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.
Some part of Sherlock was aware of the sounds John was making underneath him. Mostly, the baser, more primitive side of him had taken over, but there was still some consciousness left over that filled him with the urge to just simply take care of his friend. It wasn't something he could consider in more depth at the moment, however, because the sensations that were flooding his system were more than just a little overwhelming. He might later be embarrassed by the way he must have looked and sounded quite debauched, but at the moment, he really could care less. It wasn't that Sherlock was ordinarily modest, of course - quite the contrary, really - but he was quite open and vulnerable at the moment. It's just that the passions and feelings of the already mind-blowing sex have come into the forefront of his mind, leaving room for little else.
He's a bit too far gone to help John along with his own pleasure, but that doesn't really seem to be an issue, anyway. And he is aware of John tugging himself off to some degree, and it wouldn't have been much longer for him to reach his climax, anyway. Fortunately, he managed to pry his dark, heavy-lidded eyes open, however, when he heard John's desperate gasp of his name. He wanted to watch when his friend, his partner came apart, if he could, and perhaps catalog it for later observation. John was quite exquisite when he lets go completely and came, orgasm washing over the soldier's body, relaxing him completely. However, Sherlock could only pay attention to that for so long, because John's orgasm had his body clenching tightly around his cock. Sherlock moaned low, wantonly, his hips stuttering, before he buried himself deep inside his lover once more. John's name escaped his lips in a broken cry, and when his own orgasm overtook him, it left him gasping, and yes, even sobbing in the relief and pleasure of it all. He pulsed inside John, releasing his seed for what seemed like a rather long time, before finally, his body began to relax and still, draped over John's. Breathing heavily, his forehead resting on John's shoulder, he didn't immediately notice the wetness at the corners of his eyes. His body trembled a bit, and he did not yet pull himself out of John - to be honest, he wasn't sure he yet had the strength to.
If John had thought the sight of Sherlock losing himself in the sensations of fucking John to be the most beautiful thing ever, he was not at all prepared for the sight of Sherlock climaxing. It was... Well, it was glorious, the way his body tensed, the arch of his body, the broken quality of his voice, and God, oh God, were those tears. As soon as he was draped over John, the army doctor wrapped his arms around him, holding him close and turning his head to kiss some of the tears away. He felt warm, and sticky, and more than a little sore in places he'd never been sore in, but it didn't matter. None of it did. Only this. There was something horribly intimate about the way Sherlock was still inside of him, softening, reinforcing the fact that this was not just a fuck. John exhaled, deeply, tightening his arms around Sherlock.
"Well," he began, not too surprised at the rough quality of his own voice, "That's it, then. I'm gay. Possibly bisexual. Certainly not straight." He smiled a little, wryly, as he experimentally clenched around Sherlock again. Mm, yeah, that felt way too good to be wrong. "You okay?" he continued, voice softening a little as he ran a hair through Sherlock's sweat-damp hair.
Sherlock didn't think he would appear 'beautiful' during the act of climaxing, and now that he was coming back to reality, he felt... well, a bit embarrassed, really. But John didn't say anything about that, about the tears or any of it, he just seemed to know exactly what to do by wrapping his arms around Sherlock and holding him close. His breath starting to slow and even out, Sherlock closed his eyes when he felt John's lips on his cheeks, where the tears had slipped out. He couldn't deny the strong urge to just simply be close to his partner, and he buried his face in John's neck, partially out of embarrassment, but mostly out of the need for affection. It wasn't like him normally, of course, and later, he'll probably blame it on the post-orgasmic haze he found himself in. No, this wasn't just a fuck... and to be completely honest, that scared him. But he didn't speak of that, simply listened to John when he spoke first.
Sherlock huffed quietly, his words slightly muffled as he spoke against John's skin. "Don't try to label yourself, John," he said in a low voice that was also rough, and hoarse. "It's pointless to try and conform to society's standards here, when it is just you and I. People are idiots, anyway." The smirk was evident on his lips, however, when he spoke again after a slight pause. "Obviously you're not completely straight, of course." Then he gasped in surprise when John clenched around him, mostly because he was much more oversensitive now than he'd thought. So, reluctantly, and carefully, he finally pulled out of John, but he did not move away from him, despite the fact they were both sticky, sweaty, and becoming a bit overheated. "Fine," he murmured, almost automatically and a little bit defensively, to John's question, as he settled his head on his friend's chest, just below his chin. His eyes slipped closed again, and it would be easy for him to drift off to sleep, something the sleep-deprived man probably needed, anyway. But then his voice softened with a quiet sigh. "It was... good, John."
It helped, somewhat, to hear Sherlock rationalize away his sexuality crisis. It was stupid, he knew it, but John couldn't help but feel somewhat on edge about it, still. He was a man's man, a military man, and his sister was already out (and proud, much to the dismay of their parents). John didn't feel gay... Then again, he had no idea what that was supposed to feel like, did he? He felt like himself, just... better. Happier, now that he got to act on his true feelings towards Sherlock. The sex helped, too. God, it was good sex. Really bloody good, better than he had ever anticipated. With its own ups and downs, of course, but what kind of sex wasn't? And they were learning, weren't they?
At Sherlock's last words, something warm and seemingly endless burst inside of John's chest, and just like that, he didn't care about labels or proper explanations. All there was, was this; Sherlock in his arms, post-sex haze of bliss, everything falling into place. They'd be alright. They'd be just fine. "Good." John cleared his throat, feeling quite emotional all of a sudden. "Yeah, that's... good. Glad to hear it." Stop talking, John. He smiled at himself, and sighed after a moment. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up."
It was in Sherlock's nature to be clinical and cold about even something as warm and intimate as sex, but his brain has yet to fully come back online. It was fascinating, how easily John could shut off his busy mind like this, with such a primitive, base act, and he's likely to examine that in further detail... but later. Right now, although he's still a bit overwhelmed and scared by everything that happened, by how empty and content and simply good he feels, he has no pressing need to stress over it all. It was amazing, the differences between how one is effected when penetrating someone else, or being penetrated by them. He's not yet sure which is technically 'better,' or if he prefers one over the other, as he's almost completely gone in this simple need to cuddle with John Watson.
But John's words do make him stir, because they make sense, and it will not be as comfortable once all that sweat and cum dries on their bodies. So, with a slight harrumphing sound escaping his lips grudgingly, he manages to push himself up and off John... only to collapse unceremoniously onto his stomach on the empty bed beside him. God, it already felt sore and ached a little just to make that small movement. Clearly, getting himself up and out of bed was completely out of the question. "Bring a towel from the bathroom, John," he ordered in a lazy drawl instead, his eyes heavy lidded as he gestured idly toward said bathroom, as if the good doctor needed that extra bit of help in finding it.
Unbelievable... Or perhaps very believable, considering who it involved. John, for his part, had some difficulties of his own, sitting up and shifting over to sit on the edge of the bed. Fuck, but he was sore, and sticky in a way which seemed sexy before, but now was just... sticky. Looking over his shoulder at the collapsed heap of Sherlock Holmes, he briefly considered telling the other man who was probably experiencing the most discomfort at the moment... but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was something painfully endearing about the almost helpless, exhausted way Sherlock was lying there. Shaking his head, John carefully stood up, wincing at his first step. This had better not always be the case, he thought grumpily, making his way over to the bathroom.
He took his time cleaning himself up before returning to the bedroom with a warm, wet cloth, and a towel, as requested. Sitting down on the bed, he gently but thoroughly began to clean up his friend-turned-lover before drying him off with the towel, softly urging him to lie on his back, go on, almost done... Once he was, he discarded the cloth and towel onto the floor for later consideration, and lay down next to Sherlock. For a moment, he did nothing, just watched him, taking in the sight of him, processing what had happened. He still didn't know what he liked best, being on the top or bottom... Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it just had to involve Sherlock, and it would be good. Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on the other man's shoulder, murmuring, "Better?"
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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He's a bit too far gone to help John along with his own pleasure, but that doesn't really seem to be an issue, anyway. And he is aware of John tugging himself off to some degree, and it wouldn't have been much longer for him to reach his climax, anyway. Fortunately, he managed to pry his dark, heavy-lidded eyes open, however, when he heard John's desperate gasp of his name. He wanted to watch when his friend, his partner came apart, if he could, and perhaps catalog it for later observation. John was quite exquisite when he lets go completely and came, orgasm washing over the soldier's body, relaxing him completely. However, Sherlock could only pay attention to that for so long, because John's orgasm had his body clenching tightly around his cock. Sherlock moaned low, wantonly, his hips stuttering, before he buried himself deep inside his lover once more. John's name escaped his lips in a broken cry, and when his own orgasm overtook him, it left him gasping, and yes, even sobbing in the relief and pleasure of it all. He pulsed inside John, releasing his seed for what seemed like a rather long time, before finally, his body began to relax and still, draped over John's. Breathing heavily, his forehead resting on John's shoulder, he didn't immediately notice the wetness at the corners of his eyes. His body trembled a bit, and he did not yet pull himself out of John - to be honest, he wasn't sure he yet had the strength to.
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"Well," he began, not too surprised at the rough quality of his own voice, "That's it, then. I'm gay. Possibly bisexual. Certainly not straight." He smiled a little, wryly, as he experimentally clenched around Sherlock again. Mm, yeah, that felt way too good to be wrong. "You okay?" he continued, voice softening a little as he ran a hair through Sherlock's sweat-damp hair.
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Sherlock huffed quietly, his words slightly muffled as he spoke against John's skin. "Don't try to label yourself, John," he said in a low voice that was also rough, and hoarse. "It's pointless to try and conform to society's standards here, when it is just you and I. People are idiots, anyway." The smirk was evident on his lips, however, when he spoke again after a slight pause. "Obviously you're not completely straight, of course." Then he gasped in surprise when John clenched around him, mostly because he was much more oversensitive now than he'd thought. So, reluctantly, and carefully, he finally pulled out of John, but he did not move away from him, despite the fact they were both sticky, sweaty, and becoming a bit overheated. "Fine," he murmured, almost automatically and a little bit defensively, to John's question, as he settled his head on his friend's chest, just below his chin. His eyes slipped closed again, and it would be easy for him to drift off to sleep, something the sleep-deprived man probably needed, anyway. But then his voice softened with a quiet sigh. "It was... good, John."
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At Sherlock's last words, something warm and seemingly endless burst inside of John's chest, and just like that, he didn't care about labels or proper explanations. All there was, was this; Sherlock in his arms, post-sex haze of bliss, everything falling into place. They'd be alright. They'd be just fine. "Good." John cleared his throat, feeling quite emotional all of a sudden. "Yeah, that's... good. Glad to hear it." Stop talking, John. He smiled at himself, and sighed after a moment. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up."
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But John's words do make him stir, because they make sense, and it will not be as comfortable once all that sweat and cum dries on their bodies. So, with a slight harrumphing sound escaping his lips grudgingly, he manages to push himself up and off John... only to collapse unceremoniously onto his stomach on the empty bed beside him. God, it already felt sore and ached a little just to make that small movement. Clearly, getting himself up and out of bed was completely out of the question. "Bring a towel from the bathroom, John," he ordered in a lazy drawl instead, his eyes heavy lidded as he gestured idly toward said bathroom, as if the good doctor needed that extra bit of help in finding it.
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He took his time cleaning himself up before returning to the bedroom with a warm, wet cloth, and a towel, as requested. Sitting down on the bed, he gently but thoroughly began to clean up his friend-turned-lover before drying him off with the towel, softly urging him to lie on his back, go on, almost done... Once he was, he discarded the cloth and towel onto the floor for later consideration, and lay down next to Sherlock. For a moment, he did nothing, just watched him, taking in the sight of him, processing what had happened. He still didn't know what he liked best, being on the top or bottom... Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it just had to involve Sherlock, and it would be good. Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on the other man's shoulder, murmuring, "Better?"
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