FIC:Rustic
Title: Rustic
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, implied het
Summary: John walks in on a puzzling scene in Teyla's room.
Spoilers: Nada.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
For vabarella who planted the image in my mind. I laughed so hard and then got semi-obsessed and decided I couldn't go to bed without writing it. Unbeta'ed and very short, just for the hell of it.
It’s the deeper rumble that catches his attention, the low bass that laces with Teyla’s lighter laugh. He shouldn’t do it and never does, except in those rare moments when his attention shatters and his self-control vanishes. At those times, his mind responds to the numerous solicitations the city constantly presents him with. Door. Open? he can't say no, so it does.
To reveal Teyla and Ronon, as he’d guessed. The room’s dimly lit with candles strewn pretty much everywhere, their flames struggling to shed light. They’re on her bed, Ronon sitting shirtless in a laid back position, his arms carrying his weight as Teyla, on her knees behind him, runs her hands through his hair. They both look at him when the door opens and Ronon’s smile widens. Teyla’s flickers.
“Colonel?”
“I was…”
He steps in without being invited to and if either one thinks it weird that the door opened on its own to then have him enter without any invitation, neither speaks and he’s momentarily grateful. And then terribly embarrassed.
“I got the list you wanted for the books. I just thought I’d… But I guess it could, can…”
Her hands haven’t stopped moving. They’re moving strands of his hair, in steady movements, her fingers re-twisting them while Ronon tilts his head back, his eyes closed, visibly enjoying the treatment.
“…wait.”
Something about the domesticity of the scene unnerves him. He wants to ask but somehow can’t bring himself to. This is obviously private and he was neither invited nor is he wanted there. He let himself in, he decides to see himself out.
“I’ll go… and I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Thank you Col. It was nice of you to bring me the list.”
Why had he actually? It wasn’t urgent, it could have and probably will wait till tomorrow, so why did he walk over here this late at night? And why does he feel like Ronon’s beaten him to something?
He turns to walk away but Ronon’s movement catches his eye. He picks up two bottles on the bed and Teyla puts out both hands, palms out, her elbows resting on his shoulders while Ronon pours a mixture from each bottle into either hand.
“Not too much of that one.”
Her voice comes out low and amused. Ronon’s muttering reaches him, equally lighthearted and almost insultingly unconcerned of John’s presence.
“I like it, it’s sensual.”
Teyla’s giggle and Ronon’s chuckle stop him and John decides to intrude just a little while longer. At least till he gets some sort of answer.
“What are you doing?”
Maybe he isn’t the only one wondering if the twilight zone has expanded and engulfed the real world. Teyla’s voice comes out as it sometimes is: patient, polite, distant.
“I am rubbing oils into Ronon’s hair, to keep it hydrated.”
That should make sense, it doesn’t. He walks over to pick up the bottles and stands for a moment, watching her rub her hands together and get back to touching Ronon’s hair. The odor floats across at him: strong, exotic and... rustic?
“Is that sandalwood? Where did you get sandalwood and…”
He looks at the labels.
“…patchouli oils?”
“They were my Midwinter gifts from Rodney.”
Midwinter? Oh, Christmas. Jesus Rodney.
“And why are you putting them in his hair, other than the obvious reason?”
“Ronon mentioned having trouble finding oils like the ones he used on Sateda, I offered him the use of these.”
Right. John chooses to focus on the bigger mystery.
“Why is his shirt off?”
Ronon’s sigh is at once exasperated and satisfied. Clearly there’s something John’s missing.
“So I wouldn’t stain my shirt.”
The eyes fly open and the two of them watching him brings some sense of reality back. It’s late and generally speaking, three people in a situation like this, is one too many. He wants to leave but can’t seem to. It was all nothing, a harmless situation, but his questions made it into something. Why he felt the need to ask is another matter. One he’ll take up later, far away from shirtless Ronon and Teyla with the scented hands.
“Goodnight.”
Part of him feels like he’s running away and maybe he’d feels less uneasy if he had any way to identify what he’s running from. As it is, he makes his way back to his own room and the next day, when Ronon teases Rodney about sandalwood oil, John keeps his mouth shut.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, implied het
Summary: John walks in on a puzzling scene in Teyla's room.
Spoilers: Nada.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
For vabarella who planted the image in my mind. I laughed so hard and then got semi-obsessed and decided I couldn't go to bed without writing it. Unbeta'ed and very short, just for the hell of it.
It’s the deeper rumble that catches his attention, the low bass that laces with Teyla’s lighter laugh. He shouldn’t do it and never does, except in those rare moments when his attention shatters and his self-control vanishes. At those times, his mind responds to the numerous solicitations the city constantly presents him with. Door. Open? he can't say no, so it does.
To reveal Teyla and Ronon, as he’d guessed. The room’s dimly lit with candles strewn pretty much everywhere, their flames struggling to shed light. They’re on her bed, Ronon sitting shirtless in a laid back position, his arms carrying his weight as Teyla, on her knees behind him, runs her hands through his hair. They both look at him when the door opens and Ronon’s smile widens. Teyla’s flickers.
“Colonel?”
“I was…”
He steps in without being invited to and if either one thinks it weird that the door opened on its own to then have him enter without any invitation, neither speaks and he’s momentarily grateful. And then terribly embarrassed.
“I got the list you wanted for the books. I just thought I’d… But I guess it could, can…”
Her hands haven’t stopped moving. They’re moving strands of his hair, in steady movements, her fingers re-twisting them while Ronon tilts his head back, his eyes closed, visibly enjoying the treatment.
“…wait.”
Something about the domesticity of the scene unnerves him. He wants to ask but somehow can’t bring himself to. This is obviously private and he was neither invited nor is he wanted there. He let himself in, he decides to see himself out.
“I’ll go… and I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Thank you Col. It was nice of you to bring me the list.”
Why had he actually? It wasn’t urgent, it could have and probably will wait till tomorrow, so why did he walk over here this late at night? And why does he feel like Ronon’s beaten him to something?
He turns to walk away but Ronon’s movement catches his eye. He picks up two bottles on the bed and Teyla puts out both hands, palms out, her elbows resting on his shoulders while Ronon pours a mixture from each bottle into either hand.
“Not too much of that one.”
Her voice comes out low and amused. Ronon’s muttering reaches him, equally lighthearted and almost insultingly unconcerned of John’s presence.
“I like it, it’s sensual.”
Teyla’s giggle and Ronon’s chuckle stop him and John decides to intrude just a little while longer. At least till he gets some sort of answer.
“What are you doing?”
Maybe he isn’t the only one wondering if the twilight zone has expanded and engulfed the real world. Teyla’s voice comes out as it sometimes is: patient, polite, distant.
“I am rubbing oils into Ronon’s hair, to keep it hydrated.”
That should make sense, it doesn’t. He walks over to pick up the bottles and stands for a moment, watching her rub her hands together and get back to touching Ronon’s hair. The odor floats across at him: strong, exotic and... rustic?
“Is that sandalwood? Where did you get sandalwood and…”
He looks at the labels.
“…patchouli oils?”
“They were my Midwinter gifts from Rodney.”
Midwinter? Oh, Christmas. Jesus Rodney.
“And why are you putting them in his hair, other than the obvious reason?”
“Ronon mentioned having trouble finding oils like the ones he used on Sateda, I offered him the use of these.”
Right. John chooses to focus on the bigger mystery.
“Why is his shirt off?”
Ronon’s sigh is at once exasperated and satisfied. Clearly there’s something John’s missing.
“So I wouldn’t stain my shirt.”
The eyes fly open and the two of them watching him brings some sense of reality back. It’s late and generally speaking, three people in a situation like this, is one too many. He wants to leave but can’t seem to. It was all nothing, a harmless situation, but his questions made it into something. Why he felt the need to ask is another matter. One he’ll take up later, far away from shirtless Ronon and Teyla with the scented hands.
“Goodnight.”
Part of him feels like he’s running away and maybe he’d feels less uneasy if he had any way to identify what he’s running from. As it is, he makes his way back to his own room and the next day, when Ronon teases Rodney about sandalwood oil, John keeps his mouth shut.