Work Text:
Through the thick, choking smog of Victorian London a young woman ran with difficulty along the pavement, every few moments turning her head to look behind her, to see if her attacker was still following. Her eyes were wide with fear, blood leaking from a small wound in her forehead where she’d tripped and cut herself on the rough ground. The dark figure was gaining on her and suddenly she reached the end of a blocked alley and there was nowhere left to run. She was trapped. And out of the darkness a tall form emerged, clock swirling around him, the steel tip of his cane tapping on the cobbled stones. He approached without mercy, raising his hand as the glint of a blade caught in the dim light of the gas street lamp.,,,
"Too much bloody smoke!"
From where he lay, flat out on the edge of the stage, Jonathan threw a wadded ball of notepad paper at the technical crew standing chatting at the side of the stage.
Magician and beautiful female assistant both groaned their frustration as once again their dry-run of the new 'Jack The Ripper' illusion was aborted.
Feeling quite the part as the serial killer in the new outfit the theatre’s wardrobe mistress had found for him, Adam strode over to his consultant to kick Jonathan's hip with the toecap of his shoe.
"Ow!" Rubbing his hip, Jonathan scowled up at him.
Dropping into a crouch, Adam rested the very real blade of the knife over Jonathan’s stomach, watching the stage lighting reflect off the steel with a fascination that may have been considered to be bordering on unhealthy.
"Would you like to tell me what exactly is up with you today?"
Jonathan pulled a face and turned his head away. "Nothing. It’s just this trick could be really dangerous if you can’t see to switch the blade out. Speaking of which..." he pushed the knife delicately away from his body, ‘...do you mind being careful with that?”
"Something’s up. You've been lying there correcting every little detail for three hours. This is the eighth time we’ve started this routine.”
"That's what you pay me for, Adam! If the details aren't perfect the trick won't work. Worse, someone could get hurt."
"That's no reason to take the heads off the majority of my staff."
Jonathan muttered something inaudible, clearly not wanting to have this conversation, and sat up, swinging his legs off the stage and dropping to the floor, heading for the back of the auditorium. Not amused, Adam shrugged off the cloak and followed him.
Leaning back against the door of the gents, Adam did a quick visual sweep of the stalls, checking they were alone before he started anything. Jonathan was sitting with his ass against the edge of the plastic surface into which the washbasins were set.
"What's all this about, Jonathan?"
"Nothing, I told you. Go back to the rehearsal."
But Adam shook his head. They weren’t likely to be disturbed. The toilets had obviously been cleaned recently – you didn’t have to be Jonathan Creek to work that out – and his staff and crew used the ones backstage. Slowly he approached Jonathan, moving to stand directly in front of him.
“Adam....”
"Ssh." Gently, slowly, he touched his lips to Jonathan's neck, kissing a light path down into the collar of his shirt.
Jonathan's hands came up to grip his shoulders and he felt a flush of triumph when rather than push him away, he held him in place, his heartbeat speeding up, breathing becoming more rapid. "Adam... here?"
“Here.”
Adam went to work on the buttons of Jonathan’s, trailing his thumbs over his smooth chest, catching his nipples with his nails. Jonathan moaned, making a valiant attempt to swallow the sound while he tried desperately to find skin under the heavy black jacket and white shirt that turned red wherever the heat of his hands touched it.
Adam roamed his neck and shoulders with his mouth, pushing his shirt half-way down his arms and dropping to tongue those oh-so-tempting nipples. Jonathan finally gave up with the top half and successfully got one hand down the waistband of the black trousers, fingertips brushing the tip of Adam’s erection almost by accident. A low groan broke free of Adam's throat and he returned the favour, all the time licking and biting at Jonathan’s nipples until it became too difficult to multi-task and he stood up straight, claiming Jonathan’s mouth in a fierce kiss while their frantic hands hurriedly drove one another to almost simultaneous orgasms; Jonathan's climax triggering Adam's.
Cleaned up and redressed in an attempt to make themselves appear as if they hadn't just had sex in the Gents, they stole a final kiss from each other before composing themselves and stepping out into the foyer. There was no one around.
Through the thick smog of Victorian London a young woman ran along the pavement, turning her head to see if her attacker was still following. The dark figure was gaining on her and suddenly she reached the end of a blocked alley and there was nowhere left to run. And out of the darkness a tall form emerged, clock swirling around him, the steel tip of his cane tapping on the cobbled stones. He approached without mercy, tripped over his creative consultant who was lying at the edge of the stage and fell on his cane, snapping it in two.
“Perhaps a little too much smoke?” Jonathan suggested. Not that he cared.