A giggle is my answer, which leaves me none the wiser.
“John!”
Am I whining now?
The giggling continues for a while, and I sip my fizzy cava; at least I think it is the Spanish equivalent of champagne. I squint at the coffee table and to my delight there’s a wine cooler with a bottle in it. When I lift it, however, I realise it is almost empty.
“More in the fridge,” John informs me.
I rise to my feet and finds that the sitting room is spinning. My hand reach for the mantle and I’m able to grab it before I topple over.
“Are we inebriated?” I ask puzzled.
“Pissed,” John says dryly. “You in particular.”
He giggles again. It is one of my favourite sounds. I sigh happily and send him a broad smile.
When I stand in front of the fridge some seconds - or minutes? -later, I have no idea what I am doing there.
“John?” I inquire without elaborating.
“A new bottle,” he says.
“Of course!” I exclaim, both because of John’s ability to understand what I mean, and the epiphany on how to proceed.
I manage to open the bottle without too much spilling of the liquid. When I walk back to the sitting room, I lick the remnants of cava from my fingers.
“Christ, Sherlock,” John mumbles and flushes.
“What? I spilled some…oh…”
I feel my neck get warm, and it only increases when John licks his lips just so.
John gets aroused by…this…me sucking my fingers.
The deduction is crystal-clear, and pierces through my foggy brain, which has been only half awake. I ponder how to continue, but then John clears his throat and points at his empty glass.
“You’re not drinking that bottle all on your own,” he states with a hint of his captain’s voice.
I shiver and feel that my trousers tighten at images of John in fatigues parading through the flat.
“Give me that!”
Warm fingers stroke mine when John grabs the bottle from my hand. He pours the fizzy drink into both our glasses and gestures for me to sit down in my chair again.
Walking is made difficult by the protruding hardness between my legs. Somehow, I manage to seat myself and cross one leg over the other to conceal the discourteous bulge.
I take a large swig of my drink, which I instantly regret. Before I can swallow, I look over at John who has a predatory look in his eyes. Some of the cava trickles down my windpipe. I cough, splutter, and tears blur my vision. When I meet John’s eyes again, they are closer, and the look in them is concerned.
He is leaning over me, patting my back, asking if I am alright.
“Slightly miscalculation,” I respond and cough one last time.
“Clearly. On my part as well,” is John’s cryptical reply.
What does he mean?
The question is probably readable on my face because John just raises his eyebrows suggestively – you know very well what I mean, Sherlock.
I raise mine in turn – well, you have never looked at me like that, John.
“Oh, but I have, Sherlock,” he says huskily, “but you weren’t paying attention.”
His face has a smug expression, and I raise an eyebrow in silent query again – really?
When he bends down to claim my lips, I close my eyes and hold on to his shoulders to prevent me from dissolving into a puddle.
“Your lips,” he whispers, “your neck, your hands, your curls, your cheekbones, your voice, your broad chest, your bespoken shirts and suits, your legs, you.”
Each of his words is followed by a kiss to my lips, cheeks, and neck. His hot breath against my skin is intoxicating. I squirm; sitting has become unpleasant because of my insistent erection.
“John,” I pant, “I need to get up. My trousers are – “
“Tight,” he purrs and lets his eyes rest on my groin.
“Yes. Bedroom?”
“God, yes,” he says emphatically and pulls me up with his strong arms.
My mind fast forwarded the tedious proceedings of getting undressed. It had thankfully regained its alertness.
I instinctively know that our first time will be messy and quick; we are after all quite drunk. The second John aligns his hot and pulsing cock with mine, I see stars and pull him closer to slide against his slick hardness. I admit I am unsuccessful in this endeavour, so I take advantage of a large hand, and envelope us both, pulling and twisting until we both pant hard and come seconds apart.
“Are you awake, Sherlock?”
I’m not, but I manage to answer anyway.
“Only half of me,” I mumble.
My favourite sound - in my bed - almost wake me fully, but then a warm and damp cloth swipes over my belly, and I nearly fall back to sleep again.
“I should’ve known you’d leave the cleaning up to me,” he mutters.
“Problem?”
I am drowsy now. And sated. And warm. And…something else. It is hard to decipher in my half-awake state.
When John’s arms pull me to him and his lips place a soft kiss on my forehead, I know; I feel loved.
John’s words make me even surer: “sweet dreams, my love.”
“Love,” I murmur dreamily, “I like that. A lot. I will tell you more about it tomorrow.”
I fall asleep with the sound of John’s giggle in my ears.
At least for now, I cannot wait to go home and have a whole night’s sleep again.
He was exhausted, half-snoozing/half-awake on his way to an early morning meeting with the prime minister when his personal phone vibrated with a specific pattern. An uncommon pattern that did not occur often, thank goodness, but one that always meant trouble.
Lestrade, something’s happened to my brother.
“Where is he?” Mycroft rang in, now wide-awake and mentally braced himself for bad news.
“Huh?” Gregory Lestrade seemed confused for a moment, then understood, “Oh! Sherlock? Fine, when I last saw him yesterday.” Then Lestrade’s voice immediately filled with apprehension, “Has he disappeared?! Oh God! What do you need me to do?”
“No, nothing…” Mycroft breathed, experiencing a moment of mental whiplash, relieved that his brother was, in fact, not in danger, and feeling a mix of partial guilt for the worry he had inadvertently caused, as well as a sense of being touched by his immediate concern. “I was on my way to a meeting, and you’ve only ever called me on my personal line when Sherlock’s in trouble.”
“Ohhh!” Gregory lets out a relieved breath, “I’m sorry! I was only thinking it wasn’t a business call for NSY, so a personal call…? I just wanted to hear your voice and ask about possible dinner tonight?” he yawned, clearly only half-awake himself, “Christ! It’s only half six? What was I thinking? And you’re busy, of course you are. I’m a fucking idiot. Sorry!” Mycroft could hear the chagrin in Gregory’s voice as he quickly rang out.
I’m glad to hear his voice, also. It has been a few weeks since we’ve seen each other, but what was that about?
He shook his head but had no time to give it more thought as his sedan pulled up to 10 Downing Street, and he mentally shifted gears for the meeting.
But he could not quite get it out of his mind.
Mycroft only spoke to the detective inspector to arrange dinners, which were supposed to be status updates about Sherlock, for that’s all it was to him in the beginning.
In the beginning, when the two men could not stand each other.
Who could predict that two uncommon men would find common ground beyond their care for Sherlock?
Although the dinners had stopped being about Sherlock ages ago, it was common to call from his work line, so he continued, just as it was common for Greg to use the personal line only for Sherlock emergencies.
He and Gregory had since grown past those days, and while it surprised Mycroft to one day realize a true friendship had formed, it utterly shocked him the day he finally admitted to himself that he wanted more, so much more, from the then-married man. And though Greg’s marriage dissolved nearly two years ago, Mycroft knew who he was. Mycroft knew that streetwise, surprisingly intelligent, down-to-earth, easy-going, and uncommonly gorgeous men like Gregory did not fall in love with uncommonly intelligent, cold fish, set in his ways, posh men like him.
But this is the first time Gregory has called ME! And it was personal? My voice? And dinner?
Mycroft bit down hard on the urge that nearly had him grinning on the outside, to reflect the one held within.
He’d just awakened, and he thought of me? Could… could I be…WRONG? Does he… like – because Mycroft simply cannot contemplate anything above that- like me?
Though it was less than two hours before the meeting ended, it felt like ages before Mycroft could call Gregory back.
Call him back from his personal phone.
“Look, Mycroft, I’m sorry I…” Gregory rang in without preamble.
“Gregory, I’m not…” Mycroft spoke over him, “I was glad to hear your voice as well.”
“You’re not? You were?”
Mycroft could hear the shock and pleasure in Gregory’s voice and was enormously happy to have put it there, but he couldn’t resist the tease. “Well, once we got over the minor coronaries, we nearly gave each other about Sherlock, that is. Please feel free to call on this line more often. It would be nice not to associate it, and you, with bad news.”
“Fair enough.” Gregory chuckled, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Speaking of… The pleasure of dinner with you tonight would be mine, Gregory. If it’s still on offer, that is.”
Mycroft smiled; he could all but see the happy relief on Gregory’s face as he spoke. “Oh, it’s very much on offer!” his smile faded somewhat upon hearing the soft, apprehensive sigh that followed before Gregory spoke again, “I must make something of a confession, first…”
“Oh?”
“And I feel I must say it now because I’m too chicken shit to say it to your face in case you…”
Gregory fell silent…
But Mycroft’s mind went into overdrive…
In case I WHAT? The man has cursed me out in person several times over the years without a hint of fear. What he could possibly be afraid to tell me face-to-face…?
And Mycroft’s mind record scratched as the impossible, however improbable, but must be true answer came to him.
No, I must see his face, to know if it’s true, his voice won’t be enough…
“I must go. Landmark 6 PM? Save it for tonight, Gregory, please.” Mycroft implored, as he quickly rang out, not giving him a choice.
“I have loved you in secret.“ “And so have I.”
Mycroft Holmes does not know it yet, but his going to work half-awake, but happily so, will be a common occurrence when those are the words confessed between them in a few hours.
----------------------------------------
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The near-silent click of the bird’s talons on the window sill was just enough to wake him. Tenzin opened his eyes, but even the soft morning light was a bit too bright, so he closed them back.
Against his left shoulder, someone’s breath stirred his nightshirt against his chest. He inhaled and gently pressed her closer. With his right arm, he stroked the hip of his other love.
Half awake, he kept his eyes closed and felt for their bodies pressed against his. The shared warmth. The comforting weight of them both.
He opened his eyes again, but kept his eyes on the ceiling, slowly blinking away the fog in his vision. Their breathing was so delicate, he knew they were both near to waking. Any movement on his part was likely going to stir one and then the other.
And then the day would begin, and he would lose this precious moment of peace.
He pressed them both again, drinking in the feel of them under his arms.
In his peripheral vision, he could see the little bird hopping about on the sill, fluffing its feathers, thankfully quiet for the moment.
The love on his right side shifted, pressing more of her body against him, and he felt almost an ache in his heart. Back and forth in his mind - Lin? Pema? - he tried to decide who it was. It was probably Pema, he thought, since she had mostly slept closer to the wall their whole marriage. And Lin did not like to be pinned, in case of emergency.
But that was the thing - the number of times Lin had fallen asleep next to the wall had spiked recently. She seemed to be especially prone to sleeping to Pema’s right side, for some reason. When they got in bed before him, he often found them with Pema in the middle spot, her left side exposed, waiting for him.
That Lin had returned to the space she had once occupied so often nearly brought him to tears, right there.
He had lived in this one room nearly his whole life - childhood, his teen years, the years he shared with Lin, married, and now… married differently.
With a smile on his face, he pressed his beloveds closer to his body.
“Mmmm…” came the voice from his left.
Lin.
He smiled, realizing he had been correct in his original thoughts.
Then Pema squirmed, somehow stretching more of herself against his right flank.
And then their hands met over his chest.
“Do we think he is awake?” Pema whispered as she laced her fingers through Lin’s.
What he felt then must have caught their attention, because they began sliding their joined hands across his chest, toward his stomach…
Pema raised her head and caught his eyes. She gave him a sly smile, leaned across his chest to kiss Lin, and loudly whisper -
Finally getting back to joining in @flashfictionfridayofficial!! Some Classic Who for my beloved found family trio: Two, Jamie and Victoria for this prompt! Little bit of angst, but a lot more comfort
[over on ao3]
It's not easy getting to sleep in a new environment, the Doctor knows. And for Victoria? It's doubly-so after everything she had to leave behind her.
Fandom: Doctor Who
WC: 217
---
“Now, this should work, Victoria.” The Doctor offers her the mug, taking care not to spill its contents. That wouldn’t do.
“What is it?” she mumbles, shuffling herself out of the quilt. It bunches around her. It’s like watching a sleepy bear cub emerging from its cave.
“Hot chocolate. Good for fighting off nightmares.” As she accepts it, the Doctor pulls his hands back, fidgeting with his bowtie. It's not the first time this has happened—her struggling to sleep. It likely won’t be the last, either, when it comes to the shadows left behind by the Daleks. Or, more likely, memories relating to her poor old father. “Partially… my doing, though Jamie did help.”
“No idea how,” Jamie chimes in, from where he's hovering by the living room doorway, “dinnae know what he was playing at. A kettle! Better in a pan. Comes out all frothy-like.”
“Now, Jamie—”
As they banter back and forth, Victoria takes a sip of the chocolate. It’s just on the edge of bitter, but with a sweetness to it that reminds her of times before the TARDIS. When a very different mug used to be given to her, with a small but gentle smile. She snuggles further down under the folds of her quilt. “It’s perfect,” she tells them. “Thank you.”
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF314 - half awake and @fluffbruary ‘s INFINIFLUFF 2025 for the month of July ~ stain. Yukiya accompanied Wakamiya patching the holes. Some fluff after Yukiya paid his allegiance. The prequel for this fic. Pre-slash.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose its Master
Characters: Yukiya, Wakamiya (a.k.a. Nazukihiko, the prince, heir, the crown prince)
Word count: 1066
“WAKE up, Yukiya!”
A pair of hands gripped Yukiya’s shoulders gently rocking him, rousing him from sleep. As soon as he opened his eyes, his view was full of his master’s visage leaning over him.
“Good morning.”
He glanced behind his master’s back toward the window. It was still quite dark outside.
“Ugh, so early, Your Highness…” the young man rubbed his eyes and yawned for good measure. Half awake, he adjusted himself staying a bit further away from the crown prince whose nearness was causing him to lose his mind.
Wakamiya assigned one of the unused chambers in the Sunrise Palace to Yukiya, who spent most of his time studying at the Meikyo-in library and joining Rokon and the Divine Soldiers for everyday military and combat exercises on the side. In six months, he would enter the military academy of Keisoin so preparations were underway. He decided to stay in Chuo for the duration of that period. Apart from learning for the entrance exams, he also accompanied his master and Sumio for patching the tears in the barriers.
“Apologies, Yukiya. But we have so many things to do if we are going to the Tsurugaoka Hachimangu now, we need at least half a day to fly there.”
Nazukihiko said it with an impish smile on his face. Normally it would irritate the attendant causing him to lash out at his master, but he was not the same Yukiya from a year ago. He valued his master’s existence more than ever and would serve him until the day he died.
Wakamiya excused himself. He noticed the boy’s growth spurt as he tidied his futon.
Inside the palanquin seated next to the crown prince, Yukiya felt his body lagging after finishing one mission after the other. He already missed one sword exercise with the Meikyo-in monks a day before due to his absence.
Religious leaders through Lord Natsuka, the Meikyo-in director, relayed the appearances of holes in various locations to Wakamiya, who in turn, made his travel plans with his subordinates.
This is the fifth village in a span of three days.
Yukiya stared at Wakamiya and wondered if fatigue never existed in his master’s vocabulary. In truth, the heir’s eyes lost their sparkle, and his skin colour was still pale. The prince had been relentless to patch all the holes after his long rehabilitation. There were times when Yukiya was worried for him. The crown prince’s wound was still healing; however, he lost so much blood everyone had doubts then he would survive.
“Your Highness, I hope that you won’t attempt to go astray this time,” Yukiya said half-jokingly while watching the sky from the small lattice window. Sumio called Nazukihiko a furaibo, a wandering creature who could not stay in one place.
It was less clouds today with hot temperatures. The azure skies blended so well with the lush greens of the forests and fields.
He would not miss these breathtaking sceneries for the world. One of the reasons he pledged his loyalty to Wakamiya, who caught wind of his remarks.
“I’ll try my best.” The two of them looked at each other and smiled. It was a comfortable ride without any issues at all.
“You could rest a bit, Your Highness. I fear you also need it,” Yukiya said. He fished a small pillow filled with buckwheat grains from his backpack, a birthday present from his mother a long time ago.
Nazukihiko without a word grabbed it from Yukiya’s hands and positioned it on top of the boy’s lap and lay his head down. He closed his eyes.
Ah!
“Your Highness?” Seconds, minutes passed.
A soft snore could be heard from the thin frame of the person in front of him. Yukiya let out a sigh of disbelief. He did not know where to put his hands that they automatically reached for the heir’s arm as if cradling him. He continued watching the scenes below, his mind wandered.
—
Like what Nazukihiko had surmised they reached the shrine after lunchtime. Taking their afternoon tea, the monks also reported that bandits began to frequent the area.
Taking this into account, the two treaded the hilly paths to the mountainous terrains while Sumio stayed far behind acting as their bodyguard.
Rain began to pour when Wakamiya and Yukiya ascended to the top leading to the cliffs. Changes in the air began to appear that the boy was already used to it. The slight dizziness did not disturb him now.
As soon as they reached their destination, Wakamiya extracted one of his arrows made of wisteria vines from the quiver.
“Come, Yukiya,” he encouraged the attendant to come closer after he inspected the area. “Behold the shiranui. The holes are manageable. It must be luck that the monks have seen them the moment they sensed a difference in the atmosphere.”
The crown prince tightened his bow ready to shoot the first round and the next. After the tears were all patched, thick roots and fresh branches began to crawl from each other forming a barrier.
“Finished.”
Yukiya would never get tired watching his master wield his power whenever he mended the tears. Returning to the monastery, Yukiya noticed a stain on the prince’s lilac robe.
“Your Highness, your wound… please sit down.”
Anxiety ate at Yukiya’s heart; he placed his backpack on the ground and took the first-aid kit out. Nazukihiko shed his cape to the floor and opened his dark-blue kimono. His vast immaculate white skin exposed in contrast with the angry wound that marred it. It thankfully did not open. Yukiya prepared a fresh gauze and replaced the old one.
He furrowed his brows, then bit his lips after he was done. Guilt was all over his face.
“I am so sorry. If not for me…”
“Don’t, Yukiya. It was never your fault. Not at all.”
Yukiya did not remove his right hand over the injury when he felt Nazukihiko’s hand covered his.
“You did not know then that I cannot kill a fellow Yatagarasu…” The prince then took his hand and kept it with him.
“Look!” He pointed toward the cliffs.
By the power of the moonlight above, the wisteria blooms blossomed and shone in the middle of the night.
“Stay with me, Yukiya.”
Witnessing the miracle unfolded before his eyes, Yukiya knew that he made the right choice.
Content warning: character death, pills, depression, sleep disorder.
Word count: 490
Devi sat on the roof of the compound. He stared into the distance, contemplating something.
"Hey!" William shouted from below, waving. Devi smiled and waved back.
He then looked up to the stars. Ever since the collapse of Earth, industrial factories came to a halt, clearing the skies from pollution, but the sky was still full of debris, giant chunks of rock forming a ring around the planet.
He heard someone approaching him, It was Angel, she sat beside him, her crystal blue eyes shimmering.
"What's on your mind, hun?" She asked, her eyes locked onto his. "I'm fine, Angel." He said.
"I've been meaning to ask...Do you blame yourself...?"
"What..?"
"Do. You. Blame. Yourself?"
“You left me to die Devi, do you blame yourself for that..?"
"Stop..." he said. His breathing was heavy. "You didn't save me, I hate you for that, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."
Devi woke in his bed, drenched in sweat, tears trickled down his cheek, he even subconsciously shifted into his chimera form. He checked the clock on his bedside table, it was four in the morning, he slowly got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen where he swallowed a duo of pills, one for stress and the last was an anti-depressant, instead of going back to sleep he went into a storage room near his quarters and grabbed a variety of tools and arms, one JW3 TTI MPX, a set of throwing knives and an odachi, sure, he could have used his powers but the environment changed drastically after the Collapse, his powers would alert hostile creatures to his location. "... Hopefully, we get a good haul today.." he said as he rubbed his eyes.
The sleep was getting to him, but that wasn't the issue, the real issue was food, the rations he found at the compound wasn't going to be enough, until he and the other survivors found a sustainable food source he needed to go hunting every morning before daybreak.
He went beyond the safety of the compounds' natural defenses, jagged hills, and lots of steep terrain. Once outside, he flourished his wings and flew upwards just above the forest barely grazing the trees, he then swooped down onto a clearing and fired his rifle to signal animals nearby, he sat down and tried his best to stay awake but the deprivation of sleep was killing him. "Just.. five minutes..." he said as he drifted off. Suddenly, a sounder appeared on the outside of the clearing, which made Devi wake up and begin picking off a few boars out of the dozen to make sure they could last as long as possible. After it was done, he carried the stock to a tree, and he fell asleep beside the tree, rifle still in hand. He will bring them back in the morning for breakfast.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #314 prompt Half Awake
WC 150
Trigger Warning: Accidentally almost animal abuse
OC
She tosses and turns for close to an hour before her exhaustion finally pulls her under. Her dreams are strange, forgotten in the morning but leaving a taste of the unknown ( something important forgotten) in the back of her mind.
While she is still only half awake, her brother calls from the other side of her door.
“Tiger was in the dryer all night. I found him when I went to put my clothes in.”
After the initial shock that brought her fully awake, her heart pounding, she was able to find out he was okay. Despite the scare.
It all made sense now. The small noise, her dog's reaction ( she had to have heard and sensed her feline brother's distress). What was forgotten, that she hadn't seen him when she fed them that last time.
Thank God it was all okay. What was forgotten could have been a tragedy.
