Work Text:
Warm. Calm. Safe.
Happy. Content. Protected.
Mine.
These are the words I can use to describe how I feel lying next to John Watson. His head shares my pillow and his arm sprawls possessively across my chest. His hand subconsciously covers my gunshot scar, as if to hide from the world that I had once been vulnerable to something he feels responsible for. It makes my heart ache to think that John feels he should atone for my mistakes, but my John’s heart is bigger than the solar system he proclaims I should know and he feels too much and cares very little for his own well being.
His goal is only ever to make me happy.
This thought overwhelms me – my heart races and a niggling fear that I will never be enough for him tears through to the forefront of my mind.
I tug him closer, breathe him in. His scent calms me.
He smells like home and like me; it is intoxicating, and it gives me a high like nothing I have ever felt before.
John is the drug of which I cannot and will not give up, especially now that he is finally mine, readily available to me whenever I need a hit. The thought terrifies me; my addictive personality yearns for him constantly. I crave his presence so much that it hurts. I’m addicted to his laugh, his smile, his taste, his smell. His very existence. His everything.
Inhale. Exhale.
I gently pet the arm across my chest with both of my hands, and spend an eternity studying his knuckles; I find his hands endlessly fascinating.
John stirs when his subconscious senses that I am awake. He snuffles into my neck, and it makes my skin tingle. I miss him when he is sleeping. I love him tremendously.
“Mmph,” he mumbles softly, rubbing his face against my clavicle, his morning stubble scratching a pleasant burn into my sensitive skin. He lazily crawls on top of me, chest to chest, his head pushing up to lean against mine.
It is pure bliss. I rarely say it out loud, but I love lazy mornings with him like this: pliant and soft and mine.
The weight of him on me is a security blanket. I wrap my arms around his back, one of my hands mimicking his earlier protection of my scar over his own on his left shoulder blade. I love his scar: it brought him to me.
He pushes his arms under my shoulder blades, and hooks his ankles around my calves, and gives me a full body squeeze. I shiver, and it causes John to think it’s because I am cold. I do not mind, for he in turn allows his full body to relax onto mine, as if by doing so he will cover more of my body in a John-shaped blanket.
The best sort of blanket, I think. Though, I may be biased.
Sentiment has made me think that the most inane things John does as important; I love him.
“G’mornin’, Love,” John says softly to my ear. The endearment causes butterflies in my stomach and my chest cavity to constrict with fondness.
‘Love ’. Like I am the embodiment of the word itself to my John. My breath hitches at the thought.
“Good morning, John,” I breathe out in reply, his name always and forever an endearment. John knows this; I have told him in the countless ways I enunciate it. He knows, and I love him.
He lifts his head to sleepily look at me in my eyes; his are Pantone Blue Swatch #655 this morning. They will be #647 once he’s fully awake, but they will always sparkle like a sun-covered ocean.
Unless I have upset him, or wronged him in some way. I’m pleased that the sparkle is rarely gone anymore, and that I am also the reason it always returns.
His arm under my right shoulder shifts to find its home in my armpit, the back of his hand pushed up so that he can stroke the side of my head. His pinky finger gets stuck in my curls and his fore and middle fingers brush softly on my cheekbone on each pass, and it makes me want to cry with how tender the moment is.
John knows how much this intimacy affects me, and he smiles his sideways smile, the one that reeks of fondness and love for me. My brows furrow as a small smile cracks my face.
I love him.
“I missed you,” I admit to him, blinking back the tears threatening to escape.
He glows at the admission. It pleases me that I do this to him.
He leans down and pecks a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose. I giggle, and John’s face lights up at the noise. In moments like this, they are my favourite kisses.
He brings a hand up to my forehead and strokes down, pressing my hair back behind my ear.
He proceeds to peck me again on my nose. Before he can pull away too far, I return the gesture, and his giggles are the sun breaking through a cloudy day. I love him so much, and it overwhelms me, clenching my throat and my heart picking up its pace.
We giggle in unison, and to my ears it sounds like an angel’s choir. A tear betrays me, and of course, my John notices. My laughter is choked, and he tilts his head to the side as if trying to understand why. But he is smart, my John, and knows that moments like this are why I have scoffed sentiment for so long; he knows how emotional I truly am. He brings both of his hands up to stroke each side of my head, his thumbs gently brushing against my eyelids and then at the corners of my eyes.
He places a long, meaningful kiss to my nose, imbuing it with all the love he has for me that he can with just a kiss. He moves to touch our foreheads together, and he mutters, “I love you,” as a whisper for my ears only. A tear escapes my eye again.
I am an emotional mess this morning, but my John doesn’t seem to mind. I tilt my head so that our noses brush against each other, and then push a kiss onto his lips. He smiles into the kiss, and moves his head low enough so I can kiss the tip of his nose and imbue it with my own love.
I pet his shoulders, and he my forehead. We stare into each other’s eyes, just relishing in this quiet moment together.
These moments are more sensual than anything we ever do together, and I love it.
We love each other, and that is enough, at least for me. If our lives were reduced to just this moment over and over, I would be content for all eternity.
He flops down to snuggle back into my neck, his breathing in tandem with mine, our heartbeats in sync. He re-tucks his arms under my shoulder blades, each of his hands curl up onto my shoulders.
“I love you,” I whisper to his ear, squeezing him tightly to me.
He kisses my shoulder. I kiss the side of his head.
We are happy. Content. Calm. Warm. Safe. Protected.
Loved.