Sherlock Fic
Yes, I am actually posting fic. In the Sherlock Fandom. I swore I wasn't going to write any (I have way more than enough on my plate as it is, although more on that later), and then a drabble got stuck in my head. And then it got out, and then it grew, and then I swore I wasn't going to post it, but... Well, it's already written! So... Here it is folks, completely unbeta'd and unbritpicked.
Title: Considering It
Rating: FRM (R) (It's pretty much smut)
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Feedback: Encourage me and you may get more.
Notes: Set after "A Scandal in Belgravia" and AU from there (should there be more).
Disclaimer: Not mine, but they're so pretty I couldn't resist.
John was reading, sitting in the armchair that had been deemed ‘his,’ enjoying the quiet as Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, his fingers steepled and pressed to his chin.
“She asked me if I’d ever had anyone,” Sherlock said, for no apparent reason.
It took John a moment to puzzle out the context. Then it hit him. Of course, Irene Addler. The Woman.
“Have you?” John put down his book, sensing that this was going to be one of those conversations, the kind that demanded his full attention as opposed to the ones wherein Sherlock just needed to talk at something.
“No…” Sherlock tapped his fingers against his lips. “But I’m considering it.”
John blinked. “Oh. Okay. Good. Who’s the lucky girl? Or… guy?”
Sherlock turned his head slowly, fixing those pale eyes on John. His only answer was a suggestive arching of his eyebrow. Despite his silence, the message was decidedly clear.
“Oh.” John licked suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he flung his feet off the sofa, jerking into a sitting position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” John shrugged. “Okay.”
Sherlock studied him for a moment, the silence stretching between them as John stared back placidly. “I thought you’d take more convincing, given your protestations of heterosexuality.”
John grinned. “You’re not the only one allowed to experiment.”
Sherlock considered that, nodded, and then went back to lying on the sofa without another word. John waited several moments, but when it was clear Sherlock was done with the conversation-at least for the moment-he went back to his book.
He couldn’t seem to get Sherlock’s voice out of his head, though.
He’s considering it.
-----
It didn’t happen right away. In fact, John had started to think he’d dreamt the whole conversation. Then, one morning after John had actually slept for once and Sherlock clearly hadn’t, John was making his morning tea. Sherlock got up from his microscope at the kitchen table and pressed himself-chest to knees-against John’s body.
“Do you prefer mornings or evenings?” he asked, his lips brushing the spot just behind John’s ear.
“I prefer whenever I can get it.” A shiver ran down his spine as John switched off the kettle.
“How about now?”
“Now’s good.”
Tea forgotten, John and Sherlock kissed as if one or the other would drown without the contact. John bit Sherlock’s lower lip, eliciting a shuddering moan that seemed to travel straight to John’s cock.
Sherlock’s hands were at John’s back, and then up under his shirt in mere heartbeats. Pulling their bodies tight together. They both moaned then, as erection met answering erection and John backed Sherlock down the short hall toward Sherlock’s bedroom.
John couldn’t get Sherlock’s buttons undone fast enough. He slid his hands over Sherlock’s chest, pushing the shirt down his arms. Their mouths broke contact as Sherlock ran into his closed bedroom door. John pressed him against it, latching his mouth onto Sherlock’s long, pale neck. He bit and sucked and Sherlock shuddered against him, hips thrusting forward with a wild jerk, as if of their own volition. Sherlock’s eyes had fluttered shut, his head tilting back to better expose his neck and throat.
“John.” It was just his name, but gasped from Sherlock’s lips it sounded like a plea.
“Tell me what you want,” John said, his voice somewhat muffled by Sherlock’s collarbone.
“Determining that is the point of the experiment,” Sherlock replied, breathless, although he didn’t seem to have any doubts about wanting John’s shirt off. He pulled it over John’s head roughly, forcing John to stop tasting his skin long enough to toss it aside.
Sherlock’s hands slid against John’s back, nails scraping. John bucked his hips, grinding their erections together.
“That,” Sherlock groaned, his voice husky and gasping. “I want that.”
John laughed, nipping at Sherlock’s jawline, murmuring “You can have it,” against Sherlock’s lips.
“Excellent.”
Lost in the feel of heat and friction as they rubbed together, John almost missed Sherlock’s hand turning the doorknob. He was still pressing Sherlock against the bedroom door and they almost fell when it opened. Sherlock caught him and used the moment to change their positions. He backed John up to the bed and when the backs of John’s knees hit the edge of it Sherlock nudged him down.
Looking down the length of his own body, John watched Sherlock crawl over him on hands and knees. His erection strained against his pajama bottoms, twitching at the sight.
Sherlock grinned. He dove straight for John’s neck, sucking and then biting at John’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. John arched up, his hands moving to clutch at Sherlock’s hips.
“Would you like to see what I’ve learned so far?” Sherlock murmured, his voice dark and deep in John’s ear.
“Oh, God, yes.”
Sherlock trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He pressed down to slide their erections together, pulling another groan from John as he arched up into the contact. John slipped his hands into Sherlock’s trousers, gripping his arse to create harder contact.
“This is better naked, you know.”
“Brilliant,” Sherlock muttered, kneeling up to undo his trousers. John scrabbled at his own bottoms, lifting his hips as he pushed them off. Sherlock froze, staring down at John’s insistent and obvious erection with a look of fascination. He swallowed hard.
John was about to ask if Sherlock had second thoughts, when Sherlock nearly fell over himself in his bid to get rid of his own trousers and pants. He ducked back down just as quickly, pressing in for another hot, hard kiss. Their tongues met at the same moment their cocks did, wringing groans from both of them.
John flipped them over, straddling Sherlock’s hips and sliding his cock alongside Sherlock’s. He set up a rough rhythm that had them both panting. Sherlock sprawled beneath him, arching, body tensing. He looked devastating, wanton, his hands clutching at the sheets above his head, his arms stretched in a way that put John in mind of handcuffs and headboards.
“God, I’d love to tie you up.”
Sherlock gasped, eyes flying open, pupils so big only a sliver of pale gray showed around them.
“Would you let me?” John bent low, nipping at Sherlock’s ear. “Let me tie you to the bed and have my way with you?”
“Yes,” it was a hiss, as if the word had been dragged out of him. Sherlock’s hands came up to clutch at John’s shoulders, his whole body so tight John knew orgasm couldn’t be far off. Sherlock just needed a little push.
“I think I will,” John whispered into his ear, the friction and wonder of having Sherlock writhing beneath him pushing John closer to his own climax. He leaned back, wanting Sherlock to see his face as he spoke, wanting to see Sherlock’s as he came apart. “Next time you’re so bored you think your brain is rotting. Tie you to the bed and give you lots of new data to process.”
Sherlock whimpered, his back arching as he came. “John!”
And his name, called out in that broken baritone, sent John over the edge. He moaned, going rigid as he thrust their bodies together once, twice, three times before he collapsed onto Sherlock.
They lay there for long moments, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing. John eventually rolled off Sherlock, but he didn’t go very far. Side by side, both staring up at the ceiling, John couldn’t help but grin.
“What?” Sherlock asked, still breathless and husky, his lips twitching up at the corners.
“I’m laying here,” John said, stifling a giggle, “covered in semen, with my brilliant, insane, and very male flatmate, having just had fantastic sex, and all I can think is that it’s a shame it’ll be a couple of hours before we can do it again.”
“That’s all right,” Sherlock said, chuckling. “It’ll give us time for tea. Hmm. And breakfast. I find I’m rather depleted.”
John burst into giggles. “I wish I’d known sex was all it would take to get you to eat!”
Title: Considering It
Rating: FRM (R) (It's pretty much smut)
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Feedback: Encourage me and you may get more.
Notes: Set after "A Scandal in Belgravia" and AU from there (should there be more).
Disclaimer: Not mine, but they're so pretty I couldn't resist.
John was reading, sitting in the armchair that had been deemed ‘his,’ enjoying the quiet as Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, his fingers steepled and pressed to his chin.
“She asked me if I’d ever had anyone,” Sherlock said, for no apparent reason.
It took John a moment to puzzle out the context. Then it hit him. Of course, Irene Addler. The Woman.
“Have you?” John put down his book, sensing that this was going to be one of those conversations, the kind that demanded his full attention as opposed to the ones wherein Sherlock just needed to talk at something.
“No…” Sherlock tapped his fingers against his lips. “But I’m considering it.”
John blinked. “Oh. Okay. Good. Who’s the lucky girl? Or… guy?”
Sherlock turned his head slowly, fixing those pale eyes on John. His only answer was a suggestive arching of his eyebrow. Despite his silence, the message was decidedly clear.
“Oh.” John licked suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he flung his feet off the sofa, jerking into a sitting position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” John shrugged. “Okay.”
Sherlock studied him for a moment, the silence stretching between them as John stared back placidly. “I thought you’d take more convincing, given your protestations of heterosexuality.”
John grinned. “You’re not the only one allowed to experiment.”
Sherlock considered that, nodded, and then went back to lying on the sofa without another word. John waited several moments, but when it was clear Sherlock was done with the conversation-at least for the moment-he went back to his book.
He couldn’t seem to get Sherlock’s voice out of his head, though.
He’s considering it.
-----
It didn’t happen right away. In fact, John had started to think he’d dreamt the whole conversation. Then, one morning after John had actually slept for once and Sherlock clearly hadn’t, John was making his morning tea. Sherlock got up from his microscope at the kitchen table and pressed himself-chest to knees-against John’s body.
“Do you prefer mornings or evenings?” he asked, his lips brushing the spot just behind John’s ear.
“I prefer whenever I can get it.” A shiver ran down his spine as John switched off the kettle.
“How about now?”
“Now’s good.”
Tea forgotten, John and Sherlock kissed as if one or the other would drown without the contact. John bit Sherlock’s lower lip, eliciting a shuddering moan that seemed to travel straight to John’s cock.
Sherlock’s hands were at John’s back, and then up under his shirt in mere heartbeats. Pulling their bodies tight together. They both moaned then, as erection met answering erection and John backed Sherlock down the short hall toward Sherlock’s bedroom.
John couldn’t get Sherlock’s buttons undone fast enough. He slid his hands over Sherlock’s chest, pushing the shirt down his arms. Their mouths broke contact as Sherlock ran into his closed bedroom door. John pressed him against it, latching his mouth onto Sherlock’s long, pale neck. He bit and sucked and Sherlock shuddered against him, hips thrusting forward with a wild jerk, as if of their own volition. Sherlock’s eyes had fluttered shut, his head tilting back to better expose his neck and throat.
“John.” It was just his name, but gasped from Sherlock’s lips it sounded like a plea.
“Tell me what you want,” John said, his voice somewhat muffled by Sherlock’s collarbone.
“Determining that is the point of the experiment,” Sherlock replied, breathless, although he didn’t seem to have any doubts about wanting John’s shirt off. He pulled it over John’s head roughly, forcing John to stop tasting his skin long enough to toss it aside.
Sherlock’s hands slid against John’s back, nails scraping. John bucked his hips, grinding their erections together.
“That,” Sherlock groaned, his voice husky and gasping. “I want that.”
John laughed, nipping at Sherlock’s jawline, murmuring “You can have it,” against Sherlock’s lips.
“Excellent.”
Lost in the feel of heat and friction as they rubbed together, John almost missed Sherlock’s hand turning the doorknob. He was still pressing Sherlock against the bedroom door and they almost fell when it opened. Sherlock caught him and used the moment to change their positions. He backed John up to the bed and when the backs of John’s knees hit the edge of it Sherlock nudged him down.
Looking down the length of his own body, John watched Sherlock crawl over him on hands and knees. His erection strained against his pajama bottoms, twitching at the sight.
Sherlock grinned. He dove straight for John’s neck, sucking and then biting at John’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. John arched up, his hands moving to clutch at Sherlock’s hips.
“Would you like to see what I’ve learned so far?” Sherlock murmured, his voice dark and deep in John’s ear.
“Oh, God, yes.”
Sherlock trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He pressed down to slide their erections together, pulling another groan from John as he arched up into the contact. John slipped his hands into Sherlock’s trousers, gripping his arse to create harder contact.
“This is better naked, you know.”
“Brilliant,” Sherlock muttered, kneeling up to undo his trousers. John scrabbled at his own bottoms, lifting his hips as he pushed them off. Sherlock froze, staring down at John’s insistent and obvious erection with a look of fascination. He swallowed hard.
John was about to ask if Sherlock had second thoughts, when Sherlock nearly fell over himself in his bid to get rid of his own trousers and pants. He ducked back down just as quickly, pressing in for another hot, hard kiss. Their tongues met at the same moment their cocks did, wringing groans from both of them.
John flipped them over, straddling Sherlock’s hips and sliding his cock alongside Sherlock’s. He set up a rough rhythm that had them both panting. Sherlock sprawled beneath him, arching, body tensing. He looked devastating, wanton, his hands clutching at the sheets above his head, his arms stretched in a way that put John in mind of handcuffs and headboards.
“God, I’d love to tie you up.”
Sherlock gasped, eyes flying open, pupils so big only a sliver of pale gray showed around them.
“Would you let me?” John bent low, nipping at Sherlock’s ear. “Let me tie you to the bed and have my way with you?”
“Yes,” it was a hiss, as if the word had been dragged out of him. Sherlock’s hands came up to clutch at John’s shoulders, his whole body so tight John knew orgasm couldn’t be far off. Sherlock just needed a little push.
“I think I will,” John whispered into his ear, the friction and wonder of having Sherlock writhing beneath him pushing John closer to his own climax. He leaned back, wanting Sherlock to see his face as he spoke, wanting to see Sherlock’s as he came apart. “Next time you’re so bored you think your brain is rotting. Tie you to the bed and give you lots of new data to process.”
Sherlock whimpered, his back arching as he came. “John!”
And his name, called out in that broken baritone, sent John over the edge. He moaned, going rigid as he thrust their bodies together once, twice, three times before he collapsed onto Sherlock.
They lay there for long moments, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing. John eventually rolled off Sherlock, but he didn’t go very far. Side by side, both staring up at the ceiling, John couldn’t help but grin.
“What?” Sherlock asked, still breathless and husky, his lips twitching up at the corners.
“I’m laying here,” John said, stifling a giggle, “covered in semen, with my brilliant, insane, and very male flatmate, having just had fantastic sex, and all I can think is that it’s a shame it’ll be a couple of hours before we can do it again.”
“That’s all right,” Sherlock said, chuckling. “It’ll give us time for tea. Hmm. And breakfast. I find I’m rather depleted.”
John burst into giggles. “I wish I’d known sex was all it would take to get you to eat!”