That Time of Night for greenconverses
Title: That Time of Night (Part One)
Author:
ruby_caspar
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content and adult language.
Pairings/ characters: John/Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, Michael.
Word count: 5,121
Summary: AU - One night at Atlantis Bar something snaps inside John.
Recipient:
greenconverses
Notes: Thanks to
azure_horizonfor the beta.
That Time of Night
It was John Sheppard’s favourite time of night.
Technically, the bar closed its doors at 1am, but the for the select few it stayed open after that, the bustle and noise of the normal business hours replaced by the intimacy of just half a dozen or so seated at the small round tables. Only the sound of glasses clinking and the occasional whisper distracted the ear from the sound of Teyla’s voice. Her words seemed to cut through the cigar smoke that still lingered in the air, filling the room effortlessly with its haunting soulfulness.
It was his favourite time of night.
It was at this time of night, when the doors were closed, that Teyla really let herself go. It was then, when there were so few people in the room with her, that she sang for herself; her eyes closed as she leaned back against the grand piano, the words flowing out of her as though flowing straight from her soul. Even Rodney, such a stickler for sticking to the musical program during the rest of the evening, followed her lead at this time of night, accompanying her on the piano without a word of dissent. The man knew his music, and appreciated talent when he saw it.
So did John. And that was why it was his favourite time of night.
It was also his least favourite.
Usually, he had plenty to keep himself occupied, plenty to distract himself from Teyla’s alluring presence. There were patrons to greet, waiters to oversee, cigars to offer and troublemakers to spot. But now, at this time of night, the waiters had been dismissed or were in the cellars bottling up. The few customers left were of a select clientele that John knew and (mostly) trusted. There was little to do but sit on a high leather stool by the bar, a glass of scotch by his hand, and watch Teyla sing.
It was his least favourite time of the night.
Teyla sang as though the music possessed her, and John felt her voice possessing him. It was as though she was a Siren, calling him to her, and the stool John sat on felt more and more like the ship mast he was tied to, keeping him from her. He felt that if his feet touched the ground they would lead him over to where she stood, and that he would take her in his arms and show her exactly what she was doing to him.
Because she had no idea. She had no fucking clue. The sound of her voice made John’s stomach clench with want. Her hands gripping the edge of the piano made it hard for him to breathe. The mere sight of her head tilting back, her eyes sliding shut as her golden hair fell over her shoulders and brushed the top of the piano made him hard. He couldn’t watch her. He couldn’t not watch her.
He couldn’t have her.
John had inherited Atlantis from his father; had practically grown up in its smoky salon. The sound of the grand piano playing jazz over the clink of glasses had been his lullaby. The bar meant everything to him, and he’d seen enough affairs within its walls as he’d grown up to know that it was a bad idea to be involved with someone you worked with. It only ever ended in tears. He’d made a promise to himself when he’d taken over the place that he would never cross that line with the people who worked for him, and until Teyla he’d never been tempted.
He sat there in silence, drinking his scotch.
It was that time of night.
His dad wouldn’t approve of his… well, cowardice was what he would call it. He would think John was being plain stupid, pining for Teyla in silence, only allowing himself to really feel when he knew neither she nor anyone else was watching. His dad hadn’t believed in bottling up emotions, good or bad, and that was why he’d been so good at what he did. Atlantis had thrived under his care, because he so obviously cared. “You only get one chance at humanity” he’d told John many times, usually during quiet drinking sessions after the bar was closed. That time of night was really the only time John had understood his father; most of the time, much as he’d respected him, he’d found his frankness unnerving. John had always had much tighter reign on his emotions. It had been just one of the many ways in which he and his father had differed.
Right now, though, his eyes raking down the line of Teyla’s neck as she leaned back against the piano lid, his father’s words came back to haunt John. Was he being a coward, refusing to act on his feelings? Was he using the bar as an excuse, to stop himself opening up to someone for once?
John’s eyes travelled further down Teyla’s neck, past her throat, to the glimpse of cleavage provided by the plunged neck of her full-length deep green dress. The silk clung to her like a second skin, and the left side of the skirt - the side facing John - was split up to her mid-thigh.
John gulped down almost half the scotch and forced his eyes back to her face.
No, he decided suddenly. He was not a coward - he was a realist. Getting involved with Teyla would split his focus from the bar, and too many people depended on him for him to allow that. And what if it didn’t work out? Teyla was the best performer John had ever seen in Atlantis - he didn’t want to lose her.
And it wasn’t just the bar that was in danger of losing her… it was him. Just because he hadn’t acted on his desire for Teyla didn’t mean that they spent no time together - Teyla was one of his closest friends. Sometimes, John felt that only Teyla could help him with certain problems or cheer him up, and he liked to think that he had become just as important to her over the last few years as she had to him. In fact, he was close to all his employees, and was glad of it - the bar was his life, and they had become his family. He glanced at Ronon, standing just feet away from him behind the bar - he was drying glasses that had just come out of the washer, steadily going about his business as usual. Ronon was always steady, right until there was trouble and then you just had to hope he was on your side. John looked over at Rodney accompanying Teyla on the piano - he’d undone his bowtie and the top button of his shirt, and even though John knew he preferred early nights he also knew he wouldn’t stop playing until Teyla stopped singing.
Yes, they were his family. He couldn’t risk that.
But it was that time of night, and John couldn’t do anything to stop his mind wandering as he listened to Teyla.
So John didn’t try to stop his mind wandering as his eyes did the same over Teyla’s body, lingering over the shape of her lips and the line of her throat; over the diamonds shimmering at her clavicle and the swell of her breasts; over the curve of her hip and the flash of thigh through the slit of her dress. God, she was so beautiful. John drained his scotch.
John was about to signal Ronon to pour him another when he heard it - a catcall. John sat up straight on his barstool, his languid and wandering mood vanishing in an instant.
It was also the time of night when drunk people got stupid.
Teyla’s voice didn’t falter, but her eyes were now open, looking around the few customers still in the bar. John looked too, and it didn’t take him long to find the source of the disturbance.
Whiskey always went to Michael’s head. John knew this and usually made sure he was cut off at a certain point, but he’d been a little distracted tonight. And now it seemed that Michael was getting distracted as well.
Another catcall.
Ronon had gone very still and Rodney was looking over his shoulder, glaring at Michael. John slid off of the stool and started walking along the length of the bar. Ronon nodded to John as he went by, and continued drying the glasses, though John could tell from the set of his shoulders he was ready to jump in if needed.
John sighed as he skirted the small round tables - it was that time of night.
Suddenly, Michael lurched out of his seat and started to stagger towards the platform Teyla was on. John’s eyes widened in surprise - Michael could be an obnoxious drunk, but he’d never shown any signs of being violent, or grabby, or anything of the sort.
He reached the platform and John’s surprise disappeared as he saw Michael’s hands reach towards Teyla’s hips. Rage consumed him.
What the hell did he think he was doing? John started to run, but he was still on the other side of the bar, and Michael was barely a foot away from Teyla. Teyla had stopped singing now, and Rodney had abandoned the piano, standing up and telling Michael to back off. The other customers sat completely still in their seats, just watching the drama unfold.
Teyla looked completely composed for someone an inch away from being molested. She held up a hand in between her and Michael and gave him a stern look. “Michael, go back to your seat,” she said firmly.
Michael didn’t look like he was listening - John just saw him leer at Teyla and then grab her hand in one of his. John reached the stage as Michael’s other hand slid onto Teyla’s hip, trying to drag her close to him.
Teyla’s free arm came up but John barely noticed - all his attention was fixed on the man holding onto her. He grabbed hold of Michael’s shoulder and dragged him away from her. Michael staggered, almost falling off the edge of the platform, but John caught hold of the lapel of his jacket and then had his shirt collar in his fists, pulling him back towards him.
“What the hell are you doing?” John snarled in the man’s face. He shook him angrily. “Huh?”
“John!”
John ignored Teyla - he had never been so angry in his life. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t see it coming. Michael’s right fist swung up and crashed into John’s cheekbone before he could even think the word ‘duck’, and John let go of the man with a grunt.
Nothing was broken, but it still hurt like hell. And it did nothing to help his rage problem.
John responded with a right hook before Michael had even managed to regain his balance after being let go, and he went straight down, crying out in surprise.
“You son of a bitch!” John yelled, dropping down to one knee and punching him again, just below the ribs. Michael hissed with pain and curled up protectively. John pulled back to take another swing but was prevented by an arm grabbing him round his middle and clamping both his arms to his side. He struggled, almost getting free, but then felt more arms around him, pulling him back.
John knew that people were shouting and saying things to him, but all he heard was white noise - he could only stare at Michael, who was rolling on the ground in front of him, blood pouring from a cut above his right eye. It gave John an enormous amount of satisfaction to see him in pain, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to kill the bastard for what he’d tried to do to Teyla.
Then, suddenly, she was there, crouching in front of him, blocking Michael from view. Some of John rage faded away and the sight of her lips moving, forming his name, caused the white noise to fade away.
“John, calm down!”
John took a deep breath and tried to do just that. Michael was down - Teyla was no longer in danger. He stopped struggling, and felt the arms around him loosen. He realized he’d been pulled back so he was actually sitting on the floor, and there were at least three people holding him there. Rodney had been the first to grab him and was the last to let go, eyeing him warily.
Teyla stood up, towering over John, and he stood up too. Teyla stepped away before he could say anything to her, and John once again had a clear view of Michael. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, breathing heavily against his pain. His left hand came up and pressed against his cheek, which was throbbing with pain and sticky with blood.
There was a ringing silence in the bar as John stared down at Michael. His lip curled in disgust and his fingers twitched as he fought against the urge to ball them back into fists. Instead he looked past Michael to the two men he’d been sitting with.
“Get him out of here,” he told them, coldly. “Now.”
They stared at him for a moment, and then both sprang forward to help Michael up. John turned away from the sight - Rodney was still looking wary and little shocked, as were the patrons in the bar; Ronon was still behind the bar, leaning both hands on the countertop and looking faintly amused. Teyla… Teyla was nowhere to be seen.
TBC
Author:
ruby_caspar
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content and adult language.
Pairings/ characters: John/Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, Michael.
Word count: 5,121
Summary: AU - One night at Atlantis Bar something snaps inside John.
Recipient:
greenconverses
Notes: Thanks to
azure_horizonfor the beta.
That Time of Night
It was John Sheppard’s favourite time of night.
Technically, the bar closed its doors at 1am, but the for the select few it stayed open after that, the bustle and noise of the normal business hours replaced by the intimacy of just half a dozen or so seated at the small round tables. Only the sound of glasses clinking and the occasional whisper distracted the ear from the sound of Teyla’s voice. Her words seemed to cut through the cigar smoke that still lingered in the air, filling the room effortlessly with its haunting soulfulness.
It was his favourite time of night.
It was at this time of night, when the doors were closed, that Teyla really let herself go. It was then, when there were so few people in the room with her, that she sang for herself; her eyes closed as she leaned back against the grand piano, the words flowing out of her as though flowing straight from her soul. Even Rodney, such a stickler for sticking to the musical program during the rest of the evening, followed her lead at this time of night, accompanying her on the piano without a word of dissent. The man knew his music, and appreciated talent when he saw it.
So did John. And that was why it was his favourite time of night.
It was also his least favourite.
Usually, he had plenty to keep himself occupied, plenty to distract himself from Teyla’s alluring presence. There were patrons to greet, waiters to oversee, cigars to offer and troublemakers to spot. But now, at this time of night, the waiters had been dismissed or were in the cellars bottling up. The few customers left were of a select clientele that John knew and (mostly) trusted. There was little to do but sit on a high leather stool by the bar, a glass of scotch by his hand, and watch Teyla sing.
It was his least favourite time of the night.
Teyla sang as though the music possessed her, and John felt her voice possessing him. It was as though she was a Siren, calling him to her, and the stool John sat on felt more and more like the ship mast he was tied to, keeping him from her. He felt that if his feet touched the ground they would lead him over to where she stood, and that he would take her in his arms and show her exactly what she was doing to him.
Because she had no idea. She had no fucking clue. The sound of her voice made John’s stomach clench with want. Her hands gripping the edge of the piano made it hard for him to breathe. The mere sight of her head tilting back, her eyes sliding shut as her golden hair fell over her shoulders and brushed the top of the piano made him hard. He couldn’t watch her. He couldn’t not watch her.
He couldn’t have her.
John had inherited Atlantis from his father; had practically grown up in its smoky salon. The sound of the grand piano playing jazz over the clink of glasses had been his lullaby. The bar meant everything to him, and he’d seen enough affairs within its walls as he’d grown up to know that it was a bad idea to be involved with someone you worked with. It only ever ended in tears. He’d made a promise to himself when he’d taken over the place that he would never cross that line with the people who worked for him, and until Teyla he’d never been tempted.
He sat there in silence, drinking his scotch.
It was that time of night.
His dad wouldn’t approve of his… well, cowardice was what he would call it. He would think John was being plain stupid, pining for Teyla in silence, only allowing himself to really feel when he knew neither she nor anyone else was watching. His dad hadn’t believed in bottling up emotions, good or bad, and that was why he’d been so good at what he did. Atlantis had thrived under his care, because he so obviously cared. “You only get one chance at humanity” he’d told John many times, usually during quiet drinking sessions after the bar was closed. That time of night was really the only time John had understood his father; most of the time, much as he’d respected him, he’d found his frankness unnerving. John had always had much tighter reign on his emotions. It had been just one of the many ways in which he and his father had differed.
Right now, though, his eyes raking down the line of Teyla’s neck as she leaned back against the piano lid, his father’s words came back to haunt John. Was he being a coward, refusing to act on his feelings? Was he using the bar as an excuse, to stop himself opening up to someone for once?
John’s eyes travelled further down Teyla’s neck, past her throat, to the glimpse of cleavage provided by the plunged neck of her full-length deep green dress. The silk clung to her like a second skin, and the left side of the skirt - the side facing John - was split up to her mid-thigh.
John gulped down almost half the scotch and forced his eyes back to her face.
No, he decided suddenly. He was not a coward - he was a realist. Getting involved with Teyla would split his focus from the bar, and too many people depended on him for him to allow that. And what if it didn’t work out? Teyla was the best performer John had ever seen in Atlantis - he didn’t want to lose her.
And it wasn’t just the bar that was in danger of losing her… it was him. Just because he hadn’t acted on his desire for Teyla didn’t mean that they spent no time together - Teyla was one of his closest friends. Sometimes, John felt that only Teyla could help him with certain problems or cheer him up, and he liked to think that he had become just as important to her over the last few years as she had to him. In fact, he was close to all his employees, and was glad of it - the bar was his life, and they had become his family. He glanced at Ronon, standing just feet away from him behind the bar - he was drying glasses that had just come out of the washer, steadily going about his business as usual. Ronon was always steady, right until there was trouble and then you just had to hope he was on your side. John looked over at Rodney accompanying Teyla on the piano - he’d undone his bowtie and the top button of his shirt, and even though John knew he preferred early nights he also knew he wouldn’t stop playing until Teyla stopped singing.
Yes, they were his family. He couldn’t risk that.
But it was that time of night, and John couldn’t do anything to stop his mind wandering as he listened to Teyla.
So John didn’t try to stop his mind wandering as his eyes did the same over Teyla’s body, lingering over the shape of her lips and the line of her throat; over the diamonds shimmering at her clavicle and the swell of her breasts; over the curve of her hip and the flash of thigh through the slit of her dress. God, she was so beautiful. John drained his scotch.
John was about to signal Ronon to pour him another when he heard it - a catcall. John sat up straight on his barstool, his languid and wandering mood vanishing in an instant.
It was also the time of night when drunk people got stupid.
Teyla’s voice didn’t falter, but her eyes were now open, looking around the few customers still in the bar. John looked too, and it didn’t take him long to find the source of the disturbance.
Whiskey always went to Michael’s head. John knew this and usually made sure he was cut off at a certain point, but he’d been a little distracted tonight. And now it seemed that Michael was getting distracted as well.
Another catcall.
Ronon had gone very still and Rodney was looking over his shoulder, glaring at Michael. John slid off of the stool and started walking along the length of the bar. Ronon nodded to John as he went by, and continued drying the glasses, though John could tell from the set of his shoulders he was ready to jump in if needed.
John sighed as he skirted the small round tables - it was that time of night.
Suddenly, Michael lurched out of his seat and started to stagger towards the platform Teyla was on. John’s eyes widened in surprise - Michael could be an obnoxious drunk, but he’d never shown any signs of being violent, or grabby, or anything of the sort.
He reached the platform and John’s surprise disappeared as he saw Michael’s hands reach towards Teyla’s hips. Rage consumed him.
What the hell did he think he was doing? John started to run, but he was still on the other side of the bar, and Michael was barely a foot away from Teyla. Teyla had stopped singing now, and Rodney had abandoned the piano, standing up and telling Michael to back off. The other customers sat completely still in their seats, just watching the drama unfold.
Teyla looked completely composed for someone an inch away from being molested. She held up a hand in between her and Michael and gave him a stern look. “Michael, go back to your seat,” she said firmly.
Michael didn’t look like he was listening - John just saw him leer at Teyla and then grab her hand in one of his. John reached the stage as Michael’s other hand slid onto Teyla’s hip, trying to drag her close to him.
Teyla’s free arm came up but John barely noticed - all his attention was fixed on the man holding onto her. He grabbed hold of Michael’s shoulder and dragged him away from her. Michael staggered, almost falling off the edge of the platform, but John caught hold of the lapel of his jacket and then had his shirt collar in his fists, pulling him back towards him.
“What the hell are you doing?” John snarled in the man’s face. He shook him angrily. “Huh?”
“John!”
John ignored Teyla - he had never been so angry in his life. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t see it coming. Michael’s right fist swung up and crashed into John’s cheekbone before he could even think the word ‘duck’, and John let go of the man with a grunt.
Nothing was broken, but it still hurt like hell. And it did nothing to help his rage problem.
John responded with a right hook before Michael had even managed to regain his balance after being let go, and he went straight down, crying out in surprise.
“You son of a bitch!” John yelled, dropping down to one knee and punching him again, just below the ribs. Michael hissed with pain and curled up protectively. John pulled back to take another swing but was prevented by an arm grabbing him round his middle and clamping both his arms to his side. He struggled, almost getting free, but then felt more arms around him, pulling him back.
John knew that people were shouting and saying things to him, but all he heard was white noise - he could only stare at Michael, who was rolling on the ground in front of him, blood pouring from a cut above his right eye. It gave John an enormous amount of satisfaction to see him in pain, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to kill the bastard for what he’d tried to do to Teyla.
Then, suddenly, she was there, crouching in front of him, blocking Michael from view. Some of John rage faded away and the sight of her lips moving, forming his name, caused the white noise to fade away.
“John, calm down!”
John took a deep breath and tried to do just that. Michael was down - Teyla was no longer in danger. He stopped struggling, and felt the arms around him loosen. He realized he’d been pulled back so he was actually sitting on the floor, and there were at least three people holding him there. Rodney had been the first to grab him and was the last to let go, eyeing him warily.
Teyla stood up, towering over John, and he stood up too. Teyla stepped away before he could say anything to her, and John once again had a clear view of Michael. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, breathing heavily against his pain. His left hand came up and pressed against his cheek, which was throbbing with pain and sticky with blood.
There was a ringing silence in the bar as John stared down at Michael. His lip curled in disgust and his fingers twitched as he fought against the urge to ball them back into fists. Instead he looked past Michael to the two men he’d been sitting with.
“Get him out of here,” he told them, coldly. “Now.”
They stared at him for a moment, and then both sprang forward to help Michael up. John turned away from the sight - Rodney was still looking wary and little shocked, as were the patrons in the bar; Ronon was still behind the bar, leaning both hands on the countertop and looking faintly amused. Teyla… Teyla was nowhere to be seen.
TBC