Fic: A Matter of Convenience - Sherlock/John - 2/3
Title: A Matter Of Convenience (2/3)
Rating: NC-17
Category: Sherlock/John
Length: unknown - 3000 words so far
Disclaimer: The show Sherlock and that incarnation of its characters belong to the BBC, the show's writers and its actors. Not to be confused with any version written by Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle or other adaptations thereof.
Warning: Possibly naughty language and relatively explicit naughty goings on a bit later; a lot of talking.
Summary: Sherlock catches John watching gay porn. So he naturally assumes John wants to have sex with him.
Continued from part 1
John blinked, gulped and raised the pillow.
"Um," he started, trying to not to look at Sherlock's face or body. "Sherlock, this is a bad idea," he said more firmly when he found a point to Sherlock's left to stare at. "Look, I'm your doctor. So it's unethical for a start. And you're-- I don't know if you've ever been diagnosed but I feel you're probably on the autistic spectrum and I shouldn't be imposing my... well, my feelings on you. Also, I'm more experienced than you are, more used to dealing with the emotional baggage that comes with having sex. And the baggage that comes when things don't work out. I don't know how you'd react. You're pretty intense as a friend. I can only imagine what you'd be like as my... as someone's boyfriend. Let alone an ex. And the thing is, Sherlock, you don't really want to do this anyway. You didn't even kiss me back just now."
"I'm not used to people trying to lick my tonsils, that's all," said Sherlock lightly. "So basically, you think I should find some nice virgin with Asperger's to have sex with? The truth is, John, you're just making excuses about me because you feel nervous. The only thing wrong with me from your point of view is actually that I'm a man."
John looked him in the eyes again. "No. I'm serious, Sherlock. I don't think you really want this. You've never wanted to before."
"How would you know?" asked Sherlock. "Besides, just because I'm not usually interested in sex doesn't mean I can't do it. I have the necessary anatomy."
"Yes, I'm sure you're fully functional and programmed in multiple techniques," said John, quoting something. He lowered the pillow again and gave Sherlock a tender look. "Okay. So why do you suddenly want to sleep with me anyway, you strange man?"
Sherlock leaned forward earnestly. "John, it has been apparent to me for some time that the only reason you constantly put yourself through the tedium of trying to attract women is so you can have sex. I've often thought it might be easier if you could simply have sex with me. Or possibly Mrs Hudson. But I didn't think she'd be interested."
"Right." John was suppressing laughter. "So you're doing this to spare me the trouble of trying to attract women."
"That's it," said Sherlock flatly, knowing that John would pick up on his insincere tone. "Quite frankly, it's been very tedious. Up until now, you've demonstrated very poor taste. I'm glad you've come to your senses." He patted the bed. "Come on, I know this is bothering you, John. You've been very grumpy recently and I don't think us not having sex is going to help. Especially now you know I know you watch gay porn."
John shook his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he said, though he did sit down beside Sherlock. He sighed. "I am worried about the emotional thing, Sherlock. You might be high-functioning and savant and I don't know what else, but you don't do emotions very well. And well, I don't think I'd enjoy it much if you didn't really want to."
Sherlock thought about this for a split second and then leaned over and kissed John's temple. He'd come across enough sex scenes on television and in books to have a basic scenario in mind. Kissing was usually involved and John's temple was closest.
When John didn't react, he kissed his cheek next, intrigued by the softness of John's skin above his beardline. Sherlock did pay attention to people's skin; it was often a major clue when he needed to know something about a person. But he'd never felt someone's skin beneath his lips. It felt nice so he kissed it again.
John sat perfectly still as Sherlock leaned further down to kiss his neck, though the quickening of his breathing and the rapid pulse in the carotid artery under Sherlock's lips gave the lie to his stoicism. Encouraged, Sherlock slid his hand under John's T-shirt, feeling the soft warm skin under his palm.
Eyes closed, John turned a fraction of the way towards him and Sherlock placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He knew that kissing on the mouth was a universally acknowledged signal for sexual activity. That should settle the matter of whether he was interested.
John made an appreciative little humming noise and opened his eyes. He was breathing heavily but a worried look deepened the lines on his face.
"This means a lot to me, Sherlock," he said softly. "Don't-- Please don't do this if you don't really want to."
Sherlock pondered that briefly. Then he smiled mischievously and took John's hand to place it on his trousers. "Oh, I think I do."
John's eyes widened and Sherlock suddenly found himself on his back, pinned to the bed by the weight of John's body and his hands around Sherlock's wrists. The reminder of John's military training gave Sherlock an unexpected thrill and he smiled expectantly.
John leaned down to kiss his mouth; unsure exactly what to do and expecting more licking, Sherlock tensed. John stopped and leaned back on one arm, shifting his weight off Sherlock and releasing his wrists. A little disappointed, Sherlock stayed as he was, his arms flat on the bed, uncertain where to put his hands.
"Sorry," said John, though Sherlock didn't see why.
The protest he was formulating died on his lips when John started to stroke his bare chest and stomach. The almost ticklish sensation made Sherlock swallow an involuntary whimper. People had occasionally succeeded in kissing him, but no one had ever simply stroked a part of his body.
"That's nice," he said, because he wasn't sure if John could tell that he was enjoying it. After all, John wasn't the most observant person. "I like that."
"I know," said John with a grin.
He continued to stroke Sherlock gently, sometimes lying his hand flat on Sherlock's skin and other times raising it until only the very tips of his fingers traced feathery soft patterns up his stomach, across his ribs and around his nipples. Sherlock knew about the mechanics of sex but he'd never realised how good it would feel to be touched, even relatively innocently, by another human being.
"Do you do this with everyone you sleep with?" he asked breathlessly. "No. Of course not. Most of your recent girlfriends thought you were rubbish in bed. So you didn't do this to them."
John pulled away his hand and scowled at him. "You really don't have to provide a running commentary, Sherlock."
"Oh," said Sherlock. Then, because he really did want John to continue, he added, "Sorry."
John resumed his manual exploration of Sherlock's chest, but after a moment, he leaned over and replaced the hand movements with trails of small kisses. John's lips felt softer than his fingers and the contrast with the stubble surrounding them offered an interesting juxtaposition. Sherlock thought he had underestimated how many nerve endings there were in his skin. He moaned again, more loudly this time, and realised that he was more than merely enjoying this for its own sake.
"This is--" He swallowed, startled by the combinations of sensations. "It's very arousing," he said finally.
Still leaning over Sherlock's chest, John looked up at him with amusement. For a second, it looked as if he was going to say something, but instead, he undid the button on Sherlock's trousers and put his hand inside.
"Ah," said Sherlock, closing his eyes.
He had always considered that there was a slim chance someone might do this to him some day. He’d had occasional offers -- among the few he’d consciously recognised as such -- when he had briefly wondered if that particular person under those specific circumstances should be allowed to get what they thought they wanted from him. Obviously, he had decided in every case that they shouldn’t, mostly because they didn’t deserve it and it wasn’t necessary, and partly because he’d never given his body much thought - beyond adorning it with decent clothes - and the activities he knew sex involved didn’t appeal to him.
He opened his eyes again to find John looking down at him with a tender expression. Without really thinking about it, Sherlock reached up to cup his cheek, tracing the lines on his careworn face with the ball of his thumb.
"This is very nice," he breathed.
"I know," said John. "God, you're beautiful, Sherlock."
Sherlock didn’t think it was possible, but the combination of John’s words and the look on his face seemed more potent than the mechanical process he was initiating. Sherlock could feel his body clamouring to take over, every nerve ending seemingly connected to the movements of John's hand, his body sweaty and out of breath as if he had just run a mile instead of simply lying on a bed with a surprisingly capable lover.
And then suddenly, the race was over. Sherlock let out a hoarse cry and grabbed John's arm, gripping it until the sensations peaked and started to ebb away.
Oh this was good, he thought wryly, lying in a quasi daze across John's bed. He was so pleased he'd convinced John to go through with it.
Concluded in part 3...
Rating: NC-17
Category: Sherlock/John
Length: unknown - 3000 words so far
Disclaimer: The show Sherlock and that incarnation of its characters belong to the BBC, the show's writers and its actors. Not to be confused with any version written by Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle or other adaptations thereof.
Warning: Possibly naughty language and relatively explicit naughty goings on a bit later; a lot of talking.
Summary: Sherlock catches John watching gay porn. So he naturally assumes John wants to have sex with him.
Continued from part 1
John blinked, gulped and raised the pillow.
"Um," he started, trying to not to look at Sherlock's face or body. "Sherlock, this is a bad idea," he said more firmly when he found a point to Sherlock's left to stare at. "Look, I'm your doctor. So it's unethical for a start. And you're-- I don't know if you've ever been diagnosed but I feel you're probably on the autistic spectrum and I shouldn't be imposing my... well, my feelings on you. Also, I'm more experienced than you are, more used to dealing with the emotional baggage that comes with having sex. And the baggage that comes when things don't work out. I don't know how you'd react. You're pretty intense as a friend. I can only imagine what you'd be like as my... as someone's boyfriend. Let alone an ex. And the thing is, Sherlock, you don't really want to do this anyway. You didn't even kiss me back just now."
"I'm not used to people trying to lick my tonsils, that's all," said Sherlock lightly. "So basically, you think I should find some nice virgin with Asperger's to have sex with? The truth is, John, you're just making excuses about me because you feel nervous. The only thing wrong with me from your point of view is actually that I'm a man."
John looked him in the eyes again. "No. I'm serious, Sherlock. I don't think you really want this. You've never wanted to before."
"How would you know?" asked Sherlock. "Besides, just because I'm not usually interested in sex doesn't mean I can't do it. I have the necessary anatomy."
"Yes, I'm sure you're fully functional and programmed in multiple techniques," said John, quoting something. He lowered the pillow again and gave Sherlock a tender look. "Okay. So why do you suddenly want to sleep with me anyway, you strange man?"
Sherlock leaned forward earnestly. "John, it has been apparent to me for some time that the only reason you constantly put yourself through the tedium of trying to attract women is so you can have sex. I've often thought it might be easier if you could simply have sex with me. Or possibly Mrs Hudson. But I didn't think she'd be interested."
"Right." John was suppressing laughter. "So you're doing this to spare me the trouble of trying to attract women."
"That's it," said Sherlock flatly, knowing that John would pick up on his insincere tone. "Quite frankly, it's been very tedious. Up until now, you've demonstrated very poor taste. I'm glad you've come to your senses." He patted the bed. "Come on, I know this is bothering you, John. You've been very grumpy recently and I don't think us not having sex is going to help. Especially now you know I know you watch gay porn."
John shook his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he said, though he did sit down beside Sherlock. He sighed. "I am worried about the emotional thing, Sherlock. You might be high-functioning and savant and I don't know what else, but you don't do emotions very well. And well, I don't think I'd enjoy it much if you didn't really want to."
Sherlock thought about this for a split second and then leaned over and kissed John's temple. He'd come across enough sex scenes on television and in books to have a basic scenario in mind. Kissing was usually involved and John's temple was closest.
When John didn't react, he kissed his cheek next, intrigued by the softness of John's skin above his beardline. Sherlock did pay attention to people's skin; it was often a major clue when he needed to know something about a person. But he'd never felt someone's skin beneath his lips. It felt nice so he kissed it again.
John sat perfectly still as Sherlock leaned further down to kiss his neck, though the quickening of his breathing and the rapid pulse in the carotid artery under Sherlock's lips gave the lie to his stoicism. Encouraged, Sherlock slid his hand under John's T-shirt, feeling the soft warm skin under his palm.
Eyes closed, John turned a fraction of the way towards him and Sherlock placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He knew that kissing on the mouth was a universally acknowledged signal for sexual activity. That should settle the matter of whether he was interested.
John made an appreciative little humming noise and opened his eyes. He was breathing heavily but a worried look deepened the lines on his face.
"This means a lot to me, Sherlock," he said softly. "Don't-- Please don't do this if you don't really want to."
Sherlock pondered that briefly. Then he smiled mischievously and took John's hand to place it on his trousers. "Oh, I think I do."
John's eyes widened and Sherlock suddenly found himself on his back, pinned to the bed by the weight of John's body and his hands around Sherlock's wrists. The reminder of John's military training gave Sherlock an unexpected thrill and he smiled expectantly.
John leaned down to kiss his mouth; unsure exactly what to do and expecting more licking, Sherlock tensed. John stopped and leaned back on one arm, shifting his weight off Sherlock and releasing his wrists. A little disappointed, Sherlock stayed as he was, his arms flat on the bed, uncertain where to put his hands.
"Sorry," said John, though Sherlock didn't see why.
The protest he was formulating died on his lips when John started to stroke his bare chest and stomach. The almost ticklish sensation made Sherlock swallow an involuntary whimper. People had occasionally succeeded in kissing him, but no one had ever simply stroked a part of his body.
"That's nice," he said, because he wasn't sure if John could tell that he was enjoying it. After all, John wasn't the most observant person. "I like that."
"I know," said John with a grin.
He continued to stroke Sherlock gently, sometimes lying his hand flat on Sherlock's skin and other times raising it until only the very tips of his fingers traced feathery soft patterns up his stomach, across his ribs and around his nipples. Sherlock knew about the mechanics of sex but he'd never realised how good it would feel to be touched, even relatively innocently, by another human being.
"Do you do this with everyone you sleep with?" he asked breathlessly. "No. Of course not. Most of your recent girlfriends thought you were rubbish in bed. So you didn't do this to them."
John pulled away his hand and scowled at him. "You really don't have to provide a running commentary, Sherlock."
"Oh," said Sherlock. Then, because he really did want John to continue, he added, "Sorry."
John resumed his manual exploration of Sherlock's chest, but after a moment, he leaned over and replaced the hand movements with trails of small kisses. John's lips felt softer than his fingers and the contrast with the stubble surrounding them offered an interesting juxtaposition. Sherlock thought he had underestimated how many nerve endings there were in his skin. He moaned again, more loudly this time, and realised that he was more than merely enjoying this for its own sake.
"This is--" He swallowed, startled by the combinations of sensations. "It's very arousing," he said finally.
Still leaning over Sherlock's chest, John looked up at him with amusement. For a second, it looked as if he was going to say something, but instead, he undid the button on Sherlock's trousers and put his hand inside.
"Ah," said Sherlock, closing his eyes.
He had always considered that there was a slim chance someone might do this to him some day. He’d had occasional offers -- among the few he’d consciously recognised as such -- when he had briefly wondered if that particular person under those specific circumstances should be allowed to get what they thought they wanted from him. Obviously, he had decided in every case that they shouldn’t, mostly because they didn’t deserve it and it wasn’t necessary, and partly because he’d never given his body much thought - beyond adorning it with decent clothes - and the activities he knew sex involved didn’t appeal to him.
He opened his eyes again to find John looking down at him with a tender expression. Without really thinking about it, Sherlock reached up to cup his cheek, tracing the lines on his careworn face with the ball of his thumb.
"This is very nice," he breathed.
"I know," said John. "God, you're beautiful, Sherlock."
Sherlock didn’t think it was possible, but the combination of John’s words and the look on his face seemed more potent than the mechanical process he was initiating. Sherlock could feel his body clamouring to take over, every nerve ending seemingly connected to the movements of John's hand, his body sweaty and out of breath as if he had just run a mile instead of simply lying on a bed with a surprisingly capable lover.
And then suddenly, the race was over. Sherlock let out a hoarse cry and grabbed John's arm, gripping it until the sensations peaked and started to ebb away.
Oh this was good, he thought wryly, lying in a quasi daze across John's bed. He was so pleased he'd convinced John to go through with it.
Concluded in part 3...