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John and Lestrade had already had a few too many playing “Never have I ever” by the time Mycroft and Sherlock came up the stairs to the flat. The two brothers stopped at the door and listened.
“Never have I ever been ice skating.” Gregory challenged not drinking. John took his shot.
“Never have I ever kissed a man before my husband.” John held up his shot and laughed at Greg, who took a shot, poured another, took that and a third.
“You know the point of this is to not get drunk right?” John laughed as he brought his shot glass to his lip and downed it.
“Wait! What? WHAT!” Greg gasped in realization, “I thought Sherlock was your only one.”
“It was the last time I went ice skating before the Army. It reminded me that I have kissed a male other than Sherlock.” John idly lowered his hand as he smiled in memory.
“When? What was his name?” Greg leaned forward in excited curiosity.
“I was a kid, not even sixteen yet, I think... I... I never got his name.” John blushed.
“You’re blushing! You dog! Oh, now you have to tell!” Greg punched him playfully on the arm. “Spill mate!”
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2am. The lodge was quiet. Peaceful. Lonely. Just the way he wanted it.
John Watson sat in a corner of the lounge in the near dark. The only light in the room was from the fireplace, but the light barely made it to the deep corner he sat in and the dark clothing he wore helped. By all accounts it should have been a calming relaxing environment and it would have been…had he wanted to be there.
He most certainly did not want to be there.
It was his sister Harriet’s idea. Their father died five years ago. Their mother didn’t take it well at all. She did not completely fall apart, but she was not quite there either. Harriet, all of twelve years old, became the nine year old John’s de facto parent while their mother struggled. It was a rough few years before Anne Marie Watson was able to step up to the plate as their mother again, but the damage was done. Now she tried to overcompensate for the years missed and this was one of the ways. It was Harriet’s eighteenth birthday and she wanted to go the ski lodge as a present. Harriet was legally an adult for all of one day when she arrived. Technically she was responsible for her own actions, but the only way their mother would foot the bill is if she took John along and they had to share a room.
John knew it was their mother’s hope that by forcing him to come along Harry would not be with a girl. Harriet's coming out as a lesbian was a huge problem for the newly religious Anne Marie. Harry had quickly agreed knowing one: John would never rat out what they both knew was going to be atrocious behavior from her, two: John knew how to make himself scarce and three: to make Anne Marie’s golden boy, who could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes, suffer.
The other problem was that in booking a room for Harriet and John Watson the lodge had assumed a married couple, not siblings, and certainly not siblings who otherwise wanted nothing to do with each other. Unfortunately, the hotel was overbooked. There were no extra cots available and a room with separate beds would not be ready for three nights. This was the third. The girl Harry met had come with her parents; there was no way Harry could go to her room to shag her. Because it was Harriet’s birthday gift after all, John let her have the room at night. Tomorrow he would have his own bed and she could sod off.
But tonight he was sitting in the dark lounge of lodge, having a miserable time in the middle of the night, while Harry had a wonderful time in the middle of the night with the girl she met two nights ago. Carrie? Karen? Clara, yes, that was it Clara.
It was a mixed thing. Something about Clara calmed his wild, borderline alcoholic sister. She hadn’t been nearly as bad as she could have been, as he had honestly expected her to be. If Clara’s influence kept his sister from engaging in behavior that could potentially get them kicked out of the ski lodge, a crick in his neck would be worth it.
The ski lodge had massive picture windows that faced the slopes and a small lake. The ski slopes were dark and closed until morning, but there were safety lights around the lake. Mostly to keep the unsuspecting, read inebriated, guest from falling into the lake on nights when it was not quite frozen solid all the way across as one would think this time of year. John had idly noticed a lone figure out on the lake gliding around. There was something easy and elegant in the skater’s moves. He made the occasional jumps, leaps or twists that showed he knew what he was doing, but mostly he just glided.
Bored and knowing he was not going to sleep anytime soon, John put on his anorak, check for his room keys, grabbed his own skates, went out and sat on the bench for a while. The teen skating looked slightly annoyed at having an active audience, but when John just sat quiet and watched, he ignored him.
Closer to the skater now, John could see he was attractive. All long limbs and grace, he was a pale complexioned, navy and royal blue clad streak against the dark white ice of the lake and the snow covered foliage. He wore ear cuffs, but no hat. His slightly longish dark curls occasionally floated from his head in smooth movements that almost looked as though his hair was underwater.
After a while John made his way onto the ice himself. He made a point of staying opposite of the other skater, just gliding in an idle circle. It was surprisingly relaxing, the slick ice below, and a billion stars in the crystalline clear night above. He let his mind and body drift, either going where it wanted. He had no idea how long he did such, it just felt good, so good. It came as a shock to suddenly find himself jolted still.
“Oh, sorry! Sorry! I…” John had automatically started to apologize thinking his idle skating had caused him to collide into the other skater. Then he realized the skater stood in front of him and held him firmly by the upper arms. John found himself trapped in eyes so pale that there was little difference between the iris and the eyeball itself, beyond the pupils’ dilated dark depths.
“Careful, you were headed into the not so safe zone.” A smooth mellifluous baritone floated over him. John idly noted they were indeed close to the demarcation of what was safe. “It’s beautiful out here I know, but never let your mind drift away so much that your body drifts away as well.”
Even as he spoke he had smoothly skated backwards and pulled John with him to safer footing.
“Thanks mate.” John cleared his throat as he finally found his voice and his mobility. He placed his hands on the skater’s arms, as the skater dropped his hands and stopped their motion. “It really is beautiful out here, I did drift out. Kind of wished I had a rink under stars nearby my home so I could do this more.”
It took a moment to realize they had inversed their positions. He noticed then, the skater wore earbuds. It felt right somehow to take an earbud from him and hold it to his own ear. His head canted slightly as he recognized the music. He knew it well. He placed the earbud back in the skater’s ear. John slid a hand down what felt like a slim, but muscled arm under the heavy outerwear until he held the gloved hand in his and simply started moving. A surprised dark eyebrow shot up, but he followed. He was tense at first until he realized John had the music in his head. Then he relaxed into John’s lead. It was not long piece and at the end John finished in the same position he started.
“Right hip Labral Tear?” John asked curiously.
“That’s very specific. Burgeoning doctor I take it?”
“Sorry didn’t mean to pry; it just came to me watching how you moved. How you favored it. You don’t have to answer.”
“No, you’re correct. Collision with another skater. It was bad, required surgery. By the time I healed fully I was no longer interested in skating professionally.”
John had never questioned his sexuality before. He was going dismiss everything within twenty-four hours, but right then and there he questioned nothing. It just felt right to lean up and place his lips upon the soft cupid bow lips in front of him. It felt even more so when those lips hesitated for a moment before they softly returned the kiss and then sought out more. It felt right to lean his head upon the shoulder in front of him. Soft hair and a smooth face rested against his and the two simply kissed and ice danced in place.
Eventually the skater pulled away, “I need to get upstairs before my arse of a big brother comes looking for me and reads me the riot act.”
“Yeah, I hope my roommate has the sock off the door. I’m feeling knackered myself.”
“If not, the upstairs lounge doesn’t open until 10. It’s locked, but it’s easy to jimmy and not alarmed.”
John simply nodded and let him go without looking back. It wasn’t until much later he realized they never exchanged names.
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On the landing Sherlock gasped and entered the room.
“You’re kidding!” Mycroft entered behind him.
“Hey Sherlock! Hey Mycro… What the bloody hell?” Greg stood to greet his own husband as Sherlock climbed onto the chair John sat in and kissed him soundly.
“I’ll explain. I do not want to be witness to the sentimental display that is about to unfold.” Mycroft helped his husband up and out as the two in the chair continued kissing oblivious to their departure.
“Well hello, love! Um, not complaining, but what’s that for?” John grinned when they came up for air. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock.
Sherlock answered his husband with a date, a place and a time.
Being inebriated it took John a few moments; then he gasped as he got it.
“That was you! Really? So you are literally the only male I have ever kissed! Yes!” John laughed delighted.
“I was thirteen. I looked at my watch when I skated away from you because I wanted to know the exact moment of… of m-my...” Sherlock stuttered and turned his head.
“Sherlock..?” John pulled his husband’s blushing face to him gently.
“You know you’re not the only male I’ve ever kissed, John.” Sherlock said baldly.
John nodded, he knew that.
Sherlock leveled a warm gaze on the man holding him.
“But now I know…you were the first.”