Fic: I watch you while you sleep (1/2)
This is a story that was inspired by the amazing art series 'Somnophilia' drawn by the wonderful livia_carica. All art featured in this story is from her, links will be provided in the AN below.
Title: I watch you while you sleep
Words: 2147
Rating: NC-17 (probably R, but just to be sure...)
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Beta: the wonderful verityburns
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made.
I watch you while you sleep
Sherlock never does or says anything without a purpose.
But nowadays he finds himself doing nothing with a purpose. He wanders the flat aimlessly (and tends to end up in John’s room anyway), he stares at his laptop without seeing anything, he makes coffee just to pour it out again and he makes food just to leave it until it gets cold.
He puts the latest plate into the fridge, because John hates to throw food away. But by now there are dozens of plates in the fridge. And he is out of clean ones.
He can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breath properly.
And the worst thing? He can’t concentrate. His thoughts flutter around like scared fish in a tank.
He wasn’t prepared for that. He also wasn’t prepared for all the feelings. He never thought that he would feel as disappointed at himself again as he felt when he didn't realise sooner that Santa didn’t exist (he was three years old). And he never thought that he’d feel the pain and solitude again that he felt when he was younger, before he willed himself not to listen to the insults, learned not to feel the sting, perfected how to retaliate with a sharp reply.
Funny thing: You’d probably say that Sherlock never thought that he would fall in love with John, but he knew that, knew he would lose his heart to that small, blonde man the moment he set eyes on him in the lab.
---
So now he has ended up in their ... John’s ... the empty bedroom - again. He lies down on the unmade bed and tries to sleep.
Suddenly there is a small beeping noise, almost to faint to hear. Sherlock opens his eyes again, relieved to have something he can concentrate on. He gets up and tries to locate the sound.
There, from the corner of the cupboard... Oh, of course. Stupid! How could he have forgotten that?
He grabs a chair and pulls the small camera down. The batteries are dead, that’s why it was making a sound.
He stares at the camera for a moment, remembering the experiment about sleeping patterns (John’s sleeping patterns to be precise), then jumps down from the chair and strides downstairs.
For the first time in days, he opens his laptop with a purpose.
---
A few hours later, Sherlock is sitting in their ... John’s ... the empty bedroom again, this time surrounded by dozens of printed photographs.
There are a few from ‘Before’, clearly showing John in various states of his nightmares, but most were taken ‘After’.
After they became involved there was no need for the camera any more, because Sherlock could observe John’s sleeping patterns in person. And the nightmares stopped anyway.
So he obviously forgot about the experiment.
---
He closes his eyes and thinks about how this all started, how ‘Before’ ended and ‘After’ began.
While catching a suspect Sherlock got hit square in the face. His jaw hurt and when they came home John wanted to have a look at it.
Sherlock is standing in the middle of their living room, John in front of him, gently touching his jaw, checking if something is broken or dislocated.
It’s not different from all the other times John has looked at Sherlock’s wounds (and there were plenty, believe me), so why does it feel different this time?
John’s hands seem to leave trails of burning skin behind, his smell does something funny to Sherlock’s stomach and the fact that the other man is so close that he can feel his breath on his face is making his pulse race.
John is talking but Sherlock can’t understand what he is saying. Probably that his jaw is fine. Then he says Sherlock’s name and suddenly his hearing is back.
John looks up to him, a little confused, hands still on Sherlock’s face, then his gaze goes back to Sherlock’s neck, where his pulse is hammering.
“Oh,” John says very softly. Warm eyes come back to Sherlock’s and a thumb starts stroking his cheek. Then, with a knowing smile, he closes the small distance and gently presses his lips to Sherlock’s.
---
There are pictures of John alone, those were the nights they had a case and Sherlock refused to sleep. Thinking of all these missed opportunities now hurts, but who could have known that it would end, that they would end?
He shuffles those pictures together and turns the pile upside-down.
There are a few pictures of them having sex and two pictures of John masturbating. Sherlock stares at them for a long time, suddenly tasting John on his tongue again, feeling the warmth of his skin and there is a hole inside him that no one can fill except John.
He swallows the tears, because he knows that if he starts he will not be able to stop.
---
He takes the next picture.
John is lying on his back in his pyjamas, Sherlock in his arms. Their fingers are intertwined and they both look so peaceful and content.
Sherlock remembers lying like that, his head over John’s heart, listening to the reassuring sound until he falls asleep. He has never felt that safe before in his life.
The pain inside gets so strong that he doubles over, huffing and almost sobbing.
He distracts himself by figuring out when this picture was taken. John is wearing long pants - winter. He is wearing his army shirt - before the experiment with the washing machine then. There is a minor cut on his arm - oh, yes...
They are staggering back through the door, drenched to the skin, cold and tired. John’s teeth are actually chattering.
Sherlock pulls him into the bathroom, strips him efficiently and helps him under the warm shower then follows suit.
After they have warmed up a little, John puts on his pyjamas and crawls into bed. Sherlock, still wearing only pants, goes to the cupboard to get a shirt.
“No, leave it. I want to feel your skin.”
Sherlock drops the shirt and sits down beside John. John smiles at him.
“Come here, let me hold you. I missed you.”
“You were with me the entire time.”
“Yes, but I missed you here. In our bed.”
Sherlock places a tender kiss on John’s lips then snuggles in beside him, feeling warm and sheltered.
He puts his hand on John’s stomach, but John takes it and gently intertwines their fingers.
Seconds later, both men are asleep.
---
Sherlock carefully puts the photo into his lap and picks up the next one.
He takes one look and knows exactly when this was taken.
It was their first time in this bed. Well, their first time together at all...
After their first kiss in the living room, things changed rather slowly. Sherlock had to finish his case and he was grateful because the possibilities of ruining things with John were endless and he needed time to adjust.
John seemed fine with taking things slow, he sometimes stepped closer, an uncertain look on his face as if he still couldn’t believe his luck, always waiting for a sign from Sherlock that he didn’t want to be touched or kissed right now.
Those never came and after a few days, John got bolder.
That night Sherlock comes from the shower and steps into John’s room, because he wants to ask him something (funnily enough, he later can’t remember what it was). John suddenly makes a small needy noise and grabs him, tumbling them both onto the bed while never stopping kissing Sherlock.
Sherlock loses track of time, he only knows that there is kissing and touching and John. He surfaces for breath and realises that his dressing gown got shoved out of the way somehow. And that he is hard. No, not only hard, he is just short of having an orgasm in his pants. This can’t be right.
He notices that John’s eyes are filled with want and lust before he pulls back.
“No... I’m sorry, John... this was a mistake.”
Sherlock scrambles back vigorously and fast but John manages to catch his hand anyway.
“Stop.”
Sherlock stills like a deer in the headlights.
John softly tugs at his hand until Sherlock gingerly lays back on the bed, though he keeps a distance between them.
“Please talk to me, Sherlock. I promise I will let you go if that is what you really want. But it seemed like you were enjoying yourself just a few moments ago. What happened?”
Sherlock keeps silent.
“Whatever it is you are feeling, you can tell me. You are safe here with me, I promise. I won’t judge, I won’t laugh and I won’t be offended.”
“You can’t know that.” Sherlock hears that his voice sounds very young.
“Yes, I can. Trust me. Please.”
Sherlock closes his eyes and whispers, “It’s embarrassing.” Then he falls silent again.
“What is?” John’s voice is soft and he does this thing where he tries to help Sherlock explain what he can’t explain, by asking the right questions.
“You want me to do something and do not know how to ask for it? You have a kink? You get loud?”
Then he stops, probably because Sherlock shakes his head frantically. He manages another whisper.
“I was aroused.”
“Yes, you were.” John smiles, a warm, loving smile, not making fun of him.
Then his face falls and his eyes go dark with a complex mixture of emotions, too complex for Sherlock to understand. Sherlock is suddenly frightened.
“John?”
“Are you saying that you didn’t like being aroused?”
Now Sherlock can clearly identify pain and something else - fear of loss?- in John’s voice.
“What?” How can he think that?
“You know, if tonight hadn’t happened I could have happily lived my life beside you, as your friend and nothing more. Ok, there would’ve been the occasional wank while fantasising about you, but nothing more. But now? I don’t think I can go back to not needing to touch you, to kiss you, to want you. Please, don’t take this back.”
He sounds close to tears and Sherlock suddenly feels that explaining what happened is not that difficult.
“No, it’s not that. I was too aroused. It... you... I was overwhelmed and close to coming and you hadn’t even touched me below the waist.”
John’s breathing goes funny and he closes his eyes. Sherlock feels something close to panic.
“No, John, you promised you wouldn’t. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not. I just... needed a moment to control myself. The moment before you spoke, before you tried to get away, I looked at you and you were so beautiful: your hair all over the place, your lips red from kissing, your pupils blown wide. I thought that I could come just from looking at you.”
Something is happening in Sherlock’s stomach, he is not sure what, but it feels like crawling insects. When John takes his hand and presses it against his erection, Sherlock gasps.
John’s cock is hard and hot and there is a damp spot on his pants. His voice is deep and raw.
“Repeat what you just said. And feel my reaction to it.”
Sherlock does and he feels John’s cock twitch under his fingers. The realisation that the thought of Sherlock coming just from John’s kisses turns John on this much, makes Sherlock nearly lose it.
“Make me, John. I want to come just from you kissing me and I want to feel your reaction to watching me.”
John pulls down his pants, shuffles closer and presses his erection against Sherlock’s thigh. The he starts kissing and stroking Sherlock’s skin again. When he feels that Sherlock is close, he takes his hand, interlocks their gazes and sucks on Sherlock’s finger.
Sherlock comes almost instantly. John groans around his finger and Sherlock feels John’s shaft pulse against his leg and then there is hot fluid and Sherlock feels like coming again.
Afterwards they lie there panting, Sherlock unable to move. John finally gets up and cleans them both up before crawling back into bed.
Sherlock looks at the picture and remembers that he woke up the next morning feeling John’s hand on his groin. Now he realises that the hand was there the whole night. It makes his heart clench.
He likes the picture, because it shows that they are still used to sleeping alone, there is no cuddling, not much touching but his own body is migrating towards John and John has his hand on Sherlock’s leg. Possessive and loving at the same time.
Part 2 here.
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AN: This one is for chocolamousse, who is to blame for me writing this. She also writes amazing comments and messages. Thank you, darling! <3
The first pic: 'Safe'
The second pic: 'Sleep'
Thank you, Livia, for your amazing art which always touches me deep inside!
Thanks - as always - to my wonderful beta Verity, who fought her way through this despite the story being so sad. Without her Sherlock would have a door in his pants (don’t ask) and John would never kiss him (the wonders of correct grammar...)
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