"Turn your head to the left, like you've just heard something," John said, when what he really wanted to do was reach over and do it himself.
John's best friend sat in the middle of his bed, shoulders slightly forward, head alert, and wearing nothing but a white sheet wrapped snugly around his frame. John knew that's all he wore, because he'd asked if Sherlock was wearing any pants, unable to resist, and Sherlock had simply said 'no', his voice still rough from sleeping. The sound had gone straight to John's cock and he'd had to shift his sketchpad slightly over his lap, just in case something undeniable were to happen.
John wanted to reach over and cup his best friend's cheek in his palm, wanted to feel the smooth, soft lines of Sherlock with more than just the top of his pencil on a sheet of paper, more than just his fingertip as he smudged in shadows. Instead, he tapped the rubber end of his pencil against the sketchpad and watched as Sherlock shifted slightly, revealing more of the long, elegant line of his neck.
It was obvious at the sight of him that Sherlock had recently just been sleeping. Beside the state of his hair, which, despite the existence of gravity, was a tangle of bedhead curls sticking up and out in every direction, Sherlock's features had a rare softness to them that John only ever saw when Sherlock finally succumbed to nature's call to slumber. His lines weren't their usual harsh and sharp. It made John only feel slightly bad for clambering into Sherlock's window so he could get his art project done.
John pressed his lips together and forced his gaze away from the curved line of Sherlock's neck and thought of pressing a soft kiss just there, where Sherlock's dark hair curled behind his ear. He put his pencil to the paper and sketched out the wrinkled shape of Sherlock's crisp white sheet.
Sherlock's quietness spoke of unspoken deductions, and John had a suspicion that his friend probably knew exactly what it was he was thinking. He felt instantly guilty for taking advantage of the moment and attempted to focus his undivided attention on drawing the hollow at the base of Sherlock's neck.
John hadn't expected Sherlock to be so still for the sitting. When John had told Sherlock that he needed to draw him, omitting the fact that he was supposed to be drawing the person that meant the most to him, Sherlock had huffed and complained once again about John's physical therapist being an idiot and rambled on about how he should just get a new one.
John had a feeling it wasn't just because his physical therapist was an idiot that Sherlock complained. John's art classes were cutting into the time they spent together and his therapist was to blame for them, having decided John needed to work on learning to better control his left hand now that his shoulder was finally mostly healed from the car accident. High school had already cut the amount of time he and Sherlock spent together in the summers in half, and the art classes were 3 more evenings gone. That wasn't even including the hours he'd be spending on rugby practice once his therapist said he was ready to start up again.
When John finally got to drawing Sherlock's face, he studied his friend's profile, his tongue pressed to his bottom lip as he focused on memorizing the lines of Sherlock's face. The curve of Sherlock's lips was truly a thing of beauty, the way the cupid's bow dipped and peaked. Not to mention the way they managed to look firm, yet soft, and temptingly kissable.
When he'd first found out that Sherlock had never been kissed, John had found it hard to believe. Sherlock loved science and John had thought he'd most likely have done at least a couple experiments involving kissing. Looking at him now, however, John couldn't imagine Sherlock ever having kissed someone, and certainly never having allowed someone to kiss him.
John was so caught up in staring at Sherlock's full lips that it took him quite some time to realize that his friend had taken notice of his eyes on him. When it finally registered, John's eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock's. He was glad he wasn't expected to color or paint the picture of Sherlock, because there was no way in Hell anything short of a master artist could capture the many colors of Sherlock's eyes without making them look anything but clear and reflective.
In that moment, as John held Sherlock's gaze and Sherlock captured his, a million thoughts raced through his head that were mirrored on his best friend's face, all but one of them telling him to look away, telling him to get up and leave; anything that meant not risking losing Sherlock's friendship. They'd been friends for too long for John to imagine a life without him in it.
It was John's thought that he saw warring on Sherlock's face, the one that shouted 'kiss him!' mirrored there on the bed across from him, that made John reach out with his graphite gray fingertips and cup Sherlock's cheek, his thumb resting on the sharp, yet soft curve of Sherlock's cheekbone. It was that look, followed by the almost imperceptible parting of Sherlock's lips and eyelids, that made John lean into the chasm between them and touch his lips gently to Sherlock's. They felt exactly how they looked; soft, yet firm as John leaned even more into the kiss.
He wasn't sure whether or not to pull away, because Sherlock wasn't moving to kiss him back or to pull away, so John took another risk and parted his own lips to capture Sherlock's top lip between his.
It was like the slight movement lit a light bulb inside Sherlock's head, because finally Sherlock reacted. He pressed forward, his lips closing gently to hold John's bottom lip between them before he canted his head to the side and pressed in again, catching John's lips on the opposite side in a hard kiss.
The boys kissed, hesitant but needy, until Sherlock released the sheet he'd been gripping in white-knuckled hands, allowing it to pool at his waist, to wrap his arms around John's shoulders. John went with it, pressing into a deeper kiss as Sherlock laid back on the bed, the long line of his lily white body stretching out beneath John's.
They spent the rest of the morning trading experimental kisses, sliding their tongues together and nipping at each other's lips, until waking early finally caught up with them. Sherlock eventually tucked himself into the circle of John's arms and fell asleep with a smile hidden between them. John soon followed, his nose and a kiss buried in Sherlock's sleepy curls as he went.