John watches her undress by the lantern light and his breath catches in his throat.
The warm soft flamelight gilds her skin, tinting it bronze in the darkness of the tent as she moves, and John can't look away as his mouth dries up and his body fires up.
Teyla glances over her shoulder at him, and her eyes gleam. "You have seen it all before," she says as she tugs the band from her hair. "There is nothing new here."
As if that makes a difference to his senses - or his desire. "So?"
"So there is no reason to stare."
"Are you going to tell me not to?"
"Rodney would say that telling you not to do something is one way to make you do it."
"Reverse psychology," he says, a little nettled by Rodney's intrusion into the conversation before he smiles at her. "So tell me not to."
She approaches the bed, amused by his dare. "But reverse psychology does not work on a contrary man such as yourself," she says, brushing back a strand of his hair.
As pillow talk goes, this is actually more lighthearted than their usual fare.
Then again, Teyla is Teyla. John likes her the way she is.
He turns his head so he can feel the skin of her wrist against his cheekbone, close and warm and soft. "Contrary?"
"Stubborn?" He turns to graze his teeth across her skin, gathers her up against him on the bed, begins tasting her flesh, slow and determined.
She sighs, a long drawn out susurration of pleasure. "Yes."
He's on fire and John makes sure she is, too, before too much time has passed.
He likes the way her fingers trace across his skin, cold as ice, igniting desire. He likes the way she feels beneath his hands, burning heat and fierce hunger. He likes the way she moves against him, the way she looks as the light clings to every curve, the way she feels in his arms...fiery.
Afterwards, he closes the lantern, dimming the tent, and climbs back into her bed to be set afire again.
- fin -