Porn Battle VII!
Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins) is on until next Sunday!
My first offering:
Title: Midnight Rousing
Summary: Teyla wakes from dark dreams, writhing.
Pairing: John/Teyla
Prompt: dreams
Rating: NC-17
Midnight Rousing
Teyla wakes from dark dreams, writhing.
Beside her, in the bed, the mattress shifts as John turns over onto his back, still sleeping. Reflected moonlight limns one lean arm in her blurry vision, and his skin is soft and smooth beneath her rough fingertips.
Sometimes she wonders at his softness - the pampered living of all the Lanteans in the city, who have lived tough times, but never hard times. Sometimes she yearns for that softness, that safety, that surety that life will present nothing that cannot be dealt with, that fear is not something to be lived with daily, that there will be rest at the end of the day.
Sometimes she would drink it from him as a Wraith drinks life - take that ease and comfort into her, to fill the hollow spaces of wanting.
Her fingers trail across his collarbone, and the blurryness of sleep recedes like the tides of the ocean on the shore. She slides her fingers down his chest, circling his nipple, brushing her palm down his pectorals, pausing over the slight hollow of his breastbone - where a Wraith hand would feed. But she is not a Wraith - not tonight; just a woman who yearns for him and wishes to be wanted in return.
Give it time.
Teyla sketches patterns across his skin; content to wait for his rousing - or else just to play with him as he sleeps, to admire with her fingers and envy with her lips. She leans over and licks his collarbone - a flick of her tongue, male musk and salt.
John shifts again, and his waking mouth curves in a smile as his arm comes down over her shoulders, drawing her in. He is not awake, but he is aware of her, and Teyla grins as she tugs off her sleeping top and settles bare skin against his side. Her thigh hooks over his leg, and she presses her cleft against his hipbone, humming a little at the texture of his hairs on her inner thigh at the way the curve of her breast swings heavy on his chest as she shifts.
Warm flesh, warm sweat, clean linen, and the aroma of desire surround her as she tucks her head on his shoulder, and lets her fingers explore him, muscles and skin and hair and life and blood and hunger.
She wants him, now; yet wanting is not the same as having. He enjoys being aroused in the morning, but midnight attempts have mixed results.
His far hand rests on his stomach, just above his waistband - a doorkeeper past which her fingers must steal if she is to take him in hand. She brushes his wrist with her fingers, and beneath her fingers, muscles flex.
Her hand is captured in one swift movement. "Were you planning to invite me to the party?" John murmurs, his words slurred from sleep but the amusement plain in them.
"It would be rude of me not to," Teyla says, smiling back. Her fingers slide beneath the silk of his boxers to take him in hand. Breath catches in his throat. "But I have not had time to get an invitation ready..."
Her words are lost against his lips as his free hand curves around her head to bring her close.
There are times when she wonders when she will wake from this dream; when her people, the neutralisation of the Wraith, her son, his father, the man she loves, the friends she has made in Atlantis will all disappear into nothing more than a memory.
There are times when she wakes from dark dreams, shivering.
But this time - John in her arms, biting at her lips, stroking her body, thrusting in her hand - this time is not one of them.
--
Let's see how many I can get through this week...
My first offering:
Title: Midnight Rousing
Summary: Teyla wakes from dark dreams, writhing.
Pairing: John/Teyla
Prompt: dreams
Rating: NC-17
Midnight Rousing
Teyla wakes from dark dreams, writhing.
Beside her, in the bed, the mattress shifts as John turns over onto his back, still sleeping. Reflected moonlight limns one lean arm in her blurry vision, and his skin is soft and smooth beneath her rough fingertips.
Sometimes she wonders at his softness - the pampered living of all the Lanteans in the city, who have lived tough times, but never hard times. Sometimes she yearns for that softness, that safety, that surety that life will present nothing that cannot be dealt with, that fear is not something to be lived with daily, that there will be rest at the end of the day.
Sometimes she would drink it from him as a Wraith drinks life - take that ease and comfort into her, to fill the hollow spaces of wanting.
Her fingers trail across his collarbone, and the blurryness of sleep recedes like the tides of the ocean on the shore. She slides her fingers down his chest, circling his nipple, brushing her palm down his pectorals, pausing over the slight hollow of his breastbone - where a Wraith hand would feed. But she is not a Wraith - not tonight; just a woman who yearns for him and wishes to be wanted in return.
Give it time.
Teyla sketches patterns across his skin; content to wait for his rousing - or else just to play with him as he sleeps, to admire with her fingers and envy with her lips. She leans over and licks his collarbone - a flick of her tongue, male musk and salt.
John shifts again, and his waking mouth curves in a smile as his arm comes down over her shoulders, drawing her in. He is not awake, but he is aware of her, and Teyla grins as she tugs off her sleeping top and settles bare skin against his side. Her thigh hooks over his leg, and she presses her cleft against his hipbone, humming a little at the texture of his hairs on her inner thigh at the way the curve of her breast swings heavy on his chest as she shifts.
Warm flesh, warm sweat, clean linen, and the aroma of desire surround her as she tucks her head on his shoulder, and lets her fingers explore him, muscles and skin and hair and life and blood and hunger.
She wants him, now; yet wanting is not the same as having. He enjoys being aroused in the morning, but midnight attempts have mixed results.
His far hand rests on his stomach, just above his waistband - a doorkeeper past which her fingers must steal if she is to take him in hand. She brushes his wrist with her fingers, and beneath her fingers, muscles flex.
Her hand is captured in one swift movement. "Were you planning to invite me to the party?" John murmurs, his words slurred from sleep but the amusement plain in them.
"It would be rude of me not to," Teyla says, smiling back. Her fingers slide beneath the silk of his boxers to take him in hand. Breath catches in his throat. "But I have not had time to get an invitation ready..."
Her words are lost against his lips as his free hand curves around her head to bring her close.
There are times when she wonders when she will wake from this dream; when her people, the neutralisation of the Wraith, her son, his father, the man she loves, the friends she has made in Atlantis will all disappear into nothing more than a memory.
There are times when she wakes from dark dreams, shivering.
But this time - John in her arms, biting at her lips, stroking her body, thrusting in her hand - this time is not one of them.
--
Let's see how many I can get through this week...