A/N: I've got too many time lounging at home, so here, a fanfiction!
WARNING: Gay sex. MxM. Boy's love. If you're not into stuff like this, LEAVE. If you're a minor, however this fic affects you will not be my fault.
I do not own BBC's Sherlock, nor any of the characters from that particular show. The same can be said about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's amazing books.
John Watson was absolutely oblivious to the fact that someone was currently studying – ogling at, even – every inch of his rigid body, as he casually read the newspaper he had taken this morning. He was standing with his back turned to Sherlock, much to his delight, and John's body was covered only by a slightly fit shirt (thank you, shirt) and some sort of snug pyjamas that comfortably embraced his toned legs, even though it fell straight towards the ground due to fabric quality. Very much like the wearer's sexuality.
At least, Sherlock thinks so, and he despised the feeling of uncertainty. He was nearly always infallible ever since he was a child, except those occasional intellectual bouts with Mycroft, until John Watson stepped into his life so casually. The first time Sherlock laid his eyes on the doctor, he had immediately been intrigued by him, and Sherlock was eager to see how John Watson would react to his deductions. Sherlock can still remember the unusual feeling of relief and excitement when the doctor's eyes shimmered in awe and complimented him so genuinely, instead of being outrageously offended and repulsed. Sherlock can't help but smirk fondly, if that quivering movement of his lips could be called a smirk, at that memory.
The doctor mumbled the headline of the news on the front page, as he walked towards the kitchen to have a cup of delightfully warm morning tea. Sherlock's gaze followed John's every movement and he loved the sight of the doctor's perfectly V-shaped torso, seasoned by military training and exercise. Sherlock could only imagine the feeling of John's pelvis against the cheek of his arse as he gets viciously fucked, his face buried on a pillow to muffle the wanton moans he–
"Sherlock," John calls from the kitchen, bringing the said man back to the real world and away from his uncharacteristic daydreaming. Sherlock delighted himself with a question: can a man as proper as John Watson turn into a dominant, feral, animal on bed? Sherlock doesn't know and will never have an opportunity for his hypothesis to be answered if he does not make the first move. "What's a nine-letter word defined as an upward slope with a letter 'v' in it?" John asked.
Sherlock doesn't react, but his mind processes the question for a second before he answers monotonously, still not himself, "Acclivity, John." His eyelids felt heavy and he felt a slight warmth tinging his cheeks pink, the idea of John fucking him still not out of his brain.
"Huh," John responds absent-mindedly as he scribbles the letters of the word onto the newspaper, licking his lips the way he usually does in the process. Sherlock was unable to resist following that vile tongue that did things to his insides, and John seemed to notice. Whatever.
"What is the point in answering that section, anyway?" Sherlock frowns, completely back to his normal, Sherlock-y self. "It's a waste of time."
"Not exactly," John says and puts the newspaper on top of the table and strides towards Sherlock, tea cup in hand, settling on the couch in front of him. "For some, it may help in building their vocabulary."
Sherlock huffed dismissively, when he found himself eyeing the man in front of him in appreciation. John shook his leg, displaying his groin for Sherlock to see, as he sipped thoughtfully on his already half-empty cup of tea. He leaned back to rest his upper body on the backrest, his mind still among the clouds, when Sherlock caught a glimpse of John's hardened nipples. Why was he even wearing such thin clothes in this cold? Sherlock cleared his throat, grateful that his body knows how to follow his brain and not betray him, then went to get John the beige jumper he seemed to favor among all the others. "Wear this. You're going to get sick if you don't dress in layers." Sherlock said, handing the clothing to a surprised John.
"Aw, I never knew you cared for me." John replied, half-sarcastic and half-genuine. His smile, though, Sherlock noted, had no signs of dishonesty.
"Oh, come on, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It's the middle of January. Even I'm wearing at least two layers of clothes more than you." He averted his gaze from John's intent staring, internally swearing at the warmth growing on his face. Sherlock turned away, grabbing his violin in the process, and walked to the window to fiddle intensely.
••••••••••••
A chill ran up John's spine while he perused the morning newspaper delivered just a few minutes ago. He was facing away from his flatmate, thankfully, because he was sure the look on Sherlock's face would drive him mental if he even dared a peek, whether his suspicions were correct or otherwise. John hated himself for thinking such perverse thoughts that were most likely baseless and had no chance of becoming a reality. But really, a man can hope.
John cleared his throat and read the headline of the newspaper. He walked towards the kitchen to satisfy his need for tea, keeping his eyes on the paper he was reading to stave off his embarrassment and unease under Sherlock's scrutiny.
He poured the hot tea on a cup and noticed the crossword puzzle on the bottom right corner of the page. One by one, he answered them, listing the words in his head. His mind suddenly went blank as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, shuddering at an unknown unusual sensation. John cleared his throat to dismiss the feeling. "Sherlock," he called and turned to look at his flatmate, frowning lightly at the detective's facial expression. He probably doesn't even know what his face looks like right now, John thought. "What's a nine-letter word defined as an upward slope with a letter 'v' in it?" He asked, forcing nonchalance. John watched Sherlock, his eyes hooded and cheeks flushed due to something John didn't want to name in case he was wrong, and he stared back, no apparent changes in his expression.
"Acclivity, John." Sherlock answers, and shifts his position, averting his gaze from the doctor.
"Huh," John responded absent-mindedly, whether to the answer or to Sherlock's exhibition of unusual behaviour, he was not sure. He licked his lips mindlessly and he could swear Sherlock's eyes followed the movement in a way that made him want to see those eyes wet with tears as the owner of those said eyes begs for relief. John felt the cold on his skin and cursed at himself for wearing such a confining shirt.
"What is the point in answering that section, anyway?" Sherlock frowns, "It's a waste of time."
"Not exactly," John answers, settling the newspaper on the nearest table and walked towards the couch in front of Sherlock. "For some, it may help in building their vocabulary."
John heard the exasperated huff Sherlock released and moved to settle his gaze on the people doing all sorts of things outside. He shook his leg to ease some of the growing tension he felt, sipping aggressively on his tea. He leaned his torso on the backrest when he found his cup to be empty, aware of Sherlock staring intensely at him. John snapped out when Sherlock suddenly stood up to retrieve something somewhere, and came back with John's beige jumper.
"Wear this. You're going to get sick if you don't dress in layers." Sherlock said, his eyes not on John's face but somewhere farther down, avoiding the quizzical look John gave him.
"Aw, I never knew you cared for me." John replied, still confused at Sherlock's behaviour.
"Oh, come on, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at John, "It's the middle of January. Even I'm wearing at least two layers of clothes more than you." Sherlock cleared his throat and once again looked away from the doctor. He turns on his heels and walked towards the window, getting his violin along the way, to escape the suddenly awkward situation.
John chuckled, an amused frown forming on his face, and wore the jumper that Sherlock handed him.
••••••••••••
Sherlock grasps a fistful of fabric as he arched his back, dazed by the intense pleasure caused by John's efforts. He looks down to see the doctor bobbing his head around Sherlock's erect cock, while he worked his fingers on the tight ring of muscles he would soon penetrate. Sherlock moans audibly when John curls his fingers to graze on that good spot that makes Sherlock incoherent and boisterous.
He was now begging John to fuck him harder, a pressure on his abdomen forming. He feels the cock inside him pull out almost completely before ramming back in, and moans at the sudden sensation of John's teeth bruising the skin on the crook of his neck. He feels his body starting to convulse, legs stiffening in wanton pleasure, until he cums between both of their bodies.
Sherlock sighed as he sat alone on the couch in the living room of 221B. John went out a few minutes ago to purchase some groceries, leaving Sherlock to his devices. His vulgar thoughts towards his flatmate still flooded his brain and he can feel his body heat up from the inside. Sherlock looked at his groin and found that he was completely, painfully erect. This will be done in a few minutes before John even gets back, he thought as his hand snaked to the inside of his trousers. He grabbed his member to ease some of the frustration that he was feeling and slowly moved his hand up, grazing the wet tip with his thumb in the process, then down as he traced the swollen veins with his forefinger. He closed his eyes to focus his senses on the feeling he took from the stimulation, not noticing that the door opened and he was no longer alone.
Sherlock opened his eyes to find a wide-eyed John standing by the door. "I-I forgot my… card." John stared, still taken aback by the sight in front of him.
"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, noting that John's breathing also started to hitch and that his pupils were darker than normal. He smirked at the surprised doctor and decided to continue what he was doing, now looking directly at John's eyes.
John looked at the sudden movement between Sherlock's legs, then back to his face, his expression that of confusion and excitement. He stood by the door, still as a statue, as he continued watching Sherlock's masturbation.
"Nghh," Sherlock bit on his lower lip to prevent any noise from escaping his mouth. When he felt his climax approaching, he accidentally moaned John's name, when he felt a strong hand grab his wrist.
His name coming out of Sherlock's mouth was the last push he needed to lose his self-control. Sherlock was startled when his wrists were grabbed, and was even more so when John moved his hands under Sherlock's knees and on his back to carry him like how a newly-wedded man carries his wife.
Sherlock yelped when he was lifted off the couch by strong hands. He stared at John's face, unusually tight and scowling. His heartbeat quickened when he saw that they were headed for the bedroom, and his cock got even harder. "Joh—" Sherlock was cut off when he was thrown onto the bed.
"Bloody fuck," John muttered, fists clenching tightly, as if to tame himself from completely losing control. His face was contorted into a pained expression, but Sherlock noted the blush spreading on the expanse of John's skin. "Sherlock," he starts breathily, "Would you please, PLEASE, clarify something for me," John pants.
A curve suddenly found its way on the corners of Sherlock's lips, his arousal becoming more evident, when he replied huskily, "Anything, John."
The sound of Sherlock's voice sent shivers to John's whole body, making him hold back a grunt that would've come out as a moan. "What, what in the bloody fuck were you--"
"Masturbating, John," Sherlock had to grip tightly on the bedsheet to avoid climaxing just from John's aggressive swearing. He found it tantalizingly thrilling – being looked down on by John who was only holding onto a thin thread of self-control – to tear his curtain of restraint little by little, until he unveils John's true self. "While thinking about you ramming your cock into me."
And that was it. Sherlock knew that his efforts did not betray him, and that John only needed one more nudge to awaken the dormant beast inside him.
John pounced on the helpless but welcoming Sherlock, tearing his clothes off impatiently. He pressed kisses from Sherlock's mouth, then his cheek, to his jaw, down to his neck, biting hard on the skin as John worked on the accursed trousers that prevented him from immediately reaching his goal. Sherlock keened in pleasure and bucked his hips in a desperate attempt to ease his painfully hard erection, but was stopped by a strong and firm grip on his hip.
"Don't you dare fucking move," John said in a low and husky rumbling before walking off to get something that Sherlock was unable to see. Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down so that they could do this for a long time, and before he could even draw a breath, he felt his wrists be tied to the bed's headboard, causing him to open his eyes.
"Jo--" he started, but was silenced by a finger against his lips. Sherlock noticed the glint in John's eyes, similar to a predator that had trapped its prey, and his wolfish grin that sent shivers throughout his whole body.
"Whatever happens to you in the next few moments, Sherlock," John muttered breathlessly, "Is a consequence of your incessant seduction, whether you were aware of doing so or not."
"John," Sherlock called in a hushed tone, moving his mouth near the doctor's ear, "…Do me."
It was at this moment that John released a deep moan, clenching Sherlock's clothes and tearing them off of him slowly and teasingly. He nipped at the skin on the curve between Sherlock's neck and shoulder, and left a trail of red marks down to his nipples. Sherlock bucked his hips, his erection meeting John's jeans, and whimpered impatiently, wordlessly urging John to ease his evident arousal.
John moved his kisses down to Sherlock's abdomen, exhaling against his navel, as he massaged both of his inner thighs tantalizingly slow. "Not yet." John sat up and folded Sherlock's legs, placing them against his torso to reach the neglected hole. "Now," John said breathily as he moved his hand near Sherlock's mouth, two fingers extended, "Suck."
Sherlock whimpered as he took the two fingers in his mouth, and sucked wantonly. John withdrew his hand and teased Sherlock's entrance with his slick fingers, first circling one digit on the opening before entering.
Sherlock keened when he felt John's finger penetrate his hole, short exhales landing on his leaking cock that tortured him even more. "Oh, John, please touch me," he mumbled, attempting to reach John's mouth by desperately bucking his hips, but is prevented by a firm grip on his abdomen.
John grinned and licked Sherlock's slit lightly, earning him a delicious moan from the pinned man. He added another finger after pushing in and pulling out repeatedly. He scissored Sherlock's entrance, then added a third finger when he deemed it necessary, curling his fingers against that spot inside Sherlock that made him incoherent.
"Ah, John, JOHN, please," Sherlock cried.
"What do you want, love?"
"PleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE."
"I wouldn't know what to do if you don't tell me, Sherlock," John whispered against Sherlock's ear.
"Ohfuck, John, PLEASE FUCK ME WITH YOUR COCK!"
John chuckled and patted Sherlock's head, saying, "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He penetrated him slowly, ensuring that Sherlock adapted to the length inside him before proceeding deeper, and pausing once again when he was inside him completely.
"John," Sherlock opened his teary eyes, "Please unbind me."
John smiled as he complied whole-heartedly. "May I move?"
Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's neck, nodding animatedly. He exhaled shakily when he felt the sting from the exerted muscle enveloping John's member, but he started to feel the tingly pleasure somewhere in his abdomen.
John first pulled out slowly, then pushed back in, his movements gaining speed after a while. Sherlock moaned audibly and arched his back when his prostate was repeatedly being hit by the cock inside him. Both of them felt their nearing climaxes, and Sherlock grabbed his length, eagerly pumping his orgasm out.
"Hng, John!" Sherlock called when he came, his release spilling on his stomach and on John's abdomen.
John breathed erratically as he pounded deeply inside his lover. Sherlock's muscles tightened and squeezed against his cock, making him cum inside Sherlock. He thrusted a few times more as he rode his orgasm out before removing himself from his lover's hole, then lay down beside him, satisfied by the intense sex both of them have been dreaming of.
"That was so much better than my fantasies," Sherlock mumbled.
"Indeed," John replied breathlessly. "Want to do it again?"
"Really, John?"
"Yeah, sure," He nodded, "I'll bottom. You up for it?"
"Of course."
Thank you for reading! I hope y'all're safe from COVID-san. Stay safe and clean, steer clear of crowds, or preferably, people lol. Sending some love~