24 – Forgot to Buy an Anniversary Present
As Sherlock settled shakily into his arms, John recalled, inadvertently, but dramatically, the last time he had spoken those words to another man, and the events that followed – heartless, delicious, perfect events lasting nearly another year.
John grinned at the teasing pinch on his arse and didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. "Hey, you." He laughed as Shaun pressed himself against John.
John had suffered enough disillusionment and grief during his long deployment to cease caring whether anyone saw him being fondled by the man he was routinely shagging.
"Alright?" he asked, scooping up rations into a plastic bowl, a few ladles of slightly-suspicious meat stew.
"Better for seeing you." Shaun said, grabbing his own food and nudging John. "You got some time? Later? Yeah?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
John took a vaguely-composed breath, grinning widely and devilishly. "You know it's a year, now. Today. Hope you bought me a present."
Shaun snorted. "Bought you a present? Where would I get it? Brought you my arse. Hope that's good enough." He winked and John rolled his eyes.
"I get your arse every other day. If I'm lucky," he laughed. "I'm expecting something special."
"Hmmm...my cock? I never give you that. You would be so lucky." Shaun joked and John smiled tightly in response, knowing Shaun wasn't going to take him seriously. He sighed inwardly and turned away.
"...Do you not like giving it to me?...I would understand, God knows you would do anything to be fucked into oblivion," John murmured casually, taking his lunch and re-constituted orange juice over to the grubby barracks table.
"Mmm...you read my mind, Watson." Shaun plopped down opposite him and grinned, turning on the charm. "Fucked into oblivion sounds fucking great. I need it."
"You're still being a good boy? Just mine?" John asked, sipping with a faint grimace at his tasteless stew.
Shaun rolled his eyes, snorting. "Yes, John. Christ, you're worse than my last boyfriend. My arse is all yours, dear. If you could ream it later, I'd been entirely grateful."
"I might be 'worse' than your last boyfriend, but God knows I'm better," John said calmly, dabbling his spoon into the gloop of the rapidly-cooling stew.
"Fuck yeah, you are." Shaun grinned before leaning forward to whisper. "Meet me in the officer's quarters after you're done. Trust me. I'll make it worth your while."
"Fuck, we're gonna get caught," John uttered breathlessly, as he pulled a desk to barricade the door, eliciting a loud squeak from the heavy furniture. He kicked a waste-paper basket vaguely in the same direction in a distracted attempt at privacy, even as he gasped at the sight of Shaun tearing off his heat-soaked uniform.
"We won't get caught." Shaun giggled, tossing his shirt playfully at John and shimmying out of his pants. "But we could. Great, yeah?"
"Fuck, kiss me," John demanded, and Shaun chuckled and moved to avoid him. Brooking no nonsense, the shorter man seized his lover by his hips.
It had been six months since John's admission, and whilst his emotions hadn't been vocally reciprocated, Shaun hadn't rejected him outright, either. In fact, hardly any discussion of the event had taken place. The five days following John's confession, and the subsequent barracks alarm, had led to them being kept apart by their individual duties, regardless of whether or not they wanted to speak to each other.
He still had hope that Shaun loved him back. He rather thought he did. They spent a lot of time together and Shaun seemed to like him. It didn't sit well with John to think that all Shaun thought of him was as a useful cock.
With all these thoughts entering his head, John snogged Shaun harder than he'd meant, desperately, and Shaun responded, moaning, already pressing his erection against him.
"I know exactly what I want to do with you," John muttered, swallowing with a faintly-unattractive gulp, his indigo eyes somehow dark and bright at the same time. As he spoke, he divested himself of the rest of his uniform.
"Mm...and what's that, Captain?" Shaun purred, teasing John's cock with a finger, dragging it along the large vein on the underside, tracing the mushroomed head delicately.
"I know for a fact that, not only have you never had anything bigger than a fair-sized cock inside you, you crave more. And you want to know, as much as I do, how you would feel, clenched around my wrist."
"Ooooh," Shaun shivered, a full-bodied shake, and sagged against John, his breathing suddenly unsteady against John's neck. "Oh, god. You're serious? John...you...fuck, you're serious?" He blathered, cock smearing trails of pre-come over John's hip.
"You've been thinking about it," John chuckled, biting gently under Shaun's ear. He wanted to say it again, he really did. He had offered it, without response, a handful of times since the first instance that he had declared his feelings. He had soon realised that it was best to avoid enunciating the taboo words, for the sake of his own sanity.
Maybe Shaun just didn't want to get too involved when they were in the middle of a war zone. Maybe he was scared of commitment. Or he'd been in bad relationships in the past and wanted to take it slowly. John could have understood all that...but he wasn't going to ask. He wasn't going to pry.
"Y-yeah. I want it." Shaun murmured breathily, frotting against John with little hitches of his hips. "Please, John."
"This might hurt." John warned him simply, pushing Shaun down onto his knees. "Nearly out of lube, and there's only so much cooking oil I can nick from the kitchens before they get suspicious," he giggled sweetly.
"Oh, god." Shaun whispered, shuddering openly, shifting on his knees and spreading himself out for John. "Oh god. You're really going to do it? John? Will you fuck me afterwards?"
"You wouldn't even feel it, you'd be so wrecked, so open," John hissed, moving to kneel behind the Irishman, licking his left index finger, and running it roughly across the younger man's opening. "I'd have to fuck your mouth. And you'd let me, wouldn't you? Show how grateful you are for all I do for you?" John plunged the tip of his finger into Shaun's arse and the other man yelped, jerking, before relaxing, moaning.
"...You could do that now...I like it," Shaun confessed quietly, sighing with an amalgam of disappointment and hope as John removed his finger from inside him.
"Greedy. Not until after you've taken all I can give you." John moved back, pouring the near-empty lube from his fatigues on his fingers generously. "Such a slut."
Shaun huffed with laughter, biting his kissed-scarred bottom lip, and let his head hang down, his lengthening dark hair dusting over his damp forehead. "You're not going to listen to a thing that I want, are you?"
John paused. "I thought this was what you wanted?" He experienced a horrible feeling of doubt. "I'm sorry...I'll...we'll do whatever you want.."
He was greeted with a delightful Gaelic chuckle. "John...John, don't be so fucking paranoid. I want you to ignore me. Use me...It's what I want. It's what I like."
"Oh." John glanced down at his slick fingers then back at Shaun. "Right. Well...ok then." His bravado from earlier was shattered and he knew he couldn't fake his way through it, so instead of trying, he shoved two of his fingers into Shaun's arse without warning.
The resulting, stuttered noise was a pleasure to hear, as was the sumptuous sight of the grind of Shaun's hips. The brunette braced himself strongly against the slightly gritty floor, his palms and knees burning with the sheer effort of holding his weight against the onslaught, as John roughly added another finger.
"Oh fuck. F-fuck, J-John!" Shaun's body writhed under his lover's ministrations and John reached around to feel at his cock, unsurprised to find it hard and leaking already. Shaun tried to hump into his hand but John took it away, denying him that friction, and rocked his fingers in and out of his arse, getting him loose for what was to come.
"I won't be gentle," John said bluntly, pulling out, before making a show of slicking his entire fist with lubricant, down to the carpal bones of his wrist.
"Yes." Shaun breathed. "Don't be. Want to feel it." He squirmed, eager and excited, and John took a deep breath before lining his hand up and slowly sinking it inside Shaun's body. Shaun moaned, guttural and intense, and spread his legs even wider as if that would help John get inside.
John had squeezed his four fingers into the tightest bunch he could manage, his thumb still free on Shaun's blood-hot body, and leaving a slick print upon the skin above the younger man's coccyx with every thrust.
"We're not quite there yet. Have you...ever had this before," John muttered with only the vaguest intonation of a question, biting down his own arousal at seeing the brunette opening for him, inviting him, practically dragging him in.
Shaun shook his head. "No one...ever wanted...oh, fuck Watson. Fuck me." He dropped onto his elbows, changing the angle, and suddenly it was easier for John's hand to slide further inside. Shaun keened.
"Thumb now. Kay?" John asked, squeezing the plump, tight flesh of Shaun's backside with his free hand out of a selfish whim. If it pleased the other man, well...that was incidental.
"Yeah." Shaun huffed out a deep breath, relaxing, and John turned his hand around, gingerly sliding his thumb in alongside the rest of his fingers. Shaun cried out and he froze, ready to pull back- "Perfect. Oh...perfect." Shaun trembled, overwhelmed, and John smirked.
John very carefully inserted his digits until all his knuckles were nearly enveloped, anxious about forcing himself further, despite what Shaun wanted. He was about to express a doctorly warning, in anticipation of his small (yet still-substantial) fist, breaching the other man. The words were short-circuited, however, by the shocking, brand-new, numbing sensation of Shaun clenching around his fingers.
John swallowed thickly, aroused beyond belief at the sight of Shaun's anus clenched around him. His own prick pulsed, bobbed between his legs in want, and he licked his lips, wanting to bend down and lick around the stretched, taut, skin but afraid of hurting Shaun by moving.
"Shaun?" he asked throatily, his normal playful, every-man voice damaged by lust. "I really want to come. But I want you to come first. Do you think you can? If I fill you?"
Shaun moaned and nodded frantically, struggling to make words. "Want...want to come on your fist." He slurred.
John grinned his clownish, rather smug grin, and pushed the rest of his hand inside the brunette. Almost immediately, he started feeling the tingles of imminent pins and needles in his hands.
"You okay?" he asked, panting.
Shaun nodded again, grunting, and pushed back carefully against John's hand. "Shaun-" John stopped him and Shaun whined high in his throat, reaching beneath him to start frantically tugging at his cock.
"...Okay," John huffed with open fascination, barely pumping his numb wrist inside the other man, clinically amazed by the sight which was virginal to him, the easy stretch of pink outer flesh, the adaptation of internal organs around a glorious intruder...
John caught the brief reflection of a tear dropping from his fellow doctor's dark eye, splashing feebly upon the grubby officer's quarters' floor.
"Christ, Shaun, if I'm hurting you..."
"No!" He swore, still tugging at his dick. "Not hurting me. John...you're not...oh! Gonna come...gonna come!"
John shoved his doubts aside for a few moments, as he steadily, gently, made tiny punching movements inside his lover, ensuring his knuckles troubled Shaun's prostate with utmost accuracy, whilst preparing to control the orgasmic struggles of the other man, his right arm squeezed protectively around Shaun's waist.
Shaun screamed when he came, disregarding that they needed to be quiet, and his body juddered beneath John, veritably dancing at the end of John's wrist.
"Oh, god, God...gotta be quiet, babe...shhh," John managed, riding out his lover's unbelievably intense orgasm, kissing the younger man's back lovingly, soothingly.
Shaun shuddered again, stifling his moans against his forearm.
"John..." His voice was weak and breathy.
"Are you ok?"
Shaun nodded. "Yes...more...more than ok. You can...ung...you can come now."
"Shaun...please just relax a bit, I need to pull out. Brace yourself," John added, with a humoured but mostly concerned mumble.
John squished all the digits of his left hand into the narrowest shape he could manage, pulling out slowly and wincing at the short, sharp noises that Shaun made as he withdrew. Steadying his free arm against the Irishman's backside, he relinquished his presence inside the other man with a wet sound that would have made John chuckle dirtily, if he wasn't already concentrating on avoiding his own ferocious, demanding arousal.
Shaun groaned when John's hand finally slid from his body and John immediately checked to see he was fine. When he was sure he was, he slicked between Shaun's thighs, gently fingering his largely dilated hole while he started fucking his thighs in short, quick bursts.
""I bet you're wondering - " John grimaced briefly, gritting his teeth, "How much...you can...we can...Ah, fuck," the dampened doctor uttered distractedly.
There was a tenuous noise from John before he attempted further questions, still delighting in massaging the lust-softened muscles of his lover. Spontaneously, he pulled back, and suckled hungrily at the illegal tattoo on Shaun's buttock.
"Your mistakes taste amazing."
Shaun, it seemed, was too blissed out to do much of anything besides moan and rock back a bit against John. John even had to grab his legs and hold them together to create a slick channel for his cock to glide through. Shaun's legs were shaking and he was obviously almost ready to collapse.
A sudden, spontaneous and irresistible idea swamped John's dizzy consciousness as his body taunted him with the fact of his animalistic need to come.
"Take it inside you. Take it inside you," John heaved eagerly, nudging his cock hopefully between Shaun's buttocks, gripping it, sliding the head over the soft, hot, wet opening. The Irishman made a faint noise and promptly and gracelessly sank to lay flat on the floor. Grinning, John settled himself to lay directly on top of him, prodding again between the now tight buttocks.
Shaun was still loose, amazingly so, but provided enough friction to John's cock for him to get off. And it was hot, feeling how stretched Shaun was around him, drinking in his gasps as he was fucked, oversensitive and shaking while John plowed him.
He felt his orgasm looming, his testicles drawing tighter to his body, and John gave a few more hard thrusts before coming.
Biting hard enough to leave little, baby-pink tooth marks in the flesh of Shaun's shoulderblades, John emitted a few unattractive, helpless groans, and exhales made deliciously ugly by the saliva flooding his mouth. Pulsing messily, beautifully, inside Shaun, he finally managed to swallow and take in a couple of heated breaths.
"Christ...Shaun...you were spectacular," he heaved, hugging the younger man to himself and trying to stay inside him as long as he physically could.
"Not so bad yourself," Shaun murmured, sounding shattered, and John kissed his shoulder. Affection swelled inside his chest and he hugged him tighter.
"Glad you enjoyed it."
As he slowly deflated, John pulled out, instinctively massaging his lover's rump, his trembling, tight thighs. He lowered himself beside the Irishman, propped on his elbow, and grinned honestly.
"Never seen anything so erotic in my life...Are you sure you're okay?"
"Mmhmmm." Shaun moaned, cracking open an eye. "Don't spoil it by being a cunt, Watson. Let me float a while."
John rolled his eyes, checking to make sure Shaun was ok, but did as he was told, falling silent while Shaun rode on the waves of endorphins and adrenaline.
John's languid, ebbing pleasure from his orgasm, was rapidly translating into a faint but vicious panic as he cradled an equally shagged-out, scarily-silent Sherlock in his arms. Looking down at saturated black curls on a practically-immobile head, he spoke hesitantly.
"Sherl? Was that...um...I didn't mean to...you know...freak you out..." he muttered, voice steadily growing weaker and more self-conscious.
Sherlock didn't respond. He took a deep breath, eyes wide, blinking at John in total surprise. It appeared his brain was having a malfunction. John stroked his hair, trying to soothe him, and Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"You said...what...that thing you said..."
"I'm sorry...I know..." John looked away for a few seconds, dark eyes unfocussing as he tried to ground himself, whist mentally constructing an excuse that Sherlock would neither laugh at, nor be horrified by. He thumbed the tight, warm muscle of Sherlock's bicep before replying.
"I understand if you don't accept it. If you don't want to hear it. But I won't take it back, because it's the truth, and fuck knows I'm sick and tired of keeping it to myself, and sick and tired of not letting you know how much you mean to me."
"So...you mean to say...you...meant it?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, still frowning. John frowned back at him.
"Of course I meant it. I don't just go round saying I love you to random-"
John was surprised by a long, hard hand covering the bottom half of his face, smothering his mouth. Grey-green eyes, doubtful, curious, and hopeful, transfixed him, as did the plump, open cupid's bow lips, the ice-white skin, and the supernatural cheekbones.
"You meant it?" Sherlock repeated, eyes flickering between John's, the doctor's gaze hypnotised by the little hazel imperfection of the detective's right eye.
John nodded and Sherlock crumpled. He buried his face in John's neck, breaths quick and agitated against his skin.
"You meant it. You meant to say those exact words. You meant it?"
"Why do you keep asking?" John asked awkwardly, his clownish grin a little strained. "Those exact words...and the connotation that you expect. Yes."
"I...can't believe it." Sherlock quietly admitted. "It doesn't seem real. Why…why would you love me? Me."
"Christ Almighty, where should I start," John giggled, an honest, extensive, heart-warming giggle. Sherlock frowned dutifully at him until the doctor calmed down and seized him in a four-limbed hug.
John suddenly froze in his movements, and eased away slowly. "If you don't want...this...any of this...please, tell me now."
"N-no! I want it! Don't be ridiculous." He wrapped himself around John, laying his head on his chest and sagging against him. "Tell me."
"You're a bloody narcissist," the doctor told Sherlock firmly, grinning openly. He tilted the brunette's pale angular chin towards his face for a kiss, before using his hands to pull Sherlock's body inelegantly upwards.
Sherlock gratefully kissed him. "I thought you only wanted to have sex."
John stiffened, pulling away, a dark weight settling on his chest. "You thought...I was just using you...for sex?"
"Not using me." Sherlock protested, realizing he'd said something to upset John but not knowing what. "I enjoyed it too."
"But…you thought that was all I wanted? Seriously?" John's face was ashen, his disbelief obvious. The evening chill distracted him, resulting in a sharp, brief shudder, but his dark-blue eyes stayed resolutely focussed upon Sherlock's.
Sherlock hesitated.
"No?" He asked slowly, not wanting to make John angry or upset.
"Sherlock-"
"Well, yes. Alright. Just a bit."
John cleared his throat diligently, frowning a little, and trying to express himself in a manner that would maintain Sherlock's notably short-lived attention span, as well as articulating what he wanted to say.
"We've been together...for years. Not...together, but...don't you understand what we had, even before all this? I mean..." John exhaled tremulously. "You must have felt it too?"
"I...I thought we were friends. And that...you were...fond of me. Beyond that...I...wasn't sure."
"So you thought I was just...and you were okay with that?"
Sherlock squirmed. He shrugged.
"Why in the hell-" John started angrily but Sherlock cut him off, blurting out-
"Because I love you too."
John's face fell in a visage of shock, before he huffed out a sharp, brief gasp of amusement, his brows raised, his face crinkling delightfully.
"You meant it. You meant to say those exact words. You meant it?" John parroted the detective's earlier words playfully, but there was a clear seriousness in his eyes, preparing to judge Sherlock's response for truthfulness.
"Yes, I meant it." Sherlock murmured shyly ducking his head.
"Oh, Sherlock." John whispered before sweetly kissing him. "I love you."
Sherlock laughed self-consciously, and was about to pull John down for a 'probably redundant but still enjoyable' mutual orgasm attempt, when John's phone bleeped antagonistically from the bedside table.
"Leave it."
"Might be important." John strained to reach his phone.
"How could it be important? All your friends hate you."
"Fuck you too, love…Bill. Hey," John answered, sounding enviably composed and amiable. "…Yeah...course...not doing anything tonight," he spoke happily into the phone, swatting away the detective who was selfishly nibbling at his navel.
"You're doing me. Hang up," Sherlock muttered.
"What? Yeah- pub night sounds great." John tried pushing Sherlock away but he suddenly latched onto his cock and voraciously sucked at it.
"Tex - Text me...place, time," John seethed, flinging his phone away, hearing it bang unhealthily against the wardrobe, before he yanked at Sherlock's beautiful, glossy black curls.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hissed while Sherlock rolled his eyes up at him and kept sucking, swirling his tongue around John's thickening cock.
"This isn't...isn't on. There's no way I'll be able to...be able to...oh, Jesus.."
Sherlock smirked around John's cock gluttonously, and extended two long, pale fingers to tap Morse code into John's twitching thigh.
Try to tell me you don't love it.
"Course I fucking love it...not 20 anymore, though." He pumped his hips up, pushing his cock into Sherlock's mouth, face contorting painfully. "Don't think...it'll happen."
Who is he, Sherlock tapped out with beautiful long fingers, before swallowing down John's shaft with gusto, gulping inelegantly upon his doctor's sensitive cock with the kind of extravagant, wet noises he knew John enjoyed.
"Old army friend. Got an email from him a few days ago. We're supposed to meet up. A bunch of us. For drinks." John shuddered, a full-body tremor, his cock incredibly sensitive.
"Look, Sherl...sweetheart, I don't think I can...can we just...you know...share some mutual body heat and...snuggle for a bit?" John asked, chuckling adorably.
Sherlock huffed, pulling off John's cock with a slurp, and flung himself down onto the bed beside him.
"Thank you. That was...if I hadn't already been knackered that would have been..."
Sherlock rolled away from John, presenting him his back.
"If you're making me snuggle with you then I get to be the little spork." He demanded sulkily.
"I'm stunned that you even know what a spork is," John giggled charmingly. "And I'm happy to 'spork' you, but you know that practically, it's best the other way around? Because...you know..."
"You're a midget?" Sherlock asked, still apparently angsty, crossing his arms resolutely.
"Because you're a fucking beanpole." John groused, settling himself along Sherlock's back and scooping him up in his arms. He curled his body around as much of Sherlock as he could and the taller man made a happy, contented noise.
"…Do you want to come tonight? To the pub, I mean," John asked quietly, treating himself to a quick nuzzle into the damp curls at the base of Sherlock's skull.
"We've done that before, John." Sherlock reminded him, scooting back closer and sealing their bodies together. "Your friends and I...don't get on."
"I could count on one hand the people you 'get on with,'" John chuckled softly, smooching at Sherlock's occiput. "Please? I'd rather you were with me."
Sherlock sighed. "If you really want me there...though I'm not sure why."
"Because I love you. And you love me. Remember? "
Sherlock was actually scuffing his feet like a stubborn toddler as John pulled him with considerable effort down the street.
"Christ's sakes," the doctor uttered, shivering in the liquid-black, late evening London cold. His teeth chattering slightly, brow crinkled, he dragged Sherlock to a stop. "Go home if you want. But...I really...wanted to show you off."
The burst of pride was short lived as Sherlock flinched as a raucous group passed them. "I'm not a prize stallion."
John leered at him, the effect lessened by his shivering. "You're my stallion."
The detective grimaced as if he had tasted something intrinsically poisonous, scowling and folding his arms.
"...I'm not a horse."
There was a huff of sweet laughter at this serious statement, and John tried to compose himself in order to respond like an adult.
"Hung like one." John muttered, unable to resist the puerile comment. "Behave, love. Please?" He squeezed Sherlock's hand as they paused outside the pub door.
There came a loud, unhappy noise of disgruntlement, before Sherlock squeezed his hand back with reluctant fondness. He followed him into the hot, rowdy atmosphere of the pub, inundated with after-hours office workers gossiping loudly over mid-priced pints, single older men who had clearly been making this their nightly routine for the last twenty years, and a few misplaced female, over-dressed teens who had underestimated the attention they would receive in this small, cheap establishment.
They quickly spied John's friends who had snagged a large table in the corner and were already drinking and laughing. Sherlock trailed after John, feeling out of place in the crowd, not knowing how to act.
John distantly took in Bill's visage in the smoke-mottled corner of the old pub before he halted, turned, and gripped Sherlock's biceps decisively. "Give us a kiss before we go over?"
Sherlock obligingly ducked his head, letting John kiss him with obvious enthusiasm. He jolted at a sudden burst of laughter from some other patrons, staggering closer to John, and the shorter man wrapped an arm around his back, humming, pleased.
"You're mine," John stated simply, with a quick, beautiful smile. He pulled the tall detective down so he could murmur into his ear. "And everyone knows it." He ended with a swift smooch upon Sherlock's ear, causing the brunette to unconsciously nudge his knuckles against his ear to ease the tickle, like a grooming cat.
John led Sherlock over to the table, the taller man trying to hover behind him and appear as if he belonged in such a place. John was greeted with a yell of "John!" And some of the men stood and pulled him into rough hugs, patting him on the back.
John accepted the masculine embraces, grinning with honest happiness. Pulling back, he turned to Sherlock, ready to introduce him. The look on the detective's face, however, caused him to freeze, to tense up cautiously.
"Sherlock, what is it?" he asked, having to elevate his murmur to a fairly loud question above the noise of the pub. The shell-shocked brunette nodded almost imperceptibly towards the bar.
John turned, dread tightening his chest, afraid one of the many criminals Sherlock had made enemies with other the years had maybe escaped... but nothing could have prepared him for the face he saw.
John's mouth fell open, groaning quietly in disbelief as his eyes met those of the last man he had been with, the man who had taught him, wordlessly, exactly what the meaning of a dysfunctional relationship was.
Shaun.