A/N i suck at smut and I am very aware of that. Thank you all for your kind reviews, though :) My first and probably last attempt at this kind of thing. I do hope you like it, nonetheless
"John, this isn't fair!" Sherlock whined, stomping his foot against the floor. John, his flatmate and worst enemy was throwing out all the "experiments" Sherlock had stored in the fridge.
"Enough is enough, Sherlock. There were buttocks in the pizza box!"
"It was for. a. case."
"No it wasn't. You stole an arse from Molly and hit it in our dinner."
Sherlock continued to pout and John poured all his work down the sink and into the garbage.
"If you dump that milk I'm not sleeping with you tonight!" Sherlock yelled, wielding the promise of sex over John's head to try and buy him and his bacteria cultures one more day together.
John turned around, milk carton in hand.
"You're a jerk, you know that? I can go a day without intercourse if it means I can actually have milk in my cereal." (lie) "And anyways, you'd miss it more than I did." (lie)
Sherlock laughed maliciously at John, knowing all too well that he'd put the carton back on the bottom shelf of the fridge and return to the couch, clenching his jaw in frustration. John, doing exactly as his lover knew he would, slammed the milk down on the table and took a seat on the couch, staring ferociously at the bullet covered wall.
The detective pulled off his coat and threw it in a pile near the door. Then came hi s scarf and then the shoes that clicked across the wood floor with every step.
"It was your choice," he whispered into the doctor's ear, grinning as his lips brushed across Johns neck.
John didn't turn to face Sherlock, but his angry posture relaxed as he leaned towards him.
Sherlock sat at the other end of the couch, looking down at John. The doctor's pride was too strong to make the first move. The only time Sherlock was ever gentle, ever completely relaxed, was when he was alone with John.
The first time they ever kissed was about two months ago. Sherlock was absently staring at his violin and John was making tea in the kitchen. Sherlock's concentration broke when he heard John yelp from the kitchen. Assuming he had found the colony of cockroaches feeding on the donut box full of toes in the pantry, he paid no mind to it. It wasn't until Sherlock began speaking to John about how to work the television and he didn't get a response from his friend did he turn back to the kitchen. John was collapsed in a heap on the floor. Sherlock ran over to him, tripping over a two lamps and the cord for the A/C in the process.
"John," he shook him, prodding his face with a fork.
John did not answer.
"John, John, wake up," The doctor that was currently unconscious in the kitchen was the only thing Sherlock had ever found real comfort in. For a spilt second he imagined John dead, and that was all it took. Sherlock never felt emotion like this, and the tears that welled up in his eyes at the possibility terrified him beyond belief.
"Sh-Sherlock?" John blinked awake, clearly quite bemused at the tears streaming down his flatmates face.
"What happened?" Sherlock demanded, too relived at his friends consciousness, despite the face he knew John had only passed out and was completely fine, to wipe away the salty water dripping off his chin.
"I, uh, unplugged the kettle with wet hands. I got electrocuted, I think. I'm, uh, I'm fine no-" the doctor was cut off as Sherlock crushed his lips against his. It was needy and violent as Sherlock grabbed at John. It was clear in the way he held John's neck and scraped his teeth against the doctor's lips that he needed this.
John did not pull away. He did the opposite of that. He let Sherlock lead the kiss of course, he wasn't going to deny the detective's need for dominance. John pulled his body closer to Sherlocks, tangling one hand in his curly hair and the other around Sherlock's waist.
Gasping for air, Sherlock broke the kiss. He stared into John's eyes, searching for some reaction. John didn't allow Sherlock to read his eyes because that would only lead to a paranoid Sherlock and a damaged relationship.
"C'mere" John whispered, scooting himself and pulling Sherlocks collar into the corner of the kitchen, placing kisses down his neck and allowing Sherlock to do the same.
Now, John glared into Sherlock's eyes, angry that he'd have to go out and buy more milk that would most certainly be used for the wrong purposes within days.
Sherlock continued to chuckle at John, trying desperately to not show how turned on he was by John's angry face.
"You didn't dump the milk."
"Regretting it,"
"That means I can still fuck you."
John looked like he'd been violently awoken as his eyes widened. It dawned on him that Sherlock was offering to have sex and his shock turned into a sly grin.
"It does."
Sherlock rose from the couch, beckoning John with his smart-ass smile and "bend-me-over-the-table" body language. He walked into his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. John did not hesitate, swallowing his pride so long as it meant he got something good in return.
John unceremoniously placed his lips against Sherlocks, kissing him like his life depended on it. In a lot of ways, it did. Sherlock had always been John's rock, he had always loved him because he kept him here. He kept him alive.
The detective loved John, too. He loved him without thinking, as he always had. He loved him when he placed thumbs in the freezer, he loved him when he went to bed, he loved him when he woke up and when they sat across from each other in restaurants , wolfing down their food after a case solved. He loved him before he knew he loved him, he loved him and without John, Sherlock would spin out of orbit, unable to go on.
"Bed," John growled, need filling his voice. His flatmate obeyed, pulling both of their bodies on to bed. As they kissed, John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, slipping it off his torso.
If his lips hadn't been John's primary focus, he would've taken more time to admire Sherlock sans shirt. He was lean but that didn't mean he wasn't muscular. His skin was pale and smooth, and John liked to think about how damn pretty he was. Sherlock would hate to hear how gorgeous he was, he found physical attractiveness (unless it was John) to be petty and weak.
Violently, they tore off each others clothes. Sherlock grinned against John's mouth, sliding his hand down John's obscenely muscular stomach. John shivered as Sherlock's hand neared his dick.
John pressed himself against Sherlocks hand, needy and unashamed of it. Sherlock often thought to himself how lucky he was that he picked John because, all modesty aside, John's was big. He'd been with men before and Sherlock found average to be perfectly fine, and it wasn't until John did he realize that size. matters.
He giggled at the thought but quickly shifted his attention to the, err, task at hand. He pulled away from John's mouth and slid down so he was eye level with John stomach.
Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, placing the tip of John's penis in his mouth. That was all Sherlock needed to do before John was complete putty in his hands. Sherlock slid the entire length into his mouth, thankful for his lack of a gag reflex as 5 inches were down his throat and he still had 1 more to go.
John groaned, throwing his back and gripping tightly to the back of Sherlocks head. He was delicate with the detective, controlling himself so that he didn't throw Sherlock back and fuck his throat till he saw stars. Instead, he let Sherlock do what he wanted, work at his own pace.
With a shudder, John yanked himself out of Sherlocks mouth. He was about to cum, but he couldn't do that until he'd pleased the detective first. His lover grinned impishly at him, opening the drawer in their bedside table and pulling out a bottle, throwing it lightly at John. John opened the cap and coated his dick and Sherlocks opening with a generous amount of lube. He kissed Sherlocks forehead as he pressed the tip of himself to the detective beneath him.
Slowly, he pushed in, feeling Sherlock clench tightly in response. Watching the tall man beneath him whimper in pleasure was enough to drain John completely, but it was a personal policy that Sherlock. Came. First.
John slid his entire length into Sherlocks arse, pulling out and in again. Every time Sherlock would cry out or moan, it sent shivers down John's spine.
"Can I tell you how pretty you look?" John asked, his voice a deep groan.
"Guh-N-n-no" Sherlock could barely speak as John picked up the pace, Sherlock's body shaking with each thrust.
"Well," John whispered into Sherlock's ear, "If I could, I'd tell you you look fucking gorgeous with my dick in you."
Sherlock melted at John's words, running his fingernails down the doctor's back, leaving angry red welts.
John was on the verge of tears, his orgasm brimming in the bottom of his stomach. He could barely move but he forced himself, he needed Sherlock to cum. In order to speed up the process, he slid his calloused hands over Sherlock's dick, kissing him violently. He felt Sherlock shudder and quickly pulled himself out, placing his mouth over Sherlocks penis to finish him off.
Sherlock whimpered as he came, shooting hot ribbons down John's throat. John felt Sherlock soften in his mouth and allowed himself to cum, finally. The Detective leaned over to John, who was now laying flat on his back, one hand resting at the base of Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock kissed John, differently than the kisses they had previously shared. This one was soft, full of the love that the two men never spoke about but felt for each other every second of the day.
"You're gorgeous, Sher."
"Shut the fuck up, John."