Title: The Dichotomy of the Stolen Kiss
Summary: Challenge Response to "100 Kisses" and "Stolen Kiss" on Beya. John Sheppard ponders the dichotomous stolen kiss.
Rating: K
Characters: John, Teyla
Pairing: John/Teyla, John/Other
John Sheppard liked kisses. He did. Ever since his first kiss with Pamela Dunn when he was thirteen years old, he'd been hooked. As he'd grown older and the joys of sex were introduced to his life, he'd still preferred the act of kissing to the act of love – not by much, he'd admit because damn the latter was enjoyable. There was something about sharing those moments, those kisses with someone that he loved that John Sheppard had grown attached to.
When he was without real human contact not so very long ago, he'd spent a night categorising the different types of kisses he'd had. They'd ranged from bag to stellar, slow to fast, lingering to frenzied. The list was almost unending. In fact, it had only been the night before that he'd revisited that list and added some and shifted some about.
He'd shared many kisses with quite a few women but there were those ones that were stuck in John's mind, probably as a result from being stuck in his heart. For example, the kiss he'd shared with Nancy on the day of their wedding day; chaste and pure but so significant that it had seared its way across his lips, straight down his throat to his heart. He still looked back on it with fondness not often associated with his wife. Then there was the desperate kiss he'd shared with Teer – when he'd finally given up hope of a return to Atlantis, of his people coming to get him. Although it wasn't one of the best kisses he ever had, it had a certain symbolism to it that he could not take for granted. She had wanted him and he had known it, yet she had pulled herself back from him even though he'd been more than willing. She'd known he'd been thinking of someone else.
Then there was the kiss he'd not so much shared as thrust upon Teyla in the gym whilst under the influence of a backwards retro-virus. Although he'd apologised for it, he wasn't really sorry because he had – at the time, at least – quite enjoyed it and he was sure that if Carson hadn't called him on the radio, he'd have tried for another one.
He'd been almost tempted to assign that to the top of the list – for good.
But then he remembered other kisses that surpassed them all. He supposed remembered wasn't really the right word because there was absolutely no way he could forget about them but there was something not quite right with them that meant he had never wanted to qualify them. Because giving them voice – or thought – outside of when they actually happened meant that he recognised that they did them – and that they shouldn't.
But damn if he'd ever stop himself from doing them.
The first one had could he heralded under a few different umbrellas, from hot and passionate, to desperate and needy. In a storage closet close to the control room, he'd pushed her up against the wall and, quite literally, ravaged her. She hadn't seemed to mind, really until they'd stepped out of said closet and the reality of what they'd just done sank in. A shared look followed by a nod was all it took for them to forget about what happened.
Then there had been the time that he'd been on Earth when the Ancients had returned to take back their city. He'd seen her and he'd wanted her. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had similar feelings because as soon as they were alone, her body had moulded into his, her fingers finding the super sensitive spot at the nape of his neck. He hadn't been able to resist running his hands through the hair he'd missed so much. He hadn't been able to summon the will power to stop the kiss he knew was about to happen. He supposed though, that it didn't really matter now because he wasn't the leader of the military and she wasn't part of Atlantis.
The third one was in her room when he'd hijacked her from the infirmary. She'd looked so lost and broken as she attempted to walk on her own that he found he couldn't resist from pulling her into his arms and tucking her into his dress blues. The kiss he'd imparted on her cheek was meant only as a friendly, calming gesture but when her eyes had turned up to his, watery and knowing, he hadn't been able to resist bending his head and claiming her lips in a soft, sad, almost loving kiss that seemed only appropriate on the day of Beckett's funeral.
He knew that technically it was wrong and he wondered if it was because it was wrong that he found it so darn enjoyable. Either that or the fact that it didn't really happen too often that he hadn't become accustomed to the rush of what could only be described as tingles that assuaged his body. Even after almost four years her beauty still astounded him and he still wanted to kiss her. And only her.
So it was confusing, this dichotomy of knowing it to be both wrong and right to enjoy those kisses. But he didn't really mind. The doors to his room slid open and in she walked, the reason for his thinking about kissing for two nights in a row. She slipped in stealthily, and he closed his eyes as she approached. He felt the bed shift beside him as she lowered herself onto it. He smiled slightly when he felt her breath on his face, slowly opening his eyes when she moved no further. He almost gasped in surprise when he saw the look in her eyes and he knew that that night, some things would be changing.
But as she leaned down eventually, smiling, her lips warm and assured against his he knew that those kisses were deserving of their title.
Stolen kisses with Teyla Emmagan were the best kisses of all.