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.
John tried so hard to keep his eyes on Sherlock's face, wanting just as much to take in every flicker of expression on the other man's face as he pushed into John's body, inch by inch. But as soon as the head of Sherlock's cock slipped inside, John's eyes rolled into the back of his head, hands scrambling and twisting into the bedsheets as his body trembled through the onslaught of sensations. "Oh, God," he groaned, head falling back on the bed as his eyes closed. And this was nothing yet. They'd barely even started, and already John felt like this was going to tear him apart and leave him in pieces, shattered, broken beyond repair. He'd never wanted anything more in his life.
It stung, more than he thought it would, despite Sherlock's thorough preparations. But his lover's fingers were long, slender, nothing like the hard member that was slowly, but surely pushing its way inside. As instructed, John had wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist; they were trembling. "Keep going," he managed to gasp out, a look of concentration coming over his face. "Just-- slow. But don't you... don't you dare stop." He had felt pain worse than this, much worse, and none of that pain had had pleasure burning softly at the edges, trying to ignite into a blazing fire. John could feel it, could feel how that fire wanted to roar to life and absolutely consume the pair of them. He would get there. He needed to get there, with Sherlock. Reaching down, John smoothed his palms up Sherlock's arms, giving him a somewhat shaky smile. Brave John Watson, unassuming John Watson, head-over-heels in love John Watson. "You're inside me, Sherlock. Inside me. Keep going, tell me how it feels, I want to know how you feel."
In the back of his mind, Sherlock vaguely wondered if John felt like he had felt when their roles were reversed, and he was the one being impaled and practically split in two. He'd thought that moment must have been the most intense sensation he had ever felt, that pleasure-pain burning through him, ripping him apart in a way he never wanted it to stop. But even his brilliant mind had not imagined what it could feel like, inching his way inside John Watson, his soldier, his friend, his link to humanity. He, too, wanted to watch John, to see how his expression changes as he's feeling this, but Sherlock's eyes also slipped closed. It was overwhelming, his body can't help it, and every muscle in his body seemed to be pulled as taut as a string, tense in wanting to just thrust all the way, deep inside all that tight heat. The animal part of his brain that was quickly taking over just wanted to use this body to fuck senseless, for his own pleasure alone.
But then he heard John's voice, and became aware of his lover's reactions. He forced his eyes back open, his grip too tight on John's hips and bound to leave bruises later. John. Somehow, he managed to go slow, allowing John's body to adjust to his girth, to the foreign object it instinctively wants to expel. He was already breathing harder, panting, sweat popping out in beads on his forehead, all overhis trembling body. Sherlock heard John's words, his requests, but it took a moment for him to decipher the meaning, and put his own feelings into words that make sense. "It's... it's so... tight, and... warm," he gasped, his low voice broken. "God, John, I can't... I didn't realize it would feel... like this, not like this... it's too much." He groaned then, because that was when he had pushed in to the hilt, balls deep inside John, straining to hold his legs up. "I have to... please say I can move, John... please..." Sherlock couldn't stand it, he had to move, had to start thrusting. Instinct took over, that primitive part of his mind telling him to claim his pleasure, his lover, claim what was rightfully his, and his alone.
John's arousal has slowly ebbed away as Sherlock pushed inside of him, his member softening as he continued to be stretched and filled by the impossible feel of Sherlock's cock inside of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he was breathing just as heavily as the other man. Christ, but Sherlock felt enormous inside of him. Shifting a little, John choked on a cut off moan at the impossibly full feeling of having another man's cock up his arse. That unbearably erotic knowledge, coupled with the fast fading feeling of burning pain, and the look in Sherlock's eyes, God, his eyes, as he looked down upon John with such hunger and desperate restraint... His cock twitched and swelled with renewed arousal, and he wrapped a trembling hand around the silky flesh, wrist twisting as he stroked himself to complete hardness again.
"Yeah. Yes. You can move, Sherlock, God, please move, show me, let me see you come undone, I want to see." Jesus, was that really his voice? Hoarse and breathless and hungry. He clenched experimentally around Sherlock's cock, the sensation making sparks dance behind his eyelids and down his spine. "Go on, fuck me, I want you to, I want to feel it, make me feel it."
It wasn't completely Sherlock's fault for not noticing John's lessening arousal. After all, he was feeling quite overwhelmed by all these new sensations, overloading his mind until it felt like it was short-circuiting, and he had to depend on feel and touch alone. This was such new territory for him, that if he was to venture into it with anybody, it would be John, someone he trusted with his life. Even though John was the one who was lying there, legs spread and completely open to Sherlock, he still felt vulnerable, but John's reactions, added to how he felt, enveloping his cock, were all enough to keep him from shying away from it all. When John clenched around him, Sherlock gasped out-loud - he couldn't help it. It was almost too tight, but the pleasure was exquisite, already promising to give him a high that would become addicting.
John's voice also did strange thing to him, somehow going straight to his cock, buried deep inside of him. Sinking his teeth into his plump, lower lip, he nodded a bit, and steeled himself up for the first thrust. Holding on firmly to John's waist, he began to pull out, but not all the way - just enough to thrust back in shallowly. A small groan escaped past his lips at the friction, but he needed more, so much more. This time, he pulled out further, until just the head of his cock was inside John... then he thrust back in, harder this time, feeling John open up around him. "Fuck," he groaned much louder this time, his eyes having slipped closed against the onslaught of sensations. Angling John's hips up a bit, Sherlock started up an unsteady rhythm, his body taking over instinctively as he fucked John, forgetting to be gentle. His cock was more than likely to hit John's prostrate at this angle. He was barely aware of the noises he was making - grunts, groans, mingled in with the obscene slap of skin against skin.
John made a softly mewling sound the first time Sherlock thrust inside of him, the movement shallow but overwhelming enough to make John's skin tingle all over and his cock twitch against his belly. That second thrust, however, had him cry out in pain and pleasure, eyes flying open in shock, breath catching hard. There was no hope of recovering from that point; he had begged for Sherlock to fuck him, and oh, he was getting fucked alright. Every thrust made John see stars, and when Sherlock's cock began to brush over his prostrate his voice quickly turned hoarse from crying out; profanities, desperate pleas, Sherlock's name like a litany, it all fell from his lips. The sight of Sherlock, however, was by far the most erotic thing. He looked absolutely lost in the sensation of fucking John, eyes dark and pupils dilated, hair damp with sweat, pale cheeks flushed, guided by pure instinct. It was the most beautiful sight John had ever seen.
Wrapping his hand around his own cock, John tugged desperately, trying to counter Sherlock's unsteady rhythm (which was a turn-on in itself, knowing Sherlock was losing control) and get himself off. He kept his eyes on Sherlock's face, not hiding anything in his own, the love he felt, the deep desire, all of it, everything, for this man, this impossible man... "Sherlock," he gasped out, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation starting low in his stomach. "I'm going to-- Oh, Jesus--" Head thrown back, John's body went as taut as a bow string as his orgasm washed over him, wave after wave of pure pleasure being wrung from his body as he clenched hard around Sherlock's cock. Strings of come coated his stomach and hand as he worked himself through what might well be the most intense climax of his life.
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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It stung, more than he thought it would, despite Sherlock's thorough preparations. But his lover's fingers were long, slender, nothing like the hard member that was slowly, but surely pushing its way inside. As instructed, John had wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist; they were trembling. "Keep going," he managed to gasp out, a look of concentration coming over his face. "Just-- slow. But don't you... don't you dare stop." He had felt pain worse than this, much worse, and none of that pain had had pleasure burning softly at the edges, trying to ignite into a blazing fire. John could feel it, could feel how that fire wanted to roar to life and absolutely consume the pair of them. He would get there. He needed to get there, with Sherlock. Reaching down, John smoothed his palms up Sherlock's arms, giving him a somewhat shaky smile. Brave John Watson, unassuming John Watson, head-over-heels in love John Watson. "You're inside me, Sherlock. Inside me. Keep going, tell me how it feels, I want to know how you feel."
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But then he heard John's voice, and became aware of his lover's reactions. He forced his eyes back open, his grip too tight on John's hips and bound to leave bruises later. John. Somehow, he managed to go slow, allowing John's body to adjust to his girth, to the foreign object it instinctively wants to expel. He was already breathing harder, panting, sweat popping out in beads on his forehead, all overhis trembling body. Sherlock heard John's words, his requests, but it took a moment for him to decipher the meaning, and put his own feelings into words that make sense. "It's... it's so... tight, and... warm," he gasped, his low voice broken. "God, John, I can't... I didn't realize it would feel... like this, not like this... it's too much." He groaned then, because that was when he had pushed in to the hilt, balls deep inside John, straining to hold his legs up. "I have to... please say I can move, John... please..." Sherlock couldn't stand it, he had to move, had to start thrusting. Instinct took over, that primitive part of his mind telling him to claim his pleasure, his lover, claim what was rightfully his, and his alone.
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"Yeah. Yes. You can move, Sherlock, God, please move, show me, let me see you come undone, I want to see." Jesus, was that really his voice? Hoarse and breathless and hungry. He clenched experimentally around Sherlock's cock, the sensation making sparks dance behind his eyelids and down his spine. "Go on, fuck me, I want you to, I want to feel it, make me feel it."
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John's voice also did strange thing to him, somehow going straight to his cock, buried deep inside of him. Sinking his teeth into his plump, lower lip, he nodded a bit, and steeled himself up for the first thrust. Holding on firmly to John's waist, he began to pull out, but not all the way - just enough to thrust back in shallowly. A small groan escaped past his lips at the friction, but he needed more, so much more. This time, he pulled out further, until just the head of his cock was inside John... then he thrust back in, harder this time, feeling John open up around him. "Fuck," he groaned much louder this time, his eyes having slipped closed against the onslaught of sensations. Angling John's hips up a bit, Sherlock started up an unsteady rhythm, his body taking over instinctively as he fucked John, forgetting to be gentle. His cock was more than likely to hit John's prostrate at this angle. He was barely aware of the noises he was making - grunts, groans, mingled in with the obscene slap of skin against skin.
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Wrapping his hand around his own cock, John tugged desperately, trying to counter Sherlock's unsteady rhythm (which was a turn-on in itself, knowing Sherlock was losing control) and get himself off. He kept his eyes on Sherlock's face, not hiding anything in his own, the love he felt, the deep desire, all of it, everything, for this man, this impossible man... "Sherlock," he gasped out, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation starting low in his stomach. "I'm going to-- Oh, Jesus--" Head thrown back, John's body went as taut as a bow string as his orgasm washed over him, wave after wave of pure pleasure being wrung from his body as he clenched hard around Sherlock's cock. Strings of come coated his stomach and hand as he worked himself through what might well be the most intense climax of his life.
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