I somehow managed to write this in about 24hrs after receiving the request. I think that's a new record (sans those 221Bs). I did kinda miss my deadline though sorry. :c

Out of the two of them, most would have guessed that Sherlock, 'The Virgin', had more new things he wanted to try than the well-known ladies man, 'Three Continents' Watson. While technically true, the detective didn't particularly care what they did in bed, as long as he was able to get John off by the end of it. John, on the other hand, seemed to be aimed at the same goal, but Sherlock discovered rather quickly that their ideas on how to get there differed. Vastly.

After the tenth time they had had intercourse, John had reached into the table on his side of the bed and nervously presented Sherlock with an old, well-worn piece of paper, covered with John's handwriting. The tidy cursive was laid out in a list format, the ink closer to the bottom clearly newer than the first words penned, as if he had been adding to it for years; each bulletin contained every sexual position and kink that John had ever heard of that he had wanted to eventually try. Despite his soldier being rather well-traveled, very few items had been crossed off. Considering John's predominantly-female collection of past bed partners, Sherlock wasn't much surprised that they had been unwilling to attempt some, or really, most of, the things on John's list. And judging by the flush on his boyfriend's face, and the way his bright blue eyes wouldn't meet Sherlock's own, it hadn't been difficult to deduce that the man had been ridiculed and shamed for his curiosities extensively in his past. Feeling ill, and almost violently angry, at anyone having treated his doctor in such a way, Sherlock had immediately put to rest the idea that John should be ashamed of experimenting.

(They had crossed off the first three things on the list that afternoon.)

After John had relaxed and realised that Sherlock well and truly accepted all of him, sexual wants included, their post-case nights together continued to end with a quick and rough tumbles, while their inbetween nights tended towards the slow and tender. Their daytimes, however... Well...

John knew him better than anyone else, and even before they had begun dating, the doctor had quickly become an expert in pulling him from his black moods. And that was where The Experiments came in. John wanted to keep the darkness's apathetic fingers from grabbing hold of the genius in the first place, while simultaneously trying new things. Sherlock simply wanted to make his doctor happy. A perfect symbiosis. Today's experiment, however, Sherlock was slightly dubious about. Not that he was unwilling. He was never unwilling. Sherlock simply doubted that their latest 'Experiment' would end the way John hoped. According to his research, it wasn't something that would be easy to achieve.

"Are you ready?" John asked hesitantly. The soldier always started out nervous, as if he was afraid that Sherlock was going to reject him, or as if he were afraid of hurting Sherlock. The detective gave him a calm, reassuring smile and leaned down to kiss him, wrapping his bare arms around his doctor's equally bare shoulders. Strong arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling their naked bodies against one another, and his erection pressed against John's belly and John's own against his thigh. For long minutes, they did nothing but stand there and kiss, the slide of their lips against one another smooth and soft. Finally, John pulled away and stepped back, fears assuaged and expression calm.

"Always," Sherlock finally replied, turning to climb onto the bed and snagging the bottle of lubricant from his table before he settled on his side, head on the pillows as he poured the liquid into his palm. After another moment, his lover moved to follow, grabbing a second bottle from his own side table before laying with his head by Sherlock's feet. John had called the position '69-ing', a term the genius was not particularly fond of, but it even he could not deny it's picturesque accuracy. They had already tried the original method of '69-ing', as John had further explained, but this was to be a little different.

A calloused palm cupped the back of his top thigh and pulled it over John's ribs, before his boyfriend mirrored his own arrangement, the warmth of his thigh settling across Sherlock's ribs in return. When they finally settled, the tops of their top thighs were braced against one another above and between their bodies, the position exposing their puckered entrances to one another. Several months ago, when this all started, Sherlock would have felt highly vulnerable by the position, the intimacy and the physical closeness. But now, all he felt was a warmth in his heart at the level of trust between the two of them; at the fact that he could trust John with every part of himself, just as John could do the same with him.

Lost in his mind, as he tended to do, the first wet touch of a lubricated finger against his hole made him jump, and a soft chuckle drifted across the sensitive skin of his perineum followed by a kiss against the back of his thigh.

"All right, love?" John's question was low and amused, and a bit mocking, and Sherlock glared at his boyfriend's arse before promptly shoving his index finger into that pucker. The ex-soldier let out a loud, surprised moan and bucked against him, rutting his erection against the detective's chest. Instantly, the genius rolled his torso away to the other's disappointment, judging by the groan he let out.

"Sherlock," John protested, trying to roll his hips forward to regain that friction.

"Untouched," Sherlock countered. John gave another groan, but shifted back to where he had been originally.

"I know, I know. Next time, we'll do both." The steady promise in those words made him shiver and he whispered his assent into the inside crevice of the man's pelvis. Sherlock's finger was still up John's arse and he began to pull it out, slowly, delighting in the way his lover's arse clamped around the digit, trying to suck it back in. He could see the glare on John's face as the doctor shoved his finger up the detective's arse, as if in revenge but, genius that he was, Sherlock was prepared for this reaction and simply rolled his hips into the motion.

It felt absolutely fantastic to both fill John and be filled by him, and a moan slipped over the paler skin of his soldier's thigh as the finger in him pulled out and pressed back in. With their penises left out of the interaction, it was startlingly easier to take it slower, gentler, more thoroughly. There was no rush to feel a certain clenching around their cocks or the possessive need to come into one another. There was only, on his part, the sensation of the calloused pad of John's finger sliding against his inner walls and the burning, silky sensation of John around his finger. Slowly, the loud hum of his mind began to quiet until he was so lost in the simple sensations that he could no longer keep track of how long they'd been slowly fucking each other with their index fingers.

"Two fingers, Sherlock," he heard from between his legs, along with the snap of a cap as cool liquid was poured onto the heated skin of his hole where it was wrapped tightly around John's fingers.

"Yes, John," he replied, copying his boyfriend in applying more lubricant to the now-puffy rim around his own finger before pressing his middle finger in alongside his index. Though they were both aware of what was to occur and when, this time they both bucked against the feeling of being stretched wider. As soon as they had started though, the both froze, forcing their bodies to still against the bed and leaving their fingers in each other up to the third knuckle.

"Jesus," John groaned, and Sherlock smiled, taking a deep breath as he started to pull his fingers free. This was where things got interesting. His arousal had been a warm comfort low in his belly until now, the hardness of his cock consistent but not persistent, eased by the glacial pace of their fingers. But he knew that was only because reaching your partner's prostate with one finger was something better left undone. Now that they each were able to use two fingers, it was time to initiate Phase Two.

Fingering, as a simple and standard method of preparation for sex, was already something Sherlock was familiar with. As was the location of John's prostate. In seconds, he had managed to locate the nub of nerves and began to massage it intently. Teeth sunk into his thigh, but even before he heard the high-pitched whine, he knew better to think that it was a reprimand of any kind. John was deliciously sensitive in regards to contact on his prostate, and this was not the first time Sherlock had devoted all of his attention to it, but it was the first time he was doing so with the intent of making John come without any contact to his cock.

When the fingers in his arse found his prostate in return, the detective couldn't stop the way his body jolted. He could not say that he had the sensitivity that John had, but it was still a bundle of nerves, and the callouses on his soldier's fingers never failed to make his cock throb harder or to produce a strange, lightning-like sensation that bolted through every one of his nerve endings. It was over in a flash, but at the next press, there was another one, and then another, and another, until his lover had set up a smooth rhythm and his entire body was alive with arousal and electricity. Now was about time that his doubts were due to come into play, considering their all the previous times that ventured into shorter versions of this same activity, but his cock was throbbing incessantly and he was so aroused that it felt like his vision was about to go fuzzy.

"Three, please, John," Sherlock gasped, attempting to undulate his hips to meet the slow thrust of those thick fingers, only to be denied by the angle created by the spread of his legs.

"Yes," John replied, voice just as breathless, just as tremulous. "Yes, ple-EASE!" he yelped as Sherlock unceremoniously shoved in his third finger. Now the detective was able to create a cradle with the tips of his three fingers, and his efforts intensified. Following his lead, another finger was wormed alongside the other two in his arse, stretching Sherlock almost as well as John's cock itself could do. To his surprise, his orgasm was already burning at the base of his spine, a slow burn like a flare, rather than the typical flash-bang kind that he thought was the only kind there was. His hips were shifting almost subconsciously, anxious for friction against his cock to help achieve orgasm faster, even as he slowly became aware that it may not actually be required. In front of him, John was doing the same, the thigh over Sherlock's ribs tensing with the attempted motions.

The room was silent except for the sound of deep breathing and breath catching in their throats between uncontrollable panting. The air around them was warm and heavy, and their fingers fairly still, not thrusting, but massaging. For a brief moment, Sherlock's mind wondered at the comparison between the prostate and the clitoris, and then immediately deleted the thought. John would never touch a clitoris again, and Sherlock had never had the desire to touch one, and never would; there was one person who was fit for him, and that person currently had three fingers up Sherlock's arse and was setting his mind ablaze.

The pleasure in his body was rising exponentially, and to his continued surprise, Sherlock could feel himself approaching the apex. The repeated circling motion of his fingertips sped up, causing the walls around his fingers to begin clenching rhythmically, increasing in pace the faster he massaged.

"Oh shit," John whispered, sounding surprised. "What the fuuu..."

The muscles of John's arse clenched convulsively around his fingers and spatters of liquid hit his chest. Sherlock's eyes went wide, his boyfriend's orgasm catching not only Sherlock by surprise, but his doctor as well. It wasn't just in the way John sounded, but also in the way his fingers had pulled slightly free from Sherlock, and then, without warning, jammed them back in, right against the detective's prostate. In that moment, it was if a switch had been flicked, one labeled 'THE MOST SURPRISING AND SATISFYING ORGASM OF ALL TIME'. It washed over him, through him, like submerging himself in a the perfect bath. His entire body went warm, centred on his groin as his testicles drew up tight and his orgasm spilled out of his penis, antithetical to the sudden spike of fairly short-lasting pleasure he was used to. This orgasm lasted at least 53% longer, and when it finally passed, he didn't collapse to the bed, but relaxed forward into his boyfriend, resting his head on the inside of John's bottom thigh. Below, John did the same, and they lapsed into an easy calm, simply enjoying one another's presence.

"I do believe I would not be adverse to attempting this again," he murmured, nose pressed to that little curve where John's arse ended and his thigh began. He was comfortably drowsy in a way he didn't often achieve, even with John's assistance, and for once, he did not feel like fighting the sleep pulling at his mind.

"You could just say that you liked it, you know," John said, voice muffled and lips tickling Sherlock's bottom thigh. The detective smiled, but didn't bother with a response. "Git," his boyfriend added, nipping lightly at his flesh.

It wasn't until he heard the doctor's soft snores that the genius finally allowed himself to relax completely, letting his eyes slide closed. The drowsiness blossomed in his mind and began weaving tendrils through his mind, closing doors and easing the palace into its short-term hibernation. "I enjoyed that very much, John," he whispered. "Thank you for my birthday present."

FIN

Wow. I think that was my first real PWP. I hope you enjoyed, don't forget to review after reading, and please feel free to come by my author tumblr (themadkatter13-fanfiction) to say hi!