(Author's note: Another decadent chapter: Kind Reader, please forgive if it seems a bit much-but do recall that Teyla is on a learning curve of sorts...and Stephen...well, Stephen has waited a lifetime for someone to love him as his Teyla does!)
Deep velvet night enclosed the cabin where the newly-minted lovers immersed themselves in the luxuries of privacy and uninterrupted time together. Stephen had begun as Teyla's teacher and mentor all those months ago, never anticipating the blessings she would eventually bring to his life. For every practical lesson he had given her, she had taught him even more-in matters of the heart, in lessons for his soul. Now, with each hour spent together in loving exploration, in satiating hungers, in the give and take of lovers, he was her teacher still.
And an eager, generous student she was proving to be-exactly as Stephen had expected. Soft and oh so willing, delighting in giving herself over to his will-but strong enough in recognizing her own desires, to give voice to what she craved of him. He had taken her, had loved her, had schooled her with loving forbearance, teaching Teyla the delicious mysteries of her own body in those initial hours, and as the moon reached its zenith, beginning to reveal to her what pleased him best.
Patiently, Stephen had guided her to ride him to their mutual satisfaction, enamored as he watched her learn to trust her instincts, marveling as she grasped his ready cock in her pretty hands, to hold it firmly at its base so she could breach herself upon it. Teyla's mouth had hung open as he filled her, as she settled herself around him, her low moans of pleasure sounding in time with his own; her eyes squeezed shut as she searched for and found her rhythm, as she ground upon him slowly and relentlessly, seeking to take him deep, deep into herself. She had gasped with increasing intensity each time he met her gyrations by thrusting up inside her-gasping her astonishment and ecstasy at the incredible sensations they were sharing.
Indulgently, he had kept her steady as her confidence grew, holding onto her hips while relinquishing all control unto her, astounded as she became a fierce little goddess moaning promises to love him eternally. Teyla's eyes had flashed azure-the very color of her potent, empathetic magic, and their truest hue, which he had witnessed in her astral form-stunning the breath from his lungs and sparking the nerves in his hands with the residual magic that remained of her mystical attempt at healing him.
Stephen would flush deliciously in the days and weeks to come at the mere memory of the sight and the feel of Teyla suddenly lowering her face to lick the salt from the skin of his throat and chest, and then moving to tease his nipples with the tip of her tongue. He had dug his fingers hard into the soft flesh of her hips—without meaning to—while urgently jerking up into her, and loosing a string of surprised, appreciative curses, the likes of which he had never thought to utter so blatantly in her presence. Teyla had moaned lusciously in response, rising up again so she might ride him with even greater immediacy.
Minutes later, he had reached his limit; shouting her name, he had called her his beautiful baby, his perfect woman, his sweet goddess, begging her to come with him as his orgasm took him. She had let out a sustained cry when he arched his hardest up into her, taking the force of his climax as deeply as she could-and in just a few moments more, giving into her own in exquisite release. In the aftermath-transformed from his hungry, feisty idol, back into his gentle Teyla-she had panted in soft relief and laid her head on his chest, so that Stephen smoothed his hands through her hair, soothing her until she was ready to lay at his side again, leaving her arm draped across his chest, and one leg wrapped around his thighs.
Sometime after midnight they arose from their bed, only when hunger and thirst became insistent enough to draw them away from their lovemaking. Teyla slipped into his chambray shirt, not bothering to do the buttons, while Stephen wrapped himself in a sheet, and they sat across from one another at the little table, eating honey cakes and candied dates sufficient to fuel their bodies for the hours that lay ahead for them. They found little need for speech except with their eyes; when Stephen let his linger on hers, Teyla blushed prettily, clearly recalling each intimacy between them.
Once they had finished, he simply reached a hand toward her, motioning her to himself. "C'mere, Teyla," he plead, surprised at the renewed depth of need in his voice, "Sit with me now, baby...please..." Teyla had stood and stretched into a satisfied yawn, then smiled knowingly, while he drew her onto his lap. She gave him her loveliest sighs as he nuzzled and kissed and suckled her tender flesh, her succulent breasts, her ruddy areolas and the stiff buds of her nipples, while she raked her fingers through his hair, eventually beseeching him to take her once again. Together they untangled the sheet, rough handed in their growing need-and a little rough as Stephen quickly penetrated her, finding her deliciously wet and welcoming. She grasped the top of the chair to anchor herself, and leaned back into his expert hands, trusting him completely and moaning divinely with each pump of his hips, to come for him with such swift, glorious abandon that he followed only a few heartbeats after her. Teyla trembled so from the intensity of her release, that he had to lend her a bracing hand so she could stand; he led her back to their bed, murmuring his love for her as she curled against him, and they sank together into a contented bit of sleep.
When Stephen awoke again, he realized that Teyla had stolen from their bed, taking her vital warmth—the warmth he craved as second nature now-with her. The candles had burned low in the hours since she'd lit them, leaving only the flicker of the gas lamp, though enough moonlight fell through the open doorway for him to discern that she stood just outside the hut. He didn't hesitate a moment, quickly arising to go outside and join her.
She had wrapped a small throw from the bed just around her shoulders against the chill night air, and she seemed to be gazing across the little stream at the blossom laden trees on the opposite bank. The light of the gibbous moon made for a fetching silhouette around her form, becoming yet another lovely image Stephen knew he'd treasure when remembering their first nights together. His bare feet upon the springy grass made no sound as he came up behind her, so he that he cleared his throat softly so as not to startle her.
Teyla turned her head in profile to him, her smile easy as she motioned him nearer. She greeted him quietly as he came up behind her, wonder clear in her voice, "I have been admiring your handiwork, beloved. It is even more enchanting now than when we first arrived."
"Is it really," he replied, resting his hand on the center of her back, wishing only to drink in her beguiling enchantments, "How so?"
She raised her arm, pointing towards the trees, her voice hushed, but sending a soft thrill of desire through him, "How did you manage to capture the light of the stars among the branches?" Teyla breathed a quiet sigh. "It is as though your magic can bend even sprites and fairies to do your bidding, Stephen. And I would have you teach me such pretty magic," she added thoughtfully, "If…if you would will it so…"
He hummed a little as he slid his arms around her waist, moving in to nuzzle her hair, "I'd prefer to focus on the magic you've woven, honey. Your magic has me hopelessly entangled, Teyla—and very much in need of more." He pulled her against him shamelessly, the contact between her naked flesh and his working the most elemental of magics between them. She leaned back, running her hands over his, where they rested possessively around her waist.
"Hmmm…how am I to resist such fulsome persuasion, my love?" She nestled against him more fully, stretching her neck a bit to allow his lips to easily trace her skin, "But the lights, Stephen," she hummed, her body beginning to soften against him, surely ripening to his intentions, "How did you make those fairy lights?"
The taste of her skin was addictive, even as he murmured his reply, "I can't claim credit for them, honey…they're not fairies, they're…they're just fireflies…"
"Fireflies…" she sighed, twining her fingers through his while he slowly smoothed his hands along her ribs and stomach, "Then tell me of their magic…"
"It's not magic…it's, um…just nature…nature's bioluminescence," he told her, utterly distracted by her soft curves, and the intimate heat building between them. Never in his life had he felt less inclined to share scientific knowledge—the magic combination of his woman's pliancy and the crystal moonlight dispelling all thought from his mind but his need for her. Stephen tightened his embrace, and she gasped, laying her head back upon his shoulder. "Come back to bed, Teyla," he commanded her, "There's no warmth for me there without you…" He husked against the tender cup of her ear, low and seductive enough to make her shiver, "…and I'm nowhere near done with you…and I have so much yet to show you…and so very much more to share with you…".
She had begun to pant for him, as he boldly cupped her breasts in his palms and fingered the hardened buds of her nipples, while rubbing himself brazenly against the firm curve of her bottom. Teyla only managed a small nod against his shoulder, before Stephen had spun her around to take her open mouth with his, drinking in her moans at the feel of his hard, thick shaft trapped between them, while she draped her arms around his neck to give herself over to his hungry will again. She gave a little surprised 'oooooooo' and laughed softly when he scooped her up in his arms and turned to carry her promptly back to their bed.
Dawn had already broken outside the humble wattle and daub hut where Stephen had made their simple, homey bower. He awoke to the call of birdsong greeting the growing light, joyfully trilling nature's most amiable music in the very trees he had raised up to please the gentle, loving woman in his arms. His sweet Teyla, his delicious Teyla, his miraculous Teyla—his, his, oh so blessedly his. His everything now, in every way he could possibly want. Never had a woman touched the depths of his heart as she had, and had done this quiet miracle so guilelessly, so artlessly, and without a single breath of hesitation in revealing her love to him. Though there would always be a small part of him that felt he was unworthy of the gentle, healing magic which she gave him every day, he finally knew what is was to be unconditionally loved.
Flesh to flesh, she was curved against him, warm and beautiful in his arms, his marks upon her speaking eloquently of the loving they had shared throughout the night. Hair a-mussed and soft against his nose and mouth as he breathed in the fading scent of her gingered coconut shampoo. Lips swollen still from the fervor of his kisses, and from her eager, bold replies. Love bites he had left upon her neck and along her collarbone—and he knew he bore the same, as Teyla had discovered that pleasure lay both in the receiving and in the giving. He drifted his right hand downward, from her ribs, where it had rested in his sleep, to cover her navel with his palm–-fingertips aching in the best way, with the sublime temptation to touch her into wakefulness. He was rewarded as she adjusted slightly against him, the movement enough to bring his partial erection to full attention. Stephen moaned low in his throat, patient in anticipation of the hours and days and nights that still lay ahead for them, before they must rejoin the world far from their private space, in the cool shadow of the mountain.
Teyla moved again, stretching a little as she awoke, and sighing deeply as she realized she lay snug against the man she loved. "Good morning, my love," he rumbled against her ear, adopting one of her own endearments for him, while enjoying the way she shuddered at the depth of his voice, and his warm breath on her skin. She purred his name, as she turned onto her back.
Stephen leaned over her, silently claiming credit for the happiness writ in her dark eyes, and in the smile that bloomed with ease upon her mouth. He kissed her softly, then brushed the tip of his nose against hers, so that she gave a little giggle. "Ticklish much?" he asked, thinking to add that to the list of things that he had learned about her body since their arrival here the evening before.
"Perhaps I am," she teased him, brushing back the fringe that shaded his brow, before laying her hand against his cheek, "Perhaps you should do that again, to be sure."
Stephen quirked her a smile, and lowered his face close again, but left the smallest space between them. Her eyes widened as he drew the moment out. "We called these Eskimo kisses when I was a kid," he told her, and then grazed his nose against hers, chuckling as he did so. He withdrew a bit, to gage her reaction.
Teyla closed her eyes as she pondered this latest lesson. "Eskimo kisses," she repeated, "I like them, Stephen, but I think I prefer something deeper and more enduring." She bit her lip in invitation—though he would never need such prompting to take her mouth with his.
Stephen glided his free hand upwards along her curves, conscious of her mounting desire from her quickened breathing and from the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips. He cupped her cheek tenderly, before kissing her softly again. So softly at first, and soon urging her lips to open beneath his, loving the welcoming silk of her tongue suckling his and drawing it into her mouth–-a foretaste of the more delicious play that was their mutual aim.
Inevitably, she craned her neck, her way of asking him to kiss his way along her throat while she murmured his name and nested her hands in his hair. Stephen had practiced a patience in their lovemaking, bringing her to yield to him in every way he had desired, teaching Teyla the wonders of her body, and tenderly schooling her in what pleased him best. Their night had been the most exquisite physical experience of his life, well worth the months of waiting for her to ripen, and he knew he would move the mountain itself to satisfy her needs, well beyond the physical.
"My divine little angel," he murmured as he took her nipple in his mouth, drawing upon it hard enough to make her whimper, and squirm beneath his play. He shifted enough to nestle one leg between her thighs, groaning at the brush of her pubic hair on his skin, and at how unashamedly she pressed her mound against him. His cock lay hot against her hip, leaking onto her skin, aching to fill her again, to find sweet release within her heat.
"My love, my life…oh, Stephen, my beloved." Teyla moaned from the deep of her throat, laying one hand against his heart, and working the other between their bodies, touching his full shaft, and somehow sending a bolt of heat up its length, a miraculous thrill of heat that encompassed his groin, his balls, his loins, leaving him stunned that he hadn't exploded against her from that sensation alone.
Breathless with the pleasure of it, relishing the taste and texture of her against his tongue, he shook himself from passions stupor, and rose above her, resting his hands on either side of her, the need to drink in the beauty of her soul-–reflected on her face—overwhelming him.
Feeling his astonishment, Teyla gazed into his eyes, her truth laid bare to him, her need as vital as his own. She brought her free hand to his face, tracing his cheekbone and his jawline, lingering on the fullness of his lips, as though memorizing him by touch alone. "Do as you will, beloved," her few words of English before she lapsed once more into her native tongue. Stephen heard her speaking and knew it to be Hadeethan poetry; he closed his eyes, and realized he understood the words she spoke, miraculously translated, mind to mind.
I see your hunger, lover mine.
I feel your heat.
I reckon your need, and all my longing is bent upon your satisfaction.
Slake yourself upon me, within me;
Give me your heat and your desire pure.
Transform me, transmute my flesh as you see fit–
For my heart is no longer my own,
And my soul will ever tarry upon your beck and call.
Her perfect trust, her perfect compliance–-and the perfection of her love for him, swept Stephen inexorably forward. In moments he had seated himself fully inside her, and Teyla cried out joyfully–-his name was her prayer, even as her body became his sanctuary. A sacred sanctum meant only for him, and proof that goodness and mercy would always be his, even as far as his responsibilities might take him from her side, or as dark were the battles he might need to wage to uphold his oath to protect life and to do no harm.
Connected in the physical, their heat bound them tightly together, as each sought to satisfy the other. Stephen came with glorious desperation, lodged as deeply inside her as he could, while Teyla bucked beneath him in an undulating wave, her muscles draining every drop of come from his swollen cock, even as she begged him to fill her forever until she overflowed.
Stephen lingered inside her as long as possible, each spasm of her muscles soothing him, as he fought off the haze of sleep that threatened to overtake him again. When he withdrew, Teyla moaned softly, but reached for him greedily, needing to feel his weight still upon her. Stephen kissed her gently, numbering each rib, each curve, each contour of her torso, wishing he could worship her this way forever. When he reached her mouth, Teyla breathed endearments upon his lips, until they both succumbed to the afterglow, sinking into sleep, wrapped deeply in one another's arms, fully sated in the way of lovers–-and as the soul mates which the universe surely had intended them to be.