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Everyone had assumed they were sleeping together simply because of how they fell in with one another so quickly. Something clicked between the two of them. Despite Sherlock’s odd behaviours, John displayed nothing but loyalty time and time again. He slowed down for John. It wasn’t often that he had to, John usually kept up quite nicely. But Sherlock wouldn’t take the time to explain much of his thought process to anyone else. Then again, no one else praised him like John did.
It wasn’t a surprise, Sherlock thought, when he noticed his emotional attachment to this man, this vulnerable man. He always did have a soft spot for vulnerable, strong people. He met this man in a low point in his life, wounded both mentally and physically, and questioning why he bothered hoping for a better tomorrow. Sherlock had been there himself; he understood. Perhaps that was why John and he worked. That, and they were both adrenaline junkies.
Sherlock could tell you exactly why it happened, they had connected on a level that he couldn’t with anyone else. The praise broke him down even more. Each display of loyalty chipped away at the paint, so to say. Eventually, he realised he’d fallen hard for this ex-army doctor. It’d been too late to do anything about it, as if he had the willpower to cut ties with John.
Similarly, John took both the good and bad with Sherlock. Time and time again, he kept returning, no matter what Sherlock had done, no matter how mad he made him. John always returned. Something drew him to Sherlock and before he’d known it, he began noticing the signs. He had to wonder if Sherlock noticed them, too. He paid such careful attention to everything. How could he not notice?
Sherlock put it off as long as he could. He knew John was trying to find a suitable partner and he was anything but suitable. John liked physical intimacy, Sherlock did not. John was romantic, Sherlock was not. John would expect to be put first; Sherlock couldn’t always do that. He was cold-hearted at times, he needed to be. Sentiment got in the way. There were plenty of reasons it wouldn’t work, but there were plenty of reasons to try.
After Sherlock ruined yet another relationship for John, he received anger in response. Frustration, mostly, was taken out on Sherlock and they had gotten into yelling at one another. A rather heated argument took an unexpected turn into John pushing Sherlock up against the fridge and snogging him with every bit of that frustration he’d put into yelling.
It felt great to finally, finally, have a way of portraying such a strong emotion. John clutched at his lapels and kept him pressed against the cold metal. He could already feel the bruise forming on his back where John had pushed him into the long, narrow door handle.
Sherlock let John have his way with him, unable to keep track of all the sensory input. All too soon, he became overstimulated and overwhelmed and had to push John off. They both panted to bring in much-needed oxygen. Hands raked over the front of Sherlock’s shirt.
“Let me,” Sherlock murmured then turned them around. He was gentle in pressing John against the fridge and mouthed at John’s neck. The one other time Sherlock actually had been this close with someone else, it was quite unpleasant. Sex wasn’t appealing to him. It was uncomfortable, messy, and overwhelming on his senses, but he could do this much for John. He wanted to do this much for John. There was some appeal in seeing John’s intimate reactions. Would he be loud? Would he stifle himself? Would his knees give out? What would he taste like?
He slid a hand down to press his palm against John’s groin. John’s head fell back against the fridge with a light ‘thump.’
“Fuck,” he groaned in a whisper while Sherlock palmed him through his jeans. “Oh, fuck, Sherlock.” He nuzzled into Sherlock’s curls and wrapped his arms loosely around Sherlock’s neck. “I thought you…that you didn’t like sex.”
“I don’t,” Sherlock admitted between licking and kissing John’s neck. He pulled open John’s trousers and groped him through his pants. Pushing the waistband to his trousers down, he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and stroked slowly, gently in hopes of avoiding chaffing.
“Then why?” John asked. He was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with Sherlock’s intense gaze. He kept grabbing at Sherlock and getting pushed back against the fridge to divert his attention.
“That’s difficult to answer while I’m trying to focus on, well, getting you off.” He slid his pants down passed his thighs, careful not to catch John’s erection on the way down. Licking his own palm, he began stroking John’s cock at a steady pace with a pressure that wasn’t too much or too light.
“Ah, yeah, focus on that, then,” John moaned. Sherlock lowered himself to his knees, gave him a few more strokes, then mouthed along his shaft. He felt fingers in his hair and slapped them away.
“Stop that,” he took his mouth off John to snap at him.
“Sorry.” John didn’t sound very apologetic, but he was a bit distracted with those lips and tongue on his cock. Sherlock hummed in amusement and John’s head hit the fridge again. “Christ, you’re gorgeous like that.”
“You’d think anyone looked gorgeous doing this for you.” He stroked John as he spoke.
“Hm, I don’t think so. No one looks as good as you do on your knees.”
“Shut up. You’re distracting.”
John choked off a chuckle as Sherlock took him into his mouth. He had to focus on keeping his lips wet enough to slide easily over skin and keeping his teeth out of the way. He knew he wasn’t the best and John didn’t expect him to be. Alternating between his hand and mouth, Sherlock brought him closer and closer until John was trembling. Sherlock tried taking even more of John’s cock, resulting in an unpleasant bout of gagging while John climaxed with a soft breath.
Unpleasant taste, but manageable. It wasn’t entirely awful and seeing John’s flush made it worth it. John’s body slumped down onto the floor. He reached out for Sherlock who turned away.
“You don’t want—“
“Hm, I think I do.” He pulled Sherlock over by his lapels and gave him a rather passionate kiss involving quite a bit of tongue. Sherlock blinked when John leaned back just as quickly.
“You like tasting yourself on me.”
John grinned lazily and ran his hands along Sherlock’s upper arms. “Yeah. I do. You want to head up to bed? Finish this up?”
“Finish what up?” Sherlock looked at him blankly. He followed John’s glance downward to his own groin. “No,” he said simply.
“Are you sure?” John looked confused.
“Yes. I’m amenable to other displays of affection, however.”
“All right. Shower’s in order, first.”
“Yes, well, sex is messy.”
John gave him another soft, chaste kiss then padded off to the loo for a quick shower. Sherlock was tempted to spend some time alone in his room to rid himself of the erection John’s responses seemed to have caused but thought better of it.
Instead, he cleaned his teeth, changed into pyjamas, and found his way into John’s bed. He felt a dip in the mattress about half an hour later as John slowly lowered his weight next to Sherlock. Cuddling up to John, he found John’s chest to be a suitable pillow.
“We don’t have to have sex,” John’s chest rumbled against Sherlock’s ear. “If that makes you uncomfortable.”
Sherlock hummed. He didn’t mind having this conversation but he was tired. “I’m fine with it.”
“If you’re not—“
“If I’m not, you will know.”
“Right.” John pressed a kiss to the soft, dark curls. Sherlock tilted his chin up to touch John’s lips with his own lightly. “Snogging’s okay?” John asked tentatively.
“Most of the time. It gets overwhelming at times, but, again, you’ll know.”
“Could use some practice in that area,” John teased. Sherlock pursed his lips and didn’t dignify John with a response.
John liked sex. Sherlock did not, usually. But sex with John wasn’t all bad. He found he rather liked teasing him to no end. He found all of John’s sensitive places and could stroke him for hours, keeping him at the precipice of orgasm for as long as he pleased.
John took this time to ask questions about Sherlock’s preferences. He’d already learned kissing was okay if that was all Sherlock had to focus on. Anything else, and Sherlock got overstimulated, similar to too much skin contact. When he felt in control, it seemed to happen less. For example, he could touch John for hours but could only take a few minutes of his excitable groping.
“I’m not your first,” John stated on one occasion. In this particular case, he had his hands bound to the two bedposts above his head. Sherlock had settled between John’s unbound legs and had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. Sherlock ran his thumbpad along John’s frenulum, causing him to shudder.
“No, you’re not.”
“Tell me about them,” John breathed through a wave of intense arousal.
“Only one other person while I was in uni. It was awful.”
“Did you care for him?”
“No. That was my first mistake. Did you care for your first girlfriend?”
“Yes, ‘course I did. Well, as much as I could at that age. Have you cared for anyone else?”
“Else?” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth tipped upwards slightly.
“Yes, else.” He bit off a groan as Sherlock resumed slowly stroking his cock with a lubricated hand. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Hm,” Sherlock acknowledged the statement. “No one else has gained the sort of interest that I hold for you.”
“You said ‘first mistake.’ What were the others?”
Sherlock looked at him, surprised. It was an unexpected question, especially from someone who was definitely more than a bit distracted. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have let him touch me like he did. But I gained valuable information.”
“You’re basing your dislike of sex in one bad experience?”
“Several bad experiences with the same person. But, sex just isn’t alluring to me. It hadn’t been even before those experiences.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“What don’t you like about sex?” John asked curiously. It didn’t sound accusing, although Sherlock doubted anything could sound accusing coming from John’s lustful voice.
“It’s messy.”
John laughed between shallow breaths.
“It’s too much sensory input. It short circuits my brain and I can’t think properly.”
“You’re not supposed to think properly,” John kept chuckling until Sherlock moved his hand from his cock to his chest. His thumbs massaged gentle, slow circles around John’s nipples. “Fuck,” he inhaled sharply and arched slightly off the bed. Sherlock had a gaze that made even the simplest of touches anywhere feel much more intense than normal. It was heady to think John held Sherlock’s full attention.
“I suppose not. Just feels too overwhelming.”
“You didn’t tell him to stop, did you? Didn’t know enough to.”
“Good deduction,” Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes.
“It really messed you up.”
“Hm,” Sherlock nodded slightly in affirmation. “It was my own fault.”
“No—fucking hell, Sherlock.”
He’d moved his hands back down to John’s groin, one hand stroking slowly, the other caressing John’s bollocks lightly.
“It’s not your…your fault. You didn’t know.”
“No, but I suspected. It went too far on several occasions and because I needed to know at any cost, I let it proceed. You know, he told me, once he came, he had no desire to reciprocate?” Sherlock laughed humourlessly.
“Jesus, Sherlock.”
“It was a while ago, doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Is that part of the reason you won’t let me touch you? Are you afraid I’ll stop halfway through?”
Sherlock felt his face heat slightly.
“You know I wouldn’t do that to you, right?” John tried to sit up, having forgot that his arms were tied down. Sherlock pushed him down anyway and stroked faster. Sherlock stopped his hand and thumbed over the head. John huffed. He noticed John’s abdomen tensing and quickly wrapped his free hand tightly around the base of John’s cock.
“Oh. Oh, fuck, Sherlock. Sher…Oh, I need—“
“Not yet,” Sherlock demanded. Ah, seeing John desperate had an intense effect on his own cock. The power to bring John down to this, that was intoxicating—arousing to Sherlock. This was still new to both of them, but they were quickly finding what worked and what didn’t.
John breathed through it and settled eventually. “What do you imagine, then, when you get off?”
“Depends. Oftentimes it’s nothing. Sensation alone is enough to drive me to orgasm. When it’s not enough, I seem to tend towards a person’s reaction to a stimulus.”
“Voyeuristic tendencies,” John chuckled. “Do you ever fantasise about someone going down on you?”
“I have, but it’s not common. Seems as though I have to be in a specific mood for that. Spread your legs a bit more. Yes, like that.” Sherlock stroked his hole gently before penetrating him and opening him up.
“Left, oh, please, left a little.”
“Mmh,” Sherlock smirked. “I don’t think so. Not quite yet.”
John groaned, half in frustration, half in admiration at Sherlock’s patience. “Please, please, Sherlock, oh please.”
“Fine, fine,” Sherlock crooked his fingers to brush against John’s prostate a few times, enjoying the view of his cock flexing in response.
“Enough, that’s enough!” John gasped out.
“Oh, good man,” Sherlock crooned as he withdrew his fingers and patted John’s thigh. His fingertips danced along the inside of his thighs, a knuckle brushed ever so lightly against his perineum. John exhaled slowly with another shudder. “Think you can hold out for another twenty minutes?”
“I don’t believe I have a choice.”
Sherlock placed a hand on his abdomen and leaned over to give his lover a passionate kiss.
“Can you last another twenty minutes?” John glanced at Sherlock’s erection with a slight squirm. “If you want to…take care of yourself first…”
Sherlock crudely adjusted himself, giving it a quick squeeze. “ ‘m fine.”
“Can I watch sometime?” He probably wouldn’t have asked any other time but his lust-addled brain saw nothing wrong with asking now.
“Maybe.” Sherlock palmed himself through his trousers more for John’s pleasure than his own.
“Twenty minutes, then?” John ripped his gaze away from Sherlock’s groin; he couldn’t lose control yet.
“Mmh, yes,” Sherlock’s deep voice hummed with exaggerated arousal. He was surprised to feel damp fabric against the tip of his cock.
“Give me a minute,” John panted.
“Tell me about your past experience with a lover.”
“Which one?”
“Your first.”
“Mh, male or female?”
Sherlock thought for a moment. “Either.”
“Year ten, had no idea what I was doing. It turned out to be pretty awful for both of us.”
“How so?”
“She almost got a concussion. Fell off the bed not only once, but twice.”
Sherlock blinked. “How?”
“Long story.”
He brought his hand back down to John’s scarlet cock to resume his slow, maddening strokes. John’s eyes fluttered closed. “You’ve come a long way since then,” Sherlock chuckled.
“Seems so—Oh, stop, stop,” John pulled at the bindings around his wrists.
“You’re quite excitable today. Just a little longer.” He ran his thumb along the inside of John’s thigh as John caught his breath. “You’re doing so well.” He brushed his fingertips along John’s flushed chest, up his neck, then scratched gently at the soft hairs on the nape of John’s neck. When Sherlock drew it out like this, he noticed John’s skin tended to turn a lovely scarlet almost everywhere.
It started with his face. His cheeks would colour first, which would spread to the tips of his ears. The same response happened on the rare occasions he was embarrassed. At this point, John would begin sweating. The palms of his hands would be damp when touched Sherlock. His neck and chest would begin to taste even saltier. If he was brought to a quick orgasm, his chest would flush a solid red about a minute before he climaxed and would fade three to five minutes after.
But when Sherlock teased, petted, stroked him to madness, the colouring on his chest would fade to splotches, much to Sherlock’s amusement. His thighs, too, would flush in a splotchy, red pattern if Sherlock denied him a quick finish. Not long after that would occur, John’s legs would begin slipping against the sheets as his perspiration dampened the fabric under his body.
Sherlock hoped to test his responses to multiple, varying stimuli in the future. He wanted to see if he could stimulate him into an orgasm on prostate stimulation alone. He wanted to know how long it would take to do so. He wanted to test different temperatures, different clothes and textures, vibrations. He wanted to know John’s kinks, see if they couldn’t discover any new ones along the way.
John rested his knees against Sherlock’s sides. His shirt felt damp after a few moments where John’s knees came into contact with the fabric. John shivered, the air feeling even colder on his skin when Sherlock wasn’t touching him.
He couldn’t focus on much else with a fully clothed, aroused Sherlock between his legs. He couldn’t help imagining Sherlock drawing himself out of his zip and finishing over John’s cock and using that to finish him off. Or, better yet, putting his arousal to good use and giving John a good fuck. It wouldn’t be a challenge to come untouched; it would only take a few good thrusts with him on edge like this.
He wouldn’t ask that of Sherlock, though. Not good. Maybe in the future, when Sherlock was more comfortable with him. Right now, he revelled in every unintentional brush of Sherlock’s tented trousers against his overheated skin.
John lost track of time. Though, to be fair, he never had a sense of the time. He was at the mercy of Sherlock’s will and infuriating patience.
“Sherlock, please..!” John swallowed hard as Sherlock pushed three long fingers into him and took the head of his cock between those luscious lips. He pulled them off with an obscene pop a mere moment later.
“You’ve been so good, John. Just another minute.”
John squeezed his eyes closed. His entire body felt sensitive. Sherlock could stroke the back of his knee and there was a chance he’d come from it.
Sherlock let John’s legs lock around his upper arms, just below his shoulders. He was sure John wasn’t even aware of what his body was doing, let alone able to control it. This was his favourite part; John was so compliant, so strung out, he shuddered at any touch. His eyes would flutter open occasionally but his gaze was so unfocused and bleary, Sherlock knew he wasn’t looking at anything. He would take in gasping breaths and wouldn’t—or couldn’t, Sherlock didn’t know—say any coherent words. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep John at this place for very long, a few minutes at most.
Sherlock felt his own cock throb and leak a bit into his pants as a clear drop beaded at the tip of John’s cock. John let off a groan as Sherlock spread his fingers inside of him. The sound went straight to Sherlock’s groin. Ah, he was more than a bit damp, Sherlock realised. He’d want to get off after.
He felt John’s quick pulse under his hand around John’s cock. Just a few more seconds…
“Okay,” Sherlock said softly. He resumed stroking quickly, his grip tight. John clenched around his fingers massaging his prostate and tried curling in on himself, only to be pulled back down by the bindings around his wrists. He panted hard as he spurted onto his chest and abdomen through Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock’s grip didn’t loosen but his strokes slowed as he drew as much as he could out of John.
Sherlock grinned as he pushed John’s legs off so he could untie the fabric from the bedposts. Several drops of semen slid from John’s collarbone onto the sheet. New distance record, Sherlock thought smugly as he watched John’s chest heaving with deeper breaths.
He spent the time it took John to recover palming himself through his trousers. It wasn’t enough. Reluctantly, he opened his zip and slid a hand into his pants. Oh, better, much better. His hand was still somewhat slick with lubricant from John and slid easily over the warm flesh. His other hand gripped John’s sweaty thigh, still flushed in that blotchy pattern.
John didn’t make a noise as he came to. His breathing and heart rate slowed and he was met with the sight of Sherlock’s hand in his tented trousers, cheeks flushed. He felt the fluttering in the pit of his stomach and felt his softening cock give a pathetic flick in response. Sherlock kneaded his thigh and kept his eyes closed tightly. He bit his lower lip and huffed out shallow breaths. John knew better than to touch him and he was afraid Sherlock might stop if he made even the slightest movement or sound.
Fingertips dug into the top and inside of his thigh painfully but John barely flinched. His legs were still locked loosely around Sherlock, around his waist now, and rested limply against the damp bed sheets that were growing cold under John’s body.
The little, involuntary jerks of Sherlock’s body increased in frequency; John realised he was getting close. John, unable to stand Sherlock’s bruising grip on his thigh any longer, finally gave in, pulled a hand free, and reached a hand down over the top of Sherlock’s tense hand. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock took John’s hand and laced their fingers together. He squeezed John’s hand as he had his thigh until his body shuddered and relaxed. His knees spread impossibly wider under John’s thighs. John squeezed the hand in his fondly and tried pulling the flushed consulting detective down next to him.
Sherlock didn’t let go of his hand, but he didn’t lay down next to John either. He hesitantly opened his eyes with a sheepish look. He pulled his hand out of his pants with an embarrassed expression. John took a chance and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist with his free hand. He brought the hand to his mouth slowly to give Sherlock a chance to pull away before he took a couple semen-covered fingers into his mouth.
“John,” Sherlock murmured in confusion. John continued licking the hand clean. If this would be the only time he got to taste Sherlock, he would take every bit he could get. At the same time, he knew better than to linger for too long; Sherlock would get overstimulated. So, when he was done, he gave Sherlock’s forearm a soft stroke and let that hand drop back to Sherlock’s side. He was surprised when Sherlock surged forward and all but forced his tongue into John’s mouth. He gripped Sherlock’s hair, pulled him off gently, and reinitiated the kiss slowly and patiently. Sherlock continued kneading John’s hand lovingly.
Sherlock ended the kiss just as John’s half-hard cock was beginning to respond again. Jesus, he was too old to be responding this quickly. Something told him Sherlock would not be up for a second round and he still felt too sensitive to really be touched.
“I…” Sherlock shook his head as if to clear it. “We should shower.” He squirmed uncomfortably.
“Why don’t you go first?” John squeezed his hand again. They didn’t exactly shower together. It wasn’t that Sherlock was opposed to it, per se, but there would be a lot of unnecessary touching and John agreed that showering separately would be better.
So, when Sherlock got up without letting go of John’s hand, John tried pulling his hand back. Sherlock almost fell back onto the bed before he realised he still had John’s hand in his own. He blinked a few times, glanced at the door, then looked back at John.
“You want to? Together?” John guessed. Sherlock blinked, thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, sure,” he agreed and began pulling at the black fabric still tied around his other wrist while Sherlock continued pulling him towards the bathroom.
After a rather enjoyable shower and a quick change of sheets, they were dressed in pyjamas and settled in together sleepily. Sherlock took his usual place, cheek squished against John’s chest and an arm over his waist. John rubbed large, slow circles languidly on Sherlock’s back until they both drifted off to sleep.