Fic: Another Kiss
Title: Another Kiss
Author: trillsabells
Beta: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Length: 2200 words
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Mary Morstan
Summary: When John slept the lines on his forehead and around the bridge of his nose lined up together forming a deep set pi symbol. It was almost like he was permanently puzzled by the world behind his eyelids.
When John slept the lines on his forehead and around the bridge of his nose lined up together forming a deep set pi symbol. It was almost like he was permanently puzzled by the world behind his eyelids, but more so as the lines never quite lined up like that while he was awake, no matter how confused a simple deduction made him. The creases seemed to change the texture of John’s forehead and Sherlock wondered what they would feel like under his fingers. He was just reaching across to find out when a low buzzing broke the quiet of the room.
No, no, no.
He snatched up the phone and answered it in low tone before the ring could wake John and permanently ruin the pi.
“Hello, Mary.”
Not low enough it seemed as John’s head turned slightly towards him as if in response to his voice.
Now that would be an interesting experiment- no, must let John sleep. Right now at least.
“Oh, hi, Sherlock,” said Mary. “John still with you or has he left his mobile behind again?”
To be fair that had only happened twice and both times Sherlock had borrowed it. Then again if John didn’t notice such an obvious pickpocket he deserved to be teased by his wife.
“No, no,” he said, tearing his eyes away from John and ducking into the kitchen. “He’s here.”
“Brilliant,” said John as the door shut behind them. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“Remind me to buy you a thesaurus,” he said pulling off his coat and hanging it up.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. How would John sound getting his mouth around more creative words? Outstanding. Magnificent. Stupendous. His hand hesitated on the knot on his scarf as he briefly considered leaving it there to hide to the lump in his throat.
“What about the shoes, though?” John continued, hanging up his jacket alongside Sherlock’s, apparently unaware of the direction Sherlock’s mind had gone. “You haven’t said how you knew about the shoes.”
It took two attempts to voice the word ‘Obvious’.
“The polish, the repairs, even the way he held his feet; flat so he wouldn’t crease the leather. Clearly he cared about them more than anything else, including his niece. Simple.”
John flashed him a smile that felt like a kick to the stomach. “Incredible.”
Marvellous. Dazzling. Scintillating.
God.
“Thesaurus. Remind me.”
"He's sleeping."
Mary chuckled. "Already? Did you wear him out?"
"Something like that..."
John huffed a laugh and headed for the stairs. “Don’t act as if you don’t know how good you are.”
“It was hardly the most trying output for my intellect,” he said, finally managing to persuade his hands to pull off his scarf and his feet to follow John. “Anyone could have done it.”
“No.” John, already on the bottom step, stopped so suddenly that Sherlock almost ran into him. Then John turned, bringing them face to face, almost nose to nose.
He wasn’t used to seeing John from this angle; he couldn’t pull his gaze away from John’s eyes. The flecks of brown in them were almost lost as John’s pupils dilated.
“No,” said John, low and quiet, as if it were a secret between friends. “They couldn’t. Just you.”
If he touched his fingertips to John’s inner wrist would he find the pulse beating as fast as his was?
Just me, he thought as he watched John’s gaze drop from their joined eye line towards his lips. Good.
Pushing forward, he pressed his lips to John’s, parting them to coax John’s tongue to meet his own. John responded instantly clutching at his head as if to pull him closer.
Stupid, ridiculous, as if he would ever need to be encouraged closer.
Pressing one foot against the step John was on, he surged against him, pushing his hands beneath John’s jumper and revelling in the warm skin beneath his fingers. John pulled at him, feet clattering against the stairs, then before Sherlock could finish his full examination of the inside of John’s mouth the kiss was broken and John slipped out of his arms sending a spike of pain through his head.
As his hands automatically snapped to the source of the pain he dropped John completely who landed on the stairs with a thump. Looking over with concern he realised John had tripped on the stairs and taken a few of his hairs with him as he fell. After a quick check that John hadn’t hurt himself he couldn’t help sneaking a look at John’s hand, half expecting to see a full clump of hair clutched in his fingers, judging by how sore his head felt.
Really, how could something so small cause so much pain?
He rubbed at the spot and John, his caring, kind hearted Doctor John Watson, burst out laughing.
“Oh God, tell me he’s not passed out over the table again,” she said. “I’m sending him in your direction if he gets all bitchy and irritable because of his shoulder.”
“No,” he said, leaning against the counter. “We solved the case.”
“I’d offer to kiss it better,” John said. “But since kissing on the stairs was what caused it, perhaps we should take this elsewhere.”
The mood, which had dipped a little with John’s fall instantly leapt up again.
“I can think of a good place,” he said, his mind whirling through different possibilities, poses and positions.
John grinned as if he could read his mind and found it exactly to his taste - a distinct possibility, John was so much more experienced with this kind of thing than he was - and held out his arm. Sherlock grasped him by the forearm and hefted him to his feet. Once standing, John didn’t let go immediately but trailed his hand along Sherlock’s arm until they were palm to palm, the groves of John’s hand rough against his tingling skin. John squeezed gently, before giving a little tug towards the top of the stairs. How could he do anything but follow?
John didn’t let go until they were in Sherlock’s bedroom and even then the soft smile kept him hooked, as secure as any handhold. He kept his eyes on it even as he closed the door behind them, letting it ground him until John took the single step forward to bring them together again.
This time it was gentle, simple, a caress of lips, a tentative swipe of a tongue. This time there was all the time in the world.
“Oh good! Who was it?”
“The uncle,” he said, looking at the kettle and wondering whether it was worth making some tea or whether he should think about getting some sleep himself.
“I knew it!” He could almost hear the fist pump “How did you figure it out?”
“Wouldn’t you rather wait for John’s version?” he said, clamping down on his smile at her eager tone.
“Your version is better.”
“True.” More accurate at least. With better grammar. “But you prefer his.”
Lord knows why.
“Yeah, I do,” she said, grunting a little. “But so do you really.”
He shrugged off his jacket, undoing his shirt buttons and pushing that off too when John’s hand slipped up and underneath his collar. He rolled his head to one side to let John press kisses along his bare neck leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Yes.
Pressing his nose into John’s neck he inhaled the pure scent of sweat, wool and beautiful John. He ran his hands along the bottom of John’s jumper, easing it up, needing to get to the skin beneath but putting off the moment when they would have to separate to remove it.
It was bunched up under John’s armpits by the time they pulled away from each other.
Being apart from John, even for the few seconds it took for the damned jumper to come off, was like teetering on the edge of a freezing pool and he grasped for John to resist falling in. The answering kiss was urgent, with added teeth, as they both scrambled to pull at their own belts.
Naked. He needed to be naked. John too. It was very important that John was naked immediately. What was the point of all these clothes if they slowed down getting John naked? Shoes especially, getting in the way.
He kicked them off and threw the socks after them, pleased to hear the thumps of John following suit with extra vigour.
When they were finally, finally, naked he reached for John and found himself yanked and pulled backwards onto the bed. As they fell, John twisted them so they fell on their sides, facing each other.
“You’re good at that,” he said.
“I have to be good at something,” John said, knocking the breath out of him by pushing him onto his back and straddling him.
Who needed breath anyway? This was much less boring.
“You’re good at a lot of things,” he gulped, flinging out an arm and pulling out the drawer of the bedside table so forcefully that his alarm clock was knocked off.
One of these days the drawer was going to break off completely.
Mary sucked in a sudden breath.
“Are you alright?” he said, tea forgotten as he immediately started mentally mapping out routes to the house, what clothes John had at the flat he could wear to leave immediately and where the nearest hospital was. “Is it the baby? Is that why you wanted John?”
“I’m fine, Sherlock.”
“Are you sure? I could wake him.”
They could be at the hospital within ten minutes if they cut through the one way street, fifteen if they had to stop for Mary to pack a bag. Shouldn’t she have a bag ready to go? She really should, he’d suggest that.
“I’m sure. It’s just his blasted spawn kicking me in the liver.”
“But that’s impossible, the positioning-“
“I know, I was being overly specific, I apologise. It’s just… generally kicking. Let John sleep.”
The first thrust was like fireworks going off in his brain, blasting all thoughts away in their wake. He didn’t even notice that John had successfully dug out the lube until a hand pressed into his, sharing the slick substance. When John moved their joined hands down so he wrap his hand around John’s cock and John could take hold of his it was all he could do to scrape enough brain cells together to get a rhythm going. The pace was familiar, the movements of their hips and their hands following the same pattern as they always did but he still had to break off the kiss just to breathe, to pant out the name of the amazing, wonderful man on top of him.
“John.”
“Sherlock.”
“God, John.”
“Fuck yes.”
“John!”
A twist and he was done for, a low endless cry ripping from his chest as he desperately tried to keep going. He nearly lost rhythm as his brain cut short and sparked but kept going, had to keep going to please, to reward to finish John, John, John.
“Ahh!”
John spent against his stomach and collapsed on top of him, his arm twisted in a way that could not have been good for his shoulder. Sherlock wanted to stretch out and adjust him into a more comfortable position but for the moment his limbs refused to obey.
“John,” he managed to get out between gasps for breath.
“S’lock?”
“Arm.”
“Whuh?”
Gathering his energy he braced himself against the mattress then half lunged, half bounced sideways so John tumbled off him. John landed on the bedclothes with an “Oof,” legs still bent in the air, like an insect turned onto its back. Sherlock could have laughed if he had the energy but instead he flipped onto his chest, wrapped an arm around John’s waist and snuggled back into the pillow, content that this would be a much more comfortable position for John to sleep in.
John took a couple of deep breaths before relaxing as well, turning his head so they were face to face once more, this time pressed up against the same pillow. His previously trapped arm came up and he stroked a finger across Sherlock’s face.
“Good?”
“Always.”
“Do you… need me to come round?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Imagine how upset he’d be if he woke up to find that not only were you not next to him but you weren’t even in the flat. Anyway, I was just calling to find out if he would be home for dinner, so since he’s not I’m going to order myself a nice takeaway. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, of course.”
John smiled, his eyelids already starting to droop. John always dropped off quickly after sex. His breathing evened out, slowing down in a pattern Sherlock knew as well as any violin piece until, within minutes, he was fully under.
But no matter how exhausted he was Sherlock could never sleep, at least not at first. Not with John’s face, so changed by endorphin induced sleep, right in front of him begging to be examined and catalogued. The lines on John’s forehead alone were enough to keep him intrigued for hours. Perhaps even a lifetime.
“Great. Oh and remind John he said he’d try to text me when he wasn’t going to be home. I know he gets carried away but if he can just pause one minute before the snogging starts it saves me a lot of bother.”
“I’ll remind him. Bye, Mary.”
“Bye. Give John a kiss from me.”
“I will.”
Author: trillsabells
Beta: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Length: 2200 words
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Mary Morstan
Summary: When John slept the lines on his forehead and around the bridge of his nose lined up together forming a deep set pi symbol. It was almost like he was permanently puzzled by the world behind his eyelids.
When John slept the lines on his forehead and around the bridge of his nose lined up together forming a deep set pi symbol. It was almost like he was permanently puzzled by the world behind his eyelids, but more so as the lines never quite lined up like that while he was awake, no matter how confused a simple deduction made him. The creases seemed to change the texture of John’s forehead and Sherlock wondered what they would feel like under his fingers. He was just reaching across to find out when a low buzzing broke the quiet of the room.
No, no, no.
He snatched up the phone and answered it in low tone before the ring could wake John and permanently ruin the pi.
“Hello, Mary.”
Not low enough it seemed as John’s head turned slightly towards him as if in response to his voice.
Now that would be an interesting experiment- no, must let John sleep. Right now at least.
“Oh, hi, Sherlock,” said Mary. “John still with you or has he left his mobile behind again?”
To be fair that had only happened twice and both times Sherlock had borrowed it. Then again if John didn’t notice such an obvious pickpocket he deserved to be teased by his wife.
“No, no,” he said, tearing his eyes away from John and ducking into the kitchen. “He’s here.”
“Brilliant,” said John as the door shut behind them. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“Remind me to buy you a thesaurus,” he said pulling off his coat and hanging it up.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. How would John sound getting his mouth around more creative words? Outstanding. Magnificent. Stupendous. His hand hesitated on the knot on his scarf as he briefly considered leaving it there to hide to the lump in his throat.
“What about the shoes, though?” John continued, hanging up his jacket alongside Sherlock’s, apparently unaware of the direction Sherlock’s mind had gone. “You haven’t said how you knew about the shoes.”
It took two attempts to voice the word ‘Obvious’.
“The polish, the repairs, even the way he held his feet; flat so he wouldn’t crease the leather. Clearly he cared about them more than anything else, including his niece. Simple.”
John flashed him a smile that felt like a kick to the stomach. “Incredible.”
Marvellous. Dazzling. Scintillating.
God.
“Thesaurus. Remind me.”
"He's sleeping."
Mary chuckled. "Already? Did you wear him out?"
"Something like that..."
John huffed a laugh and headed for the stairs. “Don’t act as if you don’t know how good you are.”
“It was hardly the most trying output for my intellect,” he said, finally managing to persuade his hands to pull off his scarf and his feet to follow John. “Anyone could have done it.”
“No.” John, already on the bottom step, stopped so suddenly that Sherlock almost ran into him. Then John turned, bringing them face to face, almost nose to nose.
He wasn’t used to seeing John from this angle; he couldn’t pull his gaze away from John’s eyes. The flecks of brown in them were almost lost as John’s pupils dilated.
“No,” said John, low and quiet, as if it were a secret between friends. “They couldn’t. Just you.”
If he touched his fingertips to John’s inner wrist would he find the pulse beating as fast as his was?
Just me, he thought as he watched John’s gaze drop from their joined eye line towards his lips. Good.
Pushing forward, he pressed his lips to John’s, parting them to coax John’s tongue to meet his own. John responded instantly clutching at his head as if to pull him closer.
Stupid, ridiculous, as if he would ever need to be encouraged closer.
Pressing one foot against the step John was on, he surged against him, pushing his hands beneath John’s jumper and revelling in the warm skin beneath his fingers. John pulled at him, feet clattering against the stairs, then before Sherlock could finish his full examination of the inside of John’s mouth the kiss was broken and John slipped out of his arms sending a spike of pain through his head.
As his hands automatically snapped to the source of the pain he dropped John completely who landed on the stairs with a thump. Looking over with concern he realised John had tripped on the stairs and taken a few of his hairs with him as he fell. After a quick check that John hadn’t hurt himself he couldn’t help sneaking a look at John’s hand, half expecting to see a full clump of hair clutched in his fingers, judging by how sore his head felt.
Really, how could something so small cause so much pain?
He rubbed at the spot and John, his caring, kind hearted Doctor John Watson, burst out laughing.
“Oh God, tell me he’s not passed out over the table again,” she said. “I’m sending him in your direction if he gets all bitchy and irritable because of his shoulder.”
“No,” he said, leaning against the counter. “We solved the case.”
“I’d offer to kiss it better,” John said. “But since kissing on the stairs was what caused it, perhaps we should take this elsewhere.”
The mood, which had dipped a little with John’s fall instantly leapt up again.
“I can think of a good place,” he said, his mind whirling through different possibilities, poses and positions.
John grinned as if he could read his mind and found it exactly to his taste - a distinct possibility, John was so much more experienced with this kind of thing than he was - and held out his arm. Sherlock grasped him by the forearm and hefted him to his feet. Once standing, John didn’t let go immediately but trailed his hand along Sherlock’s arm until they were palm to palm, the groves of John’s hand rough against his tingling skin. John squeezed gently, before giving a little tug towards the top of the stairs. How could he do anything but follow?
John didn’t let go until they were in Sherlock’s bedroom and even then the soft smile kept him hooked, as secure as any handhold. He kept his eyes on it even as he closed the door behind them, letting it ground him until John took the single step forward to bring them together again.
This time it was gentle, simple, a caress of lips, a tentative swipe of a tongue. This time there was all the time in the world.
“Oh good! Who was it?”
“The uncle,” he said, looking at the kettle and wondering whether it was worth making some tea or whether he should think about getting some sleep himself.
“I knew it!” He could almost hear the fist pump “How did you figure it out?”
“Wouldn’t you rather wait for John’s version?” he said, clamping down on his smile at her eager tone.
“Your version is better.”
“True.” More accurate at least. With better grammar. “But you prefer his.”
Lord knows why.
“Yeah, I do,” she said, grunting a little. “But so do you really.”
He shrugged off his jacket, undoing his shirt buttons and pushing that off too when John’s hand slipped up and underneath his collar. He rolled his head to one side to let John press kisses along his bare neck leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Yes.
Pressing his nose into John’s neck he inhaled the pure scent of sweat, wool and beautiful John. He ran his hands along the bottom of John’s jumper, easing it up, needing to get to the skin beneath but putting off the moment when they would have to separate to remove it.
It was bunched up under John’s armpits by the time they pulled away from each other.
Being apart from John, even for the few seconds it took for the damned jumper to come off, was like teetering on the edge of a freezing pool and he grasped for John to resist falling in. The answering kiss was urgent, with added teeth, as they both scrambled to pull at their own belts.
Naked. He needed to be naked. John too. It was very important that John was naked immediately. What was the point of all these clothes if they slowed down getting John naked? Shoes especially, getting in the way.
He kicked them off and threw the socks after them, pleased to hear the thumps of John following suit with extra vigour.
When they were finally, finally, naked he reached for John and found himself yanked and pulled backwards onto the bed. As they fell, John twisted them so they fell on their sides, facing each other.
“You’re good at that,” he said.
“I have to be good at something,” John said, knocking the breath out of him by pushing him onto his back and straddling him.
Who needed breath anyway? This was much less boring.
“You’re good at a lot of things,” he gulped, flinging out an arm and pulling out the drawer of the bedside table so forcefully that his alarm clock was knocked off.
One of these days the drawer was going to break off completely.
Mary sucked in a sudden breath.
“Are you alright?” he said, tea forgotten as he immediately started mentally mapping out routes to the house, what clothes John had at the flat he could wear to leave immediately and where the nearest hospital was. “Is it the baby? Is that why you wanted John?”
“I’m fine, Sherlock.”
“Are you sure? I could wake him.”
They could be at the hospital within ten minutes if they cut through the one way street, fifteen if they had to stop for Mary to pack a bag. Shouldn’t she have a bag ready to go? She really should, he’d suggest that.
“I’m sure. It’s just his blasted spawn kicking me in the liver.”
“But that’s impossible, the positioning-“
“I know, I was being overly specific, I apologise. It’s just… generally kicking. Let John sleep.”
The first thrust was like fireworks going off in his brain, blasting all thoughts away in their wake. He didn’t even notice that John had successfully dug out the lube until a hand pressed into his, sharing the slick substance. When John moved their joined hands down so he wrap his hand around John’s cock and John could take hold of his it was all he could do to scrape enough brain cells together to get a rhythm going. The pace was familiar, the movements of their hips and their hands following the same pattern as they always did but he still had to break off the kiss just to breathe, to pant out the name of the amazing, wonderful man on top of him.
“John.”
“Sherlock.”
“God, John.”
“Fuck yes.”
“John!”
A twist and he was done for, a low endless cry ripping from his chest as he desperately tried to keep going. He nearly lost rhythm as his brain cut short and sparked but kept going, had to keep going to please, to reward to finish John, John, John.
“Ahh!”
John spent against his stomach and collapsed on top of him, his arm twisted in a way that could not have been good for his shoulder. Sherlock wanted to stretch out and adjust him into a more comfortable position but for the moment his limbs refused to obey.
“John,” he managed to get out between gasps for breath.
“S’lock?”
“Arm.”
“Whuh?”
Gathering his energy he braced himself against the mattress then half lunged, half bounced sideways so John tumbled off him. John landed on the bedclothes with an “Oof,” legs still bent in the air, like an insect turned onto its back. Sherlock could have laughed if he had the energy but instead he flipped onto his chest, wrapped an arm around John’s waist and snuggled back into the pillow, content that this would be a much more comfortable position for John to sleep in.
John took a couple of deep breaths before relaxing as well, turning his head so they were face to face once more, this time pressed up against the same pillow. His previously trapped arm came up and he stroked a finger across Sherlock’s face.
“Good?”
“Always.”
“Do you… need me to come round?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Imagine how upset he’d be if he woke up to find that not only were you not next to him but you weren’t even in the flat. Anyway, I was just calling to find out if he would be home for dinner, so since he’s not I’m going to order myself a nice takeaway. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, of course.”
John smiled, his eyelids already starting to droop. John always dropped off quickly after sex. His breathing evened out, slowing down in a pattern Sherlock knew as well as any violin piece until, within minutes, he was fully under.
But no matter how exhausted he was Sherlock could never sleep, at least not at first. Not with John’s face, so changed by endorphin induced sleep, right in front of him begging to be examined and catalogued. The lines on John’s forehead alone were enough to keep him intrigued for hours. Perhaps even a lifetime.
“Great. Oh and remind John he said he’d try to text me when he wasn’t going to be home. I know he gets carried away but if he can just pause one minute before the snogging starts it saves me a lot of bother.”
“I’ll remind him. Bye, Mary.”
“Bye. Give John a kiss from me.”
“I will.”