By the time John joined his flatmate in the chilly foyer, Sherlock was looking absurdly picture-perfect, whilst he himself felt a bit like a rumpled old pervert.
If the shoe fits, he thought.
"Be nice to them, John," the detective instructed before opening the door wide, standing behind it and poking his head round. "They made us dinner."
John's eyes went wide as he took in the two people standing in the doorway. A young East Asian woman stood on the top step, her arms laden with some kind of tin-foiled box, with an elderly man standing behind her. John would have thought it was just a regular take-away delivery if it wasn't for the obviously expensive looking suit worn by the man, or the huge diamond studs in the woman's ears. He frowned a little, noticing a plush BMW parked just in front of the flat.
"Hi," he said after a moment, looking up at Sherlock.
"Hello," said the woman smoothly, passing over the warm foiled crate. The elderly man stepped forward then, passing other another box - this one labelled with posh French writing scrawled all over it. John took a second as he came to the realisation that this wasn't a standard delivery. The elder man turned to Sherlock, talking rapidly in a fluid language that John was hard pressed to identify, never mind understand.
Sherlock responded (not perfectly, his words were a bit slow and hesitant - and John found it completely endearing), and bowed politely. A tiny bit more chitchat, and the exotic pair left them to it.
John stepped back, the smell from the foiled crate positively seducing his nostrils, and he looked up at Sherlock questioningly.
"So who were they?" he asked slowly, shifting his balance of the plate and hearing a slight clack from inside.
"The less you know about it, the better, John. Trust me. All you need to know is that they're on our side, they just repaid a favour, and they make the best lo mein in London."
"Huh," he said in a way of reply, following Sherlock up the stairs and back into the flat. He put the crate on the table, wondering just how much they actually had, as Sherlock put the other box next to it.
"Is that wine?"
Sherlock gently wobbled the box, and they were greeted with a glassy clink. "Wine, beer, baijiu. All impeccable. I hope you skipped breakfast," the detective chuckled, beginning to unpack.
John raised his eyebrows, thoroughly impressed. He padded into the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses before moving back into the lounge. He stopped when he saw Sherlock had taken the foil from the crate, and the array of food insides made his mouth water.
"Jesus, that's all for us?"
"Well, there's loads of room in the fridge for leftovers. After you took out my nettle experiment," Sherlock added darkly.
"Only because it bloody stung me," John mumbled, sitting on the edge of the sofa and passing over a plate to the detective.
"You should learn to wash your hands properly. You said the same after my habanero experiment. It's your fault for fondling yourself so often. Well, that's my job now."
John cocked an eyebrow with a suggestive smirk, shaking his head as he turned to the food. He hardly knew where to start.
"It is. But I need to eat first. Replenish myself after that... interesting phone call."
"Hhm?" Sherlock asked distractedly, through a huge mouthful of spicy noodles. He hastened to chew and swallow, and then nodded in realisation. "Oh yes, the phone sex. Yet another 'first' for me. It's wonderful."
John laughed, twisting his fork into what looked like chow mein, before shoving it into his mouth.
"Never been so intense," he muttered around the food, chewing before reaching out for the alcohol box. He dug through until he found an expensive looking bottle of red wine. He tipped it towards Sherlock, offering it to him.
"Please," Sherlock replied indelicately, reddish sauce marking his chin. He continued to talk with his mouth full. "Lesson two tonight. I'm looking forward to it."
John got to his feet, wandering in the kitchen for a cork screw, opening the bottle with a pop as he heard Sherlock's plans.
"Oh?" he asked, intrigued as he poured them a healthy glassful each. "Gonna let me in on the lesson plan?"
Sherlock paused thoughtfully, and then nodded, his tongue snaking out to retrieve a bean sprout from his bottom lip. "I think you've adequately experienced orgasm denial. When you're feeling robust, we can try it for longer, if you like. But tonight, I think we should try different positions. See which ones work, and why, for both of us."
John swallowed his mouthful of black bean mushrooms, taking a long sweep of Sherlock's body and humming appreciatively.
"I like that plan," he said after a few moments, taking a small sip of his wine. "But I meant what I said before. About... about holding off on, you know, full sex. Just for a bit."
"…We'll see," Sherlock hummed with ominous carelessness. They ate together in comforting quiet, occasionally remarking on a dish, or making an approving noise. Sherlock, as usual, bolted his food and finished before John, and happily took the time to thoroughly molest his doctor.
John tried to focus on the rice dish he was enjoying so much, but he found Sherlock's hand on his thigh much more intriguing. He finally gave up the food with a huff, taking his second glass of wine and sitting back. He looked up at Sherlock, that expression he wore so innocent. As if he weren't steadily moving his fingers towards John's crotch - as if there was anything but hunger in those startling green-grey eyes.
"You all right there?" he asked, playfully, nodding down to Sherlock's hand.
"Yes, I'm fine. I have a fantastic idea, John. Perhaps one of my best." He took the advantage of John's attention on his slightly shiny lips, to slide his hand to gently cover his doctor's warm crotch.
John had his mouth open to ask what this brilliant idea was, but he was caught off guard by the hand pushing teasingly against his groin.
"Oh - oh, what's your um... idea?" he asked, clearing his throat and setting his glass aside, his pupils going wide as he looked between those slender pale fingers and that devilishly wicked face.
Sherlock leaned in close, biting down on his plump bottom lip. His green-fire eyes burned into John's, as if trying to hypnotise him. "I think we should take this wine, and go to the bedroom, and take all our clothes off."
John couldn't stop a grin spreading over his features, moving in time with the detective and getting to his feet. He grabbed his glass and the unopened bottle, looking over his shoulder to see Sherlock not two steps behind.
Sherlock was already more chatty, the wine having gone to his head. "Are there any drink sexing games? Um, sex drinking games? I think we should do that too."
John let out a small giggle, opening the door to Sherlock's bedroom. "There are drinking games, but I don't know about sexing - sex - drinking games."
"Never mind. We just do them separately. And you can properly, finally see my penis."
John set the wine of the bedside table, glad he'd had the afterthought when he woke to change Sherlock's bed. "That... would be brilliant," he smirked.
"'I'm not gay, but I want to see your penis,' fantastic," Sherlock giggled, a deep, rumbling sound, his hand curled in front of his mouth as his face crinkled delightfully.
John chuckled and shook his head. "Get over here, you arse."
"So you can get inside it," Sherlock observed teasingly, before doing a running jump onto the bed, groaning with the impact, and then giggling some more. "Undress me."
John felt heat prickle the back of his neck before he gasped, Sherlock jumping on the bed with all the grace of a bloody turnip. He laughed and rolled towards him, more than happy to follow those demands. It wouldn't be a fast process, though, oh no. He would take his time with this, because he could, and because he knew it would drive the impatient detective crazy. John shifted to his knees, moving Sherlock onto his back, sighing at the wonderful expanse of hard body underneath him. He ran his hands over the flat of Sherlock's chest, the soft material of his shirt feeling delicious under his rough palm.
"Oh... m'gonna enjoy this."
"Mmh," Sherlock agreed, his eyes already darkening as he followed the movement of his doctor's sure, safe hands. "Do you like my shirt? I bought it to arouse you."
John sighed as he nodded, leaning down to brush his cheek over the mint-green material. "Love it," he muttered, reaching up to undo the first button of Sherlock's shirt. A little glimpse of pale skin made him sigh, before he leaned forward and kissed the flesh he could see.
Sherlock let out a gusty, indulgent sigh, closing his eyes lightly and smiling. He hummed appreciatively with every kiss, rocking his head slightly from side to side with the heady sensation.
The taste of Sherlock's skin was addictive; a new kind of drug, and John opened his mouth against the flesh, revealing it a button at a time.
"Oh," Sherlock uttered sharply, writhing his hips sensuously against the bed. "Oh...yes...kisses...those are very good," he mused, his expression utterly blissful.
John smiled against Sherlock's breastbone, moving downwards a little more before giving the man a soft nip.
A harsh little grunt, Sherlock baring his teeth briefly. "Promise you'll do that when you're inside me," the detective entreated breathlessly.
John let out a small moan against Sherlock's abdomen, his hands stilling his movements.
I'd do anything for you, Sherlock.
"If you're good," he teased, nipping at him again.
"No promises," Sherlock replied, voice straining a little as he propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows to watch. By way of explanation for his un-questioned action, he said calmly, "I want to be able to see, the first time you put your mouth on me."
John had moved between Sherlock's legs, his mouth hovering over his bellybutton, and as he flicked his eyes upwards he felt his mouth go dry at the wondrous expression on the detective's face.
"Then get comfortable," he smirked, letting his tongue dart out to run over Sherlock's abdomen while keeping their eyes locked.
"God, John. I can try...not to ejaculate if you...do that. With your mouth. But it's going to be intense," Sherlock whispered, taking a fortifying breath, feeling irrationally nervous.
John put his cheek against Sherlock's belly, feeling the small dusting of hair tickle his skin. "Good. I've... only done this twice, so, you know. Might not be mind-blowing."
"...I think you already have an idea of how stimulating I'm finding this," Sherlock laughed, nudging his stiff erection gently against his doctor's body. "I've never had anyone's mouth on me like this."
John couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, finding it hard to believe. Part of him comforted himself with that knowledge, though.
If Sherlock had never had it before, then he might enjoy it anyway even if John was awful. The doctor tried to push away his doubts and fears as his hands moved up to slowly pop open the top button of the detective's trousers, feeling his breath catch in his throat.
He secretly thrilled when a drawn-out yowl of pleasure hit his ears, vibrating into the cool, close air of the bedroom. Sherlock reactively pushed his hips against John, licking his lips repeatedly.
The man was so excited that it was endearing, but the bucking wasn't helping him get the trousers off any quicker.
"Lift your hips," he said once he'd pulled down the fly, hooking his fingers in the lip of Sherlock's trousers and his boxers, ready to relieve him of them as soon as he had the space to.
He narrowly avoided a hard cock in the eye as Sherlock eagerly and instantly complied, his breathing audibly ragged.
John let out a small giggle, hooking the clothes over his cock before pulling them down his legs in one swift flourish. Then Sherlock was suddenly bare in front of him, and John couldn't stop a throaty moan.
"Jesus... you're fucking gorgeous."
Sherlock peered down with bleary eyes, his expression one of blissed-out disbelief, before sobbing and throwing his head back. "No...yes...touch it?" he babbled.
John groaned, his fingers moving up Sherlock's thighs, squeezing gently before running over his groin. Now wasn't the time for teasing, he knew, but he wanted to savour this because the man was fucking delicious. He had to touch him, grasping Sherlock's hard, flushed cock in his right hand and humming at the heavy, hot feel of it.
"Agh, God!" Sherlock yelled, the volume of it assailing John hard. The doctor was stunned and hypnotised by the thin stream of liquid that eased from the firm flesh in his hand, which was twitching in blind anticipation.
The doctor took steady breaths as he moved his thumb to smear the glistening pre-come over the tip of the man's cock, eyes moving up to watch that face twist and contort in agonised pleasure.
"I'm very close - would you perhaps...penetrate me a little too," Sherlock asked croakily, frowning and panting.
"Oh God..." John muttered, releasing Sherlock long enough to lean over and pull open the drawer. He scrambled past cold rubber to grab the bottle of lube, moving back to hover over the man. He felt a little lost as he poured a generous amount onto his fingers, watching Sherlock for any sign he was doing this wrong.
"One will be enough. But deep," Sherlock instructed, spreading his legs a little more and angling his hips shamelessly towards his doctor.
The sight of Sherlock completely splayed out for him, without shame or modesty, sent a bolt of heat to his own cock and he could only imagine how wonderful it would feel to ram into that lovely puckered flesh and thrust until they were both screaming.
He rubbed his fingers together, smearing the lube around before leaning over the man again. He moved his hand to Sherlock's arse, tracing his tight entrance and coating him first.
John smiled, shifting himself to his elbows, resting the tip of his finger against Sherlock's entrance.
"I want you to come," he said, his voice low. "I want to taste you." And before the detective could speak again, John moved his mouth to engulf the man's cock as he pressed his index finger through the first ring of muscles in Sherlock's arse.
Sherlock's whole body stiffened, and jolted violently, some of his joints distantly cracking, before he screeched, long, hard, and incredibly loud. John was taken by complete, shocking surprise as he abruptly found himself with a hot, choking mouthful of come.
It was already so far down that he would either cough it everywhere (and how un-sexy would that be) so before he could cough it all up, John swallowed the mouthful of salty goo, only wincing slightly at the taste.
Sherlock was wailing, his whole body twisting around, and his hands fluttering vaguely near his own crotch, trying to ease out the almost-painful aftershocks with touch. "John...John, God! Oh, God..."
John wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, craving a drink but too enraptured by Sherlock's writhing movements. He leaned down next to the other man, cupping his sharp jaw and forcing him to focus.
"…Was that good?" he asked, his throat feeling a little rough.
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