By the time Sherlock woke up, dazedly snapping out of a vivid dream, it was late morning. He peered at the window, where the drawn curtains exhibited a fine flurry of ice-white snow.
Smiling, he grunted in pleasure, and let out a hot sigh against John's thigh, where he had been burrowed against the doctor who was sitting up against the headboard.
John looked down to his Sherlock, smiling gently as those sleepy eyes took in the morning.
"Hello," he said gently, wondering how Sherlock would be after what happened between them the night before.
"Jooohn," Sherlock rumbled, his sleep-roughened, deliciously deep voice vibrating through the mattress. "I'm sorry I didn't complete your fellatio."
John snickered and put his phone on the side, turning and burrowing down in the bed. He reached up and brushed a curl from those bright, if slightly fuzzy, eyes.
"You can always make it up to me."
"Did you manage to achieve orgasm anyway?"
John grinned at the phrasing, as if he was incapable of climaxing without Sherlock's pretty lips around him. He wasn't, but to be fair, it was most likely sub-par compared to that unmatched, tight, wet heat...
"Uh, yeah," he said quickly, brushing his thumb over the fingers he'd had between Sherlock's lips. He smirked a little to himself. "Managed to get there alright."
"That's fantastic, John. I think we should have sex today."
He shouldn't have been surprised with Sherlock's bluntness, he really shouldn't. But he still felt the breath catch in his throat.
"Oh?"
"Yes. I spent quite a lot of time thinking about this in my sleep. It resulted in some...unique dreams. I have a question, and you have to answer honestly. Because it would be an insult to us both if you claimed that you could lie to me and get away with it."
John raised an eyebrow. "I won't lie. What's the question?"
"What if I told you that I was interested in penetrating you?"
John took a sharp breath, his eyes going wide as he tried to take in what Sherlock had said.
"Oh... I... I haven't - you would want to? I thought... I thought you liked to be... you know."
"Hypothetically, I want to know what your gut reaction is. Does it repulse you?"
John couldn't say. He didn't know whether the tightening in his stomach was good or bad, but it had been at least ten years since any man had gone near that part of him.
"It doesn't repulse me, Sherlock. It... well, it makes me feel nervous. You know yourself that I've never... well."
"I know. I just wanted to see your thoughts. They're all over your face," Sherlock grinned. "I have never penetrated anyone. So I like being penetrated 'by default.' But, as you know, I am insatiably curious. I wondered whether there would be issues in the future, if I were to request it of you."
John's heart was beating furiously, and the doctor reached out to touch Sherlock's skin, for something akin to an anchor.
"I'm not against it. I suppose... I'm curious too."
"I'm not going to throw you down and ravage you, John. Not unless you ask me to," Sherlock chuckled, stretching languidly, before trailing a long hand over John's bare thigh, nudging the covers back with his knuckles to stare quite shamelessly at his bedmate's lax penis.
"Hmm," the doctor mumbled, biting his lower lip as Sherlock's fingers continued to ghost over his skin. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he teased, although it was definitely true. Sherlock just... taking what he wanted. It was a sharp contrast to having the man pining and writhing under him.
The detective slowly petted John's sleepy (but rapidly awakening) cock, and John tried not to wonder what flashes of factoids and careless observations were being made inside that inscrutable head.
John bit his lower lip, eyes focused on Sherlock's face as the man stroked him. He let out a long breath, the end coming out like a hiss.
"Are you going to be insatiable now?" he teased, letting his legs splay open to give Sherlock more access.
"Yes." The reply was simple, and Sherlock's face appeared totally impassive until he flicked his grey-green eyes to John, and grinned the crinkly grin that creased his face into ripples of amusement. "What can I do for you," he asked, as casually as if he was offering to do his tax returns for him. (Not that that would happen, Sherlock claimed that they were above such menialities, and that the whole thing was actually only semi-illegal).
John hummed, shifting himself closer to the man so that his hips were touching that lovely skin.
"You could carry on from last night," he suggested casually, as if he were suggesting a nice place to eat.
"I agree. Would you prefer if I spit or swallow?"
John pretended to look thoughtful, continuing this pleasantly obscene facade (even though his cock was waking up quite well at Sherlock's sweet manipulations).
"That depends if you enjoy the taste or not."
"I have no idea. But I suppose it's time to find out."
Without further ado, he lifted John's semi-stiff flesh into his mouth, and swallowed him whole.
There was no more blasé chatter as soon as Sherlock's lips wrapped around his dick. John gasped, enveloped tip to base, the blood rushing downwards so fiercely that John actually felt dizzy.
"Christ, Sherlock," he stuttered, his hands moving into Sherlock's curls automatically.
The detective was doing admirably for his first deep-throat, until he aspirated some saliva, panicked, and promptly gagged around the flesh, pulling away quickly, and looking completely outraged at his own, unacceptable failure.
John took a deep breath, looking down as Sherlock made a frustrated sound.
"Maybe try it a bit slower?" he asked, a little breathless, now achingly hard.
"Don't patronise me, John!" Sherlock spat, affronted, but John knew better than to take it seriously. If there was anything Sherlock hated, it was not being perfect at everything.
The detective took a slow, patient breath, before giving John's penis what could only be described as a death glare, and going down on him again.
The doctor shifted under the scrutiny, feel far too exposed and more like an experiment with the way Sherlock studied him. Then Sherlock moved onto his elbows and those lips wrapped around his cock again, this time with a much more calculated movement.
John heard the light, measured breaths, and felt Sherlock ease down incrementally, his fingers tightening and teasing his base. The detective hollowed his cheeks and hummed experimentally, and John only barely held himself back from thrusting into the delicious, slick space. The pain of the struggle was only ameliorated by the release of a sharp, grating sigh.
Sherlock eased up a little before taking a long breath, moving back down again. It was so agonisingly slow that John felt every single inch pressing into Sherlock's throat again.
"Oh Christ, Sherlock... Jesus."
With the man's nose brushing against John's abdomen, the doctor's hands tightened in Sherlock's hair and in return, the detective let out a moan that vibrated down every inch of his cock. "Fuck!"
Just as he had made up his mind to beg Sherlock for a little less procrastination, a little more action, the man himself sighed contentedly, and began to speed up, swallowing rhythmically as he bobbed up and down, his curls twitching and bouncing with each rapid movement.
John's hands, still buried in Sherlock's gorgeous hair, moved with the man's head, the fingers tightening and flexing the deeper Sherlock's went. The heat in his stomach coiled and knotted, and John brought his knees up to give Sherlock more room.
"Ah - shit, yes, fuck...oh..."
John threw his head back onto the pillows as he saw those cheeks hollowing on the drawback, those plush lips pink and slick as Sherlock's tongue flicked over the tip of his cock.
He missed the glance that slightly watery, grey-green eyes shot him, but he felt Sherlock's free hand lean quite heavily on the top his thigh. The fingers that were teasing his base stealthily withdrew, and John hardly noticed until they were suddenly resting directly against his opening.
John let out a sharp gasp, his body jolting from the shock and his arse tensing at the sudden touch. His breathing was broken, ragged and unsteady as he raised his head to look. Sherlock's eyes were sharp in the dreary light pouring through his window, and they were watching him with an intensity that was alarming. The fingers at his hole hadn't moved, but Sherlock's mouth had, sucking absently at the tip.
He could see that Sherlock was waiting for permission - to do what, he had yet to find out - and John had to take a moment to steady his heart. Licking his lips, drawn to the image of Sherlock's mouth wrapped around him, John had to blink a few times before he gave a sharp nod and eased himself forward a little, raising his hips slightly and putting his head back on the pillow.
The only indication that Sherlock was trying to smile was a papery wrinkling of his eyes, and a wet twitch of the muscles around John's prick. If the doctor had been expecting Sherlock to actually get up and move in order to prepare him, he was wrong. What he received was, in fact, a couple of fingers in the face, tapping impatiently at his lips. In anticipation of John complaining, Sherlock gave him an extra-hard, dizzying suck.
The pleasure that shot through his cock caused the doctor to moan, open-mouthed, and Sherlock took the opportunity to shove two fingers into his mouth. John had to resist the urge to bite down out of instinct, and instead raised an eyebrow.
Their eyes were locked, and despite the distracting way Sherlock bobbed his head idly, John decided to follow the leader as it were. He wrapped his lips around Sherlock's fingers, one hand moving to hold the other's wrist, before he sucked gently, timing his movements with Sherlock's. There was a teasing flick of tongue, and around a moan, John repeated it on the tip of Sherlock's digits.
The resultant high-pitched noise created a rapid vibration around him, and he keened in response. John licked his lips when the long (god, very long) fingers withdrew, and hastily went back between his legs, massaging there before the saliva that slicked them cooled too much to be comfortable.
John's muscles twitched and flexed under Sherlock's probing fingers, and he bit his lower lip.
"S - Sherlock," he gasped, unsure whether he was asking the man to stop or continue. Those eyes flickered up before the man bobbed his head with another dizzying suck that dissolved the doctor into babbling moans.
To John's eventual frustration (and this in itself surprised him), Sherlock didn't pry, didn't push. He merely ran little circles around John's opening, alternating between smooth wet fingers, and a firm, dry thumb.
The extra stimulation was killing him, and he couldn't stop himself from writhing a little under the attention. He wasn't sure if the man was simply teasing or testing John's patience with small sucks to his cock and teasing presses to his arse.
Having ascertained that John was going to behave and not wriggle enough to actually hurt him, Sherlock moved his free hand back to the thick base of John's prick, thumbing the hot vein there and squeezing encouragingly.
John groaned and put his head back against the pillow hard. It was delicious, and so fucking sexy, but it wasn't enough. If the man was going to finger-fuck him then he would kindly like him to continue, if not then John would be able to put his focus directly onto the hot, wet attention to his cock.
The outcome was accidentally wonderful. Sherlock carefully deep-throated him again, and the anxious pressure of the man's grip increased blindingly, both around his cock, and against his arse, the tip of his finger pushing roughly inside, marking him with his fingerprint.
John made some kind of guttural cry, the mixture of the two so overwhelming that he was glad Sherlock took the foresight to pull back slightly as his hips bucked. The last thing he wanted was to choke the man.
"Sherlock, yes... oh God.. fuck I'm close," he muttered, his hands flying back to Sherlock's curls.
With a sudden, pleased expression (as best as he could manage with his mouth full of cock), Sherlock began to finally, blessedly, go for it. He pumped and sucked and pushed with a relentless pattern of instinctive invigorations.
John let go on any kind of control, muttering sweet nothings of encouragement as his orgasm started to rise. He pressed his hips down, onto Sherlock's fingers and further into his throat.
"Yes, yes! Oh God... Sherlock...ah!"
John barely had time to register the high-pitched, vicarious noise of ecstasy that Sherlock made, the sound buzzing around him as he yelled in his climax, roughly scooching through the detective's curls and pumping up into his throat, crying out in beautiful pain.
The detective lapped at his cock like he was starved for it, and John could do nothing but writhe through it. Finally, when the suction was bordering on too sensitive, John pulled at Sherlock's curls gently, trying to ease the man off his softening member.
There was an unmistakable growl of annoyance, and Sherlock allowed his head to be pulled back, meeting John's eyes, narrowing his own with insidious delight, and making a show of licking his lips.
There was a lingering tingle in his stomach and down his cock as Sherlock's mouth twisted into a smug smirk. John couldn't really do much to dissuade that, considering his legs were splayed and thighs were shaking. Instead he made a small scoffing noise, followed with a smirk, before moving his hands to Sherlock's arms and tugging him upwards.
"I haven't gone without talking for that long in ages," Sherlock observed, proceeding to give John a big, sloppy kiss, clearly taking his invitation as a hint that he wasn't squeamish about sharing saliva after what they had just done.
John chuckled, leaning down to kiss him again, only giving the slightest wince to indicate he'd gotten a taste of his bitter afters.
"Well I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing," he said with a smirk, his voice only slightly scratchy from his pleasured cries. The doctor let out a small huff as Sherlock pretty much collapsed against his chest.
"Nonsense. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if I was quiet all the time. You'd have been having your little mental crises with Anderson's narration all of this time instead."
John grimaced at the idea of Anderson - even more so when he still had his cock out and a naked detective sprawled all over him. Thinking of Anderson was the biggest No he'd ever had.
"You couldn't be quiet all the time, Sherlock. You're too in love with your own voice," he teased, nudging the man's head with his nose.
"As are you, John," Sherlock observed calmly, taking a huge inhale, and sighing it out over John's chest, before snuggling into the brief warmth it created there.
John wrapped his arms around the man out of instinct than anything else, still torn between whether Sherlock meant John was in love with his own voice, or whether he was in love with Sherlock's voice. He couldn't stop a small smirk, because the answer was obvious without Sherlock having to point that fact out.
"I've come to a decision, John. It regards us, and this situation."
John went rigid before he forced himself to relax.
"OK. What's... your decision?"
Sherlock rolled his head indulgently, and looked up at his flatmate. "I felt that. There's no need to panic. Unless, of course, you wouldn't like this to continue between us. In that case, you can definitely panic," he chuckled softly.
John licked his lips before letting out a small laugh.
"I didn't say that. So, your decision is to have this continue?"
"I'm going to end it with my friend. There's no need to carry on. If, of course, you're amenable to being my...my, um..." Sherlock pondered the correct term to use.
John chewed the inside of his mouth, willing his heart not to beat so quickly under Sherlock's cheek. It wasn't even the fact that Sherlock was technically asking him out that had set it off, but the fact that he'd already ended it for the detective.
What would Sherlock think when he found out? Because the man would know. Of course he fucking would. Oh, Jesus, did he even delete the messages? John tried not to squirm, looking down as Sherlock turned his head upwards.
"Oh...that's...I did have a contingency plan in case of rejection...um," Sherlock said, actually flushing a rosy red and sitting up, looking for something to cover himself with.
"What? No, no - Sherlock," he said quickly, forcing himself up and reaching out to take Sherlock's arm. "No, that's not... don't be stupid, come here." The idea of Sherlock leaving now, when he was so physically and, well, mentally exposed sent a small panic to flutter in John's gut. "I'm not rejecting you, I just wasn't expecting... well I didn't think you'd... I don't know. Want us to be a thing."
"...Don't call me stupid. You're stupid," Sherlock mumbled grumpily, and then pouted when John laughed at him. "Really, John. I would have thrown you out the second day if I didn't think we were perfect together. I've done it before."
John fought to control his features, but a small smile still lingered.
"I thought you'd just been looking for a flatmate, not a partner?" The idea that Sherlock had been harbouring this want for a while... it was flattering, and surprising. How had he not seen it sooner?
"Well, I was, but regular sex would have been a considerable bonus," Sherlock grinned, still looking a bit vulnerable. "I knew the first night that you were perfect. I was even willing to forgo the sex, because we fitted so well."
John tried not to tense up again. He wasn't quite ready for Sherlock to start bringing up that night again, when he claimed he had fallen in love with him.
Then again, he didn't exactly want him to keep talking about how he was going to dump his friend (again, unbeknownst to him).
The whole conversation was difficult to continue. It was unnerving to have Sherlock being so open about all this, and John had been completely ignorant of it all.
How would things be now if they had started this sooner? Would John still be here? It might have been an easier transition if these romantic inclinations had been pointed out in the beginning. It would have saved John a lot of inner turmoil if Sherlock had just told him to begin with.
"Why didn't you say something? Before?"
"That I was in love with you? You would have punched me," Sherlock laughed. "Well, no you wouldn't. You would have been deeply uncomfortable and embarrassed yet conscious of my feelings. You would have found a way to let me down gently. And I don't enjoy being let down, gently or otherwise."
"How could you know that? I'm currently bollock naked in bed, with you. How could you say I would let you down? I was the one who pretty much asked you if you were gay in the first place."
"To make conversation. You weren't asking because you were interested, you asked because you were worried that my constant presence would stir your previously-troubled and frowned-upon feelings towards males. You wanted to know how much resistance you needed to put up. And you managed pretty well, securing a date with a female in record time."
John frowned, because Sherlock may have had a point but he didn't believe for a second that that was the only reason. He'd thought Sherlock was startlingly attractive, and sure, maybe he'd been worried that he might like him a little too much. But then Sherlock had made it obvious he wasn't into anyone, and John had accepted that.
"You made it clear you weren't interested, what else could I have done?"
"You're the kind of man who goes after what he wants. I was waiting for you to do it. I have zero experience in this field, and even if I did, it would have ended in disaster, no doubt."
"I do go for the things I want, but I'm not going to force you into something you said you didn't want."
"I can't be forced, John," Sherlock smiled. He doodled little patterns on John's chest, dabbing his fingertips into his nipples randomly. "Remember that you asked me all of this before all of the...interesting stuff happened. That's when you really caught my attention."
"You mean when I killed someone?"
"...When you put it like that, it makes me sound like I have some kind of homicide kink," Sherlock huffed, yawning.
John couldn't stop a little giggle. "Well..." he said playfully, nibbling his lower lip.
"Let's just agree that for two educated adults, we are impressively thick sometimes, and childishly stubborn, as well as having no idea how to communicate effectively. Agreed?"
John smiled lazily, shifting down the bed so that Sherlock was against his shoulder. He nudged his nose against Sherlock's cheek before ghosting a kiss on the corner of his lips.
"Agreed."
"Sherlock! Sher...lock Holmes!"
"The hell..." Sherlock frowned, slowly sitting up. They both jolted in shock when something large and heavy bounced off the window, having been thrown up from the pavement outside.
John frowned before scrambling off the bed, standing beside the wall and leaning over, pulling the curtain aside and sneaking a glance. He barely caught sight of anything before something else was launched against the glass.
"Sher - shit - Sherlock!"
The detective stood elegantly and frowned down at the pavement, where his bed-friend was raging, throwing his wallet up at the window.
"Take it all back! I don't want it!" the man was yelling, causing a scene on the usually-quiet, icy street, drawing shocked stares and cautious whispering.
John felt acid tingling in his veins, his face burning, as Sherlock finally turned to him with a blank, calculating look.
Shit.
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