![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
TITLE: Five Men Who Never Wanted Teyla Emmagen
AUTHOR: Tielan
SUMMARY: The line between attraction and action is fine. At least five men in Atlantis walk it very closely.
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: A little language from John.
SPOILERS: None - generally set in Season One
NOTES: I'm trying to write one for Liz, but the boys are stonewalling me.
Five Men Who Never Wanted Teyla Emmagen
- Dangerous -
She's dangerous.
He can't understand why nobody else sees it - why they're all blinded by the charm and calm formality that passes for 'culture' among her people.
It's more than just the fact that they don't know who tipped off the Wraith about their arrival in Pegasus, or that she's so swiftly become a 'trusted companion' in Major Sheppard's eyes. It goes further than Colonel Sumner's dislike of the Athosians, and encompasses more than the attacks that surprise them every time they turn around in this goddamned galaxy.
She's dangerous.
Bates knows that, and he keeps a watchful eye on her.
Sometimes their gazes meet, eye to eye, and he knows that she's aware of his observation and why. He suspects his paranoia amuses her and that only irritates him further.
He catalogues her moves, her fighting form: she's got a dancer's body but a fighter's instincts. And the men on the base see that - they can hardly help it. Bates just tries to make sure she doesn't hypnotise him with the tamed grace of her walk.
He doesn't always succeed.
Moments play out in his head sometimes when he passes her in the corridor. What would she do if he grabbed her and shoved her up against a wall? Bit down on her mouth and found out what an alien woman really did taste like? Ground his hips into hers and felt her struggle for just that one moment--
--before she thrust him away and punched his lights out.
Distrust comes naturally. So, too, does self-preservation.
So Bates eyeballs her, but keeps walking.
And he watches her.
--
- What's In A Name? -
The junior officers tease him.
He hasn't yet taken the bait.
There aren't too many people in the city that he can legitimately call his friend - most are either superiors or subordinates, and those that aren't are scientists, which are infinitely worse than either superiors or subordinates. At least the superiors and subordinates are bound by the chain of command and respect; the scientists have no such qualms and Aiden's been the focus of their mirth more times than he cares to count.
Teyla, however, doesn't laugh - at least, not to his face.
Her smile carries amusement and affection, but not attraction, and he's okay with that. It's not the first time he's been attracted to a girl who isn't attracted back. As it is, Aiden likes having someone with whom he can joke (even if she doesn't always get it), and someone who doesn't see him as one of the myriad military faces in the crowd, but as a friend.
And, yeah, he gets a little pleasure out of the fact that she calls him by name, but Sheppard's still 'Major'. It's a testosterone thing. So shoot him.
She comes to him for the required weapons training, stating that the others don't trust her, or don't have time. Should he be offended that she thinks he has the time? Aiden supposes he does - after all, he teaches her how to handle a P-90, a Beretta, a rocket launcher. He watches her lock and load, reaching out to adjust her grip on the weapon where necessary, and she listens and nods. Teyla's a quick learner, much more than a pretty face.
Still, sometimes he wonders what she'd do if he asked her out on a real date. Discuss whatever it is that her people discuss, explain all the bits and pieces of Earth culture that the Major keeps promising but never seems to have time to do, and maybe get to kiss her at the end of the night. He's not sure he'd have enough guts to do anything more than try to land a kiss on her mouth. She's a wicked fighter.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to spar against her the way Major Sheppard does: all motion and action and deadly grace. He gathers that it's a trust thing: something about trusting Major Sheppard's instincts to be able to defend himself.
He wishes he was that good - that she considered him good enough to fight against. He's not and not likely to be. He can be philosophical about it.
But Aiden still gloats - privately - about the names thing.
--
- Not A Blonde -
She's not blonde. Nor is she intelligent.
Not that she's stupid, of course; but her people really are quite primitive and there's so many things she doesn't understand at the scientific and rational level.
Then again, her instincts are amazing. Even he can see that. And while Rodney has never espoused the violence of the military, he appreciates poetry in motion. Of course, to him, 'poetry in motion' is usually the spin and tumble of waves, the quantum mechanics of light and its properties, the perfection of mathematics that can be found in the equations defining a wormhole's creation.
There are times he thinks he might make an exception for Teyla.
And she's practical, competent in her own way. Rodney likes that.
He's grateful for that practicality when they find themselves under fire from a race of people who seem to believe that anyone that comes through the Stargate is bad news. Of course, they have primitive weaponry: just slingshots and arrows. Nothing like their P-90s and Berettas.
Rodney doesn't realise that he's been hit until Sheppard yells at him to get down. Teyla reaches out with one hand and yanks him down into the shadow of the rock, and his left shoulder suddenly stings.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but a stone in the shoulder hurts like OW.
"Dr. McKay?" She looks at him, inquiringly, and her expression changes, hardens as she sees his wound. "Major, he has been hit."
"Will he live?"
Rodney opens his mouth to snap at the major, but the trickle of pain suddenly becomes a river of agony and the world begins to fray at the edges.
"He is bleeding heavily. He will not be able to make the full run to the 'jumper." She glances at Rodney. "Can you put your right arm over my shoulders and hold on?"
He thinks he can, but he's not too sure. Teyla continues without waiting for an answer. "Major, you and the Lieutenant will have to cover me."
"We're on it," Sheppard says.
It's a little difficult to remember the details, but she half-hauls him up, and supports him while the other two lay down cover fire, trying to prevent the locals from shooting any more holes in them. Her hair, unbound, fluffs in his face. Rodney finds the tips of the strands in his mouth and wonders if she always smells like this or if it's only when he's been shot.
When she lowers him to the side benches of the puddlejumper, he's feeling dizzy. As he lies down on the bench and she goes to the door, the side of his body that was in contact with hers is oddly cold from the absence of her.
It's the shock that makes him think of the blondes he's never kissed.
But, looking at the blurred outline of Teyla at the hatch, Rodney thinks he could like brunettes.
--
- Mona Lisa Smile -
If ever there was a word to describe her smile, enigmatic is it.
The Mona Lisa has nothing on Teyla.
She holds her own silence and keeps her own secrets.
Carson appreciates that. When he's exposed to people like McKay, who will talk just to hear the sound of his own voice, or Lieutenant Ford, who gets bossy and far too big for his size eight boots, someone who will just listen and nod in understanding is a blessing.
If there are times when he has to resist the urge to pontificate, just to see that smile on her lips, well, a man finds it easy to talk to a woman who has a way of listening with a smile.
He likes her smile.
It warms him all the way through his body as she looks at him over the newborn he's just helped deliver in the Athosian camp. Both mother and child are healthy, and Teyla both reassured the mother and assisted in the delivery - no easy birth considering the woman was slim-hipped and the baby large.
"Thank you, Dr. Beckett," she says when they have left the family to their quiet celebration, and are down at the river, washing their hands.
He's learned to observe the Athosian proprieties where they don't interfere with his profession's need for cleanliness and hygiene. Teyla's people have been more than willing to take advantage of what help Atlantis is willing to provide them by way of advice in health and wellbeing, and the occasional ritual - the returning of the mother's blood to the land through the river - is something he can stand for the sake of having a better relationship with her people.
"You're more than welcome," he tells her, smiling back, almost helplessly.
There's something sweet and yet knowing in her smile when she turns it on a man. It's as though it's a benediction and a gift.
Carson knows the physiology of it: the neurotransmitters that give off endorphins when one smiles, creating a pleasant state to go with a pleasant expression. That doesn't explain why he feels as though he could leap tall buildings with the rush that goes through him as they amble back to the Athosian campsite. Endorphins from a smile shouldn't make people act like that.
They're flying back in the puddlejumper, peaceful and silent, across the sea towards the city. He glances at her profile as she stares thoughtfully out of the window, unaware or uncaring that her life depends on his inept piloting skills. She catches his look and her smile slides down his spine like a warm-tipped finger on his bare skin.
It's been a while since he responded to a woman like this.
Carson turns hurriedly back to the console and wishes for a cold shower right about now.
--
- The Line -
There are moments when he'd like to say something, do something that crosses the unconscious line he's drawn between himself and every woman in Atlantis. He's got more important things to deal with than his own sexual deprivation right now.
The survival of the city, for one.
Still, there's a reason he keeps the training sessions up against Teyla. He might not be able to get down and dirty with any of the women in Atlantis, but there's nothing against getting hot and sweaty while fighting with Teyla. Bates might be suspicious, but there's nothing happening that John wouldn't let the kids watch.
Well, nothing much.
Besides, it works off an edge he might otherwise find himself having to satisfy in the privacy of his own quarters, late at night, when there's no-one around to hear him. Fighting works off certain kinds of restless energy as well as - if not better than - sex.
It's a thin line, but it works.
And it's Teyla.
He's learned to be wary of her staves. She doesn't pull her blows and he doesn't ask her to. It's a matter of his own personal pride and a determination that one day he'll be good enough to lay her out on her ass - and not just when she's distracted or tired.
He's got that much Alpha male in him, anyway.
In the meantime, he watches every move, and follows every lead she gives him, hoping to make a breakthrough and beat her, just this once.
Each time, she fends him off, if not effortlessly, then without any particular desperation. He feels like Agent Smith fighting Neo in the original Matrix movie: up against an opponent who's not really putting anything into the fight.
"You know, you could always let me win," he complains as he picks himself up off the floor yet again.
She dimples, amused. "You would not find satisfaction if I did."
True. But it might soothe his pride a little.
In the next bout, he nearly traps her. Then her stick twirls in her hand and smacks his ankle, right on the bone, and he stumbles before he can get the 'killing' blow in. His ankle aches, but he's not going to say anything about it.
Suck it up, John.
The last bout is furious, driven. He doesn't pull his blows and she meets his every attack with a solid defence, but doesn't retaliate in turn. Instead, she draws him on, letting him spend himself in advance.
Light gleams across throat, shoulders and arms, and he watches the muscles of her body ripple and roll like the waves around the city. But his attack is no less ferocious for his admiration, and her defence is no less unyielding for his aggression.
They fight to a standstill, and although John is exhausted, it's a good exhaustion. He didn't win, but he didn't lose, either.
It's almost like the relief of release after sex.
Almost.
He doesn't let himself think about that too much; if he did, he might put thought into action and she would beat his ass to within an inch of his life. Not that he'd blame her.
It's easier to be affable and friendly than to be teasing and flirtatious; easier to fight her than to fuck her; easier to be Major Sheppard, and not John.
But when she bows her head to him at the end of the bout, John lets his eye glide over the curves of her figure and curses the line.
- fin -
FEEDBACK: Oh, yes! Yes! YES!
AUTHOR: Tielan
SUMMARY: The line between attraction and action is fine. At least five men in Atlantis walk it very closely.
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: A little language from John.
SPOILERS: None - generally set in Season One
NOTES: I'm trying to write one for Liz, but the boys are stonewalling me.
- Dangerous -
She's dangerous.
He can't understand why nobody else sees it - why they're all blinded by the charm and calm formality that passes for 'culture' among her people.
It's more than just the fact that they don't know who tipped off the Wraith about their arrival in Pegasus, or that she's so swiftly become a 'trusted companion' in Major Sheppard's eyes. It goes further than Colonel Sumner's dislike of the Athosians, and encompasses more than the attacks that surprise them every time they turn around in this goddamned galaxy.
She's dangerous.
Bates knows that, and he keeps a watchful eye on her.
Sometimes their gazes meet, eye to eye, and he knows that she's aware of his observation and why. He suspects his paranoia amuses her and that only irritates him further.
He catalogues her moves, her fighting form: she's got a dancer's body but a fighter's instincts. And the men on the base see that - they can hardly help it. Bates just tries to make sure she doesn't hypnotise him with the tamed grace of her walk.
He doesn't always succeed.
Moments play out in his head sometimes when he passes her in the corridor. What would she do if he grabbed her and shoved her up against a wall? Bit down on her mouth and found out what an alien woman really did taste like? Ground his hips into hers and felt her struggle for just that one moment--
--before she thrust him away and punched his lights out.
Distrust comes naturally. So, too, does self-preservation.
So Bates eyeballs her, but keeps walking.
And he watches her.
--
- What's In A Name? -
The junior officers tease him.
He hasn't yet taken the bait.
There aren't too many people in the city that he can legitimately call his friend - most are either superiors or subordinates, and those that aren't are scientists, which are infinitely worse than either superiors or subordinates. At least the superiors and subordinates are bound by the chain of command and respect; the scientists have no such qualms and Aiden's been the focus of their mirth more times than he cares to count.
Teyla, however, doesn't laugh - at least, not to his face.
Her smile carries amusement and affection, but not attraction, and he's okay with that. It's not the first time he's been attracted to a girl who isn't attracted back. As it is, Aiden likes having someone with whom he can joke (even if she doesn't always get it), and someone who doesn't see him as one of the myriad military faces in the crowd, but as a friend.
And, yeah, he gets a little pleasure out of the fact that she calls him by name, but Sheppard's still 'Major'. It's a testosterone thing. So shoot him.
She comes to him for the required weapons training, stating that the others don't trust her, or don't have time. Should he be offended that she thinks he has the time? Aiden supposes he does - after all, he teaches her how to handle a P-90, a Beretta, a rocket launcher. He watches her lock and load, reaching out to adjust her grip on the weapon where necessary, and she listens and nods. Teyla's a quick learner, much more than a pretty face.
Still, sometimes he wonders what she'd do if he asked her out on a real date. Discuss whatever it is that her people discuss, explain all the bits and pieces of Earth culture that the Major keeps promising but never seems to have time to do, and maybe get to kiss her at the end of the night. He's not sure he'd have enough guts to do anything more than try to land a kiss on her mouth. She's a wicked fighter.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to spar against her the way Major Sheppard does: all motion and action and deadly grace. He gathers that it's a trust thing: something about trusting Major Sheppard's instincts to be able to defend himself.
He wishes he was that good - that she considered him good enough to fight against. He's not and not likely to be. He can be philosophical about it.
But Aiden still gloats - privately - about the names thing.
--
- Not A Blonde -
She's not blonde. Nor is she intelligent.
Not that she's stupid, of course; but her people really are quite primitive and there's so many things she doesn't understand at the scientific and rational level.
Then again, her instincts are amazing. Even he can see that. And while Rodney has never espoused the violence of the military, he appreciates poetry in motion. Of course, to him, 'poetry in motion' is usually the spin and tumble of waves, the quantum mechanics of light and its properties, the perfection of mathematics that can be found in the equations defining a wormhole's creation.
There are times he thinks he might make an exception for Teyla.
And she's practical, competent in her own way. Rodney likes that.
He's grateful for that practicality when they find themselves under fire from a race of people who seem to believe that anyone that comes through the Stargate is bad news. Of course, they have primitive weaponry: just slingshots and arrows. Nothing like their P-90s and Berettas.
Rodney doesn't realise that he's been hit until Sheppard yells at him to get down. Teyla reaches out with one hand and yanks him down into the shadow of the rock, and his left shoulder suddenly stings.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but a stone in the shoulder hurts like OW.
"Dr. McKay?" She looks at him, inquiringly, and her expression changes, hardens as she sees his wound. "Major, he has been hit."
"Will he live?"
Rodney opens his mouth to snap at the major, but the trickle of pain suddenly becomes a river of agony and the world begins to fray at the edges.
"He is bleeding heavily. He will not be able to make the full run to the 'jumper." She glances at Rodney. "Can you put your right arm over my shoulders and hold on?"
He thinks he can, but he's not too sure. Teyla continues without waiting for an answer. "Major, you and the Lieutenant will have to cover me."
"We're on it," Sheppard says.
It's a little difficult to remember the details, but she half-hauls him up, and supports him while the other two lay down cover fire, trying to prevent the locals from shooting any more holes in them. Her hair, unbound, fluffs in his face. Rodney finds the tips of the strands in his mouth and wonders if she always smells like this or if it's only when he's been shot.
When she lowers him to the side benches of the puddlejumper, he's feeling dizzy. As he lies down on the bench and she goes to the door, the side of his body that was in contact with hers is oddly cold from the absence of her.
It's the shock that makes him think of the blondes he's never kissed.
But, looking at the blurred outline of Teyla at the hatch, Rodney thinks he could like brunettes.
--
- Mona Lisa Smile -
If ever there was a word to describe her smile, enigmatic is it.
The Mona Lisa has nothing on Teyla.
She holds her own silence and keeps her own secrets.
Carson appreciates that. When he's exposed to people like McKay, who will talk just to hear the sound of his own voice, or Lieutenant Ford, who gets bossy and far too big for his size eight boots, someone who will just listen and nod in understanding is a blessing.
If there are times when he has to resist the urge to pontificate, just to see that smile on her lips, well, a man finds it easy to talk to a woman who has a way of listening with a smile.
He likes her smile.
It warms him all the way through his body as she looks at him over the newborn he's just helped deliver in the Athosian camp. Both mother and child are healthy, and Teyla both reassured the mother and assisted in the delivery - no easy birth considering the woman was slim-hipped and the baby large.
"Thank you, Dr. Beckett," she says when they have left the family to their quiet celebration, and are down at the river, washing their hands.
He's learned to observe the Athosian proprieties where they don't interfere with his profession's need for cleanliness and hygiene. Teyla's people have been more than willing to take advantage of what help Atlantis is willing to provide them by way of advice in health and wellbeing, and the occasional ritual - the returning of the mother's blood to the land through the river - is something he can stand for the sake of having a better relationship with her people.
"You're more than welcome," he tells her, smiling back, almost helplessly.
There's something sweet and yet knowing in her smile when she turns it on a man. It's as though it's a benediction and a gift.
Carson knows the physiology of it: the neurotransmitters that give off endorphins when one smiles, creating a pleasant state to go with a pleasant expression. That doesn't explain why he feels as though he could leap tall buildings with the rush that goes through him as they amble back to the Athosian campsite. Endorphins from a smile shouldn't make people act like that.
They're flying back in the puddlejumper, peaceful and silent, across the sea towards the city. He glances at her profile as she stares thoughtfully out of the window, unaware or uncaring that her life depends on his inept piloting skills. She catches his look and her smile slides down his spine like a warm-tipped finger on his bare skin.
It's been a while since he responded to a woman like this.
Carson turns hurriedly back to the console and wishes for a cold shower right about now.
--
- The Line -
There are moments when he'd like to say something, do something that crosses the unconscious line he's drawn between himself and every woman in Atlantis. He's got more important things to deal with than his own sexual deprivation right now.
The survival of the city, for one.
Still, there's a reason he keeps the training sessions up against Teyla. He might not be able to get down and dirty with any of the women in Atlantis, but there's nothing against getting hot and sweaty while fighting with Teyla. Bates might be suspicious, but there's nothing happening that John wouldn't let the kids watch.
Well, nothing much.
Besides, it works off an edge he might otherwise find himself having to satisfy in the privacy of his own quarters, late at night, when there's no-one around to hear him. Fighting works off certain kinds of restless energy as well as - if not better than - sex.
It's a thin line, but it works.
And it's Teyla.
He's learned to be wary of her staves. She doesn't pull her blows and he doesn't ask her to. It's a matter of his own personal pride and a determination that one day he'll be good enough to lay her out on her ass - and not just when she's distracted or tired.
He's got that much Alpha male in him, anyway.
In the meantime, he watches every move, and follows every lead she gives him, hoping to make a breakthrough and beat her, just this once.
Each time, she fends him off, if not effortlessly, then without any particular desperation. He feels like Agent Smith fighting Neo in the original Matrix movie: up against an opponent who's not really putting anything into the fight.
"You know, you could always let me win," he complains as he picks himself up off the floor yet again.
She dimples, amused. "You would not find satisfaction if I did."
True. But it might soothe his pride a little.
In the next bout, he nearly traps her. Then her stick twirls in her hand and smacks his ankle, right on the bone, and he stumbles before he can get the 'killing' blow in. His ankle aches, but he's not going to say anything about it.
Suck it up, John.
The last bout is furious, driven. He doesn't pull his blows and she meets his every attack with a solid defence, but doesn't retaliate in turn. Instead, she draws him on, letting him spend himself in advance.
Light gleams across throat, shoulders and arms, and he watches the muscles of her body ripple and roll like the waves around the city. But his attack is no less ferocious for his admiration, and her defence is no less unyielding for his aggression.
They fight to a standstill, and although John is exhausted, it's a good exhaustion. He didn't win, but he didn't lose, either.
It's almost like the relief of release after sex.
Almost.
He doesn't let himself think about that too much; if he did, he might put thought into action and she would beat his ass to within an inch of his life. Not that he'd blame her.
It's easier to be affable and friendly than to be teasing and flirtatious; easier to fight her than to fuck her; easier to be Major Sheppard, and not John.
But when she bows her head to him at the end of the bout, John lets his eye glide over the curves of her figure and curses the line.
- fin -
FEEDBACK: Oh, yes! Yes! YES!
Tags:
no subject