Who needs sleep when you can write smut! That's my new motto. I'm going to get it on a t-shirt. This chapter is un-betaed, as Vivi is very likely asleep and I really want to hear what kind of squee noises she leaves for me as a voicemail when she realizes I posted the next chapter. This one's for you, you crazy slut.
Disclaimer: I (A) still don't own any of these characters, (B) am still too poor to effectively sue, and (C) still find flames hilarious.
Warnings: Man on man action, BDSM, breath play, spanking, and probably a lot of passive voice and adverbs.
All Apologies, Pt 3.
A testament to his level of arousal, the normally composed John only managed to get his black haired detective about halfway up the stairs before turning around and pushing him against the wall, ravaging his mouth with an intense kiss. The detective chuckled lightly into the kiss, as if he had expected it. Standing on the step above Sherlock, they were of a similar height, with John perhaps having a slight advantage. Using this to his favor, the stocky blond tangled his strong fingers in Sherlock's dark waves, yanking the other man's head back without a hint of gentleness, biting down on Sherlock's lower lip in warning before pulling out of the embrace.
"Getting a little sure of ourselves, aren't we? You're still in trouble, you know. For the smoking."
"Well, John. If this..." Sherlock growled and shuddered as his doctor twined those strong fingers even deeper into his hair and gave a slow, hard pull that made his knees weak. "Ah... if this is my punishment, remind me to pick up the habit more often."
In response, John gave one more leisurely tug on the detective's locks. The taller man moaned as his legs buckled, and he leaned his weight against the wall to keep from toppling over into John's arms.
"You always get a bit extra masochistic when you're this worked up," the doctor commented mildly. He squeezed his hand again, not pulling but simply tightening his grip. A slight whine escaped the detective's mouth, the noise practically begging John to pull again. Aquamarine eyes fixed on stormy blue, entreating the shorter man to keep going.
"Well, come on then," he growled in response to Sherlock's unspoken request. And with that, the doctor's unyielding fingers tightened again as John adjusted his grip, beginning his trek back up the stairs. The taller man behind him hissed in pleasure and stooped slightly, allowing John to drag him up the stairs, down the hallway, and into the good doctor's bedroom.
Once inside John stood stock still, taking in the room. It was so unlike any bedroom that he had ever had, and yet it felt right. Sherlock's books were strewn about, and despite John's best intentions clothing littered the floor; most items having been deposited there after being hurriedly stripped in a heated moment. With some amusement, the doctor noted that one of Sherlock's antique microscopes had made its way to the top of John's dresser. An equally old box of slides sat next to it, and he imagined that Sherlock had moved them in on a night where he couldn't sleep but didn't want to be away from John. The thought made him warm and he fought the urge to pull Sherlock up into a genuine hug.
The bed that took up most of the room was a large four postered monstrosity Sherlock had picked out for him as a birthday gift about a year ago. Not that the detective would ever admit it, of course. He made some insouciant comment about hating to sleep in John's room because his mattress was a plank of wood, but it hadn't escaped the stocky blonde's attention that the bed had been delivered the day before his birthday. And then broken in quite thoroughly the day of, despite the fact that Sherlock hadn't mentioned his birthday even once.
His lean detective stood next to him, head craned at an awkward angle because of the doctor's hand entwined in his hair. John pulled him closer and traced his tongue along the milky length of that beautiful neck, before giving a sharp tug and ordering "Down." The taller man immediately dropped to his knees in front of the ex-captain, a motion fluid from practice. Once down, he cocked his head to one side, gazing up at John almost haughtily from underneath his long dark lashes.
"Well, John Watson. Here you have me, naked and on my knees in your bedroom. And there you are, fully clothed." One elegant dark brow quirked, and blue eyes pointedly fixed on the zip of John's denim. "Do you you want me to deduce what comes next?"
John smiled in response; it felt good to see the post-orgasm insecurity fading away and the usual snarkiness replacing it. For all he claimed not to, Sherlock was such a believer in gestures, and John's way of making him apologize (and accepting the apology) had put them back on more familiar ground.
The doctor released his grip on Sherlock's hair, tracing one finger down the detective's sculpted jaw as he drew his hand back to his side. "Oh. Please do." His voice was thick with a combination of amusement and lust.
"Well, first you'll have me move forward," Sherlock's voice was hypnotic, all posh accent and deep undertones of yearning. As he spoke the words, he moved forward on his knees until his nose was nearly touched the prominence in his partner's jeans. John simply exhaled and folded his arms behind him, the beginnings of a moan at the back of his throat. The detective's full mouth smiled in response; John may be in control but he wasn't exactly powerless, even when firmly under John's thrall.
He moved his cunning lips against the zip, hands traveling to John's hips to steady himself. "And once you have me in position, I'm certain that you'll order me to undress you with my teeth." Sherlock allowed his deep voice to hitch slightly, conveying his eagerness to the man before him. Without hesitation, he wrapped his mouth against the button at the top, biting the fabric as he worked the catch with his tongue. It took a few tries, but he eventually worked the brass stud through the buttonhole. John clasped his hands behind his back in a military style rest, gazing down at Sherlock with no small amount of avidity in his eyes.
The lean detective did his best to hold eye contact as his adroit tongue flicked the pull on the zipper up. Once it was exposed, he took the bit of metal in his teeth and slowly began to pull down. Long fingers felt a tremor in John's hips as the other man tried not to grind into the light pressure Sherlock created. The sleuth made sure to breathe through his mouth, panting heavily as he moved over John's groin. Sturdy hips shook again, but the dark haired man pulled away from his partner before any further action could be taken.
With the closures undone, Sherlock moved his teeth to the corner of the opening, peeling it back slightly before moving to the other side and doing the same. John's pants were partially exposed now, his hardened member throbbing mere centimeters from the detective's lips. Still, the doctor held his position, posture full of surety. Self control. Something had to be done about that. Full lips and an elegant long nose brushed up against the doctor's iron cock, nuzzling against it slightly before moving his lips up to John's hip, taking one belt loop in his teeth. At the contact, John grunted and his leg faltered slightly.
Sherlock had to bite back a smirk. It pleased him to no end to have tangible evidence that Doctor Watson's unbridled lust matched his own level of desire. Being able to push the smaller man to the limits of his self control was one of the most delicious experiences that the violinist ever had, and he craved to see the cracks forming in John's calm facade.
Tugging gently at the belt loop, he began moving the doctor's jeans down his thighs. When he had pulled the fabric as far as it would go he moved to the other hip, allowing his face to brush up against John's throbbing erection once again. This time, solid hips positively bucked into the contact, and John moaned deep in his throat. Sherlock kept moving, slowly but surely working the jeans off his partner inches at a time, moving his face back and forth against the blonde's groin when it became necessary to switch sides.
After the jeans had been pulled down to mid thigh, Sherlock leaned back to admire his work. John was positively strained through his pants, breathing shallow and eyes closed in rapture. John. His John. Undoing him was so different that unraveling Jim. John, for all his seeming straightforwardness was complicated in ways that Sherlock didn't, couldn't understand. Still waters run deep, the saying went, and with John it was very true. The smaller man's solid and composed exterior covered the far deeper torrents of emotion and hedonism that ran under the surface. And god, how Sherlock loved to drink from those currents; to let them wash over him and drag him down to happily drown in all that is John.
Straightening his posture and moving forward again, he let his lips close around the still-fully-clothed head of his partner's erection, tongue dancing against the wet patch of precum for a moment before he pulled back.
"Gawd John," he drawled, fully aware of the effect his accent had on the man before him. "You taste so fucking good." He sucked on his bottom lip slightly for emphasis, savoring the salty taste. A twitch in John's leg alerted him that the doctor was going to start moving soon. But before he could do anything, the detective quickly leaned forward to run his tongue under the waistband of John's pants, moving from hip to hip in one smooth motion. When he went to take a mouthful of the silken fabric, he also nipped at the smaller man's hipbone. With little warning, John unclasped his hands and wound his fingers back into Sherlock's hair, dragging the taller man to his feet.
"That is quite enough, you fucking tease." John's voice was hot with lust and dark with frustration. Without any other preamble he dragged Sherlock to the bed, throwing the taller man down onto the navy duvet. While Sherlock righted himself, John stripped off his tee and took a seat on the edge of the mattress towards the head of the bed.
His long torso arched artistically as Sherlock pulled himself into a sitting position. John eyed his movements hungrily, and the gaze sent a pang of desire right to the taller man's groin. Jesus. Could he possibly be getting hard again? Though he knew it had been longer, it felt like the orgasm John gave him downstairs was just a minute or two ago. The doctor glanced at Sherlock's hardening length, and raised an eyebrow.
"Horny as a teenager, you are. But don't think you're getting out of this with a hard dick and your best "fuck me" eyes," he chided. Leaning his tanned form forward, John opened the nightstand drawer and began rooting through the contents. Sherlock heard the familiar sound of the lube bottle, but it was complemented by a familiar but not-familiar-in-this-context swish of fabric. When John turned back to the detective, he held a bottle of lube and one of Sherlock's best (if not his favorite) blue scarf.
"John!" His deep voice reverberated with irritation and anticipation. Certainly John had tied him up before, but never with one of his own belongings. Another wave of pleasure crashed through him, and he felt a blush once again creeping up his neck. Something about it being his scarf, the one worn out at crime scenes and to dinners, made the whole affair that much more personal.
"Shut up and come here." John motioned with his head, indicating that Sherlock should stand in front of him. That commanding tone only served to send another pulse of rapture through his system. He slid off the bed to stand on long, shaky legs in front of his partner. John eyed him almost critically, and the detective could practically feel that stormcloud blue gaze on him, like fingernails biting into and dragging across his skin. As John's eyes flitted across the detective's ivory abdomen he smirked, noting that Sherlock was at about half arousal again. The blonde gave a satisfied nod, then barked "Turn around."
Sherlock immediately complied, obediently moving his hands behind his back. John positioned him so that his forearms were parallel with each other, and began winding the scarf securely around them. The position was uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant, despite it's newness. Usually John just tied him to something. mostly because after a certain level of arousal the detective seemed to have little to no control over his hands. But like this Sherlock was mobile, not tied down to anything, with his hands behind him. He felt oddly vulnerable.
Briefly, his mind seized. He couldn't break a fall if John decided to throw him. Couldn't protect himself if John decided to strangle him. Or what if John became incapacitated? What if he was hurt and needed Sherlock to call someone? To stop him from bleeding? A hundred different ways the position could be disadvantageous flashed across his mind and a tremor of fear, not desire, shot down his spine. John must have sensed the change in him. He steadied the taller man with strong hands on his hips, and with great care and gentleness, pulled him back onto his lap.
One strong arm wrapped around his waist as he settled into John's lap. The other ran through his disheveled dark waves with no hint of the dominance that they held just moments before. John merely stroked his scalp comfortingly, letting Sherlock's breathing settle back into a more normal rhythm.
Sitting on John's lap he was almost comically taller than his doctor. Sherlock curved his long spine forward, creating distance between their torsos. The doctor almost pulled him back flush against his chest but Sherlock let his head lean back, resting the shelf of his skull on John's broad shoulder. Wild raven curls brushed against the doctor's neck, and he nuzzled his cheek against the silken mess.
"If this is too much, stop me." His voice was steady and even, and it settled the last of Sherlock's insecurities. "You know what to say," John whispered, breath tickling Sherlock's scalp. Warm emotions swirled through his ribs around his heart, an overwhelming cacophony of security, trust, and passion. Words stuck in his suddenly-constricted throat, so the detective merely nodded in assent.
It was captivating, the level of trust he placed in John Watson. Intoxicating, and addictive in a completely different way than his need for Jim. He needed Moriarty for the danger, the uncertainty, the sheer madness and unpredictability. He needed the sweet, stinging pleasure of endorphins and adrenaline in his blood when Jim bit too hard.
But John... He needed john just as much, for the opposite reasons. It was essential that John be his solid ground; the one thing in the universe he could trust in as much (if not more than) himself. The one person that he could expose himself to, feel vulnerable in front of. Someone who would have him, take him, strip him down to a quivering mass of nerves and emotion but never, ever 'use' him. And no matter how far the stocky doctor pushed Sherlock's limits, he would unerringly stop before he crossed any boundaries.
Jim and John; his shadow and light. They were the opposite parts of his soul; he was woefully incomplete without either. Sherlock could have easily stayed suspended in the thought forever, but John's voice called him back to the moment.
"Come back to me, Sherlock." John's voice was firm, but concerned. He laid one hand across Sherlock's cheek, index and middle fingers caressing the soft skin and downy hairs at his temple. The lean detective let out a contented sigh and rolled his head on the doctor's shoulder so his lips were brushed against the side of his tanned throat.
"M' here, John." he rumbled.
"You are now," his partner commented. "Where did you run off to, at a time like this?" He ground his still-clothed erection up against the cleft Sherlock's ass, making the dark haired main suddenly aware that he was deposited in his good doctor's lap.
"Mmm, that's nice," he mumbled, returning John's grind by oscillating his hips just so, causing delightful friction against his partner's length.
"Sherlock." John's voice was a bit sterner, but not angry. "You can do that all you want. I'm not fucking you until you tell me what's going on in that complicated, brilliant mind of yours."
"I was thinking." Sherlock punctuated the concise response with another wiggle of his hips, which made John growl in feral pleasure. The lean detective really didn't want to explain his thought process to John. Fortunately, he was confident in his powers of distraction.
He slid his hips back, making sure John was settled directly in the cleft between his cheeks, and tightened his thighs. Rubbing back and forth, he breathed lightly on the side of John's neck.
"But Johnnnn. You've been so hard for so long, " Another series of short thrusts, and the doctor's hips bucked against him. Sherlock could very nearly feel John's heartbeat through the swollen erection pulsing against him. His own hips gave an involuntary shudder as he thought of the thick length penetrating him; mind lost for a moment on how exquisite it felt to be lifted up again and again by that magnif icentcock , completely impaled and at the doctor's mercy.
"Sherlock!" The stocky blonde's voice had slipped back into its completely authoritarian ex-Captain tone. John slid the hand on Sherlock's cheek down to his throat, and gave his eager companion a warning squeeze. Knowing the gesture, the detective stopped his undulations.
"I was thinking about you. Us." God, he hoped it was enough. All Sherlock wanted was to leave the confusion and the guilt behind in the parlor and just have John fuck his brain into numbness. Strong, deft fingers closed up around Sherlock's throat and he automatically arched his back further, which inadvertently pushed him even further against the doctor's lap.
"I... gaah... I was thinking about all of us." John's hand didn't tighten, but he didn't release the marble pale column of Sherlock's neck either.
"You." He pushed his hips back into the doctor again, this time on purpose. "Me." Another drive backwards against his doctor, and he heard John take in a stuttering breath. "Jim." Ivory thighs tightened as he slid himself against the shorter man yet again.
"Really, Sherlock. Thinking of Jim? Now? We're having "us" time." The doctor's voice was even, but the lean sleuth knew his partner well enough to recognize the slight hint of anger there. The lack of a disciplinary constriction of his airway was another indicator; John 'punished' him regularly, but never in anger. Not ever in anger.
"I'm sorry, John." Aquamarine eyes slid closed as he tried to search for the right words. "It's a bit of a current topic. I'm trying to figure out where we all fit."
"Aah. Trying to figure out where we all fit?" Now it was John's turn to thrust up against him. strong arm around his waist holding him down to increase the pressure. A soft, sweet moan slipped past Sherlock's lips. John glanced down at his partner, lines around his closed eyes fading as he went from concentration to bliss. He thrust into the taller man again, using his arm to pull against pulling sharp hips, forcing Sherlock back to meet him.
"I know exactly where I fit, Sherlock," John's voice was a low growl now, half lust and half frustration. "Shall I show you?"
"OhgodyesJohnplease..." The words tumbled from his full lips before they could even form in Sherlock's mind.
"Stand up." Sherlock blinked, raising his head off John's shoulder, attempting to look back at his doctor quizzically. That was not what he expected. More friction, less pants yes. Physical separation, no. One broad hand placed itself above his bound arms, and gave him a gentle nudge.
"Up, Sherlock. It's not a complicated concept." Immediately, Sherlock rose and took two steps forward, giving John space to maneuver. "Now turn around."
"I had a feeling I was going to need this..." the blonde murmured, returning to the bedside table. He rummaged in the drawer again for a minute, before procuring a mid sized, bullet shaped black object. The end was flared somewhat, with a slight grip protruding from the end. So it was meant to sit in the body for a period of time, and... Sherlock's heart convulsed in his chest as a bolt of pleasure lanced through him. That definitely looked like it had a small panel on the side of the handle where you could put batteries.
One tanned hand picked up the lube off the duvet and John snapped the lid open, pouring a generous amount into his hand. Conversationally, almost as if he wasn't preparing some sort of new toy to enter him, he stated "One does really have to be quite prepared with you Sherlock. Making you maintain your focus is quite the task."
Sherlock stood in silence, watching his partner's hand move up and down the black toy, before holding it at arm's length, inspecting his work. "That'll do. Now come here." He closed the bottle of lube and laid it back on the bed, then used his free hand to gesture to his lap.
"Lay across my legs. Head towards the foot of the bed." Hesitantly, Sherlock moved to comply and John assisted him, lowering him down so that his abdomen lay across broad tan thighs. He squirmed somewhat at the awkward positioning; John had spread his own legs some so that Sherlock's abdomen was balanced on one leh and his chest on the other. It left his head to lay against the mattress. His hardening length was pressed up against John's thigh, and with his arms tied behind him he felt indescribably exposed.
It hadn't failed his notice that in this position his ass was raised slightly, giving John rather good access. His legs hung off the shorter man's, dangling over the edge of the bed. They weren't quite long enough for his knees to reach the floor so he had to extend them behind him fully or let them hang. When he did push them out behind him, it raised his ass even more.
Satisfied with the position, John tangled his left hand in Sherlock's dark hair, right at the base of his neck. With the other, he used the toy to trace a line up and down the cleft of his ass before seeking out the tight ring of muscle hidden within and running the slicked instrument over it. Sherlock jumped, hips jerking forwards, which pressed his aching length even harder against John's thigh. The doctor chuckled to himself, continuing to trace circles around the detective's sensitive hole.
"Mmhhhaaaahhh... oh, oh god, John... Oh John." The darked haired man bucked his hips again, uncertain whether he was trying to push up against the toy or down against his partner's leg. The both felt indescribably good. Slowly, he felt the doctor exert more pressure, the tip of the vibrator sliding into his ass. John worked it inside him gently, pushing millimeters at a time, allowing Sherlock's body to relax around each gradual intrusion.
Finally, he felt the flared end up against the outside of his opening, and he sucked in a deep breath, not quite knowing what to expect yet. Once fully seated inside him, the handle was slight enough that it didn't protrude fully from his cheeks, which made the detective think that it was more a tool for removing the object rather than maneuvering it.
"You see, Sherlock," John continued, voice as serene and genial as ever. The tone maddened the taller man, and he helplessly ground his hips against John's thigh in some feeble protest. Somehow he was managing to take apart one of the worlds greatest minds, and sounded like he was ordering takeaway. In response to his squirming, John took his now toy-less hand and gave Sherlock's pale bottom a hard, open handed swat. Sherlock yelped in surprise as the sting of the blow rushed through him, but also pushed the toy inside him against the taut bundle of nerves deep inside. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and he gasped once before falling completely still against John's legs.
"As I was saying," the stocky blond admonished, voice warm with pleasure and no small amount of pride. It felt wonderful to know that he, John Watson, could take the impeccable Sherlock Holmes and turn him into a writhing mass of bound limbs and exquisite pleasure.
"This is how we fit together." Fingers pressed against the base of the toy inside him, and with a fateful 'click' a low electronic hum began to fill the room. Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head and he tossed helplessly against John's broad thighs at the onslaught of new sensation. Deep vibrations shook him to the core of his being; white, fiery pleasure coursed through his veins. He gasped, breath coming to him irregularly between moans and half-formed syllables. As his hips jerked helplessly against his doctor, his erection ground against the other man almost painfully. God. Sherlock was uncertain if he had ever been this hard in his entire life. John gave his dark waves a playful yank, craning his neck and forcing his spine to arch backwards, pressing him even further against his doctor.
"Oh Sherlock," John purred, fingers tangling even deeper in those raven locks. He jerked Sherlock back even further, until the violinist's body was as taut as his bow string. His other hand cracked down on Sherlock's haunches again, and the detective let out a wanton howl as the vibrating mass inside him pressed up against his prostate.
"Only I can take you and distill all your chaos into a single, perfect moment." Crack. Sherlock shuddered, nerves ablaze delicious ache. His shoulders were on fire from having his hands bound behind him, his neck ablaze with the burn of exertion. His cock throbbed painfully against John's leg, distress only slightly lessened by the sheer amount of precum he was generating.
"Moriarty overwhelms you, makes you forget who you are." Crack. That broad hand struck him again, and Sherlock became suddenly aware that he was very probably screaming. Crack. His cries were loud and long, pain and desire melding together and eroding any conscious thought at all. The silence in his mind was deafening, and he embraced the quiet of the moments between John's swings like a dying man embracing fate.
"I stop you thinking long enough so that you can truly remember what it's like to feel." Crack. Sherlock whimpered, moans having abandoned him a few strikes earlier. He couldn't believe how wanton his voice sounded, couldn't imagine what he looked like stretched across John's lap, writhing against the other man with wild abandonment. The coiling sensation building at an alarming rate in his abdomen claimed every last fraction of his focus. Crack. John's hand found purchase on his flesh again, and pain shock followed by warm burn of his flesh coursed straight to his groin.
"Do you feel now, Sherlock?" Crack. John panted some from the exertion, but mostly from the breathtaking sight of his lover sprawled across him. Sherlock's pert white ass bore lovely streaks of red from the spanking. His neck and shoulders were arched in with an unearthly grace, like some marble statue from ancient times. The pale expanse of skin across his back was broken by the contrast of his midnight blue scarf that bound his arms behind him. John watched in fascination as those tied yet still dexterous hands clenched and unclenched in time with his strikes.
This was further than he had ever pushed Sherlock before. The detective was completely enraptured by the experience, and John felt so pleased that he had found the perfect combination of helplessness, sex and pain to push that torturously brilliant mind to stillness. His detective was further past thinking than John had ever seen him.
"What do you feel now, Sherlock?" Crack. Sherlock positively leaned into the blow, extending his legs behind him and digging his toes into the carpeting, spreading his legs slightly to give John better access to his ass.
"You... ohgodJohnonlyyou. Just you..." The words came out in a tumble, all tripping over Sherlock's normally silver tongue.
"Do you think I could turn Jim's brain off like this?" Crack. "If I can subdue the mighty Sherlock Holmes I can surely overpower the second smartest man in London." Crack. Sherlock keened with every ragged breath, need and want tangling in his throat to choke out all other sounds.
"Does it turn you on to think of me doing this to Jim?" Crack. "Would you like to see him tied up and spread across my lap like the slut he is?" Crack. "Or do you want to keep this all to yourself? Your own private heaven?" Crack. Crack. Crack. Sapphire eyes began to water, pleasure and agony combining to the point of mind shattering euphoria.
"Tell me what you want, Sherlock."
"Nyaah... ahh... Jo...ah... aaahhh... aaaaahhhhnnnnn..." The usually eloquent sleuth's attempt to merely say his partners name came out as a thunderous moan punctuated with broken syllables.
"Do you want me to fuck you now?" Crack. Sherlock's shuddered uncontrollably, desperately trying to catch his breath. His doctor continued his empyrean assailment on his senses. Crack.
"Do you want me to drive you into the mattress until that beautiful brain of yours finally lets go?" Crack. The feel of the vibrator pressing up against his prostate with every strike of John's broad hand became the focal point of his existence. Dimly, he could still hear his doctor speaking. "To thrust deep inside until you come so hard you pass out?"
"GOD YES." He was uncertain where his voice had been hiding, but at John's prompting it clawed free from him, ragged and hoarse with unrestrained need, Needing no further persuasion, John released his grip on the detective's wild curls , tracing the free hand all the way down his back. When he reached the reddened globes of the detectives ass, he spread them gently and pulled the toy out. Sherlock convulsed; the sudden feeling of emptiness almost overwhelming. John deposited the device off the side of the bed, not bothering to turn it off. It continued to hum dully against the carpeting.
His doctor gave him a moment to adjust, for feeling to start returning to his shaking limbs before he pushed Sherlock up off his lap, standing him up. The lanky violinist stood on uneasy legs; his muscles all felt as if they had been replaced with water. Once Sherlock was righted John stood too, and pulled his partner into a crushing kiss. Solid arms spun the taller man around, and even as his back hit the mattress the room continued to revolve around him. John's mouth was sucked hungrily at his tongue, solid body grinding up against the trembling one beneath him. One of John's hands released him and moved between them, finally stripping his pants off. Desperate for his partner, Sherlock reached down to assist, and once the were down far enough John kicked them off, not once breaking their embrace.
He felt the shorter man fumbling around next to him on the mattress, and heard the doctor's groan of relief as his fingers closed around the bottle of lube. John pulled back from Sherlock's mouth and the detective leaned forward; hungrily trying to steal another kiss. Their lips met again, and John devoured him in another breath-stealing embrace. The stocky blond ran his arms behind Sherlock as their tongues ran against one another. With his arms still bound behind him, the detective's hands could feel the blonde open the bottle and dump the contents into his hand.
John canted his hips backwards, creating enough space between them for him to wrap his hand around his hardened length. He released his grip around Sherlock's waist as well as the lock on his mouth and began to slick himself slowly, moaning and panting the detective's name with every thrust into his fist.
"Sherlock. God. Sherrrrrrr...loooooock... Aaahhh." Just as his partner was about to lose himself completely, start screaming and begging or perhaps just climb on top of John and take that beautiful cock inside him, John took one hand and placed it over his rapidly beating heart, pushing him back into the mattress. Strong hands slid under his knees, guiding them to rest over tanned shoulders. The stocky blond then grasped his pulsing cock, positioning the head at Sherlock's entrance.
With a fluid push, John seated himself halfway inside the writhing violinist, pausing for a moment to let his partner adjust. Impatient, Sherlock tensed his legs, tightening his knees and using the leverage to shove himself fully onto John's thick length. The gesture seemed to undo them both, and John began driving into him at a demanding pace.
As close as they both were to climax it took only a few thrusts before Sherlock started to feel his abdomen and balls tighten in warning. He felt stretched thin over a bottomless chasm, desperate for John to give him that final push into sweet freefall. His hands flexed helplessly against their binds, desperate to claw down John's broad back, to rake at short, sandy hair. He pushed himself back against the other man as best he could, contracting his muscles around John with every pointed thrust, determined to draw his stocky doctor deeper and deeper inside him.
Without warning, John drove himself directly against Sherlock's nigh overstimulated prostate, and the contact was too much for the detective's overloaded system to bear. He felt his muscles flutter and contract as he screamed John's name. Waves of crushing bliss forced the air from his lungs and he convulsed against his partner, breathless and spiraling helplessly as his body quaked against John for what felt like an eternity. Dimly, he was aware of a black haze at the edges of his vision, and the last thing he felt was John twitch inside him, perfect cock throbbing as he pulsed an almost unending stream of cum deep into Sherlock.
The next sensation the lean detective was aware of was the feeling John's steady hands rolling him onto his side. He felt the scarf unwind from his arms, and sighed contentedly as his arms were freed. Flexing his shoulders, Sherlock rolled back over, winding his arms around John's compact torso and snuggling into his partner's scarred shoulder.
He ran his hands over John's bare chest, reveling in the feel of muscles flexing underneath his fingertips. His doctor just felt so solid, so real. Jim was ethereal, fae in the old meaning of the word; otherworldly, alien, and dangerous. The blonde man holding him was quite the opposite, and in moments like these he made the detective feel closer to reality than he was normally accustomed to.
It terrified him in a completely different way than his interactions with Moriarty. It was as if John was slowly peeling back the lacquer around his hardened heart, opening him to all the weakness and sentiment he thought had withered long ago. It terrified him, the vulnerability that John made him feel. His dependency on the stocky blond sang through his veins like a bittersweet melody, intoxicating and harrowing at the same time.
John absentmindedly traced patterns on his back with his strong fingertips. It took the detective a moment, but after some concentration he recognized the pattern as the cursive letters l,o,v, and e. He repeated the motions again and again, tattooing Sherlock's back and shoulders with his ghostly declaration. Unable to say anything in return, half from exhaustion and half from shock, the dark haired man simply strengthened his hold on John, curling up against him even more tightly.
"Sherlock. Promise me something?" John could feel the muscles underneath his touch tense as Sherlock registered the request. The doctor knew it was unlike him to ask Sherlock for anything, let alone a promise. He could very nearly hear the gears in his detective's mind start to grind into gear again. He laid his palm flat in the space between Sherlock's shoulder blades, a comforting gesture that he knew always stilled the taller man's anxieties.
"I won't ask you to do anything crazy. It's just something to remember." Wordlessly, his detective nodded his assent into John's chest.
"No matter what, remember this. The madman may challenge your mind, but I challenge your heart. You've cases, and Mycroft, and a million other distractions to challenge that superb brain of yours. Your heart is where I fit into all this. Remember that." As he spoke, he ran his hand along Sherlock's shoulders soothingly. The contact made the raven haired detective surprisingly sleepy.
As John traced one hand up and down his spine, gentle tremors ran through his exhausted limbs. The aftershocks of pleasure clung to him, dragging him gently into the calm waters of unconsciousness. He had just enough presence of mind to murmur "I will." to the heartbeat underneath him before he finally succumbed to his old enemy and let sleep claim him.
Hmm. It appears that John is going to attempt to be in charge of all the geniuses. That was... unexpected. Dom!John has a mind of his own. I'm currently debating between doing a Jim-centric chapter next (because I miss his crazy sexy ass), or simply allowing myself to be swept up in the tornado that is the Baker Street Boys and their angst and smut issues. Suggestions are always welcome, and I still save all reviews and favorites in my creepy mechanical heart box where I keep all my favorite feels.
Ta for now!
Mazi