fic: Heat [John/Teyla, R]
I just love it when my laptop randomly decides that it's not going to hook up to internet after the connection had been just find an hour or so ago.
I also love it when the battery decides to die while I'm in the middle of building my glorious Atlantis house on SIMs. Damn it, I had the Atlantis wallpaper and the Stargate all set up! I need to learn to save more often.
I can't decide what's more dorky - the fact that I'm building an Atlantis-style house with Atlantis-style SIMs or that I actually went looking for Stargate props for SIMs or that other people have been crazy enough to actually make said props or that I'm playing SIMs.
Oh well. In-between my newfound SIMs obsession, I managed to finish this fic (finally)! It's only been sitting on my hard drive since February.
Title: Heat
Rating: R
Characters: John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan
Spoilers: Big spoilers for "First Strike" and speculation/maybespoilers for Season Four.
Summary: John knew the moment he met her eyes - they couldn’t blame this on anything else, not even the mind-warping heat of the evening.
Heat
Atlantis was unbearably hot that afternoon.
Not that dry, stifling heat John had become used to while in Afghanistan, but the heavy, humid stuff that caused clothes to stick to the body and grumpy moods to run abundant.
They had never experienced weather like this in Atlantis. McKay and Zelenka said it was a combination of their close proximity to the sun and the planet’s thick, heat-retaining atmosphere. It didn’t help any that the stardrive was still cooling down after it’s first run in ten thousand years or that the indoor climate control had been one of the systems fried in their desperate attempt to save the city. McKay had barely been able to restore it in the infirmary without draining the last dregs of power from the ZPM.
The heat wasn’t the only thing itching under John’s skin that day. The remaining expedition members were walking on eggshells around him, like they expected him to crack again. John’s mental breakdown of the decade probably could’ve come at a less crucial time - say, not directly after he’d been thrust into command of an entire alien city while it was lost in space with failing shields, injured personnel, and no hope of rescue?
John had tried to find something useful to do but McKay refused to let him help with generator station set-up, Dr. Keller kicked him out of the infirmary after he tried to sneak away with Ronon, and the few Marines left on Atlantis were busy repairing the gateroom under Zelenka’s supervision and they didn't want his help.
He wondered if Elizabeth always felt this useless as leader of the expedition. Would he still feel like this in a few days, when everything was somewhat back to normal? John knew stepping in Elizabeth’s shoes would only be temporary and Earth would be quick to send a replacement once contact resumed. Both the SGC and the IOA were still pissed at him, and probably wouldn’t consider letting him remain in power for long. He was thankful for that, however, because there was no way in hell he would (or could) ever take Elizabeth’s place.
But it pissed him off that the expedition was treating him as if he were an outsider now - as if he had wanted Elizabeth out of power or that he had purposely delayed powering up the shields just to injure her.
It was fucking Sumner all over again.
Elizabeth had brought him to Atlantis in the first place and he was eternally grateful to her. He never wanted her position, but none of the Earth personnel understood.
Teyla did though.
She found him, irritable, alone, and pondering his new position, in the cafeteria later that afternoon. She looked just as hot as he felt, but still managed to keep her composure despite her frizzing hair. She suggested a spar, knowing that it wouldn’t cool him down but would give him something to do with all the anxious, pissed off energy coursing through him.
He went with Teyla because she could take the brunt of his frustrations without injury. Because she understood what it was like to be in his situation, thrust by circumstance into power that he never wanted. Because she would listen when he was exhausted, sweaty, and wanted to talk about what happened, and wouldn’t judge him for it.
Three rounds later, John still hadn’t reached that point, though he was sweating like a hog. His shirt was drenched in sweat and stuck to him in uncomfortable places. His skin felt prickly underneath the cloth and it burned whenever he stood in the sun too long.
Shit, he knew better than to wear black on such a hot, sweaty day...
"Again?" Teyla panted, reaching out a hand.
Her slick hand slipped against his and his shirt squelched as it unstuck from the mat.
"Yeah," he muttered, shuffling over to the bench and reaching for his water bottle.
He stood by the open window, praying for the slightest breeze. The windows had dispelled the stifling heat of the gym but had also increased the humidity, making everything twenty degrees more miserable.
John ran a hand through his damp hair. From his orange tinted reflection in the window, he could see it did no good - his hair was plastered to his head as if his anxious mother had just attacked it with a wet comb on a Sunday morning.
"I hate this weather," he muttered for the umpteenth time, turning to Teyla. She nodded in agreement, brushing a line of sweat from her brow. John watched as another droplet dribbled down her neck to the swell of her chest.
He groaned miserably and leaned against the window frame. It was too hot to be thinking of sex, let alone sex with Teyla.
"You can take off your shirt if it makes you feel better," she responded, picking up her staves. "You will not offend my sensibilities."
"You just want an excuse to see me topless, that’s all."
Teyla laughed, probably remembering the last time she saw him shirtless and how unimpressive that experience had been. John’s no Marine and he’s seen some of the Schwarzenegger clones in the Athosian camp.
"My suggestion came from a completely professional standpoint, Colonel. I would not want you to collapse because you were too stubborn to take your shirt off."
That was the last thing John wanted hear and he mumbled a sullen, "Whatever," under his breath as he reached for the edge of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it on the bench, relishing the slightly cooler air against his torso. He stretched, enjoying the new freedom of movement.
"Much better," he said, picking up his staves and turning to her.
"I imagine it would be," she said dryly, looking warmer and more miserable than ever in her leather shirt.
"You could try it."
"I think not," Teyla replied, staring at him with narrowed eyes and probably thinking of how best to kill him and make it look accidental. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah," he responded, swirling his staves and walking to the center of the gym. "Fourth set, second stance?"
She nodded and assumed the beginning position.
John went on the defensive immediately as Teyla attacked, her staves a whirl of motion and color. He blocked and traded strikes flawlessly, his extra beating sessions with Ronon finally paying off. She usually had him disarmed and on his knees by the tenth motion of the exercise.
"You are improving," she remarked, circling him speculatively. Her skin shimmered in the fading sunlight and John felt a shiver of desire trickle down his spine.
Or maybe it was sweat. He wasn’t quite sure.
"It was bound to happen some time."
He swung out, catching one of her staves with a resounding smack. Her arm quivered, his chest heaved, and they began their dance again. John’s staves became an extension of his body, and he fought on, meeting her at each level and rising to another, challenging her.
They broke from the routine and acted out of instinct, testing one another’s limits, as they only knew how, as they trusted each other to do. The tension from the other sets was gone and John could feel the adrenaline pumping through him.
He had missed this. Training with Ronon was like training with twenty Marines rolled into one - good physically, bad for the ego. Their daily testosterone contests only served to make him pissy and uncooperative for hours on an end. While Teyla battered his ego left and right sometimes, she didn’t take sadistic glee in beating the crap out of him.
Ronon wasn’t Teyla, and John had missed Teyla.
He rapped her on her knuckles and she dropped a stave, hissing in pain. He kicked her stave away and she backed away from him, eyeing him like a caged animal.
"Ronon’s been making me practice with one," John said, dropping one of his own. In the moment he glanced away, she lashed out and their staves clashed against one another in a battle of strengths. John gained the upper hand easily, forcing her weapon away from him. He planted a leg between hers for better leverage, hoping to flip her if he got the chance.
"Have…Have you been practicing with him often?" she responded, straining with effort to keep him at bay. Sweat dribbled down her face and messy hair hid the pleased look in her eyes.
"You jealous?" he asked lightly, pressing closer.
Teyla smirked and kicked him in the shins. He yelped and broke their stalemate, stumbling away and nearly losing his balance.
"Hardly."
She wasted no time in attacking again.
They continued, exchanging the stave fighting for traditional hand-to-hand combat. They grappled, sweat soaked, slick bodies gliding against each other in a struggle of dominance, grunts and pants of exertion filling the gym. No blows were pulled and the ones that landed were going to smart in the morning.
The fourth set ended when he caught her in a headlock, crushed her back against his heaving chest, and splayed his fingers at the base of her neck, mimicking a threatening gesture. Their limbs were trembling and they were panting from the effort, but John had never felt more pleased in his life. He leaned toward her ear, breathing in her musky scent.
"You know…you really shouldn’t get distracted by what I’m wearing - or not, in this case, Teyla," he gloated. "I might not let you get away with it next time."
Teyla laughed breathlessly and stopped struggling, sagging against him. She angled her head in his direction and met his gaze with dark, heavy lidded eyes. John felt the desire this time and his breath hitched at the strength of it.
"Are you so sure that you will be able to ensnare me twice?" she asked, pressing her backside against him in a not-so-innocent manner. John bit back a groan, body thrumming with adrenaline and want.
"You bet I will."
She had inched much closer to him in the span of a few seconds. He would only need to move his head a fraction and he would be tasting those flush lips, sliding his tongue over sweat sweetened skin, feeling her slide against his body in time.
He wanted to - fuck, did he want to. The heat pooling low in his stomach was sign enough of that.
If he kissed her, it wouldn’t be like last time - she would respond eagerly and there’d be no resistance. He’d be able to look her in the eye afterwards and smirk knowingly, not hide his head in shame and avoid her as long as he could. He’d be in control and she wouldn’t have to be afraid to be in the same room with him.
He could kiss her.
But he wouldn’t.
He dropped his hand from her neck and pushed her lightly away from him. He caught the flash of hurt in her eyes as he turned and stomped back to the bench, shoulders knotted in frustration.
Leaders had to make sacrifices - they both knew this. A relationship with Teyla was further out of bounds than it had ever been before.
"John - "
Her fingertips brushed over his bare shoulder and he turned.
John knew the moment he met her eyes - they couldn’t blame this on anything else, not even the mind-warping heat of the evening.
Exhausted of dancing around their emotions, frustrated with every tiny hint he gave her, he knew Teyla was going to break down every boundary they had ever constructed.
And as he pulled her against his chest, angling his head low and muttering her name against her lips, he knew they both could not sacrifice any longer.
The heat of New Lantea became much more bearable during the night.
Will be x-posted sometime this week. Too tired now..
Zzzzzz.