Show me your teeth, John/Mycroft, PG-13
Title: Show me your teeth
Author: PG-13
Warnings: Fluffiness.
A/N: Thanks to selkie3 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. John gets a bit...carried away with Mycroft. Lovebites ensue.
In the same sort of 'verse as Whisker burn, and Perspective glass but can be read as stand alone. I tried to include porn, but it wouldn't go, so it's more slice of life.
Mycroft was going to be late. Mycroft was never late. It was all John's fault; he'd laid out his arguments for spending an extra ten minutes in bed very well. Ten minutes had stretched to twenty and Mycroft still hadn't even showered, too caught up in John's dopey smile and sleep-roughened voice. He'd had to gather up all his willpower to throw off the covers. The skin on his legs instantly rose into gooseflesh, which didn't help matters.
He eventually dragged himself to the en suite, wincing slightly as overworked muscles complained. Mycroft showered quickly and moved to the sink to wash and shave. He froze upon seeing his reflection. This, he thought, could be an issue.
He tilted his head slightly. On the left side of his neck were two unmistakable bruises. He flushed slightly as he remembered the points when they had been inflicted. One of them would be covered by the collar of his shirt, but the other was just too high. He continued his ablutions whilst pondering what to do.
He couldn't show up to work with this showing, it would be unprofessional to say the least. He had no vital meetings today, his conference call could be taken from home, as could all his emails. His computer was connected to his network at the office, and so he could access all his documents. Any paper files could be brought here. Mycroft sighed, and frowned at his reflection as he shaved.
Mycroft headed out of the bathroom, ready to berate John for being so unbridled. However, the bed was empty. Mycroft dressed in his usual suit and double checked that at least one of the bruises could be seen. Damn. He shook his head at his reflection and walked down the stairs.
John was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. There were a couple of plates of toast in front of him, and another cup of tea.
“I made you breakfast.” John said, without looking up. “I thought it would make you less likely to be late.” John looked up as he finished. “Oh.” He turned deep red. “I. Erm. Did I do that?”
“Well, I didn't do it to myself.” Mycroft deadpanned as he sat down and started on his toast.
“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - at least, not noticeably - what about work?”
“Well, I don't think I can go in with this.” Mycroft gestured to it. John continued to look sheepish and flushed as they ate breakfast. Mycroft sighed gustily. “I will have to work from home. Tomorrow they should have faded enough for me to go into work.”
“Good. That-that's good. Wait, 'they'?”
“Yes, there's one that's hidden by my collar.” John flushed again and fumbled with his cup.
Mycroft fought down a smirk. He shouldn't find this funny. He should be mortified, or angry, or something other than amused and slightly flattered. He supposed that this was just another thing on the rapidly growing list of changes John's mere presence had caused in him. He pulled out his phone and sent off a text - again, not his normal method of communication, but it made the story easier to sell. Just a bad stomach, nothing too life-threatening.
“At least I can tell my assistant I have a doctor on hand if I should get any worse.” John looked at Mycroft, squinting at him. A slow smile spread over his face.
“I take it you're not terribly angry at me, then?”
Mycroft sighed and loosened his tie. He read the reply from his assistant - no asking if he needed a check up, just a note to say she'd handle the conference call and a polite reminder to contact her if needed - she was a smart woman, and he congratulated himself again on employing her.
“No. Not really. It's inconvenient, but it could be a lot worse. You probably picked the best day you could to turn into a vampire.”
John mumbled another apology and shot another look at the bruises before turning back to his breakfast.
“As your doctor, I should probably stay here.” John said.
“Oh, definitely.” Mycroft smirked back at him, warmth spreading through his chest as John's face lit up.
Author: PG-13
Warnings: Fluffiness.
A/N: Thanks to selkie3 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. John gets a bit...carried away with Mycroft. Lovebites ensue.
In the same sort of 'verse as Whisker burn, and Perspective glass but can be read as stand alone. I tried to include porn, but it wouldn't go, so it's more slice of life.
Mycroft was going to be late. Mycroft was never late. It was all John's fault; he'd laid out his arguments for spending an extra ten minutes in bed very well. Ten minutes had stretched to twenty and Mycroft still hadn't even showered, too caught up in John's dopey smile and sleep-roughened voice. He'd had to gather up all his willpower to throw off the covers. The skin on his legs instantly rose into gooseflesh, which didn't help matters.
He eventually dragged himself to the en suite, wincing slightly as overworked muscles complained. Mycroft showered quickly and moved to the sink to wash and shave. He froze upon seeing his reflection. This, he thought, could be an issue.
He tilted his head slightly. On the left side of his neck were two unmistakable bruises. He flushed slightly as he remembered the points when they had been inflicted. One of them would be covered by the collar of his shirt, but the other was just too high. He continued his ablutions whilst pondering what to do.
He couldn't show up to work with this showing, it would be unprofessional to say the least. He had no vital meetings today, his conference call could be taken from home, as could all his emails. His computer was connected to his network at the office, and so he could access all his documents. Any paper files could be brought here. Mycroft sighed, and frowned at his reflection as he shaved.
Mycroft headed out of the bathroom, ready to berate John for being so unbridled. However, the bed was empty. Mycroft dressed in his usual suit and double checked that at least one of the bruises could be seen. Damn. He shook his head at his reflection and walked down the stairs.
John was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. There were a couple of plates of toast in front of him, and another cup of tea.
“I made you breakfast.” John said, without looking up. “I thought it would make you less likely to be late.” John looked up as he finished. “Oh.” He turned deep red. “I. Erm. Did I do that?”
“Well, I didn't do it to myself.” Mycroft deadpanned as he sat down and started on his toast.
“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - at least, not noticeably - what about work?”
“Well, I don't think I can go in with this.” Mycroft gestured to it. John continued to look sheepish and flushed as they ate breakfast. Mycroft sighed gustily. “I will have to work from home. Tomorrow they should have faded enough for me to go into work.”
“Good. That-that's good. Wait, 'they'?”
“Yes, there's one that's hidden by my collar.” John flushed again and fumbled with his cup.
Mycroft fought down a smirk. He shouldn't find this funny. He should be mortified, or angry, or something other than amused and slightly flattered. He supposed that this was just another thing on the rapidly growing list of changes John's mere presence had caused in him. He pulled out his phone and sent off a text - again, not his normal method of communication, but it made the story easier to sell. Just a bad stomach, nothing too life-threatening.
“At least I can tell my assistant I have a doctor on hand if I should get any worse.” John looked at Mycroft, squinting at him. A slow smile spread over his face.
“I take it you're not terribly angry at me, then?”
Mycroft sighed and loosened his tie. He read the reply from his assistant - no asking if he needed a check up, just a note to say she'd handle the conference call and a polite reminder to contact her if needed - she was a smart woman, and he congratulated himself again on employing her.
“No. Not really. It's inconvenient, but it could be a lot worse. You probably picked the best day you could to turn into a vampire.”
John mumbled another apology and shot another look at the bruises before turning back to his breakfast.
“As your doctor, I should probably stay here.” John said.
“Oh, definitely.” Mycroft smirked back at him, warmth spreading through his chest as John's face lit up.