A/Note: Wow. I'm speechless seeing the response so far. Thanks IamSHERlocked4ever, staralinga, Lalidra102, tmrzygmunt, Jolie-marie for favoriting, for the reviews and follows. I can't express how rewarding this is. :D
As for today's chapter... sorry.
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4. The puzzle
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Scott was just finishing getting dressed. He paused and stared into space.
The bedside light was still on, as they had quickly fallen asleep afterwards, both sweaty and exhausted. That was unusual. Most of the times, he'd get drowsy afterwards, but remained alert so he could leave once his conquests were asleep. Luckily he woke up a couple of hours later.
He looked over his shoulder. John was asleep, dog tags jumbled on his collarbone, sheets down to his waist. He had one hand resting between his pecs and navel, his face was turned to the side towards the other hand, still clad with his watch, palm facing up. As expected, his body was glorious.
He was stunned; not only this had been the best shag of his entire life, but also, for the first time, he had experienced an orgasm without direct stimulation. Hadn't he known better, the logical conclusion would be that John had experience with men after all. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing and was deliberate and precise in his moves. Not even experienced gay men had ever been this successful with him. It had taken him by surprise, and the intensity of his earth shattering orgasm left him drained, exhausted and certainly seriously dehydrated judging by the sheer amount of sweat that had poured out of him.
He looked at the bed, with an inviting, warm and naked John on it and was tempted to stay.
But he knew better. With men who slept with another man for the first time it always made for unpredictable reactions once they woke up. Most of the times there was regret; they didn't want to be reminded of their "slip" and just wanted to get rid of him. Inevitably, there were denials and accusations, "I was drunk, you must have drugged me, hypnotised me, you took advantage of me, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."
He sighed, stood up and left, without looking back.
John Watson, he repeated inside his head. He had the dog tags memorised. He would never see him again.
...
When John woke up the following morning, he squinted at the bedside table lamp's glare. They had forgotten the lights on last night. Last night. He jerked his head around, but the bed was empty. He felt it, and the sheets were cold. Raising his head he scanned the room and listened, but he was alone. He looked around again. No note. He reached for his jeans on the floor and checked his phone. Nothing had been added to the contacts list, but there were a couple of texts from Bill. He lay back and rubbed his face.
So that was that.
Truth be told, he was relieved for not having to face Scott this morning.
Yet, it still stung. No "good morning", "I had a good time", nothing.
To Scott he was just a one night stand. Just an easy shag after all, easily discarded and forgotten.
...
He had been staring into space. After a thorough shower he put on a dressing gown and carefully lowered himself onto his armchair, pulling up his legs and hugging them. He still felt raw and naked. His muscles had a satisfying ache, reminding him of the evening and of John.
He only sought sex when he was extremely bored, with nothing else to occupy his mind. So he tried to make it more challenging and interesting each time, turning it into a hunting sport of sorts. But this time had been different. He thought about all the last hours he had spent with Second Lieutenant John Watson, from first to last sight. The last sight. He did not want to forget or delete it. This man was different.
He tried to tell himself it was over; tomorrow soldier O POS 28740774 WATSON, J CE, would be on his way to Afghanistan. This had been John's first and only time with a man, and most likely he would be unwilling to see him again.
Yet. He couldn't help but feeling a nagging sense of loss. John had been nice, fun, appreciative of his skills, even before they got to the hotel. There was a sense of "fitting into an old shoe" between them as they talked. He wished they had had more time together, that they had met earlier, sometime before his leaving for Afghanistan.
He had used all his resources, skills and talent on John. Usually he would only need to spend twenty to thirty per cent of his arsenal to turn his targets into a quivering mess, eager for him. The fleeting power he had over them during those times was the reward for his efforts, especially the suffering through the courtship part. He was always able to taylor his persona and pick the skills required to fit the chosen target.
The simple act of throwing his suit jacket over the armchair was no accident, but a calculated move. It made sure John would logically do the same, leaving only the sofa for them to sit. And once sitting, they had a suggestive view of the bed. That's why he favoured this hotel, the set up was just perfect.
This time he had started with his acting skills, pretending to be the kind of person who actually exchanged small talk in a pub and didn't find it boring. Except he hadn't been bored. At the hotel, he aimed to appear non-threatening and shy once they settled on the sofa. But for every small victory in the path of winning John over, something compelled him to go beyond his own standards, to never stop, to never let it drop. Something about him, the way he responded and smelled and breathed. Every little sound, every small gasp he extracted from John were rewarding in a different way.
This wasn't about power over him. Somehow he was the one entranced, trying harder and harder to reproduce the same fleeting results again and again. And yet, in the end he was the one reduced to a quivering mess, eager for him. He had never cared much for foreplay, he only spent enough time on it to get his prey compliant. But this time he had lost track of how much time they had spent on that sofa. To his surprise, he didn't mind that. By the time they finally made it to bed he was almost out of his mind with desire. John had surprised him again-
'By God, what have you done?'
He looked up to find his older brother evaluating him.
He wrinkled his nose, 'What are you doing here?'
'It was brought to my attention that you've been engaging in dangerous behaviour again. When are you going to stop risking your health and your life like this?'
'I don't risk my health or my life. Go away,' he stood up and faced the window, a feeble attempt to hide his thoughts from his brother.
'The mere use of prophylactics does not equal safety when you pick up strangers in pubs. It would be very much like you to attract, no - choose - dangerous or violent individuals. Murderers, even. Or, conveniently enough, drug suppliers.'
'I know very well what I'm doing and who I'm doing,' he spat, hoping to offend his brothers' sense of propriety enough so he would leave.
'But something turned out unexpectedly this time. It's written all over you.'
'It's nothing.'
'What has he done to you?'
'What do you think?' He whirled around, eyes flashing. Then he smirked. 'Do you really need me spell it out for you?'
His brother rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he approached slowly. He spoke softly this time.
'Do you need medical assistance?'
He frowned, 'No, I'm perfectly fine,' and turned away. 'Leave me alone.'
'You are not perfectly fine. Has he hurt you?'
'No!' He smiled and turned around. 'Much the opposite. You want to know what he has done to me? I'll tell you then...'
He started his account being as crass and as graphic as possible.
'Oh please. There is nothing you can say to shock me. I was the one who cleaned up the mess after your last disaster, remember?'
'Oh, but this was just the foreplay! The sofa offered many possibilities...'
His older brother finally had enough. 'Oh shut up, you are merely avoiding the real subject.'
'Am I?'
'Yes. Something else happened. Something that left you rattled. No, puzzled,' he raised an eyebrow.
He turned towards the window, but his older brother continued.
'You've been going over everything. What could that be? You, puzzled?'
'Go back to your wars and power schemes. What I do is my business. My life.'
'Life? Keep up this destructive behaviour and it may end sooner rather than later, dear brother.'
'At least I won't be bored. This is tedious. Leave.'
Childish brat! This is pointless; the same argument over and over again. But out loud he said, 'Very well.' He turned around and walked towards the door. 'I'll be watching you, little brother,' he called over his shoulder.
Scott heard the footsteps going towards the staircase and turned sharply. He ran to the top landing and shouted:
'And don't you dare do anything!'
...
After Bill's unbearable teasing about the redheaded woman, John couldn't take it anymore and told him the truth, in general lines. Bill was stunned into silence for a while, his mouth hanging open.
'You?'
'Yeah. Me.'
'Man!'
They sat in silence some more.
'Listen Bill, if I make you uncomfortable-'
'John, shut up. You know my brother is gay, I'm not uncomfortable around you. Just- surprised.'
'Yeah. Me too.'
'Damn!'
They quieted again.
John started regretting telling him. 'Bill, erm, would you- would please keep this just between us?'
'Of course, mate, of course. Just... fuck!' Bill wiped his forehead. 'I never...'
'Yeah.'
They were quiet for a while, each mulling over their thoughts.
'So. Are you seeing him again? Did you get his number?'
'No.' He leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms. 'Nope, I'll probably never see him again. Ever.'
'Ah.' Good.
Bastard.
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A/Notes: See? Not so out of character after all...
