WARNING: M rated stuff. If that's not your thing, I suggest you not to proceed.
Otherwise enjoy!
Chapter 2
John was an alert sleeper. Even the tiniest bit of noise would wake him up. Army habit. When he got to get back to London, he was looking forward to long, peaceful hours of sleep. Once he returned, nightmares clogged his dreams and he completely despised nights. He could hardly believe this part of the daily chore he was looking forward to. And after meeting Sherlock, he spent his nights running on empty streets of London chasing gangsters, murderers, sharpshooter, deadly assassins hired for Sherlock's life. Or sometimes he spent his nights listening to Sherlock playing some angry, shrill note on his violin because he was thinking and it never matters to him if this activity is disturbing John. Times like tonight.
The Jack Sean case had arrived in 221b, Baker Street less than 24 hours ago. That means, Sherlock had to think about it in the middle of the night- at 2.48 A. M., precisely- because it was too goddamn mainstream to sleep.
John sighed. He was still mad at Sherlock for sending that text to Michael and now he was trying hard not to think how fucking awkward tomorrow is going to be for him to be in Michael's eyesight. He sighed heavily as Sherlock started playing louder, if that was possible at all. He tried to remember his dream. There was Michael for sure. And there was kissing, definitely. Not kissing Michael, of course. Somebody else. But the lips that were on his were soft, like Michael's. No, he hadn't tasted Michael's mouth. But it must be soft and tender like his arse..
What am I thinking?! Jesus, I need to shag off. Now! Sherlock Bloody Holmes has messed up my head already, John thought. He could feel his boxers stretching.
He stumbled out of his bed and pulled a T shirt on. He could hear Sherlock had stopped playing only momentarily before resuming. He wondered if Sherlock knew he is awake. He hoped not.
John tiptoed downstairs. His hands were trying to cover the erection in utter desperation. Instantly he regretted not wearing pajamas. If Sherlock sees him with a hard on, God only knows what he will deduce then. He had reached the last step and retrieving them can cause unwanted noise. John chucked the thought and went as slowly as he could to the door.
Sherlock hadn't stopped playing. That was a good sign, meaning he was distracted and might as well not recognize John's presence. The door to the living room was left ajar, to John's delight. He peeked in. Sherlock was looking out of the window, his back to John, much more to John's delight. He walked as soundlessly as he could towards the bathroom, feeling proud for being successful so far in trespassing in his own flat noiselessly. Finally reaching the bathroom door across the living room, he glanced back at Sherlock. When Sherlock didn't show any signs of detection of John's existence there, he pushed the door, got in and closed it behind him. He sighed with relief. His hard was throbbing now. He slipped down his boxers and held his erection.
A moan escaped from his lips and violin stopped playing after just a moment.
John bit his lips. The outside was silent now. Not a single thing he could hear from where he stood. His hand was on the erection and other on the basin; his teeth protruding the lips around ages, eyes red, hair standing in all possible directions. Nothing happened for three long minutes. Sherlock must have dozed off, John thought. He let out a shaky breath and started stroking his member.
He first thought of Sarah; it was easier to wank while thinking stuff like this. He thought how great it would have been to get in her pants but unfortunately it had never happened. She had very soft lips indeed. John remembered kissing her when they parted ways. Much to John's distress, it was the only time they had kissed. What embarrassed him more was, she hadn't kissed him back. After Sarah, the things hadn't quite changed. He had gotten to kiss his date only after she broke up with him. And that would be the only time he would kiss her, owing to the fact that his love life had never been more than 24 hours with one girl. Why, you ask? Well, which girl would want to compete with Sherlock?! Whenever John went out on a date the flat burst in explosion, some experiment went horribly wrong at 221b, a murderer escaped who needs to be followed, new lead is found on the case or simply because Sherlock wanted John to fetch his phone from the next room. How on earth John's love life will survive disasters like these?!
John hadn't even had time to attend his high school reunion last week. He hadn't met Mike Stamford outside the Bart's. Every time they made plans Sherlock had to intervene and make them cancel. He desperately needed to go out without Sherlock and do something fun, something normal. Don't get the wrong idea. Sherlock was wonderfully idiot in his own way and John has always been fascinated by him but many times John gets tired of taking orders and being pushed. He was really looking forward to meeting with Michael. Wonder who ruined the plan again.
John realised thinking all this stuff wasn't helping his hard at all. He tried to concentrate on the dream. That is surely one place in John's life where some sexy stuff happens. He tried to picture the kissing. Hot, wet lips crushed together in erotic desperation. John started adding details. Bodies pressed together, against each other. His hands were in his partner's hair. Black hair. Black curly hair. His partner had his long, slender, pale hands on John's arse. Caressing, pinching, spanking. The fingers looked horribly familiar…
John shivered. He grabbed tissues hurriedly and covered the head. He could feel the pressure release slowly yet strongly. Painful yet pleasing.
When he was done cleaning, John pulled his boxers back on. He turned the doorknob ever slowly. No movement outside. The only light source was from table lamp. John tiptoed again across the room.
"You took your time" John shrieked at the sound, jumped with fright and hit his ankle against the door frame. He howled in pain.
"Jesus- what the fuck- You cared me!"
"Oh did I?" John stared at the pale figure of Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, eyes on the ceiling, hands in praying position. John waited until his breathing slowed down
"Who was in the dream this time?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"Dream? What dream?"
"The dream you just had, John. The one which had you masturbating right away. Don't play stupid"
"I wasn't-"
"I just said don't play stupid. You were moaning like a dying cat for past 10 minutes"
"None of your-"
"Was it Lestrade?"
"Lestrade? Why on Earth-"
"No, it wasn't Lestrade, of course. He is hardly attractive" Sherlock scoffed before continuing "Who it must be then?" A moment of silence. "Was it me?" Sherlock sat up and looked at John.. hopefully.
John stared at him.
"It was me, wasn't it? Did I stroke you, John? Or did I enter?"
"Jesus, Sherlock, shut up!"
"Interesting" Apparently it was boring listening to John in 221b.
"No it wasn't you, Sherlock" He opened his mouth to protest but John spoke without halting to listen what he had to say "And it's none of your business." John spun around and started walking to his bedroom.
Sherlock followed.
"Of course, it is my business, John. You were fantasising about me"
"No, I didn't and for the love of God, leave me alone. I'm not talking to you" John bellowed but the footsteps following him never died.
"Why would you be upset with me?" Sherlock said, entering John's bedroom.
"You are the one to talk" John grumbled. He noticed Sherlock hadn't left yet and had no intentions whatsoever because now he had his one knee on the bed and it seemed like he was about to climb in. "Get off my bed, Sherlock, or else-"
"Else you will what? Kiss me to death?" Sherlock laughed ridiculously loud. Even though the prospect quivered his insides, John not tried to display it on face. Sherlock looks… cute when he laughs, John decided, in very gentlemanly way, he hastily added in his mind. Very attractive indeed.
"You can retrieve your tongue in, John"
John realized his tongue had been lolling out. He swallowed it with a lump that formed in throat.
Why am I hard again?
Frantically he tried to hide the evidence. He got under the quilt until his member was covered and then spoke calmly.
"Get out, Sherlock. I have no interest talking to you or listening to any bloody shit you've got to say"
Sherlock opened his mouth indifferent to John's words and John had a dangerous thought that he might comment on his rising member because Sherlock had fixed eyes on the quilt where John's hard was raising a tent.
"Don't say a word" John warned.
"I won't" Sherlock said replacing his foot on the floor again "Just one thing, though. We both know what's going on under the quilt and in your head, whether you accept it or not. You are not straight, John. You are bisexual and now that you don't get women to like you like you used to when you were young, you are inclining towards men. It was always there. Bisexuality. It has always been. Maybe you never accepted the fact in the past or maybe you didn't want people to think you are homosexual too just because your sister is. Whatever may be the reason, you are well old enough to make your own decisions."
Sherlock left the room. John had forgotten how to breathe.
All those times when I thought men had nice bum, cute smile, attractive chest etcetera it wasn't what straight men think..?!
Jesus, I'm bi.
A/N:That was the first time I have ever written something so.. M. Please review if you liked/hated it. Your reviews mean a lot to me. :)
Thank you so much reflectiveless, tricklethedragon1, LDWriter, Samzi and the Guest for reviewing and , samzi (again), baru33ka, My sisters randomness im weird, reflectiveless (again) for favourating! And thank you all who are following.
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