The doctor padded naked into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle before moving to the fridge. He dug around their meagre supplies before remembering all the leftover food from a little while earlier.

He told himself that he really deserved another glass of wine too, just for the crap that he had to put up with from his...flatmate. He poured a large one, and sank down onto the sofa, naked, and feeling a bit chilly. Certainly a novel experience.

He could hear the loud bangs and small grumbles from the other room. Taking a long pull from the drink, he turned back to the small plate of noodles and stabbed at them with a soft huff.

Damned if they didn't taste amazing. Almost worth (apparently) having the Triad in your contact list. He flinched and frowned at the slam of a drawer, and then the faint, but shockingly recognisable sound of buzzing in the otherwise silent flat.

John found himself sitting up, intrigued despite himself. He put the plate on the table and listened intently, biting the inside of his lip as he heard the faint rustling of sheets.

John cursed himself as he got to his feet, moving slowly down the corridor. Well of course he had to see, didn't he? How could he bloody not, when Sherlock was so fucking loud and obscene and tempting.

He didn't bother to knock, or even fully open the door, just pushed it with the knuckles of the hand that held his wine glass and sauntered in. He nearly choked on his breath when he saw the beautifully-brutal sight on the bed before him.

Sherlock, all pale limbs and flexing muscles, was spread-eagled on the bed. He had one hand bracing himself on the mattress, and the other reached around, steadily pressing a bright purple toy in and out of his arse.

John stared, he had never seen anything quite so wanton, except in poorly-produced porn. The grimace of concentration and intense pleasure on Sherlock's pink-sheened face, however, was gloriously, sinfully genuine. The slight, constant buzz of the toy seemed humorously inadequate compared to its apparent power, at least according to the pained expression his flatmate wore.

John let out a long rush of breath, enraptured by the sight. Sherlock pressed the toy deeper, the buzzing slightly muffled as the detective keened, his brows knotting together in pleasured focus.

"Shit," came the detective's hoarse curse, as his lube-slicked, glossy fingers slipped on the toy and it began to slide out of him.

John took a step forward before he could help himself, only stopping as Sherlock's slick fingers caught the toy again. He didn't even know if Sherlock knew he was there or not, especially as another crescendo of moans tumbled from those plump lips.

He couldn't help but gape, and that word joined dozens of others in his head, filthy, succulent adjectives that described Sherlock in his gorgeous desperation. The detective scrabbled and panted as he awkwardly held the base of the toy, tilting it roughly and prodding at different angles, fighting to find the perfect one.

John had moved closer to the bed, biting his lower lip as he saw that tight hole glistening with lube, stretching to accommodate the toy. He could almost feel it under his tongue again and a groan left his lips before he could stop himself.

Sherlock paused at the noise, and John wondered at it, before he noticed that the gasping brunette was taking a breather, because of course, he was trying to chase an orgasm that was not his first of the night, and therefore all the more sweetly elusive.

John wanted to taste him. He wanted to use that toy until the man screamed. He wanted to be the one to bring the man to orgasm. Swallowing thickly, John moved around the bed so that Sherlock would see him when he opened his eyes.

"Want some help?" he asked, his voice rough.

Sherlock grunted wetly into the pillow, turning his face completely to the side so that he could gasp in a few much-needed sticky breaths. It seemed an eternity before John picked up the brief affirmative nod that he was waiting for.

A small thrill ran up his spine before he licked his lips, moving forward to kneel up and onto the bed. Their minor spat caused him some hesitation, but John still reached out to run the flat of his palm over Sherlock's hip, down his arm, to knead his arse cheek and study with wide eyes the way that purple toy quivered in his hole.

Boldly, he took hold of the body-heated toy, pulling the slippery base and watching it vacate Sherlock's body. He bit his lip hard when it was free, and he watched the detective's sensitive, moist hole twitch reactively. With helpless curiosity, he placed his finger against the opening, and thrilled when the flesh responded in a damp kiss around his digit.

John took in a slow, shuddering breath, feeling the hips shift sensually under his touch. The toy vibrated idly in his other hand and he spared it a glance. It was... fairly big. Very sticky. Very neon. John would have chuckled if he wasn't so mesmerised by the muscle still clenching greedily around his finger, and he knew Sherlock wouldn't tolerate this pause in his pleasure for long.

Needless to say, an impatient grumbly noise soon accompanied an inviting, shameless push of Sherlock's hips. "Deep. Fast." came the hoarse instruction.

John felt a small smirk tug at his lips, but he was too busy complying with Sherlock's demands. Moving himself to kneel at Sherlock's risen backside, he took a steadying breath before pushing the vibrator back into Sherlock's waiting body. It was incredible to watch the needy little hole suck it up.

"God, John!" Sherlock uttered loudly, keening out a furious whine of pleasure into the damp pillow. He took hold of himself in one hand, easing the skin of his cock repeatedly, comfortingly.

"Jesus," John muttered, leaning his head around to watch Sherlock's body contort and writhe under the soft vibrations. He moved the toy at the base in small circles, eyes focused on Sherlock's, watching to see when he hit that tender little gland.

He was enthralled when Sherlock's hand left his own prick, trailing a little clear liquid, and was even more stunned when the same hand snaked back to take hold of his own, gently guiding him.

There was heat prickling down his neck as he watched the slim, pale hand flex, moving the toy and teaching John at the same time. After everything they had done, this felt the most intimate. It was... strange, but nice.

"Yes...John...can you...a bit...just..." Sherlock's hand offered nothing new at the same time that his guttural voice pleaded, just repeatedly easing him gently in the direction of his prostate, not quite touching it yet.

John edged himself closer, bracing his other hand on the curve of Sherlock's waist. It was hard to feel the movements of the toy because of the vibrations, but he let himself be guided until Sherlock's hand came to a stop. Guessing he was close to his prostate, John rolled the vibrator, hoping to graze it ever so slightly.

"God...God...John, mm...just..." It was clear from Sherlock's rippling, jerking, wonderful responses that his prostate was being tenderly tortured, but it seemed that the detective had something else in mind that wasn't easily transcribed into words.

"Just what?" John rumbled, wanting to know exactly how to pleasure the other.

He pressed a little harder with the toy into the detective, moving his other hand between his legs. He cradled Sherlock's balls, tugging gently, before letting his fingers dip to his perineum, running small circles with his index finger while he mimicked the movement from the inside with the toy.

There followed a long, languorous groan that might have made John grin if it hadn't been so hypnotisingly, crushingly attractive.

"S'good," Sherlock muttered, panting. "But...could you...mount me, like you're..."

The detective didn't say any more, his face reddened with a rosy palette of arousal and self-consciousness, but John could guess the rest.

Like you're fucking me.

The sound that came out of his throat was almost a moan, a rush of heat spreading down his limbs. John didn't know whether it was the idea of being fucked, or being fucked specifically by him that turned Sherlock on, but it was certainly a heady feeling nonetheless.

John scooted himself further up the bed until the front of his thighs brushed against the back of the detective's. He ran his other hand down Sherlock's spine, adjusting his grip on the toy, holding it with his palm from the side. He kept his body close but his hips back so that he had room to pull the toy in and out in motions which he hoped mimicked a thrust.

"Yes, yes! Yes, like that...Oh...Christ, John...I..." Sherlock reached behind him with one trembly hand, taking hold of his flatmate's hips and helping him to rock forward.

There was a tightening in his gut and John let out a long breath, keeping enough space between their hips so that he could pull and push the toy slowly into Sherlock's body. Feeling particularly bold, John moved his hand down Sherlock's spine - the skin was still slick with the oily residue - before leaning down to press a kiss to the dip in the detective's back.

Sherlock swallowed loudly, breathing hard, rocking with the motion. Eyes closed, mouth open and gasping, he nodded vaguely, moaning softly. "John," he whispered deliriously, over and over. "Fuck me...yes...yes, inside me...oh, fuck..."

John felt a little knot of guilt in the back of his throat, that he wasn't actually giving this pleasure to Sherlock. That he wasn't fucking him like he wanted to be, but, it just... wasn't that easy. Tightening his grip of the toy, John continued to press fluttering kisses over his back, speeding his movements as if he were thrusting harder into the man.

"...John...do it...I...oh...turn me over," came the abrupt, breathless demand, Sherlock tightening his grip on John exponentially.

John had to take a moment, resting his lips on Sherlock's skin, his heart hammering against his ribs before he pulled back. He eased the toy out gently, hearing Sherlock gasp at the loss of contact before ushering the man onto his back.

Seeing Sherlock all sweaty and desperate did something funny to his insides, and before he could think too much of it, John leaned down and pressed his lips messily as he scrambled for the toy, using his finger for guidance before pressing the warm rubber back into the man.

"John...I want it," Sherlock moaned, his face contorted with painful ecstasy, looking down at where John was penetrating him with safe, sure hands.

"I know," he whispered, pulling the toy out and thrusting it back in with a little more force. "Does it feel good?"

"...Brand new. Amazing," Sherlock sighed, looking blissfully-dazed. "You will do this? For real? Soon?" Grey-green eyes implored him with blinding intensity.

John let out a strangled noise, his hand on the toy faltering. Sherlock's gaze was endless, wanting, needy; God, could he ever deny the man anything?

"Yes," he whispered gently, shifting himself between Sherlock's legs and resuming the steady pumping with his hand. "Soon."

The detective knuckled his own wet curls from his forehead, before grabbing John with two hands, rummaging through his short hair, caressing his face with jerky tenderness, and squeezing his biceps.

John took a few deep breaths, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder, briefly imagining what it would feel like to be buried deep in the man. How tight he would be. How hot, how slick.

"John, make love to me. Make love to me," Sherlock chanted, closing his pale eyes to better bear out his pleasure.

John spread his thighs, giving himself more room to brace and keep his hips far enough away so that he could thrust the toy in and out of the man. Sherlock held him so tight he could almost believe they were really doing it. Really... making love. He groaned, moving his face to the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"Yes... so gorgeous," he muttered. "Beautiful..." John twisted the toy, angling it, searching for the other's prostate.

He startled when Sherlock flinched, but he then relaxed, and smiled, when the detective undulated his hips and began a litany of loud, grateful noises, sighing through his nose, rumbling in his throat and panting through his plump, cupid's-bow lips.

John moved to wrap an arm under Sherlock's neck, holding him closer, watching his features as he pleasured the man with gradually increasing pumps, his fingers feeling numb from the vibrations.

"Close...close...kiss," Sherlock muttered, holding John as tight as he could, his breathing hitching sharply as he teetered at the edge of his climax, trembling all over.

John moved back down, pressing his lips roughly against Sherlock's, sucking his lower lip and then his upper, moving his wrist in tandem with his kisses. He moved the toy faster, careful not to ram the man with it.

"Come for me," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, following the words with a swift lick over the plump flesh.

Sherlock fought to acquiesce, grunting and groaning as he struggled to edge over the peak. He spread his legs further, forcing himself onto his toy, and John watched, rapt, as his jaw fell open, his eyes squeezed shut, and he sobbed through the tantalisingly-slow apex of his climax, writhing hard.

He held onto the man, afraid that if he moved even a little it would ruin the perfectly-drawn features or the way Sherlock's lips pouted as he huffed a strangled breath.

"Oh...John...wonderful...love you...God," Sherlock babbled, and John hardly knew how to feel, let alone how to try and prevent his detective from continuing to expound his feelings through his aftershocks.

He tried to find his voice, even though he was unsure what to say, letting the man ride out the last few jerking spasms before he slowly withdrew the toy. He moved his face into Sherlock's neck, shamefully taking advantage of the soft, intimate detective still panting his name.

"Yes...beautiful...so good," Sherlock whispered, finally quietening, spending his oxygen on recovery instead of dizzying words.

John scrambled with slick fingers to turn off the damn toy, letting out a small sigh when he managed it. He put it somewhere on the bed and moved his other arm around to hold the man against him.

"Ruined the clean sheets," he grumbled playfully after a few minutes of heavy silence.

"That's the price of...a fantastic orgasm," Sherlock huffed, grinning happily and hugging John affectionately. "Let's keep doing this. All of it," he murmured distantly, still buzzing from his high, revelling in his throbbing aftershocks and heady pleasure.

John smiled gently against Sherlock's shoulder.

"Wasn't that the plan?"

"No more of that...other stuff," Sherlock said vaguely, nodding.

John raised an eyebrow, pulling back to look into Sherlock's face.

"The arguing? Or the prostitutes?"

"Yes, that too. I was thinking of your women, though."

"I don't have any women."

"Not any more. That is..." Sherlock paused, cautiously. "...I would like it if we were exclusive. If that's possible."

John felt a small flutter of panic, not because the idea of not having sex with women any more riled him, but because it was edging back to the 'boyfriend' talk again. Still, he felt like there was more to explore with Sherlock, more to understand. With a nervous huff, John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's jaw.

"Okay."

"You're not blowing me away with your confidence, John," Sherlock chortled quietly, preening at the welcomed kiss.

John chuckled, shaking his head a little.

"Sherlock Holmes, I will refrain from pursuing any other person as of this moment. Better?"

Sherlock grinned. "John Watson, that is a good start."

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