Sherlock grinned dangerously as he leapt onto the table. He peeled off his shirt, reveling in the way John's eyes tracked his every movement. As the cloth slid off, John unconsciously licked his lips, making Sherlock grin even wider. He sprawled languidly on the table, his arms stretched above his head deliberately to show himself off to the best advantage. John stepped closer, but seemed to check himself.
Sherlock frowned a bit. That was not according to plan. John was supposed to be happy, excited even, not hesitant. "We haven't got all night, you know," Sherlock drawled, refusing to reveal his impatience. In reality, he wanted John's mouth on him now, but he was willing to delay that a bit until John realised he wanted it too.
Now John grinned ferally. "Actually," he said, walking to the side of table. "We have." But rather than drawing it out as Sherlock was rather afraid he would, John immediately descended upon him, licking a long stripe up Sherlock's neck, and it took all of Sherlock's sense of pride to keep him from keening at the sudden contact. Sugar was dusted over the wetness, and a lemon quickly gagged him.
John stood over him, gaze intense as he poured the vodka into Sherlock's navel. He didn't pause to ask permission per expectations, but rather swept down and licked the sugar off Sherlock's neck at a tortuously slow rate. Then, instead of lifting his lips and moving down for the vodka, John placed tiny nips and kisses down Sherlock's torso until he was able to lap up the alcohol. Then he suddenly broke from the steady pace and sprang to Sherlock's mouth, pressing their lips together around the lemon and holding for a moment longer than necessary before taking a bite and removing the fruit.
When John stood up, Sherlock knew all bets were off. One look at those blue eyes, pupils blown wide with want, and Sherlock, shamefully, lost control of himself. Instead of waiting for John to speak, to ask the question clearly on his mind, Sherlock broke from the plan, reached up, grabbed John by the base of the neck, and tugged him down until their lips met. Sherlock arched into the contact, rubbing their upper chests together without a hint of the embarrassment he usually felt at being so wanton.
John froze at first, surprise and confusion and perhaps a bit of anger keeping him still beneath Sherlock's lips, but Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time before John started to overthink, and if that happened, the entire evening would be for naught. So he moaned, and ran his tongue along the seam of John's mouth, begging him to part his lips. If he could just show John that this was something they could have, John would forget his doubts and they could carry on.
Surprisingly, and oh how Sherlock loved to be surprised, John took abrupt control of the kiss, invading Sherlock's mouth and suckling his tongue until Sherlock was an absolute wreck. He pulled back and Sherlock whimpered, but he only went to nibble gently at Sherlock's bottom lip, giving it a few tugs before returning to Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock, for once, wasn't thinking. At least not at his usual scale. All he could manage was a string of John oh God John , something that would doubtlessly go to the army man's ego if he knew. It was all Sherlock could do to return John's ardent kisses, his arms pulling the soldier closer until they were pressed chest to chest with John nearly doubled over the table.
John pulled back with a gasp, but Sherlock simply moved his mouth down to the man's neck, relishing the taste and feel of velvety skin beneath his tongue. John moaned, and oh, Sherlock definitely wanted to hear that sound again and again, to hear his strong soldier fall to pieces at his feet. He couldn't resist biting down at the junction of neck and shoulder, working a blossoming bruise onto the skin. John gasped again, and Sherlock ran his nails up John's sides in response, making them both hiss and press together for more.
"Shall we- take this to the bedroom?" John managed to pant. Sherlock pulled back and grinned brilliantly. Despite his abandoning the plan, John still wanted sex. He nodded eagerly.
In an exciting display of strength, John scooped him up, bringing their groins together for the first time. Sherlock, who was hard enough to cut diamonds, groaned at the growing hardness he discovered in John's trousers.
In spite of his request for a bed, John pressed Sherlock almost immediately against the wall in the hallway, devouring his mouth with nothing held back. Sherlock moaned again, feeling a distant prick of embarrassment for falling apart so quickly, and ground down on John in revenge.
"Bed," Sherlock ordered. "Now."
John obeyed, kicking open the door to Sherlock's room with one foot. Sherlock was deposited on the bed, on his back with legs splayed open while John stood over him once more. Sherlock went to work immediately, wriggling his trousers off and praying John would get the hint. He did, clever man, and stripped off his trousers before straddling Sherlock's thighs, refusing him pressure where he wanted it most.
Sherlock knew if he waited for John he might very well be waiting all night, so he surged up and captured John's mouth in a searing kiss. John leaned down, pressing Sherlock into the mattress, owning him completely with the press of his erection and the clever twists of his tongue.
John pressed kisses down his jaw and throat, eventually reaching his ear and tugging the lobe between his teeth. "I want you to fuck me," he whispered, and Sherlock shivered.
"Fuck, John," Sherlock gasped, and almost chuckled at how John's eyes sparked with surprise at the epithet. "It's about time you caught up." He reached for the lube he kept on the nightstand, hoping John would let him do the preparing. He desperately wanted to take the doctor apart, to make him quiver and shake with want before pressing into him and pounding him into the mattress.
While he had been preoccupied with the lube, John had slid out of his pants. Sherlock froze and studied the erection before him. John had been holding out on him. No wonder he carried himself with such pride for a small man; he had reason to be proud.
He continued to stare even as he removed his own boxers, but he lost his focus when their bare cocks brushed together. John whimpered, and Sherlock couldn't wait. He opened the bottle of lube one-handed, and rocked their hips together while he slicked three fingers on his right hand.
Sherlock traced the cool fingers down John's crack circling his entrance and playing with the rim a bit before dipping the pad of a single finger in. John pressed back immediately, taking Sherlock in to the knuckle before pulling back again.
"More," John demanded, and Sherlock obliged, pressing another finger in. John began to fuck himself in earnest, making the most delicious noises when he drove himself back on Sherlock's fingers. When the third finger was in, John finally hit his prostate, and the soldier cried out, clamping beautifully around Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock nearly came right then, imagining his desperate cock wrapped in that hot vise.
"Now, Sherlock," John ordered, "Fuck me." And who was Sherlock to refuse him? He removed his fingers, delighting in the small mewl John released at the sudden emptiness. John insisted on coating Sherlock's erection himself, smoothing cool lube over the hot flesh. Sherlock was so turned on it was painful, and it only got more intense when John sank down on his length in one smooth stroke.
The heat was indescribable, so wet and warm and tight, sucking Sherlock in greedily until he couldn't bear it any longer. He flipped them smoothly so he was never unseated from John, pressing his tiny terror into the mattress and slamming his hips into the soldier. John cried out, digging sharp finger nails into Sherlock's shoulders, and Sherlock answered with another sharp hip thrust and a nip to John's gorgeous scar.
Sherlock kept the rhythm fast and hard, pounding deep into John on each thrust, hitting his prostate every time until all John could do was shout and cling to Sherlock. John was falling apart, and he was magnificent.
"So close," John managed, and Sherlock only groaned, pounding in harder and faster as he chased that high. A few well-placed thrusts and one sharp bite to the shoulder later John was coming untouched between them, hot ropes of come shooting over their chests.
"Come on," John grunted through the aftershocks. "You now." And he clamped down, making the channel Sherlock was pounding into impossibly tighter and before he knew it Sherlock was coming so hard his entire world went white.
When it was over, Sherlock collapsed atop John, not caring about the sticky mess between them. John leaned down a bit and kissed him gently.
"Was there really a body shot case?" he asked quietly.
Sherlock smiled. Always surprising, his John.
"No," he admitted, "there wasn't."