It's a little hard to ignore! ;P I'm good. *He pauses, frowning at the screen and ignoring the stupid, ridiculous urge to type some variation of "I miss you". What the fuck, Lucien? Seriously.* Did you run out of knives?
About three hundred kilometers to the south, a London doctor felt quite the same. The feeling was more than a little unnerving, but absolutely undeniable.
Something like that. You gone back to work again?
Chitchat. For the first time, John could understand Sherlock's intense dislike of it. This was incredibly frustrating. But he couldn't just go on ahead and unload his very confusing feelings on Lucien. Certainly not via text.
Hmm... He was still too embarrassed to admit to the doctor, who also happened to be someone Lucien liked well enough to not want him to judge him in any unfavourable light, that he'd been suspended. At least it was nearly over now, and short of some paperwork to be pushed about everyone was satisfied that he could return to work.
Not yet. I should be back on Monday. Don't think even my cat missed me while I was in London, maybe I shouldn't have hurried back.
Maybe he shouldn't have. But staying any longer wouldn't have done him any good, would it?
Maybe you shouldn't have, John thought as he looked down at his screen. He certainly wouldn't have minded a few more days with Lucien. Some days, John wondered if any of it had actually even happened. It had all been so... surreal, happened so fast, so many sensations and new experiences, combined with humor, and such ease.
Maybe I shouldn't have hurried back.
Was that a question? Difficult to say. John was no good at the texting game; hell, he wasn't good at texting, period.
Good thing London is only two hours away by train.
That was such a shit answer, even John knew that. He frowned, licking his lips in contemplation. Don't be such a massive tit, Watson. He sent another reply.
Only two hours by train... Lucien was staring at the screen, trying to decipher exactly what he should read into that when the notification beeped for another text. He didn't look at it straight away though, texting John seemed much more important than whoever that was. Did he mean that he wanted to see him again, or was he reading too much into it?
Sighing, he slid his thumb sharply across the screen to read the new message.
Oh. Well, that was clear. He smiled and replied straight away.
You do. As soon as I have my new shifts, we should see if we can arrange something. Do you work weekends? What's your email?
John exhaled a little, a sense of relief and apprehension coming over him at the exact same time. He replied back immediately, or as immediately as he could... Sherlock was right, he really was rubbish at this. Though he had gotten far better since he'd moved in with Sherlock; the man seemed to text him near-constantly. Mostly, John failed to reply to his texts, though he of course read them all at least once.
Just weekdays so far. I've been lucky. And it's info@johnwatsonblog.co.uk
John thought a moment, before deciding that being bold had worked out for him in the past with this... This. Whatever this was.
Great, I'll email you my rota when I get it. And other things too, maybe. He's not sure what, and once again there was a voice in his head asking him exactly what he thought he was doing here? But just having John's email seemed satisfying and dangerous at the same time. Dangerous, mostly because it increased the chances of him doing something really stupid like sending him a photo of his cat. Why would he even have that urge? A need to share something that was, at the end of the day, important to him and no one else... Fuck. He was such a cliche sometimes.
He glanced briefly at the email address. John Watson? He hadn't even thought about his last name before. To be honest though, it was the last part of the text that really had his attention. He could feel the smile hurting his cheeks a little as he read it over. It took him a couple of times to type the reply, delete it, change it, delete it... He was torn between straight up boring honesty and being playful. Genuinely torn, as if he didn't want to get this wrong.
And there it was. John had known there would be a possibility of that question coming up at some point (with or without the smiley, trying to not make it come across as too serious). It had been building up ever since that night at the bar, the entire atmosphere surrounding them, how they spoke to each other, looked at each other, touched each other... And now this, this feeling of his heart stuttering in his chest and his entire body warming up at the knowledge that somewhere in Leeds, Lucien was probably holding his phone and staring just as intently at the screen. The answer was easy, instant, honest, daring, not allowing it to be influenced by doubt or hesitation or sensible thought.
Yes.
No more than that. Just a small, no-nonsense, three-letter word, shooting straight through Lucien's lighthearted question and right into the core of it all, because sod it, John did miss the other man, and really was looking forward to seeing him again. He hit the send button.
Yes. It felt like a solid wall had just rushed up and crashed into him at full force, like something had collided with him the second he read the text, and when had getting the wind knocked out of him been this good, this exciting? His heart was thumping in his chest. Actually, when had a one word text ever made him feel so out of control?
Closing his eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts, rationalize things. It could be a mistext, a reply to his flatmate asking if they needed milk, or trigger happy hitting the send button before he was done typing, or agreement about the emailed rota... But it wasn't, was it? Lucien opened his eyes and stared at the little black letters. He didn't want it to be anything else.
I'm missing you too.
He blew out a sharp breath as he hit send. God, he felt vulnerable, and he liked it.
John could feel the corners of his mouth turn slowly upwards as he read Lucien's reply. Good. Very good. Absolutely terrifying and more than a little confusing, but mostly good. He got ready for another reply when a knock on his office door forcefully reminded him of where he was. Shit. Quickly pocketing his phone, John got up from his chair, the smile turned a little more forced, as he reached over his desk and shook the hand of his next patient.
Half an hour later, as soon as the door closed behind said patient, John quickly dug out his phone, not even sitting down yet as he typed out a reply as quickly as he was capable of. Perhaps it was better that way; the rush gave him very little time to think and over-think his answer.
So sorry. Patient. At the clinic. Think about you lots.
John sat back down once the text was sent, only then looking it over. Too much? Maybe. The honest truth? Absolutely.
John's replies weren't the fastest. He'd handed his phone over to Lucien to type his number in, that first time, so he didn't expect an instant reply. Ten minutes later though, and his attention wasn't at all focused on the daytime TV he had on. The phone sat on the arm of the chair, but he kept lifting it and checking the screen every time the back light turned off.
What if it was a mistext? What if he'd misunderstood it? Lucien ran his fingers through the back of his hair and scowled at the TV screen. Then he checked his phone again, reread the whole conversation, while his foot tapped out impatiently in the air.
He'd actually gotten up to make a cup of tea when the phone beeped again and he put down the carton of milk to rush back through and scoop his phone up. Of course. Fuck, he felt so silly, but he was too relieved to let it bother him. His fingers paused as he went to reply... John was at work...
Its okay. Hope you're not too busy. ... What do you think about? Would he catch on? Would he play along?
Oh. Oh. John stared at the screen for a few moments, lips twitching and eyes brightening in amusement. Alright, so he might not be the most up-to-date person when it came to modern technology and communication, but he knew what that meant. He distantly remembered a fumbled attempt at phone sex during his college years. This was already much better. It gave him some time to think, some sense of control. He glanced at his computer screen. Fifteen minutes till the next appointment. Good. Lucien wanted to play with the good doctor? They could play.
You. Your mouth. God, I love your mouth. Can't wait to kiss you again, feel your lips on mine.
There. Lucien might be used to John's inexperience in certain areas, but he wasn't going to catch him off-guard with this, no sir.
That was a dizzying reply, that kind that made him excited in all sorts of ways. Couldn't wait to kiss him again. No, neither could Lucien, he was aching for it in fact, to just see John's face again, touch his skin, kiss him long and slow.
I want to spend hours just kissing you, exploring every inch of your body and worship it with my mouth.
All true. In fact, he could spend a whole day just doing that.
Reply
Reply
God, sorry! Wrong contact. Ignore that. How are you?
Reply
Reply
Something like that. You gone back to work again?
Chitchat. For the first time, John could understand Sherlock's intense dislike of it. This was incredibly frustrating. But he couldn't just go on ahead and unload his very confusing feelings on Lucien. Certainly not via text.
Reply
Not yet. I should be back on Monday. Don't think even my cat missed me while I was in London, maybe I shouldn't have hurried back.
Maybe he shouldn't have. But staying any longer wouldn't have done him any good, would it?
Reply
Maybe I shouldn't have hurried back.
Was that a question? Difficult to say. John was no good at the texting game; hell, he wasn't good at texting, period.
Good thing London is only two hours away by train.
That was such a shit answer, even John knew that. He frowned, licking his lips in contemplation. Don't be such a massive tit, Watson. He sent another reply.
I still owe you dinner not made by my landlady.
Reply
Sighing, he slid his thumb sharply across the screen to read the new message.
Oh. Well, that was clear. He smiled and replied straight away.
You do. As soon as I have my new shifts, we should see if we can arrange something. Do you work weekends? What's your email?
Reply
Just weekdays so far. I've been lucky. And it's info@johnwatsonblog.co.uk
John thought a moment, before deciding that being bold had worked out for him in the past with this... This. Whatever this was.
It will be good to see you again.
Reply
He glanced briefly at the email address. John Watson? He hadn't even thought about his last name before. To be honest though, it was the last part of the text that really had his attention. He could feel the smile hurting his cheeks a little as he read it over. It took him a couple of times to type the reply, delete it, change it, delete it... He was torn between straight up boring honesty and being playful. Genuinely torn, as if he didn't want to get this wrong.
Are you ( ... )
Reply
Yes.
No more than that. Just a small, no-nonsense, three-letter word, shooting straight through Lucien's lighthearted question and right into the core of it all, because sod it, John did miss the other man, and really was looking forward to seeing him again. He hit the send button.
Reply
Closing his eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts, rationalize things. It could be a mistext, a reply to his flatmate asking if they needed milk, or trigger happy hitting the send button before he was done typing, or agreement about the emailed rota... But it wasn't, was it? Lucien opened his eyes and stared at the little black letters. He didn't want it to be anything else.
I'm missing you too.
He blew out a sharp breath as he hit send. God, he felt vulnerable, and he liked it.
Reply
Half an hour later, as soon as the door closed behind said patient, John quickly dug out his phone, not even sitting down yet as he typed out a reply as quickly as he was capable of. Perhaps it was better that way; the rush gave him very little time to think and over-think his answer.
So sorry. Patient. At the clinic. Think about you lots.
John sat back down once the text was sent, only then looking it over. Too much? Maybe. The honest truth? Absolutely.
Reply
What if it was a mistext? What if he'd misunderstood it? Lucien ran his fingers through the back of his hair and scowled at the TV screen. Then he checked his phone again, reread the whole conversation, while his foot tapped out impatiently in the air.
He'd actually gotten up to make a cup of tea when the phone beeped again and he put down the carton of milk to rush back through and scoop his phone up. Of course. Fuck, he felt so silly, but he was too relieved to let it bother him. His fingers paused as he went to reply... John was at work...
Its okay. Hope you're not too busy. ... What do you think about? Would he catch on? Would he play along?
Reply
You. Your mouth. God, I love your mouth. Can't wait to kiss you again, feel your lips on mine.
There. Lucien might be used to John's inexperience in certain areas, but he wasn't going to catch him off-guard with this, no sir.
Reply
I want to spend hours just kissing you, exploring every inch of your body and worship it with my mouth.
All true. In fact, he could spend a whole day just doing that.
Reply
Leave a comment