Chapter 9: Harder John
John titled his head sideways. It took him a moment to realize what he was staring at. He titled his head to the other side, going for a different angle.
"Yup," He muttered out loud to himself. "That's an octopus."
He slammed the refrigerator door immediately, no longer hungry.
It was then he heard the soft footsteps behind him and saw Miss Hudson enter the kitchen of the flat. "Oh, John!" Miss Hudson said with a delighted smile. "So good to have you back, dear!"
"I was gone for a day." He replied inanely.
"Felt like longer, suppose. Mostly because Sherlock went a bit… uh…"
John raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"Well," She continued slowly, her voice lowering. "He was in quite a state when he came home from the hospital."
John snorted. "Yes, well that's what happens when you argue with Nurse Bigfoot Roy."
She cringed. "I had a feeling it was something like that."
"Sherlock was under the impression that hospital visiting hours didn't apply to him. But unfortunately, my big and actually rather hairy nurse saw different."
She sighed. "I told him you would be back today sometime, but it didn't help any. He pulled out that terrible handgun and started shooting at my walls again! My goodness me." Her hand fluttered over her chest. "I managed to convince him to do something nice for you while he waited."
Something nice? His eyes widened in sudden horror. What on God's green earth would Sherlock think of as nice for him? A sense of doom hit him then as the image of the dead octopus inside the refrigerator popped back in his head. He stifled the urge to groan.
"Did you suggest something to him?" He asked tentatively, afraid he already knew the answer.
"Oh yes! I told him he should cook you dinner tonight. Told him that would cheer you up and you two can start over here. Fresh start, after everything that's happened lately. A lovely home cooked meal always does the trick."
There was no way he was eating that putrid looking octopus for dinner. Sherlock's definition of nice skewed way off from the norm and if he thought that this was somehow romantic—he was out of his mind! Besides that, John was afraid of octopuses. He had been ever since he was a kid. He could see it now, with its big head and gross, squishy tentacles swimming in the aquarium. Something about their sucking scales, their wrinkly old-man flesh, and big awkwardly shaped head, freaked him out.
"Did he happen to say what he might be cooking this evening?"
She smiled, "Yes! Well, not exactly. He just said it was in the fridge and he went out to get something nice for dessert."
"What's wrong dear?"
"Well if you need anything else for tonight, just give us a shout like you usually do, dear."
"Thanks, Miss Hudson."
The second he heard her retreating footsteps on the stairs, he yanked open the door to the fridge. The creature seemed to glare at him with those dead, accusing eyes, as though knowing what John planned to do. He stepped forward and reached for the plate that it sat on. No bloody way was he eating this. No, no, no… Shaking his head, he pulled it out and was instantly struck by the intense odor of dead fish. He gagged, beginning to feel queasy as he hurried toward the open window. The second the cold London breeze hit him, he thrust the octopus out the window and dropped it, platter and all. He heard the telling shatter of the plate and a squish of some sort far below.
He patted his hands on his trousers, feeling contaminated just by touching the plate. Still gagging, he turned and suddenly jumped. Sherlock stood in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape.
"You just dropped my octopus out the window."
"Yes, well apparently there was one in our fridge."
"Of all the things I've kept in that fridge, never once have you throw anything out. Even when I had the thumbs and head in there."
"We didn't plan on eating the thumbs or head…"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Who said we were eating the octopus?"
John opened his mouth to reply but hesitated and glanced back out the window. "Miss Hudson said you were going to cook me a nice dinner when I came home. So I assumed it was… well—that."
Sherlock arched a high eyebrow and dropped a bag of food on the chair in front of him, and let out a muffled snort. "Miss Hudson! Of course."
John heard the utter contempt in Sherlock's tone and let out his own sigh of relief. Thank God he found that thing before Sherlock decided to cook it, or else he'd be eating that tonight! He gagged at the mere thought.
Sherlock shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the couch. His hair was windswept from the travel on the busy London streets. His black slacks were elegant against his long, beautifully lean legs. John watched as he then unbuttoned his dark suit jacket and slid it off. His heart instantly began to race watching Sherlock undress before him. Though it was totally casual and John had seen Sherlock do this countless times, for some reason seeing him do it now, only brought the memories of their passionate love making come careening back.
It had only been two days since the last time they made love, but for him, in this moment- it felt like months. He cleared his throat, attempting to relieve the lustful tension building constricting around his cock. Sherlock tossed his jacket with his coat, standing before him with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his suit shirt buttons opened at his neck.
John felt a shiver of urgent need race up his spine.
"I've never cooked before. I was going to experiment tonight."
"On an octopus?" John asked incredulously. "Sherlock, I think there are easier things to cook with than… that!"
"Really? Huh- I hadn't thought about it."
"Of course not." John hesitated, and then asked. "Why of all things, an octopus?"
Sherlock shrugged carelessly. "Why not?"
John shook his head and let out a sudden giggle. It was childish and irrational. Sherlock stared at him curiously. He attempted to muffle it with his hand but continued to laugh weakly.
"What's so funny?"
John glanced back out the window, wondering if this is what normal would be with Sherlock from now on. Sherlock attempting to cook dinner for him and buying the worse thing possible. Or maybe John coming back to the flat and finding Sherlock waiting for him. Ready and willing to be taken to bed… The thought stirred another restless flare of desire inside of him. But instead, he focused on the moment.
"I guess I should tell you now, but I'm actually petrified of octopuses." John admitted with a soft smile.
"Really?" Sherlock asked intrigued. "I didn't think you—the man with nerves of steel, was afraid of anything."
"I blame it on my childhood spent running around the London aquarium."
"A childhood fear, interesting." He narrowed his eyes, giving him that inductive look. John arched an eyebrow at this.
"Nothing," Sherlock said and glanced down to the bag on the chair. "I guess we'll have to make do with just dessert than."
"Oh yeah? What did you get?"
"Strawberries, chocolate and wine."
It was John's turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously as he searched Sherlock's handsome face. When he saw nothing revealing, he stepped forward slowly and walked to the bag and fingered through the items. Wine, chocolate, strawberries, and… condoms. Boxes of condoms.
John resisted the urge to smile. Instead, keeping utterly calm and stern, he glanced questioningly up at Sherlock. "And condoms?"
Sherlock glanced away momentarily, appearing awkward for a brief second before recovering coolly. "Yes, I was running low."
"There are three boxes in there, Sherlock."
John sharpened his gaze on him as he stepped forward boldly. "What exactly are you expecting out of this night?"
Sherlock's crystal blue eyes blazed irritably. "What do you think, John? Obviously I intended for us to have copious amounts of sex with you, okay?"
Suppressing the laughter bubbling up inside him was damn near impossible, but seeing Sherlock squirm like this was just too good.
Sherlock was still awkward and naive when it came to being in a relationship, especially a sexual one. He had a lot to learn and that fact, John was certain of, irritated the clever detective. He liked being in control. He liked knowing where he stood and where to take charge. Now Sherlock had to relinquish some of that control to a partner—him. And of course, John had to abuse this new found power, at least for a little while.
After all, Sherlock did confess he loved John to an assassin, before he ever told him! John was a bit annoyed by this fact and planned on making Sherlock Holmes pay for making him wait to know the truth.
John had regained his memory earlier this morning and by the time he left the hospital, he was fit to be tied. Sherlock might have admitted to loving him in the hospital. But it was on the rooftop, as he lay in his own blood, on the verge of dying, that Sherlock finally declared his love! John wanted to kill him. Why did everything have to be some long drawn out affair with this man? Couldn't he just tell him the truth before he took a crowbar to the head? No—clearly not. Now, it was time to pay. And oh did John have a lovely punishment in mind.
"The doctor told me to ease back into things, Sherlock." John said casually, turning away from him and pulling off his own jacket. "I don't think it's a good idea to…" he trailed off, back turned to Sherlock as he tossed his jacket on the couch and kicked off his shoes.
"What are you saying?" Sherlock asked demandingly.
John slowly pulled his dark navy sweater-vest over his head and discarded it easily, standing now only in his trousers and white t-shirt.
He unbuckled his belt, a small smile dancing at his lips as Sherlock asked in a hoarse voice. "Are you sure we can't…?"
The sudden tension spiked the air between them, but neither men moved to one another. John kept his back firmly to Sherlock, drawing out the torment and loving every second. He felt powerful, and in control. He rarely felt this way when it involved Sherlock. Normally he was the follower, the tag along, the one desperate to understand but always left guessing until the end. Like on the rooftop. Listening to every word Sherlock said and feeling the sting along with the elation. Sherlock loved him! But he also took his bloody time telling him. Time to make Sherlock feel the same sting he felt on that roof.
Feeling confident, John glanced over his shoulder and shrugged carelessly. "Sorry, Sherlock. But doctor's orders. I don't think I'll be… up, for any uh—vigorous activities tonight."
John watched Sherlock's face fall and his hopes become instantly dashed. Pleased with this result he turned back around and pulled his shirt over his head. "I think I'll head upstairs now. Take a nice, long, hot shower."
He bent over to retrieve his clothes on the couch when he felt a brush of an erection push against his backside. He straightened immediately and in doing so, felt Sherlock's arms fall about his waist and pull him closer into his bulging arousal. John nearly let out an audible gasp. He barely stifled it in time. He wasn't going to let his own control slip! No matter how easy it would be to give in to the tempting detective.
"I can take it slow..." Sherlock whispered huskily into the back of his neck, lips softly kissing his flesh. "I can be patient, I promise." John smirked. It sounded like Sherlock was trying to convince himself of this, not John.
He grabbed Sherlock's hand around his waist and pulled it up towards his chest, letting his palm graze over his stomach, his abdomen until finally caressing his nipple. He wanted Sherlock to feel what he could have lost if he never told him the truth. He wanted him to burn. "I want to, Sherlock. I do. I really do. But you know I can't."
Sherlock's hand squeezed his chest, thumbing his nipple viciously and pushing his cock harder against his backside. A hot coil of lust wrapped around his gut, twisting him into knots. John barely was able to form the words in his head as he spoke breathlessly. "Sherlock… you have to stop."
Sherlock buried his face into the crook of his neck, breathing heavily from the intensity of his arousal and the burning ache John was sure he felt by now.
"John, please." He hissed out. "I need you."
"No," John said more firmly.
He wanted to hear more than desire from those lips. Not passion, not crazed and urgent declarations of love. John needed a reason. He wanted to know more than anything else, why Sherlock wanted him. Loved him.
"Sherlock," John couldn't stop the ache in his voice. "Let me go."
Sherlock ignored this, his hands gripping into his flesh with an almost angry desire. "You have no idea what you do to me." He whispered harshly. "Your very existence rips me up inside. I want you more than the next breath I take. I need you more than this rotten life. You're more important than all the cases I've ever solved." Sherlock drew him even closer. John went willingly, his heart already melting and caving in. God he needed to hear this. He wanted to hear the desperation in his voice. The longing. John felt it so keenly within himself for this man.
"Whatever I have is yours, John. I would die for you. And I will go to my grave loving you…"
"Okay, that's it." John abruptly spun in his arms and laid a hot, wild kiss on his lips.
Sherlock drew back, surprised. "I don't understand…"
John kissed him again, each movement a surge of passion. "I wanted you to suffer…" he breathed out through each scolding kiss. "Like I have—waiting for you, you bloody idiot."
Sherlock suddenly laughed, understanding sparkling in his eyes. "You were punishing me?"
Sherlock rotated his hips dangerously into him now, letting their erections rubbed hotly against each other. "Would you actually have gone upstairs and ignored me the rest of the evening?"
John smiled against his lips. "I would have taken one hellvua cold shower and then probably lay awake all night, calling myself a jackass."
Sherlock's beautiful blue eyes darkened, he slowly bent his head and captured John's lips. The kiss was slow. And achingly sweet. John's heart instantly began thundering in his chest. Sherlock had never kissed him like this before. He let his lips be guided by this man, as he slipped open his mouth for the tongue that followed. Excitement coiled in his belly as he tasted the passion on Sherlock's lips.
Unable to breathe from the hammering of his heart, he pulled back and sighed. Sherlock watched him carefully.
"Are you all right, love?"
John's heart fluttered at the sentiment but said nothing. He nodded. "I'm fine."
"We don't have to do anything tonight if you're not feeling well, John."
"No," he broke in. "No—it's fine. I can take a crowbar to the head any day."
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "You better not."
"Well, if I hang out with you long enough, I'm bond to get into some trouble here and there."
"Not if I can help it." He replied fiercely.
John snorted. "Please, since when have you cared about the dangerous stuff? It's usually the most exciting part of the case for you."
Sherlock slowly moved John closer to him, until they were so close he could feel the heat coming off his body through his close. His gaze was dark and unsettling. "We'll be more cautious in the future. I can't risk losing you again."
John reached up and twirled his finger in the shaggy black hair with a warm smile. "Whatever you say, Sherlock."
"So am I."
Sherlock glowered. "We'll never agree on this, will we? You're too stubborn and I'm…"
"Too you. Now shut-up and take me to bed you idiot."
"Whatever my good doctor commands." He said with a grin.
Eager to see John fully unclothed, Sherlock nearly tore his shirt off attempting to remove it. John laughed and helped take his shift off before tossing it to the floor. They were in Sherlock's room, this time both determined to make it to the bed.
He could see the startling intensity in Sherlock's handsome face as he began unsnapping John's trousers at the foot of the bed. He felt a cool hand, unable to wait for the complete shed of clothing, slide down his stomach and between his legs. John titled his head back, hips arching forward.
Sherlock breath came out fast, his focus unwavering from John's face, watching him. John slowly realized, through the hazy fog of desire, that Sherlock was still in control. And John wasn't going to have any of that tonight.
Boldly, he grabbed his hand from his cock and without warning John sidestepped and pushed Sherlock on top of the bed. He saw Sherlock's brilliant blue eyes brightened with excitement.
"Now Sherlock," John said as though scolding a child. "We're going to do this my way for a change."
He arched an eyebrow and gave John the most seductive look ever as he let his heated gaze slowly travel from his face, down his naked chest, to the opened clasp of his trousers where his cock was fully tented. Sherlock smirked. "Oh really…?"
His arrogance was outstanding, John thought, as he watched the devil lean back into the pillows, casually resting his arm beneath his head. All Sherlock had to do was lay there before him to be a glorious temptation. And God… he was beautiful. With his shirt unbuttoned barely revealing the naked skin beneath, his ankles crossed and his slacks bunched at his towering erection, which he displayed proudly.
"Well?" Sherlock asked huskily. "Are you going to stand there all night and make me wait? Or are you going to seduce me?"
John shook his head in disbelief. "Will you just give me this one time to be in charge? Or does everything have to be in your control?"
Sherlock's arrogance seemed to falter as a real vulnerability touched his face. "That's my problem, John. You—I could never control."
John took a deep breath, feeling his insides tremble. Without another word, he stepped out of his clothes and slowly crept onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath his hands and knees as he moved over Sherlock's body. He heard Sherlock's quick intake of breath. A hard need filtering through their veins as John slowly began to touch him.
He bent over his lips, about to kiss him, when he changed course and kissed his cheek instead. Sherlock grumbled irritably but didn't force him to his lips. John smiled, dipping his head lower and tasting the skin of his neck, sucking and kissing with ease.
Slipping his hand beneath Sherlock's open shirt, finally able to touch the seductive man, and yet feeling the shivers and flutter of his heartbeat beneath his palm. His pulse raced, knowing he could make Sherlock quiver with the same need.
Sliding downwards, he began kissing where his hands had been, causing Sherlock to arch his hips upwards and his body to stir restlessly. John felt his own body betray him as he instinctively thrust down into Sherlock, his naked erection pushing into him. Sherlock groaned. His hands then furiously began working at the clasp of his slacks, desperate to remove them.
"Wait…" John whispered and pushed his hands away from the clasp. He saw the ridge outline of his cock through his slacks and dipped his head, using his mouth, kissed his cock through the thin fabric. Sherlock twisted beneath him instantly as though a caged lion ready to claw his way out. John held his hips down and did it again, grazing his teeth over the ridged form.
"John," Sherlock moaned loudly. "You're going to kill me if you don't stop."
Smiling, he did it again, this time sliding his hands up his sides and roughly fondly him with his mouth.
Sherlock let out a low, tormented moan, his fingers gripping the pillow above him. John felt his own cock stir anxiously now. Listening to all his lovely, breathless groans was driving him mad. Deciding to speed things up, he finally unclasped Sherlock's slacks and pushed them off his hips, discarding them from the bed. His erection was thick and aching, ready to be satisfied. John edged closer to him and let his warm breath tease the flesh between his legs.
He felt Sherlock's leg muscles tense beneath his hands as he kissed him slowly on the outside of his erection. Sherlock's back arched upwards. John, feeling merciful, finally sank his mouth over his lover's cock. He heard the gasping approval from above him as he began to suck and tongue him. It was easier than he thought bringing Sherlock to his knees. He just had to draw out the foreplay until he was near bursting. John hummed in delight making Sherlock jerk uncontrollably.
John felt his own cock strain against him. If he kept this up, he'd go off just by listening to Sherlock get off. And he couldn't have that. No. He wanted to be inside him to the hilt. He wanted to thrust and fuck. He needed him. John, trembling from the brilliant fire filling him, pulled away from Sherlock, licking the precum off the tip and kissing his stomach. Sherlock was panting heavily, his eyes dark with the same crazed need.
John tore his gaze from the temptation that lay before him and reached the bedside table, yanking the drawer open and finding the last condom left inside. He sighed and quickly tried to slip it on while Sherlock tormented him as he stirred restlessly beneath him. John felt his hips arch against him, felt his hands run along his sides, gripping him as Sherlock's cock brushed demandingly into his own cock. It was John's turn to groan. Unable to stop himself, he thrust his hips forward and down. Sherlock gasped. Their cocks humped into one another. Both stiff and desperate.
He wasn't going to be able to slip on the condom going this. Without thinking, he pulled himself off from on top of Sherlock and landed on his back. He blindingly ripped open the package and was about to slip it on when he felt Sherlock move and grab him around the waist. Before John realized it, Sherlock's amazing lips were on his. They kissed and kissed and kissed.
John sighed, opening his mouth to the beautiful onslaught of passion. It was perfect. And damn inconvenient at the same time. He wanted to get the condom on. And he wanted to make love to him, but bloody Sherlock Holmes was sucking on his tongue and…
John let out a muffled cry as Sherlock gripped his cock fiercely. He nearly came.
"Sherlock!" John said through gritted teeth. His entire body had tensed up, preventing the orgasm that suddenly tingled at the tip of his throbbing erection. "Stop…" He breathed against his lips. The heat from their bodies and their desire pulsed between them. Sherlock's sharp gaze fell onto him, fogged with heat.
"If you do that…" John whispered. "I won't last."
Sherlock seemed to consider this for a second, his eyes darkening recklessly.
"Sherlock…" John chided warningly.
"Fine." He grunted irritably and slowly released him, but not before pulling on the tip of his erection.
John bucked wildly and let out a long breath. "Not nice."
Sherlock smiled mischievously and moved back to his position from earlier, his head on the pillow and his legs outstretched before him. John felt temptation slap him in the face. Sherlock was a handsome devil, one he would gladly worship the rest of his life, well at least in the bedroom. Quickly, he finally slipped on the condom and moved over to Sherlock, the top of his legs brushing his thighs.
His breathing nearly stopped when Sherlock pushed his bottom into his cock. He swallowed and positioned himself, letting Sherlock's lean legs wrap around his waist.
Their gaze locked and held. But before he did anything, John leaned down and kissed him. Sherlock opened his mouth for him, greeting him with the same slow, never-ending kiss. His heart melted. God how he loved this man. Their kiss was intoxicating. His lips were heavenly and before he realized it, his hips pushed forward and he entered him. Sherlock gasped against his lips, his body stiffening.
John stared into his beautiful blue eyes and felt transported. He touched the side of his cheek affectionately, staring into him, realizing how lucky he was for finding this man. For getting the chance to love and be loved by him.
John felt the muscles in his body tense as his cock was now fully immersed in Sherlock's body. Now it was truly perfect, John thought in wonderment as he slowly began to move.
Sherlock's eyes closed and his head titled back into the pillows, absolute ecstasy etched on his face. John, taking deep, calming breaths, continued the agonizingly slow pace. He felt the sweat on his brow, the muscles in his legs tense and his cock tingle anxiously. He wanted to pound. He wanted to thrust. But he kept it slow…
"Oh for God sakes, John!" Sherlock cried. "Harder!"
John nearly laughed at the desperation in his voice, instead he pulled out all the way, making Sherlock groan wantonly, before thrusting himself forward and reentering him to the hilt. The hard thrust nearly undid him. John gripped tightly to Sherlock, his need overpowering his thoughts, no longer wanting to torment his lover. No—he wanted to make him scream.
John arched his hips and thrust deeper. He did it again, this time burying himself completely. Sherlock bucked wildly beneath him, calling out his name. John picked up the pace and continued to move his hips, in and out. Over and over. Sherlock gasped. His body tensing with each thrust, and each slow deliberate pound into him. He practically arched off the bed and into his arms, as John quickened the pace until it was nothing but a flurry of groans and fast breathing.
"John…!" Sherlock called out, his body suddenly tensing. John felt his muscles constrict around his cock, which only made him pound harder. It was then he grabbed Sherlock's erection between their bodies and pumped him with a bruising grip. Sherlock came instantly. His warmth spilling into his hand and his body jerking upwards, giving John more access beneath him as his cock pushed even further. Unable to catch his breath, John arched backwards, his hands gripping Sherlock's legs as he pounded even faster, the sweet tension around his cock coming to a piercing high.
An incredible wave of an orgasm ripped through his entire body, driving him downwards one last time as he thrust viciously into the warmth of Sherlock before pulling out and toppling to the bed.
They lay separate from each other for a few minutes. Both trying to catch their breath. Finally, feeling completely drained of all sense and energy, John slowly rolled to his side and moved to where Sherlock was. The second his head hit the pillow besides him, he felt Sherlock pull him closer, their flushed bodies touching. John, with his eyes closed, felt soft lips touch his, before pulling away and tucking his head into his chest. John sighed contentedly, realizing that Sherlock had come willingly into his arms and wanted to have the after-sex-cuddle.
Smiling softly at this and not minding at all, he brushed his fingers through Sherlock's soft black hair.
"That was incredible, John." Sherlock said, his breath fanning his naked chest.
"Thanks. I tried my best."
"Please, try your best every night."
John chuckled. "I don't know about that. You nearly undid me there a couple times."
"I wonder what you'll be like when you start to get the hang of this. You'll probably kill me."
A rumbling laughter came from Sherlock. "I have some ideas…"
"Already? Dear God, I'm a dead man."John teased lightly.
They fell into a comfortable silence, and not long after both men fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.