Work Text:
It was only because Mr Gatiss was an old friend of Steve’s that Reece agreed to the damned thing — but once he was four minutes in, he regretted ever entering into this engagement.
His entire form ached with the desire to move. His fingers longed to tap out a jaunty rhythm on his knee like he was at the piano, and his legs itched to curl up like the exotic mimosa pudica of the West Indies.
The hardest part was not reacting to Steve’s hand digging into his shoulder.
Reece was perched on a chair like a demure woman of virtue, legs crossed and hands on his knees, spine perfectly straight and breathing as shallowly as he could. Steve was standing behind him, his solid presence both reassuring and menacing, one hand laid possessively over the muscle connecting Reece’s neck to his shoulder. It was a uniquely painful area, Steve’s fingers pressing through the fabric of Reece’s waistcoat and shirt, hurting tender and deep like a bruise.
The nature of the pose was clearly that of a husband and wife. Reece had narrowed his eyes when Steve had directed him into place with a knowing smirk on his face, already aroused by the easy way he was manhandled. Then there was the quiet threat of the revolver holstered at Steve’s hip, his other hand resting on the smooth leather and polished metal, warning him not to move or— well, or. Steve would never use it on Reece — for one, it would be a terrible waste of their precious silver bullets, because despite Steve’s jokes, Reece wasn’t actually a vampire — but he could not deny the allure of the possibility of the barrel pressed to his temple, beneath his jaw, in his mouth.
Reece hoped the camera wouldn’t capture his blush.