eretria | new fic (a vignette, really): Hands

So, looks as though

auburnnothenna and me are back and forth-ing with random snippets out of nowhere while we don't work on our other stories.
Well, this snippet has a somewhere from whence it came, props to the one telling me where the idea sprang from.
But mostly, this one was written all for the wifey. Who immediately threw me into a dilemma, because this one? I will not label. You can read it as gen, het, slash or threesome, however you wish. I know what I intended this time, and it wasn't any of the latter three options.

This one's quiet. Teyla, Rodney and John, unwinding, all in their own ways.
Super-quick beta by

murron

Her hands glide over the broad expanse of Rodney's back, easy, strong and slick, warm, oiled skin under her fingers.

He is silent. It doesn't happen often, but when he is with her, here in this secluded room with only the last rays of the dying light painting the room in a warm orange glow, he is silent save for some spare notes of appreciation.

His back is more tense than anyone else's Teyla has ever worked on. And it always is again, despite all her hard work. Yet, Rodney has never complained about their sessions not having long term effects. Teyla has never done so, either. She knows she will not change him, and she does not wish to.

Knowing that he keeps coming back to her, asking for her hands on him, to knead and smooth away the week's unrest is enough for her. And he does come back, even when it is uncomfortable for him at first and the massage only slowly begins to turn into something pleasant.

Rodney radiates heat, yet, in the beginning, the skin of his back is always cool.

One slow stroke up, one down. One to the side, then one to the other. Teyla is intimately familiar with every mole and scar on Rodney's back now, but everytime, she begins their sessions with the very same pattern, re-learning the feel of Rodney's skin over heavy muscles and round bones.

What she does is not just for him. She misses the easy way her people had when it came to touching, and this is the only appropriate way in which she can touch without remorse here.

So she lets him come to her, week after week, spreads oil with the scent of fresh cut grass between her hands and hides from him that she is getting as much out of this as he is. They do not speak or think of physical love. They know each other too well and know that this, between them, is different. She had entertained thoughts very early on, but dismissed them as soon as she set her hands on Rodney.

He melts underneath them. She can strip everything from him, even words, but not leave him vulnerable, can take away the aches and pains no one else can. It elates and humbles her. Her hand which may have killed during the day can heal during the night.

Rodney always falls asleep during the second part of the massage. She never wakes him, does not take unkindly to him for relaxing enough to sleep.

Teyla does not turn when the door opens quietly. A small draft brings in cooler air. Atlantis only ever acts this way for John, hiding him when he wants to without even having to ask.

He has been here many evenings after Rodney fell asleep. Just sat in the shadows, breathing slow and even, blending into the lengthening shadows until she almost forgot he was there. But his eyes never strayed from her hands on Rodney's back, from the hypnotic glide of skin on skin. She never tried to analyse his behaviour. For all his easy charm, John is often like a wild animal. She knows he would leave if she were to acknowledge him.

He has come closer to them, step by small step in the past weeks.

Today, he does not go to the familiar shadows between two floor length windows.

Teyla keeps her eyes on Rodney's flushed skin, watches her hands glide over shoulderblades and alongside his spine and up to his biceps as John settles down next to her, vibrating tension.

The smell of the oil mingles with traces of sweat and sea-salt.

John is holding his breath. Teyla keeps her breathing even, concentrates on Rodney's sleeping form, on keeping her strokes firm but soothing.

After a while, a hand appears in the line of her vision. A small tremor, then it is gone again, balled into a fist.

Teyla keeps her left hand on Rodney's back, paints minute circles on the small of his back. Her right hand stretches out, palm up, open.

It takes long moments until she feels a touch, almost too light to be real. She waits a moment, then, when she feels more of John's hand touching hers, she closes hers around it. Draws a small circle on the back of John's hand with her thumb before sliding her oil-slick fingers through John's dry and cold ones.

She pulls, just a little, and John follows.

One more small tremor, then both of their hands are touching Rodney's warm skin, resting there, not moving.

Rodney snuffles in his sleep. She wonders if he smiles.

fin

By the way: While you're here already, and if you're feeling like melting a little inside, do hop over to the wifey's (

auburnnothenna's) journal and check out her latest two snippets.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

enname.livejournal.com

You are too quick off the mark for me. :)

So, you are the one who says she can't write Teyla? I'm sorry, I don't believe it. :P

Draws a small circle on the back of John's hand with her thumb before sliding her oil-slick fingers through John's dry and cold ones.

I like how this matches with the way Rodney's back is cold and changes to warm with the blood flow from the massage and oil. Echoes those three things beautifully and the different parts of his and their lives.

Interesting, because so many people I know who are professional masseuses say that they completely disassociate the body from the person it belongs to. It is still interesting and unique, but separate from the personality. Makes me want to go and talk to the more about that.

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new fic (a vignette, really): Hands

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