Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just see what they could be.

Chapter 1

"This is just sex you know, Detective Bell."

Holmes delivered the line in his usual clipped tones from where he sat on the end of the bed, turning to glance at Bell briefly over his shoulder. He had just pulled on his trousers and as he bent over to retrieve his socks, the open band revealed the red that trailed down his back and disappeared into his boxers.

"OK."

Bell paused, watching Holmes with raised eyebrow from where he lay naked across the bed, arms around the pillow under his chin.

"Why do feel the need to say that right now, man? It's been a…..memorable night. Why don't we just leave it at that?"

"Because I can't help but notice the supposedly adoring puppy dog looks you've been casting my way all night and I feel it imperative to let you know I don't appreciate it. I don't engage you with any intention of becoming…. entangled, in a love plot. I don't do love."

Holmes moved about the bedroom retrieving his clothes.

"However our rendezvous, though not,trysts, do serve a useful purpose and it would be some inconvenience to end them."

"OK." said Bell with little emphasis, noting with a slight smirk every blush and bruise, every long welt on Holmes body as he found and donned his dress shirt, tie and jacket, gave a final scrub to his shower-dampened hair and dispose of the towel in shower. Holmes finally stood before Bell clothed down to his socks, fingers flexing as he stood ramrod straight at the side of the bed.

"I'm going to get my shoes now. Are you coming?" Holmes raised an inquisitive brow at Bell, who didn't stir from his spot on the bed or change his amused expression.

"Hmm!" With a long look down Bell's naked frame, Holmes squinted slightly, turned sharply on his heels and walked to the door. Bell's wide lips broke into full smile as he watched Holmes walk away, the uneven gait betraying more effects of the past four plus hours together.

Holmes turned at the bedroom door, one hand on his stomach. His lips, slightly less pursed than before.

"Goodnight Marcus."

"Goodnight Sherlock."

Bell released the wide dreamy smile he'd been holding since opening the door to find Sherlock sitting at his kitchen bar. It had been an unexpected visit tonight of all nights, given Holmes' contrary and willful nature, and Bell had opted for an extra long visit with his brother Andre, only to be met by a formally-dressed Holmes on arrival.

Turning leisurely on the sturdy four-poster Holmes had convinced him to buy several months ago to accommodate their often aggressive activities and the BDSM that was a propensity of Holmes, he listens to his bedmate don his shoes, the quiet of a short pause, and the click of the door on his exit.

"I don't do love either Sherlock," he laughs out loud.

Pulling the sheets over his head, he falls asleep wrapped in the sex they'd just had.

It was exactly one year to the day of their first "rendezvous".