Fic: Blow-by-blow (3/7)
And finally here comes the third chapter of the 'Blowjobs for science' series. This time: bathroom.
Title: Mind blowing
Words: 1601
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Beta: the wonderful verityburns
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Summary: Follow-up series for my blowjob 221B which can be found here.
John woke up because someone was tickling him. No, not tickling. Kissing. Dropping feather-light kisses along his torso.
Sherlock’s warm hands were softly caressing his still sleepy body and John gave a contented sigh.
“Mmh, that feels nice.”
“You helped me to solve the case, so I thought I could at least pay you back in kind.”
John smiled. A lazy morning blowjob was exactly what he needed. When Sherlock started kissing his way further down, John’s breath hitched.
A few minutes later he was a quivering moaning mass, ready to melt away under Sherlock’s tongue.
“John,” Sherlock said with sudden urgency, somehow sounding as if he were far away. John smiled and pulled at his arm.
“Come up here.”
He did and John kissed him hungrily while wrapping his hand around both their cocks.
“John,” Sherlock said again, this time sounding a lot nearer, but more impatient and a little forceful.
“God, Sherlock, relax.” He had found a rhythm by then, tension building in his body.
Somewhere in his haze he noticed footsteps on the stairs and suddenly the door flew open. Sherlock stood there, shouting “John” for the third time.
“What?”
John shot bolt upright and stared at the very real (and clothed) Sherlock in the doorway and then in confusion back to his bed, which was clearly lacking a naked moaning Sherlock.
“What?” he said again.
“John, where did you put the cheesecake? I need it for my experiment with the beetles.”
He felt the urgent need to say “What?” again, but instead settled for shouting.
“You barge in here in the middle of the night like the house is on fire to ask me about the bloody cheesecake?”
He threw his pillow at Sherlock who sidestepped it elegantly and gave him a look that said something like ‘Please John, you know that my work is far more important than your sleep and it’s hardly the middle of the night, it’s 5 in the morning. You have to get up in an hour anyway.’
John sighed and let himself fall back on the bed. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Great. He couldn’t get off with the real Sherlock and now he couldn’t even get off with the dream version?
~°~
The day after the cheesecake incident John decided that his life could not go on like this and tried to get into an ‘I am going down on my flatmate for scientific reason only’ mood. He asked Sherlock to get him the autopsy report and his case notes.
When Sherlock came back from Barts that evening he only had a few pages covered in his own handwriting. Apparently there was a new coroner and he refused to let Sherlock have a copy of the autopsy report.
John took the notes and buried himself in them, trying desperately to ignore his longing to again taste, smell, feel and hear Sherlock come apart at something John did to him.
~°~
Two days went by where John did not see Sherlock at all. On the third morning he woke at the sound of the door. He listened to Sherlock moving around in the flat, first going to his room and then into the bathroom.
John got up, feeling a sudden urge to tell Sherlock what he had found out (and maybe give a helpful demonstration) at once.
“Sherlock!“
John banged on the bathroom door and was rewarded with a crashing noise from inside. Sherlock opened the door and looked at him, partly concerned, partly angry.
“John?”
John lost all train of thought, because Sherlock was only half dressed in his pyjama trousers, his upper body naked and very pale in the bathroom light. What crashed into the sink had been Sherlock’s shaving kit.
“Sherlock, you can grow a beard!” John was clearly amused.
“Of course I can. It’s my mind that is different from everybody else’s, not my body.”
“Yeah, I beg to differ.” John murmured.
“Was there anything in particular you wanted or did you just come to make fun of me while I get ready?”
“Oh, um, sorry. I’ve been reading what you copied from the autopsy report. Really, I don’t understand why you couldn’t just steal the damn thing like you always do... Just bat your eyelashes at someone.”
“I don’t bat my eyelashes. I am above such petty methods.”
“Ha! Yes you do. And no, you aren’t.”
“John, why are we having this conversation now? While I am only half-dressed and unshaven?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Unshaven is the right clue here, Sherlock. The victim had irritated skin on his legs. That tells me that whoever went down on him was a man who had a beard. Or at least a stubble.”
The two men gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity.
“John. You haven’t shaved for at least two days.”
“No, I haven’t.” John swallowed. His mouth had gone very dry.
“Show me!”
“Here? Now?”
“Why not? Wasn’t that why you barged in here in the first place?”
~°~
Sherlock had started to run himself a bath before John barged in and the hot water in the tub filled the room with steam, making it intimate and cosy.
John stepped closer to Sherlock, suddenly unsure how to begin. Sherlock lifted his hand as if to touch John’s face, but hesitated.
“Why would someone want that? I don’t like the feeling of stubble.”
“Have you ever tried? Or do you just not like feeling your own and are transferring that idea?”
“I... no, I have never... I prefer my sexual partners to be clean-shaven.” For some reason John could not grasp, Sherlock was stammering. Arousal? Anticipation?
“Give me your hand.”
Slowly Sherlock raised his hand again. John took it and put it gently against his cheek.
“Try it.”
Sherlock looked at him, then hesitantly stroked John’s beard. John closed his eyes to give Sherlock some kind of privacy to experience this without being watched.
After a while he opened his eyes, took Sherlock’s hand again and moved closer. He rubbed his stubble against the sensitive skin on Sherlock’s wrist, earning a soft hissing intake of breath.
He slowly worked his way up Sherlock’s arm and then turned his attention to his chest, rubbing his scratchy cheek against his nipples before taking them in his mouth and softly sucking until Sherlock was moaning.
Then he stepped back. “So, what do you think about a stubble now?”
“It’s not... entirely unpleasant.”
John grinned. “Take of your trousers and sit down on the rim.”
For once Sherlock did as he was told and just watched John kneeling down in front of him.
John raised his hand and stroked Sherlock’s erection until Sherlock’s eyes fell closed and he sighed heavily. Then he smeared his cheek along the shaft, teasing with his stubble, then licked the irritated skin and blew his breath across it. Sherlock groaned.
He repeated that in alternation with slow strokes with his hand for a while, at the same time rubbing his bearded face against the inside of Sherlock’s thighs, leaving the same marks on him as were found on the victim. It gave him time to concentrate on is own aroused cock that was pressing against his pants, screaming to be touched.
Sweat was trickling down his temples and back, the steam from the tub engulfing the two men. It felt like they were trapped in slow-motion.
John looked up and felt heat coil in his stomach at the sight of Sherlock: Head thrown back, cheeks flushed, lips parted to form a soft 'oh' sound.
For a moment he felt the urge to just get up, press himself against Sherlock and close his hands around both their cocks, rubbing them together. He was pretty sure that in his current state Sherlock would not even mind.
It would, of course, give everything away that John was trying to hide so desperately.
Sherlock was panting, his breath coming in small sobs.
"God, I need..."
"What? Tell me." Oh, this was dangerous. It felt so intimate, it was hard to remember that they were only doing this for a case.
"More... I need... please." He sounded entirely out of breath.
John smeared his cheek along the soft skin again and earned a loud moan, so unguarded and needy that it was almost enough to undo him. What he really wished for though was Sherlock saying his name. He was pretty sure that he would come right there if Sherlock just said his name in this breathless voice once.
"What?" He sounded as breathless as Sherlock.
"Your mouth. Please."
John needed a few seconds, because Sherlock begging? That was enough to make even the strongest man weak.
Then he opened his mouth and swallowed Sherlock’s cock to the root, causing Sherlock to clutch his shoulders in a iron-like grip and gasp.
John found a rhythm with his mouth and hand, moving his tongue rough and fast, until Sherlock suddenly shuddered in raw lust, made a tortured sound and John felt him explode in his mouth.
~°~
John looked up. Sherlock was still in a post-orgasm haze, his eyes half closed, and he was breathing heavily. For a moment it seemed as if he would lean down to kiss John.
Yeah, wishful thinking. Dream on, John.
This time it was John who got up first and put the distance between them in place again.
“I need to see more of the autopsy report. We need to know from which angle he was stabbed to find out if the murderer was still kneeling or if he was standing. I am going to make some tea. Don't drown.”
Next chapter here
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AN: Sorry it took me this long to finish the chapter, I got distracted by various prompts...
The title of the series was created by atlinmerrick. Thank you!
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