The beat of an electro tune pounded through the heavy duty bass system; a secondary rhythm in John Watson's chest. Laser lights danced over the sizzling, jackhammer crowd. Raised arms and all assortments of hair and clothes peeked in and out of view, and the smell of perfume and deodorant drenched the atmosphere. Warmth from so many bodies crammed into one small space suffused the air, thickening it.

John let out a breath. Why was he here again?

"Trust me on this, John! This is a place where dreams are made!" Billy yelled into his ear, grinning like a wolf.

Right, that was why.

Bill Murray, army mate discharged like John himself for getting shot in the thigh. He'd roped John into catching up once he'd heard his return on the grapevine, and John had accepted amenably.

They'd gone to have a spot of dinner at a local bar, after which John had been ready to call it a night, but Bill had been persistent. In retrospect had he known where they would be going afterwards, John would have pled exhaustion and returned to doing nothing in his bland, repulsive excuse for a flat.

Clubs really weren't John's scene. Three Continents Watson's, definitely, but John wasn't that guy. Not anymore.

"The only dream I have right now is of my cosy bedsit!" John retorted, also raising his voice to be heard.

Bill only rolled his eyes; they both knew that wasn't quite true. Bill was no stranger to the mix of PTSD and the simple act of sleeping.

"Come on, just give it a shot. Given the chance, you might even find yourself having a bit of fun! Get yourself a bird maybe?" Billy gave him a look that John recognized, one that said, 'I know where you're at right now, and I think doing this might be good for you.'

It was the same look he'd been when they'd run into each other at Russell Square Gardens. After bumping into each other, they'd made conversation. Running into Bill and spending time with him was like having a comrade in arms once again. Even small talk wasn't all that abhorrent with Bill. They had an undercurrent of mutual understanding that civilian life was utter shite after what they'd done in the army, forming a bridge John had forgotten how to forge with normal people.

"I need a drink first, but I'll see you later yeah?" John thumped Billy's arm good-naturedly.

"So long as you don't run out on me," Billy gave him a knowing look.

"Never even crossed my mind," John smiled innocently.

Billy laughed and wandered into the fray, disappearing from view.

The dance floor took up the majority of the club, with the bar up against the right wall and the DJ on the left wall on a raised stage. John took it all in, including the exits, the staircases that led up to tables on the balcony, and the high ceiling with rows of poles suspending the lighting system. He took a deep breath to centre himself, then headed towards the minibar.

He took a seat, ordered a beer float and surveyed the arena. Right then, he was in no mood to go hunting, but he figured some alcohol would allow him to loosen up enough to have no reservations about joining the moving crowd.

"Why the long face?"

When John turned to look at who had spoken, it took him a moment to respond.

The man looked no older than 40, but his canvas white skin, artfully curled black locks and ridiculously high cheekbones made him look ageless in the transient atmosphere of the club. He had eerily light, almost luminescent eyes, and John couldn't quite decide on their colour. He was wearing tight, back jeans and a purple fitted shirt that framed his wiry frame and made John's stomach twist at the sight – but also wary, because there was something off about the man. He was looking at John with light-hearted curiosity, but there was a humming, a roiling, intense undercurrent to the man's perhaps forcibly relaxed posture that made John instantly intrigued and hypersensitive to potential trouble.

He could be wrong. It could just be his sleep-deprived, threat-honed-soldier brain kicking into first gear.

Without missing the beat, John gave him a polite, humouring smile and said, "Not as long as yours, so I think I'm doing pretty well."

The man seemed to give a genuinely surprised rumbling chuckle at that. John grinned, turned back to the gyrating crowd but watching the man out of the corner of his eye.

"You're not as mind-numbingly dull as I thought you'd be," the man continued, and when John turned back to look at him, he was considering John with a piercing, analytical look, one that contrarily looked less like a mask.

John's brow furrowed, "If you thought I'd be boring, why did you start up a conversation with me?"

The man returned to his easy look, slipping it on seamlessly.

"Maybe I was looking to be surprised," and he smiled a closed-mouth smile that looked more like a movement of muscles than a genuine flirtation.

John's gaze flicked down to the man's still widened mouth, back to his eyes and then away, suddenly unsure. In just a few sentences, he felt as if he was talking to two people in one body.

He pulled his phone out, checking for new messages or missed calls. Apart from one message from Harry insisting they catch up already, there was nothing. If Bill hadn't contacted him yet he'd probably gotten lucky, the bastard.

As if sensing John's sudden dwindling will to engage, the man leaned closer and ran his tongue along his bottom lip in a way that made the heat of the club inch just that bit higher.

"Dance with me?" he said, his voice a smooth rumble, with so little a questioning lilt at the end that it seemed almost like a command.

John barely gave an outward reaction except to shove the phone back into his pocket and put his drink down. With barely a glance at the possibly-dangerous stranger, he stood and made his way into the fray. The man followed. John didn't have to check to know.

This was a game he knew the ins and outs of very, very well.

As soon as they were on the floor, John let the alcohol act as a lubricant for his stiff, tense muscles and moved with expert ease, slipping into an old skin like an old jacket. The man opposite him met him in the middle with ease, moving with a grace and strength reminiscent of feline predators, complete with a sharp gaze, beautiful and lulling bone structure and swaying, prowling, hypnotic advances. No glinting claws or teeth out to ruin the false sense of security just yet, but John wasn't fooled in the first place.

In fact, he felt a thrill at the idea that this could get ugly very quickly. The enigmatic stranger before him broadcasted the potential like a neon sign. So he kept up the thin façade of a normal bloke out for a decent time, and let the music take him.

Time became fluid as they drew closer together, eyes taunting each other under guises, bodies brushing with electrifying, revitalizing suggestion. Every second seemed bursting with detail, like a fog had been lifted from John's vision. The label of his shirt's collar scratched against his neck. He felt air rushing in and out of his mouth, his chapped lips, his heart pounding in his ears. Nothing had felt this clear and vibrant since Afghanistan, and it was exhilarating.

Just then, the man broke their rhythm by taking John's belt loops and dragging him closer. John's heart leapt into his throat. The man's breath flitted over John's ear and through his hair, and he smelt of musky tobacco, cologne and mint. He leaned in close but, infuriatingly, made no further contact. He spoke, in that voice like dark melted chocolate, and John forgot how to breathe.

"Follow me," he said, and in a blur he broke contact, walking towards one of the backdoor exits.

Adrenaline and arousal zinging through his veins in equal measure, John followed.

He reached the door as it was swinging shut and walked out. John had just enough time to feel the chill on his sweat-drenched skin before a force pinned him against the now closed club door.

Before John could gasp, the stranger had pressed a hand to his chin and forced his face upwards. He was glaring with a defiant, critical gleam that John was starting to sense was his proper state of being.

That gaze made everything else fade into a grey blur, exploding with a fierce intelligence that was difficult to ignore. John controlled his shiver of anticipation – whether this man meant him harm or meant to kiss him, John would happily go with either feeling the way he did right now: tingling in his skin, mind racing, heart thumping, blood fiery, and so very alive.

"How have you done it?" the timbre voice was trembling with ferocious excitement.

Now John was confused, "Done what?"

"You know perfectly well what," the man returned, eyes flashing.

"No, actually I don't," John replied hoarsely.

"Don't play dumb!" a little shake of John's arms accompanied the insistent reply.

"I'm not playing anything right now," John's brow scrunched together.

They glared at each other for a long while. John was getting a bit irritated now. If the man wasn't going to do anything interesting soon, John would have to break the hold and just go find Bill – and he was perfectly capable of getting free, the man's hold wasn't exactly up to par with a trained, skilled officer such as John.

But god, his mouth. That mouth was mesmerizing in the streetlight. How hadn't John noticed it properly before? It was gorgeous. Jesus. Especially so when it was moving.

Moving. Right. He was speaking.

"… but frankly it's about time you dropped the innocent façade seeing as it's quite obvious you've been caught. You're wasting both of our time," the man's teeth were clenched with haughty impatience.

John pursed his lips and said nothing. The man's expression changed, faltering as he shifted on his feet.

"You really have no idea what I'm talking about," he said in a low voice, not quite a question.

John shook his head, "Not one."

With that the man immediately broke his hold on John. He began pacing up and down the alleyway with his hands held together under his chin in the parody of a prayer, muttering under his breath.

"… illogical … doesn't add up … but the facts fit," strings of words floated to John's ears as he watched the apparent madman have some sort of breakdown.

"Um," John started, but didn't quite know how to finish.

Um, sorry to interrupt but do you think we could go back to getting each other off?

He shook his head, smiling disbelievingly at how quickly the situation had flipped on its head.

The man seemed to register John's presence once more and gave him a quick once-over with his eyes, then waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh you can go, I've no further need of you," and his voice was now clipped and refined.

Not only the words but the crisp eloquence with which they had been so naturally expressed made John's jaw drop.

"Wha - I'm sorry?" John tried to hide his wince at how his own voice had pitched embarrassingly higher than usual.

"I said, 'You can go, I've no further need of you.' How much simpler must I put it for you to understand?" the man snapped, voice prickling with disdain.

"I understood you perfectly fine, thank you, but I'm still confused about why you'd chosen to chat me up, dance with me, drag me outside with the possibility of getting off and then accuse me of doing … something …" John trailed off.

What more did he even know about the guy? Hell, he hadn't even got a name out of him! What could this man possibly have against John, a total stranger?

The man came to a stop in front of him and turned so that they were facing each other. His entire posture had changed, John realised. Like he'd shaken off a weight that had been resting on his shoulders.

Or a costume.

Grey, bright eyes attempted to pry John open. He seemed to be deciding something or other, and he tilted his head before bowing it for a second, resting one hand in another behind his back. He raised his head soon afterwards, decision made.

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, and maybe the tone was a bit less irritated this time.

Maybe. A bit.

"I – no, it's really not," John replied, crossing his arms.

"Well, let's look at the facts, shall we? I'm was putting on an act to get something from you, you knew that right away, I could see it in the way you were looking at me when I dropped my persona for a moment. The most obvious question to ask following this, then, would be what could I possibly want from you? Generally, people in clubs want one of three things – to talk about their dull lives, to drink themselves even more stupid than usual, or to have sex. Sometimes all three."

The man was talking at a lightning-fast speed, his voice like rumbling thunder, and John was feeling a bit thunderstruck himself. He wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgewise if he tried.

"I deliberately led you to believe I wanted at least the latter, and you followed me outside accordingly. However, you seemed confused when I questioned you. 'How have you done it?' I said. Obviously, I put on an act to get you alone in order to find out some information," and then he waited, a cue for John to say something.

"Information – about what? Some kind of illegal, undercover operation I'm a part of?" John scoffed lightly, smiling bemusedly.

"Precisely," and the man's face was devoid of humour and perfectly serious.

John stared at him, "But I haven't done anything!"

Liquid silver eyes sparked and the man tensed up again, a trigger pulled tight.

"Yes, we've established that, thank you," and the man seemed personally offended by the fact of John's innocence.

John's head was a mess of confused, knotted questions. The one that stood out the most was, 'What the hell?'

"Okay, so you were looking for someone that had information on some kind of 'illegal, undercover operation,' and you thought it was me. But you were wrong," John said slowly, pursing his lips.

The man gave him a slightly mocking look of approval.

"So good to see you keeping up. Yes, I was wrong," he hissed the word, "You happen to fit the criminal profile the Yard drafted up almost to the letter. The only physical difference I'd discerned was your height and perhaps your ears."

"My height? Are you calling me short?" John frowned.

A little smirk graced those elegant lips, "Touchy subject?"

John narrowed his eyes, "No. Don't change the topic. Why are you hunting down a criminal that almost fits my physical description? A physical appearance is not enough to be accusing people of breaking the law!"

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, the man gave a loud exhale, "Don't be stupid, of course I have more incriminating data on the suspect than a policeman's haphazard criminal profile."

"Such as?"

But the man was back to pacing, traversing the depths of his mind. John was starting to get the impression that he might not be entirely unjustified in his arrogance, with his raven eyes and lightning words. Still, he was bloody rude.

The pacing stopped abruptly and the (probably) alien man raised his head. His eyes widened as if in great realization, and he let out a breathy little 'oh'.

John was immediately wary, but did not expect to find those eyes centimetres from his own again. Bloody hell. Eyes like those could make the straightest flagpole bend. And he was touching him too. Gripping his upper arms like they were a vice. John's mind flashed to a totally different circumstance and he hurriedly tried to control his rising blush. Christ, was the gripping thing wholly necessary?

Then that decadent mouth opened, and a stream of logic began pouring forth.

"You didn't want to come to the club this very night. Your slumped shoulders, your steadfast focus on your drink, and only vaguely interested eyes as you surveyed the crowd tells me that. So what reason could you have for being here? Could be your therapist, but she would hardly suggest a club as a way of getting used to civilian life again and being a typical soldier you've probably grown to understand how emotions operate, likely trust yourself to keep your emotions in check, thus effectively disregarding others' opinions on the matter. Could be family, but going by your phone you've got no more than an alcoholic sister in that department. So, friend. Oh, but what kind of friend? You, an ex-army doctor just invalided out a month ago, suffering from PTSD and a psychosomatic limp. What friend could you possibly have, one that you would be willing to engage with in your current state of mind?"

John's mind was reeling, like a hamster wheel spinning but not going anywhere. He was so stunned that he missed being pushed to the side, and barely registered the door swinging shut behind the blinding, bewildering stranger.


A/N: I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED I THEE WED IN AROUND THREE MONTHS I feel so bad ugh. But I hope this new fic idea I had makes up for it? I'm just a bit stuck on how to continue I Thee Wed because I've been looking back at my writing and wincing a bit at how unrecognisable it is. But I will get there eventually, promise! Tell me what you think of this one though. I honestly think feedback is a drug for me because the high I get from a lovely review is absolutely phenomenal ok I love you guys.