Molly openly gaped at John, flicking her chocolate brown eyes over to Sherlock as he filled in the more indiscreet details of their story, overriding his doctor and taking pleasure in expounding the intricacies of their pairing.

"W-well. That's certainly...I'm glad the two of you are together now." Molly stuttered, pushing her eggs around her plate to keep from looking at the two men.

"Molly, I'm...sorry," John muttered, his face flushed in embarrassment and his eyes flicked warningly over towards the oblivious detective, who gobbled down creamy scrambled eggs happily, oblivious to the awkward silence he'd just created. John gave Sherlock a quick kick on the shin, hoping he would understand the inference and to leave off any and all further allusions to their sex life.

Sherlock jerked and frowned at John. "What was that for? Why did you kick me?" He asked childishly, ignoring the wide-eyed, warning look John gave him and giving Molly his best innocent look. "I thought Molly would want to know and store up our stories for masturbation material later."

Both John and Molly choked and in the few breathless, painful seconds it took to regain their normal respiration, Sherlock grinned at the synchronicity of their discomfort.

"Sherlock!" John recovered first, face red both in second-hand embarrassment for Molly and oxygen deprivation.

"Wh-what? What are you talking about?" Molly echoed John, her voice tremulous and guilty.

"I heard you orgasm last night," Sherlock explained, "just after John had gone down on me, and I had fingered him to climax. Well...I say 'heard,' but it was mostly the tell-tale squeak of your mattress and the faint bump of your headboard. I hope what you heard was satisfactory?" He asked with a sweet smile. "I would hate if our performances disappointed you, since we are guests in your flat, as John keeps reminding me."

"I...I didn't...don't know what you're talking a-about, Sherlock." Molly stuttered, her face going red and embarrassed tears springing to her eyes. She blinked furiously to clear them, unable to look at John and even Sherlock's face was too much to bear at the moment. "I- I really didn't...I- I mean, I did hear you and John but...and it kept me awake. I couldn't sleep for it but...I didn't do that."

Sherlock heard a faint 'Oh, fuck,' as John buried his head in his hands.

"People 'get off' on all sorts of things, Molly." Sherlock said, trying to make the situation better. He wasn't sure why Molly was so embarrassed and why John was so…annoyed. "Self-pleasure is hardly a crime. And it's gratifying to think that you got off to the thought of us having...relations. Judging by the physical response of your climax, it would seem that you hadn't had a decent orgasm in at least six months. They were tenuous and rushed at best. And your lack of dates recently has been abysmal. Not that you're the one-night-stand type, but by the fourth or fifth date one can usually expect the night to end with sexual relations of some sort with you. The lack of dates, coupled with long hours working- culminates in the fact that hearing us aroused you and-"

"Sherlock." John's low voice broke in and Sherlock faltered in his rapid-fire deductions. He blinked, taking in John's shuttered, angry face and Molly's flushed cheeks and shamed, averted eyes.

"John?" He asked, licking his lips, suddenly realizing what he should have done before. "...Was that...a bit not good?"

The hotel was grotty, in an unfashionable part of the city. Sherlock took a sick pleasure in informing John- after he'd vetoed every place Sherlock had suggested as too expensive- that no less than three murders had been committed in John's chosen hotel, one on the very floor their room was situated on.

"Sherlock, I don't believe you. If you're trying to sway me with morbid histories, you'll have to give me some proof." John replied to these morbid deductions, lugging their bags through the slightly sideways doorway of their hotel room. The room was about as passable as could be expected for a dirt-cheap, temporary residence- the wallpaper was hideous, the bed looked lumpy, and there were dubious stains on the carpeting that John didn't want to contemplate and which Sherlock looked all too aware of what had caused them.

"You mean besides the overpowering smell of bleach in the hallway as we passed 202 where the most recent murder took place? And the low rate for the rooms? The staff are all new, most people don't like working in a hotel riddled with murders." Sherlock closed the door behind them and took in their room with a disgusted expression. "None of the murders have been very inspiring. Nothing interesting."

John winced at the off-hand way Sherlock dismissed someone else's grisly end, dumping the bags beside the double bed, sighing heavily. He scrubbed his face and ruffled his hair in irritation. "So...'uninspiring'...I take it you weren't involved with any of them?" John's face was still stoically expressionless, his features tense and blank after the episode with Molly earlier that morning which had necessitated their move from her flat.

"No. Thank god. If the Met can't get even simple murder right, I shudder to think of the future of our city." Sherlock pinched the fabric of the curtains between his thumb and forefinger before drawing away, wiping his fingers distastefully on his trousers. "This room is terrible. John. I don't know what was wrong with the last hotel I suggested. If you inspected this room with a black light it would light up like a Christmas tree with semen stains."

"I'm sure you speak from experience." John muttered, unpacking his meagre belongings and spreading them on the bed…before he flung his bag against the wall, his temper simmering dangerously.

"Well, there was that one case a few years ago. I was there when Anderson did the forensics and the entire room glowed...Oh." Sherlock trailed off, staring at the stiff line of John's shoulders. "That wasn't what you..." He fiddled with his hands, glancing around the room as if looking for clues. "Have I done something...wrong?"

"Sherlock, get on your knees." John stated tiredly. When Sherlock's mouth opened in surprise, John flicked his pointed finger toward the carpet, as if commanding a dog to sit. Sherlock blinked rapidly, obvious confusion suffusing his face as he slowly walked closer to John. He gave him a searching, puzzled look before gracefully sinking to his knees, wincing slightly when he made contact with the semen-stained carpet.

"John...?"

"You don't need to trawl the depths of your Mind Palace to understand what I want you to do. Besides...your gag reflex is only 12.2% efficient, remember? You can, and you will take it." John pulled open his jeans, yanked down his underwear without ceremony, and pulled out his half-hard shaft. His face was worryingly impassive and Sherlock licked his lips, eying the penis in front of him speculatively. John was angry. That much was obvious. He was surprised John wanted to work off his excess agitation through sexual release, though. It was a viable avenue. Sherlock had heard of people doing it…but John was usually the "yell then take a walk" type not the "shove my cock down my boyfriend's throat" type.

Perhaps he'd pushed John too far this time, Sherlock thought as he took a deep breath, glancing up at John's stony face, before licking his lips again and leaning forward, taking the tip of John's cock in his mouth.

John wasted no time in forcing himself into Sherlock's throat, gasping and pumping violently for a few thrusts, selfishly taking his own pleasure as Sherlock had done earlier that morning…before he gritted his teeth, feeling sick hearing Sherlock cough and choke around his cock while remaining unresisting.

John opened his eyes, looking down to where Sherlock was on his knees, eyes gazing up trustingly at John, mouth slack around his cock even as he choked on it.

"Sherlock...Christ, I'm sorry..." John pulled out of Sherlock's mouth as gently as he could, riddled with anxiety and guilt. "Shit...are you okay?"

"Yes." Sherlock said slowly, not understanding the sudden, inexplicable shift in John's mood. He'd been expecting John to use him for his pleasure and...had been very turned on by the idea. He'd expected John to come down his throat- as he'd seen done in pornography- and afterward, he'd cuddle Sherlock and that would be the end of their row.

"God...that was bad…sorry, mate." The tumult of conflicting emotions showed very openly on John's face as he rummaged through Sherlock's short curls apologetically. Sherlock grimaced at the use of the word 'mate' again, and while John distracted himself with needless apologies, he took him into his mouth again, sucking submissively.

"Sh-Sherlock." John gently disengaged him from his cock, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "You really don't have to do that. I was...being ridiculous. Stupid. That was too forceful."

"I...liked you being forceful." Sherlock admitted quietly, sitting back on his heels and staring up at John.

"Didn't it hurt?" John asked cautiously, though a small, dark part of his psyche goaded him by letting him know, like a vindictive little gremlin at the back of his brain, that he was more than happy to fuck Sherlock's throat raw if his lover were amenable to the idea. Sherlock shrugged.

"A little." He frowned, trying to parse through what he was feeling. Yes, it'd hurt- a tad- but somehow...the pain had added to what he was feeling and his cock had throbbed in arousal from the sensation.

"Why don't we...try something else? Ok? I don't want to hurt you. Not...not when I can pleasure you instead." John offered, awkwardly. "That is, if the 'uninspiring' murders of this particular venue haven't killed your mood entirely."

Sherlock snorted, feeling a pang that John wasn't going to use him. He wanted more data, more experimentation to figure out why he'd enjoyed it…but he shoved it to the side when John, still looking contrite, knelt and kissed him, curling his hand around Sherlock's now-soft penis through his trousers.

"Do you want to have sex?" John whispered in an astoundingly attractive, feather-light, innocent tone. Sherlock jerked away, eyebrows snapping together, and gave John a surprised, searching look.

"I know you've been wanting it." John explained, taking his hand away from Sherlock's crotch, not wanting to influence him in any way. "You've mentioned it a few times now and I thought...we could. If you wanted. We still have the lube..."

Sherlock's eyes dilated. He hadn't realized John had noticed him secreting Molly's lube into his belongings but now he was glad for it. He then flicked his gaze tellingly to the open curtains, where a watery midday light filtered through. "...Right now?"

John's eyes followed Sherlock's gaze and he gave him a smile. "If you want. We can close the curtains."

Sherlock nodded, heart pounding in his throat at the idea of finally having sex- proper sex- with John.

While John stood and closed the curtains, Sherlock gnawed on a damp bottom lip that was at odds with his dry mouth and boosted himself gracelessly onto the cheap, lumpy bed. He waited until John had satisfactorily cloistered them in near-darkness before clearing his throat.

"John," he began in a trembly baritone, before stopping, literally not knowing what he wanted to express.

"What, love?" It was dark in the room, but not so dark that Sherlock couldn't see John rummaging in their bags for the lube.

"I want you on top." He blurted, immediately wanting to clap a hand over his mouth and take back those words. His face flamed with colour as a frantic, fast-forward slideshow of thousands of pornographic images flashing in his mind, crowding and writhing temptingly, instigating something of a panic.

"If that's what you want." John said, breaking into his scattered thoughts. "It's fine, Sherlock. Whatever you want…it's fine. If you don't like this as much as you think you will...tell me. I won't be disappointed. We can do something else."

"N-no. I…I want this" Sherlock started to fumble with his clothes, gasping shallow, quick, excited breaths.

"Not wasting any time, are we?" John muttered, watching Sherlock strip himself, his own hands starting to pull at his clothes, divesting himself of every shred in record time. Sherlock shoved his clothes inelegantly off of the bed and licked his lips eagerly, letting out a soft groan in the midday darkness as he felt John- wonderfully naked John- alight on the bed, and saw him crawl toward him with inexorable purpose.

God.

It felt amazing as John crawled over his body, hovering above Sherlock on hands and knees, licking at Sherlock's lips and kissing him filthily, with definite purpose. Sherlock's hands came up, circling John's biceps and digging his fingernails into the skin, shivering when John moaned. Swallowing thickly, he pawed at John's upper arms - firm, hard and strong under those bloody deceptive jumpers. Their naked bodies nudged together in a thousand mind-blowing places, and Sherlock had a difficult job holding back the involuntary noises that wanted to embarrass him by leaving his throat.

At the first brush of John's erection against his thigh, tantalizingly close to his own groin, Sherlock lost the fight and gasped, a small whimper escaping and he arched up, trying to frot against John. It was imperative he did so. He needed stimulation. He felt as if he were about to crawl out of his skin. His cock was throbbing and his testicles ached.

"John..." Sherlock broke their kiss, moaning when John moved his lips down over his throat, licking along his collarbone. "John...d-do it."

"Shh, s'alright. Be patient. I need to open you up."

Sherlock bit his lip at the brutal connotation, feeling as if he were going to hyperventilate and add to the list of deaths in the history of this god-awful hotel. "Yes." He said breathlessly, fingers knotting themselves in the cheap, stained sheets as John crawled down his body, hands trailing down Sherlock's sides, skimming over his skin. Sherlock's cock jerked against his stomach, a small puddle of pre-come forming on his concave belly. His legs jittered to either side of John. He felt spread out. Exposed. Even more so when John coaxed Sherlock's legs up, raising them and baring his arse to John's perusal.

"Oh, fuck me,' Sherlock uttered unconsciously, stunned at finally- after countless fantasies- being in this position…then jolted when John laughed gently.

"Will do." He promised, lavishing quick, confident kisses on the soft, white skin of Sherlock's inner thighs. It was overwhelming. White hot heat was rising through his groin, tingling up his spine, constricting his chest and surging through his throat. Sherlock blinked rapidly, trying to parse all the sensations he was experiencing as John stroked his thighs, peppering kisses closer and closer to his erection. Sherlock quivered, eyes wide, tense and waiting...

"Oh!" Sherlock's spine bowed when John licked a wet line up his cock. He tossed his head back, shouting helplessly when John did it again, moving to take him in his mouth-

"No, don't!" Sherlock anxiously said, quickly pushing John away. "I'll c-come if you do. I don't…I want you to fuck me."

John grinned, running a comforting hand up and down Sherlock's side, as if he was soothing a worn-out racehorse. "Ok. Sssh…it's fine. I won't. Are you sure you're ready? I'm only going to use one finger first." He informed him, wiggling his hand demonstratively in the gloom, smiling infectiously.

"Oh." Sherlock huffed, closing his eyes, unable to look because if he looked he would imagine and if he imagined... He whimpered, fisting his hand even more tightly in the sheets, trying to ignore his pulsing erection.

The click of the lube opening was loud and Sherlock's eyes jerked open without his permission, seeking out John in the darkness and watching him warm the slick liquid in the palms of his hands.

"Are you sure, Sherlock?"

As if his wrecked body and hard, red, weeping cock weren't enough to convince John.

"Yes."

"Okay." John murmured. "Relax, Sherlock. Do you...need something to hold on to?" He asked with surprising intuition, offering his right hand to his partner. Sherlock breathed out a thankful breath and, disengaging a hand from the sheets, gripped John's offered hand. He thought he saw John wince in the darkness but couldn't be sure, and a moment later John gripped his hand back tightly, stoically. Sherlock breathed in and out, letting the contact ground him. "You're doing great, love. So great. I'm going to start now...ok?"

John's slightly cold, wet finger circled around Sherlock's tightly furled hole, gentle and sure, not yet penetrating but letting Sherlock get used to the feeling.

"I haven't even - haven't even tried this myself." Sherlock admitted with nervous laughter, gritting his teeth and trying to unclench the muscles that would soon be breached.

"Surprised by that." John's finger pressed more insistently against him. "Would've thought you'd want to know everything. And since you've been trying to suppress your gag reflex...only serves to reason…"

Sherlock inhaled sharply when the very tip of John's finger breached his body and John took a simultaneous breath as Sherlock's grip on his hand tightened suddenly. He squeezed the large, pale hand reassuringly. "I...I wanted you to be the...the first...in..." he trailed off, writhing as John pushed further inside him.

"Oh, Jesus." John whispered, briefly closing his eyes, his own cock hard and abandoned between his legs, all his focus on Sherlock. "Do you...fuck." He broke off, had to clear his throat. "Do you need more lube? Is this...is this fine?"

"No...John...yes...it's..." There was a long, restrained, shuddery growl, and Sherlock's body ground against the cheap bed tellingly, his thigh muscles twitching, and the heated pulse in his carotid artery throbbing visibly, even in the gloom.

"God, you're fucking gorgeous like this." John breathed. "Jesus. Look at you. You're taking it so well." John moved his finger in and out of Sherlock's arse, almost all the way out before pushing it back in. "You're so...tight."

"John...John!" Sherlock grated out, eyes shut tight and his body flexing, grinding forcibly. "...S-stop...I don't - want to c..."

"Sshh." John squeezed Sherlock's hand reassuringly, his finger going still, fully seated inside Sherlock's body. "You're not going to come. Just relax, love. You'll be fine."

Fine. Fine. You'll be fine. Relax. Breathe. You'll be fine. Sherlock chanted to himself, trying to will his orgasm away...but his arse rhythmically clenched around John's finger, reminding him of how full he felt, the burning pleasure sharp and intense-

Sherlock's cock jerked. Once. Twice.

"John!" Sherlock flexed violently, moaning alarmingly, with obvious anxiety as come squirted from his cock, painting stripes across his stomach as he writhed through his premature orgasm. John held his finger in Sherlock, bracing his arm as Sherlock sobbed and tightened, squeezing deliciously around his finger.

Sherlock didn't want to open his eyes. He was so ashamed he couldn't look at John, even though he heard John's worshipful tone of voice as he carefully removed his finger.

"Fuck…that was sexy."

"You…you can still fuck me...if you want." Sherlock offered tentatively, feeling like a fool. How pathetic was he that he couldn't even last through the preparation it took for sex?

"...Sherlock." John murmured, trying his best not to upset him. "To be honest, I'm nearly there. A few strokes and I'll be done. That was...you were...indescribable."

"Do you…do you want me to...?" Sherlock reached for John's cock, trying to make his message clear.

"Oh, god, yes." John scrambled up Sherlock's body, letting Sherlock wrap his fingers around his erection and start stroking, even though his hands were trembling.

"Can I...can I come in your hair?" John suddenly asked in hopeful, bashful anticipation.

"My hair?"

John nodded, eyes going half-lidded with growing pleasure, his hips bucking into Sherlock's grip. "Yes...your hair. I want to- Please?"

"If you want..."

That was all John needed. He brushed Sherlock's hand away and, jacking himself, clumsily crawled up the bed to Sherlock's head, positioning his cock over his curls, cursing. Sherlock watched John's luscious, swollen prick bob and bounce above his face, hypnotised.

"Oh, shit..." John's hips thrust forward as he came, come dribbling from his prick and spattering down to decorate Sherlock's hair in thick, fat drops. He stared down at the mess as he came, eyes dark.

Sherlock surprised John by giggling abruptly, a rare occurrence in itself. Sniggering, one long hand pushed against his full lips, Sherlock managed to clear his throat. "That brings the total tally up to you owing me a shampoo and three new pairs of pyjama bottoms." He stated, straight-faced, before collapsing into further, irresistible giggles.

John huffed out a laugh, easing away from Sherlock's head with an uncharacteristically shy expression, still staring at the mess he'd made of Sherlock's hair. He ran his fingertips over the semen-coated locks, biting his lip to contain his pleased smile.

"You do have a hair fetish, don't you?" Sherlock asked, watching John. John eyed the thick, white, rapidly-drying liquid which was congealing in the dark locks.

"Sherl...you have no idea how gorgeous...how...fucking hot this is."

"My scalp is your receptacle for as long as you want it. Anyway, isn't it supposed to be good for your hair?"