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“And where exactly am I going to sleep?” John asked, throwing his arms up in outrage and then gesturing to Sherlock with one hand. “Did you even think about that? Huh? As you were damaging and all but bloody burning my mattress? Didn’t you once spare a thought for where I might sleep once I found out that you had ruined my bed?”
Sherlock blinked sleepily at him silently, head turned on his pillow and the rest of him hidden by his duvet. John fumed, scowled at him, and shifted his weight impatiently waiting for an answer, the smell of his ruined, charred bed still fresh in his nose. John had had no idea that Sherlock had even been in his room until he’d gone off to bed and opened his bedroom door. How Sherlock had kept the smell just to that one room, John had no idea, and why Sherlock had kept the mishap to himself the entire afternoon, John was just itching to find out.
“Well?” John exclaimed, curtly. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Sherlock inhaled slowly in a yawn and then pulled back the covers with a sweep of his arm, patting his mattress in invitation. John stared at the exposed space beside Sherlock, blinked, frowned, glared, and then grit his teeth and folded his arms.
“Sherlock—”
“Get in, John,” Sherlock rumbled.
“No. No, Sherlock, you can’t just—”
“Get in.” Sherlock said again, voice gruff. “Take your clothes off and just get in.”
John flushed and with his hands on his hips, turned to leave, but paused just shy of the doorway and looked down at his clothes, then over at the bed. After a loud sigh, John shut Sherlock’s door and irritably pulled out of his jumper, jeans and socks, putting them in a pile on Sherlock’s dresser. John walked over to the bed in his vest and underwear, and turned off Sherlock’s light as he climbed onto the mattress, shuffling and fidgeting moodily into place beside his annoying flatmate.
Sherlock pulled the covers over them both and turned around so his back faced John, who glared at the mop of curls and rolled onto his side also, exasperated but too tired to truly care.
John shut his eyes and slowly began to drift, relaxing into the surprisingly and inconveniently comfortable mattress with the heat of Sherlock’s body at his back. Sherlock was breathing deep and slow and quiet beside him, and slowly but surely John began to be hyper aware of the movement of Sherlock’s chest rising and falling, as the blanket dragged and stroked over his shoulders; as well as becoming more aware of the scent of Sherlock from the pillow against his head. John inhaled and listened to the rhythmic breathing next to him before turning over with a sudden awkward shamble of limbs, bouncing the bed.
Sherlock’s breathing hitched in response and John smirked, unable to feel sorry for waking him up again after the stunt he’d pulled with his bed; but the smile faltered when Sherlock rolled to face him, eyes glazed and sleepy. Sherlock stared at John, half awake and obviously annoyed, and John stared back with a challenging twitch of his eyebrow, regarding in amusement how Sherlock’s focus shifted almost immediately upon them locking eyes. John watched, slightly entranced, as Sherlock drifted back to sleep right in front of him, his mouth parting limply with a soft snore. His lashes were long where they fluttered against the high slope of his cheekbone and John huffed in a sudden swell of fondness, rolling his eyes when Sherlock’s brow contracted with another snuffling snore from his nose as if in reply.
Sherlock’s hand was in the space between them, half-curled and vaguely twitching as Sherlock fell into a deeper slumber, and John reached over to touch it unthinkingly, stroking his fingernails lightly over Sherlock’s knuckles and then tracing the fragile finger bones and tendons that were nestled beneath pale skin that seemed almost grey in the gloominess of Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock’s fingers flexed in reaction and John pushed his thicker and shorter fingers between them with an unusual and addictive flare of affection, which took all the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut. He mapped the different textures of Sherlock’s skin, from his fingertips to his palm, and wondered about each patch of calluses as he slipped off to sleep with Sherlock’s face the last thing he saw and his attention moving to the pulse at the soft, thin skin of Sherlock’s slender wrist.
When John next woke it was the early morning and the light of the rising sun was weakened and turned pale through the fabric of the curtains, filling the bedroom dimly and highlighting everything it touched in a grey, murky outline. Sherlock was still asleep bedside him, and had curled up tighter and moved closer during the night with his chin tucked into his own chest, which tilted his head down, covering a large part of it with the crumpled blankets. His breath was hot but even as it rebounded off John’s bare arm under the covers, and John tugged them down sluggishly to expose Sherlock’s face and push back his hair, worried about him becoming overheated in his current position. Sherlock’s cheeks were rosy and warm against John’s palm, and John smiled lazily as he combed back the mussed curls from where they were mashed to Sherlock’s temples and throat, following his hairline to the nape of his neck idly as John stifled a sudden yawn and rolled further onto his side, tempted to slip back to sleep.
Sherlock snorted when John’s fingers delved briefly down the edge of his pyjama top to correct the twisted collar, and John smiled, leaving his fingers against his steady pulse when Sherlock then frowned, stretching out and arching his head back on the pillow with a mumbled, sleepy moan. Impulsively Sherlock then reached up to pull John’s hand away but turned his face into John’s palm as it passed, inhaling with a further furrow of his brows as he stirred and became more aware of his surroundings. Slowly, Sherlock’s eyes cracked open and he blinked lethargically at John’s palm before he glanced at John’s face and let him go.
“Hi,” John whispered drowsily, running the same hand through his own hair, unable to stifle the next yawn.
“Hello,” Sherlock murmured, voice deep and thick from sleep, squinting at John as he lifted an arm and rubbed his mouth, yawning as well behind his hand. He seemed out of sorts, befuddled and hazy, the complete opposite to his usual alert self, and John grinned widely at him and watched Sherlock stretch his arms above his head and rearrange his position on the pillow again.
“Is this what you’re like?” John mumbled, garnering Sherlock’s fuzzy attention. “Because it’s adorable – You’re adorable.” John laughed throatily at Sherlock’s sudden frown and reached over to rub one side of Sherlock’s face. “You have sleep lines all over your cheek.”
Sherlock blinked at him and touched John’s cheek as well, “As do you.”
“Do I?” John breathed, moving closer to smooth the red lines from the pinked skin of Sherlock’s face, suddenly unable to stop touching him, and cupped his other hand around Sherlock’s neck, thumbing his ear. Sherlock made an odd, deep purring sound from deep in his chest at the action, closing his eyes momentarily in pleasure, and John paused with an unexpected surge of emotion in his chest. He glanced into Sherlock’s lidded eyes, flushing as his heart rate picked up, and instinctively leaned in to kiss Sherlock lightly on the mouth.
Sherlock tasted and smelt of sleep and musk, his natural scent heightened by sweat and heat. John swallowed and kissed him thoughtlessly again, just as lightly as before, and Sherlock’s jaw worked when he returned it with an audible breath. The skin of their dry lips caught as they parted and John shivered involuntarily at the spike of sudden blinding lust that the sensation resulted in, and pushed his hand to cradle the back of Sherlock’s head before kissing him again and closing the short distance between their bodies to deepen it in the next instant. Sherlock’s nose bumped alongside his as he responded in kind, and he pressed up against John’s chest with a vibrating sound in the back of his throat. John grunted in reply, slipping one hand down Sherlock’s back to slot their pelvises together, and then pushed up and under Sherlock’s pyjama top to touch the bare skin of his bending spine; his skin was smooth and hot to the touch, and John pushed his hand further up, just to scratch a jagged line back down to the dip of Sherlock’s lower back.
The awkward angle of them both still on their sides and facing one another made it difficult to balance properly, and so John pushed Sherlock onto his back, keeping their mouths slotted together as he leaned over him and then wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and shoulders firmly. Sherlock altered his position and gripped onto John’s hips with an eager breath through his nose, his fingers digging into the muscle there while he parted his legs and yanked John down between them, pushing the obvious shape of his growing erection into John’s pelvis. The feeling of it was enough to make John hesitate for half a second in alarm, but he exhaled hotly into Sherlock’s wet mouth when Sherlock gave a wispy whine and bucked slowly, muffling Sherlock’s shuddering moan with a more passionate kiss.
Gradually they worked up a disordered and erratic rhythm, rutting against one another with gathering speed and fervour, and John pushed one of his hands up into Sherlock’s messy hair when, on a particularly rough thrust, Sherlock’s head connected with the headboard with a dull thud. Groaning with a huff, Sherlock scrabbled at John’s back as they shimmied back down the mattress, and scrunched up the vest sticking to John’s sweaty skin in the process till John pulled back with a trembling of his hips and pulled it up over his head in reply, exposing his flushed chest to the increasingly humid air of the bedroom. John tossed the vest over his shoulder and Sherlock pushed up onto his elbows to smear his mouth down John’s throat, caressing his naked chest and stomach with unsteady hands.
Leaning his head back with a hum of satisfaction, John let Sherlock suck at the junction of his neck and shoulder for a moment, before he shoved his hands up under Sherlock’s pyjama top again and wrestled it off him, pushing their naked torsos together with a shaky exhale and a moan, and knocking over a beside lamp when he threw the top aside. The intimate touch of skin on skin was enough to leave John dizzy, and he clenched his eyes shut in pleasure, running one hand down Sherlock’s side and the other through Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s skin was slick with perspiration and almost scorching hot, the rapid thumping of his heart vibrating through John with every shallow expansion of his chest, and John relished the feeling of being intimately close to someone after months of being without impassioned human contact.
As John rubbed up against Sherlock with his face pushed into his cheek, Sherlock suddenly switched their positions, straddling John’s waist and undulating his body to grind their straining erections together, and with a moan John dragged his fingers eagerly down Sherlock’s bowing back before he arched up for another kiss. John couldn’t remember the last time he had been kissed so enthusiastically and so thoroughly and with such passion, and each swipe of wet lips and tongue shot shivers up and down his body in unstoppable currents of pleasure, buzzing through his mind and tingling up the engorging line of his cock. Pushing at the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms, John snapped the elastic when Sherlock groaned huskily, and eagerly let Sherlock suck John’s bottom lip past his teeth to playfully bite down in retaliation. The bite shot a sharp spike of excitement straight to his groin and John grunted, pushing his fingers under the pyjama bottoms to grasp two handfuls of Sherlock’s naked backside and squeezing until Sherlock gasped and rocked down into him with a muffled curse against John’s chin, his arse tensing under his touch. John smoothed his palms over the plush curve of each buttock, and kissed his way across Sherlock’s jaw and up his cheek, thrusting up sharply to bounce Sherlock atop him with a purposeful and suggestive rumbling moan.
The look Sherlock shot him in the weak lighting of the bedroom, was dark and lust filled, and John swallowed thickly while Sherlock reached to hook his thumbs into John’s underwear and tug them down far enough to free John’s flushed and slicked penis. It bobbed thickly between their bodies, sticky and wet at the tip, and for a moment John felt a jolt of anxiety and cold dread at what they were doing, but Sherlock dipped his head and kissed him, then moved down to run his lips over John’s left nipple as he freed his own erection and pushed it eagerly alongside John’s. The sensation was nothing John had ever felt before and he choked on an embarrassing whimper, glancing down when Sherlock leaned up to thrust and rub against him with a panting breath. Sherlock’s penis was thick and rosy tipped with a faint curve to it, he looked to have a few inches more girth than John, but less in length, and John stared at the differences between them, captivated and aroused, while Sherlock rutted and mashed kisses into John’s temple.
The slick of pre-ejaculate squelched loudly as it gathered between them, making each slide of their cocks easier, but John reached down with one hand as his pleasure built and took them both in his grasp with a loud groan into Sherlock’s suddenly gasping mouth. Sherlock rocked faster and harder and more erratic at the touch, moaning with each shaky exhale and his backside tensing under John’s other gripping hand. John pushed their sweat-slicked foreheads together and tightened his hold, working his arm wilder in the cramped space between their shuddering bodies and trying to stimulate himself and learn what Sherlock liked at the same time. Sherlock seemed almost ravenous when it came to having his penis touched by John and rotated his hips in a jerky motion, and pushed closer and harder, clenching his eyes shut and fisting one hand into the pillow at John’s head; he seemed lost in pleasure and smoothed his other hand down John’s injured shoulder to entwine his fingers with John’s around their erections.
Sherlock was the first of them to uncontrollably rut and thrust in sudden trembling orgasm, and spilt hot and firm over their combined stroking hands and John’s tensing stomach, splattering and branding John’s skin in thick spurts of ejaculate with a loud gasping grunt and vibrating moan. The sensation, though similar to when he pleasured himself, still made him gape and shudder in reaction, and John bit down on his lip and instinctively arched up to grind into Sherlock’s spurting penis and contracting abdomen so wantonly that Sherlock growled in desire with a slackening of his mouth. John continued to stroke him through his orgasm clumsily until he winced and then let go to take his own cock in hand, kissing Sherlock’s relaxed mouth avidly as he brought himself to climax moments later, spraying up his own chest in high arcs.
As they slowly came down from their pleasure high, Sherlock turned his head aside and reached over the edge of his bed, fumbling for something while idly returning the wet kisses John pushed against his mouth, overly addicted to the lush shape of his kiss-swollen lips. Sherlock’s hand returned with a wad of tissues and he pushed up on one elbow to sluggishly mop up their joint mess, angling for another kiss with a husky breath when John smoothed his clean hand up Sherlock’s back and into the damp hair at his nape, wiping his other hand on his crumpled underwear as he awkwardly pulled them back up over his hips. Sherlock was just as lethargic as John and so their kisses turned slow and languid and moist, their noses bumping and skin oversensitive to each and every swipe. John exhaled deeply through his nostrils and trailed both of his hands up and through Sherlock’s curls, grasping and tugging him gently closer and then pulling him away with a soft of pleasure hiss through his teeth when Sherlock bent down to rub his nipples into John’s chest with a low moan.
Once Sherlock had done cleaning them as much as he wanted, he clumsily put the wet tissues on the beside table without care, tucked himself away in his pyjama bottoms, and then curled his arms around John’s shoulders, letting John roll him onto his back. John kissed Sherlock deeply and held him close, pushing his softening penis into Sherlock’s pelvis with a lazy sound in the back of his throat, and Sherlock huffed with an unfurling grin, stroking one hand up and through John’s hair in such a tender and affectionate way that John’s heart stuttered. Pulling back, John gazed down at Sherlock and waited for Sherlock to open his eyes before giving into the urge to kiss him again with a rolling of nervousness in his stomach. What had they just done? What was he still doing?
The bedroom smelt of sex and the sun had shifted high enough in the sky to bathe it in more light, exposing the crumpled bedcovers, the knocked over lamp that was weighed down by Sherlock’s pyjama top, and the flush of Sherlock’s face and neck. John pressed his lips together tightly and pulled back once more, looking and feeling sheepish and faintly unnerved. Sherlock stared up at him quietly for a moment with an unfocused gaze and then rubbed his hand into his eyes and moaned in a rumble of annoyance, twisting in John’s arms a second later to seemingly burrow back into his pillow for more sleep, pulling the covers back into place and nestling back against John.
“…Sherlock—” John tried, his voice coarse and layered in the lingering tinge of his arousal.
“It’s too early,” Sherlock replied gruffly. “Go back to sleep.”
John frowned and shifted aside when Sherlock curled his legs up, “You expect me to just—?”
“Yes.”
Scowling, John sat up and turned to swing his legs out of the bed, but Sherlock reached back and snatched up his hand. He looked down as Sherlock’s fingers entangled slowly with his and then glanced around the room uncertainly before he finally gave in and lay back down, looping his arm over Sherlock’s side as he tucked his body up against his back and pressed his face to Sherlock’s bare shoulder and neck. To block out the sunlight leaking through the curtains, Sherlock yanked a blanket over their heads and pulled John in closer as he then yawned audibly and settled back in to gradually fall into a doze. John listened to Sherlock’s breathing and his own thundering heart as they both slowed and steadied, and then folded the bed sheet back down to look at Sherlock’s sleeping face with a simultaneous clench of affection and panic in his chest.
“I’m in love with you, aren’t I?” John whispered into the fair skin of Sherlock’s arm, unsure of why he felt like he needed to say it aloud to Sherlock’s deaf and slumbering form. “Bollocks…”