FIC: In Darkness (Being Human, Aidan/Bishop, PG)
TITLE: In Darkness
RATING: PG
FANDOM: Being Human
PAIRING: Aidan/Bishop
SUMMARY: Sometimes the old ways are best.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Spoilers through “Dog Eat Dog.”
“To you. I’ll come back to you.”
***
When the sun is down, the halls are quieter. Maybe a cliché, but at the same time, sometimes the old ways are best. Josh is safe, if not sound, which is the important thing. After that, nothing really matters.
You know when the end of the reel goes off the projector, and the movie comes faster and faster, in these short little clips, until everything fades to white? Of course you don’t; you’re not old enough to remember projectors. But Aidan is, and walking back to Bishop’s keep is the opposite of that. You come out of the artificial daylight of the unsleeping city to the low light and the crush of frenetic heartbeats from the donors, and you walk back to where everything is still and quiet and dark. Aidan actually hears Bishop, smells him, before his eyes adjust enough to see him. Bishop’s pale eyes linger a moment-appraisal-and then the corner of his mouth turns up in what you might call a wolf grin were it not so sore a topic tonight.
“You smell like your dog,” Bishop says. He nods to the bathroom.
Aidan doesn’t say anything, and he shuts himself in the bathroom before undressing. The shower is always an intimate, odd sensation, warming him to the core. Like makeup, or a leather jacket, or a pleasant smile-it’s a costume, something pretend he can put on. The shame isn’t in the deception, but in how much he likes the ruse. Aidan washes thoroughly, and he is scrubbed baptismal clean when he shuts off the water.
The glass is fogged, which is fine, because Aidan isn’t sure he can look himself in the eye just now. He dries himself as best he can without indulging in stall tactics, and then heads, undressed, back into Bishop’s bedroom.
Bishop is in bed now, under the covers, but Aidan can tell that he has undressed as well; his moon pale skin glows against the dim backdrop of the night. Aidan comes to the bed, but he is only half lowered, on his hands and knees angling himself beneath the blankets, when Bishop takes him in hand forcefully enough to arrest his movement. One of Bishop’s hands presses against Aidan’s chest, and the other wraps painfully around his still damp hair, hard. Bishop uses his hold to pull up Aidan’s head, forcing Aidan to meet his eyes, pale and sparkling with pleasure.
“My boy,” he says, and he jerks Aidan’s head back further, enough to bare his throat. Bishop moves in, fast, and Aidan flinches, anticipating pain. But Bishop just presses his lips there, right above the apple, and almost gently.
“My boy,” he says again. “Welcome home.”