A/N: This is a birthday gift for AGirloftheSouth and is pure PWP. Enjoy!
Three days of nothing but the case – living it, breathing it, eating around its demands, when Sherlock could spare a moment for John to wolf something down. Snatching precious moments of sleep whenever he had the chance.
It wasn't fatigue that made him stumble through the door – not with the adrenaline singing in his veins and Sherlock's skilled violinist's fingers tugging his jacket open. Sandwiched between the wall and Sherlock's body, barely enough room to tilt his head back when Sherlock's lips and teeth found his neck, digging into sensitive skin. He tried to repress a groan, half aware that Mrs. Hudson could be home, hands moving of their own accord to curl his fingers into Sherlock's ass and pull him closer.
He needed a shower and a shave, a meal, and eight hours of sleep – preferably in that order – but couldn't bring himself to stop. Long fingers were at work on his belt, making his hips tip forward, hoping for more contact. Sherlock obliged him – for once – flattening his palm and pressing down hard, swallowing John's moan with a demanding kiss.
A faint noise, little more than a distant creak, made them both freeze, Sherlock pulling away just enough to let John breathe – but he held his breath, listening hard.
"Upstairs, I think," the detective whispered. Urgent tone backed up by the press of fingertips against John's lower back, guiding him forward. They hurried as quietly as they could, feet avoiding the worn spots that would protest their weight. Nearly tumbling into the flat, John pressed against the door that Sherlock struggled to lock as John's tongue invaded his mouth.
Clothing was shed on the path to Sherlock's bedroom, the black greatcoat landing with a soft whump. There was a complicated moment as hands and lips grasped for more contact while they each toed their shoes off, kicking them aside. John put a hand on Sherlock's chest, pushing firmly; the detective landed on the bed, expression registering surprise in the moment before John clambered on top of him, pulling him back into a kiss.
Sherlock shuffling and John pushing got them all the way onto the mattress. A thigh pressed between John's made him moan again, hips shifting, the slide of fabric against his growing erection threatening to shut his mind down altogether. Teeth digging into the insides of his cheeks helped – after so long ignoring almost all of his body's demands, it would be too easy for this to end too quickly.
"Oh for god's sake," his partner muttered, swatting at John's hands. Three long days had made his fingers clumsy on the buttons, but steady enough – when the silk fell away from a lean, pale torso – to run up along smooth skin to pinch and twist Sherlock's nipples.
The detective dropped his head back into the pillows, a soft noise escaping his lips before white teeth pinched down to contain it. John dipped his own head, feeling the rasp of stubble against his own roughened cheek, sucking on Sherlock's neck. Muscles tightened and released as Sherlock sucked in a breath, shifting impatiently beneath John, arching to increase the contact.
John chuckled softly, lips and tongue tracing a downward trail until he could close his teeth around a hard nub and tug gently. Sherlock gasped, arching more, hands pressing into the mattress for leverage. John hummed against his partner's chest, sucking lightly, earning a low moan accompanied by the shift of cotton against silk and skin.
He moved down further, fingers more adept on Sherlock's belt buckle and zip. The detective shifted, arms pressed against John's biceps as he struggled with the buttons on his sleeves. John wrapped his hands around Sherlock's waist, pulling them halfway to sitting and catching his partner in a kiss as Sherlock shucked his shirt and pitched it aside.
John pushed him down again, manoeuvring a hand between them as Sherlock arched up. He smiled into the kiss when Sherlock moaned, hips rocking against John's fingers, growing harder. Hands tangled and managed to get trousers down past Sherlock's hips so he could kick them off, toeing off his socks as he went.
A slow smile spread across John's face as he sat back, caged by Sherlock's bare legs, pale skin offset by black boxer briefs. He'd picked the colour for the contrast, and had let Sherlock talk him into bright red for himself.
"Enough of that," Sherlock growled, a long fingered hand curling around the back of John's neck, pulling him down again. John evaded the kiss, slipping down to let hands and lips skim bare skin. Thumbs hooked under the elastic of Sherlock's pants, hips tilted again, the soft moan reverberating in the space between them.
"Get that off," Sherlock ordered, tugging at his t-shirt. John obeyed, and slid his belt off, but closed his hands around Sherlock's as they fumbled with his zip. He pressed a kiss against fingertips and sat back again, eyes skimming down from Sherlock's face, the normally smooth skin of his jaw shadowed by dark hair that looked so striking on him, down his flushed chest to the hard cock curled over a thin, defined abdomen.
John's mouth watered as his eyes lingered, ignoring the impatient shifting beneath him, the glare Sherlock shot him.
"John," his partner whined.
"Shh," John murmured in reply. His jeans felt constricting but enjoyably so – there was something about being clothed while Sherlock lay spread out beneath him, completely exposed, that made him greedier than normal.
He tugged Sherlock's hands overhead, squeezing his partner's wrists once. Sherlock made a frustrated noise that shot straight to John's groin but kept his arms where they were, breathing hard as he met John's eyes. The doctor smiled and dipped his head, latching onto a nipple, tugging with his teeth. Sherlock moaned, arching again, breath coming in short gasps.
John moved downward, letting his hands follow the path of his lips and tongue, ignoring the impatient wiggling beneath him. Sherlock's cock twitched when John kissed his lower abdomen; when John buried his nose in the dark curls and inhaled, Sherlock made a sharp noise, hands coming down to lace into John's hair, trying to keep him there.
"Hands," John murmured against his partner's skin, letting his tongue dart out to flatten over one testicle. Sherlock groaned, fingers tightening in John's hair, releasing reluctantly to pull away. John hummed in approval, earning another moan, and turned his head slightly, kissing the inside of Sherlock's thigh.
The detective squirmed, exhaling a hard gasp, legs shifting to pin John loosely. The doctor smiled, nipping and twisting lightly, the desperate little sounds Sherlock was making leaving him almost lightheaded as his blood rushed south.
Three days had made Sherlock exceptionally responsive, breaking him down to little whimpers and moans, half formed pleas, as John focused on his partner's thighs, biting, licking, kissing. Never quite getting to where Sherlock wanted him, occasionally pausing to focus on a swollen sac, but never for long enough. Sherlock writhed beneath him, one hand coming down to card impatiently through John's hair again. John let him this time; the bite of Sherlock's short fingernails helped keep his concentration from the growing pressure in his groin, the restriction of his jeans.
He raised his head slightly, cheek brushing Sherlock's cock, and the detective cried out, hand pressing down harder. John shifted, trying for some space, and Sherlock whimpered, pushing toward him.
Oh, John thought, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He should have known it wasn't the time since they'd last had sex, but the sensations. He rubbed his cheek against the hard shaft again, awarded by a small, desperate noise.
He'd had stubble before, but this was almost a proper beard. Sherlock's was less defined, and it came as no surprise to John that his own hair grew faster. Or that Sherlock liked it – the detective was far more sensual than he'd ever admit out loud.
"Lube," John murmured, smiling at the quiet gasp and the sound of cotton shifting as Sherlock rummaged under the pillow. The small bottle was thrust at him; John made sure to turn his face at just the right angle as he reached up, brushing his cheek over the inside of Sherlock's thigh.
There was another whimper when the cap snapped open. John coated his fingers then teased down across Sherlock's opening, feeling the flutter of muscles against his touch. Sherlock made a small, cut off noise; John glanced up to see him worrying his lower lip again, the bite of teeth making it swell slightly.
John pushed up, catching Sherlock in a kiss as he slid a finger inside, swallowing a startled moan. Sherlock relaxed into the sheets as John pressed in further, murmuring something meaningless against the minor resistance. He pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against Sherlock's, the detective's dark and desperate eyes meeting his, lips parted slightly, warm exhalations ghosting over John's skin.
John kissed him again, quickly, and moved back down, making sure to keep smooth skin in contact with rough facial hair, relishing Sherlock's moans. He palmed Sherlock's cock with his free hand, earning a startled cry and twitch of hips, drawing away before it could become anything more than a fleeting sensation. Sherlock grunted in disapproval; John smiled and slid a second finger in, twisting and scissoring lightly. Sherlock's impatient shifting turned to writhing, breathing breaking apart as John trailed his cheek up and down his partner's erection, feeling the desperation in Sherlock's grip as long fingers curled into his hair again.
John wanted to take his time, but the tug of Sherlock's fingers and the small, breathy noises wore down his own resolve. He found his partner's prostate with his fingertips, dipping his head when Sherlock shouted and arched off the mattress. Sherlock pressed down hard with his hand, and John fought his gag reflex, growling a warning that made his partner go limp beneath him, squirming on the sheets.
He angled just enough to brush his stubbled cheek across Sherlock's abdomen as flattened his tongue on the cockhead. John let his eyes rake up his partner's body as he suckled lightly; Sherlock's head was thrown back, pressed into the pillows, eyes screwed shut against the sensations. John sucked again and switched to circling Sherlock's prostate, occasionally flicking back and forth over it.
"Oh god– John–" Sherlock managed when John pulled away altogether, exhaling lightly on his partner's slick cock. He smiled and dipped his head again, relaxing his throat as much as he could. Sherlock whimpered as John hummed around him, tongue stroking up the underside of his shaft.
He positioned himself to drag his cheek across Sherlock's skin with each up and down movement, fumbling with the zip on his jeans with his free hand. A groan around Sherlock's cock when he closed a fist around himself made the detective twitch and whimper. John wiggled his hips for a bit more room, gave up, and focused on his partner. Sherlock's hips were twitching with the desire to thrust, being held back desperately. John found his prostate again, holding his fingers there, enjoying the plaintive little noises Sherlock made as he twisted his head side-to-side.
"Now–" his partner croaked, voice hoarse, so unlike his normal, confident baritone. John had never heard that tone until they'd started having sex, and secretly hoped no one else had ever or would ever hear it. "John– now–"
John hummed in agreement and sucked hard as he pressed small circles into Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock gave a wordless shout, arching up, hand pushing John down again. He swallowed quickly as Sherlock shuddered and relaxed into the mattress, the stunned and euphoric expression on his face fading slightly as he blinked his eyes open. A faint wince creased the corners of his eyes as John drew his hand away to brace himself, stroking quickly, biting his lip against a faint whimper. Sherlock's hands skimmed his bare skin, pinching and twisting a nipple, and John gasped softly, the sound almost lost when Sherlock pulled him into a kiss.
"Christ," he managed, letting up the moment it became over-stimulating, dropping his head against Sherlock's chest. He felt more than heard the faint hum before long fingers carded through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.
"I need a shower."
Sherlock's lips curled upward and John kissed him again, half wanting to flop down and go to sleep. With a groan, he forced himself up, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise when Sherlock pushed himself out of bed with one graceful motion.
"Joining me?" John asked. With the case done and the high wearing off, he'd expected Sherlock to crash and sleep for half a day.
"Of course," his partner replied. "I have to make sure you don't get it in your head to shave."