"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go a bit deeper"
'You bet that perfect ass I'll go deeper' John growled to himself, really what did a bloke have to do to get off around here? 'I'll go as deep as you fucking like.'
After the exhausting hours of chase, and killing that blasted cabby, John was ready to scream, preferably in climax, but perhaps murderous rage would get Sherlock's attention better? Maybe he should have gone for Lestrade, at least he would be able to understand sexual frustration when he saw it.
Of course, before they could even eat that bloody stalker was there. And OF COURSE its Sherlock's bloody fucking brother. Now there's a nice thought. A nice threesome between those two. John worked to keep his shiver of desire from Sherlock's perceptive gaze. That sibling rivalry would pan out nicely in bed, each trying to one up the other, trying to make him-
"Done?"
John started out of his lewd day dreams, "What now?"
"Are you finished?" Sherlock's grey eyes were assessing, trying to figure out why his new toy er, flat mate had suddenly gone from frustrated to zoned out.
"Yeah, home?"
In answer Sherlock stood up, leaving John to pay the bill, of course.
The walk home was silent, each man lost in his own thoughts. John vaguely noticed that his hand grew steadier the closer they got to 221 B. Maybe Mycroft had a point about that then.
Once upstairs, Sherlock turned to his flat mate, intending to ask him about his strange mood. Before he got the chance a hand shoved him up against the door and he was looking down into lust darkened eyes.
"John-"
"Shut the hell up. I am going to do one of two things tonight, screw you hard and long, or go back to my own flat."
Sherlock's eyes widened. John wanted… him? As in wanted sex? Apparently so if the dilated eyes and heavy breathing were anything to go by. The detective smirked, "It's so late," he murmured, trailing a hand across the soldier's good shoulder and down his chest a little ways, "It would be rude of me to let you walk back now."
John grinned, victorious, 'Finally' and pulled the taller man down to kiss him thoroughly.
Sherlock blanked when John kissed him, it had been a long time since anyone had kissed him and it had never been quite… like… this. The detective moaned helplessly as John's tongue did something.
The soldier grinned, teeth suddenly capturing the other man's tongue before he sucked. Sherlock's knees started to buckle and John took advantage forcing the taller man down to his knees, face level with the denim clad bulge. Running his fingers through the sociopath's hair and tilting Sherlock's head up to him John commanded, "Suck".
The detective mewled, rubbing his face against the hard cock trapped there, mouthing John through the fabric before undoing the jeans and pulling him out.
'That's it' John thought, wobbling a bit as Sherlock tongued his dick before taking him all the way down. The detective felt fingers tighten in his hair and hummed bobbing, licking, sucking, anything to feel John tremble in pleasure.
Looking down at the man on his knees, red lips swollen and stretched around his cock, John felt a flash of possession run through him. 'No one else. I'm the only one who gets to see him like this.' Just before the heat building in him exploded, John yanked Sherlock up by his hair and threw him over the arm of the nearest arm chair, stripping the detective of his coat.
Face buried in the chair, Sherlock gasped as two possessive hands grabbed his ass, caressing. He'd never been treated this… used like this, and dear god he loved how demanding John was being. Apparently that ridiculous sweater really did hide a soldier.
John took just a moment to appreciate the view of Sherlock's tight ass in the air, before reaching around, pressing his chest to Sherlock's back and growling, "enjoying yourself?"
A whimper escaped Sherlock's lips, and a moan quickly followed when the erection straining against his pants was roughly palmed. "Fuck, make that noise again," John breathed, rubbing as Sherlock moaned helplessly, ass humping back against John.
The soldier was pretty sure he ripped Sherlock's pants at some point, but after pulling them down around the detective's knees, he really couldn't have cared less. Sherlock mewled as John's calloused hands ran over the delicate skin of his arse, mapping it for a gentle moment, before three fingers were presented to his mouth.
And bloody hell, the sight of Sherlock wrapping his lips around any appendage of John's was fucking hot. As soon as there was enough spit to work for lube, John removed his fingers, and without preamble penetrated Sherlock's arse with the first.
The detective's whole body writhed in shock pain and pleasure; John grunted, had Sherlock never done this before? 'Fucking hell, I want him now.' And the detective appeared to whole heartedly agree with that thought, moaning, and whispering a broken, "I'm fine. Now."
Sherlock's back went rigged and his fingers tore into the cushion of the chair and John slammed into him. Agony seared up his spine, creating a fog through which he suddenly heard a soft voice whispering, "I'm sorry pet, relax" and felt a hand running up and down his spine over the cloth of his shirt. John stroked the other man's cock slowly, gently, bringing pleasure back into play before gently rotating his hips while still inside Sherlock. The genius moaned and shuddered.
John pressed his lips to the back of Sherlock's neck before proceeding to pull almost all the way out before slamming back in. Sherlock mewled writhing as John fucked him into the chair.
Fucking Sherlock made the wait worth it. He was hot and tight and bloody hell those noises. Gasps, porn star moans and that sodding mewling sound all drove John crazy.
"John—"
The ex-soldier groaned in response as Sherlock tightened around him, leaning forward he hissed in the detective's ear, "Come for me."
And that was it, Sherlock moaned John's name, shuddering through his climax and taking the other man with him.
John braced his hands on either side of the other man's back on the chair arms, trying to get control of his breathing. Sherlock was a melted puddle underneath him, and John grinned before pulling out, causing another whimper to escape from those gorgeous lips. John brushed a kiss over the nape of Sherlock's neck, before fixing his own pants. Once Sherlock was re-dressed as well, John simply lifted the other man up and carried the detective to the couch, laying him down.
"I take it you're moving in?"
Oh the sweet vulnerability of that statement, John smiled, looking into those odd color changing eyes, "Of course."
More? Or stop while I'm ahead?