When she feels the queen withdraw from her memories, Teyla gives herself over to collapse. She has done it, she thinks through the haze; she has convinced the queen (Aglaeca, glorious, the stars scatter before her coming) that they have restored power to the Wraith cruiser. She must trust that John and Rodney can do the rest. She has nothing left.
But Aglaeca catches her chin and holds her up, snapping her back towards clarity. "You have been most presumptuous, little one," she says, aloud, and it is shocking to hear her voice after so many silent struggles. "It has been many years since even one of my sisters has dared to invade my thoughts."
"I am not one of your sisters."
"That is true. But what are you? You look like one of them, but…" She tilts Teyla's head at a cruel angle. "You are not, not quite, are you?"
"I am a hybrid," she says without thinking. "One of my ancestors was given Wraith DNA."
"Is that so? Many things have happened while I have slept, then." Aglaeca considers. "I am curious to see such a strange creature. Show yourself to me, little Teyla."
Teyla knows what she means, and the thought terrifies her. But she cannot let the queen think that she has any power left to resist her. Aglaeca is probably too weary herself to wrench the truth from Teyla's mind so soon, but none of Teyla's actions can make her suspect that she has not broken her open, that she cannot take whatever she pleases from her. Teyla's hands go to the zipper of her jumpsuit and she draws it down. The jumpsuit falls away, exposing her thin tank top and panties. The chill of the station makes her skin prickle, and her exhausted muscles begin to tremble.
"Hm," Aglaeca says appraisingly, and traces one finger along her collarbone. Teyla cannot resist the violent shiver that passes over her at her touch, and in a startling flash she feels the sensation echoing in Aglaeca's mind.
The queen inhales sharply. "Now I see why it was done. This would have been a suitable tribute for a queen."
Teyla stares at her, confused.
"Queens do not lie with other queens," Aglaeca says, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of the tank top. They are cold, but unerring, familiar. "We can scarcely bear to be in each other's presence. And an ordinary human female would be unable to offer us much pleasure, not worth lowering ourselves for. But you, little Teyla…"
She tightens her fingers in the fabric and rips. The top splits, and Teyla's breasts tumble out. She doesn't let herself flinch.
"You might make a suitable pastime." Aglaeca lifts one of her breasts and strokes her thumb against the nipple, already hard from the cold.
Teyla gasps, feeling muscles much lower and more intimate clench. It has been so long since a woman has touched her (males, weak and ineffectual, consumed in a moment and gone). It is not permitted among the Lanteans, and so she has admired and made herself look away. There is no looking away now.
"You see? It is no use fighting it. This is what you were made for."
The queen's voice reverberates in her ears as she continues to stroke her. Teyla knows that Aglaeca can feel every thrill that passes through her body; though her voice remains cool and imperious, her breathing has begun to quicken, too.
"You have warred with me all day, but in the end you yearn for my touch. Isn't it so?"
"Yes," Teyla says, the words tumbling out with her breath, "yes, my queen."
Aglaeca delights in her submission. She draws Teyla in, lifts her up for a crushing kiss. She is so old, so cold, so strong. She has not mated in thousands of years. That close, her scent, like ozone, is dizzying. Teyla feels her bare thighs brush against the cloth of the queen's gown (woven by a thousand worshipping women, their heads bent with terror and adoration) and imagines herself bound with it, flesh pressed against the queen's flesh.
Aglaeca's hand slips over the curve of her hip. "I could pass the whole day with you, little one," she says in Teyla's ear. "But I do not have the time." Her palm passes over Teyla's belly. She can feel the edges of the feeding-slit teasing at the sensitive flesh there, sending little irregular quivers and pulses downward. She knows she is growing slick and ready.
When the queen finds her clitoris, her whole body arches, her toes pointing. Aglaeca nearly drops her as the feeling breaks over her, as well. The queen is exquisitely responsive; her nervous system magnifies Teyla's pleasure and reflects it back at her, twice as bright and sharp. The doubling and redoubling of sensation gives Teyla vertigo. She does not know whether she is standing or suspended. She is not even sure which body she is in.
"I think," Aglaeca says, between labored breaths, "I think I must keep you, little Teyla, little adversary, little pet. You will forget your friends. I will dress you up in more suitable finery, clothes that display you properly for me. Your hair will grow down to your waist. You will serve in my court for a long time."
A distant part of Teyla is struck dead with horror. Yet she is moaning and grinding her hips helplessly against the queen's hand. It is what she should do, but that is not why she is doing it. Sex with a human has never been like this, could never be like this. She is not sure she can endure it. She is not sure she will be able to endure it when it stops.
"I will give you to one of my worshippers, so that your bloodline may be preserved. I will watch that, too." Aglaeca's fingers are relentless. If she has never lain with a woman, how does she know so well? "You and your children will be mine, forever—"
Teyla comes, jerking, her hands clutching at the queen's gown, and the queen cries out herself, triumphant. The feedback stuns Teyla, numbs her to anything but the sense of the queen's self, in its most primal exaltation. But, after the timeless pause when Aglaeca stands still, fingers curling inside Teyla, pressing unbearably deep, she withdraws and begins to touch again. The aftershocks of pleasure begin to build into a dull ache, but Teyla is too worn out to resist. Her head lies on the queen's shoulder. She whispers, "My queen…"
"I could take you through it again, little sister," Aglaeca murmurs. "And I will. Over and over. But time is short." She bends to slip Teyla to the ground. "Sleep now. I will return."
The words stir the memory in Teyla's mind, and for a terrifying instant she must fight the urge to blurt out their plans. But she is already slipping away. The queen will deal with them, she tells her traitor-self, and lets her eyelids flutter shut. Oblivion has never been more welcome.