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Enchanted	By : Flavy Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 1622 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Warning: There is some heterosexual activity between John/OC in this chapter, but nothing big.
On a lighter note, did everyone see Star Trek: Into the Darkness with Benedict playing Khan? HOLY SHIT, with that hair and the tight suit…. GOD.
####
Chapter 4
It turned out that the city of Paris wasn’t that much different from back home. Same busy streets, same store fronts, same mix of people with the only difference that they spoke a foreign language. Similar architectural designs, both old and new, splotched with the odd monument or cultural expression. The streets seemed to be somewhat cleaner and brighter, and the people walking them somewhat richer, but ultimately, it wasn’t anything truly spectacular.
There were certainly more tourists here, judging by the number of people bent over maps and taking photos of each other next to the most ridiculous of things. He even glimpsed a couple taking wide-grinned pictures with a Parisian rubbish bin that closely resembled a giant green basketball net, which prompted him to snort in amusement. Apparently, even rubbish could be fascinating if it wasn’t the same as yours. Novelty was novelty, he supposed. Until the shine wore off and it all became as dull as the next thing.
Needless to say, John didn’t share the other tourists’ obvious enthusiasm for the place. He hadn’t even brought a camera, nor did he intend on taking any pictures. Perhaps he was getting too old but he just couldn’t get himself to really care about anything right now. Or maybe the reality that he had essentially fled here in order to avoid his best friend left him feeling more than a little pissy, lonely and unimpressed.
Had he come here with Sherlock instead… well, that would have been a completely different story.
Sherlock would surely have loved Paris, John thought to himself with a sad smile. Not in the normal ‘I can’t believe I’m in bloody fucking Paris!!’ way, of course, but in his very own ‘Just look at all the crime potential, John!!’ way. Sherlock’s view of the world was by no means an ordinary one, but on the other hand, it’s what made him that much more special. His unique perspective on things was at times insensitive, borderline cruel, and yet John couldn’t stop loving how bloody fantastic it was. Like getting a five-star meal when all you’ve ever had was cheeseburger and fries. You could never get bored with Sherlock, that was to be sure.
When John finally arrived to the Holiday Inn located somewhere at the periphery of the city, he paid his cabby and entered the lobby with his bag slung over his shoulder. It was a typical three-star hotel lobby with a worn Persian carpet, sun-burnt drapes, a set of ancient-looking armchairs and loveseat, and a few cheap oil paintings adorning the walls. It was like stepping into someone’s grandmother’s house. There was a stale quality to the air that stung John’s nostrils and made him want to stick his head outside for a breath of fresh air.
In sharp contrast, a lively girl of no more than twenty five sat behind the counter, sorting through some mail. She was wearing a low-cut pink blouse and a matching black skirt that hugged her slim hips quite nicely. Her long, blonde hair was tied neatly into a bun, exposing her angular face with undeniably attractive features.
As he came up to the counter and dropped his bag to the floor, she lifted her sharp, blue eyes to his face and stretched her lips in a welcoming smile.
“Good morning,” she said with a slight French accent, standing up in greeting.
John gave her a surprised look. “Hey there,” he said hesitantly. “You speak English here?”
The girl gave him a funny look. “Of course, it is our business to speak foreign languages, especially one as widespread as English.”
“Ah,” John answered with a small, embarrassed cough. “Right, that makes sense. But, how did you know…”
“That you speak English?” the girl finished for him before shrugging slightly. “You pick up a few tricks working in this business. I could tell you are British from the moment you walked in.”
John looked at her with interest. “And how did you know that?”
“By your face and dress.”
John’s eyebrows lifted. “Do British men dress somehow different from the rest of the world?”
The girl giggled at his obvious disbelief. “You’d be surprised. And not only British men. Every country has its own dress code, even for those who don’t follow it.”
“I’m not sure that makes any sense.”
“I was right though, wasn’t I?” the girl challenged. “You are British, you have the accent.”
John tilted his head with a nod. “Yes, absolutely right.”
“So there you have it,” the girl replied, looking pleased.
John held his hands up in the air. “I can’t say I know much about the fashions of the world, so I’ll admit my defeat. That’s quite impressive, though – being able to identify a person’s nationality simply by scanning their appearance. Up to now, I knew of only one person who could do that.”
The girl raised her eyebrow. “And who is that?”
“My flatmate Sherlock Holmes,” John supplied. “He’s a bit of a genius. I blog about him actually, perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called The Science of Deduction.”
The girl shook her head thoughtfully. “Hmm, can’t say I have. I’m not on the internet much. I prefer to go out in my free time, mostly to get away from my roommate and her constant string of one-night stands. If I ever did a blog about her, it’d be called The Science of Seduction. You’re lucky to have a good roommate that you get along with.”
John huffed. “Guess so, but there are drawbacks to that. Sometimes I feel the need to get away from him, too.” Like right now, he added to himself.
“And here I thought it was easier for two guys to live together. Nothing ever bothers you guys.”
John laughed. “Well, I don’t know about French guys, but I’m not too big on finding fungal growths taking over my fridge. And that’s the least of his antics.” He wisely decided to leave out the instance of when he found a whole severed head resting neatly on a plate.
The receptionist stared at him funny for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether he was joking or not. “He sounds lovely. Genius, you say?”
“Experimenting genius,” John clarified pointedly, amused at her reaction. “You get used to it.”
“I’m sure. I’m guessing he doesn’t bring too many girlfriends home.”
“Nope, that’s ‘not his area’,” John replied, quoting his friend’s words from the day they first met.
The girl raised her eyebrow. “Gay experimenting genius, then?”
John chuckled, finding it funny how he had assumed the exact same thing when Sherlock first told him that. Now he could say he understood the statement for what it really was. The plain and simple truth.
“Nah, I think he’s just… not interested,” he said, lowering his eyes. Why did it bother him to say it? It didn’t matter to him whether Sherlock was interested in that or not.
The girl eyed him for a moment. “How about you?”
John shifted his gaze to her in alarm. “Pardon me?”
The girl smiled at him. “Are you interested?”
“What? No, of course not,” he rushed to say in a defensive tone. “Sherlock is my friend, nothing more.”
The girl blinked at him, pausing momentarily. “Um… that’s not what I was asking.”
An awkward silence settled in as they looked at each other for a few long moments while John backtracked. He did a double-take as realization struck him. The girl was flirting with him.
“Oh,” he breathed out, feeling like a sodding idiot for jumping to the wrong conclusions. Clearly, he was losing it. “Sorry, I thought… Never mind.”
The girl rested her elbows on the counter and leaned over it slightly, giving him a suggestive look. “What I wanted to know is… do you bring a lot of girls home?”
John cleared his throat, feeling a flush rising to his cheeks. “Not lately. For the past little while, Sherlock has been a handful all on his own.”
“But he’s not here with you, is that right?”
“No. He’s not here.”
The girl smiled. “How long are you planning on staying, Mr—?”
“Oh, it’s John Watson,” John clarified, reminding himself that he was speaking to the hotel receptionist. “And I have a reservation for six nights.”
The girl turned to the computer and clacked on the keyboard with her long, fake nails. “Hmm… I’ve got a six-night stay in a non-smoking room with a queen bed booked for a Dr. John Hamish Watson.”
“That’s the one.”
“You’re a medical doctor?” the girl asked curiously with an appraising glance-over.
“Yep,” John confirmed with a grin. “Didn’t get that from my appearance, did you?”
The girl grinned back and shrugged. “It’s not something I need to know because it makes no difference, so I don’t look for it.”
John feigned surprise. “You mean it doesn’t get me a discounted rate?”
The girl giggled. “Nope.”
John tutted. “Not even an upgrade to a king bed?”
The girl’s blue eyes narrowed enticingly. “Will you be needing one?” she asked sweetly.
John licked his dry lips, holding her gaze. “I don’t know, will I?”
They held each other’s gazes for a moment longer before sharing a smile. “I’ll see what I can do,” the girl murmured, turning to the computer. “I’ll need your credit card and a piece of ID to complete your reservation.”
John retrieved his wallet and passed the requested cards to her. This was too perfect. A golden opportunity to get exactly what he came for, and fast. Too good to be true, really.
“I was actually hoping to do some sight-seeing while I’m here,” he said conversationally. “Any recommendations?”
In truth, he wasn’t terribly interested in doing any sight-seeing at all, save perhaps for The Eiffel Tower, but he couldn’t bloody well ask her to jump into bed with him. His previous desire to find himself some sort of girlfriend to love and care for was quickly switching gears into the much more easily accomplished task of jumping any female in sight, partly because he couldn’t seem to get Sherlock out of his head no matter how hard he tried not to think of him. It was alarming and confusing, and made him want to wrap his arms around a girl and force himself to think of nothing but how good it felt to have her breasts against him.
Before the receptionist was able to answer, John’s cell phone started ringing, echoing loudly through the large space. John lifted his index finger, signalling for her to wait a moment while he retrieved it and checked his caller ID, which revealed the name of Fred Barnes. About bloody time, he thought to himself as he apologized to the girl and walked off toward the window with the phone to his ear.
Several minutes later, he returned to the counter feeling relieved and quite pleased with the outcome of the conversation. It turned out that Fred and Trevor were still in the landscaping business together, and currently had little work as it was still early spring. Which meant they had plenty of free time to spend with him over the week. John was surprised by how good it was to hear from Fred again. He wondered why he hadn’t phoned him up earlier.
“Sorry again,” he said to the girl, pocketing his phone. “Where were we?”
“You were asking me out on a date,” the girl offered with a wink. “Am I wrong?”
John chuckled. “Nope, quite right. Speaking of which… are you free tonight, by any chance? I’m meeting some friends at this local Irish pub called The Green Linnet at about nine.”
“That’s a good pub, I’ve been there before. Great beer.”
“So how about it, then?”
The girl didn’t hesitate. “Sounds good.”
“Excellent,” said John as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m all set here, then?”
“Yep,” the girl confirmed as she handed him a pass card to his room along with a receipt. “You’re in room 101 – first door to your right down the hallway.”
Thanking her and sharing one last smile, John headed in the direction of his room, but stopped short just before turning the corner. He glanced back at her. “Hey, I don’t even know your name…”
The girl giggled. “My bad. It’s Michelle.”
“Michelle…” John repeated quietly, rolling it off his tongue. “That’s beautiful. So I’ll see you there at nine, then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Michelle asserted, looking pleased at the compliment.
With a triumphant grin on his face, John made his way to the first room down the hallway, feeling better than he had all morning. It turned out that Michelle had indeed upgraded him to a king bed, which he gratefully sunk into as soon as he entered his room, not even bothering to take off his shoes. His prolonged lack of sleep was hitting him hard right about now, and all he wanted was to forget about everything and just let himself drift away into nothingness.
Except he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. He had to keep himself awake for just a little while longer. Just until that night, when Michelle’s perfume could permeate his dreams in the aftermath.
Then he was sure to forget how it felt to have Sherlock’s slender body pressed up against him while his lips ghosted over his skin, whispering his name with undisguised longing. He was sure to forget the way Sherlock’s hands slid around his waist, the way he had touched him. The way his own body had responded to that touch.
And… the way in those few short moments before everything fell apart he had wanted Sherlock more than anything he had ever wanted before in his life.
He wanted to forget so badly.
He squeezed his eyes shut and draped an arm over his tired face, trying to push it all out of his mind.
He wanted to forget so badly how scared it made him feel.
####
When it was close to nine o’clock, John took a cab to the pub, which turned out to be within walking distance to the hotel. As he entered, his eyes immediately darted about the place, looking for anyone he could recognize.
The pub was fairly crowded, which was easily explained by the fact that it was Friday night and that it was the only Irish pub in this part of the city. John had been glad when Fred mentioned of its existence seeing how the idea of sitting amongst a bunch of foreigners while drinking foreign beer did not appeal to him in the least. He just couldn’t imagine relaxing in such a place. John loved his beer and he loved his language, and this pub fit the bill. It looked British, it smelled British, and it was the best goddamn place he’d seen in Paris yet.
It didn’t take him long to spot Fred and Trevor sitting across from each other in a far-end booth, holding beer pints in their hands. There were two pitchers of beer (one of which was nearly empty) and a large plate of fries and wings in the center of the table, which reminded John that he hadn’t eaten anything since his complimentary bag of peanuts on the ride over. As he made his way to their table, John took the opportunity to eye them thoroughly. It turned out they hadn’t changed much at all.
Fred’s once short, red hair fell down to his shoulders now, but his open expression and ever-present easy grin told John that he was pretty much exactly the same guy that he remembered him to be. A natural extrovert, Fred was easy to get along with and liked by nearly everyone. He was still of a fairly solid build and tanned complexion, which John attributed to his work as a landscaper, and his eyes still held the same mischievous look of a bloke whose mind was never at a standstill. As for Trevor, he was still a slim, wiry fellow with short, jet-black hair and a piercing gaze that kept most people at a distance, in sharp contrast to Fred Barnes. He had always been the quiet guy that kept mostly to himself, which made John wonder how the two managed to get along enough to stay in business together, seeing how they were as different as night and day.
Thinking about it made John realize just how much he had changed since they had last seen each other, which felt like ages ago. So much had happened to him since then. On the outside, he was still the same John he had been then, but on the inside, he felt like a completely different person. Being with Sherlock had changed him so much. It had given him so much. Their lives had become entangled to such a degree that he could no longer imagine himself without the other. It explained the terrible void he felt deep inside ever since he left their flat in London.
“Bloody hell, it’s John Watson!” Fred exclaimed as John came up to their table, standing up to clap him on the back soundly. “I can’t believe you’re really here!”
John grinned widely as they shook hands. “I know, I can hardly believe it myself.”
Fred beamed at him with a broad smile. “You could have given us a bit more of a notice, mate. When’d you decide to visit?”
“Yesterday morning, actually,” John said with a chuckle, turning to shake Trevor’s hand as well. “Alright, Trevor?”
“Good to see you, John,” Trevor answered with his usual reserved smile.
“Seriously, yesterday morning?” Fred asked in disbelief, pulling him down onto the bench while he moved up further into the booth. “Since when did you learn how to be spontaneous, John? Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s bloody awesome! It’s just not the Johnny I remember, who slept with a ready-packed bag under his cot in the event we got called out in the middle of the night.”
John joined in his laugh, recalling that he used to do that. “Hey, I’m a doctor, I had to be ready for everything. Out in the field, there’s only so much you can do with your bare hands and improvisation, despite what you’ll see on the telly.”
“Okay, okay, so how do you explain the fact that you were the only fellow to own a toothbrush?”
John flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Hey, I only got my sister to send me that after I had to knock out three of Shane Carter’s molars to drain an abscess, you bugger. What’s wrong with being a little obsessive about brushing my teeth?”
“You mean apart from the fact that it made you a downright prat? Nothing at all,” Fred said with a snicker as he poured John a full pint of beer before topping off his own and Trevor’s half-empty ones. “Let’s see if you still drink like one. This here is the best beer in all of Paris. Bottoms up!”
As predicted, John took the longest to down his beer to Fred’s great amusement and cheers. Even Trevor finished well before him, which was nearly embarrassing considering the fact that Trevor seldom drank. It had been awhile since John had so much alcohol all at once, and on an empty stomach at that, so it didn’t take long for his head to start swimming and his fingertips to tingle. He found himself thoroughly enjoying the sensation that instantly took the edge off his stress level.
Helping himself to some fries hungrily, he searched the establishment for his date, hoping she didn’t have a change of heart. Most people here were clearly either British or Irish, with only a few French peppered into the mix. Cheerful music played in the background while laughter broke out periodically from one table or another. Friends, couples, and singles were all mixed into a loud, chattering crowd that blissfully reminded him of home and made him miss it that much more. He found himself relaxing into the familiar and friendly atmosphere.
He turned his attention back to the table as he heard his mates laughing at something that Fred had said.
“Man, those were the times,” he said in-between snickers. “I remember when Davis got John drunk on moonshine ‘cause he refused to remove this chick’s name off his arse after she dumped him over the phone. Holy Christ, John, you puked your guts out that entire night.”
John remembered the incident all too well. He found himself laughing, despite the fact that it had been a highly traumatizing experience. “I’m still not sure which part of the words ‘I’m not qualified to perform the procedure’ he misunderstood. He might as well have poisoned me, that great big sod. I’m pretty sure I almost died that night.”
Fred snorted. “That’s why the sergeant nearly ripped all of our balls off for that one when he got wind of it.”
“Would you have blamed him? I was the only bloody medic in the unit at the time after Grimwell got shipped home with that leg wound. If he’d lost me, he would have been screwed till they transferred him another one.”
Fred laughed. “All I know is that Davis nearly got himself a new arsehole the next day.”
“He would have if they hadn’t transferred him before I got my hands on him,” John laughed. “I would have shot one right through his sodding tattoo.”
“Lovely conversation, boys,” said someone nearby in a slight French accent, making John turn his head toward the familiar voice.
As Michelle slipped into the seat next to him, he cleared his throat in embarrassment and sat up a little straighter. Smiling at her, he found himself captivated by how different she looked from before. Her blonde hair was now unraveled across her shoulders in soft waves and her strict attire had been changed to a red, strapless dress that gave her a look of fun and sexy and drop dead gorgeous all in one. She had touched up her make-up with darker shades, which complimented her angular facial features and added a great deal of sexiness and boldness to her overall look.
John licked his dry lips as he felt his blood rush down into his lower regions. Suddenly, he felt just a little more drunk than moments ago.
“Hi,” he said a bit breathlessly, rushing to pour her a drink. As she started sipping it, he leaned in closer to her ear and added quietly, “I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it all day, actually,” she murmured back, meeting his eyes with lowered lashes. Her sweet, floral perfume filled his senses, making him inhale deeply.
John found himself shifting closer to her, placing his hand at her lower back. “You smell good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she said with a flirtatious smile.
“Are you going to introduce us to this lovely lady, John, or are you intending to keep her all to yourself?” Fred interrupted as he eyed Michelle with open appreciation. He leaned back into his backrest and rested his arm along the top, giving Michelle a sexy grin. Next to him, Trevor seemed to tense imperceptibly.
John sobered up a little. “Right. Sorry, mate. This is my date, Michelle. Michelle, this is Fred and Trevor, my mates from Afghanistan.”
“You’ve been to Afghanistan?” Michelle asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“Yep, we served there for some time.”
“Too long, if you ask me,” Trevor commented absently. “A bloody fucked up place, that is, if you will pardon my French.”
Fred punched his arm playfully. “You know you miss it, Trev. Landscaping’s great but it just doesn’t have the same bang to it, if you know what I mean.”
“Funny,” Trevor replied quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink. “But I prefer to stay alive, thank you.”
Fred grinned broadly. “And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' aliiiive,” he sang cheerfully in warped falsetto before taking a large gulp of his beer.
He was drunk, John realized. And Trevor didn’t seem to be impressed with it in the least. He didn’t respond, instead turning to look out toward the crowd with a flat expression.
“So where did you guys meet so fast?” Fred asked, turning his attention to them. “As far as I know, John just flew in this morning.”
“At the hotel, actually,” John replied, thankful for the change in subject. “Michelle works there.”
“Johnny, you continue to surprise me, old chap,” Fred applauded before pinning Michelle with his eyes. “Although in the face of so much loveliness, I wouldn’t have hesitated either.” He winked.
Michelle giggled. “Actually, I think I was the one to break the ice. John was a bit slow in getting the message.”
“Now that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“Hey, pardon me if my mind was preoccupied with something else at the time,” John interjected.
Michelle grinned. “He means his genius flatmate Sherlock. He told me he writes a blog about him.”
“Sounds like love to me,” Fred joked teasingly before they both broke into snickers.
John shook his head. “Not funny, guys.” By the look on Trevor’s face, he shared his sentiment.
“You’ve got a great accent, by the way,” Fred went on, addressing Michelle. “Where’d you learn English?”
“I took some night classes a few years back because I figured I could get a better job knowing English. I also speak a little German, Italian, and Spanish.”
Fred whistled in amazement. “So you’re multilingual. That means you’ve got a talented tongue. John’s a lucky guy.”
“Keep it decent, Fred,” John warned, albeit he found himself smiling at Michelle’s flushed look. She really was quite beautiful in the golden glow of the pub’s semi-lighting.
“If I could do that, mate, I wouldn’t be called Fred Barnes.”
With those words, Fred drank down the rest of his pint and reached for the pitcher with the intention of having more. Before he was able to grab it, however, Trevor unexpectedly pushed it out of his reach.
“Take it easy with this stuff,” he warned in a low tone. “Or you’re going to find yourself sleeping on the street tonight.”
The two exchanged a look that seemed to raise the tension in the air by a notch.
“You wouldn’t do that,” Fred said confidently and flicked the other’s ear, which earned him a glare from Trevor.
“Try me.”
John watched their interaction with a mix of interest and bemusement. It looked like the two were still fighting, like they had been notorious for doing in Afghanistan. Quite often, their arguments ended in fist fights followed by one or two days of complete ignoring of each other. In other words, the two had some history. Although something seemed different about them now. He just couldn’t figure out what that was.
Suddenly, something clicked in John’s mind. “Wait a minute… do you guys live together?”
Trevor gave him a slightly confused look before turning his eyes to Fred. “You didn’t tell him?”
Fred shrugged nonchalantly. “Didn’t see the need.”
John licked his lips. “Tell me what?”
Trevor just stared at the tabletop, his lips set in a thin line.
“We’re flatmates,” Fred said, not meeting John’s eye. “Makes it much easier to coordinate work schedules and shit.”
John looked at them incredulously. “What, really? That’s bloody amazing considering that you used to be at each other’s throats like every other day.”
“Guess we’ve found ways to work out our differences,” Fred answered, toying with a lock of red hair around his ear.
“You mean besides breaking each other’s faces?” John retorted with amusement in a weak attempt to diffuse the tension. An awkward silence met his words.
“I think I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” Fred said suddenly before pushing by Trevor and moving out of the booth. He paused momentarily, turning his head toward Trevor but not meeting his eye. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Trevor answered with a closed off expression before the two departed, following each other at a distance.
John watched after them, feeling confused. “Am I missing something?” he asked himself out loud.
“You mean apart from the fact that they’re— how do you British call it… shagging each other?” Michelle cut in with a laugh. “You seem to be a pretty clueless guy when it comes to some things.”
John turned to stare at his date in bewilderment. “What? No way! Fred and Trevor are just friends.”
Michelle raised her eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because I can pretty much guarantee you they’re shagging.”
John shook his head. “I very much doubt that. Fred loves women, and women love Fred.”
“And that means he can’t love any men?”
John found himself speechless for a moment. There was simply no way that Fred and Trevor did that to each other. “No, but… it just can’t be true. It can’t.”
“Why, because it makes you uncomfortable?” Michelle asked pointedly, picking up her glass and taking a sip of her beer. “Guys can be so funny sometimes.”
“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all, actually,” John said after a moment of pondering the issue. “I’ve told my flatmate before that it’s all fine to me, and it really is. It’s just… unexpected.”
Michelle hummed. “I’m pretty sure it was unexpected for them, too, the first time it happened.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, you said they were always fighting in Afghanistan. That’s your clue right there. People who argue that often are either married or want to shag each other senseless.”
John thought of his recent arguing streak with Sherlock. There’s just no way Michelle could be right about that. People argued for all sorts of reasons. He poured himself another drink, feeling disconcerted. “You know, I really don’t want to intrude upon their privacy and make all sorts of assumptions. Let’s talk about something else.”
Michelle gave him a sensuous smile. “Okay,” she breathed. “How about a drinking game?”
“Pardon me?” John asked, blinking.
“You know, a drinking game. Surely you’ve played one before? They’re fun. I ask you a question and you either answer or you down your shot. In this case, we’ll make it half a beer pint. Then you get to ask me something.”
John considered this. “What about Fred and Trevor?”
“The way I see it, they’re either making out or arguing out there. In both cases, they’re not coming back.”
John shook his head. “They wouldn’t leave without saying anything.”
“Then I guess here they come to say something.”
As though on cue, Fred came up to the table with an uncharacteristically sullen expression on his tanned face and hands shoved deep into his jean pockets. Trevor was nowhere in sight.
“Hey, John, I think we’re gonna take off for tonight,” he said, looking at him apologetically. “I’ll phone you up tomorrow, if that’s okay?”
John chose to ignore the nudge he received under the table. “Um… sure, mate. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, totally. We just had a long week getting the business started up for the season and Trev decided to get all moody on me today. He’ll get over it by tomorrow.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”
Fred nodded. “What hotel are you staying at again?”
“It’s the Holiday Inn at the intersection of Rue Monge and Avenue Marceau,” Michelle supplied before giving him a sweet smile. “Just don’t call too early, John may want to sleep in a while.” She winked at him.
John flushed at the insinuation in her words while Fred grinned at them approvingly.
“Sounds good,” he said, offering John a handshake. “Have a fun night, you two.”
“See you, Fred,” John returned before the other departed.
“See, what did I tell you?” Michelle rushed to say once Fred was out of sight, giving a triumphant look. “Now do you believe me?”
John shook his head, although he couldn’t help a smile from forming on his lips. “Alright, maybe. But it’s still none of my business.”
“So how about that drinking game? I’m dying to see if you’ll tell me where you did it for the first time.”
John laughed before considering it. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt. If he didn’t feel like answering, he’d just drink it down. He hadn’t gotten drunk in so long, he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. Especially knowing where it would eventually lead. He raised his hand and signalled for the waitress, who attended them promptly with another pitcher.
As they dived into the proposed game, John found that he wasn’t as uncomfortable answering Michelle’s questions as he had thought. At first, they went through all the basic questions that you’d ask of someone you went on a blind date with, which didn’t result in a single drink, but once the questions moved into the ‘not-so-comfortable’ zone, the pitcher started emptying fairly quickly. It wasn’t long before they ordered another one. And it seemed that the more alcohol they ingested, the more sexual their questions became.
Before John knew it, the pub had started clearing out as the time passed 12 AM. There were but a few tables left occupied and a couple of people sitting at the bar, which made the pub far quieter than it had been all evening.
They were sitting very close to each other now, giggling hysterically from time to time like two loonies. It was his turn to ask a question, which he had been lingering on for some time now, partially because he was fairly drunk by this point, and also because he was running out of both decent and indecent questions to ask.
“Um…” he mumbled as he swayed slightly and supported his chin with his hand. “Have you ever…” he started saying, thinking hard about what else he could ask. “Have you ever played this game before?”
“Once,” Michelle answered, giggling hard. “But not for the same reason I’m playing it now. Back then, I just wanted to find out whether my boyfriend was cheating on me. I was hoping to get him drunk enough to slip up.”
John glanced into her hazy eyes, swaying slightly closer. Michelle’s breath was hot on his cheek. “What’s the reason now?” he asked in a whisper.
Michelle just looked at him with lowered lashes before smiling. “What do you think?”
John closed his fingers around her wrist tightly and briefly dropped his gaze to her lips. “I think… we should go back to the hotel now.”
“Okay,” she murmured in agreement before they stumbled out of the booth, rushed and slightly out of breath.
They headed for the bar, where John paid the tab as quickly as he could manage, considering that it took some fumbling to remove his card out of his wallet. He was drunk and painfully hard, which made it very difficult for him to think or do anything coordinated. He rushed anyway, desperate to get back to the hotel room and its king-sized bed that held the promise of relief from everything.
Grabbing Michelle’s hand, he rushed her to the entrance, where he managed to drop his wallet while reaching for the door. As he bent to pick it up, John’s eyes fell upon the booth adjacent to the one they had occupied and it took him a moment to process that there was someone there, sitting in the very back of the bench.
The space was dark so he couldn’t make out their face, but he felt there was something vaguely familiar about the silhouette, which he attributed entirely to the alcohol in his system. He felt his cheeks burn as he thought of what that person must have heard from his ‘game’ with Michelle and tucked his wallet into his back pocket quickly. He didn’t dare lift his eyes again as he pushed through the door and took off running with Michelle while her drunken giggles echoed through the empty street.
By the time they reached the hotel, they were both breathless, hot, and very much bothered. They stumbled into his room clumsily and made their way into his bed while fumbling with each other’s clothes. As they dropped down into it, Michelle pulled him down on top of her and wrapped her legs up around his waist, arching into him with a needy moan.
But just as she leaned up to him for their first kiss, John felt a sudden and consuming rush of fatigue overtake him and before he knew it, his eyes drifted close of their own accord and he all but passed out, dropping to his bewildered date’s side fast asleep.
####
To be continued…
- 3
- 4
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