Disclaimer: Nope, Moffat and Gatiss still won't enter negotiations with me. Darn it!
A/N: So this is the smut you've been waiting for. That's all this chapter is. It has nothing to do with any plot just some good old fashioned boy on boy action. If you don't like that kind of thing then don't read this chapter. Easy as pie. You flame me, I'll be unfailingly polite in my response to your review just to make you feel bad. And then I'll toast some marshmallows and let my kids eat them since I'm not a big fan of sweet stuff. You have been warned.
Sherlock followed his husband down the rusty, rickety metal stairs of the fire escape. That had been easier than he'd thought it would be. John was always surprising. He'd forgiven him so easily though Sherlock figured that shouldn't be so surprising. John had always been quick to forgive Sherlock for nearly anything.
"Sherlock," John's voice floated through the bedroom window and Sherlock started realizing that he hadn't climbed through after his husband yet.
Foregoing grace for speed, Sherlock clambered through the bedroom window and then searched out his husband in the empty room. "John?" He hadn't been that far behind John had he?
"In the parlour, Sherlock," John's voice called to him.
Sherlock crossed the room and then leaned against the jamb of the door between the bedroom and parlour, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed his husband. John was already shedding one of his ridiculous jumpers and Sherlock appreciated the view.
Most people wouldn't find John handsome. He was short, there was no denying that. His nose was slightly too big and his ears too small and they stuck out a bit, but for Sherlock those imperfections only made him all the more appealing. Anyone who actually looked into John's eyes immediately trusted him. There was an aura around John that just pulled people in.
Lestrade had once called him cuddly; John had scowled at him but that only made Lestrade laugh until he caught a look at John's eyes. Joanne usually said he was adorable. John hated both of those but Sherlock never minded that other people never saw his husband the way he did. No one else knew the hard, delectable body buried beneath those jumpers.
Sherlock uncrossed his arms and took the three strides across the room to pull his husband, his heart, his sun and sky, his everything into his arms. "John," he said lowly.
John tilted his head up and light hazel, nearly blue, eyes met grey. "Sherlock," he answered just as quietly.
Sherlock lowered his head without any input from his brain and gently took John's lips with his. The gentleness didn't last long though.
All too soon, lips fought, teeth clashed and tongues dueled for dominance. Hands fisted in cloth and pulled, ripping fabric. Fingers clenched, feet stumbled, hips thrust. Wild, glorious.
Sherlock found himself pressed back against the wall beside their bedroom door, John's fingers fumbling at his belt by the time his brain rebooted. His own fingers were tangled in John's short hair. He untangled them and pressed his palms to John's cheeks, his long fingers tracing the outer shells of John's ears. "John."
Hazel eyes flicked up from Sherlock's belt and met greyish blue again. "Sherlock," John answered again. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. Finally the belt was free but John's fingers grabbed the tattered remains of Sherlock's shirt. At some point those same fingers had become frustrated and had simply pulled instead of undoing the buttons.
John tugged and Sherlock obligingly leaned down. "I am going to fuck you so hard," John muttered against his lips.
"Oh, God, yes," Sherlock groaned. It had been so long. John hadn't taken him since before he'd been shot. Sherlock had been worried he'd reinjure himself.
John's lips left Sherlock's and he grinned, that boyish, mischievous grin before nipping at Sherlock's chin with sharp, white teeth. John brushed aside the torn remnants of the shirt and attacked Sherlock's chest with lips and teeth and tongue and fingers.
Calloused fingers pulled and twisted at nipples until they were diamond hard. Teeth and lips and tongue sucked and bit at collarbones until they were dotted with bruises. John's lips pulled at Sherlock's nipple while one hand twisted the other nipple almost to the point of pain and the other hand popped the button and dragged at the zipper of Sherlock's trousers.
John took Sherlock's wrists in his hands and pressed them back against the wall. "Don't move them," he warned as he knelt down in front of Sherlock.
Steady hands made quick work of pulling Sherlock's trousers and pants off and tossing them across the room. Those same hands trailed up the outside of Sherlock's thighs as John dipped his tongue into Sherlock's bellybutton making the taller man quiver.
Sherlock's fingers scrabbled at the wall for purchase as his brain whited out. All there was in his entire world was the warmth of John's mouth on him and those devilish fingers caressing his trembling skin. "John," Sherlock moaned out as cool breath bathed his cock and lips pulled not so gently at the short curly dark hairs between his legs.
Then his cock was engulfed in warmth. John swallowed him down and sucked hard. "Oh, God," Sherlock moaned again. "Please, John, please."
Using the small portion of his brain not whited out by pleasure Sherlock opened eyes he hadn't been aware he'd closed and stared down at his husband. John's face was a picture of pleasure as his head bobbed. Of their own volition Sherlock's hands left the wall and embedded themselves in John's short blond hair.
Everything stopped. John released him with a soft pop.
Sherlock whined wordlessly before he could stop himself. "I told you not to move them, Sherlock," John told him in a hard voice.
"Please," Sherlock whimpered. "John…"
John only gave him a grin and stood up. John gave him a lingering look. "Beautiful." He whispered.
Sherlock lifted one trembling hand towards his husband but quick as a striking snake John's hands shot out and grabbed Sherlock's biceps pulling him off balance. Sherlock fell forward and John caught him. Spinning him around and pressing him against the wall with his chest and hips. "No."
The coarse fabric of John's jeans scratched at Sherlock's sensitive skin. The light scratching only drove Sherlock's lust higher. He loved it when John got dominating. It didn't happen often. Sherlock was normally in charge and he liked to be tender with his husband, he liked to take his time and keep John on the edge of madness for hours. But when John took over it was nearly always fast, hard and nearly brutal in intensity, just the way Sherlock liked it.
John stood on his toes so that his mouth was right next to Sherlock's ear. "You're going to scream before I'm finished with you. You will beg. You will cry out. Perhaps, if you're very lucky you will even sob with the pleasure. But Sherlock, you will scream for me." His voice was a soft growl that sent bolts of sensation throughout Sherlock.
John rocked back on his heels and pulled Sherlock backwards further into the parlour and over to the sofa. He spun Sherlock around to face it and pressed him down to his knees. "Lean against the sofa, Sherlock."
Sherlock did as he was told and leaned his chest onto the cushions. He placed his arms in front of him and then put his head on top of them leaving the back of his neck vulnerable. Behind him he heard John's muffled groan of appreciation and the rustle of cloth as John shed his clothes.
"Do you know what you do to me?" John asked, huskily.
"Yes," Sherlock cleared his throat. "The same thing you do to me."
A hand traced up his spine. "Really? That's convenient, isn't it?" The hand traced a line across the small of his back. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
That question conjured images in Sherlock's mind that had his muscles shuddering and his breath wheezing. Had it been possible he was sure he would have grown harder than he already was. "John…"
John huffed out a small laugh. "You have a good idea if that reaction was any indication. Spread your knees."
Sherlock once again did as bid and felt the whoosh of air as a cushion hit the floor between his spread legs. "I'm getting too old to do this without a cushion," John sighed.
"You're not old," Sherlock told him, his voice muffled in the sofa cushions. "And I notice I don't get a cushion."
A hard smack on his arse was his reward for that comment and he jumped at the pleasure coursing through him. "You like the pain." John told him as he knelt on the cushion. His fingers trailed over the spot where his hand had smacked. Sherlock knew that the skin was already pink. "So pretty," John breathed.
Sherlock swallowed hard.
"Soon," John said with dark promise. "Soon I'll paint your arse nice and red and hot. But not today. Today I have other plans."
Sherlock swallowed hard again as he felt John's hands spreading his cheeks apart. He knew what was coming and he also knew there was no way to brace himself for it. Cool air blew over his entrance and he shuddered.
"So pink," John breathed across his entrance. "So pretty." His tongue swept out and up from Sherlock's bollocks all the way to the base of his spine in one long, wet lick. Then swept back down to dance around the small hole. John's fingers tightened as Sherlock shivered. Without warning John's tongue plunged into Sherlock's entrance as far as it could go and Sherlock cried out.
John's thumbs spread him as wide as they could and he plunged his tongue in further. Wet, slurping sounds made a counterpoint to Sherlock's gasps and moans.
Sherlock could feel the wave approaching, just a little more. And then John stopped cold. "No! John, please." Sherlock whined.
John laughed again. "Patience." One hand left him to dig under the cushions on the sofa while the other stroked his back soothingly. "It's here somewhere," he muttered to himself. "Aha!" He crowed and pulled out a half full bottle of lube. "Found it." The hand disappeared from Sherlock's vision and the other one from his back.
"John," Sherlock's voice was warning.
"Shut up, Sherlock," John said pleasantly.
Sherlock growled and then yelped as one cold, lube covered finger inserted itself inside him. "John," Sherlock said on a rush of air as that finger wiggled inside him.
"Expecting someone else then, Sherlock?" Two fingers speared into him and Sherlock lost the thread of the conversation. He pushed his hips back against those invading digits trying to get them further inside him. "Eager?" The fingers spread apart scissoring and spreading. Relaxing the muscles until John wriggled the third digit in. "Like that?" John's voice was awed as he watching his husband's body swallowing his fingers.
"John! I'm ready, please! Now!" Sherlock pushed back on those fingers but they weren't enough anymore.
John pulled his fingers from Sherlock with a lewd squelching sound. He leaned over Sherlock's back and braced himself with one hand on Sherlock shoulder, the head of his cock resting against Sherlock's entrance. "Ready, Sherlock?" He asked breathlessly.
Not waiting for an answer John started to push in but Sherlock didn't want slow and careful. He pushed back as hard as he could and then stars exploded behind his eyelids.
"Sherlock!" John yelled. He took a deep breath. "You okay?" He asked shakily. Part of him wanted to take the opportunity presented and just piston in and out of the soft white flesh encasing his cock but the larger part was more worried about hurting the one person in the world that meant everything to him.
"John," Sherlock's voice was muffled and as shaky as John's own. "Move. Now. Hard. Fast. I swear if you don't, I will take all of your jumpers and set fire to them in the kitchen."
John grinned. "If you insist." He pulled back and then pushed forward again giving Sherlock exactly what he wanted. One hand fumbled around in front of Sherlock until it found the hard column of flesh it was seeking. He gave it a good, long, hard pull as he slid forward into the heated depths of his husband's arse.
"John!" Sherlock yelled as John found that bundle of nerves that sent stars streaking past closed eyes and fire thrumming through his blood.
John gave half an instant's thought to drawing this out but Sherlock was already sweating and trembling and moaning with every breath. He made sure to slam into Sherlock's prostate with every thrust and it was only moments before Sherlock screamed his name again, clenched tight and decorated their sofa with his release. John only lasted for two more hard thrusts before he joined his husband in bliss.
Sherlock slumped forward as aftershocks quivered through him and was barely aware when John pulled out. He dimly noted John pulling him backwards and laying him out on the floor. "Cold." Sherlock mumbled as his heated skin met the floor.
Then he was warm as a blanket settled over him and John curled into his side. "Love you, John," Sherlock muttered into John's hair.
"Love you too."
A/N: I know it's a few days late and that this chapter is longer than the others. But I've been out of town. For the length of this chapter I completely blame Sherlock. Let me know what you think.
