linndechir

My first attempt ever at writing drabbles, or anything really short for that matter. Feedback and criticism are greatly appreciated. I'm a bit tired of my rambling style, so I'm trying to get away from that, a bit. Does it work? ;) Also, does anyone want to see this continued?

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes RPS
Pairing: Mark Strong/Hans Matheson
Rating: PG
Words: 5 drabbles, each 100 words
Warning: RPS, slightly angsty
Disclaimer: As far as I know, this never happened. This was merely written for fangirlish entertainment.
Summary: Something seems to shatter in those blue eyes when Hans looks back at him.
Thanks to

elenauial for her help and suggestions. :D

Even when sitting, Mark exudes an air of quiet menace. There is something intimidating about his calm, composed manner, about his constant frown, about his piercing eyes. He does not need to be in costume to awe Hans as much as Blackwood awes Coward. And like Coward could not stray away from Blackwood, Hans feels drawn to Mark like a moth to the flame, hypnotised, unresisting, and deeply afraid to get burnt by these scorching eyes. His fear only intensifies the attraction he may never reveal.

Like Coward, there is nothing he fears more than being scorched by his sun.

-----

Mark likes to look at Hans. It is not so much Hans’ beauty that catches his eye, but what he sees underneath: a fragility that is barely veiled by his soft-spoken manner and his shy politeness. Something seems to shatter in those blue eyes when Hans looks back at him, and although Mark wants nothing more than to offer a smile and a comforting hand, he fears that he would only make it worse, frighten him, hurt him.

In his dreams, he places soft kisses on those shivering lips; in his nightmares he breaks Hans’ heart with one careless word.

-----

Robert cannot help but notice the longing looks and wistful sighs. Even from across the room he can see Hans’ lovesick smile and the soft gleam in Mark’s eyes, smiling even when his lips are not, but they are both sadly oblivious. Missing the longing looks that follow them when they turn away, so lost in their own yearning that they cannot see it is mutual.

Hans says something, and Mark laughs, even smiles one of his rare smiles - but Hans is already averting his gaze, blushing, and when he looks up again, Mark’s face is once more serious.

-----

One of these evenings, in a hotel bar, they end up sitting next to each other. Hans leans closer and closer to Mark to evade Robert’s wildly gesturing hands, so close he can feel Mark’s breath on his face.

Mark shifts on the bench to accommodate him, and they both freeze when their fingers brush. For once their eyes meet, for once they actually see each other, see the smile, the affection, the longing. Mark’s thumb draws a tender caress on Hans’ palm. Their fingers entwine slowly, firmly, refusing to let each other go.

Neither of them notices Robert’s smirk.

-----

They leave the bar together, although neither is sure who suggested it. Awkward silence when they reach the lift; standing in the empty corridor, facing each other, both men embarrassed, but still smiling. Hans takes Mark’s hand again, and all of Mark’s doubts are banished by the hopeful longing of that small gesture. He squeezes Hans’ hand, steps closer as careful fingertips brush messy dark hair out of his face. Hans has to stand on his tiptoes to reach him, to breathe a tentative kiss onto Mark’s lips.

It is so much better than any dream Mark has ever had.