Title: Drink You In
Summary: He may not think there was any hope but he couldn't bear to take hers away.
Characters: John, Teyla & Ronon
Pairing: John-Teyla
Rating: T
Notes: Tag fic with wedjatqi but also a sequel to another story of mine, called Something Else.

He could hear her startled intake of breath from the other side of the room and he took a moment to control his own. He could feel the bristle at the back of his neck, on his arms and he rolled his neck, trying desperately to control himself. He turned to her, her hands up, palm out towards him and he could practically hear the blood pounding through the veins that were pulsing under his gaze.

He felt the sting, again, as he looked up to her cautious eyes.

"You will not hurt me," she said and her voice was controlled, tight and he shook his head, biting back the snarl that threatened to escape his lips.

"You don't know that."

She lifted an eyebrow at that and took a step towards him. He took one back; she was already too close to his uncontrollable senses. Her eyes tightened as she took another determined step towards him and he felt his back impact with the open window and he frowned; the only indication he had that the wind was blowing in was the gentle rustle of her hair as the strands brushed against one another; the thick hide at his neck was impervious to the gentle ministrations of the wind.

"I trust you," she said again, her voice softer now and it was his turn to narrow his eyes. He watched her as she watched him, her palms still up and out and he felt a small sneer tickle the edge of his lips. He took a step towards her, sure and deliberate and to her credit, she didn't flinch away. He took another and his dry tongue darted out over his cracked lips and he tasted his own blood there. He could feel it again, only creeping this time; not an all out attack like before. Her breath was loud in his ears but he knew she breathed normally; her heart rate was even and he hated the sound of her calmness. "I trust you," she repeated, lowering her hands slightly as he stopped, five feet from her.

He chanced a breath, caught her scent and thought better of it, turning away to the window and letting the clean, unpolluted sea air filter her scent out of his nose. He never did quite remember its potency quite right. He remembered his reaction to it too well; that, at least, was consistent.

"Teyla," he ground out through clenched teeth and tightened his mutated hands into fists, knowing that she knew his struggle and the animal in him wanted to know why she insisted on putting him through his. Wasn't it enough that they all smelled so good, that they all insisted on being in the same room with him? Why send her in? Why risk her life, as well as his sanity? He coughed out a laugh at that and wondered if he had any sanity left after this past few days. He tilted his head to the side slightly when her scent got stronger and he could feel her warmth against his back; his hide was impenetrable to all but her gentle, welcoming warmth. He growled in the back of his throat at that and took a quick, deep breath, hissing as he bristled again, his hand itching to touch her skin – it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, to want to touch her, but the desire behind the action was entirely too different. "What..."

He trailed off when he heard the woosh of the Stargate, tilting his head up in the direction of the gate room to listen for the muffled sound of his people. People he would no doubt kill if he could only get past her.

"You must learn to control these urges, John." She took a step towards him, her warm finger touching the marks on his arm; he felt nothing, just saw her dark, tea coloured skin against his blue and he hissed, pulling away from her. "It gets easier."

He hissed and turned, the sound turning into a growl when she took in a sharp breath, her chest brushing against his arm. He growled and pressed into her, feeling their bodies move across the room, to the wall and he framed her in his arms. He revelled in the sight of her fear, the smell of her arm skin sweating, the sensation of her blood pulsing so fast because of him.

The door on the other side of the room open and he heard the switch of Ronon's gun and he wondered if they'd finally decided to kill him. He almost wished they had.

"Don't," Teyla said to Ronon, her eyes never leaving John's and he lowered his head lower, baring his teeth and he felt her pulse quicken again, her chest rising and falling quickly as she panted for breath. "He is in control."

"Yeah but for how long?"

John spun away from her then and was at the window within a second, his head thrust through the opening into the clear air. She was too close, too warm, too much. He took in a deep breath, drinking in the pungent scent of her that still wrapped itself around his body and breathed her out into the swirling winds. It did no good.

He tilted his head, saw Ronon touch her shoulder as he moved to her side at the wall and John snarled as the Satedan's skin touched hers. Ronon glared back at him. John reacted instantly, falling into a crouch ready to leap at Ronon's throat but Teyla stepped in front of him and he hesitated, measuring the room, if he was fast enough to dart around her and get to Ronon before she could react.

She walked backwards, her arms around Ronon – a ridiculous sight, really – as she walked the larger man out of the room. John hissed, prowling towards them, hating that her scent was marred by Ronon's, that the Satedan could touch her without wanting to kill her. Ronon was out of the room, at Teyla's command, within an instant and John felt himself relax slightly, his glare following Teyla as she crept back to him, her hands by her side but John could taste her wariness. He hated this.

"I will help you get through this, John," she said and he hated the sound of his name on her lips – the way her lips pouted as she put voice to the name of a man he was not sure existed anymore. "But you must be willing to let me try." John hissed and snarled, turning his back to her as he leapt towards the open window, ready to jump. "John!" She called and moved quickly into his line of vision, her arm out as though she could stop him. He laughed at that but hesitated. He turned his eyes to her, watching her out of the corner of his eye and she looked distressed, her eyes flickering over his face. She should let him jump; the fall probably wouldn't kill him anyway. "Please," she pleaded and he felt something shift inside of him. A crack, a crumble and he felt his feet on the floor once again.

Her finger brushed his palm and he took in a breath, a pant at the jolt that went through him at the contact.

He may not think there was any hope, but as she stared up at him with her wide eyes pleading, he realised he couldn't take hers away.