One ficlet written each week for the "five colours" prompt. Thanks to Inara84 and Tielan for the betas.
Rose
John tries to remember the last time that he saw Teyla blush, and then realises that he has never had the pleasure. He has witnessed her embarrassment, anger and even shame, but he has never seen her cheeks stain such a delicate rose colour. Until now.
He can't prevent his teeth from grinding as he witnesses the Chancellor whisper in her ear and receive her delighted laughter in response. Something inside him snaps when the other man's hand slithers from her arm to the small of her back, and he finds his feet moving towards them before his brain can register the action.
"Teyla, can we talk?"
She cocks her head in reply before nodding and making her way through the crowd towards her guest room. John doesn't bother to hide the falseness in his smile as he turns from the Chancellor to follow her.
He closes the door behind him and turns to find her in the middle of the room, her displeasure at his interruption visible in both her expression and posture. "What is so important, Colonel?"
He clears his throat, opens his mouth to speak and promptly closes it again when he realises that he has no idea how to respond. An exasperated sigh escapes from her lips before she is advancing once more towards the door. His hand wraps her forearm impulsively and she comes to a halt at his side.
It takes a long moment for him to tilt his head to look at her, and less time to observe the realisation dawn on her face as she tears her eyes from his. When she finally turns to him, he sees the return of the elusive rose tint.
He doesn't know who leans in first. All he knows is that his hands are gripping her shoulders tightly and her fists are buried in his jacket as their lips crush together. The blush remains for the length of time that it takes him to undress her and cover her body with his lips, before she reverses their positions and responds in kind. Only then does the rose tint disappear, to be replaced with a deeper shade of red in keeping with their ragged breath and frenetic movement.
Scarlet
She sits perfectly still on the infirmary bed, hypnotised by the trail of scarlet blood running slowly down his cheek. They barely escaped with their lives, but had only a small number of cuts and bruises between them in the process. Most of hers are concealed, but the cut that runs from the top of his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth was a vivid reminder of the precarious nature of their lives. He catches her staring, and tries to smile encouragingly before wincing at the resulting pain. The nurse dismisses her as Dr. Beckett tends to John's cut, and she smiles back at him before leaving the infirmary.
She wakes with a start, the image of his cheek tainted with blood and hovering above hers haunting her dreams. They didn't speak of their night together off-world, reaching a silent agreement to treat the incident as a moment of weakness by both. But memories of the night drift into her conscious and unconscious thoughts as the days went on, and she finds herself reliving those images and feelings almost every night. Sighing, she throws the covers to one side and swings her legs off the bed.
There is no hesitation as she approaches his room. He raises one eyelid lazily as she moves toward him, though she can see the alertness in his body when the door opens. She perches on the bed as he turns to lie on his back. Her hand reaches out to him, but it seems like forever before her fingertips ghost over the cut on his face. She starts to pull away, but his wrist catches hers, and their eyes lock as another silent agreement is reached. He gently pulls her head down to his and she lays a brief kiss on the now dried blood on his cheek before turning her attention to the red of his lips.
Ruby
He doesn't know if it's familiarity or complacency, but John realises that he has forgotten how she looks until he see her in that dress. How beautiful she looks. The silk covers more of her body than her usual training outfit does, and yet he finds himself unable to coax his eyes away from her. The local women complement her on her appearance, while the local men keep their thoughts to themselves. He feels a sense of pride in being the only one here to have seen, touched and tasted the beauty that lays beneath the mass of ruby.
He watches the material swirl around her legs as she turns to identify the positions of her team mates. His eyes make the journey to her face at a leisurely pace, taking in every line and curve along the way. When they reach their destination, he is rewarded with a look that he has never seen before. It is little more than a glint in her eye and a slight arch of her lips, but it is enough. He had thought himself a fool for falling in love with her. Her face tells him that if he is a fool, then so is she.
They retire to her room as the Saennians continue the festivities long into the night. John contemplates requesting more diplomatic missions if they involve celebrations such as this. Judging by the attention that Ronon and Rodney were receiving as they left the party, he doubts that they would object.
"This is a beautiful dress," he murmurs as he pushes it over the curves of her shoulders. "You should keep it." The gentle brush of his lips against her neck elicits a light moan from her and delays her reply.
"I have no reason to wear it."
"Wear it for me." He knows that he is asking for too much and too soon, but he can't seem to help himself. Teyla doesn't respond with words, but John can interpret her answer.
Maroon
He refuses to tell her how he came to have a six-inch scar across his abdomen that narrowly misses his belly button. She knows that it is a recent affliction, presumably received during her prolonged stay on the mainland. She wonders just how close she may have come to losing him. She suspects that she is better off not knowing, if his stubborn silence with regard to the issue is any indication.
"It's no big deal." The hint of caution in his voice and the fact that the stitches are encased in dried blood suggest otherwise. Her fingertips press lightly as they trace the maroon line from start to finish, and the lack of response from him satisfy her that the wound is not still painful. She repeats the action, this time replacing her hand with her lips, and is rewarded with an appreciative gasp and the burial of his hand in her hair. She finds the intimacy of the act pleasantly surprising, a rare outlet for the affection that they share for each other in addition to their passion.
When she raises her head, Teyla sees that his eyes are closed and his lips have curved into a serene smile. He looks at her when he feels her weight shift on the bed, and she covers his body with hers. Brushing the back of her hand against his cheek, she maintains eye contact long enough to convey her thoughts and feelings to him. "I missed you too," he whispers.
Burgundy
The final time that he has her in his arms, he can taste the wine on her lips. The alcohol courses through his body as well as hers, but it does nothing to numb the pain. He takes his time, tries to commit every inch of her body to memory and savour her taste and smell. She reverses their positions and is just as attentive, and he wonders how they have come so far and given so much, and yet are willing to walk away.
She had refused to look at him during the day, fearing that the mask that she had been wearing for so long would slip. It was only when he had appeared by her side at the party, a bottle of wine in hand that their eyes met. They both watched the stream of burgundy pour into her glass, hands and lips within tantalising reach but unattainable in public. They turned to hear Dr. Weir's farewell to the Athosians, and she discreetly brushed her free hand against his. It was a simple gesture, but meant everything to him.
Now, he wishes that he had given in to his desire earlier, just to have a few more months, weeks or even days of memories with her. He thinks that he sees the light shimmer in her eyes but any moisture is quickly swept under her eyelids as her lips seek his once last time. He wonders whether he should say something, anything, to try and persuade her to stay. He doesn't say. And she doesn't stay.