This one-shot is based off of gwenweybourne's story "Reboot" which is amazing and fantastic. Definitely check it out. It's from a moment in Chapter 4 that's mentioned very briefly, and I asked her if I could have the honor of expanding on the idea.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had performed fellatio on John, but it had been the first time that he had felt completely in control, and yet it was also their first encounter where John had been truly rough on him. In a highly pleasurable way of course.

It had been a Friday, and Sherlock had been practicing his tactic for the hours (if not days) John was absent. Sherlock had waited in his own room, so that he could listen for John's entrance and then pass him in the hallway. He had always had a flair for the dramatic, and so when he heard John ascend the stairs, open the door, and call out to him ("Sherlock?"), he remained silent. His heart seemed to reverberate in his chest, and when he heard the refrigerator door close (when John finished putting away the groceries) and heard his steps head towards the hallway, Sherlock moved.

He pretended to be in deep thought, keeping his eyes fixed intensely on the floorboards and his hands clasped behind his back. It had to be timed perfectly: he had to do it right before he and John crossed each other, so that he could catch him by surprise, which would then result in a double take. He saw John nearly speak, then register his fierce gaze, and then saw John's eyebrows shrug in nonchalance. Inches closer, and then…it came. The last second he would have of John's gaze.

Now.

He turned and hooked onto John's eyes and did it. The Look. He coated his eyes in a warm and sticky glaze of need and desire. He smiled wickedly a little when he saw John do the double take, and he just stood there starting at Sherlock. His mouth was slightly agape, and his tongue ever so slightly moistening his lips.

Oh…my…

John felt the air rush from his body as he forgot how to breathe for a few moments. He had never seen such lust before. Never in all of his life. Sherlock's normally pale and icy eyes were positively darkened by lust. Lust that was both dominating and pleading. Pleading for John to take him, to shove him against that wall and do everything he could think of. Dominating because he knew John would do it. He knew that look would unwind John's gentle demeanor. Would unlock the hinges of his cage.

Damn bastard.

Being a soldier had its advantages, one being speed: in one second Sherlock's back hit the wall and his was mouth forced open from the impact, which John immediately (and quite forcefully he had to admit) covered with his own. Hungrily kissing him. When he felt Sherlock's hands trail up his abdomen, he grabbed them and pinned them against the wall as well. He wanted to be completely in control. That sod could get him aroused with a single look, but he was going to take as much power from Sherlock as he could.

For what must've been close to a minute, John finally unlocked his lips from Sherlock's, and he took deep satisfaction in hearing Sherlock gasp for air in a rather uncharacteristically helpless way. John released Sherlock's hands to yank the man's old, stretched bath robe (as well as the equally old, faded shirt he was wearing underneath) off of his body, and John was so eager that he threw the clothes to floor as opposed to just letting them fall of their own accord. Sherlock managed to free his hands and tugged at the bottom of John's jumper. He obliged and the jumper joined the bathrobe. They kissed again, but this time John ground his hips into Sherlock, but he felt immense pride when he realized that Sherlock was already hard, and John realized that he was too. And yet still, he ground, even if only to hear Sherlock's sharp and quick gasps of air, which quickly became whines of need and moans of pleasure.

Both taking deep and raspy breaths, John stepped away from Sherlock, but grabbed his shoulders and pushed down, forcing him to the ground. Sherlock had to stoop a little to reach as he was so tall (which is why they usually did this sort of thing lying down), but John didn't care. He couldn't wait anymore.

It was working, and it was so much better than he ever could've imagined. Despite their flat's nippy atmosphere, he was sweating, absolutely burning up from their encounter. The chill made him shiver once John wasn't covering him anymore, but when he was forced to his knees, he forgot all about the cold, as his mind was now focused on something much more important. Franticly, John unfastened his belt and practically threw it on the floor while Sherlock unbuttoned his trousers, and then pulled both them and his pants down.

Sherlock heard John exhale a sharp "Oh!" as the air hit his cock, and instinctively, Sherlock gripped it with his right hand and slid it into his mouth. An order or command from John wasn't necessary for Sherlock to act, as he had become blinded by his desire to taste John.

To his surprise (and John's slight amusement) the first time Sherlock had been terrible. Luckily, after a lot of researching and experimentation involving bananas–well, John couldn't be there all the time–Sherlock felt that this time he could actually make John cry out as opposed to just moan like he usually did. After the usual sliding up and down on John's cock he did for lubrication, he started to actually suck as he would a popsicle. The pressure made John lean against the wall for support, and his breath came out even more ragged than before, branching off into more erotic moans. Sherlock saw him clench and unclench his fingers, seemingly desperate for something to grip, and it only took a few more seconds for John's hands to slide down onto Sherlock's head and tangle his strong fingers in the curls. There were moments where he gripped so hard that it caused Sherlock pain, but he was so soaked in the power and pleasure of having John so aroused that it only spurred him on–made him create more pressure, suck harder, try harder.

He was obviously doing quite well, because it was only a few more minutes before before Sherlock recognized that John was close to climax. It was always John's pattern: first breathy gasps, then moans, then short words combined with the former and latter. Sherlock pressed his tongue against the small indent of John's cock and John thrust into his mouth, accidentally pushing him backwards. A reflex, but Sherlock managed not to fall over and kept going faster and harder. John's hands left Sherlock's head and he brought them up to his own, pulling on his hair as he arched his back.

"Oh god, Sherlock!" A whisper, but a fierce and very audible one. And a few seconds later, "Jesus Christ, Sherlock!" Sherlock smiled a little bit at the way John said his name, and looked up in time to see his flatmate's eyelids flutter in ecstasy and do a sort of combination of both a sharp gasp and a moan as he came in Sherlock's mouth. Unfortunately for him, John had never come in Sherlock's mouth before, and he found the sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he couldn't hold it all. So he opened his mouth and let the remainder hit his chest. He saw John's legs shudder and he crawled backward as quickly as he could, just before John's knees hit the floor.

Sherlock laid down on the cold wooden hallway, John's come dripping from the corners of his mouth and areas of his torso. It felt so amazing, the chase and capture had been so thrilling. The same sort of rush of superiority and pride he felt from solving a problem in one of their cases, and the raw adrenaline of their escapes from death, combined with the desire for John had been entirely new.

It was bloody fantastic.

John still on his knees, looked at the thin man covered in his ejaculate, and after a few moments to catch his breath, crawled over to him, and slid his hand against the side of the man's neck (in a way that made Sherlock blush and shiver), feeling his rapid pulse slow down. Though still breathing heavily, Sherlock looked at him and John just knew how much he had enjoyed it. It was easy seeing as he had enjoyed it just as greatly.

His hand slid down to Sherlock's own trousers and he slowly undid the zipper. Sherlock looked up at him. "What–"

"Your turn." John said mischievously.

Sherlock did not protest.

Sherlock often used the Look on others after that, but luckily for them (as John would've killed them) their reactions were never as extreme as John's had been. They merely tripped over their words and blushed while letting Sherlock do whatever it was he had requested of them. John always found it terribly amusing and arousing to watch Sherlock yield such control over the very people who tormented him for being abnormal.

However, both his and Sherlock's favorite instances of the Look's usage were when Sherlock used it exclusively on John.

My first Rated M story. Please tell me what you think. Suggestions and reviews welcome.