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[docwithablog]

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[acuriousincident]

[ He comes down from it gradually, forcing his eyes open mostly in response to John's question. His hand feels sticky with cum, as does the sheets and his lower abdomen but he can't be arsed to move or wipe it off, so he leaves it to dry in splotchy patterns instead. They'll need to shower in the morning anyhow, it hardly matters now. Breathing returning only slowly to its regular rhythm, he glances sideways at the other man, gaze raking over his features for a few seconds. Sated, most of all. Licking his lips, alright, a tinge of something else in the afterglow, possibly 1) missing-condom regret or 2) just general bafflement at having done this when about five weeks ago, it wouldn't even cross his mind. None of those are truly worrisome issues and he leaves them hanging (unless, of course, John-the-Second came with STDs in which case John-the-First will lose absolutely every point he's managed to gain tonight), clearing his throat and glancing upwards at the ceiling. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette right now... ]

I am always able. [ He shrugs. ] You already know why, can't see why I'd waste my time pointing it out. [ In his mind, he ticks the boxes anyway: social norms and expectations; the effect of trauma on sexual identity and personal narratives, a drive towards the safety in what's already known and familiar and accepted; you think you want normalcy, john, but that doesn't mean you need it. He sighs, audibly. ] The non-honest answer would be that I don't know.

[ He stretches lazily, feet almost popping off the bed in the process. As a natural consequence of orgasm, he feels incredibly, bonelessly tired and he really ought to go and wash up somewhat, do something to prepare for bed but he's already in it and in less than a minute he'll be half-asleep, so really. He stays exactly where he is, his shoulder touching John's front, the smell and feel of him everywhere still in his sensory systems, taking up space in a way that John so rarely does otherwise. He can allow it now. Of course he can. All thoughts of tomorrow - of onward, of consequences and regrets - feel distant, like his brain's given up on executive functioning for the night altogether. He shifts closer to John, just a fraction. ]

[docwithablog]

[ They're a mess of spunk and sweat and other sexual leftovers (though, hopefully still STD-free, he'll have to remind Sherlock to get tested tomorrow, that'll be an interesting one for Molly to run), lying next to each other not not quite touching. Neither of them is really getting ready to go anywhere, though, the bathroom or -- well, if John should have any inclination to drag himself up the stairs to his own bedroom, it's well and truly buzzed out by the laziness clinging to his every muscular fibre. Sherlock shifts closer, just a tiny bit, and John greets him with an arm reaching out, landing a bit uncoordinated still across his midriff. It's not a tug (or a hug or anything like that), but it's an accommodation, him grabbing onto the last remnants of physical intimacy before it's gone, along with the moment. Sherlock's stomach is splotched by cum and John doesn't even try to avoid getting his forearm dragged through the ruins of their unsafe sexual escapades, that's how many fucks he gives about his own STD-worries. Nothing to be done about it now, after all. Besides, Sherlock smells like a rather intriguing mix of the two of them and since you can't rightly get that scent bottled, it's a matter of staying close while it lasts, isn't it? John drums his fingers a bit restlessly against the other man's lower ribs, you can count those things, really, that's how thin he is. ]

Anyway, it was nice.

[ You already know why, Sherlock says, because no, he can't not be everyone's least-favourite and drunkenly honest uncle (or in John's case, sister, though drawing parallels between Sherlock and Harry is really not a very attractive thought right now, everything considered) and he licks his lips again, shifting so his head finds a more comfortable rest against the mattress, smelling very much like shagging, but what did he expect? That he'd come home from war and not dream of a nuclear family, come on, it's part of the package, the concept.

That he'd have the very good fortune to meet someone like Sherlock? Perhaps such a thought was even more far-fetched than the first, back then. ]

[acuriousincident]

[ It was nice. Says John and settles down next to him, one arm slung across his midriff. He frowns for at moment, considering the weight of John's arm, the proximity, the smell of sex still heavy in the air and his words, of course, he doesn't miss those, even though he doesn't rightly know what to think of them. Nice. In what way? He doesn't ask because they're post-orgasmic and nobody wants to take a quiz when they've just spent themselves so thoroughly - all the same. He'd like to know. In fact, he could possibly lie awake for quite a while if he were so inclined (he's not), pondering all possible answers and getting nowhere in the process because no one can tell him but John. John said it. He owns them. The implications. Blinking slowly this time, feeling both sated and worried and incredibly sleepy, he glances sideways at John for a long moment before turning his head away. He likes the way he drummed his fingers against his skin before, he decides. There was something sensible about it.

Nice is a good word for what they've just done, supposedly. If you don't want to truly understand anything about it. He shifts, feeling suddenly restless, then breathes in deeply, forcing his body to relax. He's craving sleep and considering how rarely this happens, he might as well take the chance and be well-rested tomorrow. He finds himself shifting just a bit closer yet, enough that their bodies end up lined against each other on the bed, legs entwined somewhat again, the scent of sex hanging heavily in the room around them.

Staring straight ahead into the darkness for a long moment, he makes a swift decision: he'll memorise what he can (everything) and then, if it turns out to be nice just this once and never again, he'll be... Well. He'll have it. And that's that. ]