A/N: Not much to say here accept warnings and disclaimers. I hope you enjoy! Read and review and the last chapter will be posted asap.
WARNINGS: SEXUAL RELATIONS BETWEEN TWO MEN LEMON ETC MENTIONS OF PREVIOUS TRAUMAS INCLUDING RAPE PEDOPHILIA AND ALL THE OTHER STUFF I'VE MENTIONED BEFORE. TRIGGERS ARE THE SAME.
DISCLAIMERS: NOT EDITED I DON'T OWN I JUST PLAY NO PROFITS WERE MADE ENTERTAINMENT ONLY ETC ETC ETC ETC.
CHAPTER FIVE
In Sherlock, we Trust
The water pours out from the shower head full blast, clouds of steam rolling up from the stall and bellowing out over the top. The mirror is fogged, the walls run damp with moisture and a man stands under the boiling spray and sighs out with fatigue.
His skin is red, head hanging dejectedly as he watches the water swirl down the drain. It runs a dark brown, and he lets out a whine at the sight of it, "It's all in your head." he says softly.
Shaking himself gently to fight off the fatigue, he places a hand on the tiled wall to steady himself.
Body having gone ridged and his muscles tight, he strains against a dizzy spell and gives a harsh sniff as he tries to stay alert.
The water is burning his skin, pricking likes needles across his upper back, neck and scalp, "I don't want to...do this anymore." he murmurs lethargically as he realizes that his trials and tribulations are far from over.
The sound of the door opening slowly, followed by the swooshing of fabric and shuffling of feet tell him he is no longer alone. Seconds later the curtain is drawn back and his dark haired companion steps in.
"Bit hot in here, I should have a word with the landlady." he says in jest, his height glaringly different compared to the shorter man next to him, though his witticism is in vain as the thoroughly saturated man is despondent.
"John?" the taller man utters his name with reverence, a hand coming to reside lightly on a bright pink shoulder. The long slender hand jolts a little in shock at the heat that has been collected in the skin, water leaving small red marks on his on pale flesh and suddenly an arm reaches through the deluge and lowers the heat level quickly.
"The water is brown." John whispers out, his teeth gritting as he leans forward and places his head on the cool tile.
"What? Brown?" Sherlock asks, his eyes looking down to the drain before he comes closer to his friend, eyes looking at the inflamed skin with astonishment.
"The water always looked brown...after he...after he finished with me. I could never get it off me, all that filthy...the filth...his filth." John pants as his mind tips with another bout of wooziness.
"You mustn't let this come as a set back, you took a big risk tonight, allowed yourself to accept something you've been fighting for years. It can't all be remedied in one day. The battle is won but the war is not over, it will never be over, not for you."
John's legs suddenly give out, a gasp escapes his lips but before he can connect with the floor two solid arms wrap around his torso and keep him up right. John's breathing is labored, his head still spinning as he feels Sherlock's hard body press into his back.
"It's not suppose to be that way." John says weakly and Sherlock leans his face forward, lips pressing into the wet hair that is plastered to his head, "That is an unfair expectation to place on yourself, given your history of abuse. Honestly, I'd be worried if you could go through such proceedings as you have this last week and not see some form of psychological side affect."
After several minutes John finds his balance, Sherlock keeping his arms in place to give support while waiting for John to get his bearings. John is at his wits end.
It is a much easier task to stand now that his body is cooling, Sherlock releasing him so the man can turn around.
John's forehead comes to rest on the front edge of his shoulder, "I mean with you, Sherlock. It's not supposed to be that way with you. You're, you are...special... to me, Sherlock. It was supposed to be different with you." John clarifies as he gives off a small benign sob to express his frustration and disappointment.
Hands come to lay tenderly on either of his shoulders, lips placing a protective kiss to the wet skin just above John's brow.
"It is what it is." Sherlock says, his hands sliding to wrap around his companion, cheek coming to rest on the top of his head.
"I want...I want to do it again-" John starts but Sherlock restfully shushes him and says in a low purr of a voice, "We should wait, though I can't claim I don't share the sentiment, I am not in the business of traumatizing my friends."
John's hands slide up Sherlock's chest, watching as his fingers spread over the wet pale skin, lingering over scars, curiously fingering marks he didn't even know existed.
"Sherlock...turn around." John says as his fingers brush up and over the taller man's shoulder and he feels something on the backside.
"John, I don't think now is the best-"
"Turn around, Sherlock." John says with more firmly and Sherlock drops his arms and hangs his head as he slowly turns to expose his back.
"Ohmygod...Jesus Chri-" John whispers softly, a trembling hand rises to gently stroke across scars that almost seem to knit the skin across his spine together.
"S-sherlock, how...when did this happen?" John sees the man's shoulders are torn up as well, his lower back particularly covered in random gouges and abrasions.
"It happened while I was...away." he responds somberly.
John takes the man's arm securely and gives a tug to turn him back around, Sherlock's head still looking down and not making eye contact.
"When you were dead." John said with certainty, arms crossing over his chest.
Sherlock just gives a soft nod, his guise of caregiver suddenly gone and replaced with a repentant child that got caught with a hand in the biscuit tin.
John stares at his downcast face, sees the remorse Sherlock feels for letting the man on for that two year period, and John goes to speak but suddenly Sherlock is talking and what he says stills John to his core, "I nearly made contact so many times, but I was worried any interaction would...would leave you in danger. I had to dismantle his network first, had to make sure you were safe. I wanted you with me, so badly. It nearly destroyed me, none of the old wounds you see now hurt at that time near as bad as knowing you were somewhere, living a life without me. I nearly...so many times...you...the very thought of you made me so weak...so... useless. I'd take a thousand more tortures to ensure your safety, to make sure that you will always be with me..." and fingers come up to gaze over John's lips and Sherlock shakes his head, "I have wanted you, this way, so long...and I didn't realize until I went away that... I...I l-l-lo-"
John takes up Sherlock's face, cranes his neck and brings their lips together, giving the man a kiss that is drenched in understanding and empathy, trying to speak the words that neither man has ever been good at saying.
Hands find their way to his hips, fingers skimming down to caress John's backside and in seconds John is pressed to the shower wall, the water still spraying down upon them as their tongues lap and slide like fevered youths.
Sherlock breaks away first, breathing heavy, John following suit and as he looks at the dark hair slicked
down, pale cheeks now red and lips swollen he can almost feel his eyes dilate, his prick twitching and his belly pooling with the heat he is starting to recognize as pure lust.
"I...I want you...need you...again...now...right now...can I...can we-" Sherlock urges as his lips press to John's ear and the blonde's eyes close and he swallows as his mind becomes hazy at such a debased and desperate voice.
When John doesn't respond Sherlock loosens his hold, his head dropping down in near defeat as he apparently registers what he just said, his lips finding John's shoulders and running along the length of it slowly, "I...am...sorry. Mycroft always said I was an emotional child, perhaps he is right, my...sentiment got the better of me...I...I should leave you to wash...leave you to..." and his lips slide up to the man's neck, another tender kiss lingering on John's throat.
"Mygod-" John groans out as Sherlock continues his ministrations, not used to being the target of such sultry affections as this. John has only ever been the one to apply such agonizing measures on his many female companions. He wonders if he ever had this effect, or if once again, Sherlock has bested him at another skill.
John feels his body responding in the positive, knows he is aroused to the point of feeling intoxicated and perhaps, if there was ever a time to try again, this would be it. Turning his head he brings his mouth to the man's ear and and says softly, "Let's have a wash, and then, after dinner...we can do whatever you want."
John feels Sherlock grow still, save for the man's finger, which taps singularly on his hip. His head is bent next to John's neck and he swears he can hear the man's mind churning it's extensive gears to determine if this course of action is the right one to take, "Don't make me a promise you aren't prepared to keep, John. I...you should know...our new arrangement has compromised...I am having trouble regulating..."
It is John's turn to hush Sherlock and the man's hands suddenly tighten on his hips, "I want you to spend the next hour thinking of all the things you could do to me, and then, after dinner, I want you to do them...that's an order." John says, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's ear, "I need this Sherlock, I need to engage...it's who I am...will you help me...so that I can go back to being the person who always helps you? Because, that's who I want to be, not this...this mess of a man who feels more like a scared child."
John feels Sherlock's head turn to press his lips to his ear, "You are giving me an order, Captain?"
"Oh yes, godyes-" John shutters out, "Think of it as a new game, you have one hour...what can you come up with in an hour, Sherlock?"
Sherlock is breathing heavy now and he takes a step closer, pressing his rigid prick into John's and the ex-soldier lets out a rather breathy grunt, "Can I touch you while I deliberate?" he asks and suddenly John realizes that Sherlock likes the idea of making this into a game so John, knowing how his friend loves a challenge, says in a stern whisper, "Absolutely not."
"Mmm, when do we start this new game?" he asks, lips sliding from John's ear to caress his cheek, jaw and nose, "Thirty seconds-" John whispers, a random number to be sure, but he wants Sherlock to keep doing what he is doing just a moment longer.
"Very well, I accept. A wash, dinner...then I get to idolize your genius-"
"No touching." John moans as Sherlock gently nips at his lips and the man nods, his blue eyes looking at him in such a way, John nearly thinks he has made a mistake in pushing to engage his demons.
"Fifteen seconds-" Sherlock muses and John quickly seeks out the man's lips and locks on, fingers sliding up into wet hair and Sherlock's fingers nearly bruising his hips.
The fifteen seconds pass and suddenly Sherlock pulls away completely, reaching to turn the heat back up in the shower and he grabs for the soap, "Right, time for a wash." and he goes about washing as if nothing has happened.
John stands there dumbstruck, knowing Sherlock is just doing what must be done to win the game, but still, he finds he wishes he had that level of discipline. His own body is still trembling, heart pounding and he feels weak in the legs. John shakes himself from the shock and takes a deep breath, willing his erection to go away, the heat in his belly to settle and he grabs up the shampoo, determined not to let Sherlock out shine him again.
PAGEBREAK
It was hard, the shift between aroused to simply having a wash, the first few minutes tense as both men tried to regulate their urges, Sherlock being much better at the task. Once John's body had calmed down he found it was easier to get through it, noting the water no longer looked brown.
They exit the shower shortly after and dry off, Sherlock leaving the small room first, then they going about their nightly routine as if nothing is different. John orders some take away while Sherlock sits in his chair and messes about on his violin.
John pulls out some extra napkins from the drawer and decides to clear enough room at the table for them to sit. He grabs up an old cup to see what is in it, taking a sniff and then making a face, "Oh, Jesus." he hisses and goes to turn for the sink when his foot catches a chair leg and the moldy black liquid inside sloshes out onto his shirt.
"Oh, that's lovely, really need to start cleaning up your coffee cups Sherlock." and he sets the cup aside in the sink and grabs up a rag to wipe at his shirt, knowing it's pointless and that it is going to need a soak he gives a frustrated sigh of defeat and pulls the shirt up and over his head. He feels his body tighten when the wet fabric gets caught on the dry skin of his face and he has to give a yank.
"What the hell was in that cup, Sherlock?" he asks looking to the man in question with a frown only to jump when he finds Sherlock right behind him.
"Christ, Sherlock! What the hell is wrong-" and he sees Sherlock raise a hand and then stop, his face giving the barest hint of an irritated twitch, but the hand resumes its course only to veer to the left and take the shirt from his hand, "You should be more careful, John. You never know when something unexpected might happen." and the man moves past him stiffly.
John's brain shorts a little at the tone of the man's voice, it holds the ring of someone who is satisfied with an outcome, who is just speaking to fill in the expected response for such a blunder.
John realizes he has never notice before how easy it could be to see through Sherlock's bullshit.
So, that's how she did it. John finds he suddenly understands how Mary knew when to call Sherlock out on his habit of "fibbing."
"Hold on a minute- Sherlock...did you just..." and the man turns to look at him from his place at the sink while John glances down to the chair he had got caught on, then to the spot where the mug was and back to Sherlock, a frustrated smirk coming to his face, "Jesus, I can't believe it. You did that."
Sherlock looks at him and cocks his head, and once again, as if John was struck by some magic bullet, he can hear the faux confusion in Sherlock's voice when he says, "I don't know what you are talking about."
"You placed the mug, moved the chair. You set it up to guarantee a spill." Sherlock says nothing and John's eyes grow in astonishment and his lips purse, "You...you have nothing to say?"
Sherlock continues to stare, his clever eyes studying John as his lips part gently.
"You did, didn't you. But why would you purposefully..." and John stops as it hits him like a tone of bricks, "No touching." he sighs out and a chuckle comes up from his throat, his head shaking in utter disbelief as he bites his bottom lip, "I said you couldn't touch me...so you came up with a way to get what you wanted without raising a bloody finger."
John crosses his arms over his bare chest as he eyes his companion up and down, "Well? Did I deduce your little plan properly?"
Sherlock gives the barest of nods as his eyes suddenly hone in on John and he leaves the shirt hanging off the edge of the sink, slowly approaching and extending a hand. He stops just short of John's folded arms and lets his hands drop.
John runs a tongue across his lips and then Sherlock jerks away and let's out a frustrated growl as he runs fingers through his hair in agitation.
"What gave it away?" he asks.
"Your voice." John says instantly
"Interesting."and Sherlock moves closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks the shirtless man up and down with curiosity.
"What is?"John's annoyance at the man's antics growing subtly.
"The fact that you've never noticed before, and yet suddenly-" Sherlock starts, his tone of curiosity boarding on intrigued.
"We've never had sex before." John quips.
"I don't understand. How would sex have any effect on your ability to detect when I am not being honest. I never had sex with Mary, she could tell."
John snorts, "Woman's intuition. As for sex changing my ability to detect your bullshite, well, hearing you moan my name could have something to do with it."
Sherlock cocks his head in confusion, "I still don't-"
"More emotions in your voice during sex, a lot more, now that I have heard the difference...I'll make sure to remember it."
Sherlock suddenly looks terrified, "What do you know, you really do have problems with intimacy, but not for the reasons I thought."John says with an evil smirk.
Sherlock gives a sigh as he looks away and says haughtily, "Oh, it's all so telling isn't it, so fascinating to deduce why people hide their insecurities behind a facade."
"So you're insecure as well, never would have guessed that." John can tell he is getting under Sherlock's skin, he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it just a touch. But he isn't really trying to hurt the man, or upset him and so before the man reverts back to his usual machinations of insulting John or throwing a tantrum the man decides to show some mercy and change the subject.
"So, there has been a before? Just how many times?" John presses, his eyes narrowing at Sherlock right back and the detective suddenly stands straight and gives him a side ways glance.
John clears his throat and swings his arms down to grip them behind his back, "Just how many times have you done that little trick of yours? How many times have you manipulated me to do your bidding or give you something you want?"
Sherlock is obviously in debate about telling him the truth of the matter but John clears his throat again loudly, the authority coming through and that seems to give Sherlock the incentive to say in a casual tone, "Oh, not often, just to get the occasional fag or have you do the dusting."
"Fibbing, Sherlock." and the man's casual demeanor suddenly breaks away and he squares up to John and bites his lips in frustration, the tendons in his neck flexing as he tries to think of a better response.
"You know, I think I hear the take away, shall I go check-"
"Don't change the subject. How many times?" John says and his tone bars all argument.
Sherlock hesitates before he seems to come to the conclusion he can't get out of it and then his body sags as he says, "Alright, a lot." and John lets out a testy sigh and rubs his eyes with his fingers.
"How have I survived living with you for so long." he questions, even though he is asking himself more so than Sherlock, the man responds with a single word, "Luck?"
John glances up at the man, their eyes locking, before smiles spread across their faces and they each give out a rather appreciative chuckle.
PAGEBREAK
They eat dinner in relative silence, John noticing Sherlock's eyes scanning up to him on and off through out the whole thing. John checks his mental clock and thinks it's been about forty-five minutes since they started this little game and he already feels his body growing excited for the clock to reach zero.
"Have any thoughts on what you'd like to do after dinner?" John asks softly as he glances up to the man across from him.
Sherlock stills, the fork caught mid-air as he raises his eyes to meet John's, "Some." he says as his fork drops back down, the bite untouched.
"Well, we have about fifteen minutes...give or take... might be interesting to hear what you have in mind."
Sherlock's tongue clicks in his mouth, "That might ruin the surprise." his voice purrs out softly and John gives a slow chew as he continues to stare at his friend, "A thought did occur to me, though, just after we had a wash."
"Really? What is that?"
"Well, we have no plans for tomorrow, perhaps we should allow for an extended evening, you know, have a lay in."
John swallows the food nervously, the thought of spending an entire evening at Sherlock's mercy near daunting.
"You did say you wished to engage, what better way to do so then by facing your demons...until they are gone." and his voice is near dripping with innuendo and John lets out a shuttered nervous chuckle as he looks away. The red that has erupted over his cheeks makes him feel rather inept, giving he has far more experience in the area of sexual gratification.
"Ten minutes." he hears Sherlock say softly and he looks back across the table, seeing Sherlock has taken up his fork again, pressing the rice around aimlessly as he stares.
"Ten minutes." John parrots and the excitement and nervous energy of the wait starts to build in him, and his fork drops from his hand. He quickly grabs it up, takes a bite of his food and stares at the wall just to the right of Sherlock's head.
"Unless, of course, you wish to admit defeat. Then, supposing the night allows we can see how things proceed at a much...slower pace."
John stops chewing and his eyes jump back to look at the man across from him, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.
"You're doing it again." John says, "Trying to manipulate me into doing what you want."
"Very good, John. Now all you have to do is figure out which one I want, and you can make your decision accordingly, but you only have eight minutes left...so...best start working it out."
"And what if I don't want to work it out?" John asks with annoyance.
Sherlock scoffs and says with confidence, "I really think you do. Because, seeing as I haven't touched you, if the clock runs out, you're at my mercy. And we both know what that implies."
John has nothing to say to that, but it seems Sherlock isn't done anyway, "It's rather interesting isn't it?"
"What?" John asks.
"How dangerous a game you chose to play."
"Dangerous? In what way?"
"Well, we've only just begun our little courtship, you've no idea what I like...what I may prefer to do with my lovers."
"What lovers?" John scoffs, his confidence growing as he realizes there is a very good chance Sherlock is talking it up to scare him, which would give Sherlock an excuse to go slow and tentative as well.
But, Sherlock just chuckles as he says with a rather pleased grin, "My point exactly."
"Sherlock, I don't understand, what are you implying-"
"Well, since my history of sexual affairs in limited to a junkie female roommate in uni, my pathologist and now my doctor... what wouldn't I want to do? five minutes left."
And John sits at the table in shock, his dinner all but forgotten as he finally understands the point Sherlock is trying to make.
It never occurred to John how having a partner like Sherlock could be rather daunting. The man had repressed his sexuality for years, literally years. His partners now limited to three people, two of which were only a few months apart. If Sherlock truly meant what he was implying than John had just started relations with a sexually crazed sociopath with a drug habit and plenty of time on his hands.
"Three minutes-" the man purrs as he leans his chin lazily on his hand, eyes glancing between the fork he is spinning in his rice and John himself, who is still shocked at the turn of events the night has taken.
"I've made a huge miscalculation." John says finally, his thumb dashing up to his lips where teeth nervously sink into his nail.
"I'd say, and you only have two minutes to recalculate."
John gives him a side-long glare, trying to figure just how full of bullshit the man is, when he gives a smirk, "You talk big, but I think you are just trying to mess with me. Even if you aren't, you know my history, and despite what you let people think of you, you wouldn't do anything I wouldn't want."
This time Sherlock's eyes sharpen, his focus absolute as they narrow, "You told me you need to engage, that the only way you will be able to move beyond your traumas and regain your old self is to embrace the things you fear. The only way to embrace sexual desires towards another man, is to do it, and I have absolutely no qualms about doing what is necessary to help you...jumped off a building...remember."
John swallows as he reads the sincerity in the man's eyes, "Besides, I've been lusting after you for years now, be a shame to waste such a brilliant opportunity. Especially considering you are the one who devised this little game in the first place. I'm just following the rules...one minute-"
"No, no you wouldn't be so crass, it's not your M.O-"
"Isn't it? I don't know, I think showing up at a restaurant on the night you intend to propose to your future wife after having faked my death for two years is pretty crass... 30 seconds."
"I-"
"Then there was the time I insulted my pathologist at a Christmas party when she made an effort all for my own benefit...still feel bad about that-"
"You had no clue she was-"
"And the time I allowed myself to be nearly strangled to death by a serial killer just to prove the point he was one in the first place, fifteen seconds-"
"Will you just let me-"
"Over all I can be rather lewd and equally as crass considering I've drugged my parents, brother and your pregnant wife all in the hoppes of selling government secrets, ten seconds-"
"SHERLOCK!"
"I'm pretty sure I killed a man once, what was his name? Five seconds...four..."
"No, you're bluffing."
"Three."
"Sherlock!"
"Two-"
"Stop being so-"
"One."
"I surrender!" John yells as he stands abruptly and Sherlock follows suit, only he stands slowly, his eyes meeting John's as he places his palms on the table, "Times up, sit down, John." he says with a smile.
John is a ball of anxiety, arousal and nerves but he finds his legs bending and he sits down with a shocked plop.
Sherlock languidly walks around the table, John's eyes following him and then the man disappears from view as he places his hands on John's shoulders.
"Games over, I win, and now, it's time for you to relax." John stiffens at the word and Sherlock lets out a sigh, "I was wondering about that."
"W-wondering about what?" John asks as his voice cracks.
"Your trigger words. Much the same as Mycroft used to do with me for Eurus, checking to see if anything from my past traumas would resurface. The word relax, accompanied with physical touch of the sexual nature, particularly around your shoulders, hips and stomach illicit anxiety and fear."
"I'm not afraid." John says angrily, his anxiety fading a little as the aggression slowly shadows over it.
"Call it what you want, John. But trigger words are important to break from your mind. Lest you have a traumatic reaction at a time you would rather not."
"How do I do that?" and he knows he sounds annoyed, can't really help it now, the tension has been building for over an hour and he wishes he hadn't blindly committed to doing something he knew he clearly wasn't ready for.
"Like this." and Sherlock's hands start to gently message his muscles and John instantly moans as his body droops in submission.
"Just relax, John." Sherlock says softly and John understands what Sherlock's intentions are.
"You gave me permission, if I won, to do anything I want to you, well I want to help you overcome your demons. So, let us start with something small, positive word associate is a very powerful way to break the cycle."
"Ohmygod." John moans out as his body becomes something similar to rubber and he hums, "This is a great idea."
Sherlock works the knots out of John's shoulders for the next half hour and by the time he is done John is so relaxed he nearly can't see straight. When Sherlock's fingers stop and his hands leave the man's shoulders John gives another hum to show his appreciation before he says softly, "So, you wanted to go slow too then. Didn't actually want to rush into something-" but he stops when he turns to see Sherlock is gone and he looks around the room quickly to try and locate the elusive detective.
"I never said that." comes Sherlock's voice and John realizes it came from under the table and John jumps when he feels hands suddenly run up his inner thighs.
"Jesus!" He says, his hands jerk to the edge of the table and his eyes clench shut before they shoot open to look at the ceiling, "S-Sherlock, what are you-" and he feels the man's palms caress over his groin and end at his belt, gripping it and working to get it undone.
"Oh Christ..." John says and then he feels his button pop and his zip is slid down, John biting his lip as the hum he gives this time sounds strained and desperate.
"JesusChristJesusChristJeeeeesusChrist-" he whispers out in a rush as he feels the man remove his now hard prick and then it slides into his mouth.
John's fist slams down on the table and he squirms in his seat, eyes tightly closed and his spin stiffening before he leans back and his heels slide free of the floor.
"S-sherlock...oh god...Sherlock-" but the man doesn't spare him a second and continues his slow attentions, mouth sliding deep onto him before retracting with a sharp suck.
"Ah, huh oh, ohmygod-" even though Sherlock is proceeding slowly John can tell by the fierce way his body is reacting that it won't take long, his cheeks burning at the idea of coming undone so quickly. But Sherlock is diligent and over the next few minutes coaxes John to the edge.
When he spills over into Sherlock's mouth he grunts and tries to restrain himself from yelling out.
After, he pants into the kitchen, head back and body near liquid as his eyes flutter closed and he savors the feeling of the post orgasm high. His hands dangle lifelessly at his sides and as he rides out the euphoria he feels hands come to caress down over his shoulders and then his chest as his head is pressed into Sherlock's stomach.
His eyes crack open and Sherlock is looking down at him, an endearing smirk on his face which pops into a true smile as he gives a light laugh, "Relaxed?"
"Indubitably." John concedes.
"Excellent." Sherlock says and then he leans down and kisses John's lips before he murmurs against them, "Want to give it a go? It's rather enjoyable, considering most heterosexual men find the idea repulsive, I am starting to believe they are rather inept. You might like it..." he trails off as he runs his lips back and forth across John's and the doctor swallows as he lets out a small gasp at the tingling sensation that follows.
"Ughn-" John manages before he clears his throat and says as his voice cracks, "I've tried it, makes my throat hurt." he moans as Sherlock continues to run their lips together and John feels heat flood his lower abdomen.
"It doesn't if done right, and I would reeeally like to-"
"To what?" John whispers.
"Feel your mouth on my-" and the man stops again though he doesn't hesitate to try again, "On...my..." and his voice has a slight tremor to it as the idea seems to send him into an intoxicated euphoria.
"Alright, but you've got to promise me-"
"All the time you need, stop whenever you want...I just want to feel it...see you..." and he can't seem to finish the most simple of sentences and John gives a near drunken laugh, "You want a suck?"
Sherlock looks at him and gives a nod as his hand trails up John's chest, the palm coming to rest on a cheek as he whispers, "Please?"
"You've never begged a day in your life."
"Only for you." he says softly and John smirks, "Mmm, must be something in the water." and then John says in the softest of voices, "Go lay on the bed, give me a few minutes to prepare and then I'll be in."
Sherlock nods, "I'll just undress shall I?" and he stands slowly and turns to head to the bedroom, "No need to undress for a-"
"I won the game John, this is just the foreplay, we've got all night." he says as he disappear into the dark of his room to leave John his time to muse.
John stares after him and he sighs, "Jesus, foreplay to Sherlock is halfway off to everyone else." he murmurs as he glances down and sees he is still undone. He reaches down to zip up when he realizes there isn't a point, if Sherlock has his way John will be naked again in less than thirty minutes.
He stares at the table than, memories of Wayne flashing like a horror movie through his mind. John sucks in a breath and tries to dislodge the disgust that circles like a vulture in his stomach. The idea of sucking off Sherlock is much more pleasurable to him than the memories he is currently trying to fight back but he isn't so sure he can reach a middle ground.
John remembers how much his throat ached after, the horrid taste, the way he could smell the man's musk for hours after even when he bathed.
It makes the blood drain from his face but as he looks down to his own lap he realizes that if Sherlock can do something so base he should be able to as well.
John has never wanted to please someone as much as he has wanted to please Sherlock. His relationship with Mary aside, because that was so far gone from what he was doing now, he doesn't even consider the two comparable, he wants to focuses on the fact that for Sherlock, he is willing to do anything.
He stands then, leaves his pants undone and heads towards the bedroom, his body tensing again as he enters to find the man wrapped in a sheet, sitting in the center of the bed with his hands joined before his face.
John stands there and waits only to realize the man is currently in his mind palace. John wonders if the man is organizing his most recent experience and he stares at the man as a smirk comes to his face and he wonders if he should do what he is thinking.
He undresses seconds later, leaving his boxers in place and then carefully gets on the bed. His hands gently take up the sheet and work to move it aside, his eyes straying up to his friend several times to see if he has come back yet.
Sherlock remains still and supposedly oblivious so John continues to try and find an entryway through the sheet. He succeeds and stops when he sees the man's prick, erect and red, his curiosity about what Sherlock might be doing in his mind palace suddenly confirmed.
"Alright, John, you can do this, just take it slow and..." he leans down, stopping just short of the swollen head before he opens his mouth and slowly sinks his down into the rigid muscle.
He waits there a moment, allows a deep inhale through is nose and registers the smell, taste and overall feeling is different from what he expected. It doesn't repulse him, doesn't make him want to gag and so he pulls back and slides down again.
His throat doesn't spasm, his stomach doesn't churn and he realizes his belly is slowly shifting from anxious and disgusted to warm and settled.
He focuses on Sherlock's smell and taste, sliding down deeper as he experiments with his own preferences and approach to preforming the task at hand.
Another pull and push and then he hears the faintest of noises from Sherlock, a sigh, then a small groan, and then he hears a groggy, "J-John?"
Then he feels a hand jumped to the back of his head and fingers latch into his hair, Sherlock giving a sudden blast of noise as the shock and surprise pull him from his mind the rest of the way.
Both men freeze, Sherlock sucking in violent gasps as John feels the air gushing to and from his lungs as his anxiety is now back at the sudden grip in his hair, but as his mouth is currently lodged onto the man's prick he can't say anything to dissuade the man from doing something rash.
"Easy-" he hears Sherlock say and it appears as if he is talking to himself, "Relax, let go of his head." Sherlock murmurs to himself, his tone sounds chastising and John realizes Sherlock doesn't know he is speaking out loud, "Open your hand, let him go..." he says almost inaudibly.
John makes the decision then and there that he will never be so stupid as to suck off Sherlock while the man is in his mind palace, the transition from the mind to reality apparently too difficult to transcend.
He wishes he could take it back, wishes he hadn't thought he was being clever in doing this because now he is at Sherlock's mercy unless he wants to punch the man or bite him, neither sounding like a course of action he is willing to take.
"J-John, a warning for the future...don't surprise me when I am in my mind palace and aroused at the same time, I nearly shoved my prick down your throat." he says it in such a cold and indifferent way, as if his emotions have been shut off completely and John starts to raise his head, hoping the man will be sensible enough to let him go.
The man's hand hold firm and John is forced to stop, he lets out a whine as panic starts to set in, "Bit tricky that, give me a moment if you would." his voice remaining that smooth near emotionless monotone that makes John's skin crawl.
"Please." John tries to mouth out as he feels a tear come to his eye and Sherlock's hand fists his hair before he gives a yank and John is pulled off. Losing his balance at the sudden jerk John falls backwards off the bed, landing with a thud on his back and looking up at Sherlock who looks absolutely crestfallen, he holds up a hand and says calmly, "Don't panic."
John continues to stare at him a moment, his eyes dried up as his brain tries to digest what just happened, "You don't have to do anything else, but I really don't want you to-" John stands abruptly and returns to the bed, knees bending onto the edge as he starts to crawl towards Sherlock, the man looking perplexed as he watches.
John leans in and kisses him soundly, letting out a moan as he does, his body and brain flooding with all the chemicals and hormones associated with the defect of love.
When he pulls away Sherlock pulls a face, "That was..."
"Good. What you just did, very good."
"I very nearly assaulted you." Sherlock counters in confusion and John kisses him before saying, "But you didn't, you let me go, and that-" he kisses his throat before whispering licentiously in his ear, "Was very very good."
"I was good?" Sherlock whispers sounding like the praise is much more erotic than a good suck could ever be.
"Yes, and you know what happens when you do something good?"
Sherlock instantly says, "John is satisfied."
"And do you remember what happens when John is satisfied?"
Sherlock's eyes are closed as he gasps out lightly, "What?"
John chuckles before saying, "Sherlock gets to be satisfied too." and John snakes kisses down the man's face, his throat, over his collar bone and down his chest, listening to the tiny gasps and gentle hums of the man above as he finally finds his way back down to try and finish his original task.
When he opens his mouth and takes Sherlock's prick between his lips the man shutters and groans in the most ridiculous way. John humming at the sound of it and his heart swelling dramatically at the fact that the man had complied so readily.
There was something erotic about the fact that Sherlock let him go, didn't try to talk him into continuing nor forcing him to go further. The road to trust that they were currently trying to build has just got another brick laid into it, and John, in his excitement at the thought of it sinks down as far as he could.
Sherlock lets out a yell and his hand jerks to fall on John's back, his fingers fisting into a ball and resting there in a trembling mass.
John isn't surprised when he realizes he doesn't actually hear the man say anything, no words come out, no swears or blasphemy, just the most basic sounds and it seems to him to be ironic.
Sherlock being so posh and groomed John would have assumed his bedroom vocabulary to be extensive even with his lack of experience on the matter. But in fact, Sherlock seems to be more keen on instinctive noises and guttural moans, only once or twice slipping in some semblance of an affirmation via the strained word, 'Yes.'
John decides he wants a better angle and pulls away long enough to tell the man to lay down, which Sherlock complies with instantly. Before John continues with his task he leans up and says next to Sherlock's ear, "You can talk if you want, say anything you like, don't feel the need to watch what you say. In this situation, saying anything that comes to mind is usually good, yeah?"
Sherlock gives an inclination of his head as his hazy eyes flutter open to look at him and John smirks before he moves and goes back to his labors.
Sherlock still doesn't seem to be interested in saying anything for, as the minutes tick by, he still only offers the bare minimum in vocalization. John figures the man truly prefers to remain silent and has no need to be so crass when suddenly shaky and aroused words fly from his lips, "I have...thought of this so often...during our years together. Having you...do this to me...it was one of my favorite...rooms to visit in my...mind palace."
John keeps working though his eyes stray up to look at his companion and his ears focus on what he is saying, "M-many long sleepless nights were wasted on watching this very scenario play out in my head. The urges it would elicit, the pleasure it might invoke, the way it would feel to have your mouth...wrapped around my..."
When Sherlock freezes on his word John slowly raises his head up and says in a soft voice, "Say it."
The man licks his lips, goes to form the word and then stops again. John is at a loss at why the simple word, prick, cock, bird, shaft, length, rod or stiffy won't leave his lips and so he looks down to the red swollen muscle before his eyes change direction and land on Sherlock's balls.
John knows what he likes as a man, knows what he has asked his partners to do to pleasure him more thoroughly, as a doctor he can take a step back for just a moment to be practical as he thinks of how to help his companion say what is on his mind.
Reaching his hand out he cups Sherlock's balls just firmly enough to give safe pressure and Sherlock in response jerks, gives a small grunt of pleasure and his back arches off the bed, "Say it." John says again.
"J-John-" the man strains out and his stomach clenches, hands fisting the bedding and toes straining down. John rubs a thumb over the tender flesh and Sherlock lets out an extremely strained groan, sounding near painful as the tendons in his neck stress.
"Sherlock, say prick."
"P-prick." he shutters out and John gives a satisfied smile, "Not so hard."
"No, very hard, and about to go-" Sherlock gasps.
"What?" John asks in confusion.
"Go! My cock, John!" and the man looks down in realization, "Shit!" and instantly drops back to take the man into his mouth, sliding up and down slowly while he adds a little pressure to his handful.
"Yes! Yesyesyesyes!" Sherlock hisses out and his whole body jerks, muscles tighten and then he falls over, body giving small convulsions as he releases into John's mouth.
John, for his part, does his best to experience the outcome without letting his previous negative bias get the better of him. He relaxes his jaw, opens his throat and swallows slowly.
"Oh yes, yes, dear god you swallowed it." Sherlock pants in shock and a mild bout of ecstasy laces his voice, "Good as you hoped?" John asks, relaxed curiosity threading through his voice as his hand comes to rest on his thigh.
Sherlock gives a small inclination of his head and lets out one long sigh. John chuckles and shakes his head before he moves to plop down on the bed next to Sherlock, fingers threading together as his hands rest on his stomach.
"You alright?" Sherlock asks.
"Hm? Me? I'm fine, definitively fine."
"Good. That's good." Sherlock says with a breathy pleased tone.
They remain silent for several long seconds before John speaks again, "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" it's a light tone, one that promises sleep is right around the corner, "Is there a reason you are so...quiet...during-"
"Yes." Sherlock says quickly, the fatigue suddenly gone from his voice.
"Oh, well, that was easy."
"What?"
"You telling me the truth. Normally you'd make some snide or mysterious comment and then go into your mind palace."
Sherlock remains silent a moment before he lets out a sigh and slings an arm over his eyes, "Well, you're bound to find out sooner or later, might as well be from me. Do you remember the girl I mentioned, a roommate at uni?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"She wasn't really my roommate but she was the closest thing I had to a friend at the time. Only came around when I got my allowance of money from Mycroft; she knew I'd get my monthly top up."
John remains quiet as Sherlock speaks, not wanting his friend to be deterred from continuing.
"She was an odd little thing, shady no doubt, but most junkies are. Somehow, she was able to put up with this-" and he points to his face and his hand drops back to his side, "So I gave her the fix she wanted to keep her coming round...I was...excessively bored-"
And John wonders if he were to take every time Sherlock said the word bored and inserted the word lonely how many of his temper tantrums would start to seem less like cries for attention and more like a bout of depression.
"...the classes weren't challenging enough and the people...they were just...so-"
"Mean." John muses because he knows that is what Sherlock wants to say though he expects the man will say something along the lines of banal or idiotic.
Sherlock surprises John when he says very softly, "Yes, to the point of near cruelty."
John swallows as an image of a teenage Sherlock comes to mind, no doubt the whipping boy for anyone who despised or envied his intelligence, looks and quick wit.
"One night, after a particularly nasty binge...we...she and I..."
"Got off." John offers and Sherlock makes a noise of approval and nods, continuing with his story, "It was my first time, and I regret to say, or perhaps am happy to say I was high so most of it is just a blurry faded inconsistency in the back of my mind, but-" and he gives pause as he licks his lips nervously and contemplates his words, "Go on." John says softly.
"When we reached the...end...I remember the experience was...overwhelming...having never done it before and being in a very delicate state of mind, I started...saying things."
"What sorts of things?"
"Anything...I had only just started building my mind palace, Mycroft was guiding me through the process. He had hoped, I suppose, it would help me to organize my thoughts more clearly and to keep my drug habit more firmly under control, give my overactive racing mind something to focus on."
"It didn't?"
"No, in fact, all the information that I had been practicing storing came tumbling out. Including a small bit about vivisection and vasectomies."
John's mouth drops open at this and he slowly turns his head to look at his friend who is staring at the ceiling with a rather unreadable expression.
"Needless to say, she ran out screaming, nearly filed a report for rape and never came back to visit."
John digests this a moment and then says in a careful tone, "So, the reason you didn't have sex for so long is because-"
"Partially do, to that particular experience, yes."
"And the rest?"
Sherlock sighs, "John, I have spent my life in the pursuit of knowledge, being more clever than my brother and trying to find my place in a world that doesn't accept the damaged, unique or free minded. The last thing I ever wanted to do was feel their rejections and hatred again through the rose tinted glasses of love. I am not sure I would be at all equipped to handle a task so daunting as long period sentiment, giving it's one of the few things in my life that I don't fully understand and have yet to master."
John lays there a moment before he extends down his arm and takes Sherlock's hand in his own, "You understand it more than anyone gives you credit for, or than you will ever know."
Sherlock's eyes glance to him, study his face and then return to their spot on the ceiling, "It is also exceedingly difficult to focus on solving a murder when your cock is erect."
John instantly bursts into a fit of laughter and Sherlock's deep throaty chuckle joins him seconds later.
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He feels like he has been drinking for the last two hours, his mind a hazy mess, lips chaffed and his body a vibrating mess of sensations and burning nerves.
It's a bit like being a teenager again, kissing someone for hours, exploring their body with hungry hands. Straying fingers causing small gasps or moans and the never ending excitement of what could happen next.
It doesn't surprise John that Sherlock would have relatively dominate tendencies in the bedroom, but he is also surprised how often the man can be submissive given his proclivities to be assertive and domineering in the real world.
It's a push and pull between them and Sherlock may very well be thinking the same thing about him. John knows he has a dominate personality that can be accompanied by submissive tendencies. Often times deferring to Sherlock's quick wit and clever mind, and following the man to hell and back with out question. He does tend to snap at the man and has no fear of putting Sherlock back in line when he crosses over it, which is often, but not always unreasonable.
They are both strong willed but John has the ability to put his pride aside a few seconds quicker than Sherlock, though he won't spare the man from his own brand of witty retorts and clever jokes at the man's expense.
As they lay in Sherlock's bed, grazing hands over exposed flesh, lips and tongue continuing to embrace, lick and suck John muses over their duality. Over the grand design of their time together, the fact that they were so perfectly matched and yet as different as a dog and cat.
"Ying and yang." Sherlock muses and John is pulled from his pondering by Sherlock's whispered words against his lips, "What?" John asks in astonishment and Sherlock releases a soft tisk.
"Come now, John. You know me better than that, I can practically hear your brain a buzz with thought."
"How did you know I was thinking about-"
"Everything you do is so telling, grabbing me when I release you, pressing to me when I pull away, giving in when I start to take...it's an ebb and flow that has taken years for us to develop...rather interesting considering you didn't like me the first month of our living arrangements."
"Only the first month was it?" John asks with a cocky smile, "Yes actually, around month two you started to enjoy the game, started to really feed your addiction, it was wonderful to watch, seeing you slowly submerge yourself into my realm and actually enjoy it, so few have the ability to really appreciate my world."
"It's a good world, nice place to be, yeah know, when you're not being shot, forced to jump off a building, nearly decapitated, brutally tortured, attacked by insane woman, or running from psychopathic consulting criminals."
"Oh no, John, that's the best part." he says so softly, the fond look on his face makes John feel exceedingly special and he isn't use to the emotions it elicits.
"God." and he suddenly sits up and puts his face in his hands, Sherlock following swiftly behind and he instantly reaches out a hand but stops. John catches the motion and looks at him, "Christ, you're so different...after all these years...you still find ways to surprise me."
"I don't understand, did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asks and his eyes are desperately searching the man's face before scanning is body, essentially trying to deduce where he made an error and John can't stop his smile, bringing a hand to the man's head, "No, you didn't. You've done everything...everything right. And it shouldn't bother me, but, I think of how easily it could have been for someone else to catch your attention, to find themselves at the receiving end of your affections and it makes me feel...uncomfortable."
Sherlock stares at him a moment, his eyes scanning his face before he says in realization, "You don't want people to know-"
"Yes, no! No, I...just...want to...keep...this to myself."
Sherlock looks confused, unsure and in need of clarification and John sighs bringing a hand to rub down his face, "You don't...trust people, Sherlock. You never have, part of me thinks you want to but you just...don't. It's not...it isn't your nature, you're too jaded to be so naive. But somehow, you learned to trust me, and over the last seven years have...allowed me to see a side of yourself that I know not many people have. Maybe glimpses, but...the way you look at me, what you've done for me...and I don't just mean recently...no one has ever...cared...not really, the way you do and I don't want to lose that. It's selfish but, I want...you... all to myself. Yeah, there, Alright? I said it, I don't want people to know your nice because than I would have to share that niceness with them and I don't...I don't want to." and his face is burning red when he is done, his learned behavior telling him to shut up and go read a book, to bury his embarrassing thoughts and feelings and return to the stoic soldier he was trained to be.
"Right, ahem, I think I'll just go make some tea, shall I?" and John is up and jumping into his boxers, tripping out the door and stumbling into the kitchen.
He makes it to the counter top and his hands reach for the tea supplies only to stop and drop them back to his sides. He braces his hands on the edge and leans, dropping his head and clenching his eyes, "What is wrong with me, Jesus." he hisses angrily and then takes a deep breath in through his nose, gives a sniff and tries to shake away the swell of emotions.
"Useless, useless, no point." he says adamantly and then stands and reaches for the tea, slamming the tin, jostling the cups and turning the stoves switch so hard the knob pops off. He tosses it over his shoulder as he puts the tea strainers into the cups and is about to jab at nothing with a spoon when he feels hands come to either shoulder and gently squeeze.
"If it makes you feel any better... I...love you as well."
John instantly breaks and a sob escapes his throat but he brings a hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckle hard enough to create pain, clears his throat and says, "Yeah, I...I know, mate. Just...looooot of emotions...bit not good."
"Considering recent events, you're entitled. For at least the next few days, after that I may have to send you to my brother, he has a way with killing your feelings...to the point of crushing your soul." and John lets out a small blast of a laugh, his head shaking as he turns and looks up at the man, "What have I ever done to deserve someone like you." and he realizes that the last time he said such a thing he meant it in a completely different way, his heart aches a little at the thought but doesn't allow it to stop him.
He reaches up a hand and caresses Sherlock's cheek the man leaning into the touch with a sudden look of euphoria.
"Of all the things I didn't know about you, I never would have guessed that one of them is how much you liked to be touched."
"Just by you." Sherlock purrs and then he leans forward and their lips meet, the kiss is gentle, more so chaste and then Sherlock whispers out after, his voice a low dangerous thing, "I really think we should go back to the bedroom-"
"Yeah, right...absolutly...yes...let's...now?"
"Definintly, now." Sherlock nods and they both turn, Sherlock placing a hand on the back of his neck as they move through the hall and reenter the bedroom.
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Even though it was John's turn to top, he somehow found his way under Sherlock and the man did not hesitate to use it to his advantage. His hips had settled between John's legs while his prick was suddenly pressed in.
"C-can I?" he asks and John nods, his body protesting as Sherlock presses in slowly.
"Er, why does it always have to hurt." John complains and Sherlock chuckles, "I will assume you are being rhetorical and don't actually want me to-"
"Yes, good assumption."
"Just relax, John." and at the word John's body tenses against his will and a sharp bit of pain stabs at his backside, "Shit!" he hisses as his teeth clench. Sherlock stops pressing and waits, one hand gripping the pillow extremely tight as the other cups the back of John's head.
"You have to relax, for your body to relax, you're a doctor you know this. Stop thinking and just do it."
"Easy for you, you're not the one being-"
"Fucked." Sherlock suddenly says softly and John's focus instantly goes to his friend and Sherlock stares as him a moment before he says in that deep voice of his, "I like fucking you, to the point of insanity. I want to have you, like this, always...and I don't ever want you to tell me no..." the heat in John's belly erupts ten fold, his eyes no doubt dilating at hearing Sherlock say something so dirty.
"Better, John." Sherlock chirps suddenly, and John is about to ask what he means when Sherlock presses in the rest of the way meeting no resistance and John's back arches off the bed. The type of yell he usually tries to holds back escaping his throat as he is shocked by the sudden thrust.
Pleasure explodes in his belly, a intoxicated feeling smearing around the inside of his brain and he lets out the most desperate of whines before he sinks fingers into Sherlock's curls and yanks him down, "Do it again, do it again, no, please."
Sherlock slides out, the feeling making John shutter before Sherlock slides back in just as fast and hard and John suddenly thinks he may very well become delerious, "Again, againagainagain-" he whispers as he leans his head and then bites into Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock lets out a sudden grunt at the bite and pulls out and prushes in much quick, "I really need to fuck you, John."
"Doit, just...doit." John says against the tenderized flesh of Sherlock's neck and the man's hand shifts quickly to wrap up under John's back, his other sliding into the man's hair and then John is lost.
Sherlock moves quick, a rhythm starting that John can hardly keep up with, his prostate being stimulated to the point of making him swear so loudly he worries they will wake Rosie.
His nails dig into the man's scalp, pulling at the hair mercilessly and his other hand drags nails down the man's arm.
Sherlock lets out a yell from the pain of it but this only seems to speed up his hips and John is urging him on, biting harder, sucking and moaning and trying to just stay in this moment of elevated chemicals and pure innocent lust.
"In or out?" Sherlock shutters suddenly and John realizes this time he is ready for it, "In, in definitely in." and Sherlock's hand slides down his torso to wrap around a thigh which he hoists up and holds out of the way so he can get deeper.
John's mouth falls open, eyes screwing shut as he is launched over into oblivion, Sherlock following suit seconds later and they tumble down together in a mixture of gasps, grunts and moans.
Sherlock presses in deep and John's nails dig in hard before he collapses on top of his smaller companion and they both gasp and pant for air.
"I love you." John breaths and Sherlock, in all his eloquence, manages an exhausted, "Mmmm." to which John chuckles and places a kiss on his shoulder.
A/N: the next chapter will be the last so stay tuned. Thank u for all the reviews it's much appreciated. Let me know what you think of this little chappy and I will post the last one asap.