006. Cas hates being in love.

Castiel climbs onto the roof, itching at his back.
With a small rip, two slits open on the back of his shirt, one that he stone from Dean.
His winds unfurl behind him, dark black and scary big in the cold night air.
“Cas?” Dean asks, and Castiel turns around in surprise, and then almost falls off the roof.
Dean squints up at the roof, shielding his eyes against the bright moon. “Is that my shirt?” He thunders, pointing an accusing finger at the angel.
“Yes.” Castiel replies simply.
“Why are your wings out?”
“They get… itchy.” Cas says, slowly.
“Itchy?” Dean laughs.
“Something like that. Yeah. Sometimes they just feel… bad under my skin.”
Dean nods, and then yawns. “I’m going to bed. You should come down from the roof, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Dean, I have wings you know.”
Dean shrugs and goes back inside.
Castiel sighs a little miserably, running his hands down his pants legs.
Castiel hates being in love. Especially with Dean. Because he knows that Dean is going to kill himself and not give a shit about it. He can see the pain Dean is going through, and that he can’t do anything about it.
He hates being in love with Dean because that means watching him die.
Because, when you get down to it, love is watching someone die.

005. John’s life with Sherlock started with a shot and ended with a fall.

Now that Sherlock was gone, John’s life was over.
John’s life started with Sherlock, walking into his life, started with a shot, one to the shoulder.
And ended with a fall. A fall off a hospital.

And John’s life was over, without Sherlock.

004. Arthur hates himself a little because he’s always getting distracted by Merlin.

Arthur looks at Merlin, and takes in the man’s beauty.
Merlin looking perfect and beautiful is something Arthur’s gotten used to a long time ago, but sometimes, the light hits him in such a way, it takes Arthur’s breath away.
The gold light streams in through the glass and a breeze rolls though the open window.  The gold light catches Merlin’s pale skin, lighting it a pale gold. His dark eyelashes sweep over his skin, over the curve of his cheekbones, and his eyes are stunningly blue, a dark, deep blue Arthur’s never seen. His cheekbones cast dark shadows, and the tilt of Merlin’s head shows off his already-exposed neck.
Merlin’s lips are a pale pink, and Arthur stands transfixed as Merlin runs his tongue over them.
The dark haired man’s arms flail all over, and Arthur knows, somewhere, he should be listening to Merlin, but Merlin in the light and Merlin’s hands are distracting him. The delicate fingers and pale expanse of neck with a jut of collarbones takes Arthur’s breath away.
It’s really rather distracting.
“Arthur!” Merlin demands, snapping him immediately out of his trance. “Are you even listening?”
Arthur looks up, startled slightly, but mostly amused. “Not really, no.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and runs his hands though his hair, the pale of his skin contrasting with the dark of his hair.
Arthur once again, finds himself distracted by Merlin’s hands.
After a few minutes, Merlin looks curiously at Arthur. “What?” He asks, a sly grin curling his mouth.
Arthur has to physically shake himself. “Nothing.” He snaps.
Merlin’s hands are sliding out of his hair and reaching out for Arthur, brushing casually as Merlin gets a goblet from Arthur’s hands.
The brush of their hands sends shivers down Arthur’s spine, and he hates himself a little for the audible intake of breath.
Merlin smirks and walks over to Arthur.
Arthur tries to look grumpy and pissed off.
The young, skinny man stands in front of Arthur, who’s slouching in his chair.
With a large smirk and an unguarded look of desire, he straddles Arthur’s lap.
“Do you find me distracting, sire?” He murmurs, low and close to Arthur’s ear.
It’s all Arthur can do not to groan. “Very.”
An amused chuckle escapes Merlin’s lips.
“Your neck, Merlin, god, your neck. It’s not fair.” Arthur whispers against Merlin. “Your neck does things to me, simple as that. And your fingers. Skinny and pale and I just want to hold them all day. Your eyes are fucking with my mind. Your eyelashes to this swoop thing over your cheek, and fuck; it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
Merlin kisses Arthur’s neck, under his pulse point.
“And your mouth, Merlin.” Arthur whispers, voice hoarse. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is to kiss it.”
Merlin turns back up to Arthur and kisses Arthur.
“Better, sire?” Merlin breathes as he pulls away.
“Much.”

003. Arthur’s body is always really warm.

A tentative knock on the door snaps Arthur out of his own head.
He turns to open the door, spinning around in his chair, than thinks better and just yells, “What is it!”
There’s no reply from the other side of the door.
With a sigh, Arthur gets up and makes his way to the door and yanks it open.

Merlin’s standing in the hallway, hair and clothes soaking wet, and water streams down his face.
His knuckles are clenched white, and his lips are blue.
“What’s the matter with you!?” Arthur explodes, pulling Merlin in by the scruff of his shirt.
Merlin walks in, steps paining him.
Arthur pushes him towards the fire, grabbing a blanket off his bed as he does so.
Merlin stares into the fire, close enough that when droplets of water hit the stones of the fireplace, they sizzle and evaporate.
“Merlin, what the hell were you doing out in the pouring rain! It’s freezing out!” Arthur moves to tug Merlin’s shirt off, knowing that the longer he spends in wet, cold clothes, the more likely he is to get sick.
Merlin flinches and backs away, shrugging and turning away, pulling off his clothes slowly, fingers fumbling with cold.
Arthur turns away, giving the man privacy, and throws an old shift and pair of breeches at his turned back.

Merlin lays curled up in a tight ball, blanket wrapped around him and placing his head on a pillow, with Arthur sitting on the opposite side of the fire, feet stretched out and staring a the door.
“I’m sorry.” Merlin whispers, curling closer to the fire.
“Oh, Merlin. What for?” Arthur says, rolling his eyes and turning to him.
Merlin shrugs. “Everything.”
Arthur’s face softens, and he stands up, moving to stand in front of Merlin and pull him up.
Merlin complies with some hesitation, but soon enough stands in front of Arthur.
Arthur tugs the blanket off of Merlin, and wraps it around himself.
Merlin frowns.
Arthur rolls his eyes and reaches for Merlin’s fingers, capturing the cold digits with his warm hands, rubbing the feeling back into them.
Merlin steps forward suddenly, throwing his arms around Arthur’s waist and holding on tight.
Arthur lets go of Merlin’s hands and hugs him back, cradling the young man to his chest and wrapping the blanket around both of them.
A few minutes pass. And then Arthur hears a muffled, “You’re warm.” into his neck.
He just holds Merlin tighter.

002. Bradley James can play one song on the guitar.

“Colin! Get up! Colin!” Bradley shouts, pounding on Colin’s hotel door.
His knuckles are white around the guitar’s neck, and he keeps humming the words under his breath.
“Colin!” He shouts again, banging on the door.
“I’m coming, you ass.” Colin replies, voice thick with sleep.
The door opens, and Colin squints at the bright hallway lights.
He’s clutching the sheets haphazardly around his waist, and his hair is sticking up everywhere.
“It’s four in the fucking morning, Bradley, what do you want?” The Irishman asks, yawning and pulling the door open further.
“I learned to play the guitar!” He shouts, face lighting up.
Colin stares.
“But I learned it for you, Colin!” He shouts louder, disturbing the neighbors.
“I’m honored, really. Why, exactly must you be so loud? Get in here.”
Colin waddles back over to the bed, tripping over the sheets and almost pulling them clean off.
Bradley stifles a laugh.
“Am I going to hear the song now?” Colin says, quitely, already laying back on the pillows.
“Um, yeah, yeah, right.” Bradley fumbles with the guitar, and sits down hard on the floor, positioning his fingers over the strings.

As soon as Bradley starts playing the familiar notes, Colin jerks his head up.
“Is that…?” He whispers, scooting off the bed and onto the floor next to Bradley.
”If Heaven and Hell decide / That they both are satisfied / Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs.” The Englishman sings, softly.
“Bradley…” Colin breathes, leaning in close to his face.
”Then I’ll follow you into the dark-” He starts, looking into Colin Morgan’s dizzyingly blue eyes.
Colin leans forwards and kisses him.
“I love you, you know.” He whispers against Bradley’s lips.
“I know.” He replies simply.

001. Sherlock always comforts John after his nightmares. Always.

John wakes up with a loud “No!” ripping out of his throat in a scream, tears prickling his eyes, and he sits up too fast, making himself dizzy.
He runs his shaking hands through his hair and his breathing cuts off in something resembling a dry, ragged sob.
John’s face is buried in his hands, and he shuts his eyes so tight, colors blur and swirl and bloom, blocking out the guns and shouts and sand and sun of Afghanistan.
Subconsciously, John notices the door to his bedroom open, the soft light illuminating Sherlock, in boxers and an old, too-large jumper.
He crosses the room, softly closing the door behind him and silently sitting on the bed next to John.
John feels tears slide down his face and he can’t shake the memory of the pain ripping through his shoulder.
Sherlock puts an arm over his shoulder, and then maneuvers John so he’s leaning completely into Sherlock.
Sherlock wraps both arms around John, pulling him in close, cradling his head and playing with his hands.
The taller man kisses John’s forehead softly.
“It’s not real John. It’s okay. You’re safe now, I won’t let anyone get to you.”