Title: Come Over Here (With Your Heart)
Author: daleked // foxgloveli
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Tags: oral sex, anal sex, dirty talk
Word Count: 1816
Prompt: 'this is something new for me', via agameofscones // johnfuckingwatson
Read on: AO3
Sherlock finds that John Watson is an experience. For his sake, Sherlock has learned about celestial bodies and gone grocery shopping and done the dishes. (Once. It was an experiment. Findings conclude that washing in a circular motion minimises the amount of dirt left on plate. John unconvinced.) This time, however, Sherlock finds himself at a loss while staring up at John.
The situation is as follows: John is on the sofa, legs spread far enough for Sherlock to kneel comfortably between them. The zip on John's trousers is undone and his cock juts out, stiff and pink and shiny at the tip. Sherlock stares at it and John's hands clench and relax uselessly on his own thighs, scrunching the fabric up. There is a lot to be said about his posture and the clothes he was wearing before this spontaneous pre-blowjob occasion happened, but what can be said most of all is this-- neither of them were prepared for this. John's face is red and the furrow between his eyebrows has deepened. Sherlock stores his expression away for future reference and exhales noisily. John's cock quivers.
'This is something new for me,' Sherlock says, looking directly at John's penis. It is awfully shiny for a cock, but Sherlock thinks that he might have to do research on that. One erection does not a data set make.
'Which one of us are you addressing?' John asks. Sherlock looks up in surprise and is gratified to note that John's face is no longer squinched up. The blush remains, though, and Sherlock thinks that he ought to be the one blushing out of the two of them, given his relative inexperience in this area. In addition, John has been given head by women before in this very flat. One would think he'd be used to it by now.
Sherlock leans forward and suckles the tip, tongue pressing up against the underside while alternating the pressure. John's hands ball into fists and Sherlock sits back to survey his work. 'You can put your hands in my hair, you know. If you like.' John's hands settle in Sherlock's hair hesitatingly and Sherlock dips again, raising himself off his calves to go down on John from a more vertical angle. When he was in university he'd gone through a phase of sexual interest, of course, but people were so very dull and Sherlock would rather have spoken to Mycroft than any of them. Victor Trevor as a roommate had been tremendously useful, however, and Sherlock was allowed to sit in for some of his sexual activities. He dredges up those memories now and stretches his lips over his teeth. By now, the head of John's cock rests in his mouth, followed by a small portion of the shaft, and Sherlock knows that if he takes John in any deeper he might gag. (He wonders if John is into that.) Sherlock draws off John's cock and brings his hands up. He licks his palm at first, but finds that the consistency of his spit is not as thick as he'd like. He spits, and John makes an undignified noise somewhere above him. Sherlock places his hands on John's erection. It's hot to the touch, and slick from his mouth. Sherlock strokes John experimentally then, and when John's breathing quickens Sherlock lowers his head once more.
He brings his hands up to stroke the part of John's cock that isn't in his mouth. Sherlock has been told countless times that he is a quick learner, and soon John's rough huffs turn to soft cries, his voice hoarse from shouting after Sherlock while chasing criminals.
'Sherlock,' John whimpers, and squirms. 'Please, not-- don't make me come like this.' His hands have tightened considerably in Sherlock's hair, and for a moment Sherlock is self-conscious. His curls are rough and in tight spirals, just as the thatch around his cock is. Would John find him pleasing? He pulls off John's cock and turns his face upward, like a flower to the sun. John's hands move downward, caressing his cheeks, and he tugs Sherlock up for a kiss.
John on his hands and knees before Sherlock is a sight to behold. He's lightly furred on the thighs but there is but a few sparse blond hairs around his delightful little clenching arsehole, by now worked loose and gleaming with lube. Sherlock had wanted to taste him, but John had held him off firmly and muttered about e. coli ruining the mood. Sherlock had nodded then, but he plans on tasting John sooner or later. Preferably sooner.
Earlier, John had rolled the condom on Sherlock's erection solicitously, hands careful and steady. Sherlock presses the head of his cock against John's opening and smiles when John shivers at the contact, the back of his ears as pink as his erect penis. 'I will be careful with you,' Sherlock reassures him, and pushes in slowly. John is not painfully tight around him, thankfully, and Sherlock can feel the heat of his insides through the rubber. 'Do you like me inside you, John?'
John grunts. 'You're not very good at dirty talk.' Sherlock smiles and presses in deeper, aroused beyond belief at the sight before him. He reads the twitches in John's back and adjusts himself accordingly, and when John starts shaking he slows down and tries his best not to move too much. The scar, a twisted knot of flesh in John's back, seems to throb under his gaze. Overexertion would be unwise, and Sherlock decides to distract John. 'Am I pressing up against your prostate? You're awfully sensitive, you know. I had to get you on your hands and knees or you'd come too fast if I were fucking you while facing you. Would you like to try that? I'd be able to see your face the whole time. I'd know when you were just on the brink, so tight and needy around me. There's no point lying, John. When I fingered you earlier you jerked and pretended you were surprised. I know the truth. You're just greedy for me, aren't you?' John groans beneath him and Sherlock casually reaches a hand around to find that John is fully erect, the tip of his cock wet with precome. Sherlock pushes in the rest of the way with his fingers gripping the base of John's cock tightly. John shudders and a tremble starts up in his arms, and Sherlock loves the sight of it.
Love. He is, without a doubt, exceedingly fond of John. He lets go of his cock to place his hands firmly on John's hips as he fucks into him, gently and slowly at first, but picks up the pace accordingly. He shifts and tugs John to follow, sitting him down on his lap. John folds his legs underneath him and he squats, still impaled on Sherlock's cock.
'Ride me,' Sherlock demands. A twinge of regret passes through him when he realises that he cannot see John's face. Sherlock tries to reconstruct his expression in his mind. John's forehead wrinkled in concentration, lips kissed swollen. Face beaded with sweat. John raises and lowers himself with his strong thighs, but the tremor spreads to them and Sherlock helpfully thrusts up a couple of times, earning himself a shout of surprise from John.
He strokes along the side of John's thigh. 'You've no idea what a lovely view I have from here,' Sherlock tells him. 'You're working for my cock. Not only because I told you to, but because you want to. And you do want me. Very badly. How long have you wanted this?' Sherlock pumps his hips twice for emphasis. 'How long have you dreamed of riding me as you are now?' He pulls John off his cock and pushes him down onto the bed. John's face is red, and his eyes are slightly teary at the corners. Out of embarrassment, Sherlock thinks, because beneath the doctor and the soldier John is a British man through and through. Sherlock pushes inside John once more and watches his face closely. John's chest heaves and he stares up at Sherlock defiantly, even as Sherlock's cock slides up against his prostate and his cock jumps where it's pressed up against Sherlock's belly. When Sherlock starts to move, John reaches up and rocks into his thrusts, meeting them in the middle.
Sherlock doesn't think he could love John Watson any more if he tried. He lowers himself to his elbows and brings one down to jerk John off. 'I want to come after you do,' Sherlock tells him quietly. In the bedroom, the sheets are damp with perspiration against their feverish skin. John's mouth is slightly open and he licks his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. 'I want to come with you clenching around me, milking me.' Sherlock nips at John's ear. 'Come now, John.' John spurts into his hand as directed, shuddering underneath him. Sherlock follows like he promised, and is aware of John's eyes on him through the haze of his orgasm.
'I'm going to fuck you next time,' John promises when they've both cleaned up. Sherlock is in a ball on the bed, knees up to his chest with his eyes closed. '... Are you asleep?'
Sherlock shakes his head against the pillow. 'Hush, I'm committing this to memory.' He opens his eyes and regards John with a satisfied air. 'You're not sore, are you?' John resist the urge to rub his arsehole. He is tender, to be honest, and Sherlock could have been gentler, but he isn't complaining. Not after that orgasm.
'Just a little,' John admits, and Sherlock sits up in the bed. He's in his dressing-gown, but entirely naked underneath it. His cock is pink and soft in its nest of curls, and John realises that he now knows what it feels like to have Sherlock Holmes' cock inside him, the rough puff of his pubic hair scratching up against his arse. Sherlock must read the dirty thoughts on his face, for he smirks and pats the bed.
'I do love you, you know.'
John isn't thinking when 'yeah, I know' comes out of his mouth, but as soon as the words leave his lips he realises that it's true. Sherlock does love him, and he hadn't needed a confession to tell him that.
Sherlock looks at him patiently. John brings a hand up to his chin and rubs it absently over the stubble. He's going to have to shave first thing tomorrow morning, if Sherlock doesn't hog the bathroom. He pauses and meets Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock is waiting, and John knows he doesn't need him to say the words aloud when he can read them in the cups of tea in the mornings and the curve of his back and the hungry way John kisses him, but he says them anyway.
