John swung open the fridge. Surprise! No milk.
The tea had another minute and there was no milk and the sugar jar had a mummified finger in it. Most likely laden with arsenic. Lovely. He slammed the door, hard. It bounced back. He shut it once more, gingerly. John considered pouring the tea down the drain and retreating to his chair. He went to fetch the tea bag out of the cup and the string broke.
"Great" John huffed a sigh. The bag sunk to the absolute bottom. John turned to open the silverware drawer. With no silverware! This was shaping up to be an excellent day. Where in blazes would the silverware have gone? He looked to the knife block. Every piece of cutlery was missing. John looked into the tea-cup, it had gone so dark the tea bag was no longer visible.
"And no milk. Great. Just great." John placed his hands on the counter top and let his head drop. "It isn't worth it."
BANG
Sherlock kicked open the door, slamming it into the adjacent wall. John jumped and clutched his chest from the near heart attack.
"Sherlock bloody Holmes! You will be the cause of my untimely death!" Sherlock strode his way into the kitchen with long lanky steps. Not wasting any time. He worked his way behind John, wrapped his arms around his torso, and pressed his hips against John's backside, pinning him to the counter. His fingers made way to John's zip. "Sherlock!" John tried pressing back to turn around. Sherlock pressed him harder into the counter. "Sh-Sherlock! Get off!" John sunk an elbow into his ribcage, hard. Sherlock took a step back, releasing his hold on John. "What the hell are you doing?" John turned to look up at him.
"Sex John! Now remove your trousers so I can get on with it." Sherlock made a motion for John's trouser legs to aid in their speedy removal.
"No Sherlock. Not like this" John motioned to the surroundings, but he really meant the circumstances under which he was being propositioned.
"You're right." John let out a breath of relief. "This positioning would never work. We require a better angle, ah of course!" Sherlock spotted the kitchen table.
Perfect height for maximum penetration. Needs a bit of cleaning.
Sherlock turned to clear the table of glassware and old newspapers. John stood still, his backside against the counter, mouth agape. Sherlock patted the table. John remained firmly planted. Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh.
"I don't have all day. Assume the position." Sherlock crossed his arms and waited. Impatiently. He gave it a moment's thought. Then stepped over to John, grabbed his shoulders, and half-walked/half-pushed him over to the table. John put his hands against Sherlock's chest and shoved him away.
"No Sherlock. I'm… I'm not even aroused!"
"You don't have to be." John crossed his arms, Sherlock's shoulders dropped. "I meant, I would be doing the work, you just have to lay there and take it." Sherlock sighed.
"I know what you meant!" John yelled, letting his arms flail sporadically. He made his way, fast paced, to his chair and had a seat. Sherlock placed his hands on his hips. Thinking.
He's not aroused. I am. He wanted an intimate relationship. Is this not intimate?
John opened his laptop. Sherlock began to pace in the small kitchen.
What does he want from me? It is his fault I feel so... in rut. It is barbaric. Animal. I hate it.
John typed away.
Click click click. He is pretending to be writing something so 'very' important to throw me off my game. Nothing he writes is that important. Damnit, I want it now!
"John! Face me like a man. Don't go typing away on your damned blog thinking this will all go away!" Sherlock was fuming.
"Sherlock, leave it, I have a headache."
"Good! The endorphins-"
"Your master minded plan was to bugger me on the kitchen table! Hardly a pleasurable experience." John stared at his computer screen.
"Granted, it would be unlikely that you would achieve an orgasm. But, I wouldn't say that it would be hardly pleasurable." Sherlock scoffed.
"You're right Sherlock" John slammed his laptop shut "It would be entirely pleasurable. For you"
"Again with the foreplay!" Sherlock threw his arms up in frustration. "Let's get take-away, have a cuddle, and snog while we watch us some crap telly. Yes that will satisfy my raging erection!" Sherlock made his way to the sofa and threw himself on to its cushions. He let out a huff. "All that kissing, licking, sucking, and 'I love you' 'I love you too' 'Oh my God I loved you the moment we met and I thought you were an asexual!' 'Let's get married'" Sherlock made kissing sounds and mimicked with his hands. "Dull" His arms went flaccid and he let one fall off the side of the sofa.
"Just because you are absolutely... non romantic! Doesn't mean I don't want at least some form of... reciprocity!"
"Fine! When you are this aroused, come to me, I'll take care of it. Until then-"
"Thanks, Sherlock. I'll keep that in mind. Why don't you do me a favour, go fuck yourself." John hissed
"Tried" Sherlock mumbled.
"Excuse me"
"I tried!" Sherlock shouted. Sherlock sat up. Facing forward, he ran his hands through his hair, tousling his curls.
"You. Just. Got. Home. Wh-" John stuttered.
"In the stock room. I tried. Didn't work"
John let out a sigh. Thank God he wasn't masturbating in the lab with Molly roaming about. Then again, on second thought, she probably would have enjoyed that. Immensely.
"I get that you're... sexually frustrated. You don't have to take it out on me" Sherlock looked up at John incredulously.
"Then what good are you for?" Sherlock sneered. John bit his tongue and looked up at the ceiling. Sherlock fell back on to the sofa.
"I was wrong you are not non romantic. You are anti-romantic. If you were any less romantic, you'd be..." John thought. Nothing came to him. Why couldn't he think of something clever at a moment like this? He hissed through his teeth.
He looked over to Sherlock. He was feigning death on the sofa. So dramatic. Even his legs were splayed out. John clenched his teeth, took some deep breaths, rolled his shoulders, and attempted to return his attention to his laptop. He opened it and stared at the blank log in screen. He heard a groan coming from the sofa. He ignored it and continued to stare at his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys.
Sherlock let out another long groan, slightly louder. John kept his eyes steady, his left hand twitched. Sherlock rustled on the sofa and then let out an incessantly loud and long drawn out groan. He was getting exponentially louder. John slammed his lap top once more and snapped his attention over to Sherlock on the sofa. He was laying as before, arms and legs sprawled out, completely flaccid save one part of him. He was trying to make the most obnoxious low-toned groan he could possibly conjure.
"I'd have finished by now!" he whined
"Would you stop bitching and moaning. No means no."
"John I'm dying."
"You are not dying, now shut up, and it will go away."
"We are all dying an agonizingly slow death on this retched planet and you won't let me fuck you before I die."
"You are not dying, you just think you are, trust me it won't last forever."
"Yes it will" Sherlock turned on to his stomach and sunk his face into the sofa, his arm swung off the side. Once Sherlock set his mind to something he was insatiable. John placed his laptop on the side table, stood up, and went for his coat. "John..." Sherlock mumbled, half muffled by the sofa cushion.
"I'm going out"
"John" Sherlock moaned
"We need milk and a new sugar bowl, seeing as you decided to perform one of your experiments in the other one"
"I'm dying"
"No. You're not"
"Yes. I am"
"We've had this conversation. I'm leaving. Good-bye." He shrugged his coat on to his shoulders and went for the door handle.
"Fine. Leave me to die!"
"Could you be any more dramatic?" John paused for a moment at the door.
"I don't know if I can manage. I suppose I could drown in a tub with a hair dryer."
"Well thank God we don't own one of those" John turned the door handle and pulled the door half-open. John jumped when he came face to face with Mrs Hudson. He clutched a hand to his chest again. Second near heart-attack of the day.
"Oh! Hello there!" Mrs. Hudson toddled in and made way for the kitchen.
"Mrs Hudson, tell John to have sex with me" Sherlock moaned from the sofa.
"Oh Sherlock. Let him be."
Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh "You are absolutely useless"
"I know dear" She snickered. John stood in the doorway. His shoulders slumped, his mouth half-open; appalled by Sherlock's lack of respect for Mrs Hudson. "In the sugar jar? Really, Sherlock?" Sherlock smirked.
"I was just going out to replace it actually" John sighed.
"Nonsense, I have a whole collection downstairs, you come by and take whichever you like." She smiled politely at John. John returned her smile with a polite grin.
"Out of milk as well" He said into the air.
"I got quite a lot the other day, far too much for just me. Come by when you're done with whatever it is you two are doing here." She found the mason jar she was looking for and went to leave the flat. "Sherlock, be kind to John. He's a keeper."
"I try" Mrs Hudson left, shutting the door softly behind her. John stood still in the doorway, he let his head drop, and stared at the floor.
"I guess I'm staying in then" He removed his jacket and placed it on the hook. Sherlock shot up off the sofa and walked over to his chair to retrieve his violin and bow. "I'm off to bed. I-"
"Sit" Sherlock pointed to John's chair with his bow.
"Right, because I have no say-" Sherlock glared at John. John took his seat, placed his arms on the arm rests, and slumped back.
Sherlock turned to the window and played a slow and somber tune. John rested his head on his hand. He sat in silence for a while, letting the violin's music sweep over him. He closed his eyes, the music slowly and softly lulled him to sleep.
SCREECH. John's eyes shot wide open. Third near heart-attack of the day. Sherlock returned to his sad song. His back was turned to John; his hips swayed with the music. John rolled his eyes. When would this private concert be over so he could take a much needed nap?
How had they come to being a bickering old couple? They'd only been "going out" for a month or so. Granted they'd lived together for years now. They knew how each other ticked; perhaps that's why they were so dysfunctional. The entire relationship was a power struggle. John considered himself blessed that they were both consenting on this partnership and it wasn't one-sided. Although today it seemed Sherlock was the one forcing himself on John.
John felt he initially forced himself on Sherlock. Every break up John had was driving him closer to homosexuality and Sherlock was the closest male companion he had. Would it have turned out differently if he was living with someone else? John didn't like to think he would have ended up with anyone else.
Sherlock was so androgynous it made it much easier to rationalize his attraction to another man. John came to Sherlock defeated from another hopeless relationship that Sherlock had destroyed. John had asked if Sherlock was sabotaging him on purpose. Sherlock admitted he wanted to save John from the utter disappointment of a married life with children. John wondered why he was even friends with Sherlock. John suggested Sherlock just stamp a label on his forehead and call him Sherlock's John. So after a long and interesting discussion, they decided to give it a try and become sexually exclusive partners.
John had exhausted all his energy trying to secure a girlfriend to shag. It would be so much easier to just have his flatmate at hand. He thought he could get used to it. He thought wrong.
Sherlock was a fairly terrible first shag for John. It wasn't that John wasn't aroused by Sherlock. In fact he was alarmingly turned on by Sherlock's body. He wasn't a fan of the constant sexual commentary and judgement passed on to him during any type of foreplay and especially during intercourse. This severely limited the amount of times they had been sexually active. Three times. It was frustrating, to say the least.
It didn't help that John was utterly clueless when it came to sex with another man. He fumbled and slipped. He blushed and was embarrassed about his own body, more so than with any woman.
Sherlock wasn't any help with pointing out abnormalities all over John's body. He had never been so self-conscious. John couldn't spot a flaw on Sherlock's body which made his insecurities that much worse. John could find flaw in Sherlock's personality at every turn, which only seemed to anger Sherlock, who would in turn point to a mole on John and suggest he had the hideous thing removed. He pointed to wrinkles, calluses, scars, and grey hairs. Worst of all, he would constantly make fun of John's short stature.
John knew he was shorter than the norm. Scratch that. He was quite possibly a hobbit. Sherlock didn't have to point out every disadvantage of John being short. Every day it was a new insult for the ledger. He thought he had heard them all until he met Sherlock.
John's eyes were getting heavy again. Why did Sherlock have to play such a monotonous composition? It was probably one he was making up on the spot so it could go on indefinitely. The music stopped. John blinked his tired eyes. Sherlock brought his violin down to his shoulder.
"John. Do try to stay awake" Sherlock kept his eyes straight forward.
"God, Sherlock. Is this some sort of torture mechanism? It's working, just so you know." John sighed heavily and rested his head against the back of the chair, exposing his neck.
"Reciprocity."
"What?" John sat up, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and yawned.
"You wanted reciprocity."
John had to think a long moment. His tired brain tried to make some connection. "You're trying to torture me... because I wouldn't let you have sex with me?"
"No John. You bore me to tears with your talk of romance and foreplay; therefore, I am boring you to tears with my music. Reciprocity." Sherlock regained his position and hovered his bow over the violin's strings.
"Sherlock. You reciprocate kindness, this is revenge."
"You were ever so kind to deny me my primal urges. I'm returning the favour."
"My primal urge... to sleep?" John chuckled "All your blood flow is going to your trousers. This is stupid, even for you" Sherlock put his violin on his shoulder for a moment. Then he brought it down to his side and placed it against the wall. "Oh come on, you're not stupid. You're brilliant. I didn't-"
"You're right, this pursuit is stupid" Sherlock turned and retreated to his bedroom. John was left with his thoughts.
Where had he been wrong? Sherlock burst through their doorway at ten in the morning, near sending John into cardiac arrest. He proceeded to try mount John in the kitchen and have his way with him on the table. Yet John was at fault. How was that for fair?
John's mind couldn't think of a good solution to this debacle. He decided to approach the situation irrationally and followed Sherlock into his bedroom. He walked cautiously through Sherlock's open door. Sherlock was wrapped in a down comforter cocoon. John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's childish behaviour.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
"Smothering myself. Perhaps the lack of oxygen will redirect my blood flow."
"You are being incredibly silly" John laughed as Sherlock tried to wiggle free of his casing. He managed to poke his head out. His hair was dishevelled and his breathing was laboured.
"What do you need?" Sherlock asked slowly.
"Still hard as a rock?"
"I would hardly say it had that consistency, that would be rather concerning." Sherlock looked over towards John. "Are you insinuating we do something to remedy the situation?"
John sighed. Sherlock looked into John's eyes searchingly.
"Sure." John said, giving in. Sherlock barrel rolled off the bed and broke loose of his bindings. He popped up and stood next to the bed. He steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. Thinking.
Finally! Now how? HOW?
He walked over to where John was standing and looked him over. He grabbed John's shoulders and positioned him to stand with his knees against the bed. He placed a hand on his back to bend him over the mattress.
"Sherlock?" John asked.
"Shut up. I'm thinking." Sherlock pushed John down. He took a step back and rubbed his chin.
No, no, this will never do. The bed is too low, John would have to...
He pushed John further up the bed and grabbed at his hips to position them higher. John was on tip-toe.
Right, he couldn't hold that position for the time it would take. Moreover I would require an upward stroke. Far too much work.
Sherlock rubbed his forehead
Why couldn't we just do this on the kitchen table? It was the perfect height, a near ninety degree angle for forward thrust. The bed. Who ever thought that this was the proper place to have penetrative sex?
John opened his mouth to speak.
"Sh sh. Still thinking"
John rolled his eyes. He propped up on his elbows, placed his head in his hands, and waited. He sighed heavily. Sherlock examined the surroundings.
Floor, wall, against a chair, no. No!
"Damnit John! Why do you have to be so damned... short!"
"Ever think you're just too damn, I don't know, TALL!" John shouted back. John rolled over and sat up. Sherlock had struck his last nerve.
Sherlock had a moment of inspiration. He shoved John on to his back, grabbed John's legs, and pulled them over his head. John rested his calves on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock grabbed John's hips and pulled him towards the edge of the bed and lined himself up.
"Perfect! Well... near perfect. It's as good as I can manage." Sherlock was satisfied with the position he found. He grinned smugly.
Far from ninety degrees but a downward thrust is far better than the alternative.
"Right, erm. Still one problem." Sherlock looked down at John with concern. "How's this going to work if we're still fully dressed?"
"Don't be absurd John! I had to get the positioning right before I had a go at it." John saw the logic in his methods and sighed. "Besides, I wouldn't want a repeat of your first... attempt."
"Attempt!?" John's face turned red.
"All the fumbling about and changing position every two minutes. Sure there was penetration, but I wouldn't say that it was any good" John went to move and Sherlock bore down on him with his weight, stretching Jonh's hamstrings uncomfortably. He grimaced.
"Right, I bet you have this all planned out. 10 steps ahead at all times" John growled.
"Don't be cross. I'm just more adequately prepared. I take the appropriate precautions." Sherlock debated letting go of John to allow him to undress. He could escape and leave him at square one.
Some sort of apology might be in order. God, how he hated to apologise. If it meant he could finally have his way with John, the benefit could outweigh the cost. Right. That sounded economically sound. Might as well not beat around the bush. Best to go for the straight forward approach.
"Sorry"
"What?" John couldn't believe Sherlock was apologising.
"Sorry. Now take your clothes off" John guessed he should accept his apology, he might never hear another one from Sherlock for the rest of his life.
Sherlock let go of John, hoping he wouldn't run off. John thought about how they should be entwined in a passionate kiss and undressing each other with their teeth. Proclaiming their love for one another with short heated breaths and whispering each other's names. They would grind against each other and use their hands to explore one another's anatomy. There would be moaning and so much passion.
John blinked. Sherlock was waiting impatiently, only his trousers undone, he was fully erect, and had been for far too long.
John sighed. So much for romance. He pulled off his jumper and under-shirt. Sherlock huffed an annoyed sigh.
"What is it?" John asked, throwing his jumper off to the side.
"I don't need a strip tease. Next time, leave your shirt on."
"Next time. Right."
Sherlock rolled his eyes."Must you be so slow?" He reached for John's trousers and undid the button and fastener himself. John was satisfied he had part of his fantasy fulfilled, although Sherlock didn't use his teeth to pull down his zip like he'd imagined. Still this was almost technically foreplay.
Sherlock slid off John's pants and trousers at the same time. Not wasting time to admire or critique his body. He turned away to open the top drawer of his night stand. He grabbed the bottle of lubricant, squeezed a small amount on his palm and then threw the bottle on to John's chest. John looked at the bottle and pressed up on to his elbows to look at Sherlock. Was he serious?
"What's this for?" John asked.
"Apply some to your inside. It will make the initial thrust hurt less." John threw his head back and groaned.
"This is why people have foreplay! To ready themselves for intercourse!" John yelled out to the air because he knew Sherlock didn't care.
"You are perfectly capable of readying yourself, go on then" Sherlock motioned.
"This is ridiculous. I'm not fingering my ass while you watch."
"Yes and having me do it for you is much less embarrassing. Grow up." John laid back and covered his face with his hands. He thought Sherlock had just done a perfect impersonation of his brother, Mycroft, yet he knew it wasn't wise to tell him so. Sherlock snatched the lubricant off of John's chest.
John thought perhaps he had won. Sherlock squeezed more on to his hand. He rubbed it swiftly on his cock, not wanting to linger there for long.
"Alright, assume the position. Up." Sherlock patted his shoulders and leaned against the bed. His eyes had softened and his brows had lifted. He looked borderline... normal?
He was smiling. John didn't know whether that was creepy or... no it was most definitely creepy. He looked like a different man. Sherlock bit his bottom lip trying to keep from smiling. He was really genuinely excited about this. John noticed he, on the other hand, was cowering with his hands to his chest, in a defensive position. His face furrowed in concern. He didn't want to kerb Sherlock's enthusiasm, but he was really bothered.
"Ok..." He had never seen Sherlock this happy before for an extended amount of time. He was going on almost two minutes. Usually he had quick bursts and then returned to emotionless. He certainly lived on the extremes. He was grinning ear to ear and putting John off. "Erm... you ok?" John asked tentatively.
"Better than ok. Come on then. Up you go" He lifted up John's legs for him and scooted John to the edge of the bed. It was as before when they fully clothed, yet Sherlock was smiling. This was too weird. John forgot about Sherlock's personality disorder when he felt Sherlock's cock at his entrance. John tensed and tried to pull back.
"Relax, it will go faster." Sherlock said... soothingly? John was highly concerned and very defensive. How could he not be concerned with Sherlock acting so different?
This was his opportunity to pounce, this was Sherlock's flaw. John could easily point out how creepy he looked when he smiled, how elongated it made his face look. Almost equestrian like. He was less handsome smiling, no wonder he frowned all of the time. God that was so mean. He could really hurt Sherlock.
John resolved that he was not like that and that is why Sherlock liked him. If he turned into a complete dick while Sherlock was at his most vulnerable, it would discredit every kind act he had ever performed in his life. John laid his hands flat on his chest, shut his eyes, and took in deep breaths. He was beginning to relax when he felt the pressure from the head of Sherlock's penis enter his opening. John jolted, reached out in pain, and grabbed Sherlock's cock by the middle of the shaft.
"John... I can't fully... with your hand there" John opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes looked sad. He should be royally pissed off. Instead he was disappointed. He was whimpering. Was he pouting?
"Slowly" John rasped breathlessly through gritted teeth. His face was grimaced in pain. He moved his hand down to the base of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock complied and tried moving in as slowly as he could manage with his incredible lack of patience.
Sherlock looked concerned as John writhed in pain. John shut his eyes so he didn't have to look at Sherlock's awkwardness. The pornographies made it look like this was such a pleasant experience. John couldn't see why Sherlock had let him do this to him, three damn times. John took to deep breathing again. Going to his special place with open fields of green; with bunnies and kittens abound. He loosened his grip around Sherlock's cock. Took one final breath and let go.
He let out a sigh. Sherlock had slid himself entirely into John.
Now what?
John was still tense. Eyes closed. Not writhing, but not enjoying the feeling either. Sherlock believed this was going to be a fast paced 'bend you over the table and fuck you' fuck. It had turned into something much more intimate. Sherlock was beginning to worry. He had this erection for far too long, medically speaking. He should be having at it.
Why am I stopped? My cheeks hurt. Was I... smiling? Extensively? God. What have I become?
Sherlock pushed John's legs off his shoulders, letting them drop to his hips. He did his best to manoeuvre John back so he could get on to the bed. He wrapped his arms around John's knees and was able to move him back, just enough. He crawled on to the bed and stood on his knees, still inside John. He kept his arms around John's knees. John had opened his eyes. They were holding each other's gaze.
John was unsure why Sherlock changed his position after scolding John for doing the exact same thing. He actually preferred this, not being bent in half. His hip flexors were a bit strained but this was much more intimate. Sherlock let go of John's knees, he crawled on his hands until they were on both sides near John's head.
Missionary position. Sherlock was now looking directly down at John. John couldn't help but stare into his 'what the hell' colour eyes. Heterochromia iridum. His eyes were two distinct colours. He had never been so close to Sherlock, no wonder he could never remember if Sherlock had green or blue eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears. He forgot he was in pain. No. The pain had turned to pleasure. What the hell?
Immense pleasure was coursing through Sherlock. They weren't even gyrating, grinding, and bucking, yet it felt fantastic. Sherlock felt his heart pulsating in his chest. A little flutter. Was he having a cardiac infarction? His breathing was zen-like.
No. I'm not having a heart-attack. My breathing would be laboured, I'd be sweating. There would be pain, intense pain. This is pleasant. Why do I feel so off? I'm not behaving normally. John is bound to have noticed. I must regain my composure, end this foolishness.
Sherlock pushed down slowly, staring into John's eyes, they were nose to nose. John was holding his breath. Sherlock froze. John saw his eyes were panicked.
What am I doing?
He clamped his eyes shut and pressed his lips to John's. John let out a gasp. This was not composed. Sherlock was frantic. The situation took a turn when John opened his mouth slightly and Sherlock couldn't help but explore with his tongue. His breathing became labored. John's hips started to move, gyrating.
Sherlock broke the kiss with a low moan. He forgot he was inside John. He didn't want to stop. He locked lips again. Sherlock's hips acted on their own accord as he focused on the embrace. He kissed John deeply and with vigour. John was positively humming with pleasure. Sherlock was intently focused on the embrace until he felt something poking him in the abdomen. He opened his eyes.
What? Oh right. John.
Sherlock had forgotten John... had a penis.
Right. Kissing.
Sherlock snorted a laugh. He lost the embrace.
Damnit. Moment ruined.
John looked up at him. Frowning? Embarrassed?
"Erm. You're... you've grown a bit John" Sherlock laughed unintentionally. He expected John to become outraged. Instead John held back a laugh and smiled.
"Just get on with it" John closed his eyes, still grinning. Sherlock was smiling again.
I have got to stop doing that. My face was not made for smiling, my cheeks are burning.
He couldn't help it. This was too much fun. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue kissing. It seemed the feeling had passed. He looked over John for inspiration.
I need something more. I could pick up the pace and get this over with.
John had his head turned to the side. His neck was perfectly exposed. Sherlock debated his plan of attack.
I am not a vampire. This is unacceptable. It is a neck. A windpipe, oesophagus, and thyroid, circulating with blood flow from the jugular and carotid, wrapped in musculature and skin, held up by cervical vertebrae, with a spinal cord running through it. Nothing more.
Sherlock saw John's neck pulsate.
Alright! I'm a bleeding vampire.
Sherlock lunged at John's neck. He couldn't control his body's shaking as he latched on and sucked on John's neck, right under the mandible, over the carotid artery, which pulsated on Sherlock's tongue.
167 bpm.
Sherlock could hear John panting hard. His cock was pulsating against Sherlock's abdomen. Sherlock stopped his attack at John's neck. Noting the welt he had made.
Oh, that's going to be hard to cover up. Better not mention that until after.
Sherlock pressed up on his hands. He looked down at John's erection. He inquisitively placed a hand on it.
"Fuck" John yelped. Sherlock took his hand away and looked at John. He raised an eyebrow. Not sure what John meant. John opened his eyes. "Well, don't stop!" he yelled.
Sherlock was lost. John moaned. Now John was impatient, this was serious. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and placed it on his throbbing cock. He held it there and thrust into it. Sherlock looked down. He was hypnotised by the rhythmic motion.
What should I be doing right now... perhaps I should ask.
Sherlock blinked. He forgot what he was doing.
"Erm... do you-"
"Just fuck me already!" John yelled.
Did I do something wrong?
"Are you-"
"Sherlock... stop talking! I'm close..."
"But you sound-"
"I'm not angry!" John was red in the face. His heart was pounding harder than ever before. He just wanted relief and Sherlock kept… thinking! John tried to get Sherlock to move but he was frozen. He tried bucking and wriggling his hips but Sherlock was not getting the message.
Spectacularly ignorant. Even a straight forward, 'fuck me' wasn't getting through. Didn't he want to bend him over a table earlier? That would be so nice right about now. This was not enough.
John pulled away Sherlock's hand and threw his legs on to Sherlock's shoulders. He assumed the position. Sherlock was stunned. John pulled Sherlock's hips tight against him. He gave him a swift slap on the ass.
"Have at it!" He shouted. Sherlock got the message. Sherlock began thrusting, slowly. John had been so close before. He was becoming increasing frustrated at the pace. "Harder damnit" John was in pain again, this time from the intense pleasure he was feeling. He felt his face grimace. Sherlock was slowing. He tried to let his face relax. He clenched his jaw. "Stop it. Just go"
"Wait... do you want me to stop or-"
"For fuck's sake, go! Go! Go!" Sherlock read his face. He was clearly in agony. Perhaps he should stop. A tear rolled down John's face and on to the bedspread.
"John you're crying" Sherlock went to wipe away the other tear forming in the corner of John's eye. It was too much for John. He was brought to breaking. John sucked in a deep breath, dislodged from Sherlock's cock, sat up fast, threw an arm over Sherlock's shoulder and used his leverage to throw Sherlock on his back. John mounted him. Sherlock braced himself for the unknown. What had over-taken John?
John wiped the tears from his eyes and sniffled. He let out a deep breath and lowered himself on to Sherlock's cock once more. It wasn't what Sherlock was expecting. His moan was unbelievably loud and low.
John rocked back and forth trying to make the position work. How the hell did women do this so effortlessly? John was forced into thinking. He analysed his surroundings. He needed something to grab on to. Sherlock's shoulders, too close, he couldn't get an adequate thrust. The bedspread, he could clutch it, but it would move with him and defeat the purpose. Headboard. Perfect.
John reached out and grasped the headboard with both hands. Sherlock looked up at him, unsure of his intentions. This made John grin and raise an eyebrow. Sherlock had his hands clutched to his chest defensively and was looking rather concerned. Parallels.
John started moving, trying to pick up speed quickly. Sherlock eased his clenched fists. Pleasure was once more consuming him. He looked down at his hands.
I should do something with these. Hm.
He placed his hands hesitantly on John's hips. He used them to help keep John on. John began to pick up his pace. Sherlock thought frantically.
He needs more.
Sherlock bucked up his hips, a little too rough. Joan gasped. He was thrown off pattern. Yet, he seemed to have enjoyed it. Sherlock repeated the action with less intensity. John dug his fingers into the headboard.
Yes. He is enjoying this.
Sherlock brought his knees up for a better angle and more thrust. He gripped John's hips. He gave it another test. A single and quick upward thrust. John threw his head back.
This is prime.
Sherlock took a deep breath and began thrusting with reckless abandon. John was finding it hard to hold on to the headboard, his knuckles were turning white.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck" John couldn't breathe. Sherlock wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up, physically. Then a wave of cold shot up his spine followed by an intense warm.
His hips were sporadic and uncoordinated. He couldn't hold them up any longer. John's weight was too much, he collapsed. Sherlock found his breath. He brought his hands off John's hips. He breathed deep and hard. He ran his hands through his hair.
That was...
He looked at John, blinking.
Oh right.
He lacked motor function. He tried to swing his unwilling arm toward John. It buckled at the shoulder. He was completely flaccid. John slid off Sherlock's cock and looked into Sherlock's eyes. He was about to dismount.
"No!" Sherlock's voice was raspy and breathless. He managed to regain control of his arms and hugged them around John. He brought him and John into a seated position. "You... need..." Sherlock gasped. He couldn't manage the word 'reciprocity'. Sherlock wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He was still panting.
John opened his mouth to protest. Sherlock grabbed the shaft of John's cock. He couldn't see straight and was doing a crap job of giving John a hand job. John snorted out a laugh. Sherlock was hell bent on getting him off. "Sherlock... you don't-"
"Shh. I'm busy" He rested his head on John's shoulder. His hand was slowing. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and drew him in for a hug. Sherlock was fading fast. John felt his own erection fading. Sherlock's eyes were heavy. He looked piss drunk.
Sherlock's breathing became rhythmic and slow. His eyes closed gently. John gave him a kiss on the temple.
John held him close. Stroking his sweaty hair. Kind of gross. John wiped his hand on the back of Sherlock's shirt. This is not how John envisioned his afternoon would go. He looked over at the clock. It was not even three. Great, Sherlock was going to be up all hours of the night. He might not need to sleep for weeks after this little nap. Sherlock was still clutching on to John's member. He went to gently pry off Sherlock's fingers.
"Muhhh" Sherlock groaned. John looked at Sherlock and gave him the 'seriously?' face. He attempted to remove Sherlock's hand once more; Sherlock grasped him tighter. John grimaced.
This was quite a situation. Sherlock was unconsciously holding on to John's flaccid penis for dear life. Every time John went to remove Sherlock's hand, he tightened his grip. It was like he had his dick in a Chinese finger trap. John sighed heavily.
How long were they at it? They had started that morning. When Sherlock waltzed in and tried to take advantage of John on their kitchen table. However, they had a break in between. Fighting about foreplay. Then John followed Sherlock to his room. Irrational. Sherlock was a butterfly. How many times did he casually mention killing himself? That was concerning. There was the positioning of John on the bed. I suppose they really started once they were fully naked. Then again Sherlock did keep his shirt on, but that's beside the point.
John had been holding a sleeping Sherlock for twenty minutes now. His mind was wandering every which way. It had been an interesting sexual encounter. Full of ups and downs. Ha, a pun. Was it the best sex of his life? No, it couldn't have been. He didn't orgasm. He orgasms every time. Well, except that one time he was caught by some bloke that turned out to be the girl's boyfriend but looked more like her dad. Man, that was an embarrassing one.
He wished he had the ability to delete traumatic events from his memory like Sherlock. Well the fact that the earth revolves around the sun isn't that traumatic. Celebrity baby names... yeah well, regardless, he wished he could erase that moment from his history.
Sherlock had kissed him. During sex! What the hell? That was weird. A good weird. A very good weird. What possessed him to... maybe he has gone off the deep end. He did bite John's neck. Oh, God. Did he leave a mark?
John fingered the spot under his chin. That bastard. The mark is so high up there's no way of covering it up. He'd have to go to the store and pick up cosmetics. What was it called, cover-up? Concealer? Girls caked their face with it and looked two-toned back when he was a teenager. Why do they do that? Do they still do that? Maybe he hadn't noticed. He'd been too busy having gay sex with his flatmate.
Sherlock was getting heavy and John heard his bad shoulder creak. He was getting old. What was he? Five years Sherlock's senior. That's about half a decade. No, that is half a decade. Was this his mid-life crisis? He wasn't even close to fifty. Was he going to die at eighty then? Following Sherlock about, probably sooner.
Hm. He probably should have done more in his thirties. He was past his prime. All he had were some battle scars and a case of PTSD. He could have won Wimbledon. No, he couldn't have, he was rubbish at tennis. He wondered what Sherlock's mind was like, if this is how a normal brain functioned. He probably thinks up the cures for various cancers and decides not to share them because cancers act as population control for the elderly. That's terrible. Why would he do that?
John blinked. His mind was returning to the real world. It was about time to move Sherlock. He was likely in a deep sleep by now. John took in a deep breath and tried to move Sherlock's hand once more. He was able to release Sherlock's grip on his cock and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Sherlock shifted and his jaw went slack. He was out cold. John's feet had both near fallen asleep and his shoulder was starting to really hurt. He clutched onto Sherlock and slowly rocked him forward to lay him on the bed.
There. John moved Sherlock's arm off his shoulder and laid it next to him carefully. He dismounted slowly. Backed his way off the bed and on to the floor. Good, now stay Sherlock. He turned slowly, the floor creaked.
"Mm. John." Sherlock groaned. John grabbed the bridge of his nose.
"Yes?" He tried to ask in a pleasant tone. It came out rather snide.
"Cuddle" Sherlock rolled on to his side away from John.
"Sherlock. We just..." He was arguing with a half-naked, half-asleep, man about cuddling. His sister would be proud. "We had a cuddle for half an hour"
"Twenty-five minutes, you owe me another five." John titled his head to the side. What did he check the clock before he passed out? Is he that brilliant he can tell the time of day without... Was he really asleep?
"How? Did you-" Sherlock pulled up the sleeve on his left arm to reveal a wristwatch. He must have glanced at the time while he was trying to get John to come in his hand. That's odd. Who does that? "Sherlock, I need to eat something, piss, and take a shower. I smell like one of your science experiments."
"Anti. Romantic." Sherlock huffed. John rolled his eyes and looked for his discarded trousers. He saw Sherlock's in a heap on the floor. He spotted his jumper. He grabbed it and threw it on the bed. The case of the Missing Trousers. Not exactly an appropriate blog entry. John heard the front door open. He rushed to slam Sherlock's bedroom door. He turned. No lock? Who doesn't have a bloody lock on their bedroom door?
"Yoo hoo! Boys" This was bad. John turned and braced his back against the door. He slid down on to the floor. He was completely naked, his trousers had disappeared from the face of the planet, and Mrs Hudson was looking for him. It was only a matter of time.
There was a knock on Sherlock's bedroom door. John jumped. Again with the near heart-attacks. What was he on? Number four? Where was Sherlock's dressing gown? Where was anything in this blasted room?
"Sherlock, I've got your milk and one of my sugar bowls. Are you all right?" Mrs Hudson asked with an air of concern. Sherlock rolled over on to his belly and turned his head to see John sitting with his back against the door. John had a look of sheer terror on his face. Sherlock let out a throaty laugh at the sight.
"Leave them on the kitchen table Mrs Hudson." he shouted through the door. John let out a small puff of air. "By the way! Don't bother coming in. John has seemed to misplace his trousers and is quite naked against the door." John shot him a murderous look. Sherlock's laugh was low and pure evil.
"Sherlock. I told you to be kind to your dear John. I don't fancy knowing what you two have been up to for the past few hours" She had moved away from the door. John heard the clicking of her shoes move toward the kitchen. She paused. "And do keep it down next time. It is so hard having the girls over with you two above our heads"
"Oh God" John turned fifty shades of red and buried his head in his hands.