|
Disclaimer: Not mine. Setting: Post-The Storm, vague spoilers. Pairing: Sheppard/Teyla Rating: R. vague sex and violence
Notes: I'm not entirely sure I got this right. But it works, in my head.
Colors of Innocence Bled by ALC Punk! Gold and bronze and black and brown. It's the colors he sees when he's sliding into her. Or maybe it's her hair (and that pink tone to it just can't be real--maybe the 'Thosians know of some funky dyes), or the way she smells. Solid, clean, like the earth below them. Or not earth, not Earth, but ground. Yeah. Ground. Has a nice ring to it. At the beginning, he just thought she was cute. And open and honest. And the kinds of things naive women tended to be. Now he knows better. Now he finds himself getting distracted by her at the oddest moments. A look from dark eyes, a slight twist to her lips, and he knows. He *knows* that she's thinking about fucking him against a tree. Their first time was more of an accident than deliberate. He was half-drunk with having won the city back from the genii. She was still antsy with the storm, the vibrations from the wind and rain and hail coursing through her veins. They found each other in one of the upper rooms, they'd both been wandering. It hadn't taken more than a look, crackling energy lashing between them. And then she was there against him her lips bruising his as her hand went down his pants. Teyla always knows what she wants. Whether it's fast and furious or slow and methodical, she's in control. He doesn't mind. At some level, he knows this isn't going to last. That the vibrant colors that light his world when she's around will slowly dull and turn to ash. Because they can't sustain this. Nobody human could. They are at war, and the casualties are slow to pile up, but there's attrition. A war of attrition. It's a cliche. He's certain Dr. Weir could lecture them for hours on wars of attrition and the kind of gorilla tactics that win them. But he doesn't want to ask her. He remembers enough from his Academy lectures, thank you very much. Besides. He'd much rather have Teyla above him or below him, silent and brilliant. In the end, it's all he wants to see. Surrounding himself with her seems saner than burying his head in the sand or erupting in cynical rants while the people he is in charge of throw their lives into peril and danger. He doesn't know how long it will last. He knows it isn't love (though it could have been, before, back when his life was simple and uncomplicated), but it's something stable. And he knows it will end, one day. There will be one too many Wraiths, one too many traps, one too many deaths defied. And she will die on his watch (he doubts he'll die on hers--although he's fairly certain he would die for her. For all of them, ideally--not that he is an idealistic fool anymore) her brilliance and youth snuffed out like the gate as it closes. He's not looking forward to it. -finis- © 2005 ALC Punk! |