John puffed out his cheeks and groaned.
"38, 39, 40..."
If the army had taught him anything it was that enough physical exertion could normally drown out anything your brain was trying to say.
He straightened his arms with effort, locking his elbows, before before bending them again and dropping down back to the carpet. He was going to do 50 press ups. He could always do it before. His triceps seemed to be disagreeing though. He collapsed on the floor panting, before pulling himself up. He'd failed on his target for the sit ups and crunches too. He was getting too old for this.
He stripped off his t shirt to join his trousers on the floor. He was getting a good sweat up now.
He reached under the bed and pulled out his weights. Right, 20 bicep curls on each arm. He watched himself in the mirror, trying to make sure he got his technique right. His muscles were tightened with the exertion and shining. Just like their had been... just downstairs... Damn it, focus...
He concentrated on keeping control though each descent, breathing into the strain as he pulled his arm up, grimacing with the effort just like Greg's face when he was trying to hold off coming... No, not going to think about it. John switched hands and started again. His right hands was weaker than his left and he had to focus on holding the weight so he didn't strain his wrist. He watched his fingers, shifting them to align them, knuckles white with the effort just like Greg's, holding onto Sherlock, Oh fuck fuck fuck.
John gave in, put down the weight and threw himself down onto the bed. If he was going to be imagining sex anyway he may as well be in it.
He slid his hand into his black boxers and pulled out his cock, starting to stroke himself slowly. He remembered the kiss Greg and he had shared on the sofa, it was so good. All heat and shaking desire. He imagined Greg pulling back, not asking for permission, but moving his hand to John's shirt and starting to undo the buttons, to allow Greg to suck at John's neck. John would reach out and push his fingers into that soft hair and slide his other hand down Greg's waist, feeling hot muscle shiver as he touched it.
Greg groaned in response and, pushing John's shirt aside, straddled John's lap, pulling off his T-shirt as he did so. John reached up to stroke Greg's chest put found his wrists caught in Greg's hands and forced down to his side. John gasped at the submission, oh, that's new, and Greg took the opportunity to start grinding down, rubbing their cocks against each other through the fabric of their jeans. He roughly crashed his lips down onto John's and forced his tongue between John's lips, stroking and licking in time with the roll and snap of his hips.
After what seemed like years Greg tore himself away to open John and his own jeans. With Greg's hands no longer holding his own down John reached up to trace every line and shadow of Greg's chest and neck, rubbing a thumb over Greg's hard nipples. Oh God that was good, why was that good? Greg growled and grabbed John's hands again, this time using one hand to grab both wrists and press them against John's chest, keeping them still. Then Greg looked into John's eyes. John suddenly forgot to breath, those eyes, soft and dark and deep, oh yes, yes please. Whatever you'll give me. Greg didn't break eye contact as he raised his free hand to his face and licked it slowly from the base of the palm to the tips of the fingers. Once, twice, three times. Then Greg reached down and grabbed their cocks in his hand. They both groaned, it wasn't going to take long. Greg had barely needed to get any wetness on his hand as they'd both been leaking precome copiously. Greg pulled at them tight and slowly at first, pausing to run his thumb over John's slit and make the other man shake. But soon Greg was losing all control, tugging harshly at their pricks and he desperately started groaning John's name. "Oh God John, yes yes yes, I'm going to come, I'm going to come all over you, Oh God, JohnJohnJohnJohn..."
"Greg!" John arched up feeling each pulse of his orgasm shaking through his body, feeling Greg shuddering above him and Greg's come spatter his chest, hot and dirty and glorious.
John opened his eyes. He hoped he hadn't been too loud. He let go of his softening prick and reached to the tissues to clean himself up. Oh God. It was his eyes and his voice that had done it. This was all sorts of bad.
He pulled his boxers back up and stood, turning back towards the mirror. Right, 20 bicep curls. He was going to do it this time.