There was a mad scramble up the stairs to the bedroom, but once inside time stood still, as if all the hours to come were reduced to an infinitesimal crawl. Everything slowed, seconds ticking by in long, protracted pulses, the air in the room thick and heavy, and his lungs burned as he sucked in a breath. Greg braced himself against the frisson of nervousness that shuddered through him. Silly, he thought, after all, it wasn't as though this were his first time here. But in a way it felt like it was. There had been a shift in perception, a change in the game, as it were.
John closed the door and came over, wrapping his arms around Greg's waist, resting his chin on Greg's shoulder. He clasped John's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. In return, he felt John's head turn and place a kiss just below his ear.
"Relax," John whispered. "Everything is fine. In fact, I think things are going to get a whole lot better."
He leaned back against the doctor and sighed. "As if that were possible," he murmured, smiling.
Sherlock removed his dressing gown and stepped closer. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"
The rest of Sherlock's clothes disappeared, and Greg took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. The man was a long, lean expanse of creamy pale skin and unruly dark curls. His eyes danced in a grey-green sparkle, moving to shades of blue and back again. He loved those haunting eyes and their ability to cut right to the heart of a man, leaving him open and bare. An amazing talent, even when it had been used against him. Sherlock's eyes were like pools of quicksilver, so changeable, volatile in a flash, and so very expressive, (yes, expressive) once you were able to see what lay beneath. It was a secret he and John shared, this intimate knowing of Sherlock's seemingly inscrutable face. It was all there, Sherlock's emotions and feelings buried deep; you simply had to know how to look.
Sherlock's dark lashes fluttered and a long, elegant hand (just like the rest of him) came up to cup his face. A thumb passed over his cheekbone, whisper soft and warm. And that was another secret. He always looked so cold, as if he were cut from marble, as if you would get frostbite if you stood too close. But if you reached out, you would be surprised at how warm he actually was. And the closer he got, the more he radiated heat. Heat that now pulsed from his naked body in short, rippling waves. Heat that drew Greg in and wrapped around him like a blanket, safe and sure.
He tugged John's hands from his waist and stepped aside, curling his fingers around John's elbow to push him toward the taller man. John gently sidestepped the grasp, instead reaching out to pull Sherlock closer, trapping Greg between them.
He balked, confused. John's hands maneuvered under his shirt, bringing it over his head and dropping it to the floor. The doctor's hands pressed flat against his back and with a gentle shove propelled him into Sherlock's waiting arms. He suppressed a gasp as their chests collided, the sensation of warm skin on warm skin electrifying. He heard a rustle of fabric behind him, and then John's chest was flush against his back. He was naked now, evidence of his arousal poking insistently against Greg's backside.
John dropped wet kisses along the nape of his neck, grinding his hips back and forth. The slide of fabric and flesh on his rear was hot and erotic as John rubbed against him. Greg arched his head back with a hiss at the feel of John's tongue tracing decadent circles on his skin. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched as Sherlock's irises did their darkening shift in color and he dropped his head to occupy himself with the other side of his neck.
His hands grabbed at Sherlock's hips, his fingers digging in to hang on as they continued to nip and suck their way around his neck and jaw, jolting his nerves awake in tiny shivers of desire.
There was no room to move, and the delicious friction they created as they pressed even harder against him, keeping him wedged between their naked bodies, was short-circuiting his ability to think. He could only feel, feel that silken slide of mouth on flesh, feel the wet heat of a pointed tongue that licked without mercy. He attempted to move, to reposition himself properly in this scenario, to return to his place. They refused to let him go.
Sherlock's deep baritone was hot and moist in his ear, the ends of his dark curls tickling him, teasing him as much as the breathy words he spoke.
"You are not just an extension here, Greg. You are not just another set of hands, another mouth. You are part of us." He shivered as John bit down sharply on his shoulder, punctuating the importance of Sherlock's admission, laving the bite with the flat of his tongue. "This is where you belong," Sherlock continued, running long fingers down his chest and grasping the waistband of his pajama pants. He felt John's hands cover Sherlock's and together they pushed them to the floor. He stepped out and John kicked them aside, groaning as his cock nestled against Greg's now bare arse. John's lips returned to their fiery perusal of his neck, moving to include his shoulders and his back.
Sherlock was still in his ear, buzzing around in his brain in a desire-addled fog, panting in hot little whuffs of breath and Greg had to groan as their erections rubbed together.
"We want you between us. We want to surround you. Just envelop every part of you." John's mouth murmured an incoherent approval against his skin as Sherlock kept talking. "We want to take you and fill you so completely it will be impossible to tell where we begin and where we end."
He bit down on his lower lip and growled as John's hand sneaked around to grab their erections and stroke with an agonizing slowness. Sherlock twitched in response, but continued.
"We will burrow so deep beneath your skin you will never be able to claw us out. So deep inside of you until you can't think of anything but pleasure. Until the only thing you know is John and I. Until the only thing you feel is us sliding across your flesh in rapture. Until the only thing your body knows is our touch, our smell, our taste. We will be the only thing you will ever want. The only thing you will ever need."
Greg let out a ragged cry and Sherlock's mouth was on his, plundering and seeking, swallowing every sound that came unbidden to the surface. He opened wide and met Sherlock's tongue, causing the other man to moan and search deeper. It was so good, so dizzyingly erotic. It was the sound of Sherlock's voice, the feel of John's body behind him. There could never be anything in the universe as soul-shattering as this. Their touch was all skin, hands, and mouths. Lips and tongues, wet and rasping in their exploration. Fire and heat and sex and greed. They simply devoured him.
Sherlock pulled back, desire evident in his blown pupils, pink mouth turned up in a feral smile, raging cock rubbing against his. Sherlock's thumb brushed across the bottom of his lower lip and he sighed wistfully.
"You're so perfect, Greg. So damned perfect." Those gorgeous lips found his ear again he rumbled, "I want to watch John fuck you while I come in your beautiful mouth."
That fucking voice. His throat opened on a moan as the vision filled his head, arching his body as John clutched hard at their cocks, the gesture a tacit sign that he approved of Sherlock's plan. Approved greatly.
There was a sharp, sucking bite between his shoulder blades and John stepped back, growling, "Get him to the goddamned bed, Sherlock. I'm done waiting." Sherlock snapped to attention at the command in the doctor's voice and grabbed him by the bicep and pushed him to the bed, immediately moving to straddle one of his legs.
Sherlock's fingers threaded through the short strands of his hair and covered his mouth in a ravaging kiss. He was a fierce whirl of lips and teeth and Greg moaned, clutching at Sherlock's shoulders as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked hard.
Suddenly, John was on the bed, kneeling between his thighs, worming his way in beside Sherlock. "Budge over, Sherlock," he snarled, huffing. "And fucking share."
Sherlock gave a low cry of protest as John pushed him aside, crawling up his body, blue eyes dark and wide with want. "Christ, Greg, your fucking mouth. So damned gorgeous after he's kissed you. Couldn't take it anymore. I've got to taste you." John's mouth descended, softer, yet just at hungry at Sherlock's.
There was a brief scrabble at the other end of his body as Sherlock made a place for himself, reaching and finding the hard, aching length of his cock. He bucked into the touch as Sherlock rubbed his thumb over the moist tip, stroking up and down with his own lubrication. John groaned as the arch of his body brought them flush, and he deepened the kiss in response, swirling his tongue in feverish circles, licking at every hidden crevice. John's mouth was a furnace as it claimed, so hot and wet as it raged, leaving behind a hint of sweet tea and spice, and traces of John (God, the taste of John), the fire spreading out through his limbs in a fury, drugging him, leaving him too weak to move.
Sherlock leaned up (bless his height) and dove for Greg's neck, burying his face in to nip beneath his jaw, alternating between his neck and John's.
The contact wasn't enough for Sherlock and he let out a frustrated whine, shoving his face between them, searching for lips and tongue as all three of their mouths fused together in a heated tangle, none of them able to taste enough of each other. Greg reached out, clamping a hand onto each of them for purchase, struggling to remain upright under the force of their weight.
John pulled back, eyes glazed with passion, face flushed pink with exertion. His eyes met Greg's and Sherlock broke the kiss, his eyes following Greg's. John swallowed hard, gasping for breath as he looked into the faces of his lovers.
"I love you both so much it kills me," John said brokenly. "So much. Don't ever leave, Greg. Don't ever leave us." Sherlock swooped in and kissed John soundly, and then they both turned back to look at him. The raw emotion in Sherlock's gaze told him that John spoke for both of them.
"Never," Greg managed. "Never again."
Sherlock whimpered and pressed his face into Greg's shoulder once more, and his hand came up to wind through the snarl of Sherlock's curls, damp with sweat. The tall man rubbed against him cat-like, little mewling noises and soft low trills of sound erupting from the back of his throat. Greg held him tightly, feeling Sherlock's body quake with wordless feeling.
He looked over Sherlock's head into John's face and returned his smile. John trailed a hand over Sherlock reverently. "He needs you, Greg. As much as he needs me. And we need you."
Greg could only nod in silence as John's eyes flashed with a spark of something hot, blue fire that burned him to his soul. John's lips curved in a possessive smile and he slid down the length of Greg's body, grabbing at Sherlock's arm, dragging him along, down (sweet Christ, down) to the apex of his thighs.
John and Sherlock shared a brief kiss as they hovered over his straining erection. They broke apart and two sets of predatory eyes found his and Greg's breath caught, lungs seizing at the rage of lust contained in those depths.
John's hand slowly, gingerly, wrapped around the base of his cock and he bit back a whimper as John offered it to Sherlock, never once breaking the heated stare. He heard a low rumble of amusement from Sherlock (the teasing bastard) as his tongue darted out to lick in one long pass from the edge of John's hand to the head of the shaft.
Greg's eyes slammed shut and his head fell back against the headboard with a loud crack and he moaned in ecstasy, unable to contain the sound.
A second tongue joined in and the jolt of desire scissored through his body like lightning, burning everywhere it touched, and this time it was John's dark chuckle that reached his ears. God, it was delicious and wicked and cruel and wonderful and a host of other adjectives his brain couldn't conjure. All he felt was slick heat and wetness, wild and fierce, and then someone's (at this point they were both one) mouth swallowed him whole. He nearly came off the bed with a shout, and hands (Sherlock's hands, he knew the press of those fingers) stilled him as that mouth worked him over in agonizing, drawn out slides.
His eyes slitted open to see Sherlock's dark head dip lower and add his lips (ah, John's mouth, then) to the fray. Two pairs of lips alternated their smooth slide up and down the sides of his cock, while their tongues battled over him.
It was heaven and hell rolled into one dark dance of moist mouths and teasing tongues. Heaven, because the sensation was incredibly thrilling, making his body jerk alive in a sizzle of electrified nerves. Hell, because he wanted more. So much more.
Two hands reached lower as they continued their mouthy assault of his cock, John's hand gripping tightly onto his balls, rolling them in time with his mouth, while one of Sherlock's (had to be Sherlock's, because it was long and devilishly dexterous) gently traced his opening.
This time the hoarse cry breached his throat and he bucked hard, seeking more. His hand shot out to run through Sherlock's hair, clutching fingerfuls of the dark strands. Sherlock hissed loudly and leaned into the rough caress, increasing the pressure of Greg's grip. John squeezed his balls again and doubled time with his mouth and Greg's other hand found its way to the doctor's short sandy locks, holding him steady.
Sherlock growled and moved harder into the pull, and he felt John's lips curve into a smile at Sherlock's distress of wanting more and not getting it. John captured his wrist and transferred the touch to Sherlock, placing Greg's other hand on Sherlock's head. Now with both hands firmly attached to Sherlock's scalp, the tall man released him with a smack, howling fiercely in bliss as Greg tugged hard. Sherlock panted in a breathy mingle of huffs and grunts, punctuated with the odd "Yes!" and "Greg!"
The needy sound of his name falling from Sherlock's lips in that deep, sex-laden baritone made his cock twitch and he dug in tighter to Sherlock's hair, pulling harder, determined to wring out every last strand of Sherlock's self-control.
"Christ, Greg! Oh, fuck!" he growled. "Fuck, yes!" Sherlock plastered his body along the length of his, rocking his hips, fucking against him in reckless abandon.
Sherlock was rock hard and hot and Greg urged him on, curling his fingers, white-knuckling his grasp as Sherlock rasped his cock against him. God, he was so beautiful, so utterly debauched and beautiful, as he rutted, that angular face pinched as pleasure etched its way through every line and crinkle.
Sherlock snorted roughly and tensed. "I can't," he wheezed. "I'll…." The rest trailed off and Greg let him go, understanding. Sherlock rose to his knees and his body shook, skin flushed and slick with sweat. "John," he said, voice low and desperate. "Fuck him. I want his mouth on me."
Greg barely had time to register the change in position before John snatched his wrist and flung him around to all fours with considerably little effort. The next second, John was behind him, cock pressed into the cleft of his arse, bringing him face to face with Sherlock's weeping erection, straining and heavy with want. He opened his mouth, more than ready to receive, but Sherlock crouched suddenly and their eyes locked.
He briefly heard the shuffle of John in the nightstand and the snap of the lube, but he couldn't tear away from the intensity in Sherlock's eyes to look back.
Light to dark and dark to light, they shifted, the impenetrable stare boring straight to his heart like a knife. A chill went up his spine at what he saw reflected there, and for a second, he felt suspended in a moment that didn't want him, but Sherlock's eyes flashed again and it was gone, disappearing like a puff of smoke. Sherlock's gaze branded him like a touch; he could feel it on his skin like he felt John's fingers on his hips.
"For all the times I don't say it, I love you. You're a fire in my blood, the both of you. A balm to my soul. Never question just how much I love you." Sherlock's lips found his in a quick, rough kiss and he rose up, running his hands through Greg's hair, pulling him down.
He offered no resistance, couldn't have if he tried after Sherlock's heartfelt declaration, knowing full well what it meant that Sherlock put his feelings to words. Sherlock's head fell back, exposing the beautiful column of his neck as he groaned while Greg took him in one long swallow.
The taste of Sherlock burst on his tongue, salty and sweet, and so undeniably Sherlock. He moved his mouth in earnest, leaning into Sherlock's hands for support, loving the little twinges of pain/pleasure at his scalp.
John's fingers, cool with lubrication, worked behind him, first one digit, then two, the slow burn snaking through him, stretching him slowly. A third finger slipped in and he moaned over Sherlock's cock in delight. Sherlock's hips snapped forward at the sound, thrusting deeper into his mouth. He relaxed, taking it all in stride, as John's fingers backed away only to be replaced with the wide, blunt tip of his cock. John advanced, filling him with pressure and heat and he pushed back, needing more of him. John slid in to the hilt, releasing a healthy groan of his own.
"God, Greg, you're so tight for me. So fucking tight." Another deep growl. "Yes. So good."
Every nerve in his body slammed into overdrive as somehow they found an instant rhythm, the advance and retreat so well-timed, they moved like clockwork. He was so full, his body completely alive, so very aware of them, as if the act itself had suddenly become a sentient thing, knowing without words how to move, how to thrust, how to pleasure. The world became bright behind his eyes, his focus totally attuned, his universe condensed to John and Sherlock. His heart ached and swelled at the enormity of it all, growing ever larger with the realization that this was his for the taking. Forever.
John's hips rocked faster, over and over without cease, each thrust brushing the tiny bundle of nerves threatening to explode at any moment.
"Fuck, Greg!" John panted, hips pistoning in their wicked cadence, and he leaned forward to reach down and grasp at Greg's cock, each stroke of his hand matching the push of his hips.
Two more passes and Greg was gone, shouting around Sherlock's cock as he erupted into John's hand. He quaked with his release, bearing down hard, and he heard John's breath stutter as he gasped, his own orgasm claiming him. John collapsed behind him, half-bracing his weight, placing biting kisses at the small of his back.
The aftershocks trembled through him as he breathed out heavily through his nose, redoubling his efforts on Sherlock's cock.
John's voice was husky and commanding from behind, and the masterful tone sent another shiver over his flushed skin.
"Come, Sherlock!" John shouted. Greg gave him one more long pull, swirling his tongue as he moved, wrenching Sherlock's orgasm from him in a deep wail. Sherlock came hard in his mouth, rocking feverishly to completion. He swallowed, relishing in the taste of him, continuing to lightly lick as Sherlock's tremors quieted.
John pulled free with care and Greg released Sherlock with a gentle slide of his lips. They fell together in a messy tangle of sweat and fluids, limbs twining together in a complicated know, seeking as much contact as possible. They lay for a long moment, pressing lazy kisses to mouths, shoulders, chests, and foreheads, murmurs of contentment and breathy declarations of love soft in the air.
Sherlock was the first to move, starting the clean up with huskily whispered endearments. They dressed in silence, sparing meaningful glances at one another, small, happy smiles on all their faces. There were no more words as they adjourned downstairs. John made tea while Sherlock settled himself in Greg's lap on the sofa, a blissful hum vibrating through him as Greg stroked his hair.
John placed the tray on the coffee table and gave Greg a wide smile as he sat down. Sherlock's breathing had fallen to deep and even breaths, finally losing the battle to slumber. John pulled Sherlock's legs across his lap and reached for the remote, finding some Doctor Who on the telly. He gave a satisfied huff and settled back against the cushions. Greg tucked Sherlock's head into his shoulder, closed his eyes and laid his head back, for the first time finally feeling at home and at peace with himself.
"You'll be moving in, then?" John's voice was soft, entreating.
"Yes," he replied quietly.
"Because it's going to take the both of us to handle him, you realize?"
"I've noticed."
"I guess we can sort all that tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
END.
A/N: If you liked this one, please take the time to comment and/or review. They feed the writer. Thanks for your time!
