The day was humid and cold with a chilling wind that sliced through clothes and pierced into bones. Snow had fallen the night before leaving London in a mess. The streets might well have looked pretty with all that pristine white snow but that was before the traffic started. Currently the pavement was covered in brownish grey slush.
The horses trotting through the snowy London streets were also leaving brownish little gifts of their own, piles of steaming, stinking mess which Sherlock Holmes narrowly avoided stepping in.
“Holmes,” John hissed. “Watch out, would you?”
Sherlock paused to take care in his step with absolutely no gratitude to John at all.
So that’s how it was, then. John was going to be soundly ignored because of an argument that Sherlock would be stewing over for probably days because he was just that melodramatic. And ridiculous.
Neatly sidestepping the horse-present himself, John hopped into the hansom cab, noticing again how absolutely bollocks-freezing it was. The chill was not in the least shut out by the cab roof either, wrapping its icy arms around John and squeezing. He was wearing his warmest winter clothing with his thermals beneath but it all did nothing, the cold seeped into him as if he were naked as a babe.
Shivering, John rubbed his hands together and breathed warm breath on his gloved hands.
“You could share that, you know,” John said, eyeing up the thick, warm blanket Sherlock had pulled over him, right up to his chin. “It’s plenty big enough for us both.” Which was why they'd brought the blanket with them in the first bloody place. To share. In the cab. Because of the cold.
“Yet I am in more need of it,” Sherlock said. He pulled the blanket up higher, refusing to even look at John.
John sighed, frustration slicing into his patience. Sherlock had overreacted over nothing and John was not going to spend the whole cab ride back to Baker Street freezing his bollocks off because of it.
“I told you, it was nothing.” John said, teeth chattering.
Sherlock ignored him, instead taking the time to tell the cab driver where they were headed to. Then they were on the move, the horse and cab making its way through the messy throng of London traffic on the icy roads.
“That’s not what it looked like,” Sherlock said after a moment, burrowing his face into the blanket. “I am the most observant man--”
“Yes, lovely, but you’re wrong, Holmes,” John said, looking at the blanket again. He squeezed his hands together in his lap. “He and I never ... Never, Holmes.” John tried to impress the truth upon Sherlock through his tone because he couldn’t actually say what he needed to out in the open like this.
Probably exactly why Sherlock had refused to hear him out earlier when they had been left alone in the house after their client had left. He meant for John to sit there and spend the whole cab ride back home in misery.
Well bollocks to that.
John snatched a corner of the blanket for himself before Sherlock could do anything about it, yanking it over his lap.
Sherlock, predictably, glowered at him and tugged his side of his blanket closer, sitting on it.
“You're behaving like a child,” John gritted his teeth, though the warm blanket over his lap was already helping to ease the freeze. He pulled on it again, attempting to pull it up to his chin to cosy down.
Sherlock didn't dignify that with an answer. He just buried his nose beneath the blanket, though he did let up a little, allowing John to gather more of the blanket for himself.
“Thank you,” John said tartly.
Sherlock just sniffed and stared out into the London streets with its grey sky and hundreds of people out and about. It was loud enough outside to at least attempt a quiet conversation between them. John didn't want to fill their home with a loud argument.
Sliding closer, John settled beside Sherlock thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. With his breath puffing white in front his face, John leaned in close.
“Nothing ever happened. He arrived to see you and you were out. We simply connected over a shared military past.”
Sherlock scoffed, sitting up straighter and turning his head to look at John from down his long, sharp nose.
“His face said something all together different when I watched him talking with you.” Sherlock said, mouth turned into a sour frown. “He wants more than a brothers-in-arms bond with you.”
John sighed in frustration, rolling his eyes. Damn but his mustache was starting to form ice from the combination of his warm breath and the cold air.
“Even if he did – which he does not – that doesn't mean I would hold that feeling for him. Holmes, you know… You know it's only you.”
“Do I?” Sherlock said, somehow managing to sound lofty and annoyed all at once. “I was gone for a few hours and I arrive home to him practically in your lap,” he all but hissed into John's ear. “He was making eyes at you and I was still across the room! You weren't stopping him.”
John had to cling to the blanket to avoid reaching out to throttle Sherlock's neck. “He was not – Dear God, Holmes, what kind of man must you take me for? That I would do those things with a man of my mere acquaintance?”
Sherlock levelled a long look at John from over the edge of the blanket. “You did with me.”
“I. Yes. Well.”
Heat bloomed in John's cheeks turning them pink and his whole body followed, warming at the memory of their first meeting, at how within hours of meeting each other he had been sitting astride Sherlock's lap with his tongue in Sherlock's mouth. And it hadn't stopped there. He'd been lifted up and carried into Sherlock's bedroom and placed on the bed and before long John had been on all fours, gasping quietly into the pillow as he was filled with the length and girth of his new lover.
It had been instant with them. An instant desire, attraction, love. John loved him. He loved him. His Holmes. His Sherlock. He would never betray that with some other man. Especially not with one who was embroiled in a case that was proving to be far more complicated than first assumed (missing diamond jewellery) and instead was turning into blackmail, scandal and possibly murder.
The heated flush from his memories and the surge of love in his chest caused John to reach out to touch Sherlock beneath the blanket, squeezing his thigh, imploring with his eyes what he could not say aloud in public in a cab.
It took a moment, but the frost in Sherlock's light blue eyes melted, revealing the warmth and affection in them that John was so familiar with.
“Please.” John said. He begged for what he did not know. Forgiveness? He had no need of it, he'd done nothing wrong. For love? He had it. Maybe he just needed to ask it for Sherlock's sake more than his own.
“My dear,” Sherlock said as softly as a breeze, the puff of his warm breath ghosting over John's face as he lowered the blanket to his neck. “I am… I was...”
“Wrong.” John said.
“Mistaken.”
“Wrong, yes.”
“I admit I am… possessive of you.” Sherlock said. “You are …”
John heard everything Sherlock was saying without saying in the soft silence that descended on them. The whole world around them seemed fuzzy and unimportant compared to the warmth in Sherlock's eyes that was telling John exactly how important, valued and loved he was.
John's chest expanded with a rush of deep affection and in response John slid his hand up Sherlock's thigh, brushing his smallest finger against the soft bulge there.
Sherlock matched him, reaching across their laps with his large, finely boned hand to cup not John's thigh but the soft place between his legs, pumping his hand in soft motions.
With the blanket covering them and pulled right up to their eyes, no one could see, no one could know what was happening beneath it. Not even the puffs of their laboured breathing could be seen. They kept their eyes forward as much as possible, save for the exquisite moments when their gazes were drawn together by a force greater than themselves; the heat and desire that they communicated through eyes alone sent John's cock thickening and growing in the confines of his clothing. He longed for Sherlock to unbutton his trousers and slip his hand inside, even if he would encounter John's thermals. It would just be one step closer to feeling Sherlock's touch on his bare skin and John shivered with the need for it.
Sherlock was no better, already gently rocking his hips in time with how John was squeezing and rubbing his hand along the hard bulge in his trousers. It was always so heady to feel Sherlock's arousal, proof of Sherlock's desire for him. The feel of it warm and hard beneath his hand made it difficult to not throw the blanket off and straddle Sherlock's lap. John was certainly feeling warm enough now to toss the blanket away and some part of him felt bold enough to do it, bold enough to tell the world to go hang while he openly kissed his lover on the lips.
He didn't do any such thing of course, but the mere thought of it had him pushing his hips into Sherlock's hand and grunting very softly into the chilly air.
“Are we close?” John breathed.
Sherlock's lips curved into a smirk, the flash of his bared teeth sending a surge of new arousal into John's body.
“Very close, I'd say,” Sherlock whispered. He grabbed onto John's hand and ground it against his cock, eyes fluttering closed. “John--”
The use of his first name, whispered with pleasure, destroyed John's self-control. His cock pulsed hot from beneath Sherlock's hand, surging with orgasm, draining his balls into a wet, sticky mess inside his clothes.
He opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring at him with a gaze gone dark. The heat of that look being levelled at him had John pushing the blanket down to his shoulders so he could breathe. His body was still rolling with the unexpected orgasm, ears ringing, sweat prickling on the back of his neck.
“I meant,” Sherlock said very softly. “We were very close to home.”
John huffed through his nose, removing Sherlock's hand from his groin. “Yes, thank you,” he said, finally becoming aware of the outside again. 221 was just feet away.
The blanket was collected beneath John's arms to be washed as Sherlock paid the cab driver when they came to a stop. They hopped from the cab one after the other, both of them making sure their heavy winter coats were covering up the state they were in.
Mrs Hudson let John inside the flat with a quiet bit of fussing about how cold and pink he looked.
“We'll need hot water for a wash,” Sherlock said as he breezed inside, shutting the door behind him. “And something to eat, please.”
Once safely ensconced inside their flat, John was soundly pushed up against the nearest wall and kissed, burning away every last bit of the outside chill.
“Let's get you cleaned up and fed so I can take you bed,” Sherlock whispered. “And claim what's mine.”
John breathed hard against Sherlock's lips. “But the case--”
“Can wait. When Mr Thompson comes round in the morning, I want him to see you looking dazed with passion. I want him to smell me on you when he comes too close. I want to look him in the eye while I ask you if it's a bit difficult for you to sit.”
John groaned softly, arms wrapping around Sherlock's neck to pull him down for a hard and biting kiss, inviting Sherlock's leg between his own. He was still a sticky mess, his clothes definitely stained, but he didn't care at all right then.
Mrs Hudson's footsteps on the stairs pulled them apart quickly. Though they knew she knew of their … affections, neither of them had any desire at all for her to see it in progress.
They separated to sit in their chairs by the fireplace when she let herself in with a tray of tea and cold sandwiches. “Hot water in a minute,” she said.
“Take your time,” Sherlock smiled, an unlit pipe in his hand. “We're quite busy with this case, actually.”
She looked them over for a long moment. “I'll come back later then.”
When she left with the door closed behind her, John sagged in his chair. He was torn between desire for Sherlock and the sudden hunger in his stomach. The smell of hot tea was tempting.
Sherlock got up quickly and stood before him, unbuttoning his well-fitted jacket. “It'll keep,” he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the table while his eyes locked onto John's face. “If we're going to bother Mrs Hudson for all that hot bath water, we might as well get as dirty as possible.”
--
Later, beneath the heat of Sherlock's body as they rocked together by the light of candles did John confess into Sherlock's ear his love.
“Thompson means nothing to me, Sherlock. It's just you. Only ever you.”
Sherlock's back was damp with sweat. John caressed his hands down along it, feeling the muscles move and tense.
“Thompson's name shall never again be mentioned in this bed, John,” Sherlock said gruffly. “And never when I am inside you.” He punctuated that with a hard, snapping thrust that rocked the bed.
“Yes, never,” John agreed breathlessly, tangling a hand into Sherlock's hair, encouraging it to further come out of the harsh slicked-back hair style.The more John messed with it, the more it would loosen into its natural state of soft curls. He knew that Sherlock would wear his hair how he pleased, but John always wished he'd let it be natural and curly, although there was a particular pleasure to knowing that only he ever got to see Sherlock like that.
“Come back to me,” Sherlock said softly, kissing John's cheeks. “You're thinking. That's my job, isn't it?”
“Thinking about how desperately I love you,” John moaned softly. “Make love to me, Sherlock,”
“I am, I will,” Sherlock sighed, hips rolling and gyrating as he pumped into John's body. “Always, my dear, my John.”
They kissed until they shared breath and moaned in tandem as their orgasms approached, Sherlock first, having been so keyed up beforehand without release. As soon as he had regained his senses, he shimmied down John's beautiful, sweat-slicked body and wrapped his lips around the hard, jutting cock between John's legs.
It took only a few moments of the heat and suction of Sherlock's mouth before John was coming, looking down at Sherlock, staring at those plush lips stretched around his cock.
Sherlock made a sloppy mess of it, letting John's come dribble from his lips down the shaft so he could make a show of licking John's cock clean, holding the softening member in his hand and slurping at it.
“Good God, man,” John sighed and shivered, smoothing back Sherlock's curls. “Everything you do is so…”
“Excellent? Extraordinary?” Sherlock crawled back up John's body, leaning down for a long lingering kiss in which John could taste himself on Sherlock's tongue.
“Yes, those,” John said when they parted for air. “And more. And mine.”
“Yours,” Sherlock agreed, brushing his nose against John's. “As you are completely and incontrovertibly mine.”
His fingers crept between their bodies, slipping beneath John's balls, pushing and pressing along the tender skin there until he reached John's sore, slick little hole.
John moaned quietly, squirming on the sheets with the warmth of Sherlock's come dripping out and the motion of those long fingers inside him.
“Mine.” Sherlock murmured again. His fingers inside John's body were filling the room with obscene little noises.
Shivering with pleasure, John nodded his head, gazing up into Sherlock's face half hidden in shadow from the candlelight.
And then John's stomach growled.
“Er.” he said.
Sherlock kissed a smile to John's lips. “Food first. Clean after. Then we'll go to bed, but not to sleep. As soon as he-who-I-shall-not-name walks into this flat, he will know where he stands. And it is not beside you.”
John knew he was going to have that sentiment more or less rammed into him all night.
He belonged to Sherlock, and that was precisely and exactly how he wanted it.
John whined from the back of his throat. “Christ, just…”
Sherlock pressed the head of his cock against John’s hole, feeling the resistance of it as he pushed inside, the muscles squeezing around him.
“Jesus, Sherlock,” John sucked in a sharp, trembling breath. “Stop, stop. It’s too big.”
Sherlock took a deep breath and wrenched his self control back from the single-minded need to be buried to the root inside John. He stopped moving, gripping the base of his cock between thumb and finger and waited.
“Just give me a sec,” John said, hanging his head, forehead pressing to the pillow beneath. He widened his knees, gyrating his hips, trying to adjust to the girth of Sherlock’s cock. “How far are you? How much inside?”
“Just the head,” Sherlock said with far more calm than he felt. “John, I…”
“Just a second,” John mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed. The pressure of being stretched open, the fullness he felt already, and Sherlock wasn’t even halfway. “More lube.”
Sherlock quickly squirted from the bottle, pouring cool lube all around John’s hole with his cock still inside. He circled his finger around the stretched rim, shivering in pleasure at how red it looked swallowing his cock like that.
The rim massage of Sherlock’s finger and the extra lube helped, easing the painful pressure into something else, something not quite pleasure yet on the verge of it.
“Okay,” John breathed with a thick swallow around his dry tongue. “More,”
Sherlock groaned under his breath, a soft noise that caught in his teeth as he pushed forward. His cock slipped in with far more ease but the resistance was still there, the tightness of John’s fluttering little hole still massaging around his cock. “Just a little more,” Sherlock said with a breathy sigh, watching with something like euphoria as his cock disappeared into John’s body. “Just a bit more,”
Shivery heat tightened John’s nipples as little goosebumps prickled across his skin. He felt too full already, too widely stretched, and yet Sherlock wasn’t stopping, he was still going.
“God, John, look at you taking me like this,” Sherlock marveled at it, at how that sweet little hole was swallowing his cock up. A low moan rumbled from deep in his chest as he finally bottomed out, his cock fully sheathed inside John’s body.
It was pure driven instinct to pull back and start thrusting; he curbed the need by raking the pads of his fingers down John’s back, admiring his taut muscles, the way his bones felt, the fine sheen of sweat across his skin.
Curling around smaller John’s body, loving how perfectly they fit together, Sherlock kissed the back of John’s neck and nosed into his hair. “Please, John,”
John groaned in a mewling kind of way, a lit fuse inside his body as Sherlock’s chest pressed against him, changing the angle of his hips, his cock sliding just so and pushing up against the place inside him that made his legs quake. “Move, Jesus, Sherlock, move,” he panted.
With a noise of pure pleasure, Sherlock started to move his hips in smooth, thrusting motions. It didn’t take long for power to build, the urge to go faster and harder too great to resist. He pushed down on John with his body with each powerful thrust until John’s knees slid out from under him, pushing him flat on his front. Sherlock covered John’s body with his, sliding his arms beneath John’s chest to gain leverage as he fucked into John’s hole with snapping, hard thrusts. His whole cock was pushed inside John, his balls slapping against John’s skin as he moved, the slick little noises of fucking filling the room.
John turned his head the side, panting as he moaned in a staccato to match Sherlock’s thrusts. His cock was rubbing between his body and the soft bed sheets, teasing him with the promise of release but never quite getting there. It was glorious, sweet torture.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” John begged and panted and clawed at the pillow. He was completely covered by Sherlock’s body, completely at Sherlock’s mercy, unable to move except to squirm and wiggle.
“Hold on,” Sherlock breathed, stopping the movement of his hips. “Roll with me,” he said, lifting off of John only enough so that John could move with Sherlock as he rolled them onto their sides, spooning up behind John tightly, his cock slipping out.
Lifting John’s leg up, Sherlock kissed the shell of John’s ear and said, “Put me back inside you,”
With a trembling sigh, John reached between his legs, grasping for Sherlock’s slick, hard cock and took it in his hand, guiding it back to his hole where he pushed the tip in and bore down, groaning in a desperate, breathy way as he felt the hot stretch all over again.
“Touch yourself, wank your cock for me,” Sherlock said, sliding his hand up the back of John’s thigh. He pushed over the curve of John’s sweet little arse and then slid his hand up to grip at the soft bit of fat John had at his hips. Using it as leverage, Sherlock held onto John’s body and fucked into him, listening as John wanked himself.
“Come on, love,” Sherlock breathed, the excitement in his body increasing with every moan that fell from John’s lips.
With a wiggle of his hips, John bore down on Sherlock’s cock, taking it into himself deep and hot. It didn’t take long to feel that familiar ache in his balls, that shivery tension behind his navel. With a soft, low cry John came into his hand, spilling come over his fingers and onto the sheets, Sherlock’s name on his lips.
Watching and listening to John come sent Sherlock over the edge. The way John’s body was squeezing and pulsing around his cock was an exquisite kind of torture, pulling pleasure from him in pumps of soft sticky come that filled John’s little hole.
“God, John, so good,” Sherlock panted, hips stuttering to a stop as the last of his orgasm drained from him.
It took a while to get themselves detached and cleaned up and they ended up taking a joint trip to the loo. After a shared shower where they soaped each other and kissed in between each slide of soapy hands on smooth, soft skin, they collapsed in bed together.
Without a word, John pulled Sherlock around him, huddling his body against Sherlock’s. A shivery pleasant tingle ran through him as the position echoed what they’d been doing just a short while ago.
Lacing their fingers together on John’s stomach, Sherlock nuzzled the back of John’s neck, marveling yet again at how perfect they fit together. The solid weight and muscle of John pressed up against him was the deepest comfort Sherlock could have ever hoped for.
OTP: Johnlock, Rose/10th Doctor, Rose/9th Doctor, Simon/Alisha, Merthur, Captain Swan (these are the big ones, if i put them all the list would never end)
Big ship(s) at the moment: Captain Swan (i recently re-watched the OUAT so it’s the one thats in my head right now)
OT3: morgana/gwen/lancelot
NOTP: any ship that pairs anyone but John and Sherlock together, any ship that pairs anyone but Merlin and Arthur
Tagging the following people(feel free to ignore if you’ve already been tagged or don’t want to do it)
[Sherlock POV by Fuckyeahshezza, John POV by ceywoozle]
~~~~~~~~~~
Kissing.Oh, God, kissing is good.
Sophieis soft and eager and wanting and ohGodso gorgeous and John doesn't know what he's done to deserve this.It's not possible to be this lucky, to actually have made this work.To have gotten this far without someone getting murdered or set onfire. Neither of them have been drugged unconscious or arrested.Neither of them have been kidnapped. Sherlock…Sherlock is out.Oh God, this can't be real. Things this good aren't supposed tohappen to him.
Sophiemakes a noise. God,gorgeous Sophie and her perfect noises. He kisses her and he feelswhen the bed hits the back of his knees. They fall back into themattress, giggling softly into each others mouths.
Thisis perfect. God. So perfect. How has he deserved this.
~~~~~~~~~~
That'sthe first thing Sherlock notices: a womanis in the flat. It's the particular way John's hung his coat in thefoyer, which he never does at all unless he has a womanaround. Next obvious step, the lingering scent of perfume. Not Mrs.Hudson's. Not a client's. John's newest conquest. Sarah? No, that wasbefore. Sally? Sue? Sandy?
Sherlocktakes a deep breath. He can smell John's cologne under the perfume.John's cologne, which is cheap and awful and does nothing for him,hangs just under Sherlock's nose. John only wears it when he's tryingextra hard to get off with whatever woman caught his eye. Susan? Wasit Susan? No, that's—
It'sinconsequential, her name. Due to the lack of general noises above,it's easy to understand where they've ended up.
Sherlockpops his coat collar and lifts his chin. Isn't it just too bad he hasexperimenting to do. Loud, smelly experiments.
~~~~~~~~~~
Thefirst thing John notices is the noise. The rattle of test tubes, thethump of something heavy falling on the floor.
Hestops kissing Sophie—glorious, gorgeous Sophie—and leans his headas if to hear better.
“John?”
“Sherlock'shome,” he says, and he feels the beginnings of despair kicking in.
Straddlinghim, Sophie makes a face. “The flatmate? So what?”
Johnopens his mouth the answer then stops. Sowhat?So what indeed. After all, he lives here too. They're in hisroom. The door is closed. It's fine. They're fine. So he shrugs andreaches a hand up, runs his fingers through soft brown hair.
“Sonothing,” he says, and pulls her back down to him.
Andoh, God. He's lost in her. He's lost. There are hands and fingers andher hair trailing down his chest, over his belly, oversensitive anduntouched for far, far too long. Lips soft and warm and fleeting anda tongue, wet and warm and intimate, oh Godso intimate. He is breathing hard and arching into her and he feelsher smile against his skin and it's then, it's right then, that hestarts to notice the smell.
It'snot the usual kind of smell. It's not the slow creeping subtle thingSherlock's experiments usually deal in. There is nothing subtleabout this smell. This smell is a bomb, something droppedunsuspectingly from above, sudden and deadly and instantaneouslyhorrible. It reeks of war zones and opened graves and he doesn't knowwho moves first, he or Sophie, but suddenly they are both at thewindow, fighting the casing and the moment it opens, thrustingcoughing, gasping heads into the open air.
“What—”Sophie's question is lost in a hacking cough, but John doesn't needher to finish to know how to answer that.
“That,”he says, wheezing into the night, “Is Sherlock.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Gasmasks. He knew he was right to invest in one. Happily, Sherlocksmells nothing, but he sees the gas he's created with a littlechemical engineering and a vicious streak a mile wide. The gas iswhite and lingering all around the flat, seeping up, up, right aboveSherlock's head.
Thesingle most satisfying moment is honestly the thumpfollowed by the sound of feet rushing to the nearest window.
Twopairs of feet, even better. That means John isn't just trying totough it out. He'll probably try to salvage the evening but his heartwon't be in it and he'll be glad when she leaves. And while Sherlockcan't be certain of Susan's—Sue's? Sherri's?—character entirely,he believes she won't be wanting to stick around a place that reeksof something between rotting corpses and farts.
Sherlockchuckles, the sound muffled from behind the gas mask. It shoulddisappoint him how easy this all is, honestly, but it's so much fun,gassing out John's annoyingladyfriend.
Honestly,doesn't John ever stop to realise how much better his life is whenit's just the two of them? Why the need for this girlfriend business?
Sherlockgoes to the window and waits for the sound of rushing feet down thestairs.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sheleaves, of course. He can't even explain to her properly the uttergit that his flatmate is because talking hurts. Eyes watering, facesred and wheezing, they stumble together downstairs with their shirtscovering their noses and mouths.
Johncatches the merest glimpse of Sherlock in the sitting room, framedagainst the window, wreathed in white fumes and wearing a gas mask,before he and Sophie are past, tumbling down the stairs and out thefront door where they find Mrs Hudson, perched on the curb in hernightie and dressing gown.
“Hello,dears, ” she says. “I don't suppose you know how long this onewill last?”
“Sorry,Mrs H,” John says, waving down a cab. “You know Sherlock.”
“Ohdear.”
Heis helping Sophie into the cab and John has already mentally addedher onto the tally of women who will never want to speak to himagain, when she looks back at him, a lopsided smile on her face.
“Ihad a good time,” she says.
Hestares at her. “Oh yeah?” he says cautiously. He's heard this onebefore. Thatwas great fun compared to being kidnapped and tortured…except, ohwait, that just happened.
“Yeah,”she says, and she grins because she sees the disbelief in his face.“Well. Till the flatmate happened, anyway. Call me, alright? Nexttime we'll go…somewhere else. No flatmates. Just us. Sound good?”
“Jesusbloody Christ,” John exhales and leans forward, kissing herfuriously for a second because he's found a miracle. “Yes,” hesays, utterly fervent when he pulls back again. “Absolutely, yes.I'll call you.”
“Good,”she says, and shuts the cab door.
Johnwatches it drive away.
~~~~~~~~~~
Oh,god. Really? Sherlock curls his lip in distaste. Kissingin the cab.Sherri'sa hard one to crack. Sherlock would be impressed except he's alreadycommitted to deleting her existence from his head.
Heopens the windows wide and lets in the rush of cool, clean air. Itwon't take long to get the gas out, though the smell might linger onthe furniture for a couple days.
Sherlocksticks his head out the window. Mrs Hudson is outside in her nightie;Sherlock will have to be extra nice to her for a while. And John,just standing there like an idiot, watching the cab drive way withhis flavour-of-the-week. Boring.
Sherlockrips the mask off his face and tosses it onto the sofa, sticking hishead out the window again.
“It'ssafe now, Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock calls. “Relatively, anyway! Justopen the windows, it'll be fine.”
MrsHudson is all little exclamations and exasperated calls of his name,looking up at him with a particular expression on her face, the oneshe pulls when Sherlock does something he shouldn't have. Shedisappears a moment later in a flutter of her dressing gown, andSherlock can hear her door shut.
John'sstill out there. Shoulders stiff, back straight. Sherlock wonders ifJohn will yell first or save that until after he's done with the coldshoulder. Or maybe he'll do something completely unexpected. A littlethrill rolls down Sherlock's spine.
~~~~~~~~~~
Johnknows he should be angry at Sherlock. He knows Sherlock did this onpurpose for whatever unknown reason of his own. Not that Sherlockseems to need a reason to be a git, but still, John is sure that inthat sociopathic brain that Sherlock is constantly reminding him hehas, somewhere, somehow,there was a goodreason.
Anyway.Sophie doesn't hate him. He can afford to be agreeable.
Hegoes to bed with the window open and sleeps soundly for the firsttime in weeks. When he wakes up seven and a half hours later, he isenergised and focussed. He showers with a smile, brushes his teethand combs his hair. He grins at himself in the mirror then dresses inhis most comfortable clothes and ten minutes later is ensconced inhis chair with a cup of tea and his laptop.
Londonhotels,he types into the search bar, and starts scrolling the results with asmile.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jealousyis not something Sherlock enjoys feeling. He is brewing in it.
Hewas prepared last night for a fight, for something, anything otherthan John completely ignoring him and trotting off to bed happy asyou please.
Justlooking at him, freshly showered, hair combed, makes Sherlock's bloodstart to boil.
Honestly,John. That's it? That'sit?Just go to bed and wake up happy and strut around the flat like he'shad the best night of his life?
Rude.Honestly.
Sherlockcan acknowledge he's being an arse, but it doesn't stop him.
He'sstriding over to John, hovering behind, looking over John's shoulder.
“Hotels,what a novel idea. Don't go cheap, nothing worse than a cheap hotel.Oh and by the way, shouldn't take more than a day or two for thesmell to wear off completely. I didn't cause any one any harm, didI?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockis hovering, as usual. He usually does when John is on the laptop.Annoying git.
“No,”John says, not even bothering to look up. “No harm. Though if thesmell doesn't go away you're paying to have professional cleanerscome in, I hope you know.”
Sherlockhuffs but says nothing. John ignores him, scrolling through the list.How does one choose a hotel? He's never been able to afford anythingpast a single star bedsit when on his own. Cases with Sherlock areusually joint so not so bad, but on his own, his bank account won'textend very far.
Hescowls at the laptop screen. Too expensive…too expensive…notexpensive enough…
Christhow did people do this sort of thing? Was there a special hotel thatpeople went to for this?
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockdoesn't want to John to go away on some sex-filled night with Shania,but it's painful watching him consider the onestarhotel rooms. John has more style than that.
Andthen, like all good ideas do, one bowls Sherlock right over.Metaphorically.
Becauseofcourse.This would be absolutely perfect. A way to set this entire situationright. Or rather, a way to help John get over this ridiculousgirlfriend thing and spend his time concentrating on what actuallymatters.
Sherlockleans in close, cheek practically grazing John's.
“No,not that one. That one's rubbish, don't go there,” Sherlock says.“One star is hardly likely to get you anywhere, your bedroomupstairs would look like a love den by comparison. Listen, you wantto really wooher, don't you?”
Johnside-eyes him a bit, eyebrows raised. He looks disbelieving and alittle intrigued all the same.
“I'dlike a night out without interruption.” John says flatly.
“Right,I know exactly where you ought to go.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Thisis a good idea. This is a good idea.
Hetells himself this the whole drive over to the discreet little hotelon the northern edge of the city.
Youcan trust Sherlock.
Hegrimaces because even to him that sounds unlikely.
Buthonestly, what could possibly go wrong? It's a hotel. The worst thatcan happen is that there are mice and the sheets are dirty, in whichcase they'll leave and he'll never speak to Sherlock again. Git.
“John?”
Sophieis looking at him, a small smile on her face, her expression warm andkind, oh sokind. God he likes her. He really, really likes her. He smiles back.“You look worried,” she says.
“Yeah,sorry. Flatmate chose the hotel.”
Shechuckles, warm and low. “Probably wanted to apologise.”
God,I hope so,he thinks, and gives her an agreeable look.
Hedoesn't suspect a thing as they approach it. It's a low two storeybuilding in a suburb, quiet and discreet looking, with the signpainted out in careful script above the door: TheHoneymoon Hotel.It looks clean. It looks…nice.The entrances to the rooms are all private leading directly insidefrom the street, all curtained windows with lights shining frombehind them.
Sophielooks content as they park and climb from the car. He kisses her,tells her to wait there, and she smiles, letting her hand linger onhis neck as he pulls away.
Hegets the key. A room on the ground floor. They approach it together,silent but without any awkwardness. Comfortable, utterly content inthe others presence, and John thinks God,it's never like this.
Whichis probably why he should have been expecting it when he unlocks thedoor to find—
Sophie'sscream is more outrage than fear. She doesn't slap him, or kick him,which he probably would have deserved. But she does turn aroundwithout another word. He goes after her, of course.
“Letme drive you—”
“John.No. This isn't going to work, I'm sorry.”
“Listen,he's a git. I'm sorry—”
“John,please. Just…let's pretend this never happened.”
Sohe calls her a cab. He can't even blame her.
~~~~~~~~~~
Itwasn't technically a lie what he told John about TheHoneymoon Hotel.Sherlockreally did know the owner, he really had helped him out of a bad way,and the owner really did offer Sherlock use of the rooms here forfree any time.
Sherlockjust never made use of it, that was all. What use did he have for amale brothel? He hadn't. Until recently. If Sherlock had to endureone more day of that soppy look on John's face becausewhat's-her-name called, he was going to throw up.
Itwas just too good, too easy. Sherlock made one little phone call andJohn had a nice room all set up for the low price of nothing.Sherlock just happened to forget to mention, Oh,hang on, it's a male brothel! Oops!
It'sridiculously easy to hide out near the room and wait.
WhenJohn and whatever-her-name-is show up, all starry eyed and holdinghands, jealousy rolls hot and sharp in Sherlock's guts. He's walkedthat close to John before many times, but their hands never so muchas even brushed.
Johngoes to open the door and Sherlock can hardly stand it. He knowswhat's waiting on the other side, and the shriek of angeredindignation that she-who-is-annoying lets out is intensely satisfyingto Sherlock's ears.
There'sa brief little conversation between John and lady-annoying-voice.Sherlock doesn't pay it too much attention, busy as he is trying notto laugh too loudly. The satisfaction of a well executed plan,Sherlock thinks, is one of life's great pleasures.
Andthen John is alone.
Sherlockwonders if he ought to come out of hiding or head back to the flat towelcome John home with takeaway and his favourite movies. Sherlock isso caught up in thinking of the ways he's going to soothe Johnthrough this that he nearly misses it when John turns back towardsthe door of the hotel room.
~~~~~~~~~~
Heshould go home. God. He shouldgo home.
But.
But.
Hethinks of how long it's been since he's been able to do somethinglike this. How long he's avoided it.James.God, James.Brief, perfect, glorious James. He had thought that would lastforever. Hasn't been able to face the prospect of being with anotherman since the slow trickle of letters from James had finally dammedto a full stop, months since.
Jesus,has it been months?Thirteen. God. Thirteen months since he'd last heard from James. Morethan a year. Can he do this? He doesn't know. He doesn't knowanything, except that suddenly, unequivocally, he wantsto. He thinks of that single glance of the man on the bed, back inthe hotel room that Sherlock had sent him to. Remembers a lean,tanned body and short, fair hair, square shoulders and the strongline of a stubborn jaw, and my God John wants.
Andhe thinks, Well,why not?
Heturns around, and without a single breath of further hesitation, hewalks through that door and shuts it irrevocably behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockcan't tell what's just happened. Either he's dropped dead of a heartattack or John just wentback into the hotel room where a mostly naked man with a large peniswas waiting.
Okay,no. Not dead, after all. The sharp rise of jealousy in Sherlock'sheart is deadly, though. It's hot and coils around his heart andsqueezes.
Sherlockonce watched a monster of a boa constrictor squeeze its prey todeath. Something similar is happening to his heart with thesefeelings.
Itpropels him to action. He's not going to hide there in the dark andimagine all the things John's going to get up to in there.
Oftwo things Sherlock is absolutely certain:
1.John is not straight.
2.If John is going to have sex with a man, it is going to be Sherlockand that is the end of it. John… John is his.His John. His partner, his friend. His.
Sherlockstrides with purpose to the door, using a master keycard (swipedearlier from the staff room – abysmal security, honestly) to openthe door.
He'sblinded with his jealousy, his need. He sees John standing there,already naked, god, he's nakedand he's being kissed and pushed on the bed.
“Enough.”Sherlock says to the man whose hands are all over John. “I knowover fifty seven ways to kill someone and make it look accidental andI also know how to fool the police from ever even suspecting me.”
Theman in the tight pants takes a look between Sherlock and John beforehe shrugs and strolls right out of the room, the door shutting behindhim.
Sherlockshuts his eyes and breathes for a second.
“Youaren't honestly going to tell me you were about to let that man topyou?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Theman in the room is gorgeous, lean and hard and incredibly masculine.Even his smile is something iron-hard and confident and John can feelsomething like relief wash over him as he stands there, with the doorclosed at his back. He feels the tension unknit as he walks into theroom, walks to the bed, to the man undoubtedly waiting for him.
John'smuscles are slowly capitulating. He breathes and it feels like thefirst clear breath he's taken in weeks. A hand, faintly calloused,touches his face, and he sighs, letting his eyes close. Letting thisfeeling wash over him, of control passed on and given up. He leansinto the touch and he hears the soft laugh from the man touching him.
“When'sthe last time someone got to undo you like this?”
Johnsays nothing, lets that voice seep into his bones and turn them togentle liquid.
“You'regoing to be beautiful underneath me, aren't you?”
Johnmoans and it's a sound filled with relief. He can feel hands on him,pulling gently at buttons, tugging at his belt. He lets himself getundressed, and when his pants and trousers are pooled around hisankles he lets the guiding hand help him step out of them, leavingthem behind. And then there is heat on his lips, breath against hismouth and he inhales the words that slip into him like a drug.
“You'rejust gorgeous, aren't you, soldier? I'm glad your girlfriend left. Ican do so much more for you than she ever could. I can fuck you inways she'll never be able to. Feel you properly, right from theinside. Watch you shatter apart on my cock.”
Johnmakes a sound, a whimper high and wanting, and that voice turns intoa chuckle, low and satisfied. “I'll take you apart, soldier. Justyou wait. You'll never get enough of me.”
Andthen the man is kissing him, lips warm and soft and devouring andJohn can feel himself start to drown. There are hands on him, on hisnaked skin, touching and kneading and rubbing and John groans intothe kiss as he feels the gentle shove downwards and the bed comes upto catch him.
Andthen there is the slam of a door, banging against a wall, and Johnjumps and nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Sherlock bloodyHolmes standing in the door of the room, black coat flapping and thefiery snapping eyes of an avenging angel.
“Enough,”Sherlock says and his voice is the voice of a thousand seraphsseeking retribution against a wrong. “I know over fifty seven waysto kill someone and make it look accidental and I also know how tofool the police from ever even suspecting me.”
AndJohn thinks, This isridiculous. I'm never getting laid again.Part of his mind has already bowed to the inevitability of thissituation, because he doesn't even try to stop the glorious blondegod from shrugging his shoulders and simply strolling out of theroom. He shuts it behind him after a last look at John overSherlock's black shoulder, and John reads the regret and the promisein it. Later,it says, and John feels the faintest stirring of hope before the doorclicks shut and he is left with Sherlock, in full Valkyrie mode. Johnwatches as those cold blue eyes momentarily shut and then Sherlock'svoice, tired and angry and accusing: “You aren't honestly going totell me you were about to let that man top you?”
Thereis a glimmer of his own rage at that. A glimpse of something hard anddesperate that just wants to pound stones with its bare fists, butJohn pushes it down, pushes it away, and he doesn't even look atSherlock as he bends down and starts to gather his clothes.
“John,”Sherlock snaps. “Answer me!”
Johnpulls his vest over his head and doesn't look up. “I'll be out ofthe flat by Monday. Now pissoff.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockis reacting without thinking. Not his preferred method, but he'swatching John trying to get dressed and threatening to move out andthe fear, desire and jealousy drive Sherlock forward, stalkingtowards John with sure, quick feet and what feels like a storm in hisheart.
“Don'tbe stupid.” Sherlock snarls, snatching John's clothes from him andthrowing them to the floor. “You're not leaving.You'renot leaving here now, you're not leaving by Monday.”
Johnlooks like he might punch Sherlock, but they both know it's not afight John is after.
John'sneeds are very clear now, and if Sherlock isn't the man who is goingto be part of that, he will shred glass with his teeth.
Sherlock'stearing his clothes off in a frenzy, throwing his coat on the floor,unbuttoning his shirt, his trousers, trying to get everything off allat once.
“You'resuch an idiot. If you wanted this, why didn't you just ask?”Sherlock growls, angrily yanking his trousers down. He honestlydoesn't know if he's asking himself that, or John.
“Sherlock.What— What are you— That's—” John keeps stuttering. Maybebecause every time he opens his mouth, Sherlock removes another itemof clothing.
“Shutup, John.” Sherlock says, stepping into John's space. “Don't go.I don't want you to go.” He doesn't mean for it to come out asbreathy and heartfelt as it does, but it's too late, the words flyout and he's naked and John's mostly naked, and they're in a hotelroom and Sherlock is already half-hard just from standing this closeto John sans clothing and he's pretty sure he's going to explode ifthey just keep standing there.
Sherlockleans in. He feels John's soft, warm breath puff across his lips.It's like a jolt in his body, lightning that spirals from his heartto his belly to his cock, and he's kissing John, kissing himhungrily.
AndJohn is kissing back.
~~~~~~~~~~
Athousand replies flicker through John's head. A thousand comebacks.Ifyou wanted this, why didn't you just ask?
Idid. I do. I always have. Married to your work. Sociopath. Sentimentis a chemical defect. You don't feel things like that. You don't havefriends.
Ahundred different words, a thousand different ways to be rejected,from day one and onwards. And John can remember each one, knifewounds that refuse to close over. They bleed a bit more with everypassing day till he's ready…he's ready to…God he doesn't knowwhat. He can't leave. He knows that. If he'd been capable of that hewould have been gone months ago, a final desperate grasp for the lastlingering threads of his sanity.
Whydidn't you just ask?Jesus bloody Christ. Why hadn't Sherlock offered?
Hestares up, glazed eyes, trying to make himself move, trying torespond to this sudden attack from nowhere. Sherlock is talking andhis voice, John's never heard it like that before. Sincere. A quietplea. In absolute earnest. Clothes are being removed with clumsy,shaking hands and John knows he should stop this but he can'tremember why. He doesn't wantto remember why.
Andthen Sherlock's clothes are gone. John is in his vest, staring atSherlock naked above him. Sherlock naked, tall and angular with bonesjutting where they shouldn't and he wonders briefly when the lasttime it was he has eaten. Sherlock's cock, long and narrow like therest of him, is more than half hard and John stares at it as ifhyponotised. Filled with horror and wonder at this absolute proof ofsomething he had never dreamed possible.
Sherlock.Sherlock. Sherlock.John watches as he bends down, leaning into him. Hands dip themattress on either side of him, Sherlock's body invading the emptyspace around him until there is no emptiness anymore, until Sherlockis inches away, less than inches, until even that important divisionhas been overcome and suddenly Sherlock is kissing him. Sherlockis kissing him.It is slow and careful and filled with a quiet, desperate conviction,and this is a terrible idea. This is a terribleidea. John can't handle another James in his life. He won't be ableto deal with the exact same rejection as before. Him versus the work,and him the loser. He needssentiment. He needsto be first. He needstostop this because his head is screaming at him that this will breakhim. What little remaining that James had left shattered in his wakewill be swept up and discarded with the advent of Sherlock Holmes,but somehow he can't. Somehow his brain isn't in control anymorebecause somehow, he is kissing Sherlock back.
AndohGodit's incredible. Sherlock's lips are chapped, the cutting edges ofskin catching on his own, and John runs his tongue over them,softening them, tasting them. He tastes like October air and hotbreath and John sighs into them, into the parted lips against hisown. When Sherlock's tongue slips in past his lips he lets it, makinga high sound of approval. He notices when he's being pressed backagain, when that body above him continues to encroach, and he allowsthe slow invasion, retreating before it till he is on his back on thecheap hotel mattress and Sherlock is above him, knees straddling athis hips and hands tangling in his hair.
~~~~~~~~~~
John'shair is short and easy to grasp and Sherlock has now found out howmuch he loves threading his fingers through it.
ThatJohn is allowing this makes Sherlock press even further, driven on byJohn's soft noises and roaming hands. There are tongues slippingtogether, obscene little smacking sounds filling the air every timetheir lips part.
Sherlockwants to touch everywhere. He's not hurried, there's no rush. Hewants to see what noises John makes, wants to soak up all thatinformation and possibly spend the rest of his life collecting moreand more.
John.His John. His.
Sherlockgroans low and deep into John's mouth, dragging his lips from John'sso he can taste and kiss everywhere. That vest needs to go first andJohn lifts his arms and helps Sherlock remove it where it is tossedsomewhere on the floor, forgotten.
John'schest is beautiful, strong and masculine with small nipples thatSherlock immediately attaches his mouth to. He needs to know. Willthey be sensitive? Will John like it? Sucking on one and toying withthe other, Sherlock is pleased when John arches his back, pushing hischest out. Sherlock can feelJohn's pleasured little growl vibrating through his lips. In thatinstant Sherlock knows he's going to spend the rest of forever tryingto get John to make that noise.
Johnis tugging at his hair, pulling Sherlock away from the nipple biting,and Sherlock goes willingly, happily, to meet John's lips in anotherkiss. John's arms wrap around him and Sherlock clings back, deepeningtheir kiss until they don't even need to part their lips, it's justtheir open mouths and sliding tongues and heavy breathing throughtheir noses.
Sherlockcurls over John, slipping one of his arms under John's back so he cancup and support the back of John's head with his hand while theykiss. John likes that, he makes another soft little noise, one of hishands curling over Sherlock's arse to squeeze it and push Sherlockforward a little.
Itcauses a subtle shifting in their positions, all without the need tobreak their kissing. John opens his legs and Sherlock settles betweenthem, his other arm slipping under John's hips.
Andthen their cocks line up for the first time, a hot, velvety slidethat jolts them both, the kiss breaking with a trail of saliva thatclings to John's lips.
Sherlocklooks down at John gorgeous and lying there in the cradle ofSherlock's arms, red lips, mussed up hair, dark blue eyes…
“John.”Sherlock breathes. He wants to say something. Anything. His heart isfull. Iwant you. I need you. Stay with me. Let me have you. Be with me.Hetries, but he can't make himself say those things. So he justbreathes John's name again, and slowly rocks his hips.
~~~~~~~~~~
Itis aching,this want, this need, this utter and absolute necessity.
“John,”Sherlockbreathes and there is everything in that word, the single syllable ofhis name. “John.”
Hemoans and presses upwards, arching into the cage of Sherlock's body,perfectly ensconced. He pushes against the restraining influence oflimbs just so he can feel them push back, keep him contained andwhole.
Theheavy slide of their cocks, tight between their bellies, is ablissful roll of pleasure, but it's not enough. John knows it's notenough, and though part of him wants this to go on forever, to neverhave to wake from whatever miracle he's fallen into, the rest of himis shouting with something else. What he had come here tonight toget. What he had thought he had finally found when he'd closed thedoor of this room behind him.
Hegroans against Sherlock's mouth, a different sound this time,insistent and determined. He cocks his hips at an angle and feels theair slip in between them, their cocks bobbing free of each other.
“Please,”he says. “Sherlock, please.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock'scock slips beneath John's body, where his hand under John's hipsallows him room. It's imperfect, but he can push his cock up behindJohn's balls and let it follow the natural path to where John wantsit the most.
“Please.”John says again.
Helooks beautiful, John. Soft voice, but fire in his eyes.
Thenice thing about this hotel room is that all needs were anticipatedfor. There are packets of lube stashed in the night table drawers,and even more placed in a clear glass dish next to the lamp. A box ofcondoms sits beside it.
“Iwant to have sex with you, John,” Sherlock says, breathing next toJohn's ear. “I want to fuck you. Let me.”
“Sherlock,Christ, yes.”John groans.
FeelingJohn shiver with desire like that with their bodies pressed so closeis incredible. Sherlock knows he's going to have to let go of Johnfor this, and he moves reluctantly, unwilling just yet to not bewrapped around John.
It'sa small adjustment. John reaches for the lube packets and Sherlockfrees his arms and settles on his knees between John's legs.
“Dowe need condoms?” Sherlock asks as he tears open a packet of lubeto smear all over his cock.
“No.”John says quickly, firmly.
Sherlocklooks at John and their eyes lock and they're sharing a soft, privatesmile. Sherlock can hardly look away, he doesn't want to. He wants tokeep reading everything John is feeling, the desire and need andflickers of nervousness.
Sherlockuses another packet of lube and pours it on his fingers, settlingback over John, reaching between John's legs and below, finding thathidden place. He presses his finger to it, and John jolts, shivers.
“Youokay?” Sherlock asks. He knows John is.
“Yes,yes. More, c'mon.” John demands, wiggling his hips and pushing backon Sherlock's finger that hasn't even pushed inside yet.
Sherlockkisses John through it. Through the first push of his finger inside,to the second, to the third. He's kissing John while he finger-fuckshim, greedily drinking up every moan and cry John makes.
Sherlock'scock is throbbing, aching, heavy and red. He doesn't stop to ask ifJohn's ready because he knows John is.
Anothersmear of lube and Sherlock is lining his cock up and pressing inside.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hewants, ohgodhe wants.
Sherlockis slow and careful and oh so gentle and John is biting on his tongueto keep himself from cursing him, to keep himself from begging. Heneeds this. He knows Sherlock is right, that he needs to be prepared,that they need to be careful, but he's not feeling careful.He's not feeling rational.He can barely keep his hips still, jerking and shuddering againstSherlock's invading fingers.
Whenfinally, finally,he feels them slide out of him, he knows it's time. He knows he'sready. He's pastready.
“Please!”he says, and knows he's begging, doesn't care. “God, Sherlock,please.”
Thereis something like wonder on Sherlock's face. Something like awe. Hedoesn't answer but he puts a calming hand on John's quivering bellyand a moment later there is the press of something at John'sentrance, something heavy and slippery far larger than a finger, thanthree fingers. He makes an involuntary noise, uncertain and eager,and he sees Sherlock blue eyes flicker up and settle onto his.
“John?”
“Hurryup. Please. Please just go. I need it. I want it. Sherlock.Sherlock.”
Sherlockdoesn't hurry. He leans down and kisses John, slowly and promisingly,and John whimpers into his mouth because this is too long. This isn'twhat he needs.
“Sherlock!”he says, sharp and demanding, and he pushes himself down, seekingthat pressure against his hole.
“Shh,”Sherlock soothes. “You'll hurt yourself.”
Johnalmost sobs with frustration. He's seconds away from kicking Sherlockaway, from pushing him off and just doing it himself. With something.Anything. Surely there's something here he can use. He is frantic andSherlock is going so slow,so careful.
“Sherlock!”he says again, a last warning. God why does this bloody man neverlisten.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockhas to admit, there is a certain appeal to watching John so barelyrestrained. He's quivering, he's desperate, he's wild.
Sherlocktakes a steadying breath. He's being too gentle. John doesn't needgentle anymore.
Sherlockshoves his cock all the way inside without warning, without a word.John nearly howls. He's balls deep and buried inside John and it'stight and hot and slick. Sherlock isn't ruthless, but he isn'tgentle, not like before. He grabs a hold of John's hips for leverageand slams into him, a harsh, powerful movement that makes John's bodyjerk and shake.
Sherlockfucks him like that, bent low over John and driving into him. Theforce of it sends them moving across the bed, the sheets ripping fromthe mattress and bunching up beneath them. John's head is nearly offthe bed when Sherlock decides to rearrange their position.
Hepulls out, ignoring John's demanding protest, and manhandles Johnonto his hands and knees. It's easier this way, John can grab theheadboard to keep steady and Sherlock can grab John's hair and yankeverytime he thrusts back inside.
Heknows he's hitting John's prostate, especially at this angle, andJohn isn't even sounding human anymore, he's all animal noises andgrunts and shouts.
Sherlockis breathing hard, his heart racing. He steadies himself on knees andgrips John's ass cheeks with both hands before he lets go and smacksthem. John nearly sobs.
Sherlockrests there on his knees for a heartbeat. “Fuck yourself on me,”He says.
~~~~~~~~~~
OhGod oh God oh God oh Godohgodohgodohgodohgodthecommand is too much. John is frantic and falling apart. He is dimlyaware of the sound of his own shouts, animal and desperate, utterlyinhuman. He's lost control somewhere along the way. Lost everythingthat's left of him. And ohGodit's glorious.
Heis panting and pleading, wordless animal grunts that hold no meaning.He is on his hands and knees and Sherlock is just behind him, justkneelingthereand not doinganythingandoh my God John is sobbing as one hot palm smacks stingingly againsthis arse cheek and he jumps and cries at the sensation, his bodyautomatically pressing back, wanting more.
“Fuckyourself. On. Me.”Sherlocksays again and it's a command, harsh and absolutely merciless, andJohn can't question it, there isn't enough of him left to questionit. His hips are stuttering and jerking on their own and he's trying,god he's trying but he can't find Sherlock's cock, can't line is up,and he sobs because he needs,ohgod he needs.
”Pathetic,”Sherlock says. “Next time I won't be so helpful,” and suddenlyslams into John's body with a single thrust and John screams.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockleans over John's back to bite his shoulder as he slams his cockinside the needy body below him.
Johnis so responsive, his body constantly shuddering, shivering, shaking.It's beautiful to see. John is always so tightly coiled, it's apleasure to see him unravel.
Sherlocksoothes over the the bite mark with his tongue, laving at it untilit's shiny and wet. Heleans back and cups the back of John's head and pushesdown on it, forcing John to lower his upper body.
“Relaxyour shoulders, put your head on the bed.”
Johnmewls softly, does as he's told, and it leaves his ass high in theair and spread open.
Sherlockpresses down on John's head with his hand, just enough pressure forJohn to know it's unmistakably there, and fucks him hard until he'ssure his cock going to burst.
They'reboth glistening in sweat, both grunting and panting. Sherlock noticesJohn hasn't even once reached for his own cock. But Sherlock wants tosee. He wants to watch when John comes.
Sherlockstops. He pulls out and sits back on the bed. John whines.
“Comeover here,” Sherlock says, “And sit on my cock so I can chew onyour tits and make you come.”
Sherlockgroans watching his cock disappearing as John sinks down on it, notstopping until he's fully seated.
“Rideme now, show me how much you want it.” Sherlock whispers to John,smoothing his tongue across a nipple and biting on it.
Johnis wiggling and writhing and grinding on Sherlock's cock, bouncingwith trembling thighs.
Sherlockspits in his hand and grasps John's cock to pull and pump it while helavishes his attention on John's chest. He can't help but look upinto John's face and feel such a thrill at how completely taken overwith bliss he looks. There's a bit of drool lingering on his chinfrom being face down in the bed before, his hair hopelessly mussed,his eyes shut.
Sherlockimagines a life where he gets to have this whenever he wants. Itmakes him jerk his hips a little, a fresh hit of pleasure swirlingthrough him.
“Sherlock,”John breathes.
“Tellme, John. Tell me how it feels, how much you like my cock up insideyou. Tell me.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Histhighs are burning, his arse clenching around Sherlock's cock withevery pump of his hips. Sherlock's hand is hot and wet on his cock,sliding up and down with the force of John's own motion. Sherlock'steeth, his tongue, are slippery on his chest, laving his nipples withsaliva that he can feel running down his stomach, leaving a traildown his body.
Heis frantic. He is wild. His body is pumping and jerking, flailingwildly between sensations, losing control as everything presses inall at once, demanding his attention and he flies madly between eachone, the heavy invasion pulling him to pieces from behind, pushinginto him and taking him over, splitting him apart. The hand on hiscock, tight and demanding and dragging him back together. The mouthon his chest, pulsing insistently at the edge of everything. He isthrobbing, his whole body aching with a thousand different demands,overwhelmed and utterly bewildered.
Sherlockis speaking to him, he knows because he can feel the vibration, lowand commanding running through his entire body, pushing up throughthe cock buried in his arse and running in frantic circles in hishead.
“Tellme, John. Tell me how it feels, how much you like my cock up insideyou. Tell me.”
Heopens his mouth but there are no words. He tries but just sound comesout, pouring from his open mouth, something heated and mated andclaimed.
“John,”Sherlock says, insistent. Demanding. “Tell me, John. What is itlike with my cock in your arse? Can you feel it, heavy and hot,tearing you apart everytime you fuck yourself down on it? Do you likeit that much, that you'll just keep going? Fucking yourself, over andover and over? When will you stop, John? Canyou stop? What if I took my hand away from your cock? What if madeyou bounce up and down for hours? Fucking yourself and never gettingclose? How long until you started begging me again? How long untilyou broke?”
Johnis mindless with the ache, with the eagerness, with the need.Sherlock voice is shivering up inside of him, driven inside him withevery pump of John's hips and thighs, impaling him downwards,desperate to be filled, for the slide of hot, hard skin stretchingburning past his hole and plunging in, heavy and unmistakeablypresent.
Hetries to speak again but the words have left him. Everything but thename, two syllables bright and burning, a mating cry of some brokenbeast: SherlockSherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock.
“OhJohn,” Sherlock says, his voice soft, so soft. “My John. Come forme, John.”
Andwith a cry, rending and high and filled with the glory of relief,John does.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlockcan't believe what he's seeing. John is the most gorgeous sight he'sever seen, flying apart, shuddering and shaking, ropes of his comespilling from his cock like an overfull cup; it runs down Sherlock'shand, down his wrist, dripping onto his lap. And with his holepulsing and clenching with orgasm around Sherlock's cock, it's hardfor Sherlock to hold back from coming himself. He's so deep insideJohn, the tight hot squeeze pulls at him, teasing release.
ButSherlock can't yet.
“I'vegot you, I've got you,” Sherlock says low and soft, wrapping onearm tight around John to hold him steady, anchor him, give himsomething to cling to. John's poor thighs – he's still rocking onSherlock's cock, even through his shattering orgasm. Sherlock is inawe. One day he'll whisper into John's ear what a gorgeous littlecockslut he is.
John'sshuddering breaths start to calm. Sherlock looks at the cock in hishand and squeezes it, pushing his thump up into the frenulum, coaxingout one last spill of come that beads at the tip and runs slowlydown.
“You'reso beautiful,” Sherlock can't help saying it. “My John. John.”He could say John's name for the rest of his life, gladly. His heartfeels hot and tight with affection, pushing against his ribs andtrying to get out. He can't yet, not yet.
Johnslumps over, finally relaxing, hiding his face in Sherlock's neck. Hemumbles Sherlock's name, tender and soft.
Sherlock'scock is throbbing inside John still, and with John taken care of, itbecomes the only thing Sherlock can focus on. He cradles John in hisarms again, one hand cupping the back of John's head, the otherwrapped around his hips, and he lowers John to the bed, immediatelyhumping into John like an animal, all grunts and snapping hips. Heburies his face under John's arm and smells the musk of him, tasteshis sweat. John's hole is still squeezing and fluttering around him,and Sherlock pushes in once, twice— stars explode behind his eyes,white hot pleasure pumping in his veins. He spills into John, pumpinghis come deep inside.
“Canyou feel it? Feel me filling you up?” Sherlock pants into John'sear. “You're mine, John, you're mine.”
Johngroans Sherlock's name, long and low and deep.
Sherlockwants to be here forever, endlessly filling John with his cock andcome, always feeling this close and connected.
WhenSherlock starts to pull out, John makes a tiny, soft noise.
“Later,”Sherlock assures him. “We'll do this again later. At home. In ourbed.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It'sburning, too sensitive. Sherlock's thumb, slipping into the crease ofhis frenulum makes him shudder but he couldn't move away if he wantedto. He is boneless, limp, and utterly spent. He is pressed intoSherlock's neck and feels his hole clenching around the intrusionsthat's stretching his rim and he is abruptly aware of it in a way hehadn't been before. It feels heavier. Hotter. He squirms weakly butSherlock holds him tight, thrust deep up inside him and refusing tolet him go.
Hecan feel himself being lowered onto his back, Sherlock tight againsthim, holding him close and John lets it happen. Lets himself be laiddown, and he doesn't even protest when Sherlock starts fucking himagain. The last shivers of his own orgasm are still hovering at theedge of everything and it's enough to make him spread his aching legsand want more. It is bliss.
Whenhe feel the sudden jerking of Sherlock's hips smacking against him,he makes a sound and has no idea what it was. There is a lastbruising thrust and then he can feel it, hot and heavy and wet,filling him and Sherlock is murmuring to him, telling him how Johnbelongs to him now, and John can only lie there and wonder why it'staken Sherlock so long to figure that out.
WhenSherlock finally pulls out, the emptiness is a grasping, hollowingthing and he cries out involuntarily, feeling the ring of his holeclenching at nothing, the hot rush of Sherlock's come spilling out ofhim and down the cleft of his cheeks.
“Later,”Sherlock promises him. “We'll do this again later. At home. In ourbed.” John only nods, pressing his head into Sherlock's sweatyneck. Ourbed.He doesn't miss that.
~~~~~~~~~~
Thecab ride back to Baker Street is quiet. It's not strained, though.It's warm and safe and comforting.
Johnsquirms in his seat, though. Sherlock can see he's excited, butexhausted. And sore. He's going to be sore for a while.
Sherlockreaches his hand out, touching his fingertips to John's.
“Soonas we're home.” Sherlock says.
Johnnods.
Theypass the time with their hands touching and looking out the windowsat the rainy London night.
They'requiet when they go inside, careful to take the stairs with soft feetlest they wake Mrs Hudson.
Fromthere, it's locking themselves in their flat and meeting together inthe lounge for a slow, long kiss.
Somethingclicks into place in Sherlock's head. Thisis right,he thinks. Thisis how it should be.Kissingin their flat, surrounded by their things, living their life thatthey've been building together for so long without even realizing. Hewas so stupid to have not seen this before. John is in arms, kissinghim back, happily tugging Sherlock's coat from his shoulders, andthis… this is exactly how it's supposed to be.
Johnpulls away from the kiss. “You said you knew the owner of thathotel? Because. Maybe we could go there. Sometimes.”
Sherlocklaughs low and soft, grazing his lips over John's cheek. “You justwant a free room for a night with lube, sex toys and soundproofwalls.”
“Don'tyou?” John counters.
“We'llHoneymoononcea month. The rest of of the time, I'm having you absolutelyeverywhere in this flat.”
“Thekitchen.” John pipes up. “By the windows over there. The chairs.”He pauses for a second, considering. “Definitely the bathroom.”
Sherlockwants to bursthe's so in love. He calms himself by kissing John's lips. “Andyou'll have to be quiet sometimes. And if you can't be, I'll have tomakeyou quiet.”
Johnshivers in his arms and kisses back with a little edge behind it.
“Let'sgo to bed, John.” Sherlock says.
Theyclick off the lights and shut the door of the bedroom behind them.
John: Oh. Yeah, hi.Sorry, didn't see you back there.
Erm. Right. Iwas wondering if you do requests. For, you know. Cakes. Specialcakes. Special request…cakes.
Sherlock: Have a lookaround. I do all sorts of cakes. The ones over there on the left aremy most popular looks for birthdays. That's what you're here for, abirthday, isn't it?
John: Ah, no. Notexactly. I saw those. They're very nice. I was looking for somethinga bit more…specific.
Sherlock: Here, sketch itout for me.
John: Oh. Right.Sure. Ah. Just…like that. And a bit…you know. There. And
...…
Yep. That's. About it.
Sherlock: I see.
Well.
I'm very sorry,I don't do those sorts of cakes here. This is a high class bakery. Imake creations, not jokes.
John: No, it'snot…not a joke. Well. Sort of a joke. But it's…listen. Mysister's getting married to another woman and it's…just…you know.For fun. Ha ha.
Sherlock: There areplenty of other bakeries in London who would gladly cater to such aridiculous request.
John: Yes, but. Look,this is the one with the nicest cakes. Don't you have someone else inthe back who can do this one?
I can payextra.
You know. Ifthat's what you want.
Sherlock: I am an awardwinning pastry chef and you're asking me to make a cake shaped like ahuman male's penile member.
John: ....
Yeah. You know what, just forg—
Sherlock: I'll take thecase.
Keep your money
John: Really? I mean.Oh. Right. Okay. Thank you.
Sherlock: I've justthought of the look on my brother's face when he realises. This willbe my nicest cake yet, I assure you.
SherlockHolmes, by the way.
John: Right. Well,that's. I'm glad you're getting something out of it. John Watson, bythe way. And yeah, I know who you are. My sister's mad about yourcream…something…whatever it is. Something with cream, anyway.
Sherlock: My cream isdelightful, it's true.
Would you liketo sample some?
John: I…ah…haveto go.
Sherlock: Oh, that'sfine. Plenty more of my cream will be here if you change your mind.
John: Er—
Sherlock: Well, John,I'll phone you when the cake is finished. I promise it won'tdisappoint.
John: Oh. Sure. Ta then.
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Hello?
Sherlock: John Watson?
John: Speaking.
Sherlock: Your penis isfinished.
John: I…who isthis?
Sherlock: SherlockHolmes, and your penis is ready.
John: I...
Sherlock: The cake.
John: Oh! Oh, right.Ha! Yeah I thought you meant something—right. Okay. I'll be by inan hour.
Sherlock: Fine. Goodbye.
John: Goodb—hello?Christ.
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Hello!
Sherlock: Ah, John! Justunder fifty six minutes, impressive. Come around back, please. Followme.
Oh, here's someof my cream, if you're interested, by the way.
Sherlock: Isn't it just?I used a model, I made sure to make it to scale, scaling up,obviously, and as realistic as I could. I've already submitted photosof it to several competitions. I filled it with a generous amount ofmy cream, too.
John: Your…cream.Right. Wow. Alright then. Thank you. Very much. This is…thisis…wow.
Sherlock: Yes, it israther impressive. You still haven't tasted my cream. I assume you'llbe eating this cake, yes? You should try it. I win money with this.Here, I've got a bowl of it just— there we go, just scoop some upwith your fingers. Oh, and yourlesbian sister will hate this cake, by the way.
John:
I—mmmphh!
Sherlock: Yes, mythoughts exactly!
John: You just stuckyour fingers in my mouth!
Sherlock: I washed them.
John: That's not thep—not the—right, okay, but this cream is incredible.
Sherlock: I know.
John: No but really. Really incredible.
Sherlock: Yes. Here'syour cake, then. You're on your own transporting it.
John: Yeah, course.Alright. Ta, then.
Oh! Hold up,how much do I owe you?
Sherlock: Nothing at all,John.
Ah, just onemore thing, John. Don't let your sister know I made the cake based onmy penis. Might throw her off a bit.
John: .…
Your—
Sherlock: I've got todash, Mrs. Hudson can see you out if you're having trouble
Goodbye, JohnWatson!
John: Wait your p—
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Oh. Hello.Fancy seeing you here.
Sherlock: I work here.
John: Ha. Yeah.Course you do. Sorry. Hello.
Sherlock: Hello, John.How was the cake? Your limp is back.
John: The cake wasincredible. Clara even forgave me for it being in the shape of your—apenis. Limp?
I mean. Notyour penis. Your penis isn't limp.
Sherlock: My cakes tendto foster good will in others.
My penis isn'twhat you're here for, is it, John?
John: Ha ha! Ha! Ah.Are you offering? Sorry! Hahaha! Just…ignore me. Please. Pleaseignore me.
Sherlock: What sort ofcake are you looking for today?
You arehere for a cake?
John: Oh! A cake.Right. Of course. Of course I'm here for a cake. Why else would I—Um.I like…what kind is that one?
Sherlock: Devil's foodwith salted caramel filling and Italian buttercream.
John: Yeah, okay,that sounds good.
Sherlock: Any specificbody parts?
John: Is…did youmake the cream?
Sherlock: Oh, John. Imake all the cream.
John: And the bodyparts, presumably?
Sherlock: Are you feelingall right? You're a bit red.
John: Sorry, thatcame out wrong. Making you sound like some mad scientist. Or a...ora...um. Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah I'm great. I'm…how much for the cakethen?
Sherlock: I meant— didyou want the cake in a specific shape? Or will round do?
John: Round. Round isgood. Though if you ever need a spare pair of hands—Sorry! Thatwas…that was…I don't know what that was. Christ. Cake. Right. Howmuch for the cake.
Sherlock: An assistantwould be nice…
But nevermindthat.
Round cake,then. As I figured. You're not a square kind of person. Extra caramelfilling, I think. And don't worry about the money, it's fine. I'llphone you when it's done, shouldn't take more than a day.
John: Perfect. Seeyou then then. Then. Ha. Then. Sorry. I'm just…right.
Sherlock: John?
John: Goodbye!
Sherlock: Have a goodday.
....
What a nutter.
I like him.Mrs. Hudson! I need more caramel!
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock: Hello, John.Another cake already, I see. I'm thinking round again, probably lesssweet than last time, and something far lighter.”
John: Oh. Hello, MrHolmes. How did you know I wanted another cake?
Sherlock: ....
You are in abakery, John.
And please,it's Sherlock. Call me Sherlock.
John: Yeah, course.Sorry. Sherlock.
Sherlock.
Sherlock.
Sherlock: John.
John: Ha! Yeah.That's. Very good. Excellent. Um. Cake?
Sherlock: Yes, cake. I'lltake care of it, never mind that. Are you in a hurry? I want youropinion on something.
John: I guess I'vegot a few minutes to spare.
Sherlock: Try this newcream filling I'm making. I've been experimenting with flavours and Ineed second opinions. I'll let you use a spoon this time, here.
John: A spoon. Iwasn't sure you had those here. Sort of hoping you didn't.
Sherlock: I can use myfingers again if you like.
John: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh god.
I'll just. Um.Spoon?
Sherlock: Take the spoon,John.
....
Is it good? Doyou like it? Why do you like it?
John: It's delicious.My god. What's in this? Are you drugging me? This is incredible.
Sherlock: It's taken meages to perfect this. I think it'll win me this year's competition.
John: Bloody deservesto.
Sherlock: Drugging youwould be incredibly easy, John. But I don't have time for that rightnow.
I'll get yourcake done. I'll ring you again like usual, yes?
John: Yeah, good. Um.What did I order?
Sherlock: Earl Greychiffon with a cream cheese glaze.
John: Oh, right. Iremember now. Alright. Ta, then.
Sherlock: Goodbye, John.
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Sherlock. Hi.
Sherlock: John. You're…early.
John: Yeah, well. Iwas just in the neighbourhood. Passing by. That sort of thing.Thought I'd take a look at…at…cakes.
Sherlock: Yes. Cakes. Ihave plenty, though by this point you must have tried most of them.Are you… wanting another?
John: I mean, if youhave any.
Sherlock: I have plenty.I am a baker, you know. It's what I do. I bake.
John: Yes, well. Ofcourse. This being a bakery and all. I suppose that's what one doesin a bakery. Bake. Unless you're like me, then you just buy thebaking. So I suppose I'll…buy a cake.
Sherlock: Excellentchoice. I'll get right on that. Round, because I know what you like;filled with my cream, the really good special kind that I also youknow like; vanilla cake layers; whipped chocolate buttercream icing.Did I miss anything?
John: God yes. Imean, god, no, you didn't miss anything. That sounds…god thatsounds good.
Sherlock: I'm glad tohear it. I'll put it ahead of the queue, get it done right away foryou, John.
John: Thank you.That's—Listen. I really should pay.
Sherlock: Nonsense, don'tworry about it right now. I'll see you back here soon. For your cake.
John: For my cake.Yeah. Bye Sherlock.
Sherlock: Bye, John.I'll— ring. you.
…
Stupid. Stupid!Why didn't you ask him to stay? Stupid— no, Mrs Hudson, I'm fine.I'll be back there in a tic!
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Oh. Hello.
Sherlock: Hello, John. Ihope you didn't ride your bike today. I've your cake already.
John: You have—howdid you know I'd be—
Sherlock: Oh, just aguess. Good one though.
John: Yeah. Goodguess. Um. You made me a cake.
Sherlock: I made you acake, yes. It's er— a bit… bigger than usual. But it had to beotherwise I couldn't make it look as nice. And I knew you'd be in, soI thought we'd try something different this time.
It's all yourfavourite flavours
John: This is—Jesus,that's gorgeous.
Sherlock: Lots of cream
John: I love yourcream.
Sherlock: I'd like togive you more.
Er
That is
In. The cake.
John: YEah. Yeah,course. In the cake.
Sherlock: Right. Thecake. What I do. I do the cakes.
John: Um. Listen.This is. Jesus. I have to…go. I have to go.
Sherlock: Err—do you—Oh. Uh. But. The cake? John? John?!
.....
I have morecream!
Don't keepwalking away!
......
He walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~
John: Jesus bloodyChrist, I'm coming, I'm coming! Who the hell is trying to break downthe bloody door at 10 o'clock at night—
.....
Oh.
Sherlock: John.
John:
Er.
Sherlock: Hello.
Here. The moneyyou owe.
For the cakes.
John: The moneyI—what? What? Jesus Christ, Sherlock, how did you evenfind me?
Sherlock: Oh like it washard. You aren't exactly hiding.
You just leftafter I had slaved all day making that cake for you
John: No, it wasn'tlike—Listen, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave, I just—Jesusbloody Christ that's a lot of money.
Sherlock: And you have topay. I'm a world class pastry chef, as you'll recall. I don't workfor cheap.
John: I don't—Jesus,Sherlock. It wasn't—I didn't—I was bloody stalking you for god'ssake. I swear I was about to call the police on myself. God, howpathetic do I have to be to even be having this conversation. And Ican't pay you. Jesus. I don't keep this kind of cash—listen, I'llsend someone with my card tomorrow, yeah? That way you don't haveto—I don't have to—we can just forget—Jesus. Jesus what thehell am I doing.
Sherlock: John. I knowthat's what— I knew you were— I was going to ask you out fordinner today. Before you left. I. Maybe. I mean.
.....
We could… tryfor… an… arrangement… You know, instead of you having to pay.We could. Think of something else.
John: You were—youwere going to ask me—God, why. Why would you want someonelike—Wait. What…what kind of arrangement?
Sherlock: Well. I mean.We could. You could… go out with me. Not as payment! Oh, god. Notwhat I meant— We could. You could go out with me becauseyou wanted to and I want you to and we could forget all about thecakes if you want and I'm — or you could just have sex with me aspayment! hah. haha.
John: Sex with you aspayment! HA! Ha! Ha. Ha ha. Ah. Um.
That's just—
Sherlock: Hilarious?
John: Would you liketo co—?
Sherlock: Yes.
John: Oh thank god.
Sherlock: Is that— arethose my cakes? They're bloody everywhere!
John: Oh. Um. Right,well. I couldn't really finish them all.
Sherlock: God, John.Coming in all the time, asking for cakes, when you just wanted…
John: Sex?
Sherlock: When Ijust wanted…
John: Sex?
Sherlock: God, yes, shutup, I'm going to kiss you now.
John: Oh, okammpph
Sherlock: Mmh, John, you— you have on too many clothes. Off. OFF
John: Christ Sherlockyour hands, why are your hands—oh god I like your hands
Sherlock: I'm going toput my hands all over you, everywhere. Bedroom.
John: God yes. Yes.Watch out for the cake—
Sherlock: We need thebedroooooommmphh—SHI-T,shit— it's okay, it's just— haha, stoplaughing, it's just icing—
John: Here letme…mmmmm god you make good icing. I can't wait to taste the cream.
Sherlock: Oh god, John,John. Yes, keep sucking my fingers, like that, like that… Bedroom,hurry. And take your clothes off!
John: Fuck. SHerlock. Come on, hurry up. Hurry up. Ohffuuuuuck
Sherlock: Mmm, John, my gorgeous John. You like that? Youlike feeling me like that? Here, open your legs, let me just— ah,god, that's good. Suck on my fingers, get them good and wet…
John: Oh god oh god oh god Sherlock. Sherlock,come on. Sherlock, yes. Right there. Oh god right there rightthererightthererightthere oh ffffuuck!
Sherlock: Hold your legs up, don't let them fall. God, lookat you, look at your little hole so greedy for my fingers… openingfor me, letting me inside… god, I want to fill you with my cock. Doyou want that John?
John: Oh Jesus, yes. Sherlock, yes. Please, please. Fuckplease just fuck me. Please I need you. I need you. Sherlock—
Sherlock:
Mmmm, ohh— I'm— fuck, fuck you're tight—John! Ohhh my John, you feel so good around me… So hot andgreedy, I can feel your hole sucking me in, you're squeezing so hard—shit, just— relax a little, breathe… you're so gorgeous, John. Iwanted you the moment I saw you.
John: Oh my god oh my god oh god Sherlock.Sherlock. Fuck. Just. Harder. Harder. God, please, I wantedthis—forever—the second—Jesus Christ. My sister's never heardabout you. I saw you in the window one day on my way to work. She andClara broke up last year. Oh Jesus bloody oh my god yes do thatagain
Sherlock: FUcking hell, John— you idiot, you little— youcould have just… just asked me I—ohhhhhhh god, oh god, make thatnoise again, let me hear it, you're so fucking good, so good— I'mso angry that you— that we wasted all this time, we could have beendoing this foreverrrrrrrgod,god,god, squeeze on me like that again—I wanked to fantasies of fucking you right on the front counter soanyone could walk in and see you, see you there with my cock in yourlittle hole and know that you were mine, mine, you're mine—
John: Yes yes god yes yours oh god Sherlock. Sherlock.Sherlock. Sherloooooaaaahhh—
Sherlock: Oh fuck, yes, that's it, I've got you, keepcoming, keep squeezing on me, you're so good, so good, sogoooooodohhhhhhgodyeah
~~~~~~~~~~
John: I can't believe you used your own penis.
Sherlock: I was trying to entice you.
John: You sent pictures of your penis to bakingcompetitions.
Sherlock: I didn't really. I just wanted your attention. Iwanted you to take the hint. I kept offering you cream!
John: But you're a bakery!
Sherlock: I took you in the back room! Do you thinkI just do that?! We were alone. In the back room. With mycream. My fingers. Your mouth. John, honestly
John: Yes, well—well—just…shut up and give me abit of that cream.
Sherlock: Mmm, hah, you're so greedy. Do you know what,John? That night, I went home and masturbated with fantasies offucking you in the back room and making you come into my bowl ofcream so I could scoop it up and feed it to you…
Or at least, John thinks it's Sunday. It might be Saturday. Shit. Anyway. They need to go to the shops. Do they need rice? He thinks they need rice.
He grunts as Sherlock does something weird with his hips. “Ouch,” he says.
“Sorry,” Sherlock murmurs absently, and continues to thrust steadily into John.
John huffs, settling back down. There's a book propped against his head and there's a rustle of paper as Sherlock turns a page.
“Sherlock.”
“Hmm?”
“Do we need celery? I was going to make soup this week.”
There's a pause in the movement above him, the rhythmic thrusting coming to a stop. John pumps his hips a few times as a hint and a moment later the movement resumes.
“I hate celery, John.” He punctuates the words with four particularly sharp thrusts and John moans.
“You don't taste it in the soup, Sherlock.”
“I can, John.” Another punctuation of the hips.
“You're such a bloody liar. Oh fuck do that again. No, you can't. Last time I made it without telling you you said it was amazing.”
“Sometimes I lie, John. I could taste it but you worked so har-rrrrd, yeah, you like that?”
“I know when you're lying, you git. You get all Sherlocky and think you're being cleverrrrr oh my God yes right there Jesus fuck.”
Sherlock's teeth nip at his neck and John hears the pleased huff of breath against his skin.
“I know when there is celery in my food, it taints everything, it's awful, you don't need it for soooooup God you're so tight.”
“God yes,” John groans. “Oh God yes fuck Sherlock fuck we'll get onions then but you have to cut them, they make me cry.”
“That's because you do it wrong you just have to—fuck God you feel so good, so good—onions are easy to—oh God, John…”
“Well if they're so easy oooh fuck oh God oh Sherlock yes, yes, yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyes Sherlock Sherlocksherloooo—”
