Fic: Come Quietly, John/Lestrade, SherlockBBC
Title: Come Quietly
Author: Elfbert
Verse: Sherlock BBC - Nanny John 'verse
Characters: Lestrade/John, Mycroft (aged 13), Sherlock (aged 5).
Pairings: Lestrade/John
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Explicit sex
Length: 3000
Beta: Randomly_rusted
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Set in emungere's 'Nanny John' 'verse. Is linked to these blog entries:
Camping It Up, It Soothes All My Troubles Away, Head On and This Morning...
Camping with two young boys poses certain...challenges, to John and Lestrade.
Lestrade put his guitar to one side and shifted to rub a hand through Sherlock's hair. "Come on, sleepy, time to turn in for you, I think," he said.
John looked up from his book and smiled as he saw Sherlock's drooping eyelids.
"Definitely," he agreed. "Busy day tomorrow, if we're going to go swimming in the sea."
Sherlock put up a token protest, but Lestrade scooped him up and carried him easily into the tent as John began packing away a few things around their campfire.
"I'll go too, when Sherlock's settled," Mycroft said, looking up from the book he was reading with the aid of a head torch, and briefly blinding John with the light.
"You don't have to," John automatically answered.
Mycroft shrugged, one hand rubbing one of the dogs' ears. "I don't mind. It's quite tiring, being outside all the time."
"Right. Well, whatever you want," John said, although he was secretly glad that he might get a bit of time alone with Lestrade. Camping was brilliant - and spending all day every day together was lovely. But with no help to distract the boys - no Mrs Hudson, no classes or tutors, he and Lestrade had barely managed more than a kiss since they'd arrived.
Lestrade ducked out of the tent and gestured into it with his thumb. "Your turn," he said to John. "And be quick, or he'll be spark out."
"Won't!" came a tired voice from the other side of the canvas, making all three of them smile.
John headed into the tent and knelt beside Sherlock's sleeping bag, smiling at the mess of dark curls sticking out.
"Night Sherlock. Sleep well. And swimming tomorrow, we promise, providing the sea isn't too rough, okay?"
The curls moved enough to probably be a nod, so John tucked the sleeping bag in a little tighter and left.
Lestrade was packing his guitar away and stowing a few things back into their vehicle, and Mycroft headed in to bed, bidding them both goodnight.
They tidied away all the things from cooking the meal and lazing about around the camp fire, and finally dowsed the fire down.
John walked up behind Lestrade, who was doing his best to close the door of the Range Rover without slamming it and waking everyone up, and slid his hands over his denim- clad bum.
Lestrade turned, smiling, and wrapped his own arms around John.
"'S nice, isn't it? Peaceful," he said, in barely a whisper.
John nodded.
Lestrade linked his hands behind John's back, forcing John closer against him, and bent down slightly for a kiss.
John immediately responded, opening his mouth, sliding his hands over Lestrade's arse.
They were both silent, leaning back in the shadow of the huge vehicle, Lestrade's hands sneaking up inside John's t-shirt, fingertips tracing over skin, as John's fingers wiggled there way inside Lestrade's waistband, just brushing the elastic of his boxers.
Finally the kiss was broken, although a few more light, gentle brushes of lips was had before John leant in, pressing his chin into Lestrade's neck, and finally spoke, voice very quiet and slightly hoarse.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he said, lips brushing Lestrade's ear.
Lestrade shuddered slightly as the warm breath tickled him. "I do, if it's anything like how much I want you," he answered.
John moved back and kissed him again, harder.
"What can we do?" he said when they finally broke apart once more, both breathless.
"Be quiet," Lestrade answered, and John could see his wide, white grin in the darkness.
"Idiot," John hissed, but glanced around at the rest of the campsite. There were still people around, mainly by the lit up toilet block and the entrance way. They couldn't risk anything as simple as clambering into the Range Rover on the back seat - the risk of discovery was far too high.
"Come on," Lestrade pulled him close once more, holding him tightly as they kissed, Lestrade's stubble rough against John's lips. "Bed. Well, bags, now."
The sound of the zip closing seemed incredibly loud to their ears, but apart from a huff of breath from one of the dogs, nothing stirred. No light from the boys' room indicated that Mycroft had settled for the night, so they used a well shielded torch to navigate their way around legs, noses and tails, as the two hounds seemed to take over every inch of space in the middle of the tent, and Lestrade unzipped their 'room' as quietly as he could, muffling the sound with his fingers.
John turned the light off and carefully put it where he knew he could find it and quickly stripped in the darkness, folding his clothes roughly and piling them on his shoes, just in case, to ensure they would be dry in the morning if the tent did leak.
Lestrade searched through one of the pockets of their bag and brought out a small black wash bag, which he put next to their pillows.
As they both scrambled into their sleeping bags, silky material sliding over skin, Lestrade couldn't help but reach out and touch John, fingers bumping into an arm first.
"Odd, not being able to see you," he whispered.
"Okay, though?" John's voice was full of concern - he knew too well the demons that sometimes haunted Lestrade, twisting reality and memories until he wasn't sure which was which.
"Yeah, yeah, fine," Lestrade reassured. "Still feel like you." He leant in, until he knew he was close to John. "Still smell like you."
John reached out too, fingers hitting what he quickly worked out was Lestrade's chest first, then finding a bicep, a rough, stubbled chin, and then downward, over slightly soft belly and onto a hot, stiff cock.
"Mmmm," he barely formed the sound, well aware of the boys asleep so nearby.
Lestrade just breathed, hard, gushes of warm air spilling over John's shoulder and neck.
"You're so hard," John whispered. "Jesus."
Lestrade's fingers ghosted over John's skin, barely touching, skimming over muscles and soft hair, travelling downwards, sliding over John's hip and then dropping down, the backs of his knuckles just brushing John's balls, enough to make him shiver.
They leaned together, nose bumping chin, stubble dragging over stubble, until their lips finally met.
They swallowed each other's moans and whimpers as fists wrapped around hard flesh, then John moved, digging fingers into Lestrade's buttock and pulling him over, so Lestrade was half lying on top of him, their erections trapped between them, hips moving together, desperate for friction.
Lestrade broke the kiss, panting. "Fuck, I want you inside me," he said, each breath barely formed into the word, but John didn't need to hear to understand. He gripped Lestrade's bum hard, squeezing and kneading the flesh as they kissed again.
"How?" he managed to whisper, the next time they broke for breath. He was all too aware of any excess noise - even the slap of skin on skin would travel so easily through the thin canvass walls.
"You behind," Lestrade said, sliding to the side, his hand dragging obscenely across John's groin.
John reached out blindly for their bag of supplies, bumping it with his fingers and dragging it closer, fumbling to find the zip before finally digging inside to find the bottle of lube.
Lestrade lay on his side, but with his top leg bent slightly at the knee.
John sat up, tracing the contours of Lestrade's body with one hand, then slicking the fingers of the other and finding his goal. He ran three fingers, cool and slippery, up Lestrade's crack, then pressed in slightly with the middle one, feeling the give of muscle as he pushed. He twisted it slightly, then got more lube, slipping the finger in much further.
"Here," Lestrade reached around, grabbing the bag and pulling some things out, then pressing one item against John's clean hand.
"What is it?" John quickly slid the object through his fingers - it was long and slim, with a small squeezable tube on the end.
"Lube. Just...stick it up there and squirt it in," Lestrade said, unable to think of a more genteel way of phrasing it, in his current state of mind. "No mess."
John smiled in the darkness, finding and twisting off the cap, then carefully doing exactly as Lestrade had said, hearing the hiss of an intake of breath. "Okay?" he whispered.
"Fucking cold," Lestrade replied, but wiggled backwards slightly, until John slid his finger back into Lestrade's now-slick hole.
"Christ, you're going to feel amazing," John said, squirting some more of their normal lube onto his hand and sliding his cock through his fingers, coating it liberally.
He smelt the next item Lestrade fumbled for before he felt it - and wondered just how much thought Lestrade had put into what they were about to do, as he wiped the excess gel from his fingers with the wet wipe.
Then he rolled forward slightly, pushing his hips forward a little until the tip of his cock slid between Lestrade's cheeks. He took a moment to enjoy the smooth skin, then guided himself toward Lestrade's hole, shifting forward a little more, until he was sure he had enough leverage.
"C'mon," Lestrade said, reaching around, gripping John's hip and pulling them together.
There was a moment when John thought it would be too tight - not enough prep plus an unusual position for them, but then, as he angled his body a little more, and leaned in, he felt the head of his cock slip inside - Lestrade's body opening for him.
He paused, as much for himself as for Lestrade, resting his forehead against the back of Lestrade's shoulder. It was so tight - his cock feeling as if it were trapped, held confined in hot, smooth pressure. Then Lestrade pushed back slightly, so he rolled his hips forward, moving slightly as he did so, gaining ground, then repeating the action until he was flush against Lestrade, touching him from chest to toe, mouth pressing kisses across Lestrade's shoulder and the back of his neck.
"Christ, you feel good," he said, smoothly undulating his hips, hearing and feeling Lestrade's breath hitch slightly as he did so. "Could just do you like this all night long."
Lestrade almost let out a whimper, but choked it back just in time.
John moved the arm he wasn't lying on to settled on Lestrade's hip, pulling him back as he gently pressed forward again, establishing a slow rhythm as they rocked together, nothing like their usual, more energetic style. And he knew he really could manage this for hours - there was none of the usual awkward poses, stretched-out limbs, just closeness, comfort, and a gentle, undemanding rhythm.
Then he allowed his hand to reach further around, wrapping a very loose fist around Lestrade's cock, and reaping the benefit as Lestrade gave in to instinct and tried to thrust.
John pressed his open mouth to Lestrade's shoulder as somehow Lestrade's body became even tighter around his cock, the movements so small they were almost teasing, like tiny waves of pleasure lapping over him. But even so, he knew the combination of tight heat, enforced silence and the pitch blackness could push him over the edge far too soon. He closed his eyes, mouth still pressed against Lestrade's skin, breathing, keeping himself in control.
He muffled any noise he might make against Lestrade's skin, tasting the salt from their earlier swim. But he realised, from the slight, bitten-back groans, that Lestrade was struggling to keep himself quiet. So he removed his hand from Lestrade's erection and reached up, sliding it over smooth skin and then rough stubble to reach Lestrade's mouth. He pressed his fingers across Lestrade's lips, preventing the whimpers of pleasure escaping. Lestrade then reached around again, digging strong fingers into John's hip and urging him on, forcing John to move more, to snap his hips forward on each thrust. He drew his top leg up a little more, opening himself further, allowing John a little more leverage to thrust.
John was wondering how long he could hold on for, how long he could fight the growing feeling in his balls as the pleasure tightened and coiled deep inside him. He was also very aware that some of the wet, squelching noises were getting too loud as he plunged in and out of Lestrade's body harder and harder.
Then Lestrade opened his lips, and John's finger slid between them, into the wet warmth of Lestrade's mouth and was quickly caught by teeth. Then Lestrade's tongue slid around it, playing over the tip, around it, just like it did when he was sucking John's cock. And it was John's turn to choke back a whimper, pressing his face into the back of Lestrade's neck, torn between thrusting harder and faster, or moving more - pulling out further before pushing all the way back in.
Wanting to last, wanting to prolong the pleasure for both of them, he did the latter. Pushing Lestrade's hips away as he pulled back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside Lestrade, then rolling them back together, relishing the smooth, long, slide back into him. He purposefully kept the action slow and smooth, fighting his every urge to give in to his more animalistic desires. Then he went a step further, pulling out completely before pressing back in, all the way, the pressure of pushing back through the muscle exquisite on the tip of his cock. He did it a few more times, his breathing growing more and more ragged, opening his mouth wide and fastening onto the muscle of Lestrade's shoulder.
And then he couldn't hang on any longer, and he gave up the control, just pushing as far and as hard into Lestrade as he could, feeling the pressure increase on his finger as Lestrade sucked it, hard. Wrapping his leg over Lestrade's, and as he came he bit down, eyes squeezed shut, plastering himself over Lestrade's back, holding him tightly, swallowing back whimpers as days of wanting exactly this made him need to pant out a hundred words of endearment, of lust, of telling Lestrade how bloody amazing it was.
He finally relaxed, breathing hard, feeling the final tremors coursing through his muscles.
Lestrade twisted his head slightly, allowing John's finger to pop free of his mouth, and John took the hint, rolling onto his back, pulling free from Lestrade's body, the chilly night air immediately hitting his wet cock, in stark contrast from Lestrade's hot body.
Lestrade rolled over, and John could feel his erection, still hard and hot, pushing against his thigh.
They kissed for a long moment, John's hand closing around Lestrade's erection, teasing, rubbing slowly and gently. Then he pushed Lestrade onto his back, and slid down into the sleeping bag.
Lestrade felt the heat of John's breath seconds before he felt John's tongue tease over the tip of his cock, hand still wrapped around the base. He bit his lip.
By the time John's mouth was sliding down his shaft, tongue still playing over the head he had his arm thrown over his face, muffling sounds in the crook of his elbow.
When two fingers slid easily into his arse he grabbed John's pillow and clamped it over his face, biting down on the soft material as John took his time, sucking up and down, sliding in and out, his forearm holding Lestrade's hips down, so he was completely at John's mercy.
He reached down, blindly seeking John's hand, gripping it, interlocking their fingers on his belly, and tightening his grip as he felt his orgasm building. He knew John could sense when he was close, and sucked even more deeply, curling his fingers deep inside Lestrade.
As he came all he could hear was his pulse and the blood rushing in his ears, and his muscles went from the rigid, quivering tension to nothing as he felt John gently licking him, cleaning him, hand gently pumping up and down to squeeze every last drop out of him.
And finally, finally, the fingers slipping free from his body, slick and easy, leaving him empty.
There was a pause, a movement, and then John crawled back up his body, and he heard a low muffled laugh as John encountered the pillow. It was carefully lifted away from his face, pulled from between his teeth.
"Mmmmmm," John pressed a kiss to his lips. "Never thought you'd literally be a pillow biter."
Lestrade wrapped his heavy arms over John's back, holding him close, just breathing, not moving, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Was amazing," he finally murmured, pressing a kiss just under John's ear.
They finally found enough energy to clean up, and Lestrade grinned as John struggled into his pyjamas, before Lestrade snuggled up behind John, throwing his arm around John's waist and holding him close, legs entangled.
On the other side of the thin canvas a dog snored.
The next morning John awoke and stretched, feeling the slight stiffness in his leg from the previous night's activity and sleeping on the relatively hard floor. He rolled over and looked at Lestrade, who was still sprawled out, face down, but watching him with one dark brown eye.
"Morning," John smiled, dipping his head to kiss Lestrade's temple.
"Mmm," Lestrade smiled.
"How are…Jesus! Did I do that?" John reached out and touched the fresh, clear, bite mark on the top of Lestrade's shoulder - a livid bruise on the tanned skin.
"You, or some other vampire got into our tent last night."
John pressed a soft kiss on the abused skin. "I'm sorry."
Lestrade shrugged slightly. "You obviously mistook me for a pillow. Easy mistake to make. Least you won't be spitting feathers all day."
John grinned, snuggling up close to Lestrade, hoping for a nice lie in, just enjoying each other's company in the silence of the early morning.
"John! Lestrade! Can we go swimming now? It's light!" Sherlock shouted, and a dog woofed softly, obviously disturbed. "And have bacon for breakfast? And get ice cream later?"
John dropped his head back onto the pillow, and noticed Lestrade smirking.
He grinned, looking Lestrade straight in the eye.
"You can come in. Ask Lestrade what we're doing today."
The zip was dragged open, and Sherlock launched himself onto them.
"Lestrade? Can we? And try to find a crab? And take a picnic? And I want you to teach me to dive, and swim underwater with my eyes open. And did John bite you?"
It took both of them a second to catch up with the stream of questions.
"I'm…going to cook you breakfast," Lestrade said, smiling. "You can ask John why he bit me, whilst I'm doing that."
John's mouth opened. No words came out.
Sherlock stared at him, expectantly.
Author: Elfbert
Verse: Sherlock BBC - Nanny John 'verse
Characters: Lestrade/John, Mycroft (aged 13), Sherlock (aged 5).
Pairings: Lestrade/John
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Explicit sex
Length: 3000
Beta: Randomly_rusted
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Set in emungere's 'Nanny John' 'verse. Is linked to these blog entries:
Camping It Up, It Soothes All My Troubles Away, Head On and This Morning...
Camping with two young boys poses certain...challenges, to John and Lestrade.
Lestrade put his guitar to one side and shifted to rub a hand through Sherlock's hair. "Come on, sleepy, time to turn in for you, I think," he said.
John looked up from his book and smiled as he saw Sherlock's drooping eyelids.
"Definitely," he agreed. "Busy day tomorrow, if we're going to go swimming in the sea."
Sherlock put up a token protest, but Lestrade scooped him up and carried him easily into the tent as John began packing away a few things around their campfire.
"I'll go too, when Sherlock's settled," Mycroft said, looking up from the book he was reading with the aid of a head torch, and briefly blinding John with the light.
"You don't have to," John automatically answered.
Mycroft shrugged, one hand rubbing one of the dogs' ears. "I don't mind. It's quite tiring, being outside all the time."
"Right. Well, whatever you want," John said, although he was secretly glad that he might get a bit of time alone with Lestrade. Camping was brilliant - and spending all day every day together was lovely. But with no help to distract the boys - no Mrs Hudson, no classes or tutors, he and Lestrade had barely managed more than a kiss since they'd arrived.
Lestrade ducked out of the tent and gestured into it with his thumb. "Your turn," he said to John. "And be quick, or he'll be spark out."
"Won't!" came a tired voice from the other side of the canvas, making all three of them smile.
John headed into the tent and knelt beside Sherlock's sleeping bag, smiling at the mess of dark curls sticking out.
"Night Sherlock. Sleep well. And swimming tomorrow, we promise, providing the sea isn't too rough, okay?"
The curls moved enough to probably be a nod, so John tucked the sleeping bag in a little tighter and left.
Lestrade was packing his guitar away and stowing a few things back into their vehicle, and Mycroft headed in to bed, bidding them both goodnight.
They tidied away all the things from cooking the meal and lazing about around the camp fire, and finally dowsed the fire down.
John walked up behind Lestrade, who was doing his best to close the door of the Range Rover without slamming it and waking everyone up, and slid his hands over his denim- clad bum.
Lestrade turned, smiling, and wrapped his own arms around John.
"'S nice, isn't it? Peaceful," he said, in barely a whisper.
John nodded.
Lestrade linked his hands behind John's back, forcing John closer against him, and bent down slightly for a kiss.
John immediately responded, opening his mouth, sliding his hands over Lestrade's arse.
They were both silent, leaning back in the shadow of the huge vehicle, Lestrade's hands sneaking up inside John's t-shirt, fingertips tracing over skin, as John's fingers wiggled there way inside Lestrade's waistband, just brushing the elastic of his boxers.
Finally the kiss was broken, although a few more light, gentle brushes of lips was had before John leant in, pressing his chin into Lestrade's neck, and finally spoke, voice very quiet and slightly hoarse.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he said, lips brushing Lestrade's ear.
Lestrade shuddered slightly as the warm breath tickled him. "I do, if it's anything like how much I want you," he answered.
John moved back and kissed him again, harder.
"What can we do?" he said when they finally broke apart once more, both breathless.
"Be quiet," Lestrade answered, and John could see his wide, white grin in the darkness.
"Idiot," John hissed, but glanced around at the rest of the campsite. There were still people around, mainly by the lit up toilet block and the entrance way. They couldn't risk anything as simple as clambering into the Range Rover on the back seat - the risk of discovery was far too high.
"Come on," Lestrade pulled him close once more, holding him tightly as they kissed, Lestrade's stubble rough against John's lips. "Bed. Well, bags, now."
The sound of the zip closing seemed incredibly loud to their ears, but apart from a huff of breath from one of the dogs, nothing stirred. No light from the boys' room indicated that Mycroft had settled for the night, so they used a well shielded torch to navigate their way around legs, noses and tails, as the two hounds seemed to take over every inch of space in the middle of the tent, and Lestrade unzipped their 'room' as quietly as he could, muffling the sound with his fingers.
John turned the light off and carefully put it where he knew he could find it and quickly stripped in the darkness, folding his clothes roughly and piling them on his shoes, just in case, to ensure they would be dry in the morning if the tent did leak.
Lestrade searched through one of the pockets of their bag and brought out a small black wash bag, which he put next to their pillows.
As they both scrambled into their sleeping bags, silky material sliding over skin, Lestrade couldn't help but reach out and touch John, fingers bumping into an arm first.
"Odd, not being able to see you," he whispered.
"Okay, though?" John's voice was full of concern - he knew too well the demons that sometimes haunted Lestrade, twisting reality and memories until he wasn't sure which was which.
"Yeah, yeah, fine," Lestrade reassured. "Still feel like you." He leant in, until he knew he was close to John. "Still smell like you."
John reached out too, fingers hitting what he quickly worked out was Lestrade's chest first, then finding a bicep, a rough, stubbled chin, and then downward, over slightly soft belly and onto a hot, stiff cock.
"Mmmm," he barely formed the sound, well aware of the boys asleep so nearby.
Lestrade just breathed, hard, gushes of warm air spilling over John's shoulder and neck.
"You're so hard," John whispered. "Jesus."
Lestrade's fingers ghosted over John's skin, barely touching, skimming over muscles and soft hair, travelling downwards, sliding over John's hip and then dropping down, the backs of his knuckles just brushing John's balls, enough to make him shiver.
They leaned together, nose bumping chin, stubble dragging over stubble, until their lips finally met.
They swallowed each other's moans and whimpers as fists wrapped around hard flesh, then John moved, digging fingers into Lestrade's buttock and pulling him over, so Lestrade was half lying on top of him, their erections trapped between them, hips moving together, desperate for friction.
Lestrade broke the kiss, panting. "Fuck, I want you inside me," he said, each breath barely formed into the word, but John didn't need to hear to understand. He gripped Lestrade's bum hard, squeezing and kneading the flesh as they kissed again.
"How?" he managed to whisper, the next time they broke for breath. He was all too aware of any excess noise - even the slap of skin on skin would travel so easily through the thin canvass walls.
"You behind," Lestrade said, sliding to the side, his hand dragging obscenely across John's groin.
John reached out blindly for their bag of supplies, bumping it with his fingers and dragging it closer, fumbling to find the zip before finally digging inside to find the bottle of lube.
Lestrade lay on his side, but with his top leg bent slightly at the knee.
John sat up, tracing the contours of Lestrade's body with one hand, then slicking the fingers of the other and finding his goal. He ran three fingers, cool and slippery, up Lestrade's crack, then pressed in slightly with the middle one, feeling the give of muscle as he pushed. He twisted it slightly, then got more lube, slipping the finger in much further.
"Here," Lestrade reached around, grabbing the bag and pulling some things out, then pressing one item against John's clean hand.
"What is it?" John quickly slid the object through his fingers - it was long and slim, with a small squeezable tube on the end.
"Lube. Just...stick it up there and squirt it in," Lestrade said, unable to think of a more genteel way of phrasing it, in his current state of mind. "No mess."
John smiled in the darkness, finding and twisting off the cap, then carefully doing exactly as Lestrade had said, hearing the hiss of an intake of breath. "Okay?" he whispered.
"Fucking cold," Lestrade replied, but wiggled backwards slightly, until John slid his finger back into Lestrade's now-slick hole.
"Christ, you're going to feel amazing," John said, squirting some more of their normal lube onto his hand and sliding his cock through his fingers, coating it liberally.
He smelt the next item Lestrade fumbled for before he felt it - and wondered just how much thought Lestrade had put into what they were about to do, as he wiped the excess gel from his fingers with the wet wipe.
Then he rolled forward slightly, pushing his hips forward a little until the tip of his cock slid between Lestrade's cheeks. He took a moment to enjoy the smooth skin, then guided himself toward Lestrade's hole, shifting forward a little more, until he was sure he had enough leverage.
"C'mon," Lestrade said, reaching around, gripping John's hip and pulling them together.
There was a moment when John thought it would be too tight - not enough prep plus an unusual position for them, but then, as he angled his body a little more, and leaned in, he felt the head of his cock slip inside - Lestrade's body opening for him.
He paused, as much for himself as for Lestrade, resting his forehead against the back of Lestrade's shoulder. It was so tight - his cock feeling as if it were trapped, held confined in hot, smooth pressure. Then Lestrade pushed back slightly, so he rolled his hips forward, moving slightly as he did so, gaining ground, then repeating the action until he was flush against Lestrade, touching him from chest to toe, mouth pressing kisses across Lestrade's shoulder and the back of his neck.
"Christ, you feel good," he said, smoothly undulating his hips, hearing and feeling Lestrade's breath hitch slightly as he did so. "Could just do you like this all night long."
Lestrade almost let out a whimper, but choked it back just in time.
John moved the arm he wasn't lying on to settled on Lestrade's hip, pulling him back as he gently pressed forward again, establishing a slow rhythm as they rocked together, nothing like their usual, more energetic style. And he knew he really could manage this for hours - there was none of the usual awkward poses, stretched-out limbs, just closeness, comfort, and a gentle, undemanding rhythm.
Then he allowed his hand to reach further around, wrapping a very loose fist around Lestrade's cock, and reaping the benefit as Lestrade gave in to instinct and tried to thrust.
John pressed his open mouth to Lestrade's shoulder as somehow Lestrade's body became even tighter around his cock, the movements so small they were almost teasing, like tiny waves of pleasure lapping over him. But even so, he knew the combination of tight heat, enforced silence and the pitch blackness could push him over the edge far too soon. He closed his eyes, mouth still pressed against Lestrade's skin, breathing, keeping himself in control.
He muffled any noise he might make against Lestrade's skin, tasting the salt from their earlier swim. But he realised, from the slight, bitten-back groans, that Lestrade was struggling to keep himself quiet. So he removed his hand from Lestrade's erection and reached up, sliding it over smooth skin and then rough stubble to reach Lestrade's mouth. He pressed his fingers across Lestrade's lips, preventing the whimpers of pleasure escaping. Lestrade then reached around again, digging strong fingers into John's hip and urging him on, forcing John to move more, to snap his hips forward on each thrust. He drew his top leg up a little more, opening himself further, allowing John a little more leverage to thrust.
John was wondering how long he could hold on for, how long he could fight the growing feeling in his balls as the pleasure tightened and coiled deep inside him. He was also very aware that some of the wet, squelching noises were getting too loud as he plunged in and out of Lestrade's body harder and harder.
Then Lestrade opened his lips, and John's finger slid between them, into the wet warmth of Lestrade's mouth and was quickly caught by teeth. Then Lestrade's tongue slid around it, playing over the tip, around it, just like it did when he was sucking John's cock. And it was John's turn to choke back a whimper, pressing his face into the back of Lestrade's neck, torn between thrusting harder and faster, or moving more - pulling out further before pushing all the way back in.
Wanting to last, wanting to prolong the pleasure for both of them, he did the latter. Pushing Lestrade's hips away as he pulled back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside Lestrade, then rolling them back together, relishing the smooth, long, slide back into him. He purposefully kept the action slow and smooth, fighting his every urge to give in to his more animalistic desires. Then he went a step further, pulling out completely before pressing back in, all the way, the pressure of pushing back through the muscle exquisite on the tip of his cock. He did it a few more times, his breathing growing more and more ragged, opening his mouth wide and fastening onto the muscle of Lestrade's shoulder.
And then he couldn't hang on any longer, and he gave up the control, just pushing as far and as hard into Lestrade as he could, feeling the pressure increase on his finger as Lestrade sucked it, hard. Wrapping his leg over Lestrade's, and as he came he bit down, eyes squeezed shut, plastering himself over Lestrade's back, holding him tightly, swallowing back whimpers as days of wanting exactly this made him need to pant out a hundred words of endearment, of lust, of telling Lestrade how bloody amazing it was.
He finally relaxed, breathing hard, feeling the final tremors coursing through his muscles.
Lestrade twisted his head slightly, allowing John's finger to pop free of his mouth, and John took the hint, rolling onto his back, pulling free from Lestrade's body, the chilly night air immediately hitting his wet cock, in stark contrast from Lestrade's hot body.
Lestrade rolled over, and John could feel his erection, still hard and hot, pushing against his thigh.
They kissed for a long moment, John's hand closing around Lestrade's erection, teasing, rubbing slowly and gently. Then he pushed Lestrade onto his back, and slid down into the sleeping bag.
Lestrade felt the heat of John's breath seconds before he felt John's tongue tease over the tip of his cock, hand still wrapped around the base. He bit his lip.
By the time John's mouth was sliding down his shaft, tongue still playing over the head he had his arm thrown over his face, muffling sounds in the crook of his elbow.
When two fingers slid easily into his arse he grabbed John's pillow and clamped it over his face, biting down on the soft material as John took his time, sucking up and down, sliding in and out, his forearm holding Lestrade's hips down, so he was completely at John's mercy.
He reached down, blindly seeking John's hand, gripping it, interlocking their fingers on his belly, and tightening his grip as he felt his orgasm building. He knew John could sense when he was close, and sucked even more deeply, curling his fingers deep inside Lestrade.
As he came all he could hear was his pulse and the blood rushing in his ears, and his muscles went from the rigid, quivering tension to nothing as he felt John gently licking him, cleaning him, hand gently pumping up and down to squeeze every last drop out of him.
And finally, finally, the fingers slipping free from his body, slick and easy, leaving him empty.
There was a pause, a movement, and then John crawled back up his body, and he heard a low muffled laugh as John encountered the pillow. It was carefully lifted away from his face, pulled from between his teeth.
"Mmmmmm," John pressed a kiss to his lips. "Never thought you'd literally be a pillow biter."
Lestrade wrapped his heavy arms over John's back, holding him close, just breathing, not moving, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Was amazing," he finally murmured, pressing a kiss just under John's ear.
They finally found enough energy to clean up, and Lestrade grinned as John struggled into his pyjamas, before Lestrade snuggled up behind John, throwing his arm around John's waist and holding him close, legs entangled.
On the other side of the thin canvas a dog snored.
The next morning John awoke and stretched, feeling the slight stiffness in his leg from the previous night's activity and sleeping on the relatively hard floor. He rolled over and looked at Lestrade, who was still sprawled out, face down, but watching him with one dark brown eye.
"Morning," John smiled, dipping his head to kiss Lestrade's temple.
"Mmm," Lestrade smiled.
"How are…Jesus! Did I do that?" John reached out and touched the fresh, clear, bite mark on the top of Lestrade's shoulder - a livid bruise on the tanned skin.
"You, or some other vampire got into our tent last night."
John pressed a soft kiss on the abused skin. "I'm sorry."
Lestrade shrugged slightly. "You obviously mistook me for a pillow. Easy mistake to make. Least you won't be spitting feathers all day."
John grinned, snuggling up close to Lestrade, hoping for a nice lie in, just enjoying each other's company in the silence of the early morning.
"John! Lestrade! Can we go swimming now? It's light!" Sherlock shouted, and a dog woofed softly, obviously disturbed. "And have bacon for breakfast? And get ice cream later?"
John dropped his head back onto the pillow, and noticed Lestrade smirking.
He grinned, looking Lestrade straight in the eye.
"You can come in. Ask Lestrade what we're doing today."
The zip was dragged open, and Sherlock launched himself onto them.
"Lestrade? Can we? And try to find a crab? And take a picnic? And I want you to teach me to dive, and swim underwater with my eyes open. And did John bite you?"
It took both of them a second to catch up with the stream of questions.
"I'm…going to cook you breakfast," Lestrade said, smiling. "You can ask John why he bit me, whilst I'm doing that."
John's mouth opened. No words came out.
Sherlock stared at him, expectantly.