Re: Stolen Moments pt 21/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 21:47:04 UTC
Oddly enough, John didn't kiss him the next day, despite the permission. In fact, John started avoiding him.
At first Sherlock didn't notice. Sated for company and between clients, Sherlock had fallen into a bored funk that he filled with reproducing blood spatters. His mind was clear and racing -- ready for the next challenge.
So if John stayed late at the clinic, it was really no bother. If he chose the next day to meet with Sarah for one of their dull attempts at dating, that was fine as well. Lancet particularly riveting this month? That just left the sitting room free for Sherlock's pacing.
John could be as unsocial as he wanted. Sherlock knew that he'd be there for him in the small hours of the night.
And he was.
One night was spent learning the art of blow jobs. It was a fantastic opportunity. John, in his mesmerized state, was completely compliant and infinitely patient, responding to verbal instructions and giving clear feedback. Sherlock's earlier lovers never really gave him the chance to figure things out properly. John gave him nothing but chances.
He had John bring him off first so that his mind could be clear. Then he spent the better part of an hour applying what he'd learned. John's voice broke as Sherlock went through each technique, but he never stopped telling Sherlock what felt good and what didn't. Curious, Sherlock finally lubed up a finger, and very gently inserted it in John, to catalogue how prostate massage effected his response to being sucked. The answer made itself extremely obvious when, with barely a warning, John came.
Interesting. "Was that good?"
"Very good."
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Fifteen," said John.
Sherlock laughed. It was so like the normal John to come up with a nonsensical number. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was under hypnosis at all. It was unfortunate in a way, because Sherlock thought he might like to discuss this sometime when John was awake, but that was clearly impossible.
They were both so sweaty from all the exercise that Sherlock piled into the shower with John. When he finally put him to bed there was a scant two hours left to the night.
"I love you," said John just before he drifted off into his ordered sleep.
At first Sherlock didn't notice. Sated for company and between clients, Sherlock had fallen into a bored funk that he filled with reproducing blood spatters. His mind was clear and racing -- ready for the next challenge.
So if John stayed late at the clinic, it was really no bother. If he chose the next day to meet with Sarah for one of their dull attempts at dating, that was fine as well. Lancet particularly riveting this month? That just left the sitting room free for Sherlock's pacing.
John could be as unsocial as he wanted. Sherlock knew that he'd be there for him in the small hours of the night.
And he was.
One night was spent learning the art of blow jobs. It was a fantastic opportunity. John, in his mesmerized state, was completely compliant and infinitely patient, responding to verbal instructions and giving clear feedback. Sherlock's earlier lovers never really gave him the chance to figure things out properly. John gave him nothing but chances.
He had John bring him off first so that his mind could be clear. Then he spent the better part of an hour applying what he'd learned. John's voice broke as Sherlock went through each technique, but he never stopped telling Sherlock what felt good and what didn't. Curious, Sherlock finally lubed up a finger, and very gently inserted it in John, to catalogue how prostate massage effected his response to being sucked. The answer made itself extremely obvious when, with barely a warning, John came.
Interesting. "Was that good?"
"Very good."
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Fifteen," said John.
Sherlock laughed. It was so like the normal John to come up with a nonsensical number. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was under hypnosis at all. It was unfortunate in a way, because Sherlock thought he might like to discuss this sometime when John was awake, but that was clearly impossible.
They were both so sweaty from all the exercise that Sherlock piled into the shower with John. When he finally put him to bed there was a scant two hours left to the night.
"I love you," said John just before he drifted off into his ordered sleep.
Sherlock kissed his brow. "I know."
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