#snack fic

How the shape of it bulged in his cheek.

The snap when bit into it.

The flex of his neck and jaw as he chewed.

The way his neck moved when he swallowed.

You tried to ignore him and the way your hair stood on end with every movement he made, but it was pointless. You were unraveling, absolutely enthralled. He was planning a campaign.

Eddie scribbled a few lines down, then his eyebrows furrowed again as he hit another problem to work out. He mused over it briefly before slipping his hand back into the bowl, but before he could bring the grape to his mouth, your hand flew over and grabbed his wrist, which startled him. His wide brown eyes met your fiery gaze as you, maintaining the grip on his wrist, stood up and came to a stop in front of him. The grape was now between your fingers.

Your hip pushed against the table to make space.

"Wha--?" Your pointer finger lifted up from the grape, a gesture that silenced him, and you smirked as you sat down and straddled his lap. His free hand came to rest on your upper thigh as he breathed out a confused chuckle, but your tightened grip on his wrist and the look in your eyes made his smile faulter, the color rise on his neck -- and your core throb.

You studied his face, taking a special interest in his full, flushed lips.

"You," you began slowly, dipping your head down to breathe into his ear, "have been driving me insane." His body shuddered under you as a chill rippled through him, but his brow was furrowed slightly when you came back up. He was definitely intrigued, but it wasn't clicking.

To make your point, you stared him down as you brought the grape to your lips, parting them just enough to slowly insert the fruit. His eyes were wide, and you could feel the pressure in his jeans grow under you. You bit into its crisp flesh, eyes closing as the cold, sweet juice exploded in your mouth. A moan hummed from your throat, savoring what he had been experiencing as you had watched him.

Eddie was dumbstruck, his eyebrows hidden behind his bangs. You felt him twitch under you, his hand tightening on your thigh. "Oh," he finally croaked, his pupils blown. He swallowed hard.

You peaked over your shoulder at the bowl.

Two left.

Trouble was written all over you twisted around and grabbed another grape. His now free hand gripped your other thigh, and his thumbs massaged deliciously into your skin, his breathing quicker as he watched you closely.

You were watching him, too, trying to keep from drowning in the glittering hungry look in his eyes. Anticipation was painted across his devious face, jaw clenched. Your hand brought up the next grape level to your chest and you rolled it between your fingertips.

It wasn't for you this time, though.

The smile that spread across your face was practically diabolical as you slowly brushed the fruit across his bottom lip. The sight made you bite your own bottom lip and the tiniest of whimpers slipped from your mouth when your eyes darted to his, dark and lusty.

"Open."

Eddie did what he was told and parted his lips slightly. His hands, firm on your thighs, rocked you slowly against his swollen jeans. You closed your eyes for a moment, your other hand pressed against his chest to steady you as you savored the slow friction against your throbbing core. But the sight of you slowly pressing the grape past his lips? Feeling the resistance as it passed between his teeth and met his tongue? What a combination.

A dark chuckle escaped from you as an enraptured grin spread across your face. Eddie looked so gorgeous like that -- something in his mouth suspended by his teeth, framed by those unfairly pert lips, his eyes blown and burning into yours, nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Feral.

You pressed your thumb lightly against his bottom lip, pulling it down softly.

"Eat it."

There was a beat before Eddie's expression slowly morphed into a dark smirk that sent a delicious chill through you, and he shifted on the chair to give you more contact against his crotch. His haughty, blown eyes drank in the way yours flashed when his tongue visibly rolled the fruit into the side of his mouth and split it deliberately with his teeth. Your breathing hitched and your lips parted slightly, completely focused on the way his jaw clenched, the way his neck moved when he chewed. You traced the rises and falls of his neck as his thick anatomy worked, then wrapped your hand wrapped around his throat, providing enough pressure to feel everything as he swallowed the juice and the movement of his jaw when he slowly chewed the rest of it before swallowing again. He licked his lips slowly, still smirking.

"Jesus," you said, letting out the breath you didn't know you were holding in.

"Not quite," Eddie said with a dark twinkle in his eyes. They bore into yours as he removed his hot hand from your thigh to reach for the last grape, which he slid into your fingertips.

The choice was yours -- you or him?

His grip was rocking you slowly against him again as you contemplated. That glorious friction faultered slightly, though, when you opened your mouth and held the grape between your finger and thumb, the tip of your tongue barely lapping at it. Eddie's jaw was clenched, his nose flared again, obviously fighting to maintain control. God he was stunning when he was worked up. You couldn't help but crack a horrible grin as you brought the grape back out of your mouth, letting your lips contour against its shape and your fingers (a strained growl escaped the back of his throat), then you bit it in half, chewing it lazily as you slipped the other half into his mouth. He took it eagerly, but his teeth clamped down on the top joint of your index finger, making you gasp.

Neither you nor he expected you to like that very much, but here you were, back arched, thumb and free fingers pressed into the skin along his jaw, you grinding slow and hard against him. Your other hand found its way into his long hair, gathering a fistful of curls and pulling lightly. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned softly, savoring the tension and the friction before he increased the pressure on your finger enough to draw a hiss from you. The tip of his tongue swirled around your imprisoned finger, an obscene smirk stretching across his face. You pulled his hair a little harder in response, making his chin tip up slightly as he sucked in a breath. His jaw sharp, thick neck flushed and stretched, and the way he looked at you were devastatingly erotic, almost too much for you to handle, especially with the way you were moving against him. He let your finger go, mouth agape for a beat, before he settled back into another haughty smirk, your sore finger pulling his bottom lip down as he bit into the other half of the grape that you had given him.

You couldn't stand it any longer.

Your lips crashed into his lips with a rough kiss, breathing him in before turning the kiss into all teeth and tongue as both of your hands ran through his curls, nails scratching across his scalp and neck. He whimpered into your mouth, his hands running up and down your back under you shirt, and pressing your body into his, not able to get you close enough. You were grinding against him with a purpose now, feeling the warm coil in your core build deliciously. You broke from his mouth to breathe and gripped his shoulders for leverage, his fingers scratching against your back as he watched you, breathing out a "goddamn" in awe and coaxing you along. You were so close.

So close.

There.

"Are you --?" Eddie chuckled incredulously. "Did you take that from me?"

Eddie just stared with a devilish grin, then said, "Holy shit, babe, that was hot" as you came down.

You gave a wide grin, taking a moment to catch your breath before you started chewing what you had stolen from his mouth, which he hadn't noticed until just then.

"Yeah," you laughed wearily, honestly proud of yourself, as you leaned back against the table ledge for support. "That," swallowing victoriously, "-- was a good snack." You were visibly satisfied.

You laughed out "Eddie?!" as you trailed behind him down the hall, struggling to keep up with him before he whipped you around, your back bouncing against the top of the mattress. His voice was dark and husky when he came into view over you and growled through a wicked grin.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded for a moment, impressed, but he startled you when he pushed you off of his lap and grabbed you by the hand, practically dragging you to his room.

Though, now, in the strained, evening, mid-October light, Fíli’s joints creaked as he stood, and his spine popped like a zipper.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been ashore, though it couldn’t have been too long ago. His mother wouldn’t have had it, making the short journey to the island herself if he’d been gone awhile. Time passed strangely there, one day washing into the next and into the next and so on, like waves over sand.

Dressing quickly in a wool sweater that needed darning at the elbows, a pair of thick trousers that should’ve been replaces ages ago, the hems curled and frayed, and his double-breasted sack coat, Fíli didn’t waste time shuffling toward the stove to boil water for coffee. His nights were a slow routine of shaking the coffee tin, jotting down a note on his supply list to get more when Bard made the trip over; then he sat for a few minutes, warming his hands around his mug, letting the stiffness in his body recede enough that he could comfortably climb the stairs to the light room.

Earlier, Fíli had seen signs of an oncoming storm and he wasn’t disappointed to hear the roar and crash of waves against the crags. As soon as he finished half his mug, he ambled to the stairs and made his ascent.

***

Outside, the fog was thick and the air so cold it pinched Fíli’s cheeks and neck. He’d forgotten his scarf again, somewhere in the bedroom. It was odd that he’d misplaced it in the first place, given that there wasn’t much filling the small spaces within the lighthouse. Hardly anywhere it could’ve hidden itself. No matter, Fíli had a job to do and so he set about doing it. It was nearing the end of October and the light was thin by four. He hobbled up the stairs to the light room, made his tour and inspected what needed inspecting, winding the lens and ensuring it moved correctly.

***

Fíli sighed, the unmooring sensation of isolation squeezing his chest, as if someone’s boot was bearing down on him. It had definitely been too long since he’d been home. Thankfully, he only had a week left, his cousin Dori taking his place for the month of November. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of his bed and planted his feet, tilted forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

His back protested, but he ignored it, hunching forward. Then, scrubbing his hair back, Fíli stood and moved to his wardrobe, pulled on his wool sweater that needed darning and his trousers that needed replacing and shoved his feet into two pairs of socks which he then shoved into his boots.

Next, stove, boiled water, coffee.

Christ, what day was it?

***

October 31st. He didn’t know how he knew today was October 31st, only that it was. The same way he knew when it was time to get up and time to go to sleep, when he was hungry or thirsty.

Fíli hauled his legs over the side of his bed with a groan, feet on the rug. He stretched his arms and scratched his furry belly and then marched to his wardrobe to dress. While he didn’t particularly enjoy the monotony, he had to admit he liked the simplicity of wearing practically the same thing everyday. The sweater with the elbows that needed darning, trousers that needed replacing, socks in socks and boots and coat.

It was when he was bending to sit, a movement the required his legs to be spread at exactly the right angle and his arse to stick out in order to hit the seat before the rest of him fell into the chair, that something very…unusualhappened.

***

The crash and clamor hadn’t been what had spilled Fíli’s coffee all over his boots, it had been the very sudden interruption of a body falling through the door, soaked in the sea and pale as a ghost. Fíli shot forward, thoughts stuttering to a halt as instinct took over. He dropped to his knees and rolled the stranger over by the shoulder to get a better look at what he was dealing with.

He gasped at the sight.

A boy, no older than fifteen or sixteen with features that would mature into a striking handsomeness. He was wet from head to toe, lips blue and lashes starred and stuck together by globs of something resembling black tar. Fíli hurried to strip the boy of his wet clothes, an unusual combination of hideous green and purple and black-and-white-stripes; half-carried, half-dragged him to the armchair in front of the stove and piled the boy in blankets.

Two hours later, after Fíli finished the chore of winding the lens, the boy woke up and gave Fíli his name.

“Kíli,” He said it like a secret, “What’s yours?”

***

Kíli told Fíli a harrowing tale of dares between friends and how Kíli had swum from the shore to the island, emboldened by something called Sour Puss.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.” Kíli admitted, looking small and lost and very ashamed.

When Fíli didn’t say anything – he didn’t feel there was anything to say, honestly – Kíli again filled the silence, nattered on about this and that and—

“Mobile?” Fíli interrupted as soon as Kíli had said the word. It wasn’t as though Fíli didn’t understand the concept of the word, he did; it was simply that in the context Kíli used it, it didn’t make sense.

Kíli scrunched up his face in confusion, “Yeah?” Fíli lifted an eyebrow in the hopes of prompting Kíli for clarity. Instead, Kíli continued his story, telling Fíli how he’d decided it was about time his dumb friends learned that I’m not the kind that doesn’t follow-through.

“So, you’re a knob’ead.” Fíli concluded, deadpan and stone faced. He couldn’t keep it up for long, though, the mask cracking at Kíli’s gull-like guffaw. Fíli doubled over, sucking in large breathes and holding himself around the middle. Kíli’s stricken expression was priceless and by far the funniest thing Fíli had ever seen.

“Oi!” Kíli leaned back in the armchair and kicked out, striking the side of Fíli’s thigh. “Don’t be an arse! I almost died!”

Which sent Fíli into another fit of laughter.

***

A year later, Kíli returned, again on October 31st. He’d said he’d been ‘round sometime in between, but Fíli hadn’t been there. Fíli figured Kíli made the journey during one of the months Fíli was ashore and so Fíli rectified that by giving Kíli a better idea of the rotation he, Dori and Nori had created for themselves.

Kíli had looked puzzled, the straight line of his mouth giving him a severe look. He’d been quiet for most of the night, brightening later when Fíli promised to show him how to wind the lens so it turned clockwise.

***

Over the years, Kíli grew into himself, and Fíli had been right, his features only improved with age. He was striking and dark and emotive, the position of his brows determining his whole expression.

Somehow, Fíli didn’t feel as though he was outrunning Kíli in age. Rather, Kíli made him feel young; his joints protested less, his skin warmed, his chest lightened. He had a regular skip in his step in the days leading up to Kíli’s arrival. And then, one year, Kíli came with something familiar wrapped around his neck.

“Where’d you get that?” Fíli asked, trying his best to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“Huh?” Kíli tucked his chin into his chest, peering down the long line of his nose, going crosseyed as he gazed at the scarf he’d chosen for his visit. “Oh, this?” He glanced him, big, cheerful smile lighting up the dull interior of Fíli’s living space. “My nan was cleaning out her attic, this was tucked away with some of her grandfather’s things. S’nice, innit?”

“Yeah.” Fíli said, eyes fixed on a coffee stain he was certain he recognized. “S’nice.”

***

“You know, one of these days, you’ll have to come to me on the shore.” Kíli wheezed, dragging himself up the rest of the stairs and through the door.

Fíli chuckled, large hand pressed into Kíli’s lower back where it belonged. “One of these days, I might.”

Kíli cast him an odd look over his shoulder.

“What? I’m on shore a few months during the year, you know. We could meet then. You just,” Fíli hesitated, realizing a little late that he didn’t want to have that conversation, “Never suggested it before.”

***

Fíli never sought Kíli out on shore.

Kíli never mentioned it.

And they continued the way they were until Kíli never left again.

John wasn’t dead, he had eyes, he could appreciate the man’s casklike arms, his broad shoulders, barrel chest, a waist that tapered nicely above square hips. He was well accentuated in the fine fashions of the times although there were minute differences John couldn’t help but note. That man’s London was, according to the girl who accompanied him - Enola, John’s mind supplied - identical except that it wasn’t. Which made about as much sense as anything else John had come to know. 

Handsome or not, John wasn’t about to open his home to anyone so soon after losing everything. 

(He pointedly ignored Bea and her friends, sitting at various places around the room, attention rapt by the conversation John had been forced into. He also ignored the fact that Bea had a key which she used liberally, that Jessie had claimed the spare room and that Spike came around regularly enough that John had had to increase his grocery budget.)

“Absolutely not.” John said at last, elbows on his desk, fingers steepled in front of him. “I haven’t the room to spare.” 

The girl, Enola, seemed ready to argue but Other Sherlock laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. Other Sherlock tipped his head in accordance, “Of course. We will find other accommodation. Thank you for your time.”

His voice was rich velvet and John had to clench his teeth to repress the shudder that rippled down his spine. 

“Watson.” Bea’s tone leaned on the vowels, “Come on.”

John slanted her a look that he hoped would brook no argument.

She pursed her lips, raised her brows and fixed him with a stare that reminded John so much of Alice. “They’re family, sort of. We aren’t throwing them out.” Bea turned to Other Sherlock and Enola, a smile gentling her features, “You’re staying and that’s final.”

Enola brightened and Other Sherlock huffed lowly in what John assumed was amusement.