Trigger Finger 1/2
anonymous
August 25 2011, 00:19:22 UTC
(this one has fucking instead of blowjobs, hope you don't mind!)
-
Sherlock was naked above him, kneeling over him. The head of his cock pressed into John's stomach as they kissed. It slid in tiny movements as Sherlock moved, and John thought about how it would feel inside him, how thick and long it would be, and how Sherlock would look when he was fucking him. He wanted to know.
He pulled his knees up and spread them around Sherlock's hips, and listened to the soft, almost helpless-sounding moan Sherlock made as he pressed immediately between John's thighs. The skin of Sherlock's chest and stomach was hot, and there was sweat on his upper lip and forehead, and slick sweat on his lower back as John slid his hands down along his sides.
"I haven't..." Sherlock said, and stopped. Eyes wide, he looked suddenly uncertain, but he was so hard, and his body was moving in tiny motions, and his eyes were dark with lust. He stared down into John's face. "I've never... I don't know how."
"It's okay," John said. He tried to smile. Sherlock stared down at him, hungry and dark. "The principles are easy."
He didn't want to wait or go slow - he wanted Sherlock to push in and fuck him; hard, rough, and now. He took a breath, trying to slow his heart rate, and then raised his hand to Sherlock's mouth and touched his lower lip. He slid two fingertips into soft wetness, barely penetrating. "I'll show you what I want as we go. Lube's in the second draw down."
His fingers slid from Sherlock's mouth as Sherlock pulled away, and he watched the pale arc of Sherlock's back as he stretched to reach the bedside table, knee digging into John's side. He reached out and stroked his palm along the length of Sherlock's cock. It jerked hard against his fingers.
"Oh god, don't," Sherlock gasped, pushing his hand away.
Dizziness again, like before. The blood pounded in his ears at the thought that Sherlock could want him so much. He tilted his hips up and hooked a knee over Sherlock's shoulder. "Fingers first," he said. "It's been a while."
He slid one fingertip into Sherlock's mouth, just a little way in, and Sherlock copied him. John raised his hips, closing his eyes as he slid his finger deeper into Sherlock's mouth, deep, as far as he could push it. He had to stretch to do it, arching his back. He could hear the hitch in Sherlock's breathing.
Sherlock's fingers were so long, oh god.
John groaned and tipped his head back on the pillow, and pushed another finger between Sherlock's lips. He let Sherlock catch up, then began to fuck them in and out, slow and steady, all the way in. He opened his eyes so he could watch his own fingers, and the hazy, shadowed look in Sherlock's eyes.
"John," he said, his voice raw and unguarded. He slid two fingers into him, mirroring John's movements, fucking him slowly. The stretch was almost too much, the fullness almost too intense. But it wasn't anything like enough.
"Lube yourself up," John said. He slipped his fingers from Sherlock's lips. "Fuck. Quickly. I think you know enough now."
Sherlock leaned down over him, then braced one hand on the pillow beside John's head. He used the other to line himself up with John's opening.
He slid the hot slick head over John's hole, then very slowly sank into his body, until John could feel the harsh brush of pubic hair on his arse, and till he was almost agonisingly full. His cock and his balls throbbed with dull, almost subliminal, pleasure.
"Oh, god," John said.
"John," Sherlock said. His gaze skittered from John's eyes, to his lips, to his hand, where it lay on his chest. He took it in his own and raised John's fingers back to his mouth.
Sherlock's lips were soft, wet and so hot against the pads of his fingers. He thrust them gently, and Sherlock moved exactly the same.
Trigger Finger 2/2
anonymous
August 25 2011, 00:20:09 UTC
John stared up at him. He pushed his fingers in, slowly, sliding over Sherlock's tongue, and Sherlock followed him precisely, just as slowly, stopping when he stopped. Sherlock's cheeks were lightly flushed, and his eyes were bright, fixed on John's face, John's mouth.
John pulled back until his fingertips rested on Sherlock's slack lower lip, until the head of Sherlock's cock was only barely inside him and Sherlock's thighs were trembling with the strain of not thrusting. He shoved in quickly, and then out again, and Sherlock did the same.
There was sweat on Sherlock's forehead. He was breathing quickly, flush spreading down his neck and chest. John twisted his fingers, and Sherlock groaned and shifted his hips, either in an attempt to mirror his movements or simply in frustration.
Was it a bit mean, for Sherlock's first time? Maybe, but Sherlock did like things interesting, and he was undoubtedly interested. He stared at John so hard he was barely blinking. His hands gripped John's hips like he thought John might try to get away.
John thrust shallowly, over and over, fingers wet and slick with saliva, and it was impossible not to imagine doing this to Sherlock's arse, or sliding his own cock into Sherlock's mouth.
He closed his eyes to imagine it more clearly, and got a sharp nip to his fingers in return. When he looked up, Sherlock was glaring at him.
"All right," John said. He stretched out his free hand to stroke Sherlock's cheek. "All right. I was only thinking, the way you look right now, god. I'd like to see your mouth around my cock."
Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and the pink tinge to his cheeks became more pronounced. John smirked and started to thrust in more steadily, long, easy strokes.
Sherlock let out a soft breath and tightened his grip as he did the same.
"That's good," John said, voice going unsteady as he directed Sherlock faster, slower, faster again. "Oh god, oh god that's good, that's perfect, Jesus, Sherlock."
Sherlock moaned a little and closed his lips tight around John's fingers. He sucked hard, teeth dragging over John's knuckles. John thrust in, faster again, harder, reaching a furious pace, and Sherlock bent his head and groaned around his fingers and did the same, matching his thrusts to John's. Their eyes caught and held.
The bed squeaked under them, each movement punctuated by the fast slap of Sherlock's hips against his skin. John's fingers were wet, soaked. Sherlock's dick was huge inside him, and John was coming apart. He pulled his fingers from Sherlock's mouth and closed his wet palm around his own cock.
"Come on, god, yes," he said. "You're so perfect."
Sherlock bent over him, gasping, and thrust once more. Cool drops of sweat landed on John's chest, and on his hand, and he came looking at Sherlock's mouth and the way his eyes were fluttering closed with his own orgasm.
Sherlock shook his head as if dizzy, then very gently disengaged himself, separating skin from sticky, sweaty skin, and lay down by John's side. He touched the cooling slick of semen on John's stomach, rubbed it between his fingertips.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine. I need to consider this," was all Sherlock said, until John fell asleep at his side, still watching him.
-
Sherlock was naked above him, kneeling over him. The head of his cock pressed into John's stomach as they kissed. It slid in tiny movements as Sherlock moved, and John thought about how it would feel inside him, how thick and long it would be, and how Sherlock would look when he was fucking him. He wanted to know.
He pulled his knees up and spread them around Sherlock's hips, and listened to the soft, almost helpless-sounding moan Sherlock made as he pressed immediately between John's thighs. The skin of Sherlock's chest and stomach was hot, and there was sweat on his upper lip and forehead, and slick sweat on his lower back as John slid his hands down along his sides.
"I haven't..." Sherlock said, and stopped. Eyes wide, he looked suddenly uncertain, but he was so hard, and his body was moving in tiny motions, and his eyes were dark with lust. He stared down into John's face. "I've never... I don't know how."
"It's okay," John said. He tried to smile. Sherlock stared down at him, hungry and dark. "The principles are easy."
He didn't want to wait or go slow - he wanted Sherlock to push in and fuck him; hard, rough, and now. He took a breath, trying to slow his heart rate, and then raised his hand to Sherlock's mouth and touched his lower lip. He slid two fingertips into soft wetness, barely penetrating. "I'll show you what I want as we go. Lube's in the second draw down."
His fingers slid from Sherlock's mouth as Sherlock pulled away, and he watched the pale arc of Sherlock's back as he stretched to reach the bedside table, knee digging into John's side. He reached out and stroked his palm along the length of Sherlock's cock. It jerked hard against his fingers.
"Oh god, don't," Sherlock gasped, pushing his hand away.
Dizziness again, like before. The blood pounded in his ears at the thought that Sherlock could want him so much. He tilted his hips up and hooked a knee over Sherlock's shoulder. "Fingers first," he said. "It's been a while."
He slid one fingertip into Sherlock's mouth, just a little way in, and Sherlock copied him. John raised his hips, closing his eyes as he slid his finger deeper into Sherlock's mouth, deep, as far as he could push it. He had to stretch to do it, arching his back. He could hear the hitch in Sherlock's breathing.
Sherlock's fingers were so long, oh god.
John groaned and tipped his head back on the pillow, and pushed another finger between Sherlock's lips. He let Sherlock catch up, then began to fuck them in and out, slow and steady, all the way in. He opened his eyes so he could watch his own fingers, and the hazy, shadowed look in Sherlock's eyes.
"John," he said, his voice raw and unguarded. He slid two fingers into him, mirroring John's movements, fucking him slowly. The stretch was almost too much, the fullness almost too intense. But it wasn't anything like enough.
"Lube yourself up," John said. He slipped his fingers from Sherlock's lips. "Fuck. Quickly. I think you know enough now."
Sherlock leaned down over him, then braced one hand on the pillow beside John's head. He used the other to line himself up with John's opening.
He slid the hot slick head over John's hole, then very slowly sank into his body, until John could feel the harsh brush of pubic hair on his arse, and till he was almost agonisingly full. His cock and his balls throbbed with dull, almost subliminal, pleasure.
"Oh, god," John said.
"John," Sherlock said. His gaze skittered from John's eyes, to his lips, to his hand, where it lay on his chest. He took it in his own and raised John's fingers back to his mouth.
Sherlock's lips were soft, wet and so hot against the pads of his fingers. He thrust them gently, and Sherlock moved exactly the same.
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John pulled back until his fingertips rested on Sherlock's slack lower lip, until the head of Sherlock's cock was only barely inside him and Sherlock's thighs were trembling with the strain of not thrusting. He shoved in quickly, and then out again, and Sherlock did the same.
There was sweat on Sherlock's forehead. He was breathing quickly, flush spreading down his neck and chest. John twisted his fingers, and Sherlock groaned and shifted his hips, either in an attempt to mirror his movements or simply in frustration.
Was it a bit mean, for Sherlock's first time? Maybe, but Sherlock did like things interesting, and he was undoubtedly interested. He stared at John so hard he was barely blinking. His hands gripped John's hips like he thought John might try to get away.
John thrust shallowly, over and over, fingers wet and slick with saliva, and it was impossible not to imagine doing this to Sherlock's arse, or sliding his own cock into Sherlock's mouth.
He closed his eyes to imagine it more clearly, and got a sharp nip to his fingers in return. When he looked up, Sherlock was glaring at him.
"All right," John said. He stretched out his free hand to stroke Sherlock's cheek. "All right. I was only thinking, the way you look right now, god. I'd like to see your mouth around my cock."
Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and the pink tinge to his cheeks became more pronounced. John smirked and started to thrust in more steadily, long, easy strokes.
Sherlock let out a soft breath and tightened his grip as he did the same.
"That's good," John said, voice going unsteady as he directed Sherlock faster, slower, faster again. "Oh god, oh god that's good, that's perfect, Jesus, Sherlock."
Sherlock moaned a little and closed his lips tight around John's fingers. He sucked hard, teeth dragging over John's knuckles. John thrust in, faster again, harder, reaching a furious pace, and Sherlock bent his head and groaned around his fingers and did the same, matching his thrusts to John's. Their eyes caught and held.
The bed squeaked under them, each movement punctuated by the fast slap of Sherlock's hips against his skin. John's fingers were wet, soaked. Sherlock's dick was huge inside him, and John was coming apart. He pulled his fingers from Sherlock's mouth and closed his wet palm around his own cock.
"Come on, god, yes," he said. "You're so perfect."
Sherlock bent over him, gasping, and thrust once more. Cool drops of sweat landed on John's chest, and on his hand, and he came looking at Sherlock's mouth and the way his eyes were fluttering closed with his own orgasm.
Sherlock shook his head as if dizzy, then very gently disengaged himself, separating skin from sticky, sweaty skin, and lay down by John's side. He touched the cooling slick of semen on John's stomach, rubbed it between his fingertips.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine. I need to consider this," was all Sherlock said, until John fell asleep at his side, still watching him.
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