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vintagepresley · 1 year

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Negotiating Parties

Pairing: Walter Hale x Reader

Word Count: 3,734

Warnings: 18+ SMUTSMUTSMUT Seducing, flirting, spanking, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, cream pie, little bit of dirty talking, etc.

Author's Notes: Here it is the long awaited Walter Hale fic. I didn't want to do too much because I may end up making this into a mini series like the Change of Habit fics. So, I did leave the ending a bit open ended. If you guys like it then I'll write some more Walter Hale x reader stories. (There may be a Walter Hale x John Carpenter x Reader mashup in the works.. 👀) I did use a lot of lines from the film because it just made sense since this is heavily inspired by THAT tent scene. I hope you guys enjoy it! Possible spelling errors!

Walter Hale, the manager of the chautauqua had come into town with his troupe entertainers looking to find even more people with special talents to perform in his show. But he couldn’t do it all alone. You had worked with Walter for quite some time and now that he was the boss you worked as a shop stewardess helping him audition young children for kids part of the show. In the past the two of you did have some connection but now that he was the boss things were different, but he didn’t seem to get the hint. As much as you loved your job you didn’t love Walter’s way of doing things and how he’d leave you to deal with a dozen children to audition and you felt overworked. You also didn’t care for his excessive flirting with you and his smugness and that stupid grin of his face all the time and the way he would always be smoking those cigars. He thought it was cute, but you couldn’t stand the man sometimes. You were always challenging him and threatening to quit which he was always so against. But what really caused him problems was the fact that you were trying to start a union. He had been meaning to speak with you about all this strike business that when he finally caught up with you, you wouldn’t give him the time of day as he followed close behind you as you walked away from him.

“Well now, wait a minute, just listen to me. We’ve got some things to discuss.” Walter said.

You continued to walk and blew him off as you rolled your eyes. “I’ve got a few things on my mind I’ve been wanting to discuss with you!” you snapped.

“Good.. Let’s go to my place.” he said with a playful smirk on his lips.

“Nice try. This isn’t pillow talk. This is about business!” you remarked.

He continued to smirk at your words and then he grabbed a hold of your arm and pulled you into his embrace as his hands rested against your abdomen to stop you from walking and he grinned. You elbowed him and forced your way out of his grip, turning to face him.

“Just listen to me for a minute, honey.” he hummed. You quickly snatched your arm away from him and scoffed at him calling you honey.

“It’s Ms. Honey, boss!” you snapped.

He chuckled and nodded at your words and gestured for you to step into the tent with him the two of you were stopped at. “Ladies first..” he grinned. You narrowed your eyes at him and stepped into the tent and he followed behind you with a wide smirk as his sparkling blue eyes stared at you with such lust. He loved seeing you all riled up and mad at him, it only furthered his attraction towards you and turned him on at the same time. The moment the two of you got into the tent you turned to face him and began to ramble and go off on him about the unfair wages and being overworked.

“You’re not going to get away with it!” you rambled as you walked around the tent frantically.

“Get away with what, toots?” he smirked as he lit up one of his cigars, smirking as he placed it between his lips.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!” you huffed.

He chuckled as he took a few more puffs of his cigar, smiling at you as you just continued to go on and on about the union and when you didn’t notice he had walked closer to you that when you turned around he was right in your face with that big smug grin on his face and his cigar placed between his fingers.

“Would you mind shutting up a minute?” he laughed.

You swallowed harshly being so close to his face. You hated how handsome he was and how good he always looked in his suits. Especially in the dark brown suit he was wearing tonight. You tried to not let that distract you from what you intended to say and get done. But you had to admit it was hard as the two of you stared at one another and the smell of his cigar on his breath and his blue eyes staring right into you. He leaned back up with a grin and started toward the table. “If you’re finished rambling, I’d like to talk about another matter.” he said as he pulled a chair out for you. “Come sit down.” he hummed as he took a few more puffs of his cigar.

You furrowed your brow a bit as you stared at him and then the chair and you cleared your throat. “Why do I have to sit down?” you asked.

“You don’t have to sit down.” he chuckled, smoking his cigar and staring at you with a smile.

You rolled your eyes and reluctantly walked over to the chair and sitting down, you stared up at him suspiciously. “This better be about negotiating.” you remarked.

“Oh, we’re going to negotiate.” he smirked as he stood behind you. You tensed up the moment when you felt how close he was standing behind you. You cleared your throat. “So.. What’s the first order of business?” you asked.

“Well.. negotiating between business partners should be open… and intimate. I like you, Y/N. You’re a hard worker, say what’s on your mind and fun to be with. Not to mention your downright gorgeous.” he smirked.

You smiled nervously. “Oh, well thank you. What’s our first number of business as negotiating partners?” you asked.

He smirked and now his hands were resting on your shoulders and rubbing them sensually and slowly and brushing his fingers along your arms as he rubbed your shoulders and now he pressed up against the chair behind you and one of his hands brushed against your neck. You took a deep breath not knowing what he was trying to do.

“Well.. We could start to negotiate all kinds of things that could be more meaningful.. In all kinds of areas..” he hummed.

“M-Meaning what?” you stuttered as he continued to rub your shoulders.

“Meaning that relations between negotiating partners can be better served with what is sometimes called, getting into bed with each other.” he smirked as his fingertips lightly ran along your arms. You quickly hopped out of your chair angrily and swatted your hands at him to hit him as you hollered and he just laughed.

“Oh, you no good, son of a-” but before you could finish your sentence he grabbed a hold of you and you did your best to try to fight him off but he was a lot stronger than you. He tightened his grip around you as he sat down and forced you over his lap and you squirmed and kicked about trying to get out of his lap. “Let me go! This isn’t funny!” you yelled.

“It seems we’re going to have to start a new form of negotiating, aren’t we? Now hold still, honey.” he mumbled with a smirk as his cigar sat between his lips as he reached down to yank your skirt up above your ass and reveal your bare ass and you tried to swat at his hands but he bested you. He raised an eyebrow quite surprised to see that you weren’t wearing any panties. “Well, well.. You came prepared..” he grinned.

You felt your face grow hot and you continued to wiggle around and kick your legs. “I said let me go!!!” you shouted.

“Not until you’ve listened to me..” he said puffing on his cigar that hung from his lips and he held you down with his right arm trying to keep you from moving so much and then he brought his left hand down toward your ass and he slowly rubbed his hand over it, squeezing and groping it gently before he lifted his hand up and brought it back down to give your ass a hard slap. You squealed from the sting of his slap and you wiggled again as you whimpered, still trying to fight against him. He smacked your ass again and again, each slap becoming hard and causing your ass to turn red and you whimpered even louder because of how badly it stung. Then he ran his hand along your red and sensitive ass slowly. You pursed your lips together when you felt his long fingers running between your inner thighs and brushing up against the heat between your legs and you pressed your lips harder together trying to suppress the small moan that was fighting its way out of you. His fingers brushed slowly against your pussy and slightly parted your lips open and ran his middle finger along your pussy and clit and he raised an eyebrow when he felt how wet you were and then the whimpering moan that escaped your lips and your hips slightly thrusting against his finger. “Mm.. Seems you’re enjoying this, honey. Let’s explore just how wet I can get you..”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you felt so embarrassed because your body was working against you. You couldn’t help being wet from the way he was touching you and spanking you and when his fingers teased your pussy. It was a natural reaction for you to get wet. But it didn’t help that you did find him attractive. “P-Please.. No..” you whimpered. He smirked and rubbed his finger that was still between your wet lips and brushed the pad of his finger against your clit and you let out another moan and you could feel yourself getting wetter and he slipped his finger out of you to see it coated in your slick and he grinned at the delightful sight.

“Shhh...” he hummed as he spread your legs apart over his lap and he slapped his hand over your ass once more before he slipped his hand toward your pussy and gave it a gentle slap which caused you to jolt in his lap and your body trembled and you hated how aroused you were that it became impossible to even fight him anymore because he was going to get what he wanted before he let you go. He puffed away at his cigar that bounced between his lips as he took two fingers slowly guiding them inside of your tight wet pussy and he loved how your walls clenched around thick long fingers as he slid them knuckle deep inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as you whimpered and moaned on top of him and your body completely submitted to him as your sweet nectar dripped down his fingers. He hadn’t even begun to finger you yet and you were already making a mess on him. “Goddamn, baby.. This pussy is so needy for me, hm?” he smirked.

You couldn’t even speak at this point that all you could do was nod and a soft “Mhm..” escaped you. You couldn’t deny it any longer just how much you yearned for him. He liked your response and curled his fingers inside of you and began to thrust them slowly and each thrust he forced them inside of you deeper which caused the soft noises escaping you to become loud and long and your whimpers sounded so desperate. He tilted his head slightly to watch himself fingering you and he could see your slick glistening all over his hand and dripping from you. But he wasn’t finished yet. To take it a step further he removed his cigar from his mouth and tossed it and then brought his other hand down and used the pad of his index finger to rub your sensitive swollen clit at the same pace that his fingers were pumping inside of you.

“W-Walter..” you began to whimper as your hands grasped onto his thigh.

He let out a soft chuckle at the sounds you were making and he began to pump his fingers faster inside of you and his index finger pressing against your clit firmly and rubbing it faster and you were so wet for him that the squelching sounds of him fingering you only grew louder as he watched your slick making an even bigger mess that it began to drip onto his lap and staining his pants. “Fuck..” he mumbled under his breath as he kept up his movements. Your moans loud and pleasurable as you call out his name and even begin to thrust your hips against his fingers trying to keep up with his movements. The way you maneuvered your hips caused you to rub up against the front of his pants. That was causing a pleasurable friction for him that you could feel his cock growing against you and he began to groan softly and you heard his groans and smirked to yourself as you continued to purposely hump his cock as he continued to fuck your pussy with his rough callose fingers and playing with your clit that your toes began to curl and your felt everything growing more intense as your orgasm built up and you nearly squealed when you felt him force another finger inside of your tight pussy and stretching you out just to get in deeper inside of you. “Oh fuck!” you shouted feeling yourself so close to cumming but also feeling another strange feeling at the same time. It was a feeling you had never felt before but it made everything he was doing even more intense that you couldn’t control what was going to happen now.

He could feel how tense your body was becoming and the way it trembled against him and how your walls tightened around his fingers and your breathing grew heavy and your body felt nearly weak. As you panted heavily and moaned his name out louder that’s when it happened. That’s when you came so hard all over his fingers and his lap and then suddenly another liquid came squirting out of you at the same time that made an even bigger mess on him and his eyes lit up at the sight of you squirting and cumming for him and your moans were so loud you were sure anyone walking by the tent could hear you screaming Walter’s name. “Mm, you dirty little girl.. Squirting all over my suit like that.. Tsk tsk..” he hummed. Your face was bright red because you couldn’t control what happened and you were so embarrassed, you could feel the liquid dripping from you and your body trembled when you felt him slip his soaked fingers out of your leaking and stretched pussy. You thought he was finished with you now as you laid across his lap limp and tired. But you were in for a surprise when he grabbed you and manhandled you as he lifted you up from his lap and forced you to sit on top of his soaked lap now and he placed your legs around his waist.

“W-What are you doing?” you said breathless.

“We aren’t finished yet, honey. I want to make sure you understand my proposal for our negotiation.. Clearly.” he smirked. You watched with wide eyes as he reached down to undo his pants and he reached a hand into his pants, wrapping his hand around his fully erect cock and tugging it out of his pants and you blushed at the sight of him and chewed on your bottom lip. He looked up and grinned when he saw you staring at his cock. “Like what you see?” he teased. You licked over your lips and nodded slowly in response to him. “You’ll like the way it feels even more..” he mumbled as he pulled you to him and crashed his lips against yours and kissing you deeply you dare put up a fight anymore because you couldn’t resist his charms as you shared a deep kiss and he took his cock and slowly guided it inside of your pussy that was nice and stretched enough for him to slide inside of you with ease and the movement you felt his cock enter you and stretch you out even more you moaned loudly and against his lips as he groaned against yours. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders and clawing at the fabric of his suit as he bottomed out inside of you and he placed his hands on your waist and tightening his grip on you as he forced you to stay still and he began to slam his cock inside of you lifting his hips up and down as each movement got faster. You squealed and cried out his name as his cock slammed against your walls and hit against your cervix. You could feel it pulsing inside of you with each stroke.

“S-So fuckin’ wet for me, honey’..” he groaned. You didn’t know how it was possible for you to still be so wet for him and only growing wetter as he abused your pussy with such vigor and roughness that he began to bounce you on his cock and the sound of the chair creaking beneath the two of you sounded nearly muffled as the noises that escaped the both of you grew louder and his hands moved to rest against your ass, giving it a hard slap as you bounced on top of him. You tugged at the fabric of his brown suit balling it up in your fists and he kept one hand on your ass and then moved the other between your thighs and his fingers found your clit again and it was already so sensitive that when he began to rub slow circles against it with his middle finger your eyes rolled back and your thighs slightly squeezing around his hips and you knew it was a matter of time before you reached your climax once again because it was already building and you started to pant and whimper and cry out his name so desperately.

“Mm.. Gonna be a good girl and squirt for me again? Hm? Make this suit a bigger mess..” he whispered into your ear as he hips slammed against you and his cock so deep inside of you driving you over the end and you nearly screamed in pleasure the more pressure he put against your clit that before you could register what was happening your orgasm hit like a tidal wave and your entire body went into shock as you convulsed on top of him and trembled and your thighs squeezing around him as you came all over his cock and squirted for the second time not only getting it all over his cock and hand, but on his pants once against as hell as the jacket of his suit. That drove him completely over the edge and he held you down on his cock and he rocked you back and forth and he grunted loudly as his warm cum came spurtting out inside of you in ropes and filling you up. You collapsed against him, whimpering like a kitten as your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders loosely and the two of you tried to catch your breath and when he finished inside of you he reached down to slip his cock out that was slowly growing soft and his cum leaked out of you.

Walter exhaled sharply, his face nuzzled into your neck and he placed soft little kisses against it as his hands rubbed over your thighs. You slowly lifted your head up to look at him and you were blushing hard because you had ruined his suit and because he was still your boss and you did the one thing you shouldn’t have. But he didn’t care one bit. He stared at you with those beautiful blue eyes and a grin and he placed his hand between your chin with his thumb pressed against your chin and his index finger rested right beneath. “So.. Whaddaya say? Do you agree with the terms of our negotiation?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes at him knowing that the only part of the negotiation he meant was the “Getting into bed together” part. But there was no way for you to say no now, not after what the two of you just did and you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy it and wanted more. You cleared your throat and climbed off his lap to fix your dress and gain control of yourself again. He continued to stare at you as he tugged his cock back into his pants and fixed himself as best as he could and he glanced down to see the wet stains all over him and he smirked to himself at the sight before he turned his attention back to you as he stood up. “So? We’ve got a deal, honey?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t suppose I have a choice in the matter now, do I?” replied with your usual attitude.

He chuckled. “Oh, you have a choice.” he grinned.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him being a fool if you said because you knew you’d regret it and would only think of the feeling of his fingers inside of you and the way his cock felt. “I guess we have a deal.” you hummed, reaching your hand out to shake his and raised an eyebrow glancing down at your hand and he pushed it away grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a passionate kiss and you threw your arms around him and returned his passionate deep kiss until the two of you were suddenly interrupted by the sound of loud fireworks shooting across the tent that Walter, unbeknownst to him set off when he threw his cigar. You screamed and Walter quickly grabbed you and two of you ran out of the tent as he laughed and you hit him playfully because you assumed he had something to do with the fireworks and you stormed off and he tried to catch up with you until he was stopped by a group of kids wanting him to see their act for the show. He hoped that he’d run into later on for some more “negotiating��.

Tagging: @kendralavon7 @powerofelvis @arianatheangel-girl @18lkpeters @peaceloveelvis @generoustreemystic @elvispresleygf @samfangirls @iloveelvis @wanderingelvis @doll-elvis @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #Walter Hale #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis fandom #the trouble with girls

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adorethedistance · 3 years

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Down For the Count - Charlie Gillespie x Injured!Reader

JATP cast masterlist

Requested: via these Injury/Hiking asks.

Warnings: Swearing I think, injury, falling/accident, hospital

Words: 2004

Summary: After a hard fall resulting in a bad injury, your boyfriend Charlie comes to the rescue to be your care taker at the same time as he has a Live with Owen.

A/n: A filled request? On my page??? It’s more likely than we thought! This one has been a long time coming (sorry act that). I have an exam coming up so I don't know how much I’ll write until then, but after I might have a shit ton of free time so I might be able to continue filling requests.

“What happened?” I hear Charlie practically screech upon seeing me sitting on the dull blue colored vinyl of the hospital examination table. He’s still dressed in his muscle tee, athletic shorts, and he’s got his hiking bag on his back, which lets me know he didn’t take it off as he sped over to the hospital.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” My emotionless assertion makes Savannah laugh. “I fell down a few stairs wrong and messed up my ankle pretty bad.” And luckily my phone was in my back pocket pre-fall. Knowing Charlie went with Chevel for a morning hike in nature with no service, Sav was the only other person close enough to my space of living to come scoop me up. I sat on the stairs for the solid 15 minutes it took her to drive over here, just waiting. The way I fell and the pain that came with it was unmistakably reason enough to not even try and stand. And I was right to do so because, after a standard hospital visit, I’d been informed that I had torn a ligament. Go me!

“Well, are you okay now? Is it broken? Are you okay to go home?”

“Charlie, I’m fine. It’s a mild tear, I just need to stay off it for a little while.” I gesture him closer mid-sentence so I can pull a leaf out of his long hair. He catches my hand in his as I release the lock of his hair.

“How long is a little while?”

“Six weeks most likely.”

“Six weeks?!”

“I’ll be fine, Charlie.”

“As much as I love you, I do have to leave so-” Savannah interjects Charlie’s moment of panic, whilst collecting all three items she had brought to the ER with me. “Charlie? Please keep an eye on her. Don’t let her try and tough it out like we know she will.”

“I’m fine, Sav.”

“You’re on crutches, Y/n.” She mimics my tone and inflection before double-checking with Charlie in a single look, and promptly exiting the hospital. I look at my hiking trail dust-covered boyfriend in annoyance but his face doesn’t waver from its determinedly firm expression.

“Do you need help off the table?”

“No, but I’ll probably need help getting into the car.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

__________________________

“Okay, you’ve got the remote, pillows, blankets, pain killers, water, a juice box, a healthy snack, an unhealthy snack, and a charger. That should be good, right?”

“It’s good. I’m sure it’s more than enough, Charlie. Thank you.” Charlie looks at me with a proud smile, knowing he’s doing his best to help me out. My confirmation is the last thing he needs before telling me that he has a Live to do, for the millionth time. It takes some reassuring that I’ll be okay if he resides in the room next to me, and eventually he leaves me alone.

I puff out a short breath as a symptom of convincing Charlie first and foremost, but second, the eventful day I’ve had all before 11 AM. Sitting in a static silence for a bit piques my curiosity as to what Charlie is doing, but it doesn’t last long and I reach for the tv remote. No time like the present to watch the newest show everybody’s raving about. Does anyone even care about Bridgerton anymore? Do I really wanna watch a series about homicide and Mormons? I figure it can’t hurt to watch something made by John Mulaney. Even if I’ve already seen it six times…

When I open the program, I’m met with the Netflix logo which is far too quiet for me to hear anything. As I’m about to turn up the volume, I hear Charlie’s voice carry over from the next room.

“Y/n’s injured so I’m taking care of her for a little bit.”

“Wait, what happened?” That sounds like Owen’s voice.

“She fell and messed up her ankle real bad.”

Real bad. Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.

Returning my attention to the undetermined John Mulaney special, I hesitate for a minute before eventually choosing Kid Gorgeous and letting it play from the beginning. Although the special is still as entertaining as the first time I watched it, I find myself fighting sleep. Thankfully, I frontloaded my week with most of my responsibilities, so I can afford to take the day to myself. It is more of a need than a want, but still. I ultimately give in to my desire and let myself rest after the eventful morning. Sleep quickly consumes me in the best way possible where I’m not in so deep that I’ll wake up miserable, but still fully unconscious and resting.

When my eyes flutter open, I’m confused as to why I’ve woken up until I feel it. I drank all of my full water bottle and a juice box and I have to pee.

Fuck. What time is it? I haven’t been asleep that long, but it’s been long enough that the special is over and Netflix is hounding me to watch something else. Where is my boyfriend?

“Charlie?” I sleepily call into the abyss. It’s less than a second later that Charlie appears in the doorway, breathless from having sprinted from what sounded like the kitchen.

“Are you okay? I thought you were sleeping. How long have you been calling for me?”

“Shhh,” I attempt to simmer his worry, “I’m fine. Can you just help me get to the bathroom?” I set my good foot on the ground and attempt to stand, but my body, still not fully awake, nearly gives out on me whilst my vision is overtaken by a cloudy headrush. Charlie is by my side in an instant, catching me by pulling my torso into his more stable one.

“Hey, wait, you should just sit for a sec and give yourself some time to wake up-”

“Charlie, I have to pee so bad.”

“Okay, okay.” Despite verbally agreeing, Charlie doesn’t allow me to move any further. I look at him in confusion to see he’s eyeing the crutches on the floor by the arm of the couch. “Yeah, you’re not stable enough yet,” he says to himself, but our close proximity allows me to hear him anyway. Before I can process what’s happening, Charlie sweeps me up bridal style and begins carrying me to the bathroom.

“Your workout’s been paying off,” I mumble into the fabric of his t-shirt. The fool laughs lightly, his cool breath dusting the top of my head and his chest vibrating against me. It’s so comforting to be in his arms that I nearly fall back asleep on the way to the bathroom. Charlie notices and presses a kiss to my forehead to keep me awake.

“Hey. You gotta pee first and then you can go back to sleep.” I groan as a reply, causing him to laugh again. “Will you be okay moving around the space or do you need my help?”

“The bathroom is not that big, Charlie.”

“Okay, okay.”

My bathroom visit goes seamlessly, and the warm water of the tap wakes me up enough to talk to my hyper-cautious lover through the door of the bathroom.

“How was your Live?”

“It’s been good so far.” At his response I freeze for a moment, looking at my own reflection as if I’m face to face with Charlie.

“So far?”

“Yeah, Owen’s babysitting the Live right now.”

“You didn’t tell you were still on. I would’ve managed on my own.”

“I’m not gonna let my seriously injured girlfriend struggle her way through my house!” He cries, sounding legitimately offended, but knowing Charlie, he’s not being 100% sincere. I unlock the door and swing it open to find him pouting. He doesn’t speak again until after he scoops me back up into his grasp. “Do you want to go back to the couch or come sit with me or…?”

“Will you sit on the couch with me?” I feel him nod above me and feel my eyes begin to droop as they had on the way to the bathroom. Should I let myself sleep more? I want to be able to sleep tonight, but I’m still so exhausted that I’m convincing myself everything will turn out fine.

“Okay, let me go grab Owen and I’ll come sit on the couch with you.” A hazy smile rests on my tired features as Charlie sets me down on the sleep-inducing cushions of his couch. I can hear he’s already back after a quick second when Owen’s voice sounds through the speakers of his phone. To my surprise, he doesn’t sit down right away, and when I crack my eye open to investigate why, I’m met with Charlie staring down at me in awe. I don’t even need to ask what he’s thinking and the sheepish boy wordlessly takes his place on the couch next to me. He’s leaning back against the pillows he set up and beckons me to lay my head against his shoulder. Mindful of my pain, he helps me prop up my injured leg for elevation.

“Hey, Y/n!” I hear the familiar voice that I don’t have to open my heavy eyes to identify.

“Hi, Owen.”

“How you doin’?”

“I’m-”

“Hey, that’s my thing!” Charlie cuts me off to whine at his best friend.

“What?”

“Only I can ask Y/n ‘how you doin’?’” He says in the iconic Joey Tribbiani fashion. I exhale as much of a laugh as I can muster before resuming the conversation Charlie childishly interrupted.

“I’m doing alright. It’s only day one and life already sucks, but nothing is broken, so, could be better and could be worse.”

“I feel so bad for you.”

“Aww well, at least I have Charlie here to take care of me.”

“I feel so bad for you,” Owen pointedly parrots, earning a harsh glare from Charlie.

“You know what? If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be in this Live.”

“Don’t be mean!” I scold my nuisance of a boyfriend, gently tapping the back of my hand against his chest. Charlie grabs the offending hand and interlaces our fingers, bringing it up to place a sweet kiss on my knuckles.

“Siiiiiiiiimmpp!”

“You’re just jealous you’re all alone in Oklahoma.”

“Uhhh, correction: I have Eaton here for the week, so ha!” I roll my eyes at the childishness that is Owen and Charlie, but laugh all the same. It’s never-ending with these boys, and the chaos, though exhausting, is humorous more often than not. I’m happy to be with the boys again, but the harder it gets for me to keep my eyes open, the more I realize I wasn’t fully ready to be awake yet. As Charlie’s shoulder becomes the most comfortable spot in the world, I look at the two of us in his window on the Live to see he’s looking right back at me on the screen. He ignores the fact that I’ve caught him and absentmindedly lays his head on mine. The position only lasts for a brief second before he’s back to his animated self when Owen asks him a question.

My eyes fall heavier and heavier with each blink before they refuse to open. In and out, my breathing slows to an even draw and I can feel my weight slowly relax onto Charlie’s shoulder. It doesn’t seem to affect him at all as he sits off the back of the couch.

“Is she asleep?”

“I don’t know, let’s ask. Y/n, are you asleep?”

“Charlie, you’re such an idiot, leave her alone.”

I feel the infinitesimal pressure of his breath against the top of my head when he leans down to press a loving kiss to where my hair has parted on his shoulder. He then traces the knuckle of his index finger down the side of my exposed cheek before resuming his conversation with Owen about weird fan mail they’ve gotten. How I love this idiot.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayenneferburnham @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @celestialmolina

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mylittlemarston · 4 years

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Hi, I have a request! I’d love to read Arthur x f!reader with #79, 65 and/or 4 from that prompt list. I just think all three of those lines go well together, so I’d be happy with just one of them or all of them ;) Thank you so much, keep up the good work!!

Thank you so much!!!

I’m sorry that this took me so long to write, but I really enjoyed doing it and I even went back and spaced out the speech lines so that it’s (hopefully haha) easier to read !! I really hope you enjoy!!!

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Arthur Morgan x female reader

Warnings: gore, violence, swearing, torture, abuse

Summary: After reader goes missing, Arthur starts worrying about her whereabouts, despite being told everything was fine.

word count: 3063

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Those damn O’Driscoll’s

June 16th, 1899

18:17

“All right Jackie. You ready for me to get ya back to mama?” I ask Jack. I took him into Valentine today to let him get out of camp for a while and get him a few things, my treat. Poor kid needs to get out every now and then.

“Yeah! Thanks aunt y/n!” He says with a big smile, hugging my waist. I rest my hand on top of his head, rubbing it gently.

“No problem kiddo. Come on.” I say, getting on top of my horse, cooing at him. I hold my arm out for Jack and pull him up, putting him behind me.

“Ride fast aunt y/n!” He cheers.

“Hold on tight!” I say speeding up.

-------------------------

“Thank you so much, y/n. He really needed it. I appreciate you even offerin’ to take him out. I would’ve but-“

“Abigail, it’s fine.” I say. “Anytime. I love that boy like he’s my own, you know that. If you ever need anyone to watch him, you know I’m here. I needed to get out anyways.” I tell her with a smile. She smiles back and takes Jack by the hand.

“Did you have fun with Miss y/n?” She asks him.

“We had a lot of fun Mama!”

I smile, kicking my foot around in the dirt for a short moment before heading over to Arthur to let him know I’m leaving. “Hey Arthur. I just wanted to say goodbye.” I say, heading into his tent.

“Well where you goin’?” He asks me, walking closer with his brown hair shining gold in the faint evening sun.

“Just gotta do a few things. I’ll be back soon.” I tell him, walking out of the tent. Getting on my horse, I head out of camp.

“Be safe y/n.” John says, guarding the camp.

“I always am John.”

-------------------

I ride for a few minutes when a man on a horse charges into mine, knocking me off and onto the ground. “What the hell! Watch where you’re goin’, you son of a bitch!” I stand up, wiping the dirt off of my knees.

“I wouldn’t talk that way missy.” The man says getting close to me. Before I can do anything, he pulls out a revolver and hits me with it, knocking me unconscious.

June 17th

03:17

“Wake up, bitch!” A man yells, his voice deep and heavy. He kicks my side, forcing me to cough. I cry out in pain, and the man just laughs.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice angry.

“We want Dutch. Your leader. Whatever the hell you call him.” He says. I try to move, but realize I’m tied up with rope and reinforced by heavy chains. They’re as tight as they can go around my wrists and ankles, every subtle movement causing me to wince. He gets closer to me and I try to back up but am greeted by a cold wall.

“You’ll never get a damn word outta me! They’re my family!” I say, anger growing within me at the thought of whoever these people are scarring poor Jack and hurting anyone within the camp. The man doesn’t take no for an answer, and I’m greeted by a hard smack on my cheek. I forget about being tied up and try to lunge at him, the rope digging into my wrists. I feel something wet drip down from them, and when I look back behind me, I see blood on the rope and my wrists cut to shit. Tears start to fall down my cheeks, dripping onto my shirt that has been torn and dirtied. I try to ignore all the pain I feel in my body, but it’s too unbearable.

“Let’s try this again, girlie.” I wince at the pet name, wanting so badly to kill this pile of shit.

“I already told you. I’m not tellin’ you a goddamn thing! You can keep me here forever and I wouldn’t tell you!” I fire back at him, my voice going hoarse from all the yelling. The man gives me a cold smirk before grabbing me by the throat and squeezing down hard on it.

“We’ll just have to do this the hard way then.” He says. “Boys! The boss said we can do what we want to her. Get the knife.” He lets me go, and I cough while trying to catch my breath. Another man walks up to me with a knife while two more men stand on either side of me, the original man who kidnapped me undoing his belt.

“What are you doing?!! Stop! Get away from me!” I thrash around, the rope digging deeper and deeper into my skin as I scream and kick with all my might. Tears are flowing down my face, my throat sore and my head pounding. The man with the knife holds it to my throat, putting a little bit of pressure down onto it. Just enough to draw blood, but not enough to make me bleed out. While trying to pull away, I slam my head against the wall, making everything fade to black. The last thing I saw was the two men standing beside me undressing me.

09:32

I wake up in more pain than I was before; my eye swollen, lips bloody, stomach and legs bruised, and an ache in my lower abdomen. Another man walks up to me, forcing my head up to look at him. His thumb brushes over my lips, the cuts on them burning as he does.

“Good mornin’ sweetheart. Hope you got yourself a full nights rest. We got a lot of fun things to do to ya.”

“Who the fuck are you? Why do you have me here?” My voice is a little hoarse, but nothing I can’t handle.

He flashes a cold smile as he licks his lips greedily. I look away, thoroughly repulsed. “I’m Colm O’Driscoll. I’m guessin’ you know who I am?”

I meet his eyes again, tensing at his name. I make as much distance between us as I can but am not very successful. His face is inches from mine, his hot breath laced with alcohol and tobacco.

“Yes, I do. But why do you have me here? If you’re gonna kill me, just do it already.” He chuckles, stepping back.

“I don’t wanna kill ya, honey. I want Dutch to come find you.” It was my turn to laugh at him.

“Then what. He and the boys kill you? You don’t stand a chance.” I say, laughing a bit harder than before. Colm’s eyes go dark and cold, his face showing pure anger.

“I won’t stand a chance… if they come for you. If they don’t… well…” anger pools inside of me again.

“You hurt anyone in that camp, I’ll find you and kill you myself! Don’t you go anywhere near it!” I smirk at him, realizing what I said. “Oh wait. You can’t. You need me alive to tell you where it is, right? So you wouldn’t kill me anyways.” He gets close to me again, his hand going across my face with a hard slap.

“You’ll tell me where he is. Trust me.” He turns and walks away, grabbing a gun and vanishing into the shadows. I drop my head down, tears stinging my eyes. Maybe he’s right. What if they don’t come for me?

14:48

Arthur’s pov

“What if she’s in trouble, Dutch?” Arthur asks, his voice gruff.

“It’s only been less than a day, Arthur. We’ll wait another day or so and go from there.” Dutch says, lighting a cigar and taking a puff from it. Arthur walks away from him, going to sit on a log by the fire. He rubs his face, his mind only producing thoughts of you and your safety. John joins him on the log, sighing.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up and examining Arthur’s slouched position.

“It’s y/n. I’m really worried about her. What if she’s in danger? With the amount of people after us, anything could’ve happened.” He sits up, staring into the dancing flames.

“She’s strong. You know that. She won’t deal with our bullshit, let alone anyone else’s.” John tells him, chuckling. Arthur chuckles too, loosening up.

“Yeah, you’re right. Dutch said to wait a little longer and if she doesn’t show up, we’ll go find her.” John nods, patting Arthur on the back.

“She will. And if she don’t, I’ll go with you.” He says standing up. Arthur nods, staying on the log and sighing. What if she really isn’t okay…? He asks himself, the anxiety only growing within him.

June 18th

07:53

I can barely lift my head up from yesterday’s torture. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this. I try to swallow, my throat in so much pain from screaming. My eye is even more swollen than before, forcing a wince from me when I try to look up. I lick my dry lips, greeted with the taste of blood. There’s no telling if it’s from my mouth or my nose at this point. I can’t imagine what I must look like; bruised and battered to hell. If only Arthur could see me… he’d kill every one of these monsters. I smile weakly at the thought, even though it hurts. I force my head up, leaning it against the cold stone wall. A heavy door swings open and a silhouette approaches me. “Colm.” I can’t be bothered to try to look at him as I say his name.

“We found the camp. Turns out we didn’t need you after all.” I forget about the pain and take every ounce of energy and might that I have to look at him.

“Don’t you dare…” I say angrily.

“Calm down girlie. We’re only givin’ ‘em a warning. No harm from a warning, right?” He sneers.

“From you, who knows. Anythin’ could happen. They’ll kill you in a heartbeat and you know it.” I say. He chuckles, getting close to my face and caressing my cheek. I try to pull away but can’t.

“Let’s just see how that goes, hm?” He walks away.

“Let’s see…” I say quietly.

19:23

Arthur’s pov

Arthur finished his bowl of Pearson’s stew, setting it down on the ground and walking to his tent.

“Arthur,” Hosea calls out for him. “we need to find her.” He tells him while Arthur rummages through his things, throwing a bag together.

“Yeah we do.” He says, turning to the older man.

“There’s no telling where she is. But we need to look.” Hosea tells Arthur solemnly. Arthur nods. They head out of the tent and into Dutch’s for a game plan.

“What are we gonna do, Dutch? We can’t just sit around while she’s out god-knows-where with god-knows-who, getting hurt or lost or whatever the hell she’s going through.” Arthur says angrily.

“I know, son. We’re leaving first thing after we come up with a plan and get everyone who’s goin’ with us together.” Dutch says, clearly exasperated. Arthur rubs his face again as he tries not to let his emotions get the best of him. He’s truly worried about you. Just the thought of someone ‘having their way with you’ vexed him. How could someone so monstrous harm such a fragile, delicate flower such as you? His mind raced with thoughts as the other men conversed in front of him about what they’re next move will be. Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw rushes into the tent.

“Dutch! It’s those damn O’Driscolls! They’re here!” She whisper-yells.

His face flushed red with rage and he storms out, everyone in camp forming a line with the men in the front. Colm walks up to them, three men of his own behind him with their guns out.

“Van der Linde.” He says, leering.

“O’Driscoll…” Dutch says, his hands moving to his hips. The only sound between them is the wind blowing between the trees, rustling the leaves on them this warm summer night. The smell of firewood and thick atmosphere that made it hard to breathe.

20:37

I woke up peacefully from a painful nap, having only terrible nightmares of what might happen if I never make it out of here. I lift my head up slowly as to not bring myself more pain then I’m already experiencing, but it’s no use. I groan, letting my head gently hit the wall behind me. I hear the door open again. That goddamn dreaded sound of a creak and heavy footsteps. It’ll take a while to not hear them in my mind at night when I close my eyes. I whimper and try to get as far back as I can before my body meets with the wall. The man who entered mumbles under his breath angrily about something, quickly taking the shotgun by the door and practically running out of the room again. Even when I’m not talking, my throat is in agonizing pain. God what I would give for a hot bath right now. Then again, I would give anything just to get the hell out of here. There’s audible yelling outside followed by a couple of gunshots. There's footsteps above me, and I can’t help but hope that Arthur came for me. That they all did. Then I hear it. That familiar gruff voice that only seems to soften when near me.

“Where is she?!”

It’s muffled, but I know that voice from anywhere. I lift my head up too quickly for my liking, groaning at the discomfort. “Arthur…” I try to croak out, but it forms into a whisper. I hear another gunshot from where I heard his voice before, along with heavy footsteps headed towards the door. I sit up straight, tears welling up in my eyes. “Arthur!” I say louder, this time making it audible for him to hear.

He busts the door down, looking at me while he slowly and gently places his gun in his holster. “Y/n…” He says softly, freezing up as he looks at me with sorry eyes and a mournful expression.

“Please… Arthur please get me out of here… I wanna go home…”

He rushes over to me, freeing me from the restraints that held me to the wall.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m gonna getchu outta here. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” He says with his voice as sweet as honey wine and as soft as silk. Oh how I missed it. He picks me up and slings me over his shoulder, retrieving his gun from his holster once more and holding it to his side. He opens the door, walking up the stairs. I grunt at the subtle movements that make my pain even worse. “Shh… You’re alright… You’re with me now.”

I can’t help but start to cry softly at his sweet words. I hold onto his shirt, missing the way his eyes lit up and the faint flush that rose to his cheeks.

Arthur’s pov

How could he not feel sorry for you? How could he not freeze up when he entered the room where you sat with dull eyes and blood on multiple wounds on skin that was once clean and soft. Lips that he so badly wanted to kiss that were now bloodied and chapped. The image of you with Jack while inside of camp and the way you would play with him. The kind, loving smile you would give him when you spotted him across camp that made his day a hundred times better. You had held onto his shirt as you cried onto it, and he had never felt so protective of anything or anyone before. He swung the door that led outside open, looking around for many O’Driscoll’s. Thankfully there weren’t any, thanks to the rest of the gang that had tagged along. Dutch and John rush up to the both of you, John turning his head away when he sees your face.

“Christ… we need to get her back to camp immediately. You two go on ahead. We’ll meet you back there.” Dutch says with eyes locked on you. Eyes of guilt.

----------------back to reader----------------

The ride back to camp was anything but enjoyable. Everything hurt. Arthur laid me down in the medical tent, fetching a bucket of water while I changed into the clothes he brought me from my tent. He came back with the bucket and a rag, smiling at me sadly as I tried to sit myself up on the cot. He brought the bucket next to me, sitting in the chair that was next to the cot. He dunked the rag in the water, squeezing it and gently placing it to my busted lip.

“You can’t keep doing this.” He says after minutes of silence.

“What’s that?” I ask him, a whisper being the loudest I could speak.

“You can’t keep getting yourself into trouble like this. I worried about you so much. You really scared the shit out of me, y/n.”

A weak smile spreads across my lips as I fidget with the blanket laid on top of me. “I’m sorry. But goin’ through all this made me realize… Never mind. Forget I said that.”

Arthur pulls the rag away from my face, laying a gentle hand on my forearm.

“Y/n, what is it? Talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

I smile down at the blanket, watching my fingers play with the soft pelt. “It’s a silly thought, really. I don’t know why I even thought I could say it out loud… it only makes sense in my mind.” He takes a gentle hand and turns my head to look at him. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest and my cheeks feel red. I shift so that my face is just mere inches from his. I put my hand on his cheek, looking deeply into his blue eyes that shine like the ocean on a midsummer day. I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips ever so gently. He very carefully wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into a sweet embrace. I bury my face in his neck, smiling against his skin as he places a gentle kiss on my neck.

/////fin~/////

Sorry if this isn’t lined up either haha I tried

#rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redmeption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #rdr fanfic

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

KYFC..:Chapter 17

Hello, my friends! I’m back and I’m sorry to have kept you all waiting so long. I didn’t expect shit to get so off schedule. I’m afraid chapter 18 will have to wait as well. It won’t be anywhere near ready this weekend, so I will post it next weekend. I should even have extra time over the holiday. Yay! I’m sorry I couldn’t keep everything on track and hope you’ll forgive me.

That’s the bad news. The good news is I don’t have cancer! YAY, FUCKING, YAY!!! The jury was out for the last couple weeks and I got the results this week. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. It’s amazing in a year where there hasn’t been a lot of good news. On another personal note, this chapter has really shaped up into one of my favorites. As special thank you to MyBreadAndButter for her fabulous guidance and patience. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I.

---

Mess up my bed with me. Kick off the covers, I’m waiting. Every word you say, I think I should write down. Don’t want to forget come daylight. Happy to lay here, just happy to be here. I’m happy to know you....and no need to worry. That’s wasting time. And no need to worry what’s been on my mind. It’s you. --Joshua Radin, Paperweight

Sherlock’s condo is a welcome sight when he opens the door and John follows him in. They hang their coats in the front closet and head for the kitchen, though Sherlock takes a detour to the bathroom.

He flushes the toilet and turns on the faucet, resting his hands together under the warm water. Sherlock had ample time to think on the drive here. Instead of pretending to go to a hotel or his apartment, John simply followed him in his own car. Moriarty already knows he is staying here, so why bother hiding, John had said. The quiet had done Sherlock good and hopefully John as well.

Sherlock used the time to collect his thoughts. John has not explained all he learned during the dinner with Moriarty and Sherlock has many questions. He grits his teeth and grimaces. The very idea of the dinner sets him on edge. That vile little man should not be allowed anywhere near John, much less share a meal with him.

Sherlock grumbles his disapproval as he dries his hands. He glances in the mirror and everything around him slows, as a door in his mind palace he had soundly shut creeks open. He told John he loves him. He told John he loves him. His eyes are wide as they look back at him in the mirror. He had hastily shoved that bit of information into a side room almost as soon as he said it and it seemed to have disappeared. Seems it was just waiting for an opportune moment, surfacing once his guard was down. Now he relives certain parts of the confrontation in his office in full detail, each one already stored in his mind palace forever, like the kiss. The kiss right after he said it. It was no ordinary kiss. Sherlock felt John putting every ounce of himself into that kiss. He was giving himself over without doubt or hesitation. Sherlock could feel all of him and it was the most comforting, wonderful, perfect place he had ever been. Even though John immediately backed away, crumbling every bridge they had just built, Sherlock knows this man is his future.

Sherlock continues to stare at himself in the mirror as John’s words echo through his mind. It means too much. It doesn’t mean anything. It means everything. You’re too important to me. I want you in my life. The answer is staring him in the face.

John Watson loves him.

A giddy smile spreads across Sherlock’s lips and his whole face brightens as his heart swells with joy. He allows himself a gleeful, little chuckle before letting himself think it through entirely. John is most definitely in love with him, but John has not reached the same conclusion and there is no telling whether or not he will ever realize his feelings. Bill’s death dealt him a hard blow and the guilt made John shut down and shut out his emotions. It will take a long time to undo all the damage, if it can ever be undone and Sherlock has never been very patient.

Would he wait for this man? Is it worth it?

Sherlock tables his thoughts when a peculiar scent wafts into the room. His grey gaze comes back into focus and he looks absently toward the ceiling, trying to deduce it by just sniffing the air. Garlic and Parmesan. He goes to the door and opens it, poking his head out with another sniff. Sherlock, in essence, follows his nose to the kitchen where he finds John standing at the stove with two pots on the burners. Sherlock stands in the doorway and blinks as John looks at him casually, stirring the contents of one pot with a wooden spoon.

“What?” John asks quizzically.

“Are you cooking?” Sherlock replies. “I couldn’t have been ten minutes.”

“Only takes twenty,” he nods at the pots. “Since I found you at your desk, I assume you haven’t eaten.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest and closes it again. He presses his lips together in a frown, unable to deny it and John smirks.

“I knew it,” he says smugly. “It’ll be about ten minutes more. Why don’t you get us some glasses and wine?”

Sherlock straightens his spine petulantly and goes to the built-in wine rack near the fridge. He pairs a nice white with what he smells from the sauce. Pulling two glasses and the corkscrew, he walks to the table and places the glasses upon it. He watches John for a moment, stirring the sauce and glancing at the pasta, and catches himself sighing. Huffing in bemusement, he busies himself with twisting the tool and pulling the cork free. He pours the pale golden liquid into the glasses and positions them in front of the two chairs with care. Heading for the cabinets, he opens a drawer and grabs two sets of utensils with napkins to complete the table.

Meanwhile, John is dishing up linguine, adding sauce and plunking peas next to it. He crosses to the table and hands a plate to Sherlock.

“It looks delicious,” the taller man smiles and breathes in the dish’s aromas.

“It is,” John grins. “Old Watson family recipe.”

“Mmm, a secret recipe?” Sherlock jokes, grinning as John remembers their first morning together as roommates. “Must be very quick and easy.”

“Clearly,” John laughs as he turns back to the stove to dish some up for himself. Sherlock places his own plate on the table and waits for John to join him before sitting. He watches the muscles in John’s back flex as he moves the ladle from the pot to his plate, drizzling sauce over the pasta. “Sorry, there’s no garlic bread. Didn’t have time for that sort of thing. I believe that’s what you Americans are so fond of.”

John laughs quietly and turns to face Sherlock, but stops before heading to the table.

“Problem?” John asks, raising his brows.

“On the contrary,” Sherlock gestures for him to sit, “I am always on the lookout for such recipes. Will you teach me?”

“Oh, mm-mm,” John hums a negative response and shakes his head as he approaches the table and sets down his plate. “Can’t. You’d have to be a Watson.”

“I see,” Sherlock’s lips curve upwards. John is teasing him, flirting, but there is a certain tone to his voice as well. It is both serious and brimming with hope. Sherlock’s smile grows and he wants to reply, say something witty and suggestive, but nothing comes to mind. Yet the moment does not flail into awkwardness. John, beautiful, clever John, chuckles and nods at Sherlock to sit.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” John laughs as they slip into their chairs.

After the first bite, Sherlock raises his brows and nods his approval while John waves a dismissive hand. They eat for a few minutes in companionable silence.

All at once, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock knows it deep down in his bones. It sweeps over him, the wave of clarity that is usually only felt at the end of one’s life. Short answer: Yes. He will wait for John until the end of time.

“John,” Sherlock shifts his weight in the chair and fixes the doctor with a disarming gaze. He would honestly rather talk about anything else, but needs must. “What exactly did you and Moriarty discuss at dinner? Leave nothing out.”

“Mostly how best to piss you off,” John answers with a puff of breath. “He wanted to…”

Sherlock cocks a brow when John stops so abruptly and moves uneasily in his seat. His eyes shift around the table and finally land on his own plate where he twirls his fork in the linguine aimlessly. Sherlock extends a hand over the small kitchen table toward John’s. It is a movement he can quickly divert if John tenses or pulls away, but he does not.

“John?” he asks lightly. John meets his eyes when their fingertips touch. He sighs again and bites his lower lip. Sliding his hand closer, he covers Sherlock’s fingers with his own and lifts his blue eyes to meet Sherlock’s.

“He wants to distract you now,” John confesses reluctantly. “Make you lose your focus and he wanted me to do it. The original plan was to scare me off.”

“Thus targeting you for murder,” Sherlock reasons, even as another part of his brain relishes the warmth of John’s fingers over his own, “which was perhaps always meant as only an attempt.”

“Right, and when I didn’t flinch at the danger…” John continues with a grimace.

“Only became more drawn to it, I’d say,” Sherlock remarks quietly and raises a sly brow. John huffs a harsh breath.

“Junkie for the thrill, that’s me,” he winces and cocks his head. “Moriarty thought he’d recruit me instead. What’s better than using someone you trust to bring you down?”

“Another kind of poison,” Sherlock muses. He looks at John appraisingly. “He underestimated you.”

John’s eyes soften and his brow wrinkles.

“I would never betray you,” he breathes.

John laces his fingers with Sherlock’s and curls them down, gripping long pale fingertips with his own. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat and lashes flutter, even as John’s expression hardens again.

“He wants to destroy you, Sherlock,” John tells him gravely, his eyes unwavering. “He tried to take Molly from you. Thank god that avenue is shut off now, thanks to Mycroft,” he lets out the breath he had been holding. “Remind me to bake him a pie when this is all over.”

“You bake?” Sherlock’s mouth twitches up. John’s brows rise in disbelief at the joke. “Another Watson family secret? Now you’ll have to…”

“Sherlock,” John rebukes, leaning forward and squeezing his hand earnestly. “He knows you care for me and he wants to use it. He wanted to pretend he and I were a couple. He thought it would break you, but fuck all if I take up with him under any circumstances. Why are you laughing? Sherlock!”

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock tries to look more serious and fails, dissolving into giggles. “It’s just you...you’re so noble.”

He chuckles around the last word, truly enjoying John’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips, but he soon sobers. He squeezes John’s fingers between his own, looking into the doctor’s eyes.

“You would protect me at all costs, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock says solemnly.

“Damn right, I would,” the doctor replies defiantly.

They look at one another in a strange, soulful way until they suddenly, inexplicably burst into laughter. It is completely inappropriate, but feels so good and cuts the tension in the air. In a moment, their hands part and they resume eating. Sherlock tries to concentrate on Moriarty and his plans, but finds his thoughts are drawn to John and he cannot seem to stop it from happening again and again. Taking a rather large bite of pasta, he finally surrenders to it and strolls through a long hall in the wing he has created for the man in his mind palace. As he considers the doctor and all his brilliant features, Sherlock huffs a quiet laugh. This man is able to laugh with him in the face of this danger and understands Sherlock so completely that he does not criticize his need for levity. That John would do all this and spit in Moriarty’s face with him is absolutely amazing. Sherlock must never let him go, whether he realizes his own feelings for Sherlock or not.

When Sherlock finally leaves the mind palace and comes back to himself, he finds that they have both finished eating. John is sitting forward with his elbows on the table and a wine glass in his hands. He wears a knowing smirk and Sherlock raises an inquiring brow.

“There he is again,” John chuckles softly. “You were miles away.”

“Mind palace,” Sherlock offers by way of explanation. He gestures absently toward his own head.

“I figured,” John traces a finger around the rim of his glass, skimming over the spot that meets his lips each time he takes a drink. It is the most goddamn erotic thing Sherlock has ever seen in his life. Well, discounting Baltimore, of course. “You know I can say just about anything to you when you’re in there and you have no idea.”

“Oh?” Sherlock eyes him with keen interest. “What sort of things?”

“That’s none of your business,” his lips stretch into a coy grin and he chuckles softly. “Besides, we haven’t time for that now.”

“Ah. So what is it we do have time for?” Sherlock breathes in an even tone. Oh god, they are flirting and he loves it. John’s open body language is both promising and frightening in equal measure, and the sly curl of John’s lip makes Sherlock’s head spin. Heat is creeping up the back of his neck and his cheeks are flushed. Arousal pools in his belly and he is suddenly wondering what John’s fingers would taste like as he continues to watch them skim across the rim of the wine glass. Sherlock deftly runs his tongue over his top lip, just its tip visible in the quick movement. When he opens his mouth to speak, John beats him to it and, unfortunately, what John says kills the mood entirely.

“Moriarty’s man. Moran. You know him?” John asks in a hard tone. Sherlock closes his mouth into a frown. Clearly, he and John were not at all on the same wavelength. Somehow they just took a u-turn without Sherlock even realizing it.

“Sebastian Moran, yes,” Sherlock all but sneers. “He has been at Moriarty’s side for as long as I’ve been here. In spite of that, it’s difficult to actually lay eyes on him. He likes to keep in the shadows.”

“He’s our shooter. The man who came to my flat and my office,” John states flatly, his eyes dull.

“Moran?” Sherlock perks up and leans forward in his chair. “Are you sure?”

“It only took one word to remember that voice and he said nine,” John fixes him with a gaze that is deadly serious as he slowly nods once. “I’m sure.”

“Now, that’s not a skill set I expected,” Sherlock places his elbows on the table and steeples his hands before his lips. “I was told he tried to come at me from behind after I punched Moriarty, but a killer? Definitely not what I expected.”

“Are you ready for another shock?” John asks grimly.

Turning cool blue-grey eyes on him, Sherlock thinks he sees John shiver. He files it away for later and waits expectantly for the doctor to continue.

“Janine is working with him,” John says plainly, obviously deciding it better to just rip off the band-aid.

“What?” Sherlock gapes, completely taken aback. Also not at all what he expected.

“She was trying to trip Harry up when she got hurt,” John explains hesitantly, studying the coach carefully. “Harry was obviously being targeted by the other team and Janine used it to her advantage. 32 had nothing to do with it.”

John pauses when Sherlock’s face darkens, his eyes full of fury. John pushes his wine glass to the side and leans forward as far as he can, fixing the other man with intense eyes. Sherlock does not shrink back, but also cannot believe his ears. It can’t be true. Not someone on his team, not one of the ladies.

“Think about it, Sherlock. Why was Janine standing or moving the way she was? Why was she watching Harry that way? Was it like a teammate or a target?” John’s words come fast into the space between them and every one pushes Sherlock closer to the boiling point. John knows what he is doing and still, he continues. “I know you have the whole thing stored in that palace of yours. Just watch it and tell me that’s what you coached her to do,” he challenges.

Fury bubbles through Sherlock’s veins, threatening to explode to the surface. He stares John down with ice cold daggers. He wants to shout. He wants to punch the doctor square in the face just like he did Moriarty. John, the same man who seemingly knows Sherlock so well, just accused one of the ladies of sabotage. It is reprehensible. Despicable. They are a team, damn it, a team! Operating as a unit, protecting one another. Caring about one another is what they do. It’s who they are. Can John even understand that? He certainly cannot come in after only a few months, presuming to know them and then accuse one of them of sabotage and endangering her teammates. It goes against everything they believe in, everything they strive for and all he has taught them.

“You bastard,” Sherlock hisses, rising from his chair. His whole body burns with anger and his eyes are blazing. John mirrors the motion and stands across from him, every muscle in his body tense and at the ready.

“Sherlock, stop,” John commands, raising both hands and facing his palms out toward the taller man. “Just listen to me. Think about it.”

“I don’t have to. Janine would never intentionally harm any teammate,” Sherlock’s voice rumbles low in his chest and sounds like the growl of a dragon. He slowly stalks around the table, his shoulders back and somehow broader than usual. He moves closer to John, uttering stinging words all the way. John visibly flinches after one in particular, but does not step away from the taller man, who is soon looming over him. “You assume that I would be so blind as to not see it.”

“Sherlock, this has no reflection on you,” John tries to explain, the hint of pleading in his voice.

“Like hell it doesn’t!” Sherlock thunders. John’s startled eyes widen and his mouth falls open as he looks up at the man towering over him. Sherlock is now right in his face and gesturing wildly as he speaks. “You think I would allow this? That I’m too ignorant of human emotion that I can’t see when someone is lying! That I would let my own sentiment get the better of me!” Pure rage simmers in his voice and courses through his veins.

“No, Sherlock…” John is pleading now, desperate to calm Sherlock down.

“We are a team and for you to insult that bond and our dedication to one another… It’s something you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I do understand,” John insists.

“Bullshit! You’ve never belonged to anything in your life!” Sherlock yells. He is bubbling over with fury now. If John knew anything at all, he would know the most basic element of Sherlock’s philosophy is teamwork, loyalty and trust. For even one of the ladies to help Moriarty...Moriarty, the bastard. Do whatever it takes to win. Bring everyone down, even if it’s your own teammate.

“Goddammit, Sherlock, if you’d just listen,” John growls, his own temper flaring.

“Listen to what? Your cockamamie theories?” Sherlock’s lips curl into a snarl and his eyes narrow into sharp slits. “You accepted his offer, didn’t you?”

“What?” John blinks, completely thrown off balance. It is the opportunity Sherlock has waited for. He steps up into John’s personal space and attacks with words so sharp they could leave bright red marks on John’s skin.

“You are trying to poison us. Making me question myself and all the ladies,” Sherlock’s fury burns white hot now and he rails at John. “You want me to think I’ve failed them!”

“No! That’s not how it happened,” John bites out, pushing in just as close and refusing to back down.

“Then how did it happen, John? Hmm? Tell me. Tell me how he convinced you to betray us,” Sherlock has boiled over. So consumed by anger, he barely knows what he is saying.

“Fuck off!” John shouts, shoving the taller man back a few steps, his eyes blazing with determination. “I just said I’d never betray you! What, you think I was lying?” His whole body is nearly shaking with anger and frustration. He clenches his fists and grinds his teeth as he inhales deeply to ground himself. “You don’t want to believe me. Just look back at the bout. It’s all there,” John slows his words and pokes each one into Sherlock’s chest with his finger for emphasis. “Janine. Targeted. Harry.”

Breathing heavily, Sherlock launches into a string of curses and insults, but even as he does it, a small traitorous part of his mind goes to the archives and begins playing their last bout.

The whistle blows and the bout begins. Fast forward, forward, forward. Slow down and play. The jam begins with another whistle blow.

There it is.

Sherlock’s mouth ceases to move mid-word and his breath stops in his throat. It feels like he has been punched in the chest and his heart has stopped beating. It’s there, right before his eyes. It had all happened so quickly and he didn’t see it then. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe John is right and his own camaraderie and affection for the ladies has blinded him to reality. Sentiment. Goddamn sentiment.

He can see it now. It’s all there and so obvious that he is a fool for missing it. There was no reason for Janine to be so close or so low. The end result would have been completely different had Harry and 32 been more evenly matched, but Harry’s solid frame and strong legs kept her from going down the way Janine had anticipated.

“I…” Sherlock croaks. His mouth opens and closes silently. He is absolutely speechless, his mind grappling to understand why she would do it.

“Moriarty told me I’m no Greek god,” John almost whispers. He peers up at the flummoxed man before him and explains hesitantly. “I only said that once when someone else could hear and there’s only one person who could have heard it.”

Sherlock blinks, his eyelids twitching as they close. John’s words sink into his skin and a new room appears in his mind palace, one that pulls memories from different bouts. He relives equipment failures and injuries, viewing them all through the lens of this new knowledge and seeing Janine’s role in many of them.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock’s whole body deflates and he backs away from John. He closes his eyes and drops his face into waiting hands. His chest is heavy with shame and disappointment, with all he taught the ladies of loyalty, trust and teamwork, he would never have anticipated this.

Sherlock’s stomach lurches in his body and he feels sick. He had closed his mind to the possibility, even with all the evidence at hand. He simply could not believe any of the ladies would be involved, in spite of accidents occurring no matter who they skated against and equipment failures even after it had all been checked. He ignored the common denominator of themselves, the only commonality, and that choice put all of the ladies in danger. Fucking sentiment. It always finds a way.

“It’s not your fault,” John’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

Sherlock’s eyes fly open and he lifts his head from his hands to see that John has moved closer to him again. Firm resolve is written all over his face and his hands are clenched at his sides. Sherlock only shakes his head and sighs.

“I am their coach. What they know they learn from me,” Sherlock tells him with resignation in his tone.

“Bollocks. I know you, Sherlock, and this did not come from you,” John insists, moving even closer. His brows knitted and jaw set. He has no intention of taking any shit and Sherlock knows him well enough to know he will not relent until Sherlock sees his point of view, but he can’t see it.

“You’ve known me a few months, John,” Sherlock says dismissively. “You don’t know me. It’s not enough time. You said so yourself.”

“And I admitted I was wrong,” John comes right into Sherlock’s personal space, his voice almost angry in its persistence. “I have watched you, all of you, at practice and bouts and in the raw. Nothing you have said or done could ever lead to this and every skater on the team would agree with me.”

Sherlock looks him in the eye and sees the passion, the determination and above it all, true honesty. John is right. Sherlock knows he is. He hates to admit it, but there really is no point in blaming himself when the fault is Janine’s. She made the choice to betray the team and it is her cross to bear. However, Sherlock did fail to see her complicity and it endangered every skater on the team. He must still accept that responsibility and whatever consequences accompany it.

“Be that as it may,” Sherlock begins, his heart heavy and aching, “I must tell the ladies when we meet for workouts tomorrow. Then we’ll see if I hold practice or resign my position.”

“Resign?” John’s jaw drops and he stutters back a step.

“Janine may have made the decision to betray Rock City, but I failed every woman on the team by not suspecting her,” he smiles without mirth and continues bitterly. “It seems I let sentiment cloud my judgment once again.”

“What utter shit,” John huffs, his expression thunderous.

“It is my responsibility…” Sherlock tries to explain, but John cuts him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” John snaps at him angrily. They share a tense gaze before John sets his jaw and steps back up into Sherlock’s personal space. He looks at the taller man with furious eyes. “Not a single one of them is going to hold you responsible and they certainly won’t want you to resign. You have a special bond, Sherlock. I’ve seen it,” his voice becomes more empathetic than angry. “You’re family and that’s not something you can break easily. They love you. And you love them. You are all stuck with each other for better or worse.”

Sherlock tilts his head, looking into John’s eyes as his own well with tears. He blinks twice quickly and two fall from one eye in rapid succession, followed by another from the other eye. John’s every word is so brilliantly true and Sherlock feels them all deep in his bones. Sentiment rushes over him and it isn’t just the love he and the ladies share, it is the pure love he feels for John too. John, who does understand him after all, who can see the team in a light that Sherlock was blind to, and whose devotion to them all is not only admirable, it is amazing. This realization is so overwhelming that Sherlock can barely keep his emotions in check. John, who knows him so well, hasn’t walked out or even gone to his room, in spite of the yelling and cursing Sherlock has heaped upon him. John Watson, his best friend, his voice of reason, his everything. How has such a man come to be in Sherlock’s life?

As if hearing his thoughts, John’s cups Sherlock’s face in his hands, his thumbs wiping the tears from his cheeks. He kisses his nose lightly as he whispers reassuring words and he is soon peppering Sherlock’s face with kisses - forehead, cheekbones, temples, even the small crinkle across the bridge of his nose. Sherlock’s arms come up around him, hands resting on John’s back. He turns his face into the kisses and just catches John’s lips with his own.

His senses are awash with John. His unique scent floods Sherlock’s nostrils. The texture of his shirt feels soft on fingers and palms. Every quiet noise and breath he makes echoes through Sherlock’s ears like a melody. The soft presses of his lips and the humidity of them parting are all warm exhilaration, sending shivers down Sherlock’s spine. He tips his tongue in to taste John’s and feels it move with his. They twirl them together languidly and explore one another.

Spurred on by Sherlock’s enthusiastic reciprocation, John opens his mouth more and tilts his head to the side, inviting Sherlock in with a sigh. The taller man angles down closer to John and deepens the kiss as fireworks explode behind his eyelids. He has never felt so happy, so complete as he does with John Watson.

Sherlock’s hands slide down to the small of John’s back and he pulls him close, pressing their bodies together tightly. John moans into Sherlock’s mouth and twines their tongues together with renewed vigor. His hands are buried in lush, brunette curls now and Sherlock’s scalp tingles with every touch of a fingertip. Sherlock loses himself to the sensation until their lips part, each gasping for breath. Inches apart, they pant in tandem. Short, shallow breaths mingling between them, curling around one another like tendrils of smoke, twisting until they join and disparate into the air all around.

Together as one forever.

Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat as the enormity of it surrounds him, not like a crashing wave, but a warm blanket. He loves John. Not just a little, but with all his heart. It’s crazy and ridiculous and stupid and absolutely wonderful.

Shit, Molls. I’ve never fallen this hard for anyone.

His own words echoing through his mind, Sherlock gives in to new dreams as they fill his mind palace. He wants to be by John’s side for the rest of his days, whether as a lover or friend, and they will be happy. They will be more than happy and maybe they will live together and Sherlock will give John all the love in his heart. It will be perfect. John might even realize one day that he loves Sherlock too.

“Sherlock?” John asks in a gravelly tone, “are you all right? I never know where you are when you do that.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sherlock laughs lightly. He must have been lost in his own mind longer than it seemed, given the tone of gentle amusement in John’s voice. It makes Sherlock feel warm and happy and safe. “I’m perfect.”

Much to Sherlock’s delight, the corners of John’s mouth turn up in a soft smile. Unyielding warmth and light spread through the mind palace and, indeed, Sherlock’s whole body. Images of the future, their future, fill his thoughts and Sherlock vows to do whatever he can to help John realize that he is capable of love.

Sherlock pulls back a little, allowing some space between them so he can study John. He must plan his efforts carefully. John is in love with him, but doesn’t know and pushing the point will only push John away. No, John must come to this realization on his own, no matter how long it takes. Sherlock tilts his head and calculates as he looks at his doctor fondly. John is the person he has searched for ever since he was twelve and he and Molly made up what their husbands would be like. Even when Sherlock thought he had made his heart stop caring, it was still watching for John Watson.

“It’s late,” Sherlock clears his throat and loosens his grip on John, “and I have a lot to do tomorrow before practice.”

“Right, right,” John lets his hands slide from Sherlock’s shoulders and down his arms. “I should get to bed too. Didn’t sleep a wink last night with the travel and Janine and Moriarty and all.”

John clears his throat and steps back, giving his nape an absent scratch. His other hand lands on his own hip and he continues speaking as he raises his brows.

“And I have a lot to do tomorrow too,” he looks disconcerted, like his To Do list just got longer. Whatever is on it, Sherlock intends to make sure John knows what number one will be.

“The first of which is informing Greg that you are not resigning,” he prompts decisively, barely containing the joy that fills every inch of his being.

“Yeah,” John smiles brilliantly. “Yeah, it is.”

Sherlock says nothing and only nods. He does not trust himself to speak. His heart has just burst in his chest for the joy he feels. Instead, he grins like an idiot with no thought as to how much of a love-sick teen he looks. It is all he can do to keep his knees from buckling. John Watson is his sun, his conductor of light, his Juliette. Wait. What? What the hell is he thinking?

“G’night, Sherlock,” John says from the door. Sherlock snaps out of his haze and resolves to find out how John can move so quietly.

“Yes, good night, John,” Sherlock replies softly.

He is at the sink moments later with a plate and glass in his hands. Sherlock doesn’t remember picking them up or walking here. In fact, he still feels a bit like he’s flying, but does seem to be coming back down to earth. He places the dishes in the sink, flicks on the taps and reaches for the bottle of dish soap, squirting a little onto the scrubbing sponge.

John suddenly appears at his side with the other dishes as Sherlock scrubs sauce off the plate in his hands. Once the plate is clean, he places it in the drying rack and turns to face John. Without a word, he takes the dishes from John’s hands, their fingers brushing gently. There’s that annoying flip in his stomach again. Oddly enough, it doesn’t bother him much anymore. In a way, he almost likes it.

“You aren’t going to bed?” Sherlock murmurs, looking at those blue eyes.

“Want help with the washing up?” John asks in answer to Sherlock’s question.

Sherlock hesitates as the fog in his head finally clears. He frowns at John and huffs quietly in frustration. Love seems to have either dropped his I.Q. a few points or decreased his cognitive abilities. Neither is acceptable and all is due to the man standing before him now. This charming and adorably sexy man in his kitchen.

“No,” Sherlock answers, a small smile playing at his lips in spite of himself. He can’t be angry about loving John. He was meant for him. Sherlock grins mischievously and turns back to the sink, placing the dishes in its basin and picking up the sponge again.

“It’s no trouble,” John states in a light tone.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock tells him, running water over the plate and scrubbing. “It won’t take long.”

“But Sherlock…” John protests, puffing out his chest.

“You made dinner,” Sherlock insists, his voice taking on a whining quality. “Look, I’m almost done. There’s no need.”

When John does not move or respond, Sherlock looks at him more carefully. He seems surprised and...disappointed? Shit.

“Oh, okay,” John mutters in a discouraged tone. He hangs his head in resignation as he turns to leave.

“John…” Sherlock begins, but John interrupts him.

“I’ll see you in the morning then,” John raises his head, but does not meet Sherlock’s eyes. He is about to speak again to stop John from leaving, a wet hand outstretched, but John is gone.

Shit.

***

“He was asking to help with the dishes, but he really just wanted to spend more time with me and I just said no! And after that kiss…” Sherlock slaps a hand to his forehead as he speaks non-stop to his phone. Molly Hooper stares back at him from her bedroom where she had been sleeping before he called. “God, I’m such an idiot. What the hell was I thinking?”

As soon as he finished with the dishes, he snuck into the hall and stealthily slipped past John’s room. Once he had passed it, he ran straight to his own room and FaceTimed Molly. Her initial response had been cursing the late hour and that is all she has been able to say. Sherlock dove right in without taking a breath, or even saying hello and Molly hasn’t gotten a word edgewise.

“S’right. I’m sure he’s packing his bags right now,” she snarks and pushes her messy hair off her face.

“Molly!” Sherlock nearly shouts and then hushes himself, looking around his room and toward the door in hopes that John did not hear.

“What do you want me to say?” she laughs as Sherlock presses his lips into a tight frown and furrows his brow until he wears a proper pout. Molly takes in his expression and cocks a brow as she rolls her eyes. “Sherlock, I got to know John pretty well while I was in the hospital and I can tell you right now that you being an idiot will not send him packing.”

“It’s not that simple, Molly,” Sherlock insists in a hushed tone.

“He’s probably in his room laughing his ass off right now,” Molly ignores his pleas.

“It just hits me sometimes and it’s like my I.Q. drops a few points,” Sherlock is beginning to sound desperate, even to his own ears.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Molly finally acknowledges his words, looking at him with a serious gaze. He meets her eyes and they both start laughing.

“All right, no, it’s not that bad,” Sherlock tries to catch his breath. “It just seems like it. God, I can do really stupid things sometimes.”

“It’s called being in love,” Molly chuckles. “You’ve discovered a whole new world. Oh my god,” she looks at him with wide eyes and covers her mouth with her hand. Sherlock gives her a questioning frown. “It’s like a Disney movie,” she finishes before bursting out in hysterical laughter. Molly falls over backward onto her bed, dropping her phone as she goes so all Sherlock can see is her lavender bedspread.

“Molly. Molly!” he cries and then cringes, looking to the door again. When his eyes are back on the phone, he whispers urgently. “Molly!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” the image on Sherlock’s phone shakes furiously and then Molly’s face comes back into view. “I’m sorry.”

“Molly, this is serious,” Sherlock’s voice is agitated and he is hunched close to his phone.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Molly says again, still smiling but making a visible effort to become more serious again.

“This is different, Molls,” Sherlock huffs petulantly. “I loved Victor and never had this problem. Not once.”

“Ding, ding, ding! The genius can be taught!” Molly waves a hand in the air like she is ringing a bell and Sherlock tries to shush her boisterous declaration. “You’re absolutely right. It’s not the same in any way, shape or form.”

“Molly! Be serious!” Sherlock snaps in a hoarse whisper.

“Okay, okay,” she looks away with her eyes and takes a breath, collecting her thoughts before she continues. When her brown eyes find Sherlock again, they are most sincere. “Can you honestly tell me you felt this way about Victor? Ever?”

“No,” Sherlock doesn’t even have to think. There is only one answer.

“Exactly,” Molly replies solemnly. “True love is a powerful thing. It can make even the smartest people do stupid things. Cut yourself some slack. Wait, no,” she holds out a hand, realization dawning. “It’s not a Disney movie. What is it?”

“Molly,” Sherlock sighs.

“Oh my god!” she gasps and stares with wide eyes, her hand slapping the pillow sitting on the bed next to her. “It’s The Princess Bride!”

“Ah, god. That’s not the worst of it,” Sherlock bites his lip, his forehead wrinkling of its own volition. He is taken aback by the sudden silence in the room and turns his gaze to the phone to see Molly staring back with wide eyes. She leans in close, her face deadly serious once again.

“Sherlock,” her voice is just to the left of a scold, “what did you do?”

Sherlock jumps where he stands at the quiet knock on his door. His breath catches in his throat and he gapes at the door in horror. He opens and closes his mouth twice, unable to make a sound.

“Sherlock,” Molly’s voice whispers, “what was that? What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Molls, gotta go,” he ends the call without even looking at the phone. Pressing his lips together and glancing to the left, the right, he inhales a fortifying breath and strides to the door. When he opens it, John is just raising his hand to knock again. The doctor stands frozen and wide-eyed before schooling his expression.

“Sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t sure you were here. I thought maybe the kitchen, but thought I’d check here first. Oh, shit. You weren’t asleep? Did I wake you?” John says it all in a steady stream, his hand still hovering in the air. The dramatic series of changes in John’s expression nearly set Sherlock to giggling.

“No,” he replies too quickly, trying to cover his mirth. “No, I wasn’t asleep. I was just…” Reliving the portion of our evening where I rebuked your romantic efforts, not realizing what they were, of course, but that hardly helps, and telling Molly what an idiot I am. “Do you need something? An extra blanket or…”

“No, I don’t need anything. I’m fine,” John tips his chin down a bit and brings his raised hand to the nape of his neck. He puffs out an embarrassed breath and looks up at Sherlock.

“What is it, John?” Sherlock asks in his low baritone. He can see John shiver as he looks at him and takes a step closer. John swallows audibly.

“I know it’s late,” John begins, taking a shallow step into the room, drawing closer to the coach. The proximity makes Sherlock’s head swim with possibility and his hands suddenly tingle with the memory of touching John. Soft, warm skin under his fingertips only two nights ago and he wants it again. Now. Does John? His mind begs please, please, please.

“I know you want to confront Janine and tell the ladies about her role in the whole thing, but is that the best idea right now?” John says instead, his voice higher than usual and his brows raising with the suggestion.

“What?” Sherlock frowns, his brow knitting in confusion. That is not what he was hoping for. He shifts his weight and puts his hands on his hips, his brain unwilling to cooperate.

“Yeah, I know, but I was thinking…” John props his hand against the door frame. “Can I come in? I mean, this may not take long to explain, but if I could just come in?”

“Of course, of course,” Sherlock declares, stepping aside and ushering him in. “Please.”

“Thanks,” John passes through. Sherlock closes the door and gestures for John to follow him to the padded bench at the foot of his wide bed. John continues as they sit, looking a bit more comfortable. “This is going to sound a bit like a comedy routine at first, but there is a point.”

They both fold one leg in front of them so they are turned to face each other. Their knees touch when they are both settled and Sherlock’s stomach flips. The touch takes him right back to Baltimore. The warmth of John’s skin, his hot mouth on Sherlock’s body, and his eyes so full of love. Love. If only John could have seen it himself. If only he knew.

“If we tell Janine we know she’s in on it,” John’s voice has Sherlock tabling his thoughts and trying to concentrate on the issue at hand, “she’ll tell Moriarty and then he’ll know that we know he’s responsible.”

John stops to let it sink in. He watches Sherlock with an intense gaze and wets his lips before going on.

“His game plan will change if he doesn’t think she’s useful anymore. I don’t know exactly what that would mean, but it could put her in danger. Whatever she’s done, she doesn’t deserve that,” John finishes solemnly, leaning forward ever so slightly. Sherlock takes a minute or two to contemplate John’s words, pressing his lips together in thought.

“Agreed,” Sherlock says grimly.

“But that’s only the tip of the iceberg,” John nods. “If we tell the team about her, it not only increases the danger to her, it endangers all of them as well.”

“Because they will know it’s Moriarty,” Sherlock adds in a dubious tone. “They would have no proof of his direct involvement and it is unlikely he would take it to such an extreme level, but…”

He stops before the words come out. They taste like poison on his tongue and he winces as he completes the thought. “Janine would be an even larger liability that could be easily removed.”

“Exactly,” John searches his eyes with a hint of desperation in his own. “I know you feel responsible. You’re not, but I understand the desire to come clean. It’s very admirable.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Sherlock says quietly, straightening his spine.

“It is, but not right now,” John leans forward a fraction and inhales deeply, his eyes sharp and determined. “Listen to me, Sherlock. Think about this.”

Sherlock bites his lip and stares down at the dip in John’s skin that lives just between his clavicles. He rolls everything John has said around in his mind palace, closing his eyes to consider the logic of it. It is a difficult plan to dispute.

“We wait this out,” Sherlock gives a considered nod when he opens his eyes. “Keep everyone as safe as possible and deal with the consequences later.” He pauses to look at John gravely. “I cannot let any of them be harmed.”

“Won’t happen,” John takes Sherlock’s hands in his own and shakes his head. “Not on my watch. We will take this bastard down.”

God, Sherlock is full to bursting with love for this man. His hands are warm and hold Sherlock’s with such care, even as he pledges to thoroughly kick Moriarty’s ass. His eyes are so affectionate and calm, but reflect an undercurrent of unwavering strength. John Watson is a wonder. A man of fascinating dichotomies and it is absolutely delicious.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and tries to suppress a shiver as a feeling blooms in his chest and spreads through his body; every toe, the tip of every finger, the very tips of his ears. He squeezes John’s hands, the corners of his mouth turning up and his grey eyes sparkling. His lips part just slightly as the feeling wells inside of him. He wants to say something. He should say something, but every word that comes to mind seems inadequate. Still, he tries. Instead of something eloquent or even smart, he utters the most trite nonsense possible.

“Thank you.”

Thank you??

It’s all Sherlock can do not to face palm and it must show on his face because John cannot stifle a chuckle. Sherlock glares, but it does not last when the most dazzling smile takes over John’s features and he beams at Sherlock with the full light of the sun. His conductor of light.

“You’re welcome,” John says simply.

Overcome with emotion, Sherlock yanks his hands from John’s and lurches forward. In an instant, he is holding the doctor’s shoulders and pressing their lips together in a chaste but passionate kiss. John still wears the same smile when Sherlock pulls back.

“Okay. That’s settled then,” John laughs, gently shifting Sherlock’s hands from his shoulders and back to their laps. “We’d best get to sleep, yeah?”

“Right, and plan our next move against Moriarty tomorrow evening,” Sherlock says after a moment. “Yes, let’s order Chinese and meet in my office.”

“Perfect,” John rises from the bench. “I’ll see you in the morning then. Let’s drive together, shall we?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replies.

“Fine,” John smiles and starts to walk away.

“John!” Sherlock jumps up from the bench and splutters at John’s back. John stops immediately and turns to face him halfway to the door.

Sherlock does not want him to go and it is completely irrational. He could play it off as being worried for John’s safety, but John would never believe it. Of course he might play along and not say anything. Sherlock could claim he is worried for his own safety, but that is even more stupid. John is only here now because of Sherlock’s conviction that Moriarty will not harm him. John would leave the condo in seconds if Sherlock said he was worried about himself. No.

Sherlock has to make something up and now because he has been quiet for too long again. His eyes have not left John’s face and the doctor‘s brow has begun to furrow.

“Don’t go, please. I...I don’t want you to go,” Sherlock blurts.

Not what he was planning to say at all. He blinks once, taken aback by his own honesty. John looks surprised too, like he could see Sherlock’s every thought play out on his face and expected him to lie. Readying himself for John’s refusal, Sherlock clenches his jaw and straightens his spine. He shifts his gaze to one of indifference and simply waits for John to say no. John watches him with raised brows for a long, agonizing moment.

“Uh,” John finally says, one side of his mouth quirking up. “You want me to sleep...in your bed? With you?”

“Really, John, I would have thought that was rather obvious,” Sherlock rolls his eyes before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” John smiles wide, his face open. “I guess it is.”

“Good,” Sherlock goes to a chest of drawers and grabs some pajamas from the second drawer. “I’ll just change.”

“Right,” John replies as Sherlock disappears into the en suite.

Sherlock quickly uses the toilet and changes into long silk pajama pants with a Red Wings tee. It was part of a promotional partnership a few years ago. The two teams do not actually interact much and Sherlock might not have kept the shirt, but it is so soft and really the perfect thing to sleep in.

Sherlock starts humming as he brushes his teeth. He does not even realize he is doing it until he spits and melodically whispers the words to his own reflection in the mirror.

“But you’re here in my heart. So who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?”

He swallows the chorus when he puts the toothbrush back in his mouth and continues to clean his teeth. He sways just a bit and hums through the rest of the song before he finally rinses his mouth and dries his lips with a hand towel. It has been at least twenty minutes and John has to be exhausted from the travel and stress. He has probably fallen asleep already left in the bedroom to his own devices. Sherlock feels a twinge of disappointment at the prospect, although he is not entirely sure why. While he has been anxious to see John since leaving Baltimore yesterday morning, he does not necessarily have expectations for this first night in his bed. Frankly, he is the happiest he’s been all day just because John said yes. True, sitting up with John and talking into the wee hours would be fantastic, a dream, but he would be just as happy watching John sleep in his arms. If that isn’t too creepy. Is that creepy?

Sherlock resolves to ask John about his feelings on observation during slumber as he steps out of the bathroom door. He expects to see John out cold on the bed, but John is not sleeping. He isn’t even on the bed. He is, in fact, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed with a book in his hands. Sherlock approaches slowly, watching as John closes the book and hops to his feet. He lifts the book and sort of gestures with it, giving Sherlock a sheepish look.

“Sorry. I saw it on the night table,” John shrugs and offers it to the taller man. “I was curious.”

“And?” Sherlock cocks a brow.

“It’s good. I’d definitely like to finish it,” John replies.

“Well, it’s lucky you’re living with me, isn’t it?” Sherlock flashes a dashing smile and takes the book by its spine. John grins back.

“It is, yeah,” he answers.

Sherlock lets out a soft laugh, tilting his chin down to look at the cover of the book. The face of Dame Judy Dench gazes back at him. He laughs almost to himself and raises his eyes to John.

“I thought sure you would be asleep by now. You must be exhausted,” Sherlock tells him.

“Oh, I am,” John nods personably. He gestures toward the bed. “Which side do you sleep on? I didn’t like to impose.”

“I invited you,” Sherlock says in an even tone, trying not to sound too excited.

“Yeah, to share your bed not commandeer it,” John chuckles. Sherlock ducks his head at the sound that is music to his ears.

“You sleep on the left,” Sherlock states definitively. John huffs a laugh and rests his hands on his own hips where his pajama pants ride low. The dark blue t-shirt he wears hugs every curve and just a hint of skin peeks out from between it and his pants.

“Yeah,” John tilts his head to the side, a small smile on his face. He is adorable and so damn hot all at once. Sherlock’s mouth runs dry.

“Perfect,” he clears his throat. “I prefer the right.”

“Mm-hm,” John hums and then jokes. “I am far from perfect, Sherlock.”

“I know that, John. Trust me,” the coach winks and then continues, feigning seriousness. “We’re good together. In spite of our flaws, I mean.”

He takes a detour on his way to the bed to turn off the overhead light as John switches on one of the bedside lamps. When he reaches the right side of the king-sized bed, John is looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“You little shit,” John scolds.

Sherlock’s eyes sparkle and he does not respond. John inhales slowly and releases it, just as measured. The two men gaze at one another in silence. Watching, searching, understanding. It all washes over Sherlock like a wave and he feels free. He can only assume John feels it too based upon his serene expression and the glow of his eyes.

“To bed?” John breaks the silence.

“To bed,” Sherlock answers.

They take one last look at each other across the bed, both wearing sheepish grins, and slip under the covers. Sherlock settles with his arms under the blankets while John’s are over the covers. John turns to look at Sherlock.

“Ready?” he asks with raised brows. He angles his head toward the lamp on his side.

“You?” Sherlock asks as he nods.

John nods with a grin and they turn off the lamps. With only moonlight from the windows to light the room, Sherlock waits for his eyes to adjust. Even when they have, he just stares at the ceiling and does not look at the man in his bed while he screws up the courage to speak. He is being ridiculous. They have slept together in a bed before. There is no reason to be so nervous. He takes a fortifying breath.

“John?” he asks quietly into the dark room. John does not answer. Perhaps he is asleep, dozed off as soon as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah?” comes the doctor’s voice.

Maybe not.

“What are your thoughts on sleeping?” Sherlock says hesitantly.

“Well, I like sleeping and let’s face it, we all need it,” John reasons, sounding more and more sleepy.

“And observation?” Sherlock ventures hesitantly.

“What?” John’s voice is laced with confusion.

“While one is asleep,” Sherlock finishes.

“You’ve lost me, Sherlock. But for the record, you can’t watch things while you’re asleep,” John laughs tiredly and gestures with one hand.

“No, not me. You,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, addressing John like he is an idiot. “Watching you!”

“Hang on,” John turns on his side to face Sherlock, propping up on one elbow. “Are you saying you want to watch me sleep?”

“No,” Sherlock says defensively, turning to face John. “Not all the time.” They are at least two feet apart, but Sherlock can still see him clearly by the moonlight. “Just...sometimes.”

Sherlock cringes. He sounds like a stalker. It is creepy. Wanting to watch John sleep is creepy and Sherlock is a complete weirdo. Although, John does not appear to be alarmed. In fact, he looks genuinely amused. Sherlock’s brow creases and he huffs indignantly.

“Never mind,” he mumbles.

“No, no, I won’t never mind,” John laughs while Sherlock harrumphs. “I think it’s cute.”

Sherlock glares even as John inches closer.

“I am not cute,” Sherlock snarls.

“And rather endearing,” John continues.

Sherlock huffs in exasperation and looks away, but he can see John shimmy closer in the corner of his eye. A breath catches in his throat at the touch of John’s hand on his bicep, fingertips under his sleeve. His fingers are hot on Sherlock’s cool skin, smooth and calming. The touch spreads through and warms his whole body.

“You can watch me sleep anytime you want,” John whispers and the words send a shockwave up Sherlock’s spine. “As long as you promise to wake me if I start snoring.”

“All right,” Sherlock agrees with a snort. He meets John’s soft eyes. “I promise.”

John smiles in response and moves his hand to Sherlock’s chest. He exhales long and slow, perfectly content. In one fluid motion, Sherlock lifts his arm to encircle John’s torso and John rests his head on Sherlock’s pectoral. Sherlock wishes he had not put a shirt on at all so he could feel John’s cheek against his bare skin. They both sigh at once.

“G’night, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John.”

---

Goddamn if they aren’t the sweetest boys in all the world. Personally, I love the way this one starts. Sherlock’s stunned in the bathroom thinking, “I told John I love him. I told John I love him.” and then immediately segues into “John loves me. John loves me.” But forever the problem, John doesn’t know it yet. C’est la vie. ... My ass. When is John going to figure it out? Come on, man! Those tingly, weird feelings you’re feeling are love. Love. Get with the program.

Fear not, friends, he’ll get there. Even-tu-ally. Please be patient with me and for the next chapter. I promise I’ll get things back on schedule. Thank you all for your love and support. I’ll see you soon. Jane

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