Hands
The second time Sherlock and John woke up together was slightly different. During the night, Sherlock had draped himself over John, his face buried in the crook of his neck and their legs tangled together. John woke first and groaned inwardly; his body had apparently reacted to the fact that he had a very warm, very attractive person wrapped around him. John attempted to slide out from underneath Sherlock, but Sherlock pulled him back.
"It's fine, John. Completely normal," he mumbled.
"Yes, I am a doctor, thank you. I also know that it's not going to go away for as long as I'm lying in bed with you so please, let me go." He tried to get out of the bed again, but once more, Sherlock pulled him back and rolled half on top of him, pinning him down.
"Sherlock, seriously…" John began, but he was silenced by a kiss. "You're really not help-" Another kiss, this time Sherlock slipped his tongue into John's mouth and John groaned.
The kiss was hot and demanding; Sherlock's tongue was insistent in John's mouth, licking and tasting. Sherlock ran a hand up under John's pyjama shirt, stroking lightly across his chest. He revelled in the way John's muscles jumped and twitched at his touch.
John leant his head back as Sherlock pulled away from his lips to start kissing down his neck. "Sherlock…" He was now almost impossibly hard; his cock felt thick and heavy between his legs and he was already leaking pre-come.
Sherlock pulled away from John and tugged his shirt up over his head before yanking down his pyjama bottoms, freeing his aching cock.
John gasped. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"
Sherlock said nothing, instead choosing to lower his head and swirl his tongue around one of John's nipples.
John's hips jerked reflexively. "Jesus," he muttered. His fingers came up to tangle into Sherlock's hair. "Really, you don't have to…" John almost hated himself for saying it, because he was afraid that Sherlock would stop what he was doing, but at the same time he didn't want Sherlock to feel obliged to do anything.
"I want to," Sherlock murmured, lifting his head to look John in the eyes. Holding his gaze, he reached down and wrapped his hand firmly around the base of John's cock.
John's breath audibly hitched in his throat. "You might need…some lube…" he managed to say.
Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow before smearing John's pre-come up and down his length, causing John to moan and close his eyes. Sherlock leant forwards to kiss him once more as he started up a slow rhythm with his hand. He catalogued every sound John made; every groan or sigh of pleasure and quickly found a technique that seemed to be the most effective: long, firm strokes, with a slight twist at the head. John was panting into his mouth, their kisses lost in a mixture of teeth and tongues. Before long, John hips were rocking of their own accord and his fingers were tight in Sherlock's hair. His groans were getting louder as he neared his climax; he could feel the familiar tightness in his stomach and gripped Sherlock harder in warning. Sherlock's strokes on his cock sped up and that was all it took. John's body shook and trembled and his mind went blank as he came with a strangled cry, coating Sherlock's hand and his own stomach.
"Oh God," he managed, his breathing still ragged.
Sherlock reached for a tissue and cleaned off his hand, before handing it to John, who cleaned himself up quickly and then fell back onto the bed, pulling Sherlock half on top of him. It was then that John discovered that Sherlock was hard too.
"Want me to do something about that?" he asked, kissing Sherlock's lips gently.
"What?" Sherlock asked, then realised with a jolt what John was talking about. It seemed that he had been so involved with bringing John to climax and cataloguing every sensation that he was completely unaware of the effect it had on his own body. He suddenly felt extremely embarrassed and self-conscious. "Oh, no, it's fine…"
"Sherlock…" John said slowly. "That was amazing; better than I ever imagined it to be. I'd really like to do the same for you." He stroked a thumb down the sharp angle of Sherlock's cheek. "Please?"
Sherlock closed his eyes and leant his forehead against John's. He took a moment to consider his options: his mind was firmly telling him not to do this, not to get involved in anything sexual because that's how he had trained himself to think over the last few years. His body, on the other hand, was screaming at him to give in, because this was John, and John was gentle and kind and understood him. Eventually he nodded, and John nudged him over to lie on his back before lavishing his neck with his tongue and pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt. Sherlock yanked his shirt off while John pushed down his trousers, discarding them on the floor somewhere.
John returned to kissing Sherlock's neck whilst rubbing light circles on his thigh. Sherlock moaned quietly as John's touch set his skin alight. His cock throbbed and ached as all the blood rushed south and his mind started to shut down. A brief moment of panic coursed through his body, but John kissed him again.
"Relax," he whispered, his hand curling around Sherlock's cock. John was momentarily surprised by how much Sherlock was leaking, but then he remembered that he'd never been touched like this before and so concentrated all of his efforts into making it good.
John began to stroke him, gently and slowly, and Sherlock made a keening noise, his breathing harsh and uneven. His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, trying to find purchase. With his spare hand, John moved one of Sherlock's hands to the back of his head and leant down to kiss him gently. Sherlock gripped at John's hair, and John, encouraged by this, sped up his hand, alternating the pressure and brushing the heel of his palm over the head of Sherlock's cock on every third stroke. In only a few minutes, Sherlock was panting and writhing on the bed, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat.
"It's okay, Sherlock. Let go," John murmured, close to his ear.
At that, Sherlock's body tensed up and he came hard with a barely stifled groan, his nails digging into John's scalp.
John pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and reached for the tissues. Once they were both cleaned up, Sherlock rolled closer to him. "That was, umm, good," he said, blushing slightly.
"Good." John rubbed his back gently. "Don't be embarrassed, it's okay."
Sherlock draped an arm over John's stomach, still trying to catch his breath. It took him a few minutes to realise that the only thoughts in his head were 'John', and that his muscles felt strangely loose and relaxed.
"John," he murmured.
"Hm?"
"My brain… it's quiet…"
"Is that a good thing?" John's hands moved to stroke his hair.
Sherlock thought for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hair being stroked. "Yes," he decided eventually. "I feel like I could go back to sleep for a while."
John chuckled. "That's normal." He pressed another kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Go to sleep."
Sherlock made a consenting noise, and within a few minutes, they were both asleep again.
