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A Distraction

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53 minutes. It had been 53 minutes since Sherlock had stormed into the flat and snatched up his violin. John was pretty sure that the sounds coming from the instrument could not be classified as music. Finally he had enough and walked over to stand behind Sherlock, placing his hand on Sherlock’s right arm, thankfully stilling the bow.

“I’m a little busy, John,” Sherlock said, trying to free his arm.

"No, you're not. You're just making noise. I can think of something else you could be busy doing."

He had tried to make it sound flirty, but seducing Sherlock Holmes was always a tricky business. He must have been at least partly successful because the other man turned, put his violin down, and raised an eyebrow.

John could see a hint of mischief dancing in his eye as he asked, "Oh really? And what might that be?"

He licked his lips and flicked his gaze to Sherlock's lips.

"Guess."

"I don't guess," Sherlock said as he swiftly brought his lips down to meet John's.

John couldn't help the surprised gasp that escaped. Sherlock took advantage of this, both men sighing as their tongues met. After a few minutes spent teasing each other's mouths and lips, John tangled his hands in Sherlock's hair as the other man started to kiss down the side of his neck. When Sherlock reached the sensitive place at the base of his neck, he started to nibble and suck at it. John moaned and thrust his hips against the other man's.

"Oh, fuck, Sherlock."

Sherlock returned to kissing John’s mouth as they ground their hips together.

“Clothes off,” he managed in between kisses.

The mood suddenly changed to one of urgency as both men scrambled to rid the other of his clothes. John unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt, pausing only so Sherlock could yank John’s jumper and shirt up and off. Hands fumbled at belt buckles, flies were undone and pants and trousers were unceremoniously shoved to the floor.

Now that clothes were no longer a barrier, Sherlock pulled John toward him, pressing them together, both trying to touch as much of the other as they could.

“I want to fuck you, John,” Sherlock growled into his ear, voice low with arousal.

“Oh, God, yes,” John said, pulling him toward the sofa.

Sherlock pressed him down onto it and lay on top of him. As he did, he reached a hand between them to stroke John’s cock. John’s head fell back as he moaned and thrust into Sherlock’s hand.

He protested as he felt Sherlock pull away but stopped when he heard him rummage under the sofa for the bottle of lube stashed there. He felt slick fingers against his hole and groaned as one was pressed in, and a second one was added after a few strokes. Sherlock returned to kissing and biting his neck as he worked his fingers in and out of him, curling them so they were hitting just the right spot inside him.

It didn’t take long before John was panting and writhing against Sherlock, desperately searching for more. The sounds he was making were going straight to Sherlock’s cock. Finally, he had enough of teasing the other man and slipped his fingers out. He slicked himself up, placed his cock against John’s entrance, but paused before pressing in. He took in the sight of John beneath him, head thrown back, lips parted, chest and face flushed. He never tired of seeing him look so thoroughly debauched.

John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. He nipped at Sherlock’s bottom lip and whispered, “Fuck me.”

Sherlock pressed in, and John moaned as he felt Sherlock fill him.

“Oh, fuck, John,” Sherlock said as he started to move with long, deep strokes.

“Shit,” John breathed when Sherlock brushed his prostate.

He ran his hands across Sherlock’s chest and back. Sherlock’s rhythm faltered when John’s fingers started to tease his sensitive nipples.

John moved his hands down to grip Sherlock’s arse.

“Harder, Sherlock. Oh, God, fuck me harder.”

Sherlock growled and shifted John’s legs so they were over his shoulder. John moaned as the angle shifted and Sherlock’s thrusts started to hit his prostate every time.

“Fuck,” Sherlock moaned, resting his head on his shoulder. “God, John you feel so good.”

John moved his hips to meet Sherlock’s thrusts, both of them desperate to find release.

John reached his hand between them and started stroking his cock.

“Christ! Oh, shit, Sherlock. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Fuck, John,” Sherlock moaned, snapping his hips harder, “I’m so close.”

Sherlock felt John start to tense under him.

“Sherlock! Fuck!” John yelled as his orgasm hit.

Sherlock turned his head and bit John’s neck as he buried himself deep inside him, John’s clenching muscles pushing him over the edge.

The two men lay in each others arms on the sofa, breathing hard. Once Sherlock had recovered a little, he reluctantly pulled out. He shifted so his head was resting against John’s shoulder and he was no longer squishing him.

John pressed a kiss to his curls and asked, “So I take it that was a satisfactory distraction?”

Sherlock pressed his nose into John’s neck. A contented hum was the only reply John got.