![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Four kiss fics for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beaniesheppard's Not!McShep Kissing Meme.
TITLE: Drunk And Dangerous
PAIRING: John/Teyla
Drunk And Dangerous
The colours of the drink tilted, then slid out of the glass as he tossed back the alcohol and swallowed. Teyla watched a thin, glittering drop slide down one corner of his mouth and nearly bent to lick it up.
Instead, she reached out to catch the drop of liquid on her fingertip, tracing it back up to his lips, feeling the faintest beginning of stubble along his jaw. She'd only intended to go as far as cleaning him up, but John's mouth closed about her index finger, and his eyes looked up at her through long, dark lashes, almost daring her to protest as he sucked it into his mouth.
Teyla quivered, her body heating at the sensuous action, even as she slid her finger from his mouth, self-consciously. Challenge or promise? John had asked in the other club, and she had asked him which he would prefer.
If she was willing to flirt, it seemed John was willing to take it beyond lighthearted teasing..
The thought thrilled her, sliding sweetly across her skin, even as she tried to reach for the ramifications of what such an action might mean for them.
It took her a moment to realise that he was speaking to her, and another for her to work out what he was saying. "Your turn."
At first, she didn't know what he meant. Then he indicated the drink, his eyes narrow. "You're not chickening out on me, now, Teyla!"
She laughed then, as much in relief as in amusement at his words. Just because John was willing to walk his paths alone did not mean he did not do everything he could to ensure he had company on his journey.
As the music ceased, Teyla rested her hand on his shoulder and lifted the coloured drink to her lips, throwing it back as he had shown her, and nearly choking on the fiery flavours as she did. Quickly, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, half-laughing at herself, only to feel liquid slide across her skin.
The glass in her hand had dripped a last trickle of the drink along her chin and down her throat.
She swallowed hurriedly, and reached out to catch the glistening drop before it slid down her front and stained her dress.
A hand intercepted hers, catching the wrist and pushing it away as he leaned forward.
Teyla caught her breath as his tongue touched her bare skin. Damp heat traced gently up the curve of her throat from collarbone to jaw, igniting fire in her veins, burning sweetly beneath her skin. Dimly, she was aware of his hair tickling her cheekbone, of his thighs, hard and hot beneath her legs, of the fingers that rested over the pulse at her wrist.
If she had felt momentary desire, John was acting upon it.
The moan hovered in her throat, yearning to be let out. She stifled it, but couldn't do anything about the sudden frantic thud of her heart, the pulse between her thighs, or the way her nipples stiffened then swelled in slow arousal.
Why had she allowed him to breach the gap between them tonight of all nights?
Why did she turn her head to capture his mouth?
Teyla did not know - either then, or later. At that moment, she didn't care.
Lips touched lips in a slow and gentle kiss, tasting at first, before deepening with greater hunger. The music that began in the background of the club was steady as a pulse yet arrhythmic as her breathing, and she felt the swing and sway of it in the way John kissed her.
Slow and deep and sweet, like sinking beneath the surface of a hot bath; surrounded, swallowed, drowned - it was all that and more, and she never wanted it to end.
It had to end. She had held back from him for a reason, choosing not to take up his invitations, to not be swayed by his charm. He was a friend and she trusted him above any other in Atlantis, but this... His fingers ran along the outside curve of her breast in a daring caress, and she shifted her weight a little, pressing her thigh along his.
They broke apart, panting.
--
TITLE: Need To Be Here
PAIRING: None - John & Teyla friendship
PROMPT:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100 - #006 - hours
Need To Be Here
John had other places he should be at, but he needed to be here.
The surgery was over and done, a bloody wreckage of mother and child that had gone on for hour after hour after hour, goring Keller up to her elbows, and sickening the surgery nurses enough that they came out looking like so many ghosts in green scrubs.
Keller's freckles had been dark as moles in her face, but her expression was steady as she came to see Teyla's team-mates, a clean apron hastily thrown over her scrubs, the faint pink stains of washed-out blood still edging her sleeves. "She'll live," she said. "So will the...child."
Her fingers had closed around John's forearm, brief and warm - so much emotionally stronger than she physically seemed. "It'll be some time before she's back on her feet. And she won't be waking up anytime soon." Her gaze took in the grim lines around John's lips, Ronon's expressionless face, Rodney's haggard eyes. "Get some rest," she told them with a hint of humour about her mouth. "Doctor's orders."
For a woman in charge of a city of the Ancients that now possessed a baby with rather more Wraith DNA than not, Carter had taken the news calmly enough. If not for their previous clashes of authority, John would have questioned if the woman had any emotion in her.
But who was John to talk about taking things calmly?
He'd gone to bed and slept for six hours - a soldier's determined rest - before waking up and going back to the infirmary to see how Teyla was doing.
At the entrance to the post-op ward, John paused. The one patient in the room crowded his awareness, her hands resting by her sides as the EKG measured out her heartbeat in steady beeps.
Her skin was the colour of chocolate milk, without its usual undertone of bronzed honey, and her lashes lay still against her cheek, resting in the shadowed hollow of her eyes.
What came next? John didn't know and couldn't imagine.
But he'd face it down with Teyla. They all would.
Atlantis hadn't been there for the Athosians when they vanished, out of time, out of space. The night she came to him, needing only someone to cling to, John had quietly promised himself that he'd be there for Teyla in the future.
So far, he'd held to it.
When her pregnancy was discovered, as they watched her glow and grow, as the fears set in about the nature of the child, and when she made the decision to have the C-sec, John had been there for her: he and Rodney and Ronon - and Atlantis behind them.
He needed to be here.
A glance around showed no-one near, and he brushed back a strand of hair from her face and let his mouth brush across her forehead. Her skin was warm against his chilled lips, and he let them rest there a moment, before breaking the contact.
Two hours later, coming in with Keller and the early-morning shift, Ronon found him still there.
--
TITLE: Take
PAIRING: John/Teyla
PROMPT:fanfic100 - #015 - blue
Take
Teyla still watches his eyes.
It is a challenge of sorts, to herself, to him, as they circle, stepping carefully around each other.
After that first time - that first bout of which they never speak - he does not toy with her in sparring, instead bringing himself down to her level, challenging her as she once challenged him.
Either her skill is growing, or his conversion is waning.
"Come on, Teyla," he says, his voice easy, almost lazy, for all that the slit-pupilled eyes watch her with an intensity that strokes fingers down her skin. "Take me."
"Perhaps it has not come to your attention that I am trying," she tells him, feinting to the left before lashing out with the right. He meets her blow, blocking it and retaliating with one of her own. She spins him off her staves and turns to meet him coming the other way. They exchange a flurry of blows, swift, sure, and dangerous. Quarter is not given and none is received.
Others in Atlantis find John disturbing in his reptilian form, unable to see the man through the yellow eyes and the blue scales of his skin. In the end, while Carson could stop what was happening to him in the Iratus infection, he could not reverse what had already changed within him.
Teyla wonders that the Lanteans find it so difficult to see John: she finds him essentially unchanged in spirit, although perhaps a little more bitter at the perceptions and behaviours of others. But she continues to admire his strength and his will; his determination not to give up, not to let the discomfort at his appearance affect what he will do.
He is still John Sheppard, her ally, and her friend.
Even if he is better at bantos fighting than he was before.
He attacks, and she allows him to push her back, aware of his advantages and her own skills as she does so. There has been no repeat of that first fight when he appeared human, but the Iratus virus was already taking hold.
They do not mention it.
Her opening comes unexpectedly, nothing more than a moment's guard let down. Her twist of the wrist flicks his staff away, her own staff catching at arm as she steps behind him and lays the other at his throat. Exhilaration roars through her, a satisfaction in a success she has not felt for many months now.
"You're getting better," he says, tilting his head back against her stomach to look her in the eyes with the gleam of humour that is still John.
"Your technique is still not what it should be," she tells him, an echo of the chiding she used to tender him when she was the master and he the student - and still does, although he defeats her more often than not. It masks the warmth she feels at her win and his smile.
"If I didn't rely on my speed and strength..." John says, almost singing back the start of her usual criticisms of his skills in bantos rods.
Annoyance threatens - with herself and with him. And new possibilities arise. "Perhaps I have been repeating myself too long," she murmurs.
"Might be time for a new lesson," he says as she lets him go.
Teyla allows her bantos rods to fall to the ground with a musical clatter as she steps around John. His cheek and jaw are oddly soft beneath her fingers, if not the warm flesh that once sheathed his being then like butter-soft leather. His eyes flare wide as she bends down, and his mouth opens to receive her mouth in his.
The other kiss - the one they do not mention - had passion to it, but no tenderness. John was human, yet his kiss was not.
This time, she is the one taking and he is the one giving, and his lips move slow and intent in hers, receiving and returning her kiss with a slow-growing hunger that finds echoes beneath Teyla's breastbone.
Fire boils in the pit of her belly, a warm pressure in her blood that is undimmed by the soft leathery fingers that slide around her waist and up her back, pulling her down to him. The texture of his palms against her skin skims tremors down her spine, tingles in her breasts, aches in her groin.
He is reluctant to let her break away, fingers flexing in gentle protest as she lifts her lips and looks down into his eyes.
"You said I should take you," she murmurs smiling.
Pressure at her waist and nape draw her back down to him, a willing participant to her desire. "You can take me again."
--
TITLE: All Or Nothing
PAIRING: Ronon/Elizabeth
All Or Nothing
In six months, she's forgotten the way Ronon kisses.
He kisses the way he eats, the way he runs, the way he fights, the way he lives. Like every moment is his last, and every particle of him is given over to what he's doing.
All or nothing, no inbetweens.
As he steers her into a side room with the lupine grace she suppressed, Elizabeth feels her cheeks heat and her pulse rise. "Ronon--"
His mouth comes down on hers, no questions, no quips. Just the hunger of his mouth and the way his fingers press against the soft underside of her buttocks.
Elizabeth is kissed in slow swallows, as though he's savouring the taste of her. Her breathing is rough as he takes soft bites of her lower lip, a rapacious nibble of her skin. Beneath her fingers, his coat leather is soft and his hair is wiry and she remembers how he felt under her in her bed that night long ago in Atlantis.
But when his fingers touch her bare spine, she drags herself back to the reality of their situation. "We shouldn't be doing this now."
Too late, she realises the time modifier she added to the statement - sees his grin. "Later?"
Carefully fingering her mouth and hair, she prevaricates, a flush still burning high on her cheeks. "Maybe."
"If I'm good?" Dark eyes twinkle. "Or if I'm bad?"
Her flush heightens. He shouldn't put ideas like that in her head. "I'll think about it..."
His mouth lands on hers again, fierce and sweet, a last gulp that elicits a moan from her as his fingers skip up her spine beneath her shirt. "Don't think too much."
In his arms, she's finding it hard to think at all.
--
beaniesheppard's Not!McShep Kissing Meme.TITLE: Drunk And Dangerous
PAIRING: John/Teyla
Drunk And Dangerous
The colours of the drink tilted, then slid out of the glass as he tossed back the alcohol and swallowed. Teyla watched a thin, glittering drop slide down one corner of his mouth and nearly bent to lick it up.
Instead, she reached out to catch the drop of liquid on her fingertip, tracing it back up to his lips, feeling the faintest beginning of stubble along his jaw. She'd only intended to go as far as cleaning him up, but John's mouth closed about her index finger, and his eyes looked up at her through long, dark lashes, almost daring her to protest as he sucked it into his mouth.
Teyla quivered, her body heating at the sensuous action, even as she slid her finger from his mouth, self-consciously. Challenge or promise? John had asked in the other club, and she had asked him which he would prefer.
If she was willing to flirt, it seemed John was willing to take it beyond lighthearted teasing..
The thought thrilled her, sliding sweetly across her skin, even as she tried to reach for the ramifications of what such an action might mean for them.
It took her a moment to realise that he was speaking to her, and another for her to work out what he was saying. "Your turn."
At first, she didn't know what he meant. Then he indicated the drink, his eyes narrow. "You're not chickening out on me, now, Teyla!"
She laughed then, as much in relief as in amusement at his words. Just because John was willing to walk his paths alone did not mean he did not do everything he could to ensure he had company on his journey.
As the music ceased, Teyla rested her hand on his shoulder and lifted the coloured drink to her lips, throwing it back as he had shown her, and nearly choking on the fiery flavours as she did. Quickly, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, half-laughing at herself, only to feel liquid slide across her skin.
The glass in her hand had dripped a last trickle of the drink along her chin and down her throat.
She swallowed hurriedly, and reached out to catch the glistening drop before it slid down her front and stained her dress.
A hand intercepted hers, catching the wrist and pushing it away as he leaned forward.
Teyla caught her breath as his tongue touched her bare skin. Damp heat traced gently up the curve of her throat from collarbone to jaw, igniting fire in her veins, burning sweetly beneath her skin. Dimly, she was aware of his hair tickling her cheekbone, of his thighs, hard and hot beneath her legs, of the fingers that rested over the pulse at her wrist.
If she had felt momentary desire, John was acting upon it.
The moan hovered in her throat, yearning to be let out. She stifled it, but couldn't do anything about the sudden frantic thud of her heart, the pulse between her thighs, or the way her nipples stiffened then swelled in slow arousal.
Why had she allowed him to breach the gap between them tonight of all nights?
Why did she turn her head to capture his mouth?
Teyla did not know - either then, or later. At that moment, she didn't care.
Lips touched lips in a slow and gentle kiss, tasting at first, before deepening with greater hunger. The music that began in the background of the club was steady as a pulse yet arrhythmic as her breathing, and she felt the swing and sway of it in the way John kissed her.
Slow and deep and sweet, like sinking beneath the surface of a hot bath; surrounded, swallowed, drowned - it was all that and more, and she never wanted it to end.
It had to end. She had held back from him for a reason, choosing not to take up his invitations, to not be swayed by his charm. He was a friend and she trusted him above any other in Atlantis, but this... His fingers ran along the outside curve of her breast in a daring caress, and she shifted her weight a little, pressing her thigh along his.
They broke apart, panting.
--
TITLE: Need To Be Here
PAIRING: None - John & Teyla friendship
PROMPT:
fanfic100 - #006 - hoursNeed To Be Here
John had other places he should be at, but he needed to be here.
The surgery was over and done, a bloody wreckage of mother and child that had gone on for hour after hour after hour, goring Keller up to her elbows, and sickening the surgery nurses enough that they came out looking like so many ghosts in green scrubs.
Keller's freckles had been dark as moles in her face, but her expression was steady as she came to see Teyla's team-mates, a clean apron hastily thrown over her scrubs, the faint pink stains of washed-out blood still edging her sleeves. "She'll live," she said. "So will the...child."
Her fingers had closed around John's forearm, brief and warm - so much emotionally stronger than she physically seemed. "It'll be some time before she's back on her feet. And she won't be waking up anytime soon." Her gaze took in the grim lines around John's lips, Ronon's expressionless face, Rodney's haggard eyes. "Get some rest," she told them with a hint of humour about her mouth. "Doctor's orders."
For a woman in charge of a city of the Ancients that now possessed a baby with rather more Wraith DNA than not, Carter had taken the news calmly enough. If not for their previous clashes of authority, John would have questioned if the woman had any emotion in her.
But who was John to talk about taking things calmly?
He'd gone to bed and slept for six hours - a soldier's determined rest - before waking up and going back to the infirmary to see how Teyla was doing.
At the entrance to the post-op ward, John paused. The one patient in the room crowded his awareness, her hands resting by her sides as the EKG measured out her heartbeat in steady beeps.
Her skin was the colour of chocolate milk, without its usual undertone of bronzed honey, and her lashes lay still against her cheek, resting in the shadowed hollow of her eyes.
What came next? John didn't know and couldn't imagine.
But he'd face it down with Teyla. They all would.
Atlantis hadn't been there for the Athosians when they vanished, out of time, out of space. The night she came to him, needing only someone to cling to, John had quietly promised himself that he'd be there for Teyla in the future.
So far, he'd held to it.
When her pregnancy was discovered, as they watched her glow and grow, as the fears set in about the nature of the child, and when she made the decision to have the C-sec, John had been there for her: he and Rodney and Ronon - and Atlantis behind them.
He needed to be here.
A glance around showed no-one near, and he brushed back a strand of hair from her face and let his mouth brush across her forehead. Her skin was warm against his chilled lips, and he let them rest there a moment, before breaking the contact.
Two hours later, coming in with Keller and the early-morning shift, Ronon found him still there.
--
TITLE: Take
PAIRING: John/Teyla
PROMPT:
fanfic100 - #015 - blueTake
Teyla still watches his eyes.
It is a challenge of sorts, to herself, to him, as they circle, stepping carefully around each other.
After that first time - that first bout of which they never speak - he does not toy with her in sparring, instead bringing himself down to her level, challenging her as she once challenged him.
Either her skill is growing, or his conversion is waning.
"Come on, Teyla," he says, his voice easy, almost lazy, for all that the slit-pupilled eyes watch her with an intensity that strokes fingers down her skin. "Take me."
"Perhaps it has not come to your attention that I am trying," she tells him, feinting to the left before lashing out with the right. He meets her blow, blocking it and retaliating with one of her own. She spins him off her staves and turns to meet him coming the other way. They exchange a flurry of blows, swift, sure, and dangerous. Quarter is not given and none is received.
Others in Atlantis find John disturbing in his reptilian form, unable to see the man through the yellow eyes and the blue scales of his skin. In the end, while Carson could stop what was happening to him in the Iratus infection, he could not reverse what had already changed within him.
Teyla wonders that the Lanteans find it so difficult to see John: she finds him essentially unchanged in spirit, although perhaps a little more bitter at the perceptions and behaviours of others. But she continues to admire his strength and his will; his determination not to give up, not to let the discomfort at his appearance affect what he will do.
He is still John Sheppard, her ally, and her friend.
Even if he is better at bantos fighting than he was before.
He attacks, and she allows him to push her back, aware of his advantages and her own skills as she does so. There has been no repeat of that first fight when he appeared human, but the Iratus virus was already taking hold.
They do not mention it.
Her opening comes unexpectedly, nothing more than a moment's guard let down. Her twist of the wrist flicks his staff away, her own staff catching at arm as she steps behind him and lays the other at his throat. Exhilaration roars through her, a satisfaction in a success she has not felt for many months now.
"You're getting better," he says, tilting his head back against her stomach to look her in the eyes with the gleam of humour that is still John.
"Your technique is still not what it should be," she tells him, an echo of the chiding she used to tender him when she was the master and he the student - and still does, although he defeats her more often than not. It masks the warmth she feels at her win and his smile.
"If I didn't rely on my speed and strength..." John says, almost singing back the start of her usual criticisms of his skills in bantos rods.
Annoyance threatens - with herself and with him. And new possibilities arise. "Perhaps I have been repeating myself too long," she murmurs.
"Might be time for a new lesson," he says as she lets him go.
Teyla allows her bantos rods to fall to the ground with a musical clatter as she steps around John. His cheek and jaw are oddly soft beneath her fingers, if not the warm flesh that once sheathed his being then like butter-soft leather. His eyes flare wide as she bends down, and his mouth opens to receive her mouth in his.
The other kiss - the one they do not mention - had passion to it, but no tenderness. John was human, yet his kiss was not.
This time, she is the one taking and he is the one giving, and his lips move slow and intent in hers, receiving and returning her kiss with a slow-growing hunger that finds echoes beneath Teyla's breastbone.
Fire boils in the pit of her belly, a warm pressure in her blood that is undimmed by the soft leathery fingers that slide around her waist and up her back, pulling her down to him. The texture of his palms against her skin skims tremors down her spine, tingles in her breasts, aches in her groin.
He is reluctant to let her break away, fingers flexing in gentle protest as she lifts her lips and looks down into his eyes.
"You said I should take you," she murmurs smiling.
Pressure at her waist and nape draw her back down to him, a willing participant to her desire. "You can take me again."
--
TITLE: All Or Nothing
PAIRING: Ronon/Elizabeth
All Or Nothing
In six months, she's forgotten the way Ronon kisses.
He kisses the way he eats, the way he runs, the way he fights, the way he lives. Like every moment is his last, and every particle of him is given over to what he's doing.
All or nothing, no inbetweens.
As he steers her into a side room with the lupine grace she suppressed, Elizabeth feels her cheeks heat and her pulse rise. "Ronon--"
His mouth comes down on hers, no questions, no quips. Just the hunger of his mouth and the way his fingers press against the soft underside of her buttocks.
Elizabeth is kissed in slow swallows, as though he's savouring the taste of her. Her breathing is rough as he takes soft bites of her lower lip, a rapacious nibble of her skin. Beneath her fingers, his coat leather is soft and his hair is wiry and she remembers how he felt under her in her bed that night long ago in Atlantis.
But when his fingers touch her bare spine, she drags herself back to the reality of their situation. "We shouldn't be doing this now."
Too late, she realises the time modifier she added to the statement - sees his grin. "Later?"
Carefully fingering her mouth and hair, she prevaricates, a flush still burning high on her cheeks. "Maybe."
"If I'm good?" Dark eyes twinkle. "Or if I'm bad?"
Her flush heightens. He shouldn't put ideas like that in her head. "I'll think about it..."
His mouth lands on hers again, fierce and sweet, a last gulp that elicits a moan from her as his fingers skip up her spine beneath her shirt. "Don't think too much."
In his arms, she's finding it hard to think at all.
--
Tags: