Your Cold Hands Claim Me.
Summary: John is the undoing of an experiment...and Sherlock is the undoing of John.
John is feeling frisky. It's Saturday afternoon, it's a beautiful day outside and all he wants is to make slow, passionate love to a certain tall, lanky consulting detective all day long.
He's been waiting patiently upstairs in their room, hoping Sherlock gets the hint. The detective was moving around downstairs for a while, but for the last 10 minutes, he hasn't heard a sound. John, on the other hand hasn't been able to stop moving; flinging himself onto the bed one moment, and getting up to check the stairs the next.
Where is he and what is he doing down there?
Finally, after half an hour of waiting, John has had enough; he gets up to investigate. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, the sight that meets his eyes is almost incomprehensible. There sits the detective, fully clothed, hands wrapped around a jar of a liquid of some sort; mind clearly not on plowing John into the next dimension. John stalks down the stairs to confront his partner, his tone broaching no argument.
"You. Upstairs. Now." Sherlock doesn't even glance up.
"Don't bother me, John. I'm busy."
So John decides to try a different tack. Coming around behind him, John snakes his hands around to Sherlock's chest. Pinching a nipple in one hand, he breathes into the detective's ear. "I've been a very naughty boy. I'm all hot and sweaty. Wouldn't you like to come upstairs and teach me a lesson?"
Still, Sherlock does not respond. He doesn't even acknowledge John's lame attempts at foreplay. In an act of sheer desperation, John reaches out to grasp both of Sherlock's hands and accidentally topples over Sherlock's experiment. Sherlock jumps to his feet and yanks a towel from the table, dabbing at his hands frantically. Sherlock turns, anger radiating off of him from his taut shoulders to the furious expression on his face.
John freezes.
They make eye contact, John cringes, back towards the door. He hits the door frame and comes to a stop.
Sherlock advances.
John presses into the unlatched door and the knob hits him in the small of his back. Sherlock slams it the rest of the way closed. The sound is deafening in the perfect stillness of their flat. Sherlock's hand stays poised above John's shoulder next to his left ear. John winces in at the angry, calculating look on Sherlock's face.
"Oh, you're going to pay for that."
John gulps.
"Do you know what I was working on, just now?" Sherlock growls menacingly. "I was working with liquid nitrogen and when you spilled it, some got on my hands. If I hadn't reacted as quickly as I did, I could have lost a finger. Now, that wasn't enough to hurt me, but it's made my hands VERY cold and YOU are going to warm them up." With his free hand, Sherlock yanks at the right hem of John's shirt out and sinks his icy palm into John's warm stomach, just below his ribcage.
John gasps at the cold.
Sherlock presses into John as his hand roams behind his back and up to his shoulder blades, his long nimble finger tracing a hot line up his spine.
John gasps at the contrast between his warm back and Sherlock's icy palm. It's truly uncomfortable and John worries where those blue hands might stray next. The other hand wraps around John's neck. He gasps and Sherock takes the opportunity to forage with his tongue through John's open lips. John now pinned to the door, but Sherlock has other plans.
With a hungry growl, Sherlock seizes John, pulling him against himself and twisting around. John lands hard on the floor beneath several feet of consulting lunatic. Sherlock's hands are everywhere, undoing his collar here, tugging off a sock there. Each place he touches burns with cold. Relishing John's gasps, Sherlock moves slowly.
He can feel Sherlock's forefinger trailing down his torso, his undershirt having vanished some moments before. John begins to squirm and moan and buck as he wonders how long he can stand the detective's torturous ministrations; the iciness of his hands being nearly as unbearable as it is arousing..
"Please...Sherlock..!"
He tries to squirm away, but Sherlock is too fast for him; his other hand is on John's right shoulder in an instant giving him no place to go. The hand leaves John's stomach for the briefest of moments to hover over Sherlock's lips before returning to grip John's hip.
"Shhh! I warned you not to bother me, and now you're going to pay for your mistake."
Suddenly, there's nothing protecting John's half hardness from the air of their flat and Sherlock's impossibly FREEZING hand which is wrapping itself around...
"OH!"
John screams with the pain of that coldness against his erection. Sherlock eyes John, his pupils blown, his gaze unforgiving. He begins to move his hand tortuously slow up and down John's member, eyes never breaking contact.
John screams when Sherlock's hand comes into contact with the sensitive tip, and remembering Mrs... Hudson downstairs, John tries to muffle the howl in his arm. Sherlock is having none of this. He snatches John's jaw, wrenching his head back. Reclaiming John's gaze, he moves the hand upward to twine though John's short, sandy blonde hair.
Sherlock's other hand continues to move up and down, more quickly with each stroke. He shows John no mercy. Finally, the doctor is near the edge and can hold back no longer, he bucks his hips, grinding into Sherlock's fist, release in sight. But the detective seeing this, lets go. John glares up at Sherlock and fumbles blindly for his wrist, wincing at the chill still radiating off of his lover. Whining piteously at absence of Sherlock's talented fingers, John struggles to understand the detective's motives in stopping.
"I told you, you were going to pay." Sherlock leers at the naked doctor lying on the floor "Now get up, we're going to go have a nice, hot shower." Sighing in relief coupled with aggravation, John dutifully gets up and follows the detective toward the bathroom.
They stop every couple of feet so Sherlock can throw John up against something, trailing kissing up and down his throat, hands roaming across his chest. John is past insanity, alternately begging and cursing the detective who seems to be deaf to his pleas. Sherlock sneers at his blogger, trailing his tongue over a sensitive nipple.
"Sherlock. SHERLOCK! Please, you're driving me MAD."
"Oh no, I'm not half finished teaching you your lesson. Now, into the shower with you!"
John is dumped unceremoniously into the tub as Sherlock turns on the tap. Naturally, the water coming out of the shower head is freezing. John tries to jump out of the spray, but Sherlock knocks his wrist against the wall.
"Uh-uh-uh." Sherlock tuts. "The water can warm up as quickly or as slowly as I want, it all depends on how well you behave. Now, if you stand there like a good little boy while I undress, I'll give you a treat."
John swallows hard and turns, plunging beneath the spray, gasping for air as the frigid water invades his every pore. Thankfully, Sherlock undresses quickly and moves to stand behind John, effectively shielding himself from the spray.
Slowly, as he rubs one hand up and down John's plump ass, Sherlock reaches in front of them and begins turning the tap. At first, John is relieved, but when Sherlock didn't stop at the mid-way point but moves the tap further and further toward HOT, John begins to squirm again.
"Shh! Sherlock whispers in his ear. "You can trust me, I won't hurt you. Now be good or..."
With these last words, the water becomes terribly hot and John hisses through his teeth, the heat especially painful against his arctic skin. John howls and bucks furiously into Sherlock, one of his cheeks colliding with something hot and moist.
Sherlock turns the tap again, this time resting on a perfect 35 degrees. John relaxes back into Sherlock who gently takes John's hand and wraps it around his cock, then captures his doctor's manhood with his own hand.
John, who has been on the edge for so long comes first, shouting Sherlock's name, his other hand braced on the wall in front of him. The sight of John clinging to the wall, shouting his name is too much for Sherlock and he follows suit, panting obscenities and nibbling John's right ear. After he recovers, he reaches through the curtain and grabs a towel, wrapping it around both of them as poor, tired John begins to giggle.
"Well," he says "I guess I'll have to be especially careful around your experiments from now on. Could that nitro-whatsits really have hurt you?"
"No." The detective rolls his eyes. "Really, John it's amazing that you became a doctor at all. Liquid nitrogen is used in primary school science projects all the time. While it is unpleasant, it can't really cause any permanent damage if handled correctly."
"So, that whole bit about how you might have lost a finger was a lie?"
"Highly unlikely," the detective replies sardonically.
"You weren't in any danger?" John ask with some chagrin
"Not really." Sherlock's smile grows wider.
"And I take it you weren't really mad at me, then."
John is irritated now.
Sherlock smirks down at him, a drop of water falling from one of his curly locks onto John's shoulder. He captures it with his tongue, savoring the taste of John's skin.
"Not in the least."
John turns to confront the detective, twisting awkwardly in the shower, now royally pissed off.
"Oh, I am gonna KILL you!"
Facts about Liquid Nitrogen I found helpful: od/moleculescompounds/a/ liquidnitrogen .htm