Sherlock100 40/100 #99 Writer's Choice "Thing"
Title: That Thing
Characters: Sherlock/John
Word Count (if fiction): ~1500
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Sherlock/John - Sherlock comes into John's room and tells him that he needs John to do that "thing" again. But John doesn't know what Sherlock is talking about because the night before he had come home incredibly drunk and couldn't really remember past getting in the door.
Summary: John wakes up hungover. He tries to figure out what Sherlock wants by a process of elimination.
Warnings: Dirty, dirty sex; rimming, etc.
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John.
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
Oh Sherlock….oh my god….
John, please…oh thank you, John!
It’s my pleasure, love…my pleasure…
John woke up with a headache and the nauseated sensation that went along with a bad hangover. His hands instantly went to grab the covers that were around his waist to pull them up over his head. Christ, why did I get so drunk last night…
He grunted and rolled over to see if Sherlock was in the bed…well, to feel if Sherlock was in the bed, because he sure as hell was never opening his eyes again. There was the slight hint of warmth where Sherlock had obviously stayed for a few hours but had left a short time ago.
John left his hand lying across Sherlock’s side of the bed as he let himself melt into the mattress, thanking small favours like Saturdays off from work. He didn’t have very long to enjoy a nap to himself, however, as soon a voice carried across the room and forced him to open up his eyes.
“Oh, you’re awake, very good,” said Sherlock, crossing the room. John peeled the covers away from his face and was grateful that Sherlock had left the curtains drawn.
“Good morning,” said John, sounding less tired than he actually felt.
“John, I’ll get right to the point,” Sherlock said, crawling into the bed and stretching out on his side, propping up on an elbow. “I need you to do that thing again, what you did last night.”
John’s immediately response was to ask What thing? but he managed to control the impulse. Instead, he very coolly replied, “Are you sure? I’m just waking up and I may not be able to do it just right…” His main objectives were to stall for time so he could try to dredge up the reserves of his memory, and to possibly get Sherlock to reveal what he wanted John to do.
Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow at him. “..you don’t think you can do it just right?” he repeated.
John nodded slowly. “I mean…I was a bit drunk last night and that’s bound to affect…what I did.”
Sherlock laughed a little. “I imagine it did.” He sized John up with a flicker of his eyelids. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
John took offence to that. However, he didn’t know how to make Sherlock think he actually had a single clue about the “thing” he’d done the previous night. So, he decided to figure it out by a process of elimination.
John pushed Sherlock over onto his back, getting an “OOF!” of surprise. He dragged his hands up the lithe man’s sides, pulling up his shirt slowly. He stopped when the button-up shirt was bunched up at Sherlock’s underarms. John leaned over and pressed his lips against his lover’s, seeking intrusion with his tongue. Sherlock’s mouth opened, a slight smirk tangible in his upper lip. John’s tongue flirted with Sherlock’s for a few minutes, as his mouth fought for dominance over Sherlock’s constantly moving one.
John broke off the kiss and moved lower, kissing and sucking on Sherlock’s long, creamy neck, pulling up bruises like they were floating in his skin.
“Unnn, John,” said Sherlock. “This is not exactly what I was talk--ahhh--ing about. Why don’t you just admit----oh god…” John stopped this overconfident rant, albeit peppered with moans of pleasure, by biting at Sherlock’s nipple. Sherlock seethed in pain and bliss together.
“Mmm…” John moaned as well, enjoying sensations of the trembling torso beneath him. He undid Sherlock’s flies and tore his trousers down to just below his hip. Ha ha, thought John. I will deduce what I did to him last night. He ceased his teasing of Sherlock’s chest and neck and focused his attention on relieving him of his pants and trousers. He looked at his lover’s naked body, as Sherlock removed his own shirt. No marks, so I don’t think we’ve done bondage… “Roll over on your stomach baby, and put that arse up in the air so I can see it,” he instructed. Damn, John cursed himself. Bondage had been the only thing he could think to deduce from visual clues. Process of elimination, he told himself. I’ll just have to do everything I can think of to him.
Sherlock had meanwhile obeyed his orders and turned himself over onto his front, face pressed into the mattress and hips angled up high. John’s hand gripped one side of Sherlock’s hip where firm buttocks met bony thigh. John exhaled loudly, desire and planning at the forefront of his brain. He centered himself, fully clothed between Sherlock’s legs. He kneed them apart a little further, spreading Sherlock’s arse open for his perusal. John continued to breathe loudly as he licked his index finger, wetting it thoroughly.
“Aaauuhhnnnnghhhnnn,” was the noise Sherlock made when John’s finger entered him with no preamble. “John…” he whispered, his hands pawing at the bed covers.
“Yeeees?” said John, thinking that he may have gotten at least close to what Sherlock wanted from him. He prodded his finger in further, finding Sherlock’s prostate with ease, thanks to the many times he’d roused it throughout their relationship. His free hand traced up and down Sherlock’s back, the sides of his neck, his held in abs that might have otherwise shown a little paunch from gravity.
“God…not what you did last night,” Sherlock mentioned breathless and yet still arrogant. “But please, oh god oh god, don’t stop.”
John contemplated putting in a few more fingers, but instead decided to go with a different approach. Using his hands to hold Sherlock’s arse open wide, John pressed his face into Sherlock’s cleft and stuck out his marvelously long tongue, licking the perineum a little madly. Sherlock writhed and shook his hips about a little too much for John’s liking. John in turn gripped the man’s hips tighter and hooked his feet over Sherlock’s ankles to hold him in place. By this point, Sherlock looked terribly hard and uncomfortable, but John didn’t touch his leaking erection. And if Sherlock’s hand so much as flinched in that direction, John would knock it back into place.
Sherlock had stopped making noise altogether, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, but keeping the muscles in his arse slack for John’s exploit. And John had much exploiting left to do. Breathing hotly onto Sherlock’s goose fleshed backside, John stuck out his tongue and began to vigorously lick the open hole. Now Sherlock saw fit to make racket again, groaning and saying nonsensical syllables and even squeaking a bit.
“Please John,” he whimpered. “Pleeeeeeease.”
John smacked him on the arse real good and then began to fuck Sherlock’s hole with his tongue, moving his head forward and back over and over again while Sherlock started saying beautiful words in several languages. When it sounded like Sherlock was begging in German, John fisted his hand around his partner’s hard cock and wrenched his fist back and forth, side to side in time with the thrusting of his ten, for all of ten seconds before Sherlock couldn’t contain himself any longer and came hot across the sheets and his own elbows. Sherlock collapsed, bringing John down on top of him, both of them panting with arousal.
John rolled off of him a couple of minutes later, smirking to himself as Sherlock remained quiet and spent from their morning rendezvous. He was fairly confident that something he’d done had either been on the mark or had at least satisfied the big horny beast.
Some time later, Sherlock rolled onto his side and propped himself back up on his elbow. He sighed, contented. “That was just lovely, John, thank you.” He smiled. John knew he had him. Then, “But it’s not the thing you did last night. Nice try.”
John groaned loudly and pushed his face into a pillow. Coming back up for air, he asked, “What did I do last night, then?”
“You brought home milk from the shops,” said Sherlock slyly.
“I--what?” John tried to think back to the snippets of conversation her remembered.
"Oh Sherlock….oh my god…it’s a raining mess out there…" John had walked in carrying a bag of groceries that he had bought while pissing drunk.
"John, please…oh thank you, John!" Sherlock had taken the milk carton and poured it over some cereal and then over a bowl of fingernails and hair.
"It’s my pleasure, love…my pleasure…" John had said while watching to make sure that Sherlock at the cereal and not the hair.
Then, he’d climbed up the stairs and fallen over into a stupor.
John glared. “Why did you let me think that it was sex? Why couldn’t you have just said that you needed more milk?”
Sherlock smiled and smacked John on the bottom. “Why waste a perfectly good opportunity?”