Strawberry Daiquiri

Chapter One

A/N: Thanks to Hobbit_Locked for being a fantastic beta! :)

Maybe coming out to the club with Harry wasn't such a bad idea, John thought mischievously as he locked eyes with the same curly-haired brunet he'd been admiring for the last fifteen minutes. A dark shirt clung to his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows and top three buttons undone. His black-clad legs bounced relentlessly, one foot perched on the barstool. God, the man was beautiful, and John could see it from across the bar. He would go up and start a conversation, but he held back.

Now, John was reasonably charming, reasonably attractive, and reasonably intelligent compared to some of the other blokes he spotted during his time at the club. He'd earned the nickname "Three-Continents Watson" for these very reasons. His peers claimed he could "shag your brains out" whilst "holding an unexpectedly intelligent conversation" and only smirk about it afterwards as he "makes you a delightful cuppa."

The only problem was that the man at the bar had waved off everyone who had had the audacity to approach him in the entire time John had been ogling him.

Well, there was that and the fact that his leave ended in less than a week.

At least John wouldn't be alone in his defeat when the man inevitably rejected him.

He downed the last of his second pint and swallowed thickly. This would lead nowhere, even if it did manage to go somewhere. Who'd want to stay with a bloke who'd just have to skive off to Afghanistan in another week?

John decided to go over anyway with a strange twisting in his gut assuring him that he would never forgive himself if he let the man go without even an attempt at getting to know him. He stood, wobbling only a little bit, and made his way to the beautiful man at the bar, shooting him a small smile every time those light eyes landed on his. As he stepped closer to the man, John realized that he'd been mistaken; the shirt wasn't black, but rich purple that contrasted beautifully off pale skin. A dark skull pendant rested between the folds of the man's shirt, laughing at John's rather sorry attempt at flirting.

"Hi, gorgeous," he said, all intelligent thought apparently deciding to take the night off.

The other man smiled into his glass before taking a dainty sip, then decided on setting the fruity drink on the counter. He turned his eyes towards John up close for the first time, and the shorter man was instantly lost in them. They were blue or green or yellow or silver, changing colors along with the lighting, dancing along with the pounding music of the club. Perhaps it was just the few pints swirling in his stomach.

"Oh, no, doctor, don't be boring," he said, his voice deep and rich and smooth, resonating in John's body along with the music of the club. John's knees nearly buckled at the sound. "I was so hoping you'd be exciting."

John smiled, a little put off but more intrigued than anything. "How'd you know I'm a doctor?"

The taller man smirked. God, John could get used to watching those lips - and that was a very bad idea. He'd only be in London for another week, he couldn't-

"It's almost painfully obvious," the taller man drawled, tracing the rim of his glass with a long finger. "Luckily for us, I'm a bit of a masochist." The man smiled as John's breath hitched. Of course the posh git would notice something as minute as a shuddery breath. "Tell me: Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John cocked his head. "Afghanistan. You know, I'm going to feel like a massive cock if we've met before."

"Oh, no," the man assured, smirking. "I'd remember someone like you."