When I open my eyes again, a few moments (minutes?) later, I find my right cheek pillowed on John's thigh. I can hear him above me, his breathing still ragged.
I lift my head cautiously to glance up his body. His left arm rests on his stomach, his hand clenching and unclenching with the rise and fall of his heaving chest; the other is thrown across his eyes, his lips slightly parted.
.
God, did this actually happen just now? Well, apparently yes. His taste lingers on my tongue and it's strangely, though exquisitely, intimate. I can't resist the impulse to touch my fingers to my lips and I feel my cheeks heat at the memory.
He's still naked right there in front of me and I don't know where to look.
I sit back on my haunches slowly, wiping away the remainings of saliva and semen on my mouth, when John stirs above me.
.
"Oh Christ," he mumbles. "Just- just give me a moment and I'll reciprocate in a minute."
"Um-" I look down at my stained jeans. "You don't -uh- have to."
John inhales sharply and I realise my mistake at once. Was this what Alice had told him then? When he came in her mouth and felt mortified?
No, John. Don't think about her. I want you to forget her, to entirely erase her from your mind.
.
"I mean - I have already ..." I let the sentence trail off and look back up at him.
John exhales and his whole body seems to slack in relief. "Wait- when?" he asks, pulling his arm away and glancing over at me.
"When you were- when I was-" God, what do I say to this? "I- um- I touched myself."
"Oh," John says and he swallows, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. "Um- right. Okay." He looks up at the ceiling, I suppose he also doesn't quite know where to look.
I let him ponder in his thoughts for a moment while I stand up slowly, my knees and thighs are shaking and I hope they won't give out on me.
.
I look back down at John to find his gaze flit up to meet mine. The blush on his cheeks is back and I smile at the thought that, finally, I was the one to catch him staring for once.
"Do you have a tissue somewhere?" I ask, reaching for my discarded t-shirt, when he shakes his head with an apologizing grimace.
I wipe my hands on the fabric and turn away from him to give both of us some privacy to clean ourselves up. At last I slip out of my jeans and briefs, before I turn back slowly.
.
It's such a strange feeling, to be naked in front of him and I feel the need to cover myself, but I force down the urge and catch his eyes in a curious glance.
John finds his voice first. "D'you want to- um..?" He offers and shifts on his bed to make room for me, gesturing with his arm to his side. The duvet has found its way into his lap and I feel a tinge of disappointment. I push it aside for the moment though, to crawl onto the bed and settle down next to him.
.
A few inches of space gape between us and it feels… wrong. I bite my lip, thinking about anything to say, but again it's John who breaks the silence and I'm uncannily glad, that he's the brave one of us.
He huffs and extends his arm in a beckoning gesture. "Get over here," he instructs and I'm only too happy to comply.
I shift over to him on my side and he inserts his arm under my neck, pulling me towards him. Closer still, until there's no more space between us and I press myself against him, one long line along his body. I reach for the duvet to drape it over me as well and hum at the feeling of bare skin finally touching.
At last, I rest my head onto his chest, over his steadily beating heart and slip my arm over his middle. The sigh escaping my throat, really couldn't be helped if I tried.
"All right?" John whispers, contentedly.
I nod slowly, my cheek caressing his chest with the motion. How couldn't I be? Lying here in his embrace? It's more than just 'all right'.
He huffs amused and buries his nose in my hair. I feel a ghosting of his lips there and his arm around my neck tightens briefly, before he shifts his hand down onto my back.
His fingers start to lazily stroke from my spine to my waist and back, and my skin tingles under his touch. I hum appreciatively and begin a similar caress up and down his side.
.
Our gentle touching slows after a few minutes and, moments later, halts entirely and we're just holding onto each other.
It's incredibly warm and cozy and if I could, I would spend the rest of my life just lying here with him. I feel my eyes slip close, not able to hold them open any longer. Sleep is beckoning me and I listen to John's breathing, deep and steady and… calm.
.
"You know," John ventures eventually in a low whisper tone and slips his hand up into my hair. "I talked with Alice once. About you."
I open my eyes to direct a glare at the wall. Why? Why does he keep bringing her up? Isn't it considered 'rude' to talk about your ex to your new… partner? Even I would expect it to be 'not good'. It certainly doesn't add to the moment.
"Oh?" I say, trying not to sound too indifferent as to however this story would continue.
"She said, that you were-" He pauses, searching for the right words. What could they've possibly been talking about- "Well- that you were-" Oh. "In- in love... with- me?" It sounds more like a question than an actual statement and he ends the sentence with a relieved exhale.
I blink a few times, my heart pounding in my chest. She told him. I have no idea what to say to this. He surely must know the depth of my feelings by now. After what I've told him before. After what we just did. He doesn't wait for an answer though, instead he curls his fingers in my hair and asks another question to render me speechless for a moment longer.
.
"Since when, Sherlock?"
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat. 'Since when?' Since that rugby game, when you covered me in a spray of water. Since that time I woke up on the floor in chemistry class, bathing in your smell and looking up into your concerned eyes. Since that first time, I accepted your invitation to watch your training. Since the day you asked me, why I always sat alone.
'Don't you have friends?'
No. I told you I don't, or didn't. Not until you came along and wouldn't concede defeat in luring me into conversation, regardless of how I treated you.
You. It's always you, John Watson. It always has been.
So- there is no 'right' or 'wrong' answer to his question, only evidence pointing to the inevitable conclusion.
.
"Hey," John prods me gently. "Don't get lost in that big brain of yours. Stay with me. You don't have to tell me."
Oh John, I wish it were so easy. I dont know 'since when'. Suddenly it just was. I was more astonished myself at the idea, than anyone else ever could.
I exhale a deep breath and press myself closer to him still, my arm around his middle tightening, an unspoken apology. Luckily though, he understands and chuckles softly. His fingers brush through my curls tenderly and I turn my head to place a kiss against his chest.
.
Would he be able to give me an answer if I'd ask him the same?
'Since when are you aware of my feelings?'
'Since when are you aware of yours?'
He'd often asked me to join him and Alice on one of their dates.
Did he knew then?
And did he curse himself for not noticing, after she had told him?
.
"Sherlock?" John initiates and I hum enquiring, silently grateful for the interruption of my thoughts. "Do you remember the first time you slept here? On the floor?"
I give another hum as affirmation and for him to elaborate. Certainly, I remember. Actually that entire day is burned into my memory: The rugby game and the kiss you shared with Alice. The panic that arose in me, when I watched you get tackled to the ground. Your little speech in the locker room, about how 'it won't alter anything', although so much did.
You invited me home and dropped your towel in front of me and I thought I might die of the embarrassment. And, of course, the pressing questions about possible girlfriends and interests.
.
"You said that girlsfriends weren't your area-" So he had noticed? Interesting. "- and I was so confused when you said you were interested in someone, because I'd never seen you even engage in conversation with anyone and suddenly I was wondering if you were talking about- me- and-"
"I was." I interrupt him gently.
He falls silent, though not his beating heart under my ear. On the contrary. It beats faster and I tilt my head to look up at him. I can't see his eyes properly from this angle, but I can see him blink owlishly. I wait for him to work out, while I'm trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips.
"So- you actually were-"
"Yes."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Oh God, Sherlock." His arm around my neck tightens again and he presses another kiss into my hair. "Why didn't you say anything, then?" John asks, quietly.
.
I think about this for a moment, lying my head back down onto his chest. "Because, you weren't interested in me." It's a mere statement, though devastating in its simplicity.
John falls silent again and eventually he resumes the brushing of my curls with his fingers. He won't be trying to object and I'm glad he doesn't. There's just one more thing, I need to know, before I can let it all slide into the past.
.
"Didn't you wonder about my constant staring?" He must have seen it, I've done it all the time. Even when he'd thought I was interested in someone else.
John's hand in my hair stops again and I can almost hear him thinking.
"I noticed that you were often looking at me, but… but I thought this was just the way you watch everything."
I can't help the bitter huff of dry laughter. "Nothing has ever captured or hold my attention like you do. All the time." Should I tell him? About the archive of imaginary pictures of him? Probably not, and so I don't say anything further, let him ponder about my words.
.
He does so for a minute or two, before he shifts under me.
"Hey," he tugs at my hair gently and I tilt my head again, to look up at him. "I'm sorry," he says with emphasis, his voice stern and… woeful.
I've never understood why people felt the need to apologize for something, they'd absolutely no power to change. But, because I can feel that it means a great deal to him and it seems right somehow, I nod anyway to accept it.
He smiles at me, warmly, just like he'd done earlier tonight and again I can't resist the pull towards him. I lean up, pressing my lips onto his and he returns the kiss, fierce and desperate.
It's okay now, I try to tell him without words, the arduous journey forgotten, now that I have you here in my arms. At last.
I make an effort not to fall asleep, though in the end, I must have succumbed under its relentless pull.
I wake slowly to find, that we almost haven't moved at all. Except my leg, which had shifted its way further over John's and was practically pinning him down onto the mattress. And my hand, previously resting against his side, was now gently moving back and forth along the border of his duvet.
For a moment I watch my fingers continuing its caress, without the slightest effort on my part. I've no idea how long I'd been doing this for and I can't tell if John can feel it either. Though, he still seems to be asleep, his breathing light and even.
.
Plucking up my courage, I carry on stroking the naked skin of his stomach and, after a second of hesitation, further down under the duvet, following the sparse trail of hair. I rub my fingers up and down, each time lingering a little longer, a litte more suggestively.
The outline of his erection is no longer vaguely discernible, but rather obvious in its eagerness and I bite my lip, not longer able to shift the blame to my mindlessly drifting hand. No, it was me stroking him, me who wanted to touch him there, to please him once more.
And neither could I refuse the insisting throb of my own hardness against his thigh.
.
When my fingers reach the coarse hairs at the base of his erection, John lets out a sigh. So he's awake. Of course he's awake.
I freeze, where I'm touching him, for a moment; not knowing what to do and waiting for him to decide.
"Don't-" John croaks, his voice hoarse from sleep. Oh God, I feel my heart pounding in my throat, what have I done? I retreat my fingers hurriedly just as he grabs my wrist and holds it there.
"Don't stop." He gasps out and there's nothing left to hold me back now.
.
I wrap my hand around his throbbing length and John moans. He loops his arm free from around my neck and slips it down between our bodies, to touch my penis for the first time.
Entirely surprised by the intensity, my hips jerk with the sensation and John curses. His erection twitches in my grip, but I'm not able to move my hand.
But John, glorious John, starts to move his fingers up and down my shaft and the jolt of pleasure each time is entirely unexpected in its intensity. I never would have thought, being touched by someone else would feel so... different.
.
I hear myself make an embarrassingly high pitched noise when John speeds up his strokes and after only a few more I surrender to my upwelling orgasm. My whole body is shaking, while John holds me through it.
"Jesus! Sherlock-" He gasps and I open my eyes, lazily and utterly exhausted.
I risk a glance up at him and he looks positively debauched, his hair wild, cheeks flushed and his lips red where he'd bit down too hard. Gorgeous, my mind provides, before I close my eyes with a sigh.
.
I only realise my fingers are still wrapped around his prick, when John moves my wrist a few times to stroke himself with my hand.
I force myself to open my eyes again and to regain control of my body, leaning up a fraction to be able to watch my fingers working his length. He gives a low moan and I tighten my grasp to speed up the pace.
It doesn't take much more for John to come with a loud gasp and I watch the white fluid land on his stomach, fascinated. Gradually, I slow down my strokes, until he stops pulsing under my fingers and my hand falls away limply. I let my head drop back onto the cushion as well and we lie next to each other for a minute or two, just waiting for our breathing to slow.
.
"That was-" John says and I can only hum in agreement. "I mean you- God, Sherlock." He shakes his head. "The look on your face- I think I'll never forget it."
That's good, isn't it?
Praise.
I certainly like it, but, oh? Should I say something to compliment him? And what? I take a deep breath. "That, er... thing that you… that you did- with your hand... that was, um… good." I say awkwardly.
John is quiet for a few seconds and then suddenly breaks out into giddy, almost hysteric, laughter that shakes his whole body.
I watch him helplessly for a moment, my cheeks burning of embarrassment. I duck my head and reach once more for the t-shirt to clean myself up.
.
He comes down a bit and takes a few measured breaths, before he's finally able to speak. "Yeah, I figured," John says with a chuckle, leans over and kisses me squarely on the mouth. "I'm sorry," he adds.
I press the t-shirt into his hands, before I turn away from him, shifting to the edge of the bed. "I'm always glad to be part of your amusement, John," I tell him curtly.
He falls silent for a moment, while I search the floor for my pants.
"Hey you," John says and slips up behind me, wrapping his arms around my neck and pressing his cheek against mine. "I'm really sorry. I didn't meant to pique you," he murmurs and any hurt, I might have felt, melts away.
I sigh and reach for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, before we remain in this embrace a little longer.
.
After a while, John loosens his arms and we break apart.
"Let's see to breakfast," he decides, leaps up and out of bed while I try not to stare at his bottom too blatantly. Or the delicate shifting muscles in his back and thighs. Though, in the end I drop the act in favour of watching him slip into his pants and pyjama bottoms. He's just pulled his t-shirt over his head, when he looks over at my unmoving self. "You ok?" he asks, frowning at me and even I can hear the unspoken 'Are we okay?'.
"I'm fine," I assure him. "Absolutely fine." I send him a wide smile. How couldn't I be?
John seems to be relieved and grins at me in return. I stand up slowly, hyper-aware of his gaze resting upon me, while I slip into my briefs and look for my jeans on the floor. Somehow I don't dare to look up at him, afraid of what I might find there. I just hope he approves of what he sees...
I find my trousers at the foot of the bed, though, while my pants appeared to be mostly clean and unsoiled from our activities, my jeans hadn't been as lucky.
.
"You can have one of mine, if you want." John offers, watching me grimace.
"Please."
He walks over to his closet to retrieve them and hands me a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. "I'm afraid my jeans would be too loose around your waist and too short at your legs, so..." he let's the sentence trail off and I nod gratefully at him. "Also, since your shirt got a little... stained-" he adds and directs a flirtatious smirk at me, a teasing glint in his eyes, "-I thought you might need a new one."
.
My stomach does a little twist and I swallow against the wave of an entirely different longing than food. Can I kiss him now? Or do I have to wait for him to initiate it? He surely won't mind would he?
My eyes are helplessly drawn to his mouth and when his lips part slightly, I'm completely lost. I take a step closer to him, intending to give him plenty of time to move away if he'd want to. Though, to my great relief, he not only stays, but also tilts his head back slightly to meet my lips.
It's an innocent kiss, gentle and sweet, and my heart aches for him.
.
I pull away softly, with a great deal of reluctance, but the smile he sends me is almost worth it. "Morning," he mumbles, before he leans up on his tiptoes to capture my lips once more.
I relish it the tender gesture for a moment longer after he pulled away. My eyes had closed on their own accord somewhere between those two kisses, and now I open them to find John still standing close and watching me. I feel myself blush under his gaze and look down at the clothes still clasped in my hands. I feel raw and vulnerable somehow, even after everything I feel for him is revealed and, miraculously, reciprocated.
.
John chuckles softly, gives my upper arm a gently squeeze, and steps away.
I watch him open the door and step over the threshold, pausing right outside the door to look back at me.
"Coming?" He asks and waits for me to nod, before he sends me a wink and walks down the stairs.
I stare down at the t-shirt, a smile tugging at my lips. Shaking my head at the sentiment, I pull it over my head and slip into the pyjama bottoms, before I follow John out of the room, down to the kitchen.
In the weeks that followed, it was surprisingly easy to adjust to the new level of our relationship. It changed not as much as I would've expected, maybe because I never realised how much time we actually spent together.
Though, we're not too openly affectionate with each other, always aware of the people around us.
I wouldn't mind them knowing and staring and talking. People do little else after all. But I don't want John to feel uncomfortable and so wait for him to initiate anything.
At least as long as we're in company and watched.
.
In school we'd stand, and sit, closer together in class or at lunch. Sometimes he'd squeeze my shoulder and send me a smile, that's broad and proud and loving and only for me. Occasionally, his hand would rest briefly on my thigh to stop me from snapping at teachers and students, soothing me with a pat, when I'm about to crawl up the wall of sheer boredom.
Now and again he'd even steal a kiss if he'd dare to, in the bathroom or an empty classroom, lingering each time. And when we'd part, his eyes dark and wide, and the desire obvious; he'd ask me to meet him after school at his place, for help with his homework. Which we'd then ignore, in lieu of heady kisses and touches.
It's so easy and I crave it with every quiver of my beating heart.
.
The only one who seems to know about us at the moment, is Mike. Although he never said anything, it's not very hard to determine, especially not with the way he acts. Sometimes he'd roll his eyes at us, when we're too obviously engrossed with each other, at other times he'd tell us to 'get a room' and leave us alone. Now and then he'd even warn us with a clear of his throat, to pay attention to the other persons in the room, and John and I would both realise how close we got together, step apart a few inches or hurriedly look away.
Mostly though, we save the more amorous gestures for later, when we meet in the evenings at John's grandmother or take the bus to go there right after school. We've until now not once met at my home, although John offered me to change that.
I waved his concerns away, stating that we have more peace and quiet at his house, while his grandmother is inclined in the daytime telly programme than at mine, where Maids were lurking behind every corner.
He didn't object further.
It's a friday evening and we're in the bus on our way from my home to his, after I packed some stuff to stay the weekend. It's hushed and quiet somehow, only interrupted by the amicable chatter of three schoolgirls a few seats down.
"You know, I like this jumper." I tell John, leaning my head against his shoulder. It's the striped one, black and white.
"Oh yeah?" he asks, a smile in his voice.
I nod slowly, nosing my way up his jaw to his ear. "You were wearing it that time in class when I fainted. Do you remember?" He shakes his head slowly, and I pat his knee, indicating that it's okay. "You were so close, bent over me and I was surrounded by your smell and I didn't wanted to move. And I wondered why I felt the need to cling to you so badly… I hadn't yet realised it then."
"Realised what?" John asks, his voice a breathless whisper.
I smile against his skin. "That I was in love with you."
He swallows and I feel his pulse quicken under my lips. He wanted me to say it, so I did, and now he's flustered. Oh John, always trying to be cool, although you're such a romantic.
.
I look down at my fingers, still resting on top of his knee, then tilt my head to watch his reflection in the passing shadows. He watches the landscape and people determined, his cheeks slightly tinted. I smile and roll my head on his shoulder a bit, to be able to glance in the other direction.
There are only five other passenger in this bus. One is asleep, an office worker, obviously on his way home. Those three girls still absorbed in their conversation, and the one man driving the vehicle.
Perfect.
.
I slip my hand further up John's thigh to the inside, trailing over his seam.
"Sh-Sherlock! What are you doing?" He hisses. Again the flustered tone, oh how I love it. "They're going to notice this!"
"Shut up then," I advise, raise my head to press a kiss to his flushed cheek.
Oh, how often had I dreamed about doing this? Touching him, here?
.
John reaches for my hand to stop me from rubbing his erection through the soft denim and I can't help the chuckle escaping my throat.
"Only five miles now and then you can touch me all you want," John promises in a low tone and intertwines our fingers. I huff an exasperated breath and squeeze his hand. He giggles this time, "Patience."
I sigh again. He surely must know by now that I'm not a patient man at all, but I'll try. For him.
.
We still have a few years together, while he studies at Barts and suffers through his Army training and while I get my degree in Chemistry at the University of Cambridge. So until he'll leave to fight for Queen and Country as an Army Doctor, I plan to make every minute count. I know he won't let myself stop him and I don't even want to try.
He is still going and I'll be waiting for him.
Patiently.
Nothing new there.
.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to whoever you might be!
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Thank you dear people for your general awesomeness.
It's been brilliant. *wipes away tears*
I hope you enjoyed my little journey and also as always, apologies for mistakes in grammar, vocabulary and typing... Sorry :/
Yours, Cara XX