Warning: Smut
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock in any way, shape, or form. If I did, he'd be in my bed right now. Not making a penny off of this work, so please don't sue. Just having fun!
A/N: Oh my god guys, it's been ages since I posted. I'm SOOOOOO sorry. I've had a lot of school work to do and it's been really stressful and blah. Anyway, It probably looked like I wasn't gonna finish the story, huh? Psych! I am. So, this is my first time writing smut, and damn, it was hard to do. I mean, I wanted it to be romantic, but I wanted it to be really sexy at the same time. I feel like I made it too...technical. Let me know. Feedback is welcomed and loved, and on that note, enjoy the chapter (it'll take me less time to post the next one *hopefully*).
The Purpose of a "Virginity"
Sherlock and John left the restaurant feeling full, warm, and content. They held hands and giggled, not even bothering to stop a cab to get home. Their leisurely stroll home was filled with quiet "I love you"s and chaste kisses, but in John's mind, it wasn't enough.
Seeing Sherlock be so forward that night, he couldn't help but want more of his partner, all of him to be exact. John had his mind set on sex, having been a veteran to doing it in the army. He didn't see it as that big of a deal, completely forgetting Sherlock's part in what he hoped to happen.
John pulled Sherlock by the coat-sleeve once they reached the front door of 221B. John dragged his flatmate up the stairs, not sure how much longer he could restrain himself from ravishing Sherlock on the spot.
The men tumbled into their flat ungracefully, slamming the door behind them. John immediately shoved Sherlock up against the door they had just come through and began slowly grinding his hips into Sherlock's front, tugging at the younger man's lips with his teeth.
While Sherlock enjoyed the attention he was getting, he wasn't quite sure of how to respond to it. He had done many things in his life, one that wasn't included in that list, though, was sex. He had always considered it too basic of an animal instinct to bother with the practice. Occasionally, he had needed the company of his hand, but mostly in his pubescent years when all of his hormones had hit him full force. Sherlock simply let John touch him while he stood by.
Eventually, John noticed Sherlock's lack of a response to his ministrations; his arms hung limply by his sides and his lips were parted slightly for John to abuse in any fashion he chose. John's first instinct was to take a step away, but if they were going to be in a relationship together, they needed to learn to work things out. John did initially step back slightly, but just enough to look his partner in the eye.
"Sherlock?" John questioned.
"Yes John," Sherlock replied shakily; this was one of the few situations he hadn't been able to deduce in his lifetime.
"Do you not like what I'm doing?" John asked, masking his hurt. Or, perhaps, he just doesn't know what to do, John thought to himself.
"I do, but...I have something important to tell you." Sherlock looked down at his feet.
John placed his index finger underneath Sherlock's bowed head, pulling the brunette man's eyes up to meet his. Sherlock was still.
"You can tell me anything, you know that." John felt a bit wary.
"I know, it's just that...well...this is embarrassing to me." Sherlock bit his lip with uncertainty.
"Please tell me. I need to know what you're feeling." John tried to probe into the impossible mind and soul of his flatmate and lover, Sherlock Holmes.
"I-I'm...I'm a virgin, John." Sherlock turned his head away the instant he said it. John was taken aback.
"Oh...oh. I should have guessed." John took another step away from Sherlock. "Dear god, how could I not understand that? Christ, I'm so sorry Sherlock. I'm so embarrassed; that was extremely inappropriate. Shit. I'm so sorry," John rambled.
Sherlock looked up at his love, too far away from him. He stepped forward and cupped John's face, pressing his lips to the shorter man's before he could protest.
Once they had broken away, Sherlock whispered to John, "You know that I love you and that I trust you. I just need a little more time to get used to the idea. It's still kind of foreign, relationships that is, to me."
"I understand," John mumbled, looking ashamed.
Sherlock placed a finger over John's lips before he could say anything else. "There is no need to feel sorry for your behavior. It is human instinct, ingrained into the chemistry of our brains to want to have sexual relations with our 'mates,' for lack of a better word."
"So, you're not angry with me?" John asked hopefully.
Sherlock kissed him softly. "Of course not John. How could I be angry with you?"
John giggled. "I don't know, I am kind of flawless, aren't I."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started, John Watson. I'm getting sleepy. Would you like to come lay down with me? Er- without the sex, that is." Sherlock gave a sheepish smile.
"I would be delighted." John smiled brightly.
Sherlock led John to his bedroom, quietly clicking the door shut and tossing the sheets back so they could climb in. They fell softly into bed, John curling himself around the detective as soon as they were situated. John combed his fingers through Sherlock's curls as the taller man fell asleep, snoring gently. John thought about taking their relationship to the next level as he absentmindedly continued stroking the detective's hair. John wanted it so much for them, but he wanted to make it special for Sherlock. He decided that he would do everything in the world that he could to make their special evening as romantic as possible, as soon as Sherlock was ready. The younger man rolled around, his face level with John's chest. The consulting detective's breath was warm and ticklish on John's skin. John began getting drowsy, staying awake just long enough to hear Sherlock's faint "I love you," and smiling to himself. Then he faded into peaceful blankness.
o0o
John woke to an awful crunching sound, not sure where it came from or what it was. John looked down to see Sherlock with a bloody nose, startled into silence. John automatically yanked Sherlock out of bed and dragged him to the bathroom.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock. What are you doing breaking your nose at 2:03 in the morning?" John said lightheartedly, but full of genuine concern.
Sherlock scrunched up his face when John touched his nose. "Ow, John, careful. That hurts." John backtracked and just observed with his eyes.
"You punched me," Sherlock stated blatantly.
"WHAT?" John squeaked.
"Yes, you punched me. You were thrashing about, and I wasn't sure what to do, so I started tapping you and shoving you a little. Then, you rolled over top of me and punched me in the nose. I think you might have broken it."
Then it dawned on John: he had had a nightmare.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were trying to wake me." John looked away, blushing out of embarrassment.
Sherlock realized that he was uncomfortable. "John, it's not that big of a deal. I'll be okay. See?" Sherlock rinsed away all of the blood, the only damage visible was very large and very dark bruise forming around his nose.
"See? I'm fine," Sherlock smiled proudly. "C'mon John. Let's go have some tea."
Sherlock led John out to the couch, flipping on the telly as he went, making John sit while Sherlock made tea. He came back with two steaming mugs, plopping down next to John once he reached the couch.
"Are you sure you're fine?" John was still concerned.
"Yes John, I'm perfectly fine."
There was a pause; none could think of what to say next.
Sherlock beat John to a conversation starter.
"John, you remember what happened last night, right?"
John groaned. "Don't remind me."
Sherlock ignored him. "Well, I really thought about it, and I actually think that I am ready, I just wasn't completely sure last night. I had a dream about us. It was spectacular."
John was awestruck at how fast Sherlock could change his mind.
"Oh, well, that's good. I guess. We can plan a special night sometime soon, then," John said, clarifying the idea with his partner.
"I would love that John." Sherlock smiled at him. John just sipped his tea.
The two snuggled up together with their warm tea, underneath a blanket at 2:11 in the morning, watching infomercials until regular morning telly came on.
o0o
Three days later, Sherlock was out of the flat, probably whipping some poor dead bloke in the St. Bart's Mortuary, so John took the time to prepare a romantic dinner. He couldn't decide between filet mignon and pork chops, so he cooked both meats. He wiped his hands on his jeans and checked the potatoes he had put on; they were nice and soft, so he strained them and took to mashing them.
John started hearing an awful hissing sound from the oven, and discovered that the pork chops had been burnt beyond saving. "Damn it," he muttered to himself as he tossed the burnt meat. At least I still have the steak, he thought. With that, he checked it, and upon finding it perfect, moved it off the heat of the stovetop. John returned to the potatoes, adding a pinch of pepper and a pat of butter. John placed the meat on the table with a bottle of A.1., something John had never had nor heard of. He scooped the potatoes into a bowl, splattering Sherlock's favorite jumper of his with butter.
"Shit!" John exclaimed. John continued to mutter as he set the potatoes and the extra butter on the table. John then strained the peas and placed them in a bowl as well, setting them next to the table.
John began setting the table: two plates, two forks, two knives, and two napkins. He hustled over to his computer, reading the next paragraph in a Cosmopolitan article titled "How to Plan a Romantic Dinner."
"Add a candle for a soft, sensual glow," John read aloud. "Right then, a candle."
John roamed about the flat until he found a nice white candle, placing it in the center of the table. He pulled two wine glasses out of one of the kitchen cabinets and poured some random brand of pinot noir into them, only half way full. John wanted Sherlock to be completely alert and competent the first time he had sex. It would make the whole experience so much better for both of them. That and John didn't trust himself with more than a single glass of wine. He had a weak stomach when it came to alcohol.
John returned to the stove, checking the gravy. It had began bubbling, so John turned off the heat and grabbed the handle of the pot. John realized immediately that it was a mistake, seeing that the handle was metal, conducting heat all the way to the end of it. John couldn't hold the pot for much longer than five seconds, so he dropped it. Gravy splattered all across the floor.
"God fucking damn it!" John bellowed. Hot gravy covered his front. He grabbed a towel and got down on his hands and knees, beginning the process of mopping up the gravy. Then there was a knock at the door.
"Umm, don't come in! I'm not ready." John automatically thought it was Sherlock.
"It's just me dear, what on earth is the matter this time?" Mrs. Hudson hurried into the kitchen to see John trying to wipe gravy off the floor with a dish rag.
"Oh dear, I'll help you." She ran down to her flat to get more ingredients for gravy and came back up in a flash.
"Mrs. Hudson, you're a lifesaver. Thank you so much." John breathed out a sigh as he threw the dish rag in the sink.
"Anytime dear. Now, go get changed. You don't want Sherlock thinking that this isn't a big deal for you."
"How did you-" John began, but was cut off by a loud tsk from his landlady.
"Do you really think I'm that thick, John dear? I've been around for some time; I know a couple when I see one. Now, go change," she added sternly.
"Yes ma'am," John called as he ran up to his room.
o0o
Sherlock walked into a dark flat that smelled of chicken gravy and steak blood. Sherlock wrinkled his nose, thinking, I don't eat. Sherlock changed his mind as soon as he saw John and the dinner laid out on the table. John stood at the end of the table, pulling a chair out for Sherlock. He could only gape in awe.
"Did-did you do all of this? For me?" Sherlock felt a warm fuzzy feeling spread through his veins.
"Well, I'd like to eat it as well, but yes. I did make dinner. Except for the gravy. I spilled the first batch, so Mrs. Hudson had to help me with the second." John's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Sherlock walked over to where John was standing and pecked him before sitting down. "It's lovely John," Sherlock beamed. John turned a darker shade of pink.
"It was nothing love." John began serving himself.
o0o
Two and a half hours later, after much giggling and small talk, the men stood up and walked to the closest bedroom, which happened to be Sherlock's. They shut the door quietly and immediately drew themselves together; lips met feverishly, bodies pressed together tightly, teeth gnashed, hands clawed for purchase, and hips rocked together. It seemed that neither could work fast enough. Both kicked off their shoes, preparing for the bed.
John began undoing the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, breaking the kiss to give his partner the Is this okay? look. Sherlock simply nodded, and John placed his mouth over Sherlock's again. After reaching the last button, John pushed his favorite plum colored shirt of his lover's off the man's shoulders, helping Sherlock out of it. John ran his hands over Sherlock's bare chest; it was warm and smooth and sculpted with two beautiful pink, erect nipples. He loved it. John let loose a breathy moan.
John moved his mouth from Sherlock's to the baritone's jaw, his earlobe, his jugular vein, his clavicles, and back up to his lips. John gently pushed his lover back onto the bed, straddling him after they had gotten comfortable. Sherlock ran his hands over John's sides, slipping them under the hem of John's shirt and sliding it over the blond's head. Both men were bare-chested, Sherlock pale and sculpted, John bulky and tattooed. Sherlock caressed each tattoo with a feather-light touch, cataloging every one into the folds of his brain. John was beautiful, tanned muscled, and inked. It was all Sherlock could have hoped for.
John proved to be a good teacher and Sherlock a good pupil when the younger man took his turn kissing parts of John's body other than his mouth. Sherlock worked with his tongue and teeth as he suckled John's earlobe and the column of his throat. Sherlock forced his partner to roll over so that he was on top. He continued to kiss down his throat, reaching the shorter man's defined pectoral muscles, and decided to pinch his nipple. John groaned. Sherlock tried again, earning an even more vocal response from the older man. Sherlock tested his mouth on said erogenous zone; John's back arched as he breathlessly moaned his lover's name. Sherlock did the same to John's other nipple, getting the same response.
John rolled the two over again so that he was on top, and he performed the same ministrations on Sherlock, gaining louder moans since it was the most pleasure Sherlock had ever received from another human being. John continued to kiss down Sherlock's abdomen, admiring the brunet's toned lower body. John was faced with Sherlock's belt buckle, and began to remove the accessory, as it was in the way of John's mouth on Sherlock's cock.
Sherlock was enjoying the sensations that John was sending him, but a seed of doubt began to grow in Sherlock's stomach. What if John decided that this was a mistake after tonight? What if he didn't like having sex with Sherlock? Those questions plagued Sherlock's mind the whole time; he didn't want to lose John. But worst of all, what if Sherlock wasn't really ready for this? As soon as John had put his hands on the taller man's belt buckle, the consulting detective sat up and pulled himself away from his lover. He put his face in his hands and regained control of his breathing.
"What's wrong love?" John asked with concern, placing a hand on the baritone's shoulder.
"I'm afraid John. What if I don't like this, or you don't like this? What if one of us regrets this tomorrow? I couldn't bare the thought of losing you, much less actually losing you. And even worse, what if I'm not ready for this yet?" Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Hey, Sherlock, I know that I will love everything that I do with you, even if it's throwing food at each other. And I will never regret a single moment in my life that I have spent with you, because to me, you are worth all the time in the world. And if you aren't ready for this right now, we don't have to do it." John gave Sherlock's arm a reassuring rub and then embraced the younger man.
Sherlock looked up with awestruck eyes. John understood. John loved him and everything he did. Sherlock realized in that moment that he truly was ready, ready to have John to the fullest. He responded to John's reassurance with a deep kiss, laying back down and fumbling with John's belt buckle at the same time.
John broke the kiss and gave him a quizzical look. "A minute ago you weren't ready and now you want to take my trousers off? Are you really sure about this Sherlock?"
"Yes John. I want you," Sherlock replied breathlessly. With that, John climbed atop Sherlock again and continued kissing him as he pulled the consulting detective's belt out of it's loops. Sherlock helped John shimmy out of his trousers while John yanked off his socks. The older man was left with only his pants.
John did the same for Sherlock, yanking down his trousers along with his pants and socks. Sherlock laid stark naked on the bed as John took him in with his eyes. Sherlock was beautiful, his face flushed as he fought for control of his breathing, his body toned, and his member erect and purple, waiting to be pleasured. He was at least a good nine inches long. John gaped at his lover's size, not expecting him to be so big. Well, I should still be able to handle it, John thought, a little warily.
Sherlock looked up at John, raising an eyebrow as the blond man just stared. John regained his composure and moved forward, licking up the underside of Sherlock's cock, teasing the head with a swirl of his tongue. Sherlock practically shouted the words "Oh god." John took that to mean that he was enjoying it, so he took Sherlock's length into his mouth and struggled to keep his gag reflex in check as he reached the base of the consulting detective's cock. Sherlock gave another cry of pleasure.
John continued to torture Sherlock with a slow rhythm as he bobbed his head up and down the younger man's cock. Sherlock occasionally grunted and groaned, becoming more and more vocal as heat built in his core. John began bobbing faster, responding to Sherlock's moans. Sherlock was so close to the edge when John pulled off and sat up.
"W-wait, what? I was so close John!" Sherlock whined. John grinned.
"We're not quite done yet," was all John said. Then it clicked in Sherlock's head. He was the one penetrating.
"Ohhhh," was Sherlock's reply. John smirked at him as he yanked down his pants.
John wasn't as long as Sherlock, maybe an inch to an inch and a half shorter, but he was thicker, definitely, so he thought they evened out, allowing him to be more comfortable and confident with his size. His head was already beaded with pre-come.
Sherlock stared down at John's member, engorged with blood and standing fully erect. Sherlock pushed John over, gently, and moved to John's cock, not saying a word as he slipped the older man into his mouth, much to John's protest. John gave in after the first few slurps though. Yes, Sherlock was a very good pupil, a very quick learner.
Sherlock was enjoying himself, but wasn't sure of how much longer he could do it before he either choked or made John come, so he stopped and looked to John for approval of his fellatio skills.
"Jesus Sherlock, that was-that was great." John sighed.
"Well, I had a good teacher," he beamed. John beamed back as he pulled a bottle of Astroglide out from under one of the pillows. Sherlock looked at the purple bottle quizzically.
"Lube," John responded to Sherlock's unspoken question. Sherlock made an O shape with his mouth.
John poured a dime sized amount of the cold liquid into the palm of his hand and coated Sherlock's left hand in the stuff as he capped the bottle.
"What are you-" Sherlock began.
"I haven't done this in a while, so this is kind of the way you prepare a man for sex," John explained. Sherlock nodded in response.
John laid back and gave Sherlock a kiss before the consulting detective circled John's entrance with his index finger. The blond shivered with anticipation, nodding to Sherlock that he was ready. Sherlock slid his finger into John slowly, burying it up to the knuckle. John let go of a breathless moan as he nodded for Sherlock to do it again. He did, and continued this time, slowly. With another nod from John, Sherlock added his middle finger and picked up the pace a little. Sherlock unintentionally curled his fingers and touched John's prostate, sending a jolt of electricity through the older man, causing him to gasp with pleasure.
Sherlock stopped immediately. "Did I do something wrong?"
John chuckled and sat up a little to kiss the brunet gently. "No love, you just hit my prostate. That's a good thing," he added when Sherlock gave a startled look.
"I'm fine. Now keep going, please. Add another finger." Sherlock did as he was told, curling his fingers every now and again to touch John's prostate as the blond moaned and writhed beneath him.
John let Sherlock finger him until he felt that he was ready to have a cock fill him again.
"Sherlock, stop for a second. I'm ready." John breathed heavily as he grabbed the lube bottle again. He poured a little more into his hand and covered Sherlock's cock in the cold, slippery liquid. John then hooked his legs around Sherlock's hips and pulled the younger man forward slightly, just so that the tip of his cock touched John's entrance.
"Are you ready?" John asked.
"Are you?" Sherlock replied. John kissed him. Sherlock then thrust forward.
John let out a cry of pleasure and pain, loving the mix of sensations. "Are you alright?" asked Sherlock.
John giggled. "I should be asking you that."
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm actually great. I like being inside of you." Sherlock smiled a little at his lover. In response, John pulled himself down on Sherlock's cock again.
"Move, you bloody idiot." John smiled back at him.
Sherlock began thrusting away, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as he went. The friction on his cock was delicious, John was warm and tight. The perfect way to lose my virginity, he thought.
Amidst the thrusts were moans and groans, the calling of each other's names and the "Oh my fucking god's" from John. Both men were trying to hold on as long as they could, getting closer and closer to the blissful end of their first sexual adventure. With a few more thrusts and another stab at his prostate, John was coming, screaming Sherlock's name while covering himself, the sheets, and Sherlock with sticky, white semen. Feeling John's come splatter over his abdomen was enough to push Sherlock over the edge, crying out, "JOHN!" as he came, completing his first sexual endeavor ever. Sherlock rode out his orgasm and came to a stop.
As he pulled out of John, he saw stars and realized that he was really, really tired. He collapsed forward onto the sticky mess that he and John had made.
"How was that?" John asked as he began stroking the younger man's soft, black curls.
"Mmph," Sherlock replied.
"Sleepy love?" John chuckled.
"Mmhm," Sherlock mumbled as he began to doze off. John pulled the sheets up over both of them.
"Well, now you can no longer wear white at your wedding," John joked. Sherlock giggled a bit.
"Alright, I'll let you sleep love. Goodnight. Sweet dreams. I love you," John said before kissing Sherlock on the forehead.
Right before he drifted off to sleep, Sherlock heard John whisper, "My Sherlock." Then, the consulting detective was whisked away into wonderful dreams in which he and John were together twenty-four hours a day.