A/N – My first fanfic for the boys. Also the first fanfiction I've written in a while – it's nice to get back into it! I wasn't really sure what to write so I thought, hey, let's do some fluffy smut. There's no plot to this, just a simple one-shot. Hope you enjoy!
A gentle press of lips glide across the skin of Sherlock's abdomen. John suppresses a groan of delight as his lips skitter over the warm flesh. He loves this part, the teasing. John could tease Sherlock forever. Could immerse himself in just the heat and feel of Sherlock's body beneath his delicate fingertips.
The room is humid, and the air is heavy. Only the sound of Sherlock's soft breathing can be heard in the quiet night.
"John, mhm.." Sherlock mumbles, the depth and heat of his voice sending a shiver through every inch between himself and the doctor kissing at his hip. John doesn't answer immediately, more concerned with lapping at the pale skin and grazing it with gentle teeth.
Sherlock's lithe fingers find their way to John's head, threading through the tufts of the once-blonde hair. The pad of his thumb tracing delicate circles at John's cheek. Sherlock tilts his head, looking down into the dark blue eyes gazing up at him.
"I want you up here." He murmurs, suppressing a huff of impatience as the man continues to do torturous things with his tongue. "John…" he looks into those eyes once more. "Please." It's almost a whine.
After what feels like hours, John makes his way steadily up Sherlock's body, leaving no inch of skin untouched. Once settled on Sherlock's chest he bends his head, licking a stripe along the pronounced collarbone. Sherlock tenses, letting out the smallest of groans. John smiles into the crook of his neck. Sherlock barely makes a sound in the bedroom, only vocalizing his pleasure when riding the wave of orgasm. He is getting noticeably weaker, John notes.
"You're… you. Hm." Is all Sherlock can manage, rolling his hips against the older man's. A breath catches in his throat, and John almost thinks he'll groan again. Instead he grips at John's arm with a strength just below the barrier of pain.
John tilts his head to the side, his mouth pressing the dip of Sherlock's cheekbone as he leans in to him. The skin beneath his lips is unsurprisingly soft, and damp. The thin layer of sweat mingling with the scent of them; John and Sherlock.
Lifting his head ever so slightly, John reaches down, skittering teasing fingertips down the length of Sherlock's torso, his stomach, his hips, and finally…
The noise escapes Sherlock's lips before he can stop himself. His fingers tighten in John's hair, on his arm, wherever they can grip on to.
John settles his hand around Sherlock's cock, moving at a torturously slow pace. Sherlock shakes his head against the pillow, his lips forming a tight line and his eyes screwing shut as he desperately tries to keep quiet.
"Hey…" John whispers. "Look at me. Sherlock."
Sherlock resists for a few seconds before opening his eyes slowly, his lips parting to allow him to gasp for air. His chest moves with a rapid rise and fall against John's.
They'd talked about this before, in the quiet of their bed one evening as they lay close enough to share the same breath. Sherlock didn't like expressing himself in that way, he'd admitted. It made him feel less in control, more vulnerable to emotions.
"Sherlock." He whispers again, dipping his head to press his lips to that exquisite mouth. John moves his hand back down the length of his cock, twisting slightly at the base. Sherlock's lips quiver against his. "It's okay, Sherlock." John murmurs, tracing the tip of his tongue against his lower lip. Sherlock's breath hitches. "You can be loud. It's me."
"It's too intimate." Sherlock complains, closing his eyes again. John has to press his lips to stop himself from laughing.
"And me stroking your cock isn't?" He moves his hand a fraction faster along the hard flesh, to emphasize his point.
Sherlock's hips push into his hand and his head falls back against the pillow, exposing a never-ending length of neck.
Dipping his head, John licks at the salty skin, his tongue tracing small patterns around the pulse point.
"Mine, Sherlock." He murmurs, pressing kisses against the warm skin. "Mm, God. You're mine."
"John."
Sherlock's pulse quickens beneath John's tongue, his breathing increasing at a rapid rate.
"Yes?"
"Could you… your hand… a little faster. Hand, John."
Reducing Sherlock to a string of disjointed words is something that John unashamedly delights in. He'd never tell that to Sherlock, of course. For fear that he'd not speak to him again for weeks. But to make such a strong man so weak, seeing him at his most vulnerable, and knowing that he trusted John enough to let him do this… well. John simply adored it.
He enjoyed the tease, but he enjoyed giving into Sherlock more.
Moving his hand ever so slightly faster, he leans in to keep Sherlock occupied with his mouth while his other hand feels blindly for the bedside table.
"You okay?" He asks, finding the bottle and releasing Sherlock for a brief moment. Sherlock definitely groans this time.
"John."
"I know, I know. Hang on." Flicking the top back on the bottle, John mindlessly drops it to the side, reaching back down with his hand to grip Sherlock once more. The cool liquid in his hand eases the friction. Sherlock shudders, lifting his hips into John's hand. "Better?"
"Yes. Thank you."
John leans his weight on to his elbow, letting his fingers find their way to Sherlock's dark, unruly hair. John never knew one's hair could become so disheveled in bed. Apparently, Sherlock's could.
"John."
John let's his head fall to the pillow besides Sherlock's head, increasing breath tickling at his shoulder.
It's not long before Sherlock finds his release; fingers gripping painfully in John's hair as a rapid string of expletives litter the otherwise quiet room. It takes a long time for Sherlock to come down from the high, it always does. John moves to climb off of the hot body beneath him, but long arms find their way round his hips before he can get anywhere. He settles with a smile on top of him.
"You okay?" he asks, a finger stroking the soft skin just beneath Sherlock's ear.
A nod.
"I'm fine, John. I'm absolutely fine. Yes, yes I'm fine."
John smiles at the man's delusional, post-orgasm state. He's completely out of it. And John is the cause of it.
Placing a kiss to his jaw, John settles comfortably on top of him.
"I'm glad, Sherlock."