Fic - High on Sensation - John/Sherlock - NC-17
Title: High on Sensation
Prompt: From the sherlockbbc_fic Kink Meme, part XII: John fingering Sherlock for the first time, with Sherlock straddling his lap, trousers pulled down just enough to grant his fingers entrance. It's not that Sherlock dislikes it, but it's as if it's been specifically invented to make him lose control of that all-important mind, and turn him into a babbling, incoherent mess. He's too hot and too full, and he want to squirm, but when he curves back he ends up pushing John's fingers further into him, and when he flexes forward John sucks his neck and his nipples and it's too much.
Fandom: Sherlock - BBC
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: John. Sherlock. Fingering. Orgasms. Utter PWP.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Porn, dirty talk, toppy John, swearing.
Word Count: 1464
It must have been the jeans. The wine, too, of course, but it was the tight jeans Sherlock was wearing that had made John's eyes blow wide and black, that had made his tongue flick out of his mouth ever so slightly, just wetting his bottom lip before Sherlock saw his jaw tighten as he bit down on it. Sherlock had smirked then, pleasure and desire flaring low in his stomach as he bent to pick his phone up from the coffee table, giving John a view of his arse. He certainly wasn't smirking now.
After dinner together and getting through a bottle of wine each, Sherlock and John had returned to the flat and promptly threw themselves at one another. John had grabbed hold of Sherlock's arse and pulled their hips together and pushed and Sherlock had idly thought that he was going to wear these jeans every day if they merited such a reaction before he found himself being pulled up the stairs to John's room, John's lips attached to his again.
That had been about half an hour ago. Now, John was sitting on the edge of his bed, Sherlock on his lap, his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth.
They’d not done this before, not yet, not while this was still new and fragile and exhilarating and wonderful. But from what John was growling into Sherlock’s ear between kisses, it was largely down to the jeans - the jeans that John hadn’t let Sherlock take off, tugging them down just enough so that John could slide his palm inside after licking it and curl it around Sherlock’s prick, squeezing, teasing, hot and filthy and yes, yes, yes. Stroking Sherlock’s cock, first, then shoving two fingers into Sherlock’s mouth, biting at Sherlock’s ear while he thrust them in and out with a gentleness that belied his words.
‘So fucking sexy, you’ve no idea,’ John rasped, licking down the curve of Sherlock’s ear. ‘You’ve no idea, Sherlock, wanted to get my hands on you all evening, those fucking jeans, Jesus Christ, it should be illegal to make jeans that tight, you know that? More spit,’ he ordered, pressing his thumb to the underside of Sherlock’s chin and biting his earlobe, eliciting a groan that Sherlock felt begin deep in his chest. ‘Fuck, you’re beautiful,’ John murmured, pinching Sherlock’s nipple through the dark purple shirt that he hadn’t been allowed to take off yet. Biting down hard on his lip, Sherlock frowned, his eyes closed as he tried to keep hold of himself, tried to think, tried to stop being a slave to sensation. Of course, John’s fingers in his mouth and John’s other hand roughly palming his cock and John’s teeth on his neck, oh God, made thinking rather than simply reacting so much harder.
‘Shirt off,’ John ordered, and Sherlock’s hands leapt to obey, fumbling as he undid the buttons, much to his chagrin. He never fumbled, but apparently he did when John’s fingers - slick with Sherlock’s own spit - brushed down over his cock and back and up to press insistently at his entrance. Apparently, he whimpered, too. John nibbled at one of Sherlock’s nipples, licking across it wetly before blowing on it, the sensation making Sherlock arch his back and press down against John’s fingers.
‘Want it, don’t you?’ John murmured, his voice thick as he sucked determinedly at Sherlock’s neck.
No. No, Sherlock didn’t want to feel like this, he wanted to have all of his mental faculties in order and he certainly didn’t want to be moaning and swaying into John, resting his hands -damp and trembling slightly - on John’s shoulders for purchase. But... but he really did.
‘I asked you a question,’ John growled, pinching Sherlock’s side, sinking his teeth into Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock swallowed, gasping for breath, unable to keep still, wanting to think, to rationalise this. Christ, mild-mannered John Watson was an animal in bed. High on sensation as he was, Sherlock was unable to process anything other than that, and at John’s ‘Sherlock,’ said in a warning tone, he moaned and nodded, pressing down against John’s fingers again.
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so. ‘Yes, I want it, I want you.’
Admitting to that sort of weakness, that level of need, was usually anathema for Sherlock. He was too far gone now, though, and he needed John, he truly did.
John groaned wordlessly against Sherlock’s throat and pushed one finger inside, quickly following with the second.
Sherlock shouted and tensed, fingers digging into John’s shoulders as he gritted his teeth.
‘Shh, shh,’ John murmured, kissing Sherlock’s jaw and neck, slowly scissoring his fingers, rubbing Sherlock’s waist with his other hand, up and down, soothing.
‘Burns,’ Sherlock ground out, but he pushed himself down anyway, seeking the control he needed, his breath hitching as John curled his fingers just so and oh God. Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he tipped his head back, his breath leaving him in one short exhale. ‘John.’
John procured lube from the bedside table and squeezed it awkwardly onto the hand that was inside Sherlock’s trousers, pulling his fingers out all the way, yes, yes, and God, no, no, before John pushed them in again, not as gentle as the last time, the way eased by the lube. Sherlock moaned brokenly, his nerve endings singing, his senses in overdrive. This had to have been invented to incapacitate Sherlock, or at least the way that John was doing it. He was licking and biting at Sherlock’s neck, his fingers inside, heavy and full, making Sherlock buck and twitch with every thrust and flick and curl of his strong, capable digits.
‘Ah,’ Sherlock whimpered, trying to move so that the sensation would just be less, pulling away from John’s lips and tongue and that wicked, filthy mouth, arching his spine. All that achieved, however, was pushing John’s fingers further inside him, and then there was a third finger pressing into him and Sherlock howled, the sound long and broken, most of his usual mental capabilities long gone. ‘John!’ he cried, his cock twitching against his stomach as John thrust his fingers in and out, twisting and curling against his prostate again and again and again...
‘Fucking sexy,’ John snarled, moving his hand as quickly as he could in the tight space. ‘Want you to come from this, Sherlock, just from this, want to hear you, want to feel you, see you, fuck, Sherlock, please--’
It was too much. It was all too much, Sherlock was just a mass of skin and need and nerves and he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, could only hear John murmuring obscenities into his ear and ‘fuck, Sherlock, please,’ and he came undone, his orgasm ripping him apart at the core as he arched into John, clinging onto his shoulders and hair and don’t ever, ever let me go, impaled on John’s fingers as he was, crying out, the sounds turning to whimpers as John wrung aftershocks out of him with his other hand, making him shiver, feeling everything with every last fibre of his being.
John pulled his fingers away and Sherlock whimpered at the loss, his head lolling, eyes drooping shut as John twisted and laid him out on the bed, climbing on top of Sherlock and kissing him softly.
‘Beautiful,’ John murmured, stroking Sherlock’s face with the back of his hand, kissing him again, harder this time. Sherlock started to come back to himself, his senses and mental functions returning to their usual state. He sighed breathily and grinned up at John, who leant down for another, slightly more insistent kiss. ‘So fucking gorgeous, Sherlock, Christ, I...’
‘Come here,’ Sherlock mumbled, undoing the button of John’s trousers and pulling the zip down with a hand that was still shaking slightly. He licked his palm as John had done and pushed it inside John’s trousers, wrapping his hand around John’s prick tightly, establishing a hard and fast rhythm that soon had John moaning into Sherlock’s neck, spilling his release over Sherlock’s long, elegant fingers.
They were silent for a moment. John rolled onto his back and sighed.
‘Well, fuck me,’ he murmured.
Sherlock leant over and kissed his lips. ‘Just say the word,’ he said, arching an eyebrow.
John laughed and pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. 'Right you are.'
Prompt: From the sherlockbbc_fic Kink Meme, part XII: John fingering Sherlock for the first time, with Sherlock straddling his lap, trousers pulled down just enough to grant his fingers entrance. It's not that Sherlock dislikes it, but it's as if it's been specifically invented to make him lose control of that all-important mind, and turn him into a babbling, incoherent mess. He's too hot and too full, and he want to squirm, but when he curves back he ends up pushing John's fingers further into him, and when he flexes forward John sucks his neck and his nipples and it's too much.
Fandom: Sherlock - BBC
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: John. Sherlock. Fingering. Orgasms. Utter PWP.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Porn, dirty talk, toppy John, swearing.
Word Count: 1464
It must have been the jeans. The wine, too, of course, but it was the tight jeans Sherlock was wearing that had made John's eyes blow wide and black, that had made his tongue flick out of his mouth ever so slightly, just wetting his bottom lip before Sherlock saw his jaw tighten as he bit down on it. Sherlock had smirked then, pleasure and desire flaring low in his stomach as he bent to pick his phone up from the coffee table, giving John a view of his arse. He certainly wasn't smirking now.
After dinner together and getting through a bottle of wine each, Sherlock and John had returned to the flat and promptly threw themselves at one another. John had grabbed hold of Sherlock's arse and pulled their hips together and pushed and Sherlock had idly thought that he was going to wear these jeans every day if they merited such a reaction before he found himself being pulled up the stairs to John's room, John's lips attached to his again.
That had been about half an hour ago. Now, John was sitting on the edge of his bed, Sherlock on his lap, his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth.
They’d not done this before, not yet, not while this was still new and fragile and exhilarating and wonderful. But from what John was growling into Sherlock’s ear between kisses, it was largely down to the jeans - the jeans that John hadn’t let Sherlock take off, tugging them down just enough so that John could slide his palm inside after licking it and curl it around Sherlock’s prick, squeezing, teasing, hot and filthy and yes, yes, yes. Stroking Sherlock’s cock, first, then shoving two fingers into Sherlock’s mouth, biting at Sherlock’s ear while he thrust them in and out with a gentleness that belied his words.
‘So fucking sexy, you’ve no idea,’ John rasped, licking down the curve of Sherlock’s ear. ‘You’ve no idea, Sherlock, wanted to get my hands on you all evening, those fucking jeans, Jesus Christ, it should be illegal to make jeans that tight, you know that? More spit,’ he ordered, pressing his thumb to the underside of Sherlock’s chin and biting his earlobe, eliciting a groan that Sherlock felt begin deep in his chest. ‘Fuck, you’re beautiful,’ John murmured, pinching Sherlock’s nipple through the dark purple shirt that he hadn’t been allowed to take off yet. Biting down hard on his lip, Sherlock frowned, his eyes closed as he tried to keep hold of himself, tried to think, tried to stop being a slave to sensation. Of course, John’s fingers in his mouth and John’s other hand roughly palming his cock and John’s teeth on his neck, oh God, made thinking rather than simply reacting so much harder.
‘Shirt off,’ John ordered, and Sherlock’s hands leapt to obey, fumbling as he undid the buttons, much to his chagrin. He never fumbled, but apparently he did when John’s fingers - slick with Sherlock’s own spit - brushed down over his cock and back and up to press insistently at his entrance. Apparently, he whimpered, too. John nibbled at one of Sherlock’s nipples, licking across it wetly before blowing on it, the sensation making Sherlock arch his back and press down against John’s fingers.
‘Want it, don’t you?’ John murmured, his voice thick as he sucked determinedly at Sherlock’s neck.
No. No, Sherlock didn’t want to feel like this, he wanted to have all of his mental faculties in order and he certainly didn’t want to be moaning and swaying into John, resting his hands -damp and trembling slightly - on John’s shoulders for purchase. But... but he really did.
‘I asked you a question,’ John growled, pinching Sherlock’s side, sinking his teeth into Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock swallowed, gasping for breath, unable to keep still, wanting to think, to rationalise this. Christ, mild-mannered John Watson was an animal in bed. High on sensation as he was, Sherlock was unable to process anything other than that, and at John’s ‘Sherlock,’ said in a warning tone, he moaned and nodded, pressing down against John’s fingers again.
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so. ‘Yes, I want it, I want you.’
Admitting to that sort of weakness, that level of need, was usually anathema for Sherlock. He was too far gone now, though, and he needed John, he truly did.
John groaned wordlessly against Sherlock’s throat and pushed one finger inside, quickly following with the second.
Sherlock shouted and tensed, fingers digging into John’s shoulders as he gritted his teeth.
‘Shh, shh,’ John murmured, kissing Sherlock’s jaw and neck, slowly scissoring his fingers, rubbing Sherlock’s waist with his other hand, up and down, soothing.
‘Burns,’ Sherlock ground out, but he pushed himself down anyway, seeking the control he needed, his breath hitching as John curled his fingers just so and oh God. Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he tipped his head back, his breath leaving him in one short exhale. ‘John.’
John procured lube from the bedside table and squeezed it awkwardly onto the hand that was inside Sherlock’s trousers, pulling his fingers out all the way, yes, yes, and God, no, no, before John pushed them in again, not as gentle as the last time, the way eased by the lube. Sherlock moaned brokenly, his nerve endings singing, his senses in overdrive. This had to have been invented to incapacitate Sherlock, or at least the way that John was doing it. He was licking and biting at Sherlock’s neck, his fingers inside, heavy and full, making Sherlock buck and twitch with every thrust and flick and curl of his strong, capable digits.
‘Ah,’ Sherlock whimpered, trying to move so that the sensation would just be less, pulling away from John’s lips and tongue and that wicked, filthy mouth, arching his spine. All that achieved, however, was pushing John’s fingers further inside him, and then there was a third finger pressing into him and Sherlock howled, the sound long and broken, most of his usual mental capabilities long gone. ‘John!’ he cried, his cock twitching against his stomach as John thrust his fingers in and out, twisting and curling against his prostate again and again and again...
‘Fucking sexy,’ John snarled, moving his hand as quickly as he could in the tight space. ‘Want you to come from this, Sherlock, just from this, want to hear you, want to feel you, see you, fuck, Sherlock, please--’
It was too much. It was all too much, Sherlock was just a mass of skin and need and nerves and he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, could only hear John murmuring obscenities into his ear and ‘fuck, Sherlock, please,’ and he came undone, his orgasm ripping him apart at the core as he arched into John, clinging onto his shoulders and hair and don’t ever, ever let me go, impaled on John’s fingers as he was, crying out, the sounds turning to whimpers as John wrung aftershocks out of him with his other hand, making him shiver, feeling everything with every last fibre of his being.
John pulled his fingers away and Sherlock whimpered at the loss, his head lolling, eyes drooping shut as John twisted and laid him out on the bed, climbing on top of Sherlock and kissing him softly.
‘Beautiful,’ John murmured, stroking Sherlock’s face with the back of his hand, kissing him again, harder this time. Sherlock started to come back to himself, his senses and mental functions returning to their usual state. He sighed breathily and grinned up at John, who leant down for another, slightly more insistent kiss. ‘So fucking gorgeous, Sherlock, Christ, I...’
‘Come here,’ Sherlock mumbled, undoing the button of John’s trousers and pulling the zip down with a hand that was still shaking slightly. He licked his palm as John had done and pushed it inside John’s trousers, wrapping his hand around John’s prick tightly, establishing a hard and fast rhythm that soon had John moaning into Sherlock’s neck, spilling his release over Sherlock’s long, elegant fingers.
They were silent for a moment. John rolled onto his back and sighed.
‘Well, fuck me,’ he murmured.
Sherlock leant over and kissed his lips. ‘Just say the word,’ he said, arching an eyebrow.
John laughed and pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. 'Right you are.'