Welcome! (Prompting: part i)
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Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post
This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post
This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
‘You know what he meant,’ John said miserably.
‘So does that mean you’re…’
‘Gay. Yes. Really very gay. An occasional bisexual at best. And this used to be one of my regular haunts.’ John straightens his spine, trying to gather what little dignity he has left about him. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me-’
‘Wait.’ Sherlock’s hand shoots out to close around his forearm, and John can see wheels spinning behind Sherlock’s narrow-eyed gaze. ‘And you slept with that…that…’ (John isn’t sure he can take any more horrified disgust about his love life and tries to delicately twist his arm out from Sherlock’s grasp prior to leaving) ‘that Neanderthal??’
John stops, cautiously reassured. ‘Well, yes, I did,’ he admits, ‘although it was just the once and it was before I found out what a wanker he was.’
‘You…you…Jesus Christ, the man should be down on his knees thanking God that you bothered to give him any of your time and attention at all!’ Sherlock looks suddenly enraged. ‘He doesn’t deserve you, he never did, and I’m going to bloody well tell him that he’s an absolute-’
Sherlock has already started moving by the time John recovers from his surprise and catches him around the waist. They stumble awkwardly together, and John is reminded vividly of another time, when he was being spun in a circle around Sherlock, Sherlock ordering him to close his eyes and John delaying reaching for his phone because that would mean that Sherlock’s hands would stop cradling his face. When they catch their balance and stop staggering, Sherlock’s hands are cradling his face once more and he’s murmuring breathlessly, ‘God, I was only teasing you that night in the restaurant; I really didn’t have the slightest hope that you might be interested… Do you have any idea what I would have done, that first afternoon that I met you, if I’d had so much as the whisper of a hint that you were-’
‘Show me,’ John gasps, feeling giddy and light-headed, ‘go on, show me.’
And Sherlock kisses him. John wraps his arms hard around Sherlock’s lean waist, feeling the warmth of his skin through the silk shirt he’s wearing, and opens his mouth. By now there are others in the club who have started to nudge each other and point, clearly recognising John, but John doesn’t care. He’s being kissed by Sherlock Holmes, who kisses with the same determination and mastery he gives to all of his other skills, and the rest of the world can go to hell.
After being bashed several times by people trying to edge past, even Sherlock has to concede that the middle of the dance floor is a terrible place to kiss someone. Looking around, he spots a dimly-lit corner and all but shoves John towards it. Pivoting John so that his back is in the corner, Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s waist and crushes their mouths together once more.
John responds unhesitatingly, leaning up and into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and opening his mouth at the touch of Sherlock’s tongue against his lips. Sherlock’s hands fist in John’s T-shirt before pushing up underneath it, gliding warm over bare skin and John murmurs appreciatively. He pulls his mouth away from Sherlock’s to nuzzle into the pale throat in front of his face and Sherlock groans, tipping his head back and dragging John harder against him. Sherlock’s hands slide down to grab his hips and John moans, hiding his face as he can’t help thrusting forward. Sherlock’s hard, he can feel it, and John wants nothing more than to get him off, right this minute, in the dark corner of the club with people milling all around them.
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‘Sherlock!’ John gasps in alarm. ‘You can’t get me off here! We’re in public! People can see!’
Crowding him farther back into the corner, Sherlock drops his head to mouth John’s ear hotly. ‘Who says I’m going to get you off?’ A long-fingered hand slips down the front of John’s boxers and John’s vision blurs briefly. ‘No-one can see you,’ Sherlock continues quietly into John’s ear. ‘All they can see is my back, with your hands plastered all over my arse, and the sight of two men snogging in a place like this isn’t anything unusual.’
John isn’t really listening. Sherlock has started pulling lazily at his erection, and he has to lock his knees so that he doesn’t slide down the wall. Dizzily feeling that he ought to reciprocate, he brings one hand around between them and rubs the heel of his hand along the hard line he can feel between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock retaliates by sending the hand inwards that was cupping one of John’s buttocks, his fingers just nudging his cheeks apart, and John moans blindly, ‘Please...oh God, please...’
‘Remember this,’ Sherlock hisses in his ear suddenly, and John struggles not to miss what Sherlock’s saying, fighting to focus on his words and not the warm thumb that’s pushing his foreskin over the head of his penis and back. ‘Remember this evening. Because this is the last time you’re ever going to stand in the corner of one of these seedy little clubs being felt up by someone, do you hear me? You’re with me now, and we are not coming back here. Apart from anything else, their taste in music is appalling. Who are these high-pitched, wailing men?’
John laughs shakily at that - Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only gay man in London not to recognise the Bee Gees when they’re being blasted into his ear at 110 decibels - but then Sherlock’s fingers twist across the top of John’s cock in a way that’s excruciatingly pleasurable, and John manages to choke out ‘Not coming back. Understood’ as his hips hitch forward against Sherlock’s hand. The movement causes his loosened jeans to shift and Sherlock grabs the waistband to stop them sliding down. John groans in frustration as Sherlock takes his hands away and clumsily fastens the buttons, and then Sherlock is grabbing his wrist and saying, ‘Leaving. Now.’ as he drags John towards the exit.
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Sherlock moves his mouth to John’s ear and suckles briefly at his earlobe before hissing quietly, ‘Tell me what you want.’
John arches his back at a particularly talented flutter of Sherlock’s fingers and gasps quietly, ‘You know what I want.’
‘True,’ Sherlock agrees, ‘but I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you ask me for it.’
Moving his own mouth to Sherlock’s ear, speaking as quietly as he can so as not to scandalise the driver, John murmurs shakily, ‘I want you to fuck me. God, please fuck me, I want to feel you insi-’
Sherlock’s mouth over his own cuts off his breathless stammering and Sherlock’s hand tightens on John’s cock as he gropes him, the fabric of his boxers starting to be wet along the fly.
Finally, they’re at Baker Street. In his haste, Sherlock shoves twice the fare at the grinning cabbie and they race each other up the stairs, barely acknowledging Mrs. Hudson’s cheery ‘Evening, dears!’ John is all for going straight to Sherlock’s bedroom but Sherlock pushes him up the stairs to his own, on the top floor, gasping, ‘Further away from Mrs. Hudson. Better sound-proofing.’
With both of their concerted efforts they’re soon stretched out naked on John’s single bed, kissing and biting and practically mauling each other. Another time, John thinks hazily, there will be time for slow, gentle seduction and lingering caresses, but on this occasion their hands collide at the drawer of the bedside table. Sherlock wrenches it open, quickly finds the tube of lubricant that John has been keeping there for his own solitary use, and John has to bite down hard on the side of his wrist when he feels two slippery fingers sliding along the crease of his buttocks.
Sherlock is watching him with equal parts amusement and lust. ‘You don’t have to keep quiet now,’ he says mildly, as though he didn’t have two fingers buried in John’s arse, sliding and twisting. ‘We’re in our own flat. Be as loud as you like.’
Actually, John can’t repress a small cry as Sherlock strokes his long fingers firmly either side of his prostate, and Sherlock growls, ‘Get a condom from the drawer. By God, you’d better have some in there.’
John does, and when his shaking hand closes on one and shoves it at Sherlock, Sherlock says simply, ‘Put it on me.’
Fingers clumsy, John eventually manages the task and then Sherlock is leaning in and pushing his knees back towards his chest and wider apart and he feels the familiar stretch as Sherlock pushes slowly but steadily into him. When they’re flush against each other Sherlock pauses, letting John adjust to the intrusion, and after John gasps, ‘Okay’ he starts to move.
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With an effort, John does so and sees Sherlock staring down at him. Sherlock’s face is flushed, his lips kiss-bitten, and sweat has stuck tendrils of black hair to his forehead, but when John meets his gaze he says, in a voice that has more than a hint of a snarl in it, ‘You are never again doing this with anyone else, do you hear me?’
No, of course I won’t, why would I now I have you? is what John wants to say, but Sherlock has just started fisting his cock in a hard, driving rhythm and all that comes out is ‘Nnngh’
It’s clearly not good enough for Sherlock, who thrusts himself all the way into John and then stills completely. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘Yes!’ John claws at Sherlock’s hips, desperate for a return of the pleasure that had been steadily building in him. ‘I heard you, you madman! I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you! Jesus!’
Sherlock starts moving again, his hand on John’s cock in perfect counterpoint to the thrusts that are making John sob aloud. ‘And tomorrow,’ he declares wildly, ‘we’re going to a clinic and you’re getting tested for...for everything. Because I want to do this with you without a condom, and I want to suck you off without having to pull away before you come’ (John groans loudly at this) ‘and then we’re going to wait six weeks, and then you’re getting tested again to be sure and then, and only then, will I fuck you again.’
This registers with John, through the building orgasm that’s clouding his brain, and he gasps, ‘You’re not going to fuck me for six weeks?!’
‘No.’ Sherlock leans into John and grinds his hips in circles, making them both moan aloud. ‘You’ll be desperate for it by the end. You’ll be begging me.’
‘I’m begging you now,’ John pants, no shame left. ‘And I’m clean, for God’s sake! And...and I can’t believe we’re having this conversation here.’
‘Well then, maybe just one test would do it. I’ll get tested too.’ Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed. ‘I’ve never been with anyone without...without using something but with you...I want to... God, I want to, so fucking much...’
He thrusts harder on the last few words, his control coming undone, and there’s really no answer John can make, save to arch his back as he feels a familiar tingle begin in his inner thighs. Seconds later he’s coming over Sherlock’s fingers and his own stomach, crying out at the wrenching ecstasy of it, and dimly he’s aware of Sherlock groaning ‘Yes yes yes, fuck, John, Christ...’ and feels him shuddering as he fucks through his own orgasm.
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John shakes his head. ‘He’s no-one important.’ Please don’t make me talk about it.
Sherlock is silent for a while. ‘Well, I suppose not,’ he says eventually. ‘After all, you’re with me now.’
Miniscule though it is, John doesn’t miss the trace of query in Sherlock’s voice and he shuffles closer, drawing Sherlock’s arm over him.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘Damn right I am.’
~Fin~
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This is amazing. Also, *waves* hi, I'm the author of the first fill for this prompt, and I don't mind a second fill at all.
Now then, I should finish mine, I guess. Sorry for the long wait, bit of a block on my end I'm afraid.
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Hope real life calms down enough for you to have some writing time, as I'm very curious read the rest of your fill for this...
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That was HOT and PERFECT!
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I approve so much of the safe!sex. So, so much. Safe!sex and hot!sex make me a socially conscious happy porn bunny.
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