Chapter 7: No Going Back Now
Later that night John appeared at Sherlock's doorway, and the other man gestured him in. He quickly walked up to Sherlock, and kissed his neck passionately. "Keep it down if you can. I think I heard Mrs. Hudson stirring about," he warned and undid the tie on his robe.
Taking in the sight of his otherwise – naked body before meeting his lips, John pressed a hand against his chest and when the kissed ended, pushed him back onto the bed. He loved how vulnerable Sherlock looked, sprawled on the bed in nothing but that silk robe, breathing hard.
Fighting to control the predatory urge welling in him, he continued, "Lose the robe if you want to keep it and get under the covers. I'll be right back."
Sherlock nodded and he turned on his heel, breath shaky as he went to fetch things from his room. A few minutes later when he had his head right he returned, a bottle of lube in hand. He shut the door and strode to the bed, setting the bottle down on the nightstand before peeling off his t-shirt. He climbed under the covers, next to a nervous Sherlock and issued him a hungry kiss, before instructing, "Lay on your back."
Sherlock rested flat on his back, legs splayed. "Almost," he said, flinging the covers off of his naked body. "Bend your knees, feet flat on the bed." As the other man complied, he sat back on his haunches, just able to make out the curvature of his slim butt. He scooted closer, grabbing Sherlock's thigh with one hand and the bottle with the other. He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked slowly, as he popped open the bottle with his other thumb. He paused to pour a small amount into one hand and gripped Sherlock firmly. His breath sped up as John quickened his pace.
He paused to apply more lube to his first two fingers, and said, "Just relax. I promise I'll make you feel good." He scooted closer, kissing Sherlock's neck as he breathed, "Now bring your legs to your chest a bit … let the weight fall on your thighs." He threw the lube on the bed and pressing a digit against Sherlock he assured, "Don't worry – I won't hurt you."
As he circled his entrance, kissing his shoulder, Sherlock said, "John, if we're not going to, then why are you-" He ended abruptly as John's other hand resumed stroking him.
"I'm going to try to find your prostate in this position, since I'll need to know for later." He cleared his throat, and then continued: "I'll be gentle." He assented, trying his best to relax. "Okay, keep your breathing deep. Tell me if I'm hurting you."
With that, John began to push a finger in and heard a sharp intake of breath. "Alright?"
"Just not used to it. Kind of burn-y." He dripped more lube down before reinserting.
"Any better?" He nodded and John angled upward, pushing farther in. He stroked from the inside, keeping his hand still while his other worked Sherlock's cock expertly. Once John heard a gasp from him, he knew he had found it. As he applied pressure to the spot, Sherlock began to tremble. His hand moved to the base of his cock, forming a ring and holding it there. "No, not yet," he pleaded. "I want to see how much you can take."
He leaned forward, kissing Sherlock fiercely. "You need to be used to this feeling." He worked in the second finger, and then moved his hand again. He lightly stroked his prostate, and he moaned throatily. He probed, his fingers drumming a very slow staccato pattern, as his fingertips brushed the sensitive spot. His hand sped up and Sherlock bucked up into it.
As John sped up, he said breathily, "Please, John… D-Don't stop me this time." He could see the pleading look in Sherlock's eyes, could feel him shaking. He panted "Oh, God. John!"
He came so forcefully he shook, as John removed his fingers from his body. He lay there gasping, barely able to move.
"Good?" John asked, eyes focused on that lovely face.
"Very," Sherlock replied, smiling.
John smiled and washed his hands vigorously in the bathroom. "I'll let you get a shower, and I'll clean up here."
Sherlock thanked him and walked on shaky legs. John tidied and when Sherlock walked out naked, hair glistening, it was all he could do not to jump him then and there. His cock twitched, as an image of bending Sherlock over the bed swam into his view. He shook his head but he could feel himself hardening as he said, "I didn't know if you wanted me to sleep in your bed tonight."
"Always," he replied, closing the distance between them.
"Then you're going to have to convince me." He smirked, and knelt in front of John on the bed…
Another four days passed, John sleeping in Sherlock's bed with him at night, but nothing more. That next morning, Sherlock began to pace the living room, frenetic. John stumbled in; "I'll make tea," he murmured.
As he busied himself in the kitchen, Sherlock started tossing throw pillows about. John emerged with the tea, and eyed him with annoyance. "Just because they're called 'throw pillows' doesn't mean you should actually throw them."
Sherlock flounced onto the sofa, screaming, "BORED!"
"I'm sure something will turn up. But in the meantime, no more holes in the wall – I can't afford another rent increase."
"Are you frightened, John?"
"Sorry?"
"Frightened. Anxious. Nervous about sleeping with me."
John cocked his head to the side, and then rubbed his face with his hand slowly. "Yes, okay, I am anxious and nervous. But I wouldn't say I'm frightened."
"But something is holding you back."
"I'm waiting for the time to be right, Sherlock."
"Horrid idea – we could get a case."
"I want it to be right – for you."
"Although you are trying to emotionally prime me for what I am sure is just a simple physical experience, my patience grows thin. I am fond of you John, yes, but 'bringing me up to speed' seems more like you postponing another girlfriend."
John put his teacup down: "So that's it, then? You think I am delaying 'following through' on your request so I don't have to get a date? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"
"The only alternative is that you're terrified of being with a man and have no intention of following through."
John was getting more annoyed by the second. "Sherlock, you should know by now that I'm a man of my word. And I know that you … need this." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John pre-empted him; "You need to do this, rather." He nodded, reaching for his tea.
"I need to get some things sorted," John said and quickly retreated to his room.
Sherlock heard a lot of banging about and John started the shower soon after. He left the flat for more tea and came back some hours later, when the rain started to hit. He stood looking out onto Baker Street, hair damp but no worse for the wear.
Tea was made and John eyed Sherlock from the dining table. "Fetch a shower before you get another fever," John suggested worriedly. Sherlock took the proffered tea, and eyed John warily. He narrowed his eyes, a sudden thought striking him: "Are you worried I'm trying to make you my boyfriend?"
Sherlock smirked coolly: "'Worried' isn't the right word, but I had considered the possibility."
"Well, you needn't worry about it; I've no intention of 'putting a round peg into a square hole' or however it goes."
"You say you're a doctor, but statements like that make me think otherwise."
John's forehead rumpled; "I didn't mean it like that! It's a saying – I won't try to make you something you aren't."
"Good," Sherlock replied, absently.
