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floralseokjin · 4 years

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The Quarantine

⇢ and beyond timeline (after crystallised)

[saga index] [drabble index]

kim seokjin x reader // smut // 2,585 words

warnings! clothed sex, kinda messy, face riding, seokjin’s blue tracksuit (yes his most recent selfie inspired some things), he’s moody and cute in this one 🤧

“You kinda smell...” You mumbled, lifting your face from Seokjin’s arm. It wasn’t a bad smell, wasn’t unbearable, but it was there. Ever so slightly musky, the results of his three day old tracksuit.

“No I don’t,” he refuted immediately, not bothering to look up from the phone in his hand. “I showered.”

You sat up a little, looking down at him. He was flat on his back, lying on your bed where he’d been all morning, cocooned in that tracksuit, hood up. You’d woken up pretty late, eaten breakfast in the kitchen but still Seokjin was horizontal on his phone. Although while you were asleep he’d had a shower apparently.

You’d given up and joined him a few minutes ago, if he was planning to be lazy all day then so were you. “It’s this then,” you told him, tugging at his navy hoody.

He grunted, too engrossed in the game he was playing. Games. You were sick of them. He was either glued to his phone or glued to his PC—which yes, he had moved in too. It was a wonder you still had the ability to move around in your apartment.

“I’m not taking it off.”

“You’re so gross.”

But then again, maybe you were too. You were still in your pyjamas, not even showered yet and it was past midday. When had you gotten so lazy? When had you both gotten so lazy?

Lockdown had started off great. Work shut, school practically over now and waiting for a graduation you probably wouldn’t be able to attend. A hot boyfriend to entertain your time. Sex and cuddles on tap. Zoom quizzes with your friends and family. Binging the frick out of Netflix all day. Free time was something you had never seemed to have enough of, and yet now you were drowning in the stuff.

That’s when you’d started getting lazy. No routine. Like too lazy to even start new boxsets or to even watch YouTube. Too lazy to apply makeup or eventually get dressed properly unless you had to pop out to get groceries. Too lazy for conversation. There were a lot of one word questions and replies lately, and don’t even get you started on the bickering. No major arguments had occurred, but Seokjin was finding out you loved giving silent treatment. Quarantine was a bitch, but you‘d learned to work with it else you’d just get on one another’s nerves.

“Hey, you wanted to quarantine with me.” Seokjin stated, still concentrating on his game. “This is what you get. The cold, harsh reality.”

He was joking around, you thought, but there was still a little something in his tone. You guessed someone had woken up a little moody. Calling him smelly had awoken the beast.

“If I remember correctly, you wanted to stay with me.”

“No, I wanted to stay with you at my place.”

You shouldn’t really. Rile him up, you mean. But like an itch that shouldn’t be scratched, you couldn’t stop. “So what? Staying at your place would magically make you more hygienic.” You tried to keep the amusement out of your voice but it failed.

At the same time he must’ve lost his game, groaning loudly before dropping his phone on the bed. He was mad but tried not to rise. “I’m already hygienic. I just have a limited amount of clothes.”

You were lying back down by now, on your side as you watched him clench his jaw and stare up at the ceiling. A slow smile spread across your face. “Again, if I remember correctly, which I am, you came here with the teeniest hand luggage.”

He blanked you. Rude. Couldn’t he take some light teasing? You shuffled closer, poking at one of his cheeks. “Don’t be moody.”

“I’m not being moody.” He sounded like he was.

“You are.”

“Aren’t.”

“Are.”

“Aren’t.”

“Are.”

“Are—ahh, stop!” He whined.

You giggled, poking him again. “Let’s not argue.”

“We’re not arguing!” He was really whiny today. He turned on his side, facing you with a pout. “You’re annoying.”

You reached over and kissed his mouth. Those big, pouty lips were made for kissing. “I’m bored.” You said it in the way of apology. He understood. Sometimes annoying one another was all you had for entertainment.

��You and me both,” he agreed before groaning. “I’m sick of feeling lazy.”

He kissed you this time. It was with a lack of energy but somehow his tongue still found its way into your mouth. His hand slipping under your t-shirt to rub your side.

“Mmm,” you hummed into him, beginning to feel warm all over. “Wanna do it?”

He groaned like a man in agony, twisting himself onto his back dramatically. “I’m even too lazy for sex. This is so depressing.” He threw his hands into the mattress, basically having a tantrum.

You rolled your eyes, burrowing under his arm because honestly a little bit of musk didn’t faze you at all, why would it? He wrapped his arm around you. “Quit being dramatic,” you told him, running your fingers across his chest before slowly dragging the hand down his torso. You landed on his crotch, cupping the bulge surprisingly easily. Don’t say he’d ran out of underwear too... Was he really too lazy to put things in the laundry basket? Or just start online shopping?

You ignored the urge to call him out, horniness way more important right now. Had you missed out the part where you’d both gotten too lazy for sex too? Or maybe the novelty had worn off... Either way, something was happening right now and you needed to act on it immediately.

You nuzzled into his neck, giving him a squeeze. “If you’re feeling lazy just lie there.”

He froze under your touch, gladly meeting your lips as you kissed your way up from his neck and jaw. “I can probably do that.”

You smirked and pushed your hand down his sweatpants, stroking him until he began to grow hard. Rocking his hips into your hand he hummed in encouragement. “Mm. I can definitely do that.”

It wasn’t long before you were straddling him, sweatpants hung low and his dick upright in your grasp. He was eagerly waiting for you to sit on it, getting impatient when you let go of him to shimmy out of your pyjama shorts. “Just pull them to the side,” he “suggested”, hands reaching out to help you.

Well, now you were both too lazy to even get naked for sex.

You made enough of a gap to make it work, angling the head of his dick against your entrance and pushed down. It stung and you had to grit your teeth a little as you took him deeper. Probably could’ve done with some foreplay but it was too late now, besides the way Seokjin’s eyes rolled back into his head as you swallowed him made it all worth it. Got you wetter too.

“Fffuck,” he cursed, fingers digging into your thighs. “You’re trying to murder me.”

“Serves you right for being so moody.” You quipped.

He went to argue but gave up, probably had something to do with you beginning to bounce up and down on him, chuckling a little breathlessly instead. But out of shape, unable to go to the gym, you found yourself getting tired quickly, which was kind of embarrassing. Riding dick was overrated. Luckily for you, you could always count on Seokjin.

Gripping your hips tightly he thrust up. And up, and up. Over and over again—all whilst still flat on his back in that damn tracksuit, hood still up too. He was actually pretty relentless, got you a bit louder than usual. Him too, grunting from exertion. You were beginning to clench around his dick, an orgasm definitely approaching, when his movements got a little erratic. What were hard and fast thrusts turned deep and deliberate. He was losing his cool, desperate for your warmth. Desperate for how soft you were, how wet you were.

As if he was lost in the same thoughts, he moaned out suddenly, freezing inside of you, and that really was the end of it. Your impending orgasm disappeared as he came inside you, almost as if it was never there at all.

Both trying to catch your breath, you slid off his dick with a nudge from him, underwear snapping back into place. Your legs were wobbly and you were still pretty horny. You yelped a little when Jin suddenly grasped you by the hands and tugged you into him, his mouth on yours immediately.

“You were so close to coming, I could feel it.” He sounded apologetic and a little mad at himself.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted, grabbing for your hips to try and lift you upwards. “Come here, let me eat you out.”

You laughed and weighted yourself, cupping the sides of his face so he would look at you. “Your cum is about to start dripping out of me.” You needed to shower.

“Don’t care.” He was determined, you’d give him that. He didn’t give up until you were kneeling over his chest, his lips on your thighs, kissing whatever skin he could reach.

“Seokjin,” you whined, but the tingles of your lost orgasm began to start up again. A pulsing between your legs you couldn’t stop.

He kissed up the inside of your right thigh pretty loudly. This was the most energy he’d had in days, and somehow he was still on his back! “If I don’t get my mouth on your beautiful, delectable c—

“Don’t say it,” you stopped him. How crass of him. But that beautiful, delectable cunt of yours was burning with impatience.

Seokjin tugged at your shorts, pulling them down over your ass, underwear and all. “Take them off,” he asked nicely (more like demanded).

“Okay, okay.” It was a little difficult and clumsy, a bunch of giggles from you and impatient (but playful) slaps to your ass from Seokjin as you attempted to strip from the waist down still crowded around that pretty face of his, but finally you managed it.

His tongue found you instantly, practically smooshing you to his face, and despite how good it felt, you were only aware of one thing. Something that was beginning to trickle out of somewhere...

“Jin,” you whined, “it’s literally sliding out of me–ahhh–!” You were cut off, hips jutting into his face—and hand, because at that exact moment he’d slipped two of his fingers inside of you, pumping in and out and in turn stopping any rogue cum in its tracks.

“Now it’s not,” he said simply, taking a breath before diving straight back in. He was being noisy with it today. Maybe it was on purpose or maybe he just hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning, who knew. Actually, was he the one being sloppy, or was it you?

Squelch and slurp, squelch and slurp. You grinded into his face, mouth open as you held your breath, trying to stop the moans that wanted to burst out. You could feel wet against the inside of your thighs, could feel how easily his fingers fucked into you, how little friction there was. Shit, why were you so wet? So messy?

Your moan finally broke free when Seokjin’s lips clamped around your clit, sucking it with just the right amount of pressure, and you gripped onto his hood, tugging down tightly. You either hurt him or he was boiling up, because immediately he used his free hand to pull the hood off, fighting with it for a second until you found some sense to help him, gladly gripping his hair now instead.

He groaned approvingly, encouraging you and brought his hand to your ass, spanking you once as he sucked harshly on your clit. You yelped, pushing into his face and he repeated, the two fingers that were inside of you digging into your g-spot. Your knees buckled, a few seconds more of that and you’d cum all over him. As if he didn’t know that.

A third spank and that was you done. You came like an explosion. It was so intense you had to rip away from Seokjin’s grasp, body uncontrollable as you pulsed and twitched. In a bid to stop the overflowing pleasure, yet at the same time make it last as long as possible, you pushed your ass into his chest, grinding down frantically, your hands gripping his sides to save you from falling.

He reached for your hips to keep you steady, watching you with hungry eyes. Yup, he definitely found this hot. “Unfair,” he grumbled, but his voice was weak and shaky. You definitely found that hot. “I was so confident I was about to make you squirt.”

You think he may have been right. Your body was still shaking, heart beating fast against your ribcage and you felt odd. Some kind of adrenaline rush. By the look on Seokjin’s face that would be his new obsession now. His new goal. You’d spend the rest of quarantine with him determined to make you squirt one way or another. At least it would give him some gumption.

Gradually feeling a lot more like yourself, you really took a look at Seokjin and giggled. He looked at you questioningly. “Your hair,” you explained, reaching closer for it. It was pulled out on end. It looked a mess. In fact, he did too. The sheen of your arousal and possibly his own saliva was still glistening slightly across his jaw and chin. There was even a spot on his nose where you guessed you’d grinded too hard.

He scowled and lifted his head up to flip his hood back on. His hair wasn’t in the best shape anyway, not since you’d both hacked at it with a scissors a couple of weeks ago... Still, it was cute. He was cute. Even when he was a moody little shit.

“Leave me alone,” he whined, sitting up now, cupping your ass as he brought you to sit on his crotch. When had he put his dick back in his sweatpants? You’d been way too distracted for the finer details.

He looked down at his torso. “Awh, yuck,” he chuckled, pulling at the fabric.

You looked too, face to face with the mess you’d made all over that stinky hoody of is. It wasn’t just his face with that was shining, put it that way...

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s definitely going in the wash now.”

He leaned in closer and rubbed your noses together. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Not exactly, but you’d gotten your way, and a mind blowing orgasm to go with it. You kissed him and he smiled. “Love you.”

“Really? Sure you’re not sick of me?” You teased.

He scoffed. “Sick of being in this tiny apartment, yes. Sick of you? Never.”

Lame ass, but it worked. Got you all fuzzy feeling. Nearly distracted you long enough to forget about the mess you were in. It was time for a shower.

“Okay,” you cupped his jaw, moving his face this way and that playfully. “I feel so gross, you’re going to have to carry me to the bathroom.”

He smiled sweetly. “Gladly.”

And off you went with a squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding on for dear life as he gripped your bare ass and leapt off the bed, sprinting for the bathroom.

Written 2020. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:crystallised

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carol-effing-danvers · 4 years

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knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe), part three

this is final section in part one of the series “run long, roam far, return soon” part two: “where we grew up” part three: “push me, pull you”

(click here if you’d prefer to read this in AO3′s format)

part one, part two

Billy has no idea what the fuck Steve is talking about, and he has no interest in anything that’s not their mouths touching each other, anything that’s not Steve’s lips and Steve’s tongue and Steve’s hands.

There’s still some of that Old Billy left in him, a part of him that’s always a bit wild – a little blood in his eyes, a little fire in his heart – and it doesn’t usually require too much effort on his part to put that beast on a leash. But everything about his emotions goes out of control where Steve Harrington is involved.

Billy pushes him backward until he hits the wall, hands gripping his sides too tightly, and leans forward to drags his teeth across Steve’s bottom lip. Steve makes a soft sweet sound of startlement, and his hips jerk sharply. A thick hot ridge presses into Billy’s dick and holy shit that is actually Steve’s dick and he’s so big and so fucking hard.

A growl vibrates through his vocal cords and he pushes back hard, almost pinning Steve to the wall with his own hips, grinding against him with enough force to leave bruises on them both and pushing his tongue into his mouth with a wet slide. Steve makes a throaty provocative noise, a purring “mmm”, like he’s taken a bite of something really delicious, his fingers digging into Billy’s lower back to hold him there, blunt fingernails cutting gouges into his skin.

Again, they have to break away for air and Steve draws away with a gasped little “uh” that makes Billy feel so fucking dizzy with want, a string of saliva connecting their lips for just a second before Steve tilts his head back, red lips parted and throat bared as he gasps for breath. The temptation is too great for him – Billy traces over the beauty marks and creamy skin with kitten licks of the tongue, sinking back into his boyhood fantasy with relish, softly biting and sucking at every single one.

“Uhhh,” Steve moans under his breath, dragging his nails over his skin and pulling Billy’s erection into alignment with his own, and Billy is-Billy is gonna fucking explode-

"Ahem." There is a tiny cough, more of a pointed clearing of the throat than someone struggling through a late winter illness.

The two of them probably jump about a foot into the air, scrambling around to figure who had witnessed them trying to all but fuck in public. Buckley was looking amused and very pleased with herself. Outright gloating, she says "I see I won't be grading any quizzes next year."

Steve is blushing hard, hair wilder than ever and lips kiss-bitten, tenting out of the front of his pajama bottoms with an obscene bulge that Billy needs to get his hands and his mouth on. "I-that-you-"

Robin hands him her purse, with a smug smirk. "Here, cover that before someone calls the cops on us," she says, hazel eyes dancing with laughter. "I told you he wouldn't hit you in the face. I can't believe the two of you had a crush on each other and it took you ten years to figure it out."

Billy whirls on Steve. "You-you had a crush on me, pretty boy?"

Under normal circumstances, he'd be embarrassed by the way his voice cracks, like an acne-ridden boy, but this is an urgent question demanding an urgent answer.

"You didn't tell him?" Robin laughs. "Oh, Steve. Honey, you can't let your dick do the talking for you."

"I disagree,” Billy says bluntly, eyes darting over his crotch – currently (tragically) hidden behind Robin’s purse.

“Of course you do,” she says in a tone of humoring him, still far too entertained and smug. “Seriously, Steve. You can’t manage one adult conversation?”

Even more flustered – my god, that pale skin gets so red – “I thought he was gonna clock me, I wasn’t about to have a heart to heart!”

“Why the hell did you kiss me if you thought I was gonna deck you?” Billy demands, skin crawling with the discomfort of old longing and older shame.

Steve shrugs rather helplessly, a very dissatisfactory answer.

“He likes to flirt with danger,” Robin informs Billy grimly, giving Steve something of a gimlet stare. “He’s addicted to risk.”

“Rob!” he yelps, looking harassed.

“Steve!” she mocks. “I’m literally gonna get old and die before you talk about your feelings! Hargrove, Steve-o had a big gay crush on you in high school-”

“Oh my god,” Steve moans, covering his face with his hands.

“Can I safely assume that you also had the hots for my man Steve-o at the time?”

“Uh…sort of, yeah,” Billy mumbles, shocked into near honesty.

She gives Steve a pointed stare. "I draw the line at asking him out for you, dingus."

Wild, terrifying hope surges in Billy. "You wanna go out with me?"

Steve's big dumb doe eyes are directed at the checked linoleum floor. "You-you don't," he mumbles. "The whole town knows I'm a queer, Hargrove. You don't wanna go anywhere in public with me."

"Don't," he says softly, dangerously, boxing him in against the wall with a hand planted beside his head. "Don't tell me I want. No one tells me what I do with my time."

No one tells me what to do.

"If I say I want a date with you, I mean it." He's throwing himself off a metaphorical cliff here, but the memory of Steve Harrington's face has haunted him for ten years. After knowing his lips and tasting his skin, Billy's sure it will haunt him for thirty more if right now he does nothing. If after all that time, he has a real shot and throws it away because he'd rather stay closeted, if only in Hawkins, then he is nothing more than the scared boy still wilting under Neil Hargrove's control.

Robin, he sees from the corner of his eye, looks almost impressed.

There's a sweet, reluctant little smile tugging at Steve's lips. "Yeah?" With a bit of cheek, a bit of a flirtatious air, he tugs on Billy's button-down shirt. "Can I cook you dinner?"

His brows shoot upward. "Can you actually cook, pretty boy?"

"Say yes, Hargrove," Robin sighs. "If only so I don't have to watch him mope for the next ten years. Even if you don't bone, which is unlikely since Steve is a whore (“Jesus Christ, Rob!”), it’ll probably be the best meal you’ll ever eat in your life. Steve can cook his ass off."

"Wrong choice of words," Steve says dryly.

"Is it, though?" she counters. "If you play 'Hot for Teacher', I'm never speaking to you again."

"Shit, there goes that plan," Steve deadpans.

Billy grins, tongue held between his teeth. These two are great, he feels like he’s watching Frasier, but gayer and with swearing. "The two of you oughta think about getting your own sitcom."

"Saved By the Bell?" Robin suggests tartly. "Unmarried with Children? Friends But Gay?"

"Queers," Billy shoots back. "Like Cheers, Buckley, c'mon now."

"Hey, that's not bad," Steve says brightly. Then, shyer and quieter: "Do you like Italian?"

"The sky's still blue ain't it?" he answers, feeling his stomach do an anxious little flutter.

"Last I checked. Meet me after school this Friday, and be hungry."

Billy feels more daring, more confident, so he lets his eyes traveling up Steve's body. Sex hair, red lips, bright eyes, and a beard rash from Billy all over that snow white skin. "That ain't gonna be a problem."

Steve smiles at him, like he's charmed, like Billy's just charmed him.

Billy wants to take a time machine, go back eleven years into the past and shake himself so goddamn hard. "Just wait!" He wants to scream in his 17 year old self’s face. "Don’t take it out on him, for fuck’s sake!! All you have to fucking do is WAIT!!"

But he can't do that, and he ends up standing in the store, dumb-struck, when Steve kisses him, fast and hungry, and Robin pulls him out the door.

El watches him at the kitchen door, grinning from ear to ear, looking like a cat that just ate a whole goddamn flock of canaries. "All right you little shit. You win."

"He likes you," she says, looking entirely enamored of this new development. "He really likes you."

Billy's heart goes double-time and his stomach flips all the way over.

Ellie grins even wider. Her chins rests on her fist and she gives one of her excited little wriggles, like a puppy whose seen her favorite person. “You should bring him flowers when you see him tonight.”

He makes a face. “You don’t think it’s too corny?”

“Steve is a romantic,” El coos. “He’ll appreciate the extra effort. And you think he’s worth extra effort, don’t you?”

“Well yeah!” he blurts out, and El’s face is terrifying. Jesus, she looks like a shark when she smiles that way, and Billy realizes that he’s been caught, yet again, havin’ feelings and shit. “I don’t wanna look like I’m coming on too strong. That shit makes some people nervous, you know?”

“Yes,” Eleven agrees solemnly, folding her hands together.

Billy looks at her sharply. “Yeah? What about you, Ellie? You and Max are out here trying to get me dates – you talked to any boy since you and Wheeler broke up?”

She stiffens, fidgeting slightly. “It’s-you know, it’s just more-more difficult because-” El touches the watch over her wrist, worn to conceal the serial number tattooed there. “And the town still think I’m a weirdo, and some of them don’t like me because I’m one of Joyce’s kids, and all of us love Steve. I really only talk to the-the Party-?”

She’s talking very, very fast and she’s tripping over her words and that’s how Billy knows that he’s stumbled upon something that El’s been holding close to her heart. “The Party, eh? Some nerd you-” and he’s falling into a trap but he still can’t see it yet “-got your eye on?”

Immediately after the words come out of his mouth, Billy realizes the black hole that he’s just opened up. The losers who fell into the weirdness of the Upside Down were not a large number. Wheeler, whose relationship with Ellie is over. Byers, who might actually be queerer than Billy himself. Sinclair, who still makes eyes at Max when her back is turned. And-

“Henderson?!” he demands incredulously. “Do you have a crush on Henderson?!”

Eleven, his poor Ellie, fiddles with her apron and stares at a point over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eyes. “I-I didn’t say that. I never said that.”

Oh, poor girl. She doesn’t even have to. El’s face is starting to look blotchy, like she might burst into frustrated tears. “El,” he says gently. “Ellie, any one of the nerd-herd would trip over themselves face-first for you. Ask the boy out – he’s gonna say yes and thank sweet Jesus for the chance.”

Looking outright miserable now, El says “I can’t.” No, she doesn’t just look miserable, she looks like she might be sick. “I’m-I haven’t-I don’t-”

Billy doesn’t really understand what she’s trying to tell him until El gestures at her lower body, quickly swiping angry tears from her eyes. “Oh,” he says, though he can hardly fathom it. “That’s-that ain’t that big a deal.”

“Do you know any other twenty-four year old virgins?” she snaps, flushed with shamed anger.

“Probably Henderson too?” he jokes, then feels like shit when her lower lip wobbles. “That doesn’t matter! Do you…want to?”

“I-I wasn’t ready. And now it’s probably too late. He’s had like ten girlfriends!” El wails, blotting her face again. “They’ve all been really smart and pretty, Billy!”

“Baby,” he soothes, heart breaking for her as he folds her into a hug. “You’re smart and pretty. And I need you to know that if he does anything to hurt you, I’ll take a psychotic level of pleasure in destroying everything he loves.”

A laugh escapes her, thin and watery. “Bitchin’.”

---

"Oh my god," Steve says on way back to the car. "Robin-"

"I know."

"He fucking said yes, Rob-"

"I know."

"I'm making him dinner."

"Mhm."

"Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I'm-I'm gonna fuck this up, Rob, I-" He pauses, taking in the look on her face. Robin is staring at him serenely, brows pitched slightly upwards. "I'm being an idiot again, aren't I?"

"Only a tiny one," she says, with great loyalty.

"Hurry up, I need to clean everything I own twice." Again, when he's sitting in the driver's seat, staring with blank disbelief out the front windshield. "He said he likes me."

"Yeah, babe," Robin says gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "He did."

This she won't make fun of. Whom Steve loves, he loves without caution, holding nothing back for himself, and with every expectation that his affection will be spat on and thrown back at him. It was heartbreaking to watch, and she'd seen it happen too many times.

Trying to keep him from stumbling into a pit of his own anxiety and insecurity, Robin asks "So...is he a good kisser?"

Steve's face floods with heat and he breaks out into this goofy adorable grin. "Such a good kisser, Rob."

She smirks. "It sounded like you were being mauled by a wild animal."

Dreamily, Steve says "His lips taste like strawberry jam and he smells like a bonfire in a forest of pine trees. He can maul me any time he wants to."

"Oh, he wants," Robin drawls with laughter in her voice. "Trust me, he wants.”

He spends nearly a week randomly flooded with giddy anticipation and nervousness but by the time Friday actually rolls around, he kinda…forgets? It’s not that he forgot he and Billy have a date, it’s that when the actual agreed upon time comes around, Steve is a bit too distracted to notice.

---

Billy isn’t dumb enough to bring the flowers with him – there’s forward and then there’s forward, y’know?

Rather than being in his classroom, Billy is stopped short just before he turns the hallway down to the primary kids section when he hears Steve’s voice, quiet and very serious. “Why did you hit him?”

“He-he said I was stupid!” a little boy says, with all the blind impulsive fury of a small child. “Him and Hannah wo-wouldn’t play with me!”

Completely surprising him, Steve solemnly asks “So Denny hurt your feelings?”

A quiet sniffing, and then a mumbled “Uh-huh.”

“That’s wasn’t very nice of him to say, Martin,” he says sympathetically. “Do you want a ‘feel better’ hug?”

Even quieter, like he was scared to say it out loud: “Uh-huh.”

And when Billy peeks around the corner, Steve is crouched on the ground, hugging Martin Roberts as he snuffles into his shoulder. Billy is having an emotion, and it’s A Big One, even if he doesn’t quite understand what that emotion is.

“Do you feel ready to say sorry to Denny for hitting him, and he can say sorry for hurting your feelings like that?”

“Yeah.” Martin does sound much calmer, actually.

Steve stands and spots him, gives Billy a small smile, like he hasn’t just broken his brain a little bit. “Sorry I’m running a bit late.”

“Take your time,” Billy says, thunderstruck.

He wonders what would’ve happened, what his life would’ve been like if one of his teachers had been even half as patient and understanding as that with him.

---

Billy says "Go ahead and unlock the door, I left something in my car."

Angie is his living doorbell, so as soon as Billy returns and opens the door, she's right there, wailing in her usual piteous manner. Steve already assembled the sauce for dinner, it just needs to be warmed up and the fresh pasta boiled to tender.

"Who is this?" Billy asks, amused.

"That's Angie. Pet her - she expects to be greeted at the door and she won't leave you alone until you do." Steve goes out to the hall and stares, owl-eyed.

In one arm, Billy has Angie who looks very smug at having seduced Steve’s man, and in the other- Dumbly, Steve asks “Did you buy me flowers?”

“Uh…” Billy says, uncharacteristically bashful. He lets Angie drop back to the floor with a heavy thump. “…yes?”

He could tease him – ‘is that a question or an answer?’ – the problem is that he’s stumbled and fallen face-first into a giant pile of infatuation. “They’re beautiful,” he breathes, eyes wide, tentatively reaching out to lightly brush his fingers over the petals. Billy bought him red carnations. Not quite as obvious as red roses and somehow both lurid and innocent. “Let me find something to put them in.”

He leans forward with head tilted, hand around the collar of Billy’s shirt, and gets halfway to kissing him when he realizes that this is maybe overplaying his hand. But like…Billy Hargrove bought him flowers? Fuck it, I’m gonna kiss him.

Gently, he presses their lips together and Billy let out a sweet little sigh, slipping his fingers through Steve’s belt loops to pull him closer. His mouth is soft, full, velvety, and discovering it again is so delicious that Steve gets lost in him. Billy licks his lips as they part. "Still having Italian, I see."

Steve blushes. "Uh, yeah." Quickly, he scrambles away with flowers in hand before he can do something incredibly dumb and classy like offer to make himself the first course. "Hope you're hungry."

"In many ways," Billy replies huskily, eyes shamelessly undressing Steve right there in the kitchen.

So maybe he preens a little. So maybe he bends over a little too long as he grabs a vase from beneath a sink. It's been such a long time, he thinks wistfully, since someone wanted him in such an open, brazen way. He gets laid...well, not often but not never, either. But that’s quick, hurried fumbling in a bar bathroom of the next town over or fast hand jobs in dark places.

He doesn't get a bed, or lots of kissing, or arms to hold him afterwards. He doesn't get the next morning or lazy sex in the sunlight. Women think he's gay and men are scared shitless to be seen talking to him longer than ten minutes. He gets scraps and has to be happy with it because up until now, he understood that was the best he could hope for after being outed in a small town.

"You're a little cocktease," Billy rasps, eyes fixed rather desperately to the way his dark jeans are hugging Steve's ass.

"Can you blame me?" Steve asks with a smirk over his shoulder, letting Billy look his fill. "Spent a year watching you strut around without a shirt on, sweating and pushing me around. And I was such a dumbass, it took me a whole year after that to figure out why I was half-hard every time I saw you walk onto the court."

"Yeah?" Billy purrs. Oh, maybe Steve shouldn't be giving shit like that out. Too much ammunition. "Did I have you chubbing up your shorts?"

Steve rolls his eyes. He's sure that to Billy, he must've seemed terribly obvious. The hopeless bisexual disaster with his tenting shorts, either unable to figure out what he wanted or without the guts to do something about it. "You know you did."

"No," Billy replies quietly, with much more seriousness. "I didn't know."

Steve pauses to fill the vase. "...that wasn't why you were teasing me?"

"No. I teased ya because I wanted the prettiest boy in school to pay attention to me," he admits, an almost helpless note to his voice, looking genuinely pained.

Startled, Steve says "Okay, but I wasn't actually the best looking guy in-"

"My frigid ice princess, he froze me out in every direction, no matter how I pushed him. And when he wouldn’t give me what I wanted, I hurt him." Billy closes his eyes, as though the memory makes him sick, even now.

“I’m not cold,” Steve says quietly, setting the vase filled with lushly blooming carnations on the counter, and watches him practically do a double-take.

“That’s what you chose to take away from that?!” he demands.

Coldness reminds him too much of his parents. Looking at Billy through his lashes, Steve says “You already apologized for that years ago. But I resent being called frigid. I’m not cold.”

My frigid ice princess. He refuses to accept being called cold. But he doesn’t refuse being called Billy’s.

Billy’s stare is piercing and he lifts a hand to draw a rough thumb over Steve’s lower lip. “No,” he rumbles. “You ain’t, are you?”

Billy has always possessed this weird (well, it seemed less weird after he figured out he was attracted to him) magnetism for him, this force that draws Steve in. Time has not diminished that force.

Again, he pulls Billy in by the collar, their tongues curling around each other, and Steve gasps “I have to finish dinner!” with a ragged voice, even though his arms are still around Billy’s shoulders.

“Hurry,” he says in a soft burr, beard scraping over Steve’s neck as he nuzzles into him and sending a hot crackle of sexual tension through him.

“Who is a cocktease?” he demands weakly.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Billy says with a wicked smile. A daring hand cups the full expanse of one buttock and gives Steve a possessive squeeze. “Better feed me good – gotta keep my energy up.”

“Oh my god,” Steve says, face flushed as he turns back to the sauce on the stove. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“If you wanna play hard to get, I don’t mind a game of cat and mouse,” he says with a smile that’s positively predatory. “But to be honest, I don’t think you have that kinda patience in you, Harrington.”

Steve salts the boiling water and throws Billy his most heavy-lidded flirtatious smile. Subconsciously, he mimics Billy’s lip-licking motion. “If you wanna get in my pants, you’d better learn to say ‘Steve’.

Billy strokes his beard, letting him see the heat in his eyes. “Stevie,” he husks, his stare consuming Steve’s whole body like a physical touch. “Stevie-baby. Darlin’.”

He has to make himself keep focusing on cooking because he knows that if turns around right now, all this work will have gone to waste. “Make yourself useful,” he says hoarsely. “And grab the bottle of wine from the fridge.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he drawls, brows raised. “Holy shit, Steve. If the kids make you drink this much you might wanna consider a new line of work.”

“Most of those are nearly empty,” he says, rolling his eyes. The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts and he adds, “The kids are fine. It’s some of the parents I can’t stand.”

He sets his vase of carnations on the end table beside the sofa where they can be admired, and wonders if Billy’s already noticed that next door, Melanie Dohr’s class has twenty-four children but his classroom only has sixteen. Several parents were so outraged that he was hired on for the kindergarteners that they outright refused to allow their kids to set foot in his classroom.

Maxine van Haut had been one of only two parents to actually volunteer, in public, to put her daughter in his care. To his utter surprise and disbelief, his old classmate and former friend Carol Bainbridge had been the other parent.

Billy watches him drop nests of fresh pasta dough into the boiling water with fascination. Steve counts to thirty in his head before scoops the noodles, just underdone, from the water and into the sauces, adding a knob of butter before he lets the tomato, cream, and herbs meld together.

“How did you learn to do this?” Billy asks, as he adds a pinch of red pepper flakes and begins plating their pasta.

“Um…well, after my parents basically told me not to bother going back to their house ever again, I was sad and when you’re sad, you eat a lot. I became obsessed with making the most complicated, ridiculous things I could find. If I was focused on the food, I didn’t have to focus on why I was making it,” Steve says lightly.

He realizes too late that he’s probably oversharing. He does that a lot when he likes someone – Robin calls it his ‘Achilles heel’, whatever the hell that means. She says that once he’s attached to someone, he can’t let them go, even when it hurts, which is why Rob and Nance are still his friends. He doesn’t see the problem really. Who couldn’t use another friend? So it hurts for a little while, he still gets the rich reward of a friend forever.

“After I figured out how to make things that would break my brain, I started focusing on how to make them delicious. On that note: please don’t ever say the word ‘barbecue’ around Rob, that’s a ten hour lecture nobody needs to hear again, even though I only gave myself food poisoning.”

“You…gave yourself food poisoning?” Billy asks slowly, eyeing their plates.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought that grilling and drinking don’t mix.” Steve shrugs and grins. “Grab the wine and the glasses, I’ll get the plates.”

Steve has a reasonable level of confidence regarding his own skill. He still blushes to what he’s positive is probably a firetruck red when Billy takes his first bite and makes a noise that’s more suited to a man receiving a blow job than a man eating a meal. He whispers, “Holy fuck, Harrington”, eyes closed in reverential bliss. The rings on Billy’s fingers gleam, silver and gold and ruby, as he holds his knuckles to his mouth, as though he’s tasting divinity.

Steve grins at his fork. For a while, there’s no talking because Billy has zero interest in anything that’s not this meal.

They actually make conversation like real ass adults, which he will tell Robin about later because she’ll be proud of him for that.

It takes them until the end of dinner, laying back on the sofa and trying to not die because they are both full, that they get to a topic deeper than day to day activities. Because it’s sort of the elephant in the room with them, Steve decides to break the taboo and says “So…where did you go, when you left town back then? Max told us she thought you went back home to see your mom.”

It maybe wasn’t the thing to say, because for a moment, Billy’s eyes look flinty and cold. “No,” he says finally. “I never stayed in Bakersfield for too long. I only went to see her once. She-the way she saw the world was one way, and the way I saw it was another way, I guess.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “What does that mean?”

Billy’s jaw tightens. “It means that when you’re on your second marriage with a six-year-old kid at home and your first son shows up on your doorstep as a wild-eyed man fresh outta the hospital, you’re gonna call him a raving lunatic, slam the door in his face, and threaten to call the cops if he doesn’t leave you alone.”

Steve’s spine goes rigid. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Steve blurts out. “Jesus, she sounds like a shitty parent. I mean, mine aren’t a whole lot better, but they wouldn’t call the cops on me.”

Billy shrugs, though he can see the shadow of old pain in his eyes. He takes a sip of wine, probably to steady his nerves, before commenting, “Yeah, Max told me why you probably won’t run for mayor anytime soon.” Reflexively, Steve grimaces and Billy chuckles slightly. “Kinda sorry I wasn’t here for that.”

“For my public humiliation?” he says, trying to ride the fine line between bitterness and black humor.

“For your ‘awakening’,” Billy purrs. He’s looking at Steve’s neck the way Steve imagines lions stare at the necks of gazelle on the savannah. “I’m not the picture of class and taste, but I’m pretty sure I coulda gave you better than a coat closet.”

Steve can’t quite bring himself to look at him directly. “You were there for it, in a way. You were the reason that I realized I wasn’t completely straight.” It’s his turn to reach for the wineglass. “You raced out of Hawkins, and I realized that I had a meteor-sized crush on a boy I was never going to see again, and the last time I had seen him, he was dying in front of me.”

Even now, with Billy right in front of him, he can’t hold that memory too closely or he’ll just start bawling. It’s probably tied with his mother telling him Steve needs to stay with Robin and leave his keys for his most painful memory.

Keeping his head down, Steve adds “And I maybe didn’t deal with that too well, so after that was a series of really terrible decisions Rob is too nice to blab to other people about, but will never let me live down in private, all neatly wrapped up with outing myself to the whole town.”

Billy is very quiet and it takes a moment for him to gather the courage to look at him. Billy’s stare has become penetrating, and unwavering. Lowly, he says “Maybe we dodged a bullet with me leaving, then.” He smiles grimly. “Cause the person I used to be wouldn’t have been too nice about knowing you were willing to suck a dick and the dick wasn’t mine, Harrington. And I don’t just mean not nice to you. I woulda made the whole fucking town pay for that.”

Trying to hide his nervousness, Steve rests a hand on his elbow and sips from his glass. “I’m not exactly inexperienced, you know. What does the person you are now think about that?”

“I think…that I don’t really care what you’ve done before,” Billy says slowly. “Or who you’ve done it with.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence,” Steve observes.

“If you’re the kind of person who gets bored with having the same partner, you might wanna cut this short,” he informs him bluntly. “I don’t like sharing, and I try to be a better person than I was, but I’m not about to tell you I’m not a jealous possessive bastard, because I’m never gonna lie to you. I am.”

He leaves his glass on the table. “I’m pretty sure there’s this saying, ‘only boring people get bored’.” Steve leans his head back into cushions, feeling full and sluggish and maybe a little bit horny. He skims his fingers slowly up Billy’s thigh. “If you don’t wanna get bored, you have to put in the work.”

“Yeah?” Steve is transfixed by the way Billy’s tongue curls around his teeth. Teasingly, Billy says “You gonna work for it, baby?”

Steve kneads the muscle in his thigh, thick and warm beneath the denim, and feels heat begin to coil in his belly. “I think…you should let me worry about that,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb up the inner seam of his jeans. Billy’s breathing stutters and he smiles, slow and satisfied. “And relax.”

He swings a leg over Billy, settling on his lap and leaning in for a kiss as he unzips his jeans. Billy breathes “Shit” against his lips and starts unbuckling Steve’s belt.

Steve’s pants end up thrown over an arm of the sofa, where they’ll probably end up covered in black cat hair, and he opens the fly of Billy’s jeans so that their dicks only have two thin layers between them instead of four. It’s been too long and Steve moans “fuck” as he settles back down onto his lap. He can feel Billy pulsing, the wet spot forming in his boxers and Steve pants, open-mouthed as he grinds down, slow and lazy.

“No, c’mon,” Billy says raggedly, pulling at the buttons on his shirt. “Don’t just gimme half a show, baby. Let me see that body.”

Steve helps him, flipping his tie off and sending it to hang out with his slacks, and pulling his cardigan over his head. He knows when Billy notices what’s beneath the linen when his hands skim up Steve’s chest and pluck at his nipples, gently tugging at the medical grade steel embedded in his skin. “Oh, you’ve got goodies,” Billy groans, mouthing over the fabric. Steve hisses and arches up to meet the touch, lightly pulling at his dirty blond hair. “Naughty Stevie, trying to hide his goodies from me – oh. Baby, you are all grown up.”

“I shaved,” Steve chokes out, throwing his shirt to the side and trying to steer Billy’s mouth – his teeth, especially – back to his nipples. Billy strokes the dark thatch of hair on his chest, tantalizingly close to where he wants him. “In high school, I shaved it. I thought it was weird, how much I had.”

“Hmm,” Billy purrs thoughtfully, rubbing his face in it. Steve moans and squirms as the much rougher hair of his beard scraps and catches on the permanently sensitive skin. “Think I like it.”

“You,” Steve starts, hoarse and cracked, then swallows and tries again. He wants Billy, wants his sweat and skin and heat, wants all those things he never usually gets. “Yours too, Billy.”

“It ain’t pretty, Steve,” he warns.

“Do you really think that’s worse than watching it happen?” he whispers, pulling Billy in for a kiss, deep and intense. “It’s alright, c’mon.”

There are large scars, thick and deep and silvery, all across Billy’s chest and stomach, places where the Mindflayer tried to kebab him. Steve runs his hands across all of it – the scarred and the unblemished, the ugly and the statuesque – and bends to kiss him everywhere. None of it surprises him, and to him, it’s both terrible and miraculous. Every piece of logic in the universe says that Billy Hargrove should have died that day, and yet, here he is, warm and shuddering beneath Steve’s hands.

“I didn’t know why,” he continues at a whispers. “I didn’t understand why I had a hard time looking away from you. I remember watching the way the sweat dripped off you on the court.” He hums and traces a hand down Billy’s chest, over the muscles and scars, the same path of the sweat in his mind’s eye. “I was so stupid – I thought I was jealous of your looks. Nobody says that men look ‘beautiful’. But you were, and you still are.”

“Don’t need to sweet talk me,” Billy murmurs, nosing at his jaw. He pets at Steve’s hair, hand caressing all the way down his spine. “I’m a sure thing, sweetheart.”

“What if I just want to?” Steve says with a smile, bangs hanging into his eyes. “What if I think you need someone to be nice to you?”

“Is that what you think?” Billy asks, and plucks a flower from the vase. “Maybe I think that’s what you need, too.”

Gently, he uses the petals to trace the shape of Steve’s lips, his knuckles brushing the shape of his cock through his briefs. Breathlessly, he gasps “Billy Hargrove is a romantic. Stop the presses! Breaking news!”

“No one will ever believe you,” he says sweetly, clamping the stem between his teeth. “I’ve committed the perfect crime.”

He hauls himself and Steve from the couch, cackling as Steve yells and clutches onto his shoulders. He prays that Billy is as strong as he looks. “Turn left!” he yelps. “Bedroom is the last door.”

As soon as they are safely on the bed and Billy is no longer trying to bear both of their weight, Steve snatches the flower from his mouth to kiss him.

“You’re a madman,” he says with admiration, caressing his cheek with the petals.

“I’ve met Wheeler, you’re deeply attracted to the mentally disturbed,” he accuses, plucking at Steve’s piercings to make him squirm.

Billy draws his teeth lightly over his left nipple. “Yeah, like that.” Tugging gently on his hair and pushing his ass down on Billy’s cock, his limp fingers surrender the carnation back to him. The petals feel like velvet against his ultra-sensitive nipples and Steve chokes down his whines. “Bite them, please. Billy.”

He’s leaking all over his underwear, dick jumping and twitching with each little nip and sharp bite, mindlessly frotting with him, and Billy squeezes at his ass, rolls up his hips to meet him. “Fuck, you’re big.”

“I thought you’d want to top,” he gasps. “I don’t mind.”

He hums and looks up at Steve through his impossibly long lashes. His eyes are dark and glittering. “Maybe I just want to do this. Maybe I just want to see you fall apart on top of me.”

That flower – he’s still holding the carnation, uses the scarlet petals to paint a path down over his stomach, and swirls it over the wet patch of fabric where the head of his cock is trapped by the fabric. “Your hands,” he pleads, pulling lightly at his hair again, guiding his other hand, calloused and covered in rings, into his lap. “God, you have such beautiful hands, Billy.”

Billy gets his palm around Steve’s length and grunts as Steve turns his head and tugs on his earlobe with his teeth. “Imagine me jerking you off, like this?” he rumbles, rough skin grating over Steve’s cock. “Huh, baby? You think about me in the dark, when you were alone? Did you think about my hands?”

“Your hands,” Steve rasps, and kisses him softly. He can’t get his fill of Billy’s skin, rough, silky, smooth, and everything in between. “The way a cigarette looked in your mouth. You pressed up against my back. Sweat running down your body and Billy, how much I wanted to touch you-”

Billy cuts him off with a low groan, biting at Steve’s lower lip and abandoning the carnation to give his nipple a cruel twist, grinning against his mouth as Steve convulses. “I dreamed ‘a you, Stevie. I dreamed of your big heartbreaker’s eyes and your pretty lips.” He touches his neck and Steve realizes that he’s tracing the moles all over his skin. “I thought about the noises you’d make if I kissed you here. How you’d sound when you came. For me.”

“I’m gonna,” Steve croaks, sucking at Billy’s tongue. Imagining that he’s sucking something else. He’s sounded in the pine and bonfire smell of him, and his thighs shake around Billy’s hips.

“How you’d taste,” Billy growls, and Steve can taste him, the strawberry jam sweetness of him, and he could cry. “Don’t leave me waitin’ for it, Stevie.”

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he cries, trembling hard.

“Let me hear it.”

And Steve sobs “Billy. Don’t stop, Billy.”

“I got you, Stevie-baby.”

His body is liquid fire in Billy’s hands, fluid and burning ember-bright. Billy keeps kissing him, frantic and hungry, even while Steve is out of breath, and he doesn’t realize why until Billy starts squirming out his jeans and underwear and starts jerking himself off harshly, still kissing at Steve’s neck.

“Stop,” he slurs, and rolls on top of him, pinning Billy’s arms to the bed.

“Steve,” he whines. “Don’t be a brat. Just-”

“Let me do it, baby,” Steve murmurs, stroking his belly and throwing his best bedroom eyes. He strokes his hands up Billy’s thighs for extra insurance and licks his lips. “Let me get you there, Billy.”

“Fuck,” Billy whispers hoarsely, briefly closing his eyes. “Okay. Yeah.”

Just because he’s gonna do it doesn’t mean he’s gonna make it easy.

Lazily, Steve French kisses his way down Billy’s chest, treating the scarred skin the same as the silky-smooth muscles, taking his time to lick down his body, letting himself taste the salt and musk. He by-passes Billy’s cock, weeping all over his stomach, only stopping to lap up the little pool forming above the head.

“Steve,” Billy hisses. “Jesus fuck – PLEASE.”

He sucks hard on his inner thighs, biting at him until it will bruise. “I’ve thought of this so many times,” he admits, gently pressing his thumb beneath his balls, brushing his other fingers so achingly close to his cock. Billy nearly jack-knifes off the mattress, swearing at his as his fists pull on the sheets. “And it’s better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

“I wondered what you’d do,” he murmurs, kissing just alongside his cock. “If I was on my knees for you.”

“I’m gonna fucking die,” Billy gasps, touching his hair, stroking it away from his face. “Steve-”

He makes sure he’s watching, makes sure Billy’s eyes are open as he circles his fingers around him and s l i d e s his cock, hot and wet with precum, past his lips. He hums and groans at the velvety heat in his mouth and Billy bucks the tiniest bit, moaning like a dying man as his dick rubs over the silky slickness of his tongue.

“Steve,” he says, weak and reedy, “…sweetheart…”

He hollows his cheeks and groans again, giving Billy a come-hither stare. Billy’s head falls back onto the pillow, crimson lips parted as he pants, loud and desperate. Oh, Steve likes him this way. Billy’s beautiful. He’s always been beautiful, but he’s worn into this beauty, like the softest cotton shirt in the drawer.

Steve sucks him, slurping and sloppy and wet, presses his fingers ruthlessly to Billy’s perineum.

“FUCK,” he roars and grips Steve’s hair just this side of too tight. Shoves up into his mouth, always just shy of choking him, and begs softly. “Take me, gorgeous. Fuck, like that. Gonna come, Stevie, gonna come for your hot mouth-

He screams without making noise and Steve licks him clean, flicking the jizz from his lips like a cat licking cream.

“Jesus Christ.” Billy says, still breathing hard. “Stevie, you’re worth waiting ten years for.”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #knock me out babe #teacher steve #soft billy

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petergirl10 · 7 years

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On July 22, 2010, four nights before the UK Sherlock premiere, Benedict Cumberbatch sat down with hosts Charlie Stayt and Kate Silverton on the BBC's morning news magazine, Breakfast. Silverton: Okay, welcome back. So, it seems fitting to just drop a few clues about our final guest. He's an actor who's been in Small Island, Atonement, Tipping the Velvet and numerous theatre productions, and he's here to talk about his latest role as a very perceptive investigator, who lives at the sort of London address that comes up in pub quizzes. Stayt: Yes, his partner in crime solving is Dr John Watson, and in the original stories, he didn't once say, "elementary". Ah, it's pretty obvious who it is, isn't it? The answer is Benedict Cumberbatch, who's here to tell us about all the new BBC One adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Good morning. Cumberbatch: Good morning. Stayt: We were talking about this sort of James Bond mantle... Cumberbatch: Mmm. Stayt: ...and taking on the idea of writing a James Bond story. The idea of playing Sherlock Holmes, as an actor, is a pretty big one, I think. Cumberbatch: Yeah, I mean, they're both very daunting, iconic characters to take on, and interestingly, there's a parallel with Bond. Holmes is someone who hasn't been reinvented in the 21 st century until now, so, rather like Fleming's original novel set in that period, why not continue the franchise in a modern setting? And he's always been a modern man, Sherlock, so the idea of him being... Silverton: How... What do you mean? Cumberbatch: Well, I think he's always been at the forefront of forensic science. He was, um, somebody who was investigating the idea of fingerprints and footprints, and wrote very long, probably very boring monographs on different types of ash, cigarettes and cigar ash, to detect where the cigar and cigarette may be bought from, and therefore lead to an identity of whoever's left the ash behind. So, the idea that he can exist in the 21st century, I think, sits quite neatly. It's a difficult one, I think, for traditionalists to swallow because it could be very naff. Silverton: And I've been saying... Yes. And I can imagine people saying you just can't touch Sherlock Holmes, you know, put it in the modern day, it just won't work. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Silverton: And I actually confess, I was one of those last night who sat down to watch it... Cumberbatch: Me too, before I read the scripts. Silverton: Were you? Cumberbatch (laughs): Yeah, completely. Silverton: Were you thinking, "Gosh, I can't do this." Cumberbatch: Oh, completely, I just... It's very easy, I think, to just... to try and, uh, reinvigorate something with a very tacked-on idea of modernity, whether it just be multimedia technology or a sort of tongue-in-cheek reference to something that's now, I don't know, taken on a new guise, but... Silverton: Well, let's take a look and give people a sense of what we're talking about. Cumberbatch: Okay, yeah. Let's talk about that. Silverton: This is your very first meeting with, uh... with Watson. Cumberbatch: Okay, okay. Sherlock: I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. John: Oh, you ... you told him about me? Mike Stamford: Not a word. John: Then who said anything about flatmates? Sherlock: I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap. John: How did you know about Afghanistan? Sherlock: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. John: Is that it? Sherlock: Is that what? John: We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat? Sherlock: Problem? John: We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name. Sherlock: I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think? Sherlock: The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street. Afternoon. Mike Stamford: Yeah. He’s always like that. Stayt: That is, uh... And we won't go into too much detail, but you're pretty much right, aren't you? I mean, he is annoyingly... Cumberbatch: Yes... Irritatingly... But, I mean, he is fallible. He is fallible. It's not a complete science deduction. It is, pretty much, in his hands, but... There are red herrings. There are dead ends. But the brilliant thing he still can do, in the 21 st century, with all the multimedia and forensic science he has at his availability... At his availability! At his hands, at his beck and call... Is to turn that into a coherent narrative, to understand who, why, what, when, and he does that so fantastically brilliantly, and sometimes he gets it wrong, but... Silverton: And it's an illustration of how...If just by being, purely by being observant, that you can pick up on... Cumberbatch: He's great. Silverton: If just by being, purely by being observant, that you can pick up on... Cumberbatch: Yes, it's an achievable... It's an achievable power. It's not a superpower. It's... Silverton: It's... It struck me as sort of a cross between, and we mentioned forensic science, sort of a CSI, it's got a really pacey feel... Cumberbatch: Mmm. Yeah. Silverton: The scripting's very fast and very... There's a lot of wit in there. Cumberbatch: Yes, it's quite... Silverton: It's kind of Like an adult Doctor Who. But then, some of the writers have actually also written for Doctor Who. Cumberbatch: Well, Steve and Mark... Both Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss do both write for Doctor Who, but, um... I don't think there's that much of a crossover, but stylistically, you have a maverick. You have an outsider. Silverton: Yeah. Cumberbatch: You have someone who's voluble, who's incredibly smart and fast-thinking, and adept at thinking on his feet, and someone who leaps into action and leaves people going, "Wait! Hang on!" And, you know, catching up like the audience does, but... I think what's smart about this as well is that there are moments, without spoiling too much, where the audience is let into the thinking of Holmes, which is quite a new dynamic, I think, in any TV drama. You have these moments not just with sort of, screen technology, which is often a cutaway to a phone or a computer where the words actually appear rather than actually being on the screen. Stayt: Now that's worth explaining, isn't it, because I thought that was a very... Silverton: Yes. Stayt: ... I've not seen it before. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Stayt: Just to explain, so, I think filmmakers have been struggling with the idea of, how do you make texting interesting... Cumberbatch: Yeah, yeah. ... Stayt: ... in a visual sense. What you do in this film, is that you... You're receiving the texts and they appear as subtitles. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Stayt: And so you know what the actor's looking at. Cumberbatch: Exactly, exactly. Stayt: It's so simple. I don't know why... Cumberbatch: And yet very, very, very effective. I know, I know. I think maybe because people think it's some kind of intrusion on the actual physical space of what the camera's looking at, but I... You know, a word or two floating up, it's brilliant. It just works. Stayt: It comes like a thought bubble, really. Silverton: Yeah. Cumberbatch: Yes, it does a bit. Silverton: You've also got a lovely landlady that I think we should introduce very quickly, if we've got time. Cumberbatch: Oh, please. The lovely Una Stubbs. Silverton: The landlady at 221 B Baker Street, played by Una Stubbs. And we get to see what a mess you live in. (Cumberbatch laughs) John: Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed. Sherlock: Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in. John: Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out... Oh. So this is all ... Sherlock: Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit. John: That’s a skull. Sherlock: Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ ... Mrs. Hudson: What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms. John: Of course we’ll be needing two. Mrs. Hudson: Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door’s got married ones. Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made. Stayt: I bet it was hard to keep a straight face filming that, wasn't it? (Silverton and Cumberbatch laugh) Cumberbatch: This stuff is fantastic. Holmes's default mode is quite a straight face. It's rare that he smiles without intent. But yeah, no, she's wonderful. She's just delightful. She's very, very funny. Stayt: Like I was saying that... Sorry, you were saying a second ago about how many actors have taken on the role of Sherlock. You were saying that it was... Is it 200? Cumberbatch: It's a huge number. If you take into the international contingent as well, it's... I think it is well into the 200s. I think it's possibly... This might be in the Guinness Book of Records, I'm not sure, and I should know this, playing a fact-meister that Holmes is. Um, I think he is the most-played literary fictional character. Um, I mean for me, one of the scariest things, as far as inheriting any of that and playing such an iconic role was thinking about Rathbone and Brett. To me, they are the two supreme English Holmes and always will be. So that was yet another appeal with escaping that shadow slightly, because of not having a deerstalker, a bowler hat, or a cape or pipe in sight, that there was... We were moving out of the Victorian smog of it into something which I could have some kind of a new identity with. Silverton: Mmm. Cumberbatch: Um, and also it's younger and also it's when they first meet and that's very rarely been done. Silverton: Yes. Cumberbatch: And it's a great place to start the story, where it originally started, in Study in Scarlet. Silverton: That's fantastic. Cumberbatch: Ours is called "A Study in Pink." Silverton: Well... Stayt: You get a scarf and a long coat. Cumberbatch: Oh yes, you have to come up with some kind of a silhouette. Silverton: There's some things that still remain. Yeah. It's so lovely to see you. Thank you so much... Cumberbatch: It's an absolute pleasure. Stayt: I know you're a little bit dicky on the throat. Cumberbatch: A little bit dicky on the throat, yeah. Stayt: Thank you. Silverton: So one not to miss, then. Sherlock on BBC One, 9:00 on Sunday night.

#sherlock #season one #2010 #interview #benedict cumberbatch

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