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Title: Enough For Now
Summary: What John needs, he isn't going to get. But this is enough, for the moment.
Category: John/Teyla, friendship, romance?
Rating: NC-17 for sexual scenes
Notes: A story for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elflinn in troubled times. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and just never got around to posting it.
Enough For Now
John woke with a start.
In the dark silence of his room, his heartbeat thumped like the battering of drums in his head, and his breathing seemed harsh in the quiet. He dragged his hand across his brow and wiped the sweat on the sheets.
Beside him, someone shifted, drawn out of sleep into the half-waking zone and skin dragged against skin.
John slid his hands down over her warm skin, suddenly aware of the aching need in his flesh, to forget the nightmare of the last few days. First the dreams, Lorne's brief spell of insanity, and Kate's death... Now Rodney was dead, too.
In the darkness, his nose pressed against her bare flesh, using touch to find her mouth as he ran his hands over the naked curves under his sheets and listened to the murmur under his lips. He wanted this, needed the reassurance after Rodney has she'd needed it after Kate. And she was here, in his bed, and naked and soft and hot...
He filled his hands with the swell of her curves and drank her kisses like a cool beer, thirsty for more. When he filled her body with his in slow, hard thrusts, her fingers clutched at his shoulders and she moaned something against his mouth.
John couldn't stop. He didn't want to. Everything in him strained towards release and when her nails dug into his skin and she clenched around him, John let himself untense. His climax was shatteringly bright and he collapsed, panting against her throat, replete.
Some time later, he became aware that Teyla lay silent beneath him, her hands fallen from his shoulders.
He lifted his head, and met a reserved, hostile gaze. Her lip trembled - not in tears, but in a betrayal so fierce he scrambled off her.
"Teyla?"
"What was that?" Her diction was perfectly clear and clearly annoyed.
"I..." The flippant answer hovered on his tongue. He managed to hold it back. He'd done something wrong and he didn't know what. "Did I hurt you?"
"No."
"I thought..." Fear left chill traceries along his flesh. "Didn't you...?"
"I did not want you, John." Her expression was hard but she wouldn't meet his gaze. The cold along his skin slid deeper. "Not like that."
John felt physically sick. It wasn't the first time he'd been thrown for a loop in a relationship. It was the first time he'd been thrown for a loop when it came to a woman's willingness to have sex with him. He'd always been sure, and if the sex hadn't always been the best, at least John was certain he'd always had their consent.
Not this time, apparently.
"I thought... You didn't struggle." It sounded lame, even to him. Grounds for rape? One glance from the tangled bedsheets to Teyla's tense body clenched something in his chest. He felt clammy and foul - something unmentionable, undesirable. Had he even given her a chance to object? He couldn't remember.
He thought she'd liked him, admired him, wanted him.
"You are a friend, John. That is all. I believed that you knew that - that you would respect that..."
Her words were like lead in his stomach, heavy. He felt nauseous, like being seasick...
Seasick...
Wooden oars beneath his fingers, the motion of the boat on the stormy sea and the sodden chill of his clothing, sticking to his skin as Rodney moaned about how bad the situation was.
And he'd woken to Rodney's death and the accusations of the others and...
John turned, looking for the shadow he suddenly knew was there - the thing that bore his face and used his voice as it invaded his people's nightmares. Behind him, Teyla gave a muffled sob, and the noise ripped through him like a knife.
But he met the mocking gaze of the man who stood clothed in shadows and cruelty. "You."
Now he remembered being thrown from the balcony to the Gateroom floor, blacking out from the impact, waking...
Waking to a Teyla who didn't want him.
It was just a dream.
"It's not a dream," said the other him - the not-him with the cruel glitter in the darkened eyes. "At least, the way she feels about you isn't. She doesn't want you."
"You'd like me to think that, wouldn't you?"
"You'd like to believe otherwise, wouldn't you? All those nights you spent with her, trying to explain football to her. Playing her tunes that she doesn't know the words to. Letting her kick your ass in the hope that she'd soften up." Not-John stood and rested his hands on his hip. "There's a word for guys like you, John. Losers. Always hoping after the girl who's out of your league." One finger flicked at the scene behind John - the tousled sheets, the cold woman, the sick fear.
Ignoring his nakedness, John leaped, grappling with the darkness that both was and wasn't him. Strong fingers bit into his shoulders, tossing him in the air and through some barrier that he hadn't known was even there.
He landed hard on the Gateroom floor, fully clothed, aching at the impact as he landed on his back. He tried to get up, and could only roll to his side. Too much effort. Too much pain.
Life was pain and suffering and the only option was to endure it.
Like he had to endure his evil twin's prompting. "Get up, John. Get up! FIGHT!"
Rodney was dead. So was Heightmeyer. Teyla didn't want him. And the creature wanted him to fight.
It wasn't until Rodney declared - with a dramatic timing that owed nothing to Monty Python - that he was not dead (yet) that John began to believe that maybe he had a chance.
--
The late-night sleeplessness party had lasted until nearly four, when Rodney had fallen asleep and begun to snore, at which point, Ronon offered to assist Rodney to his room.
Sam excused herself and strode off, while Keller had followed Ronon and Rodney, yawning widely.
Teyla ambled beside John through the corridors of Atlantis on the way to their quarters. On their way to their respective quarters. After so long, John knew better than to expect. It had never stopped him from hoping.
Not until today.
You'd like to believe otherwise, wouldn't you?
"You are okay after your nightmare?"
He tensed. The memory of dream-Teyla's betrayed sadness.
You are a friend, John.
Which was fine as far as it went. He could be content with being friends - he had to be. They were friends and allies in a delicate situation - both in military terms and in political terms. Anything more would make things too complicated.
So he told himself, over and over.
Teyla was watching him, an anxious concern on her face.
"I'm fine," he said, seeing that she was waiting for him to answer. He had to give her an answer of some kind.
"You seemed...concerned when you came out of the dream."
"It wasn't the best experience of my life," John said. Privately, he didn't want to rehash the memory of what he'd done, what she'd said - even if it had been the doppelganger's spin on it. It twisted his stomach just thinking about it. Death was a constant companion, one that he knew was a possibility, even if he'd do anything in his power to prevent it.
Rejection...well, he wouldn't have to face that as long as he never took the risk of being rejected.
Somehow, that wasn't reassuring.
They reached Teyla's quarters and John hovered outside, once again aware of that sense of 'wanting' but also painfully reminded of his nightmare.
I believed you would respect that.
John had and did and would.
But was it wrong to want more?
Teyla heaved a relieved sigh. "It has been a long day, and I am tired. And still I do not wish..." She trailed off. "Do your children fear the dark, also?"
"Sometimes." John shrugged. "Sometimes I do."
Her smile was faint, but gave the sense of brilliance about it. And, once again, she came to John.
Last time had been because of Kate, and John hadn't quite known what to do - oh, he'd known what to do, but he hadn't known what to do.
This was different.
Slender arms slipped around him with tender strength; she turned her head against his shoulder and he caught the faint scent of whatever she used on her hair - spicy herbs. This wasn't Teyla's moment of neediness that had brought her to him, this was his moment of neediness - even if she'd initiated it - and he was going to accept it however it had come. He let the stress and worry drain out of him, let the feel of her in his arms now - however platonic - erase the imagined memory of her betrayed stiffness in his bed. They were friends and she liked him that much. If there was that much, maybe there could be more - if he gained the courage to make a move.
If.
Moving was risky, and John wasn't sure he wanted to risk the hurt. He wasn't sure that she wanted him - although he didn't figure a woman would initiate contact like this unless she was interested on some level.
He let the sigh flow out of him. It wasn't enough - not as much as he wanted - but for the moment, it would do.
- fin -
Summary: What John needs, he isn't going to get. But this is enough, for the moment.
Category: John/Teyla, friendship, romance?
Rating: NC-17 for sexual scenes
Notes: A story for
elflinn in troubled times. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and just never got around to posting it.John woke with a start.
In the dark silence of his room, his heartbeat thumped like the battering of drums in his head, and his breathing seemed harsh in the quiet. He dragged his hand across his brow and wiped the sweat on the sheets.
Beside him, someone shifted, drawn out of sleep into the half-waking zone and skin dragged against skin.
John slid his hands down over her warm skin, suddenly aware of the aching need in his flesh, to forget the nightmare of the last few days. First the dreams, Lorne's brief spell of insanity, and Kate's death... Now Rodney was dead, too.
In the darkness, his nose pressed against her bare flesh, using touch to find her mouth as he ran his hands over the naked curves under his sheets and listened to the murmur under his lips. He wanted this, needed the reassurance after Rodney has she'd needed it after Kate. And she was here, in his bed, and naked and soft and hot...
He filled his hands with the swell of her curves and drank her kisses like a cool beer, thirsty for more. When he filled her body with his in slow, hard thrusts, her fingers clutched at his shoulders and she moaned something against his mouth.
John couldn't stop. He didn't want to. Everything in him strained towards release and when her nails dug into his skin and she clenched around him, John let himself untense. His climax was shatteringly bright and he collapsed, panting against her throat, replete.
Some time later, he became aware that Teyla lay silent beneath him, her hands fallen from his shoulders.
He lifted his head, and met a reserved, hostile gaze. Her lip trembled - not in tears, but in a betrayal so fierce he scrambled off her.
"Teyla?"
"What was that?" Her diction was perfectly clear and clearly annoyed.
"I..." The flippant answer hovered on his tongue. He managed to hold it back. He'd done something wrong and he didn't know what. "Did I hurt you?"
"No."
"I thought..." Fear left chill traceries along his flesh. "Didn't you...?"
"I did not want you, John." Her expression was hard but she wouldn't meet his gaze. The cold along his skin slid deeper. "Not like that."
John felt physically sick. It wasn't the first time he'd been thrown for a loop in a relationship. It was the first time he'd been thrown for a loop when it came to a woman's willingness to have sex with him. He'd always been sure, and if the sex hadn't always been the best, at least John was certain he'd always had their consent.
Not this time, apparently.
"I thought... You didn't struggle." It sounded lame, even to him. Grounds for rape? One glance from the tangled bedsheets to Teyla's tense body clenched something in his chest. He felt clammy and foul - something unmentionable, undesirable. Had he even given her a chance to object? He couldn't remember.
He thought she'd liked him, admired him, wanted him.
"You are a friend, John. That is all. I believed that you knew that - that you would respect that..."
Her words were like lead in his stomach, heavy. He felt nauseous, like being seasick...
Seasick...
Wooden oars beneath his fingers, the motion of the boat on the stormy sea and the sodden chill of his clothing, sticking to his skin as Rodney moaned about how bad the situation was.
And he'd woken to Rodney's death and the accusations of the others and...
John turned, looking for the shadow he suddenly knew was there - the thing that bore his face and used his voice as it invaded his people's nightmares. Behind him, Teyla gave a muffled sob, and the noise ripped through him like a knife.
But he met the mocking gaze of the man who stood clothed in shadows and cruelty. "You."
Now he remembered being thrown from the balcony to the Gateroom floor, blacking out from the impact, waking...
Waking to a Teyla who didn't want him.
It was just a dream.
"It's not a dream," said the other him - the not-him with the cruel glitter in the darkened eyes. "At least, the way she feels about you isn't. She doesn't want you."
"You'd like me to think that, wouldn't you?"
"You'd like to believe otherwise, wouldn't you? All those nights you spent with her, trying to explain football to her. Playing her tunes that she doesn't know the words to. Letting her kick your ass in the hope that she'd soften up." Not-John stood and rested his hands on his hip. "There's a word for guys like you, John. Losers. Always hoping after the girl who's out of your league." One finger flicked at the scene behind John - the tousled sheets, the cold woman, the sick fear.
Ignoring his nakedness, John leaped, grappling with the darkness that both was and wasn't him. Strong fingers bit into his shoulders, tossing him in the air and through some barrier that he hadn't known was even there.
He landed hard on the Gateroom floor, fully clothed, aching at the impact as he landed on his back. He tried to get up, and could only roll to his side. Too much effort. Too much pain.
Life was pain and suffering and the only option was to endure it.
Like he had to endure his evil twin's prompting. "Get up, John. Get up! FIGHT!"
Rodney was dead. So was Heightmeyer. Teyla didn't want him. And the creature wanted him to fight.
It wasn't until Rodney declared - with a dramatic timing that owed nothing to Monty Python - that he was not dead (yet) that John began to believe that maybe he had a chance.
--
The late-night sleeplessness party had lasted until nearly four, when Rodney had fallen asleep and begun to snore, at which point, Ronon offered to assist Rodney to his room.
Sam excused herself and strode off, while Keller had followed Ronon and Rodney, yawning widely.
Teyla ambled beside John through the corridors of Atlantis on the way to their quarters. On their way to their respective quarters. After so long, John knew better than to expect. It had never stopped him from hoping.
Not until today.
You'd like to believe otherwise, wouldn't you?
"You are okay after your nightmare?"
He tensed. The memory of dream-Teyla's betrayed sadness.
You are a friend, John.
Which was fine as far as it went. He could be content with being friends - he had to be. They were friends and allies in a delicate situation - both in military terms and in political terms. Anything more would make things too complicated.
So he told himself, over and over.
Teyla was watching him, an anxious concern on her face.
"I'm fine," he said, seeing that she was waiting for him to answer. He had to give her an answer of some kind.
"You seemed...concerned when you came out of the dream."
"It wasn't the best experience of my life," John said. Privately, he didn't want to rehash the memory of what he'd done, what she'd said - even if it had been the doppelganger's spin on it. It twisted his stomach just thinking about it. Death was a constant companion, one that he knew was a possibility, even if he'd do anything in his power to prevent it.
Rejection...well, he wouldn't have to face that as long as he never took the risk of being rejected.
Somehow, that wasn't reassuring.
They reached Teyla's quarters and John hovered outside, once again aware of that sense of 'wanting' but also painfully reminded of his nightmare.
I believed you would respect that.
John had and did and would.
But was it wrong to want more?
Teyla heaved a relieved sigh. "It has been a long day, and I am tired. And still I do not wish..." She trailed off. "Do your children fear the dark, also?"
"Sometimes." John shrugged. "Sometimes I do."
Her smile was faint, but gave the sense of brilliance about it. And, once again, she came to John.
Last time had been because of Kate, and John hadn't quite known what to do - oh, he'd known what to do, but he hadn't known what to do.
This was different.
Slender arms slipped around him with tender strength; she turned her head against his shoulder and he caught the faint scent of whatever she used on her hair - spicy herbs. This wasn't Teyla's moment of neediness that had brought her to him, this was his moment of neediness - even if she'd initiated it - and he was going to accept it however it had come. He let the stress and worry drain out of him, let the feel of her in his arms now - however platonic - erase the imagined memory of her betrayed stiffness in his bed. They were friends and she liked him that much. If there was that much, maybe there could be more - if he gained the courage to make a move.
If.
Moving was risky, and John wasn't sure he wanted to risk the hurt. He wasn't sure that she wanted him - although he didn't figure a woman would initiate contact like this unless she was interested on some level.
He let the sigh flow out of him. It wasn't enough - not as much as he wanted - but for the moment, it would do.
- fin -
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Good job, as always. :)
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"What was that?" Her diction was perfectly clear and clearly annoyed.
That one line took me out of sensual-land and plunged me into the angst so fast that it felt like a bucket of cold water to the face. Which is probably how John felt too. I loved it :)
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Good job, as always. :)
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"What was that?" Her diction was perfectly clear and clearly annoyed.
That one line took me out of sensual-land and plunged me into the angst so fast that it felt like a bucket of cold water to the face. Which is probably how John felt too. I loved it :)
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