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TITLE: Beholden
SUMMARY: He can't have one without the other.
CATEGORY: Angst, smut.
RATING: R - sexual situations
SPOILERS: 3.07 - Common Ground
NOTES: I'll admit, I've been tempted by the prospect of writing a John/Teyla post-ep sex fic for every episode in the series. *coughs* Right now, it's more effort than I can manage. And I wanted to get this out ASAP.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100, prompt #030 - Death.
Beholden
In the steam of his bathroom, John stares at his hands and body, at the outlines of muscle, and dark hair over smooth flesh. The man in the mirror looks back at him, as young as he was when he left Atlantis - perhaps even more so. Smooth skin, firm, not flaccid like the old man he was for a while - a reminder of what he'll still someday be.
What the Wraith gave him was temporary life - a replacement for the years he stole, but John's still headed for death.
He feels the weight of his life and his death upon him. The Sisters at the Home used to call it, 'the weight of Eternity in our hearts.' John just figured the word 'mortality' covered it fine.
Whether sixteen or thirty-six, he still doesn't like the feeling.
Abruptly, John turns away from the mirror.
When the doors closed behind him, shutting out Atlantis and its concern, he thought that was what he wanted. Now he knows better. He's had enough of the silence of his own thoughts - he wants company.
He thinks he might even want a fight.
And he knows where he can get one.
Her room seems empty at first glance, but her boots lie discarded on the grass-woven mat by her bed. John takes two steps in and hears the shower spray working in her bathroom.
His breath catches in his throat, and a finger against the doorpad locks the door. Then he's kicking off his boots and stripping off his shirt. Maybe it's just because he was old four hours ago, maybe the Wraith really did make him younger like Rodney accused, but John's feeling young and restless.
She turns in the shower as he pushes the door open, dark hair plastered against the tan-gold of her skin, eyes wide as he approaches her. "John?"
The wariness in her eyes hurts, mirror to the disbelief with which she greeted his order this afternoon. It makes him sharp. "You were expecting someone else?"
"I was not expecting anyone," she replies with the coolness that masks her emotions so effectively.
He holds out his hands, well aware that parts of him are already responding to her body, wet and naked in the shower. "I hope you like surprises."
Surprise or not, though, Teyla lets him step into the cubicle, moving back to give him space. She lets him take her mouth in his and her body moulds against his. She lets her hands skim over his flesh as he bends his head to hers, tongues duelling as he presses her up against the cold tile and his hands slide over her curves.
Four hours ago, he was old and withered, a dried-up old stick without hope or future.
Two hours ago, the nameless Wraith gave him back his life.
At this moment, John wants to feel alive, wants to feel young and vigorous and wanted.
Teyla lets him feel all that, gives him desire like a gift - like a precious confidence that he doesn't dare break or betray. She lets him suck on her throat, on her nipples, on her clit, her hands tangled in his sodden hair as the shower spray cascades over them both and she cries out with pleasure at his ministrations.
Then she pushes him into the corner with the sultry confidence of a woman who knows she is wanted, intent on making him feel wanted, too. Her hands slick over his body, from throat to chest, to belly and hips, and her mouth follows her fingers' path with exquisite delicacy until John groans.
"Keep doing that and I won't have anything left for you," he rasps as she pulls back from him. In answer, she looks up at him and runs her tongue along her lips, the expression on her face almost diabolical in sensual beauty.
Her fingers clutch his hips as she rises to her feet, and she leans in towards him, as though for a kiss. But when John leans in, she murmurs, "I thought you were younger, now."
There's an edge in her voice, like a whiplash. Stung, John yanks her in, his fingers less gentle than they should be. He turns them around so she's against the wall and he's blocking her in. Alpha male. Possessive. Hungry. "I'm still me, Teyla."
Her fingers reach up, over her head, latching on to the edge of the cubicle for support. "Yes," she murmurs as he eases her knees up over his hips. "You are."
He thrusts into her, needing release, needing the hot, rolling pleasure that throbs through him. He presses her into the tile, his cheek against her shoulder as he grinds his hips into hers. Even in the dizzy heat, John knows that if he moves like this, then her teeth will dig into her lip and her body will tense around his and...
The world trembles around him, tingling all through his body, through his senses: sight, sound, touch, taste, smell. He's dizzy, aching, aware in every nerve in his body, and satisfied - for the moment.
Teyla's hand smooths across his cheek. He looks up, unguarded, afraid of what he'll see in her eyes.
It's not as bad as he feared, but not what it was, either. "I'm still me," he repeats.
"You let him go."
"He let me go."
"He was a Wraith."
His hand cradles her cheek, holding her gaze. "He gave me my life back. You can't have one without the other, Teyla."
That's probably what she resents in the end. Not just that John let the Wraith go, but also that John owes his life to it. That she's in debt to a Wraith for John's life.
John's not exactly comfortable with it either. But he's alive. And young again. And if he has to be grateful to a Wraith, then he'll be grateful to a Wraith.
He kisses her deep and fierce, ferocious in his need. And she claims him back, just as fiercely, even as she eases herself off him. A fumble behind him turns off the water. Another fumble finds a towel that he slides around her, not stopping his kiss for even a moment.
But when she breaks away, John stares after her. "Teyla?" She holds out another towel to him, but he takes her hand instead. "Can't you just be glad I'm back?"
"I am glad you are back," she says as her hands rest against his chest. "I am glad that you are...you."
John pushes the hair back from her face. "But?"
"He called you brother," she says, and John suddenly remembers her fury when Bates called her a Wraith traitor.
His own anger rises at her stubbornness but he keeps his voice level. "We needed to escape Kolya - I needed to escape Kolya - I made a deal with the devil in exchange for my life."
"You trusted a Wraith!"
"But this one was trustworthy!" At least as far as honouring his side of the bargain.
She shakes her head as she turns away. "They are Wraith, John."
John follows her out to her room, frustrated, and drops the towel, holding his arms out. "Look at me, Teyla." It's more of a command than a request, but she doesn't object.
In the understated lighting of her room and the diffuse glow of the shower-steam, there's more than enough light for her to see him. It's the same body he had when they left through the gate two days ago. The same body she fucked the other week after an edgy mission left them with energy that all the sparring in the world couldn't blunt. The same body she admired when they were still dancing around each other, holding back from moving in.
"He gave me this."
"After he took it from you!"
"He needed to survive. So did I." It went against both their natures - the Wraith's nature to feed, and John's nature to leave no enemy living. Survival was an imperative stronger than even nature could dictate. "Look, I know you don't understand it - after what the Wraith have done to you, I don't expect you to. But you know me." And not just in the biblical sense. "I let him - it - go because I promised I would. Would you have preferred I break that promise?"
The answer takes forever to come, and there's a moment when he's pretty damn sure she's going to show him the door. Then, at last, she answers him. "You would not feel you had done the right thing otherwise." It's not as much as he'd like, but it's enough as she turns. "I just..."
"You don't want to be grateful to him? Neither do I. But I am." He crosses the room, ignoring the cooling damp of his skin and takes her by the shoulder. "Teyla..."
She glances up at him, her issues clear in her eyes. Care, desire - and even the L-word that neither of them have mentioned - can do a lot, but John knows that it only takes them so far. And he's afraid that it's not far enough. Then her hands come up to frame his face and she draws him down to her mouth and it's an answer John can accept, even if it's not the whole answer he wants. It'll have to be enough in that imperfect space between them.
Later - much later, Teyla fits her head against his shoulder. "I do not think I want a Wraith for a brother-by-law."
John's mouth twitches as he trails his fingers through her hair and figures he's not going to get much more acceptance from her than that. "Yeah, well, we all have relatives we'd rather not mention."
And if it comes down to him or the Wraith next time, neither of them will hesitate.
All bets are off.
In the meantime, John's alive, and he has time to live - gifts of the Wraith.
- fin -
SUMMARY: He can't have one without the other.
CATEGORY: Angst, smut.
RATING: R - sexual situations
SPOILERS: 3.07 - Common Ground
NOTES: I'll admit, I've been tempted by the prospect of writing a John/Teyla post-ep sex fic for every episode in the series. *coughs* Right now, it's more effort than I can manage. And I wanted to get this out ASAP.
fanfic100, prompt #030 - Death.Beholden
In the steam of his bathroom, John stares at his hands and body, at the outlines of muscle, and dark hair over smooth flesh. The man in the mirror looks back at him, as young as he was when he left Atlantis - perhaps even more so. Smooth skin, firm, not flaccid like the old man he was for a while - a reminder of what he'll still someday be.
What the Wraith gave him was temporary life - a replacement for the years he stole, but John's still headed for death.
He feels the weight of his life and his death upon him. The Sisters at the Home used to call it, 'the weight of Eternity in our hearts.' John just figured the word 'mortality' covered it fine.
Whether sixteen or thirty-six, he still doesn't like the feeling.
Abruptly, John turns away from the mirror.
When the doors closed behind him, shutting out Atlantis and its concern, he thought that was what he wanted. Now he knows better. He's had enough of the silence of his own thoughts - he wants company.
He thinks he might even want a fight.
And he knows where he can get one.
Her room seems empty at first glance, but her boots lie discarded on the grass-woven mat by her bed. John takes two steps in and hears the shower spray working in her bathroom.
His breath catches in his throat, and a finger against the doorpad locks the door. Then he's kicking off his boots and stripping off his shirt. Maybe it's just because he was old four hours ago, maybe the Wraith really did make him younger like Rodney accused, but John's feeling young and restless.
She turns in the shower as he pushes the door open, dark hair plastered against the tan-gold of her skin, eyes wide as he approaches her. "John?"
The wariness in her eyes hurts, mirror to the disbelief with which she greeted his order this afternoon. It makes him sharp. "You were expecting someone else?"
"I was not expecting anyone," she replies with the coolness that masks her emotions so effectively.
He holds out his hands, well aware that parts of him are already responding to her body, wet and naked in the shower. "I hope you like surprises."
Surprise or not, though, Teyla lets him step into the cubicle, moving back to give him space. She lets him take her mouth in his and her body moulds against his. She lets her hands skim over his flesh as he bends his head to hers, tongues duelling as he presses her up against the cold tile and his hands slide over her curves.
Four hours ago, he was old and withered, a dried-up old stick without hope or future.
Two hours ago, the nameless Wraith gave him back his life.
At this moment, John wants to feel alive, wants to feel young and vigorous and wanted.
Teyla lets him feel all that, gives him desire like a gift - like a precious confidence that he doesn't dare break or betray. She lets him suck on her throat, on her nipples, on her clit, her hands tangled in his sodden hair as the shower spray cascades over them both and she cries out with pleasure at his ministrations.
Then she pushes him into the corner with the sultry confidence of a woman who knows she is wanted, intent on making him feel wanted, too. Her hands slick over his body, from throat to chest, to belly and hips, and her mouth follows her fingers' path with exquisite delicacy until John groans.
"Keep doing that and I won't have anything left for you," he rasps as she pulls back from him. In answer, she looks up at him and runs her tongue along her lips, the expression on her face almost diabolical in sensual beauty.
Her fingers clutch his hips as she rises to her feet, and she leans in towards him, as though for a kiss. But when John leans in, she murmurs, "I thought you were younger, now."
There's an edge in her voice, like a whiplash. Stung, John yanks her in, his fingers less gentle than they should be. He turns them around so she's against the wall and he's blocking her in. Alpha male. Possessive. Hungry. "I'm still me, Teyla."
Her fingers reach up, over her head, latching on to the edge of the cubicle for support. "Yes," she murmurs as he eases her knees up over his hips. "You are."
He thrusts into her, needing release, needing the hot, rolling pleasure that throbs through him. He presses her into the tile, his cheek against her shoulder as he grinds his hips into hers. Even in the dizzy heat, John knows that if he moves like this, then her teeth will dig into her lip and her body will tense around his and...
The world trembles around him, tingling all through his body, through his senses: sight, sound, touch, taste, smell. He's dizzy, aching, aware in every nerve in his body, and satisfied - for the moment.
Teyla's hand smooths across his cheek. He looks up, unguarded, afraid of what he'll see in her eyes.
It's not as bad as he feared, but not what it was, either. "I'm still me," he repeats.
"You let him go."
"He let me go."
"He was a Wraith."
His hand cradles her cheek, holding her gaze. "He gave me my life back. You can't have one without the other, Teyla."
That's probably what she resents in the end. Not just that John let the Wraith go, but also that John owes his life to it. That she's in debt to a Wraith for John's life.
John's not exactly comfortable with it either. But he's alive. And young again. And if he has to be grateful to a Wraith, then he'll be grateful to a Wraith.
He kisses her deep and fierce, ferocious in his need. And she claims him back, just as fiercely, even as she eases herself off him. A fumble behind him turns off the water. Another fumble finds a towel that he slides around her, not stopping his kiss for even a moment.
But when she breaks away, John stares after her. "Teyla?" She holds out another towel to him, but he takes her hand instead. "Can't you just be glad I'm back?"
"I am glad you are back," she says as her hands rest against his chest. "I am glad that you are...you."
John pushes the hair back from her face. "But?"
"He called you brother," she says, and John suddenly remembers her fury when Bates called her a Wraith traitor.
His own anger rises at her stubbornness but he keeps his voice level. "We needed to escape Kolya - I needed to escape Kolya - I made a deal with the devil in exchange for my life."
"You trusted a Wraith!"
"But this one was trustworthy!" At least as far as honouring his side of the bargain.
She shakes her head as she turns away. "They are Wraith, John."
John follows her out to her room, frustrated, and drops the towel, holding his arms out. "Look at me, Teyla." It's more of a command than a request, but she doesn't object.
In the understated lighting of her room and the diffuse glow of the shower-steam, there's more than enough light for her to see him. It's the same body he had when they left through the gate two days ago. The same body she fucked the other week after an edgy mission left them with energy that all the sparring in the world couldn't blunt. The same body she admired when they were still dancing around each other, holding back from moving in.
"He gave me this."
"After he took it from you!"
"He needed to survive. So did I." It went against both their natures - the Wraith's nature to feed, and John's nature to leave no enemy living. Survival was an imperative stronger than even nature could dictate. "Look, I know you don't understand it - after what the Wraith have done to you, I don't expect you to. But you know me." And not just in the biblical sense. "I let him - it - go because I promised I would. Would you have preferred I break that promise?"
The answer takes forever to come, and there's a moment when he's pretty damn sure she's going to show him the door. Then, at last, she answers him. "You would not feel you had done the right thing otherwise." It's not as much as he'd like, but it's enough as she turns. "I just..."
"You don't want to be grateful to him? Neither do I. But I am." He crosses the room, ignoring the cooling damp of his skin and takes her by the shoulder. "Teyla..."
She glances up at him, her issues clear in her eyes. Care, desire - and even the L-word that neither of them have mentioned - can do a lot, but John knows that it only takes them so far. And he's afraid that it's not far enough. Then her hands come up to frame his face and she draws him down to her mouth and it's an answer John can accept, even if it's not the whole answer he wants. It'll have to be enough in that imperfect space between them.
Later - much later, Teyla fits her head against his shoulder. "I do not think I want a Wraith for a brother-by-law."
John's mouth twitches as he trails his fingers through her hair and figures he's not going to get much more acceptance from her than that. "Yeah, well, we all have relatives we'd rather not mention."
And if it comes down to him or the Wraith next time, neither of them will hesitate.
All bets are off.
In the meantime, John's alive, and he has time to live - gifts of the Wraith.
- fin -
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Thanks.
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Ahh the smut and the angst and the smut... v. v. nice...
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Actually, this is interesting. I was pondering after the episode some of the interesting angst possibilities of the episode, but it never even crossed my mind how weirded out Teyla would be by John letting the Wraith go and, however briefly, trusting him. The exchange about a Wraith brother-in-law cracked me up, though.
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*g*
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I'd say her Wraithgene is a relatively abstract thing, while her hatred and distrust of the Wraith is very concrete after living all her life in Pegasus. And to see John let a Wraith go free - even one that helped him...I don't imagine it sat any better with her than the situation in Allies did.
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Thank you for leaving feedback. :)
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Thank-you!
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Very well done! I could almost see the steam in the air and feel the chill of drying water.
Doxymom
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Nice piece of smut, too. :D
and angst is always good...
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I'm sorry that I hadn't gotten the chance to comment directly to your fic before reccing it at stargateficrecs.