Fic: (repost) Physical Therapy (SGA, Bates, Teyla/Bates, NC-17)
Title: Physical Therapy
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Character/Pairing: Bates, Teyla/Bates unrequited
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made from this.
Summary: Bates has issues.
Notes: Set sometime after Siege I. Written for . ~700 words.
The physical therapy isn't hard.
Oh, it hurts. The therapist works him till sweat streams down his face, down his back, down the crack of his ass and the backs of his knees, and that's just getting started. But being a Marine is about doing what needs doing. Pain is a vitamin he takes with his daily helping of hard work.
What's hard is the anger. No, not anger. Pure fury. It eats at his guts until he's sure that his liver is cooked dry and his bowels are welded into a solid mass. He's not sure who among the brass decided he's no longer fit to serve on the front line, but if he did, he'd march down and show them exactly how fit he is.
Each time he grits his teeth and lifts the dumbbell, he sees Sheppard's smirking face. Every time he slowly lowers it, Landry's there, telling him you're a fine soldier, son, but. Each push-up is a lesson for General O'Neill; his favorites aren't the only ones who persevere. When the therapist begins the stretches, he sees the colonel, stupidly pushing forward to volunteer for the Wraith Queen's midnight snack.
And when the therapist digs into the muscles, all he can see is the Wraith who did this to him.
He never thinks about her. Not until afterward, when he's in his own shower, muscles quivering and sweat dried cold on his skin. He turns the water on cold, hoping that it will sap away the burn of his anger.
It never works. Every time, he cranks the handle higher, inch by regretted inch. When the temperature matches the heat under his skin, he reaches for the soap and slicks up his skin.
As soon as his hand hits his cock, she's there. It's twisted. He knows that. But he knows the anger that was in her eyes as she stared him down. They'd all been so surprised when she attacked him. Sheppard couldn't believe his perfect princess would unsheathe her claws. But he knew. He knows. That anger, it doesn't sit well when it's held inside for too long.
He strokes his cock to hardness, remembering the iron taste of satisfaction as her elbow met his jaw. He sees it again, only Sheppard and Ford aren't there this time. Her head snaps back as his fist meets her face. The rage in her eyes is tempered by respect as she wipes the trickle of blood from her lips. But no fear. Never fear. She rolls her head slowly, a dancer warming herself for a show, and then she launches herself forward.
They tumble to the ground. Hands grab for wrists, legs battle for dominance. She weighs nothing, yet fighting with her is like wrestling a cougar for lunch.
Their fighting slows. Her breath is hot on his face. Her flesh sweaty under his fingers. He's hanging on by determination alone.
And then she pins him against the floor. He should be able to toss her off of him, no problem, but her eyebrow rises in a dare. She dips her head, as slow and smooth as a dancing cobra--but he's the one mesmerized. When she strikes, he's powerless. Her lips are hard, biting, opening his mouth though he tries to resist.
Her tongue touches his, and he's gone. He can't hide his desire, can't keep it locked inside any longer. She grinds down against his cock, and he gives it back to her hard. The force of their bodies and the drag of their clothes is sweet torture, but he can't stop to strip her bare like he wants.
She breaks away from his mouth. Sits back hard on his groin. She throws her head back and growls out his name.
He comes then, imagining her shuddering on top of him. The water washes the semen away before it can touch his skin, but it doesn't clean away what he's done. He sags against the wall, exhausted beyond thought.
Beyond feeling.
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Character/Pairing: Bates, Teyla/Bates unrequited
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made from this.
Summary: Bates has issues.
Notes: Set sometime after Siege I. Written for . ~700 words.
The physical therapy isn't hard.
Oh, it hurts. The therapist works him till sweat streams down his face, down his back, down the crack of his ass and the backs of his knees, and that's just getting started. But being a Marine is about doing what needs doing. Pain is a vitamin he takes with his daily helping of hard work.
What's hard is the anger. No, not anger. Pure fury. It eats at his guts until he's sure that his liver is cooked dry and his bowels are welded into a solid mass. He's not sure who among the brass decided he's no longer fit to serve on the front line, but if he did, he'd march down and show them exactly how fit he is.
Each time he grits his teeth and lifts the dumbbell, he sees Sheppard's smirking face. Every time he slowly lowers it, Landry's there, telling him you're a fine soldier, son, but. Each push-up is a lesson for General O'Neill; his favorites aren't the only ones who persevere. When the therapist begins the stretches, he sees the colonel, stupidly pushing forward to volunteer for the Wraith Queen's midnight snack.
And when the therapist digs into the muscles, all he can see is the Wraith who did this to him.
He never thinks about her. Not until afterward, when he's in his own shower, muscles quivering and sweat dried cold on his skin. He turns the water on cold, hoping that it will sap away the burn of his anger.
It never works. Every time, he cranks the handle higher, inch by regretted inch. When the temperature matches the heat under his skin, he reaches for the soap and slicks up his skin.
As soon as his hand hits his cock, she's there. It's twisted. He knows that. But he knows the anger that was in her eyes as she stared him down. They'd all been so surprised when she attacked him. Sheppard couldn't believe his perfect princess would unsheathe her claws. But he knew. He knows. That anger, it doesn't sit well when it's held inside for too long.
He strokes his cock to hardness, remembering the iron taste of satisfaction as her elbow met his jaw. He sees it again, only Sheppard and Ford aren't there this time. Her head snaps back as his fist meets her face. The rage in her eyes is tempered by respect as she wipes the trickle of blood from her lips. But no fear. Never fear. She rolls her head slowly, a dancer warming herself for a show, and then she launches herself forward.
They tumble to the ground. Hands grab for wrists, legs battle for dominance. She weighs nothing, yet fighting with her is like wrestling a cougar for lunch.
Their fighting slows. Her breath is hot on his face. Her flesh sweaty under his fingers. He's hanging on by determination alone.
And then she pins him against the floor. He should be able to toss her off of him, no problem, but her eyebrow rises in a dare. She dips her head, as slow and smooth as a dancing cobra--but he's the one mesmerized. When she strikes, he's powerless. Her lips are hard, biting, opening his mouth though he tries to resist.
Her tongue touches his, and he's gone. He can't hide his desire, can't keep it locked inside any longer. She grinds down against his cock, and he gives it back to her hard. The force of their bodies and the drag of their clothes is sweet torture, but he can't stop to strip her bare like he wants.
She breaks away from his mouth. Sits back hard on his groin. She throws her head back and growls out his name.
He comes then, imagining her shuddering on top of him. The water washes the semen away before it can touch his skin, but it doesn't clean away what he's done. He sags against the wall, exhausted beyond thought.
Beyond feeling.