The Secret of the Holmes
The Curious Two
Sherlock hovered between the two buildings that were smushed fairly tight together, for buildings, anyway, so that only one person could fit in the small alley. Well, two if you were say, kissing or something. But it was just Sherlock. At the moment.
He stood in the same place for about forty five minutes before he finally spotted those two women walking down the street together. They were practically hanging off of each other, obviously drunk off their asses. They were giggling over something that they thought was funny or maybe they were just aimlessly giggling. Girls do that sometimes without being drunk.
One was a teacher, obviously just coming out to have a drink because she was recently dumped and heartbroken, and the other was just a best friend. But the way the friend dressed and stopped to flirt with that man just walking across the street to get home suggested that she was promiscuous. Not a prostitute, but very loose.
The teacher had a lovely shade of blond strands for hair, and her bangs cut straight across hid her eyebrows, but her eyes stayed out from under, displaying that they were a vibrant green. The woman hanging off of her was simply a brunette, and had boring brown eyes. But Sherlock wasn't worried about the brunette, as she would taste horrible, he already knew. He wanted to know what the blond would taste like. She looked delicious.
She didn't seem as shit faced, and when her friend had stopped to flirt, she simply pulled her along, mumbling something that the friend then giggled at and she gave a low chuckle in response, as if they both found it funny. Probably did, as they were both stumbling around drunk. They were an interesting two, about twenty feet away by now. But the blond stopped and hailed a cab. Damn.
No, wait, she was just shoving her friend in, telling the cabbie to take her home, giving her address and the cabbie some cash. So they were close friends. Sherlock's footing shifted as she wrapped her sweater around her tighter, closing the door to the cab and walking away down the street. Getting closer and closer to Sherlock. He licked his lips at the way that she barely stumbled, saying she wasn't as intoxicated as her friend was.
But she was still pretty wasted as Sherlock stepped from the shadows, bumping into her and she apologized quietly and shivered at the cold, but he grabbed her upper arms, making her look up at him in confusion. And the instant she saw his face, she swooned, giggling and brushing at the curls on his forehead. He smiled sweetly, and she grinned, pulling her hand back and pushing at her own straight and lovely hair. "My flat is just down the street," she slurred and he shook his head.
"I won't need it," he grinned, lowering his head and kissing at her jaw line as her arms wrapped around his neck. She giggled, bemused at how gentle his grip had become, cradling her in his arms as his mouth went lower, kissing and licking at her jumping pulse. Of course she would be attracted to him. Almost everyone around him was and it was annoying. But at a time like this, it was easy to use to his advantage.
She hiccupped and her breath caught when his tongue slid from his teeth and past his lips, flicking at her smooth skin as he gently moved her figure and himself back to where he had been in the shadows. Even if someone heard her, they would think she was being pleasured. Which she will be, honestly and so will Sherlock. As long as he can get what he wants and leave without a trace of himself left behind.
He hated himself for having to do this, and it was cliché to do so, and to think 'But what else was he to do?' But he did it anyway, and he hated that, too. Getting this from a hospital tasted disgusting, though and taking it from John wouldn't work, as John has no idea what Sherlock is. Taking from his brother was just too awkward, because taking this was like taking a part of someone's life. Sorta. It felt like you were taking part of someone's life when your fangs descended and sunk into their skin, feeling their muscles tense, then relax under your spell.
And that's what eventually happened, he won't deny it. Her blood started slow at first, trickling from the puncture wounds, but once his teeth were buried further, the pulled out completely, it came gushing out. He licked and drank from her desperately as she whined, but her vision was quickly blurred and she could only think about his lips and tongue on her skin, not the blood rushing from her flesh.
This was how the blood got everywhere. All over his chest and his mouth, all over her exposed cleavage and down her shirt even. Would have ruined Sherlock's suit, if it hadn't been all black that night. Even if there're stains, they won't be noticed by the average human eye. And when she started to feel heavier in his arms, as if her legs were giving up on her, he stopped. It was difficult to, be he did.
He finished by licking up the crimson, and licking at her wounds, making them close instantly with two little scars left behind. She groaned when she felt his tongue all over her neck. But he didn't dare lick up the few drops that trickled to beneath her shirt. He just left it, not desiring to do that. She was shaking from pleasure and passing out a bit afterwards as he set her down, leaving her sitting in the darkening shadows.
"I am sorry," he whispers before standing and wondering how he was going to get all this blood off of him before he gets to the dorm which is only about an hour's walk away. Then the high hits him, and he knew he shouldn't have waited such a long time before feeding again. But no one would question unless they saw the blood.
They would think he was just another drunk, wandering around the streets. Not a vampyre who had just taken what he desired most. God, he hated how much he loved the feeling of blood sliding through his throat and filling him with part of the life a helpless victim. The way it tasted, all for him. Sure, this one had had alcohol on her that made Sherlock's high even worse, but it was so worth the dazed feeling and how his vision slightly blurred. And she was innocent, making her blood taste that much better.
Her friend wouldn't have been as good anyway, he knew as he stumbled down the sidewalk. He didn't bother hiding in the dark anymore, because aside from the street lamps, it was pitch black and almost no one was outside anyway. Besides, the few who might see him would have just run from him. Usually someone covered in blood meant they went through something bad, and no one else wants to get into that, now do they?
Oh, how wrong they would be, then. Drinking her blood was far from bad. Yeah, she would wonder what happened last night, but anyone who was hungover in the morning would. She'll find the blood and wonder, but she'll think nothing else of it. She might never find he scars, which most don't. She might just the same, though. She seemed of the intelligent sort, but oh well. Night spent in a drunken stupor were always a mystery to those who were experiencing it. And Sherlock hoped for his sake and hers that it stayed that way.
Then somehow, out of all of that, his wandering mind went back to John, wondering what he would think of this. If he found Sherlock covered on blood, what would he think? What would he do? Would he hurt or try to kill Sherlock for being a monster? Would he pity him? Oh Dear Lord, how Sherlock hated being pitied for what was his fault in the first place. But still, he couldn't help but to wonder what the university student would think about being roomed with a vampyre. Sherlock knew that when he was human, he would have tried to study whatever came his way and looked interesting. And vampyres are very interesting, indeed.
Still living but needing blood to keep it that way? Oh yeah, weird and very intriguing. Especially since they might as well be human, but with a different appetite. And even then! They still have to eat at least a bit of human food. As said before, they might as well be humans, after all, they still had a beating heart and blood running through their veins.
They weren't the stereotypical beings that humans want to exaggerate about. They live, breath, sleep and eat as any other human would, which is why they haven't been discovered yet. Of course, there'll be the few humans who are companions or more to a vampyre, and they know. But vampyres haven't been exposed to the public, and hopefully, it will stay that way.
It really is annoying when people also want to romanticize vampyres, making them these passionate beings that love their significant other so much and blah blah. That was where the rumor of vampyres being deadly cold came from. The fact that they don't exactly have feelings as strong as humans do. Sure, they can love something or someone with everything they have, but it's not the same as someone else loving something. Which was also what puzzled Sherlock so much.
How could he have feelings for that idiot? He barely even knew him as well. But he definitely felt something for him. He didn't care much that it was a male that he was feeling for. It was the fact that he was feeling anything at all. He had always been able to block emotions and mostly people in general from his life, but here he was, feeling things for-
Wait, what was that? it sounded like something moved, just behind Sherlock. and something was definitely there as he heard the clicking of someone's heels on the sidewalk. Not a woman, these shoes weren't a woman's. The footsteps suggested otherwise as well: light, but still heavier than a woman's would be.
Then they started to fade, as if they were walking away from Sherlock. So, someone else outside tonight. Perhaps coming from a door Sherlock hadn't heard open? It seemed to be that way, because the footsteps faded into the night, and eventually weren't heard anymore as Sherlock's stilled figure started walking again. Who could it have been that Sherlock was afraid of seeing, though? He was obviously afraid of who it could have been. His brother, perhaps? Oh, stupid Mycroft.
Sherlock despised that man with a burning passion. Sure, they were brothers, but they weren't related in any way. They shared blood, that was it. A few strands of DNA, and that was all. Mycroft always got onto Sherlock about caring and how it's not an advantage. He's right, it's not. But he was such a hypocrite. He obviously loved his little brother, and there was another he had his eye on as well, Sherlock wasn't sure who, but Mycroft's attitude changed when he was staring in a particular direction.
But whoever he was staring at was always gone before Sherlock could get a good look at who his brother was ogling. He had tried simply asking about it, but Mycroft always avoided the question and either walked away or brought the conversation to revolve around Sherlock. And that big brat knew Sherlock hated that, so then it would be Sherlock who got up and left.
Anyway, back to walking. Thinking wasn't doing any good with how fast he wanted to get back to the dorms. It was slowing him down, as food does to his thinking. And blood was no different with that. Drinking it always brought him to think about much more than he needed to. But his mind wandered again, only to be brought back by more footsteps. Though, these steps were different from the earlier ones.
They sounded more like a flat footed shoe, maybe for- yup, skating. Whoever it was had dropped a board to the sidewalk, testing out the wheels, then riding upon it and Sherlock thought they would just slate right past him. Of course, they didn't and now he knew who this was. Sherlock popped his coat collar up, knowing he was going to have to talk to the moron and even though it was dark out, he didn't want him to see the blood that he sadly couldn't clean up until he got back.
"Hey, Sherlock," he called out, and Sherlock never wavered in his footsteps, just kept walking as the high was disappearing and his feet could actually take him somewhere instead of stumbling over air. He didn't slow either as the board skidded and stopped and there were more footsteps until the boy was right beside Sherlock, pulling at his shoulder. "Hey, look at me," he demanded.
"What do you want, Victor?" Sherlock asked, his voice low and Victor laughed at that.
"We both know what I want, but we also know that's not going to happen," he nodded and Sherlock rolled his eyes. This boy was more annoying than before.
"So what? You're still going to try? Why are you here?" Sherlock questioned.
"I'm not trying anything, I've learned my lesson from the happenings of last time. I'm here because this is what I do at midnight. But it seems as though you're out here as well. So I wanted to talk to you," he admitted and Sherlock scoffed.
"Talk. You're funny, Victor. Well go on then, do your midnight riding and leave me alone," he ordered and Victor sighed.
"You sure?" Victor asked, both he and Sherlock knowing he would if Sherlock really didn't want him around.
"Now. Before I strangle you," Sherlock threatened rather calmly and Victor tsked. But he put the board back under his feet and was back to riding in seconds, his hair flying from his face as he became nothing but a figure in the dark to Sherlock who was simply walking. But Sherlock was bored now, his thoughts kept wandering and somehow coming back to him.
So Sherlock exhaled deeply, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, loving being able to smoke without someone there to tell him no. His parents always got on him about it, and surely John wouldn't like it. John… And he hadn't realized that his cigarette was finished when he came back from the thoughts that went back to him. He really needs to stop thinking about random shit, and then going back to… No.
He crushed the butt of the sadly finished cigarette under his foot, walking away from it. Just walking. God, he wished he was there already, but he had about half an hour left of just walking. See, this is when Mycroft's stalkerness would come in handy. He could have just appeared randomly with a car and would just take Sherlock wherever. But, then he would try to keep Sherlock around for conversation, and that was the annoying part.
So actually, Mycroft appearing might not be the best distraction. He would annoy Sherlock into saying something weird or doing something he might regret. It's happened before, and Sherlock hates when it does. No Mycroft tonight, good. Then Sherlock wondered why he didn't just run, he could do it faster than any human. That was true about vampyres, the fact that they have higher senses, and have more strength. That brought Sherlock back to when people thought he wasn't human.
He wasn't, but he did his deductions way before he was turned. Of course, they have become better, but they were still there before. Becoming a vampyre changed almost nothing, honestly. It was just the need for more secrets that changed so much. Although, Mycroft was getting a little jealous as of late, because Sherlock can see just a bit more than he could when it came to observations.
It was always the other way around before, but maybe if Mycroft also pulled his head out of his ass, he would be able to keep up. Every time they went into a battle of wits, or rather deductions, Mycroft was always distracted by someone else. And Sherlock had yet to find out who that someone else was, which he hated. He really teased Mycroft about some things, but if he had emotions to tease about, that would make it all much more funny.
Sadly, though, he never discovered who Mycroft was staring at. Although, lately Mycroft's grown soft. He won't fight with Sherlock like he used to. He actually sometimes avoids it. It's weird, too. Mostly because Sherlock always has a good reason to argue with him when he avoids it. Or so, Sherlock thinks anyway. And here Sherlock goes again, letting his mind wander and think about the dumbest of things.
Think of things like him. Why does Sherlock always manage to think about him. He was acting much too like a lovesick teenager for his tastes. He is an adult, and here he was thinking about love. Ugh, such a disgusting feeling. Of course, when you're in it, it doesn't feel that way. But the thought of falling in love was disgusting to Sherlock.
It meant he was a dumbass who couldn't get his head straight because it was focused on more idiotic matters. Although, at the moment, those matters seem important. But in reality they're stupid and don't actually matter to the lover you're trying to impress. Of course, they seem sweet to the other, but they really don't matter, do they? No.
And that was what annoyed him about Victor. The fact that he always tried to impress Sherlock because they went to high school together. Victor was stupid and fell in love with Sherlock. It was fairly obvious that he was gay, but did Victor really have to stereotypically fall in love with a vampyre? It's annoying and unneeded. Especially since at the time Sherlock was a junior and Victor was only a freshman.
Even if Sherlock was normal and human, it wouldn't have worked. Victor and Sherlock's relationship never went any farther than the annoying brat who couldn't give up on the man he found attractive for some odd reason. There was that, too. Everyone thought Sherlock was attractive, and he just didn't see it. He actually thought he looked odd with the defined cheekbones and the curls that never stayed down. They were crazy and always everywhere, never to be tamed.
But somehow, when he swooned over Sherlock, it was different. When he made comments about Sherlock's attractiveness, Sherlock actually felt flattered and not annoyed. Sherlock even found him attractive as well. He wasn't average, either though. He was intelligent, and he was a bit more persistent, but not up in Sherlock's business. He was a little awkward, but oh well. Sherlock was awkward and he didn't like him any less for it.
God! Will his mind stop disappointing him by going off into a completely different direction than wanted?! He needs to stop thinking about him, and start thinking about how much distance he has left to cover before he's back at the dorms. He also needs to think about how he was going to hide this from his roomy. Obviously John would still be awake, as he has trouble sleeping sometimes. And meeting someone new is definitely going to keep him up thinking about it.
Sherlock didn't know exactly what happened that John has slight insomnia, but he knows it's something to do with his family. He just wish he knew what- Stop it! Just focus on getting back, that's it and that's all. Walking straight ahead and taking that turn right there and being there in about fifteen minutes…
o0o
The next thing Sherlock remembered was being on the floor, complaining about John not putting his jacket on the floor, but instead on the bed. He remembered pricking John's finger with his fang and then licking it up, telling John what he was without saying a word, and how shocked John's face was. "Sherlock?" he tried.
Sherlock nodded and stood, instantly stripping from his shoes, also his bloody shirt, and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up and wondering how much John's mind was reeling. He must be questioning so much. And suddenly Sherlock felt guilty. The high from earlier left him, giving him back the ability to think straight, and then he remembered Victor and instantly he sneered in disgust.
But then he heard two knocks on the locked bathroom door, "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?" Not pity, but concern. Good, no pity is needed here. But the concern is nice.
"Do you always repeat someone's name as much as possible?" Sherlock asked, a bit muffled by the towel he had rubbing and drying his face off from the water he had used to wash it.
"Sorry," Sherlock heard with a huff of nervousness, as well as the shuffling of feet. Again, as if he was nervous. But why?
"There's no need to be afraid of me, John. When I walk out, it'll still be me," at least that was the truth.
"Well, I didn't know that," he admitted. "Especially with you being.. Jesus Christ," he mumbled. "Is this even possible?" he kept mumbling to himself, as if he was so shaken up that that was all he could do: mumble to himself.
"Well, now you know, and do speak up. It's annoying trying to listen with you mumbling like that," Sherlock complained and John huffed.
"Maybe if you would come-" and he was cut off by Sherlock emerging from the bathroom, "out," and looking down on John as he stood, petrified by that glare. But he settled, taking a step back so he wasn't so close, and he continued. "Anyway, are you alright?"
"Yes, fine. Why are you asking? I'm the one who hurt someone else. Now, if you want to know if I'm alright mentally, well that's a completely different story- why am I telling you this?" he queried and John shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"People tell me I'm trustworthy. I don't know," he said and he sighed again. Sherlock's eyes narrowed a bit, studying John's features as he had the smallest of pinks grow on his cheeks and he looked to the floor. "I was just about to go to bed when you burst in here, covered in.. blood," he hesitated on that word, as if Sherlock might react to it.
"John, I am just as human as you are, I'm just.. a little… different," Sherlock explained and John nodded, pursing his lips in thought. Sherlock regrettably found himself staring at said lips before coming back up to John's eyes. Those lovely denim blue eyes that were a little lighter when he stepped out into the sunlight.
"Now who's repeating names as much as possible?" and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But you're sure you're okay?" John asked again.
"Stop asking or I'll say no just to make you fuss over it," he smirked and John's eyes rolled up as he shook his head a bit and then they were back to the floor as less of it was coming between them. Sherlock was taking steps to get closer and John's eyes widened slightly as he was just a fingertip away. His pulse quickened just like that and his eyes dilated just a little when he looked up at Sherlock with them.
"I'm just trying to make sure you…" he couldn't finish as he looked up into Sherlock's blue but green but also somehow grey eyes, and he wondered if him being a vampyre had anything to do with that eye colour. It was beautiful either way. And John had to look away again, because that beauty was what he didn't need. He didn't need to think about those parted lips and the tongue licking across them, either.
That fluffy pink and wet tongue that could do so much if it wanted. John probably wouldn't resist, but he knew it was wrong in every way possible. "To make sure that I'm what?" Sherlock asked in a low voice that was almost a whisper. "That I'm 'alright'? John, I'm fine. You on the other hand, you want something that you know you shouldn't have, don't you?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Sherlock?" he took another step back, only pushing the back of his knees into Sherlock's bed and his hands came from his pockets to try to balance himself out so he didn't fall.
"You should know, John. I'm standing right in front of you," he pointed out and John scoffed.
"Are you drunk? Did you drink someone else who was drunk? Or maybe you're high? Because you are not-" and he was cut off by being pushed to the bed covers. Sherlock held him down by his wrists, and he struggled at first, but upon realizing there was no use, he stopped and just glared at Sherlock.
"I am not what, John? Finish your sentences before I make them nonexistent," and John's eyes widened. How could I be swept away by this? I barely even know you! And yet… you're so different. So attractive, so… everything…
"You are not what I want," he stuttered, knowing it was a lie by now. And Sherlock tilted his head to the side and gave a bemused but somehow amused smile. John shivered, hoping Sherlock didn't feel that as the brunet straddled John's hips.
"Are you sure about that?" and John tried to get up again, bucking his hips under Sherlock's and trying to wriggle free from the iron grip pushing his wrists into the covers and not letting go.
"Sherlock, stop being so weird! Let me go!" he demanded and Sherlock shook his head in amusement at how stubborn this man was being. But he sat up, sitting in John's lap with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.
"'Stop being so weird'? That's all that you could come up with? Shouldn't it have been something like, 'Stop giving me what I want because I think it's wrong?' Hm?" Sherlock challenged as John tried to grab Sherlock hips and move him away. But he was stuck, once more, under Sherlock.
And now that he was facing Sherlock's chest, he had to observe how oddly muscled he was. He didn't have abs or anything silly like that, but he wasn't chubby either. He looked like he did a lot of work with something that required him to be strong enough to do it, but he didn't look like he worked out or anything. And he was pale as fuck, anywhere and everywhere on him. And the colour of his skin only made it look smooth and soft to the touch.
He wondered if that also went to- no! Oh! Ew! Stop it! And he made himself look up to Sherlock's eyes. Those eyes that were expecting him to do something. "What are you doing, Sherlock?" he asked instead of doing the something he wanted to.
"Sitting on you because it's obvious that you're getting aroused from it. Would you like to admit to yourself that you like a man, or are you going to just go to bed and forget that this happened?" Sherlock rose a brow in expectance of the answer he knew would come out of John's mouth.
"I would just go to bed, but this seems.. you seem different somehow. Like- er, never mind. Just, you know what, let me up. I need sleep before I do something stupid," John said.
"Oh no, by all means," Sherlock leaned closer until their noses were touching, "do something stupid," his breath ghosted over John's lips. But it didn't smell like blood, like John had expected it to. It actually smelled like mint, so he probably brushed his teeth. Makes sense, but why was John so focused on Sherlock breathing hotly over his lips?
And why did he lick his own in response to the closeness of Sherlock's? No, he wasn't thinking about actually doing this, was he? But Sherlock sat here, so close and he acted like he wanted it… But did he? Or was he just observing and being a tease?
John didn't know, but what he did know was that he was an idiot for letting his hands jump up and seize Sherlock's curls, slightly tugging and bringing his face closer, closing that gap between their lips. And he had to say, the first kiss was definitely different from kissing girls.
It was either Sherlock being a man that made it better, or the fact that he was a vampyre. Then again, if John didn't know about that, it would probably still be like this. 'This', being electricity running from his lips and fingers to the rest of his body because Sherlock's touch did that to him. And he was surprised to find that Sherlock participated, his soft lips moving against John's and pulling him closer.
And John couldn't resist pulling just a bit more on Sherlock's curls. He was right, they were soft to the touch and them being unruly made them bouncy and irresistible. Sherlock pulled back enough to say, "Pull it, you know you want to," placing kisses along John's jaw line and part of his cheek.
"Won't that hurt?" John asked, his fingers still buried in what he knew Sherlock was suggesting he pull.
"Isn't that the point?" Sherlock countered, looking back into John's worried eyes.
"You're like that, are you?" John smirked. "Fine," pulling harshly on Sherlock's curls and ripping his head back to expose the neck he wanted to place kisses and nips across. Which he did and Sherlock groaned, gripping at John's shoulders harder as the pain and pleasure mingled and he couldn't help but make noises when John found a spot and started sucking.
It was red and stood out against his pale skin before John stopped and his hands went away from Sherlock's hair to roam about Sherlock's chest and all the while he wondered what the hell he was doing. Then again, did it really matter? Sherlock's shirt was already gone, and John took advantage, not exactly caring what was wrong and what was right anymore.
He let his body's sudden arousal take over and soon his palms were against Sherlock's back, bringing him closer and allowing John's lips and tongue to come in contact with one of his nipples. Biting, licking, slightly sucking and teasing until it stood out, and he repeated the action with the other. Sherlock couldn't help the fingers that wandered as he gripped at John's short hair. And even though it was short, he could still pull at it, making John shiver.
And then John was being shoved back onto the bed under Sherlock's weight and his shirt was ripped from his body, and he had raised his arms to let it fly to the floor. What was happening? He didn't know, but he liked it. He didn't want it to stop as Sherlock ripped both of their socks off, then worked at John's trousers, pulling them free and they landed on the floor in a frenzy.
Their lips connected now in a heat and need that wasn't there before, and John's tongue slipped through Sherlock's teeth, prodding at Sherlock's own. He gladly accepted, poking back as if he was shy, but then he seemed to get confident with his actions, pushing back as if he was fighting for dominance. He pushed John's body back to the covers from the rising position he was taking to get more of Sherlock and pulled his trousers from himself, throwing them to the floor and his coat happened to fall from the edge of the bed as well.
But instead of complaining about it like he had earlier, he simply growled, pushing himself into John's body and his tongue slipped back through to John's, tasting him again. He never knew tasting a human, besides their blood would feel so good. Arousing, even. Which was how he was hard enough to press his erection to John's through their pants, and even though there was still cloth blocking them, he could feel the heat from John and that made him throb in the need to feel John's skin against his.
That was why he pushed their chests together, and his tongue dug deeper, trying to get more and John moaned, pulling Sherlock's groin closer with his hands clutching at Sherlock's arse. Was he dreaming? He didn't think so. Though, sometimes John's dreams could be this detailed. But this didn't feel like a dream. That was the only explanation, or so it seemed as he barely knew Sherlock and here he was, making out with him and rubbing his acing self all over the brunet who was just soaking it all up and pushing back.
And all the shame he had felt earlier was gone. Somehow, Sherlock made that disappear as John felt his pants being inched from himself and they fell to the floor. Sherlock pushed the two up further so they were fully on the bed and completely pressed together. But Sherlock's pants were still in the way. Gotta fix that, now don't we? And fix it, John did, pressing his hands to Sherlock's hips and guiding the pants from them, off of his thighs and past his ankles to the floor.
John was right, he was so weirded out that he was right, but then again it was beautiful that he was correct about Sherlock's cock being just as pale as the body surrounding it. It was smooth and John wanted to touch, but he didn't. Instead, rubbing his own arousal against it and making them both moan. God, having this man on top of him, but writhing and moaning as if he was under him felt so fucking good.
Sherlock was very responsive as well. And John loved it as he gave up and finally touched, twirling his finger around the base of Sherlock's member, and letting it spiral up to his head, wiping away the precum that had been building. But that little act made it drip freely now, Sherlock confused and gasping out breaths at how impossibly fantastic that felt. He was still processing that this was actually happening as John pulled at Sherlock's hips again, pushing them together as closely as possible.
Sherlock ended up dripping onto John's abdomen and he didn't care as he himself had started dripping as well. But Sherlock wanted to touch, too. John touching him felt wonderful, so he wanted to return the favor, and he pushed his hand between John and himself, tugging at John's dick, his fingers telling John to react and do it now. And he did, thrusting up into Sherlock's hand, as it was so gentle when stroking at the underside of John, making him bite his lip and hum in pleasure.
Now they were both dripping profusely and neither was ashamed anymore, just wanting more and more. John felt the need to be on top, pulling at Sherlock's curls again, making him gasp as John's mouth collided with his own, all teeth and tongues and Sherlock was now on his back.
John was now straddling his hips and leaning over, kissing at his sweat covered neck and his face, trying to say he still cared, even though his hand was harsh, squeezing out enough precum from both of them to tug at both of their cocks, smushing them together and the heat was amazing. It hurt a little but that was what made it feel so much better.
Sherlock couldn't help it when he bucked his hips into John's hand, and John chuckled, licking behind Sherlock's ear and lingering, sucking a bit before his lips were kissing the skin back to Sherlock's mouth. He was careful now, tentative even, as his tongue slipped back into Sherlock's mouth, feeling his panting breath and loving that he had done that to him. But John was panting as well, and he didn't understand why rubbing against another man felt so good, but oh Jesus did it feel as though all that sex before was just a prologue to this.
Sherlock couldn't get enough, he was throbbing and needed skin against his own. And he achieved this by wrapping his legs around John's hips, shoving them between his thighs instead of on top of him and making John rub against him erotically. John's hand caught in between their flushed and sweaty gasping bodies and the back of his fingers were squished to Sherlock's stomach as well as his palm being pressed to their pricks.
They weren't just dripping anymore, but covering both of them and John's hand in pre ejaculate as Sherlock's breath caught and John moaned. "Christ Sherlock…" John swore and Sherlock returned it with a thrash of his head and a louder moan, repeating John's name as if that was all he could say. Maybe it was, he didn't care to try to form any other word. John's name feeling great rolling from his tongue and into the air filled with heat and arousal.
"John, John," and he couldn't hold back as he felt it in his belly, that tight feeling that he then released, while John simply decided to use the trapped hand, tugging at their cocks and milking Sherlock for all he was worth, also until he, too, was spilling over onto the two abdomens. This high was so much better than any other Sherlock had ever felt before. Drugs, alcohol, blood… It was better than all of it. And, "John…" was the one who caused it.
He blinked away the silvery white swimming in his eyes away and felt John collapse on top of him, moaning when his softening cock rubbed against Sherlock's hip. "Sh- Sher- Sherl- Sherlock, t-that was…" he gulped down air as he tried to gain it back, his hand wiping at the sweat that had formed on his brow. "How was that so good? I me-mean, y-you're a… and I'm…. H-How?" He really was horrible at forming words after sex, wasn't he?
Sherlock shook his head, swallowing at the drool that had formed, "I have no idea. It was good, though, wasn't it?" he smirked and John huffed, which seemed more like an attempt at laughter.
"Fantastic," he said, crawling back over Sherlock, placing lazy kisses under his jaw but leaving saliva as well. Wait, he was drooling? That's new… But his mind quickly came back to what just actually happened and he jumped up, "Sherlock!? Did we just-? How did you? I-!" Still couldn't get a full sentence out. Stupid moronic idiot..
Sherlock sat up as well, rolling his eyes at how stupid John can be sometimes. "Yes, John, we just had sex. You don't have to be penetrated to have sex, you know."
"No, I know, but. Fuck, Sherlock, I only met you three days ago!" he exclaimed and Sherlock shrugged.
"Your point? I was a virgin, and look how quickly that changed," he smiled and John wiped a hand across his face, not the one covered in semen, thank you.
"You were-? Mm, Jesus, fuck, shit, god dammit! I need a shower, I'll be a few minutes, I won't take long," and with that, he nodded, sliding from Sherlock's bed and rushing to the bathroom. Sherlock just grinned. The idiot finally realized that sometimes, wrong is right and vice versa, but no matter what, what feels good, feels right.
And John wasn't lying, he was soon done, with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was still damp. "My turn," Sherlock said, moving from the bed and to the bathroom where it was still warm from the hot water that was used. But he stopped to give John a kiss before slipping in through the door and closing it behind himself.
While Sherlock was in the shower, John took it upon himself to clean up, moving the clothes to the hamper, and replacing the sheets. He didn't think Sherlock would want to sleep on what smelled like sex. And suddenly he felt the urge to sleep with Sherlock, in his bed, holding him or even letting him hold John. But no.
He knew he couldn't, so he slipped on some PJs, and slipped under the covers of his own bed. Then he heard the water stop, signaling that Sherlock was done and he stepped out of the bathroom to the dark room John had turned out the lights in. John still couldn't sleep. He was exhausted, that was definite and it was after one in the morning, but he couldn't find his way to sleep. He hated it, but he just couldn't.
"Get over here, you know you're not going to sleep without someone else wrapped around you," Sherlock teased and John looked over his shoulder to glare at Sherlock. But that glare stopped when he saw those eyes shining in the night, and John's breathing was instinctively getting a bit heavier in fear. But then he realized there was nothing to be afraid of and he sighed.
"I suppose you're right," John admitted and he drug himself with a pillow in his arm over to Sherlock's side of the room, slipping under those covers with Sherlock instantly wrapping himself around John, spooning into him. John simply accepted the arm over his shoulder and the legs in between his, actually snuggling into Sherlock as he adjusted the pillow under his head.
John knew he shouldn't take to the stereotypes and believe them, but he also didn't think Sherlock would be this warm, either. He was, though, and it was making John melt as Sherlock settled with his cheek against John's shoulder. He could feel the water dripping from Sherlock's curls onto his neck and it was cold compared to the heat of Sherlock's body pressing into his back.
John wanted more to feel, though, and his hand wandered, linking his fingers in between Sherlock's and loosely keeping them there as he finally passed out from the day's exhaustion. Sherlock smiled, loving John's fingers laced through his own, and found his way to sleep easily enough with a warm body that basically served as a body pillow. But John was so much more, as he was coming to terms with learning…
Jesus fucking Christ that got long! Sorry for that, but I couldn't resist doing that. Besides, there is a reason why John is so attracted to Sherlock so quickly... :-D I hope you enjoyed reading a lot.