Blow my mind.
John couldn't breathe. He couldn't take a breath, and yet he was so light-headed that he was dizzy. Sherlock's breath mingled with his hand as it caressed his skin, and everything felt too hot, too tight. The detective's words hung on the air. He replied bravely.
"…How?"
"John. Captain John 'Three Continents' Watson. Use your imagination."
John blinked, panic tussling with his curiosity as he wracked his mind for what he was supposed to do.
"I don't... Christ, Sherlock, help me out a bit here."
"John, come now. Don't be coy. It doesn't suit you. I bet you know exactly what you'd do. You're a considerate lover who enjoys giving pleasure. I bet no-one's ever faked it with you. They've never needed to."
John could feel heat rising in his cheeks, up his neck, down his chest. A shiver ran down his spine at Sherlock's words alone, and like the hot-headed man he was, John chose to rise to the challenge.
"So... Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked slowly, reaching up to trace the contours of Sherlock's lips. "Or touch you?" His finger ran over Sherlock's jaw, on to his beautiful pale neck.
"I would call that 'a good start,'" Sherlock replied, with an amused huff of hot laughter against John's face. "The first man you were attracted to...you wanted to sleep with him...you planned ahead. You weren't going to just 'see what happened.' You planned to pleasure him, you needed to know what would make his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth fall open. You needed to be confident in the knowledge that you would tear his world apart in the best possible way."
John let out a breathy sigh, that voice washing over him in waves. Sherlock knew he needed that voice, and he was teasing him with it.
Deciding that he was fucked either way, John shifted himself in the bed until his face was mere inches from Sherlock's.
Dismissing the idea of running away screaming (John had never run away from anything), he moved forward as Sherlock turned, obviously intent on meeting his lips, but John swerved. He brought his lips to Sherlock's jaw, on the blooming bruise there. He kissed once...twice...before bringing a snippet of Sherlock's skin between his teeth.
John was astonished by the shuddering thrill he felt as Sherlock let out a baritone, wordless yell, followed by a sharp, groaning inhale of body-heated air.
It wasn't enough.
He moved his body further, rolling Sherlock onto his back. His mind felt fuzzy, his body taut as a piano string. His lips moved onto Sherlock's neck, and he took the opportunity to give him a sharp nip.
"Ugh! Yes, yes! Oh, god, John," Sherlock was sobbing, as if in disbelief. "This, yes, this..."
John was spellbound. Sherlock's strong reactions to the smallest stimuli were truly hypnotising. The doctor felt large, heavy hands land and rummage shakily in his short hair, clearly trying to resist pushing his mouth even closer.
John gasped as Sherlock finally, finally fucking made some noise. He groaned in response, shifting his body until they were in a very similar situation that they had been in downstairs. Except this time, rather than just pinning Sherlock down, his teeth were biting into his skin and Sherlock was thrashing for a very different reason.
John groaned again, a deep, reverberating noise, moving his tongue purposefully over Sherlock's pulse point.
The doctor's ears rang with Sherlock's hoarse cries; the only respite he got was when the detective keened from the exhaustion of rapture, or whined through his wheezy breaths.
John groaned and rolled his hips, pressing down on Sherlock with each one. Sherlock's hands dug into his back as the doctor braced his arms on either side of the detective's shoulders.
"More," he whispered over Sherlock's gusty breathing. "You need to give me more."
"Ditto, Doctor," Sherlock gasped, shamelessly writhing, pushing his rock-hard arousal into John, throwing his head back and crushing his crisp curls.
Breathing became of secondary importance to that voice, and John was powerless to disobey. He shifted his position over Sherlock's lap, curving his back until his achingly-hard cock was pressing into the curve of Sherlock's groin, gasping as he rolled his hips again. He could feel Sherlock's erection pressing into his own hip, and it was delicious and confusing and fuck it all he needed more.
"OhJ-John…quick, get them off, I need to see it," Sherlock babbled, yanking unsuccessfully at John's waistband, panting noisily.
The desperation in that voice seemed to kick-start his own, and with a surge of adrenaline the doctor eased off of Sherlock to lay down at his side. They both instinctually, hastily, twisted to face each other.
John didn't think as he shucked the boxers, wrapping a firm hand around his cock and stroking hard from base to tip.
"Fuck..."
"No, give it to me," Sherlock muttered impatiently, and John might have been offended if not for the warm hands scrabbling for and grabbing his shaft greedily. "Shit!" came the deep, sharp curse in the dark. "John! Put the light on, I can't see it. I want to see it."
John gasped, his back arching as the hand not belonging to him tightened, the doctors' hips bucking from the contact. "Jesus," he muttered, already so close. His own hand flew to Sherlock's where it held his cock firmly, flexing to force the detective to move.
Sherlock's hand didn't budge, and with a frustrated grunt John turned, reaching over and scrambling for the bedside lamp. The light was briefly blinding as John hissed, rolling back to his side and rolling his hips again.
"Now - please, fucking please."
There was a faint, croaky noise, and a couple of sharp hitches of breath from the detective. Sherlock clenched his teeth and shuddered, his hips bouncing against his doctor and repeatedly jabbing him with a damp, silk-covered hard-on. He fought to keep his pale eyes open, straining to fixate on John's thick, wet, blood-hot member, pulsing and twitching in his hand.
"Ugh-oh...John...so...oh...beautiful," he gasped, huffing the final word out in a stuttery wheeze.
John groaned and threw his head back into the pillow, both hands wrapped around Sherlock's now. As the man wouldn't move, the doctor rolled his hips, shuddering at the flood of sensation crashing through him.
"Please," he bit out. "You need to move. Christ, what do I need to do?" He was bordering on begging now, too far gone to stop, his orgasm looming. It wouldn't take much, Christ it really wouldn't.
"John," Sherlock murmured urgently, eyes wide and bright as he finally stared at his doctor's sweat-damp face. "You're going to come...I want it...I want you to gift me with it...rut against me and kiss me and claim me and mark me with your seed," he babbled breathlessly, sounding near to hyperventilating with excitement.
It was hard to pick out individual words over Sherlock's babbling, under the harsh breath shared in the dimly lit room. The few words he did pick out told him exactly what he needed to do.
Without hesitation, John turned his upper body and moved down a little, one hand reaching out to cup Sherlock's jaw, mostly for navigation as his lips met the other man's plump mouth eagerly. He kissed messily, furiously, bucking his hips to get what he needed.
As Sherlock's hand finally moved, John cried out sharply against Sherlock's lips.
"Oh God - Oh fuck - please, yes!"
Sherlock jolted and whined as John stabbed him relentlessly with his turgid prick, before suddenly going alarmingly still, just hissing wet breaths into John's mouth. Then, with a faint growl that escalated exponentially into a deafening yell, making John's ears buzz with volume even through his orgasm, the detective climaxed.
Hard.
The hot, liquid orgasms and aftershocks were something of a dizzying, atom-pounding haze for both of them after that.
In any normal circumstances, John would have taken a moment of pride with any lover that he'd brought them to orgasm - accidentally or not - but his body was so spent that the most he could manage was to shift onto his back and breathe in heavy gasps.
Sherlock was still shivering violently, making strange, choking noises and pained yowls as his body finally started to ease down from its devastating climax. He curled tightly up against his doctor, smearing his arm and chest with damp black curls, his heart beating frantically and hammering with exertion.
John could feel the burning, heavy breath through the thin material of his shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to look. Sherlock post-orgasm had been deliriously happy, but that had been a while afterwards.
John found the force of his curiosity suffocating at what Sherlock looked like directly after an orgasm. It took him a few more breaths before he could look down, only to see the man curled around him like some kind of long-limbed kitten, and he smiled despite himself.
The detective was trembling and clammy-skinned like he was coming down off a particularly powerful hit, and in a way, John supposed he was.
"...John," Sherlock managed to croak, barely twitching a few heat-wrinkled fingertips across John's shirt, leaving faint wet marks.
With his heart still pulsing in his throat, John had to swallow a few times before he found his voice.
"Yes?"
Everything was slowly coming back into focus, and the doctor was well aware of his current predicament. Another shared wank. Or, well. Mutual gratification. This time it wasn't just Sherlock's voice that got him off. John ran his tongue over his dry lips, unable to look down again.
"Are you alright?" John asked gently, scared that any loud noise would send him into a panic.
"Ohhh, John...I think I've ruptured my urethra," Sherlock giggled wheezily.
John reached a hand up to cover his eyes, unable to stop himself from mimicking Sherlock's dizzying giggles.
"Have you actually, or are you just bring dramatic?" he laughed, shaking his head before looking down at the man.
His breath caught in his throat, because Sherlock had upturned his head and was still lying on his chest. His face was serene, free from everything that hounded him in that massive brain, smoothing out everything and leaving the man looking so much younger.
"If I have, it's your fault, and it's up to you to kiss it better, doctor." Sherlock took a very deep breath, and let out the longest, most languid sigh, before wrinkling his nose a little. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock hesitantly reached down and touched his own underwear. His peaceful features soon twisted in disgust. "...That's just...unpleasant." He brought the hand back to his face and stared at his wet, sticky fingers dazedly. "Christ."
John realised as Sherlock shifted that he was literally lying on his back with his dick out, no doubt sticky too after having a mind blowing orgasm gifted to him by his best friend. Who had also come in his pants.
John's body tensed slightly, but he was still too lax to move. Instead he just lay there, his breathing finally under control. In the momentary silence, he looked back down at Sherlock. He wanted to catch him when his mind was relatively empty.
"Why did you say I was yours?"
"Hhm? ...You mean to that fake nurse?"
"Well yeah, and you said before. That I was yours."
"...Well," Sherlock said dreamily, stretching a little and groaning when some joints popped. "Living in a fantasy is often so much more satisfying than living in the real world. Why do you think I have a Mind Palace? Why do you think I'm an addict," he huffed softly.
John took the chance to pull the cover over his lower half, grimacing at the sticky feel around his groin.
"But that still doesn't answer my question," he said tiredly, scooching up on the bed before lying back with one arm behind his head.
Sherlock pulled off his sodden, cooling underwear under the covers, out of sight, and sheepishly threw them out of bed, before copying John's position, explaining. "The first time you see my manhood properly, I don't want it to be when it's tired and coated in lukewarm sperm," he chuckled. "...As to your question...was my reply really not clear? I would perhaps enjoy having you as a partner in an ideal world, but that's not going to happen. Not in the true sense."
John risked a glance at the man who'd so comfortably settled at his side, under the covers, like he belonged there. And if Sherlock's words were true, it was where he wanted to belong. John wasn't quite sure what to do with this information. As it stood, he couldn't do much in his dwindling state of attention bedsides leaning over to flick off the lamp.
Even in the darkness, the weight of Sherlock dipping his mattress was unbelievable and yet quite real at the same time. Such a mismatch of sensations. So many unspoken words.
"I would say you're welcome to sleep here, but it looks like you're going to anyway."
"John, if my frankness and my presence here disturbs you, I will leave. But if you truly are uncomfortable, I would request that perhaps we don't do this...mutual gratification thing again."
John opened his mouth, blinking a few times in the darkness. His torso felt cold without the detective clutching to him, and what a strange thing to notice in the light of what they'd done.
"I'm... Fine. It's all - fine."
"Don't use that word if you don't mean it. It's not a magic word. I can hear the little dodgems of angst bouncing around in your head."
John let out a huff of laughter.
"This is the strangest thing I've ever done. I don't understand any of it, I'm still angry from before, but I'm not forgetting the brilliant orgasm I just had so until I can make sense of it I'm just going to enjoy being warm and comfortable. You're welcome to it, too." John shifted further into the blankets, subconsciously easing closer to Sherlock where the warmth centered most. "That's up to you."
"Very well. We'll snuggle a bit and remember the orgasm," Sherlock grinned, sounding like a small wet click of lips in the dark. "Are you planning to hunt down the man I'm sleeping with?"
John let out a slow breath, bringing the quilt over his shoulders as bundled himself up against the post-orgasm chill.
"If he hits you again I might."
"Would it make you happy it if I ceased to pay him to make love to me?"
John bit the inside of his lip, his eyes trying to distinguish expression in the shadows around Sherlock's face.
"It's not about what makes me happy, Sherlock. It's about what makes you happy."
"Whilst I'm happy that we are sharing a bed together, I am not happy that it's under these particular circumstances. Oh, and...I implied that you would be seeing my penis at some point. That may have been presumptuous, sorry."
John smiled faintly, letting out a long breath as his eyes started to droop.
"To be fair, you've seen mine so it stands to reason that I'll..." John's words were cut off but a long yawn, his head burrowing deeper and coming out slightly muffled.
"Just go to sleep, Sherlock. Talk about it in the morning."
"Promise?"
John managed a hum in reply, already invested in the wash of sleep taking over him.
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