Warning: Smut
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock in any way, shape or form. The rights belong to Moffat and Gatiss, I just like to play. :)
A/N: Okay guys. Now it's been a really long time. And I can't express how sorry I am. I've had really bad writer's block and some personal stuff came up that I've been trying to deal with. I already have the next chapter written; I'll probably post it next weekend. But, enough with me. Enjoy the chapter!
Birthday Surprise
Two months later, the men were happily making love two to three times a week. They remained professional on cases and in public, except for when they went on dates, but at home, experimentation time and news paper reading were given up in favor of cuddling on the couch or cooking dinner together. There was occasional bickering about what wine to have with dinner, whether or not it was acceptable to wake each other up for sex at o-dark-hundred, and where body parts were stored, but other than petty arguments, they communicated fairly well.
Two months of lovemaking, two months of John being bottom and Sherlock being top. Two months of spectacular, yet somehow unsatisfying sex. John tried to shake it off, tried to tell himself that it was fantastic, even if he was always the bottom partner. But there was something about being the "submissive" partner that seemed emasculating to him. After all, he was retired Captain John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Being a soldier, emasculation wasn't an option. He was ready to move forward.
But Sherlock wasn't. Any time the idea was brought up, he dwelt on it for a few seconds and then switched the topic. He wanted, he so wanted to be ready, but it was too hard for Sherlock to imagine in those moments.
So, John told himself to be happy with what he got. And, to an extent, he was. But there was secretly the longing for more every time they had sex.
o0o
Sherlock woke to the smell of chocolate and something burning. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he supposed it was possible. He also managed to deduce the fact that John had carried him up the stairs and into his room, because Sherlock most definitely did not remember being in John's room.
He rolled over groggily, and was met with a blurry John holding what looked like a cake.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Sherlock, happy birthday to you!" John sang slightly out of tune. It made Sherlock smile.
"Now, make a wish and blow out your candles," John added mock-sternly. Sherlock groaned.
"Why must we celebrate my birthday? It's so mundane, so...ordinary. It's only my transport that's getting older; my mind is as alive as an eighteen year old's," Sherlock huffed.
"Yeah, as well as your libido," John giggled. Sherlock glared at him.
Sherlock blew out his candles as he was told and made a wish. He took the cake from John and set it on his nightstand. He then ripped the dressing gown off of John and pulled him into the tangled mess that was his sheets.
"Where's my present?" Sherlock grinned.
"Right here." John gestured at himself. Sherlock yanked him in for a kiss.
After a few moments of feverish kissing and flailing, John pulled away and looked Sherlock directly in the eye.
"Have you thought at all about what we talked about?" John asked sheepishly. Sherlock looked away.
"Yes...yes I have John. I-I just...I'm just not sure I'm ready for that yet... I'm sorry." John sighed.
"No, I should be sorry. I shouldn't be pushing you. I just can't wait until you are ready." John sighed again.
Sherlock didn't know what to say. He didn't want to reject John's hopes completely and say that he didn't think he'd ever be ready, but he also didn't want to make any false promises.
"I'll tell you what," he compromised, "Lets make dinner on Saturday and see how it goes from there." John's face lit up instantaneously.
o0o
The week progressed slowly, John off at the surgery, working with Sarah and Sherlock at St. Bart's, doing God knows what. Both trudged along, lethargically, through the seemingly-endless days. They made it home, every day, utterly worn-out, but prepared for a good shag.
Except, no shagging ensued. They promised not to, so that they could save the sexual tension for their special Saturday evening. Every night of the week was either filled with cuddling and chaste kisses or a sleeping John and an enraged Sherlock screaming at crap telly.
Friday evening, John just couldn't take it anymore. He was going to get off with or without Sherlock's help. He stood under a stream of hot water, wanking until his near-silent hisses became audible moans. John, so close to his climax, heard a tap at the door.
"John? Are you alright in there?" Sherlock didn't wait for John's answer; he stepped into the steamy room.
"Oi! I didn't say you could come in!" John dropped himself and turned scarlet.
Sherlock stared from his boyfriend's member to his pink face, unable to fathom why John couldn't wait one more day.
"John, I thought we agreed that we wouldn't do this so that we saved all of our energy-" but John cut him off.
"I know, Sherlock, I know. It's just...the anticipation is too much to bear. I had to..." John trailed off.
Sherlock stripped off his clothes and joined John in the shower. The water felt quite nice, as well as John's slippery body against his. He knelt down and finished John up by sucking him off. He came quite quickly, with a shout of 'SHERLOCK!' and several spurts of hot, white semen, which Sherlock swallowed with a purposefully loud gulp. It almost made John hard again.
"Now, John, we are going to go to bed, and we are going to wait patiently for tomorrow evening. Alright?" Sherlock fixed him with a cold stare.
"Yessir!" John answered, and with a salute, he turned tail and marched upstairs. Sherlock chased after him, muttering about army doctors and forgetting his pants.
o0o
The next day was filled with sly glances and the preparation of dinner. When the Baker Street Boys finally sat down for dinner, they both practically shook with anticipation for the rest of the evening to ensue. John had gone out and bought citrus scented candles, as well as green apple flavored lube, just for a change.
As soon as both men had finished their dinner, they jumped from their seats and melded together, lips, tongues, teeth, chests, hips, and tumbled backward toward Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock's baritone groans were mixed in with John's keening and mewls. They undressed in a hurry, Sherlock breaking their passionate embrace for only a second whilst pulling John's jumper over his head. John practically ripped Sherlock's plum shirt open. John pulled at Sherlock's belt, yanking down his trousers and pants in one motion.
John automatically went to Sherlock's cock, taking the entire thing in his mouth and suppressing his gag reflex. Sherlock grabbed at John's hair, his moans getting louder with every slurp. John kept going until Sherlock came, since he wouldn't be getting off inside of John that night. John swallowed Sherlock's entire load, staring him in the face. Sherlock's eyes blew wide.
John then stripped off his own trousers and pants, and threw Sherlock on the bed. John pulled the lube out from underneath the pillow, and Sherlock inspected the bottle.
"Green apple? Really John?" Sherlock raised a quizzical brow. John blushed.
"I wanted to try something different," he almost-whispered. Sherlock giggled.
John poured a dime size amount in his clammy palm, slathering it on his penis as well as coating his hand in it. He prodded Sherlock's entrance with his index finger. Sherlock instinctively pulled away.
"John, wait. I'm scared," Sherlock whispered.
"Don't worry love. I won't hurt you." John gave Sherlock's stomach a reassuring rub. Sherlock nodded.
John pushed his finger ever so slowly into Sherlock, while the tall brunette found himself bucking into the contact. John gave Sherlock the Are you okay? look. Sherlock grinned, which John took to mean yes. John retracted his finger slightly and pushed in again.
Sherlock looked down at John. "A-add...add another."
"You sure?" John asked.
"Yes." John pushed his middle finger in with his index. Sherlock moaned.
John curled his fingers, scraping across Sherlock's prostate. He hissed as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins.
"John...John. I'm ready." John kissed Sherlock lightly.
"Are you sure?" John smiled at his lover.
"Yes, yes I'm sure." Sherlock sighed.
"Alright then, here goes." John placed his head at Sherlock's entrance.
In anticipation, Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's hips. John slowly pushed himself into Sherlock, who groaned out of pain and pleasure.
"Are you okay?" came John's concerned voice.
"Yes. It hurts a bit, but the pleasure outweighs the pain. Keep going," Sherlock panted.
John pulled back ever so slightly and thrust in again; Sherlock sat up some to capture John's lips with his own as John continued to thrust slowly.
"John, speed up some. You're boring me." John laughed, but picked up his pace.
Sherlock earned a beautiful stab at his prostate, which made him all-but scream. Sherlock's responsiveness turned John on just that much more. His thrusts had become erratic, his and Sherlock's limbs and tongues tangling, their moans turning into shouts. A sheen of sweat covered their bodies.
With another stab at his prostate, Sherlock was coming, John following not long after him. There were whispered "Sherlock"s and "John"s, a few "I love you"s and a lot of panting as John rode out the shock waves of his orgasm. He pulled out and flopped onto Sherlock's torso.
"Have fun?" Sherlock could hear the smile in John's voice.
"Lots, yes," Sherlock answered with a yawn.
John began humming a lullaby, and Sherlock fell asleep to the comforting stroke of John's hand through his untidy curls and the slightly out of tune hum to Coldplay's Yellow.