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The Shadows in the Night

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John lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Downstairs Sherlock was playing a haunting melody on his violin. Tears stung the corners of John’s eyes and he couldn’t even name a reason. A low note reverberated through the floorboards, drawing out a choked sob. Squeezing his eyes shut, he threw back the covers and rubbed his face, dragging his hands through the scruff.

Footsteps on the stairs gave him a heartbeat of warning. “John?” Sherlock paused in the doorway.

“It’s two in the morning,” groused John, hiding his face. “You’ll wake up Mrs. Hudson.”

Sherlock looked at him a long moment, then crossed to the bed and silently pulled John into his arms. John’s shoulder’s sagged as he leaned against him. It was still strange, this sometimes relationship they were building. By day things were the same as ever, but night was different. Sherlock didn’t come to his bed every night, and John had yet to go to Sherlock’s, but then there was moments like this. John knew he would fight anyone who claimed Sherlock was just a machine; he had seen the humanity in his eyes, felt the fire in his touch, heard him crying his pleasure.

Tilting John’s chin up, Sherlock leaned down and kissed him with a chaste tenderness that still surprised John. Breaking the kiss and cupping John’s face, he raised his head and kissed the escaped tears before pulling back and studying him.

Of course Sherlock was deducting. John knew the man never stopped. But it was different in moments like this. John stared back, the light from the staircase shadowing Sherlock’s face, making his eyes look dark as a deep ocean. Apparently decided, Sherlock pushed John back on the bed, kissing him with passion as he knelt between his legs.

John moaned, responding immediately, arching up against that kiss, hands grabbing at shoulders. Sherlock’s tongue explored his mouth and John opened more than willingly, letting Sherlock take and claim what was already his.

Finally Sherlock broke for air. He hands were planted on either side of John’s head as he hovered over him. “John. I would like to take you this time.”

A shiver wracked John’s body. From the first night Sherlock came to him, he’d always been on the receiving end, usually preparing himself even before he came into the room.  The air was different tonight. John licked his lips and nodded. “Yes. Fuck me Sherlock.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly, sending a thrill down John’s spine as his lover methodically undressed him. John lay back again once they were both naked, still watching Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock’s hands ran down his chest, not lingering on the scars. John was grateful for that. They were part of him, yes, but he didn’t need them pointed out. Besides, no doubt Sherlock had already categorized every single one in a notebook somewhere.

He gasped as Sherlock’s hands kept going, settling on his hips a moment, before spreading his legs. John had a panicked moment of vulnerability and started to sit up, but then Sherlock was there, kissing him again and settling his weight along his body, John’s erection pressing against his stomach.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, feeling his slenderness as he thrust lazily against his stomach. Sherlock’s hand caressed his thigh, moving downward. John closed his eyes again, focusing on the kiss as his lover reached all the way down.

Sherlock touched the tight ring of muscle.  John’s eyes flew open as he gasped and tried to jerk away Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, watching John’s face as he touched him again. “I..I don’t know if I can…” he panted, still pinned by the weight of Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock gave a crooked smiled before biting the joint of John’s neck and shoulder. John moaned and arched up as the other man lightly ground his flesh between his teeth.  Thrashing beneath him, John barely registered that Sherlock’s fingers were slicked now and slowly pushing inside.

“Oh God,” he moaned as Sherlock released him from his mouth. His eyes opened again and he could see a wicked darkness in Sherlock’s eyes that made him jerk his hips up for an entirely different reason, dragging his cock along the lightly furred stomach.

Sherlock’s finger pressed deeper, and John could swear he felt every knuckle. He reached back and grabbed the headboard, thrusting himself down on the hand. There was a flare of pain as Sherlock added another finger and he cried out, spreading his legs wider as if that would ease the pressure.

Sherlock shifted down, teasing John’s nipples with his mouth and tongue, withdrawing his fingers for a moment to apply more lube, then thrusting them in again. John cried out so loudly Sherlock placed a hand over his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” breathed Sherlock, slowly pumping his fingers as he watched John moan and writhe.

John couldn’t care about the words. He darted his tongue out and licked at Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock chuckled again and removed it, smoothing John’s hair back. “For God’s sake Sherlock, fuck me,” growled John.

Sherlock shifted forward, pushing John wider as he leaned forward and lined himself up. “I am going to, John.” His voice dropped to a primal growl as his head ducked to John’s ear. “Thoroughly.”

He bit at John’s ear, dragging his teeth as he penetrated him. John’s hand came down, dragging against Sherlock’s back as he thrust on instinct. Sherlock reached down and wrapped John’s legs around his hips, pushing deeper as John bit his lip and writhed beneath him.

Releasing his ear, Sherlock sucked a moan from John’s lips. John could feel himself being split open. Sherlock wasn’t as thick as him, but he was a bit longer. As he seated himself fully he leaned over John to kiss him, grinding deeply. John writhed again, grabbing Sherlock’s hair as he gave him a bruising kiss.

Suddenly, John forced them over. Sherlock was caught by surprise as John settled himself onto his lap, a feral glint in his eyes. He pinned Sherlock’s wrists with one strong hand and pushed down. This time it was Sherlock caught gasping as John leaned forward to drag his teeth along Sherlock’s throat while Sherlock thrust upward with abandon.

John growled and that sound was enough for Sherlock to cry out his orgasm. John dropped a hand to himself and gave a few short strokes until he was painting Sherlock’s chest. He collapsed forward, his lover’s softening cock slipping out of him. For once not minding the mess, John settled himself onto Sherlock’s chest, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He kissed his neck softly as Sherlock’s hands settled on his back and fell asleep right there, not even seeing Sherlock’s satisfied smile.