#bottomlock5eva

HEY i only accept love from one man

He scrambles for his phone to turn off the music and feels his face flaming. John is sure he's never seen anything more gorgeous in his entire life. (2/2)

I love this so much!!! You sneaky sneaky thing! 

I LOVE YOUR BRAIN!!!!!!

every time i get this in my askbox i try to say different things than i’ve posted before, and it’s getting very difficult lol. here we go then:

helping people

flowers

coloring

a cool breeze on a hot day

Yes it’s taken me forever to this, I’m trash.

1) I am now co-hosting a podcast with queenmab3 called Random Tea Podcasts (follow the link to see what we’re doing) yes I just shameless promoted us. You can find us here too randomteapodcasts

2) Next weekend I am taking Queenie to the GA Aquarium to play with otters as a super early birthday present.

3) Today I learned that the drain plug in the front bathroom tub works AFTER I tried to pour liquid plumber down it. (please note I NEVER use that tub, so I honestly thought it was stopped up! /facepalm)

4) Recently I replaced all of the parts in the toilet in my bathroom. I am both cheap and handy.

5) Apparently I will make someone a good husband one day even though I identify as female (see items 3 & 4…this is meant to be funny, don’t send me hate)

Happy birthday, bottomlock5eva​! Your prompt, “steamy”, got away from me so I added a second ficlet to make up for the birthday-inappropriate content. Hope you’re having a great day! (read on AO3 for author notes)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two short words. Seven little letters.

NOT DEAD

It would have been so simple.

He’d thought about it, he had—he’d lingered in the humidity, scowling at his reflection, contemplating John’s routine, the rate of condensation, knowing it was safe. He’d imagined John’s open face, how his eyes shift, how his voice creaks over lies. He’d imagined John’s skull cracked, eyes dark and opaque as blood and brain on the pavement, and he’d bit his tongue and wiped the steam away.

Now, he thinks of nothing but time lost, trust broken. The flat emptiness in John’s voice when they talk of Mary, the disk and the baby, the future.

He wrenches the faucet right and thinks of nothing and lets it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John wakes with a pit in his stomach and a panic that means Sherlock. He can hear the water running. His feet are on the stairs before he’s thinking.

When he opens the door, he’s blinded by a wall of steam so thick and hot he can’t breathe. The shower curtain is torn and Sherlock is curled in a ball beneath the spray.

“Hey,” says John, and he’s taking off his jumper, stepping into the bath to grab Sherlock under the arms. “Hey, what…”

Sherlock turns and presses his face into John’s thighs. His bandages are soaked and dangling, his chest seeping pink. His fingers are digging in to the curve of John’s arse and he is trembling, rubbing his face against the placket of John’s trousers.

“Please.” He’s tugging at John’s hips, exposing skin and mouthing blindly. “Please, John, I’m sorry.”

John pulls Sherlock up to his height, steadies him against the wall. “Sherlock, you’re bleed—”

“Please,” he says.

So John takes him to bed. It’s a terrible idea, terrible timing, but oh, it’s sublime to spread Sherlock out, finally, to peel off his clothes and all those layers of hurt, to taste his skin and his sweat and the words that fall unbidden from his lips. To breathe from his lungs, to curl sated around him, souls laid bare.