bakerstreet | /CLINGS FOREVER

/CLINGS FOREVER

The Let's Fucking Cuddle Meme

action is fun and smut is nice and mysterious magical hijinks through space and time are the bomb diggity. and sometimes you just want to aggressively cuddle your friend/sibling/parent/pet/lover/acquaintance/this new person you are meeting now.

this meme is for just that: latching on and not letting go until that what/whoever has been cuddled.

how this works;
1. post your character with as much/little information as you want (name/series/preferences/whatever).
2. go to rng for a number for where and why the cuddles are happening. or just pick one.
3. respond to others.
4. cuddle. but like. really cuddle. no one is letting go until everyone is completely thoroughly cuddled.

a. where
1. by a heat source : because outside is cold but this fire/space heater/demon is warm and cozy and just right. winter is just getting started, okay.
2. away from a heat source : wow going out into the snow during a rainstorm a million miles from the nearest blanket was a poor choice--but wait. there's snuggles.
3. a private place : maybe you're watching a movie on the couch, maybe you're catching up on the newspaper in the breakfast nook, maybe it doesn't matter because whatever you're about to be cuddled.
4. a public place : cuddle time waits for no man or no "more appropriate" setting sometimes. out in a park, in an airport, in the middle of a food court--the time for snuggles is now and other people be damned.
5. somewhere else : if somehow a place which is unrelated to heat and/or neither in or outside. even in such a place there can still be cuddles.

b. why
1. the sleepies - it's been a long day and all you want to do is close your eyes for a bit. do this by claiming someone as a cuddle you can sleep on.
2. bad weather - heavy rain, thunder, blizzard, monsoon; these are things which ruin plans. luckily, they cannot ruin cuddles.
3. because surprise - is your buddy working too much and needs a distraction? are you being ignored when you need a hug? does the love just need to be spread? whatever it is, they won't see it coming until they're being snuggled.
4. activity conducive - maybe you're watching a movie or reading a book or squished together in a train car or dancing to the point of exhaustion or waiting in line for a thing. it's just super easy to change whatever you're doing into being a pile of cuddles. so do it.
5. so emotion very love - it's totally platonic but still totally overwhelming. the love you have for this person just needs to be expressed, and only a clinging of cuddles will do. hug them. hug them now and also forever.
6. jeepers creepers - was it a spider in the washroom, a ghost in the attic, a bad dream, a figment of your imagination, an actual serial killer? probably all. probably a nightmare ghost spider serial killer breaking out of your imagination. clinging to someone might fix it.
7. there, there, little friend - sick in bed, just been dumped or having some other sort of crappy day, you need someone to wrap their arms around you and make everything go away.
8. that other thing - whatever, you do what you want. you go, cuddle friend. you do your thing.

lovingly squished together out of these memes and cuddled together.

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[For all his fighting it, Petre really had no choice in the end. He couldn't flee, and staff were going to find him eventually, and he was going to receive medical care. John got absolutely lambasted for attempting it himself at all, essentially making their job harder - particularly when Dr. Grey searched Petre's mind and found his ability to impel gone - but not punished. On some level, everyone understood.

Well, nearly. Ryan doesn't understand why Petre is still here, why John kept him hidden for that night, or why Petre is staying in their old room while he recuperates. He's a mess of nervous energy, suspicion and fear and hints of jealousy leaking out everywhere. But John just insists that he's no longer a threat, he's a pathetic mess above everything else, and that imagined bond that used to play so horribly with John's mind now keeps Petre in line. It only has power over Petre now.

That's - not entirely true.

There are nights when Petre wakes up screaming, some memory of the attack that brought him here rising up in his subconscious while it's too vulnerable to fight back, and John feels a very genuine tugging in his heart. It's not like anyone can act deliberately, manipulatively, in their sleep. Knowing that Petre can feel real fear has wrought a change in John's mental construct of him that none of his games ever could've, and it's weakening him more and more with every nightmare.

At last, he can't take it any longer. Petre's wounds are healed to the point where he can be move without such awful pain, and he's already tossing and turning, obviously caught in another one. Instead of waiting for the screaming to come, John just gets up and climbs into Petre's bed, curling against him and holding him as tightly as the remnants of pain will allow.]

[John comes to him before he gets the chance to scream, but it's exactly when he feels those arms around him that it starts. A cry that's both of pain and panic, urging him no, let me go, flailing and kicking his legs before he jerks and inches up his shoulders, curling into himself with hands in fists, hiding his face against tears that roll down his cheeks.

He wakes up with a sob. Eying the darkness in a blur, realizing that it wasn't just a dream - he really is constricted. Alarm shoots a shiver down his spine and he begins another struggle, wailing all over again.]

No! I don't want to die!

Petre. [An urgent whisper as John just holds him tighter, pressing his nose into the back of Petre's neck just for a point of contact that's obviously not threatening.] Petre. You're fine. Everything's fine.

[God, he's actually crying. This is not what John signed up for. Breathing a little shakily, he loosens his hold to run a warm hand up and down Petre's arm. All in the interest of soothing, that's it.]

You're fine. You're not gonna die.

[petre seems to wake up a second time when he hears John's voice - not exactly enough to bring him down completely, just to make him stop struggling, chest still heaving with the loud remnants of panic. He doesn't feel safe. He probably will never feel safe again.]

I - I can't breathe -

[How the tables have turned. John learned exactly how to deal with that panicked tightness in his chest because of Petre and how trapped and powerless the other boy would make him feel. The thought makes bile rise in his throat again, for the first time in awhile, but he just keeps stroking Petre's arm and whispering softly.]

Yeah, you can. Just do it slow. In as far as as you can, out as long as you can. Keep doing that until it loosens up.

[Petre doesn't seem to listen at first, still exhaling unsteadily and trying as hard as he can to take some air back into his lungs. It isn't working. Instead of breathing he sobs and gasps, flashes of people's faces taking pleasure off of his destruction. They tried to kill him. He once made them love him and as soon as it wore off they turned around and wanted to rip him apart. They were monsters. His monsters. He made them that way.

But eventually John's words make it to his head, and the exercise begins. In as far as he can, out as long as he can. It's more than just a few minutes before he finally comes down, chest still heaving with every precious breath.]

[It can definitely be a long, arduous process, coming down from that kind of fear. John knows all too well. But he waits it out with Petre, a warm and solid presence behind him, whispering comfort until Petre still at least a little. Was this a worse dream than usual? Or did John make it worse by being here, causing him to wake up with unfamiliar sensations all around him?

(He assumes they're unfamiliar. It's not like he imagines Petre ever having someone to stay after fucking them, ever, not anywhere he's been.)

There we go. Now the deep breaths are starting to even out. Maybe it'd be better if he just left, allowed Petre to drift back to sleep now that he's calmed down, since he reacted so violently to the initial contact... he's unsure, but he draws his hand back, starts to prop himself up to climb out of the bed.]

[Soon as John begins to move, Petre's hand reaches back for his wrist, still lingering at his side. It isn't a brusque movement as much as it's just abrupt - urgent, even.]

Don't.

[His presence was warm, yes. Comforting. But Petre has calmed down enough to realize what it meant despite everything that's happened, despite all the reasons Petre's given him to never give him his time or attention, let alone his help. He isn't going to just let that go. He still wants him. He hasn't told John. Hasn't made any new play to make that evident. Maybe now is the time to change that.]

Stay.

Welcome back. [There's something a little wry in his tone, something he can't keep out at the two blunt demands, but he does stop moving. After such an incredible display of raw panic, he just can't imagine Petre having shifted gears quickly enough to have anything else in mind.

He never learns. Ever. And probably never will.]

You're alright, man. Still here, still alive. [Don't need me in your bed anymore.]

[Petre doesn't openly insist, but he doesn't let go either. Instead he lingers in the silence, parts his lips and shuts them again like he's suddenly at a loss for words. That never happens, not really.]

You helped me.

[He moves again, but only to prop himself right up on an elbow and look down at Petre. The arm stays in place, hand still in Petre's grip.

And then he lets out a weary little sigh.]

You scream and cry in the middle of the night. Anyone can only take so much of that shit, okay?

Don't tell me you didn't care.

[Even now. Especially now. Petre is vulnerable, after all. He's at everyone's mercy.]

[He clenches his jaw, teeth grinding. That's the sign. The signal that it's time to go.

He doesn't go.]

Don't make me say things you always knew. It's never changed anything, and it doesn't now.

Nothing changed.

[And Petre takes more from those words than John intended. Once again he's trying to see right through him, even after all the time they spent apart and John had the chance to grow without Petre clipping his wings.

He brings John's hand closer to his chest, lowers his head to relax it against the pillow, back still turned to him.]

They changed for me.

What are you talking about?

[Now he does try to pull his hand away, but it's really a token gesture; whether or not it was initially a trap, it's now sprung and has him trapped him right where he is. Much, much closer than he ever should've let himself get and held in thrall by the contact he never allowed himself before.

Fooled by a moment of weakness. It's certainly true that some things haven't changed.]

You wouldn't believe me.

[And he only curls his fingers a little tighter around John's hand, intertwining theirs together. Don't go.]

It meant nothing in the end. All the power I had.

[Voice quiet, words paced by period of silence. Don't go.]

They turned around and tried to kill me. I thought I was going to die. Just lie down and bleed to death. That's how they wanted me.

All I could think about was you.

[He huffs out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself against those words. Petre still knows exactly the right language to use, right down to the turns of phrase. It's John who's supposed to have changed, gotten stronger, gotten better, and he still feels himself weakening.]

This all sounds really, really familiar. [His last move is to turn that fact against Petre, use it as evidence.] You couldn't come up with a new tactic in all that time you were thinking of me?

[He's quiet, but he doesn't stir or strike back.]

I told you you wouldn't believe me.

[And with that he releases a soft exhale.]

It's all right. As long as you stay.

[Everything about that infuriates him. Forgiving him for an apology he didn't, and never would, make. And with a condition, at that.

There's no good reason for him to stay. Petre's calm now. More than that, he's in fine manipulative form. If anything, there are a million reasons to leave.

But all John can do is hate himself a little bit as he shifts down off his elbow to lie flat on his side again, arm still around Petre, face still close enough to his neck for each breath to whisper softly against it simply because the bed demands such proximity.

It's not you I don't trust, Ryan said once, during one of his nervous fits about Petre still being here. It should've been.]

[John doesn't see it, but being felt relaxing down against Petre's back brings a smile to his lips. It's soft, maybe not even self-satisfied. Just content with this arrangement.

He said what he said, but he's absolutely sure that John does believe him. Or wants to. He's always craved what Petre wants to give him; he just fears the conditions that come with it too much. But Petre's vulnerable now. He's weak. And so he's ready to make the other boy believe he's finally safe.

Time passes, silence and stillness lingers on. Petre almost allows them to just fall asleep like this, but he's never been known for keeping things that simple. So he leans down, brings John's hand up, and plants a kiss on his knuckles.]

[John's very close to asleep, so close that the kiss just brings a soft murmur to his lips and makes him shift a bit closer at first; the total wrongness of the body he shifts closer to wakes him up, though, and he quickly wriggles back as far as he can again. There's another tug with his entrapped hand, harder this time.]

Don't do that.

[Don't do that. But he wants to do so much more. Turn and lean in toward John's lips. Press their bodies together, put his hand between his legs, wrap his fingers and stroke him until he's hard and whimpering into his mouth. The thought alone sends a rush down his navel, makes him think beyond the fantasy and those same wants that never go away, no matter how down and out people think he is. The only constant about Petre is that he's twisted and selfish.

He can't feel anything. He's said that before. All he's got is pleasure and pain, desire and loathing.]

I wanted to.

You think I care? Don't.

[He withdraws his arm, awkwardly shifts around to face away from Petre, their backs pressed together and one of his arms hanging right off the edge of the bed. It won't be enough, nothing will be enough, but he's still not giving in that easily.

Part of him knows that this is where it's all going to fall apart. It's going to happen tonight. The inevitability is stifling, but he still can't fight it - this has dragged on so long, through so much, and he just wants it to end. He wants the tension to break so that he can breathe again, not the near-relaxation he felt while Petre was gone but real freedom.

Still, he won't give in that easily. Petre deserves to work for it.]

[Petre doesn't let him get away for too long. It's enough that he even stays on the same bed, that he doesn't just storm out and away, back to his side of the room to establish distance between them. Instead he's still here, back touching his up until the moment it's Petre who turns around and puts an arm around his waist, slides his hand carefully to wrap him in an embrace, nuzzling the back of his neck. They're all slow movements, almost as though he's actually giving John enough space and time to say no and refuse him if he wants to.

He won't.]

You're still warm. Like... [A beat. He inhales quietly.] Burnt oak. Just like I remember.

[Yes, he knew this was coming, and it just makes him let out a long, shuddering sigh. There's something so sweet about Petre's nose pressed into the nape of his neck, such a lie but so sweet, and they fit together alarmingly well compared to the way Ryan's gangly body just surrounds and envelops him. This feels more like dovetail joints sliding together.]

Don't do this. [Now his voice is strained, ready to shatter rather than snap like usual.] If it has to happen, for fuck's sake, don't lie through this one thing.

3/6

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