Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5c - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
April 30 2011, 06:11:49 UTC
Sherlock would watch his face for a long time, waiting for the signals John was giving off, that unconscious desire which was so alluring, before pulling him closer. John would let Sherlock turn his body around, slide his clothing down to expose his buttocks, and apply enough lubricant to them both to ensure a smooth passage. Enough, but not too much. He would always ask if John was ready, John would always reply in the positive. Sherlock would indicate that John was to sit. John would let himself be guided to lean back against Sherlock’s body and Sherlock would manoeuvre them both until John was impaled on his cock, relishing the small cry of pleasure from John and the tight grip of his passage. And then John would watch telly while Sherlock worked.
Sherlock had found himself waiting for such encounters, needing them and hoping for more, wondering how long it would take for John to want to break their agreement. He fastidiously refused to make the first move himself, unwilling to compromise John’s wellbeing for the sake of his own new-found desire.
He found the clothing frustrating, being a barrier between himself and John’s warm body. He himself was wearing his night attire, pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, topped with his blue silk dressing-gown. It was the least clothing he felt he could get away with under the circumstances, causing intense frustration and the occasional pulse of need which made him hold his breath under a sudden wave of sharp desire.
John had to have felt that last one, a silent throb of need that threatened to be his undoing. He could, of course, use John’s own libido against him. It would be easy enough to win over someone whose sexual mores were dubious at best. But he kept reminding himself that John was not here with him to be won over, that John had come to him for comfort, in the only way he would accept. The thought that he was helping John in some way would have to be enough.
He typed automatically, fingers flying over the keys, still able to concentrate on his work in spite of the distraction. Slowly, John’s presence retreated to the back of his mind as his thought processes returned to the case.
Eventually he came back to himself to find that the television was still on and John had fallen asleep against him again. It was one of those awkward times when they had been connected for too long, John was going to be sore and in need of assistance and Sherlock would have to provide it.
For that to happen John would need to wake up. Sherlock spoke, his raised voice a little dry from misuse, and shook John’s good shoulder.
“John, do wake up!”
Instantly, John was awake and alert, in this regard he was ever the soldier, alert and ready for anything. “What?” he asked sleepily. Hmm, not quite ready for anything, then.
“You need to sleep.”
“I was asleep!”
“No, you were dozing. You need to go to bed.”
John yawned. “I think you’re right,” he said, and moved gingerly to separate himself from Sherlock. “Ow!” He stopped the movement at the dry, burning pull inside him, settled back down and panted for a moment, feeling the pain spike. “Sherlock,” he began a little sheepishly, “I think I need you to…”
Sherlock reached for the tube of lubricant beside him on the couch. It had fallen between the cushions and he had to fish for it. In moving to find it, his cock twisted inside John’s passage.
John’s head went back and he let out a cry at the continued sting of being so raw, which ended in a long, low moan. Sherlock bit his lip at the sound of John’s voice and how good it all felt to be this connected. His usually sure fingers fumbled with the cap on the tube and he squeezed it a little too enthusiastically. His fingers ended up covered in a copious amount of the stuff and he hastened to apply it to the John’s rim before any of it ended up on the expensive silk of his dressing-gown.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5d - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
April 30 2011, 06:16:11 UTC
“Can you lift up a little?” he asked.
John tried to comply; half crouched awkwardly over Sherlock’s lap, holding himself up on the arm of the sofa. He felt the burning drag in his passage and welcomed the cool, wet fingers touching him, entering him to widen his hole. Sherlock’s fingers touched Sherlock’s own cock inside him, spreading the lubricant over and inside him, allowing him to finally pull away.
John sighed with relief even as the pain travelled his nerve-endings. And then he felt such emptiness. He hadn’t known that he wanted it all so badly. Not until now.
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, frowning.
John was going to answer in the positive. But it was far too late for polite lies now. He turned to face the man on the couch.
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“But …” Sherlock began, before he stopped himself and searched for the meaning of the expression on John’s face. “Ah, I’ve ruined it for you. Your little flight of the imagination is no longer going to be enough to satisfy you.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” John said.
“Did you ever consider that it was never going to satisfy you on a permanent basis? Such a small thing to desire was never going to be an adequate substitute for the real thing.”
John’s lips pursed. “And the ‘real thing’ is?”
“John,” Sherlock chided.
“But you don’t want that!” John’s voice was anguished. “You said…”
“Ah,” Sherlock interrupted, “I may have misled you somewhat on that subject just recently. My work is still a priority, of course. But I find myself, in the light of our recent encounters, wishing to explore more intimate contact with you.”
All that yearning, all that self-denial, all that time wasted, all for nothing. John could cheerfully have hit him.
“You mean you want to…”
“Fuck you. Now. Yes. May I?” His voice, at the end, sounded so light and hopeful that John had to smile.
He stepped closer to Sherlock, slid his arms around the slim waist, and rested his ear against Sherlock’s chest to listen to his heart. “It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks now,” he said.
“But you’re sore and tired right now.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not sore, no. As for being tired, I never sleep during a case.”
John’s smile lit up his whole face. “I’m a case now, am I?”
“Part of my periphery deductions then,” Sherlock said. “Shall we go upstairs?”
“What’s wrong with right here?”
“On the sofa. Excellent thought.” And Sherlock immediately took off his dressing-gown, draped it over the back of what had become John’s chair. He deposited the rest of his clothes in the same place in short order and when he turned back to John, the doctor had removed all his own clothing apart from his socks.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Sherlock indicated the socks with a wave of his hand.
“My feet are cold,” John told him.
“Oh. Well, leave them on, then.” He had seen John’s body before, admired it in what he’d thought was a clinical fashion, knowing now that it had been no such thing. It was a nice body, no longer as fit as it had been in the past, adequate, Sherlock thought, dredging up from somewhere as a comparison a description he’d read in a National Trust brochure, with areas of outstanding natural beauty and areas that needed special attention.
They moved together, met somewhere in the middle, arms reaching to hold one another, sharing a first kiss which managed to be both tender and hungry at the same time.
John pressed against the long, lean body in front of him, feeling sharp edges dig into him all over. He had felt its strength, sitting there with Sherlock pushed up inside him, had needed that strength to help him fight the dragons lurking in his mind. Sherlock would see them off.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5e - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
April 30 2011, 06:20:51 UTC
He stood on tiptoe for another kiss and kept on kissing that sweet mouth, amazed at the taste and the heat. Sherlock’s hands were on his arse now, feeling the ridge where the waistband of his trousers had left red marks. Well, that was embarrassing. When they broke apart a thin strand of saliva still led from his lips to Sherlock’s, before it broke and he felt it land on his chin.
“Sofa, John,” Sherlock said in a quiet voice, leading him to lie down on his back before kneeling over him and resting his lanky body down on top of him. “You’re still wet, I take it?”
“Must be.”
John didn’t feel like talking, evidently. He felt like kissing, though, because it was a while before Sherlock could pull his mouth away to do anything else.
“Very well.”
Now that they’d started, there was no stopping. Sherlock tested John’s statement by slipping two fingers inside him. Wet, open, still sore. John may not find the experience entirely comfortable or pleasurable, he thought, and said so.
“It’s okay.” John didn’t look at him when he said that, his eyes were closed.
Sherlock acknowledged the consent with a short nod which John didn’t see, before arranging them into a more comfortable position which would put no pressure on John’s shoulder or on his leg, which, although it had never been injured, sometimes caused John to think it had.
Sherlock licked at John’s neck, down to his collar-bone, over his almost hairless chest to the dark nipples and further on to his stomach. There was a temptation to just keep going, but Sherlock deduced that John wasn’t up to such an intense encounter so soon. This was one of those ‘don’t fuck it up’ moments that Lestrade had sometimes cautioned him against, a moment when being Sherlock Holmes was not entirely to his advantage.
So instead of following his instincts, he decided to just let John be his guide. It didn’t take long. John’s eyes opened, he panted beneath Sherlock, waited for a long minute then pulled him closer.
“Now,” he whispered. “Please, now.”
Sherlock still took a second to prepare himself, check that John was still ready. The tube was almost empty now; he really should check that they had more.
No more words, he found he had none. John was inviting him in, so in he went. He slid easily on the slippery lubricant barely registering John’s faint hiss as the friction still managed to burn his aching rim. It was hot inside John, snug and close-fitting. John Watson, it seemed, had been made for this. It still took a long time before Sherlock felt the first remarkable waves of pleasure sweeping over him, prompting him to move faster to make it more intense. He shook John’s body with every thrust, nudged his thighs wider apart as he got closer and went deeper, watching the pain and pleasure ebb and flow on the pleasant features, turning them reckless and needy.
“Harder,” John said in a voice gone almost silent.
So he complied, let himself push as hard as he wanted to, yet still taking into account that John needed something, too. He stroked the hand that wasn’t gripping John’s waist over and around his prick in concert with his forward momentum. It was sufficient. He watched John’s climax with a smile, interested in the mechanics of it, conscious of what John was feeling because the same feeling was beginning to wash over him in turn. ‘The little death’ they called it. It was close to that, certainly. How beautiful it was. Nothing else, apart from the moment of revelation when he knew he was right, had anything to compare with it, and John had given him this gift. How had they denied themselves this feeling, and why? He found he could no longer remember.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5f - END - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
April 30 2011, 06:25:30 UTC
He separated himself from John and lay down on top of him, stroking him, kissing the bags under his eyes, the deep line between his brows. And then it got better when John opened his eyes and smiled.
“That was amazing,” John said.
“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed. “You and I did that.”
“Can we do it again?” John asked, and yawned widely.
“Not tonight,” Sherlock told him. “But yes.” He rose from on top of John and wrapped himself in his dressing-gown. “Do you need me to fetch the analgesic?”
John was going to say no, but reconsidered. “Might be a good idea,” he said. Sherlock had been as careful as desire would allow but still he thought if he was going to escape their encounter relatively unscathed a little medication may be needed.
“And perhaps some tea,” Sherlock suggested.
“Even better.”
It was only after Sherlock disappeared that John realised he was actually being considerate, putting John’s own needs first. It gave him a warm feeling inside. He thought about all the things Sally Donovan had said. She knew nothing, he decided. Sherlock would never let him down.
In the kitchen, Sherlock wondered if John would let him test his theory of how long the effects of a Viagra pill would last.
END
A/N: And that really is all she wrote. Thank you to everyone who left comments, it's deeply appreciated.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5f - END - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
May 25 2011, 03:55:44 UTC
Okay I am totally horrified to see how few gushing comments have been left for this fic. On that note: HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG. This may be the single hottest thing I've ever read. I love your porn and your characterizations and how sweet it is at the end and sdkjfhsdjfhskdjhfskdjhfskdjfh.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5f - END - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
May 25 2011, 18:38:27 UTC
Author!anon here. Thank you for your kind comments, I'm blushing. I write S/J pretty much non-stop allowing for writer's block and a lack of new episodes to inspire me, but have never posted any of my other S/J fics anywhere. And that's a long story in itself. If I ever do I'll give an indication as to where they are. Thank you again.
Re: FILL: Giving & Taking Pt 5f - END - NC-17 for adult situation.
anonymous
September 2 2011, 02:47:45 UTC
For anyone who may be interested, this and my other Sherlock fics can now be found at my livejournal account, link as follows: http://thebeesknow.livejournal.com/
Sherlock had found himself waiting for such encounters, needing them and hoping for more, wondering how long it would take for John to want to break their agreement. He fastidiously refused to make the first move himself, unwilling to compromise John’s wellbeing for the sake of his own new-found desire.
He found the clothing frustrating, being a barrier between himself and John’s warm body. He himself was wearing his night attire, pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, topped with his blue silk dressing-gown. It was the least clothing he felt he could get away with under the circumstances, causing intense frustration and the occasional pulse of need which made him hold his breath under a sudden wave of sharp desire.
John had to have felt that last one, a silent throb of need that threatened to be his undoing. He could, of course, use John’s own libido against him. It would be easy enough to win over someone whose sexual mores were dubious at best. But he kept reminding himself that John was not here with him to be won over, that John had come to him for comfort, in the only way he would accept. The thought that he was helping John in some way would have to be enough.
He typed automatically, fingers flying over the keys, still able to concentrate on his work in spite of the distraction. Slowly, John’s presence retreated to the back of his mind as his thought processes returned to the case.
Eventually he came back to himself to find that the television was still on and John had fallen asleep against him again. It was one of those awkward times when they had been connected for too long, John was going to be sore and in need of assistance and Sherlock would have to provide it.
For that to happen John would need to wake up. Sherlock spoke, his raised voice a little dry from misuse, and shook John’s good shoulder.
“John, do wake up!”
Instantly, John was awake and alert, in this regard he was ever the soldier, alert and ready for anything. “What?” he asked sleepily. Hmm, not quite ready for anything, then.
“You need to sleep.”
“I was asleep!”
“No, you were dozing. You need to go to bed.”
John yawned. “I think you’re right,” he said, and moved gingerly to separate himself from Sherlock. “Ow!” He stopped the movement at the dry, burning pull inside him, settled back down and panted for a moment, feeling the pain spike. “Sherlock,” he began a little sheepishly, “I think I need you to…”
Sherlock reached for the tube of lubricant beside him on the couch. It had fallen between the cushions and he had to fish for it. In moving to find it, his cock twisted inside John’s passage.
John’s head went back and he let out a cry at the continued sting of being so raw, which ended in a long, low moan. Sherlock bit his lip at the sound of John’s voice and how good it all felt to be this connected. His usually sure fingers fumbled with the cap on the tube and he squeezed it a little too enthusiastically. His fingers ended up covered in a copious amount of the stuff and he hastened to apply it to the John’s rim before any of it ended up on the expensive silk of his dressing-gown.
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John tried to comply; half crouched awkwardly over Sherlock’s lap, holding himself up on the arm of the sofa. He felt the burning drag in his passage and welcomed the cool, wet fingers touching him, entering him to widen his hole. Sherlock’s fingers touched Sherlock’s own cock inside him, spreading the lubricant over and inside him, allowing him to finally pull away.
John sighed with relief even as the pain travelled his nerve-endings. And then he felt such emptiness. He hadn’t known that he wanted it all so badly. Not until now.
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, frowning.
John was going to answer in the positive. But it was far too late for polite lies now. He turned to face the man on the couch.
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“But …” Sherlock began, before he stopped himself and searched for the meaning of the expression on John’s face. “Ah, I’ve ruined it for you. Your little flight of the imagination is no longer going to be enough to satisfy you.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” John said.
“Did you ever consider that it was never going to satisfy you on a permanent basis? Such a small thing to desire was never going to be an adequate substitute for the real thing.”
John’s lips pursed. “And the ‘real thing’ is?”
“John,” Sherlock chided.
“But you don’t want that!” John’s voice was anguished. “You said…”
“Ah,” Sherlock interrupted, “I may have misled you somewhat on that subject just recently. My work is still a priority, of course. But I find myself, in the light of our recent encounters, wishing to explore more intimate contact with you.”
All that yearning, all that self-denial, all that time wasted, all for nothing. John could cheerfully have hit him.
“You mean you want to…”
“Fuck you. Now. Yes. May I?” His voice, at the end, sounded so light and hopeful that John had to smile.
He stepped closer to Sherlock, slid his arms around the slim waist, and rested his ear against Sherlock’s chest to listen to his heart. “It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks now,” he said.
“But you’re sore and tired right now.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not sore, no. As for being tired, I never sleep during a case.”
John’s smile lit up his whole face. “I’m a case now, am I?”
“Part of my periphery deductions then,” Sherlock said. “Shall we go upstairs?”
“What’s wrong with right here?”
“On the sofa. Excellent thought.” And Sherlock immediately took off his dressing-gown, draped it over the back of what had become John’s chair. He deposited the rest of his clothes in the same place in short order and when he turned back to John, the doctor had removed all his own clothing apart from his socks.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Sherlock indicated the socks with a wave of his hand.
“My feet are cold,” John told him.
“Oh. Well, leave them on, then.” He had seen John’s body before, admired it in what he’d thought was a clinical fashion, knowing now that it had been no such thing. It was a nice body, no longer as fit as it had been in the past, adequate, Sherlock thought, dredging up from somewhere as a comparison a description he’d read in a National Trust brochure, with areas of outstanding natural beauty and areas that needed special attention.
They moved together, met somewhere in the middle, arms reaching to hold one another, sharing a first kiss which managed to be both tender and hungry at the same time.
John pressed against the long, lean body in front of him, feeling sharp edges dig into him all over. He had felt its strength, sitting there with Sherlock pushed up inside him, had needed that strength to help him fight the dragons lurking in his mind. Sherlock would see them off.
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“Sofa, John,” Sherlock said in a quiet voice, leading him to lie down on his back before kneeling over him and resting his lanky body down on top of him. “You’re still wet, I take it?”
“Must be.”
John didn’t feel like talking, evidently. He felt like kissing, though, because it was a while before Sherlock could pull his mouth away to do anything else.
“Very well.”
Now that they’d started, there was no stopping. Sherlock tested John’s statement by slipping two fingers inside him. Wet, open, still sore. John may not find the experience entirely comfortable or pleasurable, he thought, and said so.
“It’s okay.” John didn’t look at him when he said that, his eyes were closed.
Sherlock acknowledged the consent with a short nod which John didn’t see, before arranging them into a more comfortable position which would put no pressure on John’s shoulder or on his leg, which, although it had never been injured, sometimes caused John to think it had.
Sherlock licked at John’s neck, down to his collar-bone, over his almost hairless chest to the dark nipples and further on to his stomach. There was a temptation to just keep going, but Sherlock deduced that John wasn’t up to such an intense encounter so soon. This was one of those ‘don’t fuck it up’ moments that Lestrade had sometimes cautioned him against, a moment when being Sherlock Holmes was not entirely to his advantage.
So instead of following his instincts, he decided to just let John be his guide. It didn’t take long. John’s eyes opened, he panted beneath Sherlock, waited for a long minute then pulled him closer.
“Now,” he whispered. “Please, now.”
Sherlock still took a second to prepare himself, check that John was still ready. The tube was almost empty now; he really should check that they had more.
No more words, he found he had none. John was inviting him in, so in he went. He slid easily on the slippery lubricant barely registering John’s faint hiss as the friction still managed to burn his aching rim. It was hot inside John, snug and close-fitting. John Watson, it seemed, had been made for this. It still took a long time before Sherlock felt the first remarkable waves of pleasure sweeping over him, prompting him to move faster to make it more intense. He shook John’s body with every thrust, nudged his thighs wider apart as he got closer and went deeper, watching the pain and pleasure ebb and flow on the pleasant features, turning them reckless and needy.
“Harder,” John said in a voice gone almost silent.
So he complied, let himself push as hard as he wanted to, yet still taking into account that John needed something, too. He stroked the hand that wasn’t gripping John’s waist over and around his prick in concert with his forward momentum. It was sufficient. He watched John’s climax with a smile, interested in the mechanics of it, conscious of what John was feeling because the same feeling was beginning to wash over him in turn. ‘The little death’ they called it. It was close to that, certainly. How beautiful it was. Nothing else, apart from the moment of revelation when he knew he was right, had anything to compare with it, and John had given him this gift. How had they denied themselves this feeling, and why? He found he could no longer remember.
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“That was amazing,” John said.
“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed. “You and I did that.”
“Can we do it again?” John asked, and yawned widely.
“Not tonight,” Sherlock told him. “But yes.” He rose from on top of John and wrapped himself in his dressing-gown. “Do you need me to fetch the analgesic?”
John was going to say no, but reconsidered. “Might be a good idea,” he said. Sherlock had been as careful as desire would allow but still he thought if he was going to escape their encounter relatively unscathed a little medication may be needed.
“And perhaps some tea,” Sherlock suggested.
“Even better.”
It was only after Sherlock disappeared that John realised he was actually being considerate, putting John’s own needs first. It gave him a warm feeling inside. He thought about all the things Sally Donovan had said. She knew nothing, he decided. Sherlock would never let him down.
In the kitchen, Sherlock wondered if John would let him test his theory of how long the effects of a Viagra pill would last.
END
A/N: And that really is all she wrote. Thank you to everyone who left comments, it's deeply appreciated.
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On that note:
HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG.
This may be the single hottest thing I've ever read.
I love your porn and your characterizations and how sweet it is at the end and sdkjfhsdjfhskdjhfskdjhfskdjfh.
Do you have other fics??
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Hot sexy fluff - amazing!
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http://thebeesknow.livejournal.com/
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