ALIGHT!
Edited and updated version now up! Devour it, my dears, and tell me what you think!
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"TIIIMMEEE TOOO WAKKEEE UPPP!" John's voice nearly shouted, a slight sing-song weave to the words.
"No, please," Ash groaned, shifting in closer to the middle of the bed, where Hailie uttered some demon insult in annoyance at John, muffled by the pillow her face was smashed against. Aria grunted and promptly fell out of the king sized bed, taking a pillow and half of a quilt with her, tangling and tumbling onto the soft rug on the floor. She stayed there, moaning in harsh French into the fluffy purple rug, her wings flicking the quilt in irritation.
"Juste une minute de plus," she groaned, nuzzling into the rug and pillow defiantly.
"Sorry, but I don't speak 'oh hon hon,'" John quipped, snickering when Aria flipped him the two fingered salute.
"Dieu, je vous déteste."
"What did she say?" John asked, turning to Ash, who was trying with little success to disengage himself from the mass of blankets his feet and wings were trapped in.
"She swears on God that she hates you," he muttered, groggily, "or something like that. Not my second language, you know. I do better with Arabic." He stumbled over the last word as he staggered out of the bed, jostling his body until the blankets fell away. He shook his wings out, stretching them. Hailie groaned, lifting up her head to eye Ash with a hard stare, but her eyes were blank and unseeing.
"You look like a zombie," Ash smiled, a sleepy quirk of the mouth.
"You need to get a shower." John said, grabbing Ash's shoulder and twirling him to the door, placing a determined hand on the lower part of his back and pushing him towards the hallway. Ash hummed his acknowledgment as he ran a hand through his tousled black hair absently, making his way out the door and down the hall.
"And you," John said, turning to the lump of alpha on the floor, still muttering lolled french into the rug's fringe, "are to be dressed into your suit and greeting people at the door in," he checked his watch, "five hours. Knowing how you handle mornings and getting ready, you better be ready to consume coffee once you actually get up."
Hailie shifted in the bed, moving towards the side until she poked her leg out over the edge to place her foot on Aria's shoulder and jostle it halfheartedly, clinging to the loose t-shirt with a curl of her toes. dragged her foot up and then pushed down harder, smacking the alpha's shoulder and brushing up against her feathers. "Lève-toi imbécile, c'est notre jour du mariage," she drawled, a light teasing edge to her tone.
"Why is everyone speaking french?" John sighed, exasperated. "You're talking about me, aren't you?"
Hailie smiled, rolling her eyes. "I just told her to get up. And reminded her what day it is." she paused to poke at the heap of body and blankets at her feet once more. "She always reverts back to french in the mornings."
"Right, okay. You both need to get up, and about, like, now, unless you want your wedding to never happen." John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands as he made his way to the door.
"Since when did you become my wedding planner?" Aria drawled, a slight lilt to her words that still had a soft french base. John knew her father was french, but the tell-tale accent hardily ever surfaced, masked by the deep-rooted traditional London accent.
"Since you failed to wake up in time. Sherlock's making breakfast," he added the last bit only because he knew the reaction it would have. Aria sprang up, the blanket falling away. Hailie hummed in appreciation; besides the too-big-t-shirt (probably Ash's), all she had donned on her lithe body was a pair of cream-colored knickers. Her back was to Hailie, giving her a full good view of her bottom.
"Nice ass," Hailie purred, reaching over to smack the flesh with a flicker of glee in her eyes. Aria turned her head and flashed a flirtatious smile, her wings flaring out in a halfhearted dominant display.
"Girls," John sighed, "as much as I understand the impulse, everyone in this house—including you're mother," he eyed Hailie to get his point across, "would not appreciate you two shagging before the wedding. That's for after," he rolled his eyes.
Aria shrugged and her and John left together to assemble in the kitchen with the rest of the family. Aria's sister laughed at her from a stool at the counter that was attached to the middle island that was the stove and counter space. She reached over when Aria eagerly watched Sherlock cook, and snapped the band of spandex on her underwear. Aria ignored the childish, if not inappropriate, sibling-teasing in favor of the breakfast sausage Sherlock had just added to the pan.
Without thinking, John bumped Sherlock out of the way with his hip and fluttered his wing against his to grab a spatula from the large mug sitting on the counter that held various cooking utensils, and tend to the eggs. Sherlock shifted his flow to accommodate the new, but welcomed, intrusion. Working side-by-side, John flipped Aria's fried egg as Sherlock worked on the hash-browns. John felt a slight tug in his mind, and he absently reached over to the counter and retrieved the salt grinder, handing it to Sherlock without looking up from his own pan. Sherlock paused, a hint of surprise in his posture, and it took him a second to take the grinder from his loose grip. John to looked up, confusion on his face.
"Thought you wanted the salt? Or was it the pepper?" John asked, flipping Aria's egg again and then pressing the spatula on top of the egg to brown the surface of the egg without even needing to look. He eyed Sherlock, still confused as he took the salt, his gaze flickering to his hands as his fingertips brushed unnecessarily over his own as he seized the grinder. His wings twitched uneasily.
"Yes, this is what I wanted," Sherlock purred, his deep baritone soothing the faint but prominent undertone of slight panic and instinctive need to please within John's new but salient submissive tendencies. It was just salt, for god's sake, John grumbled to himself in his mind. No need to get your panties in a bunch, you idiot. His shoulders and wings relaxed.
"But I didn't ask for it. I was going to get it, and I was thinking about it, but I didn't ask you." Sherlock said, cocking his head and glancing at Aria. "Is this what you and your mate's experienced, though the bond?"
Aria smiled, but her eyes were still on the fried egg John was sliding from the pan and onto a plate. "Yeah. Started with little things, like when Ash had an itch on his back and Hailie scratched it, or when Hailie was tipsy at a club and we both grabbed her arms to steady her without thinking. Next came urges, like when I was in the bathtub and needed a clean set of towels, but they were all in the wash, and then Ash came in with a towel and told me I just sort of... tugged at his mind and he had came with the towel without a thought." She eyed the sausage in longing and tapped a fork on her bottom lip impatiently as Sherlock quirked his eyebrow at her to continue and ground some salt over the hash-browns.
"Next came little words and flashes of images, like when Ash tripped and fell in a puddle and I heard Hailie's voice in my head saying 'idiot.'" She chewed thoughtfully at the tines of her fork, as if she was envisioning a morsel of food was present between the tongs. "I was in a completely different part of Ireland at the time, in a really important and stressful meeting, and no one understood why I was suddenly laughing really inappropriately." She smiled. "Then later you master all of it, and it becomes really strong. You can push at you're mate's mind and get little flashes of thought, or they can offer you a sort of telepathic link. If you really concentrate, you can let them feel what you're feeling." She winked at John then. "I recommend trying that in the bedroom. Really intense. Highly orgasmic."
Her sister, Agatha, piped up then. "I second that statement. Ben and me tried it when Aria told me about it. Fan-fucking-tastic."
Hailie's mom snorted into her orange juice. "Please. Once you hit my age, your bond is so strong, it doesn't even compare."
"Yeah? Wanna go, old hag?" Agatha teased, making Hailie's mom (Genevieve, if John remembered correctly from last night's brief introduction at a really ungodly hour, just before he and Sherlock stumbled into bed), laugh with the air of a teenager. She seemed like one of those cool, intricate grandmas that have a drawer in the kitchen full of candy and talked freely about otherwise uncomfortable subjects for most seniors.
"Lets compare." apparently, they both weren't kidding because they moved to the smaller dining room that was not going to be used in the wedding and started chatting animatedly about their times in the bedroom.
"I should let in Zofia," Aria mused, setting down her fork on the counter. She turned to go to the front room where the wedding reception would take place to head to the sliding glass doors and let the dogs back in, only to bump into a bare torso. A bare wet torso. Her gaze flickered over Ash's frame, drinking in the sight. "Oh." She smiled, a lazy, predatory smile, which reminded John that she was, by all means, an alpha, no matter how laid back she was. Her feathers rose slightly from their silky smooth lines, puffing up. "Hello, handsome."
Ash purred, a soft sound, distinctly beta; Alphas were known to be feral, more of a deep-rooted purr that reverberated out from their core and could be heard across the room; betas were right in the middle, less intimidating and concentrating from the throat; while submissives were known to let out a sort of keen, higher-pitched and sometimes associated with a demanding tone. John (thankfully, he thought,) actually leveled out to the beta standards of a purr, a mixture of the two parts of him that came to a compromise; I will not sound like a submissive but now it's out of the question to sound like an alpha. Sherlock had a low purr that vibrated his whole body, one not heard often, which made it even more alluring when John enticed it out of him.
John tended to the eggs while Aria and Ash left to straighten things up outside, leaving the right sliding glass door open. With no warning, Hector bound in, sniffing the kitchen eagerly and nosing John's bare legs with his huge cold wet nose.
"Oi!" He hissed, shoving the Dane's huge head away from his crouch as he tried to sniff there. "Restricted area, sorry, mate." He said, the fondness overwriting the annoyance in his voice.
Sherlock reached over to bop the huge dog's nose with the heavy end of the handle of his spatula. "Restricted to one, he means," he said to Hector, eying him sternly as if he would understand. "And I do not intend to share." his tail curled protectively around John's leg.
"You're talking to a dog, Sherlock," John rolled his eyes.
"Only I am aloud to scent you there." Sherlock mumbled, his tail still snaking around his leg.
John didn't ignore the carefully constructed phrasing of that statement, even though the tail was slightly distracting. He chewed over the words while Hector romped out of the kitchen and left to go find other people who would give him pets, not a bop on the nose.
"So others can scent me elsewhere?" he asked, confusion and surprise in his voice. Despite his 'I do not care' attitude, Sherlock was quite a possessive dator.* He hated when Greg would make the normal, human mistake of touching the crease of John's inner elbow—two very important scent glands were there, evolved over time to scent newly born offspring. Demon submissives had them under the wrist, invisible, but Sherlock was well-aware and very attentive to John's angel anatomy. He knew not to touch behind John's ear, for example, unless he wanted John immobile on his knees, paralyzed and submitting without consent, which, thankfully, he never dared to even try.
But he payed immense attention to the nape of his neck, where an invisible spot near the fuzzy fringe of his hair held a very interesting gland. When touched by a mate, family member, or group member, it released a chemical within his bloodstream that relaxed the body and mind into a peaceful, content stable state. It had the opposite affect when touched by a stranger or fiend. Sherlock's growl snapped John out of his university-educated musings and he blinked up at Sherlock, turning he head slightly to the side to show a sliver of his throat on inherent aptitude. His wings folded submissively.
"Not just anyone can go scent you willy-nilly," Sherlock rumbled, shifting his stance as he turned off the burner and removed the pan from the stove onto a hot-pad that lay waiting on the counter. He then turned to John without the consequence of burning the hash-browns. "Someone like Lestrade, or even mrs Hudson, or—" his eyes narrowed and his pupils turned to pinpricks—"Mycroft, scenting you, makes me want to hurl them across the wall and—"
"—Sherlock," John said quickly, reaching over to grip his shirt collar, "Sherlock no—"
"—Let me finish, John." He gazed into his mate's eyes, his hands sliding out to grip John's waist with a defensive hunch of his back, as if he was defending, shielding John from the outside world. His wings slid around them, encasing them in a tight bubble of space. "If they did it, it would be unacceptable. But..." he paused, but only briefly, his face softening slightly, "But if Aria or Ash or Hailie scented you—not too much, just enough to get a faint scent on you—then that... that would make me... happy." The alpha made a face at this realization, as if he did not know why it would make him feel good about someone else's scent on his mate. "It would be good. To know they accepted you." His wings brushed up against John's shoulders.
"You..." John cleared his throat, eying his mate before continuing. Running his hand soothingly over the cotton of Sherlock's white button down, over his collarbones and under the fold of the folded collar of his shirt, grazing his shoulders, he said, soothingly, "If you would like, I could ask Aria if a grouping could be made, a..." he paused, trying to remember the angel word from mandatory uni history lessons, "a taldea, if you really want... I," he looked down to his hands and followed their movements. "I wouldn't mind. I think it would be good for us, really. You're not close to your family and, well," he grimaced, "My family isn't the best either. And I know that Aria was looking over 221C, because Hailie's family owns a refurbishing and remodeling company, so they would be close—"
Sherlock's lips pressed over his, and what ever else he was going to stutter out got lost and died in his throat. Sherlock's hands crept under John's shirt as his tongue invaded his mouth, a welcome intrusion, if you asked John. Sherlock's tail was brushing up against John's zip, and he groaned as Sherlock reached under his back to stroke where the wing jointed with the shoulder.
A loud but dulled thump caused them to break apart and look to the sound's origin. Sherlock raised his eyebrow as he watched with unhindered fascination. Hailie and Ash were in a very heated, tangled, and passionate "discussion" as Aria would call it, pressed up against the wall right of the hallway, in full view of John and Sherlock, still pressed up against each other in a similar fashion. Their wings were tangled together and Ash's tail was slipping under the fringe of Hailie's shirt.
When Agatha walked in to get food, she didn't look surprised to find the two couples of mates, practically in the same room, in the same position.
But since John and Sherlock were no longer in a "heated debate"—again, Aria's words—she directed her amusement to the now groping couple pressed flush against the wall.
"Get a room, you guys," she mumbled as she grabbed a plate and piled it with food. "Or wait till the honeymoon, at least. And get your dress on, Hails, you're not helping anyone if you're late to walk the wedding march."
Hailie, panting, her body rippling against her nexe,* huffed out a lazy "Fuck off, we're getting married" and then continued to devour Ash's mouth.
Sherlock turned to a now very red-faced John, and nipped his ear. "You know, it's funny; usually when I see couples like that, it makes me feel ill. But seeing that doesn't cause my stomach to flip. Seeing them like that doesn't make me aroused, either," he whispered, nuzzling lazily into John's neck. "I don't see two idiots getting off. I see two people who share... strong sentimental bonds showing affection." he laughed lightly. "Or three people, with them." he then pulled back, gazing at John. "I can tolerate them, and keep their company and it makes me quite... happy to have them around, but they don't have romantic sentiment towards us, and would not get in the way of our mating." He smiled broadly. "I think a taldea would be perfect."
He'd always had wanted a family.
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Ah, yes. Hello. How are you? Good?
I am dreadfully sorry about the delay, but I was a fool and thought typing while sitting on my bed was a good idea. For a really, really long time. Like, three days straight.
Sigh.
Besides being very close to having Carpal Tunnel, (Twice!) I have found my life in a disarray. School has started, and since I go to online school, I am on the computer 24/7, but for school. Ugh.
So please, please be patient. Unlike many of my fics that are on "StandBy", this fic is always on my mind.
So! Feed me ideas! Message me on my tumblr (achoo-manoo—make sure to add the h-t-t-p-:-/-/ (ignore the slashes, FF doesn't let you put links in works :/ ) because it sends you so some weird ad thing if you don't, or PM me, or email me at blackoutsuckas (Gmail account).
Your reviews feed my soul.
~Zera Henna
*see chapter entitled "Dictionary" and look at definitions :)