Pairing: Teyla Emmagan/Michael Kenmore
Fic Title: The Human Stain
Rating/Warning(s): Explicit / sex, consent issues, spoilers for Michael
Genre: Angst, Missing Scene
Special Rec: 3/30
Why This Must Be Read: Teyla is written so wonderfully here. Her guilt about deciding to use the retrovirus and her mixed feelings of pity, fear, and attraction towards Michael are all on full display in this piece. She knows how wrong this is, that no matter how kindly Michael treats her and how hard he tries to act the part he is simply not human and never will be.
That he is truly suffering, though: this she cannot deny.
Michael makes a sound of frustrated confusion that is almost a groan; rubs the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids as though hoping the world will be different when he takes them away. "None of this fits," he says, and when he opens his eyes they are as haunted as those of a man who wakes to find his family taken by the Wraith. "I don't fit." Teyla thinks he means to laugh, but the sound is more of a gasp that catches in his throat as he says helplessly, "I know I deserve this, but I don't know why."
And she always thought it would be the rational thought of pity or compassion or mercy that moved her to touch him, but instead it is quick harsh instinct that presses her mouth hard against his. A kneejerk reaction to a pain that is not purely pity or sorrow or compassion or mercy or fear or desire but all of them, and perhaps it is as much to stop her own suffering as his.
Michael makes a surprised noise and his mouth opens under hers. Their kiss is rough, awkward, almost violent-- Teyla does not give him time to think, to learn; guides him instead with the cues of her lips and tongue and body. They are reacting on instinct, one to the other and over and back again, creating a single self-sustainable loop of existence in the interaction of their two bodies. Michael's lips, alien enemy lips, slicking and sliding against hers with increasing confidence and eroticism, and almost without realising it Teyla finds herself gasping and wet-mouthed; is surprised at the speed with which the arousal of the fight is reawakened. The strokes of her tongue sliding past Michael's are tangling them together with a heavy physical heat that builds and sparks, that crackles like electricity and jerks them apart, each of them reflexively touching their wet lips with their tongues. Teyla can still taste him. Feels the press of her wet singlet against her breasts like a caress.
Michael's expression is slightly dazed, and Teyla realises his hands are grasping her hips as though she is his anchor in this false reality they have cast him adrift in. He does not even know what the feeling of attraction is, she thinks -- does not know the feelings that are first nature to natural-born humans: the rapidly beating heart and shaking limbs; the feelings of flying and falling simultaneously; how in the human body desire is only a single shift away from fear, disgust, horror.
His voice is shaking, lips still damp and darkened from pressure, and he says with half-terrified desperation, "What is this?"
And Teyla feels no hesitation, no fear, as she says simply, "I will show you."