After the heated kiss, John actually moved away from his beloved, giving him space. Sherlock instinctively followed him, eager for more contact. "We have to talk about it, Sherlock, love," the blond declared quietly.
"I thought we were done with talking!" the tallest one bit back, with an adorable pout. "You love me, I love you. Knowing this, what else is there to say? Do what you've wanted to. If you longed for me at least as long as I loved you, you must have some ideas."
"Oh, I have plenty," John assured, with a laugh. "But with this we have to be on the same page, Sherlock. I have no intention of pushing you or doing anything that would make you uncomfortable. I think we determined kissing is alright. What else can I do? What do you want from me?"
"Everything, John. And then some. Don't be silly," Sherlock chided, blushing but determined. His eyes shifted downwards afterwards. Was he being too direct? What if John was so… so bloody considerate because he was the one who didn't want everything that his friend had to offer, just… some bits?
Before the boy could work himself into a proper panic attack, the blond croaked, voice rough with something his friend had never heard, "Good. That's…good." And he licked his lips. God, that lip licking had always drawn Sherlock to distraction. He couldn't count the number of experiments that failed because of it.
This time, though, he didn't have to watch and build daydreams out of it. This time John was advancing again towards him – two steps, but never had a tiny gap felt more wrong. The blond kissed him again, eager, passionate, one hand cupping a sharp cheekbone and another pushing the bathrobe off him, revealing blushing skin. Oh God, Sherlock was blushing in places he didn't even know he could blush. It probably looked silly, didn't it? He wasn't a maiden in a stupid book.
"You're… a flower," John murmured reverently, before biting his lips. He was being ridiculous, wasn't he? His best friend/love used to always mock his attempts at poetry when he was after some girl or another. But John couldn't help himself. He was in awe, and it just… sort of slipped out.
The brunet giggled, but for once, it sounded happy, not spiteful at his friend's lack of literary ability. "Then I suppose you're my bee," he replied, looking at blond hair and a white and black striped jumper, "my fuzzy bee. I love bees, John."
"Oh, I know," John assured, feeling rather flattered by the comparison. You couldn't spend hours with one Sherlock Holmes and ignore what he was passionate about – the boy couldn't help raving. "Bzzzzz, bzzzzzzzz," John hummed, leaving butterfly kisses and tenderly nuzzling newly discovered skin.
Sherlock giggled again, but it ended in a groan. "Maybe, I'd love a slightly less fuzzy bee," he croaked. The wool was ticklish, after all.
"Oh, sorry. I got caught up," John agreed, before starting to undress. He'd honestly forgotten that he wasn't as naked as his beloved, so focused he was on the other teen. A second of hesitation, and then Sherlock's hands joined his in the disrobing.
The taller teen's iridescent eyes turned almost entirely black, so dilated his pupils were, eager to drink in the sight. Mostly of it the brunet knew already, of course. And he had quite a good guess of what the rest could be. Still, seeing his love's cock for the first time (John had someboundaries, after all), hard for him - no possibility of doubt there – Sherlock's jaw dropped, with a sharp inhale.
He'd never thought this could happen outside of his own fevered mind…but here John was, kissing his way down the other's body. "Pinch me," the brunet begged.
"What?" the blond groaned, the request not computing. This wasn't in the list of all the things he'd dreamed of doing to his best friend, and everything he could imagine Sherlock wanting from their lovemaking.
"Pinch me," Sherlock repeated, pouting as usual when he was forced to repeat himself. "I need to know this is really happening."
John looked up at him, eyes warm and sweet but a sexy smirk on his lips, and how did he even manage to wear two expressions at once? "I'll do you one better," he promised, before going back up to his lover's collarbone.
Mmmm…he didn't know the blond could be so hot. Sherlock groaned helplessly, and his brain, already on the brink of fizzling out, registered that John was biting and…sucking…and oh God, John was marking him. Bless him for understanding his lover's need for physical evidence. Still, "Slow down," he pleaded, because the mere idea of that was almost enough to make him come by itself, and that would be a pity.
One last suck, and John retreated, looking deep into his love's eyes and asking what was wrong, clearly concerned. Seeing no pain or panic, only a blissed out look, he breathed out in relief. When – eyes shifting to the side, ashamed of what he was going to confess, of how easy he was to wreck – Sherlock assured him that nothing was amiss or uncomfortable, but rather… too pleasant, the blond couldn't help a smug grin.
Sherlock's eyes clouded again, not with pleasure but with embarrassment. If John had missed the first cue, too wrapped up in his love to imagine anyone – much less the other boy himself – could dream of finding fault in him, now he realised his mistake. "You're perfect, love," he murmured adoringly against soft skin. "Absolutely perfect. Amazing. Just the way you are. You know that, right?"
The taller teen shook his head, incredulous. Well, that wouldn't do. Clearly, before going on with the seducing, John needed to set some things straight. "Sherlock – Sher. You know I am unable to lie, don't you?" he queried, holding a sharp cheekbone in his hand.
The boy nuzzled his hand instinctively, and after a second of frowning – he wasn't expected to reason now – nodded minutely, without dislodging it.
"Then you know I am not lying now. You. Are. Perfect. However you react, or don't, if you feel like making any sound, or touching me, or even if you want to come… just do whatever you want, and I'll find you awesome and perfect anyway. Hell, if anyone is likely to mess up it's me. But as long as I can make you happy, I'll consider my mission accomplished," John declared, one hand still petting his beloved's cheek and the other running down his collarbone, on the opposite side to the one he just marked.
"Make love to me," Sherlock pleaded in a sigh, "before I lose it. Please." The sheer fact that he'd managed a full sentence felt like a great accomplishment – how much rational him would sneer at needy him. But John had slowed down and reassured him when he needed it, which only proved further than his love was a perfect human being. (If asked about it, the blond would point out that such detail just made him a decent bloke.)
"As you wish," John agreed, with a muffled giggle at finding himself quoting the Princess Bride, which Harry had forced him to watch too many times to count. But now, he kind of got how that Wesley bloke felt. He just wanted his beloved to be happy.
Nuzzling, kissing and licking the delectable flesh under him, eliciting soft groans and sighs of pleasure, the blond made his way down, and only at the end remembered the major point in the little he knew about sex. "Ermmm….Sherlock…lube?" he mumbled, beating himself up mentally for forgetting that.
Sherlock fumbled blindly, never less inclined to move and possibly dislodge John from his position, but quickly found it and handed it to his love, out of habit dragging his own fingers over his. It used to be one of his secret delights, but he didn't have to content himself with it anymore. They were about to do more. So much more.
"Tell me if you're uncomfortable, or in pain. I don't exactly know what I'm doing, love, and I don't want to hurt you," John warned. Sure, he'd read up on it, and watched a few videos, but porno was not to be taken as instructional – even as a teen, the boy knew that – and it was different from experimenting himself. He didn't have the automatic feedback of his own sensation.
"Do get on with it," the other boy huffed impatiently, opening his legs more. He'd like to lose his virginity before he died of old age. Would his love get the hint? Oh, he just did. Had he himself made that sound? He probably did.
John was slow and careful, despite his lover's nudging. He fumbled – how could he not, his first time? – but judging from the groans and mewls coming from Sherlock, he was doing well. When his worry (no preparation is too much preparation – who said that?) finally lost the war with his beloved's urging and his own desire, he warned Sherlock one last time before breaching him. Both of them moaned loudly.
The blond boy had every intention of making their first time a slow and tender experience, and to his honour, he tried. Given how much longing fuelled the both of them, though, it soon devolved into a more passionate – and quicker – experience than he had envisioned.
Sherlock wasn't complaining, though, if his groans – and the fact that he urged his lover on, and came first with a shout of his beloved's name – were any indications. Then again, John copied him, only seconds behind, and it was the best ever orgasm he'd ever experienced.
The blond moved, wanting to find something to clean them with, but a hand – quick as a snake – caught him by the arm and dragged him back to the mattress. "Where do you think you're going?" his love asked, iridescent eyes wide and a hint of panic in his voice.
"Only to get something to clean up a bit," he murmured, reassuringly.
"Don't need to. I… like it. The evidence," the curl-haired boy admitted, blushing.
"You won't say that later," John countered, trying to be reasonable.
"I will," Sherlock insisted, stubborn, already a hint of a pout forming on delectable lips.
"Fine, your way," the blond gave in, smiling, "just don't complain to me later. What do you want? Nap?"
His beloved nodded, and snuggled him until he was the little spoon to John's possessive embrace. It might seem counterintuitive, given their heights, but the other was very much not protesting. And maybe there was a point, to not facing him, because the brunet queried, voice almost distant, "John?... Are we boyfriends now?"
"I would hope so!" John blurted out, hugging him with more strength. "I love you, you love me… I don't see what's stopping us."
"No more girls then?" Sherlock inquired, and if he didn't sound so insecure, his boyfriend would have smiled at the appearance of jealous!Sherlock. Who would imagine that someone so amazing could be jealous of him?
"No, no more girls. Forever," the blond sworn, eager enough that his love would hopefully believe him.
The taller boy relaxed in his hold, but he had a last question, "And… can we do that again when we wake up?"
John couldn't help it, He laughed in happiness. "We can do whatever you want, love. Absolutely anything."
"…Good," Sherlock declared. Less than a minute later, he was asleep in John's arms.