#half awake

When I stand in front of the fridge some seconds - or minutes? -later, I have no idea what I am doing there.

“John?” I inquire without elaborating.

“A new bottle,” he says.

“Of course!” I exclaim, both because of John’s ability to understand what I mean, and the epiphany on how to proceed.

I manage to open the bottle without too much spilling of the liquid. When I walk back to the sitting room, I lick the remnants of cava from my fingers.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John mumbles and flushes.

“What? I spilled some…oh…”

I feel my neck get warm, and it only increases when John licks his lips just so.

John gets aroused by…this…me sucking my fingers.

The deduction is crystal-clear, and pierces through my foggy brain, which has been only half awake. I ponder how to continue, but then John clears his throat and points at his empty glass.

“You’re not drinking that bottle all on your own,” he states with a hint of his captain’s voice.

I shiver and feel that my trousers tighten at images of John in fatigues parading through the flat.

“Give me that!”

Warm fingers stroke mine when John grabs the bottle from my hand. He pours the fizzy drink into both our glasses and gestures for me to sit down in my chair again.

Walking is made difficult by the protruding hardness between my legs. Somehow, I manage to seat myself and cross one leg over the other to conceal the discourteous bulge.

I take a large swig of my drink, which I instantly regret. Before I can swallow, I look over at John who has a predatory look in his eyes. Some of the cava trickles down my windpipe. I cough, splutter, and tears blur my vision. When I meet John’s eyes again, they are closer, and the look in them is concerned.

He is leaning over me, patting my back, asking if I am alright.

“Slightly miscalculation,” I respond and cough one last time.

“Clearly. On my part as well,” is John’s cryptical reply.

What does he mean?

The question is probably readable on my face because John just raises his eyebrows suggestively – you know very well what I mean, Sherlock.

I raise mine in turn – well, you have never looked at me like that, John.

“Oh, but I have, Sherlock,” he says huskily, “but you weren’t paying attention.”

His face has a smug expression, and I raise an eyebrow in silent query again – really?

When he bends down to claim my lips, I close my eyes and hold on to his shoulders to prevent me from dissolving into a puddle.

“Your lips,” he whispers, “your neck, your hands, your curls, your cheekbones, your voice, your broad chest, your bespoken shirts and suits, your legs, you.”

Each of his words is followed by a kiss to my lips, cheeks, and neck. His hot breath against my skin is intoxicating. I squirm; sitting has become unpleasant because of my insistent erection.

“John,” I pant, “I need to get up. My trousers are – “

“Tight,” he purrs and lets his eyes rest on my groin.

“Yes. Bedroom?”

“God, yes,” he says emphatically and pulls me up with his strong arms.

My mind fast forwarded the tedious proceedings of getting undressed. It had thankfully regained its alertness.

I instinctively know that our first time will be messy and quick; we are after all quite drunk. The second John aligns his hot and pulsing cock with mine, I see stars and pull him closer to slide against his slick hardness. I admit I am unsuccessful in this endeavour, so I take advantage of a large hand, and envelope us both, pulling and twisting until we both pant hard and come seconds apart.

“Are you awake, Sherlock?”

I’m not, but I manage to answer anyway.

“Only half of me,” I mumble.

My favourite sound - in my bed - almost wake me fully, but then a warm and damp cloth swipes over my belly, and I nearly fall back to sleep again.

“I should’ve known you’d leave the cleaning up to me,” he mutters.

“Problem?”

I am drowsy now. And sated. And warm. And…something else. It is hard to decipher in my half-awake state.

When John’s arms pull me to him and his lips place a soft kiss on my forehead, I know; I feel loved.

John’s words make me even surer: “sweet dreams, my love.”

“Love,” I murmur dreamily, “I like that. A lot. I will tell you more about it tomorrow.”

I fall asleep with the sound of John’s giggle in my ears.

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Half awake, he kept his eyes closed and felt for their bodies pressed against his. The shared warmth. The comforting weight of them both.

He opened his eyes again, but kept his eyes on the ceiling, slowly blinking away the fog in his vision. Their breathing was so delicate, he knew they were both near to waking. Any movement on his part was likely going to stir one and then the other.

And then the day would begin, and he would lose this precious moment of peace.

He pressed them both again, drinking in the feel of them under his arms.

In his peripheral vision, he could see the little bird hopping about on the sill, fluffing its feathers, thankfully quiet for the moment.

The love on his right side shifted, pressing more of her body against him, and he felt almost an ache in his heart. Back and forth in his mind - Lin? Pema? - he tried to decide who it was. It was probably Pema, he thought, since she had mostly slept closer to the wall their whole marriage. And Lin did not like to be pinned, in case of emergency.

But that was the thing - the number of times Lin had fallen asleep next to the wall had spiked recently. She seemed to be especially prone to sleeping to Pema’s right side, for some reason. When they got in bed before him, he often found them with Pema in the middle spot, her left side exposed, waiting for him.

That Lin had returned to the space she had once occupied so often nearly brought him to tears, right there.

He had lived in this one room nearly his whole life - childhood, his teen years, the years he shared with Lin, married, and now… married differently.

With a smile on his face, he pressed his beloveds closer to his body.

“Mmmm…” came the voice from his left.

Lin.

He smiled, realizing he had been correct in his original thoughts.

Then Pema squirmed, somehow stretching more of herself against his right flank.

And then their hands met over his chest.

“Do we think he is awake?” Pema whispered as she laced her fingers through Lin’s.

What he felt then must have caught their attention, because they began sliding their joined hands across his chest, toward his stomach…

Pema raised her head and caught his eyes. She gave him a sly smile, leaned across his chest to kiss Lin, and loudly whisper -