Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, Sanctum Master (and in the eyes of many, a man well on his way to rightfully claim the title of Earth's Sorcerer Supreme) the one-time brilliant, talented neurosurgeon whose place among medicine's glitterati had been preordained by virtue of his magnificent brain and unflagging drive to excel beyond any others in his field, was as excited, as exhilarated, and as nervous as a bridegroom. And he knew it too; surprised as he was, wonderfully befuddled and ironically amused as it left him feeling, he knew it in his bones—and wouldn't wish to have it any other way.
Nervous as a bridegroom. Though he had known dozens of women-in the biblical sense of the word-since his first experience at the age of fifteen (she had been a year or so older than him, and very willing to teach him a thing or two), and though he'd been 'the first' for several of his youthful conquests, Stephen's past had not prepared him for the singular experience that awaited him. With Teyla, he knew that their lovemaking would be the ultimate physical manifestation of the connection of their souls, and in that way he would be as unsophisticated as she; and that he would be following the promptings of his heart, rather than the demands of the flesh. He wanted to do right by her in this-as in all things now—as he had rarely done for any other lover he had taken. It was a bit intimidating-this sincere desire to make things as perfect as could be for her-so yes, he believed he fit that epithet to a't'.
The little phrase 'pearl of great price' had been echoing through his mind since he had awoken from his dream encounter with his precious, peerless Teyla—feeling refreshed, clear-eyed, happy, and sublimely expectant of the joy promised him. Stephen was no biblical scholar, but that passage from the New Testament was lodged deeply in his brain, as were so many from the Sunday school lessons of his youth-courtesy again of his spectacular memory. As an adult and stalwart man of science, he'd had no use for the comforting clichés and idealistic promises of any religion—but he was well-read enough to appreciate those passages from the Christian Bible that were generously sprinkled with such poetry, rife with beautiful imagery and wise perceptions into human nature.
Pearl of great price. He could think of few more fitting ways to describe his beloved Teyla—for just as a pearl comes complete from the oyster, silently perfected over time into a thing of beauty pure before it even reaches the jeweler's hand, so was Teyla a unique and completely natural treasure. A living, breathing treasure. Stephen had not had to give up all his worldly goods to make her his own as the man in that old parable had done in order to obtain his rare fortune—but her value was similarly beyond measure to him. Despite a lifetime of foolishness, of selfishness, somehow the universe had seen fit to bring her into his life, at the point when he was at last prepared to value her for the true gift that she was. That immutable fact humbled him and filled him with gratitude and wonder, reminding him yet again that life was far more than a physical journey from birth to death; it was the span of time meant to hone and perfect the Soul, to practice benevolence whenever possible, to give much more than to receive. Coming to Kathmandu and the Mystic Arts had reeducated him enough to understand and value the power of belief in the unseen—and in the durability and constancy of his own soul. Stephen had never thought to search for such a sweet companion for his soul—and now he swore upon his soul to value her as his pearl of great price for as long as that gift was granted him.
And so it was, with these truths embedded in his heart, that he trained his prodigious mind upon fulfilling the task which Teyla had set before him—and perhaps because his heart and mind were so awash in love from and for her—he came up with a plan with astonishing ease.
True to her promise, Teyla returned to Earth by the evening of the second day, checking in briefly at Kamar-Taj before seeking him out at Bleecker Street . Stephen was immersed in a text on reincarnation, seated comfortably in one of the Sanctum's cozy nooks, a mug of honeyed tea cooling on the table beside his well-worn, leather wingback chair. He felt her presence as a ripple of happiness that radiated through his chest, so that he was not at all surprised to hear her speak his name from where she stood, several feet away. He set his book beside the tea, then rose and held out his arms to her—caring not a bit if they were spotted together by anyone passing by.
Teyla slipped into his arms, sliding her own beneath his, melting into his firm embrace while tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Stephen kissed the crown of her head, mumbling against the cushion of her hair, "I swear- I'll never let you go so far, for so long, from me again, honey."
"Nor shall I willingly leave your side in such a way, beloved," she sighed, warm and happy in his arms. "And, Stephen," she added quietly, her lips, her very breath against his neck, sending a thrill of anticipation down his spine, "I have advised my teachers at Kamar-Taj that I may be absent in the coming days, as…as I have personal matters to attend to."
He chuckled softly, for he understood that was the closest to a white lie she could manage, dishonesty being contrary to her nature. "I've made my excuses as well," he murmured, recalling his discussion with Wong. Stephen had informed his friend—not asked, but told him confidently, leaving no quarter for questions or objections—that he would be out of touch for several days, stressing that he had absolutely earned the right to a little down time, in the many months since necessity had rushed him into assuming a leadership role among the mystic brotherhood, despite his relatively short period of training. Wong had stared at him inscrutably, silently taking his measure, before dourly agreeing to keep watch at the New York Sanctum for the duration of Stephen's absence.
"I hope you're choosing what's best for the young lady, Stephen" Wong had added sagely, "And you must know that your secret may not remain so secret for much longer."
"I appreciate your concern, Wong—and I assure you that Teyla's welfare and happiness will always be my first priority," Stephen had replied emphatically, "And frankly, I'm more than ready for the world to know what she means to me."
Wong had smiled at that, as genuine as it had been unexpected. "She's been good for you, my friend…and from where I stand, you've been good for her too. So don't worry," he promised, "I'll keep an eye on New York—but remember that even honeymoons aren't meant to go on indefinitely."
Stephen had flashed Wong a cheeky wink and a grin, not at all self-conscious that his fellow Master had surmised the unspoken purpose for his need for time away.
Now that she was back in his arms, the impatience he had felt during Teyla's sojourn on Hadeeth had melted away, leaving behind a surprisingly pleasant patience, a delicious anticipation, for the fulfillment of the promises they had exchanged. The thought alone, of the delight she would feel when she saw what he had prepared for her, was already quietly pulsing through his veins, making him feel half his age and fully ready to take on the world—hell, the universe—for her sake.
Teyla stretched a little, finding their natural, perfect alignment, and though she was garbed in the tunic of an Adept, Stephen felt the promise of her young, vital body—and all the heat that she had pledged to share with him-through the currant colored cloth. She nuzzled his neck, humming softly, "I've missed this, Stephen. Dreams may be lovely, but they can never be enough." Though he hadn't needed it, he took it as her confirmation that they had really met in spirit, and that she was indeed prepared for the consummation she had promised him. Reading his thoughts once again-or at least his emotions-she asked him, "What comes next, my love?"
His face still pressed against her hair, Stephen inhaled the scent of her—forever marked in his mind as hers alone—inhaled deeply enough to sate his need for the short time that remained between them and their little holiday. "Tomorrow afternoon, honey. I've just got a few things to attend to here, and then I'll come for you." Teyla nodded against him, caressing his neck as she accepted his direction, "I think you should wait for me at the compound if…if you can bear it."
He felt her smile before she spoke, amused and light-hearted, "If I can bear it, beloved?" Teyla teased her parted lips against his neck, and then grew bolder with moist kisses upon his throat, tracing her fingertips into his hair, and so easily reminding him how weak he really was in the face of her guileless desire for him. "We shall see whose need bears the wait more patiently."
He didn't say it aloud, but Stephen knew—inevitably-that it absolutely wouldn't be his own.
The rustic hut was furnished simply, set for their needs as best Stephen could anticipate. A bed of plain, acacia wood, the once rickety frame bolstered with a restorative spell; the thin pallet that had lain upon it, transformed into a plush mattress, and dressed in fine Egyptian cotton sheets. Two chairs and a small table, where he'd left a vase brimming with fresh wildflowers, to please Teyla. An even smaller nightstand, with an oil lamp upon it, and candles on the mantle to be lit against the dark. And though the night would bring cooler temperatures outside their modest haven, Stephen had figured that they would be warm enough inside without needing to use the fireplace, and so had laid an abundance of branches from the fragrant shrubs surrounding the cabin in the empty hearth, enough to fill the single room with their pleasant citrus scent. A large picnic hamper well-filled to meet their appetites, sat against the wall, near the little dining table—while a sturdy net containing bottles of water, cold-brewed tea, and wine, kept cool in the stream just outside their door. All seemed to be as perfectly ordered as he had planned.
But outside the cabin was where Stephen had worked his true magic, creating as close to an idyllic setting as he could-a gift he hoped would reflect the depth of his love for her. He had found the abandoned hut easily, employing a modified search charm while scrying for it in a basin filled with pure, melted Himalayan snow; he had needed their simple retreat to be in a temperate climate, sturdy, safe, secluded, and near fresh, running water. Anywhere in the world would have sufficed, for they would travel there by portal—yet happy coincidence led Stephen to a mountain-snow fed brook at the foot of the Dorje Lapka peak, northwest of Kathmandu-as though the universe itself had granted approval for the course he and Teyla were set upon, providing a location near to where they had first met. It was a picture perfect setting for their rendezvous, though Stephen made a few enhancements with her specifically in mind.
He had packed a small overnight bag, his Master's garb neatly folded inside, the Eye wrapped in a velvet cloth-though Cloak remained in his old quarters in the Kamar-Taj compound—along with a couple changes of clothing and a few toiletries he would need. And though he hadn't thought too deeply about it, a box of condoms; with no clue about what Hadeethan precautions Teyla might be taking, he assumed that responsibility. He had, in fact, felt he must do it in the old-fashioned way, no conjuring involved. So Stephen had walked to the CVS two streets over from Bleecker Street, strolled down the contraceptive aisle, and plunked down a share of what pocket cash he had, to pay for them.
Mid-afternoon, he sought Teyla out, where she waited for him in the library. She was reading from her tablet again, her straw satchel on the chair beside her. She looked up as he approached her secluded table, smiling brightly the moment she saw him, and then quickly shutting down the device to pack it away in her bag. Stephen kept his voice low for discretion's sake, "All ready?"
She nodded, her eyes agleam with happy anticipation, rising from her seat and coming around to meet him at the side of the table. "Our time belongs to us alone, now." Her voice held a huskiness that was the precursor to the pleasures that awaited them, as he imagined her speaking endearments in the dark against his mouth, against his skin—making him feel as though his heart had suddenly skipped a beat or two.
He exhaled slowly, managing to answer without sounding too breathless, "Uh-huh…um, let me take that for you…" pointing to her satchel. Teyla handed it over, and Stephen took a moment to settle the straps over his right shoulder, wondering why she had tied a scarf around her hair, concealing all but the ends; she had opted for her plain gray robe again, and he fleetingly speculated if she was even clothed beneath it, his cheeks and neck immediately flushing with heat at the thought. She looked at him curiously, but if she'd caught the gist of that impure thought, she gave no indication.
As an Adept, Stephen had been reprimanded several times for conjuring a portal into the library, but as a Master, he had behaved far more judiciously—and in this case, had actually asked Wong's permission to create a gateway to their destination from the least visited stacks in the building. Taking Teyla's hand, he led her through the portal, watching her intently to see her first response to the surprising beauty he had wrought for her. Her eyes grew wider than he'd ever seen them, her pretty mouth dropped open in amazement. "Stephen," she exclaimed excitedly, "This is magnificent! How is it you have found a place on Earth so nearly like my special grove on Hadeeth?"
"I've been hoping this would make you happy." Hand in hand, Stephen walked her closer to the hut, which was surrounded on all sides by low shrubs with delicate, white flowers and dark green leaves. Teyla inhaled deeply as they came to stand near the doorway of the cabin. "They…they smell like keyanna trees! Is this nature or some of your magic?"
Delighted by her reaction, Stephen grinned back, "A little bit of both, honey. And all of it for you."
Teyla threw her arms around his neck, peppering his jaw with kisses, "My darling Stephen, how wonderful of you! I would never have imagined it." She pulled away enough to look up at him ingenuously, "But I have no gift for you, of equal measure." She lowered her eyes and added humbly, "In fact, no gift at all…"
"Oh, honey," he told her soothingly, "Don't you know by now that you're the gift?" He laid his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face to his, "Your love, Teyla…your gentleness and compassion…you, Teyla. You're the only gift I could ever want."
She drew a deep sigh, studying his face, pleased with his honest flattery, and then stretched her neck enough to speak warm words against his ear, "This night, beloved, I will give all that I am, unto thee. As my heart is thine, so shall my body be; the breath in my lungs, the spirit within my flesh, meant only…" she reiterated breathily, "…only for thee."
Stephen had carried their bags into the cabin, while Teyla remained outside, marveling at the wonder he had worked for her. When he rejoined her, she was standing close to the bank of the clear brook, studying the bounteous pale lavender blossoms of the dozens of Royal Paulownia trees that graced the banks on either side of the water, their own scent subtle with notes of vanilla and almond. He came up behind her, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "This is all so beautiful, my love," she told him, leaning her head upon his shoulder, "Please tell me how you managed this—and in so short a time."
"I have to admit it was a lot easier than it looks, honey." He kissed her temple absentmindedly, humming a little in the deep of his throat at the way her body fit so readily against his. "I did a bit of research to find Earth plants close enough to those you showed me on Hadeeth…"
Teyla nodded against him, "These trees are remarkably like those in my secret grove. Their color is nearly perfect. It truly feels to me like you have brought a dear bit of my home, here." Her soft voice was filled with gratitude and wonder, "And the perfume of those…what did you call them?"
"Mock orange bushes," he supplied, nuzzling against the scarf that covered her hair, wishing she'd remove it soon, so he could savor the softness beneath.
"Mock orange bushes—that name seems an injustice, for they mock no one, nor anything, and their scent is pure delight!" Her earnest consternation was adorable. "But did you find them here—or bring them from another place?"
"Actually, I grew them," he answered cryptically, rather proud of his ingenuity, "These trees, and the shrubs around the cabin."
"How then," she asked again, teasing him slightly, "Oh, Master of the Mystic Arts, how are these plants and trees full-grown in less than three days' time?"
"Welllllll," he began, hoping she would find them no less charming after learning how they came to be, "I got them as seedlings, and once I'd planted them…well, I just used the Eye to speed their growth. And, voila! Our own, private garden."
She moved her hands to cover his, where they rested on her waist, her touch as warm and soothing as ever. "The work of your beautiful hands, Stephen, always astounds me. Few could wield that mystic tool with your power and skill—so you must credit yourself as much as the Eye for this miracle you have given me."
He merely shrugged, happy for her happiness, and for her ever generous regard for him. She turned to face him, bringing her hands to rest against his chest, while informing him pertly, "There is now a thing I must attend to briefly-a Hadeethan custom which I wish to honor."
He tilted his head, intrigued and willing to humor her. "Please, honey...just tell me it's something you can do right here, right now, because I really…" he stroked along her cheekbone patiently, "…really…" he drifted his fingers down to strand beyond them, to the mountain, until I have completed my preparation. I will return to your side soon." Teyla smiled her softest, and then disappeared into the hut.
Stephen faced the water—looking away as Teyla had requested—watching it flow and swirl on its crooked path downstream, the last of the day's light caught in occasional sharp glints as the clear, cool water bubbled along its way. He was trying his best not to count the minutes, for he trusted that this final wait would be their last.
Teyla cleared her throat to gain his attention, and he turned back to her without any need for her to call to him. He breathed out hard, held in awe by the quietly wondrous picture she made. Breathtaking. There was no other word fit to describe her.
She bowed her head, as though made shy by his unwavering gaze, and by the knowledge of all that the coming hours held for them. The stream behind him babbled softly, a counterpoint to the swift drumming of his heart, and when Teyla raised her face again, Stephen called out her name, holding both of his hands out to her.
She moved towards him at a measured pace, and he would never have been able to say how long he seemed to wait until she came to stand before him, for his mind was wrapped up her innumerable, lovely details. Teyla wore a circlet of tiny white flowers woven through her hair, as if nature had given her a humble crown to compliment her understated beauty; and she had traded her homespun for a fine Hadeethan fabric with the sheen and fluidity of silk, in a shade of violet that reminded him of the sky on her home world, as it transitioned from dusk into night. The neckline of her dress plunged deeply, nearly to her waist, and the material clinging to the modest swell of her breasts was adorned with intricate, silvery needlework, as was the hem of her gown. As she neared, Stephen discerned it was a floral pattern evocative of her cherished talat akeylum, the fine stitching of the flowers and leaves studded throughout with small crystals that sparkled when they caught the evening's fading sunlight. Judging by the mode of dress he had seen during his visit to Hadeeth, Stephen realized Teyla's garment was exceptionally made, and very likely with a special purpose in mind.
Teyla nodded and smiled up at him, brushing her fingertips through the hair hanging above his brow. "Indeed, beloved. This was made for me, in the tradition of my clan. A tradition we trace back at least ten generations, unbroken from mother to daughter for hundreds of years."
"Well it suits you perfectly, honey," he declared "I don't think I've ever seen you lovelier." Unable to resist touching her, Stephen ran the tips of his fingers lightly along her shoulder and down her arm. Teyla closed her eyes a few moments, humming quietly, her expression a soft revelation of how she would look when he touched her in full, when he took every inch of her skin unto himself.
"I am glad that it pleases you, Stephen." She backed away just a little, running her hands along the curve of her waist and hips, her dark doe-eyes fixed upon his. "I must tell you I had not expected this gift. Like her mother before her, my mother had obtained the material some time ago, in anticipation of the day when I would pledge myself in ceremony unto my lifemate; she had worked upon it at her leisure, never guessing I would come to need it of such seeming suddenness." Teyla took both of his hands in hers, "And though she did her best each day that I remained upon Hadeeth, to deter me from this path, urging me to patience enough for my head and heart to cool and see reason, she had already accepted that I could not be swayed-for by night and in secret, these past several days, she worked the 'broidery herself, so that her gift would be ready by the hour of my departure."
Stephen couldn't help but grin at that, both for the image of the indomitable Moraine acquiescing to Teyla as though it was a forgone conclusion—and at the realization that her act was her truest blessing upon her daughter and himself. "I should probably thank her, the next time I see her," he suggested drolly, thinking to draw a pretty smile from her—for as the seconds passed, he sensed in a her an increasing gravity, reflective of the momentous step they were about to take. Stephen closed the remaining space between them, needing to touch her again. Wanting to remind her that she could trust him in all things now.
Mesmerized by his intent, Teyla panted her reply, "You should probably not, Stephen, for…" She fell silent when he laid his palm against her neck, as he noted the rapid pace of her pulse and the heat of her delicate skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, while he cupped his other hand against her face, and then lowered his mouth to kiss her tenderly. She was trembling when their lips parted, and Stephen's heart ached with wonder at her pale beauty, at her honest anxiousness now that their time had finally come. "It's okay, baby—I've got you," he promised, softly pressing his forehead to hers, "You can trust in me completely, Teyla…and I swear that I'll always…always…take care of you."
She answered breathlessly, "I have no doubt of that, my love." She opened her eyes, and though she still trembled, she looked up at him fearlessly, "My heart's dearest wish is to place myself entirely in your strong, beautiful hands.
Teyla had already lit the oil lamp and the candles on the mantle, so that the room was bathed in warm, flickering light when they entered the hut. Now she stood before him, her head tilted back, her eyes soft and inviting, as she waited for him to begin. Stephen smoothed his fingertips across her brow, trailing them into her hair and lingering for moments upon her little crown of flowers, soothing her into a deep sigh as she closed her eyes. He took her face in both hands, brushing his mouth upon her parted lips, breathing her into his lungs, tasting her willingness with his tongue. These were easily the sweetest kisses he had ever known, leaving those of all his other women behind as relics of his old life; these were the sustenance which he had not reckoned until now, that his soul had been longing for.
Teyla's arms encircled his neck as she clung to him, molding her body to his, letting him take her slight weight in his large hands as he slid them down her back; gently, she moaned through his kisses, while dancing her silken tongue against his. Already he felt drunk on her, though it seemed to him that his thirst for her remained infinite. When Stephen broke from the kiss, she first gasped for air, and then sought his lips again, nipping at them, teasing them until he had to answer her in equal measure.
When he drifted his mouth to kiss her cheek, and then along her jaw, Teyla let her head fall back, humming her appreciation while allowing him to paint her neck with moist kisses, arching against him, urging him on…and while his every urge was to sweep her up in his arms and lay her on the bed, to strip her bare and bury himself inside her at long last, Stephen held himself in check, determined not to let his lust overwhelm him, not to play rough with his tender, untried moon blossom.
In a bid to greater patience, he pressed his forehead to hers, exhaling slowly as he settled one hand on Teyla's shoulder and fanned the other hand, with the lightest touch, on the base of her throat, resting his palm against the center of her chest. He felt his breathing align with hers, the steady rise and fall of her chest the epitome of patience, of calm within the eye of passion's storm. She gave the barest nod of assent, discerning his intention from his touch alone, and he began to trace the intricate embroidery along the décolletage of her gown, down one side of the deep neckline and back up the other side—and finally slipped his fingertips beneath the edge of the material, running them along the soft curve of her breast. She moaned as he cupped her breast in his palm, and as he moved to fill his other hand with her soft, ready flesh, her nipples drawn tight from his patient attention. "You're perfect, Teyla…so very perfect," he murmured, "And I'm so blessed that you've chosen me…to be with me…to be mine…"
Teyla was panting, enraptured as he dandled her, panting his name while kissing his temple, his cheek, the side of his neck, gripping his shirt with one hand, his shoulder with the other. Seeking his mouth, pleading for his kisses, gasping once more when he touched his tongue to hers. A whisper of her thoughts floated through his mind; "I am the blessed one, beloved…ever blessed to have found the shelter of your arms…blessed beyond measure that you have come to love me…"
She clung to him so sweetly, gave herself over to his caresses, gave into the growing fury of his kisses, always answering in kind. Stephen drew her breath into his lungs, until they were both winded and needed to part enough just to breathe.
Teyla laid a gentle hand against his cheek-her skin only a little less heated than his own-and slipped her other hand into the crook of his shirt, shamelessly declaring her desires. "Your kisses are like some sweet, sweet wine, making me dizzy, making me drunk…and thirsty still, thirsty for more." Stephen nodded, smiling that her choice of words echoed his thoughts, and feeling both as drunk and as thirsty as she described. "And your touch, my love…oh your touch," she sighed, "It is as a flame, awakening a hunger in me like none I have ever known. A craving in even the quietest parts of me to open unto you and have you work your will upon me."
A rosy blush had risen across her chest, spreading up her throat, to color her cheeks a paler shade than her kiss-swollen lips—and surely matching the flush of excitement Stephen felt heating his skin from the tips of his ears and down his neck. He swore he would remember this moment with perfect clarity, forever—the pure trust and quiet innocence in her eyes and the soft lines of her face, colored with her wanting him as badly as he wanted her. It truly was intoxicating.
His hands still tucked beneath the fabric of her dress, he slid both up to her shoulders to push her straps down. Teyla smiled as they fell away, leaving her torso bare to his hungry eyes, bare to his ravening touch. Stephen skimmed his hands down again, along the outer curve of her breasts, filling his palms with her firm young flesh once more. "So beautiful…" he marveled, tightening his grasp upon her, while running his thumbs a little roughly against her nipples. She breathed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, arching into his hands, nearly growling her pleasure.
And then she was reaching for him, fingering open the buttons of his shirt, eagerly adorning his skin with hot kisses, sweeping her hands across his flesh, nearly begging him to cast his shirt away—and when he did, she pressed herself against him, professing her need for him with her body more eloquently than any words might say.
"God that's good, baby," he groaned, "Oh soooooo good…" Stephen held one hand against the back of her head, while tugging her dress down past her hips, letting it slither onto the floor. He bunched the loose fabric of the little undergarment she wore—a sort of tap pant that matched her gown, adorned with the same silver embroidery—in his other hand, greedily cupping her bottom through the cloth. He realized he needed to slow them down now, to reach for protection now, before they went too fast for that precaution.
Teyla willingly allowed him to back her against the bed, while he breathed against her ear, "Just let me get a condom from my bag, honey, okay? I'll be quick, I swear." Animal lust in the back of his mind rumbled a most indelicate thought—and if I have my way, we're gonna empty that entire box before we leave this place…
"No, Stephen…no…please…" she whimpered as he tried to seat her on the bed, "I had thought that would not be necessary." She perched on the edge of the bed, looking up at him.
Stephen managed to take a knee at her side—despite the insistent tautness of his jeans across his groin—confused by her appearance of disappointment. "What is it, Teyla? What…what's wrong?"
She looked down and took his hands, sounding shy as she tendered her explanation, "I will follow your will, beloved, in this—but I had hoped to follow the way of my people…"
He squeezed her hands gently, patiently asking, "What way is that, honey?"
"I…well…" she hesitated, fixing her eyes wide upon his, "I wish to have no barrier between your flesh and mine…no impediment to your pleasure or my own…" She lowered her eyes a moment, confessing softly, "I so long to feel you fill me—and to have you spill your seed inside me…"
"Oh, honey," he replied, unable to keep from quirking a lop-sided smile at her sweet objection and even more delicious longing, "You needn't worry about that for me." He brought her hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles of each in turn. "And I want to protect you; you can get pregnant from even a single encounter, you know."
Surprisingly, she rolled her eyes, and a stubborn crease appeared between her brows, "I am a woman grown, and a Healer, Stephen. And I am well aware of the reproductive process." She sighed, and ran her fingers against the whiskers along his jaw, advising him more completely, "By tradition and wise practice, my people are extremely judicious in the choosing of lovers and potential mates. We are not so cavalier about it as many of the cultures of Earth are…"
"Uh-huh," he nodded, patient for her sake-in spite of the heated depth of his desire-and fully open to Teyla's point of view.
"…and our women are most especially cautious regarding this sacred topic, taking great consideration before lying with any man." She shrugged, having arrived at the crux of the matter, "As I have done for weeks and weeks now, reflecting upon what it will mean to lay with you…"
"I…I see…" he murmured, moved by the profound meaning she had placed upon their physical consummation.
"Yes," she whispered, a little breathless, before concluding her gentle argument, "I believe-as my people do—that a part of the joy in the physical union between woman and man, is the knowledge that love can lead to the creation of new life. I am ready for whatever lies ahead, certain in my bones that the risk is well worth the reward." She held her breath, and then made her final plea, "Beloved mine—might you please assume this beautiful risk with me?"
The man he was before Kamar-Taj would have turned away; he had always chosen his lovers carefully, certain they would eschew the complication of an unwanted pregnancy as equally as he. Gazing at Teyla—his sweet, his gentle, his giving Teyla—the idea of her bearing his child kindled something in his heart he had never anticipated; a longing for a tie that binds; of a becoming more than his solitary self. And that she was willing to chance conception because she found him worthy to father her child…somehow made him want her all the more. He exhaled slowly, transfixed by the gravity of the moment, "I will, beloved mine…I will gladly accept the risk, for love of you." Kneeling as a supplicant before her, he assured her, "And I'd welcome the responsibility of a child, if that came to pass."
Teyla's smile-as she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the side of his neck-was simple, unadulterated sunshine…and Stephen believed he could be happy to live in that light forever.
Author's note: Please don't hate me for leaving them dangling there, waiting to let their slow-burn become an inferno. This chapter was already 15 pages long, before the smut begins in earnest-but I swear that the next will follow swiftly (if my Muse cooperates!).