#xlostlenore

[edosianorchids901]

From Fancy to Truth

Finished this fic request! Thank you for the prompt, @xlostlenore!

On previous trips, Garak found Bajor tolerable. Perhaps the sun shined a bit too bright, but he’d enjoyed the luscious vegetation and occasional warm breeze.

This time, on the other hand, the landing site immediately assaulted him with biting wind and an icy drizzle that set his teeth on edge. Rivulets of water traveled down the flat scales of his neck and followed the curve of his spine. So much for his illusions of days spent basking in the fresh air. This downpour eliminated any chance of leisurely outdoor walks.

“That’s a bit brisk, isn’t it?” Dr. Bashir hopped out of the runabout, luggage slung over his shoulder. “Do you think it rains here often? Not quite the place I’d have picked for a conference.”

“Nor I.” Garak hefted his own bag higher and dashed for the covered walkway. The shelter wasn’t much of an improvement—high gusts of wind caught the downpour and drove rain into his face. He gave a sharp, irritated sigh and raised a hand to shield his eyes, at least.

Bashir skidded to a halt under the cover, somehow managing not to slip. He shook his head and then his entire body like a hound who’d just taken a swim. “Brrr. That’s more than brisk.”

“I’m afraid I must concur with that assessment, Doctor.” Garak’s teeth chattered. With a long breath, he forced himself to release the tension in his neck and shoulders. He’d give himself another headache if he wasn’t careful. “Shall we get out of this dreadful environment?”

“Probably, yes.”

Water wound between slate grey stepping stones and poured off into the neighboring garden beds. The sight of greenery filled Garak with a wistful joy. Oh, how he missed growing orchids on Cardassia.

Although regret tugged at his heart, he tore his attention away from the gardens. Other conference attendees milled around on the path ahead. Apparently, none of them minded the hypothermia-inducing rain, or that they had to shout to hear each other over the raging storm.

“This is more people than I was expecting.” Dr. Bashir ran a hand through his hair, and water droplets splattered across Garak’s face.

Garak yelped. “Doctor, I’m quite wet enough without your help.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Here, let me get that,” Bashir said.

Warm fingers brushed across Garak’s cheek. For a moment, he accepted the contact, the closeness. A welcome antidote to the weather—and to loneliness.

And then alarms went off in his head, and he waved a dismissive hand. Sentiment once again, his eternal bane. “Nonsense, I’m perfectly all right. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Bashir frowned, cocking his head. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Continue reading on AO3

[michaelssw0rd]

Nishi Munshi in Pretty Little Liars 4x10, for @xlostlenore

[michaelssw0rd]

Comfortable Silences.

This is a gift-fic for @xlostlenore because she asked for their comfortable silences to be addressed and acknowledged! And also because she is a darling who inspires me everyday. I hope you enjoy this dear <3. Thank you for nudging me out of my writers block.

There’s something to be said about the implicit language of silence.

John was rather adept at understanding it, deciphering it. Sometimes, his very life had depended on it. It was prudent to know the difference between what a tentative silence sounded like, compared to a threatening one. The air felt different in the quiet that preceded moments of sudden attack, the tang of blood identifiable in every breath. The stillness that followed someone’s threat can tell you how likely it was that they will follow it through… if you knew how to listen.

And the violent silences weren’t the only ones John was accustomed to.

Kara had taught him what a disappointed silence was like; Mark made him proficient at reading a scornful one; Jessica was full of frustrated quiet moments, ones tinged with sadness. He knew of the other kinds as well, with the life he had led. There were times with the hush meant boredom and times when it meant desire. It could be happy, ominous, hopeful, terrified, anticipatory, irritated, and any number of other things.

John had not known it could be ever be comfortable.

For how less he spoke, John was a man who was accustomed to constant noise around him. The lack of it, set his teeth on edge. Because the quiet had always meant he was supposed to do something, he was always meant to fix it somehow, make the silence stop being so terribly loud.

He could never, in his live, have guessed that one day, he would rejoice in it; find it peaceful. But here, in the library, with Harold busy with his coding, he found that, unexpected as it was, he was grateful for it. There was something about Harold’s presence that brought out the sentiment. When he was quiet, his expressions didn’t make John worry that he had somehow messed up, that he should be apologizing for something. Instead, it felt like contentment.

Noticing his scrutiny, Harold looked up at him, a slight raise of eyebrow conveying his question better than words ever could. John smiled unconsciously, helplessly, and shook his head. Harold’s gaze was considering, and then he nodded and immersed himself in his work again, leaving John to his reading and contemplation.

And that was it… wasn’t it?

Words were unnecessary, because that’s how they talked: with the shifts in the air, minute movements of their expressions, and the tilts of their mouths. Better yet, that’s how they understood each other. Spoken words left so many things to desire, so many chances of misinterpretation, but you couldn’t read the silence wrong. The affection in it had a distinct aura, a taste, and it was impossible to mistake it for anything else.

So that’s what John always did: he kept his mouth closed, let the hush of the library, of Harold’s barely audible breaths permeate the air, and basked in it.

Once, after they finished their dinner and were cuddling on the couch, he told Harold about it. Told him how much their comfortable silences meant to him. Harold got oddly flustered at that, his cheek tinging pink.

“It used to grate on Nathan,” he explained, “especially when I got buried in coding and didn’t speak for days. I tried to get rid of the habit, but words have never been my strong suit. Despite being quite verbose, and knowing what the individual word means, I have the unfortunate tendency to say exactly the wrong thing.”

“Harold… you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“Grace used to find my fumbling amusing, and dare I say, adorable. But it is exhausting to try and choose the correct words, pretend to like dialogue when I would much rather… not.”

“You are adorable Harold, but as I just said, I am glad we don’t feel compelled to fill every moment with meaningless chatter.”

“I suppose there is something to be said about understanding each other without using language as a crutch.”

Warmed to the core, John realized there were times when speaking had its advantages. But still, “I like it.” John nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in.

“I know you do.” Harold kissed his hair fondly, his arm curling around him, wrapping him in his protective embrace. John didn’t need to be an expert in deciphering silences to know this one was suffused with tenderness, that it whispered the words of love.

(on ao3)

[michaelssw0rd]

For @xlostlenore because she deserves good things in her life and she also loves Gia a lot ♥.

I hope you like this sweetie.

[michaelssw0rd]

Coziness.

Because @xlostlenore did not have the most wonderful of days, here’s a little something to cheer her up. And ALSO for all my absolutely DARLING rinch fans that I am never ever gonna stop being grateful for.

John opened his eyes and let contentment seep into every joint of his body. Stretching in the bed like a cat- a panther- he felt the soreness in the muscles and relished in it. It was a testament to the fact that he was doing his job; saving people.

He turned to his left, and saw the reason for his contentment lying beside him. Curled slightly to his side, his hair messy, his face slack and peaceful, Harold was a picture of absolute serenity. He snuffled in his sleep, ruffling the pillow cover a bit and John was overcome with emotions at how absolutely adorable he looked. Like a ruffled bird, consistent with the surnames he preferred.

It seemed only natural that Reese brought his hand up and pressed his index finger lightly on Harold’s nose. Booping it.

Harold furrowed his brows and shifted, making cute little expressions, and John squirmed because of how absolutely endearing it was.

Slowly, Harold blinked awake, and for a moment Reese thought he got away with it. That Finch wouldn’t have noticed it. Then confusion showed on his face and John knew he was caught. He turned a bit and hid his helpless smile into the pillow, because he could hear the next words even before Finch spoke them.

“Mr. Reese. Did you just… boop my nose?” There it was. The perplexity and the bewilderment, along with something close to fondness.

John just grinned wider, not looking at Finch’s face and nodded.

“John?” Harold sounded a little serious, touching his shoulder slightly, an entreaty to look at him.

“I am sorry. You just looked so cute, lying here beside me. In my bed. All mine. And I couldn’t help myself.” John admitted, looking back at Harold shyly.

Harold looked at him with sleepy love filled eyes- they always looked so much bigger without his glasses- and then, with all seriousness, “Beep,” he said, as he pressed his own finger to John’s nose.

John stared. Harold stared back.

Then all at once, he dissolved into giggle ill-fitting an ex- assassin. In front of him, Harold was chuckling too, a wide grin on his face, and all his usual defenses absent.

Once his giggles subsided, he lay back down on his back and stared at his ceiling, wondering how very different mornings are… when you can wake up next to the person you love. Beside him, Harold settled into a position mimicking his, and then moved a little until he found John’s hand and linked their fingers together.

There was no need to speak the words. They were obvious in every synced breath they took, in the way their fingers fit just perfectly together; in the way their hearts were glad.

[michaelssw0rd]

Being Watched.

@xlostlenore linked me to this post, and then came up with this premise... and the story happened. The story basically formed itself in the chat and I am just making it more coherent.

Rinch. Fluff. T-rated. 

Harold realizes he is being watched. There’s a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that makes his spine tense up. He tries to keep typing, keep ignoring it, because he is in the library; he is safe here. But the niggling sense of being observed is distracting.

The worst part is… he knows who it is that’s watching him. It’s not a big leap. There’s only one person in the library with him, and that information, makes his palm sweat, and his heart race.

This is new. As is the way John has been constantly looking at him these past few weeks, as if solving a puzzle. The smile on his face has changed recently, from friendly to sort of… suggestive. The glint in his eyes, the timbre of his voice… the deliberate brush of his fingers on Harold’s skin whenever they find the opportunity-

Harold suppresses a shudder that threatens to wrack his frame, and tries to concentrate. This firewall won’t break itself.

John is sitting by the window, sprawled in his chair. Harold can see faint reflection of him on his computer screen. His eyes are trained towards Harold. They have been for a while. The lines of code blur in front of Finch’s eyes, and he knows that he would have to rewrite all of it. This can’t go on.

His fingers slow down their compulsive typing, until his hand is resting lightly on the keyboard, immobile. He takes a fortifying breath before turning, and raising his eyebrows at Reese, looking straight at him.

The ex-assassin grins at being caught staring-unapologetic- and Finch has to struggle to keep from grinning back. Instead, he tries to infuse disdain into his voice when he says, “What are you looking at Mr. Reese?”

John’s face grows contemplative, even if the smirk lingers, as if etched permanently on his features. He raises a hand, and rubs his thumb absentmindedly on his chin. Then he nods, as if making up his mind and looks back at Harold, making his breath hitch. Something has shifted in the air all of a sudden. There’s intent behind the Reese’s gaze, where before there was always slight flirtation.

“I was just thinking…” He stares at Harold’s face- his lips, Harold realizes with a jolt- and tapers off.

“What?” Harold’s throat is suddenly dry, his voice feeble.

“What would happen if I were to kiss you?” he wonders aloud, as if talking about weather.

“M-Mr. Reese?” Harold hates the stutter in his voice, but has no control over it.

“I wonder if your lips would be as soft as they look. If they would taste like the cherry balm you sometimes use. You see… I have been paying attention. And I have been pondering over this question for a while now. A long while.” He gets up from where he is sitting, the light from the window giving his outline an ethereal glow, “don’t you think it’s about time I find the answer to that?”

Finch opens and closes his mouth, trying to form words. He knew this was going to happen eventually, but now that it is, he has no idea how to respond. John takes a step forward, a threat and a promise all at once.

“Please don’t…” His voice is a mere whimper, and he can’t even feel ashamed. His heart is beating in his throat, drowning out every other noise.

“Please don’t what? Please don’t kiss you?” John chuckles, and keeps stepping forward, the distance across them shrinking. It wasn’t much before anyway. Harold leans back in his chair, trying to delay the inevitable. “You’re a scientist Harold. An analyst. Tell me… is your heart beating fast?”

Harold nods, too far gone to speak.

“Is it because of fear?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for reply, standing in front of Harold now, too close for comfort, and not close enough. “Or anticipation?”

“I don’t think…”

“That’s just it. Don’t think. Stop calculating and over analyzing.” John bends a little, and lightly brushing his index finger against Harold’s temple, making him shiver, “Turn that beautiful brain of yours off, just for a while. And just… feel.” He places both of his hands on the arm rests, effectively trapping Harold in his own seat. Harold can feel the warmth emanating from John’s body, and knows his eyes were wide, and his breath coming out rapid. He wonders if John can feel how his loud if heartbeat is, jackrabbit fast. If he can see what havoc John’s scent is playing on his nerves.

He starts to shake his head but then John is bending, his face just inches away. He looks straight into Harold’s eyes and whispers, hushed, “Tell me to stop Finch. Tell me you don’t want this… and I would.”

This is all it takes for all of Harold’s reservations to crumble, because despite all of his bravado, all of his strength, John would never take what wasn’t offered. He would always ask.

And Harold has never been able to tell him no. Not when it matters. And he has no desire to start doing it now.

He sighs, relaxing his posture which has been too tense, and slowly, making sure John notices, closes his eyes. He can hear how John’s next breath comes out shaky- can feel it on his skin. Then, just as deliberately, he tilts his head and purses his lips, waiting for John to make good on his promise.

He doesn’t have to wait long. He hears a whimper, both a plea and a thank you, before his lips are covered by John’s. As he lets the sensation overtake him he vaguely thinks how this is what inevitability tastes like, before he stops thinking at all.

(ao3 link)

[michaelssw0rd]

Light.

Quite rarely, do you meet a person and think that right there is light incarnate. And you reach out to take some of it for yourself. Only to be burned. Because what shines bright also scorches.

But once in a while you come across the exception. Someone who is dazzling like the stars and doesn't wait for you to reach out. They scatter their light like seeds in the soil and watch with pride, as glowing little seedlings sprout because of it. Because of them.

So the darkness cowers -it doesn’t even stand a fighting chance- as their selfless generosity illuminates the whole world.

[michaelssw0rd]

15 Loud, so everyone can hear

Also prompted by @stdianeofcooper​ : For the “Way’s I love you’ fic prompts, number 15 Rinch

The weight of the solid gold on his finger felt grounding-like it was a part of him that had been missing until now. He stared at it inawe for a few moments, his hand resting on top of John’s, the wedding bandglinting in the light.

There was a clearing of throat that made him snap back tothe present, and look up into the twinkling eyes of John. He shook his headminutely to indicate it wasn’t him, which led him to glance at the side and seeRoot biting her lip. She was clad in black suit, holding a brown leatherbinder, and was their Wedding -‘I have alegal certificate for this Harold’- Officiant.

“Oh. Yes of course.” Sheepish, he slowly withdrew his hand, noticinghow John’s hand tightened reassuringly one more time as he pulled. He turnedaround and picked up the ring from the box held by Carter, and gently slid iton John’s finger. If wearing a ring had felt like becoming whole, sliding the ringon John’s finger felt like finding someplace to call home, and he felt hisworld blurring a little because of the moisture gathering in his eyes.

Overcome by the emotions he could not even begin to unravel,he pulls the hand to his lips, bending slightly to leave a lingering kiss onthe ring, feeling the metal against his skin and trying to process itssignificance. Someone in the audience let out an ‘aww’.

Root started speaking again, “All of us here know how muchthese two mean to each other, how they would lay down their lives for eachother, and today they have vowed to continue doing that till death do themapart. So by the power…”

“Excuse me,” Harold said suddenly, halting Rootmid-sentence. She looked at him questioningly and he said in a quiet voice, “IfI may say something?”

She had asked them before if they had written any vows, butthey hadn’t. Both fully aware of each other’s feelings and needing no words toexpress it. The ceremony was supposed to be just a formality, a legal bindingthat represented what they had been to each other all along. But suddenly,Harold was bursting to speak the words, to let everyone know.

“Of course Harold. It is your wedding.” Root smiled sweetly,and Harold took a deep fortifying breath. He was still holding John’s hand inboth of his, and he looked down at their matching rings.

“Once, a long time ago, someone told me all humanity was badcode,” he started, feeling Root flinch beside him and giving her a small smilebefore looking down again, “I know they have changed their view by now, but Iremember that. I remember knowing, with a deep certainty, they were wrong.There are so many reasons to believe that, so many reasons to give up onhumanity in general; but I only ever needed one reason to dispute it. And thatreason was you.”

He looked up then, saw John looking at him in confusion and heardthe sharp intake of breath at the last word. “Humanity could not possiblybe all bad, John, because you were a part of it. You are the most perfect code Ihave ever seen, and the more I studied you, the more my awe grew, and myadmiration. I fell in love with your every cipher, every line and string, moreand more, until one day I realized I loved you. All of you.” He swallowedaround a lump in his throat.

“Harold,” John whispered, choked and broken, his eyesglistening.

“I love you.” He said, loud, with everyone a witness to thisconfession. He heard an unmistakable sniffle from the audience, and distantlywondered who it might be, but most of his mind far too focused on John’sawe-struck face. John gave a quick nod and looked down, placing his other handon Harold’s too, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles.

After a few moments, Root cleared her throat and startedspeaking again, “By the power vested in me by God,” the way she said the word made Harold’s lips twitch becausehe knew who she was talking about, “and the state, I now pronounce youhusbands. John, you can now snog Harold the way you clearly have been wantingto.”

Before she even finished, John had moved forward and pressedhis lips against Harold’s, kissing him messily. Desperately.

Carter clapped him on his shoulder in good humor and heheard the clicking of her heels as she moved away. Shaw wolf whistled. Fuscocalled out from the audience, “Get a roomyou two. Stop scarring our eyes,” and Zoe answered with an amused, “That can be easily arranged.” Root just stoodthere, holding the leather binder clasped to her chest and her expressions resembling like the ones she made when she came across pictures of adorable kittens.

They separated after a while, and after much good-naturedlaughter from their small group of friends- who were also family. John restedhis forehead against his and smiled happily.

“You know, Fusco’s idea isn’t half bad,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Reese, we cannot miss our own reception party.” Haroldpretended to be affronted.

“Can’t we? I am sure nobody would mind.” John cajoled.

“We can’t,” Harold repeated. “Although I can be persuaded toleave the party early,” he admitted and John threw his head back and laughed.

“I will strive to persuade you then,” he promised, happinessshining from his expression.

“Shall we go, husband dear?” He presented his elbow, andJohn grasped it. He was still turning around the last two words on his tongue,and realizing how good they tasted, as they both walked down the aisle.