"Ready?" John's hands braced either side of the door frame. His stomach was in knots.
Sherlock was looking out the window onto the street below, his face striped with shadow. He turned to John and nodded.
They were silent during the cab ride and silent during the walk to the club. John felt his pulse quicken as they approached the door. Just a few more steps and everything would be all right. It would be fine. Sherlock would take care of him, would take care of everything. He wouldn't have to think about this bloody mess for a couple of hours and if he was lucky Sherlock would touch him or hold him or something, and he would enjoy the fuck out of it.
He paused when they entered the main area of the club, and smiled. This place: God he loved it. It was like an oasis in his life, a place where the rules were all different and that was okay.
Sherlock's hand pressed against his back, steering him toward the door that lead downstairs. John melted into the touch; the tension of the last few days was already leaving his body. He considered resisting for a moment, just so Sherlock would have to apply more force, maybe speak softly into his ear and make him move. But no, there would be time for that. John could pick at the sharp edges of this relationship later; at the moment he was far too excited to get started.
They stopped before the door and John took a deep breath. Anything could happen now. Sherlock would have a plan in mind, and this moment before John had even an inkling of what it might be -- it was delicious. He turned and smiled at Sherlock.
"What?" Sherlock's expression was adorably puzzled.
John grinned and took his hand, intertwined their fingers. He could do that here; that was acceptable. Sherlock wouldn't think it strange; he wouldn't pull away.
Sherlock smiled and squeezed his hand, and led him downstairs. They paused before the door to the public play area and Sherlock glanced at John once more before opening the door. They nodded at the security guard and crossed to the bar.
Sherlock ordered them drinks and John turned to scan the room. It was quieter than it had been last Saturday night, with perhaps half as many people. The ones that were there were no less enthusiastic, though. There was a couple fucking rather vigorously on the floor not far away, and just beyond them a threesome was apparently starting to form. John let his mind wander for a few seconds, imagining what might happen next. Sherlock appeared at his side again and handed him a pint glass, and John cleared his mind completely.
They drank in silence, both of them watching. John waited. This part had driven him mad early on, but now he liked the sense of anticipation that curled inside him. He liked the not knowing, the peace that came with accepting that this was out of his control, that Sherlock would take care of him.
At last Sherlock moved to stand behind him, his chest pressing into John's shoulder, and John's heart rate increased. Here we go.
Sherlock's lips brushed his ear. "I want you to choose someone. Don't approach, just return here and tell me when you've decided. I'll do the negotiating."
John nodded and drained his pint glass. He'd never chosen before; it hadn't even occurred to him that it was a possibility. Perhaps Sherlock wanted to know what John liked, to see whom he found attractive? Or maybe since he hadn't expected them to come tonight and hadn't had a chance to make plans, he was improvising.
He handed Sherlock his empty glass and wandered out into the room. He walked around the perimeter slowly, taking it all in. This was a complicated choice, really. If he chose a man, the night would likely turn out differently than if he chose a woman, or a couple. What did he want to happen tonight? He wasn't certain.
He was surprised to see a few familiar faces. A woman who looked remarkably like the woman in red latex from the first weekend was perched on the lap of a man in an alcove. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should choose her. In a way she'd started all of this for him; she'd been the one to plant the idea in his head that he might want Sherlock.
He kept walking. In another alcove he saw a young man who looked very much like Cam snogging another boy while a portly middle-aged man sat on the sofa and watched, drink in hand. Would he want to be in the middle of those two? He winced; it would probably make him feel horribly old.
He wasn't sure he liked the idea of choosing. It unsettled him; it wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Sherlock was in charge here and John liked that. He didn't want to be the one to make decisions, to decide where it was going.
He walked on, past other alcoves where people were intertwined in an eye-popping variety of ways, past others where people were talking, flirting, laughing, drinking together.
And then he realized he had walked completely around the room and was now by the entrance again. Sherlock was still standing by the bar, drink in hand, staring out at the room. He looked cool, collected, like he knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there. He fit in perfectly with his beautifully tailored clothes and his insanely good looks. John wondered what was really going through his head when they were here, when he watched John with other people. Did he let himself sink into this role like John had done, or was it more complicated than that?
He'd never asked. There were a lot of things he'd never asked Sherlock.
A young couple made their way through what had become an orgy in the center of the room and crossed to Sherlock, hand in hand. He nodded at them in greeting and they began talking to him. The woman put a hand on Sherlock's arm and smiled at him, and her male partner was looking at Sherlock with definite predatory interest. Jealousy spiraled up through John's chest, along with a touch of bitterness. How could perfect strangers do so easily what he couldn't? He watched helplessly, his mind already spinning thoughts of Sherlock sandwiched between these two, the man pressing into him from behind while the woman sucked him. What would it be like to watch that, to watch others touch Sherlock and make him come, and to know he could never have that for himself?
Hell, maybe that's what was really happening tonight. Maybe Sherlock wasn't asking John to choose someone for himself, but for John to choose someone for Sherlock. God, what would he do if that were true?
Sherlock smiled at the couple and said something John couldn't hear at this distance, shaking his head. They nodded and walked away, disappointment clear on their faces.
John sighed, both relieved and frustrated. He crossed the distance between them and stopped before Sherlock. He stared up at him, not exactly sure what to say.
Sherlock didn't look at him; he kept his eyes on the orgy in front of him. He raised his glass to his lips and took a drink, swallowed. "Well?"
"You," John blurted. He felt a touch of panic, a tingle at the base of his skull, but there was nothing for it now. He couldn't take it back.
Sherlock turned to look at him. "What?"
John forced himself not to look away, to hold his gaze. "You asked me to choose someone, and I choose you."
Sherlock seemed frozen for a moment, his eyes wide and his face pale. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and swallowed hard before finally speaking. "John, don't--"
"No, listen to me." John felt his chest constricting, but he was all in now and he couldn't back down. He stepped closer and lowered his voice as much as he could, even though there was no one close enough to hear. "You have to know by now how much I want you. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you wanted me as well, just a bit. Please tell me I haven't read everything wrong."
Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to steel himself. When he opened them again he was looking at the floor. "You haven't. But I can't. Please just… go and choose someone else."
John pressed his hands against the sides of his head, willing himself to remain calm. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of, exactly why he'd said nothing all this time. "Why not? Tell me why the fuck not, after all of this?"
"Please don't do this."
"Do I not even deserve an explanation, then?" John glared at him and suppressed a strong urge to shove him, to hit him, to make him angry -- anything to get a reaction that showed he was feeling something close to what John was feeling right now. "I thought for a while you weren't interested in having sex at all, but we both know that's not true. I've eliminated all the other possibilities and the only fucking thing that remains is that you simply don't want me."
Sherlock's mouth contorted. "That's not true."
"Then what is it?" He grasped Sherlock's shoulders, willing him to look at him. "Please just… let me touch you. That would be enough. You don't have to do anything, just let me--"
Sherlock's glass crashed to the floor. His sudden grip on John's arm was astonishingly tight, as was the power with which he hauled John away from the bar and over to a corner. He pushed John against the wall with both hands on his shoulders and held him at arm's length. Any complacency that had been on his face was long gone; what remained was raw and almost painful to look at.
"I know you think you want this," Sherlock said in a hoarse whisper, "but you don't. Trust me, John, you don't want this from me."
John stared back at him. "I do, God, I do."
Sherlock's eyes were almost frighteningly hard. John shrank back against the wall, his mind racing. He had only seen Sherlock this close to losing control a few times, ever.
"You don't know what you're asking of me." The words were nearly snarled. "You think we can just have sex and be boyfriends and go on with our lives and be happy, but it's not that simple."
"Then how is it? Tell me."
"I can't just love you, John. I would consume you. You know what I'm like. You know what would happen."
John shook his head. "I don't know, and neither do you."
"You don't know what I want, what I think about when I look at you." He stepped closer and his hands moved from John's shoulders to his face, his grip almost vise-like. "I want to fucking own you. I want to see you do things you cannot possibly imagine." His eyes roamed over John's lips and nose, anywhere but his eyes. "I want to do things to you, things that frighten me. I want to watch other people do things to you. I want to hurt you and…" His eyes locked on John's and he stopped. His face paled, as if he'd just realized he'd said those words out loud.
"It's okay," John whispered, staring up at him.
Sherlock's hands moved to his own hair and he grimaced. "It's not okay. I will push you and push you and one day you're going to decide you've had enough and you'll leave, and that will destroy me."
"You don't know that. And you don't know what I want."
Sherlock looked for a moment as if he might explode, but he calmed himself. It seemed to take effort. He finally pressed his lips together and nodded. "Fine. Tell me what it is that you want, John."
"You. I want you. I want all of this, all of you. Dammit, look at me." John grabbed a handful of his shirt and twisted, yanked Sherlock closer to him. Sherlock's eyes met his with clear reluctance. "I am so fucking in love with you that I will take anything you'll give me."
Sherlock shook his head and took a step backward, looking even more distraught. "That's precisely the problem. It's happened already. You couldn't say no on Sunday, and if Annie hadn't put a stop to it, I effectively would have had you raped, and I would have enjoyed it, and I would not have given a shit about what you wanted until it was too late. That is why this can't happen, John. I can't--"
"Oh, for-- That's not what was going on there at all." John took Sherlock's hands in his, pulling him close again. "I was angry at you for kissing Ryan, and Ryan knew I was going to do it just for revenge, just to make you jealous. He said I'd regret it, and he was right." He shook his head, now wishing he'd cleared this up that first morning, because shit. "If I really didn't want to do it, I would have safeworded. I've done it before."
Sherlock stared at him. "Why would you have regretted it?"
"Do you really not know the answer to that question?" Sherlock shook his head and John was incredulous. "You may be a genius, but sometimes you can be incredibly stupid, you know." He let go of Sherlock's hands and smoothed his palms up Sherlock's sides, over his chest. Sherlock tensed at the touch, but John didn't care. God, he'd wanted to do that for a long time. "Because I wanted it to be you."
Sherlock nodded slowly, but his expression was still pained.
"I may be a sub, but I'm not some fucking wilting flower. If I don't want to do something, you'll know. I invaded Afghanistan, remember? I can handle you, and I can kick your arse if I have to."
Something like a smile played at the corners of Sherlock's mouth. "Oh, I doubt that."
"Try me sometime."
"That can be arranged."
John smiled at the spark that lit in Sherlock's eyes, and oh God, he wanted this so badly. It was so close he could almost reach out and touch it.
"This all went to hell when we stopped being honest with each other. So I'm being honest now." He cupped Sherlock's cheek with a trembling hand. "I want you to push me. I want you to use me to make every twisted fantasy you have come true. I have fantasies too, things you don't know about." He traced the outline of Sherlock's lower lip with his thumb.
He paused, realizing how close together they were now, their faces just inches apart. Sherlock was staring at him with a glazed expression, his eyes dark, his lips parted. John's free hand slid down his chest, down his side and cupped Sherlock's dick through his trousers. Sherlock's eyes closed and he gasped softly, and John felt it grow completely hard beneath his fingers. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against Sherlock's ear.
"I want you to give me to other people and tell them how you want them to fuck me. I want you to tie me up and find out just what my limits are. I want you to bruise me and patch me up again and then fuck me until I can't see straight. I want you to own me, to consume me." He paused for a moment, surprised at how quickly those words had poured out of him. He stroked down the length of Sherlock's cock with his palm "So tell me: is that what you want?"
Sherlock gasped and pulled away from him. "I… Oh, God." He braced himself against the wall with one hand and adjusted his erection with the other, wincing slightly.
John blinked at him. "Did you just--"
Sherlock's eyes widened. "No! Of course not." He looked genuinely mortified, though.
Sherlock's hands went to his cheeks immediately. "I'm not blushing."
"Yes, you are. Did I embarrass you?"
"No, no. I just… That was… God, John." He shook his head and looked genuinely stunned.
John stared at him for a moment. bewildered. But of course --despite the events of the last few weeks, Sherlock had very little actual experience in this area. A bit of dirty talk and a single touch and he'd nearly come in his pants, apparently. John's lips twisted into a smile. "Just when I think I've got you all worked out, you surprise me."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Sherlock made a sound like a strangled laugh and looked away. "You have to understand what I'm asking of you, John. Please understand. Because if we do this and you change your mind…" He sighed and looked at John again, and there was sadness there -- and something else as well.
Oh. John's eyes widened and he had to put a hand over his mouth for a moment when he finally understood. "You think there's something wrong with what you're feeling. You think it isn't normal."
"I know it isn't normal."
John shook his head, almost laughed. It was so bizarrely Sherlock that he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. "Oh, God, this is how everyone feels, Sherlock. You just don't know because you haven't let yourself feel it before, but it's utterly normal. Certainly the average person doesn't have your particular set of kinks, but the rest of it, the possessiveness, the obsession, the sheer terror at the idea of loss -- that's how people feel when they… well." He wasn't going to put words in Sherlock's mouth, no matter how much he wanted to.
Sherlock stared at him. "This is how you feel?"
"Yes. Absolutely, yes." John allowed himself to smile.
"But nothing. My God, when you said you didn't understand love I didn't think you meant it literally."
Sherlock shook his head, incredulous. "How do people function like this? How do they get out of bed and go to work and not explode? It's paralyzing!"
"Yes, it is. It's fairly miserable, especially when you think it's one-sided."
"But… it's not one-sided."
John swallowed. "Definitely not."
Sherlock exhaled and ran his hands through his hair. "So. Okay. So this is where you're going to tell me that relationships are difficult and there are no guarantees. We may be perfect for each other, or we may end up killing each other, but if we don't take a risk we'll never know."
John shrugged. "Yeah, basically that."
Sherlock pressed his hands to the sides of his head, grimacing. "I am… fucking terrified of this. I would rather keep things as they are than risk losing you completely."
"You'd be happy to go on watching me have sex with other people, never having me yourself?"
"Not happy, no. But it would be better than the alternative." He dropped his hands and his eyes were solemn, and John knew he meant it.
"It's not enough for me, not anymore. Please, Sherlock. Trust me."
Sherlock exhaled and stared at John for another moment, and then nodded. John pulled him into a hug and they clung to each other for a full minute.
"So we're going to do this," John said. He hoped he didn't sound the way he felt, God. If Sherlock said no…
"Yes." Sherlock's arms tightened around him. "Yes."
John closed his eyes and smiled, squeezed him even tighter. "Okay then. Okay, God." He exhaled, not quite sure he should let himself believe it. "What happens now? What do you want to do?"
Sherlock pulled back and looked down at him. "I want to go home."
John smiled and nodded. "Then let's go home."
For some reason it took forever for an unoccupied taxi to pass them, and they'd walked nearly to Trafalgar Square before they finally caught one. They sat close together in the back seat, their thighs touching, and John realized with a start that this was real. He could touch Sherlock outside the club, and it would be fine. Sherlock was his now.
He rested his hand on Sherlock's thigh and glanced up at his face. Sherlock placed his hand over John's, not quite touching, but close enough that John could feel the heat between them. John turned his hand so the palm was facing up, intending to intertwine their fingers, but Sherlock began tracing a circle on John's palm, slowly, spiraling toward the center. John's breath caught in his throat at that touch. There seemed to be a direct line from his hands to his balls, and fuck why was something so simple turning him on like this?
Sherlock's expression was a blend of heat and curiosity, and John couldn't resist trailing his fingertips along Sherlock's wrist. He watched his face, saw his breathing quicken just slightly, his eyes widen in surprise. John traced a line down over the heel of his hand into the center of his palm, and Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. John made a mental note to try this with his tongue sometime.
Sherlock finally caught John's hand to still his fingers. He clenched his other hand into a fist and shifted in the seat, and looked out the window. John's eyes flicked down to Sherlock's trousers, and yes, he was definitely in the same condition John was.
The remainder of the cab ride was excruciating. They couldn't look at each other, couldn't even speak. John could feel his heart beating in his fingertips, could feel Sherlock's pulse in the palm of his hand. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck, but that was nothing compared to the utter discomfort of sitting in that cab with a raging erection he could do nothing about until they got home, while they caught every fucking traffic light between Trafalgar Square and Baker Street.
When the cab finally stopped before 221B, John tugged his wallet from his back pocket and threw a twenty at the driver. He bolted for the door, rifling through his pockets for the keys. Sherlock pressed against him from behind and that erection pressing into John's arse was seriously not helping at all. He dropped the keys and for a moment thought Sherlock was just going to bend him over right there on the doorstep. He finally managed to unlock the door and push it open, and they toppled over into the entrance. John pushed himself to standing and headed for the stairs, but Sherlock caught his hand and spun him back around, pressed him against the foyer wall.
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, his eyes nearly wild, and then he kissed John. It was a crush of lips more than a kiss, and John threw his arms around Sherlock and held on for dear life. It was hard and furious and perfect, and John whimpered into Sherlock's mouth, astounded by the intensity of this feeling of not being able to get close enough.
Sherlock's hands worked at the fly of John's trousers, and the next thing John knew there were long fingers wrapped around his cock and Jesus fuck, they were still in the foyer.
"Upstairs," he whispered, pushing off the wall and walking them backwards.
"Can't wait that long."
"You've waited three weeks."
"I've waited more than a year."
John's heels hit the bottom of the stairs and he toppled over backwards, taking Sherlock with him. Sherlock's chin hit John's stomach and John winced, but then Sherlock slid down his body and settled between his thighs, staring at the erection jutting out of John's trousers.
"Oh my God," John said, clutching at the stairs. All thoughts of making it to the flat were abandoned. All he could think about was how much he wanted that mouth on him, right now. Sherlock leaned forward and there was hot breath against his cock, and John closed his eyes.
There was a sound down the corridor of a door opening and a shuffle of slippered feet. "Sherlock, John? Is that you?"
"Shit!" John hissed and a second later Sherlock had thrown himself across John's body. John grimaced: there were definitely some directions in which an erect penis was not supposed to be bent. He managed to work a hand between them to adjust it to a more comfortable position just as Mrs. Hudson rounded the corner.
"Oh, heavens!" she said, clutching her nightdress tightly around her. "Are you boys all right?"
"Yes, yes, we're fine," Sherlock said. He sounded remarkably calm, considering.
"I just… I fell," John offered. God, it sounded lame even to him.
"He did, he fell. And then I fell… on top of him. We've had a bit much to drink this evening, haven't we, John?"
John laughed; he couldn't help it. "Oh God, we have. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson."
"So don't worry, we'll be fine. Sorry to have disturbed you." Sherlock smiled tightly at her.
"You aren't hurt, are you?" she said, taking several steps toward them.
"No!" they said in unison, and she stepped back again, her eyes wide with concern.
"We're fine, really," John said. "Please don't trouble yourself."
"Yes, we'll be fine," Sherlock added. "I think we just need to… lie here for a bit. You go back to your telly, and we'll just…"
"Oh, honestly, Sherlock. Don't just lie there on him. Those stairs must be terribly uncomfortable."
"Yes, it's really… hard," John said, grinning.
"Sherlock, give him a hand, won't you?"
"I was about to do just that," Sherlock replied, completely deadpan.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head as if thoroughly scandalized, though there was a hint of a twinkle in her eye. "Drunk on a Thursday night. What's got into you?"
"Nothing yet," John replied. He felt delirious. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing. "But Sherlock--"
Sherlock clamped a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry you had to see him like this, Mrs. Hudson. Please don't trouble yourself. I'll take care of him."
"You two," she said, shaking her head. She turned and headed back to her flat, and a moment later they were alone once again.
They burst into quiet laughter and John pulled Sherlock down into a quick kiss. "Can we please go upstairs now, before Mrs. Hudson gets an eyeful for real?"
Sherlock sat back and John refastened his trousers. He stood and held a hand out to Sherlock.
John led him up the stairs and into the parlor. Sherlock pulled the door closed and let go of John's hand long enough to take off his coat. John tossed his own coat aside and stared at Sherlock, waiting. The room was oddly lit by a combination of ambient light from the street and the light over the sink that one of them had forgotten to switch off earlier, and it was perfect.
Sherlock stared at him for several seconds before crossing to stand before him. He was still a moment more, his gaze moving across John's face as if studying him, memorizing the way he looked this moment.
"If you don't kiss me this instant--" John said, and then Sherlock's mouth pressed against his.
It was almost tentative at first, a gentle slide of lips, nothing like the full-on snog downstairs. John wound his arms around Sherlock's waist and let himself feel, let Sherlock control the pace. It was astonishing to stand in this spot where they'd had so many arguments and conversations, where Sherlock had paced and ranted about cases and lack thereof, where they'd built this friendship over the last year -- and share a kiss.
John whimpered at the first brush of tongue across his lower lip, but he forced himself to wait, to see what would happen next. If they were at the club he would know exactly what to do, what to expect, but it was different here. They were home, and the rules were all different.
One of Sherlock's hands moved to the back of his head and the other smoothed down his shoulder, over his back. John lost himself in a slow slide of tongues, in the astonishing heat of Sherlock's mouth, and he had had to remind himself yet again that this was Sherlock and that it was real. His hands moved to Sherlock's hips and he pulled them closer together, pressed the hard length of his cock against Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned into his mouth at that touch and the sound had an electric effect on John.
He took control of the kiss and had Sherlock melting against him in less than a minute. There were a few things he knew he was good at and this was definitely one of them. Just as he was considering unfastening Sherlock's trousers, Sherlock pulled out of the kiss and pressed his forehead against John's, panting.
"I think I could actually come from that alone."
"We'll have to try that sometime." John took advantage of the opportunity to work his lips down Sherlock's neck.
"But not tonight. Oh, God."
Sherlock's ears seemed to be sensitive. John grinned; he could work with that. "What do you want to do now?" he whispered.
"I--" Sherlock began, but John's tongue tracing the shell of his ear seemed to distract him completely.
John was torn between distracting him to the point that he was incapable of speech and stopping to make a plan. It was, after all, the first sex in a decade or so for Sherlock. John definitely wanted it to be memorable.
He settled for nuzzling Sherlock's cheek with his nose. "Tell me what you want."
Sherlock exhaled shakily. "Oh, God, everything." He held John's face in his hands and stared down at him, his eyes dark in the dim light. "I want everything. I've no idea where to start." He blinked at John and genuinely seemed on the verge of being overwhelmed.
John put his hands over Sherlock's, pulling them away from his face. "Do you want me to do this?"
Sherlock stared at him a moment more and nodded. John squeezed his hands and released them, and took a step back. He regarded Sherlock for several seconds, trying to decide what he would want if he were in Sherlock's position. There were so many possibilities, so many things they could do together. And they would do them all, eventually -- but where to start?
"Strip," John said at last. Sherlock's hands flew to his shirt and began unbuttoning it, and John added, "Slowly."
He watched one button after another pop open, his eyes fixed on the slow reveal of pale skin. When Sherlock finally let the shirt fall to the floor, John stepped forward and smoothed his hand over Sherlock's chest, his fingers lingering on the dusting of dark hair there before moving on to brush across a taut nipple. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder as his hand smoothed down across his stomach and over his navel, following the trail of hair below with his fingers until it disappeared beneath fabric.
Fuck. He had to take a steadying breath; he'd wanted to do that for a long time.
"Trousers now." He circled behind Sherlock, watching muscles flex in his arms and shoulders as he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down over his thighs. Sherlock paused, remembering his shoes, apparently, which he toed off and kicked aside. He stepped out of his trousers and waited, his head turned slightly as if he was tempted to look back.
"Pants." He was very proud that he'd said that without even a hitch. Sherlock seemed to take his time with this last article of clothing, and John could almost imagine the smirk on his face. Sherlock bent over to push the fabric down to his ankles -- really, that was so ridiculously unnecessary that John almost laughed at the cheekiness of it -- and the sight of his arse in that particular position was far too much to resist.
"Stay right there, just like that." John stepped forward and pressed his still-clothed erection into the crack of Sherlock's arse, and Jesus fuck but he wanted this. He stroked one hand down Sherlock's spine and shifted his hips slightly. He could have this. All he had to do was unfasten his trousers and-- Well, it was a bit more complicated than that, but still. His hands moved to Sherlock's hips and held them still as he ground into his arse slowly.
"Have you ever been fucked?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Did you like it?"
There was a pause. "Yes."
Oh, God. John exhaled. "Stand up." Sherlock stood and John took a step backward. "Turn around."
Sherlock turned and his eyes found John's immediately. The flush on his cheeks had spread to his chest and his cock was fully erect, jutting out from his body. John stared at it, then looked back up at him and smiled. He smoothed a hand slowly down Sherlock's belly, down over his hip, his fingertips brushing against the dark hair at the base of his cock before giving it a single stroke from root to tip.
Sherlock's mouth fell open and his eyes closed.
"How long has it been since someone else touched you like this?"
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Oh, God. Years." The fact that he didn't bother to provide an exact answer was a good sign.
John stroked again, fascinated by the slide of foreskin over the glans as he pulled towards him, then the slow exposure of slick, delicate skin as he stroked back down. There was a bead of fluid at the slit and he ran the pad of his thumb over it, smearing it. He hadn't had the chance to play with anyone else's penis yet. Somehow that hadn't happened in the last few weeks.
"Tell me what you like."
Sherlock exhaled. "This is working fairly well at the moment."
"Do you still think about me when you toss off?" John stroked again and watched Sherlock's face. He'd seen him come before, but this was going to be something else altogether.
"I think about little else."
"What do you think about me doing?"
"It would be far more efficient for me to tell you what I don't think about."
"Go ahead then."
"I… can't think of anything."
John grinned; he liked Sherlock slightly incoherent like this. "I can't decide if I want you to come in my hand or in my mouth. Do you have a preference?" He gave Sherlock's dick another slow stroke, twisting at the top to slide the foreskin laterally against the head.
Sherlock's eyes rolled back for a moment. "Uhnnn… Both?"
"Well, I suppose I could try, but--"
John dropped to his knees and grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that." He ran his hands up Sherlock's thighs and just looked for a moment. He'd seen Sherlock's dick before, had even seen it hard, but never this close and with Sherlock's hands out of the way. He glanced up to see Sherlock watching him, his expression one of sheer want.
John leaned forward and flicked his tongue across the slit. Sherlock's hands were on his shoulders instantly; John had the impression he was suddenly finding it difficult to stand. John's tongue circled the glans slowly, darting across the frenulum. He wrapped a hand around the shaft and pulled forward, tugging enough foreskin up to run the tip of his tongue underneath -- something else he'd wanted to do.
"Oh God, please." Sherlock's hands were trembling on his shoulders now. This probably wasn't going to take very long.
John sucked the head into his mouth and worked it gently with his tongue. It was surprisingly different without a condom: the taste and feel of skin against his tongue was intense, and combined with the slightly bitter taste of pre-ejaculate made the entire thing seem far more intimate than it had ever been with strangers in the club. And then there was the fact that this was Sherlock, who hadn't had a proper blow job in more than a decade, and John wanted to make this one the best he possibly could.
He kept the suction light and focused on using his tongue to massage the underside of the head, and after thirty seconds there was a hand pushing against his hair.
"Wait wait wait," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm not going to last much longer."
"Then maybe we should just take the edge off. I don't know about you, but I think I have a few in me tonight."
Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed, and John swallowed his dick again, this time not holding back. It was less than a minute before Sherlock swore and tightened his fingers in John's hair, and it wasn't until John had a mouthful of semen that he realized he'd forgotten about that part entirely. It wasn't bad -- it wasn't like he hadn't tasted it before -- but it felt like quite a lot more in his mouth than he would have expected based on personal experience. He pushed it to the back of his mouth and swallowed before he could think much about it. It was a weird sensation -- he was definitely never going to take that for granted again.
Sherlock sank to his knees with a groan. "I take it back. That was far superior to masturbation."
John quirked an eyebrow at him. "So you were right after all?"
"I'm always right." Sherlock pulled John into a kiss. "Oh God, you swallowed, didn't you?" he said against John's lips. "What did that feel like?"
"Want to find out?"
"I think I said before that I want everything when it comes to you."
Sherlock's fingers worked their way under John's shirt; John pulled it over his head quickly and tossed it aside before diving back in to capture Sherlock's mouth with his own. When Sherlock's fingers moved to unfasten his trousers again he pulled away and grinned.
"Wait, I have an idea." He stood and kicked off his shoes, then sat on the sofa, letting his thighs fall open. "Come here."
Sherlock gave him a quizzical look, but crawled over and knelt before him, his hands on John's knees. He raised his eyebrows.
"Humor me. I have my reasons."
Sherlock gave him a dark smile before sliding his hands slowly up John's thighs. He stroked teasingly at the fabric stretched over John's erection before unfastening the button and tugging the zip down. John lifted his hips to allow his trousers and pants to be pulled down to his knees. Sherlock's hands ran down his thighs again and pushed them farther apart. He leaned forward until his mouth was so close to the head of John's prick that John could feel his breath against it.
"This is a fantasy, I take it?"
"Oh, yeah," John said, nearly panting now, God.
Sherlock flicked his tongue across the frenulum and John groaned. Oh, this was going to be good.
"I'd be sitting on the sofa and you'd be sitting in that chair and then you'd just come over here and--" Sherlock's tongue started at the base and licked slowly up to the tip, and John let his head fall back onto the sofa cushion. "Oh, fuck, that's amazing already."
That tongue swirled around the head and flicked lightly against sensitive spots before moving down the shaft again. He planted open-mouthed kisses up the underside and then slowly, torturously, ran the tip of his tongue along the ridge of the glans. Sherlock had clearly paid attention to what John liked in these last few weeks. Just when John thought he couldn't bear it any longer, that tongue wormed against the slit and Sherlock's lips touched the tip in a soft kiss.
John looked down at him again. Sherlock was watching him, observing, adjusting what he did to John's reactions. Somehow John hadn't imagined he would be a particularly thoughtful lover, but now that they were here it made perfect sense. Sherlock studied everything, obsessed about it, made sure he did it perfectly. He'd finally understood what John had been trying to tell him about sex, and he was not only getting it right, but getting it perfect. John had a lot of catching up to do, it seemed.
Those lips closed around the head of his cock and John moaned. Jesus fuck, but that was amazing. The feeling of heat and wetness with nothing artificial between them was so perfect he nearly felt guilty. Sherlock's tongue massaged the underside of the head and he worked his mouth down, taking in a remarkable amount of the shaft before moving up again with a perfect amount of suction.
"Oh, fuck, that's… " John threaded the fingers of one hand into Sherlock's hair -- yet another item on the long list of things he wanted to do to Sherlock -- and pushed down just enough to let him know what he wanted. Sherlock repeated the movement and John petted his head. He sank down into the sofa, his hips sliding forward. Sherlock's hands gripped his arse and pulled him forward even more; he seemed to be settling in to take his time.
"Oh my God, your mouth. I've no idea how you're doing that." His tongue seemed to be everywhere, and John was melting. It was amazing and perfect, and yet there was something else he wanted. He reached down and found Sherlock's hand, pulled it up and sucked two fingers into his mouth. He heard (and felt) Sherlock moan as he worked them with his tongue for a moment before releasing them. "Finger me," he said, pushing that hand back down again.
"God, yes," Sherlock said as came off John's cock. He tugged John's trousers off completely and tossed them aside. He pushed John's knees up into his chest and watched John's face as he pressed one wet finger into him, slowly.
"Both," John said, trying to push back against him. He needed that and he needed more of it, as soon as possible. Sherlock added the second finger and John hissed. God, yes.. "And suck me, come on."
Sherlock grinned and grasped the base of his cock with one hand. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't; he just took the head of John's cock in his mouth again.
"Oh shit oh fuck," John said, and closed his eyes. The fingers inside him twisted and pulled out slowly until just the tips were stretching his hole open, then slowly worked their way back in again, over and over. Between the fingers in his arse and the mouth on his dick, he was floating, utterly blissed out. It was incredible, but he wasn't on the verge of coming. That was intentional, he realized. Sherlock wanted to make this last as long as possible.
God, he knew John's body incredibly well for someone who hadn't touched it until tonight.
"You're bloody amazing," he said, opening his eyes and looking down.
He stroked Sherlock's head and Sherlock pulled off and looked back up at him. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was wet -- oh God -- and his hair was just fucking insane from where John had his fingers in it. His eyes flicked down past John's balls to where his fingers were still working their way in and out of John's arse. After a moment he looked up again, and his eyes were astonishingly dark. His other hand released John's cock and disappeared from view, and his mouth fell open slightly. He was stroking himself, John realized.
"Are you…?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, his eyes fixed on John's. Oh, God. That was quick. And now he knew exactly what he wanted. "Do we have lube? We fucking have to have some."
"Yes," Sherlock said, his voice incredibly husky, and John thought he might melt into the sofa at the sound of it.
They scrambled off the couch and nearly sprinted across the flat. John pulled the duvet off of Sherlock's bed (no need to make more of a mess than necessary) while Sherlock rifled through a drawer in the bedside table. They both stood up at the same time, on opposite sides of the bed. They stared at each other.
John settled on the center of the bed and held his hand out to Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to take a steadying breath before climbing onto the bed next to him. John kissed him and lay back, pulling Sherlock on top of him.
Sherlock lifted his head after a moment and stared down at him. "I haven't done this before."
"That makes two of us, then."
"I suppose I know what to do in theory, but--"
"Something tells me we're going to figure it out." John captured his mouth in another kiss. "We've both done it the other way, after all."
"Right." Sherlock shifted down John's body and a moment later slick fingers were pressing into John once again. It was a lot of lube and it felt unbelievably wet, but John had it on good authority that you couldn't overdo it.
Sherlock's fingers curled up and stroked his prostate gently, and John gasped, desire spiraling through him. He'd had a girlfriend years ago who had once described a sort of desperate feeling of wanting him inside her, and now, all these years later, he understood exactly what she meant.
Now, right now.
"Okay, I'm good." He sat up and shifted onto his knees. "On your back."
Sherlock blinked at him -- that was apparently not what he'd expected -- but he leaned back onto his elbows. John took the lube from his hand and looked at the erection jutting up from his body. The fact that he'd got hard again so fast said a lot about just how much Sherlock wanted this tonight.
John squeezed lube onto the palm of his hand and straddled Sherlock's hips. And hesitated.
"Umm…" He looked up at Sherlock, frowning. "Do you want to use a condom?"
Sherlock stared at him for a moment. "No."
John hesitated. He hadn't had sexual intercourse without a condom in more than a decade and a half -- it had been drummed into his head at some point that condoms were absolutely necessary outside of monogamous relationships. And hell, he and Sherlock were definitely not monogamous. He knew his own history and he knew Sherlock's, and they'd just been tested for HIV, but still. He sat there and stared at Sherlock, frozen.
Sherlock pushed himself to sitting and reached for John's hand. He pulled it toward his penis and wrapped John's fingers around it, moving it on the shaft and spreading the lube on his skin.
"No condoms, not between us. No one else gets to have this. No one else gets to touch you without one. But I do."
John exhaled and nodded. "Okay. Yes." Something like relief flooded him and he kissed Sherlock. He pushed him back down onto the bed and stroked his dick a few more times, watching his face. Sherlock's expression was completely open, as honest as John had ever seen.
It was clear that he wanted this and trusted John. He knew how much John wanted this, what it meant. But there was still apprehension there, still a touch of fear about what would happen. John supposed he couldn't blame him for that.
John shifted forward and grasped the headboard of the bed with one hand while squatting over Sherlock. He reached underneath him to grasp Sherlock's cock and lined it up, then took a deep breath, trying his best to relax. Annie had said to bear down, and he did as he pushed himself down. The head breaching his body was the weirdest part and he had to clench his jaw against the stretch. It didn't hurt so much as it was strange to feel his body struggle to accept this intrusion. He felt every inch of the slow slide down, astonished at the feeling of fullness and heat. It was simultaneously completely weird and insanely hot.
After a long slow push down, he realized his arse was touching Sherlock's thighs. He exhaled and looked down to see a stunned expression on Sherlock's face. "Okay?"
Sherlock nodded. His expression didn't change.
John pushed his hips up and gasped at the sensation of Sherlock's cock sliding inside him. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back.
"Oh, my God."
"I know," John whispered. His arms were shaking and his legs were shaking, but it felt fantastic, even more so than he'd expected. He pushed back down again, still going slowly, his body still adjusting.
"Wait," Sherlock said, and John froze, looked down at him. Sherlock reached up to grasp John's hips and rolled them over, somehow managing to keep his dick inside John as they moved. John ended up on his back with Sherlock between his legs, staring down at him. Sherlock pulled back in a long slow slide and pushed into him again, and John groaned. "That's better," Sherlock said, pulling out again slowly. He paused with the head of his cock just stretching John's anus open, and he pushed forward just slightly, rocking in and out of the most sensitive stretch of John's rectum. The sensation was incredible.
John's cock was achingly hard now. There were nerves firing in places they didn't normally do, and he was rapidly restructuring his conception of what sex could be. Sherlock pressed in a bit deeper and angled up, and the head of his cock brushed John's prostate, and oh, God. It was becoming completely clear why people liked to do this.
"Oh God, that's incredible," John said, digging his heels into Sherlock's thighs. "That, more of that, harder."
Sherlock hesitated a moment and then pushed into him faster, deeper. It was better, but it wasn't enough. John raised his knees trying to get the angle right, and that was better, but he still wanted more.
"Harder," he panted. He dug his fingers into Sherlock's arse and braced his other hand against the headboard. "Come on, I won't break. Fuck me." Sherlock stared down at him as if he didn't quite believe him, and John growled, "Fuck me! Move!"
Sherlock made a sort of strangled sound and proceeded to pound into him. John gritted his teeth and put the other hand behind him on the headboard and did his best to push back, and then oh fuck oh God, that was it.
"Yes, yes, perfect, fuck, Sherlock." And it was perfect. He couldn't believe he hadn't done this before, that he'd spent his entire life until now not having felt this. Sherlock leaned into him, one hand on the headboard as well and the other pushing one of John's knees nearly into his chest. The concentration on his face was intense. John's cock was trapped between their bellies and was getting a firm stroke with every thrust, and Jesus the feeling of Sherlock's cock ramming into him was just unbelievable. "Oh my God, that's--"
Sherlock's dick slipped out completely and they both swore.
"Sorry, sorry," Sherlock said as he scrambled onto his knees. He pushed back into John and lowered his body again, trying to find the right rhythm.
"Yes, like that, but… more, harder, fuck."
Sherlock's forehead was furrowed in concentration and John would later be embarrassed about having been quite so demanding, but at the moment he didn't care. He just wanted more, faster, deeper, harder.
"God, John," Sherlock grunted. "I can't… I'm going to…"
"S'okay," John said. He was close, so close, just change the angle a bit and it he'd be there as well. He arched his hips up, trying to find it.
Sherlock cried out and his movements became erratic, and John wrapped his arms around him, pulled him in close. Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder and groaned, his open mouth pressed against John's skin, and he pushed into John as far as he could and stayed there.
"Oh God oh God oh fuck…"
John felt the moment he finished, felt the tension leave Sherlock's body. He pressed kisses against his temple and squeezed his arms around him.
Sherlock pushed up out of the embrace, pulled out of his arse and shifted himself between John's thighs. John's eyes flew open and he looked down just as Sherlock swallowed his cock.
"Oh my God." John gasped and arched up into his mouth, and then gasped again when Sherlock pushed several fingers into his arse and continued fucking him, brushing against his prostate with every stroke. John felt himself on the edge of orgasm, perfectly balanced, waiting to fall for what seemed like minutes. It was as if Sherlock was holding him there, not quite letting him go, waiting until John couldn't bear it another moment.
"Please," he breathed. "Oh please, I--"
Sherlock's fingers changed the angle just slightly and he sucked a bit harder and then John felt his body hurtling over the edge, felt his balls constrict, and everything shrank down to Sherlock's mouth and fingers. He was vaguely aware that he was shouting as he came, but he didn't care. His hands were clenching Sherlock's hair and he was probably hurting him, but he couldn't do anything but feel it wash over him.
He was shaking when it was over and he could barely move. He felt Sherlock's fingers slide wetly out of him and his legs collapsed onto the mattress. He couldn't even open his eyes.
"God, John. That was incredible."
John whimpered in response. Sherlock left for a minute and came back with a wet cloth. John thought he ought to have been embarrassed, but he couldn't be arsed at the moment; he felt too fucking good. He took it and cleaned himself off and tossed it aside. Sherlock settled next to him and pulled the duvet over them both.
"Are you all right?"
John exhaled. "That may have been the best orgasm of my life."
There was a pause. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I am." John opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring up at the ceiling, looking extremely pleased with himself. He'd opened his heart to John tonight, had told him his darkest fears and wants, and had admitted to being so terrified of his own selfishness that he would watch John from afar just to keep him in his life. And then he'd made sure the sex was almost completely about John.
How could he not see how incredibly pure his heart actually was?
John closed his eyes again and sighed. "I love you."
It was silent for a moment. Sherlock shifted onto his side and pressed his nose into John's cheek. "Do you really?"
"Yes. It's not just the post-coital bliss talking."
Sherlock sighed. "As much as I want to hear it, I'm not certain that's a good thing. If you love me you won't be able to walk away from this, even if you should." He snuggled into John's side, almost wrapping himself around John's body, his actions adorably incongruous with his words.
"I'm not going anywhere," John said. He shifted onto his side and kissed Sherlock softly. Sherlock sighed and kissed him back, and they lay there together for a long time, just kissing, arms wrapped around each other, lips sliding together slowly. It was perfect and John didn't want it to stop, ever. He could lie here forever and just kiss Sherlock, and it would be perfect.
"So you like it a bit rough," Sherlock said at last. John could feel a smile against his lips.
"Apparently I do." He'd surprised himself with that.
"I can work with that."
The words sent a shiver down John's spine and he grinned. "I'll look forward to it."
"Maybe not right away. You're going to feel that in the morning, trust me."
John laughed and kissed him again. "I feel it now. I feel like you're still inside me."
"Maybe I am. Maybe I'll never leave."
"Perfect," John whispered. It actually was perfect, he thought as he finally slid toward sleep.
The first time, it was the sound of the shower that woke him up. The plumbing was much louder than usual, and it was a moment before he remembered he hadn't fallen asleep in his own bed. He smiled and drifted off to sleep again.
The second time, his body woke him. He opened his eyes. He would have loved to lie there and think of ways to get Sherlock to come back to bed, but his bladder was insistent. He pushed himself to sitting and winced.
Sherlock hadn't been kidding. He smiled at the memory, though: it was worth it. He wondered how long it would be before they could do that again.
He stood and stretched and then pushed open the door to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was sitting in a chair in the parlor, fully dressed, a cup raised to his lips. He froze when he saw John, his eyes wide. For a fraction of a second John thought he must look far more impressive in broad daylight than Sherlock had expected.
"Ah, good morning, John." Mycroft was sitting opposite Sherlock. He seemed completely nonplussed that John had just emerged from his brother's bedroom stark naked.
"Shit," John said, and turned around again. He closed Sherlock's door behind him and groaned. He still had to piss, but his clothes were out there somewhere, strewn about the parlor, assuming Sherlock hadn't tidied up. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he hadn't. Not that it would have mattered; Mycroft would have figured out what had happened within two seconds of walking into the flat.
He briefly considered finding a container to piss in and hiding out in Sherlock's bed until Mycroft left. But hell, they were all grownups. Well, John was a grownup, at any rate, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He rifled through Sherlock's wardrobe until he found a tee shirt (who knew Sherlock even owned tee shirts?) and a pair of boxers. He put them on and was at least moderately presentable. He opened the bedroom door again.
"Good morning," he said with a curt wave and then disappeared into the bathroom. He stayed as long as he dared, but after he'd brushed his teeth and even flossed, he was either going to have to shave or shower to buy himself more time. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. Best to get it over with.
He crossed to the sofa, pleased to see Sherlock had set out an extra cup for him. He took it and sat on the sofa, remembering too late that he needed to be careful with that particular end of his body. He clenched his jaw and shifted, and tried valiantly to smile at the two faces that were staring at him.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at Sherlock, who smirked and looked away.
John only barely resisted the urge to flip them both off. "Nice to see you again, Mycroft."
"I understand congratulations are in order," Mycroft continued, as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
John glanced at Sherlock, whose expression clearly said, ignore him. John forced a smile. "Is that what brings you around on a Friday morning, or is there something else going on?"
"Oh, this is a purely social visit. You two have been rather busy of late and I simply wanted to drop by and see how you both were."
"He wanted to know if we were shagging yet or still dancing around each other," Sherlock said.
John coughed, having chosen precisely the wrong moment to take a sip of tea.
"I didn't put it quite so crudely," Mycroft said, "but essentially, yes. Sherlock hasn't returned my calls."
"I never return your calls."
"No, you generally send a text telling me to bugger off, thereby assuring me that you are in fact alive and well. Hearing nothing from you is rather unusual."
"You knew exactly where we were and what we were doing."
"Forgive me for being concerned that you were not only behaving very unusually, but also ignoring multiple opportunities to insult my concern for you."
"Don't take it personally, "John said. "He even turned down a serial murder case last week."
Mycroft's tea cup paused midway to his mouth and he turned to gape at Sherlock. "You actually are in love, aren't you?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, though the tint of his cheeks tempered the expression into something almost adorable. Mycroft turned back to John with an incredulous expression. John shrugged.
Mycroft set the tea cup back in the saucer and sat back in the chair. "Well, this is perhaps a good time to mention a certain borrowed membership card."
Sherlock sighed. "Yes, of course. I'd assumed you'd want it back as soon as possible."
"I don't," Mycroft said, and Sherlock and John exchanged a glance of surprise. "Keep it, at least for now. It isn't the only such institution of which I am a member, after all. Feel free to keep it as long as you like." He smiled magnanimously.
"Thank you," John said.
"Oh, don't thank him," Sherlock spat. "This way he can continue to spy on us."
"I regret that I have to resort to covert means to maintain a presence in your life." Mycroft's voice had taken on that pleasant tone that meant he was imagining strangling his brother in his sleep. "But more to the point, my aim is actually a practical one. I am a member of three private clubs in London that cater to, shall we say, a variety of interests. You are welcome to borrow my membership credentials to any of them whenever you wish -- one at a time, of course. Left to your own devices, I'm sure you'd find a way into to each of them eventually, which could lead to a rather embarrassing incident I'd prefer to avoid."
John had once again made the mistake of taking a sip of tea. He sputtered and set the cup back on the saucer, and pushed it out of his reach.
Mycroft gave him a long look before continuing. "I am, of course, very supportive of your relationship and am happy for you both. So please consider it a gift."
"Thank you," John said again, with a pointed look at Sherlock. "We sincerely appreciate it." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well I appreciate it, at any rate." He smiled at Mycroft.
"Yes, of course." Mycroft stood and refastened the button on his suit jacket. "Well then, I imagine you've things to do this morning, so I'll be on my way."
John bit his lip trying not to grin at the attempt at innuendo. Sherlock grimaced as if the comment had actually caused him physical pain. John walked Mycroft down the stairs to the front door.
"Thanks," he said, holding out a hand. "He does appreciate it, even if he can't say as much."
Mycroft took his hand and shook it firmly. "I know." He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he smiled tightly and opened the door. John closed it behind him and leaned back against it, grinning.
Three sex clubs. And to think they'd only explored one so far. Fuck.
He dashed up the stairs and into the parlor. Sherlock was staring out the window, apparently having watched his brother leave in his usual extravagant-limousined fashion. John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
"So Mycroft approves."
"I don't require his approval for anything."
John smiled into his shoulder. "That's not the point. He's your brother."
"Would your sister approve?"
"It's none of her business."
"But your brother could make our lives fairly difficult if he didn't approve."
"I suppose." Sherlock's tone indicated he resented having to concede the point.
John brushed his nose against Sherlock's shoulder and tightened his embrace. He wasn't sure when he'd get used to being able to do this whenever he wanted. Sherlock pressed back against him and a curl of desire flared in John's belly. Jesus, he was insatiable. It was glorious.
"Want to try something?"
Sherlock's hands smoothed over his own. "What did you have in mind?"
John turned him around and kissed him for a solid minute, only pulling back once he felt the beginning of an erection pressing into his hip. "Strip. I'll be right back."
Sherlock stared at him as he crossed back to the bedroom, but by the time John had returned with the tube of lube, he was stepping out of his pants.
John set the lube on a side table and took Sherlock's hand. He led him to the sofa and kissed him again before dropping to his knees. He teased Sherlock's dick with his tongue at first, finally taking it in his mouth when it was completely hard. God, he loved this feeling of firm flesh against his tongue -- he could do this all day. In fact, he should consider trying to keep Sherlock from coming for as long as possible. He wondered how long he could go before Sherlock finally lost control and just fucked his mouth. Rough.
Shit, he was getting distracted.
Sherlock groaned and stroked John's head. "I'm not complaining… oh, God, that's amazing… but this isn't exactly new."
"Not yet. Come down here." Sherlock knelt and John pushed the boxers off before taking both their cocks in hand and stroking them together.
Sherlock leaned in to kiss his neck. "That's nice too, though I think I prefer your mouth."
"Funny you should say that. Turn around."
Sherlock blinked at him for a full second before his eyes widened slightly. Without another word, he shifted on his knees so that his back was to John.
"And over, there you go." John pushed between his shoulder blades and smiled as Sherlock pressed his chest into the sofa. John ran his hands down Sherlock's back and settled right behind him. He nudged Sherlock's knees apart and smoothed his hands over his arse, and grinned at the flush that was spreading across Sherlock's body. His balls hung heavily between his thighs and John paused to cup them in one hand and tug gently. He wondered what they would feel like in his mouth.
Sherlock's thighs spread a bit farther apart and John groaned. "You're so fucking hot like this," he whispered. His hands moved back up to Sherlock's arse and squeezed. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. Possibly even more than Sherlock.
John leaned forward and bit his arse playfully, and Sherlock jumped.
"Just checking." He ran his thumbs down the crack of his arse and pressed the cheeks apart, and Sherlock made a sound like a whimper.
It was amazing that just a few short weeks ago this was something that hadn't been on his radar at all, but ever since it had been done to him, he'd wanted to try it on someone else. He leaned forward and trailed his tongue from the top of the cleft down, slowly, teasingly. He felt Sherlock tense beneath him as he got close to his arsehole, and grow even tenser when he skipped over to flutter his tongue just below. He circled the hole with flicks of his tongue for a torturously long time, his own cock aching in sympathy, and then finally spiraled in. When John's tongue pressed delicately into the center of his hole, Sherlock's legs nearly went out from under him.
"Oh my God… Oh God."
That was the reaction he'd hoped for, certainly. He lapped at his arsehole gently at first and increased the pace slowly. Sherlock seemed to be struggling not to squirm and the sounds he was making were less coherent by the minute. John tensed his tongue and pressed the tip into him as best he could, moving in and out with small movements to work him open slowly.
"Oh fuck, John" was the only thing he could understand in the string of words that came out of Sherlock's mouth as he slowly fucked him open with his tongue. Sherlock seemed to be pushing back against him and John was surprised at how far inside his body his tongue could go. The skin just inside him was slick and soft, and God it was incredibly weird and filthy that he not only had his tongue up Sherlock's arse but also that he liked it. John wondered if he could make him come just from this. He pressed his lips around the hole and that helped him work his tongue even deeper. He focused on stroking it in and curling the tip of his tongue just a bit on the way out again.
Sherlock was incoherent now; he'd turned out to be surprisingly vocal when he liked something, to John's pleasant surprise. Drawing that reaction from him was amazing and John wanted to see more. He wanted to see him come undone. He wanted to make him beg. He wanted so many things that it was almost overwhelming.
His jaw was finally starting to ache and he sat back a bit reluctantly. He reached for the lube and squirted some on his fingers, then worked two into Sherlock's body. There was almost no resistance, not that he was surprised. Sherlock groaned again, boneless against the sofa. John leaned over him to place kisses along his spine.
"Is this okay?"
"As long as you're planning to fuck me, yes." Sherlock's voice was slightly muffled by the sofa, and John grinned.
He'd planned to take his time with this part, to work out exactly what Sherlock liked, but less than a minute later Sherlock was squirming again.
"I'm good, I'm good, just… please."
"Right," John said, and slicked his cock as quickly as he could. "Here, off the sofa." He tugged at Sherlock's hips and positioned him on his hands and knees, facing the window. "Just tell me if--"
"Oh, God, just fuck me already!"
John couldn't resist smacking his backside while he got into position. "Cheeky, aren't you?"
"Why, do you like it?" There was a definite smirk in his voice.
John grinned. "Save it for later." He pressed the head of his cock against Sherlock's arsehole and moved forward as slowly as he could manage. Sherlock made a strangled sound and John stopped. "Tell me if-"
Sherlock pressed back against him almost immediately. "No, keep going, it's fine. It's amazing." His voice was tight, but John decided to take him at his word.
John exhaled and pushed forward slowly until he was all the way in. He smoothed a hand over Sherlock's back and groaned. "Oh fuck, you feel good." It felt different than it had with Ryan, and not just because there was no condom. He supposed that shouldn't surprise him. "Can I--?"
"Oh God, if you don't start moving now--"
He started slowly, searching for the right angle. Somewhere he heard a phone ringing -- Sherlock's phone. Sherlock either hadn't heard it or was ignoring it.
"Head down," he said and pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "Sorry about the floor."
"Don't care. Just… oh, fuck, that's..."
He'd apparently found the right angle. He stroked in and out slowly, watching Sherlock's response. This was about the point when he'd wanted to be fucked into the mattress, but he had no idea what Sherlock might want.
Another phone rang -- his this time -- and he swore, momentarily distracted. "That's got to be Lestrade. No one else would try both of us."
"Don't stop, don't you dare."
"God, no. Whatever it is, it'll wait ten minutes." More like three minutes, honestly. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer. "Oh, fuck, this is good. Tell me what you need."
"Like that, like that, a bit harder… yes, ahh…" Harder he could definitely do. Sherlock rapidly lost the ability to form words after that, and John wasn't far behind him.
He had to struggle not to lose himself in the drive to pound into the body beneath him. He could hardly believe they were doing this, weeks after he'd first let himself fantasize about it, and it was even better than he'd imagined. The friction and heat were perfect and he was so close now, so close he was starting to worry he wasn't going to be able to make Sherlock come like this.
Something brushed his thigh and he realized it was Sherlock's hand, that he was pulling himself off. John grasped his hips and leaned over him as best he could without losing his balance, and drove into him hard. The strain of the position pulled him back from the edge just enough.
Sherlock's hand stilled and John felt his body tense, and Sherlock pushed back into him, swearing loudly. John leaned over him and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's back, struggling to keep moving. Just the sound of Sherlock's voice as he came was nearly enough to push John over the edge, and the feeling of his arse contracting was glorious. When he was certain Sherlock was done John finally allowed himself to be selfish and fucked him with quick shallow thrusts, pressure right where he needed it.
"Oh God, you're perfect, that's so--" The rest dissolved into a shout as he pushed in as far as he could, toppling both of them onto the floor. They lay in a panting heap for half a minute before John could manage to move again. He pulled out slowly and patted Sherlock's side in sympathy when he flinched. "Sorry. Got a bit enthusiastic there at the end."
"No, it was perfect." Sherlock pushed himself to sitting and grimaced at the floor. "This will need cleaning."
"I'll take care of it." John stretched and smiled up at him. "When I can move again."
Sherlock leaned down to kiss him and John pulled him down on top of him. "We should definitely use the bed next time. My knees are going to hurt for days."
"Only your knees?"
"Among other things." Sherlock shifted onto his side. "Though I have to say that was far more pleasant than I expected. I remember it being more of a pain-turning-into-pleasure thing, but that didn't hurt at all."
John smiled for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Hang on. What are you saying?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Nothing. I--" His cheeks flushed. "Oh, God, no. Not that. I love your penis; don't you dare insult it."
"My penis loves you too." John felt his cheeks heat and he smiled.
"I think it was the rimming, actually."
"I didn't realize you knew that word."
"I know quite a few words that might surprise you."
John grinned at him. "Such as?"
Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John very softly, and whispered, "I--"
The sound of the door buzzer below startled them both.
Sherlock groaned and pressed his face into John's shoulder. "I have never been less enthusiastic to talk to a client."
"We can tell them to come back later. Leave a number."
"We could pretend we're not here." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
John grinned and kissed him. The buzzer sounded twice more and they ignored it. Sherlock's tongue trailed across the inside of John's upper lip. John caught it and sucked on the tip of it suggestively, and Sherlock whimpered. John wondered how long it would be before either of them would be ready to go again. He should be satiated after that, but somehow he wasn't. He wanted more, to lie in bed all day and touch, kiss, suck, play. He'd felt this way a few times before in his life, but it had been a long time.
He really was in love. It was fantastic.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and they pulled away from each other and scrambled to their feet.
"Shit shit shit," John hissed as he plucked Sherlock's boxers from the floor and pulled them on.
There was a knock on the door and a voice behind it called out, "Sherlock? John?"
"Just a moment, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. He nearly fell over pulling his trousers up, and John burst out laughing.
"This is ridiculous!" he whispered as he pulled the tee shirt back over his head.
"That's one word for it." Sherlock plucked his shirt from the floor.
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Hudson called from behind the door. "Inspector Lestrade is here and he seems concerned about you. Says you haven't been answering his calls."
John headed for the door with a glance back at Sherlock, who was frantically buttoning his shirt. He nodded.
John took a deep breath and unbolted the door, then opened it enough to stick his head out. "Hi. Good morning." Mrs. Hudson looked startled and took a step back. He must look even more debauched than he'd thought. He smiled at Greg, whose face had gone a bit pale.
"Well, then. See? He's just fine. Is Sherlock fine?"
John grinned. "Absolutely fine." Greg shot John an incredulous look from behind her shoulder. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
She nodded and turned, heading back down the stairs.
John opened the door wider and gestured Greg in with a tight smile.
"Sorry," Greg said, his cheeks flushing now. "It's just that… well, Sherlock always answers or texts or--"
"Not anymore, apparently. You may as well come in."
Greg looked torn between walking through the door and turning on his heel and fleeing, but he nodded. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock. John turned and almost laughed. Sherlock looked utterly debauched: he'd misbuttoned his shirt and it hung at an awkward angle, and his hair was… well. John grinned at him.
"Yes, we were shagging," Sherlock said, hands on his hips. He looked a bit like an angry puppy. "You interrupted."
"Well, technically were we done," John said.
"For the moment. But I was going to--"
"Too much information, lads." Greg's face was as red as John had ever seen it. "I can come back later. It wasn't all that urgent."
"Which explains why you came over to check on us personally and had our landlady let you in when we didn't answer?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I was concerned, for fuck's sake. I called you last night and again twice this morning, with no response. I sent half a dozen texts, all of which you ignored. I thought maybe you'd gone and done something stupid on your own with this case and--"
"Clearly not," Sherlock said. "But if we had done, it would hardly have been stupid."
"Considering what we're dealing with, yes; it could have been a disaster."
"Well, happily for Scotland Yard we were otherwise occupied." Oh lovely: Sherlock was in full sarcasm mode now. John groaned and pressed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Seriously, what was it with these two?
"And since when do you not even respond to a bloody text message? I don't know what's got into you lately but--" Greg broke off and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, God, I didn't mean it like that."
"Ironically, that actually is the reason," John said, unable to keep himself from smirking. "Both of you, shut up and sit down. I'll make coffee."
Five minutes later Sherlock had straightened out his clothes and Greg was able to look at them both without blushing, and everyone had a cup of coffee in hand. John sat on the sofa next to Sherlock and felt weirdly, deliriously happy.
"At any rate, we're proceeding well with the human trafficking case. There was another raid last night and we have leads on several more locations. The people we've arrested so far have been surprisingly cooperative."
"There are things worse than cooperating with the police, I imagine," Sherlock said.
"Such as being thrown into the general prison population as a known child sex offender?" John added.
"Yes, there is that," Greg said. "Funny how a quick reminder of that fact encourages people to talk."
"It sounds like you have it all under control, then," Sherlock said. "What do you need us for?"
John turned to look at him; bored was written all over his face. He'd worked out the mystery of the brands and all that was left was to catch all the baddies. Sherlock had little patience for the actual cops and robbers part of the operation; if there was no puzzle left to work out, no intellectual game to play, he was done.
"This is starting to look bigger than we'd first imagined. We're on our way to arresting everyone we can track down in England, but the network is international. At some point we'll need to include other government agencies."
"I think you're talking to the wrong Holmes." Even his tone screamed bored now. John pressed an elbow into his side and hoped he took it as a hint to behave.
"What makes you think I haven't talked to him already? Your strength is analysis, Sherlock. You can look at all the information and see patterns no one else can. You can tell us where to start, and that will give us a tremendous advantage when we have to begin negotiating with foreign law enforcement agencies."
John raised his eyebrows at Greg. Flattering Sherlock was a bit like stroking a cat. Sometimes it got you a purr and sometimes it got you lacerated. John waited to see which it would be this time.
Sherlock looked thoughtful and nodded. "All right."
"Good." Greg's lips twisted into a smile. "If you could come down to the Yard this afternoon, I'd appreciate it."
Sherlock looked at John, and John shrugged. "Apparently we're in."
He felt a hand on his back, fingers tracing the outline of his vertebrae. John curled into the touch and smiled. He wasn't sure if Sherlock thought John needed it or if he just wanted to touch him, but either way it was nice. When it started to tickle, John leaned into him and Sherlock's arm went around his shoulders. Oh, he could get used to this.
Greg's gaze flicked over to Sherlock and back to John again. He smiled. "Around two, then?"
"We'll be there," John replied.
Greg set the coffee cup on the sofa table and stood. "Try not to look quite so well-fucked when you turn up. I don't need my people distracted right now."
"Before we go, can we talk about this?" John leaned against the doorway watched Sherlock button his shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower -- the shower they'd both managed to squeeze into. John's eyes glazed over at the memory of Sherlock on his knees, sucking John's cock while hot water poured down over them both. Jesus, the things he could do with his tongue.
He was getting distracted again. "What exactly are we doing? I mean, we're a couple now, and I'm assuming we're not going to keep it a secret. Well, unless you want to. Do you want to? Because--"
"Why would we keep it a secret?"
John shrugged. "Well… Some people might not be very accepting. It could hurt the business, I suppose."
Sherlock frowned. "Everyone thinks we're a couple anyway, don't they? It hasn't hurt us yet."
"No. Then it won't be a secret. Good." John paused. "So… are we going to keep going to the club, or…?"
"I don't see why not. It's a bit annoying that Mycroft insists on being involved, but--" He paused. "Are you suggesting we stop going?"
"Oh God, no. I want to keep… pushing things. I like it. Is that what you want?"
Sherlock's expression grew heated and John felt a twinge in his belly. Again? Jesus, he felt like he was eighteen.
"I think I've already detailed the list of things I want. One of the other clubs Mycroft belongs to is well suited for some of the more… interesting ones."
John flushed. "Interesting?"
Sherlock stared at him a moment more and then looked away. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the details later."
John's lips twisted as he tried not to grin. It was good to know he wasn't the only one in a constant state of arousal today. "All right. Since we're going to keep doing this, I think we should agree on some ground rules."
"Commitment. Are we exclusive? I mean, outside the clubs?"
Sherlock's face clouded for a moment. "What do you want?"
"I want to be with you. I have no interest in pursuing anyone else. I didn't even like the idea of choosing someone last night, to be honest."
"All right. But…"
"But when we go out, we do the dom/sub thing. You can share me, control me, use me -- I'm fine with that. I like it, you know I do. Mostly I like knowing that how much it turns you on. But at home--"
"At home it's just us. Yes, that works." Sherlock turned to the mirror and ran fingers through his hair.
John exhaled. "So… Is this power thing going to always be… I mean, for example, am I going to share you?"
Sherlock's eyes met his in the mirror. "Do you want to?"
John hesitated. "I like the idea in theory. In reality I'm not sure. What do you want?"
Sherlock's eyes were locked on his. "For now, I don't want anyone but you."
John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. "And if one of us changes his mind?"
"We can discuss it." Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed him. "As I said before, everything is a possibility. I have no frame of reference for a healthy romantic relationship. And frankly, I'm not sure what that would even mean for me. As long as we're honest with each other, it will be fine."
John smiled. It was incredibly freeing to think that this didn't have to be anything, didn't have to follow any prescribed pattern. They could make it whatever they wanted. God, the possibilities. He'd always thought he'd eventually meet a woman, get married, have children -- but there was no reason it had to be that way. The future seemed far more open right now than it had in a long time. Anything was possible.
He was tempted to let his hands drift down over Sherlock's arse, but they were probably going to be late as it was and that would hardly help matters. "Do you want to go out tonight? Assuming we don't end up chasing criminals halfway across Europe unexpectedly, of course."
John pursed his lips. "No, not really. I'd honestly rather spend this weekend in bed with you, only leaving it when we absolutely have to." John nuzzled his neck. "Maybe next weekend?"
"Or the one following that." Sherlock's lips pressed against his forehead and trailed down his temple before moving over to one ear. "There's no rush. I was thinking of starting a new spreadsheet, actually--"
More experimenting -- John found the idea oddly exciting. "If we don't leave right now, all of these clothes are going to have to come off again."
"Not necessarily. We could--"
"No, we're expected." John reluctantly took a step back. "Ready?"
They pulled on their coats and walked down the stairs. Sherlock paused with his hand on the door and turned back to John.
"What?" John asked.
Sherlock smiled and pulled him close. "I love you, you know," he whispered.
John smiled. "I do. And I enjoy hearing it, so say it as often as you like."
Sherlock kissed him and John worked his arms into Sherlock's coat, snuggling in close. Oh God, they were never going to make it out the door, were they? They might as well give up, tell Greg that they'd have to come in on Monday instead.
He could imagine the text already: Regrets for this afternoon -- something's come up. For the third time that morning. He smirked.
"Oh, you two," they heard behind them. John whirled around to see Mrs. Hudson shaking her head at them. "I'd have thought you had enough last night, and again this morning."
John gaped at her. "What?"
Sherlock snickered behind his shoulder and John elbowed him in the stomach.
"The walls are quite thin. Do keep it in mind. I'll have to get one of those noise machines, most likely." She gave them a long-suffering sigh and disappeared back into her flat.
"Oh my God," John said. "Did that actually just happen?"
Sherlock grinned and opened the door. "Let's go." He walked out into the shockingly bright sunshine, his dark coat billowing after him. John paused a moment more as his eyes adjusted to the light. God, blue cloudless skies in London -- what else would this day bring?
Sherlock's magical ability to produce a taxi from thin air worked yet again, and he spoke to the driver before opening the door and gesturing John inside.
John slid across the seat and looked out the window. Sherlock settled beside him and the cab pulled away from the kerb. John felt something brush his hand and looked over to see it that it was Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock was looking out the opposite window, already lost in thought.
John took his hand and intertwined their fingers, and Sherlock squeezed back.