A Glass of Orange Juice

"You're talking too much, John," Molly panted as she approached her climax, Sherlock's tongue on her, and two of his fingers deep inside her and pumping.

"Oh, sorry, love, here," John said, lowering his head to hers, kissing her and then leaning closer down, he took one of her nipples in his teeth and bit and sucked gently, briefly making eye contact with Sherlock, whose eyes were completely glazed over with his own need. Sherlock sped up the pace of his tongue and fingers as he sensed Molly was coming approaching the beginning of the end.

John had been expostulating somewhat on his own voyeurism, not talking to anyone in particular, merely thinking aloud when Molly admonished him. When did these two get to this stage of arousal, he wondered? He really needed to try to stay in the moment more, this was a little surprising, being so completely off in his own mind, when his wife and friend were so – so invitingly worked up. It's very interesting, John thought, the great cerebral man, Sherlock Holmes seemed to have no trouble at all giving himself up to the moment when the time came. "It's partly because of your influence, John, that I can," Sherlock had told him once while the two had discussed the matter on one occasion. But he himself, the doctor ruminated, had more trouble in that department – He wondered if it was the medical objectivity he'd developed in his training, but he rejected that notion. Plenty of doctors having sex, he reckoned, giving themselves up to the moment and all. Molly had no troubles. Left over symptoms of the war? PTSD constellation? He wasn't sure.

"Unh, unh, unh, oh, god, oh, god, oh, god," Molly was almost there, he saw, and as Sherlock pumped his hand in and out of her, John helped as he could by plunging his tongue deep in his wife's mouth, fairly swallowing her sweet moans and effectively helping to bring her to her finale in the process.

"Ahh," Sherlock smiled, as he hauled himself to Molly's level, kissing her and purring into her neck. "Lovely, Molly, lovely." And Molly purred back, "Sherlock, Sherlock, please –" and here she parted her legs further, bending her knees, trying to wrap herself around Sherlock's waist, but Sherlock turned to his friend first.

"John?" asked Sherlock.

"Hmm? Oh, please, you go ahead, whenever you like, , I'm . . . um, fine."

"Oh, John." Molly sighed, "Can't you come over to me and just let me – ahhhhh!" She finished her thought with a deeply appreciative sigh as Sherlock, having swiftly donned a condom, entered her smoothly, but rather quickly. Then he was kissing her neck, smoothing her hair and murmuring sweet things and her name into her ears and hair.

"Yes, I know, I do this a lot, don't I?" asked John.

"Yes, you do," Sherlock responded, "You do at times when - well at times like this, and then you complain to me when you think that I am – uh – uh, ah." Sherlock's sentence didn't quite resolve.

"I don't know what it is – Am I - am I? . . ."

"Are you bored or something?" Molly wondered aloud. "We've only been married a year, and now Sherlock is – ah, Sherlock, ah, Sherlock . . ."

"Bored? God no!" John said and he could feel a flush run up his legs, making his cock semi hard as Sherlock began to work Molly in earnest, one of her knees over his shoulder as he usually did. Their love noises were getting more urgent, more heated and John absently took his own length in his hand and began to slowly stroke himself in time with Sherlock's thrusts.

"Sherlock, he's doing it again, nah, nah, nah," Molly observed, flushed all over and heading over the edge for the third – or was it the fourth time this evening? The joined couple slowed somewhat and regarded John who was sitting just out of reach on the bed.

"Come to me, love," said Molly, "let me – "

"It's not a contest, dears," said John, "Don't worry about it, It's not this big problem you seem to…"

Sherlock reached for John's foot, but the doctor managed to move away in time. Sherlock gave John a wry grin, and then gave himself over to Molly and his climax was particularly long and vocal. Almost immediately, however, he rolled off Molly, leaned over to John, and grasped him firmly by the ankle, hauling him closer.

"No, no, that's not necessary, wait, you don't have to – Ah, oh, god, oh god, Sherlock!" John protested.

"Do shut up, John," said Sherlock, gripping the smaller man's thighs, and added with an impish smile, "and try not to struggle too much," as he took John's length into his mouth almost to the hilt, and began to work his mouth up and down slowly.

John gasped and yelped at the contact.

Sherlock's touch almost immediately brought back for John the memory of boyhood experiments and fantasies. At the same time John's head practically exploded with embarrassment – humiliation? But why? Sherlock had no problem with this, why did he?. John had never had an adult man touch him this way or indeed in any way that was remotely sexual, and he didn't want – didn't care to find out –ah, what? He didn't know, but it just couldn't be what he wanted, could it? Once he'd caught his breath after Sherlock's initial onslaught, he did struggle, trying to push away the dark curly head, trying to pull himself away from Sherlock, to his former place on the bed, but Sherlock had much too strong a hold on John's legs and hips to be easily shoved aside.

"That's right," Sherlock looked up at John, smiling, "Struggle a little, but not enough to get away," and then he returned to his task." Molly was next to John, now, holding his arms, and forcing him to lie back, kissing him, stroking his chest, gently pinching his nipples.

"We want to be with you, love." She paused and frowned. "But we don't want to force you, John dear. Are we?"

Sherlock stopped and looked up.

"Oh, god, I hadn't thought of that - are we, John? Am I forcing you?" He asked.

John's voice was barely audible.

"No."

Sherlock smiled.

"Please say the whole sentence, John, so we're sure, all right? I need to hear you say it." John paused and swallowed hard.

"No, you're not forcing me. But if I could just -"

Sherlock immediately continued his attentions to John's throbbing erection and John gasped in the rest of the sentence he was forming.

Molly purred against John's mouth in a kiss. John tried to speak, but she hushed him.

"Shhhh, that's all right, don't speak, just relax, hmmm? I love you." At this she glanced at Sherlock who raised his eyebrows to her, in a complicit smile, and then began to hum onto John's cock.

"Wh—ahhhhhhhh, oh, god," John was starting to babble a little when Molly knelt up on the bed, and looked down at her husband, and John opened his eyes to look up at her. She was an angel, he thought. Her hair was loose, and fell down the front of her body, practically covering her small but absolutely adorable breasts. Her dark triangle below was wet and mussed, he smiled. He reached for her.

"Doing all right, then?" Molly asked, smiling. Do you think you could - ?" She lifted a knee and straddled her husbands face, slowly and gently pressing her sex to his mouth.

"Oh, Molly," he said, reaching to her with his mouth, tonguing her, then kissing her, then biting and sucking. "My darling," he thought, since speech was now not an option, "my lovely wife." Sherlock was now stroking John with his hand and John heard Molly and Sherlock exchange sloppy kisses and moans somewhere out there, where there was light. And air. But only briefly, as suddenly, with a shift in weight on the bed, John felt Sherlock's mouth on his cock again as he started to lick and suck him with even more enthusiasm than before, still stroking the base of John's cock with his hand. It took only a few more of Sherlock's firm, expert strokes before John grasped his wife's hips, pulling her cunt to his face for dear life when he came as he never had in memory. He cried out unrecognizable syllables as he began to empty himself into Sherlock's mouth, then he blacked out completely.

John came to slowly. His eyes were heavy, impossibly heavy, and he couldn't seem to lift them, but he could hear and there was whispering. The tone was very concerned then relieved.

"Oh, thank god," John recognized Molly's voice. And then a soft baritone,

"I told you, for godssake, Molly, shhhhh, don't worry. Now, he's just come to, don't shout in his ear, let him breathe a little." John felt some fumbling about on the bed somewhere, as he continued to try to open his eyes.

"John, dear?" Molly was quite close to him, now speaking softly. "John, darling, can you – can you hear me?"

"Hmmm?" John seemed to answer, and Molly and Sherlock noticed a slight smile on his lips. Molly moved closer, and now she was stroking his head, smoothing his hair, and, wanting to reassure her, John added,

"Mmmmmm, Molly?"

"Yes, John, it's me, your Molly."

"All right, John?" Sherlock, the git. And he felt Sherlock's confident hand gently stroking John's upper arm.

What on earth? John wondered. He managed to make his eyes open fully.

"Oh, darling, it's so good to see you open your eyes," said Molly. "Are you feeling ok? God, baby, you were out for 20 minutes."

"Mmmm," John heard himself reply, "M'fine."

"Of course he was out for 20 minutes, I'm surprised he wasn't out for two or three hours!" John thought Sherlock sounded a little fake-indignant. Trying to cover his anxious concern for his friend? Sherlock continued,

"Have you forgotten about the amount of fluid he pumped all over me? I tried to get it, but my god, never, ever have I seen anything like it, John. It soaked me, and the sheets!"

Molly giggled, "Yes," she said, "he had to shower. It wasn't at all normal, John. Oh, here, I got you a glass of orange juice, but just relax now, drink it when you're ready."

"M'fine," John felt pleasantly heavy, almost drugged, heavy but floating. Then he had a slight wave of unpleasant dizziness, as he recalled recent events.

"Oh, god," he said, remembering, "That was, that was – " and here he made eye contact with Sherlock and internally backed away from the facts. Sherlock had sucked him off to the single most astounding climax he had ever, ever had with anyone, boy, woman or dog. But John wasn't really interested in talking about it. In the instant that the men made eye contact, Sherlock saw John's hesitancy, and quickly deflected the conversation again, aware of John's diffidence about touching him in bed. So shy, thought Sherlock. What will I do to take care of that? He filed the question under 'delightful future experiments.'

"John, you have no idea. Look. At. My. Sheets!" Here, the detective held up a corner of a sheet, elaborately soaked apparently with John's semen.

"Oh, fuck off, Sherlock, about the fucking sheets!" Molly hissed. Sherlock returned,

"I don't care about the fucking sheets, Molly dear, obviously! I only point out the fucking sheets to demonstrate the outrageous amount of ejaculate the man managed to extrude. You should really drink that orange juice, John, you must be utterly dehydrated. I wasn't aware the human body could –"

"Just leave him alone with that, can't you?" Molly said more mildly, and then smiled, seeing that Sherlock was having more of a joke than worrying about his sheets.

John stretched his neck a bit, and could see them both properly, now. Sherlock had put on one of his dressing gowns, it hung loosely and open on his shoulders and he was completely naked underneath, but completely confident and unembarrassed in his bearing. Molly had one on too, but had tied the tie, looking a bit like a Geisha in a kimono whose hair had been combed out, her straight dark hair in two parts falling down her shoulders. The two were arguing back and forth, but were completely focused on John as they bickered. John took a couple of deep breaths, and then another more severe wave of dizziness hit him.

"Ummmm, I'm fine, really, you two. Ah, soaked the sheets, did I? Huh, sorry about that, Sherlock. Um, Molly, did you say you had a glass of –

"Orange juice," said Molly, "Here it is. Can you sit up?"

Now propped up in bed, John smiled at his friend and his wife as he nursed his second glass of juice (the first he had downed in one go). Sherlock and Molly had gotten him out of bed to quickly strip off the sheets and working in tandem, they put new ones on and had got John tucked up again into the now newly clean bed.

They told John what had happened. He'd shouted a lot of rubbish at the end, but then, Sherlock said, he'd very clearly yelled out "Who the fuck ARE you people?" before passing out.

"We thought that was hilarious," said Sherlock, "But then, you didn't wake up to be teased."

"No," said Molly, "And I was getting ready to call an ambulance. Another five minutes."

"Yes, and I couldn't have stopped her, she's hysterical, John when she wants to be, how do you put up with her? 'Oh, John! Speak to me, John!' It was like a play in a theatre." Then, Sherlock added in a lower tone, his arms clasped across his chest "but I was starting to get a little concerned."

"Sherlock." John said and simply smiled.

His friend and wife sat on either side of him in the bed, looking at him, blinking, expectant.

"Yes? What is it, John?" asked Sherlock. "Oh god! Is it the gay thing again?! Oh, let me see," Sherlock stroked the back of John's neck. "No, no, no one has embroidered 'bummer,' on you as you were passed out from your incredible orgasm!" Sherlock stroked John's forehead, fingers in his hair brushing the pad of his thumb against the skin. "No, nothing here, either." He fake-whispered to Molly, "Oh, I know, let's check the bottoms of his feet!" And Sherlock reached for John's ankles.

"Get off, you idiot," John weakly kicked out at Sherlock's hands, smiling, and Molly squealed with glee, her laughter lilting up and then floating down naturally and languidly, leaving a contented silence around the three smiling friends. And then she stretched, and yawned elaborately. She was so beautiful, thought John. It was like watching a ballet when she moved. She smiled down at him, and then curled up at his side, her arm around his waist.

"That's just about all the excitement I can take for one day, thanks," she said, and then, "Sherlock, do you have the duvet?"

"Mmmm," he said, "Yes . . ." Sherlock stretched out next to John, carefully, as John kissed Molly on the top of her head. Though they had been sleeping together for some weeks, now, John had never allowed himself to end up in the middle of bed before. Sherlock noticed that the doctor had always surreptitiously scooted over or around someone, to keep Molly in the middle. As they settled in for the night, Sherlock wondered if John were just too tired to manage it this time, or if he were finally relaxing a bit. Then John turned to face his friend, and their eyes met. Sherlock's hand stroked his friend's upper arm, carefully, trying to keep things easy.

"Ok?" Sherlock asked, still looking a little concerned.

"I'm fine, just a little knocked out." John held Sherlock's gaze to finish his thought. "And. I should say – um – " And here John rubbed his eyes with his hand in embarrassment, but made a concerted effort to continue – "that was amazing - my friend."

"Obviously," Sherlock smiled. They maintained silent eye contact for some seconds, and then Sherlock took John's empty glass from his hands, leaned down to the floor for the duvet, and with a flip of his arm covered them, all three, and then he turned out the light.