Fic - Dublin - John/Sherlock - NC-17
Title: Dublin
Author: lotherington
Prompt: Under the cut to avoid spoiling people.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: Two words: Skype porn.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: D/s themes, the most minor of spoilers for series 2.
Word Count: ~1,800
Notes: This is entirely the fault of the new clip from Series 2, livia_carica and the rest of tumblr. They wanted Skype porn, and who am I to refuse?
You hear that sound?
That’s the chattering of a million slashers’ keyboards frantically writing J/S Skype sex fics, featuring a hotel in Dublin and Sherlock pre-sheet.
I would like to read those please…
Blame Livia.
‘I’m frankly astounded you’ve managed to connect to the internet without someone there to do it for you, John,’ Sherlock said with a lazy grin, stretching out on his bed, tilting the screen of his laptop so that John’s highly unamused face was brought out of shadow.
‘Remind me again why I bother with you?’ John asked, his bejumpered chest the only thing visible on the screen for a moment before he stepped back, beginning to undress.
‘Because I’m brilliant.’ Sherlock’s grin widened as John rolled his eyes, pulling his jumper over his head. ‘How’s the conference?’ Sherlock propped his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the mattress.
‘Tedious,’ John grumbled, unbuttoning his shirt, tilting his head from side to side and grimacing as his bones popped and cracked. ‘And they haven’t got any PG Tips.’
Sherlock gave John a look through the webcam. ‘Really?’ he drawled.
‘Oh, don’t start this again, you know I don’t like Twinings, it’s too bloody weak, but that’s all they ever have in hotels, especially ones abroad.’
‘Abroad? You’re in Dublin.’ Sherlock lost his train of thought somewhat as John started to unbutton the jeans he had on. ‘It’s hardly abroad.’
Sherlock lifted his eyebrows as John marched over to his laptop and bent down over it. Only the bottom of his mouth and his muscular arms and chest were visible as he typed in his usual excruciatingly slow manner, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Sherlock’s toes curled.
‘Abroad,’ John said, his voice much louder than before, ‘adverb. In or to a foreign country or countries. Synonyms: overseas. I have crossed a sea, I am overseas, I am in a foreign country, I am abroad,’ he said, moving back to look into the camera. ‘You think anywhere north of the bloody M25’s abroad anyway.’ He straightened up and pushed his jeans down, turned round to rummage in his suitcase, which was open on the bed.
Swallowing, Sherlock snaked his right hand down his abdomen and squeezed his cock as he took in the curves of John’s arse, very obviously pronounced under the tight boxers he had on.
‘Got the last word, did I?’ John called over his shoulder, grinning at the webcam.
Sherlock made a quiet choking noise at the look on John’s face. That, added to his well-defined muscles, that perfect arse and the incredibly sexy RAMC tattoo on his upper arm all being on show, made Sherlock want.
Clearly preparing to get into bed, John pulled a t-shirt on and piled the clothes he’d been wearing into his suitcase. He walked over to the desk again and picked his laptop up. There was a moment where Sherlock could only see John’s chest again, everything going sideways and wobbly for a minute until John’s face was back on the screen, his back resting against the headboard of the hotel bed.
‘How’s your day been, then?’ John asked, reaching out and grabbing a glass of water, his tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt as he drank.
‘Get your shirt off,’ Sherlock growled, sitting up properly and bringing his knees up a little, resting his laptop on top of them.
John choked on his water. ‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ Sherlock said, lips parted as he met John’s eyes in the webcam. ‘Get. your. shirt off.’
‘Oh,’ John said, a slow smile spreading over his face. ‘Someone likes what he sees.’
‘John.’ Sherlock squeezed himself again, closing his eyes. He opened them again to find John pulling his t-shirt up almost as slowly as he typed, stretching as he pulled it over his head. ‘Move me back,’ Sherlock said, a desperate note already in his voice as he gave his cock a few hard strokes. ‘Move me back, let me see you.’
More of John came into view as the laptop was pushed away. Still smirking, John let one thigh fall open, his leg dangling off the bed. He licked his lips and wrapped a hand round himself through his dark grey cotton boxers, pushing his hips forwards. ‘How’s that?’ he asked, his voice pitched lower than usual. ‘Better?’
‘Oh God,’ Sherlock breathed, tightening his hand, starting to stroke himself in earnest.
‘I asked you a question, Sherlock,’ John said, his voice steely, though not unkind.
‘Yes, sorry, yes, that’s better,’ Sherlock said frantically, pushing the sheet from John’s bed he’d wrapped himself up in away from his body. ‘God, John...’
‘Good. Slow down,’ John ordered, his own hand moving slowly, the muscles in his arm flexing. Sherlock nodded and moved his hand onto his thigh for a moment, gripping at his skin as he met John’s hard stare through the computer. ‘Good,’ John said again. ‘Nice and slowly now, go on.’
Sherlock returned his hand to his cock and stroked at a much slower pace than previously.
‘That’s right,’ John murmured, forcing a soft cry from Sherlock’s throat. ‘Suck on a couple of those lovely fingers for me, Sherlock. Get them nice and wet,’ John said, his voice a low growl as he fucked up into his own fist, pre-come seeping through the grey cotton of his boxers causing a stain to blossom on the front.
A flush spread across Sherlock’s cheeks and down his neck as he shoved the index and middle fingers of his left hand into his mouth, saliva dripping out onto the back of his hand, some falling onto his naked thigh. He moaned, tightening his other hand around his cock whenever he reached the head.
‘Look at you,’ John said, his voice throaty and wanting. Sherlock lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet John’s through the computer screen, his plump lips still wrapped around his fingers. ‘Kneel right up for me,’ John purred, his hand still outside his boxers.
Sherlock shifted onto his knees, tilting the screen back so that he could still see John and John got a better view than the tops of Sherlock’s thighs.
‘That’s it,’ John said, his voice louder from having pulled his laptop closer towards him. ‘Gorgeous thing. Fuck yourself open for me now, Sherlock, and don’t stop stroking yourself.’
Nodding, Sherlock pulled his fingers out of his mouth and reached behind himself, bearing down as he pushed inwards with his digits, groaning at the slow burn of the intrusion.
‘Lovely,’ John growled, his voice rough, his hand moving a little faster. ‘You’re not to stop until I say and you’re not to come until I say, is that clear?’
Sherlock’s breath left him in a whimpering moan.
‘I said, is that clear?’ John snapped.
‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered immediately, pulling his fingers out and then pushing them back in, hissing at the sensation. ‘Yes, John, sorry,’ he gasped, pulling on his cock as he sought out his own prostate.
‘Don’t be sorry, do better.’
‘Yes, John.’ Sherlock whimpered as he rubbed the tips of his fingers repeatedly over the bump inside him, his cock twitching, pre-come leaking down the shaft and pooling on the sheet underneath his knees. He moaned, his body listing to one side as he started to move up and down again, up into his fist and back down onto his fingers.
‘Fuck, so lovely,’ John growled, and Sherlock watched as he finally thrust his hand down the front of his underwear, moving it quickly, the muscles underneath his tattoo bulging, the soft light in the hotel room flickering over the white, stretched skin of his scar. ‘Let me see all of you, I want to see you.’
Sherlock shoved his laptop further down the bed and ground down on his fingers more insistently, his eyes screwed shut, his sex-flush spreading down to his chest. His mouth fell open and his head fell forwards as he moaned and writhed at John’s voice and his own hands.
‘Do you wish I was there?’ John said, his voice slightly breathless. ‘Do you wish I was there, fucking you? Answer me.’
‘Yes,’ Sherlock sobbed, making his grip on his cock as light as possible. He nodded, lifting his face to the camera. ‘Yes, John, yes, I want you, I...’
‘Jesus,’ John gasped, his own hand moving frantically. Sherlock whimpered, sweat gathering at the back of his neck and in the creases of his thighs as he continued to shove his hips down. He pulled his fingers out for a moment and spat on them again before returning them to their previous position, shuddering as he filled himself once more.
‘I want you,’ Sherlock moaned again, everything going a little blurry at the edges. ‘I want you, John, I...’
‘Come,’ John snarled. ‘Come for me, Sherlock.’
Hips bucking, Sherlock tightened his hand around his cock and came as soon as the words had left John’s mouth. Thick spurts of semen shot onto his stomach and chest, one landing over the unblinking eye of the camera on his laptop screen. He groaned and shuddered his release before falling onto his back, eyes closed and arms outstretched, boneless and shivery.
‘Sherlock... Sherlock... fuck,’ came John’s voice from the computer screen, followed by gasping breaths and a quiet moan. Sherlock smiled weakly, but didn’t move.
‘Jesus,’ John muttered. ‘Sherlock? Sherlock?’ A pause. ‘Sherlock! Sit up!’
Sherlock just about managed to obey the order, wiping his own come off the screen, slipping his finger into his mouth. He tried to focus his eyes on John but shuddered again and didn’t quite manage it.
‘Sherlock, listen to me,’ John said, his voice firm but kind. ‘Go and get yourself a pint of water and drink it all please, slowly. Then go and clean your teeth and wash your face and get into bed, alright? Can you do that for me?’
Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes.
‘No, open your eyes. That’s a good boy. What have you just been told?’
‘Drink some water, um.’ Sherlock swallowed and frowned. ‘Clean my teeth and go to bed.’
‘And wash your face.’
‘And wash my face.’
‘That’s it. Go and do that for me, now. You’ll be alright?’
Sherlock nodded and managed to open his eyes long enough to see John smile.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ John said.
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ Sherlock replied.
‘Sherlock?’
‘Mm?’
‘I love you.’
Sherlock smiled. ‘Same.’
He closed the lid of the laptop with a grin, and, for once in his life, went to do as he was told.
Author: lotherington
Prompt: Under the cut to avoid spoiling people.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: Two words: Skype porn.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: D/s themes, the most minor of spoilers for series 2.
Word Count: ~1,800
Notes: This is entirely the fault of the new clip from Series 2, livia_carica and the rest of tumblr. They wanted Skype porn, and who am I to refuse?
You hear that sound?
That’s the chattering of a million slashers’ keyboards frantically writing J/S Skype sex fics, featuring a hotel in Dublin and Sherlock pre-sheet.
I would like to read those please…
Blame Livia.
‘I’m frankly astounded you’ve managed to connect to the internet without someone there to do it for you, John,’ Sherlock said with a lazy grin, stretching out on his bed, tilting the screen of his laptop so that John’s highly unamused face was brought out of shadow.
‘Remind me again why I bother with you?’ John asked, his bejumpered chest the only thing visible on the screen for a moment before he stepped back, beginning to undress.
‘Because I’m brilliant.’ Sherlock’s grin widened as John rolled his eyes, pulling his jumper over his head. ‘How’s the conference?’ Sherlock propped his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the mattress.
‘Tedious,’ John grumbled, unbuttoning his shirt, tilting his head from side to side and grimacing as his bones popped and cracked. ‘And they haven’t got any PG Tips.’
Sherlock gave John a look through the webcam. ‘Really?’ he drawled.
‘Oh, don’t start this again, you know I don’t like Twinings, it’s too bloody weak, but that’s all they ever have in hotels, especially ones abroad.’
‘Abroad? You’re in Dublin.’ Sherlock lost his train of thought somewhat as John started to unbutton the jeans he had on. ‘It’s hardly abroad.’
Sherlock lifted his eyebrows as John marched over to his laptop and bent down over it. Only the bottom of his mouth and his muscular arms and chest were visible as he typed in his usual excruciatingly slow manner, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Sherlock’s toes curled.
‘Abroad,’ John said, his voice much louder than before, ‘adverb. In or to a foreign country or countries. Synonyms: overseas. I have crossed a sea, I am overseas, I am in a foreign country, I am abroad,’ he said, moving back to look into the camera. ‘You think anywhere north of the bloody M25’s abroad anyway.’ He straightened up and pushed his jeans down, turned round to rummage in his suitcase, which was open on the bed.
Swallowing, Sherlock snaked his right hand down his abdomen and squeezed his cock as he took in the curves of John’s arse, very obviously pronounced under the tight boxers he had on.
‘Got the last word, did I?’ John called over his shoulder, grinning at the webcam.
Sherlock made a quiet choking noise at the look on John’s face. That, added to his well-defined muscles, that perfect arse and the incredibly sexy RAMC tattoo on his upper arm all being on show, made Sherlock want.
Clearly preparing to get into bed, John pulled a t-shirt on and piled the clothes he’d been wearing into his suitcase. He walked over to the desk again and picked his laptop up. There was a moment where Sherlock could only see John’s chest again, everything going sideways and wobbly for a minute until John’s face was back on the screen, his back resting against the headboard of the hotel bed.
‘How’s your day been, then?’ John asked, reaching out and grabbing a glass of water, his tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt as he drank.
‘Get your shirt off,’ Sherlock growled, sitting up properly and bringing his knees up a little, resting his laptop on top of them.
John choked on his water. ‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ Sherlock said, lips parted as he met John’s eyes in the webcam. ‘Get. your. shirt off.’
‘Oh,’ John said, a slow smile spreading over his face. ‘Someone likes what he sees.’
‘John.’ Sherlock squeezed himself again, closing his eyes. He opened them again to find John pulling his t-shirt up almost as slowly as he typed, stretching as he pulled it over his head. ‘Move me back,’ Sherlock said, a desperate note already in his voice as he gave his cock a few hard strokes. ‘Move me back, let me see you.’
More of John came into view as the laptop was pushed away. Still smirking, John let one thigh fall open, his leg dangling off the bed. He licked his lips and wrapped a hand round himself through his dark grey cotton boxers, pushing his hips forwards. ‘How’s that?’ he asked, his voice pitched lower than usual. ‘Better?’
‘Oh God,’ Sherlock breathed, tightening his hand, starting to stroke himself in earnest.
‘I asked you a question, Sherlock,’ John said, his voice steely, though not unkind.
‘Yes, sorry, yes, that’s better,’ Sherlock said frantically, pushing the sheet from John’s bed he’d wrapped himself up in away from his body. ‘God, John...’
‘Good. Slow down,’ John ordered, his own hand moving slowly, the muscles in his arm flexing. Sherlock nodded and moved his hand onto his thigh for a moment, gripping at his skin as he met John’s hard stare through the computer. ‘Good,’ John said again. ‘Nice and slowly now, go on.’
Sherlock returned his hand to his cock and stroked at a much slower pace than previously.
‘That’s right,’ John murmured, forcing a soft cry from Sherlock’s throat. ‘Suck on a couple of those lovely fingers for me, Sherlock. Get them nice and wet,’ John said, his voice a low growl as he fucked up into his own fist, pre-come seeping through the grey cotton of his boxers causing a stain to blossom on the front.
A flush spread across Sherlock’s cheeks and down his neck as he shoved the index and middle fingers of his left hand into his mouth, saliva dripping out onto the back of his hand, some falling onto his naked thigh. He moaned, tightening his other hand around his cock whenever he reached the head.
‘Look at you,’ John said, his voice throaty and wanting. Sherlock lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet John’s through the computer screen, his plump lips still wrapped around his fingers. ‘Kneel right up for me,’ John purred, his hand still outside his boxers.
Sherlock shifted onto his knees, tilting the screen back so that he could still see John and John got a better view than the tops of Sherlock’s thighs.
‘That’s it,’ John said, his voice louder from having pulled his laptop closer towards him. ‘Gorgeous thing. Fuck yourself open for me now, Sherlock, and don’t stop stroking yourself.’
Nodding, Sherlock pulled his fingers out of his mouth and reached behind himself, bearing down as he pushed inwards with his digits, groaning at the slow burn of the intrusion.
‘Lovely,’ John growled, his voice rough, his hand moving a little faster. ‘You’re not to stop until I say and you’re not to come until I say, is that clear?’
Sherlock’s breath left him in a whimpering moan.
‘I said, is that clear?’ John snapped.
‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered immediately, pulling his fingers out and then pushing them back in, hissing at the sensation. ‘Yes, John, sorry,’ he gasped, pulling on his cock as he sought out his own prostate.
‘Don’t be sorry, do better.’
‘Yes, John.’ Sherlock whimpered as he rubbed the tips of his fingers repeatedly over the bump inside him, his cock twitching, pre-come leaking down the shaft and pooling on the sheet underneath his knees. He moaned, his body listing to one side as he started to move up and down again, up into his fist and back down onto his fingers.
‘Fuck, so lovely,’ John growled, and Sherlock watched as he finally thrust his hand down the front of his underwear, moving it quickly, the muscles underneath his tattoo bulging, the soft light in the hotel room flickering over the white, stretched skin of his scar. ‘Let me see all of you, I want to see you.’
Sherlock shoved his laptop further down the bed and ground down on his fingers more insistently, his eyes screwed shut, his sex-flush spreading down to his chest. His mouth fell open and his head fell forwards as he moaned and writhed at John’s voice and his own hands.
‘Do you wish I was there?’ John said, his voice slightly breathless. ‘Do you wish I was there, fucking you? Answer me.’
‘Yes,’ Sherlock sobbed, making his grip on his cock as light as possible. He nodded, lifting his face to the camera. ‘Yes, John, yes, I want you, I...’
‘Jesus,’ John gasped, his own hand moving frantically. Sherlock whimpered, sweat gathering at the back of his neck and in the creases of his thighs as he continued to shove his hips down. He pulled his fingers out for a moment and spat on them again before returning them to their previous position, shuddering as he filled himself once more.
‘I want you,’ Sherlock moaned again, everything going a little blurry at the edges. ‘I want you, John, I...’
‘Come,’ John snarled. ‘Come for me, Sherlock.’
Hips bucking, Sherlock tightened his hand around his cock and came as soon as the words had left John’s mouth. Thick spurts of semen shot onto his stomach and chest, one landing over the unblinking eye of the camera on his laptop screen. He groaned and shuddered his release before falling onto his back, eyes closed and arms outstretched, boneless and shivery.
‘Sherlock... Sherlock... fuck,’ came John’s voice from the computer screen, followed by gasping breaths and a quiet moan. Sherlock smiled weakly, but didn’t move.
‘Jesus,’ John muttered. ‘Sherlock? Sherlock?’ A pause. ‘Sherlock! Sit up!’
Sherlock just about managed to obey the order, wiping his own come off the screen, slipping his finger into his mouth. He tried to focus his eyes on John but shuddered again and didn’t quite manage it.
‘Sherlock, listen to me,’ John said, his voice firm but kind. ‘Go and get yourself a pint of water and drink it all please, slowly. Then go and clean your teeth and wash your face and get into bed, alright? Can you do that for me?’
Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes.
‘No, open your eyes. That’s a good boy. What have you just been told?’
‘Drink some water, um.’ Sherlock swallowed and frowned. ‘Clean my teeth and go to bed.’
‘And wash your face.’
‘And wash my face.’
‘That’s it. Go and do that for me, now. You’ll be alright?’
Sherlock nodded and managed to open his eyes long enough to see John smile.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ John said.
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ Sherlock replied.
‘Sherlock?’
‘Mm?’
‘I love you.’
Sherlock smiled. ‘Same.’
He closed the lid of the laptop with a grin, and, for once in his life, went to do as he was told.