"Good boy," Sherlock laughed approvingly. "When I am physically there, I could always restrain you, you know. Bring you to the edge as many times as I wanted."
John hummed, his stomach knotting. "That sounds wonderfully awful," he chuckled.
"It's a date. I can't wait. Now...has your heart and breathing rate lowered? Because what I'm about to say might kick it up again."
John smiled, putting a hand to his neck and staying silent for half a minute.
"Yes, it's lowered."
"Oh John, I know what you did then. So conscientious. I'm going to ask for a full body check-up when I'm home. Now, you're going to put a finger inside yourself."
John sucked a sharp breath, holding it in as his body went rigid. He took a moment before he let it out slowly.
"You'll... do the same?"
Sherlock giggled, a deep, musical noise. "I already have three. I'm pretending they're you."
John drew out a long moan, shifting on the bed and moving his hand back down to his slick cock. He swallowed a few times, stroking himself as he tried to work up the courage to follow the instructions given to him.
"Talk... talk to me first."
"Don't be concerned if you can't find your prostate. Just embrace the feeling of having something inside you, your body inviting something in for its own pleasure."
John blew a breath through his lips, nodding, before bracing his feet on the mattress and lifting his hips. The hand that had been pushing on his prostate before dipped lower, slowly circling his tight hole. His breath hitched and stopped, came out in harsh bursts and small waves.
"Relax, John. You're safe, and in control. And I'm here with you." John closed his eyes, wishing the slightly tinny representation of Sherlock's voice on his phone was real, and a lot closer.
"Okay, okay."
Biting the inside of his lip, John poured another healthy dollop of lube onto his fingers before he set them back to his arse. With another breath, his eyes flutter closed as he pressed his middle finger inside.
"Oh!"
Sherlock growled out a massively long, indulgent moan in response, and wriggled pleasantly on his bed, pumping his slick fingers gently in and out of himself. "You're doing so well," he praised hoarsely.
John threw his head back, his lips pursed, trying not to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling of being penetrated.
"Sherlock..." he mumbled, pressing his finger in to the first knuckle, shuddering and grinding his teeth.
"Stroke yourself, John, exactly how you like it. I want you close," Sherlock keened, making the most distracting, relentless litany of blissful noises.
John closed his eyes and leaned back, letting Sherlock's voice be his focus as he moved his other hand to grasp his cock. He stroked slowly, languidly, letting the feel of his hand and the soft mewls from the detective draw away from the intrusion. He only noticed his muscles relaxing around his fingers when he wiggled the digit. The feel this time was... different.
"Oh," he said in surprise. "Oh that's..."
He felt himself clench around his finger quite spontaneously, and marvelled at the sense of his pleasure fighting against the resistance inside him, concentrating it.
"John? How do you like it?" Sherlock was asking him, in between little sobs.
John could only groan, pressing his finger in further. He gasped, the hand on his cock stroking harder, spurred on by Sherlock's voice and the strangely erotic clenching of muscles around his finger.
"It's... I... I like it," he marvelled, pressing in until he was at his knuckles. "Oh, shit..."
"Good...lovely...ah...I'm nearly...oh, God," Sherlock hissed through the loudspeaker, humming in concentration. "Get close John, get so close. Feel yourself balance on the precipice."
John cried out, wiggling his finger as his hand pumped desperately. He rolled his hips in time with his finger, fucking himself before the knot in his stomach clenched and he gasped. He didn't even realise he was speaking until his voice rose.
"God, yes, shit, fuck - Sherlock - oh..."
"Yes, yes, yes! John! Ah, fuck!" There came a grating, distorted yell of anguish, followed by gusty breaths and frustrated groans.
"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock I'm - fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm close - Oh God, I want to...unhh!"
"STOP!" As Sherlock yelled at him, John screeched in his own frustration.
"John, oh, God, next time...yes," the detective was murmuring, sounding overwhelmed. "And I want to see you."
John actually whimpered, finding it so much harder than he thought to pull his hands away. Even without his hand on his cock, his hips still rocked and he let out a strangled sob.
"Fuck yes, I need to see your face when you come."
"How far, John? How far in did you get? Oh, you sounded wonderful," Sherlock sighed happily, calmly slicking up a fourth finger.
John's whole body was trembling, his hands clenching at air as he kept them raised and away from his cock (which was now flushed red and looking neglected).
"All the way," he rasped, panting in exertion.
There was a long contented hum, and Sherlock spoke again. "I'm putting in four. I'm not going to hold back. I'm going to come just from being fucked by them."
John groaned and shifted himself, moving his phone as he got to his knees.
"I need to see you. Will you get on your knees? I want to see what you'll look like when you're riding me."
"Oh, inspired! Yes, John," Sherlock agreed readily. "I'm nearly prepared. Lay back, facing me. I'm going to bounce on your cock until I ejaculate," he chuckled.
John smiled, but it was pained. He wished he could have had Sherlock here - he wanted to see that smirk, feel the warm skin going taut and tense as his muscles flexed and moved and - Christ. It would have to be enough for now. His cock was aching too badly for him to go much longer. John lay with his back to the headboard, propping himself up as he would have done should Sherlock have really been riding him.
"Okay. Are you on your knees?"
"In position, Captain. One moment," Sherlock urged, sounding excited. The detective quickly thumbed through his phone with his dry hand, and rang John on video call.
John licked his lips as the phone went dead, only to come back up as a video call. He took a deep breath, swiping the screen and watching it as it started to connect.
It was a little glitchy, but he soon thrilled to see Sherlock's familiar face, looking deliciously pink, damp and rosy. Once the detective saw him, his flushed face split into a wide, crinkly grin, and he chuckled deeply.
"Hello," the doctor said with an answering, breathless laugh. "I'm really starting to ache now, and I really want to watch you come."
"I absolutely concur, John. Oh, it's good to see you," Sherlock grinned, as if he hadn't seen his flatmate for a week. "Let's not do this again."
John let a tender smile spread over his features, his throat tight that his words were slightly strained.
"The wanking, yes. The arguments and the lying? No."
"Indeed. I would have liked a cuddle after this. Orgasm denial does rather leave me a bit...soppy. In more ways than one," he chuckled, looking genuinely happy. "Do you want to see...just my face?"
John bit his lower lip, trying to hold his phone with his slick fingers.
"I want to see everything."
Sherlock glanced down and around him, judging the logistics of it. "It'll be awkward. I'll show you my fingers...and then just my face. You'll look up as if you were underneath me."
John hummed from the back of his throat. "Okay, yes, fuck yes." He shifted his hips, trying not to touch himself just yet.
"Alright...not the most flattering angle," Sherlock laughed, looking a bit self-conscious as he nibbled his bottom lip, and then dizzyingly pushed his phone behind him. When it focussed once more, it gave a slightly wonky vista of the uncompromising sight of Sherlock's straining, slippery fingers pushed inside himself.
John's eyes went wide, watching as three fingers pressed effortlessly into the tight hole. It was ridiculously sexy and bewildering and John's hand moved to his cock before he could think.
"Fucking hell, you're so fucking gorgeous," he muttered, moaning loudly as he pumped his leaking prick.
"Wait, watch," came Sherlock's disembodied voice, and with envious ease, and a tiny, adorable grunt, Sherlock slipped his fourth finger inside, twisting and probing in a shaking effort to get deeper.
"Ohhhhhhh, Jesus," John breathed, holding the phone in a vice-like grip as he stroked himself with his right hand. The slick sound and quivering hole was such an obscene display that John's hips bucked into his fist and he moaned again.
"God I can't wait until I can taste you again."
John saw Sherlock's taut, rosy backside shudder tellingly, and there were a few anxious gasps. "John, close," Sherlock was muttering, as he hastily placed the phone on the bed in front of him. He gazed down at his screen, his wild black curls and green-fire eyes hypnotising.
John couldn't form words, instead looking up at Sherlock as he moaned and writhed. A mass of pale skin, marred by pink lines was in his vision and fuck, he was beautiful.
"Yes, Sherlock, Jesus you're so fucking gorgeous, oh my God."
Sherlock shuffled. "Can you see my face? You have to see what you do to me," he panted, his breath rhythmically catching in such a way that made John suspect that he had ceased being gentle with himself, and was really going for it, fucking himself for dear life.
"Yes, fuck I'm close. Bend over further, I need to see you," John moaned without abandon, his hand flying over his cock, unable to slow down as his orgasm loomed for the third time.
"Tell me how much you want to ride me, how you would fuck me until we couldn't see - oh shit."
Sherlock leaned forward, propping himself on one strong, trembling arm, and it only spurred John on to see for himself that his flatmate was going to come with only his fingers inside himself.
"...I...oh..."The detective squinched his damp eyelids shut, his eyelashes spidery with perspiration, and his hairline sticky with rogue tendrils. He was rocking very vigorously now, his lips parted, face contorted in delicious pain. "Need your...hands...mouth," he heaved, before gritting his teeth and groaning helplessly.
"Yes, I'd touch you everywhere, give you everything," he whispered, watching Sherlock's face as it twisted and contorted in blissful agony. "Fuck Sherlock, come for me - only for me, oh fuck I'm so close, I'm so close!"
Sherlock's head suddenly fell forward, his thick curls tumbling wildly, before his head was thrown back again, his jaw clenched very hard, a single hot droplet of sweat slipping down his reddened cheekbone.
Then his whole body stiffened, his eyes opened and he gaped at nothing, before screaming deafeningly, the deep tone practically making the phone vibrate with the sheer volume of it.
The cry was glorious and it was enough to have John's body responding. The orgasm hit him with the force of a brick house, and he couldn't even scream as the first wave slammed into him. After that John vaguely heard himself crying out in a way he had never done, the intensity of his release shocking his body to the core and sending his nerves into overdrive.
The aftershocks were merciless, and the numb finger inside himself was repeatedly crushed with the strength of the contractions of his climax. Shivering violently, buzzing and dry-mouthed, John very gradually came to some of his senses, opening bleary eyes to see that Sherlock had disappeared from his phone screen.
"Sh-" John frowned and tried to wet his mouth, clearing his throat. "Sherlock?" His voice felt scratchy and sore, but delicious. "Sherlock, you still there?"
He grinned woozily when a bedraggled, rumpled, naked and wet detective's face popped into view. "…Ohh, John. I think I passed out a bit there."
John couldn't stop a lazy smile, humming his agreement.
"You weren't joking. Jesus... I don't think I can move."
"You see what I mean? This is prime snuggling time," Sherlock mused, closing his eyes and yawning.
John felt a strange ache in his chest, casting a glance to the empty space in the bed where Sherlock should have been. His skin was cooling quickly, the puddle of come soaking his chest (chest? Jesus) and making him squirm. Having a languid, warm detective at his side would be perfect right at that moment.
"...How long are you going to stay there?" he asked quietly, realising his voice had a slightly needy undertone but hoping the detective wouldn't point it out.
"I'll come home when I wake up," Sherlock promised. "I need to sleep this off. Um…and you'll be there?"
John nodded, feeling fatigue tugging at his limbs.
"I'll be here," he said gently.
Sherlock pushed the top cover to the end of the bed, with a smirk. "I'll call the housekeeper later. Did you make a mess too?" he asked, looking down into his phone screen with an innocent grin.
John cast a glance to the sticky mess coating Sherlock's sheets. He gave the detective a cheeky grin, tapping the phone to turn the camera around briefly.
"Yep."
"Oh, John. I want to smear it on my toast and eat it all up," Sherlock offered, and John wasn't entirely sure whether he was joking or not. "I'm going to shut my eyes for a bit. I'll see you later. Feel free to order in lots of food and alcohol," he beamed ingratiatingly.
John laughed lightly, kicking back the covers and slipping underneath them. He hadn't been lying when he said they smelled like Sherlock, as soppy as it was to admit it. The doctor felt a yawn cracking his jaw.
"M'kay. I'll... see you later."