Die Maenner mit einem Van (The Men with a Van) (part 4/?)
A/N: Ah! Porn chapter! So *this* is where it was hiding!
Comments are well and truly the equivalent of much, much love.
----
“I can’t believe that you’re letting me fuck you in the back of a van in Germany...” John whispered, in a subdued hilarity.
“I believe this would make you indebted, am I right?” Sherlock murmured back, and John didn’t need to see the smug smile to know that it was covering Sherlock’s face.
“Bastard.” he chuckled, not really caring about any supposed indebtedness.
“Lube?” John prompted, suddenly at a loss, and needing things to progress. Apparently, there was a deadline.
“There’s...vaseline in the toolkit over there.” Sherlock tilted his head to indicate.
“You’re kidding.” John stated, recoiling against his automatic movement towards the toolkit.
“I didn’t entirely predict your response to driving a van, John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock pointed out, not sounding sorry at all. “Vaseline is all there is. Or we can just head indoors. Eight minutes.”
“Shit.” John cursed, and dived for the toolkit.
He shuffled his trousers just that little bit lower, slicked himself up as quickly as possible, and tugged at the waistband of Sherlock’s pants.
He ran his hand up Sherlock’s leg, savouring the musculature, checking the tension, and trying to remember the last time Sherlock had been the bottom.
He couldn’t.
That wasn’t a problem as far as John was concerned - their relationship hardly paid heed to the idea that whoever was bottom was therefore “submissive” (who could ever consider Sherlock to be submissive, after all?) but it did mean that Sherlock would probably need more preparation than John would, if he were on the receiving end again now.
“Stop thinking, and do something,” Sherlock grumbled. “Six minutes.”
“Bend over more.” John instructed calmly, ignoring his ever-tetchy partner.
Sherlock griped, but obeyed, walking his hands further down the side of the van.
“Beautiful.” John observed of the new exposure, and slid one, two fingers into Sherlock’s hole. It was tight, difficult, and Sherlock hissed at the penetration, but didn’t say ‘stop’.
Well, he wanted me to hurry, John assured himself, and relinquished any guilt.
With the third finger, Sherlock stilled for a moment, then, releasing his breath in an understated moan, pushed back onto John’s fingers.
“Tick...agh, tock.” Sherlock reminded him again, through clenched teeth.
John couldn’t help but agree; his cock was now absolutely throbbing with desire. John guided Sherlock’s hips down just the extra bit, to line them up properly.
Next time - next time was going to be in a bed. These other locations were just too awkward.
He wasn’t sure that Sherlock would be okay when he finally pressed in, but as always, the detective took him by surprise - he was more than ready.
A phenomenal amount of muscle control meant that John encountered a ripple as his cock slid in; the Vaseline almost making everything unbearably hot.
Next time was going to be with proper lube, John promised himself, and drew out slightly, gasping as Sherlock clenched in little spasms around him.
“John - ” Sherlock began, but John interrupted him.
“If you remind me of the deadline again, I’ll make sure that we have to wait until precisely half past, do you hear? Then we’ll have plenty of time to make sure there aren’t any distractions remaining!”
Sherlock snorted, but maintained his welcoming pose.
“That’s hardly a threat, really, and more an enticement.”
John spared it approximately half a second’s thought. Oh, dammit. Then Sherlock’s hips rolled deliciously, and any further thought was out of the question.
“Fu - u - u - uck!” John gasped, sinking deeper into Sherlock with every exertion of sound.
“Nghk.” Sherlock replied, and a familiar thrill rushed through John at the usually so eloquent detective suddenly slack-jawed and glazed over.
These were the times John really knew that Sherlock wasn’t the analytical machine he played in public.
It all overflowed suddenly, every emotion: love, lust, near-death excitement, the feeling of success. His hips took up a rhythm without his even having to think about it, and he stretched forward to wrap his arms around Sherlock.
The angle changed, made everything impossibly better, and when John’s hands found Sherlock’s biceps, felt the struggling quiver as the detective fought to continue holding himself upright, perfection was reached.
“Agh!” John exclaimed, choking back a shout, hoping that no-one was passing by the van close enough to notice the noise. He shuddered in a collapse against Sherlock’s back.
“Good...timing.” Sherlock commented breathlessly, handing John a rag to clean up with. He cleared his throat as he returned the impassable composure to all parts of his appearance.
John stared at the paint-and-grease splotched rag in his hand, then gingerly dabbed himself with a grimace.
Next time was going to be with a shower at hand, he promised himself. No compromises.
“There’s a shower back at the hotel.” Sherlock pointed out, correctly reading John’s disgust. “But now - work!” He clapped his hands together and leapt out of the van.
John shoved his clothes on and followed suit, to find Sherlock stopped, supporting his weight against the outside of the van.
“I may need to reconsider the...strain.” he explained, his expression tight.
John suppressed a laugh.
Finally, Sherlock’s life motto of all-in had turned around and bitten him on the arse.
Well, certainly hurt his arse in some manner, anyway.
John allowed himself a chuckle, and kissed the underside of Sherlock’s jaw.
“There’s a masseur back at the hotel,” he pointed out, imitating Sherlock’s previous lightly critical tone, “But now - work!” and he clapped his hands together, shamming the delight Sherlock felt for his cases, and darting towards the Stadtmuseum.
“Ugh...useless vehicle,” Sherlock grumbled, shuffling forward carefully, and John knew he wasn’t referring to the van.
Part Five
Comments are well and truly the equivalent of much, much love.
----
“I can’t believe that you’re letting me fuck you in the back of a van in Germany...” John whispered, in a subdued hilarity.
“I believe this would make you indebted, am I right?” Sherlock murmured back, and John didn’t need to see the smug smile to know that it was covering Sherlock’s face.
“Bastard.” he chuckled, not really caring about any supposed indebtedness.
“Lube?” John prompted, suddenly at a loss, and needing things to progress. Apparently, there was a deadline.
“There’s...vaseline in the toolkit over there.” Sherlock tilted his head to indicate.
“You’re kidding.” John stated, recoiling against his automatic movement towards the toolkit.
“I didn’t entirely predict your response to driving a van, John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock pointed out, not sounding sorry at all. “Vaseline is all there is. Or we can just head indoors. Eight minutes.”
“Shit.” John cursed, and dived for the toolkit.
He shuffled his trousers just that little bit lower, slicked himself up as quickly as possible, and tugged at the waistband of Sherlock’s pants.
He ran his hand up Sherlock’s leg, savouring the musculature, checking the tension, and trying to remember the last time Sherlock had been the bottom.
He couldn’t.
That wasn’t a problem as far as John was concerned - their relationship hardly paid heed to the idea that whoever was bottom was therefore “submissive” (who could ever consider Sherlock to be submissive, after all?) but it did mean that Sherlock would probably need more preparation than John would, if he were on the receiving end again now.
“Stop thinking, and do something,” Sherlock grumbled. “Six minutes.”
“Bend over more.” John instructed calmly, ignoring his ever-tetchy partner.
Sherlock griped, but obeyed, walking his hands further down the side of the van.
“Beautiful.” John observed of the new exposure, and slid one, two fingers into Sherlock’s hole. It was tight, difficult, and Sherlock hissed at the penetration, but didn’t say ‘stop’.
Well, he wanted me to hurry, John assured himself, and relinquished any guilt.
With the third finger, Sherlock stilled for a moment, then, releasing his breath in an understated moan, pushed back onto John’s fingers.
“Tick...agh, tock.” Sherlock reminded him again, through clenched teeth.
John couldn’t help but agree; his cock was now absolutely throbbing with desire. John guided Sherlock’s hips down just the extra bit, to line them up properly.
Next time - next time was going to be in a bed. These other locations were just too awkward.
He wasn’t sure that Sherlock would be okay when he finally pressed in, but as always, the detective took him by surprise - he was more than ready.
A phenomenal amount of muscle control meant that John encountered a ripple as his cock slid in; the Vaseline almost making everything unbearably hot.
Next time was going to be with proper lube, John promised himself, and drew out slightly, gasping as Sherlock clenched in little spasms around him.
“John - ” Sherlock began, but John interrupted him.
“If you remind me of the deadline again, I’ll make sure that we have to wait until precisely half past, do you hear? Then we’ll have plenty of time to make sure there aren’t any distractions remaining!”
Sherlock snorted, but maintained his welcoming pose.
“That’s hardly a threat, really, and more an enticement.”
John spared it approximately half a second’s thought. Oh, dammit. Then Sherlock’s hips rolled deliciously, and any further thought was out of the question.
“Fu - u - u - uck!” John gasped, sinking deeper into Sherlock with every exertion of sound.
“Nghk.” Sherlock replied, and a familiar thrill rushed through John at the usually so eloquent detective suddenly slack-jawed and glazed over.
These were the times John really knew that Sherlock wasn’t the analytical machine he played in public.
It all overflowed suddenly, every emotion: love, lust, near-death excitement, the feeling of success. His hips took up a rhythm without his even having to think about it, and he stretched forward to wrap his arms around Sherlock.
The angle changed, made everything impossibly better, and when John’s hands found Sherlock’s biceps, felt the struggling quiver as the detective fought to continue holding himself upright, perfection was reached.
“Agh!” John exclaimed, choking back a shout, hoping that no-one was passing by the van close enough to notice the noise. He shuddered in a collapse against Sherlock’s back.
“Good...timing.” Sherlock commented breathlessly, handing John a rag to clean up with. He cleared his throat as he returned the impassable composure to all parts of his appearance.
John stared at the paint-and-grease splotched rag in his hand, then gingerly dabbed himself with a grimace.
Next time was going to be with a shower at hand, he promised himself. No compromises.
“There’s a shower back at the hotel.” Sherlock pointed out, correctly reading John’s disgust. “But now - work!” He clapped his hands together and leapt out of the van.
John shoved his clothes on and followed suit, to find Sherlock stopped, supporting his weight against the outside of the van.
“I may need to reconsider the...strain.” he explained, his expression tight.
John suppressed a laugh.
Finally, Sherlock’s life motto of all-in had turned around and bitten him on the arse.
Well, certainly hurt his arse in some manner, anyway.
John allowed himself a chuckle, and kissed the underside of Sherlock’s jaw.
“There’s a masseur back at the hotel,” he pointed out, imitating Sherlock’s previous lightly critical tone, “But now - work!” and he clapped his hands together, shamming the delight Sherlock felt for his cases, and darting towards the Stadtmuseum.
“Ugh...useless vehicle,” Sherlock grumbled, shuffling forward carefully, and John knew he wasn’t referring to the van.
Part Five