Author's Note: Well...uh...short version? Not Dead.

The First and Last Trilogy Appendix: Part One

First Time for Everything

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," John groaned to himself, half-covering his face with his hands. Sherlock glanced up from where he was sucking a kiss to John's hip.

"You're the one who insisted on it," Sherlock reminded him.

"Not my fault." He squirmed a little on the sheets, feeling restless, giddy, over-stimulated.

"Oh, really? Then am I to assume you're blaming me?" Sherlock pressed another kiss just below his belly button.

"You purposefully made it look good to manipulate me."

"Sounds like something I would do."

"Yeah."

"But, as usual, your deduction is incorrect."

John gasped when Sherlock licked the crease between leg and pelvis, his back arching slightly. He knew Sherlock was winding him up, coiling his nerve center to make release all the fiercer. Despite how many times Sherlock had done it, how many times he'd driven him mad with an abundance of sensations, the effect never seemed to dull. And now that he'd agreed to try something new and admittedly scary, it had been amplified tenfold.

"How is it?" John asked, his voice breathy and strained.

"My responses were entirely genuine, so, really, it's your fault for making it feel as pleasant as it does, thus fanning your own desire to experience my position. Did I not tell you that you'd eventually be receptive to experimentation?" Punctuating his point, Sherlock's hand slid between John's legs in a soft, yet extremely purposeful stroke.

"Oh, God," John whined. He clenched his fists in the sheets at his sides.

"'Sherlock' will do just fine."

"You did not just pull that line…"

"Hand me the lubrication so I can prepare you properly," Sherlock ordered, ignoring him.

John huffed, but did as he was told, fumbling with the drawer of their night table and extracting the desired object. He tossed the plastic bottle at Sherlock's face. It bounced off his forehead and landed on John's stomach with a plunk.

"That wasn't very nice," Sherlock observed flatly, though he snatched up the bottle and slicked up a few long, spindly fingers.

"I'm not very nice."

"Yes you are."

"Am not. I've been with you far too long to not become a surly bastard."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he picked up John's leg and draped it over his shoulder. He shifted closer and lined up his wet fingers, sharp eyes meeting John's with a question.

John swallowed hard.

"Go on then," he rasped, head jerking in a quick nod.

Though it would hardly be perceivable to anyone but John, the soul behind Sherlock's gaze softened, and with it so did the apprehension setting John's teeth on edge.

With a quick kiss to the thigh currently draped over his shoulder, Sherlock delicately breached John with the tip of his finger. All the air rushed out of John's lungs in an instant, and heat bloomed on his cheeks and ears.

"Okay?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Yeah, just…strange."

"It is at first. Take a deep breath, it will help."

John did, and on the exhale Sherlock's long finger slid in to the hilt.

"Fuck," John cursed, reaching out to grab the wrist of Sherlock's unoccupied hand.

"That's the idea."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop using sex clichés."

"I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Yes you—" John's words sharply broke off when Sherlock's finger curled inside of him, hitting a spot that sent a jolt through the root of him. "Fuck me."

"I plan on it."

"Knock it off!"

"What? This?" Sherlock asked, crooking his finger again with devilish precision.

After a moment of letting the stars at the edges of his vision recede and returning his spine to the mattress, John glared down at his smirking flatmate.

"You know perfectly well what."

Sherlock's eyes crinkled with a smile, and he began thrusting his finger, from deep to shallow and back again. John choked on a moan.

"I certainly don't. Why? Are you displeased with my sexual style?"

"Obviously not," John huffed, gesturing, a bit manically, to the fully erect penis currently bobbing near Sherlock's face. "But you're clearly trying to mess with me. I'm not sure how yet, but I can bloody tell."

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed contemplatively, brushing over John's prostate and drawing a whine from him as he stared off, thoughtfully, to the side. "I think you're ready for two fingers now."

John barely had time to process his words before a second finger carefully joined the first. For the first time he felt a pull and a burn, but it was not entirely unpleasant. In fact, the bit of pain seemed to only sharpen the pleasure, making him feel and sense more than he ever had from that part of his body. His cock ached from where it throbbed, thick and neglected.

"You're very tight," Sherlock registered. When John met his eyes he found them dilated and wide, the first sign that Sherlock was affected by their interaction. Faint patches of pink flared high on his cheeks.

"Apologies," John said insincerely.

"No it's…fine."

"Fine?"

"Good."

"How good?"

"Very good," Sherlock said, and winked.

"Did you—did you just wink at me?" John gasped, flabbergasted and trying to ignore what Sherlock's ever-moving fingers were doing to him.

"I've winked at you before."

"But not in bed. Not like some bloody porn star."

"It's been my experience that winking fosters a positive impression."

"I think that ship has sailed,"

"Let's try another, shall we?" Sherlock stated, pushing three fingers into him and bending them against his sweet spot with hardly any warning at all.

John moaned with the bliss and the sting of the invasion, squeezing Sherlock's wrist so tight in his hand that he felt the bones grind together. It was like nothing he'd experienced before. It ached and filled him and made him feel vulnerable in a way that he would never allow in the presence of anyone but Sherlock.

"Is that…does it always feel like this?" John panted.

"Only if you do it correctly."

"Did uh…and I…do I 'do it correctly?'"

"Obviously."

John snorted.

"Ah, there it is. That's more the kind of foreplay talk I expect from you," John muttered.

"That wasn't 'foreplay talk.' I was merely responding to an idiotic question with the only suitable answer."

"Exactly. You were a being a dick."

Sherlock glared at him.

"You're right; you aren't nice."

"Hey, at least I'm right."

"You're also a dick," Sherlock added.

"I get dick and the rare honour of being right over the great Sherlock Holmes? It must be Christmas...or the apocalypse."

"Well, since you have such a wealth of dicks I can't see why you'd be needing mine," Sherlock snapped, extracting his fingers from inside John and turning away as though he intended to leave the bed.

"Hold it right there," John said, using his grip on Sherlock's wrist to yank the man on top of him and wrap his legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Can never have too many dicks, you know." He offered a small, apologetic smile, and kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

"Now who's implementing sexual clichés."

"Cliché? Really? Can't say I've ever heard that one before."

"Then you're watching the wrong porn."

Sherlock adjusted his hips, slotting himself comfortably between John's legs like he belonged there.

"Don't really go in for the stuff anymore, ta."

"Nor should you need to."

"True, that's true. Wait…have you been watching porn?"

"I thought I could gather some techniques," Sherlock confessed, a bit sheepishly.

"So that's where the stupid lines are coming from?"

"They won't be the only thing that's coming."

"Oh sweet Jesus ," John groaned, slapping his palm to his forehead.

"Not working for you?"

"'Fraid not, Sherlock."

"Ah."

"I recommend you just stick to the actual sex part of having sex. That was working for me just fine."

Sherlock paused, eyes flickering between John's.

"You're sure." It didn't sound like a question.

"Yes."

"It might hurt a little."

"I'm aware."

"And you might not like it."

"Okay."

"Though I will, of course, endeavor to make it satisfactory."

"Now you're really pulling out the dirty talk."

Sherlock pushed up onto his elbow, reaching for the bottle of lube once more and generously coating his half-hard erection with its contents. As he stroked himself to fullness, his eyes locked with John, who blushed and swallowed roughly. With their breaths mingling between them and the air static with anticipation, it didn't take very long before Sherlock was ready for him, swollen and glistening with slick.

"Wrap your legs higher on my waist," Sherlock directed, voice deep and crackling. Though it was incredibly slight, John didn't miss the way he trembled as he lined himself up.

"Relax and bear down on me. Tell me if it hurts." Sherlock's tone, most unusually, held a poorly faked confidence, and John wondered how it became that he felt more composed in this situation than the typically smug detective. Beneath his hands Sherlock's back muscles were tight and drawn as a bow, his skin clammy.

"I will. But you won't hurt me."

"I might."

"No, you won't," John countered, throwing all his confidence into the words since Sherlock seemed unable to find his own.

"I—alright."

"Come on then."

With a short nod, Sherlock pushed forward ever so slowly, and John found himself doing the last thing he would have imagined a few years prior.

Sherlock was panting into his mouth, his pupils blown black, as John fought to breathe calmly and relax his muscles.

"S-slow," he slurred, though Sherlock was already moving so incredibly gradually they might be geriatric by the time he finally bottomed out.

"I know," Sherlock gritted out.

He nuzzled the side of John's face, and John noted distantly that their height difference was far more conducive to kissing in their current position than their usual preference. He took advantage of it by pressing his lips to the detective's. Though it started chaste, the kiss rapidly became wet and sloppy, intensifying the deeper Sherlock buried himself in John's body.

They moaned in unison when Sherlock was fully sheathed, their forms pressed so closely together it was hard to discern the barrier between them. John gripped Sherlock tight with both his legs and arms, blinking as he tried to parse the foreign sensations of being touched in a way he never had before.

It was overwhelming, but not unmanageable. It hurt, but also felt indescribably good, like Sherlock had a direct, raw link to his pleasure center. It was strange, but John liked strange. You'd only have to look at his partner to know that.

"M-move, will you?" he growled at Sherlock, and gave him a quick slap on his arse. The noise of it more than anything seemed to shock Sherlock into action, who had up until that point looked rather dazed and confused.

With a slow, dragging thrust Sherlock moved inside him.

The tempo he set was languorous at first, making them both feel every point of contact, every tremble. It gave John time to accommodate him. But, gradually, their pace quickened, drawing whimpers and gasps until they were lost in the feeling of one another.

A sweat broke out over their bodies not unlike the one that once quelled their fevers, bringing with it the memory of the first time they'd fooled around, and hitting John with a potent wave of fondness for his friend.

Weaving his fingers into Sherlock's inky hair, John guided them into a desperate kiss. Over the last few weeks John had gone a long way to teaching Sherlock how to kiss with everything that he was; to kiss like they loved each other, which, if John was being quietly honest with himself, they did. Each caress of tongue, each mix of breath and nip of teeth, stoked their longing for each other, until Sherlock was pounding into him. John met his thrusts, undulating his hips and guiding Sherlock to his sweet spot.

With Sherlock pulled so close, his stomach rubbed against the bottom of John's cock, not enough to bring him over the precipice, but holding him torturously near the edge. Still, John didn't mind. While Sherlock had been keying him up for ages and he desperately wanted to come, he also didn't want the event to be over yet. He'd been contemplating it for what felt like ages, and the reality definitely fell on the positive end of his expectations.

In fact, the longer it went on, the more he grew accustomed to the stretch and the pressure, the better it felt.

He dragged his mouth from Sherlock's, earning a whine of protest from the detective. Without John's lips to keep his occupied, Sherlock's went to his neck. He bit and teased at John's pulse point, continuing to drive himself deep into John's entrance.

"You like this," he rumbled against John's skin.

"Yes." His reply was barely more than a well-formed breath.

"More than you thought you would."

"Yes."

"More than I thought you would."

"Doubt it."

Sherlock pulled back and looked him the eye. He was smiling dazedly.

"You know me so well."

"I know you're a cocky— fuck - bastard who's thought much more about my arse than he's like to admit."

"Oh, I'd happily admit it," Sherlock countered, his brow furrowed. His thrusts grew slow and languid. "I'm just not sure you'd find the confession arousing or disturbing."

"Darling, with you the two go hand in hand," John teased, grinding back on him in a way that sent a shock of tingling up his spine.

"I'm not sure if that reflects more poorly on you or me."

"Neither am I."

Suddenly Sherlock paused, his hips stopping flush against John's arse.

"Darling?" Sherlock said the word as though it didn't fit properly in his mouth.

"Am I not allowed to give you pet names?"

"Certainly not." Sherlock looked disgusted.

"No. Not really our style, is it."

"I should hope not, dear."

"Ick, no, you're right. No pet names. Best get back to the sex now."

"If you insist."

To show he meant business, or perhaps to short out John's brain so he never remembered a pet name (or any name) again, Sherlock reached between them and took John's cock in a tight grip.

"Would you like to come now?" he asked, the very picture of courtesy.

"If you'd like to make me…"

"That is generally the goal of having sex, John."

"Oh, is it? Guess I'd forgotten, what with lying here on my back, bored to shit because someone is too busy whinging about pet names to—"

With a growl Sherlock slammed his hips into John. A sharp burst of pleasure shot through his core, and he would have come on the spot if it wasn't for Sherlock's grip holding him back.

Timing the jerking of his wrist with his hips, Sherlock worked John with all the skill, all the focus he seemed to possess. Immediately John's arousal ratcheted up, and he found himself tumbling towards release so fast that the edges of vision began to blur.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he gasped. "I'm gonna'…God, I'm such an idiot."

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, not faltering in the slightest. "But why?"

"Should have…done this…ages ago."

"John—"

"Yeah, yeah what is it?" John was rapidly reaching his climax. It was building on itself more potently than he had ever experienced. It filled his whole abdomen, his whole body, right down to his toes. He felt delirious with it.

"I've never done it like this before either."

"What?" John yelped, his eyes snapping open.

"Perhaps I…should have mentioned—"

"You've never been the one to—"

"Top. No."

"How?" John asked, doing his best to keep his orgasm at bay. Sherlock was still thrusting shallowly, still working him with his hand. Curiosity did help hold it back momentarily but he knew if he Sherlock kept touching him as he was he wouldn't last for long.

"I haven't exactly had a legion of sexual partners, John."

"Oh," John replied, for lack of anything better to say, what with shock and an impending orgasm clouding his mind.

"Problem?"

"No…in fact, I think that's the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"And you said my dirty talk was cliché."

"This is sex…everything is cliché."

"Then I don't suppose you'll mind if I kindly ask you to shut up and come for me?"

"Oh fuck," John moaned, bowing his back as Sherlock's wrist and hips sped to a blistering pace.

When his orgasm hit him, it hit hard. It pulsed out of him roughly, ribbons of white painting his chest and Sherlock's. He arched against the detective, keening and clenching down.

Sherlock was either pretty shocked by the sight or on the edge already because he came almost immediately, burying himself inside John as deep as he could go and biting down on his shoulder. They had often used a claiming kind of bite in the bedroom, though they made sure to keep it on the right side of painful, so John wasn't surprised at the sting. Quite the opposite, in fact.

John held Sherlock close as he spent himself, clutching his damp, trembling back and kissing his hair.

Once they had both settled, Sherlock slowly withdrew his face from John's neck and met his eyes.

"Well?" he queried, as casual as you please, as though they hadn't just shared mind-shattering orgasms.

"Well what?"

"Did you…was it enjoyable?"

"What do you think?"

Sherlock's eyes scanned over him before he replied.

"I think you're a bottom."

John removed his arms from Sherlock's back and crossed them over his chest indignantly, putting a barrier between them. He let his legs fall to the mattress.
"Do you, now."

"I do."

"And what about you? Did you find your first time on top to be 'satisfactory?'"

"I think you can deduce that without my assistance."

"You sure know how to flatter a guy," John sighed.

Gently, Sherlock pulled out him, making them both groan. He toppled to his back beside him. They stared up at the ceiling.

"I…feel a variety of things for you, John," Sherlock said after a moment. The words sounded as though he'd dragged them from himself by force.

"Romantic," John snorted, shaking his head.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"Yeah." John rolled from the bed, crossing to the bathroom so he could clean himself up. "I know."

"John?"

"Yeah?" John paused, glancing back.

Sherlock smiled and winked.

John slammed the door behind him.

Author's Note: Please don't tackle or headbutt me for how long it took to return to this story. If you do I'll just have to stage a bomb scare until you forgive me. And then laugh at you once we get too intimate. Shhhh, it makes sense and in no way makes us look like emotionally stunted buttmunches.

I have a few more of these time stamps left in me, and then it's back to The Pensieve of Sherlock Holmes woot woot. The obsession has returned and so have I...