Hello readers! In case you missed it, this is a smutty one. This is part 1 of 2. Enjoy!
John hurried out of his bedroom, putting on his jacket as he jogged down the steps. He was late for work. Again. His stupid alarm hadn't gone off-or he hadn't heard it. One of the two. His oversleeping may have had something to do with the fact that he and Sherlock had gotten into a fantastic shouting match the previous evening. True, John did most of the shouting, Sherlock most of the glowering, but still. It took two to row. The cause? Sherlock's habit of turning every space in their flat into a filthy disgusting pigsty. Half-corroded experiments, books everywhere, journals all over, and papers-God the papers-on every surface. John had found something furry fermenting under the sink last night and when he realized he hadn't seen the flat's floor in five days, a gasket popped and he'd hollered at his lover until he was hoarse.
"Goddammit Sherlock!" John yelled. He bumped his head on the underside of the sink in his haste to get up. This did nothing for his foul mood. The man himself was at the microscope, oblivious/ignoring John's rage as usual.
"What?" He asked calmly.
"Look-look around!" John gestured wildly to the flat and it's general state of decay. "The countertops are crusted in shit, the drain is plugged up-ever since you poured that green crap in the beaker down there, it hasn't been the same-and there is an honest to Christ brain in the fridge that's starting to stink!"
"Yeah?" Sherlock twisted a knob on the microscope, supremely unperturbed.
"And I'm not even going to start on the sitting room! Or the bathroom-what the hell were those, porcupine quills?! I go in there get clean for fuck's sake."
Sherlock sighed loudly.
"Clean it Sherlock! I've been asking you for days to clean up after your damn self."
"It's for my work." Sherlock insisted.
"What work? How to drive your lover insane in the slowest way possible?"
"No-I have far cleverer ways to do that, John." Sherlock, the smug bastard, glanced from the microscope and winked at John, giving him bedroom eyes before turning back to the slide. Arse. John refused to be deterred. "Forget it. Until you clean, I'm sleeping upstairs."
This got Sherlock's attention. "What? Why?"
"Why?!" John clenched his fists, restraining himself from going over and socking Sherlock across the face. "You're so smart, you figure it out!" With that, John stomped up the steps.
It was one of many fights they'd been having. John wished Sherlock would just take twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to organize and hoover the damn place. Would that kill him? Apparently it would, as John had never seen him lift a finger to clean anything ever. John stepped off the last stair and something crunched underfoot. He winced, then gingerly lifted his shoe. The remains of a bright green mouse skull were crumbled on the floor. John took a breath and counted to ten. Don't bring domestic problems to work, that was a life rule he'd established for himself.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and went for the door, then paused. As annoyed as he was with his partner, he couldn't resist a peek. Carefully, quietly, he crept down the hall off the kitchen and slowly turned the knob on their closed bedroom door. The door swung silently open and John took a moment to appreciate the clean space. Heaven forbid anything be out of place in this room. Sherlock would throw a fit. The detective was sprawled on his belly, one arm stretched into John's empty space, looking lonely and cold against the ivory sheets. One pillow was flung aside, the other bunched under Sherlock's head and John realized that Sherlock was sleeping on his pillow, not his usual one. A warm feeling of sympathy bubble up in John's chest. Sherlock missed him last night. He'd never admit it-oh no, he was far too above that sort of thing-but he had. John allowed himself a small smile at the stillness of his genius lover, his dark head facing away from the door. The sheet had ridden down, revealing a bare back and the barest glimpsing shadow of the top of Sherlock's bottom. He always slept in the nude. John closed the door silently and left the flat, feeling a little mollified.
"Just through here." John opened the door to his office and ushered the young, freshly graduated doctor inside for the interview. Sarah hadn't cared that he was late, and thrust a stack of pages in his hands, telling him he was going to be interviewing for new doctors today. Fine with him, they needed the help.
"Have a seat, Mr. Morris." John flipped on the light and gestured to the chair in front of his big mahogany desk, smiling as the younger man thanked him and sat in the blue vinyl visitor's chair.
John settled behind his desk, Joseph Morris' CV in front of him.
"Yes, this all looks very good..." John scanned the qualifications and set the paper down, turning his attention to the bright-eyed, bushy tailed applicant. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"
"Of course, Doctor. Well, I graduated…."
John leaned back in his chair as Joseph spoke and almost had a heart attack. There, underneath his desk, crammed in the accommodating space his legs were meant to go, was Sherlock. The gangly man was crouched down—John had no idea how he fit under there. His coat and scarf were on as usual. John blinked, trying not to look as shocked and confused as he felt.
"…after my internship, I—Doctor, are you alright?" Joseph looked at him, concerned. Sherlock rose a single brow at John.
"Yes." John said. "Sorry. Continue."
Joseph did and John scowled down at Sherlock, who was now smirking at him. Annoyed now, John clasped his hands and firmly ignored his flatmate and lover. He resolved to holler at Sherlock and throw him bodily from the office once Joseph had left. John went on with the interview, asking more questions and checking facts on the CV. He nearly forgot Sherlock was under there until he felt a familiar long, strong hand on his right knee, palming its way up his thigh. John cleared his throat and jerked his leg away. The questing hand disappeared and John continued talking with Joseph.
The hand returned almost instantly and John stiffened when two nimble fingers grasped his zipper. Almost unconsciously, John shifted into a position that would allow Sherlock better access.
What are you doing!? He chided himself. You are at work! You are interviewing a possible coworker! You can't just—oh God, Sherlock…
John licked his lips and suppressed a shudder as a warm wet tongue lapped daintily as the tip of his cock as if asking permission to continue. Sherlock, the bastard, since when did he ever ask for permission to do anything?
"Do you need a glass of water, Doctor?" Joseph asked.
John glanced down briefly at Sherlock, his face mostly shrouded by shadow, save for the way it highlighted his cheekbones and made his silver-blue eyes glitter. He suckled on John's tip, winking up at the man.
"Uh—uh, no." John stuttered. Fucking Sherlock—God, no one should look that good while on their knees on the floor—oh God, he is on his knees isn't he?
John licked his lips and tried to busy himself with straightening Joseph's pile of pages in front of him. He only succeeded in mussing it further, his fingers wrinkling the pages as they clenched around them when Sherlock gently fed his cock the rest of the way out of his trousers and proceeded to lick up the side of it.
Joseph spoke some more and John couldn't take it.
"Thank you, Mr. Morris." John said when Joseph took a breath. "We'll let you…"
Sherlock wrapped his lips around John's cock and started bobbing.
"We'll let you know!" John canted his hips towards the lovely mouth and tried to make it look like he was leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk. He wasn't sure how normal it looked.
Joseph paused. "Certainly, Doctor Watson." Joseph stood and John gave him his best smile, trying to nonverbally apologize for the fact that he couldn't get up. They shook hands and Joseph left the office, letting the door close gently behind him.
"Alright, you little cock-tease…" John wrapped his fingers gently but firmly in Sherlock's thick curls. "Suck."
Sherlock moaned in his throat and John watched as he went up and down and up and down on his cock.
"Deeper." John growled. Instead, Sherlock pulled off and quickly undid John's trouser button. He tugged the trousers and pants off, shoving them to the floor. Sherlock adjusted his legs and bent forward, taking more of John deeper in his throat, making the doctor moan. Sherlock brought his hand up and slid it under John's thigh towards his buttocks. John leaned back in his chair, pushing his arse up to the edge of the cushion. He propped one bare leg up on the bottom drawer on his desk to give Sherlock more access to whatever he wanted. He was rewarded when long fingers prodded at his hole.
"Motherf…." John shivered.
At that moment, the desk phone rang. John growled at it. Sherlock grinned. The sight of Sherlock smiling, those pink cupid bow lips around his cock, was probably the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.
John glanced at the caller ID. Dammit, it was Sarah calling him from the other room.
He scrabbled for the receiver, dropping it twice onto the desk with a loud thunk before he got it to his ear.
"H-hello?"
"John, what did you think of Joseph Morris? Should I keep looking through these CVs or are we all set to go with him?"
"Uh,"
Sherlock slipped a finger inside John's body and rolled his tongue against his cock.
"Uh, I—!" John's face contorted silently in pleasure as Sherlock rubbed that sweet spot in his bum. "I th-think he's g-good…" John scooted further down the chair, closer to Sherlock. The chair let out a loud creak.
"Are you alright, John?"
"Yes! Just something in his throat—my throat! A tickle in my throat."
"Oh." Sarah didn't sound convinced. "Well, I hope you're not getting ill. They say doctors make the worst patients. Sherlock would go mad, well, madder anyway."
"Oh y-yes, dear Sherlock." John said, looking down at his boyfriend who was still enthusiastically bobbing. Sherlock stilled slightly at the sound of his name and watched John, who gently caressed the side of Sherlock's face with his thumb. "Mad, maybe, but honestly, after everything he's done to me, I think that would be some good payback." He said the last word pointedly at Sherlock, who responded by deepthroating John and swallowing. John's fist tightened around the armrest and again his face contorted in another silent pleasure-scream.
"Ha ha, yeah, good point." Sarah said, oblivious. "I'll look over Joseph's CV and let him know in a few days."
"Sounds goo—ood!" John's voice rose half an octave as Sherlock swallowed him again, this time while massaging his prostate. Sherlock actually had to break his oral grip on John so he could laugh silently under the desk, his curls bouncing and his shoulders shaking. John managed to hang up, only dropping the phone once, before he firmly took the sides of Sherlock's face in both hands, his thumbs resting on each of those delicate cheekbones, and manually turning Sherlock to face him.
"Shall I continue, Doctor?" Sherlock said, a devilish gleam in his eyes.
John could feel the tiny vibrations from his voice under his fingertips and he suppressed a shiver.
"No." John said. Sherlock looked surprised and slightly hurt. John stroked his face.
"No, I want you to get up, take your trousers and pants down, and bend over my desk. Now. Doctor's orders."
Sherlock licked his lips and nodded and John got up, going to the door and locking it. When he turned back around, Sherlock was unfurling himself from underneath the desk. John snickered. He looked like Gumby emerging from a clown car. John watched as Sherlock unzipped and slid off his trousers, almost self-consciously now that John was standing there watching, and folded them loosely and set them on John's chair. His black pants soon followed and he threw them on the chair too. John glanced down at Sherlock's hard, leaking cock and smiled. Sherlock started to take off his coat—
"Leave it." John commanded. "And the scarf."
Sherlock paused, then nodded and bent over John's desk, resting on his forearms, his fingers wrapped around the lip of the desk. John went around and flipped that beautiful coat up over Sherlock's back, the fabric smooth and thick and scratchy-soft. He gulped at the sight of the tight pale arse, a wave of arousal heating his hips.
"Lube?" Sherlock asked, a tremor of nerves in his voice. John knew he was remembering the shouting last night and John felt kind of bad. Sherlock was clearly still feeling wrong-footed, despite the surprise blowjob, and John wanted to set him at ease.
"Obviously." John quoted one of Sherlock's favorite words at him. He rested a hand on Sherlock's hip, sensing the tension in the taut lines of his body. "I wouldn't take you without prepping you, love." He squeezed the hip and Sherlock nodded, relaxing. It had taken some time to get to where they were now. Despite Sherlock's early misgiving about sex and penetration, he'd kept at it, and gradually became more comfortable with giving and receiving. John still liked to reassure him though, and though Sherlock didn't say it, John knew he appreciated it. John grabbed some lube and greased up his hard cock. Then he slipped a couple fingers into Sherlock, grinning when the detective hung his head back and moaned, rutting back onto John's fingers.
"Okay, you're ready." John lined himself up and pistoned forward, enveloping himself all in one go. The detective let out a shocked yelp of pleasure. John grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and fucked him hard and fast, skin slapping and clothes rustling. "This was a surprising turn of events, Sherlock, and I enjoyed it immensely. However," John hunched over, changing the angle, humping deeper into Sherlock's body, his breaths coming faster. "What you did was also a bit not good. If I came in my pants during the interview, well, that would look decidedly not professional."
Sherlock was getting close now, John could feel it in the way his leg muscles tightened and hear it the way Sherlock made little breathy noises and scrabbled at the desk edge. John was nearing the edge too, for that matter. He slowed and thrust languidly in and out.
"I think you need to be punished for making me look so unprofessional."
Sherlock whined.
"When I get home tonight, I'm going to spank you so fucking hard you're going to have a limp for a week—and not a psychosomatic one!"
John thrust a few more times, directly into Sherlock's prostate, and was pleased when the man let out a gasp and spurted onto the floor. John came seconds later, spilling deep into Sherlock's body, pleasure wracking his torso and sending goose bumps down his thighs.
"Good boy." John said, patting Sherlock's side. He drew out and cleaned them both up, then he pulled the man upright and gave him a long, slow kiss. When they broke, Sherlock was trembling slightly with nervous energy. "Did I do well, John?" he mumbled, looking away.
"Amazing, love." John kissed him again, glad when the trembles stilled. "Completely unexpected."
Sherlock grinned, genuine and warm, and John felt a curl of happiness in his belly. He only saw that look when he praised the detective and he loved it. It was like his very own special smile. John patted his arse. "Go on home now. I have an appointment in a moment." Sherlock hastily put his clothes back on and turned to go. When his hand was on the doorknob, John spoke, "Oh and Sherlock? I wasn't kidding about that spanking."
Sherlock nodded, excited, and left. John put his clothes back on and grabbed his tablet, eager for the day to be over.
Part 2 will be up soon! Let me know if you liked it :)