americas_son | (no subject)

Has he by any chance mentioned that this is perfect?

Because it is. It really, really is.

Everything, the taste of Cal's lips and the smell of his breath and the warmth of his hands, everything is perfect. Sherlock's eyes fall shut; with so many senses to choose from, sight is the first to become superfluous.

This is exactly what he was thinking while he was watching Sherlock play, about touching him and feeling what he's like with his guard down like this, with that mind Cal can always see working doing nothing more than absorbing the moment.

Touchable.

He breathes a quiet, contented sigh.

Absorbing the moment. Yes, exactly. Not reflecting, not studying, just... letting it happen. Letting his hand drift to Cal's jaw and his lips part slightly and his eyelashes flutter when he inhales again.

Cal is more than willing to take the implied invitation, brushing his tongue gently against Sherlock's lips.

(It's been a long, exhausting weekend. They both need this.)

Sherlock slides an arm around Cal's shoulders and presses closer. Whatever half-conscious mechanism is in charge of these things is starting to reconsider the lap option, particularly when it becomes apparent that Cal's tongue is as delicious as the rest of him.

Cal's arm tightens encouragingly around Sherlock's waist, his other hand slipping back around into Sherlock's hair.

Oh, the hell with it.

He straddles Cal's lap in a quick, fluid movement and kisses him again immediately.

The move takes Cal by surprise, but Sherlock doesn't leave him time to think about it. At least, not more than a second or two.

But the momentum that's carrying them along bridges the gap nicely, and he wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist before any of the dozen unwelcome thoughts threatening around the edges can burst free.

There will be plenty of time for thinking later. Not now. Not now.

Bracing his hands on the back of the couch lets him lean even closer, which in Sherlock's opinion is an unqualified win. He hums triumphantly into Cal's mouth.

Closer is good. The heat is fairly pouring off Sherlock now, and that's good, too.

He can't help but laugh just a little at the humming, though. It's so - Sherlock.

(But that's why this is happening, isn't it? Of course. It's Sherlock. The rules have always been different with him.

It's perfectly okay.)

Which sets Sherlock to laughing, too, between quick, soft kisses.

Cal's grip on Sherlock relaxes comfortably, Sherlock's laughter just making him laugh more. He was right, they do both need this, after everything not only with Tony, but with Tina -

Tina.

Cal stills.

Immediately, so does Sherlock.

Analysis hasn't quite clicked back into gear; he doesn't see it yet.

Shit. He wasn't going to do this this time. Not to Tina.

He lets go of Sherlock, unsure of what to do next.

Oh.

And there it is.

He climbs out of Cal's lap and sits beside him again—very much within touching distance but not, in fact, touching.

Cal slumps back against the couch, hands over his face.

"I have a girlfriend," he says, muffled.

"I really ought to have remembered that," Sherlock says ruefully.

"I should have remembered that," Cal says helplessly. "God, I'm so bad at this."

Why had he thought he could be any different?

"At least this time I picked my best friend instead of hers."

He can't help it; he smiles.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm just like my dad. I can't fucking keep it in my pants."

Whatever it is that lets other people make the decision to be faithful and stick to it, it's broken in him. It must be. Wouldn't he eventually learn from his mistakes otherwise?

"I hardly think that's a fair assessment," Sherlock says gently.

"I've cheated on every girlfriend I've ever had," Cal says flatly.

He thinks Sherlock Holmes can figure out how damning that evidence is all on his own.

"And here you are. When you noticed, you stopped. Anyone can act thoughtlessly under stress."

Even Sherlock, apparently.

"I shouldn't have to think about it," Cal snaps. "Normal people don't have to. They don't go around making out with their best friends behind their girlfriends' backs because they had a bad day. They just know it's wrong, so they don't fucking do it."

"Normal people also do not think they are Sherlock Holmes," he points out. "And I believe you'll find rather a lot of normal people think about it and then go ahead regardless."