Beethoven's Tear
"Touch me."
Sherlock whispered into John's ear as soon as he got into the bedroom.
The light was turned off and John couldn't see Sherlock standing near the door. The door was closed with a pleasant huff of air caressing his body and almost simultaneously that delicious baritone whisper tingling his soul.
"You're in pain." John whispered inhaling his beloved's smell.
Sherlock came closer taking it as an encouragement.
"So are you." Sherlock breathed on John's face. He deliberately lazily took off his robe standing too close for John to miss that it was the only clothing Sherlock had on.
"Oh my god." John swallowed.
Sherlock held John close by encircling his waist with his arms. Nuzzling John's neck he pleaded. "Please John."
"You're not healed." John tried to hold on to whatever sense was left in him holding his body at bay and not responding to the embrace.
"Heal me John." Sherlock placed a sucking kiss on John's neck.
Every cell in John's body shivered.
"And let me heal you." Sherlock said looking up at John in the faint street light coming from the closed window.
Foggy eyes met cool blue. Together they created mist.
John let out a shaky breath. He held Sherlock's face in trembling hands. And he watched. He turned it this way and that reverently as if inspecting a rare gem and finally held it still.
John couldn't make the move. He felt as if his heart had died of anxiety. All he could think was of as soon as he would kiss that remarkable face in his hands it would dissolve into mist. Someone will come knocking at the door and take Sherlock away. Something will occur and the house will burn down with them in it. From somewhere there would come a bullet and end their story forever. It had been anticipation of the worse for too long. John's nerves were frayed. It was too good for too long. Maybe now, right now was the time for something usual something honest, something not as dreamy not as nice to happen. Maybe one of them won't see the next day. Maybe they both won't.
It was about time catastrophe befell, again.
"John."
Sherlock broke John's sad reverie.
He took John's fear wet palm and placed it on his beating heart.
"It is beating now John. Right now it is beating. Take in as many beats as you can. Don't worry about the time that hasn't come yet." Sherlock implored.
Oh! The pain of loving you Sherlock. The beauty of it all. As if holding your own beating heart in your hands and keeping it safe. I cannot put it back in for it has been cut away from me and stands beating in front. Yet the charge has been placed on me to keep it beating on. A moment of carelessness and it will stop. I fear, I cry, I savour yet I die. For you, with you, in you, over you. Again and again and again. I love you.
John released a breath from his mouth with two drops from his eyes. He fell on the man's chest sobbing.
Sherlock held him tight.
"Let us heal each other." He whispered into John's hair.
In one swift movement Sherlock went down escaping John's embrace and took down with him John's pyjamas.
John stood lightly sobbing. Watching Sherlock's ministrations quietly.
Sherlock pressed his lips firmly on John's groin and exhaled deeply. John tilted his head backwards taking in the warmth, the pleasure, the love.
Sherlock clung to John's hipbones with his arms and kept kissing John's manhood feverishly.
John's fingers found their way into the curls as tears still dripped from his lashes. He started withdrawing slowly until his legs hit the bed. He pried open Sherlock's hands and sat down. All the time looking at Sherlock unblinking. He took of his night shirt and flung it to the floor. With a look of compliance and surrender he held his hands out for Sherlock.
Sherlock stood and leaned into John without breaking eye contact. He held his open arms and laid him back. As if they had both forgotten to blink, as if closing their eyes for that little time also will take a precious moment from their love making.
Sherlock lay on top of John.
John felt Sherlock with all his body, mind and soul. Sherlock was beautiful. No matter how many times John realised it, it remained a new realization everytime.
Sherlock Stroked John's body with his great palms gently. Healing.
John caressed Sherlock's hair with his hands. Healing.
Sherlock went down on John again and licked his manhood slowly with soft lingering strokes. Healing.
John put his hands on Sherlock's slim firm shoulders and kneaded them softly. He felt the muscles moving as Sherlock constantly repositioned himself. Healing.
I don't want to wake up Sherlock. Please kill me tonight. Please kill me with you love. Please kill me with your beauty. Please kill me with that all knowing smile of yours. No night has been as beautiful as this. I don't want to see another night which will not be like this.
Sherlock came up dragging his lips along John's body. He delicately sucked away John's tears. Sherlock looked into John.
"I don't have anything else to give you John." He said tentatively. "Please take me."