Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tender: (Karthur)

Arthur stretched in his bed and sagged back against the sheets, his head thumping against the soft pillows. The first sounds he heard were of a soft purr and the shallow breathing of his fellow sleeper. He looked over to see the big black panther curled up beside him, peacefully sleeping. Arthur smiled and shifted himself up cautiously so as not to wake his companion. But he didn't succeed. The panther made a noise, perked up it's ears and opened its eyes. The panther uncurled from it's space and moved closer to the red head. It nuzzled Arthur's neck affectionately.

“Good morning to you too, Khan.”

The panther purred and licked a few times at Arthur's cheek.

“Hey! Stop it!”

Khan shifted half of his massive body to rest on top of Arthur, making him groan at the extra weight.

“Khan, bloody hell!”

The panther ignored him and continued to lay on top of the red head. Arthur tried to move but couldn't so he gave up. He leaned up and ran a hand along Khan's sleek black fur. Khan purred again like an engine as Arthur's hand moved round to his belly and began to scratch. The panther's head lolled to the side as Arthur began to scratch mercilessly.

Angelic: (WilliamsxIslington)

Williams had known the angel a long time. The Angel, Islington, had helped Williams out of a tight spot. The former psychiatrist had been cooped up in an asylum for years and Islington, who wanted to be away from the hierarchy of God, decided that Williams would be a free soul, knowing how poisonous Voorman's mind was. The man had no 'God Complex' nor was he an actual god. He was not the God. He was a vile man and Islington had shown Williams this when Islington's men, Vandemar and Croop, dealt with Voorman. It was something that haunted Williams even though he knew that Voorman deserved it. Now, Voorman was long gone and Williams was at peace...with Islington. They'd moved into a luxury apartment over looking London and were happily content together. Sometimes, Williams could only imagine what his life would be like with Islington in it. He supposed that it would good as he had an angel on his side at all times. He knew the tales of angels and couldn't help but wonder if Islington was a fallen angel. At a guess, he knew that angels didn't spend much time on earth only in dire needs but Islington was on earth twenty-four/seven. As a psychiatrist, or former, Williams thought it best to have the angel talk to him about his past but he had to respect the angel's wishes and allow him to lower his boundaries.

It would take time.

Williams woke up and was greeted by the sight of his angelic lover landing gracefully on their apartment balcony and sliding the door open to step inside. Williams smiled and watched his angel, tired and worn, move over to the bed and settle himself into the doctor's arms. Williams pressed a kiss into Islington's soft brown locks and held him for as long as he needed to.

Engagement: (AlanxMilton)

Milton couldn't help himself. He could only glower at the hand that Joan held out for everyone to look at the make-shift right – if anyone could call it a ring – that sat proudly on her finger. Milton wanted nothing more than to rip off her finger and...

What was he thinking?! He should be happy for his friends, not sitting at the table like a petulant child who didn't get their way. He looked over at Alan who was smiling fondly at his fiancé. Milton felt a pang in his gut and wanted nothing more than to vomit in his drink...or perhaps at Joan's feet. He preferred the latter. But what good would that do? Ruining his friends' engagement party like that. Ugh, these damned feelings! He wondered, if back in Ancient Greece, the Grecian man had an easy way to express their feelings better than nowadays.

Milton's mind wandered. He wondered what the world would be like in the possible future if homosexuality was no longer a crime or taboo. He wondered if people would be accepting or still be hostile about the matter. He wondered if Alan would have proposed to him and not Joan. Alan could do so much better.

“Milton?”

The said American started and he looked at John, who was smiling at him. “Sorry?”

“You've been quiet. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just dandy, thanks.”

“I think you need to be more than dandy, ol' chap.” said Hugh.

“Oi, less of the old, thank you.” grunted Milton.

“Oh, come on, Milton. It's Alan's engagement. At least be happy for him.”

Milton wanted to retort but the look on Alan's face made him hold his tongue. He sighed. “S-sorry, Alan. I guess I am being a bit of a grump.”

“You're perfectly fine.” Alan said with a big grin. “It's been a rough few weeks. In fact, I seem slightly on edge about everything that's going on.”

“Well, we could do with some good news.” John said, smiling.

Milton nodded as though agreeing but deep down, he wanted better news than this.

Appearance: (Johnlock)

John Watson was to be the baron of an estate in Fyvie, Scotland and was to marry into a wealthy family by the name of Holmes. The family's twenty-eighth generation had three sons, Sherringford, Mycroft and Sherlock and one daughter named Eurus. Sherringford was married to a shy girl named Molly Hooper who the daughter of a wealthy tradesman. Mycroft had married an officer of the law named Gregory. The last two siblings, Eurus and Sherlock, had no betrothed. So, Violet and Siger decided that John would get to know them both and he would choose. So, that's what he was doing.

The year was 1895 and John stepped onto London soil for the first time in three hours. He smiled up at the large manor house, and admired the small pond beside it that held three swans. The door opened and a man with dark hair and a days worth of stubble stepped out.

“Mr. Watson?” he asked.

“That's right.” John said with a smile.

“I am Anderson, the butler of this place. I'll take your--.”

“John!”

The almost baron looked behind Anderson to see a woman in her sixties or seventies wearing a purple dress, her hair tied back into an elegant bun, a pair of amethyst jewelled earrings dangling from her ears. Besides her was a tall man with silver white hair and wearing a beautiful suit. John smiled and happily embraced the female Holmes.

“Hello, Lady Holmes, it's been too long.”

“It has, indeed.” Violet said.

Siger and John shook hands. He, John and John's father had helped serve in the Afghanistan war and had been good friends within their families.

“Journey was good?” Siger asked.

“Good. A little hold up but all good. So, glad that I'll be able to rest.”

“Exactly, come let's get you inside and into a nice warm chair. Oh, Anderson, ask Mrs. Hudson to fetch Dimmock, Hopkins, and Donovan to bring in John's things and send them to his room.” Violet asked as Siger manoeuvred John inside.

John was then given a small tour and introduced to his future-in-laws and then allowed a cup of tea by the fire of the drawing room. John, now, dressed in his dinner clothes, chatted warmly at the dinner table with Greg at his side and Violet on his other. John happily chatted with Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft's husband, about his latest cases in Scotland Yard. John found them very intriguing and exchanged his tales of being in the wars with his father and Siger. The conversation was then diverted by Sherringford, who spoke from beside his father.

“Say, mother, where is our dear little brother?”

“He was out riding.” said Violet, taking hold of her wine glass. “ Anderson, you did call for Sherlock to come in for dinner?”

“Yes, milady. But...I got a few choice words in return.”

John smirked but hid it behind his wine glass as he took a sip. Violet tutted her dismay. When he regained his composure, he asked. “Does Sherlock enjoy horse riding?”

“Loves it.” said Siger. “Either he'll be out horse riding or he'll be out by the bee keeps on the estate.”

“That,” cut in Mycroft. “Or playing with Redbeard.”

“I wondered where that dog was.” said Violet. “Gladstone is in your room, at a guess, Mykie?”

Mycroft flinched at the name as though it as the rudest thing ever. “No, mother, Mrs. Hudson, took him into the kitchens.”

“I see.”

John wondered what this youngest child of the Holmeses even looked like. Was he handsome like his father or mother? Was he as clever as his siblings? Or was he free-spirited? Before John could utter a word, he heard a strange sound. He looked to the door and it flung open to reveal a black Friesian stallion. Its black coat was speckled with mud and following on behind was a red Irish Setter. From its paw to the tops of its legs, the dog was caked with mud. On the back of the Friesian sat the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. This had to be Sherlock. Pale skin, wavy black locks, high cheekbones enough to cut John's skin and a pair of dazzling eyes that seemed to change from green to blue to yellow and back again. Sherlock stared the horse to the table, the Irish Setter looking up at the rider.

“Good evening, everyone.” he said, as though this was perfectly normal. John couldn't help but stare.

“Sherlock, what is the meaning of this?” Violet spat, throwing down her napkin and getting to her feet.

“Fulfilling a bet, Mummy.” Sherlock said, simply, keeping his horse steady. “Mycroft made a bet with me that I could get Augustus up the stairs. I have proved you wrong, brother mine, now pay up. Fifty guineas.”

“Fifty?!” screeched Greg. “Bloody hell, My—oh, sorry, Lady Watson.”

“But Violet wasn't listening – she had not heard Gregory's obscene words – as she was glaring up at her son, who looking down at her, defiantly.

“We...have guests.” Lady Watson said, through gritted teeth. “Sherlock Holmes, this is John Watson.”

Sherlock's gaze moved to John and John felt his heart miss a beat. He could see Sherlock's multicoloured eyes roam over him as though taking him all in. John wanted nothing more than to take Sherlock's hand and kiss it repeatedly. But he held himself back. Sherlock nodded to John and said.

“Nice to meet you.” he then looked to his mother. “Ready in ten minutes.” He then moved his horse round and whistled for the Irish Setter. “Come on, RedBeard.”

RedBeard, the Irish Setter, perked up at his master's wishes and followed Sherlock and Augustus out of the room. Violet sighed and sat back down. Her steel eyes looked over towards Sherringford who was silent laughing. The older offspring soon caught his mother's eye and stifled his laughter. Greg and Molly were also having difficulty keeping their faces straight. Mycroft looked ashamed of himself whereas Siger was rubbing his eyes. Obviously this kind of behaviour from Sherlock was not new to them!

“I must apologise, John,” Violet said. “For my son. He's very...free-spirited...rebellious. He'll do anything to keep himself from being bored...particularly.” she said, coldly, and glaring at Mycroft who was starting at the table. “Making wagers.”

John smiled at her. “Do not worry, Lady Violet. I found it quite amusing. But I must say your son knows how to make an entrance.”

King: (RichardIII-cest)

Everyone saw him as a freak. A monster. A creation by the devil. Their words plagued with his mind again and again, making him think the worse about himself. But Richard saw a good man. A man who Fate had been unkind to. A man who's own mother had been unkind to. Richard loved the king. Promised him loyality, respect, love..and a world of which to conquer. Richard gave his king that, no matter the squalls, no matter what he looked like.

Richard knelt in front of his kind as he sat, languished in a chair of his bedchambers. Richard smiled down at the other Richard. At first, they'd found it weird that they had both the same name but learned to live with it. Soon afterwards, Richard called his Richard, the titles he'd been born with. 'My king', 'Your Highness, 'Your Majesty', 'Grace' etc.. Richard always smiled whenever his loyal lieutenant said those to him. He never did with anyone else. Richard felt special.

He placed a kiss on the ring clad fingers of his king, tasting and feeling the skin that his lips longed to touch, time and time again. A hand came up and brushed the tamed silver grey locks of the lieutenant's hair. Richard closed his eyes, laid his head on Richard's lap and allowed his king to pet him.

Silence: (ClivexCreature)

Clive had been a street entertainer. He often made the children happy by showing off his tricks and pleasing the punters. But then it all changed for him. He'd been targeted by a gent, who thought the performer to be flirting with his wife. So, the jealous gent sent three of his men to hunt Clive down. They did and tried to stab him but Clive tried to defend himself and survived but one of the attackers' blades hit his throat and caused Clive to run for help. He did with a nearby doctor. But the procedure caused Clive to lose his voice. The matter was soon brought to the police and the culprits were caught and arrested for attempted murder and bodily harm. Clive was happy but it had not been an easy trial for him. With the exception of his voice, Clive had to write his statements for court and won.

Now, Clive was alone. In his dank little home. The winning result may have gone his way but what happened afterwards was not celebratory. The nightmares began. Either it was of the night he'd been attacked or worse. Him lying dead in a gutter, blood dripping into the gutter. There was also a night where he dreamt of his attackers torturing him endlessly. Clive woke in a cold sweat and silent tears. He was all alone.

Was there anybody out there that he could receive some comfort from?

He would often stare in the cracked mirror of his bedroom. Staring at the scar on his throat that was slowly healing. It brought back memories and more tears. He wanted this to stop. He wanted freedom. He needed his freedom back. It was no good running about the streets of London with pieces of parchment upon pieces of parchment with an ink well and feather around.

Clive needed help. He wanted to scream but he had no voice to do so.

Help me...

Memorial: (Guixon)

Peter had forced himself out of bed. He'd forced himself to wash, change and smarten himself up. He forced himself to hop into his car and drive himself to work. It was quiet today in the offices of the Circus, which was a little unusual. Peter saw Smiley in the entrance of Control Room and waved. Smiley nodded and Peter settled himself into his desk chair. He would bury himself in paperwork, trying to forget what had happened on this day. At nine o'clock, Smiley stopped Peter and brought him into the Control Room. Once Peter sat, Smiley spoke.

“How are you feeling today, Peter?”

Peter sighed. “Tired, George, that's all.”

“I wonder why.” Smiley, simply. “I know...what today I, Peter. Everybody here does.”

Peter didn't say anything. His focus was on the large mahogany table in front of him and Smiley.

George spoke again. “I know you're grieving, Peter. I can see it. It's only been a year, yes, but...you're in pain. If you ever need to talk about--.”

“I don't want to talk, Smiley. I just want him back. I want...Hector alive and safe, again.” His voice was breaking, now. His heart had broken months ago. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and his vision starting to blur.

“I know you do. You really loved each other, then?”

Peter looked to George for a moment before nodding. “I did. He was the only one I ever--.”

“Yes, yes. I can understand that. But my offer still stands, Peter. If there's anything you need to get off your chest, I'm here for you.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you, George.”

Smiley nodded back and left Peter alone. Peter looked down at the ring that was perched on his little finger. Hector's ring. Hector had given Peter the ring three years ago and Peter had given him his. They were eternity rings and they had both made promises that when the time came they would both marry in secret with George and Hector's old right hand man, Fabian, as witnesses. The blonde brushed his fingers along the ring and smiley sadly.

Later on in the day, Peter left the Circus and headed to the graveyard near by. Hector's grave stood next to two graves. Peter sat down in front of the grave and placed the small arrange of carnations by the headstone.

“Hello, Hector.” he said. “Another day, yes? Smiley forced me to come, clear my head.” Peter was quiet for a moment, staring at the headstone. “I miss you so much, Hector. I want you in my life again. I can't...I can't think straight anymore. It's been so hard for me this past year. I know you've heard this a million times. Please...come back to me.” He felt tears running down his face. “I miss you...I miss you, Hector, and I love you.”

The blonde brought his knees to his chest and he buried his head in his arms. Behind him, unbeknownst, a ghostly figure walked over towards the crying agent. He knelt beside him and placed his arms around him, resting his head on Peter's.

“I miss you, too, Peter. I miss you, too.”

King: (Smaugbo)

Three years of happy marriage. Three years of bliss, of serenity. Prince Bilbo of the Shire became King Smaug's husband mate and fellow king of Erebor. But after three years, Bilbo soon found whispers coming through the Underground city's court. Whispers that he and Smaug had not produced and heir to the Ereborian throne. This worried Bilbo, constantly. It made the Hobbit think that his people, their subjects, were now thinking less of him. The matter worried Bilbo so much that Smaug noticed.

“My love?” he asked one night in their chambers. “What ails? You've been so quiet these past few nights. What's wrong?”

The Hobbit sighed. “It's...it's just...” he was struggling to get the words out. He didn't want to offend his king or upset him. But Bilbo was not fault. He had not said these things, the distrustful people at court had said those cruel things. “My love, there have been...there has been talk, whispers in fact, of our marriage.”

The dragon's golden eyes turned cold. “What whispers have been there of? What is it about our marriage that they feel the need to speak of?”

Bilbo noticed that Smaug's voice had turned cold but not in a way of showing that he was angry at Bilbo. He answered. “There have been whispers saying that we have not produced an heir yet. That there are no children to carry out our line.”

Smaug's eyes widened and then softened. “My dearest Bilbo. My light of the world. My only love. Those people of court have either forgotten about or do not know how long it took for my parents to conceive me and my two brothers.”

“How long did your parents wait?”

“About four years. There was a war with a sorcerer who reeked havoc on the world.”

“Sauron. I've heard my father talk of him. The terrible things he did.”

“Indeed. Three days after their marriage war was declared so my father with his best warriors had to fight. She waited patiently for him.”

“And he came back. An elven king defeated him, yes?”

“Correct, my little one.” the dragon king said, pulling Bilbo closer to his body. “A week later, my father and my mother declared that they would try for a baby.”

“You, then Scatha and Angalon.”

“Indeed. Do not worry, my little one. Let them talk. We will have children. One day, when you're ready.”

“How...how does a dragon conceive?”

“The way all other species conceive. But this is the first time a dragon has had a mate of a different species. Having eggs inside of you – particularly dragon eggs – will be uncomfortable for you. You are unable to change into a dragon...so...this could mean that I will have to carry our children.”

“Really, Smaug?”

“Yes, my darling Bilbo. I would love nothing more than to have a family with you.”

“Oh, Smaug.” Bilbo awed and kissed the king on his lips. Soon, the need for air kicked in and they drew apart. Bilbo smiled up at his love. He couldn't have been more happier.

Two weeks later, both dragon and the Hobbit announced to their court and subjects that they were ready to start having children.

Engaged: (Juliver)

Oliver was out, trudging through the melting snow, salt covered streets of town and starting his Christmas shopping. He'd planned it well as he worked out, trying to find but what day it was best to sneak from the house whilst Julian was busy working. He wanted to get the best Christmas present for Julian besides a few jokey ones. Last Christmas, Oliver had brought Julian a pack of red hair dye because of a rumour that had started in Julian's department, in work, that apparently he tied his hair white. It had led to Olive wondering what his lover would look like with just blonde hair. This year would be different. He wanted to show Julian how much he cared for him. He hoped the wondering around town would give him some inkling. After wandering around for an hour, Oliver still had not found 'the perfect gift' for Julian except a box of chocolates and some little bits of pieces for his family and friends. He entered a shop that he and Julian liked to go into for groceries. He walked long the aisles until he came to the entertainment section, where all of the stores' televisions were on display. The televisions were randomly playing DVDs that were currently on sale in store and little ads for the company. Suddenly, a television flickered. Oliver wondered if there was technical fault. Suddenly, the screens of all the telly's pixilated and suddenly, images of Julian appeared on the screens.

What the bloody hell was this idiot playing at? He thought.

“Hi, Ollie.” Julian said. “Sorry to interrupt your day of Christmas shopping – and anybody else seeing this – but I don't care and I needed to get your attention.”

Oliver snickered.

“Now, there could be a possibility of you cursing at the telly's at this point, so please shut up and listen...because this is really important.” the Julian on the telly sighed. “Ollie, we've known each other for a long time and I've loved you every single day. And that you love me, too. I planned on giving you a good Christmas. A wonderful Christmas. I'm sure you would. So, I must ask you this. Oliver Chamberlain, will you marry me?”

Oliver stared at the screens. Each one in turn. What...how...? He wanted who to what to whom, now?

“I...”

“So, what's your answer, babe?”

Oliver spun round and saw the Australian knelt in front of him, holding a box containing a small band of silver. He held a hand over his mouth felt tears beginning to escape his eyes. Unable to say anything without sobbing, he nodded his answer. Julian grinned and slipped the silver band on his finger. Applause and cries of joy filled their ears. The two hugged. Oliver felt kisses in his hair.

“Best Christmas yet.” he mumbled into Julian's chest.

Wound: (EverStrange)

Everett felt sick and halted himself at the door of the private ward. Stephen looked a mess. Blood was on his face, his hands. His hair was matted and no longer smoothed back with gel or whatever he used. One eye was bruised and swollen. He was under sedation at the moment. Everett took a few gulps of air and slowly moved towards the bed. Shakily, Everett sat down, still staring at his boyfriend.

Everett had been working so that meant that Stephen had to go to the party on his own. Three hours in, Everett had received a phone call from one of Stephen's colleagues about the incident. Everett dropped everything and left his office to find his lover. When he reached the hospital, Christine Palmer hurried out to greet him. She told Everett everything about how Stephen had been involved in a horrific car accident and his hands...were no longer of use. It would be a slow but surely recovery for Stephen and for his hands to be of use again. Everett couldn't believe it! Stephen's work, his career, his skill was ruined. What was Stephen going to do now?

Everett leaned a little towards the bed and examined the hands that were all bandaged and were pierced with stainless steel pins. His ligaments had been torn multiple times and there was severe nerve damage in both hands. They were helpless. The surgeons, according to Christine, had done all they could. They could have done better, the only one that could have done better was...

The hands were a mess who had actually done this work on him? Stephen would have thought less about his colleagues when he woke up. For now, Everett would deal with them – whoever they were. Gently, the S.H.E.I.L.D. Wakanda agent a loving kiss against the doctor's scarred but stitched hand. He leaned back up and stared at his doctor, his neurosurgeon, his love, his...

“Please, Stephen. Please, wake up. Think of your patients, they need you to help them. To save their lives.” his voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. “I need you, please, Stephen. Darling. Please wake up. We will make this better. I promise.”

Nothing happened. The agent wasn't even sure that Stephen had heard him. He placed another kiss on Stephen's cheek, feeling the callous skin that had been damaged by the car's glass. He lingered for a moment before standing up and moving to the doctor's hands. He placed another kiss on the damaged hands...Stephen's fingers were twitching awkwardly as though they weren't use to their natural movement. Everett looked towards the bed and saw Stephen's heavy breathing as though stirring from a nightmare. He was waking up!

And steel blue eyes met sky blue!

Chapter Text

Hero: (EverStrange)

Everett had to praise his boyfriend for everything he did. Stephen had saved hundreds and millions of lives ever day. When he'd been a surgeon, he saved life after life after life, every day. He helped his patients make the break through they needed. But since his accident, Stephen's life and career had taken a tumble. Everett had thought his Stephen had gone and changed horribly. But all Stephen had done was go off place to 'heal himself'. If fact, he'd gone and learned magic. Everett teased him by comparing the situation to the Harry Potter franchise but Stephen said the magic he'd learned was something more.

“Harry couldn't do this kind of time travel.” the ex-doctor had said.

“No, Hermione and Harry did, remember with the Time Turner? Remember Prisoner of Azkaban?”

“...Yes, well. Harry couldn't repair things--.”

“Yes, they did with Repairo charm.”

Stephen had sighed. “Okay, then. What is Harry Potter unable to do that I can do?”

“Being a pompous ass.”

Stephen glared at him, causing Everett to laugh.

But soon it got too much for Stephen and he seemed to be at his wits end. Everett could feel his partner's frustration and anger especially during his training. He seemed to wear himself out. It didn't seem healthy.

“Stephen, you're pushing me away, again.” he said.

“Hmmm? What?”

“You're starting to become distant. What's wrong?”

Stephen was silent. He looked at Everett for a long time and sighed again. “I'm just...my hands...look at them.” the doctor held out his hands. Everett looked at them more closely. They were shaking again.

“Stephen, these things take time. You'll be fine in the end.”

“But it's still not--.”

“Working? How do you know? Your hands have worked for years and still do. For most of your life you've saved lives. Again and again. With or without magic. You've been my hero since I met you.” he ran a hand through the Sorcerer Supreme's salt and pepper locks. “You'll always be my hero, Stephen.”

Stephen smiled and placed his shaking, scarred hands on Everett's face. “And you're mine.”

Meetings: (AlanxMilton)

“By the way.” Mr. Menzies said. “An American gentlemen named Milton Fruchtman is coming over from the states to help.”

“Is he a relation of a German?” asked Hugh Alexander.

“No, he is not. Born and bred in New York. He's been allowed no help in the American army or navy but a commander offered his services to us. He knows German which helps speed up the process and can easy learn codes. Apparently, he's a fast learner.” Menzies looked to Alan. “You will help him out if you wish, Mr. Turing.”

“I...” Alan said. “I suppose its best. I hope we get along fine.”

“Good. He'll be arriving tomorrow at seven or eight o'clock sharp, providing the Germans don't get him.”

Alan smiled and cast his gaze over to the machine that was to help them crack the German Enigma codes.

…..................

The next morning found Milton Fruchtman nowhere in sight. Alan was working on his new machine and was getting irritated. He didn't stand tardiness, as a rule and was fed up that the others had been wary of following his orders. Suddenly, the door opened making everyone look up. A man, shorter than Alan, stepped in. He had short dark brown hair and wore round brown glasses. He wore a white crisp shirt and a blue cardigan over with a red tie and his pants were black. Alan couldn't help but notice how dashing and handsome he looked.

“Hi, everyone.” the man said. He had a strong New York accent. “Sorry, I'm late. The bus was late getting me here.”

“It's all right.” said John, moving from his desk and coming up to shake Milton's hand. “I'm John, this is Hugh, Peter, Charles, Keith as well and over in that corner is Alan Turing.”

Milton looked over, smiled and waved over at Alan. Intrigued, Alan moved over to the American. “Mr. Fruchtman?”

“Oh, Milton, please.”

“Welcome aboard...Milton.” Alan couldn't help but notice how well the American's name suited on his tongue.

Milton smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Alan...please. Is this your first time over here?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. Tell me how good are you at codes?”

“Not so good but I think with some help I could catch up. It's why I'm here.”

“Well, I'll teach you. Don't worry about that. You may be some good use here, no matter what others will think.”

Alan wasn't sure if he was seeing things but he could have sworn that Milton was blushing.

“Thank you...Alan.”

Time: (Kharthur)

Arthur sat in one of the make-shift chairs of the TARDIS, a cup of tea in his hands. He watched the Time Lord moved quickly along the control panel of his ship. Probably to take them on their next adventure. Their last adventure was meant to be for Khan to take Arthur to a pop concert in the seventies but ended up taking them to eighteen-seventy-five and met Queen Victoria in Scotland and even met a werewolf. Now, they were resting in the TARDIS.

“So, where we going now?” Arthur asked.

“That's twice you've asked, now.” said Khan, pivoting slightly to look at his lover.

“Well, you didn't answer me the first time.” Arthur, hopping off the chair and walking over to the control panel.

“Well, is there anywhere you'd like to go?” Khan said, pausing in his navigating.

Arthur thought for a moment and smiled when he came up with an idea. “How about the galaxy? Or another one? We don't have to visit any planets, just explore the galaxy and try to not get caught in any cross fire.”

Khan looked to the human, before smiling and running a hand through Arthur's red locks. “Of course, we can.” he then paused, took hold of Arthur's hand and pulled Arthur in front of the console. He plucked the cup from Arthur's hands and placed down behind the switches.

“What-w-w-what are you doing?” Arthur stammered.

“I've never let anyone drive this ship. Congratulations, Arthur Dent, you are the first.”

“But-but I...”

“Don't worry, I'll show you what to do.” the Time Lord moved so that he stood behind the red headed and moved his hands towards the console buttons and levers. “Now, just press this one. Then this one. Turn like so. Then type in 42973.11, there we go. Now, pull that towards you and hold it there. Now, press that one, then that one and push this down and...” Suddenly, there came the weird grinding sound of the TARDIS moving off and then the two were flung away from the console and both landed, with Arthur on top of Khan, in one of the ship seats. The cup of tea now on the floor smashed to pieces and splattered on the black floor. Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the incident as Khan grumbled: “Stupid ship.” When the ship landed, both males got to their feet and Khan pulled Arthur over the doors of the TARDIS. He pulled the doors open and Arthur gasped at sight before him.

It was not every day that anyone, just anyone got to see another galaxy before them. And here, Arthur was just seeing that. Oh, he was lucky. He felt Khan's arms embrace him and his chin resting on his shoulder.

“What do you think?” he rumbled in Arthur's ear.

The red head smiled. “It's incredible. Beautiful.”

“It is, indeed. It's been a while since I came to this galaxy. Years and years.”

“Why?” Arthur asked as he looked around at the Time Lord.

“...Because...because...” Khan started but for some reason, he couldn't get his words out.

Arthur shifted round to look at him. “Khan?”

His lover looked annoyed, for what reason, Arthur wasn't too sure. Possibly his pride getting the better of him. Finally, Khan snapped out of his 'stupor' and cleared his throat.

“Because its where my home use to be.”

Arthur's eyes widened as he stared up at his lover. “Oh, Khan, I...I...I'm sorry I shouldn't have suggested this idea. We'll go somewhere else—.”

“No. No. it's all right. As I said, its been a while. Besides you deserve to see where it used to be.”

“You...you mean...that...?” the human looked round and saw three planets hovering half a mile from them. There was a gap between them, obviously showing the place where Khan's home had once stood. “Your home was right there?”

“Yes.” Khan said, curtly. “It would have been. A beautiful autumn yellow with browns and reds. It was unlike any other planet you'd ever see.”

“Are...can you go back in time and see it?”

“That would be influencing my time line and would easily cause a paradox.”

“Oh.”

There was silence between them as they stared out to the place where Gallifrey had once stood. After a while, Arthur moved towards Khan and hugged him around the middle. Khan looked down and smiled. He returned the hug and held his boyfriend close to him. After a few moments, it got cold and Khan closed the doors, allowing the warmth back in.

Pet: (Johnlock)

The little hedgehog sat perfectly in Sherlock's large hand. The dark haired male was gentle as he rubbed his long slender fingers up and down the belly of the small woodland creature. A few times, the animal would close its eyes and an issue of mumbles and moans.

“Ooh, Sherlock. Keep going.” the animal moaned, in delight.

“You know I can easily do this in your human form, right?”

“Shut up, Sherlock.” the hedgehog grunted. “Just keep going.”

“Certainly, John.”

The hedgehog's moans of delight at being petted made Sherlock smile to himself. He loved days of John being in his second form – this lovely, cute, small form – and being able to pet him in this and it kept Sherlock from being bored and away from the drugs. Sherlock often switched around and allowed John to be in his human form and the consulting detective to be in his second form – an otter – and have John cuddle and pet him. It was fair for them both to do that.

Once upon a time, Sherlock had been a little embarrassed about his form and it had not helped with the fact that Mycroft had made fun of him for it, until Sherringford had stepped in and told Mycroft off. But since finding out John's second form, Sherlock didn't feel as embarrassed about his form. In fact, he'd felt pleased and found John's form pleasing and cute. Although, Sherlock had been a little worried with the small form in case he'd lost John and would never find him again. Which John had thought silly because he was a consulting detective – one of the best. The only best.

Sherlock smiled down and at John in his other form. He raised the hedgehog to his lips and kissed him on the belly, repeatedly.

Plea: (Juliver)

Oliver had been forced to watch the interview about Julian Assange and his creation of WikiLeaks. His sister had forced him to sit down and watch the whole thing. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want his mind filled with memories of what had happened before he ran out on Julian and had gone home, safely. He'd kept in contact with Daniel from time to time as they had been really good friends but when Daniel tried to talk about Julian to him, Oliver would change the subject or say he had to go. It still hurt, after all those years. The real estate agent felt his hand being squeezed and he felt his racing heart ease down. Julian was asked about his time in WikiLeaks, surprisingly about Daniel and a documentary about WikiLeaks. But then the interviewer said something that probably shocked everyone.

“Now, Julian, during time when WikiLeaks was born and was churned into something more and then came crashing down, you were engaged at the time, weren't you?”

Oliver felt his heart skip a beat.

“I wasn't engaged the whole way through. I was engaged in 2009 and it ended in 2010.”

“Who was it you were engaged to?” the interviewer asked, gently.

“A wonderful...kind...beautiful man named Oliver. I loved him for a long time.” Oliver could hear the pain in his voice. The same pain Oliver had felt when he'd ended their relationship.

“What happened?”

“It...It got too much for him and he wanted out. All I wanted to do was to protect him and keep him safe. But I was actually making it worse for him. I was...I...”

Oliver watched the blonde Australian, his lips pursed, the frustration showing on his face as he tried to keep himself calm. Oliver's eyes were brimming with tears. He remembered them arguing. Him giving Julian the option of either them or WikiLeaks...and Julian had obviously chosen WikiLeaks. He remembered slipping the ring off and handing it back to him. He hadn't even brought himself to look at Julian as he walked away from it all.

“He...he ended it for us and went home.”

Oliver felt a tear escape and run down his cheek. “Julian...” he breathed.

“Um...” the interviewer continued. “Have you ever spoken to Oliver since that day?”

Julian was quiet, as though thinking about his answer, carefully. Very carefully. He was so quiet, Oliver wasn't sure if he was going to answer. Eventually, he did. “I have thought about it. Time and time again. But since then and getting myself into this embassy, I wanted to give him some room. I never wanted to pressure him. I still don't...”

“You still love him?”

Julian nodded.

“What would you say to him, now? If he was watching this?”

“Sam,” Oliver said, abruptly. “Please turn this off.”

“No, you're going to listen to this.”

Oliver sighed and looked back to the screen.

“I...I would tell him that I still loved him and that I...I'm sorry for what I'd done. That I...put WikiLeaks before him.”

Sam shut off the television and hugged her brother as he cried into her shoulder.

Phobia: (AlanxMilton)

“You don't like blood?”

“Never have.”

“Seriously?”

“How many more times, my dear Milton?”

“Yes but blood. You're involved in war.”

“I'm involved in a different sort of war. I'm not dealing with blood and guns...anymore.”

“What?”

“Hmmm, I did think about the parades once as apparently my aim was really good but I thought better of it.”

“...”

“...you have something to say?”

“Well, how do you shave?”

“Very carefully.”

“You say that like it's happened.”

“Oh, it has. I fainted.”

“Fainted?!”

“...Milton, please.”

“No, Alan. I'm fucking con--.”

“Language, Alan.”

“Sorry-I just...god now I feel awful.”

“Don't be.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“....”

“So I take it horror films are out of the question.”

Surprise: (PaulxMartin)

“Hey, Paul.”

“Hmmm?”

“What's the Mile High Club?”

“GAK.....Martin, bloody hell! Warn a man when you ask things like that.”

“S-sorry...but seriously what is it?”

“...”

“...”

“Martin, you've been a pilot for several years now, and you don't know what the Mile High Club is?”

“...No, I don't.”

“Aw, my god....jeez, you're so innocent, aren't you?”

“What's that suppose to mean?”

“Hahahaha, oh, my god, Marty! You really want to know what it is?”

“Well, it's practically what's started this conversation.”

“Well, you see...the thing is, Martin. The 'Club' is when two people – or possibly more – have...sex on a plane.”

“...”

“Um...Martin, are you okay?”

“...”

“Martin?”

“...I wish I never asked....

…..

STOP SNIGGERING!”

Lullaby: (Johnlock)

John was having his nightmares again. About the war. Seeing the rush of bodies coming going from the battlefield to the makeshift aid tents and back again. Then seeing the pile of dead bodies, the showering of bullets on them. Pain John's shoulder. Him crying out in agony. A figure standing up on a rooftop...

St. Barts...

“Sherlock...”

“Goodbye, John.”

“....SHERLOCK!”

Blood on his face. His blue, green eyes unfocused and gone of life. Gone from his life. Mary revealing her true colours by shooting Sherlock, not telling him exactly who or what she was.

A colleague of Moriarty's.

Mary being killed after Rosie was born. Being pulled into a fire and almost killed. Was anybody going to rescue him?

Moriarty's men strapping him up with explosives. Watching Sherlock leave on a plane...

“John?”

A voice – so smooth, deep was pulling him out of the nightmares. They were slipping away. He was being pulled back into a conscious state. He woke with a start even thought it was dark, he could see the outline of the consulting detective – his mad man – hovering over him. A hand was caressing his cheek.

“John? It's not real, John. Its over. John?”

“Sh...Sherlock?”

“Shhh, John. I'm here. Shh, it's okay.”

“Did I wake you?”

“I was already awake. What were the nightmares about?”

“Everything bad in my life. The war, being shot, Moriarty, Mary...you pretending to be dead.”

Sherlock flinched at the mention of him faking his death a several years go. Every night John had these terrible nightmares and Sherlock was unable of what to do other than to wake John up and give him comfort – which was something Sherlock wasn't the best at. Sherlock suddenly remembered something. It was possible to try this, he just hoped it would work.

“One moment.” he said, climbing off the bed.

“Sherlock, where...?”

But Sherlock was gone. He'd disappeared from the bedroom and into the living room. The ex- army doctor was sitting up by the time the consulting detective reached the bedroom again. This time the detective was holding his violin and bow. John looked between the instrument and his lover.

“What...?”

But Sherlock didn't say anything. He positioned the instrument under his chin, placed his fingers delicately on the according strings and began to play. John thought the tune, the melody was beautiful. Somehow the melody, Sherlock was playing was easing his body, his muscles, his joints. The tension seemed to flow away. His eyes were beginning to get heavy. What magic was Sherlock playing on him? He leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes.

His mind was suddenly full of, not sadder times, but happier. Meeting Sherlock, collapsing into Baker Street, laughing, giggling at crime scenes, Sherlock helping to raise Rosie with him. John, himself, confessing his love for Sherlock.

John was content, now. And Sherlock did not stop playing until after the sun rose.

Birthday: (Juliver)

The most oldest request that Julian had ever asked the embassy was for a small tray of cupcakes, three candles and a small box of matches. The senior had given him a funny look, but then again, Julian had always been a little odd. So, they did. And here Julian was standing in his tiny kitchen, placing a yellow swirling candle in the middle cupcake. He lit the candle wick with a match and stumped it out. He then looked down at the cupcakes, forlornly.

“Well,” he said. “Here's to a good birthday. Many returns of the day, Ollie. Happy Birthday.”

The white blonde leaned down and blew out the small flame.

Spy: (Smaugbo)

Bilbo stared at the photos of the mansion and looked to Gandalf. “Really?”

Gandalf nodded. “Quite so.”

Bilbo stared again, his mouth slightly open, and he looked at the photos again. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to get in there?”

“Don't worry, Thorin and his nephews will be there with you. The rest and I will be outside awaiting you to get out.”

“And the....the, er, stone is in there, right?”

“Indeed.”

Bilbo's eyes scanned the outlines of the house. Where the hell was a small yet valuable jewel meant to be kept in a house that size? The house or mansion looked enormous!

“Will it be easy? Getting in and out?”

“No, but Smaug and his men are no longer in the house by the time we get there, it might be. But knowing Smaug, there will trip alarms. Thankfully, Kili knows how to disable them.”

Bilbo nodded. He could only pray that his plan would work.

…......................

The mansion was white on the exterior and inside was full of luxury modern furniture but with a few rustic pieces thrown in. According to Thorin, they were all stolen and were not any of their concern.

Most of the group – The Company as they were known as – were taller than Bilbo than a foot except Balin who was the oldest of the lot. Bilbo was under five foot and Thorin and the others was over. There was Thorin, who'd been the owner of the stone, and his two nephews, Fili and Kili. Then Balin and his brother, Dwalin, then there was Bofur, Bifur and Bombur. Followed by Gloin, Oin, Dori, Nori and Ori. Then there was Bilbo, himself, and Gandalf.

The plan had changed. It was meant to only be Bilbo with Fili, Kili and Thorin. But they had under estimated the size of Smaug's home. So, everyone had gone, to leave Ori by the door to keep an eye out on security outside the home. The first alarm had been at the front door and Kili had dealt with it, with ease. The mansion that belonged to Smaug seemed quiet. There didn't seem to be a single soul in the household. It didn't look as though the house had any CCTV cameras either. Thorin thought the gangster to be a fool. To poor, naïve Bilbo, he seemed to be impressed by the stories of the gangster that Gandalf and Balin had told him but Thorin couldn't help but scoff.

The Company moved through the house with bright LED torches that lit the hallway and rooms easily. They reached a door that led to the living room. As the others searched, Thorin noticed how Bilbo was looking a little worried.

“What is it, Bilbo?” Bofur asked.

“I've got a bad feeling about this.” Bilbo said.

“Why?”

“There isn't a soul in here. It's too quiet. Where's Smaug? His goons? What about his staff? Surely, a man like Smaug has servants at his beck and call?”

“He does.” said Gandalf. “But Bilbo's right. It is oddly quiet.”

“We don't have time to find where that prick and his men are!” Thorin, snarled as he continued his rough search. “We need to find the Arkenstone. Everyone split up and go off into different rooms. Fili, Kili, Bombur, Bofur check upstairs.”

Doing as they were told, they split up. Thorin took in a deep breath and exhaled. He had to be calm or else this entire mission would be a failure. The Arkenstone had to be found. It was a family heirloom that had been given to the family centuries ago by a Nordic King and it had been passed down from generation to generation. And Smaug had stolen it from under his nose.

Dori came back into the room with his brothers behind him. “I don't think the stone--.” but was interrupted by a shout from upstairs. Thorin darted past and into the hallway to see Kili awaiting them

“What is it?”

“We may have struck gold.”

Thorin bolted up the stairs as the others followed. Fili was kneeling and viciously attacking the doorknob, his torch in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked as they neared.

“Picking the lock, of course. I've got a funny feeling this could be Smaug's room.”

“Might be the study.” suggested Dwalin.

“Nah, study's downstairs.” said Bilbo. “I...I saw it on the way up.”

Then a click pierced the air and the door opened slightly. Fili pushed the door open and they found it to be Smaug's bedroom. The room was not red but crimson. The wardrobes and chest drawers were designed ornately and surprisingly immaculate. The bed was a four poster with red drapes. The covers and pillows were golden silk. Expensive taste. Obviously. A vanity table sat by the bed with men's jewellery, aftershave, papers an empty photo frame and...

“The Arkenstone.” breathed Kili.

Thorin pushed past Bilbo and made his way to grab the stone. At long last! He held it up in the air as it glinted in the lamp light. It looked perfect. Suddenly, the celebratory silence was cut short as a phone rang. It was Bilbo's. He took the phone out and looked up.

“It's Ori.”

“Something's wrong.” said Gandalf. “Everyone downstairs.”

At this, everyone moved and met Ori halfway down the stairs.

“Ori, what happened?”

“Smaug's private car was nearing the drive. I've tried to unlock the back door but it's useless. Kili's gear won't be able to get through.”

“Are...are they here already?” Bilbo asked, panting from their hurry.

“I don't know. We'll go out to the front and stay in shadows whilst moving to the back gardens and we'll move when Smaug is in his home.”

The Company moved on towards the door. Thorin and Gandalf pulled the doors opened and the others spilled out. But were met with a shock. The Company were dazzled by lights. Car lights. A dozen cars were circled round the front part of the house, blocking off all exits, their lights on full beam. Doors opened. People got out, loading guns and aiming towards The Company.

“Drop your weapons.” Gandalf shouted, throwing his to the ground. Thorin's company to one another wondering if they should and eventually followed suit. Thorin could see Bilbo staring, bewildered at the whole company, dropping guns, mace sprays, taser guns and even a machete from Dwalin. A car directly in front of them opened its passengers door and a tall man stepped out. He had wild dark hair, high cheekbones with startling yellow eyes. Smaug Drake walked over, his arms raised in a welcoming fashion.

“Oakenshield, Gandalf. What a surprise!” he called out. “Had I known you'd be here, I would have been by the door on your way in.” he then sneered and clicked his fingers. “Boys, take one and bring them in. In fact,” and he walked over towards Bilbo, easily towering over him. Bilbo was shaking. “Azog, take this one and keep him separate from the others.”

“No! Bilbo!” Thorin tried to move forwards trying to get to Bilbo. But two of Smaug's men held him back. Bilbo was taken hold of by a man with the palest of skin and scars on his face. Bilbo tried to struggle out of his grip but it was too strong. Bilbo was hauled off into the house as the others watched.

Smaug soon stepped into the house and his goons followed, dragging the Company, inside. The room they were taken to was red, like the whole house, and paintings of old stories hung on the wall. All priceless. A large dark mahogany table sat in the middle of the room. Fourteen chairs sat around one side of the table and one, looking grander than the others, sat on the other side, all alone. Smaug sat down on that chair was Thorin, Gandalf and the rest sat down or were shoved into them. Smaug smiled and plucked something from his jacket. The Arkenstone?

Thorin's eyes widened. “How...?”

“A simple ploy.” the man said. “A simple switch round. You were so blinded for getting your precious stone back, you didn't see that it was fake.”

“That,” Thorin hissed. “Belongs to me. Its my family's.”

“A trinket like this? Hmm, its almost as good as a paperweight or a bug crusher than that fake you have.”

“How did you know we were here?” Balin asked.

Smaug looked at him with hard golden eyes. “A little birdie did. They were polite enough to let me know you were coming.” he glanced over at Gandalf, who sat at Thorin's side. The old man had a glint in his eye as though realising something.

“Where is Bilbo?” Thorin hissed.

“Safe. For now.”

“If you do anything to hurt him, I'll--.”

“You will do nothing, Oakenshield. I will deal with your little thief in my own way.” Smaug smiled to himself as Thorin glowered.

“Who is your 'little bird'?” Gandalf queried.

Smaug looked to the old man again and his smile grew bigger. “You wish to know, old man?”

“Yes, I would.”

Smaug stared at Gandalf for a few moments and then clicked his fingers. A man standing by the door opened it and 'they' stepped in. Everyone looked round and gaped in horror and confusion as the newcomer walked by the table, ignoring them.

“My little one.” the gangster purred. “My little, little thief.”

Bilbo took hold of Smaug's out-stretched hand and saw gently pulled into Smaug's lap. “Evening, my dragon.” Bilbo said, sweetly, and kissed Smaug hard on the lips.

Chapter Text

Name: (Juliver)

Oliver took a sip from his drink and his head whipped round as he heard the sound of rambunctious laughter mixed in with a drunken slurr. He wasn't sure where it came from...but in the crowd, he saw a tall blonde male, wearing a dark purple hoodie with a black shirt and jeans surrounded by women. Oliver watched from where he sat at the bar as the white blonde showed off some card tricks. Oh, he was a fellow magician, Oliver thought. Oliver was a street magician, who performed magic card tricks and loved escapology. He remembered a few years ago pulling off a trick in Paris, where he was pulling off a sort of under water Houdini trick with a tank of piranhas above him. He'd made the trick look as though it had gone wrong and made the tank fill with blood and he'd appeared in the crowd, dripping wet and shouting curses at himself. The crowd had loved it! He might go back to performing that trick but add some more flare to it. He watched the man give his thanks to the girls and move off...towards him! Oliver moved his attention to the bar in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver could see the stranger getting closer and closer to where Oliver was sitting.

“Can I have a lager, please, mate?” he asked the barman. His voice was deep, Australian...Melbourne, perhaps? The barman nodded and went to get the drink. The blonde looked to Oliver and smiled at him. Oliver smiled back.

Jesus, he was hot! Long blonde hair, blue eyes, a crooked smile, dimples and cheekbones...oi, the cheekbones!

“I see you are a fellow magician.” the man said.

Oliver looked to the Australian. “How...?”

“You have a pack of playing cards in your top pocket as well as a multicoloured handkerchief and a key for a pair of handcuffs in yours pants pocket.”

Oliver chuckled. “Wow, you are fucking observant. Aren't you a real Poirot, yeah?”

“Just simple observations. A friend of mine taught me. Managed to pick it up within a week or so.”

“He taught you how to read people?”

“It helps. So, either you're a magician or someone with a strange fetish.”

Oliver scoffed.

“I'm Julian Assange.”

Oliver's eyes widened. Holy shit! “The Julian Assange?! No way.”

“I am he.”

“Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, after all these years. I'm Oliver Chamberlain.”

“Chamberlain? No relation?”

“No, don't think so.”

“Hmm, I thought I recognised you. I saw your little water escape trick in Paris. So, I was right you have a strange fetish. You're a fucking sadist.”

Oliver laughed. Julian got his drink and sat down beside Oliver.

“I'd like you to do a trick on me.” Julian said.

“Wha...what?”

“A trick. Come on, impress me.”

Oliver looked to the Australian for a few moments and then he smiled. “All right. Do you have any keys?”

Prowl: (Kharthur)

The black panther stayed at Arthur's side the whole time they'd walked up the street. People looked at Arthur with shocked or disgusted looks on their faces. Shape-shifting had been heard of since the olden days. The world was 'split' into Shifters and Non-Shifters. Non-shifters were people who had no shifting powers what-so-ever whereas Shifters could change into one, and only one, animal in mind. It took days, weeks, even months for a Shifter to master this and even control it as their emotions could better them. In the early centuries of the world, groups of Non-Shifters and some Shifters took it upon themselves to enslave the Shifters and be profited for money, creating slave rings and markets. This went on for several centuries causing the Shifters to lose thousands and thousands. Until a group of Shifters in Western Europe, allied with some Non-Shifters, rebelled and ended the slavery within the next few years. Since then it was very much illegal to enslave a Shifter.

Arthur wasn't a master to the panther by his side. In fact, they were lovers. Khan preferred to be in his other form. So, did Arthur but it was this reaction, he hated it. The panther growled at the glaring people and they immediately backed off. Arthur patted Khan's head reassuringly. Khan purred loudly and they continued on their way. They met Oliver, who was riding on the back of Julian, his mate, who could turn himself into an alabaster white horse. Oliver looked worn out! Arthur guessed that Oliver had been out with his friends...again! Arthur nodded to Julian who snorted in reply and moved off to get his lover in the warmth of his bed. Arthur looked to the panther beside him and smiled.

Maybe next time they would stay in bed, away from prying eyes.

Compassion: (ClivexCreature)

Two years since his attack, Clive had not slept well. In fact, he'd not been living well, at all. The nightmares plagued him again and again to the point where Clive did not dare fall asleep. He did eat but it wasn't much because he wasn't on the streets entertaining people and wasn't getting the money they threw at him, happily. Clive had to be careful of what he ate. Sometimes to keep himself, awake, Clive would walk the quiet streets near his home, keeping to the shadows. He didn't dare go far from his home.

One particular night, Clive was walking the streets to keep him awake, sticking to the shadows. He was passing an alleyway when he heard painful moans. He stopped and stared into the darkness. His heart was beating fast and he began to shake. Had they found him? Clive had the urge to run but his own body wasn't responding to run...away but to walk towards the person in trouble.

What was he doing? Why was he doing this? Then there came the sound of someone in pain. No one was going to hurt him, they needed help. Just like he did. He stepped cautiously into the alleyway and looked for the person in distress. He soon found them lying slumped against the wall. It was man. A balding man. His face had a scar that ran down his face. Closely looking, Clive saw that it was a stitch as though somebody had cut the head open and then stitched it whole. One ran along left ear but smaller and tuffs of black hair poked on the right. The skin looked scuffed, bruised as he'd been in a fight or something worse. He wore a thick heavy grey coat that had seen better days. Clive placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder to let the man know he was there, but there was no response. Clive wasn't sure of what to do. For all he knew, this man could be someone to avenge the people whom he'd locked up or this man was indeed in danger.

The good Sarmatian inside him called out and Clive did the only thing he could do. He took him in.

Thankfully, Clive's home wasn't too far away. He dragged the man inside and locked the door. He laid the man on his bedraggled sofa and checked him over. Clive couldn't help but noticed – under the scars and stitches – how handsome the man looked. His lips were a shape that Clive had never seen before. He found them unique. The cheekbones were high and looked sharp. His skin, pale as it was, was covered in stitches. This man had fallen through hard times. Clive then peeled away the heavy coat and found torn grey clothes underneath. What had his man been through? Who had done this to him? The mute placed a hand on the stranger's forehead. He was hot. Was it a fever? Clive hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a cloth, wet it and then brought it through into the living room.

Gently, he dabbed the cloth along the man's head and even ran it down his cheeks and neck, taking care of the stitching. The man stirred but didn't fully wake. Clive reached out and stroked the man;s head. He soothed him making sure that the man would ease off his tentative state. Clive decided that he would look after this man. If nobody else would.

Ink: (AlanxMilton)

Milton saw tears in Alan's eyes. The Enigma code breaker pulled back a little and Milton saw something scrawled on his hand. He held it up and in capitals were the strange words:

P ZQAE TQR

Milton looked to Alan. “What does this mean?”

“When I younger,” the Englishman explained. “Me and...a close friend of mine had our own little world, we had this code so that we could talk of things without anyone knowing. I wrote to him those words but...he never saw the note...in fact, he never made it back into school. He'd died during the summer holidays.”

“Alan, I'm so sorry. But...I still don't get what it means.”

“It means...” Alan then leaned into Milton's ear and whispered. “I love you.”

Milton's heart swelled twice its size and he looked to his lover with teary eyes. “Alan...I...oh, my god!”

“I really mean it, Milton. I really do.”

“I...god, I love you too.” The American wished he could have kissed Alan right then and there but he couldn't. “I'll come back to you, I swear. I need to clean up a few things at home and then I'll come and live with you.”

“I look forward to it.”

Destiny: (Juliver)

“There's someone coming.”

Oliver looked round to where Julian was standing by the stone window. “Sorry?”

Julian turned to look at Oliver, with blank and scarred eyes. “Someone's coming. Take me to the chamber.”

Oliver nodding, knowing that Julian would sense his reply and helped the white haired blonde out of the room. The hallway that they walked down led to a large chamber. It was decorated with blue silks and chiffons – all different shades. A small throne of white marble sat upon a platform and on either side of it sat two small burning fires. Oliver led Julian up the stairs and carefully eased him down on to the throne. The sound of footsteps reached their ears and a man with short cropped blonde hair and bugling muscles stepped into the chamber.

Oliver stood up and stepped forward. He addressed the man. “Stranger, welcome to the oracle's temple. What brings you here?”

“I have come for a prophecy.” the man growled. “About someone I...I work for.”

“I maybe blind, stranger, but I am not stupid.” Oliver stepped aside so that the man could see the oracle. His oracle. “You are here because of someone you love. What do you wish me to see?”

“What is his destiny? I must know.”

Julian held out a faintly scarred hand forward. “Here, stranger, come forth and I'll tell you what I see.”

“Julian, my dear, are you sure that is wise--?”

“Hush, my little one. Come!”

The man walked forward and took hold of Julian's hand. Julian froze, his head lolled back, his mouth opening wide and going slack. Oliver moved forward, holding Julian's head gently. It was vital for Oliver to keep Julian from swallowing his own tongue. Suddenly, Julian's hand slipped from the stranger's and suddenly he came out from his daze.

“Well, what did you see?” the man asked.

“Death...I saw the Gifted One chasing your lover through towns and villages. I saw the Healer holding a sword to his neck. Death...Sebastian. Death will await one of them.”

The man's eyes – Sebastian's eyes – widened and he ran from the chamber. Oliver watched him go.

“Send a raven to Sherlock.” said Julian. “He must know of this.”

Lesson: (EverStrange)

Everett watched from where he stood in the Sanctum courtyard as Stephen worked on his spells and trained with the finest of sorcerers. He watched as Stephen moved his fingers into different positions as though signing in the oddest of languages and his arms moved this way and that, creating shapes and sigils that interlocked together creating one shape. It flickered like sparks in a bonfire and disappeared with ease. Stephen looked over and smiled at Everett and waved him over. Everett started and gingerly walked over to the Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen met him halfway and pulled him into a kiss. The Secret Agent felt his cheeks go warm and pulled away, hoping that they weren't causing a scene but the others were concentrating hard to take notice.

Everett looked up into the multicoloured eyes of his lover and couldn't help but smile.

Majestic: (Johnlock)

John was enjoying his time at the Holmes household and wanted to stay longer. But he knew that he would have to go back to Scotland some time. The 'decision' that John had to make between the younger Holmes offspring was becoming easy for him. He saw Sherlock more than Eurus. He knew Eurus wasn't involved and didn't want to be around him. The only Holmes daughter always made sure she wasn't anywhere near John and that she was always in the town or locked up in her own room doing...whatever she was doing. John wasn't too fussed by any means as he wanted to know Sherlock more and more. John found him to be amazing...an astounding man! He was clever—no, more than clever. He was a genius! The dark haired male had surprised John one day, by looking at him and telling John everything he knew by that one look. “Amazing!” John had remarked which Sherlock obviously looked taken aback by. Obviously, again, that was a reaction Sherlock wasn't used to.

One day, John was exploring the grounds. He hadn't had much of a chance to explore the gardens as he'd been cornered by the Holmes' to either get to know him or catch up on old times or give a tour of the household. So, John took the opportunity to have his own tour of the gardens and enjoy the open air. It wasn't often that John got to be in open air unless he was going on a business trip. He was often trapped. He'd felt trapped.

John turned a corner and saw, to his delight, Sherlock gazing up at an oak tree that had seen better days. There was no mistaking those curls. John stopped walking and watched the dark haired male with interest. Sherlock reached up to a nearby branch and took hold. He then pulled himself, after placing a foot on the trunk. With ease, Sherlock hoisted himself up and perched himself on the branch he'd used to climb. After taking in his bearings, he looked round and saw John standing there watching him. The man smirked and leaned against the tree trunk.

“Mr. Watson? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Mr. Holmes.” John replied, moving forwards. “It's good to know that you are still in fine fitting shape.”

“Well.” and the youngest Holmes shrugged. “There's nothing much to do around here. You of all people should know.”

“That I do. Is there a good reason you're acting like a spider monkey?”

“I like to be different.” Sherlock said, with a smirk. John was still going up at him, in awe. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“...Because I've never met anyone like you.”

Sherlock looked down at John. His face was obviously showing shock. It was almost as though the man was never given a compliment in his life. Was John the first? He hoped so.

“I know why you're here, John.”

John felt his heartbeat quicken. For two reasons. One: it was of Sherlock actually saying his name – his own name rolling on his tongue. Two: because Sherlock was going to think less of him when finding out what his family had planned behind his back.

“You're not here just for a friendly visit to friends of the family. Our parents have planned for one of their children to be married to the Watson male heir. Me or my sister.”

John didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Sherlock was speaking the truth because John couldn't voice it.

“But you've hardly got to know my sister because she's never around. So, you've—.”

“Can I stop you for a moment? Please? Partly what you say is true, yes. Our families wanted me to marry either you or your sister. But your sister isn't interested. But I would like to get to know her. As my sister-in-law.”

Sherlock was quiet again, but he was rapidly blinking his eyes. Something else he'd never heard before.

“The moment that you rode in on Augustus with RedBeard at your side...I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Your family obviously loves you even though you seem to annoy them. But I can see that you want to be yourself despite the struggles of being born in this kind of life.”

“How do you know I feel like that?”

“Because I feel the same...you majestic creature.”

“...I don't think we'd last a second of married life.”

“I don't think you've tried.” John said, shaking his head. “If you're scared, I can ease off and we can get to know each other.”

There was silence between them before John spoke again.

“Would you like that, Sherlock?”

There was more silence and John was hating it. Sherlock seemed insecure and he wasn't sure why. He wanted to know why but it was way too early for Sherlock to open up to John about everything. There would still be time for that and now, wasn't it? After a long moment, Sherlock moved. He shuffled on the branch and jumped down, landing cat-like on the ground. He straightened up and looked down at John.

“I would, indeed.”

Magic: (Juliver)

For three months now, Julian and Oliver worked together as a duo act on the streets. Sometimes swapping between 'magician and assistant' to being a double act. They performed tricks – dangerous, tame and mild to funny at best. Julian had to encourage Oliver to help perform the Russian Roulette act. Thankfully, Julian managed to survive that one. There was also a little trick Julian performed with pigeons to demonstrate flying and Oliver – a manipulation of rain. Unfortunately, Julian trick had been but cut short because of a fight caused by punters in the pub they'd been performing in. During those three months, Julian began to feel something towards the Englishman. Something more than friendship. The Aussie man wondered if it was just a stupid crush. But it wasn't. Julian realised that it was more...it was something else. This was the first time that Julian had ever felt like this with anyone and wasn't sure of what to do with himself.

The three months changed into a year and Julian had still not said anything to Oliver. He wasn't sure how to. Then there was the time in Scotland where they'd stopped in a lodge at Aberdeen. A night's celebration led to drinking a lot and also a night of Oliver blurting out how he felt towards Julian. Julian, flabbergasted, told Ollie how he felt about him. So, it led to an intimate night on the couch. The next morning revealed the two lying naked in the lodge and suffering hangovers. After the hangovers eased off, the two sat down and talked about the situation. They both decided to date one another despite the circumstances of a drunken night and after a hearty breakfast, had another round of sex on the kitchen table, the kitchen counter, the shower, the bathroom floor and even in the master bedroom.

“Hey, Ollie, do you know the fifty-two card trick?”

“Um...don't think so. How does it go?”

“Well, it goes like this...”

…...

…...

…...

“Fuck, Jules!”

Knowing People: (AlanxMilton)

Milton scowled at the screen in front of him. Leo was pissing him off big time. Truth be told, it wasn't exactly Leo who was in charge. It was Milton himself. The man seemed to be full of pride and only focusing an Eicchman. But it wasn't, it was about those people who had been slaughtered, tortured and abused by Eicchman and the rest of the Nazis getting the justice they deserved. Milton hoped this part of the trial would end soon. He wanted to go back to his apartments and spend time with his...

The door and, coincidentally, a tall man stepped in. He had dark hair that was tamed partly to the side. His skin was pale and his eyes were sky blue.

“Alan!” chirped Milton. The producer moved around and went over to shake his hand. “You made it.”

“It was at least I could do.” Alan said, with a smile that made Milton's heart skip a beat. The Englishman looked over at the screens. “So, that's him, is it?”

“Yup. Oh, god, where are my manners? Everyone, this is Alan Turing. I'm sure you'll know what he's done and--.”

“Oh, Milton, do stop fanning my ego.” Alan teased. “It's nice to meet you all.”

“Alan, this is Leo, our director...um, Perry Rudolph, Judy my secretary...also Alan, my production assistant...er, David our lawyer, Ron and Roy from your homeland, they are our engineers. Our camera men are Yaakov, Millek, Rolf and Fred are out there filming in the court room.”

“A pleasure. Um, where-where can I put my things?”

“I'll take you to my office.” said Milton. “You can leave them there and we'll sort out an accommodation for you. Excuse me, gents.” The American motioned to the Brit and they stepped out of the green room and into the corridor. Alan followed Milton to his office, which thankfully wasn't that far, and stepped inside. Alan placed his things beside the large desk and looked to the American. “So, you got here safely then?” Milton asked.

“I did, yes. It was lovely coming over. Never thought it would be so hot.”

“You'll get use to it. Don't worry.” Milton said with a smile. Alan smiled back and moved closer to Milton. Milton grinned, knowing what Alan wanted. He met his lover halfway and hugged him.

“I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too. I'm glad you agreed to come over. I'd have gone nuts.”

“I highly doubt that.” Alan teased, again.

Milton then felt a hand trail through his reddish brown locks and felt the stress he'd felt before ebb away as Alan continued to run his fingers through his hair.

“I can tell you're tired.” Alan mumbled.

“I am.”

“You shouldn't be working so hard.”

“And you didn't during the war?”

“We had a war to win. We all worked hard.”

“Hmmm...well, I'll try not to. Now, that you're here.”

Alan smiled fondly and kissed the top of Milton's head.

Laughter: (AllxDanny)

Hearing All's laughter was a rare thing.

Purely rare.

Danny felt to be a lucky man to hear All laughing. Sure, she would smile. Whether it was a happy smile, a fond one, a sly or sexy smile. Danny loved those moments. When All had been either at photo shoots or walking angelically on the cat walk, wearing the latest fashion, Danny had been asked by All's make up artist about their relationship and when Danny had mentioned about All laughing, silence had fell. The people backstage were gob-smacked by the notion of All laughing. Danny wondered if he was possibly the only one who had heard his girlfriend giggle.

In future, Danny decided that he would always make All laugh and smile. He didn't care if nobody heard the delicate, sweet twitters of his lovers laugh or even if they did, he just wanted to hear it.

Again and again and again.

Why, just the other day he told her a joke and she had laughed her heart out over it. It was a cheesy one, but they didn't care.

All loved it when Danny made her laugh.

It was rare for others, but not for Danny. He lived for it.

Age: (Guixon)

Nobody would have believed it when they heard that Hector had a lover. Nobody would have believed who Peter was when they met him and what he looked like when he was younger. They also did not know about his former position as a spy in a group called the Circus. Hector had met Peter when Peter was on a retirement holiday and Hector had been called on a job. Hector had been quite taken with the man and – despite his age – thought him quite attractive. Hector had also been shocked when finding out how high Peter's libido was and just how versatile he was for his age!

Hector loved it!

Hector also found that Peter had lived a double life...or possibly a triple life. Since joining the Circus group at the age of twenty, thanks to his parents, Peter had worked through it most of his life and had enjoyed the thrill of it. But this was during a time when people who preferred their own sex was a taboo and even though it was legalised in the late sixties, people were still unnerved by homosexuals – for some reason. Peter had ended two relationships for fear of blackmail against his name and being in the world of spies. Smiley, Peter's late mentor, had known for years and did not discriminate Peter for it and had taken the secret to the grave. But now, Peter was free to live as who he was and he had Hector to spend it with.

The assassin lay in bed beside his older lover one morning not wanting to wake him. He steadily watched the shallow sleeping breathing of the former spy and couldn't help but grin his trademark smirk. Even though, Hector would never have admitted it out loud to anyone, he felt immensely lucky to have Peter in his life. Hector had noticed that he'd seemed mellower with Peter around and he had something to fight for.

Peter snuffled in his sleep and shifted on to his side, finding a more comfortable position. Hector smiled also turned on his side, facing the former MI6 agent. He leaned in closer, now not caring if he woke Peter up, and nuzzled into chest. The hitman hummed at the warmth that radiated from his lover's body.

Age was just a number.

Vacation: (EverStrange)

Stephen rolled over in the warm plush bed of the hotel they were staying in. Softly, he bumped into the sleeping form next to him. He smiled sleepily and curled into it, spooning Everett as he slept in the heat. The Wakanda agent moaned as he was jostled in his sleep. Stephen pressed a kiss behind his ear and nuzzled his face into his neck.

“Strange, will you fucking cut it out?” the agent grumbled, his muffled in the pillow.

“You feel so good.” Stephen purred.

“Too fucking hot!”

Stephen ignored him and bit him gently on the neck. To end up with an elbow to the stomach.

“Fuck off, Strange.”

“Come on, Everett, don't be like that. We're on vacation. It's been a while since we had one together.” The sorcerer moved back closer to the Wakanda agent. “Please.”

Everett sighed into his pillow. “Can we at least go onto the balcony? It might be cooler out there.”

“Doubt it, babe. But at least, we'll have cover.”

“Good.”

Doggy: (Guixon)

A little Corgi sat, plump and content, on the steps of the front door, sleeping with his head on his paws. His ears twitching a little as he slept. A black collar decorated his neck with the name Hector in cursive. Around the fence of the garden, peeked a long snout and a Labrador looked round. It gave a dog version of a smile at the sight of Hector sitting peacefully on the door steps and padded quietly over to it. Around the golden Labrador's neck was a sky blue collar with small studs on it and on the label was the name Peter in block writing. It clinked softly as the Labrador walked over to the sleeping Corgi. The small dog's ears twitched at the sound, opened his eyes and looked up. The Labrador sat down before the dog and happily wagged his tail.

The Corgi looked put out at the sight of the Labrador. “What do you want?”

“I just came to say 'hello', Hector.” the Labrador said.

The Corgi huffed and turned his back on the bigger dog. “Shove off, ya over sized mutt! I'm busy.”

The Labrador looked taken back, his ears drooping a little. The Labrador then came up the stairs and snuffled the Corgi's scent. The Corgi snarled and went into a defence pose.

“Back off, will ya!”

“But I like your scent, Hector. It's simply gorgeous. What does your owner bathe you in?”

Hector made a swipe at Peter and missed. “Mind ya fucking business.”

Peter made a chuckling noise and settled himself beside his mate. “You're so cute.” he rubbed his head against Hector's making the Corgi growl in his throat. The front door opened and both looked up to see Hector's master, Fabian.

“'Ey up, there. Nice ta see ya, Pete.”

Peter moved slightly away from Hector, his tail still wagging and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He barked a 'hello' at the human and Fabian patted him on the head. Hector growled at the attention he was not getting and yapped. Fabian looked over at his own dog and smirked.

“Don't think I've forgotten about you, ol' boy.” and Fabian ruffled his dog behind the ears. Hector yapped again and glared at Peter, who was now sitting with his tail wagging. “Now, do me a favour, Peter, keep him out of mischief.”

Peter barked a 'yes' and the two dogs watched as Fabian left the property and into his car. Peter looked down at the smaller dog, who was now settled on getting back to sleep. Peter hummed and padded over to him. The Corgi started as the Labrador settled near him. He looked up to see Peter looming over him again. He flinched as the dog once again nuzzled him. His small ears flattened and he felt like swatting at him with his claws but he couldn't help but enjoy the comforting sensation against his fur. Hector resisted the urge to whack the bigger dog and allowed Peter to nuzzle him affectionately.