You're mad with me.-SH
No, I'm not. What made you think that?-JW
You aren't drinking the tea I'm making you.-SH
Sherlock, I'm at work. I left three hours ago.-JW
Well, that explains it.-SH
When John returned home, the first thing he saw was Sherlock, sprawled on the sofa like a slumbering tiger, the second thing he saw were the six mugs of tea on the desk he'd made for him in his absence. He was touched, really, that Sherlock had even made him tea, something he rarely did. "Sherlock…" He started to say, but upon realising that his flatmate was actually asleep (!) he stopped and smiled affectionately, grabbing a blanket and draping it over him. John nodded, turned on his heel and strolled up the stairs and into his bedroom for a self-indulgent wank, (Well, Sherlock was asleep, he didn't want to miss this opportunity)
"Apple's!" Sherlock jerked away mere minutes after John closed the door to his bedroom and whipped off his trousers, opened his laptop. The man frowned at the blanket and threw it off, pouting. John was home, he could hear his moving around.
Okay. Trousers and pants were off, shirt was undone, flatmate asleep, laptop on, porn up, lube in hand. Almost ready. John was giddy with excitement, not since he was a teenager had he been so enthusiastic for a wank, perhaps it was the thrill that Sherlock could wake up and find him.
Only he was already awake. And listening to John's activities upstairs.
John was sat on his bed now, playing something on his laptop. It was all too horribly intriguing…he had to go and have a look.
John wrapped his hand around his shaft, hissing almost at how cold the lube was, but he was still smiling. He started to move his hand up and down his, fairly average length, cock. He decided the porn wasn't worth it, so he came up with his own images. He didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. And he really didn't hear the door opening and his flatmate slip in behind his.
So that was what he was doing! Horribly boring, actually, but Sherlock couldn't stop himself from just…looking. From behind his he could only see his hand pumping his cock, his thumb running over the flushed head. Then John moaned. Oh, that was a sound he wanted to hear again. Sherlock skittered around the edge of the bed and moved his laptop to sit on his chair, "Hello, John." He said, lifting his chin with a single finger.
John gasped, "Fucking hell, Sherlock!" He said, eyebrows shooting up, and his hand resting on his thigh, his cock not drooping at all. If anything it seemed to harden, just looking into Sherlock's eyes.
"Don't stop." Sherlock whispered, frowning a little, "I just want to watch, John. Carry on. Don't move your eyes from mine." His hand went back to his cock, but he stayed looking at Sherlock. He leaned in and ghosted his lips against his; pressing his tongue to his bottom lip, "Moan." Sherlock said, returning to look into his eyes. John moaned and, to his delight, he saw Sherlock shudder. "Do you like it, Sherlock? You're getting off on this, aren't you?" He moaned and tipped his head back. Sherlock grasped his chin and pulled his head back down, "Keep your eyes on me, John. " God that voice….it was going to be the death of him. His hand moved faster, and just looking at Sherlock's face drove his close to the edge, but Sherlock's hand darted out and clamped around the base of his cock, "Hands off." He whispered, "Now, John. Do tell, have you ever been told what to do by another man?" He asked, starting to move his hand at a torturous pace. "No, Sherlock." He mumbled, thrusting into his hand. "That simply won't do…." Sherlock whispered, and with his other hand he held down his hip on the left side, his fist moving faster around his cock. "Hm, no, this is my first time dominating…..I find the switch most…pleasurable." He grinned wickedly and his hand moved at a punishing speed, John moaned, yelped and came. Hard. His come spurted out and coated Sherlock's hand, a little going into his black hair. He let his go, and with the hand that moved from his hip to his chin, he kept his head still while he licked his hand clean.
"God, Sherlock. Fucking hell…." John whispered. He leaned in and gave him a salty kiss.
"Next time, maybe I'll fuck you next time, or maybe I'll grant you the luxery of sucking me off." Sherlock shrugged and got to his feet, walking away and down the stairs.
John ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "Did that really just happen?" He whispered to his self.
"Yes, it did." Sherlock's voice rang from the kitchen.