John had to dig in his heels surprisingly hard to halt Sherlock's inexorable tug toward the bedroom. "Hang on a minute."

"Why?" Sherlock released John's hand but still hovered, radiating energy.

"Because I don't know what I'm up for, yet, and the fastest way to ruin this is to go too fast and have to stop."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience?"

"Not from this side of the equation, but yes."

"Fine." Sherlock flopped back into his chair with a petulant sigh. "Does this involve more talking? Because surely the fact that I'm consenting to talk about feelings in the first place is all the sign you need that I'm serious."

"It's not that, I just-"


"You don't have a vagina, Sherlock," John snapped. "I'm kind of at a loss here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I don't have a vagina. I do have nipples. And a mouth, complete with lips and tongue and teeth. I have an arse, which I've been told is at least passably attractive. I have feet and arms and legs and thighs and earlobes and a navel and all those other things you're used to your partners having. The fact that I have a penis instead of a vagina really shouldn't throw you off that much - it's only around one percent of my surface area, anyway."

Christ. "It's not about surface area!"

"Then what is it about?" Sherlock retorted. He leapt up from his seat and came to stand chest-to-chest with John. "Is it about this?" He ducked his head and pressed his lips to the corner of John's mouth in a swift kiss, over almost before it began. "Or touch, is that what's bothering you?" His long fingers wrapped around John's wrist and brought their mingled hands up to rest on his own shoulder. The fabric of his dressing gown was warm and silky smooth under John's palm. "Or how about taste? I assure you-"

John cut him off with the simple expedient of kissing upwards and pulling on the nape of Sherlock's neck at the same time. The combination threw Sherlock off balance, pulling him forward and down into the kiss. He made a shocked noise and stilled instantly.

Luckily, kissing was something John had a lot of practice with. It was one of his better skills, honestly, and other than the fact that he was kissing up instead of down, it was comfortable territory. Sherlock's lips were warm and soft and when he opened his mouth - to argue or to deepen the kiss, John wasn't sure which, and he didn't give him time to choose - he tasted like tea and sugar. He moaned, deep and low in his throat, and the vibrations went straight to John's cock. So much for being worried that kissing a man wouldn't be a turn-on, John thought fuzzily.

Somehow - John wasn't entirely sure which of them instigated it - their bodies ended up measured together from kiss to thighs. He could feel Sherlock's erection pressing into his stomach, warm and insistent. It wasn't as alarming as he expected it to be - on the contrary, his own erection seemed to be eager to get free of his pants, preferably as soon as possible.

John pulled back from the kiss, finishing with an almost-chaste peck on Sherlock's cheek. "Right then," he said aloud, because something needed to be said. Sherlock looked dazed and needy, and fuck if that wasn't the best expression John had ever seen on his face. So far . . .

This time it was John leading the way to the bedroom. Sherlock's, because it was closer and didn't involve stairs and if John was going to do this, he was just as happy to leave the mess on Sherlock's sheets instead of his own. Sherlock trailed a step and a half behind.

"I'm still not promising I'll be up for . . . everything," John said by way of explanation, "but I find you make a very convincing argument."

"One I'd be happy to expound on, at length, if the situation arises," Sherlock said a good half-octave lower than normal. "Rather hoping it does, in fact."


Sherlock met John's eyes. "I know," he said quietly in his normal tone of voice. "Not all gay couples even do anal sex, you know - not everyone likes it. I'm not expecting anything in particular from you."

And of course that was exactly what John was hesitant about, now that he actually thought about it. "I hate it when you deduce me like that."

"No you don't."

"Okay, no I don't." John tried to suppress his grin. "Want to deduce what I'd like to do next?"

"Mmmm." Sherlock's gaze drifted slowly down John's body, then back up. "I hope it involves divesting you of that jumper. And letting me get my hands and my mouth on you."

"Fuck." John blinked away the mental image Sherlock's words had invoked. "I - yeah, that sounds good."

"Excellent." Sherlock shrugged off the dressing gown, leaving himself in just a soft gray t-shirt and a pair of pinstriped pajama trousers. John didn't get much of a chance to ogle him, though, because Sherlock immediately grabbed the hem of John's jumper and tugged it sharply upward. John wasn't expecting it, and consequently got his elbows and shoulders and head all wrapped up and trapped in the thick fabric. He tried to move his arms, to get leverage and pull the bloody thing off, but suddenly there was a warm, wet suction against the soft skin of his belly, followed by a cool sensation which made him jerk and tangle his limbs even more.

Sherlock blew against the damp spot on John's skin again, then tugged the tails of John's button-down even higher and pressed a second kiss to his sternum. "Leave it there," he said, his voice nearly gravel. "Don't watch me, just feel."

John drew in a shaky breath. "What are you-"

"Just feel," Sherlock reiterated. And swirled his tongue around John's navel, finishing with a firm suck which literally caused John's knees to buckle. Sherlock caught him easily and shifted them both so John was splayed out flat on his back on the mattress.

"Much better," Sherlock purred, and darted his tongue into John's navel again with a firm jab. "I'm going to unzip your trousers now, and see where else I can do that."

"Nnnngh." John struggled half-heartedly against the prison of his jumper. He wasn't really trapped, and they both knew it, but Sherlock was doing something absolutely unholy with his tongue at the moment, trailing it down the crease between John's abdomen and his pelvic bone, and Christ fuck bloody hell if he kept going in that direction, this would be over embarrassingly quickly. Sherlock's fingers quickly freed the button and the zipper on John's trousers, and John had to bite back a whine.

"The cloth is muffling you and Mrs. Hudson is out anyway," Sherlock noted helpfully with his mouth only inches from John's cock. "Don't restrain yourself on my account."

"I don't feel - oh God - particularly restrained right now," John panted.

"Other than the jumper?"

"Shut up and suck me already."

Sherlock chuckled, but he obediently closed his mouth over John's cock through the fabric of his pants and John really did groan then. Fuck, he could actually feel Sherlock's grin. Sherlock nuzzled a bit, little advances and retreats, and then there was cool air against John's skin and Sherlock's mouth was oh so hot against him where he had worked John's erection free through the slit in his pants. At first it was random patches, Sherlock mouthing him with lips and tongue and then drawing away to regroup, but then that slick warmth covered the head of John's cock and kept going down the shaft and John nearly came right there.

"Oh God, Sherlock, please-"

But Sherlock pulled away, so abruptly John let out a choked sob. There was a quiet rustling, then the warmth of his mouth was replaced by an even hotter slide of skin against skin. It took a moment for John to identify the sensation - Sherlock had shed his trousers and was sliding his cock against John's in slow, controlled glides. His saliva slicked them both up enough for there to be just the right amount of friction, barely any drag but enough that John could feel every bump, every vein of Sherlock's cock as it slid over his own.

"I was right, you know," Sherlock said. "You are significantly larger than average, and you're delightfully responsive. I can see why your dates spoke so highly of you afterward."

"Shut up and keep moving," John groaned.

Sherlock shut up, although John could hear his smug expression even through the thick layers of the jumper. There was a wet sound, then a tightness as Sherlock's hand curled around them both and provided an even better source of heat and snug pressure. Sherlock groaned aloud and the sound traveled straight down John's spine and into his balls where it curled deliciously tight and low, threatening to spring loose at any moment.

"Fuck, I'm going to - think I'm going to-"

Sherlock's free hand insinuated itself higher under John's button-down, brushing upward until it found the tight bump of his nipple. Sherlock trailed his fingertips over it, then grasped and squeezed. Hard. At the same time his other hand tightened around their beautifully slick cocks and his hips ground down, dragging his own length against John's.

John came with an actual yell, which wasn't at all muffled by the jumper. Sherlock's hips stuttered, then he groaned too and flopped down on the other side of the mattress, one arm flung out to rest on John's chest.

When John's heart finally slowed back to its normal rhythm, he sat up enough to wrestle the jumper off the rest of the way and finally look at his flatmate. Sherlock had his eyes closed, but his hair was sticking up in strange places and his gray t-shirt was rucked up to the base of his ribcage on one side, exposing a pale expanse of skin. He was naked from the waist down, too, and John noted that the pale skin extended everywhere one might expect. Sherlock's cock was flaccid and quiescent against the darker thatch of hair at his groin, and John found himself wishing he had gotten to actually see it while it was still erect.

"There's still time," Sherlock said without opening his eyes.


"To see each other naked. Plenty of time." Sherlock cracked one eye open. "Unless you were planning on this as just a one-time thing? A pity fuck?"

"Bloody - no, Sherlock," John said firmly. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Sherlock swallowed and gave a minute nod. "I - okay."

"My refractory period isn't what it used to be, though," John continued, "so it's not going to be tonight. As much as yes, I do want to see you when you come."

"It's not particularly feminine," Sherlock said softly, looking away. "I know you don't - you'd prefer-"

"Is that what the jumper was about?" John rolled over to his front and levered himself up enough to force Sherlock to look up at him. "I wasn't pretending you were a woman. I'm not doing this under the pretense of imagining you to be anyone other than who you are. I want you, you berk, and I'm astounded that that giant brain of yours didn't figure that out already."

Sherlock blinked. "But you're not gay."

John twisted to look pointedly at the wet spot their combined orgasms had made on Sherlock's white sheets. "I don't know - that looked awfully gay to me. And I think I'm pretty okay with it."

"You're not - no second thoughts?"

"Oh, sure, plenty." John grinned, then leaned forward to plant a tiny kiss on the tip of Sherlock's nose. "Most of them revolve around things we neglected to try. I'm finding myself with an undeniably gay desire to see how your cock tastes, for instance. I suspect I might rather like it."

Sherlock sucked in a large gulp of air, and his erection gave a noticeable twitch. "Not tonight, though, you said?"

"Not for me." John licked his lips. "Never said anything about you."