Stargate Atlantis, John/Rodney/Ronon/Teyla, adornment
Teyla raised her head from its resting place on Rodney’s chest in order to watch Ronon and John come staggering through the door: Ronon grinning and swaying, John struggling valiantly to keep them both walking in a straight line.
“Okay, big guy, there’s the bed, so just –” John said, and then grunted in surprise when Ronon toppled onto the bed and dragged John with him. The bed, fortunately, was enormous, so their abrupt landing only resulted in a puff of dust from the straw-filled mattress and a vague, “Hey, that was my foot,” from Rodney. The size of the bed had given Teyla pause when she had first walked into their guest quarters; either the Hunodi had a fondness for extremely large beds along with ceremonial body paint, or she and her teammates were not quite as circumspect about their relationship as they liked to imagine.
“Of course,” Teyla mused, stroking her hand down Rodney’s bare chest, tracing the patterns there and smiling when he gasped, “given the Hunodi’s incredible exuberance for life – made very apparent by the wedding we have just attended – perhaps all of their beds are made with the possibility of an orgy in mind.”
John turned his head from where he was trying to wriggle out from underneath Ronon, who was sprawled on top of John’s legs and happily worming his hands under John’s shirt. “What? What about orgies?”
Rodney leaned forward from where he sat against the headboard and touched his fingertips to John’s face, following the blue painted swirl that swept across John’s cheekbone and curled around the back of his ear. “Wanna have one?”
Teyla watched John shiver as Rodney’s fingers brushed his ear and trailed down his neck, and felt a wave of warmth flood through her, rushing down to the heat already building between her legs. She took the opportunity to move her hand lower, sliding it into Rodney’s boxer shirts and grasping hold of his length, plastering herself along his side and licking his neck when he tilted his head back and moaned.
John made a sharp, cut-off sound nearly in synchrony, and Teyla saw that Ronon had pushed John’s shirt up to his neck and sucking and biting at his left nipple, smearing the blue paint and leaving dark pink marks instead as John arched, eyes squeezed shut. In the warm glow of the candlelight they were beautiful and not quite familiar, all twisting angular limbs and bright ribbons of colour on golden skin. And then Ronon lifted his head and said thoughtfully, “Huh. Tasty paint,” and Rodney snorted in her ear and John grinned, and they were once again her team, well-known and well-loved.
“Edible body paint. Why is it that I’m not surprised?” Rodney said, and Teyla felt his hand nudge her legs apart, big fingers stroking into the wet heat of her, and she had to kiss him, had to, did.
“I guess – oh, fuck, Ronon,” John began, and then started again, voice breathy. “I guess that it’s considerate of them, to want everyone to – unh, yeah, please – enjoy the wedding.” Ronon made a muffled affirmative noise.
Rodney pulled back from their kiss to look at her, his face flushed and eyes very blue against the violet paint that jagged over the sharp planes of his face. “And you said it was entirely ceremonial,” he said smugly.
Teyla rolled her hips, and tightened her grip on him. “Be silent, Rodney,” she said, and kissed him until he was.