“Well, that was tedious.”
John glanced up to where Sherlock stood in the doorway. If it wasn't for the blood soaked harpoon and his utterly dishevelled clothing, he might look rather majestic, like a warrior. His shirt was slightly loose and rolled at the sleeves, revealing a sliver of his lean arms.
Not skinny, 'skinny' insinuates that there's a delicacy to him, that he could break if you weren't gentle with him. Sherlock Holmes is not skinny. There is a strength to his leanness and it is unmistakably present. He is unmistakably present.
John glanced over his blood splattered torso and down, noting that Sherlock was wearing an older pair of trousers, a tighter pair that left absolutely nothing to the imagination (and Jesus, how John was prone to imagining).
John inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in one blink. “You went on the tube like that?”
Sherlock didn’t change his stance, if anything he stood more firm, holding his ground.
He glanced towards John, who was gaping at him. “None of the cabs would take me.”
Sherlock’s eyes were locked on John and in almost an instant he was gone. John squirmed in his armchair and hesitated before standing and following Sherlock into his bedroom. He stopped before entering, leaning on the doorframe as he watched. Sherlock was already sans shirt, which lay in a blurry-red pool on the floor. He was just stepping out of his trousers when he saw John in the doorway.
“I will do all of the washing, I didn’t anticipate this severe quantity of blood, it’s interesting," Sherlock smirked.
John momentarily closed his eyes and then crossed the room to where Sherlock was standing. He faced him and held his gaze before grabbing both of his wrists to still him and when he was sure that Sherlock wouldn’t protest he took over. His fingers trembled slightly as his hands hovered over the waistband of Sherlock’s boxers. Sherlock squirmed slightly, pushing himself into John’s almost touch.
John placed his hands on Sherlock’s waist and hooked his fingers into the waistband before pulling them down, and following them down until he was on his knees and faced with Sherlock’s semi-hard cock. John pressed his face into Sherlock’s groin and sighed.
“You need to shower,” John inhaled. “We need to shower, then I’m going to fuck you.”
John got to his feet and faced Sherlock. They stared at each other. Sherlock wordlessly led John to the bathroom.
“You’re wearing too much clothing,” Sherlock sighed.
A blush spread across John’s face and he slowly began to remove his jumper, the momentary darkness was exactly what he needed to collect his thoughts, without the scrutinising gaze.
When John’s torso was bare Sherlock roughly unbuckled John’s belt and then unbuttoned the trousers. The dried blood was a shocking contrast to his pale skin, it was so much more dangerous up close and John felt his groin ache in protest. Sherlock was then shucking the trousers down to John’s ankles. John’s boxers were dismissed almost immediately afterwards.
Sherlock broke their gaze to turn to the shower. There was a soft hiss of steam in the pipes and then the water pelted down, smacking on the bottom of the bath like a whip. Steam was gathering in the room, the mirror was already hazy and Sherlock made his way over to John again, backing him up against the sink. John dared a glance up to him, feeling his own arousal press against Sherlock’s, eliciting a moan from his lips.
Sherlock took John’s hand and led him towards the shower, before stepping in and under the constant, hot stream of water. John followed him, grimacing as the hot water slapped his skin. He fell into Sherlock’s touch and watched as the blood washed off Sherlock’s skin, revealing his face and arms. The blood mingled with the water and drifted away with the residual water at the bottom of the bath. John held onto Sherlock’s arms and moved one hand behind Sherlock’s head to grab a washcloth which resided there.
He drenched the washcloth under the steady stream of water and raised it to Sherlock’s face, gently wiping away the feint layers of blood which persisted on his skin. Sherlock closed his eyes and John continued to wash his face, before moving them both closer to the water and drenching Sherlock’s thick head of hair. More pools of blood gathered in the bath.
Sherlock opened his eyes and John was staring up at him, almost expectantly; but not quite, not yet. Sherlock backed John to the wall; he ducked his head down and captured John’s lips.
“I don’t want to come here. Oh, God, Sherlock, not here,” John groaned, making no effort to pull away from Sherlock's hold.
Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s and breathed out a sigh. “Yes, of course. My bedroom?”
John moved his hands up to Sherlock’s face and pressed their lips together. “Yes, before I push you against that wall."
Sherlock huffed under John’s touch. “and what if I want that?”
John almost choked out a laugh. “Sherlock, I am going to fuck you, you can count on that, but I’m going to do it in your bedroom.”
They both exited the bathroom in a tangle of limbs, drying in the cool air of Sherlock’s bedroom.
John captured Sherlock’s lips again for another kiss before dropping to his knees for the second time that morning.
John teased him first with his tongue, tasting and revelling in the mix of Sherlock’s scent and the scent of clean flesh, before taking him slowly into his mouth. Sherlock was completely hard now and panting softly, his hands rested on top of John’s head. He didn’t tug or pull, he was enjoying the slow and circular movements of John’s tongue, sweeping across the head of his cock.
“John, that's-” Sherlock gasped.
John hummed slightly. He licked and sucked up Sherlock’s full length before releasing him with a vulgar pop and in one movement, although slow as it was, took him deep, until he was almost flush with Sherlock’s groin.
Sherlock’s hands tightened their grip on the top of John’s head. He was aching now, watching his dick disappear into John’s mouth and reappear seconds later glistening with John’s saliva and his own pre-come.
“John, I’m going to come in your mouth – please let, let me,” Sherlock gasped, almost incoherent.
His breathing was rapid and his chest was heaving with every soft lick from John’s tongue. John’s hands had moved up Sherlock’s thighs and he was holding on tight, taking Sherlock as deep as he could without choking. Right now Sherlock wanted friction and John could only but oblige.
“John, please," Sherlock groaned.
John dug his nails into Sherlock’s thighs, hard and took him deeper, pulling off with just enough teeth to make Sherlock’s balls tighten and he came. He was riding out each convulsion in John’s mouth, and John swallowed it all. Sherlock’s body was shaking and he used John’s head to steady himself just as he was about to keel over. John moaned around Sherlock’s softening cock before releasing it and letting it fall in satisfaction. He then pressed his face into Sherlock’s groin, breathing in the heavy smell of arousal which was almost suffocating. Sherlock fell to the ground, pulling John on top of him. John was sated, so much so that he almost forgot that his own erection was aching, the pain hit him like a brick and his eyes snapped open.
“Jesus Christ, John, that was - you need," Sherlock panted.
John cut him off with a kiss, it was hard and it was full of want. John pushed Sherlock onto his back, grimacing upon realising that the floor must be uncomfortable. His concern subsided when he saw the carnal-need in Sherlock’s eyes, those ferial eyes which had seen everything.
John straddled Sherlock’s thighs and dipped his head down to steal a kiss from Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock’s eyes were still closed as he enjoyed the lingering haze of his orgasm. John plunged his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth and nipped and sucked on his lips, gaining a satisfied moan from a Consulting Detective who was slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. John moved his kisses down, nipping on Sherlock’s neck and collarbone before travelling further south and clasping one of Sherlock’s nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting. John wanted to make sure Sherlock saw the marks he was leaving for at least another few days. He kissed and licked his way down Sherlock’s torso and stopped just before his groin. He breathed in the heavy smell of sex which clung to Sherlock’s pubic hair. Sherlock was squirming beneath him, his eyes were hazy but they, as always, were fixed on John and were calculating just what John was going to do next.
“Sherlock, I’m going to fuck you," John breathed before he pushed Sherlock’s legs up, bending them at the knee and exposing his arse. Sherlock moaned as John lightly traced a finger over the hole. Sherlock was tight; John knew this and the thought made him even harder.
“John, fuck me, now," Sherlock moaned.
John let out a soft chuckle and dipped his head down; he licked a small trail down the cleft of Sherlock’s arse – eliciting another moan from the man beneath him. John knew where this was going and he wanted it to be perfect, he needed it to be perfect. He breathed in Sherlock’s scent again and licked Sherlock’s hole, softly. He slowly opened Sherlock with his tongue and could feel Sherlock shake beneath him, and his own erection screaming at him in protest.
John withdrew his tongue and immediately inserted two fingers into Sherlock’s arse, causing Sherlock to buck his hips up.
“John, so help me, you, you fucking tease," Sherlock squirmed beneath John.
Sherlock looked utterly dishevelled and John didn’t look much better, his erection was almost painful. The line between pleasure and pain was almost indistinguishable.
He began to fuck Sherlock with his fingers for a few strokes and then withdrew himself, before placing a few fluttering kisses on the inside of Sherlock’s thighs. He spat into his hand, which, mixed with the ridiculous amount of pre-come was slick enough and he, with one breath, pushed inside Sherlock. He was flush against Sherlock's groin and his vision corroded. There was a flash so bright that he momentarily lost his vision, all he could feel was Sherlock’s slick and tight heat around his throbbing cock and he needed more.
“Oh fuck, Sherlock, that’s gorgeous, you feel so," John panted.
Sherlock was writhing beneath him, he was moaning and words were falling from his mouth.
John grabbed onto Sherlock’s thighs and pushed into him again.
There was another flash of white before Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he came.
The look on Sherlock’s face was shock, he was sated and John took this as his opportunity, he found Sherlock’s gaze and all it took was three, long, slow and accurate thrusts and John was coming. He buried his cock deep into Sherlock and rode out each spasm, allowing Sherlock’s arse to swallow up as much as possible. With one final jolt he collapsed on top of Sherlock and let his tongue trail along Sherlock’s collarbone.
“Oh, God – Jesus, that was bloody fantastic—fuck," John sighed, almost shaking.
Sherlock could only hum in agreement before squirming to alert John of his need to change position.
“Oh, sorry, – I didn’t mean to be so —enthusiastic,” John said, before slowly pulling out of Sherlock.
They both sat up to lean against the foot of Sherlock’s bed.
Sherlock grimaced as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit, before he rested his head on John’s shoulder.
“No, it was perfect," Sherlock sighed, contentedly.
“It's Interesting. You’re a tease. Did you know that?” Sherlock said, smirking.
John smiled and exhaled slowly. “I do now. Sorry. Next time I will just take you against the wall in the shower.”
Sherlock opened his eyes and found John’s gaze, he leaned in and pressed their lips together softly.
“Next time I’ll be taking you,” Sherlock whispered, before settling into John’s embrace again.