"Fingers... There are fingers in the tub..." John shook his head and glared at Sherlock. "Why... are there fingers in the tub?"
Sherlock didn't look up from the slide he was studying.
"Because of reasons, John. Honestly, I get tired of explaining that everything I do is an experiment." He sighed and waved his hand above his head to indicate his domain. "Everything."
John slammed his palms down onto the table, beakers clattering against one another.
"It's one thing to find eyeballs in the microwave or a foot in the oven; I can always get a takeaway. It's another thing for there to be fingers in the tub! We only have the one bath!" John's chest heaved in anger.
"Biologically speaking, humans only need to bathe once a..."
"Daily, Sherlock. I shower daily," John interrupted the impending hygiene lecture. "Now, remove the fingers from the tub," he spat, emphasis on each word, eyes boring into Sherlock's.
"No, I live here, too..." Sherlock trailed off as John grabbed a beaker at random from the table and poured the contents onto the floor. The room was silent save for a slight sizzle from the puddle. He stared at John, mouth gaping. John ground his teeth and swiped a stack of slides from the table. He smiled slightly as they shattered.
"John, I think we can..." Sherlock began. John reached for the microscope. Sherlock caught his wrist tightly in his hand and yanked John away from the table. John lost his balance and stumbled a few steps, crashing into Sherlock. Without loosening his grip, Sherlock grasped the neck of John's jumper with his free hand and twisted the fabric with his fingers. John stared up at him in shock as Sherlock guided him roughly across the room. Both men let out a soft grunt as John collided with the wall and Sherlock with John.
Sherlock glared down into John's eyes and took a few ragged breaths. He opened his mouth and his jaw worked as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he tilted his head and crashed his mouth into John's.
John tried to pull away, but Sherlock held him tightly against the wall, fingers still digging into his wrist. Sherlock's hips shifted and John's eyes widened as he felt the firm heat of Sherlock's arousal against his thigh. John gave up any thoughts of escape and melted against him, his free arm winding around Sherlock's waist. He pulled him in, grinding his leg against Sherlock's erection. He was rewarded with a groan before Sherlock bit down on John's lip. The pain he felt mixed deliciously with the adrenaline coursing through his body and his cock hardened further, now pressing uncomfortably against his trousers.
Sherlock released his grip on John's wrist. He took half a step back, breaking off their kiss. He grasped John's clothed erection firmly, eliciting something between a whimper and a moan from John. Still holding onto John's cock, Sherlock backed slowly down the hall towards his bedroom and John shuffled awkwardly to keep up. John tried to protest, but Sherlock shook his head and the heat in his gaze dried the words in John's mouth.
Sherlock guided John so that the backs of his calves were pushed against the bed. He then unceremoniously removed John's clothing. John's erection jutted from his body. He ached to touch it but felt that Sherlock might not be too happy about that. His suspicion was confirmed as Sherlock grabbed John's hands, guided them into fists and pressed his arms flat along his side.
"Stay like that," Sherlock all but growled. John swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.
Sherlock took his time undressing himself. He stepped back so that John could see him clearly. His gaze flicked between John's eyes and his exposed cock. He slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, folding back the fabric so that John could see his skin as each tantalizing section was exposed. When the final button gave way, Sherlock shrugged slowly out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His trousers followed next, just as agonizingly slow, until Sherlock was clad only in his pants.
John gasped at the sight of Sherlock's cock pressing against his tight briefs. He could see the tip outlined clearly and pressing just beneath the waistband near Sherlock's bony hip. John's own cock jumped at the sight, newly aching and leaking slowly. Sherlock smiled wickedly and rubbed his length through the fabric, rolling his hips slowly to grind against his palm.
Sherlock stepped closer and with his unoccupied hand, grasped John's shoulder and pushed down. John let himself be guided to his knees, his face now even with Sherlock's busy hand. Sherlock stopped stroking himself and stared down at John.
"Well?" Sherlock asked.
John required no further invitation. He pressed his nose to Sherlock's fabric encased cock and inhaled. He groaned before mouthing along the shaft, his tongue working against the cotton and leaving a wet trail to the tip. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and folded the pants down. He swiped his tongue along the crown before letting the entire length spring free.
Sherlock stepped free from his pants and John watched the cock bobbing before his face, mesmerized. Sherlock cleared his throat and John finally grasped the base of Sherlock's cock in his hand and guided the tip into his watering mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head before sliding as much as he could take into his mouth. He repeated this motion a few more times and reached out to cup Sherlock's balls. He worked them in his hand before sliding a finger just behind...
"Fuck!" Sherlock exclaimed and grasped John's head. He slowly removed his cock from John's mouth before grasping John's arm and hauling him up off of the floor. He pushed his palm hard against John's chest sending him sprawling backwards onto the bed. He fished in the drawer of his nightstand and found a small bottle of lubricant. He shot another wicked smile at John.
He crawled up onto the bed, sliding his hand along John's leg. Sherlock grasped John's cock for the first time since before undressing him and John threw back his head with a loud moan. He gave it a firm stroke with a slight twist at the head. John bucked his hips, aching for further contact. He grasped at the sheets in frustration as Sherlock relinquished his hold in order to apply the contents of the bottle to his own throbbing cock.
Straddling John's thighs, Sherlock used what remained of the lube on John's erection. He leaned down to kiss John, trapping their cocks together between their stomachs. Sherlock ground his hips and they both cried out. John threw his arms around Sherlock and dug his nails into Sherlock's back as he begged for more.
"Fuck, Sherlock, that's... Ah," John moaned.
Their bodies slid together. They grasped at each other and Sherlock rolled onto his back, his legs wrapped around John's torso. John dug his knees into the bed for purchase in his new position and pumped his cock against Sherlock's. Once more, twice, and he was coming. He felt Sherlock's knees tighten into his side and Sherlock's teeth bit into his shoulder. The jolt of pain went straight to his balls as he felt one last spasm. The held each other for a moment, both frozen in the aftermath of their climaxes.
Finally, John collapsed against the pillows, panting.
"You know," John said between gasps of air. "You could just kiss me or inform me that you'd like to have sex. You don't have to leave a boobytrap every time. You could do something nice for me. Get the milk, do the dishes..."
Sherlock chuckled and propped himself on an elbow. "But this is so much more exciting." He looked down and grimaced at the drying ejaculate on his stomach. "We should clean up."
John laughed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.
"Shame about the tub, though," John said, still laughing.