You Have No Idea What You've Done (fic)
RECIPIENT: ltcoljsheppard
TITLE: “You Have No Idea What You’ve Done”
SUMMARY: A false step lands John and Teyla in a unexpected place.
RATING: Um, hard R? to be safe
WHAT IT IS: Friendship. Sex. Verges on PWP. Set S3ish. Sheyla if you want it to be, UST if that’s how you read it. Shippers and non-shippers will find something to work with in here. Hopefully, a fulfillment of its recipient’s request.
WHAT IT‘S NOT: Angsty. Whumpy (wow, look at me stretch!). To be taken seriously.
WORD COUNT: 3170
SPOILERS/Warnings: None
PROMPT: The title.
Written for the John-And-Teyla Thing-A-Thon at john_teyla_fic
“You have no idea what you've done.”
John had lifted his boot, stared dumbly at the tile covered in alien glyphs. Where his boot had just been. Where his boot never should have been.
Teyla had stepped to his side, a hand on his arm, part reassurance, part protecting. Intervening.
It was an accident. Hurried words of apology and acts of obeisance had followed. Threats had followed from there. Words like blasphemy and sacrilege issued from the mouths of figures robed in velvet of the deepest garnet.
Words like sorry and mistake and unintended fell on deaf ears.
It was a true Hail Mary play, one that would’ve made Flutie’s look like afterschool catch. Sprinkled in and amongst the accusations and finger pointing were clues. Hints as to the real reason for the rancor and recriminations.
The temple was sacred to their fertility goddess. John knew that already, had listened to the seemingly day long lecture as avidly as he could, standing in the heat of three blue giants that filled the amber sky.
The answer hadn’t come to him as two men the size of Ronon had grabbed him by each arm and begun frog marching him away. It hadn’t come to him as they were stripping him of his vest and shirt. It came to him as they were pulling the purifying brands from the fire pit and he felt the heat from the glowing red metal when it was still inches from his flesh.
Cumbere was apparently a planet the Catholic Church would’ve approved of. Maybe the missionaries had somehow made it to the Pegasus Galaxy. Fertility yes. But only for properly mated couples.
Which is how he and Teyla found themselves in their conjugal bedchamber. Or rather, bed cubicle would be a better description. One of many such barely curtained off areas in the connubial hall. Where all mated couples gathered at night to revel in wedded bliss.
Beds already filled with paired off Cumbereans had become writhing masses of randomly covered flesh and silken fabric. Moans and sighs and yelps filled the large hall and echoed off the high beamed ceiling.
John averted his eyes as Teyla worked the bindings on her shirt. His own fingers were stumbling over his belt buckle as he heard the thwap of fabric hitting the floor.
“You know, it’s not too late to call back the guys with the hot pokers,” John joked quietly. The only response he got was a hard whack on the arm followed by the plop of another piece of fabric meeting the floor.
He shoved his pants to his ankles, stepped out of them, then laughed as he stared at his black socked feet. Dead sexy that was.
The socks were removed, balled up and being placed inside his boots when he saw what could only be described as an alien bra hit the floor.
He’d always been curious how Athosians dealt without Victoria’s Secret. Teyla’s outfits could never be called… modest. Not by a long shot. But she never bounced or jiggled. Not that he looked. Often.
His eyes were following the intriguingly intricate strap work when her panties landed on the floor.
There was the sound of the sheets being pulled back and when he finally worked up the nerve to look up, Teyla had made herself comfortable in the bed. Very comfortable. She looked completely at ease, even stretching like a cat and petting the silky fabric, fluffing the mounds of pillows.
The sheet demurely tucked under her arms, she laid back in the pillows to gaze contentedly at him. Contented as the proverbial cat that got the cream. Damn. All that eye averting and now he was the one who’d be on display.
With a smirk he played with the buttons on his shirt, flipping back the fabric teasingly, then snatching it closed and putting on a playfully demure look.
Teyla laughed and shook her head. “Come to bed, my husband,” she purred.
“You’re enjoying this way too much, Teyla.”
“I admit I do not find this an altogether unpleasant situation,” she replied coyly.
Either she was really getting into her part or… nah. Teyla was a consummate actress; her skills had pulled their fat out of the fire more times than John could count. She could play fainting damsel or matriarchal bitch with equal aplomb. But John wasn’t too sure where she was taking this particular role…
With a sigh he pulled off the shirt, tossed it over his boots and sock balls, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoved them to the floor.
One step out of them brought him close enough to slip under the covers, his legs rubbing against Teyla’s smooth, warm skin.
He turned on his side, propped up on an elbow and smiled down at his ‘wife’.
“This is the first chance I’ve had to thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what, John?”
“For what? For not laughing your ass off when I told the Prior that we were married for one thing.”
“I was a bit… taken aback,” she smiled.
“Really? Because you couldn’t tell. I was really impressed. You played right along, didn’t even blink.”
“I am just glad you made the realization that you did, John. From the way some of the men were talking, I do not believe the branding was the punishment. It was merely the lead up to more… I am glad things worked out as they have.”
John cleared his throat, casting about for something more to talk about, forestalling what he knew had to come. His mind a blank, he flinched a bit as he felt a warm hand on his wrist.
“Does this make you feel less naked?”
He looked down to see Teyla rubbing her fingers under the black terry wristband he still wore. She was smiling but he still blushed a little.
He went to remove it but her hand stilled his. “No, my husband. Leave it on. After all, it is a symbol of our love.”
When faced with the fact that neither of them wore any rings or jewelry (besides decidedly unromantic dog tags) or tattoos of any kind, and desperate for a physical manifestation of their mated state, Teyla had advised the Prior that his wristband was what their world used as a symbol of marriage. It signified a time when men took wives and often shackled them to keep them from wandering. Now the man wore a cloth shackle instead.
“Just her little ball and chain,” John had smirked. Teyla had slipped her small hand in his and squeezed before leaning her head affectionately on his shoulder.
John tried to ignore the response he could feel stirring at the feeling of her fingers tickling the soft underflesh of his wrist. He moved his legs restlessly under the sheets but when they skated across the smooth warmth of Teyla’s own intriguingly bare legs he stopped. Froze in place and actually scootched over a little bit.
He wasn’t really sure why he was acting like a virgin on her wedding night. It wasn’t like this was an entirely new situation for him. His brief marriage to Nancy had been one of the few times in his life he’d been monogamous, and he’d never lacked for female attention when he sought it out. Granted, the three years on Atlantis had been rough. Frustrating even. His time with Chaya couldn’t really be counted. Mostly. Now Teer, on the other hand… yeah, that counted.
But this was Teyla. A member of his team, someone he shared literal and figurative foxholes with. There was a reason why sex was meant to be kept off the front. It complicated things. Possibly even irrevocably…
As his thoughts wandered his eyes cast over her shoulder to the bedchamber next to theirs. The Prior was seated against a massive mound of overstuffed pillows, propping up his massive wrinkled form. From the looks of things, the Prior had taken a new wife. She was thirty years younger, easily. Her hand was wrapped around his dick and working him like a jar that wouldn’t open. Clearly, this planet hadn’t discovered Viagra yet, and she was trying with an almost pathetic desperation.
As John looked away his eyes caught the Prior staring at him with a cold, scrutinizing glare.
With a little ‘hey, how’s it going?’ nod and smile at the Prior, John moved in closer to Teyla and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I don’t think the old fart’s buying it.”
“I believe that your discomfort is obvious, John. Here,” she gestured as she urged him closer. She placed her lips at his temple and kissed him gently, her hands on his shoulders pulling him even nearer until he finally covered her body with his own.
“See?” she asked with a smile. “Not so difficult is it?”
“N-no,” he stammered as his body mapped her form under his. Warmth and hair meeting and mingling at their groins, her breasts, soft under his own fur covered chest.
She was beautiful. Her skin was the color of a perfect cup of coffee, her muscles defined and strong but her carriage and demeanor never anything less than pure feminine grace. Her eyes danced with amusement, even as her hands skimmed over his back.
He groaned and shook his head, tried lifting himself on his toes and hands to put distance between their quickly heating skin. “Sorry,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“What are you sorry for, John?” Her voice was incredulous and sympathetic at the same time, a reflection of her trademark form of wise naiveté.
“I can’t… I can’t do this.”
She wriggled under him, trying to get him to meet her eyes but it only increased his rapidly, um, growing discomfort.
“Can’t do this?” she asked teasingly. “I find that very hard to believe, John.”
Hard. Oh, har har. “Just call in the poker patrol,” he whispered harshly. “I can’t fake this.”
“Fake?” Teyla looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would anyone fake this?”
“Never saw When Harry Met Sally did ya?”
Her raised eyebrow was answer enough.
His muscles were beginning to cramp and his resolve was fading as fast as his strength. “Look,” he sighed before dashing a look over at their neighbors. Whatever the little missus had done for the Prior had evidently been enough. He had the woman on her hands and knees and was grunting from behind her like a rutting pig. Her face was one of bored resignation and his … his eyes were still staring at John. Thankfully there didn’t seem any desire there - just plain, no bones about it glowering suspicion.
John unsubtly craned his head around as if just taking in his surroundings. And what surroundings they were. The noise level had grown in the large hall, couples in all different stages and forms of coitus alternately moaning and humping or pounding the headboards with gleeful abandon. It was like a porno directed by Kubrick; John half-expected a harlequin to float by on a unicycle.
To add to the already surreal scene, a woman entered the hall, a crying baby in her arms. Her face bore no expression as she walked past a couple in a pose the Karma Sutra hadn’t imagined over to a bed where another pair lay entwined.
The woman in the bed pushed her husband’s lips free of her breast and replaced them with the infant’s. The husband pouted like a toddler until the woman rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him and reached down under the sheets to his clear delight. One hand patted the baby’s back soothingly while the other performed an apparently highly satisfactory hand job.
Shaking his head to clear the image that thankfully had deflated him a little, he returned to his unfinished sentence.
“Look,” he started again, “I just…”
Teyla waited for him to continue while he tried to rearrange his derailed train of thought. She stretched languidly and he couldn’t help but notice two pert, milk chocolate tipped nipples bobbling enticingly below his chin.
He cleared his throat and hemmed again before finally spitting out, “I’m your team leader. It isn’t right.” It was the best he could summarize his scattered thoughts under the circumstances… and while her finger traced a design on his arm.
The finger stilled and Teyla pulled herself up a little on the pillows to meet his eyes. “John, I was leader of my people on Athos after my father’s death. And it should come as no surprise that I found companionship in the arms of men I led.”
“That’s--”
“Different?” A sharply raised eyebrow had him smiling. “Different how? Because these were men whose lives I was responsible for. Men I fought beside. Men who died in some of those fights. And I can promise you, our lying with each other only strengthened our bonds.”
She reached a hand out and traced his cheek, smoothed the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip. “I love you, John. And while in the past you have said you do not express your feelings well, I know you love me. You express it in the things you do, the risks you take, the care you show. We are adults who love and care for each other. Physical union is just another way of showing that.”
With each word another of John’s doubts fell by the wayside. The few that were left were not enough to impede the rush of emotion and warmth that suffused his body.
He gave into his first temptation, lowering his lips to suckle at her breast as hungrily as the howling babe had. He nipped gently, teasingly, and smiled into her heaving flesh as he felt her fingers knit into his hair. She writhed under him, giggled and moaned as she arched her back, pressing herself deeper into his mouth.
He continued to feast, enjoying the salty sweetness of her skin when it occurred to him that the hall had grown quiet. From somewhere in the hall came a murmur of voices. As they grew louder John froze, his lips parted and moist.
“All praise the goddess! Welcome, Laetitia, into this hall. Bless us with bountiful offspring.”
He looked up, then over to the neighboring bed. Two faces stared enrapt at him, smiling beatifically. “Praise Laetitia, brother,” the Prior said, grinning. “May she bring fruit to your lady’s womb!”
Oh, fuck.
Teyla grabbed his face, pulled it in close and she covered his mouth in urgent kisses, making her way slowly to his ear. “Someday, John, when I have met the man I wish to spend the rest of my days with, I would like a child. For now, do not worry. Carson has taken care of me and all is well. Do not fret.”
He smiled as her breath tickled his ear, nodded with a relieved chuckle. Returned her kisses, nuzzling her neck, reveling in the smell of her hair, the feel of the silken strands on his cheek.
The last barrier broken down, he covered her body with his. Her fingers skated down his back, grabbed his ass as he entered her. The hall fell away and it was their bodies entwined. Like the dance they did daily with the banto sticks, they moved together. And much like their fights, she was grace and he started with a few fumbled thrusts before he picked up the rhythm. But once he got the rhythm…
The next minuteshoursdays were a blur of heat and fingers and soft, breathy moans and tandem motion.
Afterwards, she lay with her head curled on his chest, her fingers playing with the hair there.
John’s eyes were closed, the hall finally blissfully silent so he could imagine it was just the two of them. To think that this all happened because he tripped and stepped where he shouldn’t have.
He was jarred from his sleepy thoughts by fingers tweaking his nipple. He opened bleary eyes to see Teyla looking expectantly at him. Her face bore a sheen of moisture that only intensified its copper tone.
“You’re kidding, right?” he drawled.
She smirked and shook her head. Plucked harder at his nipple, then ran her hand under the sheets and down his stomach.
He laughed as she grabbed a hold of him, pulled up and distracted her with a kiss. “I never could keep up with you in the gym, Teyla.”
“Perhaps there are other maneuvers we could practice,” she whispered slyly, her hand seeking him out again.
“Oh, I dunno, Teyla. Sorry to disappoint but I’m kinda a one trick pony.”
She quirked an eyebrow at that.
“My uh, ex-wife, Nancy, told me I was too vanilla in bed,” he chuckled bashfully, scrubbing a hand at his nape.
“Vanilla?”
“Yeah, like the ice cream.”
“I do not understand.”
“What’s your favorite ice cream in the cafeteria?”
“Rocky road,” she answered, licking her lips lasciviously.
“Yeah, and why?”
“Because there is something new in each bite.”
“Yeah, and vanilla…”
“I see. Well,” she continued, moving in to lay a line of kisses across his chest. “I have always enjoyed vanilla as well. When it’s made well…”
He found inspiration as her lips pecked and sucked at his chest. Smiled evilly before grabbing her and flipping her onto her back. “I actually do know another flavor…. Strawberry.”
He started at her cheek, kissed her gently down her chin, down the smooth plane of her neck to the sweat covered salt plain of her chest.
He trailed the kisses down her cleavage, along her stomach, sucked briefly at her tiny navel before scootching down further in the bed.
As her fingers knit into his hair she began writhing, moaning, whimpering. He took encouragement in her obvious pleasure, attacked her center with greater fervor.
Her final cry bounced off the rafters and echoed through the great hall. And John didn’t give a shit if everyone woke up. He was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself, truth be told. Take that, Nancy.
He moved up next to where Teyla had curled up on the pillows. Her eyes were half mast with languid ardor. She smiled and stretched, pulled the sheet up to her chin as she snuggled down.
“I like strawberry, John.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmmm hmmmm.” The cat that ate the canary look was back. Actually, more like the cat that enjoyed a five course feast with a mouse dessert.
Clearly struggling to open her eyes, she gazed sleepily at him. Raised a finger and touched the end of his nose.
“You have no idea what you've done.”
TITLE: “You Have No Idea What You’ve Done”
SUMMARY: A false step lands John and Teyla in a unexpected place.
RATING: Um, hard R? to be safe
WHAT IT IS: Friendship. Sex. Verges on PWP. Set S3ish. Sheyla if you want it to be, UST if that’s how you read it. Shippers and non-shippers will find something to work with in here. Hopefully, a fulfillment of its recipient’s request.
WHAT IT‘S NOT: Angsty. Whumpy (wow, look at me stretch!). To be taken seriously.
WORD COUNT: 3170
SPOILERS/Warnings: None
PROMPT: The title.
Written for the John-And-Teyla Thing-A-Thon at john_teyla_fic
“You have no idea what you've done.”
John had lifted his boot, stared dumbly at the tile covered in alien glyphs. Where his boot had just been. Where his boot never should have been.
Teyla had stepped to his side, a hand on his arm, part reassurance, part protecting. Intervening.
It was an accident. Hurried words of apology and acts of obeisance had followed. Threats had followed from there. Words like blasphemy and sacrilege issued from the mouths of figures robed in velvet of the deepest garnet.
Words like sorry and mistake and unintended fell on deaf ears.
It was a true Hail Mary play, one that would’ve made Flutie’s look like afterschool catch. Sprinkled in and amongst the accusations and finger pointing were clues. Hints as to the real reason for the rancor and recriminations.
The temple was sacred to their fertility goddess. John knew that already, had listened to the seemingly day long lecture as avidly as he could, standing in the heat of three blue giants that filled the amber sky.
The answer hadn’t come to him as two men the size of Ronon had grabbed him by each arm and begun frog marching him away. It hadn’t come to him as they were stripping him of his vest and shirt. It came to him as they were pulling the purifying brands from the fire pit and he felt the heat from the glowing red metal when it was still inches from his flesh.
Cumbere was apparently a planet the Catholic Church would’ve approved of. Maybe the missionaries had somehow made it to the Pegasus Galaxy. Fertility yes. But only for properly mated couples.
Which is how he and Teyla found themselves in their conjugal bedchamber. Or rather, bed cubicle would be a better description. One of many such barely curtained off areas in the connubial hall. Where all mated couples gathered at night to revel in wedded bliss.
Beds already filled with paired off Cumbereans had become writhing masses of randomly covered flesh and silken fabric. Moans and sighs and yelps filled the large hall and echoed off the high beamed ceiling.
John averted his eyes as Teyla worked the bindings on her shirt. His own fingers were stumbling over his belt buckle as he heard the thwap of fabric hitting the floor.
“You know, it’s not too late to call back the guys with the hot pokers,” John joked quietly. The only response he got was a hard whack on the arm followed by the plop of another piece of fabric meeting the floor.
He shoved his pants to his ankles, stepped out of them, then laughed as he stared at his black socked feet. Dead sexy that was.
The socks were removed, balled up and being placed inside his boots when he saw what could only be described as an alien bra hit the floor.
He’d always been curious how Athosians dealt without Victoria’s Secret. Teyla’s outfits could never be called… modest. Not by a long shot. But she never bounced or jiggled. Not that he looked. Often.
His eyes were following the intriguingly intricate strap work when her panties landed on the floor.
There was the sound of the sheets being pulled back and when he finally worked up the nerve to look up, Teyla had made herself comfortable in the bed. Very comfortable. She looked completely at ease, even stretching like a cat and petting the silky fabric, fluffing the mounds of pillows.
The sheet demurely tucked under her arms, she laid back in the pillows to gaze contentedly at him. Contented as the proverbial cat that got the cream. Damn. All that eye averting and now he was the one who’d be on display.
With a smirk he played with the buttons on his shirt, flipping back the fabric teasingly, then snatching it closed and putting on a playfully demure look.
Teyla laughed and shook her head. “Come to bed, my husband,” she purred.
“You’re enjoying this way too much, Teyla.”
“I admit I do not find this an altogether unpleasant situation,” she replied coyly.
Either she was really getting into her part or… nah. Teyla was a consummate actress; her skills had pulled their fat out of the fire more times than John could count. She could play fainting damsel or matriarchal bitch with equal aplomb. But John wasn’t too sure where she was taking this particular role…
With a sigh he pulled off the shirt, tossed it over his boots and sock balls, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoved them to the floor.
One step out of them brought him close enough to slip under the covers, his legs rubbing against Teyla’s smooth, warm skin.
He turned on his side, propped up on an elbow and smiled down at his ‘wife’.
“This is the first chance I’ve had to thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what, John?”
“For what? For not laughing your ass off when I told the Prior that we were married for one thing.”
“I was a bit… taken aback,” she smiled.
“Really? Because you couldn’t tell. I was really impressed. You played right along, didn’t even blink.”
“I am just glad you made the realization that you did, John. From the way some of the men were talking, I do not believe the branding was the punishment. It was merely the lead up to more… I am glad things worked out as they have.”
John cleared his throat, casting about for something more to talk about, forestalling what he knew had to come. His mind a blank, he flinched a bit as he felt a warm hand on his wrist.
“Does this make you feel less naked?”
He looked down to see Teyla rubbing her fingers under the black terry wristband he still wore. She was smiling but he still blushed a little.
He went to remove it but her hand stilled his. “No, my husband. Leave it on. After all, it is a symbol of our love.”
When faced with the fact that neither of them wore any rings or jewelry (besides decidedly unromantic dog tags) or tattoos of any kind, and desperate for a physical manifestation of their mated state, Teyla had advised the Prior that his wristband was what their world used as a symbol of marriage. It signified a time when men took wives and often shackled them to keep them from wandering. Now the man wore a cloth shackle instead.
“Just her little ball and chain,” John had smirked. Teyla had slipped her small hand in his and squeezed before leaning her head affectionately on his shoulder.
John tried to ignore the response he could feel stirring at the feeling of her fingers tickling the soft underflesh of his wrist. He moved his legs restlessly under the sheets but when they skated across the smooth warmth of Teyla’s own intriguingly bare legs he stopped. Froze in place and actually scootched over a little bit.
He wasn’t really sure why he was acting like a virgin on her wedding night. It wasn’t like this was an entirely new situation for him. His brief marriage to Nancy had been one of the few times in his life he’d been monogamous, and he’d never lacked for female attention when he sought it out. Granted, the three years on Atlantis had been rough. Frustrating even. His time with Chaya couldn’t really be counted. Mostly. Now Teer, on the other hand… yeah, that counted.
But this was Teyla. A member of his team, someone he shared literal and figurative foxholes with. There was a reason why sex was meant to be kept off the front. It complicated things. Possibly even irrevocably…
As his thoughts wandered his eyes cast over her shoulder to the bedchamber next to theirs. The Prior was seated against a massive mound of overstuffed pillows, propping up his massive wrinkled form. From the looks of things, the Prior had taken a new wife. She was thirty years younger, easily. Her hand was wrapped around his dick and working him like a jar that wouldn’t open. Clearly, this planet hadn’t discovered Viagra yet, and she was trying with an almost pathetic desperation.
As John looked away his eyes caught the Prior staring at him with a cold, scrutinizing glare.
With a little ‘hey, how’s it going?’ nod and smile at the Prior, John moved in closer to Teyla and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I don’t think the old fart’s buying it.”
“I believe that your discomfort is obvious, John. Here,” she gestured as she urged him closer. She placed her lips at his temple and kissed him gently, her hands on his shoulders pulling him even nearer until he finally covered her body with his own.
“See?” she asked with a smile. “Not so difficult is it?”
“N-no,” he stammered as his body mapped her form under his. Warmth and hair meeting and mingling at their groins, her breasts, soft under his own fur covered chest.
She was beautiful. Her skin was the color of a perfect cup of coffee, her muscles defined and strong but her carriage and demeanor never anything less than pure feminine grace. Her eyes danced with amusement, even as her hands skimmed over his back.
He groaned and shook his head, tried lifting himself on his toes and hands to put distance between their quickly heating skin. “Sorry,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“What are you sorry for, John?” Her voice was incredulous and sympathetic at the same time, a reflection of her trademark form of wise naiveté.
“I can’t… I can’t do this.”
She wriggled under him, trying to get him to meet her eyes but it only increased his rapidly, um, growing discomfort.
“Can’t do this?” she asked teasingly. “I find that very hard to believe, John.”
Hard. Oh, har har. “Just call in the poker patrol,” he whispered harshly. “I can’t fake this.”
“Fake?” Teyla looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would anyone fake this?”
“Never saw When Harry Met Sally did ya?”
Her raised eyebrow was answer enough.
His muscles were beginning to cramp and his resolve was fading as fast as his strength. “Look,” he sighed before dashing a look over at their neighbors. Whatever the little missus had done for the Prior had evidently been enough. He had the woman on her hands and knees and was grunting from behind her like a rutting pig. Her face was one of bored resignation and his … his eyes were still staring at John. Thankfully there didn’t seem any desire there - just plain, no bones about it glowering suspicion.
John unsubtly craned his head around as if just taking in his surroundings. And what surroundings they were. The noise level had grown in the large hall, couples in all different stages and forms of coitus alternately moaning and humping or pounding the headboards with gleeful abandon. It was like a porno directed by Kubrick; John half-expected a harlequin to float by on a unicycle.
To add to the already surreal scene, a woman entered the hall, a crying baby in her arms. Her face bore no expression as she walked past a couple in a pose the Karma Sutra hadn’t imagined over to a bed where another pair lay entwined.
The woman in the bed pushed her husband’s lips free of her breast and replaced them with the infant’s. The husband pouted like a toddler until the woman rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him and reached down under the sheets to his clear delight. One hand patted the baby’s back soothingly while the other performed an apparently highly satisfactory hand job.
Shaking his head to clear the image that thankfully had deflated him a little, he returned to his unfinished sentence.
“Look,” he started again, “I just…”
Teyla waited for him to continue while he tried to rearrange his derailed train of thought. She stretched languidly and he couldn’t help but notice two pert, milk chocolate tipped nipples bobbling enticingly below his chin.
He cleared his throat and hemmed again before finally spitting out, “I’m your team leader. It isn’t right.” It was the best he could summarize his scattered thoughts under the circumstances… and while her finger traced a design on his arm.
The finger stilled and Teyla pulled herself up a little on the pillows to meet his eyes. “John, I was leader of my people on Athos after my father’s death. And it should come as no surprise that I found companionship in the arms of men I led.”
“That’s--”
“Different?” A sharply raised eyebrow had him smiling. “Different how? Because these were men whose lives I was responsible for. Men I fought beside. Men who died in some of those fights. And I can promise you, our lying with each other only strengthened our bonds.”
She reached a hand out and traced his cheek, smoothed the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip. “I love you, John. And while in the past you have said you do not express your feelings well, I know you love me. You express it in the things you do, the risks you take, the care you show. We are adults who love and care for each other. Physical union is just another way of showing that.”
With each word another of John’s doubts fell by the wayside. The few that were left were not enough to impede the rush of emotion and warmth that suffused his body.
He gave into his first temptation, lowering his lips to suckle at her breast as hungrily as the howling babe had. He nipped gently, teasingly, and smiled into her heaving flesh as he felt her fingers knit into his hair. She writhed under him, giggled and moaned as she arched her back, pressing herself deeper into his mouth.
He continued to feast, enjoying the salty sweetness of her skin when it occurred to him that the hall had grown quiet. From somewhere in the hall came a murmur of voices. As they grew louder John froze, his lips parted and moist.
“All praise the goddess! Welcome, Laetitia, into this hall. Bless us with bountiful offspring.”
He looked up, then over to the neighboring bed. Two faces stared enrapt at him, smiling beatifically. “Praise Laetitia, brother,” the Prior said, grinning. “May she bring fruit to your lady’s womb!”
Oh, fuck.
Teyla grabbed his face, pulled it in close and she covered his mouth in urgent kisses, making her way slowly to his ear. “Someday, John, when I have met the man I wish to spend the rest of my days with, I would like a child. For now, do not worry. Carson has taken care of me and all is well. Do not fret.”
He smiled as her breath tickled his ear, nodded with a relieved chuckle. Returned her kisses, nuzzling her neck, reveling in the smell of her hair, the feel of the silken strands on his cheek.
The last barrier broken down, he covered her body with his. Her fingers skated down his back, grabbed his ass as he entered her. The hall fell away and it was their bodies entwined. Like the dance they did daily with the banto sticks, they moved together. And much like their fights, she was grace and he started with a few fumbled thrusts before he picked up the rhythm. But once he got the rhythm…
The next minuteshoursdays were a blur of heat and fingers and soft, breathy moans and tandem motion.
Afterwards, she lay with her head curled on his chest, her fingers playing with the hair there.
John’s eyes were closed, the hall finally blissfully silent so he could imagine it was just the two of them. To think that this all happened because he tripped and stepped where he shouldn’t have.
He was jarred from his sleepy thoughts by fingers tweaking his nipple. He opened bleary eyes to see Teyla looking expectantly at him. Her face bore a sheen of moisture that only intensified its copper tone.
“You’re kidding, right?” he drawled.
She smirked and shook her head. Plucked harder at his nipple, then ran her hand under the sheets and down his stomach.
He laughed as she grabbed a hold of him, pulled up and distracted her with a kiss. “I never could keep up with you in the gym, Teyla.”
“Perhaps there are other maneuvers we could practice,” she whispered slyly, her hand seeking him out again.
“Oh, I dunno, Teyla. Sorry to disappoint but I’m kinda a one trick pony.”
She quirked an eyebrow at that.
“My uh, ex-wife, Nancy, told me I was too vanilla in bed,” he chuckled bashfully, scrubbing a hand at his nape.
“Vanilla?”
“Yeah, like the ice cream.”
“I do not understand.”
“What’s your favorite ice cream in the cafeteria?”
“Rocky road,” she answered, licking her lips lasciviously.
“Yeah, and why?”
“Because there is something new in each bite.”
“Yeah, and vanilla…”
“I see. Well,” she continued, moving in to lay a line of kisses across his chest. “I have always enjoyed vanilla as well. When it’s made well…”
He found inspiration as her lips pecked and sucked at his chest. Smiled evilly before grabbing her and flipping her onto her back. “I actually do know another flavor…. Strawberry.”
He started at her cheek, kissed her gently down her chin, down the smooth plane of her neck to the sweat covered salt plain of her chest.
He trailed the kisses down her cleavage, along her stomach, sucked briefly at her tiny navel before scootching down further in the bed.
As her fingers knit into his hair she began writhing, moaning, whimpering. He took encouragement in her obvious pleasure, attacked her center with greater fervor.
Her final cry bounced off the rafters and echoed through the great hall. And John didn’t give a shit if everyone woke up. He was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself, truth be told. Take that, Nancy.
He moved up next to where Teyla had curled up on the pillows. Her eyes were half mast with languid ardor. She smiled and stretched, pulled the sheet up to her chin as she snuggled down.
“I like strawberry, John.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmmm hmmmm.” The cat that ate the canary look was back. Actually, more like the cat that enjoyed a five course feast with a mouse dessert.
Clearly struggling to open her eyes, she gazed sleepily at him. Raised a finger and touched the end of his nose.
“You have no idea what you've done.”