lostwithoutmyblogger | russian nesting dolls of aus.

He falls asleep so late it's already the next day, with sun streaming through the hotel curtains, turning the drying blood a speckly orange. When he wakes up again, past noon, he stretches, and then pads into the bathroom to check on his mouth and hands.

Cloud was exactly right; he'll heal fine. He'll look a little strange for a day or two, but the criss crossed lattice on his tongue is already all but invisible. It takes worrying the inside of his bottom lip hard between his teeth before he tastes the first tang of blood there. His eyes close, and his forehead drops against the glass, and he goes to order room service again.

Tea. Soup. A fluffy looking coconut pie. (Why does he always crave sweets so deperately afterwards? He's going to turn into Mycroft. But indulging himself in his every whim post-scene is one of The Rules. And so is the text he sends, once the email is in him.

Mild subdrop. Not dead. Injuries minded, all well.
-SH

There would normally also be an appropriately ritualistic 'thank you' in there, but his wits are enough about him to remember that it would not be appreciated. The expressed preference of his play partner overwrites the old rule, even if it leaves him feeling vaguely ungracious and insubordinate.

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"I'd be happy to meet again." He admits, in a bit of a rush, because it seems so utterly invited. "For conversation- or whatsoever else might strike your interest. I enjoyed what we did."

Biting himself off there, resisting the temptation to let his mouth run.

"Though I'm not sure where or when it would be."

"You're... not bothered that I was stalking you?" Yes, Cloud really did think that what he had done constituted "stalking." Terribly naive of him.

"If that was your stalking, you were... adorably incompetent."

Sherlock informs him, perhaps not too politely, but meaning well.

Cloud blinked in surprise, then laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, okay. I can see that."

"I'm a consulting detective, Cloud. I do much worse on a regular basis."

He reminds him, though he suspects he hasn't thought much about what that might mean.

"I've seen you do much worse. That is how we met, after all."

Cloud has put all kinds of thought into what could be discovered about him, and long ago came to the conclusion that it was impossible to figure out the truth as long as Cloud kept his mouth shut. No one here knew enough even to guess at a single detail of it.

"You didn't really answer my question."

He reminds him.

"Please, don't feel at all obliged- it won't be convenient."

"Question?" He had to think for a bit. Then a bit more. Then he was a bit sheepish. "I'm not sure what question you're talking about. Try it again?"

"If you'd like to do this to me again one day?"

Glancing up at him, a certain uncertainty under the blankness.

Ah, an implied question, then? Cloud smiled.

"If we can time the quarantines around my performance schedule, then I'd be happy to slice you, whip you, and anything else you're in the mood for on a regular basis."

"I don't touch others and I don't share needles."

Sherlock assures him, quietly.

"However, I think that's a good idea."

"It's too bad that you saying so won't save me any trouble with getting medical clearance. Not a problem, though." Somehow he could speak glibly about the blood tests even though he really hated them.

"I think I need some time to compose myself before my flight."

He admits, glancing down.

"I'm enjoying your company, but-"

Cloud certainly wasn't going to hold him to the 'all yours for seven hours' promise. He smiled and leaned back against the headboard.

"It's fine. Just say the word and I'm gone. Well, and... move, so I can get up."

He has a decision to make, then, doesn't he? He looks at him a moment longer, then leans forward, tilting his head and giving Cloud's throat another soft kiss.

A sort of 'thank you' again.

The contact pleases Cloud quite well, as could be predicted. He closes his eyes and tips his head back a bit to make the angle more workable.

He takes his time with this one, fingertips brushing carefully over Cloud's throat, lips tracing, barely touching his skin. The faintest sound escapes the back of his throat, cautious appreciation and curiosity.

"Until next time."

"Yeah." Cloud will stay right where he is until Sherlock actually backs away, though. For all of his evidence pain tolerance, Cloud is quite sensitive to light touch.

He isn't moving yet. Ten seconds stretch on, thirty, and his teeth nip gently, testing, curious to see if the pinch will disrupt his stillness. With his height, he's half straddling him, bent a touch awkwardly, but it isn't worth unfreezing time to move.

He got a twitch and an amused playful tone in reply. "If you want me to stay a little longer, that's fine too... "

"Shh. Wait."

He isn't there yet. Ten more seconds, and then he pulls back, sitting up reluctantly, smoothing his rumpled hair down and composing himself visibly.

"All right. Until the next whipping, Cloud?"

"Whips next time? I'll be sure to pack some." True to his word, Cloud shifted to get up and make his way to the door with no further ado.

"I'll be in touch."

He informs him, watching him go. Although there will be some rather more expert stalking of his own before that happens.

He waits until the door shuts, then ten seconds to hear his footsteps leave before diving into action. Hair, skin samples where possible, looking up the names of the clinics in the area, starting to check in and hack databases for recent and upcoming appointments

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