Title: Sunburn
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: Very very R.
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Wordcount: 2019
Warnings: Unbetaed, (probable) OOC, lemon/above 18 content.
Summary: There's something unnerving about the fact that all John's flatmate has to do to catch the attention of every nearby member of the human population is splash some water on himself and manage to not scowl.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Go figure.
So, this was written for a prompt a friend of mine made when she slept over at my house. She wanted something with Sherlock (reluctantly) going to a water park with John, so this...mess was born. I probably shouldn't have wrote this while I hadn't slept for over a day...
oOoOoOo
"You could, you know, stop pouting already, Sherlock. You promised you wouldn't make a big fuss about this." John said, squinting up at the sun before his eyes settled on his flatmate who was stubbornly hiding under the shade of an umbrella. "There's no point in calling this a proper date if you're just gonna sit and sulk all day."
"We're here for Lestrade's niece's birthday. This is hardly a date." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair then, grimacing when his fingers came away wet with sweat. "It's hot, John. I hate the heat."
"Well," John started, sidling up into the seat next to Sherlock's. "Maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't be so hot if you didn't have all these ridiculous layers on." John teased, his fingers catching and plucking at the hem of Sherlock's shirt, lightly teasing the fabric up Sherlock's waist. He grinned when Sherlock batted John's hand away with a huff.
"...I burn easily." Sherlock said finally, pressing his palms to his eyes. The heat settled uncomfortably over him like a thick blanket, melting his senses into a dizzy oozing pile of nonsense. "Do you know how much longer we have to stay here? I'd like to get home soon."
"We have about another hour, I think." John said, pressing a hand to Sherlock's shoulder. The skin was slick and warm. "Look, you're overheated. Let's just get you in the water for a bit, okay? Just to cool off." He gives a small glance to Lestrade and the two girls who are hanging off his arms and giggling. "Lestrade would probably be grateful. He looks like he could use the help."
"Not my problem." Sherlock mumbles, but he peels off his shirt anyway in a lazy sort of sensual way, pulling the fabric slowly up and revealing inch by inch of that impossibly pale skin. John's mouth feels dry as Sherlock starts to shimmy out of his pants until he's left in nothing but a pair of swim trunks that are just a size too big, the shorts settling low on his hips. "John?" Sherlock says, voice low and just shy of coy. His mouth is set in the usual scowl, but John see's the playful light in Sherlock's eyes. "The water?"
"Y-yeah. Water. Yeah." John stammers, his tongue feeling too big, too dry in his mouth. There's nothing particularly new about what he's seeing, no, he's seen Sherlock countless times before in a much more provocative light, but always behind the safe and closed doors of their flat. It's entirely different, he realizes as they meander out to the water park playground covered in squealing girl's and their parents, when there in public like this. He doesn't even stop the growl that builds low in the back of his throat when he sees one of the mothers openly gape at Sherlock, her eyes greedily drinking in the sight of him. He wraps a hand on Sherlock' hip then, pulling the other man closer with an impossibly tight grip that almost bruises. "Right. In the water you go." John says, forcing Sherlock by the shoulders down to the ground and directly into the spray of a vibrantly painted water spout.
Sherlock blinks as the water sprays into his eyes before he cranes his head out of the spray, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog and his dark hair plasters onto his face, curling round the nape of his neck. It's a bit longer than Sherlock would've liked, just enough to warrant a trim, but it's perfect enough for John to get a handle on, enough to fist his hand in and pull Sherlock back by, baring his neck and-
Oh lord. John thinks as he feels the first stirrings of arousal bubble up in the pit of his belly, hot and uncomfortable but entirely good. What have I gotten myself into?
Sherlock, for his part, doesn't seem to notice John's predicament, of for that matter, any of the other stares he's getting. His eyes flutter shut, the dark lashes stark against against his cheeks that are flushed the tiniest tint of pink from sun exposure. It's enough of a sight that a few of the girls are pointing their way and giggling, their smiles wide as they watch the strange (pretty) man pout under one of the sprinklers.
He hears the gentle pat of feet before Lestrade form slowly blots out the sun from view. "Finally managed to drag him out here, did you Doctor Watson?" Lestrade says, humor evident in his voice as he cops a spot beside them. "I'm surprised."
"Heat exhaustion, Lestrade," Sherlock says, his voice in that husky, deep tone he adopts whenever he's languid and content. "Is not something I think I'd enjoy. And since you insisted on throwing a party in the middle of a summer day, like a lunatic-"
"I'm not the one who planned this...thing." Lestrade amends, waving a vague hand to gesture at the water park.
"Like a lunatic," Sherlock continues, peering at the DI with one half-lidded eye. "I really don't have a choice, do I?"
Lestrade shrugs. "I suppose not." He agrees, settling on the backs of hands. His gaze wanders to a small gaggle of girls who are gushing and cooing over what is most undeniably Sherlock. "You're quite popular today." Lestrade notes, his own eyes taking a quick rove of the detective's form.
"Yes," John grits out, not at all pleased. "He apparently is." It's like eyes are everywhere, all staring owlishly at what's his, rightfully John's, and the ex-solider feels himself tense in aggravation. Sherlock, the daft idiot, doesn't even notice, instead slipping his one eyes shut with a breathy little sigh that's suggestive enough to even draw the DI's attention to him.
"Right." Lestrade says, torn between the familiar attraction he has for the brilliant detective (For god's sake, he has eyes. Even Donovan would agree.), and the prickle of unease that runs down his spine from the positively deranged look that John sends him. "Well, Linda says that the party should be wrapping up in about a minute or two, so you two can feel free to leave anytime. I appreciate the-"
"You're welcome, Lestrade." John says, curt and dismissive.
"Well, it means a lot-"
"You're welcome, Lestrade." John says again, his eyes almost feral as the connect with the Inspector's.
All right then, Lestrade thinks as he backs away, missing the small smile that finds it's way to Sherlock's sun-baked face.
oOoOoOo
"John-!" Sherlock gasps as he's thrown toughly against the wall of the small shower stall, his shoulder pressing hard against the slippery tile. "Wait-John!" There's a brief second where John peers into Sherlock's eyes, and honestly, almost growls. It's enough to send Sherlock's eyes comically wide. He barely has time to process John's fingers gripping tightly to his hips before his swim trunks are pulled past his hips. His gasp is in time with the wet plop of the fabric meeting the ground.
"You have no idea, do you?" John hisses as he drags his mouth along Sherlock's throat, latching his lips along the pale column of Sherlock's throat. He feels the throb of Sherlock's pulse just beneath his skin, and he latches his mouth against the point, sucking hard. A bruise blooms beneath his lips, stark red. "Even Lestrade's eyes were on you, Sherlock."
"I didn't notice." Sherlock breathes, his eyes sliding shut as John's hands stroke down the length of his spine until they finally settle on his hips. He shudders when he feels John's hips press against his, and there's no mistaking the hardness of John's erection against his thigh. He let's his hand wander down, but John grabs his wrist, pinning it back. "John..."
John groans low as he grinds himself against Sherlock's slippery skin, and his fingers reach past the detective's cock to the entrance beneath, popping a finger into the tight muscle. "Sherlock," John murmurs against Sherlock's chest, pausing only for a quick nip that leaves Sherlock weak in the knees. He can feel Sherlock tighten around his finger as he pushes another digit in, scissoring the man open with jerky uneven thrusts. "Sherlock," He says again, pumping his hand faster. It wrings a high pitched keen from Sherlock. He hears Sherlock pant against his ear, pleading with 'Now John, please.'
He slips into Sherlock whose so damn tight that he has to stop and collect himself. "So tight," John hisses, scraping his fingernails down Sherlock's side, leaving vivid red scratches on pale thighs. "How does it feel?" John breathes, flipping Sherlock so his face presses flat against the shower tile before he dives in again, nearly melting into that familiar slippery heat. "So hot for me, Sherlock, so tight and fuck, I just have to-have to-"
"Love it, John, hurts-" Sherlock's breathy cries are slanted, incoherent, but fuck if John doesn't eat every word up, fuck if John doesn't hang off every damn moan or gasp that tumbles out of Sherlock's bow-shaped lips. "Hurts, John. Feels s-so, so-" When John drags his fingers through Sherlock's dark hair and pulls, Sherlock nearly screams and his back arches taught so far that for the briefest moment, John's worried he might very well snap in two. It's a struggle to keep his eyes peeled on Sherlock whose now bucking and writhing in his grasp as his usually gloved fingers scrabble and scrape at the wall.
A choked sob is all the warning that John gets before Sherlock is coming in his hand, jetting into the cooling spray of the shower. The clench that follows is brutal enough to bring John to his knees, dragging Sherlock whose still riding out his peak down with him. John swears that his eyes roll back into his head as he starts pounding into Sherlock with frenzied, uneven thrusts. The sound of the slap of skin against skin was impossibly loud in John's ears mingled with Sherlock's earnest howls.
Finally, John thinks as he feels himself fall over the edge, his head tucked into Sherlock's shoulder as he comes hard into the man beneath him with frantic pleas of 'Mine, mine, mine'. Sherlock's hazy eyes glaze as they drift over to his doctor's before wet lips part and Sherlock gives a soft 'Oh,'. The eyes slide shut as Sherlock allows himself to sag in John's grasp then, feeling the bloom of heat that coats him inside and out.
They both pant in the shower that's suddenly too cold and small, and John can hear the quiet rumble of laughter that bubbles up from Sherlock's chest. "All this because of a few looks?"
John feels his cheeks start to burn then. "Well," He starts, wondering if it was really necessary to validate his reasoning. Sherlock never seemed much to care before as long as everything ended positively. "They we're looking at you."
"They were a bunch of ten year old girls, John." Sherlock said, reaching up to turn off the now freezing shower spray. The hiss of water hitting the tile slowly fades into a steady drip. "Hardly a reason to get so worked up, don't you agree?"
"It wasn't just the girls," John nearly whined, and despite how childish he felt, he smiled. "Do you know how many of those housewives were gaping at you? Hell, even Lestrade was getting an eyeful." Sherlock barks a laugh, and John rolls his eyes. "But, I suppose you're right. You're here, after all."
Sherlock gets up with a stretch and a quick yawn. "Obviously." He says, simple as day. It's more than enough.