Characters: Teal'c, Cameron Mitchell (with appearances by Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson)
Categories: Slash (Teal'c/Cam), Romance, First Time (FTB), Humor
Author's Notes: Written for Teal'c Fic's 2006 "Teal'cathon", held by moonshayde.
Promted by dustandroses:
Three things you WANT in your story: Season 9 Teal'c/Cam, First-Time, a bit of Humor from both Teal'c and Cam would be nice.
Three things you DO NOT WANT in your story: MPreg, KidFic, Het or Gen.
A walk through Season 9, Teal'c and Cameron explore their feelings for one another, trying to come to terms with what it is between them.
ESRB Ratings: Mature: Strong Language, Sexual Themes (or, "Rated R")
Spoilers: Avalon through The Scourge
Alpha/Beta: The infinitely patient sorcha_gaia. This story would have been a ship without a rudder -- and without commas -- without her.
Written: April 06, archived here.
It had started with Vala. A lot of things seemed to begin their inevitable slide when Vala Mal Doran was near.
His legs folded under him, Teal'c sat on the floor of his former quarters deep in meditation. These four walls were no longer his home, no longer all that he could truly call his own. His home was now on Dakara and the burgeoning Free Jaffa Nation. His people were free and needed him as much as he needed them. This was simply where he slept while visiting the Tau'ri and even now, lost to the pulse and beat of his own body's rhythm, Teal'c smiled at the precious fact that his home was finally where it should be - with his own.
But his friend Daniel Jackson was in trouble and loyalty brought him back, indentured his services once more to the scholar-turned-warrior suddenly trapped by Goa'uld technology to the side of a cheeky rogue.
Candles flickered all around him, all around the room, their gentle light stirred by the recycled air brought far under ground as Teal'c breathed it in deeply and evenly. His meditations today would never be a state as deep as the ritualistic kel'no'reem, but it served its purpose to center him and guide him. His eyes closed, Teal'c thought of nothing but the rise and fall of his chest.
Suddenly the door opened, not wide, just enough for a harsh rectangle of florescent light to arc across the floor and up a wall. Teal'c opened first one eye then the other, his full mouth already twisting down in disapproval.
The light was quickly blocked with the backside of Colonel Cameron Mitchell, easing himself in from the hall. Colonel Mitchell slid into the room and shut the door with a furtive click, as if he was hiding from something. Or someone. Cameron's thumb and finger twisted the lock slowly, equally as careful, the bolt throwing itself into the wall with an almost inaudible ka-thunk.
"Colonel Mitchell." The Jaffa's resonant intonation bounced off the stark walls like a super-ball. The man jumped and spun sharply, clearly not expecting the room to be occupied.
He recovered quickly, Cameron's hands waving in a frantic warding off gesture. "Shh, shh, shh!" Then he pressed his ear flush against the door. Teal'c tilted his head and also listened.
There was the hum of the air, a distant tapping of a keyboard, half a conversation between two technicians, the clipped sips of Mitchell breathing, the whisper of footsteps--
The whisper of footsteps walking up and down the hall as if tracking, not simply passing through. Arching an eyebrow, Teal'c pushed himself up onto a knee. Just a few feet from his door, someone let out a frustrated huff over her -- yes, it was female -- teeth. "Fine," Vala pronounced of the situation, and decisively moved on. Only when Cameron was sure she was really, truly gone did he let loose a sigh of relief and sink against the door's sill.
Teal'c, still up on a knee, inclined his head and regarded Cameron with a weighted gaze.
"That... woman," Cam began, a hand articulating his frustration. "Jackson and I, we were talking. He decides he's going to bed. Okay, I drop him off, I think I'm going to get in a few more hoops before I call it a night." Cameron's head bobs from one shoulder to the other. "Then I remember something I wanted to ask, turned around." His hand makes another motion, long finger crooking in illustration of his 180. "I come around the corner and-- and-- she is slinking out of his room, like a cat who got the broom. All pouts and fluffy robe and just way, way, way too much skin showing for a base. Clearly turned down, clearly on the prowl. I hightailed it." And now his hand takes off in a swoop, blue eyes big in memory of his narrow escape. "I mean, I know she saw me. I had to hide."
Teal'c is indeed troubled by this. He is concerned for Daniel Jackson. He is concerned for the unsuspecting security forces posted along the halls against whom Vala Mal Doran will undoubtedly press her body in the hopes of satisfying her desires this evening. And he is concerned for Cameron Mitchell, a concern... he did not expect. Not that it's an unpleasant revelation. Colonel Mitchell is, after all, the commanding officer of SG-1 now. But Teal'c has only known the man for a short amount of time and he would not expect such visceral compassion or concern for someone he has not even stood next to in battle. It gives him pause.
Teal'c frowns into his new thoughts, which Cameron mistakes as contemplation of the situation. Maybe Teal'c's thinking less of him for Cameron's less than courageous handling of the Mal Doran woman. A free falling disappointment in himself makes Mitchell set his jaw. He's the team leader of SG-1. He's got to try harder, play rougher, be better. So he's surprised when Tea'c asks him:
"Why do you not stay here for a while and meditate with me, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c is already refolding himself to the floor before the largest of the pillar candles, his wrists breaking in precise arcs over his bent knees. Control, balance, serenity.
"Oh, I-- I don't really, uh. I'm not all that great at the Deep Thoughts stuff." Still slumped in the corner between the door and the wall, Cameron tried to weigh the options of getting in touch with his inner Buddha or sprinting his ass down the halls away from Jackson's girlfriend. In a dignified, commanding manner, of course. Neither of these things were really how he envisioned himself spending an evening at the SGC.
When Volnek explains he is of the Sodan, Teal'c understands in a way he never could before that his place is very much with SG-1. He has already reestablished his allegiance to the Tau'ri, but now he knows in his heart what he already knew with his mind. For his people, for the continued freedom of all Jaffa, he must walk with the Tau'ri, and Stargate Command.
The Jaffa by nature are not curious. They are wary, they are suspicious, but they are not curious. They have no doctors, no scientists, no scholars, no poets. No explorers. Their teachers are master's of war. No one left after the thousands of years of Goa'uld tyranny know how to ask 'what if' and 'why not'. They only know how to fight, the ways of the warrior. Even their priests are trained in the ways of combat: how better to exact devotion then by laying your very life at the feet of your Gods? If Teal'c had not been with SG-1 he could never have told the Council of the legendary Sodan. And how they can now count them as brothers and allies.
Colonel Mitchell is different when he returns to Earth. Teal'c has already come to learn he is a formidable warrior, if maybe rash on occasion, if maybe easily blind-sided by the confidence of youth - or the reputation of SG-1. Jack O'Neill has similar qualities, and Teal'c admires them in him, as well. Cameron Mitchell has been strong and a worthy commander to lead their team. His heart has always been pure in intention, his loyalty and faith firmly placed behind each of them. He has merited Teal'c's respect.
But when he returns with the training of the Sodan in his movements, Mitchell is calm in a way Teal'c has never seen in the man before. He is collected. He is precise. While the edges are still raw, a balm has been applied that is already healing him from the inside out. Cameron Mitchell begins to understand his own place in the universe as they -- Daniel Jackson, Samantha Carter, Jack O'Neill, even Jonas Quinn -- have already done. The universe is so very big and they are so very small, but they're always left with the choice of what role they want to play in it.
Cameron is coming to understand his. Teal'c begins to watch him carefully.
Cameron knocks, but the door is partially open to begin with, so his ratt-a-tatt-tatt pushes it forward a few more inches on its hinges. Teal'c sits at the small table with the laptop, writing his report for General Landry. Teal'c has never learned to type with the fluidity of Daniel Jackson or the speed of Colonel Carter, but his methods are sound and have served him thus far. Even if it does look as if he might break the device in one misplaced Hulk Smash motion.
"Hey," Cameron says, lounging against the door. His arms fold as he balances himself on the jut of his hip. "Jackson and Carter are all wrapped up in that cloaking device thing of the Sodan." His hand makes a twirling motion from the crook of his elbow. "I need to get out of here for a while. Feel up to it?"
Teal'c looks first at his report, then again towards Cameron. "You are paying."
They're returning to the Stargate from another "corn patrol" mission, as Mitchell has now dubbed them. No word of a Prior, and no Lucians in the immediate area with whom to contend. Simply a village given an offer they couldn't refuse: grow the crop and in exchange, a trade price that was too generous for subsistence farmers to ignore. SG-1 has already decided they'll recommend SG-4 be sent to see if they can offer a better deal, something that is less drug-trafficking and more beneficial to everyone. Maybe some sanitation and irrigation tips. Show them there are other ways, other methods, other options. That they don't need to break from the shackles of their Goa'uld oppressors only to jump in bed with the Lucian Alliance.
Cameron and Teal'c in the lead, Sam and Daniel on their six, Sam announces, "So, movie night. My place." They didn't get shot at, punched in the face or captured. Sam's feeling like they should celebrate.
Teal'c lifts his chin and unleashes one of his newfound smiles. "Van Wilder."
Cameron is already protesting. "No, no, no. If you're going to go for collegiate satire, you need to go right to the source: Animal House. Van Wilder's too polished, too slick. Nothing says funny like John Belushi punchin' hard boiled egg out of his mouth."
Daniel starts to look alarmed.
Tilting his already lifted chin, Teal'c seems to consider Cameron's words carefully. "PCU," he gravely concludes.
Cam approves, splitting a grin fit to make the Mississippi proud. "Now we're gettin' somewhere." He motions that Jackson can start dialing.
Sam lays a reassuring hand on Daniel's shoulder as he palms the glyphs that will take them back to the SGC. "We'll do chocolate fondue." This mollifies the archeologist. Somewhat.
When they're all sitting around Sam's coffee table, Cameron has to lean up to reach the little pot placed in the center. Over and over again his thigh rubs against Teal'c's as "The Truman Show" rolls out.
Neither Cameron or Teal'c seem to mind the meshing of their private spaces.
On Galar, it is both obvious and disturbing that Colonel Mitchell's memories have been tampered with. It makes them all feel helpless and somewhat vulnerable. Cameron Mitchell would never murder Dr. Varrick the way the Galarian Emissary is claiming, SG-1 and the SGC know this as a simple fact. Don't they? What do they really know? Who can they really trust? The implications of the memory implantation device humbles them all.
None of them are truly surprised when Landry informs them the Pentagon wants to open trade agreements in exchange for the technology despite "unfortunate events", and that they're to work at "smoothing things over" in preparation for a formal delegation.
While Colonel Carter works with Colonel Mitchell and the other scientists of the memory project, Teal'c and Daniel start asking questions, looking for clues that would help reveal the actual murderer. In particular, Teal'c wants to ask why he himself is so upset that Colonel Mitchell would go home with Dr. Reya Varrick in the first place. Not that it's exactly an appropriate question to the situation, but it's one that burns his tongue for the asking. Daniel Jackson would be able to help him understand, but Teal'c decides this is not the time or the place for such personal reflection.
The question lingers anyway, though, trying his patience as he work around the complex confusion.
And eventually he decides against asking Daniel Jackson's advice.
Daniel and Sam walk the halls of the Prometheus at a clipped pace. They've sprung themselves free of the brig their... other... selves locked them into when hijacking the ship. Technically, they're heading towards the engine room, but they both stop at the T-juncture, exchanging skeptical expressions.
"That wasn't our Mitchell, was it," Sam starts.
"I don't think so," Daniel confirms. "And if one of us had been in his place, had the chance to infiltrate..."
Sam nods. "I'd switch us too."
"And did you see--?"
"Yeah, I thought I did too."
"That wasn't our Mitchell."
They make the unspoken decision to skip the engine room and instead head the two levels up to the armory. Sam and Daniel make it back just in time to see the black-clad Daniel and Teal'c pointing zat's at their own green BDUed Teal'c. The Cameron just beyond their Teal'c has a smug expression in place that they wipe off by taking down the other Daniel and Teal'c. It's all very confusing and Sam has the wild, split second idea that this whole thing would be a hell of a lot easier if they could all be branded like cattle with which metaverse they come from.
While Mitchell -- their Mitchell -- is parking the "Bizzaro SG-1" into a holding cell, Daniel has the chance to quietly pull Teal'c aside and ask him, "Did... did Sam and I really see Mitchell, the other Mitchell, uhm...?" He makes a vague gesture with a roll of his hand.
Teal'c lifts his chin and stares forward with a stoic resolve, his hands folding into the small of his back. "Indeed."
Yes, the metaverse-hijacking, black-uniform-wearing, space-ship-stealing Colonel Cameron Mitchell very much copped a feel on this universe's Teal'c's ass.
Mitchell -- still their Mitchell -- turned from the locked door with a sigh and started to shuffle back into his green pants.
"Okay then," Daniel said with a smooth nonchalance he didn't actually feel. He slid his hands into his pockets and decided he'd just... leave that one alone for now.
It's a cliché, and much like his predecessor, Cameron Mitchell hates clichés, but if the shoe's going to fit.... Cam's losing it. Seriously, seriously losing it. Hopeless, helpless, useless, he's all three and then some. His friend Bryce is going to die, it was all his fault, and there is nothing more anyone can do about it. Save the goddamn planet a couple of times, befriend the little gray men who wear no pants, and yet no one can remove one tiny piece of metal from a guy's brain. And now... now, if intel was to be trusted, Teal'c was a prisoner of Baal. "Fucking Christ," Cam muttered as he paced the courtyard of the Academy Hospital, his hand running through his hair. The motion left a wake of jagged spikes. They were fine companions to the dark circles under his eyes.
But then Carter finally shows up with the Memory Device and he's got work to do. Finally. It's only an illusional semblance of control, and Cam knows that, but it still feels like he's doing something instead of standing around with his thumbs up his ass.
He hooks Bry up, making quips about airline stewardesses, but he knows Ferguson's going to see. See it all, see everything. See how it should have been Bryce who got into the experimental flight program, see how it lead to the Stargate program, see how Cameron stole his life. Bryce Ferguson's also going to see... well.
He's going to see whatever it is Cam's dealing with when it comes to his personal life. Comes to his team... mates. Mate. Not that Cameron's dealing with it; he doesn't know exactly what to make of it all, so he's just working around it for now, hoping that something that makes more sense reveals itself. Hopefully sooner rather than later, cause it's starting to drive Cameron just a little insane.
Maybe Bry can recommend a pamphlet to Cameron about this kind of crap, too. 'Might Be Gay? How To Deal With Unintentional and Inappropriate Feelings Towards Your Male, Alien Co-Workers'. Hauling himself up onto the other bed, Cam has to smother an equally as inappropriate laugh as visions of pink, trifolded literature wanders across his mental field of vision.
Already Bryce is giving him a hooded look, the little electrodes winking and blinking from his temples to his throat. "You memorized their personnel files?"
"I spent a long time in recovery."
"Jeez, man. This is... this is...."
Cameron's smile is tired. "Yeah, I know." Intense.
Bryce closed his eyes again, plunging back into Cameron's memories of the 302s, Antarctica, the Stargate and this "SG-1". The Asgard, the Goa'uld, the Tok'ra, the Ori, the Ancients, the thousands of worlds just waiting out there, the hundreds they've already been to. And, God, the city of Atlantis. It's amazing and humbling and it skates across Bryce's face in child-like wonder. And then there it is. Cam can see it by the way Ferguson's brow crinkles, his mouth folding into that thoughtful line he knew meant some serious gear grinding.
But Bryce Ferguson doesn't say anything. Not at first. He wants to make sure he understands what this is before he opens his mouth. It was only bits and pieces at first, but the more he works through Cameron's memories, the more there is to see. So he unfolds and lays bare Cameron's memories, like he might shirts and socks from a flight bag. He pushes the superfluous details aside and pulls Cameron's emotions to the forefront. The fact he can do that is amazing -- what Cameron does is amazing -- but this machine... thing. He knows it's letting him see an immensely intimate side of his friend, something he otherwise would never be able to see, and he wants to make sure before he breaks the man swinging his legs on the bed next to him.
"Hey. Camshaft. I never...."
"I'm not," Cameron says quickly, waylaying him by the side of the road before he can really launch into his parade. "At least. I don't think. I don't know. It's... complicated." It's an understatement.
"This... guy. Does he know?" Pushing himself up on an elbow, Bryce has a soft concern for his old co-pilot, which Cameron can only find ironic. The man is dying and he's worried about him?
Ferguson figures out how to still pull memories forward without having to close his eyes, letting the world going on inside his head overlap with the one taking place before his eyes. He sifts through Cameron's emotions again while his friend avoids eye contact.
Cameron is in a hospital bed, but is sitting up. He still can't feel his legs, but already he's using arms and hands they told him would never be able to handle fine motor control again. In defiance, Cam flicks his fingers against the paperwork before him. It hurts, but he can do it, and that's really all that matters. He has four moderately sized folders on the roll-around table with which all hospital rooms seem to come. Each tab holds a name: BRIG. GEN. J. O'NEILL, LT. COL. S. CARTER, DR. D. JACKSON. But the last is like nothing Cameron -- or Bryce -- has ever seen before: TEAL'C. This is the folder Cameron reads first, the one he memorizes first.
Bryce is almost overwhelmed by the feelings of respect and admiration for the... "Jaffa". It's humbling. And intimidating. They're not his, they're Cameron's, but they might as well be his own for how this contraption stitches them into his own mind, into and through the fabric of his own emotions. On the whisper of a hope, this man, this "Teal'c", left the only life he knew, his friends, his family, all for the chance at freedom. To rid himself, his people, of an overwhelming oppressor. The sum total of such an undertaking is... staggering. Bryce is as WASP as WASP can get; that kind of... need, yearning. He couldn't even begin to understand.
And neither could Cameron.
But it touched a chord in Cameron that the old dog just couldn't shake. SG-1 became something of an obsession after that. What could be so special about a field unit -- granted, one that had an extraordinary field -- that would drive a man to abandon one world for another?
Mission reports come next, a flood gate of amazing adventures and heroic tales, of near-death, and death, and the bewildering knowledge of just how many lives the people of Earth had touched so far out in the galaxy. How this brave-- God, brave alien gave everything and risked everything for the people of Earth, all on the banked promise that we'd help him in return someday. Each and every sorrow weathered and endured on that promise. That level of commitment is astonishing, and Bryce has no problem at all seeing what Cameron sees in this Teal'c. So much strength, compassion, dedication. It gives Bryce Ferguson a rush that leaves him dizzy.
"Does Teal'c know," he asks again, watching Cameron watch his hands.
"I don't... I don't know," Cameron mutters at his palms.
"But he's in trouble. One of these... 'Goa'uld' have him?" Bryce gets the pronunciation right on the first try, but he was always a quick study like that.
"Yeah, Baal. He's..." Cameron's head rolls backwards from shoulder to shoulder while his lips press thin. "Smarmy."
Bryce pushes himself up further, holding onto the bed's railing. "You gotta go help him."
"I'm here for you." If he's going to steal his life, the least Cameron can do is stay here until the end.
"Bullshit, man. Look, yeah -- I'm dying. So take it from a guy who's made his peace: go help him, bring him home. Don't wait until it's too late to say things. Don't give yourself regrets, man. Just don't. Trust me. Life's way too short for that." There's a raw intensity in Bryce's green eyes that Cameron simply can't ignore. He has made his peace, he can see that. Still Cameron hesitates.
"This Carter chick's hot," Ferguson says with a lecherous smirk. "You're so ass-backwards, Shaft. Now." And he makes a flicking motion with his hand. "Go. Save your... 'friend'."
Sliding off the extra bed slowly, Cameron reaches out and lays his hand over Bryce's on the railing. "I'll come back."
"Bring Teal'c when you do. And Carter."
Bryce Ferguson suffers an aneurysm before SG-1 even breaks through the first line of Baal's defenses. And maybe Colonel Mitchell knows that somehow. The reports that follow call his actions "reckless" and his tactics "unnecessarily risky".
But they get Teal'c back. Cameron gets Teal'c back.
They step through the Stargate into the promenade of the monument, now a thriving city. A capitol. Dakara, seat of the Free Jaffa Nation. Cameron rotates his neck incrementally in the stiff collar of his shirt and casts another envious eye at Teal'c's robes. No, it wasn't a look he personally went for, but when compared to the stiff formality of his dress uniform, yeah. Cam would have swapped Class As for a toga and been happy to do so.
"You know, when I said 'you need a place of your own', and you said 'I have a place of my own' and then I said 'oh, really?' That was NOT an invitation to tell Landry that I needed to accompany you on these negotiations." Cameron used his hands to talk and flexed the powers of his incredibly poor imitation of Teal'c's reverberating baritone. Teal'c only continued to look smug as they made their way down the steps and into the fire-lit corridors of the temple.
"As I explained before, Colonel Mitchell: the newly - democratically - elected Jaffa Council wishes to formally open negotiations with the people of the Tau'ri. Craft its first official alliance. You are the leader of SG-1, and as such, will gain and receive the most respect. After that, others can be sent in to finalize the details."
Cameron made a sound deep in his throat as he pulled down again on his jacket. "It should be Jackson here, not me. He's the smooth talker. Hell, he was an Ascended... Ancient... guy for a while. That should count for something with your folks, right?"
Rich, dark eyes slide over the colonel, their amusement easily hidden behind a hundred and twenty four years of strict emotional composure. "We are still a people who look to the power of might before all else. As leader of the most preeminent team Stargate Command and the Tau'ri has to offer, it will be seen as a sign of respect that you have come to begin such talks. Daniel Jackson is highly respected among the Jaffa, but you are a warrior."
Okay, that all sounded good, but Cameron still couldn't shake the feeling that Teal'c was... maybe not making fun of him, but there was certainly a set up of some kind going down here, and Mitchell just hadn't put his finger on it yet. Skeptical blue eyes shot up to regard the Jaffa's profile but Teal'c wasn't giving anything away. In fact, he still looked smug and that was starting to rub Cameron the wrong way. "Fine, yeah. But if anyone stands up and declares Pon Farr or something, I'm out of here."
Teal'c's haughty humor wavered as a curious eyebrow lifted.
"Sorry," Cameron waved off. "Never mind, bad joke."
"Indeed." Teal'c pulled aside a young man not quite as elegantly robed as himself and had a few quiet words with him. Then he took Mitchell's bag and handed it and his own over. "He will take them to my quarters. We are to head straight to the Council's Chamber."
Flicking his hand out, Cameron indicated Teal'c should lead and he'd follow. He threw another coin into his private wishing well that Class As came with heavy ordinance. It'd certainly make him feel better right about now.
It had been midmorning when Teal'c and Cameron had stepped through the Stargate; now it was late, late into the evening and they were finally turning in.
"So that... wasn't completely horrible, right?" Easing the buttons of his jacket open with one hand, Cameron's other was working the knot of his tie. There was rumor around the base that General O'Neill used clip-ons, and the thought always made Mitchell grin. He could see it, sure. But just as easily he couldn't: Jack O'Neill might be an irreverent bad boy, but his respect of the uniform was unquestionable. Of course, O'Neill's love of bureaucracy was just as well known. Pulling the blue silk loose, he wondered absently if Teal'c would know the truth. It never hurt to keep a little dirt on hand on your betters.
Teal'c was inspecting the evening meal that had been laid out for them, his voice rich with an amused inflection. "No. It wasn't... horrible. Although, I might ask you to refrain from trying to share 'Hush Puppy' recipes with Master Rou'nel again."
"I was trying to... break the ice." Yeah, that'd gone over like a lead balloon. But when they weren't talking about honor and duty and dedication, Cameron had tried to let them know there was more the Tau'ri could offer then training and weapons and medicine. Like an exchange of cultures. Like his mama's hush puppies. Something that created a society and not just a standing army waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Come," Teal'c beckoned. "Eat. Tomorrow the various leaders of the Jaffa colonies shall arrive and it will be another long day."
A long drawn-out, reluctant sigh escaped Cameron as he lolled in place like a petulant child. "You're kidding me. I've got to pull Jackson in on this. There's no way I can--"
"Oh, come on!" Shoving his jacket off his hips, Cameron set his hands on his belt in a decisive gesture. He was the commanding officer of SG-1, right? Wasn't that what this was all about? "Sure, okay. I can meet and greet, shake hands and kiss babies, but I can't--"
"There were no babies to be found in the council chambers." Lifting his chin as he turned, Teal'c folded his hands together deep into the sleeves of his robe and kept his features placidly unreadable. The whole thing only drove Cameron's ire further.
"It's an expression," Cameron returned drolly. "The point is, I've done your dog-and-pony show. If you really want progress, we've got to get someone in here who actually knows what they're doing. And that's Jackson. You want me to show off my Sodan moves, cool. I can do that. But if you want me to--"
"Yes, I want you."
Mitchell blinked, momentarily thrown out of his rant. "You want me to show off my Sodan moves?"
"No. I want you." Teal'c's chin angled again, his expression still frustratingly blank.
No, that couldn't be what Cameron was hearing. A deep frown set up on his face while he dropped his chin into his chest. Deep breaths, he told himself. Take deep breaths. But then the memory of Bryce Ferguson came up and smacked him in the back of the head. 'Don't give yourself regrets.' When he cast his eyes up, he found Teal'c watching him.
And still Cameron couldn't do anything but stand there, hands on hips, feet planted.
"I have much... respect for you, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c began a slow advance, his hands still hidden in the deep silver and gray of his sleeves. It was different now. This was different. Teal'c could allow himself this, take this, without guilt or worry about what tomorrow might bring. Because no matter what it was, he would still be free. And that meant free to give his affections where he chose, not where best to sow his seed for his God.
"Yeah, well, I... 'respect'... you too, T." Unconsciously Cameron took a step back and shuffled his hands into the pockets of his blue slacks. Suddenly it was hard to breath, hard to see. He didn't exactly feel trapped, but he did feel like his options for escape were diminishing by the second.
Teal'c drew close, looking down on him with a deep and abiding reverence, like he was something precious to be looked at. Upon. "Teal'c," Cameron tried. "I..."
"Cameron." It was just his name, but then -- it was just his name. Not his rank, not his title, not even his last name. It was his name. Just his name.
Cameron opened his mouth, tried to say something again, but suddenly Teal'c was lacing his fingers around the back of his neck and drawing him forward into a kiss. It wanted to be respectful, maybe even chaste, but it quickly down-shifted into searing heat and unrestrained passion that required deep breaths or you risked blacking out and Cameron's toes were curling in his dress shoes.
"Wha... whoa, whoa, whoa," Cameron tried for a breathless third time. All he was rewarded with was Teal'c cupping his face between his palms and driving home promises with his lips and teeth and the subtle nudge of his chin and Cameron had no problem whatsoever believing the man could deliver on them. "God," he sighed, his eyes drifting unfocused towards the ceiling.
A hand left his face and whispered inside his jacket, slid across his chest and came to rest on the flat plane of his back, pulling Cameron up against the Jaffa. It was possessive, but respectful, a declaration of intent rather then a staking of property.
The ghost of Bryce Ferguson had to slap him in the back of the head one more time before he could pull his hands out of his pockets and reciprocate. 'Don't wait until it's too late.'
And then that was it and Teal'c was grinning into the crook of his neck as Cameron encircled the broad man and pulled him flush against himself. Pale flesh met dark as Cameron wound his hand behind Teal'c's thick neck, Teal'c sliding his hand just into the waistband of Cameron's pants. Cameron shuddered when Teal'c bit at the juncture of his throat and the collar of his shirt.
They kissed again and Cameron bit down on Teal'c's full, lush bottom lip, a rich sound rewarding him for his efforts. Yeah, this wasn't some 'buddy fuck' when stationed out in the middle of nowhere and everyone posted was bored watching the dirt grow. This was a man who could kill him with one well-placed pinky. Who he worked beside, fought beside. Respected. Wanted. It was going to be intense. Cameron's dick twitched in anticipation, telegraphing his desire across the short distance between bodies. And the message was received, loud and clear: Teal'c issued another throaty growl of satisfaction and Cameron's head spun.
There were suddenly too many clothes involved.
Cameron twisted his head and pulled his mouth back with an angry wet sound. "Teal'c!" The Jaffa raised an eyebrow, deep breaths pulling the wide expanse of his chest up and down. God, Cameron wanted to run his hands over... "It's like making out with the drapes. Cut me some slack here already, will ya? Can't you lose some... layers?" His hard blue eyes cast a critical evaluation over Teal'c's ceremonial robes.
Instead, Teal'c unleashed a toothy predator of a grin and all but ripped Cameron's jacket off his shoulders. Then the tie. Then the dress shirt which, Cameron had to acknowledge, took far more dexterity then he himself was really capable of at the moment. Teal'c didn't even lose a button. When he heard the click of his belt buckle, Cam just started to tear at Teal'c's wrappings. He figured he had to be in there somewhere, right?
Laughter bubbled up inside of Cameron, tumbling out in a lightheaded, breathy delivery. "You're not helping," he accused as he felt hands caressing his suddenly bare hips, thumbs brushing up his abdomen. Teal'c latched onto his mouth again and soon enough they were helping each other.
It was movie night again, Cameron's place this time. They were onto movie number three and Sam was already crashed out against Daniel's thigh. She was always the first to go down, Daniel mused, trying to not wake her up but still needing more blood to reach his foot then was currently getting there.
Unfortunately, they had gotten shot at this time, though only Teal'c received a punch to the face. But no one had been captured, so at least there was that. This was less celebratory as it was just life affirming. So that meant comedies.
He was only half listening as Cameron tried to explain to Teal'c what a "high school reunion" was, and why John Cusack's Martin Blank might be reluctant to go to one. Normally Daniel would step in, save Mitchell from trying to bridge the obvious cultural difficulties as well as save Teal'c from getting the wrong, prejudiced opinion. But... he didn't. Instead, he just kept watching them from the corner of his eye, like he had been for the last two weeks. Since Cameron had returned from Dakara with the preliminary paperwork for an alliance between the Tau'ri and the Free Jaffa.
Teal'c had "reluctantly" agreed to move into Mitchell's extra bedroom, the argument being that while he would enjoy a place to stay off base, he didn't feel it necessary to go through the hassle of renting an apartment in which he would spend less than half his time. When he wasn't on a mission with SG-1, he had duties on Dakara, so occupying an extra room that wasn't in use anyway made sense.
Except there was more. The clues were everywhere if you knew how to look for them. Sam didn't see them, not yet anyway. But she would. Landry didn't see them, and probably wouldn't. He didn't know how to see them. But Daniel saw them. He saw them almost immediately. It was Daniel's job to see things like this, and privately he smiled again. Before either man noticed, he hid it all behind his glass of pop.
When they didn't think Daniel was paying attention, Teal'c ran the back of his hand against Cameron's knee, the two exchanging a private moment. Letting a sigh turn into a yawn, Daniel wondered how much longer before Cameron just told them. And it would be Cameron who let it spill; Colonel Mitchell was a talker and he'd already had several aborted conversations with Doctor Jackson on the subject. Oh well, Daniel thought. He'd give them their honeymoon before teasing them mercilessly.