John needed a massage. Had needed one for a week and a half now. Sherlock knew that his doctor needed a massage because of the tension in his neck and back, and because of the dark circles under his eyes giving away his sleepless nights in that week and a half. It was obvious that John had been trying painkillers to help ease his shoulder's pain, but also obvious they hadn't been working. And the doctor was stubborn enough to keep from seeking help, either from a doctor, acupuncturist, or masseuse. Sherlock recalled how the shoulder had been injured, trying to decide the best course of action.
John took the man who had been punching Sherlock and flipped him over his back, landing on him in a move similar to the one they had seen on telly a week before, from an ultimate fighter. John then turned and straddled the man, wailing on him with his fists, a feral look upon his face. Sherlock finally gained the sense to pull John off of the man, so that he could still be taken in a police car instead of a coroner's van. John had thanked him, refusing to look at the detective.
Yes, Sherlock thought, a massage. So that John can feel relaxed, and blood flow can ease his pain. Sherlock was sitting in their sitting room, his hands in the familiar stance of prayer, as he thought. How to convince him… John was in the kitchen, bustling about slowly, shuffling from cupboard to cupboard, wincing when he reached too high or stretched a certain way. The doctor was making tea on this slow Sunday, so thankfully, he was not dressed in the usual jumper and jeans, but in his dressing ground and white t-shirt, which may make it easier to ease his shoulder. Sherlock continued watching as John moved to fill the kettle, only succeeding in dropping it with much cursing. Sherlock grinned wickedly, My chance.
"John, for God's sake!" Sherlock barked, standing and feeling his own dressing gown billow behind him dramatically. "Sit down before you cause more injury." He growled, pointing to one of the stools surrounding the kitchen table. John glared at him.
"I am perfectly capable of-" The doctor started yelling, but Sherlock growled again, towering over the older man.
"John!" He paused, and controlled his voice to make it softer, staring into the blue eyes of his companion, "Sit. Please." John's eyebrows contracted in confusion, but sat, watching as Sherlock stooped to pick up the kettle and wipe up the water spilt. When he finished, he turned to the doctor and stared at him appraisingly for a moment. John stared back at him, blinking still in confusion.
"Sherlock, what?" He asked, now frustrated. Sherlock felt his face light in a small smile.
"John, you need a massage." He stated, crossing his arms in preparation for John's argument. The doctor glared for a moment, but then his shoulders slumped, and he heaved a great sigh.
"Should have known I couldn't hide it from you." John muttered, looking at the ground in defeat. Sherlock stayed silent, waiting for the doctor to continue. "So," John said, straightening as best as he could and meeting the detective's eyes, "Who'd you con or blackmail into coming here?" Sherlock faltered, dropping his arms to his sides. John watched him, then nodded, "Right, you're taking me to someone, then." When Sherlock continued to silently stare at him, John became flustered, "Sherlock?"
"I didn't con or blackmail anyone into coming here." Sherlock murmured, taking a step towards John, who in turn looked nonplussed. What are you doing? Trying to intimidate him? Perhaps I am… "And I don't have a contact to take you to." Sherlock murmured again, and again took a step towards John. The doctor licked his lips in response, his typical nervous tick, although this time, Sherlock could feel his own tongue echo the movements. For God's sake. What are you doing? "I was- erm," Suddenly he was nervous, and Sherlock cursed himself inwardly again, "I was offering my services," He paused, frowning at the word choice, "I was offering to give you a massage." He finished, somewhat lamely. John's eyes hadn't left his during his internal struggle and searching of words. Finally the doctor sighed and nodded.
"Alright. I suppose you're a genius in everything else, how could you not be a genius at massages?" He murmured, looking away for a moment. Sherlock held his breath, not knowing why he was suddenly anxious. John met his eyes again. "How do you want me?" He asked, moving to shrug off his dressing gown. Sherlock choked.
"W-What?" He coughed, trying to ease his suddenly tight throat. John gave him an impatient stare.
"You're the one who is demanding I need a massage. How do you want me? Sitting here, or on the floor in front of you? Do you want me to lay on the ground-" Sherlock coughed again, shaking his head at the sudden images that flooded his mind, all of them with a naked John, and an impossible amount of heavy breathing.
"J-Just here." Sherlock cleared his throat, hoping to put more authority into his voice, "Except turn and face the table." That's sounding a little more like you. Don't forget to be condescending. "Since I can't very well reach your back and shoulders properly with you facing me." He snarked. Sherlock was rewarded when John grumbled a bit under his breath, and started to turn around. Sherlock smiled a bit, but it faltered off his face when John was moving to take off his t-shirt as well. He decided not to comment when the white cotton joined John's dressing gown on the other chair, as the older man flexed and rolled his shoulders. Sherlock instantly touched John's right shoulder. "You're going to aggravate it even more." He murmured, stilling John's movements. The older man sighed in response, trying to relax.
"Hold on, John." Sherlock said, suddenly getting an idea. It may be better to have some lotion or heating pads to increase blood flow. And it will help warm my hands. Stupid transport. For Sherlock found his own blood flow was decidedly moving south, instead of throughout his body as normal. He entered the bathroom and grabbed the heating pad and lotion, and paused when he saw lubricant that warmed on contact. It didn't help his thoughts that were thinking of heavy breathing again, but Sherlock thought the heated lubricant could be useful if John had a particularly rough spot, which Sherlock deduced he probably did. He gathered his supplies and went back to the kitchen, putting the supplies on the opposite counter, moving to take off his own dressing gown. John hadn't looked back at him, but cocked his head when he heard Sherlock put some lotion into his hands.
"Sherlock, what-" He cut himself off, hissing when Sherlock put his hands on his bare back, rubbing some of the lotion into the center of the doctor's back. Sherlock continued his work, until nearly all of John's back was soft from the lotion. Sherlock then moved to the point where neck met shoulder, and rubbed, before starting to knead into the flesh. "Ahhh…" John gave a soft cry between a moan and a whimper, before dropping his head slightly. Sherlock kneaded a little more before rubbing again, this time in a circle. John gave a soft moan in response. Sherlock felt his eyes flutter closed, because, God, if those noises didn't make him want to…
Sherlock shook his head, and opened his eyes, trying to focus on his task. He moved his hands a little lower, hovering around John's shoulder blade, and began to knead again, the doctor arching his back a bit in response. Sherlock found he could see John's spine, and let one of his hands drop to softly run his fingers down the vertebrae, impossibly entranced. John gave a gasp at the touch and arched his back again, making Sherlock bite his lip to keep from making a noise.
How can I be so focused on his movements? How can he be affecting me in this way? Sherlock thought as he looked down, seeing his hardness through the pajama bottoms around his waist. God the noises he makes… So responsive to everything. Would it be the same if my hands were around… Stop. Oh Christ, stop. His cock had throbbed in response to where his thoughts were headed, so he dropped his hands and backed away from John, taking in a couple of breaths. He turned to his supplies, eyeing the lube, sitting enticingly. John's voice made it through his thoughts.
"Sherlock?" He sounded confused. God, not as confused as I am.
"J-Just switching tactics. Your shoulder is worse than I initially thought." Sherlock said, proud that his voice only faltered for a moment. He squirted a bit of the lube onto his hand, and rubbed a bit in, instantly feeling the warmth spread. God that could be good… Stop.
Sherlock moved to John again, his hands going instantly to the shoulder, rubbing in the lubricant and then kneading in alternating rhythms. The effect on John was instant and made Sherlock whimper softly in his throat. John had let out another moan, but this one was accompanied by the doctor grasping the table, white knuckled. It had also caused the doctor to get a little flushed, which Sherlock took delight in. He continued his kneading, going to John's shoulder blade again, and along his spine. John made a choked sound, dropping his head again, "G-god, Sherlock."
Sherlock couldn't help it now, his hands slipped slightly and his nails scraped lightly on John's back, his prick now at full attention and his mouth murmuring, "John…" He could feel how flushed he had become, and he tried to continue his massage, determined that his doctor should be properly massaged. Something had changed though, John had sat up, tense, and Sherlock realized too late that he had moved closer to John, and that his hardness was pressed against the small of John's back. Sherlock stopped and stepped away, back landing against the opposite counter, eyes closed in shame. Christ, oh fucking Christ.
"Sherlock?" John asked, his voice had dropped slightly. Why is his voice… Oh. Sherlock dared to open his eyes at the sight before him.
John had stood and taken a few steps to the detective, and his lips were full and glistening from being bitten. He was still quite flushed, and his nipples had perked, reflecting the desire in his eyes. His eyes were nearly black with his arousal, and the front of his pajamas had tented from his half-hard penis, and his hands were at his sides, but were clenching as if he was unsure what to do with them. He looks positively wrecked. Sherlock felt his throat constrict slightly as he swallowed.
"J-John?" Sherlock asked, bracing himself against the counter, feeling the heat pool in his abdomen. The doctor took steps forward, finally coming to stand directly in front of the taller man, placing his hands on either side of Sherlock's hips. The doctor looked up into his eyes, and then rolled his hips into Sherlock's, and watching the reaction. Sherlock could feel his jaw slacken, and didn't know how he could become more flushed, but it took over his face, neck, and chest. The doctor gave a low growl.
"Oh, Christ. Sherlock, you have no idea how long I've wanted this. To feel your hands on me, to feel your cock against me, oh, God." John rocked his hips again, and Sherlock felt a moan leave his lips. He closed his eyes again in shame, but then felt a hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes and John was shaking his head. "No, God, please don't hide. Don't close your eyes. Christ, please tell me you want this?" Sherlock felt the breath leave his chest.
"Oh, God yes." He breathed out, and John gave a soft moan before tipping forward to capture Sherlock's lips in a bruising kiss. Sherlock gave a moan in return, nipping at the doctor's lips to gain access. John gave a gasp into his mouth and Sherlock brought his hands to John's hips, grasping there to help steady himself. He felt a bit of pre-come at the head of his cock, and rolled his hips into John, seeking friction. Being taller than the other man, Sherlock's prick only met stomach, and that was unacceptable. Sherlock moved his hands around John's back, to his arse, and squeezed before lifting him slightly. John gasped in his mouth and Sherlock took the opportunity to change their positions and start kissing the doctor's neck.
John was now effectively pressed against the counter, feet off the ground as Sherlock held him against the cabinets and kissed and sucked at his neck. When the detective found a pulse point, John bucked his hips and his cock met Sherlock's in wonderful friction, causing both of them to moan. Sherlock pulled back, putting his forehead against John's, panting out his breath. "John…" He murmured, opening his eyes to meet the doctor's dark blue eyes.
"Bedroom?" John murmured back, running his hands down Sherlock's chest. This caused Sherlock's breath to stutter, and he nodded earnestly. He kissed John again and lifted John higher, the doctor wrapping his legs around his middle. It didn't take long for them to reach Sherlock's bedroom, and they both landed with a soft whump on his mattress, John immediately threading his hands through Sherlock's hair and kissing him again.
Sherlock was running his hands down John's chest, and ran them up again, moving to the doctor's nipples, using the pads of his thumbs to massage the mounds. John gasped into his mouth, bucking his hips and being rewarded with friction that made Sherlock's head spin. John then moved his hands to Sherlock's tee, and was pulling it off in a smooth motion, hardly breaking their kiss. Sherlock had his fingers upon John's bullet scar now, lightly tracing it, and trying to catalogue how John's skin felt underneath his fingertips. The good doctor ran his hands up Sherlock's sides and back, alternating between light touches and nail scraping skin. It was all too much. And not enough.
Sherlock ran his hands back down John's chest, taking in the slight dip of his stomach and small jut of hipbone before bringing his fingers under John's waistband of his pajamas. John gasped and turned his head slightly, Sherlock taking the opportunity to whisper, "Alright?" into John's ear, before sucking on its lobe. John moaned softly.
"Please." John whispered back, grasping Sherlock's back now. Sherlock didn't need telling twice, and he started pushing down John's pajama bottoms and pants in one go. John's erection sprang free, and Sherlock felt the precome from his partner's cock upon his stomach. John was trying to help, by shuffling his legs out of the pajamas and kicking them away, and Sherlock ran his hands over the soft skin of John's penis, making the man hiss out quietly, "Oh, God."
John was reaching for Sherlock's pajamas and was tugging them off, giving a moan when he saw the taller man was not wearing pants. "Oh, you bad man. Fuck, that's hot." John growled and he surged forward, attacking Sherlock's neck with nibbles and sucks, causing Sherlock to groan loudly. When John found a pulse point that seemed to connect directly with Sherlock's cock, Sherlock gave a strangled cry and rutted against the doctor, panting.
"I-if you c-continue that, ah," Sherlock panted as John found another spot upon his neck, "I, ah! I won't last long." Sherlock murmured, his hand still fondling John's member and bollocks. The doctor growled up in his ear.
"Same could be said, God, Sherlock," John paused as a moan was taken from his throat when Sherlock gave a particularly good twist towards the head of John's cock, "Of your actions… Fuck. Lube?" John asked, moving his hand to Sherlock's leaking cock. It took a moment for the detective to voice directions, as his mind suddenly blanked of all but one word. John. John licked a stripe up Sherlock's neck, pressing, "Lube, detective?" He murmured, moving his hands upon Sherlock's cock.
Sherlock groaned again,eyes closing as his head drew back on its own accord. "S-side table drawer, nngh." John gave his bollocks a small squeeze, and then was gently crawling over Sherlock, reaching into the drawer for said lube.
"Give me a hand, would you?" John asks, slightly breathy. Sherlock wordlessly gives over his hand, starting as John squirts some lube into his waiting palm. "Spread it out." John murmurs, getting his own hand covered in the warm liquid. When satisfied, the doctor puts his knees on either side of Sherlock's hips, kneeling above him and lining their erections together. Sherlock looks down, whimpering at the site. John wraps his hand around them both, and gives Sherlock another kiss upon his lips, before giving a soft bite to the detective's lower lip. "Ready, love?" John whispers, and Sherlock whimpers again, reaching his own hand down to join the doctor's smaller hand.
"Yes, John." Sherlock whispers back.
And they start to move, both men moaning lowly at the friction and contact their members make, as well as the wet heat they had created with their hands. John's hips were rolling steadily, and Sherlock was countering with his hips moving up, their breathing coming in gasps and pants. John's other hand was supporting him and clenching in the sheets by Sherlock's head, while Sherlock's other hand was grasping at John's hip, back, arms, pectorals, whatever he could reach. They were both becoming rather desperate, and close to their orgasm.
Sherlock gave a slight thrust with his hips and leaned up so that he may kiss John's neck again, the doctor giving a low groan. "S-Sherlock… I'm going t-to-" He didn't continue, because Sherlock surged up and covered his mouth with his own, biting softly at his swollen lips. John moaned into the kiss and gave a few erratic thrusts before Sherlock felt the warmth of John's come on his belly. Sherlock gave a moan in response to sensation, feeling his own orgasm spill over, attacking John's mouth with renewed kisses.
John collapsed next Sherlock, reaching for his pants so that he could clean them, Sherlock turning slightly, so John could reach him better. When he was satisfied, John threw the pants towards the laundry, then propped up on an elbow, staring at Sherlock, who was breathing softly and watching John's movement. John licked his lips, his nervous tick, and Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.
"Does your shoulder feel better?" He murmured, and John gave a giggle.
"Yes, you mad man. My shoulder no longer hurts." John said, breaking down into more giggles. Sherlock grinned, and gave a self satisfied nod. He gave himself a stretch and turned so that he could be comfortable for sleep.
"Let me know if you need my services again, will you? I'd be happy to oblige. Mmph." Sherlock murmured, and then grunted because John had hit him with a pillow.
"Git." John said, taking the pillow back, and settling down and spooning Sherlock's back. "Those services are always welcome." Sherlock gave a low chuckle, and Sherlock squeezed his side, the two falling asleep soon after.