Word Count: ~900
Summary: John was expecting to find a rampant kitten in his room, or maybe a rat for Sherlock's experiments, not a beautiful woman wearing his clothing.
A/N: Wrote this little thing for Daunt (and the others on her livestream last night). :D Enjoy, and feel free to continue this. (Please.)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, etc.
John had expected to find a rampant kitten making noise in his room, or maybe a rat for Sherlock's experiments, not a beautiful woman wearing his clothing.
“Welcome home, soldier, had a long day?” she asked. Anthea - well, not Anthea, but he might as well call her that as anything else - pressed a button on her blackberry, and then lowered it, smilng.
For a moment all John could do was gape. “I - you’re wearing my clothes.”
"Why are you wearing my clothes? My army uniform? How did you get in the flat?"
Anthea just looked at him.
"Okay, stupid question."
She nodded slowly.
"But - clothes? I - what?"
"They're comfortable," she said, shrugging. John's eyes were drawn to her chest, the way the cotton pulled around her as she shrugged - tight. Taut.
"Uh - that - doesn't look comfortable," he said slowly.
"Okay, I lied." She smirked at him and he felt all the blood rush to his face. Or nearly all of it.
"Where's Sherlock?" John asked. It felt like a safe topic: it was, perhaps, the only one.
"No idea. He's fine, though. You look tired, John; long day at the clinic? Come, have a seat! Not necessarily in that order." She patted the spot at her side, grinning like the cat with the canary.
John swallowed. "You're seducing me."
"And it's working, I know."
John opened and closed his mouth, rather stupidly, while she simply giggled. "Sit down before you fall over, John, really!"
It was instinct to obey her command, almost the way he and Sherlock did things. It was just unfathomably idiotic to say no, and so easy to go with the flow, however completely insane that flow was. Before he knew it he was sitting next to her on the bed, and she immediately scooted closer, pressing her thigh to his.
“You’re not used to being seduced, are you?”
“No, it’s not really my… area of expertise."
Anthea laughed. She lifted her blackberry, waving it at him, before gently setting it aside on the floor. "You're much cuter when you're flustered. Rule number one, John: I seduce you, not the other way around."
She raised one hand to his neck and wrapped her fingers around it, her nails just brushing the bit of hair at his nape. "Agreed?"
"What am I agreeing to, exactly?"
"A relationship. With me." She paused, and slowly took her other hand and began inching it up his thigh, and John was already fighting himself to stay still. "Of the carnal variety."
"O-oh. Is there a rule number - two?"
"Mmhmm," Anthea hummed, "but you have to kiss me if you want to hear it, John."
She crossed her legs (wearing his trousers, from the army, camouflage and his trousers and she was wearing them) and smiled. "So, I can kiss you, then?"
"Wherever. You. Like."
Unable to help himself, John finally let his arm free. He slid it over her shoulder and tangled it up in her hair (okay, so she wasn't perfectly dressed for the army; her hair would be done up instead of gorgeous and down).
He gently pulled her towards him and this, this he knew how to do - the kissing thing. He met her lips and pressed into them, almost immediately darting his tongue between her lips, tasting her, feeling every point of contact between them simmer - he hadn't known how much he had wanted this, not at all.
"Mm, you're good," she murmured. She suddenly pulled herself over, right on his lap, forcing him down against the bed - and grinned, her eyes lighting up. John couldn't help but smile back.
"That's why I usually do the seducing," he had to add. "Rule two: anything you can do, I can do better."
"I really can't argue with that," he mumbled as she twisted her hips, getting comfortable. She leaned down, stretching her forearms across his chest to support herself as she dove again for his lips.
"How - did you - know to wear the - unf - uniform?"
"Oh, was a guess," she said. He kissed the curve of her chin; she slid one hand beneath his shirt and began to nibble at his ear, delighting in the flush across his neck.
"Good guess," John murmured. Hoping she wouldn't scold him - and that was half the fun, not knowing what he could get away with, it was almost like a danger, the adrenaline he always craved - he began to snap the first few buttons on her shirt (his shirt), finally feeling her smooth skin run beneath his hands; he cradled her hips and she collapsed, just slightly, allowing him to steal another kiss.
"I think you're almost ready for rule number three," she whispered, looking him in the eye again. "Which is?"
"Ladies first." She chuckled, pulled off his shirt, and swiftly, carelessly, tossed it to the wall.
Something occurred to him. "What name are you using?"
"What, you're not going to ask my real name?"
"I'm not foolish enough to think you'd actually tell me. So?"
She tapped her fingers against her chest, cruelling teasing him as she thought. "Vivian."
"Vivian," he said, just to feel it roll off his tongue. "Oh, I could definitely come saying that."
And for the first time that evening, he succeeded in making her blush.
"Clever, Doctor Watson."
"You're straddling my crotch. I think you can call me John."
"John," Vivian said. "John, John, John." Her lips curved into a delighted smile. "I think you'll do."
( Originally posted at http://lizzledpink.dreamwidth.org/17626.h