cock against her for a moment before pushing in, slow and slow—merciful—and she gasps at the contact, at the sensation of being so filled up by something that felt so hollow not long ago. He is almost lively as he fucks into her, rolling his thumb over her clit as she beckons John over with one hand.
He rests underneath her, his back against a pillow and his mouth over one of her breasts, his wet fingers rubbing the other. Anna takes John’s free hand and rests her other hand over Morden's on the places where his palms grip Anna's thighs, prying her open so she can take his strokes. Then she moves to touch John's cock—fucking finally—and moans for Morden, gasps for John. Morden seems to be focused solely on Anna's pleasure as he fucks her, as if he wants to give her everything she wants, as if his only goal is to give, and John doesn't necessarily trust the motivation behind the giving. But that's separate from her, because Anna is enjoying this, he can tell, intoxicated by the feeling of being touched by both of them, Morden and John two sides of a coin melted down to create something new.
Morden begins to thrust in faster, grunting as he loses himself inside of her, breathing Anna and fuck and Sheridan, fuck. Anna—-and then he's spilling inside of her, their orgasms both hitting them like a jumpgate explosion. He exhales, and when they make eye contact again, they both smile. It's uncomfortable, seeing Dr. Morden smile.
Anna's heavy breath continues as Morden leaves to clean himself up. Anna traces a finger between her thighs, and John, for some reason, moves off the bed and to his knees, prepared to siphon every drop of Morden out of her. She giggles as John's tongue rolls over her cunt, slips in and laps at her, suckling everything Morden left right out into his own mouth. She grabs at his hair with her fingers, and as John works he feels her ascend again, her legs trembling and shaking this time, her cries too vocal this time, and he's done well here. He's made his impression.
“You know,” John hears from behind him, that strong, hissing voice, “you could've gotten that from me directly.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
