Continuation of 'Clockwork Boredom' WARNING things gets hot and steamy and characterisation goes to pot. Comments welcome
They both sat in their respective places, John waiting expectantly over his warm cup of English steam, Sherlock with elbows on knees and forehead rested on clasped hands.
"Put that down" Sherlock's voice was not a request, but a low command.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Put that infernal cup down!" he growled in reply, head jerking up and grey eyes flashing in what John could have sworn was anger. He felt a curl of apprehension whorl in the pit of his stomach, and something else entwine with it as he realised that he had never seen Sherlock angry before. Frustrated, annoyed, a little exasperated perhaps, but never angry.
"Fine" John's complacency calmed Sherlock, causing him to tilt back his head, expose his long throat and take a deep breath through his nose. In one swift movement he sprung over the wood separating them and gripped John's upper arms; long fingers enclosing round smooth bulks of trained muscle, black head leant against mousy blond, their curls mingling.
"You don't get it do you? Did you not feel that? THAT was it. I don't yet know how, or why, but that, John, was IT." He sank to his knees and rested his cheek on John's thigh, causing a shock to run through the soldier's spine. Carefully he placed a hand on the back of the consulting detective's neck, feeling him breathe heavily, his warm breath spreading through the fabric of the striped pyjamas he wore.
"Yes, I felt it. How couldn't I?"
Sherlock raised his head smartly and curled his fingers into John's thigh; expectant. He yearned for that feeling, wanted to lose control and stop thinking about the same infinitesimal things – like John's jumper. He knew it was old – the elbows were bare. He knew it was a gift –it was not John's label, but most of all, he knew it was getting in the way of what he wanted most.
Skin contact
He was sure that the effect of stripping the good doctor would have the same effect as distilling narcotics. He would remove the impurities and then...he could immerse himself in an all consuming feeling.
John could see all of this running behind the Detective's normally piercing eyes; they were glazed with the wanting. He was increasingly aware of Sherlock's lips and the smell of GSR mingled with the Universal Indicator that stained Sherlock's fingers. But there was something else, a scent that made his breath quicken to a staccato and catch unpleasantly in his throat. His pulse was visible beneath the skin as he caught the smell of something else, something... purely Sherlock. Unable to control the white wave that was roiling in the pit of his belly he leant down and placed his warm lips on Sherlock's.
"Hmmmmmm...ah" Sherlock released a satisfying groan into John's mouth as points of light flashed behind his eyelids. They increased in tandem with the swelling of an organ he previously had little use of; it twitched as John pulled them both to a standing position and pressed their bodies together roughly. Sherlock rocked his hips, revelling in the almost painful pleasure that ran up his thigh and settled in his groin. Hurriedly, he slipped his hand beneath John's Pyjama top, yanked it over his head and flung it across the room. John released his arms and was working at Sherlock's buttons when he had an idea.
He nipped at the pale flesh of collar bone with blunt teeth, causing Sherlock to arch his back. "Yesssss..."with this they fell onto the coach in silent agreement, gently rutting against each other – their hardness evident. John huffed and swept his fingers across Sherlock's soft belly and dipped them down, he felt Sherlock bite his lip and found he liked the pain. It felt good. More than good. Bloody brilliant. So did the feel of Sherlock pressing his hips into his cupped hand, filling it with a soft pulsating heat. Not unaware of the effect he was having on his new found fix, Sherlock slid a knee between the firm thighs on top of him, and brought it up. They both groaned simultaneously at this firm contact; feeling fabric cause delicious friction, but at the same time shivering at the cool air squeezing between their bare torsos.
"Oh, oh John... ahhhh..." The slick between their legs was too much, and John smudged it over the shaft in his hand, glorying in the way his favourite sociopath threw back his head and ground his hips. He liked it so much that he clambered between Sherlock's ankles and tugged at the elastic waistband gracing the angular hips before his mouth. Sherlock positively tingled at the hot breath wisping its way along the now exposed crease beside his arousal, and stilled as the warm of John's mouth enveloped him. His veins were traced by a wet probing tongue.