While John processed what Sherlock had just said, he continued to hold up his part, looking quite innocent, guilty, and just very human, indeed. It wasn't like he was always a complete machine, of course, and he certainly had his moments of humanity, but he was quite gifted in the art of manipulation. It just made sense to him to use this on even John, who was quite important to him, really, in the grand scheme of things. But he did not understand these emotions, this strange thing called 'love,' and it all but frustrated the hell out of him. It was important for him to understand how things worked, why they worked, all the boundaries and limitations, everything. Yes, sex was quite nice and good for when he needed a distraction, or his body just distracted him, but that was physical. He understood the mechanics and why it made him feel the way he did. What he didn't understand was the feelings he had around John, and how they seemed so intensified now. To experiment and see how far things could be pushed, and what could be done in the
( ... )
For a moment, Sherlock had become almost completely overwhelmed in his lust and his hunger and his need to be inside John. He had not actually planned to take John that morning, and to lay claim to what was rightfully his, anyway. But John had been willing, had been eager even, and Sherlock was not about to lose a chance like this. Still, it was evident that the good doctor adored him, and had done as such since day one, really, with all his compliments for the world's only consulting detective. What scared Sherlock in that moment was how much his body had taken over, pushing his rational and logical thoughts aside so he could primitively rut and mate and claim. It probably had much to do with the simple fact that Sherlock had abstained from all this physical stuff for so long, and his body was practically touch starved for such intimacy. His lust had clouded his judgment so much that he hadn't realized he was going to fast, and he couldn't remember if they had gone slower when John had fucked him. During that time, he had been
( ... )
In the end, it wasn't Sherlock's touches that drove John absolutely wild - though, yes, those were very good, as well, very good indeed - but Sherlock's words. Which really should not have come as a surprise to the good doctor. Sherlock was a master with words, had a wickedly sharp and quick tongue, and the genius mind to back it all up with - why should this be any different? Every word, every syllable, went straight to John's cock, and, combined with Sherlock's discovery of his prostate, all bets were off.
"Jesus, Sherlock," John gasped out, cock twitching and leaking pre-cum on his belly. He tried to keep himself still and quiet, really he did, but it was difficult to remember why when every word and every touch turned John Watson's world upside down. "Oh, you bastard, you bloody-- there, right there, yes, just like that--" His hand reached down with the intent to stroke his cock and add another dimension to this mind-blowing pleasure. Knowing it was because of Sherlock only added to it. "Another, give me another, just, ngh, slow
( ... )
Sherlock knew the powers of his voice, and he often used it to his advantage, manipulating people with it to get what he wanted. Molly was only too easy, really, although John had a way of making him feel guilty about 'using' her, or whatever such nonsense he called it. But he was actually quite interested in seducing John, so he enjoyed every bit of this new experience, and he knew how his voice affected him. However, it wasn't until he successfully stroked John's prostrate that things got really interesting. He cataloged John's reactions as best he could - the obvious signs of pleasure that was shooting through him, the way the tip of his cock glistened with his cum. Sherlock didn't want John to be quiet, he wanted to hear that John was enjoying this, that he was doing this to him. Each cry or movement he made was being memorized, to perhaps examine again later
( ... )
John groaned, long and deep, and he had to close his eyes for a few moments and take a few slow breaths before he felt himself capable of human speech again. "Go on like that and you'll make me come from the sound of your voice alone, you arrogant sod," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. Every twist of Sherlock's wrist and stretch by his long fingers made John forget the world around them until all that was left was Sherlock and him, and a burning hunger his insides seemed to claw at. It was too much. It was perfect. Reaching down, John wrapped a hand around Sherlock's upper arm, trying to still the hand on his cock. His eyes were open, darkened, pupils dilated in lust as he looked down at the other man. "Just get on with it." It was a bit hard to sound frustrated with a voice that was as hoarse as John's was and eyes that practically screamed fuck me, fuck me, please fuck me, I need it, I need you, please, oh please.
Sherlock half-smiled smugly at John's words, as he continued to slowly, tortuously stretch him open. He still felt quite tight around his fingers, all that intimate warmth, and Sherlock's mind was already short-circuiting in a way, imagining how it would feel around his achingly hard cock. When John spoke again and he looked up from his arse to meet his eyes, something in his stomach dropped. He was fascinated and overwhelmed by all that wanting and needing in John's dark eyes, something he'd never seen there before, and all for him. It made something in his stomach clench that was not from simple arousal alone, but he ignored it, because he just had to have John now
( ... )
John tried so hard to keep his eyes on Sherlock's face, wanting just as much to take in every flicker of expression on the other man's face as he pushed into John's body, inch by inch. But as soon as the head of Sherlock's cock slipped inside, John's eyes rolled into the back of his head, hands scrambling and twisting into the bedsheets as his body trembled through the onslaught of sensations. "Oh, God," he groaned, head falling back on the bed as his eyes closed. And this was nothing yet. They'd barely even started, and already John felt like this was going to tear him apart and leave him in pieces, shattered, broken beyond repair. He'd never wanted anything more in his lifeIt stung, more than he thought it would, despite Sherlock's thorough preparations. But his lover's fingers were long, slender, nothing like the hard member that was slowly, but surely pushing its way inside. As instructed, John had wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist; they were trembling. "Keep going," he managed to gasp out, a look of concentration coming
( ... )
In the back of his mind, Sherlock vaguely wondered if John felt like he had felt when their roles were reversed, and he was the one being impaled and practically split in two. He'd thought that moment must have been the most intense sensation he had ever felt, that pleasure-pain burning through him, ripping him apart in a way he never wanted it to stop. But even his brilliant mind had not imagined what it could feel like, inching his way inside John Watson, his soldier, his friend, his link to humanity. He, too, wanted to watch John, to see how his expression changes as he's feeling this, but Sherlock's eyes also slipped closed. It was overwhelming, his body can't help it, and every muscle in his body seemed to be pulled as taut as a string, tense in wanting to just thrust all the way, deep inside all that tight heat. The animal part of his brain that was quickly taking over just wanted to use this body to fuck senseless, for his own pleasure alone
( ... )
John's arousal has slowly ebbed away as Sherlock pushed inside of him, his member softening as he continued to be stretched and filled by the impossible feel of Sherlock's cock inside of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he was breathing just as heavily as the other man. Christ, but Sherlock felt enormous inside of him. Shifting a little, John choked on a cut off moan at the impossibly full feeling of having another man's cock up his arse. That unbearably erotic knowledge, coupled with the fast fading feeling of burning pain, and the look in Sherlock's eyes, God, his eyes, as he looked down upon John with such hunger and desperate restraint... His cock twitched and swelled with renewed arousal, and he wrapped a trembling hand around the silky flesh, wrist twisting as he stroked himself to complete hardness again.
"Yeah. Yes. You can move, Sherlock, God, please move, show me, let me see you come undone, I want to see." Jesus, was that really his voice? Hoarse and breathless and hungry. He clenched
( ... )
It wasn't completely Sherlock's fault for not noticing John's lessening arousal. After all, he was feeling quite overwhelmed by all these new sensations, overloading his mind until it felt like it was short-circuiting, and he had to depend on feel and touch alone. This was such new territory for him, that if he was to venture into it with anybody, it would be John, someone he trusted with his life. Even though John was the one who was lying there, legs spread and completely open to Sherlock, he still felt vulnerable, but John's reactions, added to how he felt, enveloping his cock, were all enough to keep him from shying away from it all. When John clenched around him, Sherlock gasped out-loud - he couldn't help it. It was almost too tight, but the pleasure was exquisite, already promising to give him a high that would become addicting
( ... )
John made a softly mewling sound the first time Sherlock thrust inside of him, the movement shallow but overwhelming enough to make John's skin tingle all over and his cock twitch against his belly. That second thrust, however, had him cry out in pain and pleasure, eyes flying open in shock, breath catching hard. There was no hope of recovering from that point; he had begged for Sherlock to fuck him, and oh, he was getting fucked alright. Every thrust made John see stars, and when Sherlock's cock began to brush over his prostrate his voice quickly turned hoarse from crying out; profanities, desperate pleas, Sherlock's name like a litany, it all fell from his lips. The sight of Sherlock, however, was by far the most erotic thing. He looked absolutely lost in the sensation of fucking John, eyes dark and pupils dilated, hair damp with sweat, pale cheeks flushed, guided by pure instinct. It was the most beautiful sight John had ever seen
( ... )
Some part of Sherlock was aware of the sounds John was making underneath him. Mostly, the baser, more primitive side of him had taken over, but there was still some consciousness left over that filled him with the urge to just simply take care of his friend. It wasn't something he could consider in more depth at the moment, however, because the sensations that were flooding his system were more than just a little overwhelming. He might later be embarrassed by the way he must have looked and sounded quite debauched, but at the moment, he really could care less. It wasn't that Sherlock was ordinarily modest, of course - quite the contrary, really - but he was quite open and vulnerable at the moment. It's just that the passions and feelings of the already mind-blowing sex have come into the forefront of his mind, leaving room for little else
( ... )
If John had thought the sight of Sherlock losing himself in the sensations of fucking John to be the most beautiful thing ever, he was not at all prepared for the sight of Sherlock climaxing. It was... Well, it was glorious, the way his body tensed, the arch of his body, the broken quality of his voice, and God, oh God, were those tears. As soon as he was draped over John, the army doctor wrapped his arms around him, holding him close and turning his head to kiss some of the tears away. He felt warm, and sticky, and more than a little sore in places he'd never been sore in, but it didn't matter. None of it did. Only this. There was something horribly intimate about the way Sherlock was still inside of him, softening, reinforcing the fact that this was not just a fuck. John exhaled, deeply, tightening his arms around Sherlock
( ... )
Sherlock didn't think he would appear 'beautiful' during the act of climaxing, and now that he was coming back to reality, he felt... well, a bit embarrassed, really. But John didn't say anything about that, about the tears or any of it, he just seemed to know exactly what to do by wrapping his arms around Sherlock and holding him close. His breath starting to slow and even out, Sherlock closed his eyes when he felt John's lips on his cheeks, where the tears had slipped out. He couldn't deny the strong urge to just simply be close to his partner, and he buried his face in John's neck, partially out of embarrassment, but mostly out of the need for affection. It wasn't like him normally, of course, and later, he'll probably blame it on the post-orgasmic haze he found himself in. No, this wasn't just a fuck... and to be completely honest, that scared him. But he didn't speak of that, simply listened to John when he spoke first.
Sherlock huffed quietly, his words slightly muffled as he spoke against John's skin. "Don't try to label
( ... )
It helped, somewhat, to hear Sherlock rationalize away his sexuality crisis. It was stupid, he knew it, but John couldn't help but feel somewhat on edge about it, still. He was a man's man, a military man, and his sister was already out (and proud, much to the dismay of their parents). John didn't feel gay... Then again, he had no idea what that was supposed to feel like, did he? He felt like himself, just... better. Happier, now that he got to act on his true feelings towards Sherlock. The sex helped, too. God, it was good sex. Really bloody good, better than he had ever anticipated. With its own ups and downs, of course, but what kind of sex wasn't? And they were learning, weren't they
( ... )
It was in Sherlock's nature to be clinical and cold about even something as warm and intimate as sex, but his brain has yet to fully come back online. It was fascinating, how easily John could shut off his busy mind like this, with such a primitive, base act, and he's likely to examine that in further detail... but later. Right now, although he's still a bit overwhelmed and scared by everything that happened, by how empty and content and simply good he feels, he has no pressing need to stress over it all. It was amazing, the differences between how one is effected when penetrating someone else, or being penetrated by them. He's not yet sure which is technically 'better,' or if he prefers one over the other, as he's almost completely gone in this simple need to cuddle with John Watson
( ... )
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"Jesus, Sherlock," John gasped out, cock twitching and leaking pre-cum on his belly. He tried to keep himself still and quiet, really he did, but it was difficult to remember why when every word and every touch turned John Watson's world upside down. "Oh, you bastard, you bloody-- there, right there, yes, just like that--" His hand reached down with the intent to stroke his cock and add another dimension to this mind-blowing pleasure. Knowing it was because of Sherlock only added to it. "Another, give me another, just, ngh, slow ( ... )
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"Yeah. Yes. You can move, Sherlock, God, please move, show me, let me see you come undone, I want to see." Jesus, was that really his voice? Hoarse and breathless and hungry. He clenched ( ... )
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Sherlock huffed quietly, his words slightly muffled as he spoke against John's skin. "Don't try to label ( ... )
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