Well, we've finally gotten to it.. The tension has been strong between them. I think it's time we do something about that..
They'd just returned from a "meeting" with Lestrade. Though, it was mostly John's meeting, since Sherlock decided to take off in the middle of it. Now, he was in his bedroom, laying on his bed, and Sherlock was - well, who really knows what he was up to?
Suddenly, a slow melody of Sherlock's violin carried upstairs. And against his best efforts, John dozed off to the sound.
By the time he woke up, it was time for dinner. John laid in his bed for a good while to allow his body to wake up completely. Civilian life has changed him. If this were the army, John could have popped out of bed and been ready for anything. Now, it needs time to fully wake up. Either he was getting old, or he was getting very comfortable.
John stood, yawning and stretching his arms. He grabbed his dressing gown and shrugged it on as he made his way down the stairs. Sherlock was still playing his violin.
"Sherlock," John called ahead of himself, coming to the bottom of the stairs. "Really, you're going to piss off everyone in London if you keep-"
John stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the sitting room, playing his violin, with no shirt on.
Sherlock continued his melody as though he was unaware of John's presence. He seemed to be flexing more muscles than a violin required. His shoulder blades rotating in a way that drove John crazy. Sherlock was almost dancing.
John couldn't tear his eyes away.
Fuck.
Sherlock stopped paused and lowered the instrument and bow.
"Oh," he said, turning around to face John. "I didn't know you were up. Have a nice nap?"
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
"It was in the way."
"Uh - In the way of what?"
Sherlock didn't reply with words, but with a smirk. He turned his back to John and raised his violin once more. His shoulder blades danced as his hands played a song John had never heard Sherlock play before. It was almost enticing, like it was egging John on to do something.
Fuck it.
John walked briskly over to Sherlock, spun him around, and kissed him so hard that he couldn't think straight. The taller man lowered his violin and found the nearest surface - off the floor - to lay it down on. His hands found John's face and held him there. Their mouths crashed together like opposing waves. John pushed Sherlock toward the sofa, and there was no protest.
They collapsed on the cushion and John sat atop Sherlock. The detective's tongue requested access, and John welcomed it. Their mouths danced together in a way that seemed like they'd done this a thousand times. Amidst their snogging, John could feel a change in the shape of Sherlock's mouth.
The bastard is smirking.
John released Sherlock and leaned back a bit to get a full view of his face. John furrowed his brow.
"So, John," Sherlock said, his voice deeper than usual. "How's that not gay thing going for you?"
And suddenly, John didn't care. He didn't care to argue about not being gay. He couldn't possibly care any less what was going to happen after these happenings on the sofa. It doesn't matter.
"Shut up, Sherlock."
And he brought Sherlock's face up to his own and nipped his bottom lip, taking it into his mouth. Sherlock's hands slid down John's back and grabbed his arse. John's hands moved from Sherlock's face, down his neck, and down his chest, earning him a shudder from the other man.
"Like that, do you?" John asked between kisses.
Sherlock made a small groan and pulled John closer to him by his bum. John abandoned Sherlock's lips and kissed up his jaw to his ear.
"Not the ear, John. Go just below it."
John obliged. He moved down to just under Sherlock's ear, nipping and kissing. Sherlock didn't moan, but his breathing quickened and John could feel just how much he was enjoying it.
"Enjoying yourself?" John asked.
"As much as you are," Sherlock replied.
He was right. John hadn't noticed how hard he had gotten.
Oh.
"Uhh.. Sorry about that," John said.
Sherlock smirked and attacked John's neck with kisses. He peeled off John's dressing gown and shirt. Sherlock inspected the scar on John's left shoulder. The web of raised skin that would never go away. He planted kisses on it and moved back up. Sherlock placed hungry kisses down John's neck and chest before he couldn't properly reach. Sherlock secured John in his arms and stood up with John's legs wrapping around him and carried him all the way to his bedroom. He climbed on the bed before laying John down and continued kissing down his chest and stomach.
Shivers ran up and down John's spine and his breath hitched, causing his stomach to slightly tremor. Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smirk once more and he very lightly brushed his lips over John's stomach. John made a breathy gasp and threaded his fingers into Sherlock's curls. He pulled Sherlock's head away, but Sherlock just had to do something else. He brushed his long, cold fingers up both sides of John's torso.
"Fuck, Sherlock," John gasped out. "Hang on."
Sherlock stopped.
"Where's the whip?"
A familiar look came to Sherlock's eyes. He was like a predator. This time when his spoke, his already deep voice was once again resonating through John.
"In the other room," Sherlock said, almost in a growl. "Too far away, John."
John squeezed his lips together to prevent any unwanted shaking words or breaths from coming out. He breathed deeply.
"What do you have in here, then?"
Sherlock smiled with only half of his mouth.
"Riding crop."
"Where?"
"Wardrobe."
"Go get it," John growled out, because Sherlock had lightly traced his fingers from his belly button down to the top of his trousers.
Sherlock got up and quickly went over to the wardrobe to fish out the riding crop.
"Do you want to use it," Sherlock started. "Or do you want it to be used on you?"
John hadn't thought of that. What would it be like used on him?
"You can try it on me first, just go easy," John said, his voice wavering.
Sherlock crossed the room back to John and ran the folded leather over John's bare skin, achingly slow. He separated the leather from John's skin and slapped it down with little force.
John's entire body folded in for a moment, like he was doing crunches. He took an erratic breath.
"John," Sherlock said. "Your breathing is wrong."
"The bloody hell does that mean?"
"When the crop goes up, take a deep inhaling breath. When it collides with your skin, breathe out slowly. Just breathe through the pain."
So, he did. Sherlock raised the riding crop again, and John took a deep breath in. And when it smacked into his abdomen, he exhaled slowly.
"Better?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded.
"Do you want me to continue using it on you?"
He nodded again.
Sherlock crawled on to the bed and straddled John's legs at the knees.
"I'm going to give you three in quick succession, alright? So, breathe through all three."
He slid the crop up the middle of John's stomach and chest and raised it high enough for John to see. He quickly cracked it down three times. His fingers raked down on the outside of John's trousers, down the leg until he reached his own.
"I think we need to get you out of these clothes, John."
John looked down at Sherlock.
"No. It's my turn."
John sat up and took the riding crop from Sherlock, who moved off of the shorter man's legs.
"Stand up and take your trousers off," John said. Sherlock did. "Now, bend over and lay your head and hands on the bed."
Sherlock obliged. John traced the folded leather down Sherlock's back to his arse. He pulled back and crashed it back against him. A low, animalistic growl escaped Sherlock's throat.
"Ah, fuck, Sherlock. Take of my trousers now."
It wasn't really a command, but more of a hurry up because I'm not going to last long if you make sounds like that.
Sherlock was standing a few centimetres away from John within seconds, undoing his belt. He didn't bother to slip the belt out of its loops, he just pulled the trousers down and kissed along the seams of John's pants. The doctor lost his ability to stand for a split second and nearly fell over.
"Christ, Sherlock. Don't do that while I'm standing!"
Sherlock groaned, irritated and ravenous. His voice growled in a low rumble, "Then stop standing."
No need to be told twice. He practically leaped into the bed like a giddy schoolgirl.
John laid on his back and Sherlock resumed his kissing and took the riding crop from John. He ran the leather over John's inner thighs and up to his pants.
"Don't you dare."
"I'm not going to hit you there, John. I'm not a monster. By the way, it is nice to see that you're wearing the red pants."
Sherlock tossed the riding crop to the floor and kissed John's inner thighs instead. Slowly and methodically, he kissed both legs, working his way up and holding on to John's hips. He slipped his fingers under the waistline of the pants and slowly pulled them down, continuing his kisses up John's body.
John couldn't turn back now. His cock was throbbing by the time Sherlock released it from its fabric confinement. There was precum on his pants and stomach. It didn't stay there long, because Sherlock saw it and licked it off of John's lower stomach. John's cock twitched and Sherlock smirked, taking it in his hand. The doctor squirmed, and the detective gave a long, slow lick from base to tip.
"FUCK."
Sherlock's smirk grew and he took the head of John's cock in his mouth, massaging the knot of nerves with his tongue. He took off the pants completely. John's hand reached down and threaded through Sherlock's curls again. Sherlock took more of John into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks. The shorter man's hand curled into a fist and he took in quick shallow breaths. Then Sherlock began to move his head up and down on him. His marvellous mouth slicking John's cock.
John was restraining himself from bucking up into Sherlock's mouth. However, Sherlock's agenda was different. He lowered his head until John's cock his the back of his throat, repeatedly. John couldn't hold back his moans anymore. He uttered the occasional swear and kept his hand curled in Sherlock's hair. They carried on that way for what seemed like forever - and yet no time at all - before John had to stop him.
"Sherlock," John breathed. He was panting. "I'm gonna cum."
Sherlock lifted his head off with an audible pop! He straddles John at the top of his legs and pulled his own cock out of his pants. John moved his hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down, kissing him and biting his bottom lip. Sherlock laid their cocks together and wrapped his long fingers around both of them. John watched as Sherlock took over him. Sherlock was consuming him. He took control of John and pushed him towards the edge of a cliff. They approached it together, and Sherlock took both of them over the edge - and they went into a free-fall. And then they came, painting John's stomach with puddles and streaks. They were panting and they were sweating. Sherlock's fringe stuck to his forehead, in swirls.
Sherlock gave John his pants back to mop up the mess on his abdomen, and flopped down next to him on the bed.
"For the record," Sherlock said, still taking short, quick breaths. "I'm about as gay as you are."
A/N:
Okay, I just want to say that an asexual writing a sex scene is just weird. lol I wasn't sure what to do! I hope it was what you guys were hoping for! And of course it's the longest chapter I've written. lol There wasn't much BDSM here, but it WILL come. I promise! PLEASE write a review and let me know if this was even a successful chapter. haha I'm no good with sex scenes. 3 I love you all! Thank you so much for reading! I will see you in the next chapter. ;D