Sherlock rolled over in his sleep onto his back, kicking John and waking him up in the process. Looking at the clock, John saw that it was already eleven in the morning, though it seemed much earlier, probably because they had been up until six that morning working on this case. They didn't often travel for cases, but Sherlock had been extremely interested in this case, insisting that they take it. Apparently it had something to do with a man Sherlock used to go to school with, and John was sure this was some sort of revenge scheme, though Sherlock refused to admit it. And that was how John had ended up sleeping in a hotel in the same bed as his flatmate, mostly to "cut costs" as Sherlock had so logically and casually argued. But it turned out that Sherlock was not the most peaceful sleeper, as John should have guessed. He rubbed his shin where Sherlock had kicked him, feeling a bruise forming. Tempted to wake Sherlock up, he decided to let him sleep, because god knows he need it. John watched him sleep for a few moments, the way his bare chest rose and fell with his shallow breaths, the way his usually tense muscles had finally relaxed, the way his lips were just barely parted. He really was beautiful, John admitted. In a totally platonic way, of course. Just like it was totally platonic how Sherlock's hand was now resting on the outline of his growing cock through his pants. Mumbling something in his sleep, Sherlock's fingers wrapped around his semi hard cock, rubbing it lazily. John didn't know if he should wake him or not. He debated as he tried to ignore his own cock stirring in his pants, trying to focus on something else. The outline of Sherlock's large cock was now very noticeable through his pants, laying against his left hipbone and straining against the fabric as he continued to stroke himself, his hand moving slowly and sleepily, caught in a lustful dream and just out of consciousness' reach.
Unable to ignore his own now throbbing cock any longer, John slipped his hand in his pants and grasped himself, exhaling with relief at the contact that he desperately needed. Tightening his grip, he began to move his hand up and down, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake Sherlock. He stroked himself as he watched Sherlock move his hand along the length of his now fully erect cock, straining tightly against his pants. A damp spot appeared near the tip of his cock, his precome soaking the fabric as his hips occasionally thrust upwards against his hand.
Realizing that he breathing quite loudly, John gripped the base of his cock, dulling the blood flow as his approaching orgasm ebbed away. The smooth head of his fully erect cock dripped with precome, sticking wetly to his pants. Rubbing his finger over the tip, he bit back a moan, deciding that he needed to finish this before he accidently woke Sherlock up. Firming up his grip, he started pumping his hand faster over his thick cock, feeling his orgasm approaching quickly as he continued to watch Sherlock rubbing himself. However, Sherlock opened his eyes sleepily, John biting back a curse as he was forced to stop touching himself just before he came, his cock throbbing hotly with need.
Stretching lazily, Sherlock realized John was awake.
"Fuck. Sorry. It's not you," he muttered gesturing awkwardly to his extremely hard cock. "I was…dreaming," he said slowly, closing his eyes again as if trying to remember the details.
John cleared his throat. "It's fine. What was the dream about?" he asked hesitantly.
Sherlock looked at him, studying his face for a moment before turning back and closing his eyes. "Sex," he said simply, his voice still sleepy.
"With who?" John tried to ask casually.
"I don't remember. A nameless stranger," he yawned. "I was…getting a blowjob in an ally I think." His hand had absentmindedly started stroking his cock again.
John was holding the base of his cock beneath the covers, willing his erection to go away, though Sherlock certainly wasn't doing anything to help that.
"Fuck, sorry," Sherlock swore again as he realized what he was doing. "Uh, I should go, uh, take care of this," he said awkwardly sitting up.
"Or you could stay," John blurted before he realized what he was saying.
Sherlock looked at him, analyzing him.
"Do you want me to stay?"
"Yes," John answered before he could think it through.
"Does watching me touch myself get you off?"
John hesitated at the directness of the question. But lying to Sherlock was futile. "Yes."
"Are you hard now?" Sherlock had started rubbing himself again, his fingers curling around the outline of his thick cock.
"Yes," John admitted.
"How close are you?"
"Very close." John was now pumping his hand along his cock again, building up the tension that was begging to be released.
"Can I watch you cum?" Sherlock asked so politely that the question didn't even seem vulgar.
"Uhh…I'm not g-" John began before Sherlock cut him off.
"Don't," he warned. "It's fine, you're more of a voyeur, I'm an exhibitionist," he said pulling down his pants, his cock lying on his stomach now. "I like when people watch me. And you like to watch," he explained casually closing his eyes, his fingers wrapped around himself. Feeling the tip, he fingered his clear precome. He smoothed his palm over the distended head of his cock, closing his fist over it and squeezing it rhythmically while moving his hand up and down, the sound of the lubrication his precome had provided echoing wetly in the room.
John could feel the tension in his groin begging to release as he desperately tried to keep from pushing himself over the edge for as long as possible, knowing that the longer he waited, the more intense his orgasm would be. As soon as he felt that couldn't hang on any longer, he would grip the base of his throbbing cock, taking deep breaths to regain control. He could tell that Sherlock was close too though, and that he would have to give into his orgasm soon.
"John," Sherlock panted, "Are you close?"
"God," John moaned, unable to control his voice, "yes." Surrendering himself, his orgasm rippled through his body, hot semen erupting thickly from his cock and coating his hand as he stroked himself through it.
Sherlock came soon after, arching his back as he coated his abdomen with his own cum and swearing loudly.
They both lay there breathing heavily for a few moments, covered in sweat and semen.
"Fuck, that was really good," John breathed.
"How good? On a scale of one to ten."
"Seven. Better than the last few months with Sarah. You?"
"Nine and a half," Sherlock smiled.
"Jesus," John laughed.
"I told you, I'm an exhibitionist. I get off when other people watch me. And that obviously doesn't happen very often."
"It could. I mean. We could do this again. If you wanted to I mean," John stumbled over his words.
"Yeah. I want to."
"Ok. Good." John looked at the clock. "We should probably get up now."
"It's raining. We're not going to get anywhere on the case today," Sherlock remarked lazily, relaxing into the pillows and mindlessly trailing his fingers across his abdomen and through his semen.
"Let's order room service then," John suggested picking up the phone without getting out of bed.
"Toast with nutella and a side of strawberries. And a black coffee," Sherlock ordered, turning over and nuzzling into the pillow.
"So are you just sexually frustrated all the time and you only act normal after getting off?" John asked, half sarcastic and half serious.
"Shut up and order the food," Sherlock smirked.
"Fine. But I'm not getting up to answer the door."
"That's fine. As I've told you twice, I am an exhibitionist."
An hour later Sherlock was tossing a strawberry at John; it rolled down his bare chest and landed in his lap. John picked it up.
"Bite it," Sherlock ordered. "You have to bite it."
John bit into it then handed the rest to Sherlock, "Strawberries aren't really my thing. Harry's allergic to them so I never had them growing up."
Sherlock tongued the teeth marks on the strawberry before popping it into his mouth, licking his fingers after.
John tried to ignore him, not sure if Sherlock was doing this on purpose or not. "Are you ever going to put your pants on?"
"No; pants are boring. Why, does it bother you?" Sherlock asked casually, sitting in bed next to John, eating strawberries naked.
"Uhh, a little," John replied uncomfortably.
"It didn't seem to bother you earlier."
John blushed. "Well I- just," he stuttered.
Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Fine," he said grabbing his pajama pants at the end of the bed and pulling them on.
The rain outside danced heavily on the window panes in the silence.
"Some cultures recognized strawberries as an aphrodisiac. Not true of course. The chemical composition does nothing in regards to sexual desire or performance." He picked up a chocolate covered strawberry and started to break the shell of chocolate off it, handing the pieces to John.
"Chocolate, on the other hand," Sherlock said as John ate the bits of chocolate, "is a known aphrodisiac, as it increases serotonin and Phenlethyalanine levels in the brain, which stimulate the brain's mood centers and induce feelings of love. It also can have immediate effects on libido and stimulate the central nervous system, increasing energy and stamina."
"Are you trying to seduce me?" John asked sarcastically, laughing.
Sherlock just handed him another piece of chocolate.
Suddenly he leaned over and licked a bit of chocolate on John's lips. Too surprised to react immediately, Sherlock took John's silence as an invitation, leaning closer and kissing his lips softly, asking for permission.
John started to kiss him back, but then pulled away abruptly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I can't do this. I'm not…I didn't mean to lead you on or anything. I mean. Um. This is really awkward," he stammered, adding to the awkwardness of the situation.
"You're not what?" Sherlock challenged, still leaning close to John, refusing to back off.
"I'm not…gay," John said, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock.
"Do you know what the most obvious sign is that people are lying? They avoid eye contact."
"Can you please not do this?" John begged.
"And straight men often get off by watching other men masturbate."
"Are you really doing this right now?" John asked, getting angry.
"I'm not doing anything. I'm merely stating facts." Sherlock's voice had gone back to his usual arrogant tone.
"You're a fucking bastard," John said getting up.
"At least I'm not a liar."
John responded by slamming the bathroom door.
Sherlock heard the shower start, the sound of the water on tile mixing with the pitter of the rain outside. He waited about five minutes before getting up and rummaging through his suitcase, finally finding what he needed. Going over to the bathroom door, he inserted two straightened out paper clips into the lock, smiling when it clicked open within twenty seconds.
He walked in quietly and launched a strawberry over the top of the shower door.
"Goddammit, Sherlock. Get the fuck out," John shouted throwing the strawberry back at him. "I'm still angry and I'm not talking to you."
"That's fine. Most people don't do much talking when they're in the shower together anyways, do they?" he said casually slipping off his pants and getting in the shower. "Stop complicating things." He reached out and started massaging John's shoulders when he didn't object to him getting in the shower.
"You're the one complicating things," John said, automatically relaxing at Sherlock's touch though he was trying to stay angry.
"Fine, would you be more comfortable if we set down some rules then? Because I still want to do this if you do."
"Ok. Yeah. No kissing."
"Uhh…no telling anyone about this."
"Right, like I'm going to strike up a conversation with Mycroft about how we jerk off together."
"I never know with you. You don't exactly have a normal sense of what is or isn't socially acceptable," John laughed.
Sherlock snaked his hands down John's sides and over his hips. "What are the rules about touching each other?" he practically purred.
"Um," John swallowed audibly, feeling his cock swelling as Sherlock's fingers traced his hipbones. "I'll let you know when to stop."
Sherlock slid his hands over John's hardening cock, the first contact making him groan with pleasure.
"Do you like anything specific?" Sherlock asked, comically polite.
"Uh. I don't know. No," John said, flustered.
"Do you like this? Do you want me to stop?"
"No. I mean, no, don't stop. I like it."
"Mmm. Obviously," Sherlock hummed, feeling his cock growing thicker in his hands, standing fully erect now. John's cock slipped wetly through his hands, which were lathered with the expensive soap the hotel had provided. He ran his long fingers around the inside of his foreskin, rubbing the smooth tip of his head.
John had relaxed into Sherlock, leaning back against him as he breathed deeply, enjoying the feeling of Sherlock's hands on his cock as well as their warm bodies pressed together.
With his other hand, Sherlock was gripping his own erection. He pressed his hard cock against the outside of John's thigh and under his palm, starting to thrust his hips. "Is this ok?" he asked throatily.
"Mmm, yeah," John replied, enjoying it more than he cared to admit.
Sherlock continued to thrust his cock against John's thigh and his hand. He pulled John's foreskin over the distended head of his cock and began to pump, increasing speed and matching his own.
"Sherlock?" John asked breathily after a few moments.
"Hmm?" It was more of a moan than a response.
"What are the rules about fucking?"
"You make them," Sherlock responded.
"Can I fuck you?" John asked desperately.
"Here? Or on the bed?"
"Here. I want you right now. God, I fucking want you," John admitted, completely giving up his pretense of "not gay".
"I'm rather impressed after this morning," Sherlock said with a smirk.
"Me too. Though it has been a while, and even then the sex with Sarah wasn't that great."
"Ever think there was a reason behind that?"
"Other than the fact that she was a lousy lay? No. Can you shut up now?"
Sherlock let go of John's cock and turned around, leaning forward against the tiled wall as the hot water streamed over them.
John ran his fingers down Sherlock's back, watching his skin react to his touch. Little droplets of water dripped from Sherlock's dark hair and down his face as he shivered.
Arching his back, Sherlock groaned as John slowly pushed the tip of his cock into him. "Is this fine?" John asked, fighting the urge to slam his cock in further as Sherlock adjusted to his rather large cock.
"Yeah," Sherlock breathed. "I'll tell you if I want to stop. Just fuck me," he demanded.
Wrapping his arm around Sherlock's torso, he forced his cock in further, Sherlock's muscles relaxed from the hot water raining on their bodies.
"Fuck. I'm not going to last long," John groaned as he started rocking against Sherlock. He angled himself deeper and jerked his hips harder, making Sherlock gasp. "Sorry," he said, slowing his pace, trying to regain his self control.
"No, do that again," Sherlock begged.
John obeyed, slamming hard into Sherlock, who was bracing himself against the wall. Sherlock groaned loudly and swore.
"Fuck. I'm coming," Sherlock panted, slurring his words as his body shuddered against John's.
Sherlock's orgasm sent John over the edge as he groaned and slammed into him one last time, his hips jerking with every spasm. He pulled Sherlock's hips against him, grinding into him as he let the intensity of the orgasm take him in waves, his hot semen filling Sherlock. Feeling his knees buckle, Sherlock moved with him to the tiled floor, the water splashing around them in puddles. With Sherlock on his hands and knees, John finally pulled out slowly, both of them covered in his semen. They both laid back against the wall and let the water rain over them. His ears ringing, John watched the water splash noiselessly around him.
John looked at Sherlock. "I think I'm gay."
They both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
"There is a reason you're not the consulting detective," Sherlock said through peals of laughter.
"I think that was the best sex I've ever had," John said in astonishment.
Sherlock grinned smugly as John leaned his head back, closing his eyes in contentment.
Standing up, Sherlock turned off the shower. "C'mon. Before you fall asleep," he said grabbing John's hands and pulling him to his feet.
Drying off with the white hotel towels as they walked to the bed, John flopped down next to Sherlock.
Sherlock ran his finger along John's jaw. "I don't even remember what time it is or where we're supposed to be," he said smiling stupidly
"Mmm," John hummed happily, falling asleep almost instantly.
Pulling the covers over both of them, Sherlock blocked out the gloomy sun trying to be seen through the rainclouds. He picked up John's arm and put it around him, moving closer. Kissing John's fingers, he closed his eyes, forgetting about everything else and not caring how long they stayed like this.
"I love you," Sherlock mumbled, thinking John was asleep. Then John tightened his arms around Sherlock and barely whispered, "I love you too."