Hey everyone! Apparently I'm very good at getting things done when its something that I'm not expected to do. So here's some more angst. Sorry about the first/second person change in the first chapter. I know that was probably annoying. There's none of that in this chapter, I promise.
He comes into my room later. Down from the high.
Its dark and his breaths scrape against the heavy stillness of the air. Quick, short.
There are no words as the bed indents. Only the sourness of his breath against my jaw, my cheek, my lips.
I break the air, "Sherlock, what are you doing?" A whisper. He knows that I know.
"Please." It is not so much a word as it is the sensation of lips against my skin. A nothing breath.
And he presses his lips to mine, smothering slowly with a burning heat. He sucks in harsh air at the contact, and my inhale is caught against the insides of my throat. I don't want this. I don't, I can't. But there is nothing I can do for him, except, maybe - this. Sherlock is my friend, I can do this for my friend. So I lean back, relaxing, for him. And he takes the invitation, moving to kneel on either side of my thighs, opening his mouth, hot and dark and desperate. Choking on a sob that is lost against my lips. And his breath is stale and sharp and his tongue is wet with the taste of salt and it takes me a second to realise that our skin is wet with tears.
He is uncoordinated, and it doesn't seem to bother him that I don't kiss back. That I can't. I am only pliant, and he takes what he needs because this is all I can give him.
He pulls back, after minutes. His silhouette is a shadow in the darkness of the night. His fingernails leave pink trails on the back of my neck, resting half moons in the flesh.
His eyes catch the glimmer of the moon from the window and the contours of his his face are deepened and softened by the night and we breath together. Gasping.
And it might not just be his own tears that are cooling on my cheeks. He is falling apart and gripping me so close, like I am holding him up. But I know that he is tipping us both over the edge. We both know that I will follow him anywhere.
His lips are back on mine, searching, hungry. Long fingers gripping my neck, my shoulders. Mouthing down the trail. Lips numbing and teeth scraping against my skin. "Please."
I don't know why he's asking. I'll do anything for him.
My hands move up to rest on his hipbones. Thin and sharp. Maybe if I grip him tight enough, he'll stay with me. Even if its like this. Even if I have to do this forever.
Maybe this will be enough for him
Maybe I can be enough for him.
Oh gosh, I don't know where this came from. Sorry. I'll go write some fun teen!lock now. Bye.