The emotional confessions (and revelation, on my part) took a toll on our teenage, British bodies so we fell asleep. After, of course, some shuffling about on the bed and more kissing and hugging (clinging). I woke up first, as usual, as it was just beginning to get light outside. Another week of solitude meant for studying and getting drunk (for the general population) and all I wanted was to lie in bed with the person I cared for most in the world.
The person I loved.
I never thought I would love somebody.
Realizing that you love someone, I've learned, doesn't come as a shock to the body. It did not cause me to panic, or to cry with joy. I didn't feel the need to flee or call my brother (heaven forbid) or anything else – it was the conscious acceptance of an already proven fact. It was, to put in place a bad analogy, as if you looked down halfway through the day and saw that your shirt was green when you didn't notice putting on a green shirt that day. You have a little more information about yourself than you did, and you go about your day.
Of course there was some doubt remaining. I'm the last person to ever be termed an optimist, and I realized that we are, in simple fact, hormonal teenagers. But I loved John. I know him and I'm in love with him as we exist on this spinning earth today and it doesn't matter (too much) that our relationship could end sometime in the future (and probably will, statistically speaking) because I love John and he is sleeping in my arms today.
As I was thinking these non-panicking thoughts in stark contrast to the previous day, I was also staring at John's nose. It was adorable and perfect and rounded and almost pointed up and I loved it. Our arms were wrapped around each other and our faces were close enough that I could easily lean forward and kiss his nose (which I did immediately) and soon I went back to sleep.
I was awake again, but this time I was cataloging John's scent and the way his left hand felt against my back while he was sleeping. I traced the outline of his fingers in my mind until my skin felt like it was burning where he touched me. Soon enough, those fingers I was concentrating so much on twitched. That twitch cascaded through John's body as a stretch as he woke up.
"Morning Sher," he said post-yawn.
"Mmmm," I mumbled back, eyes still closed. Contented in the moment like I've never felt before.
"You in your mind again eh? Got a fancy palace in there you're visiting all the time?" He sighed and smiled. I noticed the smile from the tone in his voice and confirmed it upon opening my eyes.
"Not quite a palace, more like a few rooms."
He looked surprised. "Really? You mean you like, visit an imaginary room all the time?"
"Mmm, sort of," I contemplated, "I store and sort through information and facts by visualizing them as objects that I place in a room for long-term or short-term storage. I learned it from the Internet – I can keep something forever or delete it."
It looked like this was a little too much for John to process in the amount of time he had been awake, but he was trying. "How does that even work?"
I thought about how to describe it. "I close my eyes and think about a room I've made. I visualize myself standing there and move around from that place. Short-term storage, for example, is near the fireplace. I'll store something on a bookshelf, like the general plot of Slaughterhouse 5 as the book, then throw it into the fire when I don't need it anymore. Other things are permanent – compositions, case notes. I even have a board for current problems and clues. I have a few rooms, one for people. One for you."
While I was speaking, I moved my hand from his shoulder area to his face. My fingers followed a path around his eyes and nose and over his lips only to move out of the way for mine. I was struck with another realization: This was a little romantic. My socks are black, oh well. I pulled back, our lips sticking to each other's ever so slightly until they peeled away from a tugging smile.
"Sherlock," John started, searching my eyes. "A whole room?" I nodded. He smiled. "Listen, about yesterday -"
"John, we needn't talk about that anymore. I think we fairly resolved it."
"Well, yeah. God Sherlock, did we really agree to move in together?"
We both grinned uncontrollably and shared another kiss.
"Absolutely fantastic," said John. "There was one thing, though. From the conversation we had on the, uh, roof."
I could tell the mood changed to something a little more serious.
"The uh.." He cleared his throat nervously and suddenly I knew what was coming.
"John, I -"
"No, Sherlock, it's important." He breathed. "Sex. Between us. You wanted… it… yesterday?"
"No! Well, yeah. I mean, I planned on, erm, seducing you? Bloody hell. Yesterday. And, well, that obviously didn't go according to plan…" We were both blushing.
"So you do, erm, want to have sex? With me?" asked John. "I'm, I'm only asking because we never have talked about it, and never really gotten that far and neither of us have done… it and I was just wondering if -"
"Yes, John. I do. I just wasn't sure if you did with me -"
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Ah."
"…"
"…"
"Ah?"
"As in good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
I rolled my eyes at the repetition and John laughed.
A beat of silence.
"Now?"
Our lips met in mutual agreement. His were soft, as always, and warm against my own. My tongue darted out against his lips and they parted smoothly. The wet friction of tongue on tongue was gradual, unrushed. John made a small noise in the back of his throat and suddenly it was a little harder to get the needed oxygen in my lungs.
I pulled back but only so far as to kiss his jaw along to his neck, just under his ear. He gasped and pulled me a little closer to him, his hands running up my back and into my hair and I nibbled down the side of his neck. Our bodies were flush against each other and I could feel his… interest against my hip and I'm sure he could feel mine.
We've been here before.
John pushed me back so his body was resting on top of mine. Resting, but moving against and touching and feeling and running up my sleep shirt. John sat up and took off his shirt and I took the opportunity to do mine as well. Skin on skin – as far as we've ever been when it comes to nakedness. Our breath was getting heavier and our lips met again. My hands roamed over John's naked back, pulling, pressing closer. He shifted his weight and slid his left hand from my hip to my chest and rubbed over my chest.
A groan escaped my lips, quickly muffled by John's mouth. Our groins were rubbing and causing sparks to shoot up my spine adding to the fire in my chest. He broke off the kiss and gained his breath back in a few deep gasps.
"Sher?"
"Yes."
He nodded and rolled off of me. I slid my hands, too focused to know they were shaking, to my day-old pajama bottoms and quickly shed them before looking at John.
His eyes were glued to me, starting at my face and making their way down, their path lighting an embarrassing blush down my body as I fought the urge to squirm. I must have moved because John looked up again to my face and kissed me again. He returned and divested himself of his trousers and pants and socks in one uncharacteristically smooth motion and it was my turn to gaze.
It was overwhelming. The amount of new information all vied for my attention and recording separately: John's sparse chest hair, thicker than mine, was lighter than his pubic hair. There was a mole on his left hip that was close to two freckles, making a comet trail towards his stomach. His upper thighs were a few shades lighter than the rest of his legs where he had been covered in public. John. All of John was exposed to me.
Before I knew it we were kissing and John was back on top of me telling me how beautiful I was and how brilliant we were and I remember agreeing and bucking and rutting. I came with my eyes open wide at the ceiling, unremarkable except for a bullet-hole smiley. John did with his head buried in my neck.
Minutes later, John rolled slightly to pull up the sheets over our cooling bodies and I tucked my body into his side in sleepy (if a bit sticky) contentment.