The Dirty Picture (Part Three)

Sherlock's left, alone, in the cold damp changing room before he can blink. John chasing after Sarah who ran off with a harsh insult and tears in her eyes, John quickly pulls on his P.E. uniform and runs off after her. Leaving Sherlock naked on the freezing cold bench with dried come on his stomach and in his mouth. John's touch still burns on his skin and his nipples and lips swollen. Not to mention that every muscle in his body is aching; up to his scalp and down to his feet, more importantly his throbbing throat is the worse.

Stiffly getting up after waiting for John to return for a good twenty minutes and hearing younger voices on the other side of the door, he picks up his own clothing and uses his underwear to take off the dried semen before throwing them in the nearby bin. Not looking at the bench where the mishap happened, he climbs into his clothes and leaves the changing rooms without a backwards glance. Tears stinging his eyes and a voice in his head telling him that he should wait in there, no matter who comes in.

It becomes clear to Sherlock that he's nothing but a dirty little secret, a fantasy that came true, an experiment made possible, an adrenaline rush for the adrenaline drunkie.

Not bothering with school for the rest of the day, he continues back down the road towards his house, wishing for an empty home when he returns. He can hear shouting as he walks past the field, near the tree he was hiding at earlier today, but he doesn't look up to see who it is. His dark hair covering his face from view as he walks by and up the hill towards home, John's muttered confessions and dirty whispers ringing in his ear.

Despite feeling as if he's just a filthy fix, a tiny voice in the back of his mind is telling him that John's confessions and whispers were true and that his actions and looks were genuine. After all, Sherlock has gain clear evidence beforehand that John had asked him out and is 'into' him. But all that evidence is overruled by John running off after Sarah and his own self-hatred. Nasty whispers run through his head all the way home; telling him that John would never go for someone like him, that John just wants to experiment with the same sex, that John isn't gay, that Sherlock is too strange and weird to have someone as perfect and as handsome as John.

His father's away when he final returns home, and there seems to be no sign of Mycroft or Mummy, which is unusual as Mycroft has studying to do and Mummy is often always inside tending the house. Father is always away during the day, working seven days a week and only returning just before dinner and leaving early in the morning. He thinks about his family's daily routine, taking his mind off John, as he slowly makes his way upstairs towards his room. His freshly made sheets a calling comfort for him.

Quickly dressing out of his stiff school uniform, he throws it into a ball in the corner of the room before putting on his comfiest pair of jeans and a grey hoodie to stop the chill that's seeping through every pore on his body.

Falling face first in his pillow, he curls up on the sheets; kicking his shoes off so not to anger Mummy when she sees muddy prints on the new sheets. His phone lays silent on the bedside table next to him as he crawls under the covers, pressing the tips of his fingers into his tear buds to try and stop the oncoming tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. He fills his mind with Chemistry and Math's problems to get his mind off his brief happiness not even an hour ago. It works for a good ten minutes until his phone goes off beside him and the thoughts of John come tumbling back into his head, filling every single one of his senses.

Clumsily reaching out to grab his phone, hitting his wrist off the side of the bedside table in the process, his fingers type in the wrong passcode before it finally opens. His heart pounds in his chest as he rolls onto his front, legs flying everywhere as his eyes finally focus on the screen.

It's from Lestrade.

The tears this time he can't stop as he throws his phone onto the floor and curls up into a ball on his side, his back to the door and the covers over his head. His disappointment cuts deep as he cries into the sheets. John chose her, not you. The voice sniggers at him, making him curl up smaller and sob louder. Sherlock is in his mind palace so far and his cries are too loud to hear the sound of Mummy and Mycroft coming home. His mind is too busy laughing at his hope, listing off the obvious reasons why John wouldn't pick him, listing off the reasons why he would choose Sarah and replaying the picture of them kissing each other and what happened with John.

It's too much for him. The pressure on his brain is too much. He wants it to stop, he wants to forget John, forget love and lust and passion. The bully's words repeat until he's muttering them on his own lips. The fear deep in his gut is making him shake, the fear that the bullying will be back after the holidays when they realise that his friendship with John has gone, and that he got in the way of the school's hot wannabe couple. It wouldn't be like last time, he told himself, fisting his hand into hair, trying to pull out the pressure and the feelings.

It'll be worse!

Whimpering into his arm, he starts to think up a plan that'll get his parents to move. So he can start fresh at a different Sixth Form, with fresh bullies and annoyances. No Sarah. No Emotions. No Distractions. No Friends. No John. It would be the ri-

A knock at his bedroom door pulls him from his thoughts. Making him see the mess he's put himself in with snot dripping out of his nose - making his arm sticky - his hair sticking to his forehead, his throat sore (from deep throating John or crying he wasn't sure), his eyes puffy and sore, his limbs stiff from staying still too long and his mind on overdrive; making him dizzy and a migraine to start.

"Go Away!" He huffs, voice husky and still stuffed deep inside his covers.

"Sherlock?" John's voice replies, startling the brunette as he sits up straight and draws in a shaky breath.

John is here? He thinks to himself before shaking that ridiculous thought out of his head. Of course he isn't, my mind is playing tricks on me. It doesn't stop him from staring at the door though, thinking up an argument that John might actually be on the other side of that door, waiting for an invitation in. He comes out from underneath the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the door with his silvery eyes.

No other sounds come from the other side. Not even the sound of him moving nervously on the other side, or him breathing loudly. Then again, Sherlock knows John and he knows that John is very rarely nervous so wouldn't be moving much. But he ignores that thought. A quiet broken sob escapes his lips as he realises that a friend is all he will ever be to his dear Watson. What he has with Sarah will never be what they have. If he is here, and that's a big if, then he would have come to apologise, to correct what he's done.

Not to come in and claim Sherlock, roughly and brutally, across his new sparklingly white sheets.

Despite his distraught mood, his penis still seems to take an interest in the thought and twitches roughly against his tight jeans, aware that he has no underwear on. The rough texture of the jeans makes his hardening cock burn and hurt, but Sherlock knows – especially from earlier with John – that pain and pleasure is something he loves. A sound crossed between a moan and a sob escapes through his lips, making his throat hurt and for him to realise just how sore his eyes are when he blinks them shut.

"Sherlock?" John's voice calls again from the other side of the door, this time accompanied with a knock at the door, just as Sherlock gets up to head to his en-suite to clean up. Freezing halfway off the bed, his heart beats wildly as he realises that John is actually here, feet away from him. He's come to him. Breathing deeply, he sits back gently onto bed to stop his limbs from shaking. His mind goes blank, no thoughts but that of John on the other side of the door.

Lifting his hand to his eye, he tries to wipe away the redness and the dried tears on his cheeks, wanting to look good for John. As if what happened didn't affect him in the slightest, which he knows is useless to achieve. Even the unobservant Watson will take one look at him and tell that it affected him, deeply.

"Look, Sherlock, let me explain, please. I know you're in there, open the door. Please, Sherlock." John continues, Sherlock can hear his hand on the handle and can nearly hear the debate in his head whether he should open the door without permission or not. Sherlock doesn't want to answer, he knows his voice will tremble or break and it'll be a dead give-away. His pride wants John to leave, to never return but Sherlock knows John is stubborn; he'll wait out there if he has to, even if Sherlock doesn't want him.

"What is there to explain, John? You've picked, end of." Sherlock answers after several moments, cursing himself for not being able to resist answering but surprised by the strength of his voice. It gives no indication he was crying his eyes out minutes ago.

"Picked? What do you mean?" John replies, clearly losing his patience as Sherlock sees the door handle turn slightly. Clearly, John's manners that his mother drills into him coming to light. Sherlock has the sudden thought that he'd like John not to use manners, to use this house as his own. John's voice breaks through his thoughts, "Sarah is nothing to me, Sherlock. A means to stop thinking about you, I thought I made that clear to you in the changing rooms…before?"

Sherlock huffs, losing his own patience at John's clear stupidity that the brunette isn't talking about sexually. He's talking about everything.

"You don't understand!" Sherlock shouts, clenching his fists into the covers.

"Then make me understand, Sherlock! I don't know how clear I can make it to you that I want you; physically, mentally, anything. Together as one, Sarah forgotten about. Just us." John says quickly, making it hard for Sherlock to understand everything but he gets the idea as he freezes, throat clogging up, "Sherlock?" John continues when he doesn't reply, "Oh fuck this!" His mutters, for a split second making Sherlock fear that he's leaving just before the bedroom door flings open.

John stands there with one of his hideous oatmeal jumpers on, paired with a new pair of black jeans. He's shoes were off, as Mummy always ask guests to take their shoes off at the door, revealing a hole in one of his neon green socks, an old Christmas gift from Harry; Sherlock deduces. The deductions keep his mind busy as a silence drags on, making his haven uncomfortable and suffocating.

"Oh, Sherlock." John mutters from across the room, stepping in and closing the heavy door behind him, his eyes not leaving Sherlock as the brunette finally looks up, "Oh, love. I am so sorry. If I had known, if I wasn't so stupid, I would have stayed with you." Sherlock notes that the little steps John are taking towards him are uncertain, as if he doesn't know what to do with his emotional unstable friend. Sherlock hates the distance between them as he listens to John's words, far too forgiving as he slowly stands up, stepping towards John until there's only a footstep between them.

"Why? Why go after her if what you say is true? That-That you want me." Sherlock says softly, looking down at John's lapis lazuli eyes, watching as they flicker between Sherlock's own eyes.

"For you." He answers, lifting his tanned hands slowly to rest on Sherlock's cheeks. Watching his friend with a sharp expression, ready to back away if the touch goes unwanted. Sherlock does nothing of the sort, his accepts the contact eagerly and presses into John's touch; closing his eyes and practically purring into the palm of his hand.

"Me?"

"You like your privacy, Sherlock. I didn't think you'd like the rumours going around that you've been getting down and dirty with the school's Rugby captain or more vicious ones than that." The blonde sighs, stepping closer to Sherlock so their toes touch, "And I wanted you to be respected. I know now when I think about it, what I did to you, wasn't respectful. I shouldn't have left. But right then I didn't want Sarah doing around, blabbing shit around. Making you come across as a dirty whore or something along those lines."

Sherlock grins, eyes still closed, at the words. A comfort to the negative thoughts in his head, pushing them aside as his heart flutters loudly and butterflies begin in his stomach. No negative feeling or thought in the way, his mind peacefully blank. He has more questions for John, but pushes them aside. All that matters to him now is the burning desire starting in his abdomen. The urgency in his mind to understand more, ask more questions pushed aside by the fact that they have time – all the time in the world – for Sherlock to ask questions.

Right now though, Sherlock wants John.

Re-opening his eyes, he's surprised that John's so close. Inches away from their lips touching. The blonde looks up at him, eyes wide with adoration. Sherlock curses himself quickly for not realising it sooner, that John had always been his.

John opens his mouth, clearly wanting to explain more but Sherlock interrupts him with a lascivious smirk, "But I thought I was your personal sex-toy? Your little virgin? Your little cocksucker?" Sherlock mutters flirtatiously, leaning forward to gently rub his lips against John's. Hearing the stuttered moan that comes from John as his hands glide off his cheeks and bury themselves into his curls.

"Let me explain, Sherlock." He whispers against Sherlock's cupid bow lips.

"Explain later, John. Right now all that matters is that you're here, you've came back. So, please, for both our sakes; take me. Finish what you started." Sherlock presses his lips firmly against John's this time. Ravishing the taste of John; the slight taste of old orange juice, tea and mint. John doesn't response at the start, making Sherlock pull back slightly. Blushing as he thinks he's misread the signs, taking a step back from the Captain.

"But I left you, alone. That needs an explanation." The blonde replies, wide-eyed.

"And you've gave one, John. A good enough one for me to forgive you, until I have further questions to ask to ease my troubles." John closes his eyes, clearly having trouble processing the fact that the brunette has forgiven him for his mistake so quickly. Sherlock shakes his head of curls, sighing dramatically, "Are you planning on leaving now?"

John looks up shocked and somewhat hurt, but sees the hidden vulnerability behind the question as he steps forward and wraps his arms around Sherlock neck. Ignoring the fact that he has to stand on his tip-toes (ever so slightly) to reach and bury his fingers back into Sherlock's curls, "No!" He declares delicately, brushing his lips against Sherlock's cheek before kissing his still puffy eyes, one firm kiss on each one before doing it again just under the eye.

"Good."

John takes that as all the permission he needs as he smashes his lips onto waiting ones. The moan of approval from the brunette is enough for John to deepen it even more. Opening his mouth to grant Sherlock's tongue better access, letting the timid Sherlock take the time he needs to get the courage to stick his tongue into another's mouth, even if that someone else is John.

John's lips become urgent as Sherlock brings his hands up to grip the blonde's waist, his fingers digging into John's thick jumper. The material is fluffy under is fingers as he traces the outline of John's six-pack underneath the material, wanting to strip him. His tongue finally finds itself into John's warm mouth, exploring as John's lips slow down and his tongue strokes against Sherlock's. The feeling is oddly disgusting but arousing as Sherlock's cock twitches uncomfortably against his jeans.

His long fingers finally find themselves climbing up his jumper, stroking the tanned fit skin underneath. His mouth watering with the itch to lick the shapes and curves of his muscle. Sherlock retreats from John's mouth and kisses down his neck as his fingertips play with one of John's nipples; pulling, twisting and rubbing gently, recalling what John did to his own nipples hours ago.

The blonde's breath hot on the shell of Sherlock's ear as a low moan vibrates through John's body, making Sherlock twist his fingertips ever so slightly harder and suck on the crease between the shoulder and neck harder. Wanting to mark John just like John did him.

"Oh, Sherlock." He mutters, fingers tightening in the brunette's locks, going soft against Sherlock's hand, "I want you so much. Let me take you, my sweet boy. Let me take care of you and sort out your problem." He continues, stroking Sherlock's semi-hard cock over his jeans suggestively. Wanting, needing John to touch him, caress him, dominate him. He breaks away from the captain's neck and presses his forehead against him, nodding his head; mouth open, panting and swollen from John's lips.

"Take me." He breathes, fingers trailing the outline of John's toned stomach.

John's lips are brutal against his, nipping at his lower lip. Pulling his curls tightly as he slowly backs Sherlock towards the waiting bed, making the brunette's heart splutter in his chest and his mouth automatically open. John's tongue wastes no time in invading his mouth, tongues battling each other for domination and ending up with Sherlock submitting to him.

In return, Sherlock grips the top of John's jeans with one hand whilst the other lifts the jumper up. John breaks the kiss, pulling Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth as he breaks away; biting down hard onto it. Releasing his lip, the back of Sherlock's knees hit the edge of the bed as John stays a foot away, the distance is horrid as Sherlock uses the grip he has on John's jeans to pull him close. His fingertips gracefully gripping the edge of the white boxers peaking over the jeans as he pulls him so their bottom halves are touching.

John roughly grinds into Sherlock's crotch as Sherlock's grip lifts him slightly on balls of his feet so he can reach, their cocks aligned together, just material keeping them apart. The brunette stutters a moan at the friction, feeling John's eyes reading his face and grinning with pride, "Strip me." John commands, a shiver running through Sherlock's spine as John steps into his dominate role. Sherlock knows now that John will take him. Just the way Sherlock wants to be taken for the first time; brutally, passionately and dominantly. His wildest fantasy coming true, his most secret fetish coming undone, his wettest dream becoming reality.

Panting heavily, his fingers awkwardly try and undo John's belt as the blonde kisses down Sherlock's long, lean neck. Breaking the geniuses concentration and making him pause in his actions, "If you keep stopping, my little virgin, you'll have to wait longer for me to stretch you open." He presses a firm kiss on Sherlock's neck, "To enter you." Another kiss, "To make you mine." Another kiss, further down his neck, "To make you cum." Another kiss at the crease, "To love you." He licks up Sherlock's neck, from the crease to his jaw, stopping to look Sherlock straight in the eyes; pupils blown and lust evident on every feature on his face; to the twitch of his eyebrow to the red tips of his ears.

"J-John." He replies brokenly, undoing the belt and turning to the zip. The jeans fall down to pool around John's sock covered feet with an easy pull, leaving John standing in just his white underwear – after John quickly removes his own Jumper impatiently – with his thick hard cock straining against the tight underwear. The outline of his cock is clear against the material, a small wet patch of pre-cum outlines the tip of prick as the chunky length looks ready to burst through the material, desperate to escape.

Sherlock eyes it warily, unsure if it'll fit into him. Then again, he was able to fit it into his mouth and he knows John is a talented and experienced lover. Letting out a shaky breath, John strokes a finger over one of Sherlock's sharp cheekbones. A silent comfort that he'll take care of him, make sure it doesn't hurt him and that if it does hurt; he'll stop. Sherlock smiles softly up at him as he sits down on the edge of the bed, aware that his legs are about to give.

Sitting down brings him eyelevel with John's erection, making Sherlock's cheeks burn and his throat clog up with the thought of letting John fuck his throat again. John smirks down at him, reading his face easily. Bring his tanned hand down onto himself, he strokes himself through the thin material, watching Sherlock's face closely as the younger boy licks his lips and unconsciously parts his legs wider so John can step closer to him. "Such a pretty face." John comments, stroking Sherlock's face with his free hand, "It's not possible that I deserve such a good boy."

Sherlock hums back to him, only half concentrating on what his John's saying. But the words make his confidence rise and a reply come to tongue. John places a thick finger over his lips, stopping him from speaking. Sherlock closes his mouth and re-directs his attention back to John's hand stroking himself slowly. "Can I…taste you?" Sherlock asks shyly again John's finger, looking up at John through his lashes. Catching the glimmer of softness that crosses his expression before the cockiness is back on.

"Feel free, my little cocksucker." He replies, strokes Sherlock' curls as Sherlock moves forward. The brunette runs his nose over the covered bulge, trying hard to hold down his beaming smile as he feels it twitch against him. Delighted that John desires him, that he can make John's penis react to him so easily.

The blonde gasps loudly when Sherlock runs his tongue teasingly over the boxers, circling the tip before placing his lips over the cotton. John stutters a curse under his breath, gripping the dark curls painfully as he thrusts his covered cock into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock accidentally knocks his teeth against John's cock before quickly recovering, ignoring that the taste of cotton. The feel of it rubbing against the inside of his mouth off-putting.

"Christ!" John shouts, before placing a hand over his mouth and looking down at his friend, wide-eyed, "Shit, I forgot about your parents! And Mycroft!"

"John!" Sherlock tuts, pulling away with a disgusted look on his face, his penis going soft, "Don't mention them! The last thing I want to be thinking about whilst…doing this with you is Mycroft or my parents!" He sulks, glaring at the older boy, "Look!" He glares, pointing down to the fading bulge in his jeans, the wet patch from his pre-cum evident.

John laughs, before ducking down and planting a soft kiss on the brunettes rosy lips, "I'm sorry. I'm just worried they'll think I'm murdering you or something."

"Tremendously ambitious of you, John." He rolls his eyes, giggling lightly before pulling him down onto the bed on top of him. Eager to get going again, uncaring if they hear them. He secretly wants them to know that John is his and vice versa.

John moves to lie next to him on his side, one arm keeping his head up whilst the other teases Sherlock's top up. Drawing shapes onto the showing skin, making Sherlock blush and hide his face behind his curls and the covers, "Don't hide from me, Sherlock. I want to see every expression cross your face, everything you feel. There's no need to hide from me, love." John says slowly and softly, pulling Sherlock's face up.

The brunette stays silent, watching the blonde carefully. Ready to see the lie even though every fibre of his being is telling him that John wouldn't lie to him, not when they're like this. Half-hard and begging for each other. Well, John is very much as hard as he was minutes ago, making the younger boy smile and quickly take off his top.

"I'm taking that as a sign you want to continue?" John grins, moving his hand all over Sherlock's bare skin. Making his skin tingle as if he's just had popping candy. He absently plays with one of the brunette's nipples as his sapphire eyes never leave Sherlock's silvery ones.

"Well you seem to never have wanted to stop." Sherlock flirts back, confidently reaching out and running a finger over the head, "It's as if the idea of my parents and my brother finding out doesn't bother you." Gently pecking John's smile before continuing, "Or if the idea of them walking in on us turns you on?" Sherlock grins, running a hand down John's cheek, over one of his swollen nipples and over his six-pack to slowly tease the white boxers off. Needing John's pulsing cock in his hand, no barriers to stop Sherlock from feeling his John's bare skin.

"Or maybe I fancy your brother?" John speaks, lifting his hips off the bed to help Sherlock take off the boxers. Sherlock stops though, snapping his eyes back up to John's, pausing. He can see John's playful grin, the spark of mischief in his lustful eyes but it doesn't stop Sherlock from asking the stupid question of 'do you?'. Knowing full well that John doesn't, but to satisfy the curling possessiveness growing in the gut of his stomach.

"Wouldn't you like to know, my love." John winks, planting a reassuring kiss on the brunette's cheek before bending his leg up to strip off his hole-ridden socks and to take his boxers off. Kicking them off so they land near the door, before turning back to Sherlock who's watching the bouncing cock with intense interest; the recent teasing forgotten about as blinding desire fills his every pore. His cock hardens quickly, making him light headed from the sudden rush of blood.

He lies down fully onto the bed, trying to calm his racing head as John's blonde head pops up above him. One of his arms hold him up next to Sherlock's face, the other hand is exploring Sherlock's body; effortlessly undoing his belt. One of John's legs are in-between Sherlock's, making his knee rest next to his crotch, adding the barest of friction. His other leg is holding him up, halfway straddling the brunette.

The anticipation is making the younger boy's cock drip frantically with pre-cum and his nipples to harden as one of his hands stroke John's thigh that's holding him up. Aware that John's reddening cock is erect and ever so close to his body. John looks down at him, asking him if it's alright for him to proceed, to slip his hands into his Sherlock's jeans and grip his cock.

The brunette nods eagerly, making a sound that's halfway between a squeak and a moan but John's humoured and wanton look is enough for Sherlock to ignore the embarrassing noise. He lifts a trembling hand up to rub his thumb against John's cheek, the curling possessiveness still laced in his stomach, "You're mine." Sherlock whispers, wanting it to sound fierce and protective but coming out as a question. John bites his lip shyly, looking down the brunette with a blush staining his cheeks, knowing full well what Sherlock means.

"I always have been."

Sherlock doesn't break eye contact from the blonde, wanting to memorise his deep blue eyes, flushed lips and red cheeks. John looks away, watching his hand travel into Sherlock's jeans and grip onto the quivering length. Sherlock throws his head back at the contact, closing his eyes at the sensation of John's warm hand gripping the base of his throbbing cock.

His hand falls from John's face and clenches itself into the sheets, relaxing into the pleasure. He doesn't even notice that John is sitting back onto his knees until he feels John's hand leave his cock – much to his disappointed as he feels the slow burning sensation of a much needed climax approaching – and begins to strip his jeans and socks off. Sherlock bends his neck, looking down at the blonde with hooded eyes.

Watching as the blonde grabs his hips and moves John more onto the centre of the bed so he can crawl in-between Sherlock's legs. His breathing goes weak at the sight. John smiles up at him through the fringe of his hair, before crawling up to him and kissing him softly on the lips. Their cocks touch. Lightly skimming each other as he stretches to reach the genius's lips. The smile stays on the blonde's lips as he kisses Sherlock, his happiness noticeable as Sherlock grins up; the blush never leaving.

"Sherlock." John whispers, running a hand through the dark curls, "I've wanked to this image so many times. You naked; lustful and wanton. My hands running through your curls. Our cocks touching. Wanting only each other. I've even shagged others thinking of this." John blinks down at him, realising that probably wasn't the best thing to say as he shakes his head of blonde hair and continues, "How do you want me to continue, love?"

"You choose." Sherlock replies, a bit surprised with John asking. Expecting John to just take control, not expecting to be so…talkative. John grinds quickly into him, letting out a wheezed whimper as he does so; clearing trying very hard not to do what Sherlock wants: to take control, to do what he wishes with the brunette.

"It's you're first time. I took advantage before, I shouldn't have."

"No! That's what I want, John. I-I like it." Sherlock groans, rubbing back into John. Needing the friction to cool the hot longing he's experiencing. John looks down at him, using his hands to steady him on either side of Sherlock's head, the blue in his eyes nearly unrecognisable from his pupil as he gasps down, "Finish what you started, John. Use your little cocksucker."

John smirks down at him before leaning back onto his knees, looking down Sherlock's body with his cornflower blue eyes. Sherlock knows the look in his eyes, the calculating look as he takes in every inch of the brunette's body. Making him shiver in the sheet, clutching them tightly into his fists. The blonde bends down, nuzzling at Sherlock's inner thigh before sucking down hard on the soft skin, nibbling at the sensitive spot. Throwing his back, he lets out a long, sensual moan. In the back of his mind, he knows that Mycroft – in the room opposite his – is bound to here that but he doesn't care. Instead his right hand takes a fist-full of John's surprisingly silky blonde hair and tries to push the rugby captain's mouth closer to him.

Only succeeding in John's teeth knocking against him.

Nonetheless, the feeling still sends shivers through him. Giggling, John unlatches from his thigh. Grinning up at him as his mouth comes into touching distance of his throbbing cock. Just John being that close to his crotch makes pre-cum bubble out of the slit of his cock before it drips down his length, pulsing eagerly. "John, please." Sherlock lets out brokenly, the anticipation making him shake.

"Patience, love." John whispers back, hovering over his friend's cock.

It feels like hours before John finally makes contact with him. His hot tongue massaging the base of Sherlock's cock and the crease of his balls. He stays away from the head of Sherlock's cock, knowing that he's far too sensitive. Sherlock is grateful for it, he doesn't want it to end too quickly. The blonde places one of Sherlock's balls into his mouth, his hand playing with the other. The sensation makes Sherlock's cock bounce, banging into his stomach before standing straight. It would have made the younger boy abashed if he weren't for John trying to fit both of his balls into his mouth.

His moan quickly covering his embarrassment.

"John, J-John I won't..." Sherlock stares, looking down at the bobbing blonde hair between his thighs before fixing his eyes up at the ceiling with a faltered whimper. Even without anything or one touching his cock, John is still enough to get Sherlock off. He files it away into his mind palace to look over later and, hopefully, experiment with, "I-I won't last." He manages to finish, eyes up at the ceiling still. Even when John's mouth moves away from him.

The blonde kisses the tip of Sherlock's flushed cock before gripping his hips and flipping the taller boy over, making Sherlock squeal in surprise. John's broad hands are on his arse in an instant; gripping the two pale globes tightly in each hand and shaking them. Sherlock feels John's piercing stare on them, obviously watching them move which – Sherlock wonders – is something John finds arousing.

He wants to ask him, to see if his bottom is something that will please John in the future; despite the ache scars marking each cheek a dark voice whispers in his head, "Bloody gorgeous, Sherlock. The amount of times I've watched you walk or crouch down, staring at your arse through those bloody tight pants. Desperately wanting to grip onto it and claim it. To stick my tongue up your hole and spank you until it's nice and red." His arse cheeks spread out under John's hands, forming a yelp in Sherlock's throat as the cold air hits his puckered hole, "I hope you let me do that, my sweet boy. I won't be able to help my-"

John's tongue devours the tight muscle mid-sentence. Losing his patience, Sherlock deduces, burying his head into the sheets as John's mouth sucks at the tense skin. The younger boy has the sudden disgusting thought that he might not have cleaned himself up properly after a trip to the toilet, and there John is licking it all clean. Add in the fact that his arse crack seems to be the only place (apart from the thin hairs on his legs and around his penis) that thick hair grows on his body. He feels slightly queasy at the thought, despite the sharp arousal making his brain go all fuzzy and his erection to twitch painfully against the covers of his bed; giving him the much needed friction.

"Oh, John." Sherlock moans, his sudden thoughts forgotten about at John's tongue starts to invade his hole and loosen the muscle. Sherlock relaxing boneless on the covers, rubbing his hips against the now wet covers in tiny circles. John grunts into his arse, digging deeper into the crack of arse. Animalistic noises come from John's buried face and Sherlock wishes that can watch as John ravishes his arse. Every lick and nudge with his tongue driving Sherlock insane.

By the time Sherlock's ring of muscle is relaxed and widened ready for John, he's been reduced to a pile of goo. Never in his entire life did he think something would feel so good. He grins lazily into the sheets, eager to find out if the feeling of being fucked is just as good or better.

His back automatically arches when one of John's fingers tease his hole. Surprise flooding him before the same disgust filters through, horrified that – yet again – John might rub his finger into something that would ruin the mood completely. However, when John's finger eases into him, opening him wider whilst his other hand slowly caresses his cock; it's utter bliss.

The noises the brunette makes doesn't even register in his mind. He doesn't care about anything else, apart from John rubbing that spot inside of him. Prostate his mind calls to him, adding in data to his already rapidly filling room. He makes a quick note about changing his John room to a whole wing before his thoughts are – yet again – supressed. John adds in a second finger, making him feel wider and more vulnerable than he's ever felt in his entire life.

It almost hurts. As if his body is telling him that it isn't right, that he can't do this. It burns as John kisses his sensitive stomach, muttering soothing words in his ear. "John." Sherlock whimpers painfully, withdrawing from the intrusion.

"Shit." John mutters pulling away from Sherlock, "Lube." John states, as if forgetting. Sherlock's gut turns uncomfortable for a second when he remembers that John is used to being with women, so he's probably treating Sherlock like he would with a past girlfriend. Again, he pushes the thoughts away, not wanting to analysis anything.

"Top draw." Sherlock whispers out, slowly stroking his hard-on as he vaguely remembers Mummy telling him the other day that there's Baby Oil. He wasn't sure if it's alright to use, but to be honest he doesn't really care and neither does John as he grabs the bottle, covering his left hand with the oil and plunging the two fingers back into the puckered hole.

This time it doesn't hurt.

John's fingers slip in with ease, stroking his prostate lightly before going deeper. Scissoring his fingers, stretching the younger boy's hole wider than it's ever been for. Sherlock weeps into the covers, clutching them desperately and pushing down on the fingers. Urgently yearning for more. He thirsts for more fingers up him, longing for John's length to bring him to the climax he desperately pines for.

"More, John. I want more." Sherlock chokes.

"Shush, love. Be patient with me."

Huffing, Sherlock continues to move his hips, fucking himself on John's fingers. This time using John as his personal sex-toy. The thought sends a delicious quiver through him. After several moments of John continuing to scissor him, his fingers withdraw from Sherlock's heat. A whine leaks through Sherlock's lips when he turns to lie on his back, forming a laugh from John as he moves closers to Sherlock so he's nearly on top of him.

The head of John's cock rests against Sherlock's dilated opening. So close but so far away, Sherlock hisses to himself, trying to wiggle his hips so John's cock goes in further. John chuckles against Sherlock's lips, knowing all too well that he's driving Sherlock insane with his slow, teasing pace. "Oh my sweet desperate Sherlock." John murmurs against his neck, slowly licking over the love-bite that Sherlock can feel bloom, "I want this to stay with you. Me teasing you, making you beg for it. I want you to feel – suffer – the affects long after we've finished. I'll be severely disappointed if it isn't on the top of your wank list for months to come." John exhales against the sensitive spot near his ear.

"Yes! Always!"

John leans back, eyeing up Sherlock before gripping his thighs and shuffling so he's in-line with Sherlock. His cock taunting the rim of his opening, "Bollocks!" John shouts suddenly, looking down at his hands before looking up at the bewildered brunette, "Condoms! Oil!"

Sherlock's even more puzzled for a moment before his mind catches up with what the blonde is saying. He curses his mind for being so slow. Of course the oil John used before would break the condom, Sherlock didn't even think about it. Stupid! Sherlock huffs, throwing his head back onto the bed, sulkily staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the throb of his dick.

An idea comes to him.

An idea so brilliantly fabulous that it's the best idea Sherlock has ever had!

"I'm clean!" Sherlock grins at John, jumping up so his elbows are holding his top half up. Looking very much like an eager puppy. The blonde stares back at him confused, causing Sherlock to frown back at him. Frustrated that John wasn't getting him, that he isn't sharing the same delight that Sherlock is, "Oh for god's sake, John! We don't need one!"

John just stares at him for several moment, pre-cum dripping heavily onto Sherlock's prepped arse. The younger boy is about to lose his patience and just take matters into his own hands, just flip the shorter boy over and sink down on that delicious, gratifying cock.

"I might not be clean." John says slowly, after far too long.

"You are. I would know otherwise, John." Sherlock cockily replied, expecting John's raised eye in return, "What's that look for? I wouldn't have swallowed your…semen otherwise! Or even gone near you if I thought for even a second that you had an STI."

"Fine!" John growls, moving yet again so he can reach the Baby Oil, "And we're getting proper lube after this, I don't even know if this is safe to be inside of you!"

"I. Don't. Care." Sherlock snarls.

"But you will when you get some infection or it feels weird later on or it doesn't wash away easily and I've got to be the one listening to you whine on!"

Coating his cock and Sherlock's arse with the leaking oil, Sherlock ignores John's blabbering. Not the least bit interested in what he's saying, only concentrating on the slow entrance of the rugby captain's penis as it breaches past the ring of muscle. The smooth burn from before is back but this time sweet, somewhat pleasant as they oil helps John slide into place in one graceful pull of his hips.

"Sweet fuck, Sherlock." John barks, one hand on either of Sherlock's slender thighs, looking down at where he's inside of him, "You're so fucking tight. A little virgin you really are." John smirks up at him, moving his hands off him and placing them on either side of Sherlock's slim shoulders, "I can't wait to get this arse of yours all used." His teeth nip on one of his very swollen, very sore nipples. Biting gently on one of them, lapis lazuli eyes not leaving Sherlock's heavy ones.

John starts moving, licking up the brunette's chest and neck before stopping at his bottom lip. Eyes fixed. A smirk playing at his swollen lips. Nipples hard. Balls slapping softly against his arse. Cock pulsing inside of him. Hair dishevelled. Sherlock can do nothing but stare at this perfect man, mouth shaped in a small 'oh'. Everything but John leaving his mind.

John's lips finally, finally land back on Sherlock's. Needy and rough as his hips never stop moving deeply in and out of him. John's strokes are long, slow and deep, rubbing against his prostate when he pulls out. Sherlock hooks his long legs around the tanned boy's narrow hips, changing the position so his prostate's stimulated with every movement of John's hips.

"Look at you." John murmurs, making his stroke shallow. A hand runs over Sherlock's sharp cheekbone, "I have never seen anything more beautiful, more gorgeous than you."

The brunette blushes, throwing his back in pure bliss when John rams his cock deeper into him. Becoming more desperate, Sherlock deduces, wanting to see me come, losing control. A giggle makes its way up his throat, coming out as a long sensual moan when John's left hand fists into his hair, revealing his pale neck for the blonde to violate. The heel of Sherlock's foot rubs against John's bum cheek, his hands too busy mesmerizing the feel of John's hair and the bare muscle of his broad shoulders to lurk towards his behind.

John's slow pace is beginning to frustrate the youngest Holmes. He wants John to go rough and quick, but Sherlock knows that John is stubborn. That he'll continue what he's doing despite Sherlock begging him, just to watch Sherlock fall apart in front of him. To torment Sherlock in a different way than what he longs for. There's no doubt that he'll love what John has in mind, but (for today) he needs John to be rough with him. He's waited too long for this to be teased.

Sherlock's long fingers grip John's waist, feeling the thick muscle underneath and his feet move to plant themselves onto the bed. When John moves out of him, ready to plant himself back into Sherlock roughly; Sherlock flips them over.

Looking down at the surprised blonde, Sherlock grins cockily down at him. He kisses his nose before moving onto his knees to straddle John, his very hard cock rubbing in between Sherlock's cheeks. John gasps, looking up at his friend with a look of wonder, mischief and utter desire. The dominate side Sherlock can see playing in John's eyes, the twist of a smirk on his lips is all the evidence Sherlock needs to know that he's going to get punished; whether today or another time, Sherlock doesn't know.

"You naughty boy. You better get back on my cock before I decide to throw you over my lap and spank you until you take my cock how I want you to take it." Sherlock moans in response, lifting up slightly so John's head pops back into his hole. Filling him just as he likes it. John reaches for the lube before Sherlock reaches all the way down, drizzling some on the base of his cock before throwing it on the floor and letting Sherlock sink all the way down.

The brunette ignores John's hands to steady him, to keep him at a reasonable pace. The genius rocks his hips backwards and forwards, relishing the feel of John's length slowly widening his passage even more and hitting his walls sharply. John's hands run up his back, following the curve of his spine up and down. Sherlock bends his back further, as if present his arse to someone behind him, placing his hands on either side of John's waist and raising himself up on John's length.

He does it slowly a few times, testing himself to make sure his hands and knees are planted in the right positon and that it's just as pleasurable for John than it is for him before speeding up. John's legs move so his feet are planted into the bed, sitting Sherlock higher and giving him more high to bounce on his cock.

John his mind mutters to him as he looks down at his hooded eyed blonde. His sapphire eyes are always on Sherlock, watching his every move and helping him. His blonde hair is starting to stick together with sweat as Sherlock goes even faster, adding a twist to his hips as he reaches the base of John's cock, even clenching his walls a bit to add to John's pleasure. "Oh my dear god." John chokes when he does do it, Sherlock watching him bite his lip. Knowing that John's feeling the burning climax building up in his abdomen.

John's hands travel to Sherlock's arse. Exploring his cheeks, and helping his lover rock against him before raising up and lowering himself down again. His hands grips the loose skin tightly, making Sherlock hiss and his cock to twitch in response. As John's hands move below his arse, helping the tiring brunette continuing his passionate speed; Sherlock's cock slaps gently against his own stomach, demanding attention as pre-cum dribbles onto John's firm abdomen.

"I won't last much longer, love. So fucking tight. So fucking wet for me." John huffs, moving his hips in time with Sherlock, getting his cock deeper with each thrust. Sherlock smiles confidently down at John. Overly pleased and surprised by the fact that he has reduced the popular John Watson to a fumbling, bumbling mess of blonde goo.

"Come in me, John." Sherlock replies, voice deeper and huskier than ever before. Sitting straight he bounces harder, ignoring that fact that his cock is now hitting both of their stomachs due to the harsh movement, "I want to feel you cum in me. I want it to drip out of my hole, making a mess on the sheets. I want you to mark me with your seed, breed me." Sherlock gasps into the air, throwing his head back as John's warm hand coats his cock, urging him to come.

"Oh fuck, my sweet virgin."

Sherlock reaches behind him, taking John's hands that's still exploring his arse and forces it onto the sheet beside them, the other one rubbing him off furiously. "I'm going to…" Sherlock stutters, feeling his balls tighten.

"Yes! Come for me, Sherlock. Come on my stomach, darling." John grins, gripping Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock comes.

His hand tightening around John's as he finishes. His head buried in the crook of John's neck. John's name coming out of his lips loudly, almost shouting. His hips still taking John's cock deeply as his cock goes sensitive in John's warm hand. He shivers and flinches as John continues to rub his softening cock as he thrusts in Sherlock's clenching arse.

"Sherlock." John moans breathlessly as he comes. His hand that was rubbing Sherlock off comes up to his face, bringing the younger boys face down to his to devour him in a kiss, silencing his heavy climax. Sherlock arse milks John's cock, taking every last bit of his semen before Sherlock sits straight and moves to straddle further down John's body. John's cock leaves him with a soft 'pop' before the warm liquid gushes out of him, landing on the fresh sheets and on John's hairy upper thigh.

"Sorry." Sherlock mutter shyly, now straddling John's knees and trying to keep his eyes off John's penis.

John laughs, gripping Sherlock's upper arms and pulling him back down so he can kiss him. The brunette hovers over the blonde, unsure what to do or how to react. Now sure if going to get a towel would be rude or not. John's kiss relaxes him. If it was even possible after such a fierce climax Sherlock would say that his cock was getting hard agai-

"Sherlock? Dinner's ready." Mycroft calls through the door. John freezes underneath him, gripping Sherlock's arms that are holding him up above John painfully. Sherlock pulls away from John's lips, staring back down at his lover with wide eyes, knowing that in their rush neither of them had locked the door, "Sherlock, are you alright?" He continues when no reply comes.

Sherlock doesn't reply, only lets out a small squeak. John smacks a hand on his mouth, stifling his chuckle. Sherlock smiles down at him, bring one of his hands to caress John's cheek; wanting to kiss him again, Mycroft and dinner could wait.

"Sherlock? John?" Mycroft continues, opening the door and pausing in disbelief.

"Oh god." John blushes, throwing an arm over his eyes as Sherlock quickly throws the ruined sheets (that he's sure Mummy will go berserk over) over their private; which Sherlock notices are touching. Sherlock can see through the curtain of his hair that Mycroft eyes are taking in their appearance and the spilt Baby Oil on the bedroom floor, adding it to the noises he must have heard; joining the dots.

"Oh." Mycroft breathes.

Sherlock would have laughed until next December at Mycroft's face if it was under another circumstance.

"Bugger off, Mycroft!" Sherlock barks, sitting up straight and glaring at him, John's face still hidden.

"Dinner." Mycroft states, his mask of indifference back on before leaving, slamming the door close.

Sherlock rolls onto his back next to the still hiding John, glaring up at the ceiling and cursing his brother with every name under the sun. "I'll never be able to look him in the eyes again!" John's muffled voice speaks, Sherlock can just make out the faint echo of Mycroft telling Mummy before he turns his attention back to John.

"Oh shush. Don't be such a drama queen." Sherlock replies, turning his head to smile at the blonde.

"Don't tell me to shush, Sherlock Holmes, your brother just saw me as nude as the day I was born!" John gasps playfully, moving to straddle the youngest Holmes. Lips impishly messing with Sherlock's. Sherlock runs his fingers through the blonde's hair and skimming over the edge of his ear, trying to get John to forget the recent intrusion.

"You're getting hard again." Sherlock points out, pulling away to rest their foreheads against each other.

"Obviously." John answers with an eye roll, "How can I not? I have a mad beautiful genius lying under me."

"You're insufferable."

"Says the mad beautiful genius who's getting hard over the fact that I'm hard."

"The baby oil has spilled all over the floor." Sherlock points out, tipping his head towards the new stain on the carpet, and the empty bottle of oil.

"Bollocks." John pouts, "Guess you'll have to cuddle me then." Sherlock rolls his eyes at the cheeky grin on John's face before pushing the blonde's head into the crook of his neck, his fingers playing with Sherlock's curls. Sherlock wraps his arms around his lover in return, fingertips skimming over the dip of John's spin. Limbs everywhere and John's sticky out rib poking into him.

He doesn't care though.

After all, John's wrapped around him.


Author Note: That's it, love. If anyone is interested in me continuing this into a series, then please let me know by reviewing.

I'm also available on Tumblr: i-know-not-where

Also on AO3: Ziggy_Played_Guitar.