So they get John all packed and have their little foodfest. It's stilted and uncomfortable, however, and John's glad when it's over. He's up most of that night, checking lists against actualities, conferring with his men and trying to corral the scientists into some manner of order. He only gets a few hours of sleep, and is up early to take up where he left off. The day passes in a haze of lists, lists, and mores lists, until his eyeballs are dry and achy and he's got a tight knot above his right eye. He doesn't think about the sick feeling that's been in his gut since Helia and her crew stepped foot in the city.

He checks in with Elizabeth late. She's not taking it well--that's as obvious as the nose on his face. But he doesn't have the words for her, doesn't have the energy to try even if he did. He's pissed all right, but it's a kind of sapping, self-defeating anger that he hasn't felt in a long time. So he keeps it short and heads back to doing his job.

It's oh-two hundred when he gets to the point where there's nothing more he can actually do. Not until they start the next round of beam-outs, anyway. John doesn't really want to go to sleep--there will be plenty of time to sleep back on Earth--but his eyes are so fuzzy he needs to rest them for a moment. He thinks about finding a balcony and just zoning out on the city, but that's a little too maudlin for him. His feet take him back to his room. There's still a mattress there, even if there's nothing else to make it his room.

The door slides open more smoothly than ever. Could be the extra ZPM, could be the Ancients themselves, but he tries not to dwell on those kinds of questions. He steps inside, lazily watches the door close, sighs as he turns around--and that's when he realizes he's not alone.

Teyla sits up slowly from where she was crashed out on his bed. She blinks a bit, and then stretches her arms over her head.

"I had given up hope of your return," she says when she finishes, head tilted to the side.

"Hey now," he says. "I thought you'd have learned by now to never to give up on me."

Her smile is brilliant. "That I have."

John tries to smile back, but he can feel it fall short of the mark. "Is something up? Your people okay?"

Teyla sighs deeply, bowing her head for a few seconds. John takes a step forward, worried. In a few hours they'll say goodbye, probably forever, but until then he'll do anything and everything in his power to help her out.

When she looks up again, she has a wry smile on her face that speaks of long, heated discussions. "My people are as well as can be expected."

He snorts. He has a feeling that his people's disillusionment has nothing on hers.

Teyla stands and makes her way over to him. "I know that you do not like to discuss feelings," she says. "But I want you to know that I have never once regretted having met you."

John's throat is tight, and even if he could force all of his feelings into some mess of words, he knows he wouldn't be able to get them out of his mouth. Instead, he closes the distance between them, and rests his forehead against her own.

"I'm going to miss you so much," he breathes against her skin. He curls his hands around her shoulders, tugging her gently forward, and she steps into his embrace. She fits as perfectly as he'd always thought she would. Tilting his head and letting his mouth drift down to hers is as natural as rain falling to earth.

"John," she growls out, the vibrations whispering across his lips. He groans, and then they're kissing fiercely, desperation driving them into a frenzy that has nothing to do with passion or desire. His lips feel raw and he tastes metal when he finally reins himself in. Teyla eases back when he does.

"Hey," he says quietly. He smiles at her, and she smiles back, but this close he can see the little furrow in her brow, the tightness at the corners of her eyes. He ghosts his left thumb across the tiny lines, wishing he could wipe them away with his touch. Shut the pain down like a jumper he's settled into its berth.

Teyla doesn't say anything. She tilts her head back against his grasp and threads her hands through his own hair, pulling him down for another kiss. This one is perfect; full of warmth and passion, deep but not wounding. It's enough to get John hard. He can tell the instant she notices; she gasps into his mouth, and then starts undulating against him in a way that ratchets up the tension another three notches.

"Teyla." He grabs her shoulders, not quite as gentle as he means to be, not nearly as rough as he knows she can take. Hurt flashes through her eyes when he pushes her away, but she's calm again right away. "I'm not sure if you're going where I think you're going, which, believe me, I want to go there. But, uh, I don't have anything." His dop kit is in his bag, which is somewhere in the mass of bags outside the gateroom, waiting for their owners' early morning departure.

The smile's back on her face again. It's the slightly more than Mona-Lisa smile, her lips quirking up tightly on one side. The one that means 'oh, John, you make things far too difficult, but I appreciate the fact that you try'. He kind of hates that smile. But only a little.

"And I thought you knew that I am an experienced negotiator, one who is prepared for all contingencies." Teyla reaches into her pocket; tension bursts out of John as relieved laughter when she pulls out a condom package.

"You are something else," he says, pulling her back into his arms.

She arches an eyebrow at him. "Something good?"

"Oh, I'd say you're very, very good." He kisses her again, taking his time and trying not to think. He knows that after this, leaving tomorrow is going to hurt worse than getting shot, but he's not about to let go of her now.

"Then the question is," she says as she leads him over to his bed, the mattress bare and slightly cockeyed, "is how good are you?"

John tightens his grip on her hand, reeling her back to him. He doesn't try to answer her aloud; some other time he might have bragged and joked, but tonight he only wants to show her what she makes him feel. He cups her jaw in both hands, brushing a soft kiss over her still-smiling lips. Teyla presses forward for another, but John draws back, thumbing the arches of her cheeks. He drifts down to her neck, letting himself feel the softness of her skin. She's so beautiful. He wants to tell her that, but somehow it doesn't seem right. He values her for so much more than just her beauty, and he's afraid to cheapen what's between them.

"John," Teyla whispers.

"I want to touch you all night long," he blurts out, Rodney-style. He would be embarrassed, but Teyla's fingers are on the laces of her top, deftly unknotting and loosening. As she finishes, John inches the fabric up from the bottom, taking his time to feel her smooth skin under his palms. Then her hands join his, encouraging him to tug the fabric up over her naked breasts, up over her head and off.

Her breasts are beautiful, luscious, tempting, but he doesn't go for them right away. John skims a finger over her collar bone and down her side until she shivers and goosebumps spring up all over her arms. Then he urges her to lie back. The way she looks up at him--warm, open, trusting eyes--makes something inside want to curl up and die. So he looks at her body instead.

Teyla sighs as he cups her breast at last, as he rubs his thumb across her full nipple. He slides down beside her on the bed. Takes his time to touch; kisses his way across her throat and chest. Teyla's fingers tangle in his hair, then comb the snarls away.

"John," she whispers, fingers walking down his neck to tug at his shirt. Together they get undressed, then lay back down together. She's softer than silk against his skin, and all heat. She bites at his neck, and he pulls her on top of him. He's hungry for her, so hungry.

Her hand finds his cock at the same time he slides a finger through her hair and into her wetness; they gasp together. It's a contest, then. She keeps time with him as he strokes over her clit, directing his speed with her own. John breathes through his mouth, trying to keep it together. He really doesn't want to come before he's inside her. But then Teyla's hand slows, drops away from his cock, and she's coming. She closes her eyes and throws her head back, thrashing against the pillow as little mewls escape from her mouth. She's amazingly beautiful, so very hot, and John wants to see her like that all over again. He starts to slide down the bed, but Teyla wiggles away.

"I want you now," she says, handing him the condom.

"If you insist." His hand is still slippery from her, so he sucks the taste of her off his fingers and then dries them on his own skin. He grimaces through the coldness of the condom, but then Teyla's hand is there, guiding his cock towards herself.

Hot, tight, perfect. That's all he can think, all he can feel, for those few seconds that feel like forever. Then he's all the way in, and John holds himself there, watching her face. Teyla smiles at him. The look in her eyes is soft and happy. For a moment John's overwhelmed; he honestly never thought this would happen.

Then Teyla grins. A laugh bubbles up out of her throat, and she wraps her legs around his thighs. John can only grunt as she flips them over.

"Mmm," she murmurs as she slides slowly up and down. She rolls her hips, circling him, and John rolls in the other direction. It's a slow, sweet ride. They're both content to keep it that way for a while. John touches as much of her as he can. Her ass, her breasts and nipples, the tiny pooch of her tummy, the glistening curls where she meets his cock. Her eyes drift shut when he finds her clit again.

"Yes," she breathes, sitting back so he has better access. She curls her fingers around his own. It only takes a few strokes before she's clenching around him in rhythmic waves.

"Teyla," he whispers, just to say her name. She opens her eyes, then lays down on top of him. They kiss for a while, and then he can't take it any more. They manage to roll again, though he slips out of her this time. Sinking back into her feels as good as the first time.

Teyla lifts her legs high on his waist. John lets go. She gasps wildly as he thrusts. He wants to make her come again, but he doesn't think he's going to manage this time.

"Teyla, I--" He can't say anything else, doesn't know what he means to say, but he hope it says it all.

"John," she says, and bucks a little harder against him. That's enough. He presses into her as tightly as he can and lets himself be swept away.

"Give me a minute," he says into her neck, determined that she'll walk away from tonight well-satisfied. He takes a few deep breaths, then gathers himself and pulls out. Gets up and tosses the condom into the toilet. Surely the oh-so-advanced Ancient plumbing can figure out what to do with it.

He crawls back into bed. Teyla snuggles in beside him, wrapping her leg around his thigh. John strokes down her belly, intending to get her off. But she stops him yet again.

"We still have time," she whispers. "We don't have to rush quite so much."

John closes his eyes. He'd been trying not to think about the morning, but apparently his subconscious has been in control all along.

"Whatever we have, it is enough," she says when he opens his eyes again. She says it like a mantra. Like she truly believes it. But there are still little lines around her eyes, and he knows he's not the only one who's going to hurt.

He draws her close. Their heads are side by side on the pillow, foreheads touching in the Athosian way. He brushes her hair away from her cheek.

"Never enough," he swears to her. "Not of you."

Teyla's breath hitches. John pulls her even closer and wishes for things that can't be.

Email me at shetiger at gmail dot com or leave a comment in my journal.
Back to my Stargate stories.
Back to my fanfic page.