fic: Stumble [PG-13, John/Teyla]
Nov. 10th, 2007 03:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenconversesReposted fics for the Stargate Fan Awards. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
**
Title: Stumble
Rating: PG-13
Characters: John and Teyla
**
Title: Stumble
Rating: PG-13
Characters: John and Teyla
Teyla first learned to dance on the tips of her father’s toes.
The Athosians had made a tradition of gathering together in the main lodge during the winter nights and lighting a roaring fire in the stone ring to keep away the cold and the ghosts of the night. On those nights, her father, still strong and handsome, would call for music and then reach for her mother, leading her to the center of the floor and dancing with her until her sick body could no longer handle the exertion.
Then he would reach for his daughter, who barely stood above his knees, and would place her on his toes, leading her in wobbling imitations of his dances with her mother. One hand would rest gently on her head and two or three of his large fingers would be clutched tight in her little fist. He had a deep, gentle voice and Teyla had often been lulled into sleep as they swayed together and the embers of the fire died.
Tagan liked to brag that his daughter had the most perfect form and sense of balance in the entire population – no one had been mean spirited enough to point out that he had done all the dancing for her.
When she was fourteen seasons and just nearing her age of the Ancestors ceremony, her father pulled her from her schooling and chores for two weeks to properly teach her the traditional dances of their people. After their lessons were finished, all their people remarked on the successful transformation of clumsy, gangly little Teyla into a fluid, graceful young woman.
Teyla took the compliments in stride and prepared diligently for the ceremony of the Ancestors. Her first dance at the ceremony would reflect the path of her life and she desired each transition to seamless and perfect.
Her partner for the dance had no such aspirations. He stumbled and tripped, had no sense of rhythm and time, and stared at his feet for the entirety of their dance. Teyla stayed at the ceremony long enough to have three more dances with equally terrible partners and then rushed to her family’s tent, and cried until the sun rose.
Her father forced her from her sulk a few days later by taking her on her first trading mission through the Ring of the Ancestors. She participated in the first of many Genii harvest celebrations and learned that not all young males were terrible dancers.
As she grew in years, she attended more festivities and ceremonies than any of her people, and became competent in several forms of dance and musical style, as well as the languages and fighting techniques of many worlds.
On her seventeen season, she discovered another sort of dance, one her father had never mentioned in all their lessons, involving heated skin, sweat, and the sweetest pleasure imaginable.
She learned that some boys stumbled and could not find the rhythm of that dance either.
When she was twenty-nine years and much less innocent, John Sheppard taught her how to waltz in his hotel room on Earth, two hours before they were due at a white house on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He had surprised her with his knowledge on the subject and rolled his eyes when she asked about it, muttering something about Southern belles, debutant balls, and angry mothers under his breath as an explanation.
John never once faltered, and had a natural rhythm and grace she had long observed in their sparring sessions. He led like he did in the field, sure and steady, and the guiding arm around her waist was warm and strong. He did not once look at his feet, even when he backed her into a bureau, dragged her dress high up her thighs, and showed her how proficient he could be at that other dance.
John Sheppard was not one to stumble and Teyla liked that.
The Athosians had made a tradition of gathering together in the main lodge during the winter nights and lighting a roaring fire in the stone ring to keep away the cold and the ghosts of the night. On those nights, her father, still strong and handsome, would call for music and then reach for her mother, leading her to the center of the floor and dancing with her until her sick body could no longer handle the exertion.
Then he would reach for his daughter, who barely stood above his knees, and would place her on his toes, leading her in wobbling imitations of his dances with her mother. One hand would rest gently on her head and two or three of his large fingers would be clutched tight in her little fist. He had a deep, gentle voice and Teyla had often been lulled into sleep as they swayed together and the embers of the fire died.
Tagan liked to brag that his daughter had the most perfect form and sense of balance in the entire population – no one had been mean spirited enough to point out that he had done all the dancing for her.
When she was fourteen seasons and just nearing her age of the Ancestors ceremony, her father pulled her from her schooling and chores for two weeks to properly teach her the traditional dances of their people. After their lessons were finished, all their people remarked on the successful transformation of clumsy, gangly little Teyla into a fluid, graceful young woman.
Teyla took the compliments in stride and prepared diligently for the ceremony of the Ancestors. Her first dance at the ceremony would reflect the path of her life and she desired each transition to seamless and perfect.
Her partner for the dance had no such aspirations. He stumbled and tripped, had no sense of rhythm and time, and stared at his feet for the entirety of their dance. Teyla stayed at the ceremony long enough to have three more dances with equally terrible partners and then rushed to her family’s tent, and cried until the sun rose.
Her father forced her from her sulk a few days later by taking her on her first trading mission through the Ring of the Ancestors. She participated in the first of many Genii harvest celebrations and learned that not all young males were terrible dancers.
As she grew in years, she attended more festivities and ceremonies than any of her people, and became competent in several forms of dance and musical style, as well as the languages and fighting techniques of many worlds.
On her seventeen season, she discovered another sort of dance, one her father had never mentioned in all their lessons, involving heated skin, sweat, and the sweetest pleasure imaginable.
She learned that some boys stumbled and could not find the rhythm of that dance either.
When she was twenty-nine years and much less innocent, John Sheppard taught her how to waltz in his hotel room on Earth, two hours before they were due at a white house on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He had surprised her with his knowledge on the subject and rolled his eyes when she asked about it, muttering something about Southern belles, debutant balls, and angry mothers under his breath as an explanation.
John never once faltered, and had a natural rhythm and grace she had long observed in their sparring sessions. He led like he did in the field, sure and steady, and the guiding arm around her waist was warm and strong. He did not once look at his feet, even when he backed her into a bureau, dragged her dress high up her thighs, and showed her how proficient he could be at that other dance.
John Sheppard was not one to stumble and Teyla liked that.
