Aug 28, 2010 21:35
torchwood,
english,
vampire diaries,
meme,
merlin,
white collar,
lost,
leverage,
just for the fun/juste pour s'amuser,
sherlock,
tv,
being human,
psych,
doctor who,
i signed up for things/inscription,
the internet is for porn,
supernatural,
writing/écriture
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John had quickly learned Sherlock near all coherency in response to having his tongue sucked on, his armpit bitten, or the back of his neck touched even the slightest; breath alone was enough to set him shivering, and John was quick to use that particular bit of knowledge to his advantage.
It also explained why Sherlock had a nervous habit of scratching the back of his neck when he was genuinely worried - where some people unconsciously guarded themselves by folding their arms or hiding their mouths behind their hands, Sherlock's attention instantly wandered to his neck. John would have found it endearing if it weren't for the fact nerves on Sherlock's part usually meant nerves everyone else ought to be experiencing at the same time.
John had observational skills of his own, and the added advantage of a thorough understanding of the nervous system, but as much as Sherlock had little practical experience of sex, he had certainly racked up theoretical knowledge over the years and seemed to appreciate a chance to put that knowledge to the test.
Before Sherlock, John had always suspected he didn't have a place to belong; he'd been happy to live a relatively normal life, but he'd never quite been content, happiness something that came and went - more often went. Sherlock's constant curiosity and need to observe meant that opening up in bed wasn't so much a distant thought as a necessity to avoid being driven to distraction by constant questions.
The biggest advantage of sex, of course, was it meant there were plenty of activities that forced Sherlock to shut up; he had a brilliant mouth and finding uses for it other than speech was always entertaining.
Sherlock had still blindsided him with the latest experiment. Being held open on Sherlock's fingers in the shower was entertaining enough, given Sherlock's fingers were pornographic in and of themselves, slim and long and beautiful, but he hadn't quite known what to make of it when Sherlock knelt behind him and asked him to turn the shower off.
He'd laughed when he felt Sherlock bite him lightly on the backside before bracing himself against the wall, saying "Shouldn't we do this somewhere that actually has space for two people?" before Sherlock's hands turned from interested to possessive, spreading him, and John was pretty certain nothing in the world, not even Sherlock writing to him in triplicate with four months notice (and he might have, if he'd taken after his brother) would have prepared him for the hot, warm, wet slick of Sherlock's tongue pressed against his entrance.
"Oh God," John had stammered out, feeling anything but stable, hands feeling too slick with sweat and the steam of the shower to keep him in place.
"Sherlock, actually," came the reply - bastard never tired of that particular joke - before Sherlock's tongue started teasing in earnest, licking him between weirdly sweet kisses, and then all pretensions of grace disappeared as Sherlock's tongue pressed up inside him.
"Oh God" switched to "Oh fuck", a litany of expletives, John shivering and aching and completely unwilling to take either hand off the wall for fear of slipping because he knew, just knew, if he was ever going to fall and break his neck it wouldn't be under mundane circumstances.
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"So help me," John said, "If you don't fuck me now I'm never doing you a favour again, ever."
"Liar," Sherlock said, pulling back and allowing one last, long, deliberately slow lick before getting to his feet carefully, picking two already half-empty bottles off the soap rack on his way up. "'Silky' or 'tingle'?"
"I don't bloody care!" John growled, felt Sherlock's chuckle against his back as lube-slicked fingers drove their way home quickly, once, twisting and pulling out before being replaced by the increasingly familiar but never dull heat of Sherlock's erection.
"John," Sherlock allowed himself, letting John set the rhythm this time and matching it almost exactly, "I think that was a success -"
John met the statement with an incoherent groan of agreement, thankful for Sherlock's hand when it wrapped around his cock, even if he knew it would mean coming long before Sherlock did. Sherlock never came easily, sometimes never managed at all, but John had learned not to take it as an insult; Hell, it meant when he did come it was all the more flattering.
Sherlock rarely dealt out praise but he had managed the odd word or two for John's patience on the rare occasions a compliment accidentally escaped him.
As predicted John came hard, rocking back against Sherlock and turning the shower back on, cleaning off his stomach while he still had the energy before pulling away, turning around to face Sherlock and wrapping a hand around his cock. Every so often it would take him by surprise just how beautiful his - friend? Boyfriend? It seemed silly to try and categorise it - was, and if it weren't for the fact he still had some standards regarding hygiene he could have kissed him just for looking that damned gorgeous. Even with the curls plastered around his face.
Maybe especially with the curls plastered around his face, though John had yet to decide whether Sherlock wet was an improvement on Sherlock dry or just an interesting variety - and damnit, he was starting to think like the man. Just a little.
He laughed, and Sherlock frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," John said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder in lieu of being able to kiss him on the lips. "Just - we're both impossible, aren't we?"
"Absolutely not," Sherlock replied, the frown softening regardless.
John knew better than to correct him, and tightened his grip, willing to take as much time as needed. It had taken them long enough to admit to wanting this in any form; he wondered if they'd ever finish catching up.
He looked forward to trying.
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