John tipped his cup back and finished the last of his tea. He had read all of the newspaper and had nothing else to do.
His heart raced when he turned his head. There Sherlock was. Just sitting, looking at slides. The light from the microscope shone into his brilliant eyes and outlined his face.
All John wanted to do was have him pressed against the wall, surrendering to what John wanted.
A power deep within John made his muscles flex. He stood up and walked to Sherlock. What a vivid dream he was having.
John knew this dream would soon end, just like all the others. He would touch Sherlock's chest and his face, and then his eyes would open. But John had learned to cherish dreams like this.
Sherlock made no movement when John stopped beside him. Of course, Sherlock was a busy man. He was completely dedicated to his work. He lived for his work. No time for outside distractions.
Not in this dream. Sherlock would be his for one glorious second.
John sucked in a breath, and leaned over his shoulder, not making any contact..yet. "What's this?"
Sherlock started, glancing back. He grinned and looked back into the microscope. "Our murderer left traces of where he'd been before killing sweet Miss Gall. It's all here on these slides."
John closed his eyes while he listened to Sherlock's deep, rolling voice. This dream wouldn't last forever. He wound his arm under Sherlock's, so that it rested against his chest.
Sherlock tensed. "John. I have work to do."
John pushed his forehead against Sherlock's trapezius muscle. He pressed himself against the chair back and opened his mouth. John breathed heavily into Sherlock's ear. Never before had a dream lasted this long.
John gently kissed Sherlock's neck, bringing up his free hand to brush away the curly hair. Sherlock stretched out his neck and moaned.
This was so real. John could barely believe that this was a dream. Unless it wasn't a dream. John reached to his neck and pinched himself. No. He..he was awake. This was real!
John shook his hands away. He stopped breathing in Sherlock's scent. He stepped away, shocked. Why had Sherlock accepted his advances?
John pressed himself against the wall, feeling against it for support.
"Oh God. Sherlock, I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I-I-I swear, I'm not gay. You can just kick me out. I'm sorry. I didn't know what came over me." He wasn't used to being so baffled. He was a soldier, he knew what it meant to control his emotions. But this? Stammering on about forgiveness, what was happening to him?
Sherlock looked down before meeting his eyes. He twisted the chair all around and opened up his body. Sherlock's legs sprawled out and he rested his arm on the chair. The body language being displayed was inviting and relaxed.
John felt as though he was going to hyperventilate, but Sherlock looked fine. Calm as ever. Knowing everything.
John was about to rush away to gather his belongings, but Sherlock stood up. His heart thudded heavily against his rib cage as the taller man stepped forward.
Sherlock was only a few inches away, bending his head down so he could keep eye contact. He inhaled sharply and looked away.
John took the chance and glanced at Sherlock's chest. His hand had rested there. He yearned to return his hand, but he didn't know what Sherlock would do.
"Look, Sherlo-"
Quick as lightning, their lips collided. Sherlock grabbed his face, first with a grip of steel, but then it softened, trusting John not to run. John's breath was gone now, and however hard his heart pumped and demanded, there was no air in his lungs. Sherlock gently pressed him against the wall.
He was caught up in the moment. Sherlock's lips formed around John's as they moved; a hot mess. John moaned and broke away, needing air. "Sherlock, God, Sherlock!"
The Detective had pinned him against the wall, head bent down so that he was able to kiss John's neck. However, John wasn't kissing, he was feeling. John's hands ran up and down Sherlock, ruffling his shirt.
Sherlock growled softly and pushed his face into John's neck. He leaned down, rushing his hands to John's waist. With a strong hoist, He heaved John onto his hips.
This was all that he wanted. John stretched his head back while Sherlock kissed his throat. Once and a while, he would nip at the skin. Thank goodness he had shaved this morning.
John wound his arms around Sherlock's neck and allowed the man to carry him away. Through door passages, through hallways, through rooms, until Sherlock stopped.
John dug his fingers into Sherlock's shoulders and leaned back, escaping his lips to look into his galaxy eyes.
Before any words of explanation could slip from him, Sherlock attacked his face. No time for breathing, no time for thinking. They were acting first, their bodies leading the wonderful act.
Sherlock placed John on the bed, going down with him, thus freeing his hands and placing them just above John's head. John unhooked his legs and did a froggy-position with Sherlock in the middle. He ran his hands through Sherlock's curly hair, twisting and pulling.
Sherlock reached one hand down into John's pants, shoving it past the belt and buttons. John felt a squeal rise from his throat and tried shuffling away.
His lips tried to escape and he managed to find a gap. He sucked in air and grabbed Sherlock's searching hand. John didn't want to look into his knowing eyes, so he leaned into the man's chest.
Sherlock was gasping now, flickering his eyes around as though he had woken up in a cage surrounded by murderers. He sat back on his heels, wanting John so badly to stop being a wimp.
Sherlock reached out to John's chest and placed his hand there. "John, I know this is difficult for you. Not everything is about you. I want this." He heaved.
John let out a strangled laugh and slumped back onto the bed, laying out. His hands ruffled his hair. "Me? Thinking about myself? Nah. I wouldn't want to be comfortable. Obviously my sole mission in life is to please you, the great Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective."
Sherlock leaned forward, gently laying himself against John's body. His elbows lay around John's face, but he didn't seem to notice anything.
"Everything.." He kissed John once, a peck. "..I do.." He nipped John's lip, wanting a response. "..I do for you.." John returned the kiss, sliding his lips in the same motion as Sherlock.
He broke away, gasping. "But..what will we do later? What if this is a mistake?" He looked at Sherlock. In the dark, there was not much to see, but now John was beginning to feel.
Sherlock was only managing to hold back, he could feel it in the tense muscles and clenched jaw and hard body.
"My mistake was waiting for you." said Sherlock and snatched John's hands, stretching them high above his head. There was no escape now. He had held off for too long.
John couldn't break away for any air, and he didn't want to. Sherlock was becoming free of his mind, and when he did, John was here. One of his hands was released, and Sherlock started ripping at John's shirt, which had no buttons and needed to be pulled off.
John reached to Sherlock and undid his shirt, then he ran his fingers along the tensing and relaxing abdominal muscles. He pushed Sherlock's free arm away and wound the sleeve off.
Underneath Sherlock, removing his shirt would be difficult. He never broke his lips away while John pushed both of them up. Sherlock did. He grabbed the bottom of John's shirt and pulled it up. John's arms were raised to the ceiling.
Sherlock, bare-chested, thrust John, who was also bare-chested, back under him. He jumped forward, so that he sat on John's belly. John looked up at him, surrendering his body and mind and full trust to the Detective. Sherlock looked down, loving every bit of it.
The back of Sherlock's hand brushed against John's cheek and he closed his eyes for a glorious, peaceful moment. His heart began pumping out of its place. He felt things heat up.
Sherlock lifted his waist up, leaving only his hand as contact. John lifted his hips and undid his belt, wriggling out of his constricting pants. He relaxed, sitting in his undies.
Sherlock paused on all fours, leaning down. His breath pooled down onto John's face. He struggled to find Sherlock's pants, but when he did, he was fast to rip them off.
Together they lay, almost butt-naked, and in a hot make-out. Suppose Sherlock likes it soft? John thought. Maybe he likes the more thoughtful things, like kissing.
There was no sex in this equation, just two bodies laying against each other. And the sweet touch of each other's lips. John slowly raised his hand, and brushed his thumb over Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock lifted one side of his body and placed his hand over John's chest. "John.."
A wonderful tingle went down his back at that voice. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock breathed heavily, then inhaled sharply. "I..I need your help."
"Did you just ask for help?" He stretched up to kiss Sherlock's forehead.
"Yes..I've never had sex before, and you have. I don't know how this works."
John smiled, looking at Sherlock's confused face. He placed his hand upon Sherlock's cheek. "Of course."
John pulled him close to his chest and did a swift, easy turn over. John sat up and shuffled back, so that Sherlock had to stretch his legs out sideways.
"You just let your body take control." John was having trouble inserting his penis. The undies weren't in the way. It was more of a thinking trouble. What would happen after? Would Sherlock leave him, just like all the other women he had slept with?
Sherlock laid his head down, his rib cage lifting so that it poked out. "Is this your body controlling? It seems rather boring."
John frowned in the dark, then grabbed one of Sherlock's thighs and thrust his penis in forcefully.
Sherlock's neck stretched out. He tightened his muscles and struggled to not scream out. John, on the other hand, was completely relaxed. Although his muscles were moving, his body knew this and was quiet good at it.
John pulled at Sherlock's waist as he rocked back and forth. He bit his lip. Was this what Sherlock wanted? Too late, if not. He thrust forward with strength, which made Sherlock grunt.
A smile etched itself onto John's mouth. He repeated the forceful action and Sherlock grabbed John's hands. John moved his hands to Sherlock's arms and used those to move the Detective instead of his hips.
"This is my body taking control!" He growled as a clapping sound started to echo around the room. He thrust himself into Sherlock, feeling a familiar, and welcome, sensation coming over him.
John pulled him closer, so close that Sherlock's shoulders left the bed. He moved forward, keeping Sherlock back. Sherlock's butt left the bed as well. From the side, he looked like a big U.
John closed his eyes and tensed. Inside of Sherlock, his penis twitched and cam. John released Sherlock's hands and the Detective fell backwards, huffing and gasping. "J-John, John..John." He whispered.
John wasn't done cuming, but he pulled his penis out. There was instantly a mess everywhere, splattering onto Sherlock's waist and abs. John crawled along the bed so that he was laying next to Sherlock. He propped himself on his elbow and stared down at Sherlock, observing.
Sherlock looked stunned. His mouth was opened slightly, hot breaths escaping it. His nostrils flared when he breathed through his nose. His eyes were staring straight up, not focused on anything but the air.
"Good?" John kissed his ear and laid his arm across the Detective's chest.
Sherlock let out a strangled laugh, drained from the experience. "Ha! Very good. I've never experienced anything like that, as you know."
John lifted his leg and put it on top of Sherlock's waist. He kissed Sherlock's neck, whispering words when he breathed. "I've never been fucked."
"Well, of course. You weren't gay before tonight."
Sherlock paused and looked at John, so close that he would only have to lean in to kiss his lips. "Were you already gay?"
John laid his head on Sherlock's chest. "I fucked a solider when I was working. No man has taken me, though."
Sherlock kissed the top of his head. "I know I want to take you."
John breathed deeply, closing his eyes and savoring the pretty image. "One step at a time."