favoritelittlelyrics:

Blink 182, “I’m Lost Without You”

favoritelittlelyrics:

Blink 182, “I’m Lost Without You”

Anonymous sent: Confess. -J

You. Pretty much everything you do.

Playing soldier.

cocaine-cigarettes:

Hamish catches the movement and reaches over to slap James hand away. “Ah ah, you’re being punished, remember?” There’s a note to his voice that, unlike the physical changes, is more obvious. It swings like he’s singing, but with an undertone of something less pleasant. “You are not to order me around, Private. It seems someone needs to learn his place.”

A low, barely suppressed whine, and he nods slowly, lust-blown pupils still trained on Hamish’s face. “Yes, sir,” he breathes, even as the words and the thoughts and the weight behind this altered voice curl into his stomach and render him even more impossibly aroused than he had been before. Christ.

Hamish circled around hum, much like predator examining prey, one finger trailing along the waistband of the jeans. “Nice jeans,” he purrs, coming to stop in front of him again, finger hooking into the waistband. “Lose them.”

Amnesia. | James & Hamish

cocaine-cigarettes:

James startles palpably at the sound of the voice interrupting his thoughts, his slow and careful self-revelation, and his eyes lift to a face that he should know, but doesn’t. Glimmer of confusion, and he steps forward, awkwardly lifting a hand as though to touch Hamish’s face - maybe just to see if he’s real - and then drops it again, leaving the personal barrier uncrossed.

“I don’t - I…et’s all…’m no’…” He’s not making any sense, and so he trails off, feeling his way to sit on the edge of the bed. “I - I don’t remember any o’…this.”

Hamish stays where he is, eyes never leaving James’. “You don’t remember what happened?” Not helpful. He couldn’t exactly help if he didn’t know what happened. Or…or did he mean… “Or do you mean you don’t remember your flat? What don’t you remember?” Worry and concern flushed out every bit of anger he’d felt this morning. Slowly, so as not to startle him again, Hamish steps towards him, stopping to kneel in front of him.

Not My Time || End Of Cancer M!A || Hamish & James

cocaine-cigarettes:

All eyes are on James, and for a few moments, the room is completely silent. Hamish’s shock comes from James’ confession. John’s comes from James having stood up to him and spoken in such a manner. Sherlock is simply quiet, his eyes cold and calculating. John is the first to break the silence.

“I don’t care who you think you are, but you will not-“

Shut up!” Hamish is giving his dad the coldest glare he can muster, ignoring the look it gets him in return. “Just…just this once, shut up and let me have this. I don’t want to fight, not here, not now. I don’t want to leave like that.” He takes a shaky breath, trying to even his breathing out. “I need you, Dad. I need you here right now. B-but I need James, too. Don’t make me choose.”

“Hamish.” And this time, it’s Sherlock that speaks up, eyes still trained on James. “I’m afraid your dad is right on this one.” 

“An’ you,” he says more quietly, rounding now on Sherlock, matching him stare for stare, muscles tensed and quivering in some mix of rage and recognition. This is the jaguar-man he’s had so many nightmares about - and why? What does he have to do with anything? He’s just an obstruction, just another stupid person in the way. Not that he’s stupid. James can tell that, knows it like he knows his own bone structure, knows it inherently. “Ye would interfere wit’ yer son’s happiness, in t’is moment, jus’ because ye can’t stand me. Ye know who an’ what I am, clearly, ‘r ye wouldn’ protest so bloody much. ‘R is et tha’ ye like me too much?” For the briefest of instants, a wicked grin flitted across his face, and promptly disappeared with a sigh and change of demeanour. “Look. I don’t want tae fight any more than you do. A lo’ o’th’things ye t’ink about me, ye’re probably right. An’ maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe Hamish deserves better. Bu’ I made a promise, t’stand by him, th’wolf an’ his boy tae th’last. Ye have yer opinions an’ yer reasons, an’ I respect tha’. Bu’ ‘m no’ goin’ tae back down from somet’in’ I promised t’th’only person ‘ve ever been able t’love. I made a promise. Le’ me keep et. Le’ me have…one good deed. Et’s all I ask. One good deed, an’…I’m gone.” And then, there, his core shook with the truth and weight of what he had just said - because yes, when Hamish died his reason for being would die, and what then? He’d survive, he’d have to, but he wouldn’t be himself, any longer. I am James Moriarty, and I am gone.

"I don’t care what promise you’ve made," John growls, stepping close. "I don’t want you near my son. You-"

Stop it!" Hamish’s shout has all three of them looking at him. "Stop fighting, all of you! I can make my own decisions, and I want James to stay. I can-" His argument is cut off by a hard cough, one that leads into another and another until he’s coughing instead of breathing. Panic taking a hold of him, he tightens his grip on James’ hand, pulling himself into a seated position in an attempt to make it easier. John rushes to the other side of the bed, slapping the call button before taking Hamish’s other hand. 

(Source: imnotmyfather)

Amnesia. | James & Hamish

cocaine-cigarettes:

Despite how upset he was at the entirety of this situation, after sending the last text, Hamish slides off the bed and pads down stairs. He doesn’t bother grabbing something to eat, simply slipping his shoes on and sliding out the door. Something was wrong with James and he needed to figure it out. He’s not quite halfway there when he gets the next text from James.

So, he was in his own flat, and didn’t recognize it? Didn’t remember getting back from where ever he’d been? As the worry hits him, he picks up his speed. 

[text] I’m on my way. -H

[text] Arright. -JM.

But it isn’t. It’s anything but ‘arright.’ It isn’t, but he tries to make it so, or pretend that it is. Learning, or relearning, his surroundings might be a good idea, yes? So he does, exploring with hands and palms and fingertips, groping like the proverbial blind man who’s afraid of the dark. Mirror, first, cool, dark wood, edges raised but smooth under his fingers. Wall, then, standard white wallpaper, nothing of any particular interest, but for…what’s that? A rusty-looking, reddish-brown drop or three. Blood? Why? How? He doesn’t know, and so he shoves the questions away. 

From wall to bookshelf, and what lies there? Poetry - Poe, Donne, Shakespeare, Eliot; notebooks, full of his own handwriting in words he doesn’t recall, words telling strange stories of wolves and princes and poisoned knights; a Bible; and textbooks, complete with Oxford stamp. Right, of course. The school, he remembers that - but then why is he not in his dorm room? When did he move out to this place? Blank, again. Well. Maybe this H character can shed a little light on the cobwebbed corners of his mind. From bookshelf back to bed, working to grow used to longer limbs that still feel so terribly clumsy and disproportionate for his self-vision.

Hamish is at the door in just minutes, knocking once before just walking in. “James?” Not in the living room or kitchen, he can see that from the doorway. His eyes roam the room anyway, looking for something out of place, a clue as to what happened last night to make James…forget. Nothing seems wrong from what he can see, so he moves slowly towards the bedroom. The door’s open as he approaches it, so he steps in and pauses. James is moving around slowly, as if his body were new to him.

"James? James, what’s wrong?" He steps inside, then, and walks up to him, stopping just within arms reach, but keeping his hands to himself.

Not My Time || End Of Cancer M!A || Hamish & James

cocaine-cigarettes:

Oh. A challenge. Stupid. God, so stupid. They know who and what he is, clearly, they know he’s trouble - and yet the idiot has decided to threaten him? Christ. James doesn’t let go of Hamish’s hand, but he does rise to his feet, eyes narrow and dark with bitterness, and in his flash of anger his accent thickens conspicuously. 

“I t’ink, Captain Watson, tha’ et’s yer son’s decision, an’ ye shouldnae be able tae speak fer him. Hamish wants me here, an’ I have been thar tae protect him when ye weren’t. Don’t take yer guilt out on me because ye couldnae look after yer own flesh an’ blood.”

He sighs heavily, though it sounds more like a growl in the recesses of his throat, and pushes his shoulders back. “Ye can t’ink whatever th’bloody hell ye want o’me. Ye can call me names, insult me honour. Ye can do whatever ye like t’me. Bu’ I - I love Hamish. From th’bottom o’me black little heart. An’ not’in’ ye ‘r any other fekkin’ idio’ has tae say t’me will change tha’.”

All eyes are on James, and for a few moments, the room is completely silent. Hamish’s shock comes from James’ confession. John’s comes from James having stood up to him and spoken in such a manner. Sherlock is simply quiet, his eyes cold and calculating. John is the first to break the silence.

"I don’t care who you think you are, but you will not-"

Shut up!" Hamish is giving his dad the coldest glare he can muster, ignoring the look it gets him in return. "Just…just this once, shut up and let me have this. I don’t want to fight, not here, not now. I don’t want to leave like that." He takes a shaky breath, trying to even his breathing out. "I need you, Dad. I need you here right now. B-but I need James, too. Don’t make me choose."

"Hamish." And this time, it’s Sherlock that speaks up, eyes still trained on James. "I’m afraid your dad is right on this one." 

(Source: imnotmyfather)

Not My Time || End Of Cancer M!A || Hamish & James

cocaine-cigarettes:

James settles himself in the chair and Hamish can see he’s just as afraid of this. Quietly, he reaches his hand towards James, eyes searching his face. This isn’t how he wanted to do this. This isn’t how he wanted his parents to find out. Sure, they knew Hamish spend more time with him than they’d like, but that’s all they’d let on to. But he needed James, needed the closeness and the comfort in this way. James’ presence too away some of the fear and worry. They could understand that, right? I suppose I’ll find out now he thinks as he hears the door click open.

James takes Hamish’s hand, but tentatively, and both their hands are cold. A shiver runs down his spine involuntarily when the door opens, and he forces his back to straighten, eyes betraying no sense of his fear. He can look brave, right? Devil-may-care. Just…don’t say anything too stupid. Yes, he can do that.

John and Sherlock walk in and Hamish tightens his grip on James’ hand. At first, they don’t notice. John’s saying something to him, and he doesn’t quite catch it through the pounding in his ears. But, his dad looks up at him, and gives him that look that shows just how upsethurtdisappointedangry he is. 

"Hamish, what the hell is he doing here?" John takes a step forward but is stopped by Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. Sherlock, however, says nothing, his eyes saying it all.

"Dad, please. I-I need him here-"

"No. I want him out. Now.” He refuses to look at or even address James personally, too angry to admit the boy was actually there. 

(Source: imnotmyfather)

Not My Time || End Of Cancer M!A || Hamish & James

cocaine-cigarettes:


“No!” The word counts out with more force and volume than he meant, but the thought of James leaving terrified him. His fingers twist into the fabric of James’ shirt so tight his knuckles are going white “Just…O-off the bed, that won’t help. I…” Hamish lets out a small whine. “Fuck. You can’t leave. Okay? I-I don’t care what they say. Don’t leave me, please.”

James swallows hard and nods his assent, shifting himself off the bed and onto the chair next to it, where his fingers knot anxiously in his lap. “Arright, arright, I’m stayin’,” he breathes, but his throat is tight around the words. Christ. Facing Hamish’s parents is really the last thing he wants to do, right now. Or ever. Do they know…what he is? Probably not, or they’d have put a stop to the relationship altogether. He knows they don’t approve, though, that much is obvious.

James settles himself in the chair and Hamish can see he’s just as afraid of this. Quietly, he reaches his hand towards James, eyes searching his face. This isn’t how he wanted to do this. This isn’t how he wanted his parents to find out. Sure, they knew Hamish spend more time with him than they’d like, but that’s all they’d let on to. But he needed James, needed the closeness and the comfort in this way. James’ presence too away some of the fear and worry. They could understand that, right? I suppose I’ll find out now he thinks as he hears the door click open.

(Source: imnotmyfather)

Not My Time || End Of Cancer M!A || Hamish & James

cocaine-cigarettes:

imnotmyfather:

Hamish blinked his eyes open and paused. When had they fallen asleep? What time was it? He grabs his phone, checks the time, and sits up rather quickly. “James.” He shoves the sleeping figure’s shoulder rather roughly. “James, get up! My parents are coming!” Stupid lazy bastard wouldn’t wake up, and his parents were going to be there any minute. They’d kill him for this, cancer or not. With a small whine, he smacks at James’ arm. “Get up, you lazy arse!”

James stirs awake slowly, grumbling quietly to himself, and then startles when he processes Hamish’s words. “Shit,” he hisses, and pulls himself to a seated position. “Shit,” he repeats, and pushes his fingers through his hair in the hopes of getting it to look vaguely presentable. “Should I - should I go?”

"No!" The word counts out with more force and volume than he meant, but the thought of James leaving terrified him. His fingers twist into the fabric of James’ shirt so tight his knuckles are going white "Just…O-off the bed, that won’t help. I…" Hamish lets out a small whine. "Fuck. You can’t leave. Okay? I-I don’t care what they say. Don’t leave me, please."