A Matter of Convenience - Sherlock/John - 3/3
Title: A Matter Of Convenience (3/3)
Rating: NC-17
Category: Sherlock/John
Length: 5,400 words in total
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: Relatively explicit naughty goings on.
Summary: Sherlock catches John watching gay porn. So he naturally assumes John wants to have sex with him.
Continued from part 2
"You're very good at this," said Sherlock, mildly annoyed that there was something John could do better than he could.
"Yeah, yeah, plenty of practice." John was wiping him off with something silky, though he paused to look at him curiously. "You must have done that yourself, though, surely."
Sherlock frowned at him. "Not deliberately... it's sometimes happened at night when I've been dreaming about something."
"Oh yes, we all have those." John tossed the cloth he’d used onto the bed beside Sherlock.
"I know. I'm inexperienced, not completely innocent... did you just use my shirt to clean me up?"
"It was closer than the tissues. Don't worry, I'll wash it before Mrs Hudson finds it."
Sherlock grinned. "That could be embarrassing. Well, mainly for you. You're the one who has a fit if she so much as touches your underwear." He sighed contentedly. "So what do we do now? I gather gay sex usually involves some kind of buggery?"
John's blue eyes widened in surprise. "I-- um, I think we might cross that bridge some other time." He laughed. "You know, you're practically as annoying to sleep with as you are to live with!"
"Keeps things interesting, though, doesn't it?" said Sherlock sheepishly.
John grinned, though the expression faded as he continued in a more quiet, serious tone. “Sherlock, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sort myself out. Can I-- can I kiss you? I promise I won't try to lick your tonsils," he added wryly.
"Yes, of course," said Sherlock in surprise. He hadn't realised he'd made a big deal about John kissing him.
John sat up, his back to Sherlock, and pulled off his T-shirt. Sherlock looked down at himself and realised that he was still half-dressed, albeit indecently exposed, and his legs dangling over the side of the bed were getting uncomfortable. He peeled off his trousers and underwear, kicking off his slippers; in the meantime, John lay down lengthways on the bed, reclining on his elbows and observing Sherlock's stripping with amusement.
"In your own time, Sherlock."
Sherlock laughed at that. "Should have let me undress when I offered earlier."
"I will next time, I promise."
Sherlock lay alongside John, propped up on one elbow in a mirror image of their earlier positions. The only difference was that John didn't lie flat on his back as Sherlock had done. Instead, he shifted onto his side so that he was exactly face to face with Sherlock, and leaned forward to kiss his mouth.
Mindful of his earlier reaction and the effect, however subtle, it seemed to have had on John, Sherlock parted his lips, but John didn't try to deepen the kiss. Instead, he placed soft, gentle kisses on Sherlock's mouth until Sherlock was starting to feel a faint tingle of arousal building up again.
"God, Sherlock, I can't--" said John in a half-whisper, breaking the kiss. For one horrible moment, Sherlock thought he was referring to them having sex, but John was breathing heavily and was apparently more than ready to see this through. "God, I want you. I want you so much."
John often told Sherlock that he smiled at the wrong times, so he tried very hard not to grin when John pushed him onto his back again. He had a feeling that the middle of sex probably constituted as bad a time for grinning as inspecting a corpse during a case. For some reason, that made Sherlock smile even more, so he hid his face against John's shoulder, kissing the veteran's scars that marred his skin.
When John kissed him again, Sherlock met him with equal enthusiasm; John's tongue dabbed at his lips and Sherlock followed suit, so that in short order they were sharing an open-mouthed kiss. Perhaps it was this more than anything that made Sherlock understand what John meant about sex changing things. Sherlock could easily imagine ignoring the spilling of bodily fluids in the course of their day to day life, but he was going to see John's mouth every day. How could he work with him and not imagine them doing this?
Still, that was a problem for another day. If nothing else, Sherlock thought having John with him all the time would be convenient should such thoughts arise. In the here and now, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer until their bare chests were superimposed. John made a sound akin to a chuckle and disengaged himself from the tight embrace to get more room to manoeuvre his hand into his boxers. Now feeling thoroughly into it, Sherlock followed the movement, wrapping his hand around the unfamiliar flesh. That prompted another "God, Sherlock" from John.
John drew further back so he could look at Sherlock's face and still cast occasional glances at what was happening further down. Sherlock's analytical mind automatically dissected the behaviour: John liked Sherlock’s face; he liked to watch what was happening; he was very aroused.
Sherlock decided he was bored with lying on his back. Besides, they'd already done this earlier, albeit the other way around. It was time to explore new possibilities. Sherlock remembered the scene he had glimpsed on the laptop and an idea popped into his head. He gave a startled John a shove and sat up; too turned on to abandon the game, John kneeled up on the bed and kissed Sherlock so fiercely that teeth brushed his lower lip, sending an unexpected thrill down his spine. Before John could protest -- and before Sherlock himself could change his mind about the impulse that had just seized him -- Sherlock broke the kiss and lowered his head until it was level with John’s hips.
John growled a quiet expletive and tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s curly hair. His objection to penetrative sex apparently didn’t extend to this. Or maybe he was just too far gone. A discreet touch on his femoral artery revealed a racing pulse which would have told Sherlock everything he needed to know even if he didn't have evidence of John's arousal right before his eyes. Which was actually more daunting than he'd expected.
However, the sight of John kneeling on the bed, eyes half-closed, his sweet face flushed and his body bathed in a light sheen of sweat kept Sherlock going once he realised the reality of the activity was something he hadn’t really thought through. He found himself battling sudden misgivings about his project. He wondered what he was supposed to do when bodily fluids were involved.
“Sh-Sherlock, I’m nearly there,” warned John. "You need to-- ah."
But by then, Sherlock had worked out what he needed to do. He held his desecrated shirt in place and watched in fascination as John's face took on an almost painful expression before finally breaking into a broad grin.
"Ah. You really are a dark horse, aren't you, Sherlock?" said John, laughing breathlessly. He fell back onto the bed. "You've never even had a wank but you decide to give me a blow job on our first time together?"
Sherlock lay beside him. "Well, since you weren't interested in buggery."
For some reason, that made them both laugh out loud. Sherlock ended up wrapped in John's arms, enjoying the sound of his lover's laughter echoing in the chest beneath his cheek.
"Shush," admonished John when they'd calmed down. "Mrs Hudson will hear us." That didn't bother Sherlock but John continued. "It's really late now. We still have that case to deal with in the morning."
"Yes. I suppose I should go back downstairs to bed," said Sherlock with a dramatic sigh.
"You could always sleep here," said John kindly.
"Oh, all right." Sherlock pulled a corner of the duvet up and slid under it.
John did likewise -- apparently deciding like Sherlock that they'd attend to their hygiene in the morning. "No hogging the covers, though, Sherlock."
"As if I would."
----
Life with Sherlock had been thrilling from the get-go, but John woke up late the next morning feeling even happier than usual. It was as if that last remaining piece, the one that made his life complete, had finally fallen into place.
He stood up and looked down at the bed with a tender smile. Sherlock was fast asleep, his smooth narrow face utterly at peace, his loose dark curls tousled and his body laid out starfish-like in the middle of the bed. John hadn't slept well; Sherlock's hyperactive mind was at work even in the night time, words escaping from his mouth and his limbs flailing as he was beset with dreams as exciting as his life. It was also obvious that he'd never shared a bed with anyone before.
But John didn't mind. His reward for the restless night had come early in the morning, at the time when they should have got up, when he'd woken to find Sherlock awake and ready to quite literally pounce on him. They'd used one of the condoms from John's bedside table and it had been perfect; as perfect as anything could be when John was ostensibly in charge but Sherlock was the one giving instructions. Sherlock seemed to enjoy that rather a lot, John recalled, and probably a bit too noisily. They'd both fallen dead asleep again afterwards.
But now John was awake again and thirsty and needed the loo. He put on his bathrobe and a pair of slippers, and headed to the lower floor. He was trying to work out why the living room carpet was covered in crumbs and what appeared to be the constituent parts of their toaster, when a sound behind him made him jump.
"Ooh, I'm so sorry, John," said Mrs Hudson, standing behind him with her vacuum cleaner by her side. "I thought you'd gone out. I was going to clean up this mess for you."
John made sure his robe was tightly shut. "It's okay, Mrs Hudson. Probably one of Sherlock's experiments. If you leave the Hoover, I'll clean it later once I'm sure he's finished with it."
Mrs Hudson propped the Hoover against the wall. "I thought you two had gone out ages ago," she said. "I heard some terrible screaming this morning when I was in the shower, but then it was all finished when I came out. I was ever so afraid someone had broken in or something."
"Um, I-- I think that was Sherlock," said John, hoping that his face had not actually turned bright red. He couldn't let Mrs Hudson think anything bad had happened, but he had to think of a reason why Sherlock might have been screaming. Though given Sherlock's many bizarre habits, she would probably believe anything. "Well, in fact, he was, um--"
"Getting his brains shagged out, actually," said Sherlock lightly, sauntering past with one of John's Aran jumpers wrapped loin-cloth-like around his midriff. "Morning, Mrs Hudson."
John and Mrs Hudson stared at Sherlock's retreating back as he padded through the flat and into his bedroom. John wondered if Sherlock had actually forgotten about his trousers left up in John's bedroom... or was wearing one of John's jumpers for effect.
"Er, is there any chance we could pretend you didn't hear that?" asked John hopefully.
But Mrs Hudson just smiled widely and pulled John into a big hug. "Oh congratulations! And you've been waiting ever so patiently, too."
"I've been… What?"
Mrs Hudson pulled away. John debated whether her delight was just a little creepy or not. "I know, I'll make you both a big breakfast! Oh, I'm so happy for you boys!"
"Yes," said John, though she'd already gone around the corner. He couldn't suppress a wide grin. "I'm happy for me too."
Rating: NC-17
Category: Sherlock/John
Length: 5,400 words in total
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: Relatively explicit naughty goings on.
Summary: Sherlock catches John watching gay porn. So he naturally assumes John wants to have sex with him.
Continued from part 2
"You're very good at this," said Sherlock, mildly annoyed that there was something John could do better than he could.
"Yeah, yeah, plenty of practice." John was wiping him off with something silky, though he paused to look at him curiously. "You must have done that yourself, though, surely."
Sherlock frowned at him. "Not deliberately... it's sometimes happened at night when I've been dreaming about something."
"Oh yes, we all have those." John tossed the cloth he’d used onto the bed beside Sherlock.
"I know. I'm inexperienced, not completely innocent... did you just use my shirt to clean me up?"
"It was closer than the tissues. Don't worry, I'll wash it before Mrs Hudson finds it."
Sherlock grinned. "That could be embarrassing. Well, mainly for you. You're the one who has a fit if she so much as touches your underwear." He sighed contentedly. "So what do we do now? I gather gay sex usually involves some kind of buggery?"
John's blue eyes widened in surprise. "I-- um, I think we might cross that bridge some other time." He laughed. "You know, you're practically as annoying to sleep with as you are to live with!"
"Keeps things interesting, though, doesn't it?" said Sherlock sheepishly.
John grinned, though the expression faded as he continued in a more quiet, serious tone. “Sherlock, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sort myself out. Can I-- can I kiss you? I promise I won't try to lick your tonsils," he added wryly.
"Yes, of course," said Sherlock in surprise. He hadn't realised he'd made a big deal about John kissing him.
John sat up, his back to Sherlock, and pulled off his T-shirt. Sherlock looked down at himself and realised that he was still half-dressed, albeit indecently exposed, and his legs dangling over the side of the bed were getting uncomfortable. He peeled off his trousers and underwear, kicking off his slippers; in the meantime, John lay down lengthways on the bed, reclining on his elbows and observing Sherlock's stripping with amusement.
"In your own time, Sherlock."
Sherlock laughed at that. "Should have let me undress when I offered earlier."
"I will next time, I promise."
Sherlock lay alongside John, propped up on one elbow in a mirror image of their earlier positions. The only difference was that John didn't lie flat on his back as Sherlock had done. Instead, he shifted onto his side so that he was exactly face to face with Sherlock, and leaned forward to kiss his mouth.
Mindful of his earlier reaction and the effect, however subtle, it seemed to have had on John, Sherlock parted his lips, but John didn't try to deepen the kiss. Instead, he placed soft, gentle kisses on Sherlock's mouth until Sherlock was starting to feel a faint tingle of arousal building up again.
"God, Sherlock, I can't--" said John in a half-whisper, breaking the kiss. For one horrible moment, Sherlock thought he was referring to them having sex, but John was breathing heavily and was apparently more than ready to see this through. "God, I want you. I want you so much."
John often told Sherlock that he smiled at the wrong times, so he tried very hard not to grin when John pushed him onto his back again. He had a feeling that the middle of sex probably constituted as bad a time for grinning as inspecting a corpse during a case. For some reason, that made Sherlock smile even more, so he hid his face against John's shoulder, kissing the veteran's scars that marred his skin.
When John kissed him again, Sherlock met him with equal enthusiasm; John's tongue dabbed at his lips and Sherlock followed suit, so that in short order they were sharing an open-mouthed kiss. Perhaps it was this more than anything that made Sherlock understand what John meant about sex changing things. Sherlock could easily imagine ignoring the spilling of bodily fluids in the course of their day to day life, but he was going to see John's mouth every day. How could he work with him and not imagine them doing this?
Still, that was a problem for another day. If nothing else, Sherlock thought having John with him all the time would be convenient should such thoughts arise. In the here and now, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer until their bare chests were superimposed. John made a sound akin to a chuckle and disengaged himself from the tight embrace to get more room to manoeuvre his hand into his boxers. Now feeling thoroughly into it, Sherlock followed the movement, wrapping his hand around the unfamiliar flesh. That prompted another "God, Sherlock" from John.
John drew further back so he could look at Sherlock's face and still cast occasional glances at what was happening further down. Sherlock's analytical mind automatically dissected the behaviour: John liked Sherlock’s face; he liked to watch what was happening; he was very aroused.
Sherlock decided he was bored with lying on his back. Besides, they'd already done this earlier, albeit the other way around. It was time to explore new possibilities. Sherlock remembered the scene he had glimpsed on the laptop and an idea popped into his head. He gave a startled John a shove and sat up; too turned on to abandon the game, John kneeled up on the bed and kissed Sherlock so fiercely that teeth brushed his lower lip, sending an unexpected thrill down his spine. Before John could protest -- and before Sherlock himself could change his mind about the impulse that had just seized him -- Sherlock broke the kiss and lowered his head until it was level with John’s hips.
John growled a quiet expletive and tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s curly hair. His objection to penetrative sex apparently didn’t extend to this. Or maybe he was just too far gone. A discreet touch on his femoral artery revealed a racing pulse which would have told Sherlock everything he needed to know even if he didn't have evidence of John's arousal right before his eyes. Which was actually more daunting than he'd expected.
However, the sight of John kneeling on the bed, eyes half-closed, his sweet face flushed and his body bathed in a light sheen of sweat kept Sherlock going once he realised the reality of the activity was something he hadn’t really thought through. He found himself battling sudden misgivings about his project. He wondered what he was supposed to do when bodily fluids were involved.
“Sh-Sherlock, I’m nearly there,” warned John. "You need to-- ah."
But by then, Sherlock had worked out what he needed to do. He held his desecrated shirt in place and watched in fascination as John's face took on an almost painful expression before finally breaking into a broad grin.
"Ah. You really are a dark horse, aren't you, Sherlock?" said John, laughing breathlessly. He fell back onto the bed. "You've never even had a wank but you decide to give me a blow job on our first time together?"
Sherlock lay beside him. "Well, since you weren't interested in buggery."
For some reason, that made them both laugh out loud. Sherlock ended up wrapped in John's arms, enjoying the sound of his lover's laughter echoing in the chest beneath his cheek.
"Shush," admonished John when they'd calmed down. "Mrs Hudson will hear us." That didn't bother Sherlock but John continued. "It's really late now. We still have that case to deal with in the morning."
"Yes. I suppose I should go back downstairs to bed," said Sherlock with a dramatic sigh.
"You could always sleep here," said John kindly.
"Oh, all right." Sherlock pulled a corner of the duvet up and slid under it.
John did likewise -- apparently deciding like Sherlock that they'd attend to their hygiene in the morning. "No hogging the covers, though, Sherlock."
"As if I would."
----
Life with Sherlock had been thrilling from the get-go, but John woke up late the next morning feeling even happier than usual. It was as if that last remaining piece, the one that made his life complete, had finally fallen into place.
He stood up and looked down at the bed with a tender smile. Sherlock was fast asleep, his smooth narrow face utterly at peace, his loose dark curls tousled and his body laid out starfish-like in the middle of the bed. John hadn't slept well; Sherlock's hyperactive mind was at work even in the night time, words escaping from his mouth and his limbs flailing as he was beset with dreams as exciting as his life. It was also obvious that he'd never shared a bed with anyone before.
But John didn't mind. His reward for the restless night had come early in the morning, at the time when they should have got up, when he'd woken to find Sherlock awake and ready to quite literally pounce on him. They'd used one of the condoms from John's bedside table and it had been perfect; as perfect as anything could be when John was ostensibly in charge but Sherlock was the one giving instructions. Sherlock seemed to enjoy that rather a lot, John recalled, and probably a bit too noisily. They'd both fallen dead asleep again afterwards.
But now John was awake again and thirsty and needed the loo. He put on his bathrobe and a pair of slippers, and headed to the lower floor. He was trying to work out why the living room carpet was covered in crumbs and what appeared to be the constituent parts of their toaster, when a sound behind him made him jump.
"Ooh, I'm so sorry, John," said Mrs Hudson, standing behind him with her vacuum cleaner by her side. "I thought you'd gone out. I was going to clean up this mess for you."
John made sure his robe was tightly shut. "It's okay, Mrs Hudson. Probably one of Sherlock's experiments. If you leave the Hoover, I'll clean it later once I'm sure he's finished with it."
Mrs Hudson propped the Hoover against the wall. "I thought you two had gone out ages ago," she said. "I heard some terrible screaming this morning when I was in the shower, but then it was all finished when I came out. I was ever so afraid someone had broken in or something."
"Um, I-- I think that was Sherlock," said John, hoping that his face had not actually turned bright red. He couldn't let Mrs Hudson think anything bad had happened, but he had to think of a reason why Sherlock might have been screaming. Though given Sherlock's many bizarre habits, she would probably believe anything. "Well, in fact, he was, um--"
"Getting his brains shagged out, actually," said Sherlock lightly, sauntering past with one of John's Aran jumpers wrapped loin-cloth-like around his midriff. "Morning, Mrs Hudson."
John and Mrs Hudson stared at Sherlock's retreating back as he padded through the flat and into his bedroom. John wondered if Sherlock had actually forgotten about his trousers left up in John's bedroom... or was wearing one of John's jumpers for effect.
"Er, is there any chance we could pretend you didn't hear that?" asked John hopefully.
But Mrs Hudson just smiled widely and pulled John into a big hug. "Oh congratulations! And you've been waiting ever so patiently, too."
"I've been… What?"
Mrs Hudson pulled away. John debated whether her delight was just a little creepy or not. "I know, I'll make you both a big breakfast! Oh, I'm so happy for you boys!"
"Yes," said John, though she'd already gone around the corner. He couldn't suppress a wide grin. "I'm happy for me too."