John felt like he had partially swallowed his tongue, his brain fizzing and popping as he tried to digest what Sherlock had just asked of him. Or, more accurately, propositioned. Thankfully (or maybe not so) the door burst open to a few cackling figures, and John took the chance to cough his tongue back up again.
Sherlock seemed more irritated than perturbed by the interruption, and stared calmly at Lestrade as the inspector patted John heartily on the back, as if afraid to actually make physical contact with Sherlock himself.
"That was fucking amazing. You know that bloke's looking for you now, Sherlock? You've pulled! You sly bugger."
John felt his spine go rigid and took a deliberate step away from Lestrade, trying to detach himself from the conversation and from the jealousy that accompanied being around the oblivious group.
Sherlock gave the open door a withering look, and then startled when the dancer, wrapped temporarily in his coat, poked his head round and nodded at the detective, who simply gaped at him.
"Ah shit, shall we tell him he's treading on John's toes," Sally asked, chuckling warmly.
John narrowed his eyes from where he stood, just behind Lestrade and Donovan, stepping up just behind Sally. "No one is stepping on my toes," he hissed, making the woman jump.
"I...I'm actually in a relationship," Sherlock told them all politely.
There was a disbelieving pause interspersed with giggles, before Anderson piped up, "Yeah, the hickeys, remember? We really misjudged that one."
Sally gave him a long look before turning to the stripper who was addressing Sherlock, making John's face burn.
"...Well...if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. And, you know...if you decide you don't want to deal with your little problem on your own," the dancer laughed, grinning charmingly as he blushed and nodded towards Sherlock's lower half.
"Well!" John announced loudly, with a bite to the word that he wouldn't even begin to deny. "This has been very pleasant but I for one have had enough of this obscene display." John knew he was causing a scene, but using politeness laced with poison was probably better than punching the stripper - which he was very close to doing.
Everybody gave John a look of surprise at his defensive display. Once the disappointed stripper had gone back inside, Lestrade asked carefully. "You sure it's not you, John? It's fine if you are. I mean...we all sort of...well, we wouldn't be surprised."
"It's not me!" John snapped, his neck prickling at the scrutiny he'd just put himself under.
"Alright, it's cool," Lestrade placated him. "...Right...dunno bout you lot, but I'm bloody freezing. Another round? I'm buying," the inspector offered hopefully.
"I'm gonna go," John mumbled, feeling deflated and ridiculous as everyone started to awkwardly hustle back into the bar.
He was through the club and on his way out the front door when he glanced back at the group, but instead found himself face-to-face with Sherlock's shirt-clad sternum, and he nearly shrieked in shock. Fucking ninja.
"You made everyone very uncomfortable, John," said the detective smoothly, as if he were pointing out the most mundane of things.
Regaining his composure, John held the door open for him more out of habit than a desire to be polite, and sulked on the pavement as he fumbled on his phone for the taxi number. "How do you do that," he murmured irritably. "And you really think I was the one making everyone uncomfortable? After that bedazzled prick practically offered to suck you off?"
Sherlock simply watched him, studying him like he was nothing more than a bug under a magnifying glass.
"It was the attention given to me by the man that entertained them the most. Clearly I met their objective and exceeded it. You, on the other hand, caused them embarrassment. It was highly... bizarre."
"This whole fucking situation is bizarre! And you know what, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you doing your robot act whilst somehow being in a relationship at the same time. One of those things is a lie, and I don't actually give a shit which it is anymore. I just wanna go home and not have to think about any of this for one fucking night," John spat, gesticulating furiously, before finally ending his rant and taking deep breaths.
Sherlock raised an elegant eyebrow, his eyes narrowing.
"John, jealousy is not becoming of you. If you were truly sick of our situation then you wouldn't have begged me to wank you off last night."
John's indigo eyes widened briefly, and then hardened. Scouting the freezing street quickly, and deciding he didn't give a crap about the handful of tipsy pedestrians nearby, he seized Sherlock's pristine, delicately-embroidered collar, and backed him up savagely against the wall of the bar. "You really are asking for trouble, Sherlock. This is your first and last warning."
Sherlock let out an undignified grunt as he shifted under the surprising strength of his doctor.
"Please, John. As if you would sully your considerably 'straight' reputation in a street full of people."
"You're right. I wouldn't." John grimaced with anger as he hauled the taller man easily away from the wall, and into the narrow street beside the bar, lined with skips, and icy puddles, and shadows.
Sherlock barely caught his footing before John threw his weight back on the man.
"Are you jealous?" purred the detective, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Jealous that someone other than you gave me an erection? That they touched the marks you made?"
There was nothing but idle curiosity in Sherlock's tone, as if he were completely trying to shatter his self-control.
John ran his hands roughly up Sherlock's waist, before dragging and shoving him against the bone-numbing cold wall, on the other side of a darkened skip, only thirty feet from the street, where the occasional pair or group of thrill-seekers strode past noisily.
"I'm not jealous, Sherlock. I'm fucking incandescent." Without further ado, he proceeded to aggressively tilt up the other man's chin, and stretch up to bite down very hard on the purplish bitemark he had birthed there the night before.
Sherlock jerked underneath him, his head flinching away from the pain but his hands pulling John's hips closer. There was a deep groan the vibrated through the detective's chest, and as John's teeth aggravated the skin, Sherlock rocked his hips.
"Yes, John, fuck."
John began to suckle thirstily on his kiss-bruised neck, his left hand hastening downwards to cup and squeeze Sherlock's impressive, denim-clad bulge.
Sherlock groaned and keened, rolling his hips against John's hand, begging for more.
"Show me, show me how jealous you are," came the soft baritone. So needy. So fucking filthy.
John gave him one final lick, right across the centre of the now-considerable bruise, and pulled back, breathless. "Only if you tell me how much you want this."
He pushed his palm against Sherlock's cock, grinding in firm circles.
Sherlock made a noise that could only be described as a growl, the fingers on John's hips tightening to bruising pressure.
"More than anything. I want to feel your hands over every inch of me. I want your fingers inside me, I want your cock pounding me until I can't form coherent sentences. Fuck me, John. I need it."
John stared up at him, swallowing down his surprise. "...Yeah, that'll do fine." He grabbed Sherlock's pale face, thumbing across his cheekbones, before crushing their mouths together and beginning to plunder hungrily.
Sherlock, so tall and confident, so arrogant and selfish - a man so infuriatingly incredible, was absolute putty in his hands. The detective whimpered against him, parting his lips to give John access to anything that he wanted. His hips were rocking sporadically against John's, seeking a harder friction as his tongue lapped desperately at John's.
John laughed breathlessly as he tried to pull back to talk, but Sherlock's large hands kept yanking him greedily back. Finally he managed, uttering words against the detective's wonderfully-plump, cool lips.
"Turn around, gorgeous."
Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, almost surprised, before he was pirouetting in John's arms, his own slim limbs stretched out against the wall. Soft curls brushed against John's cheeks before the detective brushed his arse against the bulge in John's trousers, grinding up and down, his breathing heavy.
"God, look at you. You're amazing," John murmured, a familiar compliment made astounding to Sherlock by the fact of hitched breath, worshipful hands on his hips, and an excited cock shoving mindlessly against his backside.
"...I...haven't got anything...can't fuck you," the doctor whispered, kissing pressing random, delirious kisses across the back of Sherlock's shirt.
"Then use... your fingers... won't take... much," Sherlock mumbled, still steadily caressing John's crotch with his deliciously plush arse. "Come on, John," he all but hissed. "I didn't take you for a patient man with an erection like that."
"No...you're gonna come without them. I'm gonna pull you off, and tell you everything I'm going to put inside you when we're home. Fingers, cock...tongue."
John reached around and quickly unzipped the detective, pushing inside his underwear and grasping his blood-hot, wet prick, squeezing it comfortingly.
Sherlock let out a deep yelp, bracing his arms against the wall and pushing back until his whole body was flush against John's.
"Ah, yes, John - fucking yes!"
Sherlock shoved his arse harder against John's clothed groin, thrusting forward into his hand and back again. "Christ," he whimpered, turning his head to try and bite desperately at John's cheek.
"Shh, you'll get us into trouble," John wheezed, steadily rutting against the plush backside that was bouncing into him. "You feel...incredible. You'll feel even more incredible...when I'm inside you," he panted, twisting on the upstroke of Sherlock's cock, silently marvelling and thrilling at the copious, thick liquid that he encouraged.
"John! Is that - ah, fuck - will you? Will you really, shit, oh God..."
John's thumb ran over the leaking slit, causing Sherlock's head to roll back onto John's shoulder.
"Faster, God, John!"
"God, you're so wet...I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Sherlock," John growled, surprised to find his own climax just a matter of thrusts away. "Sh-Sherl, I'm gonna come," he whispered urgently.
"Yes, yes, yes," Sherlock panted, almost mindless, thrusting into John's palm. "Over me, come over me John - I want to feel it, oh I'm so close!" He bucked his hips frantically, hands clenching to fists against the wall.
With a final few shuddery thrusts and short, high-pitched grunts, John quickly unzipped and tore down the waistband of his own, and Sherlock's jeans and underwear, as best he could. He sobbed gratefully as he spurted hard onto the detective's bare backside, his seed a slick sheen on white, goose-bumped flesh.
It seemed to undo the man against him, Sherlock crying out without any thought to place or time as he came. It coated the wall and John's fingers, his hips still jerking as he rode out his orgasm.
"Oh... Oh John..."
Sherlock slumped forward, his cheek against the rough wall as they both fought to regain rhythm of their breathing.
It was a good thirty seconds before sticky, wheezy gulps of air became regulated breathing, and both men were shivering from cold, and the residual aftershocks of ecstasy. John stepped back, pausing a second and wishing he could take a photo of the sight of Sherlock's perfect arse, slippery with his own come. Instead, he pulled a tissue from his pocket and cleaned them both up, before zipping himself up, and re-dressing the exhausted-looking detective.
Sherlock didn't speak as John cleaned him up, turning him around and tucking him back onto his trousers. The detective simply slumped against the wall, his curls sticking to his forehead.
As John stepped back, Sherlock's arms were suddenly around his shoulders and he was yanked unceremoniously against the taller man's hard chest. John barely let out a surprised yelp before lips were on his own, lapping lazily against him and prying them open with little resistance.
Sherlock traced his tongue slowly, languidly, as if he were exploring and savouring every moment. "You're going to fuck me," he whispered lazily, stating the fact with a marvelled twist to his tone. "Tonight."
"-I...I did say that, didn't I," John groaned, laughing with embarrassment and allowing himself to rest his head against Sherlock's chest, indulging in the simple pleasure of his body-heat and gently-thudding heart. The winter chill was definitely sinking in now.
"You did," Sherlock purred, the arms engulfing the doctor completely. "I am holding you to it. You're a man of your word John; and I am not patient."
"Sherlock, how can you possibly be thinking of having orgasms again already. I'm wiped out," John laughed.
"Because you said yes, and if I don't convince you to do it now in your post-orgasm state then your rationality will come back and you'll withdraw from me again."
John opened his mouth, but instead chewed on his lip as he chose his words. "...I do want to..."
"Then do it," replied the detective, pulling John back to search his face with so much intensity the doctor felt dizzy. "Stop thinking, and fuck me."
John grinned clownishly.
"…...Sherlock, get your coat. You've pulled."
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