FILL: Nothing-Upon-Nowhere (3/?)
anonymous
May 7 2011, 13:59:01 UTC
“It’s perfectly sound. The only reason it sank was because Mycroft is an idiot and tried to get more speed out of it than it’s capable of delivering.” Sherlock shifted where he lie, rocking his hips obscenely as he drifted further down to the floor of the boat.
“This was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it?” asked John. “Take me miles from the cottage and then get me to fuck you out here.”
Sherlock looked around for a moment. “We’re not miles away,” he said. “We just passed the mile mark about ten minutes back.”
John only glared at him as Sherlock rocked his hips again.
“But if I’d known you were going to be such a killjoy about it,” Sherlock muttered. “Should have known, I suppose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” John demanded.
“Hmm?”
Sherlock had his eyes closed and was lightly rubbing his fingers across his stomach. With another rock of his hips, he let his fingers dip just below his waistband, where they lingered for just long enough to let John know that it wasn’t an accident.
“Damnit,” John growled lightly as he moved to his knees with all the grace of a new-born giraffe.
The boat lurched to one side under his weight and his hands darted out to grab hold of the sides to steady the craft. Sherlock now had his eyes open and was watching John with an unbearably smug smile spread across his face.
“Oh, shut up,” John said as he pressed himself on top of Sherlock.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sherlock pointed out.
“No, but you thought the hell out of it.”
Sherlock moved his hand between their bodies, pushing downward until his knuckles were brushing against the forming hardness in John’s trousers. His smirk widened as he rocked his hips against John’s. He used his knee to push John’s legs apart so that he was ostensibly straddling Sherlock’s thigh. As Sherlock pushed his hardened cock into the hollow of John’s hip, he twisted his wrist to be able to work at John’s zip.
“You really are serious,” John realised.
“Of course,” Sherlock said.
He snaked his fingers through the opening on John’s boxers and ran the pads of his fingers along the top of his cock.
“And you don’t seem as opposed to the idea as you were five minutes ago,” Sherlock pointed out.
“I thought you were joking until about five seconds ago,” John argued.
“Mmm, no,” Sherlock said.
After a bit of shifting, he was in a position to be able to rub his thumb against the head of John’s cock, sliding it beneath the fold of his foreskin with a light caress. John’s breath hitched slightly and he dropped his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, his protests quickly forgotten as Sherlock began to roll his thumb around the glans and foreskin. Sherlock gave it a light pinch between thumb and finger, eliciting a sharp inward hiss and sudden hip thrust from John.
John bit down on Sherlock’s neck, using as many teeth as possible as he slid his tongue against the soft skin. Tightening his grip on John’s cock, Sherlock arched against him, pressing his own erection against John until it was almost painful. Something - perhaps everything - in this prompted John to push himself further into Sherlock’s hand, never once breaking contact with his mouth. His biting quickly turned to licking and sucking, leaving a wet, red patch on Sherlock’s otherwise pale neck.
“This was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it?” asked John. “Take me miles from the cottage and then get me to fuck you out here.”
Sherlock looked around for a moment. “We’re not miles away,” he said. “We just passed the mile mark about ten minutes back.”
John only glared at him as Sherlock rocked his hips again.
“But if I’d known you were going to be such a killjoy about it,” Sherlock muttered. “Should have known, I suppose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” John demanded.
“Hmm?”
Sherlock had his eyes closed and was lightly rubbing his fingers across his stomach. With another rock of his hips, he let his fingers dip just below his waistband, where they lingered for just long enough to let John know that it wasn’t an accident.
“Damnit,” John growled lightly as he moved to his knees with all the grace of a new-born giraffe.
The boat lurched to one side under his weight and his hands darted out to grab hold of the sides to steady the craft. Sherlock now had his eyes open and was watching John with an unbearably smug smile spread across his face.
“Oh, shut up,” John said as he pressed himself on top of Sherlock.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sherlock pointed out.
“No, but you thought the hell out of it.”
Sherlock moved his hand between their bodies, pushing downward until his knuckles were brushing against the forming hardness in John’s trousers. His smirk widened as he rocked his hips against John’s. He used his knee to push John’s legs apart so that he was ostensibly straddling Sherlock’s thigh. As Sherlock pushed his hardened cock into the hollow of John’s hip, he twisted his wrist to be able to work at John’s zip.
“You really are serious,” John realised.
“Of course,” Sherlock said.
He snaked his fingers through the opening on John’s boxers and ran the pads of his fingers along the top of his cock.
“And you don’t seem as opposed to the idea as you were five minutes ago,” Sherlock pointed out.
“I thought you were joking until about five seconds ago,” John argued.
“Mmm, no,” Sherlock said.
After a bit of shifting, he was in a position to be able to rub his thumb against the head of John’s cock, sliding it beneath the fold of his foreskin with a light caress. John’s breath hitched slightly and he dropped his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, his protests quickly forgotten as Sherlock began to roll his thumb around the glans and foreskin. Sherlock gave it a light pinch between thumb and finger, eliciting a sharp inward hiss and sudden hip thrust from John.
John bit down on Sherlock’s neck, using as many teeth as possible as he slid his tongue against the soft skin. Tightening his grip on John’s cock, Sherlock arched against him, pressing his own erection against John until it was almost painful. Something - perhaps everything - in this prompted John to push himself further into Sherlock’s hand, never once breaking contact with his mouth. His biting quickly turned to licking and sucking, leaving a wet, red patch on Sherlock’s otherwise pale neck.
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