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Apropos of Nothing

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"I should bottom," Sherlock said, apropos of nothing.

"Sorry, what? What?"

Sherlock raised his gaze to look at John, as though noticing his presence for the first time.

"Your sexual experience is as a straight man, as a 'top', so I should bottom. You'll be more comfortable and since I have no previous lovers or sexual experience with which to compare you, I have no expectations for you to fulfil, or exceed (which I suspect you would even if I did, man of your experience). I know you'll be careful and considerate, not that I need you to be either, of course, but a considerate lover is something most people seem to want, and-"

"Wait wait wait. Stop."

Sherlock looked at John, perplexity creasing his forehead.

"What?"

"I've missed something. We're having sex now?"

"Of course."

"Sherlock, you know I'm-"

"Don't say straight, John, it's a tiresome untruth and it's beneath you. As I hope to soon be."

Sherlock's gaze heated the skin under John's collar.

"Straight," John said firmly. "I'm straight. I am."

"If you like. I'm the exception to your self-imposed rule."

John frowned and started to speak again, but Sherlock cut him off with an irritated flick of his hand through the air, as though casting away John's protests.

"Pupil dilation when looking in my direction: an extra ten percent, regardless of lighting conditions. When looking at me in my charcoal grey pinstriped trousers: twenty percent. You know the ones, they're a little too tight over my posterior and thighs, accentuating my gluteals and quadriceps."

John frowned. Sherlock continued regardless.

"You stand fifteen to twenty percent closer to me than you do to people you know very well, and thirty percent closer than you do to strangers, even attractive female ones. You inhale slowly when you take my phone from my pocket, or when you move in close to check my pulse and pupil dilation when I've overdone the nicotine patches, or when I've received a blow to the head—you smell me and you like it. You lick your lips and stare at my mouth unconsciously when I'm rattling off deductions, just as you're doing now. "

John froze, tongue touching his bottom lip, but Sherlock wasn't finished.

"You look at me instead of your girlfriends when they're unfortunate enough to occupy the same room as me, and your body language is entirely focused on me: feet pointing in my direction, your head positioned so that I'm on your right-hand side at all times (you have slight hearing loss in your left ear, not enough to be noticeable to anyone but myself, including you, consciously at least), you half-listen to the mindless drivel your vapid conquests come out with, but always focus your full attention on what I have to say, a fact demonstrated by Whatshername's having left twenty seconds ago without your noticing."

John looked to his left, at the space on the sofa formerly occupied by Pamela. The downstairs door slammed a moment later. John looked at the doorway, then back at Sherlock, his thin lips pinched together with barely-suppressed fury.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock!"

"Shall I go on?"

"No!"

"We can move on to the sex now?" Sherlock said, sitting forward in his seat, his pale, unsettling eyes seeming somehow even more alien when filled with desire.

"No, we bloody can't!"

Sherlock frowned, confused. "Usually after my deductions you look like you want to kiss me."

"No, I -"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John gave up on that argument.

"Do I look like that now?"

"No. It's puzzling."

"It's really fucking not."

"You look like you want to punch me. We could start with that, I suppose. You could hurt me a bit, then hold me down and take me. I can even struggle if that's something you'd like..."

John's breath left him in a heavy exhalation.

"Sher-"

"Oh, you like that idea, don't you?"

John shook his head and looked at the door.

"You needn't bother going after her, John. She left because she knows it's true, and you were thinking about finishing with her anyway. And you hadn't slept together yet."

"How do you-"

"Obvious."

John rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

"I'm going to bed. 'Night."

"Good night, John," Sherlock murmured.

---

Four long hours later, Sherlock smiled to himself as his bedroom door creaked slowly open. He stayed still, lying in the darkness. The right side of his bed dipped slightly as it accepted John's weight. Sherlock took a quiet breath to speak and found his mouth covered by John's strong right hand.

"Not a word, Sherlock. I mean it. Not a bloody word."

Sherlock breathed out through his nose, then nodded slowly. John paused for a long moment, his hand still clamped over Sherlock's mouth, then pulled away silently, seemingly satisfied. Sherlock watched John's silhouette picked out against his bedroom window as he stripped off the worn t-shirt he wore to bed. He could barely contain his excitement, his hands bunching in the sheets.

"I take it you have condoms and lube, then," John said quietly.

Oh, John, ever the pragmatist, Sherlock thought as he rolled over and flicked on the bedside lamp. He fished in his bedside drawer and pulled out a foiled strip of six condoms and a tube of lubricant. He turned back to look at John, finding a small smile on his friend's lips. He gave John a questioning look.

"Not just a passing fancy, then?" John asked, fond amusement in his tone.

Sherlock licked his lips quickly, his eyes lingering on John's toned torso, then shook his head once. John's eyes narrowed as he looked at Sherlock's face, really looked. Sherlock felt more than a little flayed open by John's examination of him. The thought passed through his mind that this must be how others feel when he observes them. He allowed the scrutiny, wanting John to see it all.

"Show me what I'm working with, Sherlock," John said, sudden heat in his eyes.

Sherlock paused for a few seconds, taking a moment to decide what to do, his pulse speeding up as John's eyes raked over his bare chest. After that brief moment, he pushed down the covers of his bed, exposing his body down to the knees, save for a pair of luxurious black silk boxer shorts. Not his normal sleepwear—a detail which wouldn’t have escaped John's notice.

John's eyes slowly travelled down Sherlock's body, caressing his pale skin in a way that was almost tactile. Sherlock swallowed loudly in the silence of the room as John's eyes focussed on his boxer shorts and the steadily increasing tumescence therein. John's tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip and Sherlock's eyes followed the movement jealously, with longing.

Quietly, John spoke, "I haven't done this before. But you know that."

Sherlock nodded mutely, a random shiver coursing through his innards as John's eyes met his.

"You're an exception. You know that as well," John said seriously.

Sherlock nodded again.

"Truly exceptional..." John breathed, looking slowly along the length of Sherlock's body once more.

Sherlock's body started to tremble slightly, tensed and tight like a coiled spring, the electricity in the room affecting his central nervous system. He hasn't even touched me yet, Sherlock thought. He's going to kill me.

John moved onto the bed, on his hands and knees, and lay down beside Sherlock, facing him. Sherlock's teeth chattered as another shudder went through his body, his eyes magnetically drawn to John's face. John's eyes met his.

"You really want this, don't you?" John said, his tone wondering. "Really want this."

Sherlock resisted his impulse to answer the question, unable to trust his voice to serve him, with the state he was in. John's eyes softened as he looked at Sherlock.

His voice was deceptively gentle when he murmured, "I'm going to enjoy this, Sherlock. I'm going to take it slow. I'm going to take you apart. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

Sherlock couldn’t hold in the groan he let out at that, his hips pushing up into the empty air of the room of their own accord. A small, uncharacteristically wicked smile played across John's lips.

"You want that too, don't you?" John said. "You want me to be your first... the one you'll compare every lover to, from now on..."

Sherlock remained silent but wanted to tell John that there wouldn't be any others, that he too was exceptional, the exception. The only one there would ever be.

John moved one hand slowly and ran his fingertips lightly down the side of Sherlock's throat. Sherlock gasped, then breathed out heavily as his body broke out into gooseflesh.

"You're so sensitive, aren't you?" John mused, watching his fingertips dance slowly down Sherlock's pectoral muscle, narrowly missing his nipple, then trail down the side of his ribcage. "Has anyone ever touched you like this before?"

John's eyes were focused on Sherlock's again as he helplessly shook his head, his eyes pleading for more. Sherlock's abdominal muscles jerked as John's fingers brushed them, tickling the sensitive skin. He bit his bottom lip as John's fingers dipped under the waistband of his shorts and moved slowly along it, short fingernails dragging against his skin.

"You're this sensitive and I haven't even touched your cock yet..." John mused, making Sherlock squeeze his eyes closed, trying to control his body's reaction to the promise in John's voice.

John chuckled quietly and dragged his fingernails slowly back up the centre of Sherlock's chest.

"I can only imagine how responsive you'll be when I'm inside you..."

"God," Sherlock groaned, unable to hold in the exclamation.

"Shh," breathed John, a small smile teasing his lips. "All in good time..."

Sherlock's eyes were still squeezed closed when John's mouth latched onto his right nipple, and just like that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. John planted his hand in the middle of Sherlock's chest, holding him down against the bed as his body arched. Sherlock looked down, his own mouth falling open as he watched John's lips and tongue moving on his skin, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. John's eyes met his and he felt like he was catching fire, like John was burning him with the heat in his gaze.

John pulled back, his lips making a lewd smacking noise as they released Sherlock's nipple.

"Fuck, you're really something," John murmured, eyes flicking from Sherlock's eyes to his mouth, to his nipple, then back to his mouth. "You've got me so hard already..."

"John..." Sherlock whimpered.

"Shhh," John breathed, moving up the bed to bring his face level with Sherlock's. "It's okay."

John brushed one thumb gently along Sherlock's bottom lip and Sherlock's mouth fell open, inviting. John took his lips in a kiss that wasn't at all like Sherlock was expecting; he thought it would be hard and demanding, macho and manly, a contest, a struggle. Instead what he was getting was... cherished. John's mouth was soft and gentle, the kiss almost chaste, John breathing softly between his parted lips.

Sherlock's hand went to John's upper arm and pulled him closer, on the verge of desperation, trying to bring their bodies together. He let out a low groan as John pulled away again. That teasing smile of John's was back in place, almost infuriating in its allure.

John's hand ran slowly down the front of Sherlock's body again, but this time it didn't stop at the waistband of his shorts. John's hand dipped under the elastic and his fingertips caught the head of Sherlock's cock briefly before the palm rubbed down the front of his shaft. Sherlock's mouth dropped open, his eyes fell closed and a long, low moan was torn from his chest, his brow creasing as he struggled to adjust to the wave of pleasure that assaulted him.

John's voice was soft and admiring, next to his ear, as he murmured, "You're not small, are you?"

Sherlock was incapable of speech as John wrapped his fingers around his shaft in an overhand grip and started slowly stroking him. Sherlock's hips automatically started to thrust, instinctively seeking more friction, more everything.

"I wonder how much of it I'll be able to fit in my mouth..." John mused aloud, his lips brushing Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock bit the inside of his lip hard and held his breath as John started to kiss a slow trail down his neck, over his chest, stroking him all the while, his hand still inside Sherlock's shorts. He looked down at John and thrust up hard into his hand as their eyes met, his body trembling uncontrollably. John licked slowly down over Sherlock's tummy, tonguing a slow circle around his belly button, before moving to kneel between his parted knees. He dipped his head and rubbed his cheek slowly up the length of Sherlock's cock, his slightly-stubbled skin creating friction against the fine silk of Sherlock's underwear.

"If you want to back out..." John said softly, without looking up.

Sherlock reached for John, his fingers running through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. John looked up at Sherlock as he slowly stretched the waistband of the shorts out, over, down and off, grinning as Sherlock half-helped, half-hindered, his long, usually-graceful legs ungainly in that situation. Sherlock's heart pounded double-time as the cool bedroom air hit the superheated skin of his eager cock. John looked down at it and licked his lips, and Sherlock had to shove the heel of his left hand into his mouth to keep from begging.

John fumbled blindly on the covers, his hand searching for the condoms, his eyes firmly fixed on Sherlock's rock-hard erection.

"No condom," Sherlock whispered. "Please."

John froze, looking up at Sherlock, a frown creasing his brow in a way Sherlock found endearing, despite his desperate frustration and need.

"Sherlock..."

"I want you bare," Sherlock whispered, his cheeks heating with the shamelessness of his demand.

John closed his eyes for a long moment, letting out a quiet, slow breath.

"We're both clean," Sherlock said, "We were both tested when that badger exploded in the kitchen."

"That was a month ago," John said, looking up at Sherlock again.

"And you haven't slept with anyone since, and I haven't slept with anyone, ever."

"But you-"

"My needles were always new and I've had a full blood work-up. We both have."

John let out a long breath.

"Sherlock-"

"I don't want there to be anything in between us. I need you closer, John. I need you so close. If this is the only time someone has me like this, I want it to be..." Sherlock whispered, his eyes wide and pleading, his voice shaking. He mouthed the word, too ashamed to say it. Perfect. It was verging on blatant emotional manipulation and they both knew it—except it wasn't, not really, because Sherlock meant every word—but they were both also too far gone to care.

"Fuck it," John muttered and took Sherlock's cock into his mouth, Sherlock gasping and grabbing blindly at the bedhead.

John only bobbed his head five times, sucking inexpertly, his lips sliding wetly over the silken head, before Sherlock cried out, "Oh god, John, I'm coming, I can't stop it..."

John pulled back and stroked Sherlock through a loud, shuddering orgasm, groaning in sympathy as Sherlock shot rope after rope of semen over his own body; his hips bucking wildly, John holding on to Sherlock's thigh with his free arm. He slowed his strokes as Sherlock's trembling subsided, his own heart pounding, his cock throbbing and hard in his pyjama trousers, trapped against the mattress.

Sherlock let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling, dazed.

"Good?" John murmured, rubbing his thumb in small, gentle circles against the underside of Sherlock's shaft.

Sherlock grunted quietly in response, still panting, then laughed softly. John buried his grin against the inside of Sherlock's thigh, hiding it with a soft kiss.

"That's one..." John said, and Sherlock looked down at him with a mildly alarmed expression.

"One?" Sherlock asked, still breathless.

"Mmm. One," John said with a grin, then took one of Sherlock's balls into his mouth.

"Ahhh, god," Sherlock groaned, pressing his head back into the pillow again.

John laved Sherlock's balls with his tongue, alternating between licking and sucking. He hooked his hands around Sherlock's thighs, holding them open and still as Sherlock squirmed, oversensitive and overstimulated. His tongue explored the crease between balls and thigh, then he nipped lightly at the tender skin of Sherlock's inner thigh with his teeth.

Sherlock's hands were in his own hair, fists gripping and pulling as his body writhed. John looked up at Sherlock as he licked a long stripe up the underside of Sherlock's still-hard cock.

"You're still ready to go, aren't you?"

"I'm... god, John," Sherlock breathed, "I'm as surprised as you."

"I'm not just surprised, I'm fucking thrilled," John said between sucking kisses to Sherlock's shaft. "I wouldn't want to fuck you if you weren't that into it. But you are so into it. And I am going to give you what you need..."

Sherlock groaned, pushing his hips up. So this was the John Watson that his conquests saw. John "Three Continents" Watson, sex god apparently, in the flesh and in Sherlock's bed. John's prowess in the art of seduction came on like a stealth attack, mild-mannered doctor wearing old man cardigans and making tea one moment, tactical sex missile wholly annihilating his intended target using just his mouth the next. Sherlock was most of the way toward completely wrecked already.

John pushed Sherlock's thighs up, folding him in half. Sherlock flushed, a little horrified at how exposed this new position left him. John let out a long, blowing breath, the cool air chilling the sweaty skin between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock looked down at him and John met his eye.

"Let's try something, shall we?" John murmured, a salacious twinkle in his eyes.

Before Sherlock could answer, John had dipped his head and was dragging his wet tongue over Sherlock's balls, lower over his perineum, lower, lower, over his, over his...

"Oh fucking hell, John," Sherlock groaned, his body jerking, grabbing at his thighs just behind the knees and hugging them to his chest.

"Like that, do you?" John asked, his voice amused.

"Don't stop," Sherlock ordered.

"Yessir," John breathed, grinning, then licked over Sherlock's hole again.

"You've done this before."

"Mmmhmm," John agreed between licks. "One of my favourite things."

"Even with women?"

"Especially with women," John murmured against Sherlock's flesh.

"Don't they find it... filthy?"

"Now you're getting it."

"You like it because it's... ahh... taboo?"

John pulled back, Sherlock letting out a disappointed little whine.

"If you can talk this much I'm not doing my job properly," John groused.

"Sorrysorrysorry, please continue."

"No, I think the mood's gone now. You've talked me out of it," John said, deadpan.

"No, John, please," Sherlock begged.

John dipped his head again, licking Sherlock roughly, once, from tailbone to testicles. Sherlock's whole body arched in response.

"Christ," John groaned, his voice rough with want. "You're so fucking hot."

"If you can talk this much your mouth isn't. on. me." Sherlock grumbled, his fingers pulling not-very-gently on John's hair.

"Smartarse. Oh, but what an arse."

Sherlock almost replied, but then John was licking, licking, licking and not stopping, at the most intimate erogenous zone of his body that he didn't even know about, and then little by little pushing his tongue inside. Sherlock was letting out embarrassing whimpering moans that he couldn't stop, his right leg flailing off to the side and forgotten about, his left hand gripping his left knee, pulling it tightly against his chest, his other hand grabbing his own hair so hard he was sure he was going to end up with a bald patch.

John Watson was fucking him with his tongue and Sherlock Holmes was sure this was how he was going to die. He could see it clearly in his mind: stiff, formal, dignified Mycroft Holmes ordering a headstone engraved "Here lies Sherlock Holmes, killed by anilingus".

He let out a slightly hysterical giggle and John took that as a signal to probe alongside his tongue with a gentle finger. Sherlock froze and tensed, but also let out a moan of enjoyment.

John pulled back very slightly and murmured with a grin, "Be a dear and hand me the lube, would you?"

Sherlock fumbled clumsily in the rumpled sheets for the lubricant, a task made much more difficult by John's insistently exploring fingertips shooting flashes of pleasure through his body. John began tonguing Sherlock's balls again while he waited and Sherlock paused for a very long moment in his search, just staring dazedly at the ceiling.

John breathed against Sherlock's sac, "I want to get my fingers in you, Sherlock, and if you don't want it to hurt..."

Sherlock exhaled heavily, his buttocks clenching at that thought.

"Maybe another time," John said, a smile evident in his voice. "Right now I want to get you nice and wet and slippery, and give you a good, deep fingering."

Sherlock raised his head to look at John with a groan. He was very much on board with that plan and groped at the bed, finally locating the blasted lube and thrusting it at his tormentor.

"Thank you." John pulled back entirely and rested on his knees on the bed.

His pyjama bottoms were tented obscenely and all Sherlock could do was stare. There was a large wet patch at the apex of the tent, the old, worn material going almost entirely see-through. Sherlock's mouth flooded with saliva as he looked.

"I want to taste your cock, John," he said, one hand moving to his chest to gently tweak a nipple, and the other taking his own cock between thumb and forefinger, giving it one long, squeezing stroke.

John's eyes flicked quickly between Sherlock's hands and his mouth.

"I know," John murmured, fixing Sherlock with a heated stare. "You can wait."

Sherlock watched as John squeezed a large amount of the thick lube onto his fingertips. John shuffled a little closer and Sherlock gasped as the cold gel touched his hot skin. John wasted no time in working a finger inside of Sherlock who just watched him, his eyes slightly unfocused, his hips undulating slowly in time with the invading digit. A second finger joined the first and Sherlock held his breath, trying to push down, trying to take both fingers deeper.

"You like that?" John asked, his voice rough with desire.

Sherlock couldn't answer with his voice, all he could do was to plant his hands on the headboard of the bed and push, forcing his body down the bed, forcing John's fingers deeper.

"Oh fuck, yeah, you like it," John breathed, moving his hand faster, pushing his fingers deeper with each thrust.

The next few minutes passed for Sherlock in a whirlwind of sensation—two unrelenting fingers plunging deep into him, slippery-wet, what should feel like an intrusion feeling like a revelation with each knuckle-deep push. His eyes were squeezed shut and his body was moving with each of John's thrusts, trying to take his fingers deeper, get more of John inside him.

John dipped his head to lick along the shaft of Sherlock's cock again and curled his fingers inside of him at the same time. Sherlock's whole body clenched.

"What the hell..."

"Like that?"

John curled his fingers again and rubbed his fingertips in small circles inside Sherlock, finding his sweet spot with unerring doctorly accuracy.

"That's my prost—ahhh..."

"Well spotted," John breathed against Sherlock's frenulum, still rubbing and rubbing and driving Sherlock very quickly out of his mind.

"Oh god," he moaned as heat started to radiate out through his lower body from the point where John's fingertips were making contact. A shiver coursed through him, followed by a strong clench around John's digits. "Oh my guhhh," Sherlock groaned out as his body clenched again, involuntarily.

John took the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth again, teasing the tip of his tongue through the slit.

"John-stop-I-will-definitely-come-if-you-do-that," Sherlock ground out, his whole body tense and shivering.

John pulled off Sherlock's cock with an obscene smack of his lips.

"Well, we wouldn't want that," he said, straight-faced but without a trace of sincerity.

He was still rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, and Sherlock was swivelling his hips, shamelessly grinding on John's hand and running his own hands over his chest.

"Feel good?" John breathed, watching Sherlock writhe with thunderstorm-cloud-dark, hungry eyes.

Sherlock couldn't answer as his body began to tremble; first his innards, then his thigh muscles, then his whole body. He was groaning constantly, the feeling in his whole body concentrated down into the tiny spot inside him, and John with his fingers on the button.

"Sherlock," John murmured, "you okay there?"

"I—ye—n—John, I..." Sherlock stuttered.

"Is that a yes?"

Sherlock looked down at John helplessly. He was shaking like a leaf; his teeth chattering, his hair almost as wild as his eyes. He grabbed at the pillow with both hands, white-knuckled, almost folding it around his head.

John slowly moved back to pushing and pulling, fucking Sherlock with his fingers but avoiding his prostate. Sherlock regained the power of speech.

"John, for god's sake, stop teasing me and start f-f-fucking me."

He was trying for 'commanding' but it came out as needy. Scared. It made John want to destroy him, want to shatter him apart with pleasure. Keep rubbing and rubbing until Sherlock came with his cock untouched, writhing and fucking himself on John's fingers.

"All right," John said and slowly withdrew his fingers from Sherlock's grasping, pinkened hole.

He moved onto his knees on the bed between Sherlock's spread legs.

Sherlock frowned at his pyjama bottoms.

"Naked please," Sherlock demanded imperiously.

"Hold that thought," John said, then slid off the bed and disappeared into the ensuite.

Sherlock lay in stunned silence for a moment, then tentatively called, "John?"

A gargling noise emanated from the bathroom.

"Oh for god's sake," Sherlock muttered with an irritated eyeroll.

The bathroom tap ran, then there was more gargling. John emerged from the bathroom thirty-five excruciatingly long seconds later to a frowning, naked, still-hard, incredibly impatient Sherlock.

"After what you've just done to me, you really think I need-"

"Just trying to be considerate," John murmured with an amused expression.

"Not necessary, for future reference," Sherlock informed him.

"For the next time I eat you out?" John asked. "Good to know."

Sherlock lost a little of his impatience at that, forced out by a wave of heat that flushed through his body. Next time?

With a fond chuckle, John moved to stand at the end of the bed, pushed his pants down and kicked them off. His cock, standing erect and proud from his body, bounced with the movement and Sherlock took his own cock in hand, squeezing and stroking it as he watched John move, unable to resist the impulse, legs still splayed wide on the bed. His body was still trembling slightly, his pale, pale skin flushed pink in patches, his hair darkened with sweat and stuck to his forehead.

John let out a long breath, just standing and watching. "You look like a cross between Michelangelo's David and a wet dream."

Sherlock's cheeks flushed a little. "Spoken like a man who's never had a wet dream over High Renaissance art," he murmured with a mad smile.

John shook his head, grinning. "Why the hell didn't we do this sooner?"

Sherlock gave him an impatient look which clearly said told you so.

"All right, all right," John said, and crawled back onto the bed, up over Sherlock's body. Sherlock's hands moved to the pillow as John straddled one of his thighs, bringing their faces close. He could feel John's cock pressing against his femoral artery. So close. So close.

John nipped Sherlock's bottom lip to regain his attention, then took his lips in a kiss completely unlike their first. This kiss, this was what he thought—fantasised—kissing John Watson would be like. Hard. Filthy. Hot. Mintier than he'd imagined. John was forceful, possessing Sherlock's mouth, taking him over utterly. Holding him down with his body. All Sherlock could do was helplessly kiss him back, wrapping his arms around him and clinging to him, grinding his cock up against John's hip. John's hipbone was digging in to Sherlock's erection but he'd take it, he'd take anything right at that moment, anything that meant John touching him, kissing him, grinding his cock against Sherlock's body.

John broke the kiss after a couple of minutes, breathing hard. "Sorry, couldn't not, with you lying there looking like that."

"Quite all right," Sherlock said, similarly out of breath. He licked his lips reflexively, his gaze trained on John's mouth.

"Cut that out, you, or I'll just end up kissing that perfect fucking mouth all night," John faux-scolded.

Sherlock pushed John off him and rolled onto his front, his legs still spread, his hips instinctively thrusting, grinding his cock against the mattress.

"Or not," John said, distracted, his hand automatically going to Sherlock's arse, fingers trailing over Sherlock's rounded, clenching cheeks before delving between to tease with his fingertips.

"Come on. I'm giving you carte blanche with my body and all you want to do is touch me?" Sherlock said in a voice that wasn't as bossy as it was trying to be. "Have at me, man!"

John slid up closer to Sherlock's side and breached his hole with one fingertip. He kissed Sherlock's moist cheekbone softly, then breathed in his ear, "This night could never be long enough for all the things I want to do to you, Sherlock."

Sherlock shuddered again, John's breath tickling his ear and making the side of his body break out in gooseflesh, and squeezed his eyes closed, John's words going straight to his chest and causing a bittersweet pang there. He pushed back on John's finger, impaling himself further and raising himself up onto his knees. He was still trembling, shivering, desperate for touch.

"You can do anything you want to me, John. Have me any way you want me. My body is yours to do with as you wish," he breathed. "And not just for tonight. Any time, any way, anywhere. Yours."

John looked at Sherlock and shook his head a little as though trying to understand. Sherlock's face flushed red, his eyes still squeezed closed, and he said, "Now come on and fuck me, for god's sake, before I shake apart."

John moved quickly, behind Sherlock, between his parted knees. He placed a hand on each of Sherlock's arse cheeks and parted them, exposing his puffy, winking hole. He let out a long, shuddering breath as he traced one fingertip around it.

"John."

"Yeah."

John retrieved the lube from the sheets.

"Are we going to have the condom conversation again?" Sherlock asked, his tone of voice telling John exactly how that conversation would go.

John paused for a long moment, then clicked the lid off the tube of lube. Sherlock turned his head to look back at John, catching his eye as John slathered lube onto his cock with a low groan. Sherlock looked away quickly, at the headboard of his bed, his hands clenching around his pillow with excitement at being so close to getting what he'd wanted for so long.

John moved closer and steadied himself with one hand on the small of Sherlock's back. Sherlock could hear wet sounds as John slowly stroked his cock. He shuffled closer on his knees.

"I didn't think you wanted this..." John breathed, almost groaned, as he began rubbing the glans of his cock against Sherlock's slippery, furled entrance.

Sherlock's forehead creased and he pushed his face into the pillow, trying not to speak.

"How long have you wanted this?" John breathed roughly, pressing gently against Sherlock's hole. "Tell me."

Sherlock groaned and shook his head, pressing his face harder into the pillow and pushing back against the pressure John was applying.

"Tell me, Sherlock, and I'll give it to you..."

Sherlock exploded into desperate, hissed speech, "Since Sarah. Since you told me you were going on a date with her. Don't act like you didn't kno- ohhhh..."

Sherlock's voice cracked as John quickly breached him, then slowly pushed forward. Sherlock was pressing the side of his head into the pillow, looking back at John out of the corner of his eye, his mouth open in a soundless expression of wonder.

Buried halfway inside Sherlock, John stilled with a shudder.

"John-"

"Sherlock, shh."

"John, I'm not fragile..."

"I know, just... just wait..."

"Deeper, John..."

"Fuck, Sherlock, are you trying to make me come?"

"Yes, that is the general i-ohgod..."

John had moved his hand to the back of Sherlock's neck, pressing his face into the pillow as he pushed relentlessly, smoothly, all the way inside him.

John stared down at the point where his body intersected with Sherlock's. "God, that's-"

"John," Sherlock breathed, pushing back against him. "God, John..."

"-fucking beautiful," John finished.

Sherlock pulled abruptly away from John, then shoved back a little too hard, causing them both to whimper.

"Easy, easy," John whispered, one steady hand on the small of Sherlock's back.

"I don't want it easy," Sherlock said urgently, "I want you. All of you. Everything you have."

"Only everything," John said, smiling a little. "Sounds about right."

Sherlock pushed back again with a long groan, shuddering as John filled him.

"Please, John..."

John pulled almost all the way out of Sherlock in a long, slow slide, then pushed just as slowly back into him, his eyes focused on the penetration. His body shivered as he pulled out and thrust again.

"You're so tight," John groaned, his hands moving to rest on Sherlock's hips, his thumbs moving over Sherlock's skin and smearing traces of sticky lube.

"Obviously," Sherlock muttered, and then smiled as he got the provoked harder thrust. He pushed back, hard, against John and rocked his hips, moving John's cock inside him.

John's hands tightened on Sherlock's hips and his breathing quickened as he started fucking Sherlock steadily, pulling him back onto his thrusting cock. Sherlock moved his hands to grasp the top of the bedhead, his arm muscles tightening as he pushed back against John, groaning each time he was filled.

John slipped his arms around Sherlock's chest and pressed his forehead against his spine, breathing heavily, smearing wet kisses on Sherlock's skin. His hands explored Sherlock's chest, tweaking his nipples, smearing through the evidence of Sherlock's earlier orgasm. Finally John's right arm encircled Sherlock's waist while his strong, callused left hand took hold of his cock.

Sherlock immediately thrust into the channel of John's fingers, almost dislodging John's cock from him.

"Breathe," John instructed. "I've got you."

"You have, you have, god, John, you have..."

John established a rhythm, pushing into Sherlock and pulling on his cock at the same time. All Sherlock could do was hold onto the bedhead with his head hanging as John fucked him and stroked him, harder and faster, breathing harshly against his back.

Sherlock let out a long, keening moan and threw his head back as John dragged him over the edge, his body quaking violently, showering the evidence of his enjoyment onto the sheets in strong spurts, clenching around John's thick cock still thrusting so deep inside him.

John kept fucking him hard for a few more seconds then breathed out, barely audible, "Oh fucking hell, Sherlock, I'm close. I'm so close. So so so close..."

"John, yes," Sherlock hissed, grinding on John's cock again, almost forcing him to sitting. "Come on..."

"I'm gonna come in you," John breathed, the statement still sounding like a request for permission.

"I believe that's known as 'breeding'," Sherlock breathed, matching John's urgent tone. "Fill me up, John, breed me."

"Oh fuck, Sherlock," John cried, and his hips stuttering against Sherlock's arse, his body shaking as he let go, groaning as he spilled inside of him. Sherlock pushed John back to kneeling and rode him, wringing every last drop from him, relishing John's reaction. John clung to Sherlock's torso as he shuddered his orgasm deep inside Sherlock's body, his face pressed against Sherlock's back. "Sherlock... oh my god..."

After a few long moments, John's arms tightened around Sherlock's body, stilling him. John's breaths puffed harshly against Sherlock's sweaty skin, pressing messy, lazy kisses to his back, tasting him with his tongue.

"Breeding?" John uttered with a breathless laugh.

"That is what it's called, isn't it?" Sherlock murmured with a lazy smile.

"Mmm," John agreed. "Filth," he added.

Sherlock clenched around John's cock, drawing a groan from him. He grinned to himself, closing his eyes, memorising and cataloguing the feeling of John's hard, girthy cock deep inside him, slick with come, the sounds he made, the feeling of his arms around Sherlock's body, the feeling of completeness in the heart Sherlock had always claimed he didn't have.

"Ooh, thigh's starting to cramp," John hissed, and released Sherlock from his hold.

Sherlock moved to flop on the bed, on his side. John massaged his thigh for a few moments, then moved to lie down. He pulled the rumpled top sheet up over their bodies and moved to lie close behind Sherlock, spooning him, their bodies pressed together, one arm curled around Sherlock's body, the other under his head on the pillow.

"I didn't know," John murmured against the back of Sherlock's neck in between lazy kisses.

"Didn't... what?" Sherlock breathed, his brow creasing, finding it incredibly hard to comprehend normal speech, let alone connect the words said to their meaning.

"I didn't know you wanted this," John said. "If I had..."

"This is perfect," Sherlock murmured after a few moments' silent thought. "I wanted it ages ago, but... I wouldn't have changed it."

They both paused for a moment, a little surprised at Sherlock's honest answer.

"I thought you were... I don't know, asexual or something."

"Do you still think that?"

"No. Now I know you're John-sexual."

"I could go right off you, you know," Sherlock said, hiding his face in the pillow.

"Doubt it," John said with a lazy, cocksure smirk. "Ruined for anyone else. The Watson Guarantee."

"Do shut up, I'm trying to sleep," Sherlock murmured, a small smile belying his words.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Sherlock said, looking back at John over his shoulder.

John looked at Sherlock, smiling widely.

"That's two."

Sherlock gasped as John disappeared under the covers once more...

 

The End.