AN: First time writing proper (well really writing is seriously) smut and the first time I have uploaded something in months. This will probably throw off my readers like I have just salsa danced out of Ikea like 'ladies and gents I am back'.
When John was a child, the best part of waking up was knowing that he could spend the entire day outside in the sun. When he was a teenager, the best part of waking up was so that he could go back to sleep. Now, as an adult, the best part of waking up would be having someone lying with him. On this particular morning, it wasn't just anyone who was sharing his bed however. His chest rose and fell with the other's steady breathing, feeling the warm waves of heat break over his skin. It wasn't often that John woke before his… well officially now, his lover. It was rare to see the figure before him completely at peace. John mapped out the sharp features of his face, tracing out his cheek bones, the slight slant of his eyebrows, and the pale curve of his cupids bow lips. There were marks slowly fading out of view, little red powdery spots inflicted by John during the evening. He wanted to swipe his thumb along them, test how the rough skin felt against the pad of his finger but he didn't have the heart to move, afraid he might awaken the sleeping man.
"You are staring" The deep baritone made John jump slightly. He let out a long sigh, the corners of his mouth curling up. Sherlock remained completely still, like he hadn't uttered a word.
"It's more romantic this way" He breathed, turning his face down and placing a light kiss onto the pale collarbone underneath his chin. A set of arms coiled themselves around his back, pulling him in closer and dragging the covers up around them.
"Please. You are awfully sentimental about these things" Sherlock traced his hands in a symmetrical line down John's spine, feeling every bone and curve beneath his palms. Despite Sherlock's comment, he didn't show any signs stopping.
John pressed his lips repeatedly to Sherlock's clavicle before tracing up, craning his neck forward to get a wider range of the younger man's skin. "Well… I think I have the right to be" He took a moment to part his lips, letting his tongue flicker out along the base of Sherlock throat. The sensation playing out on his tongue was musky, salty with dried sweat and 100% Sherlock Holmes. "I mean… I did just get to take the innocence of the most brilliant man on the planet"
He could practically hear the grimace in Sherlock's voice at the word 'innocence'. "Taking the opportunity to be smug about it all then?"
John smirked. He pressed his palms against the mattress and leaned his chest up. With a bit of an awkward shuffle, he slid up Sherlock's lanky torso so their chest's pressed together equally and his nose poked at Sherlock's cheek. "Pot calling the kettle 'black' a bit there, aren't we?" He latched his mouth onto the back of the detectives jaw, allowing his teeth to scrape over the skin gently. The vibration of Sherlock's shudder rippled pleasantly down their bodies.
"Hm? On the subject of that…" Sherlock's hands paused at the ridge of John's back, his thumbs stroking the space between his shoulder blades. "…tea would be exceptional at this point" John drew his head back, looking down at the head resting on the pillows.
"You have got to be joking"
Sherlock's cheeks were flushed, lighting up a swelling pink on his pale face and his hair was disheveled, sprung widely along his forehead and the creamy pillow cradling his head. His eyes were half closed but as always, sharp and intelligent. A grin played out along his features, a grin he reserved especially for John. A hand around his back slid up, cupping his neck and bringing John down. Sherlock closed the gap between them, angling his head up and smothering John's mouth with his own. There was the delightful swipe of heat as lips parted and tongues collided. For once, John had more knowledge on a subject than Sherlock. Although his partner was a fast learner, he hadn't quite caught up with any sort of grace or coordination needed in a kiss like this. It never bothered John that when they parted, a sloppy mess was left behind.
"I never joke" Sherlock brought his forehead to John's, his curls tickling the crown of the other man's head.
"You also said you never beg. I proved that wrong"
"Hardly"
John pulled away, parting their chests and sitting back. His legs were seated open around Sherlock's hips, holding him in a loose straddle. The arms around him fell down around Sherlock's head. John took the advantage and grabbed the two wrists, pinning them on either side of Sherlock's ears and leaning down, supporting his weight on them. Sherlock's Addams apple bobbled when he swallowed dryly.
"Oh John! Please! Please will you?! I need you!" John mimicked in an uncharacteristically high voice that mocked the younger man. "John! John!" He moaned out his own name sarcastically in a pitch that hardly represented the consulting detective. Meanwhile, Sherlock glowered at his partner, curling his hands up into fists against the mattress. The smile spreading out on John's face stretched from ear to ear.
"Are you done being childish?" Sherlock growled.
"Not quite" John leaned down, pressing his lips to Sherlock's. When the stubborn detective rejected it, he moved his head down to Sherlock's chest. The dark haired man's breath caught in his throat when John pressed the lightest of kisses to one of the rosy buds dotted on his rib-cage.
"Juvenile" Sherlock hissed between clamped jaws when John allowed his tongue to slide over the nipple with no mercy. The heat tingled down into Sherlock's stomach, coiling and rising. His head tilted back, eyes squeezing shut when teeth were added into the assault. A sharp gasp was forced from his lungs as John's mouth surrounded it entirely, fully engulfing it in the intense moisture. The tingling sent a jolt up Sherlock's arm, tensing his muscles. He wanted to pull free, grab at something and hold on but the restraints on his arms wouldn't give. He bit down the panic that was rising in his chest. He may not be a virgin anymore, but it didn't take long for something as sensual as this to become overwhelming.
"Calm down, love. You are going to give yourself a heart attack" John rubbed his thumbs over Sherlock's pulse, counting the flurry of beats through the supple skin of his wrists. As much as he enjoyed watched Sherlock become helpless underneath him, John released the bud of skin. Sherlock barely had time to feel the wave of relief and lose wash over him when John set to work, nibbling and biting at his chest.
The hands pining Sherlock's arms back unraveled themselves and drifted down to Sherlock's bare hips, messaging slow circles around his prominent bones. John traveled lower, his head disappearing under the duvet. He grinned to himself as Sherlock's hand found a place in his hair, dragging his nails through the sandy locks launching in a bed-headed tangle from his scalp. The muscles in his stomach coiled when John reached Sherlock's belly button, his tongue sweeping playfully over it. There was a more pressing matter at hand further south from there which John took it upon himself to give attention. He guided one hand over Sherlock's cock, rapping his fingers around the length and adding the slightest pressure.
"Ah…!" The hand in his hair stilled, grabbing hold with a firm grip. The temptation was great, but John didn't give in to his need to laugh at Sherlock's sudden huff. He bit down on his lip and kissed on the soft dip of his tummy. John slid his palm from the base to the tip, repeating the action three times over before stopping at the head, rolling his thumb over the slit. That was when Sherlock emitted a proper groan, his hips tilting up into the touch.
Keeping his focus, John continued on. He made sure to take his time, marking out Sherlock's hips and the delightful curve in his stomach before his pelvis, covering every inch of available skin with his mouth until he reached his destination. With his body positioned between Sherlock's legs, he guided a thigh open with his free hand, angling one of Sherlock's legs out to the side. The man bellow him had stopped moving entirely, the sound of his heavy breathing the occasional whimper was the only sound coming through the covers. The hand tangled in his hair added a slight pressure, coaxing John's head towards the hips angled at his face. If this were anyone else, John wouldn't tolerate pushiness but this was Sherlock, the man who was oblivious to the unspoken do's and don'ts of this situation.
From above the blankets, the lump hovering between his legs dipped suddenly and the consulting detective's back arched. John sent one white hot, direct line up Sherlock's length. John couldn't say that he had a lot of knowledge in this field either, since he had spent most of his time on the receiving end. It didn't seem to matter though. The basic principle wasn't exactly complicated and it wasn't like Sherlock had anyone to compare it to. After adding a few more experimental licks, John parted is lips and carefully slid Sherlock into his mouth.
A low moan, coming out into a long stream greeted the tight heat that surrounded Sherlock. John curled his lips and slid his head forward and back. It wasn't difficult once he had built up a pace to follow.
"John!" Sherlock's hips bucked suddenly, filling John's mouth. His urges to splutter and cough became unbearable and he pulled off. The detective barely noticed though, his mind was far too busy processing the incoming data his body was receiving.
"We will be having none of that" John said with a grunt. He grabbed hold of Sherlock's hips, pressing them down onto the mattress and digging his forearms down onto his thighs. He heard the lanky man's strangled groan penetrate through the covers when he ducked his head down once again. John would never have considered that something like this would be pleasurable for both parties but the tingly heat coiling in his own groin proved him wrong. Shamelessly, the Doctor twisted his hips forward, rutting once at the clingy sheets beneath him. The stimulation was not nearly enough, but it took John's mind off the task at hand. Sherlock practically screamed beneath him when John's canine tooth dragged up his length.
John flinched, pulling off immediately. He angled his weight up, reaching forward to lift the thick blanket from over his head. A slither of a smile formed on his lips when he spotted Sherlock, forearm braced over his eyes and his free hand clawed into the sheets. When he yanked back the covers, the morning air nipped at his skin, causing both men to shiver. Not taking his eyes off the detective, John lowered himself back down.
Sherlock's entire frame seemed to deflate into the mattress when he felt the sweet brush of lips over his hip bones, relaxing into the adoring way they mapped out his pelvis. The hands that were once placed on his thighs slid up to where his leg met his torso and pushed with the slightest pressure. Sherlock complied, allowing John to spread both legs on either side of his head.
"You are gorgeous like this…" John muttered between well-placed kisses. Whenever he drew close to his target, he would dart away, teasing the man beneath him. Two palms slid forward, the dragging of thumbs up the inside of Sherlock's leg in creating a soothing impression. "Perfect Sherlock Holmes… my Sherlock Holmes"
Sherlock slid his arm down from his face and propped himself up on his elbows. His body moved, stiffly, mechanically. He could hear the tense grind of his muscles beneath his skin as he angled himself up to look down at his partner. He didn't meet John's gaze, only watched the sandy top of his head brush along the dip in his stomach.
"Joh…!" The word was torn roughly from Sherlock's lips. The sudden pressure around his cock sent jolts of electricity up his body, launching his head back. At the end of the bed, his toes scrunched together and his knees began to quiver. His eyes slammed shut and he bit down on his lip, forcing himself to remain quite, much to John's dismay. The army doctor couldn't get enough of those wanton sounds; it was slightly frustrating when the bloody git was too proud to emit them. John rolled his index finger over the tip, lubricating the pad with the beads of pre-come forming at a steady pace. He felt Sherlock's muscles tense when he added his middle finger to the action.
"Look at me" It wasn't a request. The sociopath forced his eyes open and came face to face with ceiling above them. He shook his head slightly, struggling to compose himself. "Sherlock, look at me" John's voice was sharper this time. The warm friction stilled itself, John's hand barely making a fist around him. Sherlock tried to buck, desperate for John to continue. Giving a curt growl, Sherlock rolled his head up. Just as he caught his lover's eyes, John began to speak, his voice settled back down into a soft demeanor "Relax, sweet heart… just relax" Sherlock watched, eyes wide, as John's lips replaced his hind and wrapped around the head of his cock, his tongue swiping out wickedly.
Sherlock didn't know what was more stimulating, John's mouth or the actual scene before him. Soon, the lips around him wasn't the only thing to focus on. The hand that had once been enclosed around him slipped down. There was nothing stopping the heavy moan pouring from the sociopath when John found the puckered hole and pushed his finger forward. Sherlock's elbows gave out beneath him and his back hit the sheets. He panted, greedily sucking in air and fisting the covers as John worked the finger inside of him. A useless babble of words poured from his lips, coming out in a mixture of 'oh god', various swears and John's name.
The only words John could actually make out were "I'm going too…" whimpered through gasps for air. John withdrew himself instantly, slipping his fingers back to rest at Sherlock's entrance. He propped himself up on his free hand next Sherlock's rib cage and went up on his knees between the detectives legs. Sherlock gave a little grunt and heaved himself up, his arms falling clumsily around John's neck and their lips crashing together. Sherlock's tongue eagerly slid up against John's with no real grace. The spare of the moment gave Sherlock time to get his thoughts together, to attempt some kind of knowledge of what he was doing. As John's two fingers entered him once more, Sherlock pulled John's chest down with his, winding his legs around his waist. With John's body kneeling down over his, it was the perfect angle for Sherlock to gain some control. With a slight struggle, Sherlock reached between them. His trembling hand found its purchase and gave one smooth stroke.
John let out a sharp huff, his lips inches from the shell of Sherlock's ear. The heated puffs soon turned into kisses, a mixture of lips and tongue against his flushed skin. Everything began to morph into place from then on, the two picking up a frenzied rhythm. John scissored his fingers deeper, slightly curling them at the edges until he hit a bundle of nerves inside his lover. Sherlock's moan was smothered out by John's own mouth recapturing his. Sherlock bucked back, giving a wordless plea that John didn't need any more encouragement to fill. The detective watched through half drawn eyes as John leaned his weight back and reached over to the bedside table. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk when he noticed the way John's fingers moved giddily, trying to get a firm grip on the discarded lube from last night.
Sherlock forced himself to relax, taking in deep breathes and soothing his muscles. His arms fell back next to his head and he tilted his neck up from the pillow. John's hair was in a messy bed headed tangle and his cheeks were lit up in a searing red. A slight aching sensation picked up in his chest when he watched John apply the clear substance to his fingers. Sherlock's tongue scraped his bottom lip, trying to regain some moisture. His hungry gaze followed John's hand down to his cock, staring blatantly as he applied it to himself.
The doctor turned his chin up to Sherlock and leaned down, catching his lips, blocking his view Sherlock's intense gaze was something that John was used to seeing, that analyzing look when you knew he was storing away some kind of hidden fact no-one else saw. He slicked himself quickly; keeping his lips to Sherlock's the entire time. Sherlock may be completely comfortable with watching, but John was a little more self-conscious. He thought back the need to blush when Sherlock caught on.
"There is no need to hide anything from me" Sherlock's voice came out in a hushed whisper against John's lips. The arms around John's neck squeezed slightly as Sherlock brought him in closer. "You are brilliant, John Watson" Sherlock nuzzled into John, brushing their noses together in a way that if John were anyone else, he would have seen it as a nonsensical thing to do. He tightened his legs around John, giving a short thrust for him to continue. "Please…" If John's ear wasn't mere centimeters away, he wouldn't have been able to hear him. "Fuck me"
Swearing was such a foreign thing to find on Sherlock's lips and John didn't give another moment of hesitation. He aligned himself with Sherlock's entrance, pushing his lips to Sherlock's as he inched forward. The detective's body lurched, a long sharp breath escaping from him in an airy moan. The doctor tucked his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck. He could feel Sherlock's pulse thrum rapidly against the side of his face. John counted the beats as he drew his hands up to lace his fingers with the detective's. He allowed Sherlock to adjust before moving again, picking up a steady back and forth motion. With the last sane thoughts John had, he reminded himself who it was beneath him. It took all of his willpower not to simply thrust in and out at his own pace.
Sherlock's blunt nails racked into the back of John's knuckles as the feeling of being filled engulfed his body. It was too much and hardly enough at the same time and if John wasn't holding him steady, Sherlock would be thrashing about on the mattress.
"Y-you c-can go…" He cleared his throat sharply, blinking his eyes hazily up at the roof. "F-faster than that" In any other situation, John would have been amazed at how Sherlock could still remain so 'Sherlocky' in a situation like this. The sandy haired man drew himself out, almost to the tip before crashing back down. Sherlock drew in a sharp gulp for air, slamming his face to the side and biting down on the pillow beneath him.
"God… Sherlock" John gushed, sinking in deeper with every thrust. It wasn't long before John hit head on with a place inside Sherlock that made him scream. Angling his hips, John drove himself down on Sherlock's prostate, taking a section of his skin between his teeth as he did so. The flutter of Sherlock's heart against his ear mimicked one of a hare being chased through tall grass by a python. John didn't need Sherlock's 'mighty powers of deduction' to know that his lover was close to spilling. A stab of panic hit the detective for unknown reasons when he felt his hand suddenly gripped around nothing. He scrambled for purchase, digging his fingers into the blade of John's good shoulder. Meanwhile, John stuffed his hand between them, crawling his palm down the plains of Sherlock's overheated chest down to his aching cock, weeping against his stomach.
Five burning hot streaks ripped up John's back, leaving behind a trail of newly scathed skin when John began to stroke his love in time with his thrusts. The room was overflowing the sounds of skin slapping together and indigent mutterings of each other's name. John bit down sharply on the base of Sherlock's throat, his teeth sinking in a mark that didn't look like it was going to fade any time soon as he pulled out as far as he could manage and drove back home. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock was the first to come. The usual stoic detective cried John's name and his muscles tensed around him. The very sight of the man he loves, coming undone before him was enough to push John over the edge as well. Sherlock's name was barely a whimper as he spilled inside of him.
It was sweaty, chaotic, the room smelt overpoweringly of sex and the sheets clung uncomfortably close to their skin. It was every reason why Sherlock had refused to indulge himself in sex up until this point and the sociopath could not be happier. They lay together, the mid morning sun licking streaks of warmth across their naked skin, coiled around each other in a way that was incredibly intimate. The rapid rise and fall of their stomachs was the only movement either of them could muster. The loss of John from inside and around his body caused Sherlock to give a whine. He lazily cocked his head to the side, his eyes following his best friend as John got onto his trembling feet and clambered off into the bathroom.
The sound of water running overpowered Sherlock's train of thought. He listened, closing his eyes and visualizing John's movements. He heard the gentle slapping of the pads of his feet on the tiles in the bathroom, the wooden slam of cupboard doors and the splatter of water onto cloth. Soon, the footsteps became louder as they approached the bed. Sherlock felt the dip in the mattress but he didn't bother making room. He flinched when he felt the bath towel dab at the skin on his stomach. Without a doubt, John was cleaning away the come smeared across his belly. Sherlock made no move to help him when he traveled lower and felt a hand come around his leg, raising it slightly towards the roof.
"You could just do this yourself" John muttered, mopping up his own seed as it dribbled down Sherlock's thighs.
"Oh no" Sherlock cracked open an eye. "It's more romantic this way" Suddenly, his vision was blocked by a soaking cloth. The detective's nose crinkled and he lifted his hand, peeling it gingerly from his face and tossing it to the floor. "Any chance of you preparing tea now?"
John put on a face of over dramatized consideration as he slid off the bed. "I think some tea would be in order" He snatched the nearest dressing gown from off the floor and slid it over his shoulders. He wasn't surprised to find he had donned Sherlock's blue night gown. Sherlock was just about to retire back down under the covers when John appeared, leaning over his side of the bed and holding his hand out. Sherlock shot him a glare that he didn't hold and took his palm, allowing John to haul him to his feet. He dragged the stained sheet with him, sliding it out from the bed and allowing it to drape over his shoulders.
John traced his steps backwards towards the bedroom door and paused against it, his back coming to rest against the cool wood. Everything clicked into place. Sherlock leaned down, capturing John's lips for an affectionate kiss. He held the side of John's cheek, stroking along the tanned skin with his thumb. John's hands moved up to Sherlock's neck, pulling him down to put less strain on his neck. The height different between them was an advantage in some areas, this was not one of them. Sherlock's hand slipped out and grabbed hold of the door, clicking it open and stepping through with John on his lips. The two moved in unison, stepping in time backwards into the living room. John's hands glided up, twining fistfuls of those dark locks between his fingers. Sherlock's arms found their place around John's waist, closing the gap between their chests and deepening the kiss. When they each broke for air, their foreheads remained connected and theirs breaths rolled down each other's cheek.
"Always a fan of the theatrics, aren't you, little brother?" John may have jerked back but Sherlock's arms remained in a firm lasso, holding John protectively close like a child would to his favourite teddy bear at risk of it being confiscated.
"I wasn't aware that we would be having an audience" Sherlock spat back, a swift change from his once flaccid demeanor.
"We aren't here unannounced. I made sure to text prior to arrival" The smaller man soon found that they were not only joined by his lover's older brother, but also the detective inspector for Scotland Yard. In fact, Greg Lestrade's own embarrassment seemed to be enough to reduce him to a burning cinder in the very chair he sat in. He averted his gaze, looking at something so remarkably interesting on his shoes. When his eyes met with John's, the Doctor felt the need to hide his head in Sherlock's sheet and never return.
Mycroft's tone could not be smugger. "Although I do suppose you were pre-occupied with other things"
Sherlock didn't waste time on the snide remark. "Why are you here?"
"You haven't heard?" Mycroft stood, tapping his umbrella across the floor boards. He stopped over at the coffee table, jabbing the end at a newspaper sitting dangerously close to falling off the edge. "The Tower of London case has reopened. New witnesses and what have you. I thought I should address to you the circumstances before you go leaping in and humiliating me on all circumstances you can muster"
Living with a Holmes had taught John many things about the family. They were incredibly clever and there was no room for mistakes or unfortunate miss-haps. Mycroft knew exactly what was happening when Sherlock didn't answer his phone and could not let himself pass up on the opportunity to out the two of them. The only thing John was concerned about was how uncomfortable Lestrade must feel, what with being dragged into Mycroft's little parade of 'I told you so'.
"You and I are both aware who the killer is. Travelling this far in fear of doing a bit of 'leg work'? How is the diet coming along?" John glanced up between the two brothers. If you stepped between them, their hateful gazes would be able to slice clean through your skull.
"I believe tea was mentioned earlier?" Mycroft flashed John one of his trade mark grins directly at John.
Sherlock's scowl did not waver from his brother when he loosened his arms and dropped a chaste kiss on his partner's forehead. John nodded curtly and marched off into the kitchen, happy to be out of sight. The morning ritual carried on, Mycroft and Sherlock trading snide remarks, Greg finally pitching in his information about the case and practically begging to be set free from the awkward bickering siblings and John sitting idly by on the coach and pretending as though Sherlock wasn't possessively groping his side just to spite his brother. The Doctor had a theory on why Mycroft detested their relationship so much. At first John thought that, in Mycroft's opinion, he could do better. The ugly reality he slowly came to terms with was that his sociopathic, arrogant sod of a brother had an intimate and loving relationship and he didn't. John couldn't help but smirk into his tea cup at the thought.
The brothers argued, the Detective inspector sat in his seat and pretended that his colleagues hadn't just shagged the life out of each other in the room next door and John tucked away a little grin. There were benefits to waking up in the morning, the biggest was always that John could spend the rest of the day with the sociopathic, eccentric man who was utterly mad and utterly in love with him.