(AUTHOR's NOTES: Reminder that English is a second language to Teyla, spoken by only a handful of Hadeethans, and only when necessary for interaction with the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. Though she polished her English skills while she lived with her father in NYC, her native tongue is much more formal than English, which accounts for her more decorous manner of speech. In the midst of strong emotions, please imagine that it's natural for her to fall back into that pattern.)
This night their eagerness had brought them to an alley on the city's edge; it was not their usual sort of trysting place, but in their need, they had to make do.
The lovers—for that was what they had become in nearly every sense of the word—were rapt in one another, protected by the dark of night, secluded enough that the night sounds of a thriving city had fallen away, so that the quiet music of their shared passion was all they could hear.
In the days and weeks since they had begun their unlikely romance, Teyla had become the breath in Stephen's lungs, the sustenance he craved above all other things, and the secret happiness he carried with him everywhere he went. As far and as wide as he had to range in order to fulfill his duties as a Sanctum Master, as Master of the Mystic Arts and as a fully committed protector of humanity, she was with him-not only in the tender memories of their private times together, but in the divine anticipation of all that lay ahead for them. Parted from her, Stephen felt the worst impatience of his life, but bore it more patiently than he'd ever done for anything. During those necessary separations, he yearned unstintingly to hold her and to feel the shivers of her own longing; and the passion which he ached to spend upon her, he channeled into his work—so that the enemies of Earth stood no chance of victory against him, quaking in fear before his countenance and collapsing into impotence before his righteous magic. Though it mattered little to Stephen Strange, his reputation across the multiverse grew mightily, enough to discourage certain dark forces from engaging in battle with Earth's most fearsome defender.
The evening before his most recent leave-taking, Stephen had dared to give Teyla a new experience—a risk well worth the reward—a surprise dinner out at a casual little French restaurant several blocks over from Bleecker Street. To justify her presence at the New York Sanctum, he had quietly let it be known that she had business to do with her father's estate. He'd told her to wear her best—which was that same peasant dress she'd worn on their first trip to the city, and entirely suitable for the evening's outing. She had embraced every moment of their adventure, as he squired her to the restaurant, allowing him to order for her, tasting her first champagne, and finishing their meal by sharing a decadent chocolate and caramel dessert concoction with him. The sparkle of her eyes by candlelight, her musical giggles prompted by the champagne, and the open way in which she held his hand between the courses, were memories he would take away to warm him wherever he had to roam.
The Sanctum was as good as asleep when they returned, the retainers gone home for the night, and any Adepts in service there, retired to their quarters for the evening. With no one about as witness, Stephen decided it was safe enough to see her to her bedroom door. He asked her not to see him off in the morning, knowing the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly before he left, would be too great. That had pleased her, and she agreed with a faux little pout, insisting that he kiss her soundly now, if he expected her to comply. And that he had.
Loathe for him to leave, Teyla first thanked him for their magical evening, and then spoke frankly of her feelings. "You woo me, Stephen, in ways I had never imagined any man would wish to. You make me feel beautiful in your eyes, and by your touch you fill me with desires I had never thought to have." She brushed her fingers through the fall of his hair upon his brow—a habit of familiarity of which he would never tire. "How am I to reckon the hours you are away from me? I feel as though you take all warmth and light with you when you go."
Her honesty and vulnerability had become a spell upon him; Stephen knew he was already halfway in love with her, and with every hour he spent in her company he was falling hard, and falling deep. "Oh,Teyla," he breathed, his voice rife with astonishment, "The best part of me remains with you—you know that, don't you?" He touched her forehead, just between her eyes—her Third Eye, which he had learned of from the Ancient One herself, "See me here, and know I'm only a thought away from you. And trust that nothing in the multiverse can keep me from returning to you." He lifted her chin, and leaned in to kiss the tears that hung from her lashes. "Can you do that for me, honey?"
She nodded, managing a brave little smile for his sake, and quietly broke from his gaze—his questioning gaze—to look down as she took his right hand in both of her own. Tenderly, she traced the scars on the back of his hand; but not like she had that day she had worked her pain-relieving spell. Her gentle touch was no healer's touch this time—though innocent, it felt as intimate as a lover's touch. It was the touch he had been craving since the day he'd been forced to accept that his old life was irrevocably gone-although he hadn't known until this moment, how badly he'd been missing it.
Stephen's breath caught when she raised his hand to gently brush her lips across the back, before laying a soft kiss upon it. Teyla tilted her head so she could nestle her cheek against his scarred flesh, eliciting a moan of both relief and longing, from him.
She looked up at him, her dark eyes wise and solemn, a small, soft smile now playing at the corners of her mouth. "You work wonders with your hands, my love—though few know how you protect and defend lives everywhere. I cannot gainsay the service meant for your hands, as much as I long to have you ever near me..."
That's my brave girl, he had thought, unprepared for her next admission.
"…I have only ever found them beautiful, Stephen. Your beautiful, scarred hands—they are part of what makes you…you," she told him, wonder in her voice and on her face, "Through pain and sorrow and despair, they brought you to your destiny." Her smile spread, lovely as dawn after a stormy night, as she professed shamelessly, "They are the first thing that I came to love about you, on a list that grows longer each day."
With that, she laid his hand over her heart, and then rose on her tiptoes to whisper against his ear, "And if you be moved to—one of these nights soon-I would have your beautiful hands touch every part of me at last." With a kiss on his cheek, Teyla withdrew, turning away without looking back, closing her door, and leaving him standing alone—wholly astounded, and dizzy with sudden joy, that so bright a soul could actually find him worthy of her love.
Soon, she had said; soon, was her promise, given as gently as all things she had brought to his life. Stephen had held her parting words close at heart all the while he had been gone. And that Teyla had been the braver of the two of them, forthright in proclaiming that she loved him. On some level he had already known—of course he had—but to have her say it out loud was the most unexpected miracle of all.
Since his return from that last mission, an unspoken urgency had flourished between them—surely sourced in that quiet admission of her deepest longing—which threatened the pattern of caution they'd been following to keep their secret safe. Each time they slipped away now, into their private world, he had grown incrementally reckless, his need for her pressing him always forward. Teyla counseled him to proceed with greater care, but was helpless as he swept her along, unable to decline his will for them.
Stephen's recklessness had brought them to this alley tonight; his hot need to hold her, to touch her, to have her, overriding cooler reason. Teyla had offered no defense, allowing him to pull her into the darkened alley without protest, within minutes of them meeting up. He honestly hadn't planned it this way, but the result was still the same.
Their bodies were pressed tightly together, with Teyla's back against the coarse brick wall as she submitted herself to his hungry, bruising kisses. She stretched her neck, humming deep in her throat at the greedy way he latched onto her tender flesh; her neck, throat, collarbone, all reddened in the flush of her desire, and from the rub of his goatee against her skin. She flexed one hand in Stephen's hair, and slid the other onto the delicious dip between his shoulder blades, holding him as close as the layers of material between her body and his would allow-their bodies housing no secrets from one another despite those maddening barriers of cotton and denim. "Oh my dearest…my love…," she cooed, and then gasped his name when he palmed her breasts through her blouse.
It wasn't enough for him, could never be enough for him now. Stephen needed to rake up her top and feel the contours of her ribs on his way to hold her ripe little breasts fully in his hands—yet he hesitated, knowing the wall at her back would be too rough against her exposed skin. "Do it," she urged him, reckoning his need from his thoughts alone, "Touch me as you will, my love. Your need is my desire as well…" She trailed off into a heartfelt moan as he slipped both hands beneath the cloth and cupped her smoothly, rubbing her stiffened nipples with his thumbs and making her whimper helplessly.
Teyla arched her back as he fondled her, arched into his hands, seeking his firmest contact with her virgin flesh. He cursed inadvertently against her ear, at the sudden, gratifying heat that flared in his palms and thence to his wrists, up his arms, to course through his blood and fill his body with a flame which felt as though only she would be able to quell. Instinctively, Stephen knew this was her energy, pure as her heart, passing into him; there was no pain in this spectacular sensation, only the hunger to give back to her the same, from the depths of his heart. "How is this happening?" he rumbled against her cheek.
"Because I love thee, Stephen," she answered, lapsing into a patois of a Hadeethan mixed with English. When his mouth recaptured hers, and she accepted the eager thrust of his tongue so she might suckle it luxuriously—the thrill of that intensifying the throbbing ache for her in his groin—Stephen realized he was hearing her in his mind. I love thee…I love thee…my heart, it is thine. This startling intimacy awakened a need in him, a possessiveness, that shocked him.
You are mine, he thought back to her, spellbound by their connection; mine, he thought over and over. Mine tonight…and tomorrow…and always. Let it be always, my sweet, little angel. Good god…please…
And surely she heard him, even in the relentless depth of that kiss. "I am, my darling…for as long as thee shall desire it of me," she promised him. Incredulous as much from the bond of their minds, as from the miracle that she loved him as he hadn't dared to dream anyone could, Stephen gently pulled away, to study her face. Her eyes remained shut as she panted softly, her beauty the same pure radiance he had witnessed in her astral form.
Understanding why he paused, feeling his disbelief that he was worthy of such devotion, Teyla leaned her head back enough so she could gaze up into his eyes. Mercifully, tenderly, she reminded him, "My love, I am yours. I have been, from our first kisses. Mayhap even before that night…" Pictures flickered through his mind as she showed him how she had come to love him. Teyla laughing at something silly he had said; Teyla looking up at him empathetically, on the corner of Bleecker and Mercer; Teyla sobbing in his arms on her father's kitchen floor. In a half dozen heartbeats, she showed him a slew of little moments, wherein he was simply being himself, and all of them illustrating how her heart had fallen irretrievably to him—though in those moments he hadn't had the eyes to see that amazing truth. There he was, on the Sanctum roof with her in the moonlight, kissing her hand with sweet reverence; there he was kissing her mouth, on one of their secret excursions from Kamar-Taj, with her face cupped in his hands, and a patience that belied how much his blood had come to burn for her.
Overwhelmed, Stephen hung his head down, feeling Teyla's sweet breath whisper against his cheek; he splayed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, trying his damnedest to collect himself. Allowing him his silence, she waited upon him, threading her fingertips through his hairline at the nape of his neck, the palm of her hand blessedly cool upon his flushed skin. She nuzzled his ear, to whisper against it, "Did you not know this, Stephen? Your lips marked me as yours, on our night beneath the moonlight—as I am forever now, if you would have it so."
Her confession left him weak, and filled him with joy—tinged with a trace of shame for the physical hunger that threatened to overrule his better nature. He wondered if she read his lust as well as she read his tenderness for her. Did she understand how his body cried out to take her—to tear through the material that guarded her innocence, to finally breach her after the countless encounters that had sent him to his bed, unable to calm himself except by lengthy meditation? Some nights lately, even that discipline had failed him, and he could only find sleep by picturing her lying sweetly beneath him, beckoning for him to do whatever he desired, while his scarred hands worked the deed he yearned to do inside of her. Would she still adore him if she knew that dirty secret?
Teyla shuddered against him, sliding her arms beneath his, pulling him as close as she could, and began kissing his neck, delicately grazing his skin with her teeth. "Yes, my love," she murmured, drifting her hands down to his hips, "I will adore you. I will give myself over to you…" She ground her pelvis against his, moaning her delight at the sensation of his erection trapped between them, "Lead, and I will follow, my beloved…for I desire your satisfaction as much as my own."
Stephen gripped her shoulders hard, lost to reason as he rained kisses upon her throat, then ripped through her light cotton top. She wore nothing beneath but a heated flush, her nipples taut and rosy, and he grunted his appreciation before nuzzling her breast on a path to take one in his mouth. She cried out in Hadeethan, as he circled it with the tip of his tongue, and he knew she was calling upon him to taste all of her in this way.
Eagerly—and perhaps too roughly—he drew her deeply into his mouth, testing what would please her, while rubbing his thumb hard against her other nipple. Teyla gasped, but allowed him to progress—so that he moved his free hand down the smooth plane of her belly, daring his fingertips inside the waistband of the loose culottes she wore. Teyla tensed as he teased his fingers lightly from hip to hip, and back, to end beneath her navel again. Her small moan was a mix of pleasure—and uncertainty, despite her avowal of willingness.
Concerned, Stephen left off his play with her breast, and withdrew his more intimate touch. He raised his face to Teyla's, wanting to reassure her. "It's okay to tell me to stop, honey," he promised her, "I know this is new to you—and I'm man enough to have the patience you need."
She blinked several times, reading his truth, and then softly insisted, "But my sole wish is to please you, my love."
He drew himself straight, beginning to master the fog of lust. "Oh, baby, you do," he assured her, "You please me in every smile you give me. In the gift of every little touch. In even the most innocent of kisses." And then, because her happiness was far more important to him than any gratification of the flesh, "I wouldn't take you like this, in a back alley, fumbling through our clothing. When it happens, I want to give you all the magic that you've given me."
Relieved and grateful, she threaded her arms around his neck, peppering his skin with moist, sweet kisses. He had to smile, had to pull her close again, chuckling devilishly—surprising her as he growled against her ear, "But, my dear Teyla, there is something I would like to give you, if you would allow it. And for this, I think this back alley will do."
Stephen's back was against the wall this time, with Teyla leaning against him. The back of her head rested on his shoulder, as he landed slow, loving kisses along her neck, and exposed shoulder. She had shyly agreed to his proposition, and had given him free reign to touch her as he wished.
He still wanted her; in fact, he still throbbed, but he had calmed enough to focus solely on his woman—knowing he'd have a raging case of blue balls once they returned to Kamar-Taj, and planning to take the coldest shower of his life. This interlude was all about Teyla now.
She fit perfectly against him, and not for the first time he wondered if some benevolent power in the universe had fashioned her with him in mind. That was massive hubris, he knew, but also a harmless fantasy after the trials he had endured as one of the secret defenders of Earth. At least he could laugh at himself now, whereas his old self would have been too puffed up with his own self-importance to even grasp his own ridiculousness.
Stephen intended to take his time, to draw out her pleasure, looking forward to reaping her satisfied moans as the sole recompense for his patience—and this would be only a taste of the things he wanted to give to her. Teyla had given him so much in the months since she had entered his life, far beyond the freedom from pain granted by her healing spell—for in her unconditional love, she was teaching him to forgive himself for a lifetime of selfishness, and showing him he was as worthy as any other soul, of being truly loved. In touching his heart as no woman ever had, she had made his life—which was already pretty damn good—even better.
He began by leisurely drifting the back of his hands along the curve of her breasts with the barest of contact, causing her to pull her shoulders back in a bid to have him strengthen his caresses. "Patience, honey," he crooned, breathing her in, the light, clean scent of her skin dearer than even the most expensive perfume worn by any lover he had ever had. Teyla exhaled slowly, a little moan escaping her as he fleetingly cupped his palms beneath her breasts, and then traced lazy circles around her areolas with just the pads of his fingers, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. His fingers sparked with the familiar heat that flowed from her flesh at his loving touch—such warmth a gift that had already become an addiction for him.
Teyla's body was remarkably light as she leaned back upon him; she panted softly beneath the play of his hands, while he traced his lips along her skin. Stephen glided one hand back up to her shoulder and then trailed his fingertips along the length of her arm, still slowly enough to make her shiver. Reaching her wrist, he raised her hand to rest against his cheek and pressed open-mouthed kisses on her palm. Teyla hummed her appreciation, and left her hand there after he released it, sinking into him while he drew his fingers along her torso to her hip, keeping her breast gathered in his other hand. She breathed hard, giving the first of many deeper moans to come. He circled his thumb around the tight little bud of her nipple, then scraped his nail across it, making her yelp in surprise, and nestle her body more firmly against him. His own arousal grew stronger, the feel of her bottom pressed against his erection pure and delicious. "Take it easy, baby," he breathed against her ear, "You move like that too much, and I'm gonna lose it." She rolled her head enough so she could kiss his neck.
Still massaging her breast, and teasing her with the edge of his nails, Stephen wandered his free hand along her abdomen, and rested his fingers inside her culottes, barely touching her panties. "This is where it gets good, honey." Really, really good, he thought, sliding his fingers under the elastic band and feeling the downy-soft hair that covered her sex, relishing her quick intake of air and the sweet, open-mouthed groan that followed. His voice grew a bit rough, betraying his need for her, as he asked, "Are you ready for this, baby?" Teyla could only nod, whimpering her own need, her focus wholly on the promise of his fingers waiting there.
Stephen had always had talented fingers; dexterous as he'd learned to tickle the ivories in his childhood, brilliant as he bested all his friends at video games, masterful as he came into his own as a surgeon par excellence. Women had adored the way he played their bodies, craved his skill in exploring their secret places. Even as he'd prided himself on the extraordinary surgical precision of his hands, so too he had always found deep satisfaction in bringing his lovers to climax by the touch of his hands alone. After his accident he'd had no opportunity or inclination for any such attempts, believing that pleasure was as lost to him as the work he had felt defined him.
Trusting that her physiology was the same as women of Earth (and it must be, for Moraine to have born a child of mixed parentage) Stephen cupped his fingers against her mound. Teyla immediately pushed into his hand, spreading her legs a bit to allow him better access. He gripped her hip with his other hand, to keep her in place, and then gently parted her slit. She bucked hard at the first pass of his fingers on her clitoris, bucked hard against him, jarring his cock and making him groan. He knew that he must be careful, yet the temptation to give in to that feeling remained.
"Alright, Teyla," he told her, dry-mouthed and yearning to rub his full length against her firm bottom, sans the clothing between them, "Easy now, my sweet baby. Let me do this for you. Let me make you cum." She moaned at hearing him speak so plainly, and at the way he drew out that last, forbidden word.
She nodded again, beautifully compliant and moaning his name, her body grown tense with anticipation. Gently at first, he ran his fingertips along her warm, moist folds, marveling at the return of his fingers' sensitivity, and glad to give this gift to the woman that he loved. Loving her, he found that spot, unique in every woman, that spot he knew would set her ablaze; his expert, loving touch making her thrust her pelvis in her desire for resolution, although he swiftly left off, wanting to save that pleasure for after he played with her some more. Her panties were damp with her musk, as he let his fingertips linger at her opening, though he didn't plan to penetrate her this first time. She gasped hard, straining against him. "Don't fight it, Teyla," he told her, "Relax and let me please you."
It was an exacting torture to him, as she pumped her hips in time with how he stroked her. His desire to feel her climax in his hand was equaled by the heady urge to feel her wet, welcoming warmth encompass his erection. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, he realized—for he was on the verge of losing control.
Teyla keened his name as he worked her towards the peak of pleasure, calling him her beloved, her mouth falling open as her body stiffened in anticipation. He rubbed her clit harder now, in small circles, while trying to ignore his own need by concentrating on how amazing it was to feel her come undone by just his touch. Stephen knew she was close now, knew she would burst beautifully in only moments more. Though he needed her to still her contact with his groin, needed to pull back before he reached the point of no return, he just couldn't will himself to do it. When Teyla suddenly slid her own hand over his, trapping his fingers beneath hers and in this way silently urging him to finish her, it was too much for him. As her orgasm commenced, as her cries of pleasure filled his mind, it ripped a cry from the depth of his soul-her beauty in this simple act so natural and so purely for him that he came hard, despite his every intention not to, making him groan his release in communion with her own.
"Mmmmmmmm," she purred in testament to her euphoria, trembling against him, the final spasms of her climax leaving her without strength enough to do anything but sag against him. Teyla laced her fingers through his, still pressed against her swollen clitoris, and sent a whisper to his mind. I love thee, Stephen Strange. Beyond the power of any words to measure.
Quaking in the aftermath, legs feeling like jelly, Stephen managed to stay on his feet, buoyed by quiet happiness, as much from her loving affirmation as from the physical gratification they had both experienced. Teyla still slumped, spent and gorgeous from his ministrations, relying on his arm across her body to keep upright. Stephen thought he would be embarrassed by his loss of control, but as he held her he felt no shame. Only a delicious contentment, and an awareness that she absolutely held his heart in her gentle, patient hands. He brushed his nose and mouth against her hair, dampened at the roots but still sweetly scented, and then kissed her temple. "I love you too, honey," he told her, certain he could simply send that thought her way, but needing to hear himself say it out loud, "I love you, Teyla. Heart and mind. Body and soul."