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69 Shades of Grey

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It had been about three months since “shagging” had become a regular term in both John and Sherlock’s vocabulary. And, needless to say, there had been a lot of it. Somehow though, despite never having a sexual partner, rather any sexual experience before, Sherlock found himself growing tired of the “same old same old.”

 

Leave it to the highly-functioning sociopath to get bored of weekly, or even daily, boinks. Inside that funny brain of his, Sherlock got an idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

 

It was on the twenty-third of the month that he presented his proposition to John. The doctor was sitting in his armchair, pencil at the corner of his mouth, working on the morning crossword puzzle. Sherlock approached.

 

“John?”

 

“Just a second.”

 

John began muttering to himself, mulling over the clue over and over again. Sherlock huffed audibly.

 

“Nine letters; equine. Dark on light. Hmm…”

 

Sherlock huffed again, whatever he had in his hand slapping against his thigh when he dropped his arms.

 

John waved his hand at the detective.

 

“Hang on. I’ve almost got it.”

 

He began working through the crossword with the tip of his pencil poised against the paper.

 

“Now, it’s got to match up with fourteen down; four letters, audible discharge of a gun, or slang term for lovemaking. Well...that’s gotta be ‘bang.’”

 

John penciled in the word, tapping the paper.

 

“Now, what the hell is twenty-three down?!”

 

Sherlock could take it no longer, stomping over, sntaching up the newspaper. He scribbled upon it for only a moment before dropping the newsprint back into John’s lap.

 

The doctor looked slightly offended, but snapped the paper open, observing the thick, dark letters the gumshoe had scrawled.

 

Appaloosa.

 

“Of course!”

 

John said, slapping the paper with the back of his hand. He smirked slightly, neatly folding the paper before placing it on the side table. He turned his attention, now, to Sherlock.

 

“What is it?”

 

He sensed something a bit off with the detective as Sherlock dragged his own armchair across the rug and positioned himself in front of John.

 

“Remember when I asked you if we could try more...risque things in the bedroom?”

 

John smirked, self-satisfied.

 

“Yes, I remember.”

 

“Well, I want to try some.”

 

John laughed.

 

“What, like handcuffs and gags?”

 

Sherlock furrowed his brow for a moment.

 

“No,”

 

He took the book he had at his side and opened it on the creased spine, depositing it in John’s lap.

 

“This.”

 

John rolled his eyes before picking up the book. He thought it might just be some silly mathematical equation like the time before. But, when his eyes landed upon the page presented before him, they nearly bugged out of their sockets.

 

“What?! Wh-where in the bloody hell did you find this?!”

 

Now Sherlock looked offended, snatching the book back. He opened the magenta book in front of him.

 

“Never mind where I got it, that’s not important.”

 

He stated bitterly.

 

“Well, that’s not exactly the kind of book you pick up at the Kensington Library!”

 

Sherlock gave John his classic side-eye.

 

“I thought you would be elated to bring a new component into our relationship.”

 

“Our relationship? Now hang on just a minute! You think casual sex means we’re in a relationship?”

 

John’s tone was sharp, pointed.

 

“Don’t you want to be?”

 

Sherlock’s voice had gone small, but only for a moment. He snapped the book shut, standing.

 

“Never mind. This was clearly a mistake. It is clear that we do not share the same feelings about our current situation.”

 

“Sherlock, wait!”

 

But the detective had already disappeared into his bedroom, accompanied by a hearty door slam.

 

___

 

The two didn’t speak to each other for several days, but, somehow, John could tell that he had hurt Sherlock’s feelings. Well, that was certainly a funny thought. Sherlock had feelings.

 

But, anyway, he could tell, from the look in the other man’s eyes, his posture, hell, even the wrinkles in his shirt. He was becoming a regular Sherlock Holmes himself.

 

That was when he approached Sherlock, who was currently examining charred pig entrails under his microscope. John only hoped that the detective wouldn’t bitch-slap him with pig intestines.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Sherlock looked up.

 

“Why?”

 

“Clearly I hurt your feelings.”

 

Sherlock ruffled his shoulders, scowling.

 

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have any.”

 

John grumbled to himself.

 

“Well, clearly you do, and I’ve hurt them.”

 

“Really?”

 

Sherlock replied flatly.

 

“How ever could you tell?”

 

“Well first, there’s the wrinkles in your shirt. Rumpled, and-”

 

John grabbed a handful of the fabric, pulling it to his nose.

 

“Unclean. You haven’t washed this in...hmm...three...no four days. Probably just threw it on your floor somewhere. Then there’s your posture. Slumped, shoulder rolled in. Indicates defensive posture. But it also reads as aggressive. You’re not looking to be bothered. And then there’s the circles underneath your eyes. Haven’t slept in several days. You lay awake at night, mulling things over.”

 

Sherlock was silent for several minutes.

 

“Impressive,”

 

He started dryly.

 

“Perhaps you should wear the hat from now on.”

 

“Oh, come on! Stop being ridiculous! Despite what you’d like to believe, you’re a person just like everyone else. And that means that you have feelings, which I’ve clearly hurt, so I’m sorry. There! S-o-r-r-y. Sorry, Sherlock.”

 

The gumshoe flicked up a cool glare.

 

“I was merely suggesting…”

 

John held out his hand.

 

“Lemme see the book.”

 

“Why? So you can laugh again?”

 

Sherlock was bitter, defensive.

 

“No. Because I didn’t get to read it before you bloody snatched it up!”

 

The two stared at each other for a long while, and John could’ve sworn that Sherlock had hissed at him before reluctantly handing the book over, which had been hidden underneath the table next to him.

 

John opened the book, the spine cracking, and began reading.

 

  1. Level: moderate. Category: M/M, F/F, M/F Equipment required: none

Position 69 is most commonly used for double oral sex. Because the digits represent the inverse of each other, the position is so named because of each partner’s position in respect to the other. See diagram below for positioning.



John let out a low whistle.

 

“Wow.”

 

Sherlock shrugged.

 

“What was it that I said? I wanted to…’spice things up?’”

 

John looked up, his cheeks flushed bright red.

 

“T-that is a lot of spice.”

 

Sherlock cracked a coy smile.

 

“It would certainly make things...interesting.”

 

John set the book down.

 

“A-are you sure you don’t want to start with something...easier?”

 

Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“It you don’t want to try it, just say so.”

 

John swallowed. Hard.

 

“O-ok,”

 

He started shakily.

 

“Just don’t choke me.”

 

___

 

“Christ, Sherlock, that was my eye!”

 

The doctor pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, shoving Sherlock out of the way.

 

“I’ve assumed the position that the diagram illustrates.”

 

He stated matter-of-factly over his shoulder at John.

 

“Well, there’s a big difference between my mouth and my eye! Guess which one I don’t want your cock in!”

 

The doctor huffed crossly.

 

“John, we don’t have to-”

 

“Just get on with it already.”

 

He huffed again, wiggling his hips to move himself down a little further underneath Sherlock.

 

The detective rolled his neck down, slowly engulfing the head of John’s dick in his warm, wet mouth. John stifled a moan.

 

However, that moan soon turned into an irritated groan as Sherlock’s prick kept slapping him in the face.

 

“Sherlock,”

 

He warned.

 

“We need to coordinate.”

 

The detective muttered something, rather that be agreement or discord, John would never know, since Sherlock was rather occupied with his cock.

 

John leaned his neck back, the veins in his neck quite distended, and swallowed down the head of Sherlock’s member with expert skill. That had the detective making a sound that John did recognize.

 

It was an odd sort of tug-of-war as their bodies rocked back and forth as they adjusted to the new position.

 

Sherlock rocked his hips forward a bit, pressing the bridge of his nose against the crease between John’s bollocks. That had the latter moaning around the slim cock in his mouth.

 

John pulled off Sherlock for only a moment to lubricate two fingers in the heat of his mouth before taking the length back into his mouth. He fondled Sherlock’s pale sack for a while before absently spreading the globes of his arse and plunging two fingers inside the dick’s tight heat.

 

That had John’s hardened cock falling from Sherlock’s mouth, precome glistening on the edges of his lips. He arched his back, cheeks rouged.

 

“Jawn!”

 

He let off a slur of incomprehensible grumbles and moans, John all the while smirking.

 

But Sherlock Holmes was not one to be one-upped. He took the opportunity to coat his own fingers with spittle, repositioning his mouth around John’s engorged member as he teased his two fingers against John’s hole.

 

The doctor arched his toes down into the linens covering the bed. He frotted up into Sherlock’s mouth, moaning the entire time. He retracted his fingers before plunging three back in.

 

Sherlock gasped, John's dick almost slipping loose again. Now it wasn’t a game anymore. He flicked the tip of his tongue against John’s slit, letting the doctor feel the slight scrape of his teeth.

 

He knew John liked it by the flexion of his phalanges.

 

John twisted his neck some to achieve a new angle and he felt the muscles in the detective’s inner thighs quiver. He savoured the throb of the other’s dick against his tongue.

 

Sherlock could feel his orgasm building, but was determined to make John cum first. He plunged three long fingers inside of the doctor, crooking them while still working his tongue along John’s shaft.

 

He quickly retracted the fingers and replaced them with four. The combination of his hooked fingers and the teasing, lapping sensations of his tongue against John’s foreskin had the latter moaning freely into the heavy air of the bedroom.

 

John was breathing hard, his fingers still working on the detective. He nearly had his entire fist buried up the other’s arse. He took a breath, wrapping his lips back around Sherlock’s cock. He bobbed his head, moving side to side.

 

Sherlock’s heel kicked back into the headboard. He muttered around John’s prick. John lapped at Sherlock’s crown, doing his best to lick a stripe up the other’s length. Sherlock’s hole quivered.

 

But the detective wasn’t going down without a fight. He began pumping up and down John’s length with his mouth, crooking his fingers harder and faster. Soon, he had all five fingers inside John.

 

Their rhythms were tantalizing, moving at dizzying paces. It looked to be an even match. However, John was the expert here, and before long, he had Sherlock coming, the detective's salty seed spilling down his throat.

 

He pulled off, the other’s limp member hanging down, practically brushing John’s cheek. One more crook of his fingers and John was coming. He should have warned Sherlock to pull off, but it was too late.

 

The other choked slightly, but John was pinned underneath him helplessly. It wasn't like he could go anywhere with his dick in Sherlock’s mouth.

 

But the detective seemed to manage just fine, pulling off John’s flaccid member, wiping at his mouth. He turned about, flopping down face-first into the bed.

 

John giggled, pulling the taller man against his chest. He flung the duvet across their mid-sections in some sort of attempt to regain dignity. But that was a lost cause seeing as they had just fucked each other at both ends like porn stars.

 

Sherlock nuzzled his face into the side of John’s neck.

 

“‘M tired.”

 

John absently stroked the other’s curls.

 

“T-that was...the best sex I’ve ever had.”

 

Sherlock rumbled out a laugh.

 

“And who was the one that didn’t want to try it?”

 

John poked him in the side sharply.

 

“Oi. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to try it, I was just concerned because of...dubious content.”

 

Sherlock made a “psh” noise.

 

“For being experienced, John, you’re not very experienced.”

 

“I am too experienced!”

 

“My list would say otherwise.”

 

John looked at the detective, aghast.

 

“W-what list?!”

 

With that, Sherlock removed a bubblegum pink sheet of paper from his nightstand drawer, and promptly crossed off the non-explicit number 69.

 

He held the list up for John to see.

 

“Everything we need to try in order to be experienced.

 

He pulled himself out of the bed, trodding off in the direction of the bathroom. John pushed himself up onto his forearms, panicking.

 

“H-hey! Don’t I get a say in this?!”

 

Sherlock popped his head back out around the doorframe of the loo, a pale hand gripping the jamb.

 

“Um...no.”

 

John picked the list up off the bed, running his hands through his sweaty hair. He glanced over some of the things Sherlock had scrawled on it.

 

“Oy vey.”