Say My Name 1b/?ever_insaneAugust 21 2011, 21:43:51 UTC
“Why?” Sherlock looked away, suddenly very tired. He’d been sitting here preparing for this conversation, expecting accusations of philandering or a dull acceptance that his mind had slipped, even though his mind never slipped, but this persistently calm approach had not factored too highly in the probabilities. He needed to head John off, now, to stop him whittling away the possibilities before he got too close. But a lie, a convincing lie, a good lie, would not come.
“Who’s Michael?” John asked doggedly.
“Michael was my first real crush,” said Sherlock. True. “He looked a little bit like you, same colour hair and he was sort of muscular, like you, as far as I could tell through his shirts.” Still true, although he had experience without the shirts as well. John didn’t need to know that. It could only hurt them both. “I think... I just got lost in my head a little. That’s all.”
“You?” John gave him a disbelieving look, a look that said ‘You are a self-proclaimed brilliant consulting detective genius, do you really expect me to believe you got lost in your head like normal people do?’
“Yes, me,” replied Sherlock, laying the exasperation on thickly. “Is it really so hard to believe that you stop my thought processes in their tracks when you’re doing, well, you know?” He threw John’s words back at him as a tease, a line to see if he would take the bait, would leave chasing the question down in favour of the more fun distraction.
“Doing what?” asked John, and Sherlock knew he had won.
“Let me show you,” he replied, slipping a hand around the back of John’s neck and pulling him close. The tea mug tumbled to the floor, meaning another excuse they would have to find before Mrs Hudson next dropped in (although Sherlock was firmly of the opinion that “it happened while I was shagging John senseless” might be enough to stop her asking again), and Sherlock pressed his mouth firmly and insistently against John’s until his lover gave in to the fond onslaught and opened his lips.
True, John’s kisses were a little tentative in return, his hands were lighter than usual as they skimmed beneath Sherlock’s dressing gown and hesitated on his waist. Sherlock took the lead and guided John further, letting his mind go blank before returning to that place, but this time schooling his mouth to silence. He wanted more than anything to have this, to be with John, to love him and give him pleasure and take his just deserts in return. He wanted the kisses, the passion, the holding and clinging to one another, the sweat and heat, crisis and ecstasy, the beautiful moment where they gasped and panted and held one another close as they dropped back inside their own skins and found they were still together.
He could, therefore, never tell John who Michael was.
Re: Say My Name 1b/?ever_insaneAugust 21 2011, 22:15:03 UTC
Also? Part of the reason I asked for this is because I can totally relate to being dismissive of sexuality as a cover for the fact it really scares the shit out of you. Saying you're married to your job to cover that? Makes sense to me. So I can see that as being a logical character progression.
Re: Say My Name 1b/?ever_insaneAugust 22 2011, 01:20:51 UTC
OP here says it's easier to lie - making up some excuse is better than saying you don't want to have sex with someone you love, but would do it with that person you supposedly hate.
Mycroft says "irelia 221" - is this his way of saying this is really canon?
“Who’s Michael?” John asked doggedly.
“Michael was my first real crush,” said Sherlock. True. “He looked a little bit like you, same colour hair and he was sort of muscular, like you, as far as I could tell through his shirts.” Still true, although he had experience without the shirts as well. John didn’t need to know that. It could only hurt them both. “I think... I just got lost in my head a little. That’s all.”
“You?” John gave him a disbelieving look, a look that said ‘You are a self-proclaimed brilliant consulting detective genius, do you really expect me to believe you got lost in your head like normal people do?’
“Yes, me,” replied Sherlock, laying the exasperation on thickly. “Is it really so hard to believe that you stop my thought processes in their tracks when you’re doing, well, you know?” He threw John’s words back at him as a tease, a line to see if he would take the bait, would leave chasing the question down in favour of the more fun distraction.
“Doing what?” asked John, and Sherlock knew he had won.
“Let me show you,” he replied, slipping a hand around the back of John’s neck and pulling him close. The tea mug tumbled to the floor, meaning another excuse they would have to find before Mrs Hudson next dropped in (although Sherlock was firmly of the opinion that “it happened while I was shagging John senseless” might be enough to stop her asking again), and Sherlock pressed his mouth firmly and insistently against John’s until his lover gave in to the fond onslaught and opened his lips.
True, John’s kisses were a little tentative in return, his hands were lighter than usual as they skimmed beneath Sherlock’s dressing gown and hesitated on his waist. Sherlock took the lead and guided John further, letting his mind go blank before returning to that place, but this time schooling his mouth to silence. He wanted more than anything to have this, to be with John, to love him and give him pleasure and take his just deserts in return. He wanted the kisses, the passion, the holding and clinging to one another, the sweat and heat, crisis and ecstasy, the beautiful moment where they gasped and panted and held one another close as they dropped back inside their own skins and found they were still together.
He could, therefore, never tell John who Michael was.
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This? I'm really reading a mirror. This is good. This is so painfully close to reality. Everything about it.
Thank you.
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Mycroft says "irelia 221" - is this his way of saying this is really canon?
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