Torren may only be two, but he knows how to procrastinate. Bedtime is a particular favourite for this activity - as it has been through the ages for all Athosian people. Others in the city have assured her that this is a common complaint of children of Earth as well. Some things are not limited by culture or creed.
Teyla leans back a little as her son inexpertly thrusts a stuffed giraffe into her face.
A kiss is dropped on the worn velveteen head. “Sleep well, ‘Raffy.”
Next is a patchwork whale in shades of blue - Jennifer and Rodney’s gift to Torren on his first birthday. “Now Sam!”
It is a ritual for them both. She is willing to play this game for a little while, but Teyla always limits it to four displays of affection before she enforces his bedtime. Torren is young and his life is an always-adventure, with monsters and terrible things that he always defeats, always evades - so go the stories of Earth. But he cannot defeat his tiredness, and he cannot evade mama’s rules.
Four displays of affection for Torren’s toys, with the fifth always Torren.
Jayne Cobb’s long knitted arms and legs flail as Torren shakes him at his mama. Rendered in wool, complete with knitted cap and Vera, he is a fair replica of his namesake - or as much of a replica as a doll can be of a human.
Teyla makes a note to ensure that no-one gets Torren a Buffy-bot when he reaches adolescence.
“One more, Torren, and then it is bedtime. Who gets the last kiss?”
She laughs and brushes a hand over his head, causing him to look up at her with a little frown on his round face. “Let no-one say I am bringing up an idiot,” she murmurs before lifting her voice. “That is right, Torren. You get the last kiss, but your toys are allowed one more.”
“Just one, Torren.” Teyla is firm about this. There are times to spoil her son; bedtime is not one of them.
The doors hiss behind her, and Torren bounces up and down in his cot. “John!” In his mouth, it comes out more like ‘Don’ than ‘John’ but it’s clear enough. Teyla turns to regard her team-mate as he ambles across the room to the cot.
“Hey buddy, how’s it going?” He rests his arms on the rail of Torren’s cot and his mouth tilts upwards in a brief smile for Teyla. “Ready for bed?”
“He was,” Teyla informs him dryly as Torren crouches down to fetch ‘Raffy and Sam for another round of kisses. “I thought you were going to wait for me at the gym.”
“I was. Then there was a discipline issue in one of the personnel quarters - don’t ask. I’d rather not have had to mediate it.” John rubs a hand over the back of his neck and pitches his voice towards Torren. “Since I was up this way, thought I’d come say goodnight!”
It is hard not to laugh at the expression on John’s face as he obediently kisses ‘Raffy, Sam, and Jayne in turn.
“One more, Torren. Mama’s only going to kiss one more thing tonight. Then it’s bedtime.”
In the corner of her eye, Teyla sees John move in and knows she has the option to draw back. She doesn’t, lifting her face to his, meeting his mouth with hers.
It starts light, with a question that is soon answered as he leans into her, soft and sensuous. Teyla tilts her head back, offering him an opening; John takes it, his hand wrapping around her neck to ease them deeper into dizzy sweetness. His tongue samples her lips, testing the waters, and when Teyla runs the tip of her tongue along his lips, he moans in his throat.
Teyla can feel the tension in him - the sudden shift to heat and hunger from casual comfort. John changes gears with such facility; it usually takes her a little longer to meet him.
This is a swift plunge into desire - like the bungee jumping that Laura still hasn’t persuaded her to try - and Teyla finds herself falling without complaint.
The tattoo of her son’s hand beating at her shoulder breaks her attention, pulls her back from the heat that lingers beneath her breast, which coils in her belly, which aches between her thighs.
“Mama! Kiss me!”
With a rueful smile for their interrupted moment, Teyla recalls herself and turns back to her son. “No more toys?”
“You kiss John,” says Torren with impeccable logic for a two year old - or a twenty year old. “Now kiss me!”
Teyla laughs and lies her son down in the bed, lowering the cot railing to better help him settle, with ‘Raffy held in the crook of his arm. As she does so, John rests a hand in the small of her back as she does so, a heat that keeps her own fires stoked. “One for sorrow,” on the nose. “Two for joy,” one on each cheek. “Three for Atlantis,” each eyelid and his forehead. “And four for my boy,” and now she dots kisses madly all over his face and head, making him giggle and writhe and bat at her face. “Now,” she tells him, “you are going to sleep.”
His eyes track over her shoulder. “John kiss first!”
Teyla glances at him and nods.
“All right little buddy, but only one.” And John leans down...and blows a noisy raspberry on Torren’s belly, occasioning another spate of giggles.
It takes somewhat longer to get her son settled after that.
Still, finally, Torren is supine and Teyla drops a goodnight kiss on his forehead and smooths back the cap of curling hair as her son yawns and settles down with ‘Raffy safely tucked beside him.
“So when do I get my goodnight kiss?” John asks when the door has slid shut on Torren and she is fixing her earpiece to his monitor channel.
Teyla surveys him with a calculating glance, secure in the knowledge of what her gaze does to him - the catch in his breath, the way the muscles in his arms tense, the slight adjustment of his stance. Then she smiles slowly, a glittering promise, and watches him swallow. “Later, John.”
John does get his goodnight kisses much later, and they last much longer than Torren’s.