Something a little shorter for your busy weekend, hope you like it.

In which John makes a little progress.

Polyamory, my friends.

Navy Silk Pyjamas

John had a pair of pyjamas at Sherlock's nowadays. Whenever he put them on, though, it wasn't long before either he or his wife or his friend took them off again. He smiled at the thought as he put them on tonight, still new, still a vibrant navy silk. Something he would never buy for himself, he thought as he felt the rich fabric in his hands. The set had been a gift from Sherlock, and he reddened a little at such an intimate present from a man, but he shrugged it off. Bigger fish to fry tonight, he thought.

Tonight was another evening of waiting for Molly to get home from a conference.

John stretched out in the bed on his usual side of it, and waited, knowing Sherlock would be in, in just a moment. John rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, imagining the recent scenarios in which their physical relationship had deepened more and more and all the little moments of physical contact that both Sherlock and he himself had initiated with one another while in bed with Molly. But now Molly was on another conference, and they were to be alone for the first time in some weeks.

While he still wasn't ready for certain activities, John was determined not to put off any progress that might be made between him and Sherlock tonight. He had a new resolve to get over his reluctance with his friend. It would take as long as it took, he allowed, but he couldn't let his fears remain a permanent fixture to rule what happened to him in bed. He wanted to give himself to his friend, wanted to feel free with both Sherlock and Molly in bed. His fears seemed mean to him now, small-minded and selfish.

"You look very pretty in those." Sherlock had silently entered the room, smiled wickedly as he stripped off his own clothes down to his boxers and slipped into bed.

"Well, thanks," John cleared his throat. "they're, ah, lovely."

"Mmm, I'm glad you like them." Sherlock once again adopted John's stance in bed, flat on his back with his arms clasped behind his neck leaving a wide berth between them and waited for John. They lay quietly for some moments, and then John chuckled and spoke.

"Come here."

"Hmm? What John? Did you say something to me?"

"Come here, you idiot."

Like a cat, and grinning but somehow knowing that this was coming and this very evening, Sherlock leaned toward him and crept over to John. Raising himself up, Sherlock looked down at the doctor as he continued to lie on his back, hands clasped behind his head.

"Anything specific in mind?" Sherlock grinned with all the smugness and wicked enjoyment there was in him.

"No, nothing specific." John smiled back at his friend, maintaining his stance, and he hoped, some shred of dignity, authority.

"Ah, I see," Sherlock splayed his hands across John's chest. "Anything forbidden?"

"Well, yes. Ah, a number of things I'm sure you can imagine."

"Of course, of course," Sherlock purred, "So, 'no permission needed for gentle holding and touching,' and 'no fouls exist unless they are called,' am I right?"

"Ahaha." John paused. He wanted to get it right, so his friend understood how he was feeling, how he felt about moving forward. John continued.

"If I could just hear myself think aloud for a moment. Um, if we could put rules aside and just let me say again that there are a couple things I'm not ready for, and that I –I- I trust you, and that I feel – I, um, need to try to – um – well, I'd like it understood that I want to, oh, god, move forward, but I'm still rather nervous, as you can see, about going too fast. And finally, just that I think, um, that revisiting established, um, avenues is the best way to start. . . ?"

Sherlock grinned one of his predatory grins that rather terrified John.

"So, no rules?" Sherlock purred, his hand on John's hip, circling. John sighed.

"Stop trying to frighten me, and put your arms around me for a moment, will you?"

Sherlock put his arms around his friend, and John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock's back, placing a hand in Sherlock's hair, stroking him as he had the last time they had been alone together. This was their starting point, he knew. He enjoyed the familiarity of it, as well as the promise it held and he was right to assume that Sherlock felt the same way. Sherlock turned his head to face John.

"I don't want to frighten you," Sherlock's grin was gone.

"I'm not," said John quickly, "I'm not frightened, I promise you. John stroked his friend's cheek, the same as before, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm just – you know, a little nervous."

"We could wait for Molly. Will that make you feel – less nervous?"

"Mmm. She'll be here soon. You - probably know what you're doing."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock smiled, raising himself up. He started unbuttoning John's pyjamas.

"Hmm, what are you -."

"Shhh, just a few buttons. Then we'll revisit some established avenues, hmmhmm?" Sherlock unbuttoned the garment, spreading it open. He reached to stroke John's neck with his fingers before he re-established his embrace, now with his cheek against his friend's skin the way he liked. He raised his head and tongued and sucked a nipple, stroking John's flank. He listened to John hiss, and turned to smile at him.

"All right?"

"Yes," John said without hesitation. He was turned on, his friend's touch was electric, he couldn't help but respond, he just couldn't bring himself to touch him back, they way he easily could with a woman. Why not? What's the difference?

Sherlock continued to gently tongue and bite his friend's chest, as his hand circled the skin at John's ribs, then lower, and lower to his hip. Finally, Sherlock reached around to grip John's buttock, kneading him there, through the silk. John's hand tightened his grip somewhat in Sherlock's hair.

"Mmm," Sherlock purred. "Navy is a lovely color. Almost black." Then he smoothly hooked his fingers into John's waistband, and slid the pyjamas slowly down John's legs, letting them bunch up around his ankles. He left them there for John to kick off, or leave as he wished. He smiled to see John kick off the pyjamas, almost offhandedly and then spread his legs, slightly, bending a knee. Sherlock sat up, stroking the inside of John's thigh as his friend looked at him. Sherlock took John's cock in his hand gently and then firmly stroked him once, twice and more.

"We've established this avenue, haven't we?" Sherlock asked, smiling into John's face as John arched his back, clearly enjoying the contact.

"Yes," John managed, "this avenue."

Sherlock stretched out next to John, and letting go of him for a moment, Sherlock shucked off his own pants.

"Face, me John." Sherlock reached to re-establish his contact with John as his friend leaned to face him. Sherlock took John's hand and with little prompting, John took Sherlock's erection in his hand, and copied Sherlock's hold and rhythm. Sherlock leaned in and licked John's neck, then bit down gently, holding his skin in his teeth for several moments, then let go. Sherlock leaned his head back, offering his own neck, and John leaned in. He licked the skin, then licked again, finding himself swirling his tongue back and forth, and thrusting with more abandon into Sherlock's hand. He became self conscious after a moment and pulled back, looking at Sherlock. His friend's eyes were glazed over, but he was smiling at John, his movements as he stroked John were languid, relaxed.

"Hmm. Self conscious already? Well, that's all right. That's lovely, but we'll come back to this another time, shall we? Something else I wanted to do." Sherlock released John, and pulled himself down to his friend's hips. Looking up and smiling at him, Sherlock took the tip of the doctor's cock in his mouth. He watched as the doctor closed his eyes.

"Look at me, John?" Sherlock let go of John's head, and then took it up again, and John complied, opening his eyes, realizing it was only good manners, after all.

"You can put your hands in my hair. You can own it more, you're here, too." Sherlock re-established contact with John quickly, stroking him a little more urgently now with his mouth, tonguing him around the tip, then plunging down his shaft. John put his hands on Sherlock's head as directed, and fisted his hair. He'd done this to only a couple of girls, when he was young, when he was drunk. But it didn't seem particularly gentlemanly to him, and he'd almost always refrained. Now he was being directed, encouraged – he firmly pulled Sherlock's mouth closer to the root of his cock, establishing his own rhythm in his friend's mouth, pushing in more aggressively, rocking his hips, grinding. They stayed in this pattern for some few moments, and Sherlock pulled away laughing.

"That's right, Doctor, a little less tender bedside manner is required." He pulled himself up to John's neck, never having enough of his neck, kissing him biting, licking. Sherlock chuckled.

"Oh, it's lovely to hear laughing from in here, is everything ok?" Molly asked quietly, coming into the room.

"Ah, Molly, lovely, come and take off your clothes for us," Sherlock rose from the bed and swept her in his arms. John leaned up on one side and watched as Sherlock disrobed Molly, licking her as ardently as he had just been licking John. He got her blouse and bra off, and licked her breasts and nipples, then he got off her skirt and pants, and pressed his face into her sex, circling his tongue around in her cleft. Then he kissed her, and stood up. He reached into the closet and pulled out Molly's dressing gown. It was a deep red, also a gift from Sherlock, perfect for her coloring, and with her hair free and spilling out, she was quite exotic looking in it. John reached for her, as she climbed into the bed.

"What's been going on, hmm? Up to no good?"

"I hope it's good? John?" Sherlock got back into the bed with the pair, smiling into John's face. John could smell Molly on his face, his mouth, and was sorely tempted to reach in to kiss him, but just couldn't manage it psychologically. Sherlock winked at John, fulling in the know, and moved down into the bed again, to John's hips.

"Ahaha."

"Oh, I see. Well, maybe I can watch what you've been doing?" Molly put her hands on John's face.

"Yes, of course. I was just - ." Sherlock returned to sucking John's cock, and Molly hummed her appreciation, kissing John, and stroking Sherlock's head at the same time. But Sherlock quickly went below to John's testicles, tonguing and biting him there.

"Oh, Christ." John felt as though every muscle in his body suddenly tensed up, he trembled in Molly's arms. Meanwhile Sherlock took one and then the other testicle wholly into his mouth, laving at each with his tongue, but he didn't stay long. He lifted John's leg, and ducked his head under to his backside, rimming him with his tongue.

"Oh, fuck's sake, Sherlock."

"That's right, say my name, John, I do love to hear you say it." Sherlock continued tonguing John's puckered hole, and then he pushed his tongue firmly in.

"Sherlock."

"You can tell me to stop any time, John. No? John, can you speak?" Sherlock grinned, though no one saw him.

"Yes, I can speak," John managed to squeak out. Molly laughed quietly.

"Oh, good, I'm so glad." Sherlock chuckled, but continued more gently. "Are you telling me to stop? Hmm? No?" Sherlock continued to tongue into John, entering him with his tongue from time to time, letting John get used to it.

"Kiss me, darling, show me what he's doing," Molly prompted, opening her mouth for her husband. John put his tongue at Molly's lip, and when Sherlock pressed his tongue into John, John did the same to Molly's mouth.

"Oh, god, John," Molly breathed, waiting for Sherlock to plunge his tongue in again. Sherlock didn't make her wait long.

"Sher- Oh." John gave up, Sherlock saw, and watched his friend lean back into the pillows, balling the sheets in his hands. He noticed with satisfaction that John also relaxed his legs somewhat, letting them fall open more naturally. Sherlock continued working John with his tongue, stroking his cock gently as he did.

"That's right, John, relax, just feel it," Molly whispered, as she too, noticed John's surrender. Sherlock continued to tongue John, and then gently, and slowly, probed the outer skin with a single finger. John's eyes shot open.

"What?" was all John said. Sherlock said nothing, continuing to tongue and finger John.

"What's he doing, John?" Molly asked with a smile in her voice, somehow knowing. "Tell me what it feels like."

John's voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"Oh, god, he's using his finger. I – "

"Inside you? asked Molly.

"No, he's, ah god, he's just circling around outside he's -."

"Oh, lovely, ask him to go ahead."

"What?"

"Ask him to go ahead and fuck you with his finger, John, he's brilliant with his fingers." John's mind was reeling, he felt as though he were falling down the rabbit hole, nothing to grab to stop the fall. There was no going back. There was no protection against something that – yes, something that he somehow wanted.

"Yes. Yes, go ahead, slowly -." John said, his voice dry and hoarse.

"Ah, John, love, yes, I will," Sherlock said as he took John's cock in his mouth and pressed a single finger into him. John moaned loudly, but Sherlock noticed, he began to relax into it almost immediately. Sherlock moaned and moved his finger gently and slowly, then more quickly and urgently as the two men found a rhythm for John.

John felt a prickly heat flare up in his neck and face as Sherlock's finger entered him, slowly, and all the way in. He jerked involuntarily as Sherlock brushed the prostate, and let out a little yelp. Molly quieted him with her kisses.

"Oh, my god," John murmured as he alternately stroked and fisted Sherlock's hair, and held Molly's face in the other hand. He tried to relax, but John wasn't able to get past the heat and mortification that Sherlock was causing to build up in him. It was good, but still so foreign.

"All right, John? Talk to Sherlock a little. Tell him how it feels, hmm?"

"It's – oh, god, it's good – it's -."

"You can move, John, move, darling, he won't break," Molly said, encouraging John. Sherlock took John deep down this throat at this, and John moaned loudly, but ground and bucked his hips more freely, controlling Sherlock's head more forcefully. Sherlock pulled away momentarily.

"Come in my mouth, John, give it all to me." Sensing the doctor was close, Sherlock made a point of brushing John's prostate as he thrust into him with his finger, and it was only a couple of strokes before John's back arched up off the mattress, and he was coming into Sherlock's mouth, groaning out his release with abandon. Molly held him around his shoulders as he collapsed back on the mattress and Sherlock remained, still sucking John's spent cock, carefully licking and taking in all the fluid there was to have. When he was done, Sherlock crawled up on the other side of John, his arms around his waist, and smiled at Molly as they cradled their husband and friend in their arms.

"John in the middle," Molly murmured. "It's nice."

"Yes, it's not often," Sherlock agreed, reaching over to her to stroke her leg, and the curve to her backside.

John came back to himself, bit by bit registering the things in the room, the voices, the chuckling, the arms that held him. He was in the middle, he realized. When was the last time, he thought, long time, usually on the outside somewhere, somehow. He felt trapped. Sherlock's strong arms didn't help the matter. Then he felt emasculated and small. He didn't feel free here, it made him gasp for air a bit, he longed to get out, despite his deep feeling for his wife and friend.

"Stop it, John." Sherlock, the git.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking. It's annoying. Also, you're wrong."

"What? What am I wrong about?"

"You're feeling unwell between us, aren't you? As though you're being held against your will, I know you don't really think that, but it's how you're feeling. And then, too, you're having that size issue again."

"Size issue? I am certainly not having anything of the -."

"And you're also feeling a little culpable about something, probably about not being able to reciprocate properly after the amazing orgasm I just gave you, am I right?"

John hung his head, it was perfectly true he felt this way. He'd told Molly about these feelings before. Had Molly told Sherlock? If she had, it didn't matter, he already knew. Sherlock continued, more softly, more gently than before.

"John, do you know the kind of emotional life I had before you returned to London? Before we met?"

"You didn't have an emotional life, Sherlock," John said.

"That's right. Do you think I was ok? Molly knows the answer. But I really didn't know anything else. Of course I had my work. That's always been in place, study and work. But, the contrast between that time and the time you and I spent together before I – before I had to -. And then the 18 months away was even more – hmmm. To say nothing of my childhood. I know you both think my childhood was pitiable even from what little I've told you. What I'm trying to say is, John, honestly, and Molly, you've both given me-. I don't think you can have an accurate conception of how-. In my – in my - in my life, ah, I've never been -."

"So happy?" Molly prompted.

Sherlock paused.

"No, no that can't possibly be the right word."

"It is, though," Molly kissed him.

"Oh for god's sake. All I wanted to say was that strict adherence to reciprocation in the way that you're thinking, John, is absolutely unnecessary, if not to say ridiculous, under the circumstances. I'm sure you'll agree if you think about it rationally."

Rationally, thought John, I'm in bed with a man and a woman, and he wants me to think about things rationally.

But Sherlock's little speech moved John, though he still felt a sting of shame at being deduced so completely correctly. He ran his hand across his friend's shoulders, and then into his hair, massaging his scalp, but he said nothing.

Sherlock rubbed his cheek against John's arm and readjusted his arms around his friend. Molly was kissing John's neck and he turned to her, kissing her in return.

"John, darling, do you feel any better - between us? You have been before. Can't you feel the good part yet?" Molly cooed, hugging him tighter.

"Yes, John, feel the good part," Sherlock chuckled wickedly, pulling John tighter to him.

"I feel your erection, but I don't think that's what Molly was referring to."

"Hmmhmm," Sherlock chuckled. "Yes it was. Wasn't it Molly? Ah, Molly, will you come here a moment, please? I want to show you something."

Molly kissed John, and clamoured over him to Sherlock, whom she straddled as he lay on his back.

John leaned up on an elbow and watched Molly and Sherlock enjoy their initial moment of penetration, and then establish a slow easy rhythm. John reflected on having been held in the middle, and his feeling of entrapment. Molly was right, though, he'd felt fine in the past, it was only once in a while he'd gotten panicky like tonight. What was the good part? Ah, yes. Safety. He'd felt it tonight, too. The panic had eased away and he'd felt it, that easy sweet feeling of being in a cocoon.

After a few moments, as Molly rode him, Sherlock looked over to John and the two made eye contact. Sherlock leaned his head back, exposing his neck to John, offering it, and without thinking John leaned in the short distance, and licked and bit Sherlock's neck, marking him: there would be a deep bruise. Sherlock moaned, deeply satisfied.

Sherlock splashed his face with water in the morning and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was a particularly vivid purple mark on the side of his neck. His shirt would cover it, if it were buttoned up as far as he usually did up his shirts. He probed the mark with his finger, only slightly tender, gone in a couple of days. He hurried back to his bedroom, empty now, with John and Molly off to work. He picked up a shirt from the chair, the aubergine one, and put it on, looking in the mirror. Yes, he'd have to leave an extra button undone, but the mark would show. The shade matched exactly, the shirt to the mark. John would be home in seven hours, Molly a little later. He smiled and reddened.

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