John Watson wandered the market. Leave was a good idea, but the truth was he was bored. The two others he was with had gone on a double date. They’d invited him along but he’d declined, preferring not to be the third wheel.
Lost in thought, John didn’t see the young man browsing a stall of books and bumped clean into him, knocking several off the table.
“Sorry,” said John, automatically, crouching down to pick them up. The man mirrored his actions and John was caught by pale blue-green eyes framed by dark curls.
The man cracked a smile at him. “It is alright,” he said, in careful English, heavy with accent.
John picked up two of the books and stood. The stranger stayed crouched for a moment longer and John couldn’t help noticing that the man’s head was eye level with his cock. He resisted the urge to adjust himself as the man stood.
“Coffee?” asked the man, putting the books back.
“Yeah, sounds good.” John licked his lips.
Sherlock turned and started walking away.
John hurried to keep up. “I’m John, by the way.”
“Sherlock,” he said moving expertly through the crowd.
Odd name, thought John, keeping close to Sherlock’s heels until they slid into a cafe tucked into an ancient alley.
Sherlock went to the counter and spoke in rapid Italian, returning to John with two cups of espresso. He handed one to John, but instead of walking to a table, he led the way up a staircase just behind the counter. They passed through a short hall and Sherlock opened a door.
John found himself in a small room, window overlooking the marketplace. There was a bad and a messy desk. “Yours?” he asked.
“Si.” Sherlock sprawled on the bed, sipping his coffee and giving John a fairly blatant come hither look.
Shaking his head, John perched on the edge of the bed. “Only here for a few days. I’m on leave.”
“Army, yes?” asked Sherlock.
“Yeah.” John put down his untouched coffee and rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t always do this.”
Sherlock put his own coffee aside. “But this is Italy and the day is warm and we are young.”
“Quite true.” John shifted onto the bed and leaned in to kiss Sherlock, tasting the espresso on his lips.
Sherlock’s hands smoothed up his back. John deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth. His hands found their way into the dark curls. Sherlock sighed happily, laying further back with John on top of him.
The young man beneath him smelled divine, some combination of spice and sensuality that stirred John’s desire. John rolled his hips and Sherlock moaned, hands slipping down to grab his belt loops.
“You’re beautiful,” murmured John. He kissed down Sherlock’s jaw, the faintest hint of stubble bruising his lips.
Sherlock flipped them over, eager hands going for John’s flies.
“God, yeah.” John carded hands through Sherlock’s hair, breath stolen as his cock sprung free. Sherlock met his gaze and licked the head of his cock.
John cursed and leaned back on his elbows to watch as Sherlock wrapped his kiss-swollen lips around him. As he bobbed his head, John’s eyes slipped closed, groaning, hips moving of their own accord.
Sherlock worked over his thick cock with single-minded focus. John’s world shrunk down to the hot, wet sensation of Sherlock’s mouth, gasping his pleasure.
Far too soon, Sherlock pulled back, reaching to take off his shirt. John followed suit, yanking his shirt off, dog tags glinting in the late afternoon sun.
Sherlock kissed up John’s body, toying with the tags.
“Yeah, see, Army,” muttered John, groaning as Sherlock dragged his teeth across one nipple.
“Brave Englishman,” muttered Sherlock, looking into his eyes again.
“Something like that,” breathed John, cupping his cheeks and drawing him into a deep kiss. “I want you.”
Smirking, Sherlock pulled back again. He kicked off his trousers and went to the desk for condoms and lube. John couldn’t help but admire the pale skin, the strength in his long limbs. Sherlock returned quickly, handing John a condom. He knelt on the bed, holding John’s gaze while he coated his fingers and reached back to open himself.
John rolled on the condom before he took Sherlock’s cock in hand, kissing his chest, marveling at how graceful he seemed. It was almost enough to make John wonder if he was a dancer.
“Will you… scopami?” asked Sherlock, looking at John with heat.
John didn’t need a dictionary to get the hint. “Yeah, course, figured that was the plan,” he said, leaning in and kissing Sherlock again before tugging him onto his lap.
Sherlock settled himself, guiding John’s cock into himself. John groaned, feeling Sherlock stretch around him. “Yeah, good,” he panted, cupping Sherlock’s hips, trying to help him.
One of Sherlock’s large hands came to rest on John’s collarbone. Sherlock panted as he sipped desperate kisses from John’s lips.
John tilted Sherlock onto his back, thrusting into him, needing him. Sherlock moaned softly, clutching at John’s shoulders, the dog tags dragging against his chest and jingling with the movement.
Reaching up, John tugged Sherlock’s hair, forcing his head back and sucking a mark into his throat. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s waist and made a strangled noise, moving with John.
John let go and kissed Sherlock’s lips instead, taking him hard. Sherlock suddenly gasped and came, the friction between them enough to find his climax.
Growling, John grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and pinned them next to his head. Sherlock opened his eyes, watching, lips parted.
That alone was enough to push John over the edge. He grunted as he came, eyes slamming shut as he worked himself through. Finally, he opened his eyes again, carefully pulling out. He rolled to the side, still panting.
“Bloody hell,” said Sherlock in a perfectly posh British accent.
John sat bolt upright and looked at him. “Wait are you English then?”
Sherlock rolled onto his side and carefully removed the condom from John, binning it. “Yes,” he said.
John warred between anger and admiration. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were enjoying the idea of having a nice Italian boy, why ruin it?”
John stared at him, then started laughing. “Well, for what it’s worth, you had me fooled.”
Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
“Gotta go back eventually, but yeah.” John gathered him in his arms and nuzzled his throat. “You’re certainly different.”
“Normal people are boring.”
“Am I boring?” asked John, raising his head.
“I never said you were normal.” Sherlock gave John a small smile, then leaned into his ear and said a few words in perfect Italian.
John shivered. “Yeah, I’m certainly not done with you yet.”
“Good,” said Sherlock.
John rolled over on top of Sherlock and kissed him, knowing that he certainly wouldn’t be bored for the rest of his leave.