Umbrellas and Bowler Hats
Title: Umbrellas and Bowler Hats
Author: Leya
Fandom: Gravitation/Sherlock BBC
Characters: Tohma/Mycroft
Disclaimer: All Gravitation characters are the sole property of Maki Murakami. All the characters of Sherlock are the sole property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Or in this case the BBC. I'm only playing with them.
Word Count: 282
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Written for the x-over Challenge at tohma_love. Happy Birthday, Tohma!
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They meet in silence and solitariness and darkness.
Light is neither needed nor wanted, the memories of their previous encounters enough to instinctively lead them into each others arms.
Gentle touches in feathery soft hair, hands wandering over shoulders and arms, leisurely relearning old familiar paths of desperately needed intimacy, the air laced with inaudible whispers of understanding and affection and sorrow while their entwined bodies slowly sink onto silken sheets.
They move together in a slow and deliberate rhythm that leaves them breathless and sated, contently enjoying this small glimpse of rarely experienced happiness.
For long moments they just lay there, comfortably resting in each others arms. They know each other for so long now that they can communicate almost telepathically. They never talk, the knowledge, that they can be themselves in these few short stolen moments of contentment sufficient to outweigh all the hurt and pain they experienced throughout the previous months.
What has he done now?
Fingers closing around a wrist in silent reassurance, an inaudible sigh of deeply felt compassion all it takes to know exactly what happened, to know that once more things have gone worse, that again they’re not talking and that the younger man slowly descents deeper and deeper into his addiction.
I’m sorry.
Heartfelt concern, offered and accepted in mutual understanding, sympathetic lips kissing the sadness and resignation away until they reluctantly draw apart.
Clothes glide over still heated skin, one last shared embrace and then there is nothing but the bashful goodbye of soft-silken polyester whisper-sliding over starched wool lingering between them.
The door falls shut and the room once more descents into darkness, dutifully harbouring their secrets until they return again.
END