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TITLE: Psyche's Candle
SUMMARY: Before tenderness overcame caution, before the wax dripped, before love was denied, surely there was a moment.
CATEGORY: John/Teyla, vignette
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not commercial, don't sue.
NOTES: Originally for the Lost City Found prompt battle, posted here for the SGA Newsletter.
Psyche's Candle
There was surely a moment when Psyche held the candle over her husband, looking down into the face of the man she loved, and thought to blow it out. Before tenderness overcame caution, before the wax dripped, before love was denied, surely there was a moment.
It's not candlelight. Teyla's not his wife. But there's a moment all the same.
The sun is setting over the sea, descending into dark flame and dragging daylight with it. In the rec room lounge, everything is shadows, but for the last gleaming tints along the topmost curves of the couches, their lined cushions, and the Colonel who sprawls among them.
Teyla pauses at the end of the couch, her feet bare after sparring, her gaze soft on the man below.
In sleep, John's face is relaxed, easy, without conscious guardedness. A complex man - both open and easy, but with his deeper emotions closed.
Only occasionally do those emotions push through.
His mouth moves on hers, hard and hungering, and an ache opens up in her belly, but there is a splinter in her mind - in his! - and Teyla pushes him away, gasping.
His eyes stare up at hers, pleading for his life against the hundreds in their rooms, awaiting gassing. Teyla apologises, but she knows she will remember his words long after he is dead.
His hand reaches out to hers, hesitating, as though the contact might break him - might break her. The pat is as awkward as his words, but Teyla is aware that he has placed in her a trust. She would not break it.
His cool forehead rests against hers, intimate and comfortable as they stand in the Gateroom. This is goodbye - at least for the moment - and the smile he gives her is tender and rueful. "Take care."
Teyla knows she could kneel beside the couch, brush her fingers across his cheek, move her lips over his mouth, awaken him like the enchanted royalty of Earth fairy tales. He would not gainsay her interest.
Yet they come from different worlds, fight the same war, balance an alliance between them - so much more than just John and Teyla.
She was taught to bear the burden of choices, to balance the risks.
And this, she believes, is more risk than she can bear.
In the Greek legends that Dr. Houston has been telling her, the god Eros chose Psyche to be his wife, but Psyche was not content with love in the night - she wished to see her husband and know him, and doomed herself in the fulfilment of wanting.
Self-preservation blows out the candle.
Teyla walks away, leaving love where he lies.
fin
SUMMARY: Before tenderness overcame caution, before the wax dripped, before love was denied, surely there was a moment.
CATEGORY: John/Teyla, vignette
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not commercial, don't sue.
NOTES: Originally for the Lost City Found prompt battle, posted here for the SGA Newsletter.
Psyche's Candle
There was surely a moment when Psyche held the candle over her husband, looking down into the face of the man she loved, and thought to blow it out. Before tenderness overcame caution, before the wax dripped, before love was denied, surely there was a moment.
It's not candlelight. Teyla's not his wife. But there's a moment all the same.
The sun is setting over the sea, descending into dark flame and dragging daylight with it. In the rec room lounge, everything is shadows, but for the last gleaming tints along the topmost curves of the couches, their lined cushions, and the Colonel who sprawls among them.
Teyla pauses at the end of the couch, her feet bare after sparring, her gaze soft on the man below.
In sleep, John's face is relaxed, easy, without conscious guardedness. A complex man - both open and easy, but with his deeper emotions closed.
Only occasionally do those emotions push through.
His mouth moves on hers, hard and hungering, and an ache opens up in her belly, but there is a splinter in her mind - in his! - and Teyla pushes him away, gasping.
His eyes stare up at hers, pleading for his life against the hundreds in their rooms, awaiting gassing. Teyla apologises, but she knows she will remember his words long after he is dead.
His hand reaches out to hers, hesitating, as though the contact might break him - might break her. The pat is as awkward as his words, but Teyla is aware that he has placed in her a trust. She would not break it.
His cool forehead rests against hers, intimate and comfortable as they stand in the Gateroom. This is goodbye - at least for the moment - and the smile he gives her is tender and rueful. "Take care."
Teyla knows she could kneel beside the couch, brush her fingers across his cheek, move her lips over his mouth, awaken him like the enchanted royalty of Earth fairy tales. He would not gainsay her interest.
Yet they come from different worlds, fight the same war, balance an alliance between them - so much more than just John and Teyla.
She was taught to bear the burden of choices, to balance the risks.
And this, she believes, is more risk than she can bear.
In the Greek legends that Dr. Houston has been telling her, the god Eros chose Psyche to be his wife, but Psyche was not content with love in the night - she wished to see her husband and know him, and doomed herself in the fulfilment of wanting.
Self-preservation blows out the candle.
Teyla walks away, leaving love where he lies.
fin