A/N So here it is lovely readers. What really happened that night. My boyfriend was away this weekend so I had lots of time to write without having to have the following awkward conversation with him again;
Him: What are you writing?
Me (tapping away furiously at keyboard): Errr ... fanfiction.
Him: Oh! ... what about?
Me: Ummm...
Him: ... It's Sherlock isn't it?
Me: …. Yeah *blush*.
Him: ….. can I read it?
Me: … There is no way in hell.
Yes it was very uncomfortable and I prefer to do my writing in private. :P
Warning: Although I'm not overly explicit in writing sex scenes, I prefer subtlety; this is still a mature chapter for mature readers.
This is ridiculous, awkward, uncomfortable, drunk sex between two extraordinary men who are anything but 'normal', and obviously have no idea what they are doing.
Let me know what you think! I'm nervous.
It was while staring at the hickeys across his body that John's mind finally gave in and let the drawbridge down. He remembered everything. Every moment, every lick, kiss, thrust, suck and smack. The memories that were so tightly tucked away in his subconscious now flooded his mind. He remembered the pain, the pleasure and the bizarre beauty of Sherlock Holmes. He also remembered that it had been the best night of his life.
It had started in a wild display of drunken passion as Sherlock pinned John underneath him, pressing their bodies together and kissing him more deeply than he had ever been kissed before. John felt like he would drown in Sherlock. His skin, his hands, his mouth – they were overwhelming him. It was like a lifetime of celibacy was finally unravelling the detective, and John was getting the full brunt of it.
"Stop for a second," he gasped, pulling away from Sherlock's crushing embrace. "Time out Sherlock!" He rolled out from under him and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard. Sherlock looked annoyed.
"You have changed your mind?" Sherlock stood up, tall and proud. His shirt was unbuttoned and his hair ruffled.
"No! I just need another drink!" John opened the mini fridge and pulled out a beer. Sherlock rolled his eyes, so John handed him a bottle of wine. "Drink that my friend."
John found himself drawn to the gift basket from Mycroft and begun digging through it.
"Here's a riding crop Sherlock. That must be for you. These handcuffs too I bet. They look like proper ones too, not the cheap fluffy ones that are easy to get out of." He threw the gifts over to Sherlock, who looked at them thoughtfully.
John resumed his digging, pulling out piles of flavoured condoms and butt plugs until he found …
"Oh!" He exclaimed in delight, holding up two large packets. "Mycroft you clever bastard!"
He handed one of the parcels to Sherlock and ripped open his one in delight.
"A soldier uniform for me, a police uniform for you." A thought occurred to him and he frowned.
"Why not a doctor's outfit for me?" He pondered.
"A soldier is sexier," Sherlock answered simply, then froze as if he hadn't actually meant to verbalise the thought.
"Oh yeah?" John raised an eyebrow. "We shall see about that then!"
He ducked into the bathroom, coming about a few minutes later dressed in his new chest-bearing faux Army camos. Sherlock had changed too. John's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen his friend in anything other than his pyjamas or his suit. In the sexy police outfit he could admire the long, lean lines of Sherlock's form. He particularly liked the way the hat sat crookedly on Sherlock's curls.
The men stared at each other.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "You, uh, you look … nice."
"I feel like Magic Mike," John replied.
Sherlock just stared at him blankly.
"Nevermind," John said, and then his expression hardened. "Enough talk."
John's eyes darkened with lust and he strode towards Sherlock, grabbing him around the waist.
He pushed Sherlock back towards the bed. They toppled backward in a clash of limbs, ending side-by-side, entangled in a deep kiss. They wrestled for a few minutes, each trying to take the dominate role. They were closely matched in strength, so the fight was futile. They broke apart, glaring at each other.
"I don't know what happens next," John said. "I mean, with a woman it's easy, but with you…"
Sherlock drunkenly waved the comment aside. It's simple. "I'm the detective inspector John, you have to take my orders."
John's eyes widened.
"Um, no, this fake insignia on my uniform tells me I am a Major, therefor completely outranking you."
Sherlock's eyes lit up with another idea.
"You're a serial killer then!"
"No. I'm. Not."
Sherlock stood up on the bed, towering over John. He held the riding crop firmly in his hands, gently bending it. John couldn't take his eyes off the way the way the costume clung to his friend's firm body. He surprised himself by wondering what was underneath it.
"John you're not playing properly! I'm the detective inspector and you're the serial killer." Sherlock pointed the end of his crop at John.
"I'm not a serial killer, I'm a war hero!" John snapped back, waving a hand over his uniform.
"Yes, a war hero who is irreparably damaged by battle and has gone on a killing spree across London," Sherlock said as he stepped off the bed.
"Now," Sherlock said turning to face John, his eyes slowly moving over his body. "I am the law, how should I punish you?"
John knelt up on the bed and started to peel off his camo shirt. "Well, officer, I think I need a good whipping."
He threw his shirt aside and knelt on the bed. Sherlock's eyes scanned over him, pausing and softening for a second at the bullet wound on his shoulder.
Sherlock got back on the bed, gave John a hard, cold look before pushing him over so he was lying flat on his stomach. Sherlock then climbed onto John's back, making any sort of escape impossible.
John could feel the unmistakable bulge of Sherlock's erection pressing into the small of his back and was momentarily dazed that he of all people could elicit such a response from The Great Detective.
It was incredibly arousing.
"Sherlock, get off me!" he demanded, slightly panicked at the bizarre turn the night was beginning to take.
"Why?" Sherlock answered.
"You don't know what you're doing! I don't know if what, what, this thing we're doing…" John tried to verbalise his thoughts, but his tongue was tied up and his brain was drunkenly foggy. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and finally spat out his thought.
"Are we even still pretending?"
Sherlock was silent for a brief second. He leaned down, placing his lips against John's ear in a slightly menacing gesture, and whispered. "No."
The quiet, demanding tone of his friend's voice sent a shiver through John's body and straight to his groin. He felt himself harden instantly.
"Well, if that's how it's going to be, I'm going to do this right," John said defiantly, pushing Sherlock off his back and then pinning him to the bed. He grasped Sherlock's long, slender hands and held them up over his head, kissing him deeply. John was shirtless, but Sherlock was still fully dressed in his costume. The two seemed to come up with the conclusion that this wasn't good enough at the same time. In a quick motion, John whipped off Sherlock's faux police shirt, then his hands dropped to the detective's waist and shoved down the waistband of his costume. At the same time, Sherlock's hands slid down John's back to grasp his hips, pulling the two agonisingly close together. His hands slipped under John's pants, hesitated, and then pushed them off. It had only taken them a matter of seconds to get each other completely naked.
Well, almost naked. John left the policeman's hat perched crookedly on Sherlock's curls.
Both men stopped pawing each other for a full minute to make sure they got a good look at their lover's body. Sherlock was impressed with John's battle-hardened yet inviting frame, and John was mesmerised by Sherlock's long legs, long torso, long arms, long fingers, and yes, long cock.
Entwined in heated nakedness, the two men suddenly faltered in unison. It was a split second of stark soberness as they looked into each other's eyes. They were both momentarily overwhelmed by the situation and saw each other more clearly than they ever had before.
Sherlock saw John beneath him, and a thousand images flashed through his brilliant mind. When he first met John, going to his first crime scene with John, John telling him he was brilliant, John strapped to a bomb telling him to run, John making him tea, John making him laugh, John's smile, John's laugh, John's eyes and John's touch.
And John saw Sherlock above him and only one image entered his mind. Sitting alone in his small, dark hotel room the night before he met Sherlock and the dull, empty feeling that no longer haunted him.
The moment was over in a heartbeat and the drunken haze settled back over the pair.
Sherlock rolled off John and grabbed the bottle of wine, taking a deep swig. He passed it to John.
"Now Jawwnnn," he slurred and pointed to his hat proudly, "I'm the detective inspector, where's the crime scene? I need to inspect a body! And if you can't find me one, I will have to inspect yours!" He smacked the whip in his hand.
John giggled and pulled the bedsheets over his chest so he was covered completely.
"Oh no you don't!" Sherlock said as he whipped back the sheet, leaving John exposed.
He stared at John's naked form for a second, temporarily stunned into silence at the vision in front of him. He then launched himself at John.
John, thinking quickly despite his drunken state, rolled out of the way to avoid being crushed by 6+ foot of lust-filled flying detective.
"Sherlock! Are you trying to kill me? You need to be restrained!"
He quickly searched the room before he spotted exactly what he was looking for. With Sherlock's eyes mesmerised by his arse, John was able to grab the handcuffs and keep them from Sherlock's view as he made his way back to the bed.
John had Sherlock right where he wanted him. He kissed him deeply, and pressed him back so he was lying in the pillows. The new sensations of drunkenness and lust were obviously taking their toll on the genius detective as he had a clear expression of bewilderment on his face. John straddled him, their naked groins pressing together. Sherlock looked up at John with a dazed expression, as if he couldn't comprehend what was actually happening. John reached behind him and he heard something click. Sherlock glanced up. He was handcuffed to the bed.
John grinned at him.
"I bet I can make you come before you can get out of these handcuffs."
Before he could retort, John quickly took Sherlock in hand and slowly, teasingly began to massage his cock. Sherlock, taken by surprise at the sudden new feeling, gasped John's name.
John quickened his pace. Sherlock's eyes were scrunched closed and a sheen of sweat was beginning to glisten on his forehead. The sight was too much for John and he found himself rubbing himself too in a frantic manner.
"You're losing the game Sherlock," John panted, nodding up to the forgotten handcuffs.
Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he finally begun to assess his situation. On one hand, he didn't really want to leave his current predicament, but on the other, he didn't want to lose the game either. He measured the tightness of the handcuffs and found the left one was slightly looser than the right. If he angled his hand and fingers a certain way, he might be able to slip out. It took all his concentration, but he was able to distance himself from John and focus on slipping out of the handcuffs. He had almost freed himself when he was brought gasping back to life as a sudden new sensation took control of his body. Gazing down, he was shocked to see John had taken him in his mouth and was, surprisingly skilfully, gliding up and down over his rock hardness.
"John, John, John I. give. Up. You win. Please… can't… take.. .any… more!" Sherlock managed to gasp out the words.
With one last, agonisingly pleasurable swirl of his tongue, John pulled away from Sherlock, leaving him dripping with pre-cum.
Sherlock took this opportunity to slip out of the left handcuff. "I win!" He almost shouted in delight.
John stared at him open mouthed, a familiar look of amazement on his face. Sherlock felt as if he had just solved a particularly brilliant case.
"You sneaky bastard!" John reprimanded. Sherlock smiled triumphantly.
"But you haven't won yet, you're only halfway there. " John said as he nodded to the other handcuff, still locking Sherlock in place on the bed.
Sherlock smirked. With his free left hand, unlocking the mechanisms on the cuffs with the right angle of leverage was simple. John didn't know that though. He decided to see how far he could take this fortunate situation.
John moved back down Sherlock's torso and settled himself between his legs once again. He didn't overthink the situation, didn't come to any sort of major epiphany as he took his best friend in his mouth. He just got on with the job. A part of him felt extremely uncomfortable with the idea of having a cock in his mouth, but that was overridden by the sense of power and control he had over the genius. It was a staggering feeling to know he could make a person like Sherlock Holmes moan, wriggle and sweat. The thought fuelled him to work harder. He tried to remember what he liked when getting blowjobs and tried to replicate it. But it didn't seem to matter; Sherlock seemed to be enjoying everything he did.
Sherlock was temporarily distracted by the feeling of John's mouth on him and forgot all about getting out of the final handcuff. His left hand had drifted down to John's head and was scrunched up in his hair. With great difficulty, he pulled his mind away from moment and concentrated on working his hand out of the handcuff. With the right amount of twisting and pressure in the exact way, he heard the familiar clink as the lock sprung free.
"Ha!" He shouted triumphantly, throwing the cuffs aside. "I win!"
Sherlock leapt off the bed in excitement and grabbed his riding crop. Before John could move, Sherlock smacked him across the arse three times in lightening quick succession. He had sense enough to keep his grip light, as to not hurt John too much.
Completely taken by surprise by Sherlock's action, John snatched the crop off Sherlock as he raised his arm to smack him again.
"WHAT are you doing?" John screeched.
Sherlock gave John an exasperated look.
"I was at a crime scene once where a man had been beaten with a riding crop during coitus. He had died of asphyxiation in the end, but the bruises on his …"
Sherlock stopped talking when he has John's wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock.
"Not good?" He asked.
John gaped at him. "Are you serious? You're getting your sex tips from crime scenes Sherlock? You really are mental aren't you?" John couldn't help but grin with affection at his friend.
He pulled him close and tenderly kissed him on the mouth, then placed a single kiss lovingly on each of the detective's prominent cheekbones.
Sherlock opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it and kissed John back. They tumbled to the bed in a naked avalanche. The skin on skin friction was reigniting a fire between them. They grasped at each other's prominent cocks, stroking in desperate passion.
Soon both men knew hands and mouths weren't enough. They wanted go deeper, to push themselves to the very limit and disappear in each other. The desire was taking over them, and the heat and the deep yearning led them to their next actions.
John knew he was drunk and was doing it all wrong. He had nothing to go on but his many experiences with women. Anything he knew about sex with a man was from scraps of information from movies, friends and that one night he had accidentally downloaded gay porn. But what John did know was that he wanted to be inside Sherlock, desperately. He rolled Sherlock onto his front and lay over his back.
"John, what are you doing now?" Sherlock was mildly worried.
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," John lied.
"I really don't think you do," Sherlock said as he felt an unwelcome force trying to press inside him.
"John! Stop!" Sherlock practically yelped and pushed John off him.
"Sorry!" John said, slightly flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, sorry Sherlock. I couldn't help myself. You're just … you're just so Sherlock." John couldn't take his eyes off his friend, who was sitting in naked glory on the bed. His hair mussed, a slight tint of red on his alabaster cheekbones and his eyes blazing. He was so perfect, John thought. How had he never realised?
He shook his head. This was no time to ponder his sexuality. He closed the space between them once more and took Sherlock's face between his hands.
"Do you want me?" Sherlock asked him, his voice low and rumbling.
"Oh god yes," John whispered back.
Sherlock got off the bed and made his way over to the desk, grabbing the tube of lube and throwing it to John.
"It's time now John. Hurry up," he said as he bent over the desk.
John stared from Sherlock to the lube container in his hand.
"Why the desk Sherlock?" he asked, "why not the bed?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Height difference John. My legs are too long for you to enter me from a comfortable first-time position on the bed, but on the desk I am able to bring myself to a better level. It's obvious John. Do try to use your brain."
John ignored the insult and smiled at Sherlock's planning.
"You've thought about this before haven't you Sherlock?" John asked quietly.
Sherlock turned his face away from John.
"That's irrelevant. Now hurry up!" he started tapping his fingers on the desk in annoyance.
John positioned himself behind Sherlock. He placed a trail of light kisses down his back, taking note of the fine muscles and prominent backbone of his companion. John was more than ready. He squirted a liberal amount of lube on his fingers, gently working them inside Sherlock, loosening him up. He then coated his cock in lube and took a deep breath.
"Are you doing it?" Sherlock demanded.
"Hang on a second!" John snapped back.
"Have you done it yet?"
John slapped Sherlock hard across his arse. "I will do YOU if you don't shut up!"
Sherlock smiled smugly. "Well, surely that's the idea John?"
John positioned himself behind his friend. "Deep breath Sherlock, you're about to lose your virginity, and it's not going to be comfortable."
In his drunken state, John wasn't as graceful or gentle as he perhaps should have been. As he entered Sherlock, the detective grunted in pain. John steadied his movements, reminding himself he has not with a woman, he was with Sherlock, and this was all new to him. He pushed in, trying his hardest to go as slow as possible, but the heat and tightness overwhelmed him and he couldn't hold back. He grasped Sherlock's hips tightly, pulling himself deeper.
Sherlock let out a low, deep groan and gripped the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. Alcohol was dulling the pain for him, but it was uncomfortable. He twisted around to watch John moving behind him. John's eyes were glued to Sherlock's arse, watching himself. He glanced up when he noticed Sherlock watching him.
"You ok?" he asked.
Sherlock nodded in response. "Bit uncomfortable."
John withdrew, giving Sherlock a moment to compose himself. Without warning, Sherlock grabbed John in a headlock and pulled him to the bed.
"Sherlock! Wha.." John begun to splutter before his mouth was filled with Sherlock's tongue.
Sherlock then moved down John's body, biting his skin hard enough to leave a mark. He made his way back up to John's mouth.
"Ok. Try again," he said simply.
"What about the desk? The height difference? I'm too short…" John began to babble in confusion before Sherlock cut him off.
"I don't like facing away from you," Sherlock said quietly. "I want to see you."
"Oh," was all John could say in reply.
"Now, get on with it!" Sherlock said, reverting back to his bossy self.
John didn't have to be told again. He re-lubed himself, then moving on top of Sherlock, he once again pushed himself inside the detective. This time Sherlock only winced slightly, his eyes locked on John's face.
John began moving his hips in a familiar rhythm. He leaned forward and took Sherlock in his arms. In return, Sherlock wrapped his long legs and arms around John.
The two stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, moving at a steady pace, their breathing becoming more and more rapid. John made a pocket of space between them big enough for him to reach between and grasp Sherlock's dripping hardness and begin pumping it in unison with his thrusts. Sherlock's breath hitched and then sped up rapidly.
"John, it feels …" Sherlock was lost for words for the first time in his life. John finished his sentence for him.
"Good?"
"Yes," Sherlock breathed in his ear. "Good. Very good."
A small moan escaped Sherlock's lips and then grew louder and louder as John thrusted harder and harder and stroked him faster and faster. Never in his life had Sherlock felt such a combination of pleasure and pain. The feeling of John moving inside him, his arms wrapped around him, his lips on his neck. It was all too much for him and he felt an irresistible build up in his body.
"John, I'm going to, it's going to, I can't hold back any longer!"
John kissed him deeply as he felt the detective come undone in his arms.
Sherlock's hand dug deep into John's hips, pulling and slamming his thrusts deeper and harder into him as he felt his body reach the top of the rollercoaster. With one last, deep, satisfying thrust from John, Sherlock came. He yelled John's name as his body shuddered and let go of years and years of neglected sexual need. He felt as if he had the wind knocked out of him as his cock spilt a sticky, warm mess that glued him and John together.
With a few more thrusts John followed suit and came with a groan and sharp intake of breath that Sherlock found himself mesmerised by. Despite being ridiculously drunk, it was the best orgasm of John's life. He felt dizzy, weak and completely smitten. The men rolled away from each other and lay side by side, holding hands. They lay bewildered for a while, both silently mulling over what had just passed between them.
It was Sherlock that broke the silence.
"Sex. I understand what all the fuss is about now. Thank you John for enlightening me."
John laughed in delight and pulled Sherlock into his arms.
"Happy I could help, my dear Sherlock," he kissed Sherlock on the head.
They lay in silence for a while, waiting for their heartbeats to slow to a normal pace.
"Promise me you will still be here in the morning?" Sherlock asked.
"Why would I go?" John said.
Sherlock hummed in thought. "Many reasons John. Tomorrow will be difficult for you."
John, still drunk and feeling giddy, laughed. "Well I'm not going anywhere. And you're not allowed to either," he said. He reached beside the bed and picked up the handcuffs, snapping one end to Sherlock's wrist, the other to a bar on the bedhead.
"Now you're mine."
They kissed once more, tenderly. John stroked Sherlock face and ran his hands through his dark curls. Sherlock nestled his head in John's neck, breathing his scent in deeply.
They fell asleep in each other's arms, but by morning, they were as far apart as possible.