Fic: It's a Moustache Kind of Morning
Title: It's a Moustache Kind of Morning
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: Some role-play with a moustachioed John.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~3900
Author's Notes: This is a rather cracky PWP inspired by the picture below of Martin Freeman with a not-so-flattering moustache. Yep, almost 4000 words about moustache porn. Yes, I have a life. Why do you ask? Oh, and if you don't get the movie reference, there's a note at the end.
“I still think this is the worst idea you have ever had. I hate it.”
“It’s not a bad idea. If you want to take part in this investigation, then we have to make sure no one will recognize you from the surgery. I’m frankly amazed at how different it makes you look. I thought growing a moustache would be a bit like putting on a pair of black glasses as far as disguises go, but you’re rather unrecognizable to the casual observer now.”
“I know that, thank you. I look like someone’s creepy uncle or - or like a paedophile who lurks around playgrounds trying to lure children into a white, windowless van.”
“And you call me a drama queen. It isn’t that bad.”
“It is that bad, and you know it.”
“Oh, come here,” he motioned John over and wrapped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “It could be exciting you know? We’ve had some very interesting ‘adventures’ while in disguise.”
“You in a leather skirt and corset isn’t quite the same thing as me with a foul moustache.”
“I don’t know about that.” Sherlock looked down at him speculatively, “How about you try to lure me down to your parents’ basement to listen to Led Zeppelin IV?”
“Shut up, you evil arse,” John huffed, mostly to stop himself from laughing. No one would ever believe that Sherlock could be playful like this, that he could tease good-naturedly instead of using his humor like claws.
“Speaking of arses,” Sherlock said as he moved to wrap both of his arms around John‘s waist and grab two nice handfuls of doctor, “I don’t think that’s in disguise is it?” He patted and squeezed with a look of feigned concentration. “It still feels the same. Maybe you should let me have a look.”
John wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter anymore. “Well in that case, maybe we should go down to the basement. We can be alone there.”
Sherlock’s grin grew exponentially when John started to play along. The detective hadn’t exactly been playful as a child, but he was finding that play as an adult was infinitely more fascinating. He put on his best innocently angelic expression and bit his lip. “I don‘t know. What if someone comes down here to check on us?”
“Oh, they won’t. They never come down here. It’ll be fine, I promise,” John said coaxingly as he reached around for Sherlock’s hand and pulled him into the living room. He stopped in front of the fireplace and reached up to bring Sherlock’s lips down for a gentle kiss.
They kissed for a long time, slow chaste kisses turning hotter and deeper as their tongues came out to play. They finally pulled away so John could nuzzle along Sherlock’s jaw.
“Does it scratch?” he asked after a moment.
“No, it just sort of tickles. I like it. It reminds me that you’re older than me, that you‘re not a boy anymore,” Sherlock answered.
“What?” John asked, having forgotten about their little game in the wake of some excellent snogging. Sherlock flashed him a chiding look, but before he started actually tsk-ing, John remembered what they’d been doing. “Oh! Oh, well yeah. That was the idea,” he said, rubbing the coarse hair a little more firmly against Sherlock’s skin. “But I thought you liked boys?” he asked coyly.
Sherlock bit his now swollen lip again, “I don’t want a boy. All the boys my age are so stupid. I want…I need someone older, I think. Someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Well you certainly know how to kiss,” John reassured. “Have you ever done anything else? Have you ever been with anyone?”
He dropped his eyes down in faux embarrassment and said very quietly, “I was waiting. I wanted someone to teach me. I don’t like not knowing things.”
John smiled at the bit of reality that had crept into that answer. “I think I can do that. I can teach you. Show you how to feel good, how to make someone else feel good. Is that what you want?”
Sherlock’s eyes lifted to meet his, and John could see the spark of laughter lurking in them. He could also see the slightly dilated pupils that told him his friend was feeling more than amusement. “Yes, John. That’s what I want.” John leaned up to kiss him again until the impatience that Sherlock could rarely disguise got the better of him and he pulled back to say, “I want to do more than kiss.”
John laughed softly, “Okay. Well, after kissing usually comes touching.”
“Okay,” Sherlock said quietly, looking bashfully at John’s chest. “Where do want me to touch you?”
John felt a twitch in his jeans at the guileless vulnerability Sherlock had managed to inject into his voice. He had always liked indulging Sherlock’s fondness for disguises and role playing, and now that they were together, it usually turned out to be in his and his libido’s best interests to do so. With that in mind, he paused for a moment to calm himself before he said to hell with it and just jumped the man. When he got his wits about him again, he brought his palms down to caress gently across Sherlock’s shoulders and upper chest. An idea of how to move things along suddenly occurred to him. “How about I touch you, and if you like how it feels, then you touch me back in the same place? Would that be okay?”
“I think so,” Sherlock gasped as John’s palms brushed across his nipples through the dark silk of his shirt.
Sherlock slowly slid his hands up from John’s waist and mimicked the caress. He wasn’t getting the same effect through the thickness of his jumper, but it was still good. Very, very good.
“All right then?” John asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“All right,” Sherlock answered.
John’s moved his hands down to slide over Sherlock’s stomach, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric and the firm muscles underneath before he reached around to his back, petting him in long strokes from shoulder blade to the band of his trousers.
Sherlock once again followed his lead, and John could finally feel the heat from the man’s hands seeping through the thick knit he was wearing. Quickly tiring of the barriers between their skin, John began tugging at the dark shirt, pulling the tails out of Sherlock’s trousers. He resumed stroking and soothing underneath the shirt, reveling in the feel of the smooth skin. He felt long fingers moving under the hem of his jumper and the thin cotton of his vest until they were finally moving along his own bare skin.
Eventually, John brought his hand back around to brush along Sherlock’s side and the flat plane of his abdomen. Sherlock’s hand moved too, and he dug his fingers into John’s fleshier belly. Growing bolder, John’s fingertips moved up and up, up over a hairless sternum, grazed gently over collarbones, then finally settled on a nipple that was already hard. John toyed with the stiff bud, rubbing his index finger around the areola, then rolling the nub between his finger and thumb. He gasped as his movements were mirrored, and he leaned in for another kiss.
When he pulled back, he said, “I think we should get rid of our shirts now.”
“Yes!” Sherlock quickly assented and started tugging at John’s jumper as John tried to unfasten a couple of buttons so he could lift Sherlock’s shirt over his head. They were soon naked from the waist up, and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him in tight so that their chests met. They both moaned softly at the contact as they met again in a deep kiss.
“John,” Sherlock pulled back just enough to ask shyly, “John, do you want to kiss me in other places? Places besides my mouth?”
John swallowed audibly before he managed to answer, “Yeah, yes. I do. Where do you want to be kissed?” he asked just as quietly. Sherlock tilted his head to expose the length of his neck and closed his eyes. The doctor recognized it for the invitation that it was and set his wet mouth moving beneath Sherlock’s jaw. He spent long moments laving hot kisses along that pale column. He sucked marks into his skin and rubbed patches of it pink with the coarse hair on his lip. He nipped softly down the side until he reached Sherlock’s shoulder where he opened his mouth again to taste along the gentle slope, across his clavicle, over to his right nipple. He settled over the rosy, puckered skin and sucked… hard. Sherlock’s hips bucked forward causing their erections to brush against each other. John hummed at the sensation, and the vibrations made Sherlock thrust forward again. He felt fingers cup the back of his head, holding him snugly as he worked, then finally tugging on his hair to urge him to look up.
He lifted his head and was gifted with a hard but brief press of lips. Those same lips then traced their own trail across his skin, kissing along his shoulder, licking a hot trail over the rough skin of his scar. Sherlock bent down to latch onto his darker nipple, and John felt it swell and harden even more as his fingers dug into Sherlock’s side. He nearly writhed under the focused attention.
Sherlock eased back, breathing across the dampness he’d left behind. “Is this okay? Am I doing it right?”
“Yeah, yes. Jesus, yes. Just fine. You’re a fucking quick study.”
“Too clever by half?” John could practically feel the man’s grin against his pectoral.
“No. Just clever enough, I think,” he choked out, running his hand through silky curls and pulling that head back to settle at his chest again.
Sherlock shifted his concentration to John’s other nipple and lavished it with a decidedly not-inexperienced tongue. He sucked and bit his way down a warm belly, down to the top of John’s jeans and started sliding the tip of his tongue just underneath the waist band.
“John,” he spoke into the skin right below the doctor’s navel, “do you think we should take off our trousers?”
“Yes, I do. Brilliant idea. Right now.” He stepped back to work on his jeans as Sherlock rose swiftly and unfastened his own trousers. They both quickly shucked down to just their pants. John reached over and palmed Sherlock’s hard length through his boxers.
“Let’s just get these off too, hmm?” he urged, grazing his thumb across the visible damp patch.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, breath hitching. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go all the way, John.”
John, who really thought they’d taken the role-play far enough and was ready to get on with some proper shagging, said, “Sherlock, I think we can…”
Sherlock, who apparently was not ready to break character, cut him off with an emphatic “LA, LA, LA, LA, LA.” John’s breath snagged in his chest, caught tightly by the unique mixture of arousal and giddy humor that only this man could elicit in him. When Sherlock saw that John had gotten the point, he finished in a normal voice, “I said, John, that I don’t know if I want to go all the way. I…I’m scared.” The doctor’s cock hardened further and the damp patch on his boxers spread at the sound of that little stammer, reminding him again that there were certain rewards to giving into Sherlock’s whims.
“Well, we don’t have to go all the way,” John said soothingly, once again willing to get on with whatever the hell Sherlock had in mind just so long as they got on with it soon. “There are other things we can do.”
“Other things?” Sherlock actually batted his eyelashes.
“Yeah,” John said, amusement bubbling up again, “things we can do with our hands and our mouths.”
“You want to touch me? Without my pants on?”
“I want to fuck that lush arse until you scream your throat raw,” John thought, but he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded.
Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment then barely touched his fingertips along the waistband of John‘s pants. “Okay,” he said finally, “but you too. You have to take off yours too.”
“That’s not a problem,” John assured him, already hooking his thumbs under the elastic to get rid of the damn things.
Sherlock, however, refused to rush. The contrary bastard just crossed his arms over his chest and ran his palms slowly down his own sides until he was running them up over skin and down over the silk of his boxers. Each caress upwards pulled the thin fabric up slightly, exposing more of his thighs and outlining his erection more clearly. This time, John was the one who lost his patience, so he reached over, snagged the band with his fingers, and pulled it forward over the other man’s cock. He pushed down on the pants until gravity took over and pulled them to the ground.
He ran his hands back up along Sherlock’s flanks before spreading them flat along the man’s lower abdomen, fingers resting on his hipbones and thumbs caressing small circles against the skin right above the dark line of pubic hair. He moved down slowly until his thumbs were in that lush patch of wiry curls, rubbing up and down along either side of Sherlock’s thick erection. The other man’s hands had migrated up to the doctor’s shoulders, and he seemed to be using his grip there to stay upright. When John finally cupped his erection, he threw his head back and moaned in that deep voice, “Oh, that feels so good.”
John used his other hand to wrap around the beautifully exposed neck and murmured, “Better than when you touch yourself?”
“Much better. God.”
“Sherlock? Can I kiss you here?” John asked with a squeeze along the heavy length in his hand.
Sherlock tilted his head back down to meet his eyes. “Kiss me? On my…?”
John nodded. “It feels really good. Even better than this,” he promised, tugging just a bit until Sherlock gasped, “All right, I trust you, John.”
John smiled, touched by the sentiment even if right now it was just a line from Sherlock’s internal script. He knew it was also the truth, so he placed a tender kiss on each hip as he knelt on the dark rug. He moved his lips toward the member still in his left hand and settled them against the base of that thickness. He continued kissing upward, grazing the hair on his lip softly against the delicate skin. He paused his movements when that brush of hair caused Sherlock to tense and go very still. John pulled back to ask if he’d hurt him when a guttural moan sounded from above; he looked up to see those beautiful eyes widened in shock.
“Good or bad?” he breathed.
He grinned at the heartfelt “Fuck. Good.” he got in answer. He ran his moustache over the delicate skin again and again until he heard Sherlock give an honest-to-god whimper. He darted his tongue out and swiped at the moisture that was leaking from the tip then licked it again, longer and slower. He fingered the area just beneath the head, took the spongy end into his mouth, and began a soft suction. He placed his right hand against Sherlock’s hip to keep him from thrusting mindlessly into his mouth. John sucked and licked all around the head, letting his saliva seep around his lips so that he could spread that moisture with his hand. He used the mixture of spit and pre-ejaculate to ease the slide of his fist from the base of Sherlock’s length to just below the flaring crown, all while he continued to suck and tongue the head. He didn’t have a spare hand to reach down to feel Sherlock’s balls, but he could tell just from the sounds his partner was making when he was close.
John uncurled his hand, sank his mouth down as far as it would go, and swallowed. He pulled back in hard, sucking drags until Sherlock keened and grabbed his head. A few seconds later, he felt the hot burst of semen splash across his tongue. He swallowed all he could and held Sherlock in his mouth, working him gently until his climax had passed. When he felt the man’s cock start to soften, he let it go and buried his nose in the dark hair he’d caressed earlier. He took in several deep breaths, nuzzling there since Sherlock was always too sensitive after orgasm to enjoy any similar treatment to his prick.
When he felt Sherlock’s breath start to even into a bit of a steadier pattern, he palmed his hipbones and mumbled into this pelvis, “I told you it felt good.”
“Yes, you did.” John looked up at the still strangled sound of that voice and was shocked to see how absolutely wrecked Sherlock looked. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were wide and pupils blown, he was flushed pink from his chest up to his cheeks, and his entire torso was covered in a fine film of perspiration. Sherlock finally managed to force out, “Are you…do you want…?”
John shook his head, “You don’t have to try that yet. You can just touch me, if you want. That’ll be enough.” And it would be. Just seeing Sherlock like this was nearly enough.
John shuffled back on his knees and brought his legs out from under him so he could lie back on the rug. Sherlock shot him a grateful look as he slumped down to join him on the floor. He positioned himself so that the front of his body was snug up against John’s side then slid one arm under the doctor’s neck and one arm down to his groin. He leaned forward and kissed John hard, shoving his tongue in and out, swiping across his palate, licking the taste of himself out of that delicious mouth. He moved his lips and his cheek across the ridiculous moustache, enjoying the pleasant rasp.
“What do I do, John? How do I touch you?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was fairly certain the doctor was desperate enough not to argue about it right now.
He was running just the tips of his fingers along John’s length in a touch that was geared more towards exploration than satisfaction. The smaller man arched his back and groaned before he reached down to grab Sherlock’s wrist. “Just… fuck. Just touch me like you touch yourself.”
Sherlock smiled and took a proper grip of the doctor’s member. John, who still had hold of his wrist, started pushing and pulling, clearly indicating how he wanted to be handled. When Sherlock was pumping him without direction, John let his wrist go and flopped his arm out to the side. His body was a taut line, and he was thrusting his hips up into Sherlock’s fist when he finally managed to growl “Harder!” through clenched teeth. Unable to deny that request, Sherlock firmed his grasp on the moist penis and began tugging with faster strokes.
He brought their lips together in messy, scraping kiss while he jerked on John’s length. Just as the other man was getting close, he broke away and dipped his head down to suck again on a nipple. The combination of strong pulls there and equally strong pulls on his cock soon had John coming with a loud groan of relief. Sherlock felt the first spurt of hot fluid hit his cheek then felt more drip down the sides of his hand as he continued stroking slowly. When John finally calmed, Sherlock lifted up onto his elbow to gaze down at him.
John flashed him a sloppy grin, a bit drunk on love and sex. “I got come on your face,” he murmured, reaching up clumsily to wipe it away.
“It’s all right. It’s not the first time,” Sherlock said with a look on his face that resembled something very much like adoration.
John took a few moments to get his breath back under control before he said, “Through playing then? Is coming like passing “Go” on the Monopoly board?”
“Only if you give me £200,” Sherlock replied as he dropped down to rest his head on a strong shoulder.
They lay there wrapped around each other, fighting the lassitude that would pull them into sleep on the hard floor if they didn’t get up soon. Just when Sherlock had worked up the energy to suggest they move at least to the sofa, he felt the chest under him start shaking in silent laughter.
He leaned back to watch John’s smile grow and grow as he finally started laughing audibly. Sherlock felt his own mouth pulling into a broad grin at that ridiculously perfect, little giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Led Zeppelin IV?” John managed between fits of giggling.
Sherlock began chuckling himself, a deep rumble that was a complete contrast to the sound issuing from the doctor. Sherlock pushed against his side and rolled his eyes as he said, “Oh, shut up. You’re the one that made me watch that rubbish film in the first place.”*
“You liked it,” John sing-songed.
“Of course I didn’t.”
John lifted his head and nipped at the bottom lip that Sherlock had pushed out into a fake pout. He pulled back and wiggled his upper lip around to indicate the moustache, “Maybe this thing isn’t so horrible after all, huh?”
Sherlock screwed up his face. “Oh God, no. It’s awful.” He settled his head back onto John’s shoulder so that his mouth was very close to the man’s neck, “But it’s only for a couple of weeks, and this was fun.” He lay there for a few moments before he settled his hand in the center of John’s chest. “John?” he asked, sounding suddenly quite serious.
The doctor squeezed his shoulders reassuringly as he replied, “Yes?”
“John, I just want you to know…,” he began solemnly, his voice taking on the cadence of an oath, “I want you to know that no matter how greasy and horrible you look, I’ll always be here to give you a good hand-job.”
John blinked twice then slapped his shoulder as he broke into gales of laughter. “I hate you,” he wheezed.
“I hate you, too,” Sherlock said as he kissed the damp skin of John’s neck, pleased at the feel of the man’s laughter jumping against his lips. “How about we go upstairs and take a shower? I think I heard your parents leave. That means we’re all alone in the house.”
“I don’t know, Sherlock. I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for.”
“I think I’m ready, John. I want you to be my first. Just promise to be gentle.”
They next day one clean-shaven doctor with a very smug smile and one irritated detective with a case of full-body beard burn set off from Baker Street on a mission to purchase a pair of black glasses and a wig.
* Fast Times at Ridgemont High (here's a clip of the relevant referance to Led Zeppelin IV: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1dih4_damone-gives-out-dating-advice_fun)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: Some role-play with a moustachioed John.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~3900
Author's Notes: This is a rather cracky PWP inspired by the picture below of Martin Freeman with a not-so-flattering moustache. Yep, almost 4000 words about moustache porn. Yes, I have a life. Why do you ask? Oh, and if you don't get the movie reference, there's a note at the end.
“I still think this is the worst idea you have ever had. I hate it.”
“It’s not a bad idea. If you want to take part in this investigation, then we have to make sure no one will recognize you from the surgery. I’m frankly amazed at how different it makes you look. I thought growing a moustache would be a bit like putting on a pair of black glasses as far as disguises go, but you’re rather unrecognizable to the casual observer now.”
“I know that, thank you. I look like someone’s creepy uncle or - or like a paedophile who lurks around playgrounds trying to lure children into a white, windowless van.”
“And you call me a drama queen. It isn’t that bad.”
“It is that bad, and you know it.”
“Oh, come here,” he motioned John over and wrapped his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “It could be exciting you know? We’ve had some very interesting ‘adventures’ while in disguise.”
“You in a leather skirt and corset isn’t quite the same thing as me with a foul moustache.”
“I don’t know about that.” Sherlock looked down at him speculatively, “How about you try to lure me down to your parents’ basement to listen to Led Zeppelin IV?”
“Shut up, you evil arse,” John huffed, mostly to stop himself from laughing. No one would ever believe that Sherlock could be playful like this, that he could tease good-naturedly instead of using his humor like claws.
“Speaking of arses,” Sherlock said as he moved to wrap both of his arms around John‘s waist and grab two nice handfuls of doctor, “I don’t think that’s in disguise is it?” He patted and squeezed with a look of feigned concentration. “It still feels the same. Maybe you should let me have a look.”
John wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter anymore. “Well in that case, maybe we should go down to the basement. We can be alone there.”
Sherlock’s grin grew exponentially when John started to play along. The detective hadn’t exactly been playful as a child, but he was finding that play as an adult was infinitely more fascinating. He put on his best innocently angelic expression and bit his lip. “I don‘t know. What if someone comes down here to check on us?”
“Oh, they won’t. They never come down here. It’ll be fine, I promise,” John said coaxingly as he reached around for Sherlock’s hand and pulled him into the living room. He stopped in front of the fireplace and reached up to bring Sherlock’s lips down for a gentle kiss.
They kissed for a long time, slow chaste kisses turning hotter and deeper as their tongues came out to play. They finally pulled away so John could nuzzle along Sherlock’s jaw.
“Does it scratch?” he asked after a moment.
“No, it just sort of tickles. I like it. It reminds me that you’re older than me, that you‘re not a boy anymore,” Sherlock answered.
“What?” John asked, having forgotten about their little game in the wake of some excellent snogging. Sherlock flashed him a chiding look, but before he started actually tsk-ing, John remembered what they’d been doing. “Oh! Oh, well yeah. That was the idea,” he said, rubbing the coarse hair a little more firmly against Sherlock’s skin. “But I thought you liked boys?” he asked coyly.
Sherlock bit his now swollen lip again, “I don’t want a boy. All the boys my age are so stupid. I want…I need someone older, I think. Someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Well you certainly know how to kiss,” John reassured. “Have you ever done anything else? Have you ever been with anyone?”
He dropped his eyes down in faux embarrassment and said very quietly, “I was waiting. I wanted someone to teach me. I don’t like not knowing things.”
John smiled at the bit of reality that had crept into that answer. “I think I can do that. I can teach you. Show you how to feel good, how to make someone else feel good. Is that what you want?”
Sherlock’s eyes lifted to meet his, and John could see the spark of laughter lurking in them. He could also see the slightly dilated pupils that told him his friend was feeling more than amusement. “Yes, John. That’s what I want.” John leaned up to kiss him again until the impatience that Sherlock could rarely disguise got the better of him and he pulled back to say, “I want to do more than kiss.”
John laughed softly, “Okay. Well, after kissing usually comes touching.”
“Okay,” Sherlock said quietly, looking bashfully at John’s chest. “Where do want me to touch you?”
John felt a twitch in his jeans at the guileless vulnerability Sherlock had managed to inject into his voice. He had always liked indulging Sherlock’s fondness for disguises and role playing, and now that they were together, it usually turned out to be in his and his libido’s best interests to do so. With that in mind, he paused for a moment to calm himself before he said to hell with it and just jumped the man. When he got his wits about him again, he brought his palms down to caress gently across Sherlock’s shoulders and upper chest. An idea of how to move things along suddenly occurred to him. “How about I touch you, and if you like how it feels, then you touch me back in the same place? Would that be okay?”
“I think so,” Sherlock gasped as John’s palms brushed across his nipples through the dark silk of his shirt.
Sherlock slowly slid his hands up from John’s waist and mimicked the caress. He wasn’t getting the same effect through the thickness of his jumper, but it was still good. Very, very good.
“All right then?” John asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“All right,” Sherlock answered.
John’s moved his hands down to slide over Sherlock’s stomach, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric and the firm muscles underneath before he reached around to his back, petting him in long strokes from shoulder blade to the band of his trousers.
Sherlock once again followed his lead, and John could finally feel the heat from the man’s hands seeping through the thick knit he was wearing. Quickly tiring of the barriers between their skin, John began tugging at the dark shirt, pulling the tails out of Sherlock’s trousers. He resumed stroking and soothing underneath the shirt, reveling in the feel of the smooth skin. He felt long fingers moving under the hem of his jumper and the thin cotton of his vest until they were finally moving along his own bare skin.
Eventually, John brought his hand back around to brush along Sherlock’s side and the flat plane of his abdomen. Sherlock’s hand moved too, and he dug his fingers into John’s fleshier belly. Growing bolder, John’s fingertips moved up and up, up over a hairless sternum, grazed gently over collarbones, then finally settled on a nipple that was already hard. John toyed with the stiff bud, rubbing his index finger around the areola, then rolling the nub between his finger and thumb. He gasped as his movements were mirrored, and he leaned in for another kiss.
When he pulled back, he said, “I think we should get rid of our shirts now.”
“Yes!” Sherlock quickly assented and started tugging at John’s jumper as John tried to unfasten a couple of buttons so he could lift Sherlock’s shirt over his head. They were soon naked from the waist up, and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him in tight so that their chests met. They both moaned softly at the contact as they met again in a deep kiss.
“John,” Sherlock pulled back just enough to ask shyly, “John, do you want to kiss me in other places? Places besides my mouth?”
John swallowed audibly before he managed to answer, “Yeah, yes. I do. Where do you want to be kissed?” he asked just as quietly. Sherlock tilted his head to expose the length of his neck and closed his eyes. The doctor recognized it for the invitation that it was and set his wet mouth moving beneath Sherlock’s jaw. He spent long moments laving hot kisses along that pale column. He sucked marks into his skin and rubbed patches of it pink with the coarse hair on his lip. He nipped softly down the side until he reached Sherlock’s shoulder where he opened his mouth again to taste along the gentle slope, across his clavicle, over to his right nipple. He settled over the rosy, puckered skin and sucked… hard. Sherlock’s hips bucked forward causing their erections to brush against each other. John hummed at the sensation, and the vibrations made Sherlock thrust forward again. He felt fingers cup the back of his head, holding him snugly as he worked, then finally tugging on his hair to urge him to look up.
He lifted his head and was gifted with a hard but brief press of lips. Those same lips then traced their own trail across his skin, kissing along his shoulder, licking a hot trail over the rough skin of his scar. Sherlock bent down to latch onto his darker nipple, and John felt it swell and harden even more as his fingers dug into Sherlock’s side. He nearly writhed under the focused attention.
Sherlock eased back, breathing across the dampness he’d left behind. “Is this okay? Am I doing it right?”
“Yeah, yes. Jesus, yes. Just fine. You’re a fucking quick study.”
“Too clever by half?” John could practically feel the man’s grin against his pectoral.
“No. Just clever enough, I think,” he choked out, running his hand through silky curls and pulling that head back to settle at his chest again.
Sherlock shifted his concentration to John’s other nipple and lavished it with a decidedly not-inexperienced tongue. He sucked and bit his way down a warm belly, down to the top of John’s jeans and started sliding the tip of his tongue just underneath the waist band.
“John,” he spoke into the skin right below the doctor’s navel, “do you think we should take off our trousers?”
“Yes, I do. Brilliant idea. Right now.” He stepped back to work on his jeans as Sherlock rose swiftly and unfastened his own trousers. They both quickly shucked down to just their pants. John reached over and palmed Sherlock’s hard length through his boxers.
“Let’s just get these off too, hmm?” he urged, grazing his thumb across the visible damp patch.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, breath hitching. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go all the way, John.”
John, who really thought they’d taken the role-play far enough and was ready to get on with some proper shagging, said, “Sherlock, I think we can…”
Sherlock, who apparently was not ready to break character, cut him off with an emphatic “LA, LA, LA, LA, LA.” John’s breath snagged in his chest, caught tightly by the unique mixture of arousal and giddy humor that only this man could elicit in him. When Sherlock saw that John had gotten the point, he finished in a normal voice, “I said, John, that I don’t know if I want to go all the way. I…I’m scared.” The doctor’s cock hardened further and the damp patch on his boxers spread at the sound of that little stammer, reminding him again that there were certain rewards to giving into Sherlock’s whims.
“Well, we don’t have to go all the way,” John said soothingly, once again willing to get on with whatever the hell Sherlock had in mind just so long as they got on with it soon. “There are other things we can do.”
“Other things?” Sherlock actually batted his eyelashes.
“Yeah,” John said, amusement bubbling up again, “things we can do with our hands and our mouths.”
“You want to touch me? Without my pants on?”
“I want to fuck that lush arse until you scream your throat raw,” John thought, but he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded.
Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment then barely touched his fingertips along the waistband of John‘s pants. “Okay,” he said finally, “but you too. You have to take off yours too.”
“That’s not a problem,” John assured him, already hooking his thumbs under the elastic to get rid of the damn things.
Sherlock, however, refused to rush. The contrary bastard just crossed his arms over his chest and ran his palms slowly down his own sides until he was running them up over skin and down over the silk of his boxers. Each caress upwards pulled the thin fabric up slightly, exposing more of his thighs and outlining his erection more clearly. This time, John was the one who lost his patience, so he reached over, snagged the band with his fingers, and pulled it forward over the other man’s cock. He pushed down on the pants until gravity took over and pulled them to the ground.
He ran his hands back up along Sherlock’s flanks before spreading them flat along the man’s lower abdomen, fingers resting on his hipbones and thumbs caressing small circles against the skin right above the dark line of pubic hair. He moved down slowly until his thumbs were in that lush patch of wiry curls, rubbing up and down along either side of Sherlock’s thick erection. The other man’s hands had migrated up to the doctor’s shoulders, and he seemed to be using his grip there to stay upright. When John finally cupped his erection, he threw his head back and moaned in that deep voice, “Oh, that feels so good.”
John used his other hand to wrap around the beautifully exposed neck and murmured, “Better than when you touch yourself?”
“Much better. God.”
“Sherlock? Can I kiss you here?” John asked with a squeeze along the heavy length in his hand.
Sherlock tilted his head back down to meet his eyes. “Kiss me? On my…?”
John nodded. “It feels really good. Even better than this,” he promised, tugging just a bit until Sherlock gasped, “All right, I trust you, John.”
John smiled, touched by the sentiment even if right now it was just a line from Sherlock’s internal script. He knew it was also the truth, so he placed a tender kiss on each hip as he knelt on the dark rug. He moved his lips toward the member still in his left hand and settled them against the base of that thickness. He continued kissing upward, grazing the hair on his lip softly against the delicate skin. He paused his movements when that brush of hair caused Sherlock to tense and go very still. John pulled back to ask if he’d hurt him when a guttural moan sounded from above; he looked up to see those beautiful eyes widened in shock.
“Good or bad?” he breathed.
He grinned at the heartfelt “Fuck. Good.” he got in answer. He ran his moustache over the delicate skin again and again until he heard Sherlock give an honest-to-god whimper. He darted his tongue out and swiped at the moisture that was leaking from the tip then licked it again, longer and slower. He fingered the area just beneath the head, took the spongy end into his mouth, and began a soft suction. He placed his right hand against Sherlock’s hip to keep him from thrusting mindlessly into his mouth. John sucked and licked all around the head, letting his saliva seep around his lips so that he could spread that moisture with his hand. He used the mixture of spit and pre-ejaculate to ease the slide of his fist from the base of Sherlock’s length to just below the flaring crown, all while he continued to suck and tongue the head. He didn’t have a spare hand to reach down to feel Sherlock’s balls, but he could tell just from the sounds his partner was making when he was close.
John uncurled his hand, sank his mouth down as far as it would go, and swallowed. He pulled back in hard, sucking drags until Sherlock keened and grabbed his head. A few seconds later, he felt the hot burst of semen splash across his tongue. He swallowed all he could and held Sherlock in his mouth, working him gently until his climax had passed. When he felt the man’s cock start to soften, he let it go and buried his nose in the dark hair he’d caressed earlier. He took in several deep breaths, nuzzling there since Sherlock was always too sensitive after orgasm to enjoy any similar treatment to his prick.
When he felt Sherlock’s breath start to even into a bit of a steadier pattern, he palmed his hipbones and mumbled into this pelvis, “I told you it felt good.”
“Yes, you did.” John looked up at the still strangled sound of that voice and was shocked to see how absolutely wrecked Sherlock looked. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were wide and pupils blown, he was flushed pink from his chest up to his cheeks, and his entire torso was covered in a fine film of perspiration. Sherlock finally managed to force out, “Are you…do you want…?”
John shook his head, “You don’t have to try that yet. You can just touch me, if you want. That’ll be enough.” And it would be. Just seeing Sherlock like this was nearly enough.
John shuffled back on his knees and brought his legs out from under him so he could lie back on the rug. Sherlock shot him a grateful look as he slumped down to join him on the floor. He positioned himself so that the front of his body was snug up against John’s side then slid one arm under the doctor’s neck and one arm down to his groin. He leaned forward and kissed John hard, shoving his tongue in and out, swiping across his palate, licking the taste of himself out of that delicious mouth. He moved his lips and his cheek across the ridiculous moustache, enjoying the pleasant rasp.
“What do I do, John? How do I touch you?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was fairly certain the doctor was desperate enough not to argue about it right now.
He was running just the tips of his fingers along John’s length in a touch that was geared more towards exploration than satisfaction. The smaller man arched his back and groaned before he reached down to grab Sherlock’s wrist. “Just… fuck. Just touch me like you touch yourself.”
Sherlock smiled and took a proper grip of the doctor’s member. John, who still had hold of his wrist, started pushing and pulling, clearly indicating how he wanted to be handled. When Sherlock was pumping him without direction, John let his wrist go and flopped his arm out to the side. His body was a taut line, and he was thrusting his hips up into Sherlock’s fist when he finally managed to growl “Harder!” through clenched teeth. Unable to deny that request, Sherlock firmed his grasp on the moist penis and began tugging with faster strokes.
He brought their lips together in messy, scraping kiss while he jerked on John’s length. Just as the other man was getting close, he broke away and dipped his head down to suck again on a nipple. The combination of strong pulls there and equally strong pulls on his cock soon had John coming with a loud groan of relief. Sherlock felt the first spurt of hot fluid hit his cheek then felt more drip down the sides of his hand as he continued stroking slowly. When John finally calmed, Sherlock lifted up onto his elbow to gaze down at him.
John flashed him a sloppy grin, a bit drunk on love and sex. “I got come on your face,” he murmured, reaching up clumsily to wipe it away.
“It’s all right. It’s not the first time,” Sherlock said with a look on his face that resembled something very much like adoration.
John took a few moments to get his breath back under control before he said, “Through playing then? Is coming like passing “Go” on the Monopoly board?”
“Only if you give me £200,” Sherlock replied as he dropped down to rest his head on a strong shoulder.
They lay there wrapped around each other, fighting the lassitude that would pull them into sleep on the hard floor if they didn’t get up soon. Just when Sherlock had worked up the energy to suggest they move at least to the sofa, he felt the chest under him start shaking in silent laughter.
He leaned back to watch John’s smile grow and grow as he finally started laughing audibly. Sherlock felt his own mouth pulling into a broad grin at that ridiculously perfect, little giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Led Zeppelin IV?” John managed between fits of giggling.
Sherlock began chuckling himself, a deep rumble that was a complete contrast to the sound issuing from the doctor. Sherlock pushed against his side and rolled his eyes as he said, “Oh, shut up. You’re the one that made me watch that rubbish film in the first place.”*
“You liked it,” John sing-songed.
“Of course I didn’t.”
John lifted his head and nipped at the bottom lip that Sherlock had pushed out into a fake pout. He pulled back and wiggled his upper lip around to indicate the moustache, “Maybe this thing isn’t so horrible after all, huh?”
Sherlock screwed up his face. “Oh God, no. It’s awful.” He settled his head back onto John’s shoulder so that his mouth was very close to the man’s neck, “But it’s only for a couple of weeks, and this was fun.” He lay there for a few moments before he settled his hand in the center of John’s chest. “John?” he asked, sounding suddenly quite serious.
The doctor squeezed his shoulders reassuringly as he replied, “Yes?”
“John, I just want you to know…,” he began solemnly, his voice taking on the cadence of an oath, “I want you to know that no matter how greasy and horrible you look, I’ll always be here to give you a good hand-job.”
John blinked twice then slapped his shoulder as he broke into gales of laughter. “I hate you,” he wheezed.
“I hate you, too,” Sherlock said as he kissed the damp skin of John’s neck, pleased at the feel of the man’s laughter jumping against his lips. “How about we go upstairs and take a shower? I think I heard your parents leave. That means we’re all alone in the house.”
“I don’t know, Sherlock. I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for.”
“I think I’m ready, John. I want you to be my first. Just promise to be gentle.”
They next day one clean-shaven doctor with a very smug smile and one irritated detective with a case of full-body beard burn set off from Baker Street on a mission to purchase a pair of black glasses and a wig.
* Fast Times at Ridgemont High (here's a clip of the relevant referance to Led Zeppelin IV: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1dih4_damone-gives-out-dating-advice_fun)