fics: "A Personality Disagreement" and "Humanity Is Overrated"
They were started for the teylafen prompt battle, but the Teyla & Vala was a little too close to what I'd already written, and the Teyla/Michael wasn't really about Teyla: one Teyla & Vala, one Teyla/Michael.
A Personality Disagreement, Teyla & Vala, PG-13
It was difficult to say what irked Teyla most.
Perhaps it was that the woman fulfilled so many of the Lantean expectations that Teyla had found herself knocking back in the earliest days of her time among the city-dwellers. Perhaps it was the way Vala cooed and postured, sulked and flirted, played and teased as though the universe revolved around her and her alone.
Perhaps it was merely what Kate Heightmeyer would call 'a personality disagreement'.
Whatever the reason, Vala was irksome and Teyla was irked.
She carefully avoided the other woman, exercising the restraint and control that she expected of herself, until, during an off-world excursion, Vala went hunting treasure and trapped herself and Teyla in a maze.
For two hours, they wandered through the maze.
Vala chattered almost incessantly, her comments growing more needlesome as the hours went by. Teyla contemplated the satisfaction that smacking her companion's head into the wall might bring, then dismissed it as beneath her.
But it was close.
They made their way out in the end, without the assistance of their team-mates, all of whom were trying to be helpful, but whose helpfulness only grated further on Teyla's abraded temper.
On the way back to the 'jumper, as they forded a shallow river, Colonel Mitchell made the unfortunate observation that now the two women should be the best of friends. Teyla reflected silently that Colonel Mitchell was not very wise in the ways of women.
Vala was not quite so restrained.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea." Sarcasm dripped from her words. It seemed Teyla had not been the most welcome of company during their travels through the maze, and the prospect went some way to lifting Teyla's spirits. "Maybe Teyla could teach me that fighting thing that gets her all sweaty with Colonel Sheppard - or, better yet, Ronon!"
"No."
"We could have a pyjama party in the--"
"No."
"What about--?"
"No."
She does not need to look at Vala to see the exasperation. "So...do you ever do anything fun?"
Teyla thought about it for a moment, then, fast as lightning, turned and shoved Vala off-balance, so she fell into the icy water of the ford.
Then, while the other woman was still gasping, she swiftly forded the river and started up the other side. "Yes," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked past a wide-eyed Rodney and a gape-mouthed Colonel Mitchell. "I do."
fin
Humanity Is Overrated, Teyla/Michael, PG-13
This one has a warning: implied rape, although not of Teyla.
Sometimes he dreams of being human.
In the darkness, his mind conjures up the hot flush of flesh with the slick warmth of blood running through his veins rather than the cool ooze of ichor.
Perhaps the closest his kind ever came was the rush of the kill, the first flush of energy and life from the feed and the pleasure of its death throes. Even the rage of his people is cool, icy and implacable, with less of the raw vivacity of human emotion and more instinct, chill and sharp.
Sometimes, walking across a planet's surface, beneath the sun, the man they named Michael inhales the air that scrapes against his throat - too dry for Wraith lungs - and remembers being human.
Sometimes, lying in a dead man's bed, he dreams of things no Wraith male feels.
He studied the mammalian species his people fed on - it was part of the research done in every hive, to ensure that they weren't developing resistance to the feeding, to be sure that there was enough after the harvest for the renewal of numbers.
Their reproductive habits intrigued him - so heated, so wayward, so...fleshy.
It is not the way of the Wraith. The Queens have their need and the chosen males accommodate her before she drains them to furnish life for their seed.
This is different.
He wakes in darkness, too warm, too stifled by the damp.
The dead eyes of the humans do not watch him pass as he stumbles up to the surface, to the daylight and the dry air that aches in his lungs as the unspeakable desire aches in his loins.
Once, during an observation of the humans, he set loose a single female in a room of four males. The unbridled need of the males intrigued him, even though the female was of little use afterwards. Such a need that could prick the humans to such acts - again and again and again!
That last particle of what he was made to be revolts at the memory. Still, as he pants in the sunlight, scraping cold hands through the too-short strands of his hair, the creature they named Michael knows that drive, even in the cool oily ichor of his being.
He never had Teyla in the way those males took the female - the way his mind conjures up in his dreams - so vivid, so vicious. Never slid his tongue across the sweat-pearled skin, curled his hands beneath her breasts, buttocks, thighs, listened to her screams as he took from her what she would never have willingly given him.
He never did.
Sometimes, he dreams of being human.
fin
A Personality Disagreement, Teyla & Vala, PG-13
It was difficult to say what irked Teyla most.
Perhaps it was that the woman fulfilled so many of the Lantean expectations that Teyla had found herself knocking back in the earliest days of her time among the city-dwellers. Perhaps it was the way Vala cooed and postured, sulked and flirted, played and teased as though the universe revolved around her and her alone.
Perhaps it was merely what Kate Heightmeyer would call 'a personality disagreement'.
Whatever the reason, Vala was irksome and Teyla was irked.
She carefully avoided the other woman, exercising the restraint and control that she expected of herself, until, during an off-world excursion, Vala went hunting treasure and trapped herself and Teyla in a maze.
For two hours, they wandered through the maze.
Vala chattered almost incessantly, her comments growing more needlesome as the hours went by. Teyla contemplated the satisfaction that smacking her companion's head into the wall might bring, then dismissed it as beneath her.
But it was close.
They made their way out in the end, without the assistance of their team-mates, all of whom were trying to be helpful, but whose helpfulness only grated further on Teyla's abraded temper.
On the way back to the 'jumper, as they forded a shallow river, Colonel Mitchell made the unfortunate observation that now the two women should be the best of friends. Teyla reflected silently that Colonel Mitchell was not very wise in the ways of women.
Vala was not quite so restrained.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea." Sarcasm dripped from her words. It seemed Teyla had not been the most welcome of company during their travels through the maze, and the prospect went some way to lifting Teyla's spirits. "Maybe Teyla could teach me that fighting thing that gets her all sweaty with Colonel Sheppard - or, better yet, Ronon!"
"No."
"We could have a pyjama party in the--"
"No."
"What about--?"
"No."
She does not need to look at Vala to see the exasperation. "So...do you ever do anything fun?"
Teyla thought about it for a moment, then, fast as lightning, turned and shoved Vala off-balance, so she fell into the icy water of the ford.
Then, while the other woman was still gasping, she swiftly forded the river and started up the other side. "Yes," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked past a wide-eyed Rodney and a gape-mouthed Colonel Mitchell. "I do."
fin
Humanity Is Overrated, Teyla/Michael, PG-13
This one has a warning: implied rape, although not of Teyla.
Sometimes he dreams of being human.
In the darkness, his mind conjures up the hot flush of flesh with the slick warmth of blood running through his veins rather than the cool ooze of ichor.
Perhaps the closest his kind ever came was the rush of the kill, the first flush of energy and life from the feed and the pleasure of its death throes. Even the rage of his people is cool, icy and implacable, with less of the raw vivacity of human emotion and more instinct, chill and sharp.
Sometimes, walking across a planet's surface, beneath the sun, the man they named Michael inhales the air that scrapes against his throat - too dry for Wraith lungs - and remembers being human.
Sometimes, lying in a dead man's bed, he dreams of things no Wraith male feels.
He studied the mammalian species his people fed on - it was part of the research done in every hive, to ensure that they weren't developing resistance to the feeding, to be sure that there was enough after the harvest for the renewal of numbers.
Their reproductive habits intrigued him - so heated, so wayward, so...fleshy.
It is not the way of the Wraith. The Queens have their need and the chosen males accommodate her before she drains them to furnish life for their seed.
This is different.
He wakes in darkness, too warm, too stifled by the damp.
The dead eyes of the humans do not watch him pass as he stumbles up to the surface, to the daylight and the dry air that aches in his lungs as the unspeakable desire aches in his loins.
Once, during an observation of the humans, he set loose a single female in a room of four males. The unbridled need of the males intrigued him, even though the female was of little use afterwards. Such a need that could prick the humans to such acts - again and again and again!
That last particle of what he was made to be revolts at the memory. Still, as he pants in the sunlight, scraping cold hands through the too-short strands of his hair, the creature they named Michael knows that drive, even in the cool oily ichor of his being.
He never had Teyla in the way those males took the female - the way his mind conjures up in his dreams - so vivid, so vicious. Never slid his tongue across the sweat-pearled skin, curled his hands beneath her breasts, buttocks, thighs, listened to her screams as he took from her what she would never have willingly given him.
He never did.
Sometimes, he dreams of being human.
fin