#enduringtiime

“I don’t care,” Kalmar said, sharply, yanking his fingers away from the thing as if burned. What would he do if people started thinking that? “I just think it’s hilarious watching you try to imitate magic with – with all your convoluted muggle bullshit, capisne? It’s like watching a slug trying to use a quill.”

He squinted at Jeremy’s project again. It looked like a bad postmodern sculpture of wires and plastic. He wasn’t sure what it was, and this bothered him.

It was becoming second nature. The hiding, the loving, the needing. Gordon didn’t know how he could get his head around it. He’d had plenty of other partners where he wasn’t feel desperate to get them into a room alone.

But Fergus. Deputy PM Fucking Fergus. Now he was always on his mind, in a work and play basis.

Tonight, it was on a play basis.

Fergus had asked him to stay behind, as he had started to do so and they had started watching TV together with a drink or two.

So, starting to play with his hair felt usual, normal, something he would have done for any of his other lovers, a gentle ruffling through soft red curls under his rough fingertips.

He didn’t say anything, he was sure - if Fergus minded or not - he would be told otherwise.

It was a thought that bounced around somewhere in the back of Fergus’s head that something had shifted between them. 

It was one thing to have an illicit, frankly very sexy, affair behind closed doors. It was another to just sit, watch TV and ... what was it they were doing exactly? Fergus wondered if it qualified as cuddling. He had certainly managed to sink lower and lower on the couch until he was rested cozily against Gordy’s side. The other’s fingers had snuck into his hair soon after. 

Fergus didn’t mind. In fact, he relished the feeling, paying far more attention to it than the rerun of an episode of Have I Got News For You from 4 years ago. And still, his overactive mind couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant, what had changed. 

The fact that Gordon had almost died came to mind and it made him snuggled just that little bit closed to make sure he was still there. 

Secrecy was really something of an art that the Royal Family seemed to have perfected. Many centuries of secret organisation, opposition forces and the like meant an overly cautious approach to anything they did not control but seemingly wanted to also remain a secret.

Albert had been told about a medical research organisation known as the Jonathan Harker Foundation and that its more secret mission, by the Crown’s understanding, was to locate none other than Count Dracula. Of course the curious prince ended up persuading his father to allow him to go and learn more!

        * * *

 How funny it was that vampires had become so revered since his time in the sea. There were so many examples of this change of heart, so many films and television shows that found joy in the idea of a blood sucking monster. This was one of his favourites, and clearly that of many others seeing as it was being replayed on the big screen decades after release. 

 He hadn’t paid much attention to the dark haired young man that sauntered in halfway through and flopped himself a few rows down. Not until he’d caught a glimpse of his side profile in the flickering light of the screen. How very like the man in the film he was. The vampire hunter. One of the greatest performers of his age, so the internet had told the Count, and he could certainly agree that the praise had been earned after seeing it for himself.

 But there was something else about him that seemed familiar. Hadn’t he seen him somewhere before? On the other side of some glass, perhaps...

   “It’s uncanny...you look so much alike.”

                  ...but, apparently, now wasn’t meant to be one of those moments. To Clara’s surprise, she and Henry stepped out into a wasteland. Where vibrant flowers waved in the winds, and where the songs of hundreds of creatures filled the air, was nothing of the sort. Beautiful skies were enveloped in ash, silence where songbirds once were.

                         Her bright expression falls into shock. She can’t even stop it, her eyes growing at the sorrow of beauty destroyed as she looks around. She frowns. There’s nothing but desolation, as far as it meets the eye. She sighs. “Sorry, Henry,” she says, apologetic smile on her features as she turns to look at him. “Looks like our holiday might have to wait.” She takes a step, turns around to try and take it all in. “I don’t know how this happened.”

Bars were not a scene Moriarty’s enemies would ever imagine him frequenting, however he found they were some of the most useful places to his plans. So much happened in bars that often went unnoticed. Not to Moriarty though, his blessing was that barely anything slipped by him. Opportunity was everywhere and after a two nights on the trot of visiting one particular bar while he watched an oblivious target make a fool of himself, he had spotted that the bar tender was not all that he seemed at first glance.

He had made his way in a little earlier than the last two nights, knowing it would not be so busy by that point. For a change, he took a seat on one of the bar stools, seemingly unbalanced as he climbed up, purposely setting his work case on the stool next to him and waited for his turn for attention. A little clumsy but polite and patient as ever. A perfected act more than anything genuine. Internally, Moriarty wished he could have sent in Moran first to clear the bar, but if his suspicions were correct, this was a matter that required a ‘delicate’ touch.

          The words from the shadows stirred Elle from her seemingly hypnotic trance as she prepared the body for display. Instantly, she turned to face him, hands glowing, ready to protect herself if needed. “Oh, I know there is.” The little blonde hellraiser knew at least a few hundred ways to kill a man, from the stealthiest to the most gruesome. Once it was determined he wasn’t an immediate threat, cerulean light from her palms faded as she went back to what she was doing, arranging the corpse as she’d been instructed.