Length: 1734

Pairing: Johnlock

Notable Content: Sex, VERYtop!John, and some militarykink!Sherlock.

TACTILE ORDERS

It had been three months. Just three months since John and Sherlock had mutually agreed that they were more than flat mates, more than friends, and were not beyond having their hands in each other's pants or tongues in each other's mouths. Still, they agreed (though Sherlock did so with some difficulty) that there was in fact romantic attraction, and they had proceeded to endeavour along the path of being "boyfriends."

Sherlock had disagreed to being called such, however. He thought that labeling them would be a technicality they could do without. Said the term was juvenile. Said it was unnecessary. Said somewhere in the conversation that he was virgin.

Sherlock was a virgin. Was.

It had taken about two weeks into their newly established relationship before Sherlock had come into the living room, steamy and wet from a shower, completely naked, clenching his fists, saying "John Watson I am ready for you," to which John had responded with a short chuckle. When Sherlock simply looked at him, blushing furiously and nodding once, John then understood that he was completely serious. He had sprung off the couch, tore off his shirt, and the two bodies crashed together like dominoes in the doorway, John pressing Sherlock's teetering naked frame into the wall.

They had somehow made it to the bedroom, then, and John had proceeded to claim the detective's body with the utmost care and tenderness. If Sherlock hadn't insisted on being gentle, John would have ravaged the man repeatedly, but Sherlock had said that his first time "wouldn't be right" if they had jumped right into it...though admittedly they some what did.

The weeks proceeding were, by anyone's definition, absolutely exhausting, but utterly brilliant. Solve-a-case sex, lazy-morning sex, late-at-night-sleepy sex, bored-on-the-couch sex, hungry sex, tired sex, giggly sex, angry sex, i-love-you-idiot sex, you're-my-universe sex, but perhaps most of all: "John, I want to try something" sex.

John loved Sherlock, everything about him, especially his experimental nature, but to be honest, he was becoming a bit drained. By the end of their first month, they had had so much sex that John began to question his existence. But any doubts he had about anything simply melted away when he was laying in bed with Sherlock, his arms wrapped around the pale detective's shoulders while he twirled his fingers in his ebon curls, Sherlock's fingers loosely fit between his own, breathing lightly against his arm. These were the moments that John lived for, because regardless of anything, Sherlock was always falling asleep in his arms at night, safe and sound, pressed against John's chest.

It had been a day or two since they'd had a case, and Sherlock was quite literally tearing himself apart. He sat on the couch for hours, groaning at random intervals, contorting his body every which way, and when John got home, he found his lovely detective sprawled haphazardly along the edge of the couch, his head hanging upside down off the side, his legs up against the back, and his arms strewn about him. His eyes were closed, and his white t-shirt bunched and folded up along his torso, revealing his pale, concave belly.

"Productive day?" John said with a smile, to which Sherlock responded with a grumpy moan. John chuckled and went into the kitchen, preparing a pot of tea while ferreting through the fridge for something to eat.

"We need to go shopping," John remarked as he looked through the cupboards.

"Dull."

John sighed through a smile and made two cups of tea, abandoning the search for food, and brought the cups into the living room, placing one cup on the coffee table for Sherlock. He then sat at the desk and opened his laptop, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

After about twenty-seven minutes of silence, sans the clacking of the keyboard, Sherlock groaned.

"Jaaaaawn."

"Yes Sherlock."

"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn."

"Yes, Sherlock."

"I'm bored, John."

"I know."

"BORED, John. Bored bored. So bored. Cannot function. I'm dying from boredom, John. I'm literally dying. I'm going to be dead."

John sighed, muttering "drama queen" under his breath. He turned around to see the younger man staring at him from the floor, upside down, while his legs and lower half were flailed about on the couch. His arms were spread out on the floor. John chuckled.

"You look ridiculous," he said, standing and closing his laptop. Sherlock stuck his tongue out and said nothing. Smiling still, John came over to the lanky heap of his lover and stood over him. Sherlock looked up at him.

"Strange, perception from this angle," he muttered. He tilted his head, and John looked at him fondly.

"You're adorably annoying, you know that?" he said. He poked Sherlock's leg. Sherlock shrugged.

"Entertain me?" he said innocently. John pretended to think.

"Thought you were dying? As a doctor in the least, I don't promote necrophilia, Sherlock. It's very unsanitary, to say the least."

"Oh, shut up."

Sherlock pouted, crossing his arms, and John smiled. He tutted, hummed a bit, and finally threw his leg over Sherlock's torso and straddled him, so that he was in rather close proximity with Sherlock's mid-lower section. Sherlock seemed surprised.

"Now don't squirm because this could end badly if you do," John said. Sherlock said nothing. He simply lay there, bemused, as John worked at sliding off his flannel pajama pants and boxer briefs. He shivered when his bare legs and bottom were finally exposed, and John licked his inner thigh. Sherlock moaned lightly.

"Still bored?" John breathed against Sherlock's moist thigh. Sherlock swallowed.

"Yes..." he said very unconvincingly. John smiled and caressed the backs of Sherlock's thighs, running his hands up and down, his nails grazing his pale skin. Sherlock's toes curled, and John chuckled. He bent down and traced tiny circles with his tongue on Sherlock's pale skin, drawing very close to his coarse, ginger brown curls.

"John..." Sherlock breathed. The doctor muttered a "hm?" Sherlock cleared his throat. "Maybe you should...carry on a bit...more...?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, love," John said against his skin, and he nipped a bit of the tender flesh, to which Sherlock responded with a small moan and a slight thrust of his hips. John pressed a hand on Sherlock's hip, pushing his hips down, and in a swift movement, he bent down and engulfed Sherlock's entire length within his mouth and gave one long suck. Sherlock yelped and gripped the carpet.

John's head moved back and forth slowly, his lips sliding along Sherlock's shaft, his tongue swirling round and round, while his hands pressed the detective's hips down against the back of the couch. Sherlock writhed underneath him, moaning and arching his back, trying desperately to move his restless hips. Finally, John pulled off, licking lightly at Sherlock's tip.

The doctor then got up, leaving Sherlock's throbbing member to lay unattended against Sherlock's lower abdomen. Sherlock gave him an inquisitive look, but hardly had time to do much else as John grabbed his legs and pulled them off the couch, flipping Sherlock over on the ground with a grunt, and finally pinned him to the floor.

"Ow," Sherlock muttered, his face pressed to the carpet.

"Shut up," John whispered hoarsely into his ear. Sherlock swallowed and shuddered. Despite his seemingly passive nature, John had quite a domineering side, which he knew Sherlock absolutely loved, and so he kicked into gear.

"You're mine," he said, nipping Sherlock's earlobe. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm...yours..."

"Good boy."

John then trailed his tongue down from Sherlock's ear to his neck, and finally bit down on his neck tenderly, eliciting a helpless moan from the pinned detective. He then slid one hand up underneath Sherlock's thin t-shirt and with his other hand, he pried open Sherlock's mouth and slid two fingers in. Stroking one of his nipples, John ground his hips against Sherlock while Sherlock sucked eagerly at John's fingers.

"That's it," John said against Sherlock's pastel white skin. "Good and wet, now."

Sherlock moaned and pushed back against John's rocking hips, wanting more, needing more.

John finally slid his wet fingers from Sherlock's mouth, and as he undid his own pants, he slowly pushed them into Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock cried out and pressed his forehead against the floor, shuddering.

"Are you ready for me, Sherlock?" John said while sucking hard at Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned.

"Yes...yes...God yes," he panted. "Please, I need you now, please."

Suddenly John stopped all movement, and Sherlock groaned.

"Excuse me," John said in a frustrated tone, pulling his bared midsection away from Sherlock's aching bottom. Sherlock looked pleadingly over his shoulder.

"What?" he drawled.

"That is no way to address your superior officer," John said with a sly smile. Sherlock closed his eyes and moaned.

"I'm sorry Captain," he said. John shook his head.

"That won't do," he said. "You'll have to pay for that slip up, boy." Sherlock whimpered and nodded.

"Yes, sir."

And with a quick thrust, John was completely inside Sherlock. Sherlock cried out and arched, gritting his teeth.

"Oh God...yes...please..."

"What was that?"

"Please, Captain."

John thrust hard into Sherlock.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, breathing heavily against his lover.

"Oh...y-yes sir."

"Do you want some more?"

"Yes...yes sir."

With each thrust, John ground a laboured moan or yelp from his writhing detective, who clawed the carpet. John reached around and gripped Sherlock leaking, throbbing erection and stroked it hard with his thrusts. Sherlock cried out.

"God J-"

"No," John said expectedly, bucking his hips and delivering another quick, frenzied thrust.

"Captain! Oh Captain!"

"Are you close?"

"Yes, sir! Oh, God, please don't stop, sir!"

John shivered and with each movement pulled Sherlock, and himself, closer and closer to climax. It was Sherlock who hit it first, clenching around John and tensing, shuddering.

"God, yes!"

John was on the brink. He managed to grind out: "Yes what?"

"Yes Captain!"

And Sherlock was gone, with John soon to follow.

The two lay on the floor in a heap, panting and heaving, Sherlock's fingers entagled in John's, whose forehead was pressed in between Sherlock's shoulder blades. After a few moments of silence, Sherlock spoke.

"John?" he said groggily. John sighed and nuzzled Sherlock's back.

"Yes, love."

"I'm not bored anymore."