A taste of perfection
Title: A taste of perfection
Series: Sherlock (BBC verse)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Prompt: none
Ratings/Warnings: NC-17, man on man action.
Word Count: 1,583
Author's Note: This is my second PWP ever. I'm nervous like whoa. Also, this is an "I adore you!" present for shadowgardens , my amazing beta. ♥
Sherlock’s been on the case for two whole days and hasn’t solved it yet. He’s edgy and annoyed and exhilarated all at once. He’s more irritable than usual, especially towards the doctor. The ex-soldier doesn’t mind the insults (mostly) but John gets tired of watching the incessant pacing and retires to his room, taking a nap before something else can happen. He enjoys tagging along on these adventures but still doesn’t like the sleep deprivation they cause.
*
“John!” Sherlock yells across the flat, jolting him from his rest much too soon. He scowls but gets up, wandering down the stairs a little slower then necessary just to be annoying.
“John!” Sherlock exclaims again as he steps into the sitting room. The man’s eyes are bright, excited.
“You’ve solved it, then?” he asks with a yawn.
“No, no. I can’t. You’re distracting me.” The detective bounds across the room, grabs John’s arm and begins leading him towards his bedroom.
“I was asleep!” he protests. Sherlock says nothing to that, just continues to pull him into the bedroom. The room is cluttered as always, towers of books and papers and other things John chooses not to speculate about. He’s distracted by looking around the room and doesn’t notice how close Sherlock is until the detective kisses him full on the mouth. He considers just going with it for a moment but figures he should know what’s going on first. There are several possibilities that could be behind this, after all.
John pulls away gently, fingers still curled around Sherlock’s shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
Sherlock gives him that look he normally reserves for Anderson (the one that makes him feel like a mentally challenged infant).
“Kissing you,” The taller man answers as though spouting off the weather forecast. “As a prelude to sex.”
“Why?” John demands, exasperated.
“I’ve told you already! You’re distracting me. I can’t think about the case.” He snaps, pressing against John’s body. The doctor is firm but soft against him, the other man already changing his stance to stand closer. “It isn’t normal for me to be distracted by such base instincts. Obviously, once I’ve dealt with the sexual attraction between us, I can get back to work.”
“Obviously.” The doctor replies, caught between annoyance and laughter. He considers pointing out how he has never verified that he’s interested in Sherlock at all but decides against it, knowing the detective will probably point out every reaction he’s ever had. So he sighs and pulls Sherlock closer, murmuring, “For the case, then.”, before kissing him.
The detective pushes him down on the bed, deft fingers already pulling off his shirt. Sherlock is, as always, a quick study and finds every erogenous zone John has in under a minute, playing his body as well as he plays the violin. It’s stimulating to be sure, but it’s also detached and boring and just a little sad. John takes an opportunity to flip Sherlock over on the bed, his steady hands undoing buttons, fingers slowly brushing the pale skin beneath the cloth. John’s hands are warmer than usual and for some reason, he doesn’t hate the feel of them against his skin as he had in all previous sexual encounters.
“It’s unnecessary-“ the detective begins.
“Quiet.” Is the response as the other man peels off his shirt. Sherlock huffs in annoyance, but allows it. The doctor presses kisses down his throat, over his collar bone and down his chest. He wonders at the point of it until his companion’s mouth nips at his stomach, just below the belly button. All his muscles tighten in response, his erection growing harder still.
“Fascinating.” He murmurs to himself and John snorts in amusement while undoing Sherlock’s belt and fly, hands caressing him through his trousers. He can’t help the slight thrust of his hips. The rest of his clothes hit the floor and he tries to regain control of the situation but John pushes his hands away.
“We’re doing this my way.” The ex-soldier says sternly.
“I do not require-“ Sherlock begins as John’s mouth envelops his member. He stops speaking, stops thinking for three point seven seconds. He feels the curve of John’s smug smile around him and thinks this was probably one of his most brilliant ideas.
He bucks his hips, unable to hold still. His fingers tangle in the sheets and his breath catches in his throat. John begins a faster pace and Sherlock barley manages not to moan. All his muscles tense and he stops moving immediately. It’s much too soon for this to be over.
“Wait, wait.” Sherlock mutters, reaching over to his bedside table and haphazardly rifles through the drawer without looking. John doesn’t wait at all, just goes slower, tongue working in long strokes up his shaft and over the head of his erection. The detective’s fingers curl around the tube he was looking for and pulls it out of the drawer. John stops his ministrations and pulls off his own pants. He stretches out next to Sherlock and takes the tube from his fingers, his other hand stroking down his chest.
John snakes an arm under the detective and rolls the man on top of him. Slathering the lube onto his fingers, he wraps them around Sherlock’s aching member and pumps his fist up and down, lips pressing against his friend’s. He guides Sherlock’s cock down and rubs the head against his opening. Sherlock gasps into his mouth and John can’t help feeling smug about surprising the detective just once.
Suddenly, all Sherlock wants to do is ask if John is sure but he can’t force the words out of his mouth. He can’t risk that John will say no. So instead, he buries his face in the doctor’s neck and pours lube on his fingers. Slowly, he rises up to watch John’s face as he gently works his fingers in and out. John’s eyes are wide open but glassy and unseeing. His lips are moving, silently, forming “Sherlock” and “please” and “now” over and over and over. That catches the detective off guard, as this whole experience has, and he finds himself thinking that this once might not be enough.
Eventually, he pulls his hand away and John moans at the loss. It makes Sherlock smile at him. That sight is rare and John stops moving for a moment, just to memorize the expression. Only a few seconds pass before Sherlock is pressing into him. Slowly. John half growls at him, pushes against him, trying to hurry the whole thing up. Sherlock chuckles and moves slower.
“Anyone ever mention that you’re a vindictive bastard?” John breathes out, body shaking with anticipation.
“It may have been brought up a time or two.” Sherlock tells him just before pushing the rest of the way in. He stays still for second, marveling at how tight and hot John is around him. The doctor is writhing beneath him, insistent and breathy and his.
Sherlock reaches down between them and takes John’s cock in his hand. He starts pumping his hand the same moment he begins thrusting his hips. The good doctor moans and curses but never stops moving under him. The whole thing is fascinatingly perfect in a way Sherlock has never understood sex to be before this moment. The detective loses track of how much time is passing. He’s aware only of the sounds John makes, the heat of skin against his own and the way his companion’s muscles clench around him every time he thrusts. The doctor kisses him desperately as he bucks hard against Sherlock’s hand and comes with a shuddering groan. Sherlock follows only a moment later, burying himself to the hilt inside John. He presses his face to his friend’s hair and breathes him in as the last of the orgasm pulses through him.
Sherlock sags against John, face sliding from hair to neck. Gently, he pulls out and rolls to the side, reluctant for this moment to end. He watches John doze next to him, wondering why this sexual experience would be any more fulfilling then previous encounters. Not knowing the answer is annoying rather than thrilling so he stops thinking about it. Soon, his mind returns to where it is most comfortable; the case. The mystery he is working on for the police. His fingers begin to drum against his leg and his foot begins to tap against the mattress.
“Go.” John says with a yawn and pushes at his shoulder. “Go solve your case.”
Sherlock hops up from the bed, thrumming with energy and ideas, and heads for the adjoining bathroom. He showers quickly and barely towels off before dragging clothes on. As he’s rushing out the door he pauses to look at John.
“Thank you.” He says awkwardly, gaze shifting to look out the window. “No one has ever… I’ve…”
“It’s fine, Sherlock.” John says softly and smiles at him while he finishes the sentence in his head. No one has ever helped me enjoy it.
The detective nods abruptly and still doesn’t look at him. John sighs as he stands up, heading for Sherlock’s bathroom.
“Tell me if we’re going out. Try to give me more than a second’s notice.”
Sherlock grins at him and bounds back to the sitting room, three conclusions to the case already whirling around his head. John watches him go with an affectionate smile and wonders, not for the first time, what he’s gotten himself in to.