Open and Honest Communication (Is A Myth)
Title: Open and Honest Communication (Is A Myth)
Author: jaune_chat
Fandoms: The Avengers (film)/Sherlock (BBC)
Characters/Relationships: John Watson/Tony Stark, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,359
Spoilers: movie, s2x01 Scandal in Belgravia
Content Advisory: porn!
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
A/N: Written for brighteyed_jill, who wanted some seducing!
Summary: For reasons, John ends up at a party at Avenger Tower. Tony Stark is there. Sherlock is God knows where. Things happen. Sexy, sexy things.
On Ao3 or below the cut
John had been abandoned at places by Sherlock once or twice before. Well… occasionally.
Be honest with yourself, Watson. Tell the truth.
John sighed. All the time. Sherlock abandoned him places all the time. Crime scenes, alleyways, police stations, fancy parties…
It was the last he was at right now, wearing a borrowed tuxedo, sipping at really excellent champagne, and wondering where the hell his flatmate had gotten off to. He’d said something very fast about unusual lab equipment during their investigation of the latest baffling case, and John had found himself suddenly in New York, at a bloody charity ball for the Stark Science Foundation before he’d quite managed to get some proper sense out of Sherlock. Yes, there had been a seven-hour plane trip. No, Sherlock had still managed to dodge John’s questions.
And then Sherlock had, naturally, vanished ten minutes into the evening with a vague admonition to keep his eyes peeled for… well, John was fairly certain Sherlock had said “unusual scientists,” but given that the party was being held in Avenger Tower by Stark Industries, that was virtually everyone in attendance.
Which gave John the perfect excuse to indulge in a few of the finer things available here instead of fuming while he waited for Sherlock’s inevitable text.
“So, I don’t know you,” said an American voice at his ear. “And normally I’d let security handle the details, because you’re definitely not on the guest list, but you managed to get in the door as a plus one from what I can tell, and whoever left you alone should be locked up.”
“Plenty of people would agree with you, me first among them,” John said as he turned around. And froze.
“Tony Stark,” the man said, clinking his glass with John’s. For a wild instant, John wondered if he was joking, but the man’s face was too famous to mistake - elaborate facial hair, insouciant grin, maniacal expressive eyes, not to mention the faint blue glow emanating from under his shirt.
“Dr. John Watson,” John said, willing himself to not stumble over his words.
“Doctor of…?”
Of course. Probably every famous scientist on the planet was here. John had seen Dr. Foster, the astrophysicist Sherlock so admired, her colleague Dr. Selvig, Dr. Ross, the cellular biologist, and thought he’d even caught a glimpse of the elusive Dr. Banner. Exalted company for one clinic doctor.
“Medicine,” John said quietly.
“And?” Tony prompted, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked up and down John’s body, disturbingly like Sherlock right before he pronounced he’d figured out your marital status from your watchband.
“Captain, invalided out from Afghanistan,” John said.
“Yeah, thought so. Posture’s too good for this crowd.” Tony took a rather large sip of champagne, and John was hit with the realization that there was something approaching actual empathy in the man’s voice. He remembered a moment later how Tony Stark had ended up with that blue glow under his shirt: field surgery to keep him alive after being kidnapped in that hot, sandy, dangerous place.
“But most of their articles are too good for me,” John said, breaking the moment.
Tony snorted. “I don’t have any. Don’t even have a PhD. I could get one if I wanted. I could get seven.”
“Probably by going to the review board and landing in your armor,” John said, grinning at the mental image. Dear God, he was glad Sherlock wasn’t particularly mechanically inclined or he could completely see him pulling that stunt.
Tony grinned. “Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke. Anyway, I’m about PhD’d out. I work with half of these guys day-in, day-out. We shoulda just stayed in and MTS3Ked Battleship or something.” Another measured sip, and then a more winsome smile focused solely on John. “’Course then I would have missed out on the British invasion.”
John looked at the man sideways. He couldn’t possibly be… could he? John had seen the kinds of people that had graced Tony Stark’s bed, and he wouldn’t rate in the top 100. And, dear Lord, was he seriously contemplating this man’s unspoken invitation?
“My friend dragged me here and…” John began, trying to explain.
“Left you all alone and defenseless?” Tony challenged, moving a little closer and sliding an arm around John’s waist. John snaked his hand around and gripped Tony’s wrist hard, not quite bruising.
“Hardly defenseless,” John scoffed. Tony’s eyes lit up.
“Good, I like ‘em when they fight back.”
John nearly choked on his champagne. “Little fast, aren’t you?”
“Supersonic. So are the elevators. Shall we?”
John took one last look around for Sherlock. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of him since they’d been here. He had very little idea of what they were looking for, and he’d been hauled halfway around the globe with barely a by-your-leave.
Hell with it. I’m taking the night off.
John linked his arm with Tony’s and headed off to the elevator, wondering a bit what he’d gotten himself into.
The man was brilliant, but it was all with machines. Like John, Tony Stark was all bound up with using his talents practically, but like Sherlock had only limited success with people, according to the papers. Apparently except when it came to this - Tony Stark was as good with the physical and social as he was with machines. Emotional… well, no. He could be as caustic and abrasive as certain consulting detectives John could name. But John had plenty of experience with the emotionally inept.
--
Tony hadn’t been kidding. About the elevators or himself.
The doors had barely shut when John’s pants and trousers were around his ankles.
They were rocketing up floors as Tony applied that fast tongue to John’s cock.
Both John and the elevator arrived at the same time, with nearly the same surprised-sounding beep.
“Ah…” John managed to pull himself together, barely, flushing red as the door opened and Tony stood up, looking smug. “Bedroom?”
“Atta boy,” Tony said, bouncing his eyebrows slightly, and sauntered away, dropping clothing as he went.
John prayed for strength, gathered up his trousers, and followed. And stopped dead in the doorway. Tony was illuminated mostly by the pale blue light of the device in his chest, throwing harsh highlights all over his body, throwing his muscles into high relief. Splayed out on the bed, Tony gestured him forward, grinning the whole while.
“Greedy bastard, aren’t you?” John said, shrugging out of the rest of his clothes. “Pleased with yourself.”
“It isn’t every day I get to have cross-continental sex. Trust me, I get a gold star today.”
John’s shirt hit the floor as Tony knelt up on the bed and dragged him into a categorically filthy kiss. The warm hardness of the metal in his chest pressed against John’s nipples, the faint vibration bringing them to hard peaks, while Tony’s length pressed hot against John’s thigh. John knew he made several involuntary moans and little cries as Tony tightened himself against him, rutting against his body, tracing over sensitive spots and new scars, categorizing what noise and what little tenseness of muscle went with what.
John dropped his hand to Tony’s hip, and barely braced himself as Tony shifted his grip and pulled him down on top of him. Their cocks were trapped close between them, John’s becoming more interested by the second as Tony slipped a hand between them and squeezed both just hard enough.
“Tony…” John said in warning, his hips driving himself into Tony’s grip.
“You’re speaking coherent words. I clearly haven’t done my job yet,” Tony said, and tilted his own hips so his cock added to the delightful slick friction on John’s cock, the way eased with pre-come and sweat. “I got a reputation to uphold, Doc.”
John groaned softly and twisted his hips, reversing their positions. “Go on then,” he said, grinning, grinding up enough to make Tony give a little involuntary gasp.
“Challenge accepted,” Tony nearly growled out.
--
John rolled over, pleased to find the room still semi-dark, even at the advanced hour of… ten a.m. Dear Lord, he was a slug today. He was pleasantly all-over sore, his entire body having been worked out and satiated in ways he hadn’t thought possible. The feeling was so good that he floated a little, thinking of nothing, listening to Tony’s breathing, until his sense of duty slowly resurfaced. Warily, he checked his phone, finding nearly a round dozen text messages.
Where are you? SH
Staying out, won’t be joining you. SH
Keeping company tonight, don’t wait up. SH
Very interesting. SH
May have said the wrong thing. If you find me dead, I may have miscalculated. Tell no one. SH
Need a plaster. SH
Where are you? SH
Sulking doesn’t become you, John. SH
You’re still in the Tower too? SH
That last one had come just five minutes ago.
“Too?!” John sat bolt upright. Tony rolled over and looked at his screen, looking far too awake for a man who’d been doing some high-impact aerobics last night.
“JARVIS, search for the originator of the last number-.”
“The Banner-Ross suite,” a crisp, British-accented voice announced from the ceiling.
“Big Green had a ménage-à-trois? JARVIS, call Banner-.”
John started to dial, Sherlock’s preferences to text be damned, when the door flung open, revealing a scarcely-clad Sherlock (everything but his pants folded over one arm) with an expression like thunder.
“John! I went looking for you last night-.”
“At 2 a.m.!” John snapped, waving at his phone and the times of the text messages therein.
“It took me a while to figure out exactly where I needed to look. Some eliminations had to take place.”
“And one of those was Dr. Banner’s bedroom?” John demanded.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. That was after.”
“As much as I enjoy watching other people argue, I don’t do being ignored,” Tony said cheerfully from his position propped against the headboard, the corner of the sheet barely covering his crotch.
Sherlock stared at Tony as if he were something particularly loathsome. Like Anderson. “John, him?”
“You dragged me to New York with barely a word of explanation and abandoned me! I took the night off!”
“But him, John, why?” Sherlock asked, looking hurt.
“Wow, didn’t think my rep was that bad,” Tony muttered, and put his phone to his ear. “Bruce, seriously, a three-way and you didn’t invite me? Ok, so I guess technically that would have been a four way…”
“Your reputation for promiscuity is hardly a cause for concern, Tony. John, if you wanted an intellectual encounter, you should have come to me,” Sherlock said.
“…yeah yeah, if I had brought him, it would have been a five way, wait, hang on. Sherlock you’re sore because I’m a genius?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow as high as it would go.
“Obviously,” Sherlock said.
“You raging egomaniac!” John nearly shouted.
“Thank you,” Tony and Sherlock said together.
“Shut it. Sherlock, he asked.”
“That’s all it takes to get you into bed?” Sherlock asked curiously.
“…yeah, I could have brought Pepper along, she’d be game, but she’s in Paris, and I think a six-way would tackle even my intellect,” Tony was saying over the phone.
“You insufferable… and what about Dr. Banner?” John demanded of Sherlock.
“I couldn’t find you, and I had a priceless scientific opportunity. Doctors Banner and Ross were delightfully accommodating,” Sherlock said.
“You already knew where I was,” John said accusingly.
“Well…”
“…sure, Cap knows more about tactics than the rest of us, but then that’s a seven-way, and wow, why am I arguing against this again?” Tony said. John ignored his phone sex in favor of raging against Sherlock properly.
“My God, I managed to get off for one night, and you have to go and have a tumble with the irradiated, transforming scientist and his apparently very polite girlfriend!”
“Not that polite. Bossy, actually. Reminded me of The Woman.”
“For the love of-! Sherlock, I don’t know if I can make this any more clear. If you want to have sex, you can ask me to my face instead of leaving me alone at a party with Tony Stark!”
“I’m feeling dirty and used,” Tony said, chuckling.
“Go have your seven-way,” John snapped.
“Don’t mind if I do. JARVIS, have the Avengers assemble in my bedroom, would you? Brits, tea party’s over. If you want to do make-up sex, there’s a free bedroom next door. Ciao!” Tony waved at them, the sheet over his hips starting to tent visibly, and John dragged Sherlock out of the room before he could get into some kind of scientific discussion on the mechanics of seven-ways, or worse, chemistry. They could end up there for hours. Probably while Tony was having the seven-way.
It was only after Tony’s door shut that John realized he’d forgotten to grab his clothes on the way out of the room. And Sherlock had dropped his at one point, so neither of them were really hiding much.
“Well then,” Sherlock said, with the kind of aplomb only he was capable of while virtually naked. “John, I would like to have sex with you.”
“What about the case?” John asked, his anger giving way to shock.
“Figured that out on the plane trip over. Already texted Lestrade. Figured I’d try to pick up some new scientific techniques while I was here. And you. If you’d be amenable.”
“Amenable,” John repeated, exasperated, and grabbed Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down into fierce and uncompromising kiss. If Sherlock had been wearing something with lapels, John would have grabbed onto them to shake him. “Of course I’m bloody amenable!”
Sherlock’s next kiss nearly took the breath from John’s lungs. “Shall we? I picked up a few techniques from Dr. Banner I’d like to try out…”
John chuckled in Sherlock’s ear as he reached out to open the other bedroom door. “Sherlock, I just spent the night with Tony Stark.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “I think you’d better hang on to something.”
Sherlock managed somehow to look both haughty and fascinated at the same time as John tugged him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandoms: The Avengers (film)/Sherlock (BBC)
Characters/Relationships: John Watson/Tony Stark, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,359
Spoilers: movie, s2x01 Scandal in Belgravia
Content Advisory: porn!
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
A/N: Written for brighteyed_jill, who wanted some seducing!
Summary: For reasons, John ends up at a party at Avenger Tower. Tony Stark is there. Sherlock is God knows where. Things happen. Sexy, sexy things.
On Ao3 or below the cut
John had been abandoned at places by Sherlock once or twice before. Well… occasionally.
Be honest with yourself, Watson. Tell the truth.
John sighed. All the time. Sherlock abandoned him places all the time. Crime scenes, alleyways, police stations, fancy parties…
It was the last he was at right now, wearing a borrowed tuxedo, sipping at really excellent champagne, and wondering where the hell his flatmate had gotten off to. He’d said something very fast about unusual lab equipment during their investigation of the latest baffling case, and John had found himself suddenly in New York, at a bloody charity ball for the Stark Science Foundation before he’d quite managed to get some proper sense out of Sherlock. Yes, there had been a seven-hour plane trip. No, Sherlock had still managed to dodge John’s questions.
And then Sherlock had, naturally, vanished ten minutes into the evening with a vague admonition to keep his eyes peeled for… well, John was fairly certain Sherlock had said “unusual scientists,” but given that the party was being held in Avenger Tower by Stark Industries, that was virtually everyone in attendance.
Which gave John the perfect excuse to indulge in a few of the finer things available here instead of fuming while he waited for Sherlock’s inevitable text.
“So, I don’t know you,” said an American voice at his ear. “And normally I’d let security handle the details, because you’re definitely not on the guest list, but you managed to get in the door as a plus one from what I can tell, and whoever left you alone should be locked up.”
“Plenty of people would agree with you, me first among them,” John said as he turned around. And froze.
“Tony Stark,” the man said, clinking his glass with John’s. For a wild instant, John wondered if he was joking, but the man’s face was too famous to mistake - elaborate facial hair, insouciant grin, maniacal expressive eyes, not to mention the faint blue glow emanating from under his shirt.
“Dr. John Watson,” John said, willing himself to not stumble over his words.
“Doctor of…?”
Of course. Probably every famous scientist on the planet was here. John had seen Dr. Foster, the astrophysicist Sherlock so admired, her colleague Dr. Selvig, Dr. Ross, the cellular biologist, and thought he’d even caught a glimpse of the elusive Dr. Banner. Exalted company for one clinic doctor.
“Medicine,” John said quietly.
“And?” Tony prompted, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked up and down John’s body, disturbingly like Sherlock right before he pronounced he’d figured out your marital status from your watchband.
“Captain, invalided out from Afghanistan,” John said.
“Yeah, thought so. Posture’s too good for this crowd.” Tony took a rather large sip of champagne, and John was hit with the realization that there was something approaching actual empathy in the man’s voice. He remembered a moment later how Tony Stark had ended up with that blue glow under his shirt: field surgery to keep him alive after being kidnapped in that hot, sandy, dangerous place.
“But most of their articles are too good for me,” John said, breaking the moment.
Tony snorted. “I don’t have any. Don’t even have a PhD. I could get one if I wanted. I could get seven.”
“Probably by going to the review board and landing in your armor,” John said, grinning at the mental image. Dear God, he was glad Sherlock wasn’t particularly mechanically inclined or he could completely see him pulling that stunt.
Tony grinned. “Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke. Anyway, I’m about PhD’d out. I work with half of these guys day-in, day-out. We shoulda just stayed in and MTS3Ked Battleship or something.” Another measured sip, and then a more winsome smile focused solely on John. “’Course then I would have missed out on the British invasion.”
John looked at the man sideways. He couldn’t possibly be… could he? John had seen the kinds of people that had graced Tony Stark’s bed, and he wouldn’t rate in the top 100. And, dear Lord, was he seriously contemplating this man’s unspoken invitation?
“My friend dragged me here and…” John began, trying to explain.
“Left you all alone and defenseless?” Tony challenged, moving a little closer and sliding an arm around John’s waist. John snaked his hand around and gripped Tony’s wrist hard, not quite bruising.
“Hardly defenseless,” John scoffed. Tony’s eyes lit up.
“Good, I like ‘em when they fight back.”
John nearly choked on his champagne. “Little fast, aren’t you?”
“Supersonic. So are the elevators. Shall we?”
John took one last look around for Sherlock. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of him since they’d been here. He had very little idea of what they were looking for, and he’d been hauled halfway around the globe with barely a by-your-leave.
Hell with it. I’m taking the night off.
John linked his arm with Tony’s and headed off to the elevator, wondering a bit what he’d gotten himself into.
The man was brilliant, but it was all with machines. Like John, Tony Stark was all bound up with using his talents practically, but like Sherlock had only limited success with people, according to the papers. Apparently except when it came to this - Tony Stark was as good with the physical and social as he was with machines. Emotional… well, no. He could be as caustic and abrasive as certain consulting detectives John could name. But John had plenty of experience with the emotionally inept.
--
Tony hadn’t been kidding. About the elevators or himself.
The doors had barely shut when John’s pants and trousers were around his ankles.
They were rocketing up floors as Tony applied that fast tongue to John’s cock.
Both John and the elevator arrived at the same time, with nearly the same surprised-sounding beep.
“Ah…” John managed to pull himself together, barely, flushing red as the door opened and Tony stood up, looking smug. “Bedroom?”
“Atta boy,” Tony said, bouncing his eyebrows slightly, and sauntered away, dropping clothing as he went.
John prayed for strength, gathered up his trousers, and followed. And stopped dead in the doorway. Tony was illuminated mostly by the pale blue light of the device in his chest, throwing harsh highlights all over his body, throwing his muscles into high relief. Splayed out on the bed, Tony gestured him forward, grinning the whole while.
“Greedy bastard, aren’t you?” John said, shrugging out of the rest of his clothes. “Pleased with yourself.”
“It isn’t every day I get to have cross-continental sex. Trust me, I get a gold star today.”
John’s shirt hit the floor as Tony knelt up on the bed and dragged him into a categorically filthy kiss. The warm hardness of the metal in his chest pressed against John’s nipples, the faint vibration bringing them to hard peaks, while Tony’s length pressed hot against John’s thigh. John knew he made several involuntary moans and little cries as Tony tightened himself against him, rutting against his body, tracing over sensitive spots and new scars, categorizing what noise and what little tenseness of muscle went with what.
John dropped his hand to Tony’s hip, and barely braced himself as Tony shifted his grip and pulled him down on top of him. Their cocks were trapped close between them, John’s becoming more interested by the second as Tony slipped a hand between them and squeezed both just hard enough.
“Tony…” John said in warning, his hips driving himself into Tony’s grip.
“You’re speaking coherent words. I clearly haven’t done my job yet,” Tony said, and tilted his own hips so his cock added to the delightful slick friction on John’s cock, the way eased with pre-come and sweat. “I got a reputation to uphold, Doc.”
John groaned softly and twisted his hips, reversing their positions. “Go on then,” he said, grinning, grinding up enough to make Tony give a little involuntary gasp.
“Challenge accepted,” Tony nearly growled out.
--
John rolled over, pleased to find the room still semi-dark, even at the advanced hour of… ten a.m. Dear Lord, he was a slug today. He was pleasantly all-over sore, his entire body having been worked out and satiated in ways he hadn’t thought possible. The feeling was so good that he floated a little, thinking of nothing, listening to Tony’s breathing, until his sense of duty slowly resurfaced. Warily, he checked his phone, finding nearly a round dozen text messages.
Where are you? SH
Staying out, won’t be joining you. SH
Keeping company tonight, don’t wait up. SH
Very interesting. SH
May have said the wrong thing. If you find me dead, I may have miscalculated. Tell no one. SH
Need a plaster. SH
Where are you? SH
Sulking doesn’t become you, John. SH
You’re still in the Tower too? SH
That last one had come just five minutes ago.
“Too?!” John sat bolt upright. Tony rolled over and looked at his screen, looking far too awake for a man who’d been doing some high-impact aerobics last night.
“JARVIS, search for the originator of the last number-.”
“The Banner-Ross suite,” a crisp, British-accented voice announced from the ceiling.
“Big Green had a ménage-à-trois? JARVIS, call Banner-.”
John started to dial, Sherlock’s preferences to text be damned, when the door flung open, revealing a scarcely-clad Sherlock (everything but his pants folded over one arm) with an expression like thunder.
“John! I went looking for you last night-.”
“At 2 a.m.!” John snapped, waving at his phone and the times of the text messages therein.
“It took me a while to figure out exactly where I needed to look. Some eliminations had to take place.”
“And one of those was Dr. Banner’s bedroom?” John demanded.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. That was after.”
“As much as I enjoy watching other people argue, I don’t do being ignored,” Tony said cheerfully from his position propped against the headboard, the corner of the sheet barely covering his crotch.
Sherlock stared at Tony as if he were something particularly loathsome. Like Anderson. “John, him?”
“You dragged me to New York with barely a word of explanation and abandoned me! I took the night off!”
“But him, John, why?” Sherlock asked, looking hurt.
“Wow, didn’t think my rep was that bad,” Tony muttered, and put his phone to his ear. “Bruce, seriously, a three-way and you didn’t invite me? Ok, so I guess technically that would have been a four way…”
“Your reputation for promiscuity is hardly a cause for concern, Tony. John, if you wanted an intellectual encounter, you should have come to me,” Sherlock said.
“…yeah yeah, if I had brought him, it would have been a five way, wait, hang on. Sherlock you’re sore because I’m a genius?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow as high as it would go.
“Obviously,” Sherlock said.
“You raging egomaniac!” John nearly shouted.
“Thank you,” Tony and Sherlock said together.
“Shut it. Sherlock, he asked.”
“That’s all it takes to get you into bed?” Sherlock asked curiously.
“…yeah, I could have brought Pepper along, she’d be game, but she’s in Paris, and I think a six-way would tackle even my intellect,” Tony was saying over the phone.
“You insufferable… and what about Dr. Banner?” John demanded of Sherlock.
“I couldn’t find you, and I had a priceless scientific opportunity. Doctors Banner and Ross were delightfully accommodating,” Sherlock said.
“You already knew where I was,” John said accusingly.
“Well…”
“…sure, Cap knows more about tactics than the rest of us, but then that’s a seven-way, and wow, why am I arguing against this again?” Tony said. John ignored his phone sex in favor of raging against Sherlock properly.
“My God, I managed to get off for one night, and you have to go and have a tumble with the irradiated, transforming scientist and his apparently very polite girlfriend!”
“Not that polite. Bossy, actually. Reminded me of The Woman.”
“For the love of-! Sherlock, I don’t know if I can make this any more clear. If you want to have sex, you can ask me to my face instead of leaving me alone at a party with Tony Stark!”
“I’m feeling dirty and used,” Tony said, chuckling.
“Go have your seven-way,” John snapped.
“Don’t mind if I do. JARVIS, have the Avengers assemble in my bedroom, would you? Brits, tea party’s over. If you want to do make-up sex, there’s a free bedroom next door. Ciao!” Tony waved at them, the sheet over his hips starting to tent visibly, and John dragged Sherlock out of the room before he could get into some kind of scientific discussion on the mechanics of seven-ways, or worse, chemistry. They could end up there for hours. Probably while Tony was having the seven-way.
It was only after Tony’s door shut that John realized he’d forgotten to grab his clothes on the way out of the room. And Sherlock had dropped his at one point, so neither of them were really hiding much.
“Well then,” Sherlock said, with the kind of aplomb only he was capable of while virtually naked. “John, I would like to have sex with you.”
“What about the case?” John asked, his anger giving way to shock.
“Figured that out on the plane trip over. Already texted Lestrade. Figured I’d try to pick up some new scientific techniques while I was here. And you. If you’d be amenable.”
“Amenable,” John repeated, exasperated, and grabbed Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down into fierce and uncompromising kiss. If Sherlock had been wearing something with lapels, John would have grabbed onto them to shake him. “Of course I’m bloody amenable!”
Sherlock’s next kiss nearly took the breath from John’s lungs. “Shall we? I picked up a few techniques from Dr. Banner I’d like to try out…”
John chuckled in Sherlock’s ear as he reached out to open the other bedroom door. “Sherlock, I just spent the night with Tony Stark.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “I think you’d better hang on to something.”
Sherlock managed somehow to look both haughty and fascinated at the same time as John tugged him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.