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Flirting
by AnitaB
Chapter 2: A little taste
It didn't make any sense. It shouldn't feel this good. A simple kiss and a shirtless hug shouldn't be able to overpower every single nerve in his body.
But it did. John did. Sherlock absolutely adored holding John, having John hold him. It was always beautiful and emotional and more necessary than air.
And it wasn't enough. It wasn't physically possible for Sherlock to ever get enough of John. But that never stopped him from trying.
"Sherlock,"
He adored the way John said his name. Sherlock closed his arms around John's bare upper body, pressing him tight against his ribs and crossed the distance between their lips for another tongue-tangling kiss.
/More, John, need you closer.\\ Strong arms tightened around him. John's skin rubbed across his own as that steady hand fisted in his hair. His forceful John took over the kiss, bending him closer. /Yes, John, take me.\\
Before Sherlock had drunk in enough of John's taste, of the skill and thrust of that man's tongue, John pulled back with a low groan. "John,"
"Hmm," That hand in his hair tightened, arching his neck back even as John's arms pulled him down closer. Skillful lips brushed his ear. "Hmm, Sherlock. Think it's time to show you who you belong to. No more flirting with strange men in pubs. More than a bit not good."
It was like John didn't want him to breathe when that hot mouth trailed from his ear down the arched line of his throat to the racing of his pulse under his skin. "Yours, John, only yours. Always yours."
"Good boy," John smiled against his pulse, one hand curving hot and low into the small of his back to pull their hips flush together. "That's my good boy."
Sherlock dragged in a breath and tightened his arms around his John. Just in time for John's mouth to ravage his throat. Strong teeth scraped gently over his pulse, then closed around it in a careful but hard bite.
It was going to leave a mark, a very obvious and unmistakable mark. Sherlock loved it when John marked him. "John, my John." His hands flew to that strong jaw, leading those lips back to his own. "Need you, John. Bed, now, upstairs." Sherlock dove into a kiss, licking his way past those perfect lips and over those strong teeth.
John weakly pulled back from the kiss with a smile. "Upstairs, huh?" That man ran wandering hands down his chest, triggering nerves all along the way. "You plan to be rather loud then, don't you, my Sherlock?"
The simple answer was yes. God, yes. Bloody hell, yes. Always yes. But letting John know the power he held, that John could and did rob him of all self-control so easily… no, not today. "In a way, my John. You're going to be yelling for me, for more of what I'm going to do to you." Sherlock got a grip on that short hair to angle John's head back. He planted a lick, a kiss, and a gentle scrape of teeth over the pounding of John's heart in his throat. "We might as well spare our landlady the noises you'll be making for me."
John's smile said in no uncertain terms that Sherlock hadn't managed to fool him at all. "We'll see who's doing the yelling, now, won't we?" He reached up for a soft, gentle kiss before somehow stepping completely out of the tight grip of pale arms around him. It was amazing how he managed that so smoothly. "Now get yourself upstairs if you want me to touch you, Sherlock."
There was no "If" involved. There was never any "If" involved about John's touch. "Always," "Please," and "Damnit, more" were much, much more logical and frequent responses.
Just like right now. Sherlock claimed John's hand, intertwining their fingers for a solid grip. "Could be dangerous…"
Sherlock damn well adored the quick heat of John's smile before turning to lead his blogger up the stairs to bed.
He could feel the heat of John's eyes trailing over his back, couldn't wait for those hands or that mouth to follow the path. But he had to wait. Stairwells only worked out at all if John was leading the way and the railings always left bruises regardless of the position involved.
And he wanted John in bed, wanted to pin that strong body to their sheets and bite his way over the scar that brought John into his life. /I must send Stamford another little thank you.\\
Just a little further. Sherlock cleared the top of the stairs and pulled John in front of him, wrapping long arms around his blogger. He couldn't help but place a little sting of a bite and a stroke of his tongue on the arched line of that strong throat, nibbling the chain resting low against that gorgeous skin. "Are you thinking about it, John? About what I'm going to do to you?"
John laughed, cuddling back against his chest and reclaiming both of Sherlock's hands. "I think it's safe to say that I'm almost always thinking about what we could be doing to each other."
/Good, very good.\\ Sherlock pulled a hand free for the doorknob. If he didn't get his John to the bed right now he might just take him right here on the landing.
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He couldn't know, could he? Of course Sherlock knew his voice affected John. Any idiot could deduce that. But John couldn't believe the detective could possibly understand. Just. How. Much.
The simplest of sounds on those lips made John's knees go weak and his heart race.
Add heat to his favorite eyes and the warmth of smooth skin against his own and John's bones took on the consistency of rice pudding.
/Five feet more to the bed. Just get to the bed.\\ John crossed those five feet with Sherlock practically glued to his back. But that wasn't how they were getting in bed.
John had something to prove to his idiot genius. He stopped walking and turned in Sherlock's arms, sliding one hand up that lean chest and the other into thick curls. "You want me, don't you, Sherlock?"
Strong, pale hands fisted and opened, gripping his arms as their owner swayed a little under his touch. "Oh, god, yes. Always, John."
He smiled, fucking loving just how much Sherlock meant every single one of those words and about a million others he didn't say. Just like John wanted him. "Then get on your back on that bed and hold on tight." Sherlock shivered hard, his knees half buckling. /That's my good boy, feel that much for me.\\ John wanted another of those gorgeous sounds. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."
Now it was John's turn to go weak kneed and make a helpless pleasure sound. But it was Sherlock's fault for looking so damn gorgeous stretched out against his sheets with those strong hands clenched on the headboard. "Damn it all, John. Get the hell down here and touch me already."
Like there was anything he wanted to do more. Ever. John was smiling as he crawled up the suit clad legs to kneel across lean hips and stare down at his genius. What did he want to do to this man first? Those lean ribs heaved with the breath for a low desperate sound. /Oh yeah, I wanted a bite.\\
"Stay still, Sherlock, if you can manage it." John settled over Sherlock's hips and braced both hands on those lean ribs. He needed a kiss, then he needed every single smooth, pale inch of Sherlock's skin under his lips, between his teeth.
"Give me a taste, Sherlock." His genius leaned up, offering his lips without once releasing the headboard. John loved kissing Sherlock, but there were so many things he needed to do to his genius right now. All of them delightful.
Sitting up, John surveyed the gorgeous landscape before him. Wide, hungry eyes stared up at him. Swollen lips moaned his name. Lean ribs heaved under his hands. And his bite mark colored the pulse pounding in a long neck. Oh their own, his fingers stroked over his mark. His mark on his man. /Sherlock.\\ "How long did the last bite here last, Sherlock?"
Sherlock arched under him just a bit, almost rocking. "Three days for the teeth marks to become indistinct. Four more for the discoloration to fade. Twelve hours past that, I wanted a new one."
"And where did I give you the next one then?"
His voice dropped and his eyes closed. John loved the rasp of that helpless little moan. "Inner thigh. Lasted two extra days in each stage of bruising."
"Hmm, eleven whole days..." John leaned down, licking over the new mark with an eager tongue. "Let's break that record right here. Think I can manage it?" Before Sherlock had a chance to answer, John leaned down and set his teeth into the skin vibrating with a helpless moan. The sudden touch and grip of long fingers on the back of his neck just made his teeth clench harder.
"Yes, John. Mark me, I'm yours." Sherlock's hips rocked under his, reminding John of just how much clothing was still in the way of his plans for this man. He rocked his hips down against Sherlock's and held the bite with a helpless sound of his own. /Mine, Sherlock, you're mine.\\
John found himself smiling as he finally kissed, licked and nibbled his way down that gorgeous chest to the music of his favorite voice and the guidance of long fingers. He loved the sound Sherlock made at the flick of his tongue over tiny male nipples. "Oh, please, John."
/Almost, Sherlock, I've more of you to explore.\\ He hid a smile in a slow languid kiss over a racing heart, his hands pinning lean hips to the bed. "Please, what, my darling Sherlock?"
Sherlock didn't answer… at least not with words. A low, sweet growl shook the skin under John's lips before the doctor found himself on his back on the bed, Sherlock pinning his hands above his head with a wide, happy smile. "You, John. Only you, always you." Sherlock leaned down for a deep, eager kiss. "All of you against all of me. I want you."
/That's my Sherlock, that's my good boy.\\ Before his eyes Sherlock dipped his head to kiss the medallion over his heart. "Take what you want, Sherlock. I'll always give it to you."
That… right there… that look on Sherlock's face was worth anything, everything in the entire universe. Because that world's only consulting detective never looked happier than he did like this. And that, more than the sex, the comfort of touch, or the adrenaline of adventure, John wanted Sherlock happy.
"Thank you, John." That dark hair curled against his skin as Sherlock kissed and licked every single line of the scar on his shoulder.
And John's brain started melting out his ears at the glorious seduction of that mouth over his skin.
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