SGA fic: "Consequences of Distrust" - R [John/Teyla]
TITLE: Consequences of Distrust
SUMMARY: Teyla's on a short leash. Literally.
RATING: R
CATEGORY: John/Teyla UST, kink
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money, etc.
NOTES: Was written for one of the kinkmeme prompts: bondage - an alien culture insists that Teyla be at all times secured with a partner and John volunteers. It's several parts long. This is just the first, but it's whole and complete in and of itself if you wish to read it. I actually posted this on the kinkmeme a couple of weeks ago, but reposting here, now.
Consequences of Distrust
Teyla lifts her chin as John fits the collar around her throat.
If not for the Chancellor watching them like a hawk from the other side of the bars - deep in 'safe' territory, never mind that he's easily within arm's reach of a very angry Ronon and a rather insulted Rodney - he'd let her put the damned thing on herself.
This is far too intimate for his liking: the brush of his fingertips against warm skin, the smooth line of her jaw above the soft leather edge of the collar, the curl of her hair over his fingers as he fastens the buckle and tells himself that there's no real reason that his breathing should come short at putting the collar on her.
It's just for show.
The Sendarah are deeply distrustful of the 'Bloodtainted' - their term for the Wraith-gene. And all the protests of John, Rodney, and Ronon haven't been able to persuade the Chancellor that Teyla is perfectly safe and not about to go on some kind of psychotic rampage.
There's something else going on that John doesn't get, because the Wraith-gene doesn't make Teyla a killer any more than having the Ancient gene makes John a saint. Certainly a less-likely serial killer than Teyla - because that's the impression John's gotten from the Sendarah - John can't imagine, unless it's Kanaan of Athos.
Whom John isn't going to think about as he slides the tag end of the collar beneath the loop. He fits his finger in between the collar and Teyla's throat, checking the give of the leather and carefully ignoring the pulse that leaps against his knuckle. "Not too tight?"
"No," she says quietly, and her eyes are steady on his. "It is all right, John."
"Yeah," he says, picking up the leash and trying to fasten it around his wrist. "Tell me that when we get off this planet, okay?"
He can't seem to get it quite right, and Teyla catches the band as it falls and slips it over his hand, pulling it close in a matter of moments. John ignores the fingers that casually scrape his skin and tease the hairs on his arm and just reaches for the end of the leash - the little metal carabiner that will lock her collar to his leash.
She turns to present the nape of her neck to him, and he slips the hook into the loop there, and lets it snap shut.
The click of the latch catches in his throat, like a door has just closed behind him - behind him and Teyla.
But, no. Seeing them done, the Chancellor steps forward and opens the door that will allow them out into the Sendarah culture, and Rodney heaves a grumpy sigh, eager to get his hands on the Ancient technology that the Sendarahans used to determine that John had the Ancient gene in the first place.
"Can we go already?"
John waves Teyla forward with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then moves to follow before the leash between them can pull too tight.
--
"Actually, this isn't the most interesting part-- It's what's inside-- Colonel, if you would please pass that tool-- Yes, that one, over there--?"
Teyla hears the words a second too late, and feels the collar bite into her throat as John obligingly reaches for the tool and drags taut the line between them.
Her breath catches in her throat, but she makes no protest. They look at her oddly when she protests - as though a slave should protest her master's handling.
And so although John grimaces lightly, he doesn't give an apology as he tugs her over so he can reach the tool and hand it over to the Sendarahan. The scientist accepts it as though Teyla was not just yanked off her feet to fetch him something that he could have moved around the table to pick up.
It has been like this all afternoon.
The reaction to Teyla's collar has been mixed. Mostly, the Sendarahans seem accepting of it - perhaps a little surprised. There have been sly comments directed at John, and more than a few appraising looks directed her way.
And there have been the requests for John to get something, the seemingly-casual interactions that require him to move his hand far enough to jerk at her collar.
Teyla cannot move beyond his orbit.
Where he goes, she must follow. She must keep every gesture he makes in her sights. Her consciousness of John must be absolute and can never flag or else she is likely to find herself sore-necked and short of breath.
And she finds it...disturbing. Distracting - more so than John has ever been.
In the small rooms of discovery off the larger hall, she is required to stand closer than they usually do. John warms her back as he peers over her to see the devices the Sendarahans wish to display to them - the devices that the Sendarahans think may be worth an alliance with Atlantis and John's Ancient gene.
She can smell the faint traces of his deodorant; sharp and woody, with herbal undertones and the salty tang of his body's aroma after a few hours. If she looks back over her shoulder, he will be close enough to nuzzle, her lips against his throat, her fingers sliding down the front of his t-shirt, trailing heat through the thin cotton material.
"Up on that there shelf, Colonel--"
Expecting the tug at her collar, Teyla starts a little when John indicates the item he was asked to reach. "Teyla, if you don't mind..." The lead runs slack as she reaches up to get the item, and when she steps back, his hand splays against her back, startling her. He moved his hand to avoid jerking at her collar.
More startling is the look in John's eyes when she turns - a sensual heat, masked as swiftly as his hand is dropped so it should not press against her belly as she hands him the device.
But when they move back to stand at the table and observe the technical developments of the Sendarahan scientist, Teyla feels the cord of her lead brush against the small of her back, as though his hand strayed and was recalled.
She thinks it just as well that he controlled himself. She might have found herself arching if his fingers touched her spine.
A part of her is amused at the thought of submitting so to John.
And a part of her quivers at the thought of sitting in John's bed, wearing nothing but the collar, and waiting to be possessed by the man who put it on her.
fin
SUMMARY: Teyla's on a short leash. Literally.
RATING: R
CATEGORY: John/Teyla UST, kink
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money, etc.
NOTES: Was written for one of the kinkmeme prompts: bondage - an alien culture insists that Teyla be at all times secured with a partner and John volunteers. It's several parts long. This is just the first, but it's whole and complete in and of itself if you wish to read it. I actually posted this on the kinkmeme a couple of weeks ago, but reposting here, now.
Consequences of Distrust
Teyla lifts her chin as John fits the collar around her throat.
If not for the Chancellor watching them like a hawk from the other side of the bars - deep in 'safe' territory, never mind that he's easily within arm's reach of a very angry Ronon and a rather insulted Rodney - he'd let her put the damned thing on herself.
This is far too intimate for his liking: the brush of his fingertips against warm skin, the smooth line of her jaw above the soft leather edge of the collar, the curl of her hair over his fingers as he fastens the buckle and tells himself that there's no real reason that his breathing should come short at putting the collar on her.
It's just for show.
The Sendarah are deeply distrustful of the 'Bloodtainted' - their term for the Wraith-gene. And all the protests of John, Rodney, and Ronon haven't been able to persuade the Chancellor that Teyla is perfectly safe and not about to go on some kind of psychotic rampage.
There's something else going on that John doesn't get, because the Wraith-gene doesn't make Teyla a killer any more than having the Ancient gene makes John a saint. Certainly a less-likely serial killer than Teyla - because that's the impression John's gotten from the Sendarah - John can't imagine, unless it's Kanaan of Athos.
Whom John isn't going to think about as he slides the tag end of the collar beneath the loop. He fits his finger in between the collar and Teyla's throat, checking the give of the leather and carefully ignoring the pulse that leaps against his knuckle. "Not too tight?"
"No," she says quietly, and her eyes are steady on his. "It is all right, John."
"Yeah," he says, picking up the leash and trying to fasten it around his wrist. "Tell me that when we get off this planet, okay?"
He can't seem to get it quite right, and Teyla catches the band as it falls and slips it over his hand, pulling it close in a matter of moments. John ignores the fingers that casually scrape his skin and tease the hairs on his arm and just reaches for the end of the leash - the little metal carabiner that will lock her collar to his leash.
She turns to present the nape of her neck to him, and he slips the hook into the loop there, and lets it snap shut.
The click of the latch catches in his throat, like a door has just closed behind him - behind him and Teyla.
But, no. Seeing them done, the Chancellor steps forward and opens the door that will allow them out into the Sendarah culture, and Rodney heaves a grumpy sigh, eager to get his hands on the Ancient technology that the Sendarahans used to determine that John had the Ancient gene in the first place.
"Can we go already?"
John waves Teyla forward with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then moves to follow before the leash between them can pull too tight.
--
"Actually, this isn't the most interesting part-- It's what's inside-- Colonel, if you would please pass that tool-- Yes, that one, over there--?"
Teyla hears the words a second too late, and feels the collar bite into her throat as John obligingly reaches for the tool and drags taut the line between them.
Her breath catches in her throat, but she makes no protest. They look at her oddly when she protests - as though a slave should protest her master's handling.
And so although John grimaces lightly, he doesn't give an apology as he tugs her over so he can reach the tool and hand it over to the Sendarahan. The scientist accepts it as though Teyla was not just yanked off her feet to fetch him something that he could have moved around the table to pick up.
It has been like this all afternoon.
The reaction to Teyla's collar has been mixed. Mostly, the Sendarahans seem accepting of it - perhaps a little surprised. There have been sly comments directed at John, and more than a few appraising looks directed her way.
And there have been the requests for John to get something, the seemingly-casual interactions that require him to move his hand far enough to jerk at her collar.
Teyla cannot move beyond his orbit.
Where he goes, she must follow. She must keep every gesture he makes in her sights. Her consciousness of John must be absolute and can never flag or else she is likely to find herself sore-necked and short of breath.
And she finds it...disturbing. Distracting - more so than John has ever been.
In the small rooms of discovery off the larger hall, she is required to stand closer than they usually do. John warms her back as he peers over her to see the devices the Sendarahans wish to display to them - the devices that the Sendarahans think may be worth an alliance with Atlantis and John's Ancient gene.
She can smell the faint traces of his deodorant; sharp and woody, with herbal undertones and the salty tang of his body's aroma after a few hours. If she looks back over her shoulder, he will be close enough to nuzzle, her lips against his throat, her fingers sliding down the front of his t-shirt, trailing heat through the thin cotton material.
"Up on that there shelf, Colonel--"
Expecting the tug at her collar, Teyla starts a little when John indicates the item he was asked to reach. "Teyla, if you don't mind..." The lead runs slack as she reaches up to get the item, and when she steps back, his hand splays against her back, startling her. He moved his hand to avoid jerking at her collar.
More startling is the look in John's eyes when she turns - a sensual heat, masked as swiftly as his hand is dropped so it should not press against her belly as she hands him the device.
But when they move back to stand at the table and observe the technical developments of the Sendarahan scientist, Teyla feels the cord of her lead brush against the small of her back, as though his hand strayed and was recalled.
She thinks it just as well that he controlled himself. She might have found herself arching if his fingers touched her spine.
A part of her is amused at the thought of submitting so to John.
And a part of her quivers at the thought of sitting in John's bed, wearing nothing but the collar, and waiting to be possessed by the man who put it on her.
fin