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Once the Door was Closed

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Once the Door was Closed

John watched as the door shut behind the DI, smiling a little smile just to himself. He turned around and grinned at the sight that met him. The consulting detective had come back out of the bedroom and was now dramatically draped across the sofa.


“ ‘Bit of a character that one is. Good man, though.” John said to lump that had formed; nudging it with the end of his cane. “Oi! Budge up.” Sherlock tucked his feet underneath himself long enough so that John could sit and set down his cane before he stretched them across the good doctor’s lap, cracking his toes then wiggling them in his face.


“You stop that! You haven't showered yet and I don't want your stinking toe jam on me.” John scolded with a smile. He playfully batted away Sherlock’s feet and, when the toe wiggling didn't cease, he grabbed his foot by the ankle and started to tickle the bottom, evoking a giggling screech from the lanky detective across his lap, that, in any other situation, would deny ever making such a sound. Sherlock tried to pull away but John just held his ankle tighter, just ghosting his fingertips over the balls of his feet so that the sensation was unbearable.


When John decided that the man had been punished enough he released his foot and watched in amusement as Sherlock tried to compose himself.  


Sherlock glared at him with a pout that was better suited to a toddler but was rather endearing on him. He crossed his arms beneath the sheet and stared at John.


John laughed to himself and leaned over to kiss that pout right off of those cupids bow lips that were capable of a lot more than spouting lightning fast deductions. He kissed him quickly, over and over again. Each kiss in succession with the last one.     


When Sherlock had had enough, he grabbed John by the nape of the neck and deepened the kiss. Letting his tongue slide in and out of the warm wetness. Exploring every inch of John’s mouth with his pink tongue; running it along his teeth and sucking his tongue.


John moaned into the kiss and pulled Sherlock flush against him. He ran his hands along and under the bedsheet, feeling the bumps of Sherlock’s vertebrae and ribs with the calloused pads of his fingers.


Pulling away, Sherlock asked, panting, “Bed?”


“Oh, God, yes.” John replied between deep intakes of breath through his nose. His jeans had suddenly become much too tight and he was anxious to get them off.


“Good.” Sherlock leaned over and practically dragged John off the sofa, kissing him all the while. They stumbled down the hallway without falling and John was barely in the bedroom before Sherlock had pinned him against the wall and was ripping off his clothes, not caring that his jumper was now stretched beyond recognition.


“Oi! Watch it! We’re not all wearing sheets!” John brushed the white sheet off the detective and splayed his hands across his back, loving the way his darker tan skin contrasted beautifully with Sherlock’s porcelain color. “Though, we all love it when you do.” John leaned forward as he pulled Sherlock down to him and started kissing him again. He ran his hands over that gorgeous body and dragged his nails over the small of his husband’s back, causing Sherlock to gasp into John’s mouth.


While standing up John’s leg began to protest so he prodded Sherlock with his foot and the detective began to move again. He pulled his hands away from their previous position-John’s hips- and started to undo John’s belt buckle and jeans. Sherlock's gorgeous violinist hands were steady but the focus in the detective’s eyes betrayed that there was a rather large amount of self control going into the steady movements of his hands.


Emitting a low growl, Sherlock gave up on the belt and pulled John to the bed, twisting them around so when John’s knees hit the bed he was effectively pinned beneath six feet of consulting detective.


“Why did you insist on getting dressed to answer the door?” Sherlock asked, voice practically a purr with a hint displeasure, twirling out patterns with his finger over John’s naked chest.


“Well, I didn't want to go to the door naked if that's what you're asking,” John replied, “Besides, you can get away with it. Me, not so much.” Sherlock let out a huff and leaned down so his mouth was right near John’s ear. So close in fact that John could feel the warmth of his breath.


“Oh, Doctor Watson, you underestimate your ability to get away with much more than you should.” The words were breathed into his ear with the baritone that could bring people to their knees and, if John had been on his feet, he was sure he would be no longer after that. He suppressed a shiver as Sherlock nibbled on the spot directly behind ear, feeling his skin rise into gooseflesh at the contact. He could feel the detective smile against his skin as he moved his hands down towards John’s belt again.


His hands, quickly and efficiently this time, whipped off his belt in a flourish. Then prodded at John to lift his hips so he could pull off the remainder of John’s clothing.


When Sherlock pulled the jeans and pants off John gasped as the fabric of his pants caught on his erection, providing the friction his body craved, the friction it burned for.


As the clothing was tossed into a distant corner of the room John felt Sherlock’s prick press into his thigh; pre-come beading on the tip and creating a wet spot just shy of the wiry patch of blonde hair in John’s crotch. John’s body was bucking up and squirming for more contact as Sherlock continued to prop himself on his elbows and keep his body right above John’s without touching him.


“You’re so gorgeous like this you know.” Sherlock mused ringing his head down so barely a millimetre remained between their foreheads. "Just lying there, wanting and yearning." Sherlock watched half-lidded eyes that were filled with appreciation. Frustrated and in need of any kind of contact John brought his head up so their lips met. Thrusting his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth John vented all his frustrations from Sherlock’s musings of his body into one long heated snog.


Pulling back John breathed, “If you don’t fuck me in the next five minutes I swear I will tie you down to the bed for a week and tell that Lestrade person not to call you for cases for two weeks.” Sherlock’s pupils dilated and he realized that maybe bondage wasn't the best way to go for a threat. “Wait, I take that back. If you don't fuck me now I will refuse to have sex with you for a month.” There, that should prove to Sherlock that he was serious, he had spent an entire tour in Afghanistan so he knew how to take care of his urges.


“You wouldn't dare, you couldn't.” Sherlock said, wide eyed.


“I hear more talking than fucking.” John sing-songed in the detectives ear. In the next second Sherlock flung himself off the bed and was rattling around in their bedside drawer for the bottle of lube. He returned with said bottle in hand and already had a liberal amount of it in his palm. With little preamble he was back on the bed, had his hand between John’s legs and was circling his hole.


John let a long breath out through his nose as he forced himself to relax; he was as hard as a rock and didn't want to come before Sherlock was even in him. He felt Sherlock gently press his finger in and work it in a slow, gyrating motion to loosen him further, making a warm, tingling sensation to spread through his arse and down his legs. He spread his legs further apart to grant Sherlock better access. His breath was coming in short gasps as he felt Sherlock sink in to the first knuckle and then slowly slide a second finger in along side the first one, scissoring John open.


“So fucking tight after so long away,” Sherlock gritted out, crooking his fingers to find that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves that made John lose the air in his lungs and writhe on the bed, gasping. “Bet you barely touched yourself the whole time, saved yourself for me. Just me”


“Yes, just you Sherlock.” John was panting. As much as he was an army man he loved it sometimes when he could just lie back and take it; take the pleasure and enjoy it.


By this time Sherlock had three fingers up his arse and was pressing them up against his prostate without mercy. He let out a soft whimper when the fingers left; leaving him feeling empty and open. The click of the lube bottle roused his attention to Sherlock who was slicking up his cock with it. Catching John’s eye he slowed his movements; dragging his hand over the head of his cock and pulling the foreskin back. He allowed his head to roll back and expose the long expanse of pale skin that was his neck; rolling his head side to side in ecstasy.


John emitted a whine at the sight and bucked his hips up, seeking friction that wasn't there. Sherlock released a low rumble of laughter before leaning down and pulling John’s legs around his waist and securing them there. He positioned his cock in front of John’s entrance and gingerly pushed in, allowing John’s body to adjust to the intrusion.


He pushed in in small increments until he was fully seated in John. John body was screaming with as pleasure and adrenaline careened through his body, causing it to shake. When he was adjusted to Sherlock, he reached his hands up to wrap around Sherlock’s neck and pull him into a kiss; just like they'd always done. With that permission Sherlock began to move, pushing himself in and pulling himself out of John in long strokes that slowly became faster and shorter; hitting John’s prostate on almost every stroke and making him cry out Sherlock’s name. He undulated his hips back against Sherlock’s to meet him and caused his cock to rub against Sherlock’s stomach; their rhythm becoming erratic and causing the headboard of the bed to smack against the wall.


Passing his weight over to one elbow Sherlock reached between them and began to stroke at John’s prick. He pulled his thumb over the slit and twisted slightly with the barest tug as well and John’s world whited out. He was coming all over his stomach and Sherlock’s hand. Shuddering as he felt Sherlock push in and out a few more time before he emptied himself inside John.


They stayed in that position as both their cocks softened and the sweat and come began to cool on John’s stomach. Finally, with a sigh, Sherlock pulled out of John and rolled off their bed to get a flannel to wipe them off. John was perfectly content to just lie there but past experiences told him that that wouldn't be the wisest of decisions so when Sherlock returned he stayed on his back long enough so Sherlock could clean him off before he rolled onto his side. Moments later Sherlock joined him, curling his longer figure around John and pressing his nose to John’s hair and breathing in deeply.


“I may have misjudged the glory of a lie in this morning.” John mumbled into the pillow.


“Mmm?” Sherlock hummed.


“I mean, if I'd known that a lie in would lead to a fantastic morning shag I would've stayed in bed and let those ‘detectives’ figure out what we were doing by themselves.” John felt Sherlock smile against his head.


“Yes, we should have given them the chance to utilize their so called 'detective skills'.” Sherlock sniggered at the thought of the entirety of Lestrade’s team walking into their flat and hearing them at it. It was actually a more amusing picture than one would think.


“They'd never be able to look you in the eye again, not that you'd complain about that since you are far superior to them in every way.” John mused.

“I am aren't I.” Sherlock said. John threw back a half-hearted smack to Sherlock’s arm before he snuggled closer into Sherlock and allowed himself to drift off; a content half-smile on his his suntanned face.