|A Little Game of Tag
Author: Negolith PM
Untamed' AU drabble. Written solely for bringing a smile after a bad week. Title says it all.Rated: Fiction T - English - Friendship - John S. & Teyla E. - Words: 1,739 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 2 - Published: 10-25-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4616328
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: I had an INCREDIBLY stressful, crappy, horrible week at work and needed a little drabble to cheer me up. The thought of vargyr John in nothing but a pair of cut-offs started it, and this little bit helped bring a bit of a smile...
A Little Game of Tag
The sky was clear, the air damn near sultry, and the first day of summer was truly what it was supposed to be on the island of Atlantis. The south end had nearly four acres of untouched land, and the wild little park could be accessed from the greenhouse. Paths wove between the trees, and a small beach on the south shore offered a perfect picnic spot, or a secluded romantic getaway should anyone want. Currently a dozen slender silvery seals lazed on the rocks and sand, their bellies to the sun as they napped away the afternoon.
Teyla wandered contentedly along one of the more open paths, her steps light, her bare feet making no sound as she balanced on her toes. She wore one of her personal shirts of Fae design – the material a soft metallic purple that shimmered between lavender and blue in the dappled sunlight and was held together with thin intricate laces – and it left a lot of bronze skin bared. Her sweat pants rode low on her hips and emphasized every careful step. She carried her Banto sticks by her sides, her grip on them relaxed and loose. Every dozen feet or so she's pause, cock her head faintly as if listening for something, then continue, the hint of a smug smile ghosting her lips.
John's eyes dilated fully, his whiskers fully extended and vibrating as he watched her come his way. He was twenty feet off the path, his black fur making him all but invisible in the shadows of the wild, overgrown 'park'. He wore just a pair of black cut-offs, his belly practically on the ground, and his hind legs were bunched and tensed. The only thing that moved were his whiskers – every bit of his focus was on Teyla and nothing else. He had two Banto sticks as well, his grip on the handles already in a proper attack position. Teyla glided by, and John parted his lips and curled his tongue in an effort to catch her scent on the breeze. He already had his own thoughts guarded behind heavy shields, and he knew the Sidhe's sense of smell was nowhere as sensitive as his, so the chances of her knowing he was there were slim. His hind claws slowly extended and dug into the ground for purchase, and the muscles of his thighs and calves hummed with anticipation.
Teyla passed his hiding place, and when she was twenty feet beyond he acted. His launch was flawless, perfectly silent, and as he flew through the air he brought his Banto sticks around and down in a simple double attack at her exposed back.
She spun at the last second and blocked his attack without hesitation. A sound similar to an aluminum baseball bat knocking one clean out of the ballpark echoed in the woods as the ancient ironwood practice sticks connected with bone breaking force. Teyla pushed John back and pressed an attack. He blocked, and spun, and danced sideways as she pressed him back along the path. His vargyr reflexes barely kept him from getting tagged, and his defenses were sloppy but not completely undisciplined.
Teyla, however, flowed like water, each move seemingly effortless and the faint smile never leaving her lips. When her blows connected, the sharp crack was practically cringe inducing. The only sign she was putting any effort into her attacks was the light sheen of sweat now coating her exposed skin.
"You're being nice to me, aren't you?" John gasped as he barely sidestepped a blow that could have taken fur off his shoulder.
"Hmm." Teyla suddenly spun, and her next swing connected soundly across John's backside. He let out a painful yelp and hopped forward, and Teyla had to admit that it was rather adorable. Then she swept his legs out from underneath him. He let out a startled oof as his back hit the ground.
John looked up at Teyla, the Banto sticks crossed at his throat. Had they been the actual Banto swords that her clan was famous for, his head would probably be about twenty feet up-trail, his jaw still hanging open in surprise. It took him a few minutes to speak, and when he could, he croaked out, "That was dirty pool." Then he just laid there, arms flopped out, and panted.
"Your technique needs work." She was smiling as she lifted her sticks and stepped away. She gracefully sank into a cross-legged position next to him. She smacked him lightly across the stomach, and he just grunted. "This discipline requires more than just fast reflexes."
"Well, I remember reading somewhere years ago that the only substitute for bad manners was quick reflexes." He lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Does that count in this situation?"
"I am afraid not, John. Though that is very logical."
"Crap." His head flopped back down.
Teyla carefully laid her sticks across her lap and took in a deep, deep breath. The slightly musky scent of his sun and body warmed fur filled her nose, and she closed her eyes and imagined burying her hands and face into the thick soft fur on his chest, trailing her fingers down over that lean stomach …. She shook her head. No, no, it wasn't right entertaining such thoughts about her prince, especially since she was his lieutenant and protector now. She opened her eyes and watched his chest and stomach rise and fall, and had to shake her head again before she got mesmerized and distracted by more impure thoughts. "Once you are rested, we will go over the basics again." John groaned, and with a quick flick of the wrist she smacked him across the stomach again.
"Hey! Be nice. I am your prince, you know."
"I know." Those two simple came out rather wistfully, and John raised his head and squinted at her. "You look rested enough. Let's begin."
"All right." He sounded like he was being asked to scrub the security locker room with a toothbrush and Teyla had to bite back a little grin. Then he rolled to his with that fluid feline grace that always made something deep within her flutter. They took a moment to brush some of the pine needles and duff from his fur – she at least got to briefly run her hands across the thick black semi-mane that covered the back of his head, neck, and shoulders – before they started the beginning katas. Teyla had John stand slightly ahead of her so she could watch and evaluate, and every now and then smack him against the backside when he was sloppy or grumbled too loudly.
As they moved into the advanced and more complicated forms, she could see him relax and flow with the patterns he wove with the sticks, his eyes half lidded and his whiskers forward. He was deep in concentration, but from the expression on his face it looked like he had other thoughts on his mind. Teyla wondered if he even had the slightest clue as to the devastating effect he had on women. She personally thought his true form was the most beautiful, but his human skin had considerable … appeal as well. His expressive eyes, the cleft in his bottom lip, the tousled hair that just screamed for someone to try to get it controlled, the boyish, mischievous grins, the confident comfortable way he just seemed to wear his skin ….
And as a Pretender of royal blood, he most definitely had no idea of the power he radiated, a power that he clearly had not been taught about thanks to his horrible family. Perhaps Halling could teach him…. John stopped and looked at her, an impish smirk quite visible on his feline muzzle. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Teyla realized she was just standing there, staring at him. She cleared her throat. "Just admiring your technique." The second the words left her mouth she cringed internally. The little knowing grin John gave her didn't help. "I think that is enough. You seem to remember your forms when we go slow – why can you not remember them while sparring."
John's eyes were still dancing when he answered. "Um, because I'm trying not to get my ass handed to me on a platter?" He gave her such a big eyed, whipped kitten expression she let out a short snort of laughter.
"Point taken." Then he gave her a smile that had the little flutter back.
"So, I have to ask – how did you know I was there? My thoughts were buried so deep it would have taken mining equipment to dig them out. And I know you couldn't smell me."
"The plants told me."
John blinked. "The plants." His eyes narrowed. "Ooo, you sneaky little Sidhe, you. I should have figured."
Now it was Teyla's turn to grin. She felt incredibly pleased when she saw him draw in a short breath. "The afternoon is still young, Padawan Sheppard, and I don't feel like going in yet. Shall we continue?"
John shook his head. "Do you know how freaky it is hearing a Sidhe throwing out Star Wars Speak?" He chuffed. "Yes, let's continue to take advantage of one of the five rain-free days here."
"Good." A stick flashed out, and John yelped and hopped forward. "Tag, you're it." Then she tore off down the path.
"You and Ronon are going to cripple me for life, you know," John yelled at her retreating back. He heard musical laughter echo in the back of his mind. He waited five minutes, then literally bounded down the path after her like Tigger's shadow. It only lasted a few minutes because, man, it made his butt hurt.
End Note: I am working on the sequel to 'Untamed', or as I call it, 'The Story That Keeps Getting Interrupted'. I have 9 full chapters and 40 some thousand words. It's coming, folks. It's a breach birth, but it's coming.