Public smut and breathplay ;) and an impossibly badly-behaved Sherlock ;)
OXOXOXO
"John?"
"Sherlock?"
"I need to have sex with you. Soon."
John sighed, glaring around the restaurant. Sherlock licked his cupid-bow lips, shifting awkwardly in his seat. His milk-white skin was slightly flushed, his grey-green eyes dilated. He did look desperately aroused.
They had just ordered, poured a glass of snake wine each, had a few sips of the strong, bittersweet alcohol, and were waiting for their starters. The buzz and clatter and close atmosphere of the Thai restaurant was picking up in a wonderful cloud of heat and noise and high-class fervour.
"You don't need to have sex, Sherlock."
"Well not necessarily intercourse, but one way or another, I need to orgasm within the next five minutes or I'll explode right here."
"No you don't!" John hissed.
"…Do you want to touch it?"
"No."
"Are you sure? It wants to touch you."
"Go and sort yourself out in the bathroom. And don't take too long about it," John muttered irritably.
Sherlock sighed resignedly and got up, wandering away through the restaurant. Making his way into the empty toilets, he got into one of the cubicles and quickly unzipped, taking himself in hand and rubbing quickly, leaning back against the cubicle wall. He froze when he heard somebody else enter thirty seconds later, and he held still, breathing hard, listening to their movements.
"It's just me Sherlock. Open the door and let's get this over with," he heard John call out.
With a delighted huff of laughter, Sherlock yanked open the door and found himself immediately slammed back against the cubicle wall once more, taken in hand, and rubbed fast and firm. The doctor kicked the door shut again, and smooched the detective sloppily.
"I've got you Sherlock," John whispered, in between quick, messy kisses. "Let it out. Let go."
The detective gripped John's shoulders for dear life, head going back sharply against the cool cubicle wall, a strangled moan sounding from his exposed throat, where John began nipping and sucking feverishly as he worked with a devastating rhythm, the surface where Sherlock leant shaking with the effort.
Very soon Sherlock shakily grabbed John's free hand, pulling it up to his face. Knowing what was being requested, the doctor firmly pressed his hand smotheringly over Sherlock's nose and mouth. With a grateful nod, the detective shuddered, choking wetly as he began to climax, face reddening, chest hitching desperately. A throaty, warning groan rumbled from the brunette, and John shifted slightly, allowing Sherlock room to ejaculate with shocking force, spattering the opposite wall, as a look of exquisite agony twisted the detective's damp, bright-red face.
Ten seconds later, the main shocks abating, Sherlock tapped a wobbly, wet hand over John's, and the doctor allowed him to breathe again, huge, gusty gasps. The pale grey-green eyes looked completely dazed and John ruffled the shell-shocked detective's hair fondly.
"I know why you looked so gutted that the Golem got away that time," he smirked. Sherlock frowned at him quizzically, and the doctor giggled. "Clean up after yourself and I'll see you in a minute." With that, he left the stall, with Sherlock leaning, panting and trembly against the cubicle wall.
OXOXOX
Sherlock looked reasonably recovered, just a little tired, as he slipped back into his seat with a groan a few minutes later.
John smirked to himself as he drank more wine, seeing their starters being brought in from the kitchen.
"Even I thought that Golem joke was in pretty poor taste, John," Sherlock announced as he downed wine, their starters placed on the table.
John picked up his cutlery as the waiter disappeared, Sherlock continued in his loud, rumbling baritone. "I don't know if you remember, but he was trying to kill me, not deliver a mind-blowing orgasm."
John froze, seeing the couple on the nearest table glare over at the completely-indifferent detective.
"Stop talking about sex when people are trying to eat," the doctor hissed, poking into his starter, feeling the heat rise in his face. Sherlock glanced deadpan at the nearby diners.
"They're just jealous because they don't have a lover who can bring them to such utter pleasure that they can ejaculate eight feet."
There were definite gasps and curses from the fellow diners, and Sherlock winced as John kicked him hard under the table.
"Sherlock shut up! I don't wanna get thrown out of here before I've even eaten! What's Mrs. Hudson gonna think if we're back hours early?"
"I imagined she'd say that I got horny and couldn't stop myself trying to take you across your hot and sour soup. And she'd probably be right."
"Don't touch me, Sherlock," John replied dangerously, stabbing a pointed finger at the detective. "Touch me, and I will break your wrist."
"I might have more trouble getting you to climax with a broken wrist, John."
"One word. One more word, and so help me. Use that pretty mouth to eat, not humiliate me in posh restaurants," he glared, a dark and serious expression on his face.
Sherlock shrugged innocently, opened his mouth as if to speak, and he saw John tense. Smirking, he shovelled a steaming forkful of rice in, instead. He chewed thoughtfully, then gestured at the food, before giving a thumb's up, smiling happily.
With one more Look cast at his insufferable partner, John began to eat.
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