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Teyla’s home is warm and inviting and spacious despite the compact exterior. There are almost as many plants in the open plan living space as there are in the garden; mismatched pots full of lush greens and a rainbow of flowers on make-shift tables and shelves and hanging from crochet hangers. Everything is neat, from the folded blankets over the back of the couch to the diverse array of colourful paperbacks on the bookshelf, save for the explosion of toys on the felt rug in front of the TV. Torren is already zoom-zoom-zooming his fire truck up and down wide grey streets, round and round one block in particular, the latest copy of Owly clutched to his chest with his other hand. He barely spares a thought for his mother and Elizabeth sitting at the island with a pitcher of iced tea and a bowl of herbed olives between them.
The apples Elizabeth brought are simmering on the stove in sugar-and-spiced water. There’s a casserole in the oven and a salad half chopped on a bamboo board by the sink. Elizabeth is reminded of her childhood, helping her Gramma in the kitchen while her Papa mowed the lawn or made something in his workshop. Summer holidays were the best times of her childhood; lake jumping and cut-off jeans, apple pie and ice cream.
“I have not made a pie in a long time,” Teyla had apologised when presented with the bag of fruit. “Torren can be a little particular about food, texture as much as taste, and I have become accustomed to applesauce over the years.”
She had been reassured by Elizabeth’s genuine delight at the thought of homemade applesauce, but she still casts a nervous eye between Elizabeth and her son until Torren brings over his truck to gush about the new flame decals and the fixed flashing lights. Elizabeth lets him take her sleeve and pull her over to his overflowing toy box, where she learns that she has a playful streak after all and finds herself nodding along to Torren’s unwavering enthusiasm for the colour red, his best friend at school, and Popsicle the tabby cat, who stays fixed at his side and allows him to decorate her collar with the bow from the box without fuss.
When dinner is ready, Teyla sets Torren's place with a plastic cartoon plate of pizza and serves the two of them casserole, cornbread, and salad. Torren’s pizza is declared “yummy” despite most of the tomato sauce decorating his face and hands. Elizabeth tells Teyla truthfully that her casserole is the best damn food she’s ever eaten, as much for the company as the recipe. They laugh at Torren’s stories and gaze at each other over the table, shelving adult conversation for later, after applesauce and ice cream, when Torren’s brushed his teeth and picked up Popsicle and asked for a bedtime story.
Teyla’s voice is low and soothing as she reads him Owly in the glow of a shimmering nightlight, and Elizabeth sets to washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, placing an open bottle of red wine on the counter with a bowl of ripe, mixed berries as she listens in. When Teyla returns, Elizabeth leans over the island to thumb a smear of applesauce from her cheek, a parting gift from Torren’s goodnight kiss.
“It was a big day for him,” says Teyla as Elizabeth pours the wine. “I told him you were coming over for dinner before pre-school. His teacher said he was so excited all day to come home he forgot about the truck.”
“I hope I didn't disappoint him.”
Teyla spins the wine glass in her hand.
“I never expected it to go badly,” she says. “But Torren can find new things overwhelming. Change is sometimes difficult. On another day he might have retreated to his room and refused to come out. I could not have hoped for a better introduction.”
"I was probably more nervous than he was," says Elizabeth. "There haven’t been many children in my life.”
Teyla draws in a breath, but whatever she was thinking she changes her mind and sips her wine instead.
“What were you going to say?” asks Elizabeth.
“I would not want to risk opening old wounds on what I hope to remain a pleasant evening.”
“It’s fine,” insists Elizabeth, because there’s nothing Teyla could ask that could sour the wine in her mouth.
“I just wondered...did you ever think to have children? Before you came here, I mean.”
"The thought entered my mind from time to time, but...I don't know." Elizabeth considers the past few years, then the entirety of her marriage. "Simon and I were never settled enough, but in hindsight, I'm glad for that."
Teyla nods and reaches for Elizabeth’s hand.
“Sometimes life takes us to places we didn’t expect.”
“I didn’t imagine any of this, but I’m glad I’m here. I just hope that I can be whatever Torren will want me to be. I’m an only child and I never had any close cousins. To say I’m walking in blind would be an understatement.”
“I think you are doing just fine.” Teyla leans back and picks at the berries. “As far as Torren is concerned you are his new best friend.” She pops a strawberry in her mouth and drops the stem on the counter.
"I like to think I come through when things are important," says Elizabeth, feeling her fears abate and a small measure of confidence return. She takes some berries of her own and enjoys the ripe sweetness with the wine's lingering acidity. "You are important," she says, mouth full of fruit. She swallows before adding, "both of you."
Teyla’s smile is open, and she ducks her head when she replies.
“You are important too. I know I have set the pace here. I hope you never thought it had anything to do with my feelings, that I had doubts or—”
Elizabeth halts her tumbling words with a raised hand.
“I had my own reasons not to rush.”
“I know.” Teyla reaches for the bottle and starts to refill their glasses. “I am so glad you came tonight.”
"Me too."
As Teyla slides Elizabeth’s wine over, her hand knocks the cooling tub of applesauce that Elizabeth had filled a little too high. It spills over the rim, a sizeable amount landing on the counter and a little on the back of Teyla’s wrist. It starts to slide, and Elizabeth finds herself clasping Teyla’s hand with her own, lifting it up and pulling it closer to clean the sauce off with her tongue. It’s still warm, spiced and smooth, the sugar sweet and the green apples tart, and Teyla’s skin is so soft and inviting that Elizabeth keeps her mouth pressed to the inside of her wrist and caresses it with the curve of her lower lip.
Her heart skips when Teyla’s breath catches, her gaze intense and fixed on where skin is pressed against skin. Elizabeth kisses the inside of her wrist, her knuckles, the back of hand, savouring the scent of soap and cinnamon. It’s an invitation, more forward than she’s accustomed to giving, and Teyla answers it with the kind of smile that could light up the whole town. She reaches over the counter with her other hand and slides a palm up Elizabeth's arm, her shoulder, and her neck, until her fingers are tangled in Elizabeth's hair.
When she leans in, Elizabeth rushes to meet her halfway.
It’s not their first kiss, not by a long shot, but it’s charged with a feeling of want and need and finally. Elizabeth enjoyed their courtship, but more and more she’s been feeling the urge to push their safe, affectionate kisses into rougher seas, and this, the hard press of their lips, sends sparks all through her body. She tries to pull Teyla closer, but the counter between them doesn’t give, and in her rush of arousal she’s momentarily overcome by a desire to vault over and do something dramatic and demonstrative.
She doesn’t; not because she regains her senses, but because Teyla isn’t struck utterly devoid of common sense by her hindbrain and has the presence of mind to pull back and lead Elizabeth out from behind the counter. She pulls her into her body, so close Elizabeth can feel Teyla's heart thumping against her ribs, a counter rhythm to her own.
Teyla leans up to kiss her, deeper than before, and Elizabeth is overcome by the twist of her tongue demanding entrance and her own desperate need. Teyla’s hands slide up the back of her blouse and it’s not enough, not even close. Elizabeth wants to devour her whole, wants every inch of her skin to touch every inch of Teyla’s, wants to fall so deep into her body that their hearts become a single beating thing, shared between them.
She can feel Teyla's fingertips digging into the flesh of her back as she is steered across the room. Her calves collide with something plush, and Teyla pushes her down into the middle of the couch and straddles her lap, her muscular thighs tight on the outside of Elizabeth's legs. Elizabeth slides her hands up under Teyla's dress and grips her ass through her underwear. Teyla pants and grinds down against her thigh urgently, her face flushed and beautiful in the amber light of the setting sun. Her hips stutter when Elizabeth slides one hand across her hip and down between her legs, and she rocks against Elizabeth's palm for the longest time, breathes out an "Oh," when Elizabeth slips her hand into the front of her underwear.
Elizabeth feels all fumble and no finesse, but Teyla’s breathy moans are earnest and when Elizabeth’s fingers find her clit it’s obvious that she’s doing something right. Teyla kisses her and kisses her, drowns her moans in Elizabeth’s mouth as their combined and increasingly frantic movements bring her closer to the edge. Her entire body shudders through her climax, and she collapses onto Elizabeth, uninhibited and utterly dishevelled.
Elizabeth holds her, kisses her face, her neck, her own desire a blazing fire in the wake of Teyla’s pleasure. Just as she feels her patience start to wane, Teyla pushes her back against the cushions and lowers herself to her knees on the ground.
There’s no elegance in the way Teyla tugs Elizabeth’s pants and underwear down, leaves them hanging off one leg as she parts her thighs and ducks in close. Elizabeth shudders at the first touch, pleasure coursing through her from where Teyla all but devours her with her tongue until she’s riding the waves of an orgasm so long in the wanting it leaves her limbs heavy and her breath caught in her chest, her mind clear and her heart wide open.
Teyla rests her head on Elizabeth’s stomach, eyes closed and mouth panting. She runs her hands over Elizabeth’s skin, leaving electric trails in the wake of her fingers. It isn’t until she climbs back up that Elizabeth realises she could have fallen asleep right then and there. They kiss lazily, entangled and reluctant to move.
“We should...the bedroom?” whispers Elizabeth. “Or...I could go?”
Teyla presses her forehead to Elizabeth, the two of them breathing into the scant space between their faces.
“There’s only one bedroom,” she says, “and I wanted Torren to always feel like he has a space of his own.”
Elizabeth tears her gaze from Teyla and looks around the living room, noticing for the first time the pillows that live in a basket by the couch.
“I get it,” she says before she can think about it because she does. Everything about Teyla is generous and considerate and giving, it is no surprise that she would surrender her privacy for her son. It should be a surprise that she’d be willing to give it up too, but something clicks into place, a feeling of belonging, of something more than the complacency she has for a long time been using as an excuse to keep apart from the world. She didn’t quite know what she was getting herself into, but she can’t deny that she walked into this with her eyes wide open.
In a moment they’ll scrounge up the energy to make the bed. She’ll fall asleep with Teyla, wake up with her, and when Torren asks her for breakfast, for Owly, for anything at all, she’ll be ready.