A/N – This is earning the M rating, finally. I'm going to bed before 3 am for the first time in weeks, finally. I want to thank everybody for the kind words on this story, you've been awesome, all of you! I hope I've wrapped it up to your satisfaction. Thanks again! :o)
Somewhere in the mix of pain and humiliation, Sherlock had deleted the fact that he liked kissing.
He really likes kissing.
John's lips are warm and soft. The pressure the doctor uses is solid, but gentle. Sherlock thinks his insides might be turning to liquid as John traces a tongue across his lower lip. He becomes positive of this when John sucks the lower lip into his mouth and pulls gently. Sherlock notes that no teeth are used, no pain. This is different than his previous experience. He might like teeth there, not hard, but just to pull a little. He starts a list in his mind, 'To Try', and that becomes the first item.
John pulls back, but not far. Sherlock likes the feeling of their breath mingling between them, breathing in what John has breathed out. The doctor's eyes are sparkling, his face flushed, and his breathing uneven. Sherlock watches him, waiting. Then suddenly realizes that the doctor is waiting for him. Sherlock is again being asked if it is ok to continue. What a stupid question?
Sherlock leans forward intent on kissing again, but the doctor pulls back.
"Let's not do anything on the living room floor. God only knows what kind of things are growing all over it." Sherlock starts to protest, the living room floor is fine. He's positive that John has cleaned it within the last week. That is more than acceptable.
John is standing up though, and as he straightens he reaches a hand down to Sherlock. The doctor's eyes meet the detective's as he says, "Let's go to bed, Sherlock."
Sherlock comes to the immediate conclusion that John Watson is bloody brilliant. He takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up. He momentarily realizes that he towers over the smaller doctor and wonders about logistics. John doesn't seem to be concerned, so he pushes the thought away. It's probably stupid, but his brain is turning to mush. Stupid questions are acceptable.
He notices the pink flush that has spread across the doctor's features and feels satisfied that they are because of him. He caused that. He smiles to himself. But the thought fades quickly as John interlocks their fingers and pulls, encouraging the detective to follow.
"Oh." Sherlock lets slip as he takes the first step, surprised he can move. John turns instantly to examine. Sherlock realizes that the doctor must think something is wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth. Sherlock squeezes the fingers surrounding his and takes a step into John's space, encouraging him to keep moving. John takes the hint and pulls the detective up the stairs behind him.
As they enter the room, Sherlock takes a moment to look around. He's seen John's room before, many times, but it isn't a regular occurrence. He does a quick inventory to asses what has changed from his last visit. A few things have been moved around but nothing significant. It is neat and clean, like usual.
John closes the door behind them, and then moves to stand in front of Sherlock. The detective feels like little electrical charges are touching his skin and he's fascinated by the sensation. He's never felt anything like it before and wonders if John is aware of it, or perhaps experiencing it himself. He is about to ask when he notices the doctor's hand moving.
He realizes that the hand is coming back to his face. That means kissing again. That is much more interesting than any questions. Sherlock leans to meet the doctor halfway. John presses his tongue against Sherlock's lips and the detective opens willingly. When their tongues touch Sherlock's knees almost buckle. John's quick arm around his waist is probably the only thing that prevents it. Sherlock grabs the doctor's shoulders to stabilize and wonders, with some amazement, how the doctor is able to be so alert.
John's kiss is exploratory and slow, tracing lines and teeth with his tongue. Sherlock finds the taste of the doctor wonderful, sweet, and addictive. It is impossible to get your fill on this taste. He will always want more. Sherlock never wants this to end.
Finally, John's tongue pulls back. The immediate disappointment is derailed when Sherlock realizes that it is his turn. He brings both hands up to hold the doctor's head still and begins his own exploration. He realizes immediately that he is moving at a faster pace, but the doctor offers no protest. This is good because he has every intention of tasting it all, right now.
Sherlock moans and embraces the idea of the noise getting lost in John. It could bounce around inside the doctor forever. Sherlock is suddenly certain that his IQ is dropping exponential, that idea was just silly. But as the doctor releases his own moan and it settles in Sherlock's belly, the detective is equally certain that he doesn't care. This is worth being stupid.
John's hand on his face suddenly has more pressure, not a lot, but a noticeable difference. And the doctor pulls back. Sherlock doesn't like that and groans in protest, but opens his eyes. He is taken aback by John's appearance. The lips are swollen, cheeks red, eye lids heavy. The detective's pale hands stand in contrast to the doctor's darker coloring, but not in an unpleasant way. Sherlock feels like his heart explodes, and he gulps in air to compensate. He knows, suddenly, that he wants to look at this face forever.
John grabs three gulping breaths before moving in again. Sherlock hopes it is more kissing; he remembers the steps, kissing then sex. There has been a lot of kissing so far, but he wants more. And sex still has a twinge of uncertainty surrounding it. He'd like to delay that a little while longer. Although, it appears John is doing something else. Encouraged by the slight pressure of the doctor's hand Sherlock turns his head. John's lips meet his jaw bone just under his ear.
Sherlock gasps, his body pressing into John. The doctor's grip around his waist tightens and Sherlock grabs blindly for support. He feels the doctor's lips brush his ear. "Ok?" All Sherlock can do is nod. Based on the change in sensations, he is certain that all of the blood has left his brain. He becomes aware of his erection pressing into John's hip, and more importantly John's pressing into his thigh. He did that, it's because of him.
John starts on his jaw again and Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight. The mouth traces around to his chin, alternating lips and tongue. Then John moves down the neck, drawing out another moan with lips on Sherlock's pulse point. John hums in reply and it vibrates against Sherlock's neck. This is very nice, but he might like teeth here too, just a little. He adds it quickly to the 'Too Try' list.
When the lips stop at the spot where neck meets collar bone, Sherlock's mind goes blank and he collapses. He puffs out a louder than expected, "Oh god," just as his knees buckle. The ever conscientious John pulls back suddenly, managing to grab the detective's upper arms and brace to support the weight. Sherlock's brain clicks back on and he's absolutely amazed to not be on the floor. He finds his legs and drops his head forward to bury his nose in John's hair.
It is most definitely his turn.
The detective places kisses into the doctor's hair, and across his ears. "You feel so good John. I have to taste now." The doctor seems to understand and settles his hands on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock grins as he places his first kiss just below John's ear.
There is no need for him to move anywhere else. John likes, really likes, to be kissed right there. As Sherlock hits the spot with his tongue, John groans and it reverberates through Sherlock's chest. "Shit, right there." He puffs out between breaths and his fingers sink into the detective's hips. Sherlock's desire to taste everything tapers off. The noises coming out of the doctor are too fascinating to allow him to stop. Instead, he focuses all his attention on that spot, kissing, licking, and sucking. In a matter of moments, Sherlock is the one supporting the majority of John's weight. The detective welcomes the sensation.
After several minutes, John pushes against the detective's hips gently putting space between them. They stare at each other. Sherlock admires the wrecked look on the doctor, and feels just a hint of smugness. He wonders if the doctor does too. If not, he should. Sherlock determines to ask him later.
"I'm going to get these clothes off of you?" John says. Sherlock thinks that is a very good idea, he'll help. It's only as he pushes his dressing gown off that he realizes John said it to keep him informed. John is making sure he knows the steps. In this moment it is a wonderful, but entirely unnecessary gesture. Sherlock grabs his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. John moves forward to touch but Sherlock stops him.
"My turn to go first." He grabs the bottom of John's shirt. "Off." John smiles at him before lifting his arms above his head. Sherlock pulls the t-shirt up and off.
Sherlock has seen John's chest before. He remembers it well, but still takes a moment to admire. Just as on his back the muscles are lean, but here they are more clearly defined. There is a small spattering of hair right in the middle of two nipples, which are each only slightly darker in color than his natural skin tone. The scar on the left shoulder is slightly lighter than the natural skin tone. It shows the perfect circle of the entry wound and the places where cuts were needed to extract the bullet. There is no exit wound on the other side.
Sherlock feels that he has an odd relationship with the wound. He hates it because it hurt John, both physically and mentally. John should never have known pain like that. At the same time, he is entirely aware that this wound might have singlehandedly brought John to him. He is more than thankful for that.
He leans forward and brushes his lips against it, tasting the unusually smooth skin. It is different, not unpleasant, but not the appeal of the little dimple either. John doesn't flinch or appear ashamed as the detective examines, which Sherlock likes. Sherlock wants the chance to come to terms with the wound. John seems willing to accept that.
The detective pulls back again and notices the trail of hair underneath John's navel. His eyes trace it downward until the line disappears under pyjama bottoms. The sight excites him. He can feel his pulse in his groin now, his own pyjama bottoms confining him. He doesn't care.
His overwhelming urge to taste has returned. Sherlock bends his head and picks a nipple. The doctor's fingers knotting immediately into the detective's hair, but not tightly. No pain. He adds 'pulling slightly on hair' to the mental 'To Try' list. He's fairly certain that he'll like that as well.
Sherlock places a hand on either of John's hips and the doctor pushes his chest forward. The doctor wants more. Sherlock smiles and flicks against the nub with his tongue. "God Sherlock." The words grunt out of John's mouth and shoot directly to the detective's groin. Sherlock thrust awkwardly into the air between them and moans around John's hardening nipple.
John let's a chuckle out at this and settles a hand on Sherlock's back. Laughing at him but not maliciously, Sherlock notes. He includes, with amusement and happiness. Sherlock moves to the other nipple, unable to contain his own smile.
The doctor's hands make big circles across the expanse of the detectives back. Sherlock has trouble focusing on his own actions when fingers brush down his spine or across the nape of his neck. When one hand suddenly moves lower and grabs a fist full of ass, Sherlock almost bites down. It's only the groan, which forced his mouth open, that prevents it.
John takes the opportunity to push and straighten Sherlock up. The doctor then latches on to one of the detective's nipples. Surprised, Sherlock thrust forward, this time bumping his erection into John's. He whimpers at the contact and thrusts again, desperate for more.
"Almost." John mumbles against his chest as he moves across to the other nipple. Sherlock wraps his arms around John, holding him in place. He feels John's muscles twitch against his fingers as he works his way down the doctor's spine. When he reaches the dimple he presses his index finger inside. Clearly, his index finger belongs there. The detective trails his other hand down and cups the doctor's ass, noting that it, too, is a perfect fit.
The doctor's long drawn out, "mmmmmm," vibrates against the detective's ribs. He squeezes tighter.
The doctor settles a hand on each buttock and pulls Sherlock hard against him. The erections brush each other again and Sherlock releases another whimper. The detective believes that this might be his favorite sensation ever. He pushes his hips deliberately so he comes in contact with the doctor again. It's John's turn to moan.
"I can't wait to see you." The doctor pushes the words into Sherlock's chest as he changes nipples again. Sherlock leaves the dimple and is about to grab John's hair, when the doctor squeezes the detectives ass again. This time digging his fingers in and pulling the cheeks apart.
For a fraction of a second Sherlock really enjoys the feeling. The gentle pull is far from painful and the stretching of skin is very stimulating. But in a flash the pleasure is gone. Sherlock's body seizes at the memory of pain. His buttocks clasp together and his legs become rigid. He mentally and physically cringes part in terror part in embarrassment. A sound of panic escapes his lips and he clamps his eyes shut.
It last just a moment, less than a breath. He gains control and pushes the panic away, forcing his body to relax. He opens his eyes wanting desperately to look at John and realizes that John is no longer in physical contact with him.
The doctor is standing a step back, hands held up in a pacifying gesture. His face is alert and concerned. And he has, what has to be, a painful erection tenting his pyjamas. Sherlock is annoyed with what he considers his own overreaction and instantly turns that irritation towards John. There is no need for both of them to panic.
"Sherlock?" The doctor's voice soothes the irritation instantly. The passion that Sherlock had heard a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by genuine worry and caution. Sherlock knows, that in this instant, he is the doctor's only concern.
John will never, ever hurt him.
"John, I'm fine." Sherlock says, closing the distance between them. John's eyes begin a frantic inventory, eyeing the detective with suspicion the whole time. The detective settles a hand on either of the doctor's hips and lets him search. "I promise," he adds in after a moment. The doctor gives one more stare before bringing his arms down. John settles his hands on top of Sherlock wrist and rubs his thumbs over the sensitive undersides. Sherlock knows that John will never do that again unless invited.
With a silent realization, Sherlock sees the last puzzle piece fall into place. Suddenly the past, the good and the bad, seems incredibly far away. There is a doctor standing between him and those memories. He adds a forth thing to the 'To Try' list, willing to extend John an invitation very soon. He feels a smile cross his face.
He pulls his right wrist from John's hand and traces his fingers over John's hip bone. A flutter in the doctor's eyes reveals that he likes that, Sherlock's smile grows. The detective presses his palm against John's erection, not grabbing, but pushing it firmly against the doctor's body. John's eyes close and his back arches, pushing back against Sherlock's hand. The grip on Sherlock's other wrists tightens and the detective recognizes it as a stabilizing gesture. John is feeling unstable on his feet. He did that.
Sherlock leans in and presses his lips against John's ear. "Why don't you get on the bed, Doctor? I think it was my turn." It is John's turn to whimper as Sherlock pulls his hand away and puts gentle pressure on the doctor's shoulder. John moves as instructed.
Sherlock watches closely as John settles on top of the blanket. The concern has left the doctor's eyes and arousal has replaced it. Sherlock feels content and happy, and he's ready to touch and taste some more. He climbs on top of the doctor, straddling the small hips. He leans forward intent on kissing again.
This, he thinks, he most definitely does this.