The early morning sun was just lighting up the edges of the windows. I lay with my head on John's shoulder, arm thrown across him as I liked to be. John's shirt had rucked up in the night, leaving a strip of his belly bare. I lazily moved my hand across it, enjoying the smooth soft skin, the feel of his muscles beneath my fingers. I slid my hand up, under the t-shirt, stroking gently against his ribs and I felt him shudder slightly. Curious I moved my hand lower, over his crotch and found his penis hard. Surprising? I began to stroke it gently through the pajama bottoms. His hips wiggled involuntarily but his breathing remained regular as if he were still asleep. I stroked harder and heard his breath hitch.
"Sherlock?"
"Mmmm…"
"That feels good."
"Good." I slid my hand under his waistband, and ran my hand over the smooth skin of his cock, rubbing my thumb over the head. We stayed like that for some time. Me just languidly stroking him, occasionally moving my hand back up to rub his chest, his nipples, his belly.
"Well," I said at last, as his breathing became more ragged, "what should we do now?"
"I don't know. What should we do, genious?"
"Mmm, you could make love to me, I suppose."
"You suppose?" he asked, rolling over to face me. He leaned in and kissed me, hard, tongue pushing in, mouth open. I responded in kind. I wanted him desperately by this point, and I knew he wanted me.
He pushed me onto my back and knelt between my legs, tugging my pajama bottoms off and tossing them off of the bed. He removed his own so quickly I was barely aware of him moving away. He reached for the lube on the headboard. I felt so open, so eager for him.
He pushed into me with one hard thrust and I gasped, clutching at his back, my legs wrapping around him tightly. I ran my hands along his tightly muscled back as I had his chest as he moved inside me. I could tell he was struggling to hold back, to warm me up, but I didn't need that.
"Take what you need," I whispered. He was pressed so tightly against me, my cock crushed between us. And when he began to thrust harder, gripping my shoulders I could feel myself building. His desperate urgency, his desire for me was overwhelming. I couldn't believe it sometimes. When most people couldn't stand to be around me for more than ten minutes, John liked me, John loved me. John wanted me, wanted this, my gangly limbs wrapped around him, my thin chest pressed against him.
"Are you going to come," I gasped against his neck.
"Oh, yes, yes." And I could feel him bucking against me, four, five, six quick thrusts. I could actually feel him, shooting into me and I came with him, my semen hot and sticky between our bodies.
He collapsed against my chest, "God, I feel like I'm in high school," he giggled. Despite our heightened sensitivity he kept moving against me as if he didn't want this contact to end.
Reluctantly he pulled away, "I don't suppose there's a clean towel? I'll go get one."
When he left, I rolled to my side, my legs pressed together, unwilling to let the moment go, running over every second of it in my mind. Returning he slipped in beside me, wiping my stomach and I curled back into him once more, my head on his shoulder.
