Summary: In San Francisco, Teyla is starting to see things differently.
Teyla looks at John, lazy lean in the doorway at Cheyenne Mountain, feelings tucked away not nearly as well as he thinks. She imagines him fucking her up against the wall, eyes desperate, fighting for a release she will deny him until she has come again and again and he cannot deny anything.
She looks at Rodney, who is talking and talking, noise to fill up the vacuum of fright he feels at the thought that they might scatter. His jawline is strong, clenched aggressively against fear, but the point where it meets the skull just below the ear is tender and vulnerable. Her tongue, right there, and he would stop speaking, would go soft in her hands.
She looks at Ronon, so burly, so fragile, already starting to realize that Atlantis in San Francisco is just a weapons platform and no home for anyone. She would not even have to touch him; she already knows his heart and could strike home with a whisper.
She runs downstairs, to Todd's cell. Even if she didn't know where he was being held, she could have found it by the faint whisper of his being in the air. He is waiting for her, with an eagerness she can read in his body language that she would never have understood before. He turns away, tries to pretend indifference.
"What is happening to me?" she demands.
"I think you know," he says. "Even locked away here I have felt it."
He laughs. "How long did you think that you could pretend to be a queen before it started to become true?"
It has a terrifying ring of truth, but--She looks down at her hand. "I am not changing."
"On the outside, perhaps." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you not dreaming of making them all yours?"
She is lonely. She misses Pegasus. She misses Kanaan.
None of that is powerful enough to explain it.
"And if I am?"
He shrugs. "I do not know. This has never happened before. But it promises to be--interesting."
Interesting. The insolence! She slaps the security release and lunges into the cell. She has him pressed against the wall, an arm around his throat, before he can react.
"More interesting than you will care for, I think."
He is reacting; every sense betrays his arousal, as clearly as if it were written for her in large letters. This is better, she thinks. If she has to, if someone must...
"How long have you been without a queen, Todd?" she breathes into his ear.
"Too...long..." he says reluctantly.
"I thought so. You have not tended to your hair properly." She steps back and surveys him. A year ago, she knows, he would have disgusted her. Now his lean form seems sparely elegant, his skin a pale green like a luminescent night moth, the long white hair, despite its raggedness now, a flourish promising experience. Yes, this is better.
"Sit there," she orders. "Ready yourself."
He complies, eyes wide and shocky. When she straddles him, he groans, and she presses her palm against his mouth. Their coupling is tight and frantic, as she strives to burn off all her strange energy in the act. She comes once, twice, three times, more than she ever has in a row, then a fourth, which is like being turned inside out. Only when she sighs and settles against Todd does he climax as well. He sags as though completely spent, but he is careful to keep his arms around her to support her.
"My queen, my queen," he murmurs in her ear. "This will never be enough for you."
She closes her eyes and pushes herself back upright. "It will have to be."
"Then..." He begins to move again inside her, as no human male could--not yet. She bites him hard on the neck for his boldness, but accepts the service.
It is only her due.