Chapter Eight

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John is uncharacteristically jittery in his first four classes leading up to lunch. He can't wait to see Sherlock, and throughout the entire day he can't help but come up  with a multitude of fantasies as to what his dearest dancer has planned at the studio. Finally, the bell releasing fourth hour rings and John all but leaps out of the room. He walks 'briskly' (it was more of a run) to the dance studio, and completely ignoring all of the other doors, heads straight for the room Sherlock always occupied. The dark haired boy was sprawled out in the middle floor, in a full split. His long arms stretched gracefully over his head as he leaned over to press his chest to the floor. Oh, perhaps I should mention... he was shirtless. John could finally see the mysterious tattoo that covered the dancer's body. It started at his right hip, covered parts of his chest and extended through his left shoulder. Honeycombs. And small, intricate bees. Interesting. "Bees, huh?" John smirked as he thought he was going to startle Sherlock, but that was easier said than done. Sherlock didn't so much as flinch as he replied, "Yes, obviously." John pouted and rolled his eyes and decided that he would wait to learn more about the bees. At the moment, he was thoroughly distracted by his lover's exposed alabaster skin and how it contrasted against the inky black tattoo. He was thoroughly distracted by the way Sherlock's muscles relaxed and contracted as he moved into a new stretch, like some sort of beautiful machine. He was thoroughly distracted by the way Sherlock's hair flopped cutely into his eyes and the small smirk that seemed to be permanently plastered to his perfect mouth. To say the least, John was distracted. "So," John cleared his throat, "Why'd you invite me here?" He waited politely for a response for an absurdly long amount of time. The little smirk on Sherlock's face was starting to annoy him as he thought of a plethora of ways he could remove it. "Sherlock?" He waited a little while before deciding to take matters into his own hands. He removed his jacket and threw it across the floor where the rest of his things were. He stood directly in front of Sherlock and crouched down to his level. John carefully grabbed Sherlock's chin and forced him to look John in the eyes. And he went in for the kiss. This kiss was less urgent than the ones they had shared earlier that day. Slower, more passionate. Sherlock's lip quivered in John's mouth, and it was the smaller boy's turn to wear the smirk. He pulled away tantalizingly slowly, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist in an attempt to pull him back. A small moan escaped Sherlock's lips. God, make that noise again, Lock. John let his dancer pull him closer and started kissing him again. A little more aggressively this time. They fell over onto the floor, John on top of Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and gave a quick peck on the lips before John started sucking on Sherlock's jaw and neck. Leaving marks and showing the world that Sherlock Holmes belonged to him.

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