Always Diplomatic, Stargate Atlantis, Elizabeth/Teyla, public sex, R/NC17
too many characters for fitting in the comment box at porn battle. v porny. non-spellchecked as I should be in bed.
There's this one thing about her lover that always makes Teyla just a little more smug when some idiotic diplomat tries to flirt with either of them. Elizabeth Weir has the dirtiest mind she's ever encountered, and she enjoys putting on a show.
That's why they're both on one of the Atlan colonies, participating in a diplomatic ritual that once Elizabeth heard about it left no doubt as to who was taking part in it.
Because Elizabeth Weir is also an exhibitionist, and if one has to have sex in concert to make a treaty golden, one must make sacrifices.
Not that Teyla explained all of this in the briefing. Only Elizabeth and one member (female) of the IOA are aware of the extent of the requirements. They need this treaty, the wraith are gathering numbers every day.
The ceremony is already going when they arrive, and Elizabeth gazes at the half-naked Atlans, one eyebrow raised. "This is tame."
"It hasn't truly begun," Teyla replies before tugging her lover into the circle where they meet the Atlan leader.
Several exchanges of words, of ideas, paper and pen. The mundane sides to any treaty, occur.
But they are not the focus.
Teyla hears a deep thrum, a drum somewhere nearby, and she turns to Elizabeth, "It's time."
It seems easy, in retrospect, to strip, to map Elizabeth's body as the leader of the Lanteans sheds her clothing like a skin she no longer requires. Teyla kneels at her feet, leaning in and brushing her mouth up along Elizabeth's legs to the apex of her thighs. She ignores Elizabeth's growl for the moment, tugging her back down into a sitting position and nipping at the skin of her belly.
"Fuck," Elizabeth says, and Teyla smirks against her skin before pushing up to suck one of her already-taut nipples into her mouth. The strangled groan is worth the ache in Teyla's back from the angle, and the tug of Elizabeth's fingers in her hair is even better.
There's a moment, then, where Elizabeth actually thinks she has control. Teyla's fingers tighten on her hips and her nails scrape down to Elizabeth's knees before she roughly parts them, moving between and down.
Inarticulate sounds are all around them, but Elizabeth is perfectly legible when she says, "Teyla, please eat me, my cunt is wet as fuck and I need you."
"Demanding," Teyla manages, feeling her own body clench and pulse with her lover's arousal.
She pulls back and stands to strip her shirt, pants, boots and underwear off. Practical items aren't needed here at the moment, and she wants the feel of the breeze on her skin when she's down on her knees again. Wants to spread her legs and pretend Elizabeth is behind her, fingers ghosting over her hips and down over her mound.
Merciless, Elizabeth is, when she's come and pushing Teyla to the edge.
Her nipples tighten just thinking about it and Elizabeth laughs, low and smug before reaching out and pinching one.
Teyla does not say fuck. That is Elizabeth's word, rolling in and around them as Teyla's finds and mouth drive her up the wall.
Kneeling again, she leans in, nips Elizabeth's hip, teeth sharp and quick.
"Fuck," Elizabeth says again, her fingers tangling into Teyla's hair a second time. "Now, fuck, please, Teyla."
"So easy," whispers Teyla, smug herself. Her thumbs part Elizabeth's cunt, and she bends closer, mouth brushing gently, barely tickling the curls and skin.
The fingers in her hair tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to demand.
Opening her mouth, Teyla tilts to the side and bites Elizabeth's inner thigh, just close enough that her cheek presses into Elizabeth's cunt.
Wet heat, the scent of sex--Teyla hasn't ever bothered with flowery terms for the taste and smell of Elizabeth Weir, but if she did, she might admit to citrusy paradise (a fragrance Sheppard once suggested she might like).
The fingers tighten further, and Teyla strikes, mouth open, tongue moving. One long lick up, then down. Back again, settling into a too-slow rhythm that causes Elizabeth to exhale curses, pleas, demands--the words become incoherent as Teyla quickens her speed, varies the angle of her tongue against Elizabeth's clit.
She twists slightly to nip and suckle at the lips of her cunt, knowing that letting Elizabeth get her way too much is just opening the door for trouble.
And then she stops, adjusting her stance and reaching between her own legs, rolling a finger over her clit--she's almost as wet as Elizabeth. Just the knowledge of what they were going to do had fueled multiple fantasies over the last two months of negotiations.
"You stopped," Elizabeth pants.
"To get myself off. I'm so wet, Elizabeth, just from tasting and teasing you."
Elizabeth makes another inarticulate sound while Teyla is proud she managed an entire sentence that was legible.
Her mouth returns to its task, she knows it won't be much longer. Elizabeth's own hands are playing with her nipples, pulling and twisting, as she writhes against the chair and Teyla.
There are things Teyla won't be putting into the mission report, things Elizabeth will never admit to. Elizabeth coming so hard she screams, the words lost in the ceiling above them. The applause from more than one of the delegates around them, their own hands and bodies busy with each other. The urgency with which Elizabeth pulls her up from the floor and spins her around.
Bent over the table, with Elizabeth's mouth biting a line down her spine as three fingers shove into her cunt is definitely best left out.
There's this one thing about her lover that always makes Teyla just a little more smug when some idiotic diplomat tries to flirt with either of them. Elizabeth Weir has the dirtiest mind she's ever encountered, and she enjoys putting on a show.
That's why they're both on one of the Atlan colonies, participating in a diplomatic ritual that once Elizabeth heard about it left no doubt as to who was taking part in it.
Because Elizabeth Weir is also an exhibitionist, and if one has to have sex in concert to make a treaty golden, one must make sacrifices.
Not that Teyla explained all of this in the briefing. Only Elizabeth and one member (female) of the IOA are aware of the extent of the requirements. They need this treaty, the wraith are gathering numbers every day.
The ceremony is already going when they arrive, and Elizabeth gazes at the half-naked Atlans, one eyebrow raised. "This is tame."
"It hasn't truly begun," Teyla replies before tugging her lover into the circle where they meet the Atlan leader.
Several exchanges of words, of ideas, paper and pen. The mundane sides to any treaty, occur.
But they are not the focus.
Teyla hears a deep thrum, a drum somewhere nearby, and she turns to Elizabeth, "It's time."
It seems easy, in retrospect, to strip, to map Elizabeth's body as the leader of the Lanteans sheds her clothing like a skin she no longer requires. Teyla kneels at her feet, leaning in and brushing her mouth up along Elizabeth's legs to the apex of her thighs. She ignores Elizabeth's growl for the moment, tugging her back down into a sitting position and nipping at the skin of her belly.
"Fuck," Elizabeth says, and Teyla smirks against her skin before pushing up to suck one of her already-taut nipples into her mouth. The strangled groan is worth the ache in Teyla's back from the angle, and the tug of Elizabeth's fingers in her hair is even better.
There's a moment, then, where Elizabeth actually thinks she has control. Teyla's fingers tighten on her hips and her nails scrape down to Elizabeth's knees before she roughly parts them, moving between and down.
Inarticulate sounds are all around them, but Elizabeth is perfectly legible when she says, "Teyla, please eat me, my cunt is wet as fuck and I need you."
"Demanding," Teyla manages, feeling her own body clench and pulse with her lover's arousal.
She pulls back and stands to strip her shirt, pants, boots and underwear off. Practical items aren't needed here at the moment, and she wants the feel of the breeze on her skin when she's down on her knees again. Wants to spread her legs and pretend Elizabeth is behind her, fingers ghosting over her hips and down over her mound.
Merciless, Elizabeth is, when she's come and pushing Teyla to the edge.
Her nipples tighten just thinking about it and Elizabeth laughs, low and smug before reaching out and pinching one.
Teyla does not say fuck. That is Elizabeth's word, rolling in and around them as Teyla's finds and mouth drive her up the wall.
Kneeling again, she leans in, nips Elizabeth's hip, teeth sharp and quick.
"Fuck," Elizabeth says again, her fingers tangling into Teyla's hair a second time. "Now, fuck, please, Teyla."
"So easy," whispers Teyla, smug herself. Her thumbs part Elizabeth's cunt, and she bends closer, mouth brushing gently, barely tickling the curls and skin.
The fingers in her hair tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to demand.
Opening her mouth, Teyla tilts to the side and bites Elizabeth's inner thigh, just close enough that her cheek presses into Elizabeth's cunt.
Wet heat, the scent of sex--Teyla hasn't ever bothered with flowery terms for the taste and smell of Elizabeth Weir, but if she did, she might admit to citrusy paradise (a fragrance Sheppard once suggested she might like).
The fingers tighten further, and Teyla strikes, mouth open, tongue moving. One long lick up, then down. Back again, settling into a too-slow rhythm that causes Elizabeth to exhale curses, pleas, demands--the words become incoherent as Teyla quickens her speed, varies the angle of her tongue against Elizabeth's clit.
She twists slightly to nip and suckle at the lips of her cunt, knowing that letting Elizabeth get her way too much is just opening the door for trouble.
And then she stops, adjusting her stance and reaching between her own legs, rolling a finger over her clit--she's almost as wet as Elizabeth. Just the knowledge of what they were going to do had fueled multiple fantasies over the last two months of negotiations.
"You stopped," Elizabeth pants.
"To get myself off. I'm so wet, Elizabeth, just from tasting and teasing you."
Elizabeth makes another inarticulate sound while Teyla is proud she managed an entire sentence that was legible.
Her mouth returns to its task, she knows it won't be much longer. Elizabeth's own hands are playing with her nipples, pulling and twisting, as she writhes against the chair and Teyla.
There are things Teyla won't be putting into the mission report, things Elizabeth will never admit to. Elizabeth coming so hard she screams, the words lost in the ceiling above them. The applause from more than one of the delegates around them, their own hands and bodies busy with each other. The urgency with which Elizabeth pulls her up from the floor and spins her around.
Bent over the table, with Elizabeth's mouth biting a line down her spine as three fingers shove into her cunt is definitely best left out.