Title: The curious case of John's shaved legs
Warning: NSFW, Johnlock, Sex (hell yeah)
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I only like to use them for my own and your pleasure.
Sherlock Homes only briefly noticed the soft click of the bathroom door closing as he concentrated on the readings of his microscope. So far he had nine clues, already being put up in a map in his mind, carefully interlinked so no detail would be overlooked. Based on John's first reaction to the description of his 'mind palace', he decided to not mention what he was doing again in front of the other man simply because he was opposed to being made fun of. Aha, ten clues. He knew he was getting close, could nearly grasp the result…
When John entered the living room only a few seconds later, Sherlock couldn't help but give him a glance, so used to deducing him and checking for anything amiss or a possible injury he could have overlooked, not that he would ever overlook anything.
John's hair was wet and combed back; he was going out tonight, otherwise he would have just let it dry as it was. His face was clean-shaven, apart from the little amount of stubble next to his right ear that he had missed. Yes, he clearly had a date tonight. Newspaper in hand, he still had some time to get ready, further undermined by the fact that he wasn't wearing anything under his bathrobe. There was no hint of an underwear line to be seen, even though the bathrobe clung tightly to his body. Legs, cleanly shaven.
His mind came to a halt. This was something new, something intriguing and not boring about his friend. Why would a man shave his legs? Based on the opinion of approximately 88,9% of the female population that matched John's usual dating pattern, his shaven legs would be seen as unmanly. So, either his current 'girlfriend' had expressed such a wish or… No. From what he knew, John hadn't had a second date with anyone over the last two months, and, from the way his foot was slightly twitching even though his legs were crossed, it clearly showed that he was nervous about something. It had to be a first date. Why do something so out of character for someone he had never even met? Oh John, you just got interesting.
His mind was loading up all the data he had compiled, and for once, he cursed the fact that the concept of human interaction and copulation was not a field of interest to him.
Sherlock once again let his eyes skim over the other man's legs. A slight cut at his ankle, so John was clearly not used to doing something like that, as Sherlock had never seen the other man cut himself while shaving his face. The skin was smooth all the way to where John's striped bathrobe covered the rest of his legs, just above his knees. A jolt of warmth travelled through Sherlock's body, pooling in his stomach, and he sucked in a breath; a slightly more elevated reaction to a small case like this but he decided to not dwell on it, there were much more interesting matters at hand.
There was something else, a smell. Not John's usual cream or lotion or whatever it was he liked to smear on his face to stop the inevitable aging process, even though Sherlock had told him a million times that it wouldn't work. The specimen under Sherlock's microscope was long forgotten. He needed a closer look, needed more data. With that thought in mind, he rose from his chair, quickly striding over to the man lounging in his seat. Yes, the smell was getting stronger. He took a deep sniff, slightly leaning over John's shoulder.
"For God's sake Sherlock!" Tthe other man exclaimed loudly, lowering the newsletter and uncrossing his legs. "What is wrong with you now?!" Even though he could hear the other man's words, he didn't deem it worth it to answer to them. There was a new clue. He let his eyes rake over John's body, not noticing his inquiring and slightly unnerved look. The smell, scent, of some kind of lotion, a clean smell, no strong chemicals but most lightly soothing components, had just gotten stronger. Combed hair, shaved legs, most likely all the way, soothing smell. "John, why did you shave your legs and your privates?" he asked, voice even and untouched by emotion, even though the pool of heat in his stomach had been growing more intense during his observation; Strange but not unusual, as he was close to solving the case of John's shaved legs. Well, it did match the ridiculous titles his blogger came up with for all the other ones they had solved.
"What?!" John's voice was noticeably higher and louder than usual and spots of red danced across his cheeks as he abruptly rose from his chair, dropping the newspaper in the process. Sherlock barely prevented his chin from getting smashed by John's shoulder as the other man literally sprang from his seat. "Well it's obvious that you have a date tonight, but I cannot begin to grasp why you would suddenly change your usual appearance. You have never done so before, and, as this is not part of my usual field of expertise I decided to get your input on this matter."
"What?! Why…? How…? Just… No! No Sherlock! I will not answer that question!" John had raised his hands, a familiar gesture that showed his nervousness and the fact that he needed time to grasp his thoughts. Ordinary people were so slow sometimes. "You need to understand that there are some things that are private, Sherlock." His face was still flushed, the light red travelling down his neck before being hidden by the collar of his bathrobe.
"I'll go change now and we'll never talk about it again." The unusually hard slam of the door to John's room should have been a clear hint that the discussion, if one could call it that, was well and truly over.
Sherlock Holmes had never been someone to grasp the subtle art of reading moods and nonverbal communication.
"Why will you not tell me?" he asked, barging into John's room, voice raised as it tended to do when he was agitated, not getting something but not simply giving up on a case. "What the?! SHERLOCK!" John squeaked (he would always claim differently but it definitely was way higher than his normal tone of voice). The light haired man was naked apart from a pair of bright red briefs, seams lined in white. In the dim light of the lamp, Sherlock could clearly make out that, yes, John had shaved his legs all the way to the top, and yes, he had also shaved his privates, as there was no sign of hair around his briefs, and the fine trail of light blond usually travelling from his navel to the 'V' of his hips had also ceased to exist.
Sherlock swallowed hard. Of course there had been occasions when he had seen John without a shirt but somehow the sight that presented itself before him was different from before. The lamp light's accentuation of John's muscles with its shadows, the damp hair that now fell into his face from his rushed escape, the way his now smooth skin seemed to shine, and those red pants…
"Damn it! I want to get laid tonight, okay?!" John exclaimed, drawing a hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly unnerved by the tense silence in the room and feeling the need to break it.
"Laid?" That was the same conclusion Sherlock had come up with, and it hadn't been an explanation for John's sudden change in shaving patterns.
"Yes laid! And most… most guys like it more if… your legs are smooth, you know, when you wrap them around… their waist or shoulders…" No, Sherlock didn't know, how could he?
"But…" No, nothing fit anymore. There was no logical equation for it. "Based on your numerous arguments I was under the impression that you were in fact not gay."
At that John averted his eyes, clearly not comfortable with how and where their conversation was going. "Yeah I'm not. Just… Sometimes I like to, you know, let go. Lie back, forget everything and let someone else take control." The blush still hadn't left his cheeks. "I guess… that makes me bi-sexual, doesn't it?"
Of course! Bi-sexual! How could he not have come to that conclusion himself! Stupid! Never eliminate the improbable as impossible based on one set of data.
Suddenly his thoughts came to a stop as his mind connected everything the other man had said. John, going out, in his red pants, meeting another person, another man, wrapping his soft and shaven legs around another body, letting himself go, moaning as someone else pumped his dick in and out of John's body.
John had always been a moaner; the walls of 221b Baker Street weren't as thick as most people believed.
Smooth legs around his waist… Was the experience so different that it warranted such a change in hygiene? His thoughts drifted to his laptop and the endless possibilities the Internet provided, even for situations such as these. But Sherlock Holmes had always been more of a fan of experiments.
Within a short stride he was standing right in front of his red panted specimen who, as expected, took a step backwards, resulting in a small yelp as he stumbled, landing on the soft mattress of the bed. "Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?!"
"Experiment, John." Were the only words that left Sherlock's lips, leaning over the now flushed man, his hands on either side of his head, pressing into the sheets and rumpling them even further.
"Experiment?! Whatever it is, I'm not helping you."
Even though, to a basic human being, John's tone was convincing and even a bit threatening, Sherlock thought of himself as being above such a superficial observation, he listened and saw deeper. Dilated pupils, flushed skin, nipples (a short glance) erect, breathe going at an elevated rate and on John's slightly glistening neck he could make out his rapidly beating pulse.
"No John you don't need to help. You are my specimen." He gave a short wink before swooping down, crashing his lips against the soft and pliant ones of the man at his mercy, eliciting a soft gasp. Their eyes locked, grey eyes staring into blue, trying to gauge his reaction as their lips momentarily rested against each other, neither daring to move, testing if the other man would draw back.
The tension that filled the room could be cut with a knife, until finally Sherlock's lips started to move against John's, nipping, caressing, tasting, fueling the warmth in his body. When he felt the soft, warm and wet touch of John's tongue against his lips it took only a second of analyzing and comparing the situation to his research before he welcomed his tongue with his own, entangling it in a dance of heat and desire.
Slowly Sherlock raised his hand from the bed, only to move it to John's jaw, caressing him with gentle touches before he let it trail down the man's body. The smooth skin of his neck where, beneath his fingertips, he could make out the testimony of his rapidly beating heart; the feel of his nipples that drew a moan from John's lips, still firmly locked to Sherlock's. His fingers continued their journey down the heated skin and firm muscles before finally reaching the hem of those red pants, gently stroking along the edge, getting a taste of the smooth shaved skin that lay beneath the fabric.
A soft touch further down confirmed his deduction that John did actually want to be part of his experiment. Sherlock's fingers gently stroked over the noticeable bulge straining John's red pants, only barely skimming the fabric and eliciting a keen from the man beneath him.
"Please Sherlock…" the words were no more than a quite whisper, momentarily breaking the sound of lips against lips and heavy breathing in the otherwise quiet room. Said man slowly drew back, breaking the contact between their bodies, straightening up.
His eyes raked over John's body, taking in his flushed and smooth skin, red and slightly swollen lips, glassy eyes and tousled hair. Once again he felt a jolt of heat running through his body and his fingers started undoing the small buttons of his purple shirt, revealing the ivory skin lying beneath it. With a slight sense of surprise he noted that his own nipples had gotten hard during the last minutes he had been faced with the beginnings of his primary research. It was an unusual reaction, considering that the room temperature was slightly elevated. The otherwise soft fabric now felt oddly rough against his sensitive skin as he let the shirt glide off his upper body, pooling at his feet. His musings were cut short as John's lips parted, sucking in a hissing breath, his eyes seeming to be fixed to the skin that was revealed inch by inch. Such a primal reaction, really, only underlined by the way that John's legs had spread themselves on the bed, a seemingly subconscious gesture but definitely showing his wish to copulate.
Right, the legs… As the major issue of his research they would definitely require further investigation.
The mattress dipped under the weight of Sherlock's knee pressing into it, as he once again drew closer, kneeling between the light haired man's parted legs. He could see and hear John's breath hitch as he leaned over him, his left hand caressing the skin and muscle of his hips before coming to rest next to his body, leveraging his weight as Sherlock's other hand started exploring the smooth skin of John's calf.
Calcaneal tendon, Gastrocnemius, over to the side the Soleus.
Sherlock could feel the muscles twitch lightly under his exploring fingers and he had to admit that the contrast was indeed fascinating. John's muscles were clearly strong and defined, a remnant of his days as a soldier and proof of the oftentimes exhausting aspects of the cases they were faced with. And yet his skin was sleek and smooth as one would only expect from a woman. It was…unconventional and intriguing.
Vastus lateralis, Tensor fasciae latae and the Pectineus.
His fingers once again met the edge of John's red pants, strained and slightly damp with pre-cum.
His eyes drifted to John's face, noting that he was watched just as intently through dilated and half lidded eyes. "Don't… Don't you dare stop now."
Of course he wouldn't stop; he still needed to investigate the rest of John's body after all, though something inside of him felt remorse at the thought of taking those red pants off John's body. He had endured other, much worse hardships before so this one was comparably small yet no less difficult. It was for science after all.
His fingers hooked under the waistband, lifting it over John's hard and leaking erection before taking them completely off and throwing them to the side.
Sherlock's eyes involuntary drifted to the junction of John's legs where his glistening arousal clearly indicated the man's rising level of pleasure. It was only logical that he needed to touch what he had been seeking, for longer than he dared to admit. As soon as his fingers made contact with the heated skin, curling around the pulsing muscle, John became undone beneath his hands.
A deep moan left the man's still slightly swollen lips as his eyelids fluttered, his head pressing into the mattress as his hips pushed up, craving more contact, needing to feel more of Sherlock's touch, his skin on his own.
Sherlock's eyes drifted to John's neck, lightly glistening with sweat, straining, his veins clearly visible beneath his skin, pumping blood, fuelled by desire. Why was he suddenly so fascinated by it?
"God Sherlock…" John's voice had been reduced to a desperate whine as he once again pushed up into those long and pale fingers and ripped Sherlock out of his ponderings. He let his thumb trail up the red shaft, gathering the pre-cum leaking from the slit at the tip, lubricating, as he started to move his hand up and down. He could still feel some of the body lotion or cream John must have used after shaving, adding to the new sensation. He was saving every detail for later analysis.
When he felt another hand on his thigh, stroking along his waistband the movement of his hand only faltered slightly in surprise. How could he have lost focus so much that he hadn't even noticed John's arm move?
Despite the pleasure obviously coursing through the older man's body his fingers were still nimble, making quick work of the fastenings on Sherlock's trousers.
"Really Sherlock? Bee pants?" the amusement was clear in his voice and he could feel his own cheeks heat up. "Says the man with the 'schoolboy red pants'," he growled back before once again crashing their lips together. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, only pure desire, need, and a battle for domination as their tongues entwined and their teeth nipped.
Soon enough he felt John's fingers dip inside of his pants and he couldn't suppress the shudder than ran through him. It hadn't even occurred to him that the experiment would affect him in any way, his bulging erection a clear evidence of the opposite.
He could feel John's calloused fingers curl around him, the sensation momentarily making him tense up, his own grip around John's cock faltering as he released the kiss to suck in a deep breath.
"Bedside drawer…" The voice next to his ear whispered urgently. Bedside drawer? His thoughts raced as he tried to decipher the meaning behind John's words. His inner musings must have somehow shown on his face as the other man huffed. "Just get what's in the drawer, Sherlock."
He reached over, only to discover the answer to his question, as he withdrew lube and condoms.
Even though in his head he had already wanted to close the case of John's shaved legs after having been provided with the possibility of a hands-on examination of the issue, he decided that the idea of shaved legs around his waist, the one his brain had so generously come up with earlier, still needed clarifying.
He drew back, ripping open the plastic wrapper.
Contrary to popular believe (Moriarty and Mycoft) he wasn't totally oblivious to anything sexual. For solving cases it was a necessity to know about the theoretical aspects of coitus, otherwise he might overlook crucial data.
With a click he opened the bottle of lube, leaning over John's waiting body, spread out beneath him, looking tempting and sinful, though he would never openly admit to having any of such thoughts. John opened his legs even wider, looking at Sherlock through hooded eyes, making his erection twitch in anticipation.
His lubed finger circled John's smooth entrance before slowly sliding inside the tight heat, his eyes fixed on his face, gauging for a change in expression that would indicate any discomfort. Not seeing any of such he let his finger slide deeper before slowly darting in and out, crooking and searching for that spot he knew anatomically should be there.
"More Sherlock…" John's voice held the slight note of trembling as he gave his command, his eyes closed, seeming to focus on the pleasurable feeling Sherlock's fingers provided.
He added another finger, soothed by the thought that it wasn't John's first time and that the initial amount of pain should therefore be relatively small. In and out they went, slicking him up for something bigger that was still to come. When he finally found that spot he had been searching for he could see and feel John's whole body tense up, coiled like a spring as he sucked in a breath only to release a strangled moan. "Do that again!"
The fact that Sherlock never did a movement without consideration was something he took great pride in, so complying with John's wishes provided him with no trouble apart from a greater throbbing in his own erection, which sought to burrow itself in John's tight heat.
As a result, it was no surprise to him that within seconds his roommate was reduced to moaning mess, writhing on the sheets, not even noticing when Sherlock added a third finger, his own need to finally become one with the other man driving his movements. "Please Sherlock." The hoarse voice whispered between moans.
"Please what, John?" his voice had gotten even deeper, a growl that sent shivers down the other man's spine, adding to the experience neither of them would ever forget. Oh, he knew what John desired of him but he wanted to hear it from his own lips; wanted to hear those words; wanted to hear him beg. It was a behavior quite unlike anything he had ever done before, and, somewhere in the back of his mind he deduced that he must have picked it up from The Woman. Any further consideration was quickly shaken from his mind as the words he so craved were breathlessly whispered into the quiet of the room.
"Please Sherlock. I-I need you, inside of me… now." John's usually strong and demanding voice sounded pleading, his teeth biting into his lower lip before gazing to the side, clearly uncomfortable to be at Sherlock's mercy, begging for his cock. And it was everything the dark haired man has wished for.
With quick and sure movement he gripped those pale hips, aligning his leaking arousal with John's twitching hole, before slowly and gently sinking into the waiting heat.
His mouth fell open on its own accord, his eyelids fluttering as he sank deeper and deeper into the tightness of John's body, only stopping when he was buried to the hilt.
He drew in a shuddering breath, needing a moment to catch his bearings and let the other man get accustomed to the intrusion. They were both panting, Sherlock's hand resting on John's waist, John's fingers moving up to the back of Sherlock's neck, meeting the slightly sweaty black curls and drawing the man closer, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.
Sherlock tried to remember a moment in his life that came even remotely close to this, but his thoughts were getting sluggish, his whole being consumed by his only friend as their lips moved against each other.
Before their kiss could deepen, the other man moved back, though Sherlock could still feel his breath ghosting across the thin skin of his lips as he whispered "It's okay, I'm fine, you can move…"
His grip on John's waist tightened and he drew out before slowly pushing back in, John's fingers gripping his hair even harder.
In and out, in and out at a slow pace, drawing moan after moan from the other man's parted lips.
But he wanted more, wanted to see the other man lose control, wanted to feel his legs around his hips as he drove deeper and deeper into him, claiming him, ensuring that the only person he would give himself to was Sherlock.
Driven by his thoughts, his tempo increased, pumping into the man beneath him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, accompanied by the increasing sound of John's moans and the slight thudding of the bed frame against the wall. John's fingers had moved and curled into the rumpled sheets, needing something to hold onto as the man above him pounded into him.
Sherlock could feel the heat spread inside of him, his thoughts slowing, quieting, a change that he would have normally feared but couldn't seem to care about now, especially now that he could feel John's smooth calves curling around his waist, drawing him even closer and deeper.
"Harder! Please, Sherlock!" It was a desperate moan that Sherlock was glad to comply to, driving into the tight heat that engulfed him, squeezing him and seeming to suck him in even further.
As his eyes roamed over the body beneath him he could tell the other man was close. John's head was pressed into the mattress, baring his tempting neck to Sherlock in a wholly submissive gesture, his skin glistening and flushed.
He leaned forward, bending John's body, needing to taste, lick, suck at the skin that was laid out before him, that had enticed him so many times.
Lost to primal instincts his hips continued their fast pace as his hand snuck between their bodies, curling around John's leaking erection that brushed against his stomach, pumping in rhythm with his moving hips, bringing John even closer to the edge that he himself was approaching so quickly.
With a growl his lips latched onto the salty skin, right at his scalene muscles, biting, marking him as his possession.
"Sherlock!"
As John reached his orgasm it seemed to engulf Sherlock's whole body, ripping him along.
The vibration of John's neck against his lips as he screamed out his name, the wetness against his stomach as he spilled his seed into Sherlock's hand, the pull of John's legs around his waist and the heat around his swelling cock that seemed to tighten even more, squeezing him, drawing out his orgasm.
His whole body seemed to shake, his muscles contracting as he continued to slowly pump into John's body before his hips finally stilled and he sank down onto the still shivering body lying beneath him.
The slowing rise and fall of John's chest against his own felt soothing as he tried to catch his own breath, pressing his nose into John's neck, inhaling his scent and gently licking the already forming bruise he had left with his teeth.
As John's legs released their tight grip around Sherlock's waist, he gently pulled out of John's body and decided that the case of John's shaved legs could be closed with the note that the benefits definitely outweighed any costs there might have been. A repetition of the experiment might be necessary though, to ensure the credibility and reliability of his data. It was for science after all.
As John felt Sherlock's breathing slow, his tall and lean body still tightly curled around his own as he drifted off to sleep next to him, he decided that his mission had been a complete success. He had known Sherlock would notice the change, he had known the detective would wish to investigate why he had shaved and he had known he wouldn't notice that it had been John's plan all along. The red pants had made sure of that as the final distraction.
Now he just needed to come up with a plan for their next close encounter.