"It's lamb tongue," Niles said, and John winced at the slices of slippery-looking meat on his plate. "A derivative of a beef tongue dish someone made for me a couple of years ago. I know - looks a little bit off, but it's lovely and tender, trust me."

John watched the now-brunette young doctor devour the bits of tongue among the vegetables and rice on his plate, eyes lingering on his lips, moistened by the sauce he used on the dish. John swallowed.

"What's it taste like?" he asked, thinking of at least a couple other tongues but the one on his plate.

"Heaven," Niles answered, licking his lips and locking eyes with the doctor. John squirmed in his seat. He had Sherlock's disarming, probing gaze, even when he wasn't playing detective. It was maddening. Under the pressure of Niles' stare he speared a piece of tongue on his fork and popped it into his mouth, chewing tentatively. The taste was, unsurprisingly to John, like that of Niles' other dishes - delicious, unexpected, and unique. The texture, though - there was something disturbing about chewing on food that bore the same slippery feel as his own tongue. Twice John found himself biting into the wrong tongue, cursing so loudly the third time he did it that Niles was on him faster than he could wince. The surgeon's mouth tasted like garlic and butter and red wine, and John almost had to resist the urge to bite down on the tongue that slipped past his lips and around his. When Niles pulled away John could see the telling bulge in his pressed dress pants, the sly curve of his lips as he slipped into his lower register.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you eyeing me up like that over lunch, John? You seem to have forgotten how much attention I pay to details," he purred, leaning in to brush his lips against John's ear.

But John had something else in mind. Niles had taken him by surprise the first time, caught him half-drunk and desperate. This time the doctor was determined to hang onto the deliberate and aggressive attitude he'd decided to adopt before their tumble, pushing the young surgeon back against the table and pinning his wrists to it. As much as he'd enjoyed the first time, what he wanted when he thought of the detective, when his mental eye roved over the pale skin, when he imagined his hands digging into the thick dark curls, was this. He wanted to take him, wanted to see that cold exterior shatter, wanted to see him melt in his arms, make him call out his name. "And you keep forgetting I used to be a soldier," he said, voice rough and breathless. "I'll show you how I deal with bad days."

And then he was ripping at his shirt, buttons flying, exposing the pale, toned expanse of the brunette's chest. The younger man read the aggression in his flat mate and swallowed his submissive role, adapting, as he was so keen on doing, to the situation presented to him. His expression, still very much calculating and analytical, adopted a look of surprise, eyebrows tilting upward as John stripped him and tossed his clothes to the living room floor. Guess I was ready for another go after all, he thought to himself before quickly pushing thought out of the equation.

"Turn around," he commanded, in his soldier's voice, releasing the slender wrists just long enough for the other man to turn and brace himself against the table. John ran his hands down his arms and back, drinking in the smoothness of his skin, the firm contours of his body.

"God, you're gorgeous," he breathed, and his mind went to those nights Sherlock lounged in his dressing gown, that casual gray shirt and those loose pajama pants, thin fabrics clinging to his form that he allowed all too frequently to droop and expose skin - low-riding pajama pants, and when the shirt shrunk in the wash and he sprawled out on the couch to stretch John's eyes had wandered over the flat planes of his stomach…

John slid his hands back up his front, feeling muscle and skin, fingers stopping to roll the sensitive nubs of his nipples between them. Niles let out a gasp, pressing back against the doctor and the stiffening erection in his pants. John growled in response, leaning in to kiss fiercely at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He applied his teeth and the younger doctor shivered.

"John, please - " he groaned, and the idea of his detective begging him set fire to his veins. He put his fingers to the younger man's lips and the brunette sucked them in, digit by digit, skilled tongue sliding over them and making John's stiffened member twitch against his back. Finding his fingers sufficiently lubricated, John removed them from his mouth, sliding one, then two forcefully into his hole. He fingered him mercilessly, a shameful knowledge of the erogenous zones on a male body revealing itself as he stimulated Niles' prostate.

"My God, John, when did you get good at this?" he said, his lips moaning around John's name in a way the doctor found quite enticing.

"College medical studies," John replied bluntly, and saw the younger doctor fight the urge to drop his character and explore that point. He pulled his fingers out and dropped his pants, his hand grasping the dark hair and tugging him around for a kiss. "Now shut up and come here," he mumbled.

John pulled him towards the couch and pressed his head down, the younger man learning quickly what the doctor wanted and engulfing his cock with his mouth. John moaned as the heat and the soft tissues of his throat swept over him, his hands tangling in the dark hair and guiding him deeper, faster.

"God, Sherlock - " he gasped, bucking into that mouth, into the blissful suction and warmth that dazed his senses. He took a look down at the slender man sucking him off and imagined the deep baritone rumbling around him, sending vibrations along his shaft. He was far too good at this, he realized, feeling a warm tongue teasing at the sensitive slit at the end of him and feeling quite undone. He had to put a stop to Niles' sucking before he got him off too quickly.

"Get up here, I want to fuck you," he said harshly, pushing firmly at Niles' shoulders to signal he should stop. The younger doctor released his cock and climbed into his lap, steadying John's rod beneath him as he slid himself onto it, the wetness from being in his mouth just enough to get it in. John thought he caught a look of pain in the boy's face, but tossed it aside. It was soft and hot and pliant, and from the hiss of the younger man's breath John got the impression he wasn't on the receiving end of these situations often.

"Does it hurt, Sherlock?" he asked, giving into his fantasy. He imagined he would have been the detective's first, and he ran his hands up his back, massaging, attempting to get the tense body on his lap to relax.

"Yes… " gasped the younger man, and John moaned as he clenched around him, moving up and down on him slowly. "But the pleasure is more…mm…distracting…"

John leaned in and sucked a red mark into the pale skin above his collarbone, teeth grazing against him and eliciting a soft moan from the brunette. It was a possessive mark - his detective, his Sherlock, he said to himself - and the younger man was loving it. Niles tangled his hands in the doctor's neat, sandy hair, head thrown back in pleasure as he rode John. They found a rhythm, John thrusting to meet each downward fall of the other man's, reading from his louder moans, from his facial expression that he was hitting the right spot. It was good, undeniably good, and the doctor had to grit his teeth and think of dead women in pink coats to last as long as he did.

"Sherlock, I'm going to… inside you…" he ground out, half a moan and half a growl, lips capturing Niles' ear. The brunette cried out in response, spilling out onto John's lower abdomen. The look of pleasure on his face, coupled with the simple thought of finishing in Sherlock sent him tumbling over the edge, crying out the consulting detective's name and holding the slender form tightly to him before they both collapsed in a heap against each other, John's back sticking to the chair with sweat and Niles breathing heavily against his neck.

"Your shoulder…" he murmured, and John stiffened as he felt lips press against his scar.

"Don't - "

"Bullet wound. The bullet entered at an angle, you were moving at the time," said the brunette, finger tracing the line between the scar tissue and the healthy flesh. John shivered. "An automatic rifle, from marks here and here - " he slid his fingers over smaller, linear scars above his shoulder and at his side. " - where stray bullets grazed by but didn't quite find their mark… shot clean through, missed the important things. No major damage, but stiffness…" The doctor grasped his hands, pulling them away.

"You can stop playing detective now," he said, though he had to admit he found the idea of Sherlock examining his body alluring.

"I'm not playing detective, John," said the younger man, and when John looked and noticed Niles' cheeky smile, he realized the difference. "I'm playing doctor." It was strange, thinking for the moment of being so intimate with Niles. When they played Sherlock and John it was different, entirely mental, entirely detached - but there was no denying the young surgeon in his lap, leaking his own juices all over him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. John didn't know how he felt about that.

"Well, very clever. Might we… ehm. Clean up a bit?" he said awkwardly, hands resting on Niles shoulders to push him away. The effect Niles' hurt expression had on John was surprising, making him wrap his arms around the slender form and hug it to him again. The warmth, the physical intimacy was something he wanted, needed, but it was strange acknowledging he was receiving it from the other doctor. John felt a pang of guilt - he was using the poor boy to fulfill his fantasies. He was being selfish. And Niles was only doing this for him.

"It's okay, John. I know you love him. It's okay," came the soft voice, and John felt a hand stroking through his hair.

"Yes," he said, heaving a sigh. "I… I love - but it's not - no. That doesn't make any of this fair, does it? Still… thanks. For this." Niles nudged his nose into John's neck, and the doctor could feel him smile against his skin.

"Whenever you want me, John."

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Been caught up with work and all. I've got another one nearly ready for you, too, and it's a bit of a doozy, so please bear with me. We're almost at the end, I think... yes, we're definitely nearly there.

Thanks so much for reading, you guys. :) Any thoughts so far?