Fixed the literary errors, thank you StArBarD for pointing it out! :)

I know, I know, I should be finishing my other stories before starting new ones, but...this idea was sparked and I just HAD to write it!

So, no lie, I'm in a Biology class (Hoping to go into virology as a major) and now, whether I watch a movie, or see other people, I always keep getting drawn to their biology, the way their fingers move, the posture, the lines of their face, the shallow or deepness of breath, everything! And a guy friend of mine told me that now, when he is with his girlfriend, each time he touches her, all he can focus on is her insides, and what muscles are moving, and how the heart chambers pulsate and the reason why people blush HAHA, we feel like such nerds. I also adore the idea that in a Highshool!AU, the two of them would be perfect for this scenario. Hope you like it. :D

Oh! And the rating is due to the blatant sex in this chapter (Most of it is foreplay) and maybe in the next chapters to come. :) Tread lightly young readers! (Though it's not really bad...yet...)

-Sherlock's POV-

No matter how often I mingled with John, I could always feel his pleasure before I heard his breathy moans or soft cries.

With wide, finger splayed hands, I grabbed commandingly and pressed him flush to me, our bodies melding almost completely as he shameless rutted against me, so young and so alive, as I felt more of him.

His chest was my first and favorite place. I adored the ridge of his ribs that I could feel when I pressed my fingers deep enough; the supple skin blushed such a beautiful ruby red under my teeth and tongue. His heart was pounding against the boned cage, the muscles moving so deftly underneath the skin, tendons rolling as I pulled my lips back and nipped gently on his nipple, earning the sound I knew he'd deliver to me.

Ever since I had started my Biology classes, John Hamish Watson stopped being my John and just became the inner workings of my John, just a contraption of skeleton and capillaries and tissues and arteries and venous sacs. I never meant to forget the soul and conscious mind dwelling in such a responsive body, but as our eyes closed and we felt for each other in the darkness, my brain kept ticking off observations, kept running madly about to prove his attraction to me.

Pupils blown wide and black as obsidian again the usual morning sky shimmer,

Heart rate erratic and nervously excited, as if I was electrifying him with cable volts,

Such pretty, heartfelt words whispered on is heated breath,

Always gentle and kind with his gazes and understanding,

The list was miles long with the love of my John.

But my brain still grasped at straws as we lay together, lustily turning him inside out and make sense of the body behind the brave heart and dazzling light of his loyalty.

-VV-

I drew my fingers across the broad structure of his back, palms kneading his shoulders. I loved them just as much as I loved his lungs and collar bones, paid special attention to them as I straightened myself on my knees and held him up with my strong arms supporting his body as it writhed and bashfully tried to reach its climax.

He was so instinctual that it made me chuckle, from the deep depths of my diaphragm and up my throat, actually laugh during all of these serious movements. It rumbles against him and he lets out a moan that comes from some hot, shameless part of him, sounding so animalistic and raw that I growl back, biting at the delicate, intricate tattoo marring his skin, but gentle enough not to draw blood.

I called these 'good days', when I could break our borders and have him any way I wanted.

John flexed against me, and my ears tingled as I heard a couple of ligaments pop as he stretched his arms and cracked his fingers for me to hear, threading them in my curls and pulling fistfuls as I kissed him long and deep. I could feel the crescent curve of his feathery eyelashes on mine and fluttering against my cheeks as he moved himself, fighting for dominance and fighting against my tongue as he opened his mouth and tried to capture my lips.

All I could think of was that as we kissed, bacteria was mixing between us, viruses competing to break our immune systems and wreck such beautiful, silent havoc on our bodies. And that his tongue was probably the strongest muscle on his body due to volume surface area, and that his lips held millions of more pleasurable sensors than his genitalia.

God, I hatedbeing a Biology major.

Hated that my brain wouldn't just let me enjoy this.

His lithe form pressed aggressively against me again in a slow, cautious way, his mind becoming blinded by pure epinephrine and instinctual habit. My brain coaxed me to barely brush his hardening member with the very tips of my fingers, slow and teasing so I could bring a higher climax from him.

He cried out, deep and so wantonly that I almost let my tongue slip and call him a 'slut' but this mingling had been my idea. It was me who had caught him after rugby practice and shoved him on the bed, begging to have something, anything, from him.

But I could tell John was sick of waiting as his hands pressed insistently against my pectorals, looking down on me and so easily taking the upper hand to bite at my lip and draw away, coming back and pulling my lips up and dragging away again.

I wanted to dive into him. I suddenly wanted to drown in him.

His trained strength won out as he unbalanced us and pushed me deep into the pillows, hands working to keep me pinned down as I playfully tried to lead again. I was absolutely alive as he began to whisper those words to me, as if to pray to me, to beg to me.

"Let me do this. I want to please you." I licked my tingling lips as his Adam's apple bobbed huskily with each heated word, the light flickering in his eyes, misty and frighteningly invincible, with robust control.

The only thing that made me harder than the thought of John's clockwork inside of his skin, was hearing him move, the flick of his wrists as he pulled my jeans down, the ruffle of his bangs as he pressed his forehead to mine, the long, ragged, broken breaths as he panted and kissed and drew from me every single emotion and desire I had gagged and bound in this body of mine.

It was like he knew I was stuck in my Mind Palace, and he was dragging at me by my hair to come out, flinging open the double oak doors and letting the sun flood in like a devastating spotlight. I was suddenly on fire, lightheaded and confusedly drunk on his slick scent and the noise of our love making.

His lips made soft, wet sounds as he licked and lapped at my erection, and with the toss of my head into the soft pillows I hid the sight from my view, because had I watched I could have cum right then and there without any more coaxing from that sweet tongue of his.

He always made me like this. Always.

And of course, like curious, dominating John, he then straddled me with those thick, smooth thighs and tanned, naked calves, one hand slowing on my prick as he began lowering himself onto me with that lovely rose thorn smirk on those kiss swollen lips.

My hips jerked up into his warmth, and I didn't even try to hide the pure bliss and arousing ache as I leaned up on my elbows and groaned with satisfaction.

His tight ring of muscle was stretching slowly, and once the head broke through, he slid so easy on that he was covering me naturally and he was up to the hilt and weeping out as his nails dug into my chest to hang onto me.

His thrusts were relentless as he worked himself, his hands on my shoulders to stabilize his body above my lap, eyes pleasurably shut, neck tossing from side to side as he moved effortlessly to each of our climaxes. I would kiss his fingers, licking lightly at the rough skin of his knuckles, and bring my hands up to cradle his cheeks and ask for his eyes to be on me, and his voice to cry out for me, and without warning, I curled my energy up in my plexuses and sprung from laying, pinning him so quickly to the bed and ramming once, twice-

He came with screams that I thought might shake the walls, his tight muscles seizing around me and milking my worth as I tried to bury deeper into the heat, my own throbbing pleasure spending its heavy sighs into him.

I rocked us a little, my hips slowing as I moved my fingers along with his against his member that was already spent but rehardening at my tentative touches and careful caresses.

For a few moments, I simply listened to our breathing and John's murmurs under his breath as he saw stars and his climax whitened and ebbed back.

His skin was flushed with blood warming to the surface with embarrassment, his slightly freckled cheeks rounded and smiling as he kept kissing at me, his collar bone curved and collecting little droplets of sweat, his chest shined and sporadically falling as he be gave a breathless laugh and a relieved moan.

"I love you, I love you, love you, love you," he whispered into the mussed locks of my bangs, the pads of his fingers like hot coals as he pressed me down against him, so I could feel his inner workings die down from his cataclysmic rush.

"How do you make me like this?" I boldly asked, pulling his bangs from his blue, hazy eyes and relishing the way the fine lines of his smile crinkled and grew as he shrugged plainly, exhausted.

I finally pulled out of him, dragging out one last, careful noise from John before lying still beside him.

The night was falling around us as he lazily pulled the comforter up to cover what we had done, coming up next to me and blending his body effortlessly to the curve of mine.

I was weightless as I drifted to sleep, thoughts of course on the contortion of our flesh, and how easy it would be to stoke his flame to a boil for one more round and how there could probably be nothing more perfect than John. It was this orgasmic high that waved through the thick smoke in my Mind Palace's attic, saying"No" to the cigarettes and settling the twitch for a 7% solution for now. I was coaxed into a sated state unlike any narcotic could produce, easing my nerves and stroking encouragingly for more, but not now.

But listening to John fall asleep with my name praised like love on his exhausted breaths and holding this real entity to me as if we were one being, none of this could keep my brain from wandering back into the Palace and waiting a bit impatiently for a gruesome murder to flash through the newspaper or for Jim Moriarty to stop being so interesting.

I turned my eyes into the strong bough of John's shoulder and hid from the world, mouthing soft, thankful kisses to his skin and pressing my nose comfortingly into soft underside of is jaw, sleeping counting me to darkness with each beat of his sluggish pulse.

So...how does everyone like it so far?

Yes? No?

What's Jim doing to interest Sherlock? Is John ever going to be enough for Sherlock? Do you guys want to see more? Maybe some Teen!Lestrade? Principal!Mycroft, anybody?

Comment and review on what you guys want to see, or think should happen, and you get cookies, or if you're lucky, more chapters! :)

With love and hugs,

Castion and Clockwork