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On the second day of Christmas...
(two turtle-doves? Well, at the start, maybe...)
TITLE: Waking Up In Vegas
AUTHOR: Tielan
SUMMARY: Teyla wakes up next to John.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: AU, John/Teyla, romance, porn.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money.
NOTES: Yes, it was inspired by the Katy Perry song (I don't even like Katy Perry, but the songs are catchy), but also was a prompt in one of the Porn Battles from long ago. This is one of those stories that is really vivid and clear behind your eyes.
that's what you get for waking up in vegas
The buzz of a snipper woke Teyla up, the unfamiliar sound rousing her at the crack of dawn. No-one in the neighbourhood had a snipper - there wasn't any grass to cut in the ghetto - not the kind of grass you cut with a snipper, anyway.
Annoyed by the too-early wake-up after last night's late night, she rolled over and dragged the pillow with her, intending to shut out the noise and the pink daylight filtering through the cheap vinyl curtains...
"Mmphhhfwrr?" Said the lump on the other side of the mattress when her hand came down on his chest.
Hot skin. Male skin. In her bed. Naked male in her bed.
Jerking upright, she yanked up the sheets and stared, horrified, at John Sheppard, sprawled over a good two-thirds of the cheap motel bed, naked as the day he'd been born.
Oh no.
"Teyla?"
"What are you--we--" She broke off as memories of last night crept sheepishly back into her recollection, sporting hangovers that echoed the headache drilling into her skull. "Oh, no."
"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment," he said, his voice still rough from last night's massive drinking binge, "but do you mind giving me back the sheet?"
"Why?" Teyla asked, pushing the heel of her hand against her forehead as she shut her eyes. But the darkness - pink-tinged as it was - was no proof against the memories. "I have already seen it all." Seen it, touched it - even tasted it.
She jerked in surprise as his hand closed over the bunched sheets in hers, brushing her fingers with an electric touch.
"Hey!" He said, green eyes narrowed angrily as she recoiled. "I'm not gonna-- I mean, you don't have to cover uhhh--"
When he trailed off, she followed his gaze down to the glittering rock sitting on the third finger of her left hand. In sunlight, it would explode in a glitter of rainbows, splintering the light into a million refractions. In the curtain-filtered light, it twinkled mischievously, witness to all the insanity of the previous night.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. "John, tell me we did not get married last night."
John was staring at the ring with an expression that was half-horrified, half-awed. When he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a look in them she couldn't identify. "I think..." He swallowed and looked around the room. "I think we did, Teyla."
In the background, the snipper's buzz permeated the moment, incongruity in the middle of insanity - a cheap motel room in Sin City staring at a diamond the size of her little fingernail.
His hand came down on hers as she reached over to tug it off. "No," he said hoarsely. "Don't take it off."
"Don't-- John, have you lost your mind? I cannot keep--"
"It's yours," he said, his fingers winding their way into hers so she couldn't reach the ring to pull it off. "I gave it to you."
"Because we were drunk!"
Panic was setting in, the shocked realisation of what she'd done, what they'd done. And John looked way too calm for a guy who had just woken up married to a girl he had not even been dating twenty-four hours ago.
"Yeah," he agreed. "But we knew what we were doing. I knew what I was doing."
Teyla stared at him incredulously. "John, I barely remember--" Except that was a lie - she did remember - only too well.
The piles of chips on the green baize, gaily coloured and inviting as they stacked up so prettily; the way she had stared at him, incredulous when their number came up, and noticed the warm green glints in his eyes as he grinned. The heavy weight of the chips in her hands before he kissed her, angling his head down to better reach her mouth. The exasperated exclamation of the table dealer when she dropped the chips all over the table to cup the back of his head.
And it had all gone on from there.
Sitting on the bed in the dingy motel room, with an expensive white silk slip slung over the back of a cheap chair, Teyla stared at him. "What happens now?"
"Now," John said sharply, "you don't make like being married to me is the worst thing that could happen to you!"
Teyla stared at him. "Why would you think that?"
He shrugged a little, staring down at their entwined hands. "Just...everything. Your reaction."
Peronally, Teyla thought that her reaction was quite appropriate to the situation. After all, she had woken up married to the son of one of the wealthiest men in the state, if not the country!
Oh God. Her father!
But she didn't dare think of his disappointment now. Or Charin's. Or the thunderous look that would fill Patrick Sheppard's eyes when he realised what his son had done.
"It is not every day you wake up married," she said, squeezing his fingers. "I was...surprised."
"Yeah, well..." He glanced up, green eyes under black hair that was falling into his eyes. "I was surprised when you said yes."
They had been drunk and wealthy by nightfall, with money in their pockets and to spare. Drink and clubs had passed in a blur, highlighted by the hot demands of John's mouth and the sprawled warmth of his hands and the way he shifted against her when Teyla pressed her thigh between his, like he ached.
She had half-expected that she would wake up in bed with John the next morning; she had not expected the proposal.
John had grabbed her hand as they passed one of the glitzy, too-expensive shops that dotted the foyers of these fancy hotels and tugged her up against him. "Hey, Teyla! You know what we should do since we're in Vegas?"
"What do you suggest?"
"We should get married."
"Married?" Teyla finally focused on the window they were standing in front of and realised that she was staring at a tray of rings in glittering silver and gleaming gold.
"Yeah, why not?"
It had seemed like a great idea at the time - something silly and crazy, something fun and unexpected.
In the broad - and too-bright - light of day, Teyla could think of a lot of reasons for why this had been a stupid idea, starting with she was too young to get married, and ending with they weren't even in love.
But looking into John's eyes, the reasons melted away like wax in sunlight, leaving her without protest. She had always known he was an idealist; she had not expected to encounter it so blatantly in a bed of rumpled sheets.
Or maybe he was just horny.
He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer, and after a moment's resistance, she eased over across the sheets and found herself captured in his mouth.
Teyla had heard the rumours about John Sheppard's talented mouth. The prettiest girls at school had always giggled over him in the toilets, going off rumours and tidbits dropped by the handful of girls who'd gone out with him.
Until last night, Teyla had never actually experienced that mouth on hers John had never wanted for dates - either casual or more serious - and they had been lab partners in Ms. Carter's class, and friends of a sort.
But he was very serious now - eager and hungry. His hands stroked her skin, sliding along the curve of her breast as he brushed her nipples with tender, aching caresses. His tongue teased her, inviting her to taste him, sample him, swallow him whole.
She took the invitation, took the initiative. Beneath her lips, she felt him grin, and his chest vibrated with laughter under her palm as she pushed him back, intending to hold him down and tease him until he begged.
In the back of her mind, Teyla vaguely remembered lying boneless in the sheets last night, while John teased her with biting kisses and slow touches. She'd threatened retribution, but had not possessed the energy then.
In the front of her mind, Teyla vaguely realised she was falling, that John's hands were slipping from her skin, that his mouth was falling out of hers...
Her chin jarred on his breastbone, and her shriek was cut off in the sharp clack of her teeth snapping together, overwhelmed by his yelp of pain.
"John? Are you...?" She flailed around, trying to find something to push herself up with - something that wasn't him. Her fingers found the floor, cringed at the slightly tacky texture of the carpet - dear God, why had they ended up here last night?
"I'm alive," he said as she looked him over, although his expression was a wince of pain. She reached out one hand to touch the back of his head and saw him grimace. "I think."
"You are talking. That means alive."
He began to prop himself up and stopped as her breasts, hanging down over him, made contact with his chest. Green eyes flickered to her face and he shifted his whole body, ever so slightly beneath hers. An experiment, a test.
"John..."
"Shhh," he murmured, and the soft husk of his voice took on a sensuous vibration that quivered in her nerves, added to by the hand he ran over her butt, by the hard thigh that pressed against her cleft with the slight pressure he applied to her tailbone.
Teyla arched a little and tilted her hips to gain a better angle as the tips of her breasts traced through the hair on his chest. Fire tingled across her skin, so fierce, she wondered that little bolts of lightning didn't sparkle over her.
"Like that?" A smile played on his lips, male and satisfied. "Keep going. Ah-ah-ah!" He shook his head when she lifted one hand to stroke him. "No hands, Teyla."
"No hands?"
"No hands." He was panting, his chest heaving with effort. She leaned over a little so the curve of her hip rubbed his cock with a little more friction. "God!"
"No, John." Her lips curved, mischievously. "Teyla."
"My wife."
"Your wife," she agreed. At least for a few days, God help them. She bent in to him, let her lips tease his, brush across his stubble, up to his earlobe.
"My wife."
Teyla shivered against him, even as her body trembled with the ache of want. Somehow, John could make the words sound raw and sexy. Possessive, as though he owned her.
"Does that scare you?"
"Yes."
"Good," he said, and there was a soft savagery in the word as he shifted beneath her. Desire sliced deeply into her body as she thrust against him. "Now, say it back to me."
"I am your wife."
"And I'm your husband." The thigh she rode lifted a little as she slid down it, taking her to the edge. His expression was ferocious, unlike the diffident boy she had known. "Say it, Teyla!"
"Why?"
"Because I want to hear you say it." John arched up against her. "Fuck, Teyla. You married me last night, you don't get takebacks!"
"No?"
He held her with no physical grip; she could stop this at any time she pleased, climb off, walk away. Yet his eyes were wild and would not let her go. "No!"
It was a strange desire in him, something Teyla had never seen in John before. Perhaps the fact that she had not seen it was why she was here now, riding him on the floor of this motel in the hot Vegas summer while he forced himself to lie supine - and in that submissiveness, to possess.
How weird to think of John this way - John whom the girls thought charming and sweet, like a wounded creature to be healed. Not one of them had ever realised that the small broken edge concealed a long jagged gash deep into his psyche.
Something in John needed her acceptance of this.
That Teyla would give it as a statement of her rights and claims made it no less submissive, not any less affirmative.
So she bent her head to his throat, bit the join of neck and shoulder hard and felt him shudder beneath her. "You are my husband," she hissed into his ear. His hips jerked, as though beyond his control and she rubbed herself against him, shameless. "This - all this - is mine, John."
"Yes."
"Mine." She liked the sound of the word, mingled with the taste of his sweat and the way his throat worked as she slid her tongue down his throat. "Mine!"
Then she gasped when he rolled them over and fitted himself to her. "And you're mine, too, Teyla," he grunted as he pushed slowly into her. Teyla's fingers clenched in his hair, ruffling it in further disarray as she closed her eyes to better savour the feel of him. So thick, so full, so hot...
She arched back and let the pleasure take her like a storm while John murmured things she couldn't hear in the lightning torrent of her pulse, before riding out his own tide of desire with exquisite slowness and terrifying need.
He cried her name at the end, into her throat, his hands fisting springy handfuls of her hair as his body plunged into hers and over the edge.
Outside the room, the grass-clippers whirred along their merry way.
Inside, Teyla drowsed, unthinking, while John lay in her arms, replete.
It seemed like an age before he lifted his head.
"Are you okay?"
"Mmph." It was all she could manage, hot and exhausted and wondering what she'd done.
"Teyla?" His head lifted from her throat, and fingers traced down her cheek. "Hey. Did I break you or something?"
She drew in enough energy to roll her head over to look at him. "Close, I believe."
"Mm. Better get used to it." The smirk was decidedly John.
"We cannot stay married, John."
His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
So many thoughts passed through her head, so many objections. It was like him to see none of the obstacles that lay in their path - but then, his life had been charmed since birth.
She sighed and felt him tense.
Now was not the time to argue. Maybe never. Teyla relaxed onto him, lifted her left hand and studied the ring on her finger. After a moment, John's hand came up and twined fingers into hers.
"We will have to get one for you," she said, and he exhaled, like a smile of contentment in the dingy room. "If you are to be my husband."
"I am and we will," murmured John, and his arms closed around her.
--
NOTES: There was to be a sequel for this - this was the prologue to a kind of re-kindled romance AU, some twenty years in the future where John and Teyla meet in Vegas again, years after their marriage fell apart. Of course, being me, another shiny plotbunny soon replaced it and it was never written in the end.
(two turtle-doves? Well, at the start, maybe...)
TITLE: Waking Up In Vegas
AUTHOR: Tielan
SUMMARY: Teyla wakes up next to John.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: AU, John/Teyla, romance, porn.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money.
NOTES: Yes, it was inspired by the Katy Perry song (I don't even like Katy Perry, but the songs are catchy), but also was a prompt in one of the Porn Battles from long ago. This is one of those stories that is really vivid and clear behind your eyes.
The buzz of a snipper woke Teyla up, the unfamiliar sound rousing her at the crack of dawn. No-one in the neighbourhood had a snipper - there wasn't any grass to cut in the ghetto - not the kind of grass you cut with a snipper, anyway.
Annoyed by the too-early wake-up after last night's late night, she rolled over and dragged the pillow with her, intending to shut out the noise and the pink daylight filtering through the cheap vinyl curtains...
"Mmphhhfwrr?" Said the lump on the other side of the mattress when her hand came down on his chest.
Hot skin. Male skin. In her bed. Naked male in her bed.
Jerking upright, she yanked up the sheets and stared, horrified, at John Sheppard, sprawled over a good two-thirds of the cheap motel bed, naked as the day he'd been born.
Oh no.
"Teyla?"
"What are you--we--" She broke off as memories of last night crept sheepishly back into her recollection, sporting hangovers that echoed the headache drilling into her skull. "Oh, no."
"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment," he said, his voice still rough from last night's massive drinking binge, "but do you mind giving me back the sheet?"
"Why?" Teyla asked, pushing the heel of her hand against her forehead as she shut her eyes. But the darkness - pink-tinged as it was - was no proof against the memories. "I have already seen it all." Seen it, touched it - even tasted it.
She jerked in surprise as his hand closed over the bunched sheets in hers, brushing her fingers with an electric touch.
"Hey!" He said, green eyes narrowed angrily as she recoiled. "I'm not gonna-- I mean, you don't have to cover uhhh--"
When he trailed off, she followed his gaze down to the glittering rock sitting on the third finger of her left hand. In sunlight, it would explode in a glitter of rainbows, splintering the light into a million refractions. In the curtain-filtered light, it twinkled mischievously, witness to all the insanity of the previous night.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. "John, tell me we did not get married last night."
John was staring at the ring with an expression that was half-horrified, half-awed. When he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a look in them she couldn't identify. "I think..." He swallowed and looked around the room. "I think we did, Teyla."
In the background, the snipper's buzz permeated the moment, incongruity in the middle of insanity - a cheap motel room in Sin City staring at a diamond the size of her little fingernail.
His hand came down on hers as she reached over to tug it off. "No," he said hoarsely. "Don't take it off."
"Don't-- John, have you lost your mind? I cannot keep--"
"It's yours," he said, his fingers winding their way into hers so she couldn't reach the ring to pull it off. "I gave it to you."
"Because we were drunk!"
Panic was setting in, the shocked realisation of what she'd done, what they'd done. And John looked way too calm for a guy who had just woken up married to a girl he had not even been dating twenty-four hours ago.
"Yeah," he agreed. "But we knew what we were doing. I knew what I was doing."
Teyla stared at him incredulously. "John, I barely remember--" Except that was a lie - she did remember - only too well.
The piles of chips on the green baize, gaily coloured and inviting as they stacked up so prettily; the way she had stared at him, incredulous when their number came up, and noticed the warm green glints in his eyes as he grinned. The heavy weight of the chips in her hands before he kissed her, angling his head down to better reach her mouth. The exasperated exclamation of the table dealer when she dropped the chips all over the table to cup the back of his head.
And it had all gone on from there.
Sitting on the bed in the dingy motel room, with an expensive white silk slip slung over the back of a cheap chair, Teyla stared at him. "What happens now?"
"Now," John said sharply, "you don't make like being married to me is the worst thing that could happen to you!"
Teyla stared at him. "Why would you think that?"
He shrugged a little, staring down at their entwined hands. "Just...everything. Your reaction."
Peronally, Teyla thought that her reaction was quite appropriate to the situation. After all, she had woken up married to the son of one of the wealthiest men in the state, if not the country!
Oh God. Her father!
But she didn't dare think of his disappointment now. Or Charin's. Or the thunderous look that would fill Patrick Sheppard's eyes when he realised what his son had done.
"It is not every day you wake up married," she said, squeezing his fingers. "I was...surprised."
"Yeah, well..." He glanced up, green eyes under black hair that was falling into his eyes. "I was surprised when you said yes."
They had been drunk and wealthy by nightfall, with money in their pockets and to spare. Drink and clubs had passed in a blur, highlighted by the hot demands of John's mouth and the sprawled warmth of his hands and the way he shifted against her when Teyla pressed her thigh between his, like he ached.
She had half-expected that she would wake up in bed with John the next morning; she had not expected the proposal.
John had grabbed her hand as they passed one of the glitzy, too-expensive shops that dotted the foyers of these fancy hotels and tugged her up against him. "Hey, Teyla! You know what we should do since we're in Vegas?"
"What do you suggest?"
"We should get married."
"Married?" Teyla finally focused on the window they were standing in front of and realised that she was staring at a tray of rings in glittering silver and gleaming gold.
"Yeah, why not?"
It had seemed like a great idea at the time - something silly and crazy, something fun and unexpected.
In the broad - and too-bright - light of day, Teyla could think of a lot of reasons for why this had been a stupid idea, starting with she was too young to get married, and ending with they weren't even in love.
But looking into John's eyes, the reasons melted away like wax in sunlight, leaving her without protest. She had always known he was an idealist; she had not expected to encounter it so blatantly in a bed of rumpled sheets.
Or maybe he was just horny.
He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer, and after a moment's resistance, she eased over across the sheets and found herself captured in his mouth.
Teyla had heard the rumours about John Sheppard's talented mouth. The prettiest girls at school had always giggled over him in the toilets, going off rumours and tidbits dropped by the handful of girls who'd gone out with him.
Until last night, Teyla had never actually experienced that mouth on hers John had never wanted for dates - either casual or more serious - and they had been lab partners in Ms. Carter's class, and friends of a sort.
But he was very serious now - eager and hungry. His hands stroked her skin, sliding along the curve of her breast as he brushed her nipples with tender, aching caresses. His tongue teased her, inviting her to taste him, sample him, swallow him whole.
She took the invitation, took the initiative. Beneath her lips, she felt him grin, and his chest vibrated with laughter under her palm as she pushed him back, intending to hold him down and tease him until he begged.
In the back of her mind, Teyla vaguely remembered lying boneless in the sheets last night, while John teased her with biting kisses and slow touches. She'd threatened retribution, but had not possessed the energy then.
In the front of her mind, Teyla vaguely realised she was falling, that John's hands were slipping from her skin, that his mouth was falling out of hers...
Her chin jarred on his breastbone, and her shriek was cut off in the sharp clack of her teeth snapping together, overwhelmed by his yelp of pain.
"John? Are you...?" She flailed around, trying to find something to push herself up with - something that wasn't him. Her fingers found the floor, cringed at the slightly tacky texture of the carpet - dear God, why had they ended up here last night?
"I'm alive," he said as she looked him over, although his expression was a wince of pain. She reached out one hand to touch the back of his head and saw him grimace. "I think."
"You are talking. That means alive."
He began to prop himself up and stopped as her breasts, hanging down over him, made contact with his chest. Green eyes flickered to her face and he shifted his whole body, ever so slightly beneath hers. An experiment, a test.
"John..."
"Shhh," he murmured, and the soft husk of his voice took on a sensuous vibration that quivered in her nerves, added to by the hand he ran over her butt, by the hard thigh that pressed against her cleft with the slight pressure he applied to her tailbone.
Teyla arched a little and tilted her hips to gain a better angle as the tips of her breasts traced through the hair on his chest. Fire tingled across her skin, so fierce, she wondered that little bolts of lightning didn't sparkle over her.
"Like that?" A smile played on his lips, male and satisfied. "Keep going. Ah-ah-ah!" He shook his head when she lifted one hand to stroke him. "No hands, Teyla."
"No hands?"
"No hands." He was panting, his chest heaving with effort. She leaned over a little so the curve of her hip rubbed his cock with a little more friction. "God!"
"No, John." Her lips curved, mischievously. "Teyla."
"My wife."
"Your wife," she agreed. At least for a few days, God help them. She bent in to him, let her lips tease his, brush across his stubble, up to his earlobe.
"My wife."
Teyla shivered against him, even as her body trembled with the ache of want. Somehow, John could make the words sound raw and sexy. Possessive, as though he owned her.
"Does that scare you?"
"Yes."
"Good," he said, and there was a soft savagery in the word as he shifted beneath her. Desire sliced deeply into her body as she thrust against him. "Now, say it back to me."
"I am your wife."
"And I'm your husband." The thigh she rode lifted a little as she slid down it, taking her to the edge. His expression was ferocious, unlike the diffident boy she had known. "Say it, Teyla!"
"Why?"
"Because I want to hear you say it." John arched up against her. "Fuck, Teyla. You married me last night, you don't get takebacks!"
"No?"
He held her with no physical grip; she could stop this at any time she pleased, climb off, walk away. Yet his eyes were wild and would not let her go. "No!"
It was a strange desire in him, something Teyla had never seen in John before. Perhaps the fact that she had not seen it was why she was here now, riding him on the floor of this motel in the hot Vegas summer while he forced himself to lie supine - and in that submissiveness, to possess.
How weird to think of John this way - John whom the girls thought charming and sweet, like a wounded creature to be healed. Not one of them had ever realised that the small broken edge concealed a long jagged gash deep into his psyche.
Something in John needed her acceptance of this.
That Teyla would give it as a statement of her rights and claims made it no less submissive, not any less affirmative.
So she bent her head to his throat, bit the join of neck and shoulder hard and felt him shudder beneath her. "You are my husband," she hissed into his ear. His hips jerked, as though beyond his control and she rubbed herself against him, shameless. "This - all this - is mine, John."
"Yes."
"Mine." She liked the sound of the word, mingled with the taste of his sweat and the way his throat worked as she slid her tongue down his throat. "Mine!"
Then she gasped when he rolled them over and fitted himself to her. "And you're mine, too, Teyla," he grunted as he pushed slowly into her. Teyla's fingers clenched in his hair, ruffling it in further disarray as she closed her eyes to better savour the feel of him. So thick, so full, so hot...
She arched back and let the pleasure take her like a storm while John murmured things she couldn't hear in the lightning torrent of her pulse, before riding out his own tide of desire with exquisite slowness and terrifying need.
He cried her name at the end, into her throat, his hands fisting springy handfuls of her hair as his body plunged into hers and over the edge.
Outside the room, the grass-clippers whirred along their merry way.
Inside, Teyla drowsed, unthinking, while John lay in her arms, replete.
It seemed like an age before he lifted his head.
"Are you okay?"
"Mmph." It was all she could manage, hot and exhausted and wondering what she'd done.
"Teyla?" His head lifted from her throat, and fingers traced down her cheek. "Hey. Did I break you or something?"
She drew in enough energy to roll her head over to look at him. "Close, I believe."
"Mm. Better get used to it." The smirk was decidedly John.
"We cannot stay married, John."
His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
So many thoughts passed through her head, so many objections. It was like him to see none of the obstacles that lay in their path - but then, his life had been charmed since birth.
She sighed and felt him tense.
Now was not the time to argue. Maybe never. Teyla relaxed onto him, lifted her left hand and studied the ring on her finger. After a moment, John's hand came up and twined fingers into hers.
"We will have to get one for you," she said, and he exhaled, like a smile of contentment in the dingy room. "If you are to be my husband."
"I am and we will," murmured John, and his arms closed around her.
--
NOTES: There was to be a sequel for this - this was the prologue to a kind of re-kindled romance AU, some twenty years in the future where John and Teyla meet in Vegas again, years after their marriage fell apart. Of course, being me, another shiny plotbunny soon replaced it and it was never written in the end.
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