#marksmanmoran

[ box of chocolates ] to give my muse a box of chocolates.

Mycroft didn’t expect much from Bastian on Valentine’s Day, arguably the most romantic holiday there is. But yet, here he was... giving him chocolates. He stared, almost dumbfounded at the box, holding it awkwardly. “Um, thank you,” he muttered, placing it on a table. They weren’t... dating. They were just fucking. The expectation was more that he’d get... nothing from the other man, let alone... chocolates. (His favorite thing, no less.) 

It was strange, honestly. He wasn’t supposed to like Bastian let alone... the other thing. He should hate him and maybe a part of him does. Hates the way he makes him feels. Hates that he can’t simply stop seeing him. That he keeps going back to him no matter what. He tells himself he can stop but he... doesn’t. And he hates that too.

he feels a call coming in, buzzing against his thigh, and his gaze is drawn up to the clock across the room as his gut is overrun with anxiety. it’s gotta be bastian. ❝ fuck, ❞ he grumbles as he pushes to his feet, stretching, getting the bloke’s attention at the desk across the way — bash has been sat on a bench, arse going numb, cuffed and impatiently awaiting his fingerprinting for near an hour and a half. he’s entirely certain, at this point, that chandler is fucking with him. ❝ oi, ❞ he calls, both hands lifting to wave as if they wouldn’t know who was calling, ❝ i need the toilet. ❞ there’s another sharp buzz against his thigh to indicate the missed call.

it takes an age, and another missed call, and basher is finally able to barricade himself in the dingy bathroom stall in time to manoeuvre his hand into and out of his pocket to barely catch the third call from an “unknown” number.

there’s a pause after he’s finally pressed the phone to his ear, where he clears his throat, let’s out a breath, and then struggles to find a way to start, though it turns out he needn’t have worried.

“when were you going to tell me?”

bastian’s voice is gruff, annoyed, and bash closes his eyes as if will make this shitty night undo itself. tongue darts out to wet his lips and he shrugs as if that should answer it... only, bastian can’t see him, so he needs to make the effort to say, ❝ i... did, ❞ he swallows, ❝ i ‘ad france tell you. ❞ but he knows it’s not the same. ❝ didn’t want t’ wake you, ❞ is the lie he tells, allowing his tiredness seep into his words. he means he couldn’t risk it. he means they shouldn’t be risking it now, either, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it.

that's not an answer, boss. give the people want they want to hear.

 ❝  … Didn’t you yell at me to get you a Christmas present? S’just socks, Professor.  ❞

I was going to ask if you wanted to watch my reaction of watching the first season now that it’s on netflix.