Thankyou for continued readership and reviewing! :P Rating for sexytimes ;)
Oxoxoxoxoxox
Sherlock ruffled both hands through his wet, dark curls as they re-entered the pub, flurries of crisp snow flying everywhere before melting into the floor. Licking his cupid's-bow lips, Sherlock leant down to John conspiratorially as the door closed behind them.
"How long does it take?"
The doctor frowned in confusion, pulling off his damp coat.
"What?"
"To get...back…to be…"
"Oh," John grinned. "Depends. Let's give it half an hour, though. Beer?"
"I've never had beer," Sherlock replied thoughtfully, shrugging off his long, wet coat and folding it in his arms.
"First time for everything," John shrugged, then their eyes met knowingly, and they both giggled heartily.
Xoxoxoxoxoxox
An hour later, Sherlock was a little giggly on a few pints of beer. John felt slightly guilty about letting him get tipsy, but he figured it would be conducive to Sherlock…lasting a little longer. John hadn't planned it, but after his first pint, Sherlock had become quite enamoured with the beer.
"Did you know he's gay?" Sherlock asked loudly and chuckling, pointing at one of the rowdy lads a couple of tables away.
"Sherlock, shh," John grinned, pushing his fingertip against the detective's wonderfully curved lips. Sherlock grinned, his face crinkling sweetly, and then promptly took John's finger into his mouth, sucking hard, his sculptured cheeks hollowing.
Giggling, John pulled his finger back, delighting in Sherlock's matching honest amusement, his baritone laugh reverberating through the pub.
"Guess you're nearly ready," John grinned, sipping his own beer.
"God John, I'm ready," Sherlock grinned, eyes hazy and happy as he downed the last of his last pint.
John lowered his voice, fingers fiddling with his half-full glass. "When we're done here…we'll…you'll be on top. It'll all be fine," he promised quietly.
Sherlock's mouth twitched into the faintest smile. "Thankyou." His sharp grey-green eyes flicking across the cosy, warm room, he smirked.
"So," John began, nodding towards the young man Sherlock had pointed out. "What was it? The tinted eyelashes, taurine cream, those tired clubber's eyes?"
The detective looked at him sharply. "You remember that?"
"Anything you say is worth remembering. At least, you know, when it's not an insult directed at me," John grinned.
Sherlock smiled warmly, then frowned impatiently at John's half-full glass. "Hurry up."
"Yes sir," the doctor replied, raising the glass to his mouth. Sherlock's eyes narrowed briefly as he considered the peculiar effect those two simple words had had on him. He filed it away for further pondering.
Sherlock's fingers were tapping on the hardwood table by the time John finished his beer, at which point he seized his arm and dragged him unceremoniously from the bar.
Xoxoxoxox
John found himself pushed playfully against the door once they were back in their room, and kissed thoroughly, Sherlock wasting no time in fumbling open the doctor's shirt, and tearing it off, before stripping away his own. The taller man pressed their bare chests together, sighing with pleasure. The room was still lit by the dim little table lamp, the doctor hoping that the darker, more sultry atmosphere would help put Sherlock at ease.
John leant harder up into the kiss, tongue swiping aggressively against Sherlock's, and the detective thumped his hips against the doctor's, both huffing small, gasping laughs.
The shorter man pushed Sherlock away gently, leading him back to the bed, mouths still locked, kisses loud and wet in the quiet, cosy room. He picked open Sherlock's trousers and palmed him firmly, before pulling down his waistband. Spreading his hand flat across the front of Sherlock's underwear, he grinned smugly into the kiss, finding the fabric already damp.
John ran his fingers through the cool, dark curls, then down to the bare milky-white shoulders, encouraging him to lay down. Sherlock finally broke the kiss, gasping, his soft near-black hair flattening against the pillow. His greedy long fingers yanked open the fly of John's jeans and pushed inside, groping eagerly. Flinching a little at the enthusiastic roughness, John stilled Sherlock's blue-veined wrist, then leaned down and began nibbling at the detective's right nipple.
Sherlock shivered and sighed raggedly, licking his lips. "John," he warned, grey-green eyes clouded. John pulled back again from the apparently super-sensitive nub, running a hand down Sherlock's smooth, soft stomach, teasing down the waistband of his trousers and underwear.
Sherlock let out a faint noise of self-consciousness, looking away. Moving to kneel beside the detective, the doctor commenced to strip him completely. He couldn't help but stare. The fact that he had already surmised was now confirmed – Sherlock was a big boy, and leaking steadily. He felt a sudden and random urge to take it into his mouth, feel its weight and heat and taste, but he managed to resist. Plenty of time for that. Besides, Sherlock probably wouldn't last more than a minute.
He pulled down his own jeans and boxers, kicking off shoes and socks, and laying gently upon the detective, whose high cheekbones were stained red, eyes averted.
"Is everything okay Sherlock?" John whispered, pecking the corner of the delicious curved lips repeatedly. He felt the detective nod hastily and huff out a shaky exhale.
"Okay," John soothed, kissing the sculptured, blush-burnt cheek fondly. "Let's swap round."
Sherlock rolled him slightly clumsily, glancing down between them at John's shaft that was hot and solid against his stomach. He felt a sudden and random urge to take it into his mouth, feel its weight and heat and taste, but he managed to resist. Plenty of time for that. Besides, he wanted – needed to take John before he was overwhelmed.
John grinned, stroking Sherlock's thick dark hair, watching the thoughts buzz across those wide, ethereal eyes.
"Lube, Sherlock," he reminded him, snapping Sherlock out of his reverie. The detective nodded quickly, rummaging in his bag of tricks beside the bed and pulling out a few of the bottles in there, pushing them hopefully into John's line of sight. The doctor picked one and gave it to Sherlock, who opened it and applied it to his shaft liberally, before trying to spread John's legs, his face heated and his breathing rapid.
"Sherlock…Sherlock," John insisted gently. "Fingers first."
The detective swallowed and nodded mutely, applying the silky liquid to his fingers, both hands trembling conspicuously. He slowly pushed his index finger inside the doctor, listening to John sigh faintly. John made a slight noise, eyes lightly closed and face calm, and lifted two of his fingers in an upward crook. "Like that," he instructed huskily.
Sherlock obeyed, pulling out, then crooking two fingers deep inside the doctor, amazed by the crushingly-tight body heat around him, numbing his joints. He thrust experimentally, and John jerked out a sharp moan, his own hands blindly going to his own shaft and rubbing slowly.
"That's it," John reassured him breathlessly. "God, Sherlock…harder…please."
Encouraged, Sherlock pounded his fingers harder and faster, biting his bottom lip. Though his fingertips were de-sensitised and calloused from years of abuse from violin strings, he could tell John had no complaints. The doctor's face was glowing, and his hands blundered over himself as his hips started to rock against Sherlock's solid knuckles.
The detective only realised he was dripping onto the bed when John nodded and beseeched him insistently. "Now, come on."
Sherlock needed no second bidding, and lifted John's hips high, kneeling between his thighs and glancing down to guide himself. Shaking with excitement, he slowly forced himself past the brutally tight, blood-hot muscle.
He gulped and had to expend considerable effort to bury himself fully, feeling John's body clamp possessively around him. Sobbing, his grey-green eyes opened weakly, and he fought to banish the climax that suddenly threatened.
"Don't, Sherlock…not yet," John groaned, his expression tiredly blissful. The detective nodded in acquiescence, licking his top lip which was damp with sweat. "Are you close?" John asked, and Sherlock murmured affirmatively, breathing hard. "Okay," the doctor managed, trying to stay calm. "Let me get there."
He immediately seized himself in his left hand and tugged at himself viciously, his fist barely visible, the tiny slick sounds mingling with those of Sherlock as he allowed himself to make the smallest thrusts in and out of John.
The doctor squeezed his thighs around Sherlock's waist, a grating, throaty cry sounding loudly from him. "Now, now," he heaved, damp body writhing rhythmically.
Sherlock thrust with such fervour that he slipped out, and John yowled in frustration, the detective hastily re-inserting himself then pounding away, hands flat either side of John's waist, his dark curls sticking wetly to his forehead, his muscles sizzling with pained effort.
John's eyes finally opened, and he sobbed with wretched delight as he tilted his head and noted the large mirror on the desk behind the bed. He shuddered helplessly, so close, watching the long, lean reflection of Sherlock thudding noisily, gracelessly into him.
Both men let out peculiar, strangled wails as Sherlock's mobile started ringing from his trouser pocket, nearby on the bed. It was the ringtone assigned to Mycroft. Before John could protest, Sherlock had seized the phone in one wet hand and answered it, his jade eyes alive with mischief and a smirk on his lips, even as he continued pounding John.
"Mycroft," he growled in his guttural baritone voice. "This…better be important…I'm having…sex with John," he gasped, before dropping the live phone by John's face, digging his long fingers into John's hips, and pistoning into him with as much force as he could manage, his damp skin slapping noisily against the doctor's, his chest heaving with breathy laughs infected with crippling pleasure.
John winced in agonising ecstasy, slamming a hand across his own mouth in an effort to silence himself, but his shattering climax rocked him mercilessly, and his muffled scream tore deafeningly from him, his whole body jerking violently. Sherlock bit his lip, drawing blood that trickled swiftly down his chin, his eyes screwed tightly shut, and he yelped and whined desperately as he thudded out his orgasm inside John.
"Oh, God," the detective begged vaguely, slipping out from John and collapsing onto weak knees, thighs twitching, and still spurting hard. The doctor shivered and panted out his aftershocks dazedly.
Sherlock reached his phone, listened for a second to the furious diatribe of his smarmy brother on the other end, then terminated the call, chucking the mobile on the floor, gazing down at himself, and the weakening spurts of warm seed that were soaking the duvet and his own thighs.
John ran a wet forearm over his head, blowing out a hard exhale, eyes slowly opening. He grinned weakly at the detective, who looked utterly spent and quite literally drained.
"You look like you've just been shagged to oblivion."
"Nice deduction," Sherlock replied groggily, grinning warmly.
Xoxoxoxoxxo
They got there eventually! – Sherlock still managed a bit of deviousness though, even mid-coitus XD
Pleeeaase R + R! It makes me very happy. ^_^