Prompting Part XXXIII
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It starts with a compromise, with John kissing him lightly on the mouth and then backing off quickly - too quickly - followed by a long, awkward conversation about areas and John’s reassurances of how very fine it all is. And for a little while, he’s right. It is fine. Sherlock finds that there is an inherent freedom in being allowed to flop down on the sofa beside John, so close that their thighs touch, and cuddling up until John can’t even breathe without Sherlock knowing about it. He likes slipping into bed beside John and realizes that he sleeps better that way, though he won’t admit it, and the little gestures of affection John bestows: a touch to his shoulder, a hand running through his hair, a kiss to his cheek, fingers brushing over tea, are worth their weight in gold.
But then it becomes very not fine, because John starts to withdraw, starts to get cranky and sullen, and Sherlock knows why, of course he does. It is all so very obvious. He tries, once or twice, to fix the issue, but John dodges him every time with a stubbornness rival only to Sherlock. Sweet idiotic John, who has taken this all to mean not liking any form of sexual contact, who can’t seem to conceive of a world where Sherlock might not like to be touched but doesn’t really mind doing the touching as long as it’s John.
Sherlock takes matters into his own hands, literally, after a week of no contact at all. He waits until John comes home from the surgery one night and then backs him up against the door, shoving a hand down his pants. Between Sherlock’s hands and voice muttering absolutely filthy things in John’s surprisingly sensitive ears, John is aroused in one minute thirty-six seconds and coming in another six minutes and two seconds, his head thrown back and choked-off cries stifled with his forearm. He stays there, propped breathless against the door, while Sherlock wipes his hands off.
What follows is another tediously long conversation, but also one of Sherlock’s most important discoveries of all time: John is wondrously, fantastically pliant after sex. He likes to cuddle, especially in bed, and it turns out that there is nothing like having a relaxed, affectionate John Watson wrapped up in your arms. The only thing better is having John Watson wrapped around you.
Within two weeks, Sherlock’s personal best at bringing John off is three minutes forty-three seconds. He averages around four minutes every two or three days, less if there is a case on, more if he is bored.
It is after one such session, when they’re lying on the bed together, that John clears his throat. “Erm, Sherlock.”
“Yes, John?”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea - that is to say, I really appreciate what you do for me.”
“I know.” Sherlock does know, very much so. He also knows that John regularly struggles with the idea that he is not giving anything back to his lover in exchange for the pleasure he regularly receives. It has become one of those strangely endearing things about John that Sherlock doesn’t quite understand, because to him this is so very simple.
“But -”
“But?” Suddenly curious, Sherlock lifts himself up onto an elbow and peers down at John, who is lying on his side with his back to Sherlock’s chest. At Sherlock’s prodding, John reluctantly rolls onto his back so that Sherlock can see his face. Sherlock studies him intently, trying to figure out what John will say before he says it. “Am I not doing it right?” he asks, uncertain. “I’m working on getting you there more quickly, but -”
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“You want more,” he murmurs, more to himself than to John. “You want it slower, more involved. You feel that I’m going too fast.”
“Well.” John’s cheeks have coloured. “A bit, yeah. It’s just - fast sex can have its place in a relationship, but I’m more used to…” He squirms, clearly uncomfortable, and starts to get up. “You know what, just leave it. We’re good, this is good, and I don’t want to -”
Sherlock automatically slings an arm across John’s waist to stop his progress. John goes still, which proves that he really does not want to drop the subject after all. This must be serious, then, and it is up to Sherlock to fix it. He has never really been all that interested in sex beyond what he needs to know for his cases. Before John, he has never felt the need to participate, and even after John he only participates to an extent. But there is something about John that makes him curious, and he realizes that he wants to know what the previous lovers of John Watson have seen. He wants to know everything there is to know about John, and the idea that someone else might know more is abhorrent.
“We could try. As an experiment,” he says finally. He doesn’t expect it to go anywhere after this initial time. Frankly, he likes things as they are: John comes and then they get to curl up together. But indulging John this one time will not hurt. There is no case on and he does not foresee Lestrade contacting him with anything interesting tonight.
John’s blue eyes light up. It is the first time he has ever looked excited at the prospect of an experiment. “Yeah? Really?”
“Yes. Slow,” Sherlock agrees. He casts a measuring eye over John. He has never tried to bring John off twice in one night, but it has been about an hour and he can tell that John is starting to become aroused again. His breathing is a little heavier and there is a noticeable flush across his cheeks. “Strip.”
“What?”
“You wanted it to last longer. I have to have access to everything. Strip.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” John slides off of the bed and stands up. He is still wearing his jumper and pants, his jeans having been lost somewhere out in the kitchen. He takes his jumper off slowly, revealing a lightly muscled chest covered with a light smattering of blond hair. His breathing picks up as he lowers his underwear, revealing his thighs and cock, already semi-erect. He stands there like he’s at a loss as to what he should do next, staring at Sherlock.
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“Come here,” he says, and John scrambles to obey, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Sherlock reaches out and rests a hand on John’s right hip, fingers splayed possessively. John’s skin is always very warm, though he never complains about being hot. The pressure of his fingers leaves behind red marks that begin to fade when Sherlock slides his hand down. He’s never seen John naked before; usually he doesn’t even give John the chance to take off his trousers before it’s over.
He presses the palm of his hand to John’s testicles, bypassing his cock for the moment. They are small enough to fit comfortably in his hand. The flesh is wrinkled and hot and he rolls them thoughtfully, pausing when he hears something that can only be described as a squeak. John’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are pink, hands clenched into fists. Sherlock watches his face while he repeats the motion, fascinated by the second squeak that comes from John. He’s never heard that sound before. What other sounds can John make?
Quite a few, as it turns out, and all of them are somehow completely, captivatingly different. Stroking John’s inner thighs produces a low moan, but probing at his anus makes the sound much louder and deeper, bordering on a hoarse cry. Teasing his perineum makes him squirm and whine, and thumbing his nipples until they’ve turned an adorable shade of pink makes his breath hitch with restrained whimpers. Every new sound makes Sherlock want more. John has become his own personal instrument, and he is determined to wring every note out of him that he can.
The position they’re in, Sherlock on his side and John kneeling beside him is proving to be awkward, so Sherlock moves. He guides John down to lie on his back, pushing his thighs open and kneeling between them. John licks his lips, his eyes growing dark and heavy lidded even as he shudders and tries to bring a hand down to cover himself. “Sherlock…”
“Don’t,” Sherlock commands, low and sharp, and John’s hand freezes as he stares up at Sherlock in astonishment. This feels, Sherlock realizes, a little like a high. He’s enjoying this far more than he anticipated. It’s good to have John beneath him like this, to have full access to John’s body and know that John’s pleasure is entirely at his mercy. He has all of John’s attention, and he could keep John here for hours if he wanted to. He knows John would not stop him because this is exactly what John wanted whether he knew it or not.
“Sherlock,” John says again, sounding more uncertain this time.
He meets John’s eyes squarely. “Put your hands above your head, John. Hold onto the headboard, and do not let go unless I tell you to.”
John does not move for almost a full minute, and Sherlock waits, content to let his partner puzzle this through at a slower pace. He feels confident that he knows what John will choose, because he’s seen the way John bucks into his touches, pressing against Sherlock’s hands like he is starved for attention. But he still removes his hands from John’s body and sits back on his heels to wait. If he rushes John, if he presses too much too fast, regardless of whether John is the one who wanted this first he will grow shy and embarrassed and want it to stop.
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“I get you,” Sherlock says simply. There is no easy way to explain this rush that he is experiencing from having John spread out and moaning wantonly beneath him. It is not sexual, he is not aroused, but his heart rate has accelerated and he feels clear and bright in a way that only cocaine used to be able to cause. Before, bringing John to orgasm was just a means to an end. But this, this is interesting the way an experiment is when he first starts, only John is not getting boring. Sherlock normally tends to lose interest in an experiment as soon as he attains the desired result. But he hasn’t got bored with John. John’s only getting more interesting.
John sucks in a deep breath. He holds it for a long moment, and Sherlock wonders just how long John can hold his breath before he releases it slowly. “Alright,” he says, “Alright,” and he brings steady hands up over his head and clasps them around the headboard.
“Good boy,” Sherlock says, and John’s cock twitches. Sherlock lets his mouth curl into a smile and watches as John blushes so hard the tips of his ears turn red. He places a hand on John’s thigh and lets it move slowly upward until his thumb is brushing against John’s pubic hair. The colour is a medium brown and it is coarse and wiry. He rubs his thumb around the base of John’s cock, pressing lightly on the skin and then releasing, until John whimpers in frustration. He does not speak, but his face is beautifully needy when Sherlock glances up at him.
Gorgeous, Sherlock thinks greedily, and parts John’s thighs wider, lifting his legs until his knees are pressed against the bed on either side of his hips. “Hold them,” he orders, and John’s trembling hands release the headboard and cup the back of his knees. He is spread so wide that Sherlock can see everything, cock and balls and little pink hole, on display just for him. John is shivering and sweating, and his cock is flushed red and standing up against his belly, leaving smears of wetness against his skin.
With his hands free, Sherlock can touch everything and he does. He leaves no part of John’s most private areas untouched. John’s skin feels different here, softer, and his fingers slip on sweat that smells of musk as he explores. John twitches beneath him, he is crying out constantly now, a deluge of whimpering sobs that only make Sherlock crave to hear more. He cups John’s balls again with one hand and nudges a finger into the loose ring of muscle just below, watching John’s face curiously. John gasps out and tightens reflexively around Sherlock’s finger. It is several seconds before he relaxes, and then it feels as though his body is trying to draw Sherlock in deeper.
“John, you are fascinating,” Sherlock mutters. John shudders hard in response, his head twisting against the pillows. The position is beginning to wear on him, yet he struggles to maintain it, so good, John, so good. Sherlock releases his balls - drawing up tight, yes, John is close now - and brings his hand up to his face. The smell is strongly John, and he licks his fingers to taste. Not enough data, so he leans down and licks one full stripe up John, starting from below his entrance all the way up to the tip of his cock.
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“John?” he inquires when several seconds of silence have gone by.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I think you broke me,” John says roughly, blinking his eyes open. He looks exhausted, and the occasional spasm still makes his muscles tremble. “That was… yeah.”
“I take it you enjoyed yourself, then.” He does not bother to keep the smug note from entering his voice.
“Enjoyed wasn’t the word, you vain prick.” John reaches for him, drawing Sherlock down against him, and they kiss lazily for several minutes while John pets his hair and shoulders. This is the part Sherlock likes the most, and he willingly soaks up John’s sleepy attention while his mind categorizes everything he has learned and considers everything he has not. There is just so much unexplored territory!
“I should like to fuck you sometime,” Sherlock says musingly when it’s over, and he’s got John cuddled up against his chest half-asleep. John is utterly boneless and on his way to a dreamless night’s sleep, but he comes awake at that, sputtering in shock. Sherlock just smirks and adds with relish, “They must have toys for that, yes? John, I have research to do.”
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(and I feel very greedy, but I wouldn't say no to a sequel either)
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Can you put a link on the filled?
If inspired, please sequel so Sherlock can $&@) John!!!
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This was so Good! Brilliant idea for a storyline and you wrote it so well! Bravo!
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