Otsikko: Good man down
Kirjoittaja: cooperaur
Fandom: Luther
Paritus: Mark/John/Alice
Ikäraja: K-11
Vastuuvapautus: BBC omistaa!
A/N: Rehellisesti sanottuna en oikein tiedä tästä. Halusin kirjoittaa tällä fandomilla kovasti, mutta se oli yllättävän hankalaa. Osallistuu
OTS20,
Valloita fandom,
"And Bob's your uncle!",
Multifandom-haaste,
Hieman tuntemattomampia fandomeita II ja
Slash10 3.0.
Good man down
Sometimes people around you go so into raptures over something that all you can do is wonder. There's a new flavour in town. First you just shook your head, but then the endless, unnerving squalling of the lambs keeps just getting louder until it drives a vein to snap in your head. What is it? What the hell is it?! The patient you has tried to reason, even understand, but the bloody, blind mass won't listen. Whatever. You go cold in the middle of the hot, pop frenzy.
It's a shame that independent doesn't warm you from lonely for long. Slowly your curiousity, that ratfink, starts to crack the ice which composes your distance. In the end, you give in.
***
Alice
sees. She is a little lampkin, but she sees through the cause, and she sees through you. She reads the message like it doesn't even matter that you are still choosing the words. Dangerous, you think with a hint, that unavoidable fragment, of credit. You didn't send your message to her, you obviously didn't send it to anyone since you wish to keep it to yourself. Right there, in the drawer where it gets forgotten as it should. But from the way Alice is smiling from ear to another you know she is at your drawer. Still, she is also going to be in prison soon enough. You're not too worried yet.
You
watch. It's late, and at this exact point you're observing the beer bottle John's handing to you. The bottle shakes in front of you, calls you out from your head that has frozen into staring for a moment too long. Yes, you are taking the wobbly pop, thank you John. Not quite sure if you should though, but this you won't say aloud. You're comfortable for once and you deserve it, don't you? No reason to be a wet blanket to your already bleeding feeling organ, right? The two of you are sitting in the balcony, hundred feet high, eyeing the city. Both pairs of those eyes still have the same gloomy shadow under them, but it's been a while and little by little, it has started to ease off.
John is quite badloaded already, and mildly-afraid-of-heights you are slightly concerned about his state, or actually you are just hoping that the evening doesn't end up with him being a soppy pile on the street. After all (five more beers, in precise), this concern of yours has anyway slowly erased out of your mind. You're peacefully talking about her.
Finally at two am hardly anything worries you anymore. You're now sitting on the sofa, having a not that manly, drunken hug with John, and it's hard to recall when you have been this topsy-turvy the last time. John somehow manages to snore into your ear and be still conscious enough to stroke your hair sluggishly. All this is of course only happening because neither of you won't remember it at the morning, and even now you are aware of the line excisting. Yet it seems like it's the only thing acceptable, and it's as much the act not a bit less than further.
”You're a good man”, John murmurs and you confess by nodding at his shoulder.
Later, when John has passed out at last, you still have the brains to walk yourself to a bed and leave John sleeping harmlessly alone on the couch. As is written, at the morning John indeed doesn't have a clue about the little, lenient jiffies between you two, and you decide that it's a confidential error that you indeed do.
Because John
acknowledges, and that is the problem. He doesn't need to see the gazes to feel them on his back, and unlike Alice, you know that he doesn't want to watch when he does.
