Hello, my loves! Sorry it's taken so long for this chapter. It's not quite as long as the other chapters, but I believed this scene needed its own chapter, as I stated last chapter in the AN. Warning, smut ahead. For my readers that do not want to read some man on man action, I will mark the beginning and end of the scene with a ;). Though, that's pretty much most of the chapter...so...feel free to skip this chapter if you must. Just be sure to catch the dialogue at the bottom to know what's going on in the next chapter. Thank you to those who have favorited and reviewed! The love I get from you guys just really warms my heart. Thank you.
Also, two new songs in this chapter! Both are by an extremely talented artist, Michele McLaughlin. I LOVE her music! As always, I will have pointless directions on how to Youtube the music in my bio. The songs are titled, "The Druid's Prayer" and "The Eternal City", for those who wish to listen and read.
I love you all! XOXO ^-^
Later, Sherlock would've testified that John was the most amiable that night he'd been since the entire case had started.
After a long drive around London, aimlessly trying to find a restaurant at which to eat, John apprehensively watching the meter in the cab climb higher and higher, the couple settled on a new Italian bistro which had just opened not far from Bart's. John was surprised to find that the seafood alfredo pasta was served in such a massive portion that he had enough to give Sherlock (who claimed he wasn't hungry but ate nearly a quarter of the massive dish) some and still had enough to take home. It was enough to make the unholy price worthwhile.
Not only was John, at the end of his dinner with Sherlock, well-fed and relaxed after their strenuous, long day, but he felt better mentally than he ever had after playing the piano. Usually, he was on edge after playing the instrument, anxious and depressed by turns. This time, none of those emotions lingered and instead he found himselfbut was decidedly happy just the same.
After leaving the restaurant, they decided to walk for a few blocks since it was such a nice, balmy night and, as they navigated their way through the crowds on the sidewalk who seemed to share their opinion about the evening, Sherlock took the doctor's hand and interlaced their fingers, something he rarely did in public. Of course, when he did usually hold John's hand they were chasing after a criminal and he was dragging John along so they didn't get separated.
This, though, was more intimate. There were no criminals in sight. They were both relaxed, comfortable to be out and together, and each were replaying the beautiful melody John had played earlier in their minds, imagining a beautiful autumn evening spent at Regent's Park.
John pulled Sherlock a little closer so he could feel Sherlock's body, warm and solid, against his arm and down his side. They walked that way for a while, hands still entwined, enjoying each other's company, relishing the tantalizing brush of their bodies swaying together, nerves twinging and thrumming with the promises inherent in those innocent caresses, until Sherlock, noticing John starting to flag a bit, decided to hail a cab.
As usual, it seemed almost any cabbie in London could find Sherlock's raised hand and come straight to him and John marveled as a black cab rumbled to a stop at the curb and his lover opened the door for him with a flourish.
"You've got to teach me how to do that one day." He quipped, climbing into the back seat.
"Natural talent." Sherlock replied, settling beside him. "You'll never master it, John." He said, possessively pulling John to him and positioning them so that John's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. John hummed happily, letting his eyes drift closed and, breathing in Sherlock's unique scent, allowed himself to relax into the embrace.
Stroking his tired love's shoulder, Sherlock's mind travelled back to the night of John's nightmare. It'd been torturous for John to play all those hours without as much as a break. Sherlock sighed himself, rested his head against John's head, and stared into space as he recounted everything he learned that night from John's shaky confession. Sherlock had vowed that night that he would never do anything like that to his beloved again. He then made his mind to ensure that John found the piano in a different, better light.
John, aware of the distance growing between himself and Sherlock as Sherlock lost himself in his mind, squeezed Sherlock's hand in attempt to bring him out of his reverie.
"Alright, love. Tell me what's on your mind."
Sherlock just shook his head and pressed a firm kiss to John's hair. "Just you."
John frowned, bemused, but decided to leave Sherlock's cryptic, ominous statement at that. It was obvious, given Sherlock's sudden change in mood, he wasn't inclined to talk. From previous experience, John knew what Sherlock needed was some time just to cuddle, as odd as it may have been for the great Sherlock Holmes to admit to such a "weakness". It was ill-fated then that they pulled up in front of Baker Street not even five minutes later before John could get in a good cuddle with his thoughtful partner. Sherlock, taking John by surprise, paid the cabbie this time, all without saying a word, and glided out of the cab with John's leftover pasta in tow.
Of course, this left John with Sherlock's violin and their sheet music and John rolled his eyes, gathering their things and followed Sherlock inside. He struggled slightly on the stairs with the numerous sheets of music which had decided that the ground was a more appealing resting place than the folder that held them.
"I'll put this in the refrigerator." Sherlock said once they were both in the entrance, gesturing with John's leftover box. "Go ahead and set up our piece. We'll start in a moment."
John stared after Sherlock as the detective marched up the stairs to their flat and swallowed heavily, his eyes dropping to watch the flex and sway of Sherlock's arse beneath his trousers. John couldn't help but wonder if the clever man was exaggerating his walk, sticking his arse out just the tiniest bit as he made his ascent, just to tease John.
He wouldn't put it past Sherlock to do just that. The man was positively Machiavellian when it came to seducing John.
Shaking his head, dismissing his naughty thoughts, John walked into the "music room" and set up the sheets of music and Sherlock's violin.
A few minutes later, John looked up expectantly when Sherlock walked into the room. No, John amended, his jaw dropping and all his blood suddenly rushing in the direction of his crotch, Sherlock didn't walk – he swaggered into the room, looking like sex on two legs having abandoned his suit jacket and wearing only his tight purple shirt and a pair of fitted black trousers. He'd also abandoned his shoes and socks, a casual, sensually hedonistic look John loved to see on Sherlock since the genius was always so posh and proper and put-together. Sherlock's hair was slightly mussed and his cheeks, usually so incredibly pale, were pink from rushing up and down the stairs, all of which added together gave him an extremely sexy quality that John just couldn't ignore.
John felt himself blushing as Sherlock, apparently unaware of the effect he was having on his partner (though John didn't buy that act for a second) strode to his violin and expectantly waited for John to take his place at the piano. Moving stiffly due to a growing constriction in his groin, John nodded, cleared his throat, and dutifully took his place at the instrument, listening as Sherlock played the first few bars of the song.
John closed his eyes and ignored the pressing urge to watch Sherlock glide around the room as he played, bringing forth bewitching notes from the instrument in his hand; John refused to be scolded for not focusing again. He instead tried to suppress his initial arousal and let his mind wander into safer places as he coaxed his own harmony from the keys of the piano.
;)
It was difficult, though. The knowledge that Sherlock was circling him, looking so delectable, debauched, and, well, fuckable made playing difficult. It made concentrating on the melody next to impossible. John, his eyes still closed but every other sense tuned toward Sherlock, felt as if he were like Sherlock's violin. Sherlock could make him feel like singing – or screeching – just by moving in the right – or wrong – way.
Taking a deep breath, John imagined Sherlock playing him, playing his body. Butterfly kisses traveling up John's abdomen and soft lips like fingertips finding each appropriate pressure point to spur a high moan or a low growl as a long hand, palm warm and soft, embraced his girth and moved across his strings, making his body crescendo and crash in a devastating symphony.
Apparently these thoughts were infectious because as they mercifully – for John, at least – came to the end of the song, Sherlock ended his note in a long, drawn-out flourish which made shivers race up John's spine and the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.
John looked over at Sherlock and felt a breath escape his lips and his cock harden even more than it had at his mind's stunning visuals.
Sherlock had that look on his face; a glare which made his face appear as if he were a predatory feline, about to consume its prey. It was a look that made John want to give his lover something to hunt.
Preferably himself.
Sherlock, catching John's gaze, set his beloved violin down and crossed the room, padding quietly on his bare feet, coming to a stop behind John. John tried to turn and face Sherlock but long, elegant fingers gripped his shoulder, keeping him facing the piano. Sherlock's hands moved, settling atop John's on the piano keys and John swallowed, his throat feeling thick with suppressed arousal, when the position caused Sherlock to shift closer. Sherlock's heart thudded against John's head and – John took a deep breath – Sherlock's semi-hard cock pressed against his spine.
John felt himself go completely hard as Sherlock ghosted a breath over his ear.
"Play something for me," the rumbling baritone said, sending chills down John's arms, reverberating in his chest, "Something to make me take you…right here…at this piano."
John gasped, suppressing the urge to moan, as Sherlock ground his erection into his back, making John's face burn red at the implications. He'd always seen the piano as something sacred and unsullied. This was incredibly new, incredibly dirty territory.
He loved it.
Sherlock surprised John by briefly leaning away and, after a quick rummage, placing one of the pieces of music from the numerous boxes Mycroft left for them in front of John. John watched, intrigued, as those pale fingers appeared in front of him again and started slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His heart thudded as each button pulled free and, when Sherlock had finally finished, he slid the material from John's shoulders, leaving John in just his jeans. John shivered at the cold and suddenly Sherlock was leaning against his back again, his trouser-covered erection prominent against John's naked skin.
"Play." Sherlock murmured, his fingers dancing up and down John's arms before resting on his shoulders, pulling John back just the slightest, grinding himself on John's body.
John shook himself and glanced at the sheets of music, smirking at the title as he placed his fingers on the keys. "Were you ever planning on telling me about this particular kink, my love?" He inquired in a voice gone thick and husky with arousal, making Sherlock tighten his grip on John's shoulders.
Sherlock's only reply was a little growl which vibrated John's shoulders as Sherlock pressed his body even further against John's.
John smiled deviously – two could play at this game – and began the song.
With the first chords, Sherlock felt weak in the knees as John began roughly pressing the keys to The Druid's Prayer by Michele McLaughlin. As the song went on, Sherlock could feel John's muscles tensing up beneath him, each movement slowly becoming more erotic than the last as he firmly pounded away on the keys, making his performance all the more sexy as the tempo of the music increased. Sherlock stepped back and simply watched John, amazed by what the power of music could do to his love. John swayed his body slightly to the rhythm, the muscles in his naked back rippling as his jeans rode down just enough to show off the endearingly sensual dimples above his arse.
Sherlock breathed heavily as he closed his eyes, imagining John playing this heady song completely bare-bones naked and oh-so-sexily. In his mind, Sherlock would accompany him on the violin – himself being completely naked – with low candle light filling the room with warmth and rose petals sprinkled around the floor. Sherlock opened his eyes and watched John lean forward and run his hands up the keys. Sherlock shivered as he imagined those talented fingers running up his body in the same way.
As the song came to an end, the detective was more than ready for John to touch him as intimately as he did the piano. Sherlock was no longer semi-hard, to say the least. He could tell how flushed his face was as he palmed at his straining erection, trying to give himself just a little friction. John really was unfair when he decided to be so damn sexy.
John lifted his head and looked back at Sherlock, running his eyes up and down his body, finding that his lover, too, had more sexual thoughts than musical on his mind. Biting his lip, John spun himself around on the polished wood bench, unknowingly gazing at his detective with the same predatory look Sherlock had given him earlier.
Sherlock swallowed under Three Continents Watson's heavy, sensual stare and stepped closer, tentatively holding out another sheet of music.
John quirked an eyebrow and smirked at his love's obvious arousal. "A fan of McLaughlin, are we?" John purred teasingly, taking the music from Sherlock's long fingers.
Sherlock growled and lunged, closing the gap between them and stooping down, kissing John's neck aggressively, biting him there and gripping John's knees, spreading them forcefully apart so he could move in between them. John breathed in sharply and grabbed Sherlock's arm with his free hand, urging him closer, his hips rising off the bench without his consent, searching for much-needed friction – something to thrust against.
Sherlock withdrew, lips curving up into a wicked grin at John's groan of disappointment. "Play for me."
Breathlessly, John nodded and turned himself around – moaning slightly when Sherlock scooted him forward on the bench to make room for himself, straddling John from behind – and placed the music on the stand with slightly shaking fingers. As John began to play The Eternal City, Sherlock meditatively ran his hands down John's abdomen and chest, smoothing his hands along the defined muscles and tweaking at John's nipples, enjoying the way John moaned and jerked forward at the attention.
As the song barreled into the melody, Sherlock, deciding he'd teased John enough, deftly reached between John's legs and began unbuttoning his trousers. John, who was more than ready to just fuck Sherlock right over the piano, began to slow his playing.
Sherlock nipped warningly at John's shoulder. "Don't you dare stop playing," the detective hissed into his lover's ear, "If you stop playing, then so do I. I want you to play while I make you come."
John didn't even try to suppress the slightly unmanly moan which escaped his lips as Sherlock freed his cock from the confines of his tight trousers while he obediently continued playing.
With each progression of the bass notes, Sherlock stroked him, his hand lubricated with enough pre-come and sweat to make it just this side of comfortable. John, his hips rising and falling minutely with the motions of Sherlock's hand,repeated at least four full bars of music because he didn't want it to end. God, he didn't want it to end. He felt so dirty and completely under the control of his two greatest loves. It was a heady feeling, the best. He'd never realized he'd feel this way while playing…
As the song came to an end, Sherlock unexpectedly picked up the speed of his hand on John's cock, jerking him with quick, efficient movements, bringing John suddenly crashing into his orgasm. Almost literally crashing, as John accidentally slammed his hands onto the keys, unable to continue the music as his cock and body spasmed as Sherlock stroked him off.
With the combination of the telling crash of music in his ears, John's blissed moaning of Sherlock's name, and hot come spilling over his hand, Sherlock couldn't help but grind his hips into John's covered arse. He felt helpless as he moaned into John's neck, rutting against John's lower back with increasing desperation and abandon.
"Yes – come on, Sherlock." John whispered encouragingly, his hand coming back to grab Sherlock's hip and urge him to rut faster. "Come on. Come on, love. Come for me."
Panting, his eyes closing with rising pleasure, Sherlock was about to reach his own climax – right there in his pants like a bloody teenager – when a loud voice broke his concentration.
;)
"Oh, Christ, Sherlock!"
It wasn't John that yelled that in utter disgust and surprise.
John and Sherlock – red faced and startled – turned around just in time to see the coat-tails of a more-than-embarrassed Gregory Lestrade as the DI hastily made his way out of 221c. John turned an even darker shade of red and quickly stood, grimacing at the mess of his cock but tucking himself back into his jeans nonetheless and zipping up.
"Fuck." He ran his fingers through his hair, giving Sherlock a rueful smile. "Did you get to-?"
"No." Sherlock shook his head, standing up awkwardly, biting his lip as his trousers dragged over his still-sensitive cock which throbbed in insistent arousal, demanding the orgasm he'd been denied.
"Do you want me to-?"
"No time." Sherlock sighed, using a handkerchief to wipe his hands, and walked toward the door. "He has news about the case. It could be important."
He turned back to John and gave his partner a wink. "Maybe later, my pet."