With the organs removed from the bath tub, John spent a few minutes cleaning it, making a mental note to pick up some things from the store to make sure it was entirely sterilized before even contemplating the idea of taking a bath in here again... if he ever would. Then again, who knew what Sherlock had been up to in various places of their flat. Really, it was probably a wonder John hadn't grown a third arm yet, with Sherlock's habits and experiments creeping into his life, spreading throughout the entire flat. He made quick work of his shower, eager to start the day. Maybe there would be another case. It had only been a few days since the last one, but John was starting to feel restless again. It was odd, because Sherlock didn't seem to feel the same. The tell-tale signs of impending boredom had not yet been detected by John. Cause for concern? Perhaps. But then, their last case had been quite something. Perhaps Sherlock was still riding the high of solving it.
Making his way downstairs with his laptop, John sat down in his armchair, quickly checking his email. "Hm," was all he said after a few minutes, clearly indicating that there was nothing of interest in his inbox that morning. "I'll ring Greg later," he continued without having been asked as he got up and placed the laptop on the desk. "Might be he's got something worth looking into." He found Sherlock in the kitchen, and leaned into the doorway to briefly watch the other man, smiling faintly. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they were a couple now. Weren't they? The strangest couple John had ever heard of, but a couple even so. With the exception of Mycroft, nobody knew yet, and frankly, it was none of their bloody business. And it gave John some time to try and figure out what life was going to be like now. Not much different from before, he suspected, but then, stranger things had happened. "Unless you've got plans?"
There were very few people in the world who were properly equipped, mentally, to deal with Sherlock Holmes. It was probably one of the reasons why he had been alone for the better part of his life, and made it easier for him to abstain from any sort of intimacy with other people. John had come as a completely surprise to him, of course, because outwardly, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He wasn't nearly as intelligent as Sherlock was - no one was, of course, save his older brother, and Moriarty, perhaps. And yet, John continued to be unpredictable, and surprised Sherlock with his apparent extraordinary qualities. Not just anyone could have easily found a place in Sherlock's heart, after all. For the longest time, it had simply been an organ, not an overly sentimental thing people placed so much value in. Even now, when there wasn't a case on, Sherlock found he wasn't bored. Of course, that was partially because he was experimenting on his 'relationship' with John. He wanted to figure out the boundaries, how far he could push them, what it meant to be in a relationship with John Watson, or if he wasn't really the one who held the control in this. The organs in the bathtub had been a good start... but now, as he stood int he kitchen, listening to John prattle on a bit, he was strangely endeared to him, just in this simple little moment.
For that moment, Sherlock had been thoughtfully gazing over at John, his face mostly neutral. Deciding something, he crossed the small kitchen wordlessly until he stood in front of John, leaning down close to his ear. "I do have plans," he murmured simply, lips brushing against John's ear, as he slipped a long fingered hand into John's smaller one. With that, he tugged John out of the kitchen, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. There is hardly time for a breath or two, and then Sherlock is crowding John's space, hands settling on his waist as he leans down to kiss him. It's a slow, almost lazy kiss at first, lips moving against lips, and tongue dipping forward to explore mouth. Sherlock has plans for John, of course he does, but this is a good start.
John could not help it; he yelped softly as Sherlock's warm lips descended on his own. He had been led to his flatmate's bedroom (a secret garden in its own right) feeling more than a little confused, though the brush of lips and suggestive words should have been hint enough. It was just... such a complete opposite of what the day had been so far. John had already decided to try not to be too affectionate this morning, knowing it did not appeal as much to Sherlock as it did to him. It was difficult; John longed to show the other man how much he cared for him, how deeply his desire ran, how small touches of affection could be just as satisfying, as wonderfully fulfilling. It would take time, John knew, and perhaps it would never appeal to Sherlock at all. But today was not going to be a day to try and educate his friend... or so John had thought.
"Sherlock," he murmured, body responding almost instantly to the other man's closeness. His hands reached up, running up Sherlock's arms to end on his angular face, framing it with quiet reverence as John drew back from the kiss, enough to look into the other's eyes. "What--?" He could feel warmth had already spread to his cheeks, and his eyes were bright, curious, puzzled.
It was true, affection did not come as easily for Sherlock as it did for John. But then, John had a lot more experience in relationships, and matters of the heart. He was better with friendships, in general. The consulting detective, on the other hand, had abstained from relationships and intimacy for so long that of course he wouldn't easily know how to work his way around it. Chances were, he was likely to become agitated on many future accounts when John tried to show affection, especially if his mind was elsewhere, such as with a case or the like. He'd already made it fairly clear that affection, and sexual activity was off the table during a case - there wasn't enough room in his head for both, and it would only end up distracting him.
And yet, as much as he wanted to learn about this relationship thing, and just how far he could push the boundaries... he also wanted to please John, at least in some way. It was so unlike his usual, much more self-serving attitude that it caught him off guard. He hadn't initially planned to clean up the organs from the tub that morning, after all. He'd succeeded in annoying John, and then getting John to practically apologize to him for said annoyance. John probably would have cleaned it all up himself, too. But that experiment had yield good results, which he would process further later. Right now, however, he was caught up in the way John framed his face in his hand, and the way he was looking back at him. Sherlock huffed softly, moving an arm around John so he could slip a hand beneath his shirt, and feel his warm skin underneath. "I know I am a difficult man to live with, John," he spoke quietly, stroking his back for a moment, before moving his hands back around, to settle on his waist. "Allow me to... do something for you, for your trouble." And already, he was walking John back, until the backs of his legs hit the bed. Sherlock shoved his friend back onto the bed, and then almost instantly, he straddled him, leaning down to kiss and suck and nip at his neck.
"Nn--!" It was difficult to think, John quickly found out, with Sherlock's weight pressing him down into the bed and that wonderfully clever mouth working at his throat. It was a maddening mixture of arousal, amusement and confusion. He had thought he knew Sherlock fairly well by now, thought little could take him by surprise anymore... But then, this was an entirely new realm, wasn't? With so many new ways for Sherlock to explore and test and absolutely aggravate the wits out of John, take him by surprise. Which this certainly was. John's hands had settled low on Sherlock's waist, as he desperately tried to form a rational thought, just one, inside his head.
"Sod my trouble. Don't... want you to do this just for me," he murmured, trying not to sound too petulant about it. He was frowning, however, and it sounded through in his voice. "You have to want this, too. Or it's just messed up, Sherlock." And yet, oh, there, that sudden sting of teeth, that was good, that was really bloody good, and John gasped as his head fell back and he closed his eyes, fingers digging into Sherlock's waist. God, he was embarrassingly hard, already. What was so bad about this, again?
Sherlock was rather pleased and amused, both, to hear John's little reactions to the simple ministrations he placed on his body. He really didn't have to try all that hard, which was interesting, and made things relatively easy. Of course, all this physical intimacy was still quite new for them both, together, so it would make sense that they could become aroused quickly. And after having abstained from this for so long, Sherlock still finds himself surprised how easily an erection is coaxed out of him, as well. It was fortunate that he enjoyed this so, because he'd just not really had any interest at all in sex. Of course, John was the exception to every rule, as usual, and he was enough to awaken this new sexual side in Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock huffed quietly against John's neck when he heard his words. He broke away from John's neck, but continued straddling him, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "John," he began, raising his brow pointedly down at him, "I can assure you I do, actually, want this." And he shifted his weight a bit so he could rub their groins together with a little intake of breath, so John would feel that he was getting hard, too. "Should I have said I was doing this for me? Is that the answer you would have preferred?" He smirked a bit, leaning back down once more... but this time to give John a proper kiss on the lips. For someone who hadn't kissed much over the majority of his life, he was catching on quickly, learning what sort of things John liked - when he nipped his lip, or explored his mouth, or sucked on his tongue. Mind, it felt surprisingly good to him, too, and he hummed appreciatively... while rocking his hips down into John's.
"Well, no, not exactly--" Whatever else the good doctor was going to say was lost in gasps and moans of pleasure as Sherlock rocked into him, their groins rubbing against one another in such delicious friction, never enough, but plenty to ensure John utterly lost track of his previous thoughts. He did not think he would ever grow tired of kissing Sherlock, and while it might be a dangerous thing to think - they had not done this all that long, had they - in this moment, he believed it. The slick slide of their tongues together ignited a fire in John's belly, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. God, why had he thought it clever to present Sherlock with another area in which he could excel and drive John absolutely bonkers with?
One more grinding motion of Sherlock's hips, and John snapped. Grabbing hold of Sherlock's waist, he flipped them around and broke the kiss, looking down at the glorious man beneath him. His undoing. "Arrogant git," he muttered, and what if it came out sounding more affectionate than annoyed? "You're supposed to be doing it for both of us, that's how it works when two people fancy each other." Sure fingers were making quick work of the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, exposing more and more pale skin until John could finally smooth his hands across the expanse of Sherlock's chest, thumbs catching on his nipples. "Tell me what you want."
It was completely fascinating, how the most simple contact of rubbing their clothed erections together brought so many sensations rushing through their bodies. Sherlock wished to catalog each and every feeling, but it was difficult when his mind insisted on short circuiting every time it happened. It was still all so new, these physical touches, even though John had been so completely intimate with him last night, had actually been inside him. What he had always thought would be messy, uncomfortable, and simply pointless had turned out to be something of a new awakening for him. He was quickly discovering a new addiction in the form of touching John Watson and being touched by him. And there were still so many things they could try, and he couldn't help but want to experiment with each and every one of them. He wanted to push the limits and test the boundaries. He wanted everything. At the moment, however, he was lost in the feeling of John's tongue alongside his, lips sliding together and stubble already beginning to burn his skin.
He was becoming so lost in the kiss and the friction that he was actually caught off guard when John suddenly grabbed him, and flipped him over. Sherlock gasped sharply, surprise and annoyance and awe evident on his face as he looked back up at John. Already, this encounter was turning out differently than he had originally imagined, but he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. John had a dominant streak, as he'd proved last night when he'd 'pulled rank' and ordered Sherlock about. Sherlock had a warring personality, as well - dominant, in every other aspect of his life, but he could not deny that he had quite enjoyed handing over control to John. It had been quite arousing. Then, when John unbuttoned his shirt, his pulse quickened, and his skin felt like fire where his lover's hands touched. He gasped a bit when those thumbs stopped over his nipples - sensitive for him, interestingly enough. It took him a moment to realize John was speaking, and then had asked him a question, as he stared back up at him with eyes blown dark with arousal. It seemed only John could reduce him to this quivering mess, aching for his touch. He was the only thing his mind could think about, everything else already starting to go fuzzy around the edges, fading to the background, unimportant. "You," he finally breathed in a low voice. "I want to fuck you, John. I want to watch you and see what your expression looks like when I'm inside of you. I want to take your pulse, and hear you beg for me to take you apart at the seams."
They should have done this from day one. The thought kept repeating itself in John's mind, over and over, the only truly rational thought that made its way through the lust-filled haze. So much time lost... And yet, John would not change a day, not one moment of his life as Sherlock Holmes' flatmate, friend, colleague... And now, lover. For that is what they were now, no denying that. It was difficult to categorize, define, too many emotions overlapping, too much of their dynamic already so much like that of a couple. Adding sex to the equation... It might change things, it might not. Either way, John didn't really care about definitions, and he knew Sherlock certainly didn't give a damn. This was between them, this was theirs, whatever it was, and it was good. God, it was amazing.
John was lost in the sight of Sherlock under him, hair tousled and chest bared, hungrily drinking it all in, but those words shocked him right out of his silent worship. He stared at the other man, cheeks flushing and something deep down within clenching tight. Oh. Oh. "Right. Yeah. Alright." Eloquence, what eloquence. But it was more than a little challenging to form words when that sharp tongue produced words like that. Dominant or not, John could not deny the wave of desire that crashed over him at the thought of Sherlock fucking him, claiming him, and why shouldn't he? He'd already placed his mark on every other part of John's life, why not this last one? "God, Sherlock, yes." Leaning forward, John captured the other man's lips in a heated kiss, showing him what the mere thought did to him.
On day one, Sherlock still hadn't known John that well, past the obvious that he had deduced. He hadn't realized how loyal John would be, how essential he would become to the cases, or how his company wouldn't be nearly annoying like most, but actually quite pleasing. It was something that had accumulated with time, slowly breaking down Sherlock's walls, and bringing him to see that he didn't have to abstain for his 'art.' Sex was rather nice for quieting his busy mind when things became too much and caused him to become irritated and out of sorts. Simpler intimacy was surprisingly not pointless with John, as well, and he was coming to enjoy their smaller moments, despite himself. It was still all quite new and exciting, and Sherlock, curious as ever, wanted to take apart every detail, every aspect of their new relationship. So if he was too intense, or too clinical, John should understand why - it was just who he was, and no one seemed to understand him better than his best friend and his lover. Even Mycroft hadn't been able to get to the very heart of his brother, and understand those inner workings.
Right now, his more primal beast within was clawing to be set free so he could let go, and claim this last thing with John that was not yet his. He was a possessive man, and he just had to have this, to have every inch of John, to be the first and only one inside of him. Some small part of him wanted to actually tattoo John, so his name, or initials, or something significant would actually be permanently on his person. But he had not quite gotten to that point, more than eager to simply fuck John senseless. The desire for that surged within him at John's encouraging words, and he eagerly returned the heated kiss, trying to dominant John's mouth, and take over the control that was to become his in this moment. Sherlock was quick to get John's clothes off - clothes that really shouldn't have gone back on after the shower - and he probably tore the material in his fierce hurry. He hardly had any patience for his own clothes - much easier to take off and toss aside carelessly, until they were both, blessedly naked, his hard cock bobbing obscenely as he hovered over his lover. He leaned over John briefly to grab that which was already well in stock in the drawer beside his bed - a tube of lube. No condoms required for this - he wanted to feel nothing between him and John. Sherlock settled himself between John's legs, deciding he would have him on his back like this so they could see each other, and he could catalogue expressions. He kissed John's inner thigh, nuzzled his nose affectionately in John's light pubic hair, breathing in the scent of him, sticking out his tongue to briefly taste him, teasingly. Once he was ready, he slipped a finger inside John with little preamble, pushing lube up into him, as he began preparing him.
It all happened so quickly, so breathlessly, leaving John dizzy and hard and aching and hungry. It took him by surprise, how arousing it was to have Sherlock take over control like this, dominating him, tearing off their clothing and kissing John like he wanted to sear his ownership into him with lips and teeth and tongue, sucking out John's very soul through his mouth. It was unbearably hot, and while one part of John's mind struggled with giving in like this, surrendering, his body was very obviously agreeing with the state of things. There was a certain bliss to be found in submitting like this, allowing Sherlock to take and take and take, and oh, John had enough to give, wanted to give him so much, everything, always, more, Sherlock...
Even so, John hissed quietly as Sherlock slipped a finger inside of him with little to no warning or preamble. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, and he tensed up as he looked down his body at the other man, resting between his leg and preparing him. The sight and knowledge of what Sherlock was doing was arousing, but John briefly bit his bottom lip, frowning. How much experience did Sherlock have, really? It wasn't very much, and though John was also not well-versed when it came to sex between two men, he did know a thing or two about preparation. And he was firm believer in open and honest communication during sex. How else was it supposed to improve and blow the minds of both parties involved? "Not so fast," he gasped out, body still tense, his insides clenching around Sherlock's finger. "Slow. Slowly. You're my first, remember. Gotta prepare me properly. Stretch me out, make it good. Can't just dive in there." His smile was wry, but his eyes were warm and fond, pupils dilated with lust.
For a moment, Sherlock had become almost completely overwhelmed in his lust and his hunger and his need to be inside John. He had not actually planned to take John that morning, and to lay claim to what was rightfully his, anyway. But John had been willing, had been eager even, and Sherlock was not about to lose a chance like this. Still, it was evident that the good doctor adored him, and had done as such since day one, really, with all his compliments for the world's only consulting detective. What scared Sherlock in that moment was how much his body had taken over, pushing his rational and logical thoughts aside so he could primitively rut and mate and claim. It probably had much to do with the simple fact that Sherlock had abstained from all this physical stuff for so long, and his body was practically touch starved for such intimacy. His lust had clouded his judgment so much that he hadn't realized he was going to fast, and he couldn't remember if they had gone slower when John had fucked him. During that time, he had been overcome with sensations, and if they had gone fast, it was because he liked the pain/pleasure it brought on. But then he was left blinking a bit in some surprise when John reveals discomfort at what's happening.
Sherlock started to slip his finger back out, because yes, John was quite tight, and perhaps he is hurting him. But he clearly noted how aroused his lover is, and that warmness in his eyes made something clench inside Sherlock that had nothing to do with his own arousal. Swallowing a bit, he nodded, and regained his wits about him so he can go slower. After all, he wanted to watch John enjoy this, and see what he looked like in the throes of passion. It would be the first time he experienced this, and Sherlock wanted to remember everything, knowing it was all because of him. "You are exceedingly tight, John," he murmured, his low voice a bit hoarse, as he slips his finger back in, then out some first, before experimentally rubbing. "I admit I do want to find your prostrate, John. That bundle of nerves should send spikes of pleasure right to your cock - it did when you stroked mine." He curved his finger this time, until finally, he found the little nub, and he stroked it, eager to see how it would affect John.
In the end, it wasn't Sherlock's touches that drove John absolutely wild - though, yes, those were very good, as well, very good indeed - but Sherlock's words. Which really should not have come as a surprise to the good doctor. Sherlock was a master with words, had a wickedly sharp and quick tongue, and the genius mind to back it all up with - why should this be any different? Every word, every syllable, went straight to John's cock, and, combined with Sherlock's discovery of his prostate, all bets were off.
"Jesus, Sherlock," John gasped out, cock twitching and leaking pre-cum on his belly. He tried to keep himself still and quiet, really he did, but it was difficult to remember why when every word and every touch turned John Watson's world upside down. "Oh, you bastard, you bloody-- there, right there, yes, just like that--" His hand reached down with the intent to stroke his cock and add another dimension to this mind-blowing pleasure. Knowing it was because of Sherlock only added to it. "Another, give me another, just, ngh, slow, keep it slow, oh, I can't imagine what you'll feel like, this is... God, it's good, so good..."
Sherlock knew the powers of his voice, and he often used it to his advantage, manipulating people with it to get what he wanted. Molly was only too easy, really, although John had a way of making him feel guilty about 'using' her, or whatever such nonsense he called it. But he was actually quite interested in seducing John, so he enjoyed every bit of this new experience, and he knew how his voice affected him. However, it wasn't until he successfully stroked John's prostrate that things got really interesting. He cataloged John's reactions as best he could - the obvious signs of pleasure that was shooting through him, the way the tip of his cock glistened with his cum. Sherlock didn't want John to be quiet, he wanted to hear that John was enjoying this, that he was doing this to him. Each cry or movement he made was being memorized, to perhaps examine again later.
When John asked, Sherlock slowly slipped in a second long finger alongside the other. He proceeded to stretch John up slowly, letting him get used to the added finger, before he curled them a bit, gently scissored John open. It was then, with the added pressure of two fingers, that he stroked John's cock again, unable to get enough of seeing him squirm in overwhelming pleasure. "I'm going to feel quite proportionally larger inside of you, John," he began in a low voice, "and I'm going to fuck your orgasm out of you. Do you think you can come from that alone, without touching yourself?" As he mused aloud, he continued to slowly stretch John, eventually with three long fingers inside of him. "I'll start slow, and when your body is adjusted enough, I'll fuck you harder, deeper. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
John groaned, long and deep, and he had to close his eyes for a few moments and take a few slow breaths before he felt himself capable of human speech again. "Go on like that and you'll make me come from the sound of your voice alone, you arrogant sod," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. Every twist of Sherlock's wrist and stretch by his long fingers made John forget the world around them until all that was left was Sherlock and him, and a burning hunger his insides seemed to claw at. It was too much. It was perfect. Reaching down, John wrapped a hand around Sherlock's upper arm, trying to still the hand on his cock. His eyes were open, darkened, pupils dilated in lust as he looked down at the other man. "Just get on with it." It was a bit hard to sound frustrated with a voice that was as hoarse as John's was and eyes that practically screamed fuck me, fuck me, please fuck me, I need it, I need you, please, oh please.
Sherlock half-smiled smugly at John's words, as he continued to slowly, tortuously stretch him open. He still felt quite tight around his fingers, all that intimate warmth, and Sherlock's mind was already short-circuiting in a way, imagining how it would feel around his achingly hard cock. When John spoke again and he looked up from his arse to meet his eyes, something in his stomach dropped. He was fascinated and overwhelmed by all that wanting and needing in John's dark eyes, something he'd never seen there before, and all for him. It made something in his stomach clench that was not from simple arousal alone, but he ignored it, because he just had to have John now.
So he nodded, swallowing hard, then slipped his fingers out. He was struck by how John's arse remained open and stretched a bit with his fingers no longer in there, but he didn't wait. He quickly grabbed the lube, applying a more than generous amount to his palms. No condom was needed, no barrier between them. He hissed a sharp breath in when his slick hands touched his erection, lathing lube onto it. He grabbed a pillow, then encouraged John to lift his hips a bit, so he could put the pillow under them. "Legs around my waist," he managed in a low voice that was also quite needy, wanting to get the right angle for perfect penetration. He lined himself up, then caught John's eye for confirmation that he was ready. With that, he pressed the head of his cock against John's opening, letting out a breath first. Sherlock pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling John's body resist at first, before finally, he slipped past the initial resistance, and just the head was inside. "Ah,John," he moaned, already clearly effected, but trying to go slow, when his body was screaming to just push in all the way in one, deep go.
Making his way downstairs with his laptop, John sat down in his armchair, quickly checking his email. "Hm," was all he said after a few minutes, clearly indicating that there was nothing of interest in his inbox that morning. "I'll ring Greg later," he continued without having been asked as he got up and placed the laptop on the desk. "Might be he's got something worth looking into." He found Sherlock in the kitchen, and leaned into the doorway to briefly watch the other man, smiling faintly. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they were a couple now. Weren't they? The strangest couple John had ever heard of, but a couple even so. With the exception of Mycroft, nobody knew yet, and frankly, it was none of their bloody business. And it gave John some time to try and figure out what life was going to be like now. Not much different from before, he suspected, but then, stranger things had happened. "Unless you've got plans?"
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For that moment, Sherlock had been thoughtfully gazing over at John, his face mostly neutral. Deciding something, he crossed the small kitchen wordlessly until he stood in front of John, leaning down close to his ear. "I do have plans," he murmured simply, lips brushing against John's ear, as he slipped a long fingered hand into John's smaller one. With that, he tugged John out of the kitchen, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. There is hardly time for a breath or two, and then Sherlock is crowding John's space, hands settling on his waist as he leans down to kiss him. It's a slow, almost lazy kiss at first, lips moving against lips, and tongue dipping forward to explore mouth. Sherlock has plans for John, of course he does, but this is a good start.
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"Sherlock," he murmured, body responding almost instantly to the other man's closeness. His hands reached up, running up Sherlock's arms to end on his angular face, framing it with quiet reverence as John drew back from the kiss, enough to look into the other's eyes. "What--?" He could feel warmth had already spread to his cheeks, and his eyes were bright, curious, puzzled.
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And yet, as much as he wanted to learn about this relationship thing, and just how far he could push the boundaries... he also wanted to please John, at least in some way. It was so unlike his usual, much more self-serving attitude that it caught him off guard. He hadn't initially planned to clean up the organs from the tub that morning, after all. He'd succeeded in annoying John, and then getting John to practically apologize to him for said annoyance. John probably would have cleaned it all up himself, too. But that experiment had yield good results, which he would process further later. Right now, however, he was caught up in the way John framed his face in his hand, and the way he was looking back at him. Sherlock huffed softly, moving an arm around John so he could slip a hand beneath his shirt, and feel his warm skin underneath. "I know I am a difficult man to live with, John," he spoke quietly, stroking his back for a moment, before moving his hands back around, to settle on his waist. "Allow me to... do something for you, for your trouble." And already, he was walking John back, until the backs of his legs hit the bed. Sherlock shoved his friend back onto the bed, and then almost instantly, he straddled him, leaning down to kiss and suck and nip at his neck.
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"Sod my trouble. Don't... want you to do this just for me," he murmured, trying not to sound too petulant about it. He was frowning, however, and it sounded through in his voice. "You have to want this, too. Or it's just messed up, Sherlock." And yet, oh, there, that sudden sting of teeth, that was good, that was really bloody good, and John gasped as his head fell back and he closed his eyes, fingers digging into Sherlock's waist. God, he was embarrassingly hard, already. What was so bad about this, again?
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Sherlock huffed quietly against John's neck when he heard his words. He broke away from John's neck, but continued straddling him, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "John," he began, raising his brow pointedly down at him, "I can assure you I do, actually, want this." And he shifted his weight a bit so he could rub their groins together with a little intake of breath, so John would feel that he was getting hard, too. "Should I have said I was doing this for me? Is that the answer you would have preferred?" He smirked a bit, leaning back down once more... but this time to give John a proper kiss on the lips. For someone who hadn't kissed much over the majority of his life, he was catching on quickly, learning what sort of things John liked - when he nipped his lip, or explored his mouth, or sucked on his tongue. Mind, it felt surprisingly good to him, too, and he hummed appreciatively... while rocking his hips down into John's.
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One more grinding motion of Sherlock's hips, and John snapped. Grabbing hold of Sherlock's waist, he flipped them around and broke the kiss, looking down at the glorious man beneath him. His undoing. "Arrogant git," he muttered, and what if it came out sounding more affectionate than annoyed? "You're supposed to be doing it for both of us, that's how it works when two people fancy each other." Sure fingers were making quick work of the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, exposing more and more pale skin until John could finally smooth his hands across the expanse of Sherlock's chest, thumbs catching on his nipples. "Tell me what you want."
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He was becoming so lost in the kiss and the friction that he was actually caught off guard when John suddenly grabbed him, and flipped him over. Sherlock gasped sharply, surprise and annoyance and awe evident on his face as he looked back up at John. Already, this encounter was turning out differently than he had originally imagined, but he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. John had a dominant streak, as he'd proved last night when he'd 'pulled rank' and ordered Sherlock about. Sherlock had a warring personality, as well - dominant, in every other aspect of his life, but he could not deny that he had quite enjoyed handing over control to John. It had been quite arousing. Then, when John unbuttoned his shirt, his pulse quickened, and his skin felt like fire where his lover's hands touched. He gasped a bit when those thumbs stopped over his nipples - sensitive for him, interestingly enough. It took him a moment to realize John was speaking, and then had asked him a question, as he stared back up at him with eyes blown dark with arousal. It seemed only John could reduce him to this quivering mess, aching for his touch. He was the only thing his mind could think about, everything else already starting to go fuzzy around the edges, fading to the background, unimportant. "You," he finally breathed in a low voice. "I want to fuck you, John. I want to watch you and see what your expression looks like when I'm inside of you. I want to take your pulse, and hear you beg for me to take you apart at the seams."
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John was lost in the sight of Sherlock under him, hair tousled and chest bared, hungrily drinking it all in, but those words shocked him right out of his silent worship. He stared at the other man, cheeks flushing and something deep down within clenching tight. Oh. Oh. "Right. Yeah. Alright." Eloquence, what eloquence. But it was more than a little challenging to form words when that sharp tongue produced words like that. Dominant or not, John could not deny the wave of desire that crashed over him at the thought of Sherlock fucking him, claiming him, and why shouldn't he? He'd already placed his mark on every other part of John's life, why not this last one? "God, Sherlock, yes." Leaning forward, John captured the other man's lips in a heated kiss, showing him what the mere thought did to him.
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Right now, his more primal beast within was clawing to be set free so he could let go, and claim this last thing with John that was not yet his. He was a possessive man, and he just had to have this, to have every inch of John, to be the first and only one inside of him. Some small part of him wanted to actually tattoo John, so his name, or initials, or something significant would actually be permanently on his person. But he had not quite gotten to that point, more than eager to simply fuck John senseless. The desire for that surged within him at John's encouraging words, and he eagerly returned the heated kiss, trying to dominant John's mouth, and take over the control that was to become his in this moment. Sherlock was quick to get John's clothes off - clothes that really shouldn't have gone back on after the shower - and he probably tore the material in his fierce hurry. He hardly had any patience for his own clothes - much easier to take off and toss aside carelessly, until they were both, blessedly naked, his hard cock bobbing obscenely as he hovered over his lover. He leaned over John briefly to grab that which was already well in stock in the drawer beside his bed - a tube of lube. No condoms required for this - he wanted to feel nothing between him and John. Sherlock settled himself between John's legs, deciding he would have him on his back like this so they could see each other, and he could catalogue expressions. He kissed John's inner thigh, nuzzled his nose affectionately in John's light pubic hair, breathing in the scent of him, sticking out his tongue to briefly taste him, teasingly. Once he was ready, he slipped a finger inside John with little preamble, pushing lube up into him, as he began preparing him.
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Even so, John hissed quietly as Sherlock slipped a finger inside of him with little to no warning or preamble. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, and he tensed up as he looked down his body at the other man, resting between his leg and preparing him. The sight and knowledge of what Sherlock was doing was arousing, but John briefly bit his bottom lip, frowning. How much experience did Sherlock have, really? It wasn't very much, and though John was also not well-versed when it came to sex between two men, he did know a thing or two about preparation. And he was firm believer in open and honest communication during sex. How else was it supposed to improve and blow the minds of both parties involved? "Not so fast," he gasped out, body still tense, his insides clenching around Sherlock's finger. "Slow. Slowly. You're my first, remember. Gotta prepare me properly. Stretch me out, make it good. Can't just dive in there." His smile was wry, but his eyes were warm and fond, pupils dilated with lust.
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Sherlock started to slip his finger back out, because yes, John was quite tight, and perhaps he is hurting him. But he clearly noted how aroused his lover is, and that warmness in his eyes made something clench inside Sherlock that had nothing to do with his own arousal. Swallowing a bit, he nodded, and regained his wits about him so he can go slower. After all, he wanted to watch John enjoy this, and see what he looked like in the throes of passion. It would be the first time he experienced this, and Sherlock wanted to remember everything, knowing it was all because of him. "You are exceedingly tight, John," he murmured, his low voice a bit hoarse, as he slips his finger back in, then out some first, before experimentally rubbing. "I admit I do want to find your prostrate, John. That bundle of nerves should send spikes of pleasure right to your cock - it did when you stroked mine." He curved his finger this time, until finally, he found the little nub, and he stroked it, eager to see how it would affect John.
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"Jesus, Sherlock," John gasped out, cock twitching and leaking pre-cum on his belly. He tried to keep himself still and quiet, really he did, but it was difficult to remember why when every word and every touch turned John Watson's world upside down. "Oh, you bastard, you bloody-- there, right there, yes, just like that--" His hand reached down with the intent to stroke his cock and add another dimension to this mind-blowing pleasure. Knowing it was because of Sherlock only added to it. "Another, give me another, just, ngh, slow, keep it slow, oh, I can't imagine what you'll feel like, this is... God, it's good, so good..."
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When John asked, Sherlock slowly slipped in a second long finger alongside the other. He proceeded to stretch John up slowly, letting him get used to the added finger, before he curled them a bit, gently scissored John open. It was then, with the added pressure of two fingers, that he stroked John's cock again, unable to get enough of seeing him squirm in overwhelming pleasure. "I'm going to feel quite proportionally larger inside of you, John," he began in a low voice, "and I'm going to fuck your orgasm out of you. Do you think you can come from that alone, without touching yourself?" As he mused aloud, he continued to slowly stretch John, eventually with three long fingers inside of him. "I'll start slow, and when your body is adjusted enough, I'll fuck you harder, deeper. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
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So he nodded, swallowing hard, then slipped his fingers out. He was struck by how John's arse remained open and stretched a bit with his fingers no longer in there, but he didn't wait. He quickly grabbed the lube, applying a more than generous amount to his palms. No condom was needed, no barrier between them. He hissed a sharp breath in when his slick hands touched his erection, lathing lube onto it. He grabbed a pillow, then encouraged John to lift his hips a bit, so he could put the pillow under them. "Legs around my waist," he managed in a low voice that was also quite needy, wanting to get the right angle for perfect penetration. He lined himself up, then caught John's eye for confirmation that he was ready. With that, he pressed the head of his cock against John's opening, letting out a breath first. Sherlock pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling John's body resist at first, before finally, he slipped past the initial resistance, and just the head was inside. "Ah,John," he moaned, already clearly effected, but trying to go slow, when his body was screaming to just push in all the way in one, deep go.
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