Sherlock's eyes scanned over the words in the dense quantum theory text. One of Lestrade's suspects taught the subject at a local University, and Sherlock wanted to learn everything he could about it on the off-chance some theory would help them prove or disprove innocence. He held the thick book up in his right hand, while with his left hand, he was jacking John off.
"God, Sherlock!" John hissed. "Just—oh—yeah, more like that…!" John tilted his hips, rutting himself into Sherlock's wide, slick palm.
They were sitting on the sofa, Sherlock reclining against the cushions, fully clothed, while John was kneeling on the sofa beside him, his trousers and pants on the floor. Sherlock came to the end of the page and disengaged from John, using his left hand to turn the page.
"Dammit, Sherlock!" John growled.
Sherlock quickly fisted John's hard cock again and smirked at the text when he was rewarded with a satisfied groan.
"Fuck, your hand is warm…oh God this feels so good…" John tilted his head back and let out a breathy moan.
Sherlock skimmed over the sections on Nambu-Goto action. He had no use for the finer details of string theory. The man taught an introductory course on physics—Leonard Susskind he was not.
"Fuuuuck." John panted. Sherlock sped up his pace for a moment, rubbing John rough and loose, then stopped, simply squeezing John's dick. Sherlock actually chuckled, low and rumbly, at the noise John made. He released John's dick again to turn the page.
"Sherlock!" John squeaked. Sherlock brought his hand back and fondled John's balls. His eyes fell onto the words "string harmonics" and his brain instantly connected this new term with music, producing images of his violin and the vibrating strings along the neck. The words 'Planck energy' combined with 'particle accelerator' fitted neatly into a drawer in his palace.
"Rub the tip, I gotta come…" John breathed desperately.
"No." Sherlock said.
"Yes!" John growled. "Stop being a teasing cunt and finish it!"
Sherlock let of John's cock completely. He knew John liked to talk dirty during sex, or masturbation, so he hardly took offense. Sherlock felt like being a teasing cunt right now though.
"Finish it." John commanded. Sherlock shivered, his concentration wavering from the text. Damn, John was using his "Captain Watson" voice. Slowly, John leaned into Sherlock's space. His face was flushed from the stimulation, his eyes darker and his lips moist from being licked. Sherlock smelled the faint scent of John's sweat and pheromones and he closed his eyes, not moving when John slowly closed the textbook.
"That's an order, Detective Holmes."
Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Do not make me repeat myself, Holmes." John growled, his voice low and dominant. Oh God how many soldiers had the pleasure of hearing that rough sexy voice? Sherlock imagined John on the parade ground, barking out orders—he remembered at Baskerville, when John had pulled rank…Sherlock shivered before reaching out and smoothing his hand over John's dick again.
"Oh, there it is…" John moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. Sherlock pulled once, twice, then—
"In me. In me, now." John demanded.
Sherlock unbuttoned and unzipped, then yanked his trousers and pants off, ignoring the book that thumped to the floor. John turned around and braced himself on the arm of the couch as Sherlock quickly worked his semi-hard cock into something he could use.
"Hurry, detective!" John snapped.
"I am! Hang on…" Sherlock gave himself a few strokes, then with trembling hands he managed to get some lube onto himself.
"Good enough." John said, watching over his shoulder.
Sherlock knelt up on the couch and slid himself into John's waiting arse. Both men moaned as Sherlock found John's hole, breached the muscle, and was in. Sherlock grabbed John's left thigh and gently prodded it forward to give himself more room. John tilted his hips, lifting his arse, and straightened his left leg to the floor. Sherlock slid in deeper and felt John shudder. John hung his head, panting, then reached back, groping blindly for Sherlock's hand. This was another John-ism Sherlock found endearing, along with the dirty talk. Okay, and the tea and the jumpers and the beans and just…the John-ness of him and everything he did. John liked to hold his hand during sex. Every time. No matter what position they were in or what they were doing, John always needed to grab Sherlock's hand when Sherlock breached him. Sherlock would never admit it, but he found it incredibly endearing. Sherlock obliged and intertwined his fingers with John's, hunching over his back to reach. Sherlock pushed up John's striped shirt and kissed his spine right between his shoulder blades, letting John adjust to his length. He pushed in a little more and John groaned, squeezing Sherlock's hand.
John didn't need to tell him to hurry up and thrust already, Sherlock could read John better than any text. Sherlock pulled out, then pushed in, slowly, then faster.
"Oh yeah…" John breathed. "Like that…" Sherlock smirked and reached around with his other hand, grabbing John's cock again and fisting it. He pulled and rubbed, building the heat again.
"God!" John squeaked.
"Come on, doctor." Sherlock dialed his voice to its deepest setting and spoke into John's ear. "Come for me. Spill your hard prick into my hand—"
John gasped, his cock shuddered, and he came in a long white rope into Sherlock's palm. Sherlock kissed his back again, then groaned as John's spasming muscles squeezed an orgasm from his body. His hips thrusted into John harder as his body took over and pumped as much as possible into John. Sherlock growled and bit down on the meaty part of John's right shoulder, something primal in him relishing the fact that John had gone still and was letting Sherlock bite him.
Eventually Sherlock slowed and stopped thrusting. He released John's shoulder and some saliva trailed away from the red mark on his skin. Sherlock noted that John now had a matching bloom of color on his right shoulder, along with the old bullet wound in his left. Sherlock gently kissed the bullet wound and straightened up. John was still holding his hand. Sherlock squeezed and John let go. Sherlock rested his big hands on John's hips and eased himself out of John's body. John made a little wheezing noise as his body expelled Sherlock's cock. Glancing around, Sherlock took a tissue from the side table and wiped down his cock, then ran a perfunctory wipe over John's damp cheeks. This got John stirring, and he got off the sofa and stood, his cock limp and a very satisfied look on his face.
"Shower?" Sherlock said, starting to feel gross now that the sweat was drying and John's come was cooling on his hand.
"Of course."
They stripped off the rest of their clothes and headed for the shower, and Sherlock slipped his hand into John's.
End.
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