Rating: PG
Warnings: Set post season 5, established relationship.
Disclaimers: I own no part of the Stargate world, and make no money from this, just enjoyment etc etc.
Note: This is for the Beya JT site's February 'Love, Hugs and Kisses' challenge. This fic would fall into the Love, but also maybe the kisses area too. Hope you enjoy this little fic.
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It was about ten minutes after he had started the music that he realised it was jazz.
He lowered the sports magazine he had been reading and frowned over at his laptop. The soft muted sounds of the trumpet danced gently along with the delicate playful accompaniment of a piano.
He had no idea what the piece was called, or when it had gotten onto the playlist, but suspected already that there was more to follow. Thinking about it now, listening more intently to the music, it was familiar, likely having been playing many times in the background without him having really focused on the new additions to his music.
He was listening to Jazz!
Surely only a guy of a certain age listened to this kind of music. His Dad had used to listen to jazz every Sunday morning while he sat in his study, reading the broadsheets with a cup of dark rich coffee within arm's reach; it had been a picture that had felt forced and pretentious to John when he was younger.
As the trumpet dropped away, a soft deep male voice slid into the calming ease of the tune. The more John listened, the more the feeling of a relaxed Sunday morning listening to this kind of music began to make sense to him. He wondered if Dad had actually been relaxing in that study, that he might have, for a morning at least, slowed down from his work enough to sit in a favourite chair and listen to music that could soothe him.
It soothed John, he realised, though perhaps more from its context than from the music itself.
He glanced from the laptop to the crib across the room when Torren lay fast asleep. He wondered if Torren found the music soothing, and stored the thought away for the next time Torren got grumpy about going to bed. Perhaps jazz might soothe the stroppy overtired beast Torren could become some nights. Maybe they should play some jazz for Rodney in his lab to calm him down when he got too stroppy too.
Smiling to himself, John looked back to the laptop as the music slid to an end. The next piece began of a similar vein, slow paced and relaxing, and again it was familiar enough to tell John that he had heard it before in the background. Somewhere along the way, this music had become the soundtrack of these relaxing quiet times, and he had no idea when it had started.
He looked round at Teyla sat beside him, her shoulder against his, where they sat backs reclined against a large pile of cushions at the head of his bed. Most of the cushions were hers, spares that, along with Torren's spare crib, had found their way into his quarters. Again, he had no clear idea of when that had happened. He didn't mind, it was just odd that it had all happened without any of it registering as out of place. Her things had become a part of his now. As had the eclectic selection of music she had gathered from various people across the City. Music that had found its way into his collection. Music that he already associated with these nice chilled times with Teyla, sat together reading or working on a report, while Torren snoozed nearby. It wasn't technically a Sunday morning, but he could kind of understand his father's tradition a little more clearly now.
Teyla lifted one hand to turn a page of her book, the rasp quiet, as was her delicate in breath. Her hand rose further to brush a lock of hair from her cheek, back behind her ear. Her hand dropped back down to her lap, her legs were curled up together and her knees rested against his left thigh.
She looked as comfortable and relaxed as he felt. He wondered when they had begun this ritual of sitting in companionable silence, settled against her cushions on his bed, her son close by, and the air filled with relaxing jazz.
What was very clear to him was that he was happy. He felt relaxed, at peace, and very happy. He had never felt that before outside of flying, or wrapped around Teyla in bed. He couldn't remember being so simply and completely happy just sitting and relaxing, surrounded now with those he loved. It was enough to make a guy get all gushy.
Teyla glanced around, as if she had somehow sensed something new in him beside her. John quickly schooled his features so as not to show any of the surprise he felt at his happiness. She already knew that he loved her, he had shared that already, and she had shared the same with him.
Her dark eyes met his with a soft relaxed expression that told him that she was as comfortable here as he was. She smiled at him, with the suggestion of a question, but no demand for one.
"How long has this music been on my computer?" He asked her.
She smiled wider as her lips parted to deliver her answer. "I am not sure, some time," she replied.
"One of your CD mixes?" he asked with teasing suspicion.
She nodded, her book resting down to her lap, her knees pressing just a fraction tighter against his leg, the touch glowing through his soft pants to warm his thigh.
It had been in spending more time with him that her interest in Earth music had been piqued. Since he nearly always had some music playing in his quarters when off duty, and had introduced her to the concept of 'mood music', she had been keen to listen to as wide a variety of Earth music as she could. He had bought her an mp3 player and shown her how to transfer music to it from the computer, and she had been off, sharing and exchanging music with half the City. Her favourites of those she had borrowed lived in the massive collection on her laptop, and selections of what she had found she shared with him. A new CD of mixed music would frequently appear to be played whilst sparring, or the more laid back music for these relaxing times together.
"Have you been playing my playlists?" He asked her.
She grinned. "I thought you enjoyed it when I did that?" She replied with heavy innuendo.
He chuckled at that. "True," he conceded.
The sparkle in her eyes was full of their intimate knowledge of each other.
"We can listen to something else," she suggested. There was no disappointment in her voice in that possibility, no judgement on him. She was like that – giving, accepting, and so often full of that gentle sensual teasing that he enjoyed. She truly would listen to anything he wanted, but he would do the same for her.
"No, I like it," he admitted. "Just got me thinking about my Dad for a minute there," he shared as he glanced back to his magazine. "He used to listen to jazz every Sunday morning while he read the paper in his study."
"Did you sit in the study with him?" She asked.
"No," John replied with feeling as he lifted his eyes from the magazine. "He banned us from the room."
Teyla nodded beside him. He had told her about his family, about his controlling father, and the way he had taken his parents break up. She knew all the details, and in typical Teyla form, she hadn't judged him badly for any of his part in the bad times from his past. She understood his Dad's personality enough that he didn't have to explain further why the patriarch that had been Patrick Sheppard had demanded his isolation from his sons most of the time, but especially on Sunday mornings.
"He used to keep the study door half open, and we'd hear the music all through the house," he recalled, the memories drifting with varying degrees of clarity, as he turned to the next page of his mag.
Soft dancing tones of piano and lazy saxophone danced through the air in the gentle silence.
"Why do you think he did that?" Teyla asked as softly as the music.
John looked back round to her. "Banned us from the room?" He asked, surprised at the question for he had thought it was obvious considering his father.
"No, kept the study door open if he wished to be isolated away from his family?" She clarified.
John considered the question. "I guess I thought he wanted to keep an ear open for whatever trouble Dave and I could get up to."
Teyla grinned at that, also now informed of some of his more youthful indiscretions. John returned the smile.
"Perhaps he wished to share the music with you both," Teyla suggested.
"Not sure I would have been able to hear it over my Van Halen," John half joked in reply, but she had a point. He wondered if his Dad really had been taking some sort of interest in his sons by that simple act of keeping open his study door. Or maybe he just wanted to listen out for the main phone line.
"We can listen to something else if it reminds you too much of him," Teyla offered, and in her tone he heard the faint concern that would have her turning off the jazz if she thought it upset him in any way.
"No, it doesn't. It makes me think of sitting with you now," he confessed with a smile, letting his eyes wander over her beautiful face.
She returned his smile, and the warmth of her hand slid onto his thigh, caressing briefly before stilling.
"Then I may continue to play with your music collection?" She asked.
He pretended to think about his answer for a long beat and heard her warm chuckle. He dipped his shoulder against hers and leant in towards her.
"You can play with anything you want," he told her as he stretched the small distance to kiss her lips. She lifted her chin, her cheek grazing against his a fraction before their lips found one another's.
He held the kiss a little bit longer than he had planned, her warmth and softness drawing him in. Desire spun inside him, teasing through his body. Their lips parted softly and he brushed his lower lip against hers before pulling back.
Her glazed happy smile, along with the squeeze of her hand on his thigh, brought satisfaction into the mix of gentle simmering desire and the warm happiness in his chest.
He could definitely get used to jazz.
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END