A/N: My birthday present for Ashley is done! Two days late, but sue me. :p It's not quite as fluffy as I'd intended, but I like it just the same. HAPPY (belated *cough*) BIRTHDAY TO MY DARLING ALPHA! X3


The Kiss

John was going to kiss him.

He knew he was going to kiss him.

The only real questions were when and how.

Maybe where.

He stared at Sherlock across from him, lying on the sofa, eyes closed, hands steepled, deep in his mind palace.

John wanted him.

Months of "I'm not gay," and "we're not a couple."

Months of self denial.

Months of intentional self oblivion.

John was through denying it.

He wanted Sherlock.

Nothing was ever so simple or so complicated as that.

And Sherlock…

Hell, who knew what Sherlock wanted.

Oh, John wasn't blind.

He was well aware of the lingering looks and the almost touches and the poorly hidden need for praise.

But Sherlock was a different creature altogether.

That could be his mating call, yes, or it could be him preparing to test a new theory or perhaps in the middle of an experiment.

John had had many instances of discovering he was a lab rat only after the experiment was over.

He feared how many tests had been done on him that he was still unaware of.

Regardless, John wanted this insane man.

For a million and one reasons and not a single one made sense.

The hair.

Shaggy.

Unruly mess.

Cut it.

John wanted to plunge his fingers in it and get them tangled and lock a piece of himself into Sherlock's head, as close as he could get to that magnificent mind.

The eyes.

What the hell colour were they, anyway?

Blue?

Green?

Grey?

Blue-green-grey-yellow?

Glasz?

John had found himself staring into them more times than he could count and many more than he'd admit, but he'd gladly continue to lose himself in the swirl of ever-changing colour if Sherlock would let him.

The hands.

Long.

Slender.

Careful.

Precise.

John had watched those hands handle dead bodies and lab equipment and could not help but wonder how they would handle certain very alive, very potentially unstable parts of his anatomy.

The lips.

Pouty and sneering and smiling and pursed.

They were fucking perfect.

John wanted to kiss them until they were red and swollen and parted so Sherlock could gasp in air like a drowning man because John had just sucked every molecule of oxygen from his body.

And he would.

Soon.

As soon as he figured out the when.

The where and how had just very satisfactorily taken care of themselves.

Well, what the hell was wrong with right now?

John got up and approached Sherlock, still deep in his thoughts, unaware of anything around him.

John leaned down and kissed him.

Softly for the second and a half that he reveled in the feel of Sherlock's lips against his, unresponsive as they were, then harder, deeper, when the hunger and the months of repressed longing took over.

He was only vaguely aware when Sherlock responded.

John had pulled him out of his mind palace. Imagine that.

John felt when Sherlock's lips parted.

Surprise or active participant?

John relished the hand placed on the back of his head to keep him there.

Active participant, then.

When Sherlock's mouth opened wider beneath his, John plunged in greedily.

Tongues dueled.

Teeth clashed.

Lips melded.

Glorious.

When John pulled back, Sherlock wasn't the only one drawing in air like there was none left in his system.

When Sherlock marginally regained his breath, he looked at John seriously.

"Took you long enough."

John smiled.

Snarky bastard.

Acting like he hadn't just had the life kissed out of him.

John went to work kissing the snark from Sherlock's being, air be damned.


A/N: Forgive me if you don't care for how this fic is structured. It wanted to be told in one line segments and who am I to refuse my muse? *shrugs*

This story has an alternate ending, if you'll click on the next chapter button. It was my first attempt at the "when" for this kiss, but I didn't like how it was going. But some of you might so have at it if you wish.