As Sherlock followed John up the stairs to his bedroom, he began to understand what people meant when the said they had butterflies in their stomach. Except butterflies were far too gentle a creature for what he was experiencing. He'd chosen John's room, partially he liked the idea of being in a bed that smelled like the doctor, and partially because he wanted to be able to escape if something went wrong. In case he disappointed John in some way and John decided he wasn't worth the effort after all.
They paused when they reached their destination, John letting go of Sherlock's hand to close the door behind him. Sherlock attempted to school his expression and hide his nerves, but John wasn't fooled; he'd known the man far to long for that. He leaned up to kiss Sherlock gently, first one each corner of his mouth and then full on the mouth, keeping his lips closed and his movements gentle. Sherlock relaxed into this kiss, soothed by the tender kisses; John had promised it'd be good, and John wouldn't lie about something important.
John's mouth left Sherlock's, instead leaving a trail of soft, sucking kisses from the corner of his mouth, along his jaw bone and up to his ear.
"I'd very much appreciate it if you removed the pyjamas," John whispered, hands skimming up underneath Sherlock's shirt to brush at the bare skin, leaving hot trails of tingling sensation behind them. "And if after that you laid down on the bed."
Sherlock nodded and stepped away, quickly and efficiently removing his loose top and trousers. That much wasn't anything John hadn't seen anyway over the course of them living together anyway. And if he stopped to think about whether John would be more or less critical of his body in this situation he may never to as he was asked, and he didn't want to be disappointing. But his hands lingered apprehensively over his boxers; this wasn't anything shown anyone before, save the occasional medical practitioner when he detoxing, and he wasn't sure what John was expecting. He wasn't hard, he was too nervous right now for that, was that going to be a disappointment?
John noticed Sherlock's hesitation and reached out to grab his hand.
"Don't worry about that bit just yet," John advised; he didn't need Sherlock completely naked right that very second, he was just trying to avoid the awkward fumble with clothes later on. He pushed Sherlock gently backwards until he tipped onto the bed, laying on his back, propping himself up on his elbows. God he was a sight to behold; dark hair with stormy eyes, highlighted by the flush across his cheeks. Miles and miles of creamy white skin wrapped around long, lean limbs and supple muscle and only interrupted by black, silk boxers which were entirely Sherlock. And it hurt John all over again to know that somebody had hurt him, left him ignorant and afraid to discover the pleasure that that stunning body could bring.
"God you're gorgeous," John breathed, reaching out to circle a thumb gently over the inside of his knee where it crooked over the edge of the bed. "You're absolutely beautiful."
Sherlock felt his cheeks get hotter, and he squirmed on the bed slightly; compliments from John were always brilliant, especially when they were new, and John had certainly never called him beautiful before. It was painfully obvious to even somebody completely ordinary that he meant it now though. He felt his nerves slip back a few notches, tense muscles relaxing a little.
The nerves were quickly replaced by something much more foreign as John took a step back and began to remove his own clothes. He knew John had no problem with exposed skin – he'd been in the army after all – but the man tended to keep his own skin hidden by jumpers and trousers most of the time. Now, as the layers were removed, he couldn't stop his eyes roaming, cataloguing every detail. The sparse blonde hair across his chest and abs, which hadn't quite lost all of their shape from the army, his muscular thighs, all the small scars…and the big one, which would definitely warrant further scrutiny later on; he wanted to know exactly what had brought John to him. By the time he was able to observe the bulge in John's red, cotton pants, he was practically panting. So this was arousal then; interesting, and definitely already something new.
John straddled his thighs, bringing their groins tantalisingly close to each other, and Sherlock realised he was hard.
"Stop me if you feel uncomfortable alright?" John asked, distracting Sherlock. "And follow my lead."
With that John leant down to kiss him again, firmer this time, which made Sherlock moan. When he gasped in response to a nip from John, John took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth once more. Sherlock froze for a second before he remembered John's words, and then he hesitantly began mirroring John's movements, leaning further into the kiss. It was John's turn to moan as Sherlock's hot tongue slid over his; god the man was a fast learner. He mapped the inside of Sherlock's mouth as best he could, noting the spots that made him whimper for later.
When they were both running out of oxygen, which even Sherlock had to admit at this point was important, John pulled away, relocating his lips to Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's elbows slid out from underneath him, causing him to pull away momentarily as he collapsed against the bed, but freeing his arms up to wrap around John when lips found his neck once more. John kissed and sucked his way to the junction where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder, where a bite was enough to make Sherlock practically scream, hips jerking involuntarily off the bed. He salved the bite with small kisses, running the other hand soothingly over Sherlock's thin, heaving chest until he calmed slightly. It was clear Sherlock had never been aware there was this much pleasure to be found in his body. This led him to wonder whether Sherlock had ever touched himself, and how he liked it. After all, he couldn't please Sherlock to the best of his ability of he didn't know what he liked. Well, only one way to find out.
"I want you to touch yourself," John murmured in Sherlock's ear, voice gruff with arousal. "I want you to show me what you like."
Sherlock's arms slid away from John back as he curled in on himself slightly, gut clenching as he felt suddenly inadequate; it was rather a foreign feeling, and not something he enjoyed.
"I don't know," he muttered, eyes averted towards the bed. "I don't really…it's just transport. It takes care of itself when I'm asleep usually."
John leant on one elbow so he could put his other hand on Sherlock's cheek, turning him until he looked at John. "That's okay," John insisted, "I guess we'll just do an experiment then, you like those." He smiled softly as Sherlock perked up underneath him. "Take off your boxers."
Sherlock's ears turned pink as he wriggled out of his boxers, self-conscious but eager for the experiment to begin. It was an adorable sight, and John couldn't help but lean down and nibble at said pink ears before gently sucking Sherlock's earlobe into his mouth.
Sherlock gasped, titling his head to grant John better access to his ear and neck. John took advantage of the distraction and reached a hand blindly into his bedside table, fishing around until he found the bottle of lube he was looking for. Flicked his tongue over the soft skin behind Sherlock's ear, he took Sherlock's hand and squeezed some of the lube into his palm, spreading it over his hand. Sherlock gasped as he felt the cold liquid, but then John bit down on his neck once more and he was promptly side-tracked.
After thinking briefly about the logistics of this, John pulled away, tugging and Sherlock's upper arms.
"Sit up for a sec," he told Sherlock, who did what he'd asked once it had registered in his foggy brain that John had actually spoken.
John slid in behind Sherlock, shuffling them both back until John was leaning against the headboard with Sherlock leaning against him. He then took Sherlock's slicked hand and guided it down to wrap around his cock, John's fingers resting on top of Sherlock's. Sherlock huffed, head falling back to rest against John right shoulder.
"Like this," John whispered in Sherlock's ear, before slowly pulling Sherlock's hand up his own shaft, delighting in the full bodied shudder that he could clearly feel run through the detective. He begun guiding Sherlock in jerking himself off, keeping the pace slow and the pressure light to start with. With all the pent up frustration that had to be there, John knew this wasn't going to take long. Luckily, it would also give Sherlock a quick recovery period, so he could let Sherlock find some release now and see how far he was willing to take this after.
Keeping his hand over Sherlock's, John turned his attention to the conveniently exposed neck, having figured out by that point exactly where on his neck Sherlock was most sensitive. He traced a path from one spot to the next with his teeth and tongue, causing Sherlock to moan and buck into his own fist. It didn't take too long for the moans to turn into frustrated whimpers, Sherlock clearly needed more.
"Experiment, remember," John reminded him. "You can hold yourself tighter, go faster if want. Figure out what you like."
John immediately felt Sherlock's grip tighten beneath his fingers, the pace picking up slightly to result in a very satisfied sigh falling from Sherlock's lips. John let go, moving both hands to rest on Sherlock's chest, feeling the breath punch out of Sherlock's lungs as his hips began to move in tandem with his hand.
Placing kisses along Sherlock's cheekbone, John bought his hands up and flicked his thumbs over Sherlock's nipples. The reaction was very gratifying; Sherlock gasped, his free hand coming to grip John's thigh. So John kept up the action, rolling the sensitive nubs between his thumb and his forefinger one at a time as he began whispering instructions in Sherlock's ear.
"Rub your thumb over the head."
"Flick your finger against the fraenulum."
"Twist slightly on the way up."
Sherlock tried each suggestion, keening when he found something he particularly liked and repeating the action several times. Precum was beading on the head of his cock, he had to be close. God he was gorgeous, John was so hard it hurt just from watching. Unable to take it any longer, he thrust his hips a little, rubbing his still clothed erection against Sherlock's arse and lower back.
Apparently that was the final straw; seconds later Sherlock shuddered violently, arching his back and moaning loudly as he came. John planted his lips against Sherlock's neck, kissing gently and stroking his sides as he rode the high, cum splashing over his chest. He gasped and shook through the aftershocks before collapsing back against John, eyes closed and face serene.
John ran one hand through Sherlock's curls as the other sought out a tissue from the bedside table to clean Sherlock off with before he got too sticky.
"How was that?" he murmured as he cleaned Sherlock.
Sherlock's only reply was a pleasant hum as he turned his head to nuzzle John's neck, brain starting to de-fuzz a little. Nuzzles morphed into kisses, which slowly turned into nips and sucks as Sherlock turned around in John's arms to face him, copying what John had been doing to him earlier.
"Hmm, good," John sighed, both hands now tangled in Sherlock's soft curls. He was so very tempted to buck up against Sherlock's beautiful hip bones, but he didn't want to scare the detective away when he'd only just begun exploring. John wanted him to know what it was like to bring another pleasure by choice, without suffering for it.
Curious, Sherlock made his way down from behind John ear to his collar bone, pausing to lavish attention every time John moaned. The last fifteen minutes had quite possibly been the most intensely pleasurable fifteen minutes of his life, and he wanted to be able to bring a similar pleasure to John. His hands raced ahead of his mouth, mapping out the chest beneath him. They came back up to brush over his shoulders, and paused when one hand found John's scar.
Sherlock pulled his head away from John's clavicle, eyes questioning. He wanted to map out every centimetre of John for permanent storage in his mind palace, especially the part which had bought John to him in the first place, but he didn't want to cause any discomfort. John replied to John's unanswered question with a fond smile and a small nod. He had some idea of what Sherlock was doing, and didn't want to interrupt.
"Just don't prod too hard," he elaborated, "the inside's still sensitive to sharp pressure, but the surface is just kinda numb."
John watched Sherlock's face as he analysed the scar, skimming over it with nimble fingers and cataloguing every deal. It was the first time anyone had payed such intense detail to one of his physical flaws; most of the time he'd left his undershirt on whilst with his girlfriends, and if they'd removed the shirt they'd pointedly ignored the scar.
"It's not a flaw John," Sherlock spoke softly, interrupting John's thoughts with his apparent mind reading abilities which John really should have been used to by that point, but wasn't.
"If you didn't have it, I wouldn't have met you," Sherlock explained. "It's not a flaw; it just proves you were strong enough to survive."
Sherlock saw what he'd said as mainly a statement of fact, but to John it was one of the most adorably sentimental things he'd ever heard, just when he needed it. He tugged on Sherlock's hair slightly, pulling him back up so he could kiss him passionately; lips, teeth and tongue speaking without words to tell Sherlock how much John loved him. Sherlock melted against him, pressing them together from chest to knees. John moaned, partially at the sensation of Sherlock's tongue sliding against his, and partially at finally finding some much needed friction, even if it was through cotton. Unable to help himself, he bucked up against Sherlock's thigh slightly, and was pleased to feel Sherlock's member twitch in response.
Feeling how hard John was, Sherlock pulled back, feeling a little guilty about leaving him like that for so long. He sat back on his heels and tugged at John's boxers, finally freeing John from their confines, much to his relief if the long sigh was anything to go on. He grabbed the bottle of lube from where it had fallen next to them, and slicked up his hand once more. He hadn't thought it was possible for John's pupils to dilate further, but apparently he'd been wrong, the blue iris reduced to nothing but a thin rim around desperate pupils.
Hand slick, Sherlock reached down and hesitantly curled his fingers around John's cock, starting with the slow, light strokes John had begun with before. John moaned Sherlock's name, hands fisting at the quilt covers by his side. God that was a hot noise, Sherlock thought, blood beginning to return to his cock. He grabbed John's left hand and placed it over his hand on John's cock, encouraging John to show him what he liked; he wanted to hear that noise again.
John wasn't shy; he tightened Sherlock's grip and thrust up into their hands, unable to stop imagining thrusting into another part of Sherlock. The thought was unbearably hot, and if things kept going the way they were this would all be over far before John was ready. So with considerable difficultly he stilled his hips and pulled his and Sherlock's hand away. Using Sherlock's confusion to his advantage, he flipped them over until he was straddling Sherlock's hips once more, admiring Sherlock's returning erection. He was feeling rather proud of his self control until his gaze reached Sherlock's face, where he found a confused, hurt expression.
"Was I that unsatisfactory?" Sherlock pouted. He'd thought things had been going rather well if John's panted moans and clenched fist were anything to go by. Apparently they weren't.
John had to try very hard not to laugh. "Just the opposite," John replied, burying his face in Sherlock's neck to hide his smile. The man's uncertainty in this area was adorable. "You're too good, and I'm not ready to cum yet; there's still so much I want to show you."
Sherlock shivered at John's words, and the husky voice they were said in. "Show away," he murmured, panting. He didn't know it was possible for him to become hard again so soon after climax, but apparently it was. He guessed there was something to be said for ignoring ones sexual needs for decades.
After biting down gently on Sherlock's neck, causing another shiver and a small moan, John pulled away from Sherlock's neck to look him in the eye; he had an important question.
"How far are you willing to go?" he asked, face and tone suddenly serious. With Sherlock's history he wasn't sure whether he'd be ready for full on sex right now and he didn't want to push too far.
"I…don't know," Sherlock replied honestly, "I very much like the idea of receiving penetrative sex from you," – John blushed slightly at Sherlock's frank choice of words – "but I'm not whether the mental desire will translate properly into a physical one given my previous experience."
John nodded, feeling a little sad for Sherlock once more, and ran his hands through the curly locks in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Well, how about we give it a go, slowly, and if at any point you feel uncomfortable you tell me and we stop and try something else? Because there's lots more we can do."
"Acceptable," Sherlock replied with a nod of his own, before leaning up to press his lips to John's ending the conversation.
John's tongue soon flicked against Sherlock's lips, encouraging him to open his mouth as one hand cupped his cheek and the other tangled back into his curls. Except this time, when Sherlock responded, instead of invading his mouth John just brushed his tongue against Sherlock's, encouraging him to explore. It didn't take long for Sherlock to get the hint, fingers threading through John's short hair at the back of his head to pull him closer and allow Sherlock to explore thoroughly. He tried to mimic all the good things John had done to him; according to clenched grip on his hair and slight thrusting movements against his hip he was doing well.
It wasn't long until John pulled away, gasping for air. Sherlock's disappointed whimper quickly transformed into a satisfied moan as John's teeth dragged gently against a hard nipple. He lingered until both nipples were red and swollen, Sherlock a panting, rock hard mess beneath him. Oh it was glorious for John to see him so trusting and undone, to feel Sherlock's heart racing beneath his fingers and know he was the reason why. He made his was down Sherlock stomach, pausing at the spot just below his belly button where he appearing to be extra sensitive to leave a little, red bite mark.
Eventually John's face was level with Sherlock's groin. He diverted for a moment to push those soft, creamy thighs apart and lip his way up each one, causing Sherlock to make a strange noise somewhere between frustration and pleasure. Sherlock had been forced to do this on occasion, and the man he was pleasuring had always cum rather quickly, so he knew it would be enjoyable. But he didn't want John to feel obligated; he certainly hadn't enjoyed the task at the time.
"John, you don't have to…," he panted, unable to finish the sentence as John nosed at the base of his cock.
"I know," John replied, warm breath washing over Sherlock and making him squirm, "I want to. Just try to keep your hips as still as you can, alright?"
John's hands pressed down firmly on Sherlock's sharp hip bones, before he leaned down and licked a stripe from base to tip, wrapping his lips over the head of Sherlock's cock when he got there.
"Fuck!" Sherlock gasped, head thrown back against the pillows as John moved down his length. John moaned at the knowledge that he could make the man lose his usual prim and proper way of speaking so thoroughly, and the vibrations only made Sherlock groan louder.
Sherlock was thankful John's hands were on his hips, because he really wasn't very confident in his ability to hold still unassisted as John flicked his tongue over the underside of his cock. God the wet heat was incredible; no wonder people went to such great lengths to receive this particular sexual favour. As John pulled up to tonguing gently at the slit, suckling the tip slightly, Sherlock's hands flew to John's head, not pushing down like he wanted to, just holding. Brushing his fingertips across John's scalp gave him something else to focus on apart from the wethotyespleasenowmorefuck racing through his head, threatening to overwhelm him far too quickly.
John smiled – well, as best he could under the circumstances – at the feeling on Sherlock's hands on his head, those long fingers grazing his scalp and making things all the more pleasurable. And, surprisingly, the action was enjoyable. It had been something he'd wanted to give Sherlock, but not something he'd thought he'd actively like doing. But feeling the detective coming apart around him, all desperate fingers and tense muscles and gasping breaths, and knowing he was the sole cause? How could he not enjoy that? And, he thought to himself as he flicked his tongue over the slit again, the taste isn't that bad either.
Once Sherlock let out a particularly tortured moan, John decided he'd teased enough. He took more of the detective's cock into his hot mouth, receiving a grateful sigh on Sherlock's behalf, and grabbed blindly for the bottle of lube, spreading it over both hands. Ready to move forward, John swallowed around Sherlock, taking as much of his length as he could without choking, and wrapped a lubricated hand around what he couldn't. Sherlock trembled and moaned John's name, much to John's satisfaction, as his fingers clenched. Convinced Sherlock was sufficiently distracted, a brought his other hand forward and pressed a slippery index finger against Sherlock's hole, just massaging in small circles for now.
Sherlock jumped a little at the slightly cold, unexpected contact; his mind had been too thoroughly blanked to see it coming. The touch made in a little nervous, but it was alright. It felt nice actually, the cool, steady pressure against his entrance coupled with the hot, intense pleasure resulting from John's mouth. At least it was, until John pulled away, planting a kiss against the tip of his cock before looking up at him.
"All good?" John checked, panting. So he had sound giving the pleasure enjoyable as well; interesting. Perhaps it was different with someone you wanted. Something to file away for later.
Sherlock nodded. "Fine," he gasped, "better than I thought. Haven't…had fingers before."
John's eyebrows furrowed; he looked distressed. "No wonder you didn't like it," John murmured, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on the inside of one thigh. "This will be much better, I promise. I just need you to relax alright, and tell me if you want me to stop or slow down."
Sherlock nodded again, taking a deep breath. Well, half a deep breath, it turned into a gasp half way through as John leant forward slightly to take one of Sherlock's testicles into his mouth and sucked very gently. Sherlock's hands, which had dropped to his sides, immediately returned to John's head, wishing for a moment that John wasn't so keen on keeping his hair nearly military short so he'd have something to grab onto properly.
After a few moments, John increased the pressure against Sherlock's entrance until he pressed in, just up to the first knuckle. Sherlock shivered; it was a…strange feeling, it didn't hurt, but the idea that part of John was inside him was far more pleasurable than the actual sensation. He focused on relaxing his muscles, which had tightened instinctively against the intrusion, and tugged on John's hair slightly, encouraging him to move further with a moaned "more".
John moved to the other testicle as he slid his finger further, moving slowly but surely until his finger was fully engulfed by Sherlock. He gave Sherlock a minute to adjust, moving to tongue his way up Sherlock's cock once more to distract him from any discomfort, before wriggling slightly. With his experience as a doctor, it didn't take too long before he found what he was looking for, and as he ran his tongue over the head of Sherlock's member he brushed the pad of his finger deliberated over Sherlock's prostate.
Sherlock nearly screamed, back arching high off the bed as pleasure shot through every nerve ending like electricity
"Fucking hell, John, again, now, please, John, again," Sherlock rasped, pushing back against John's finger in an attempt to experience that sensation again; it was lucky he'd cum not long ago or it'd all be over already.
John moaned at Sherlock's obscene reaction, half way convinced he could cum just from watching that reaction over and over. He set up a rhythm of shallow thrusts of his finger as he kissed his way up Sherlock's body, brushing over his prostate at random intervals so that Sherlock couldn't guess when it was going to happen next; causing the detective to shudder and gasp and swear every time. Eventually he reached the detectives neck, kissing up the marks which were starting to show on the alabaster skin until he could whisper in his ear.
"I'm going to put in another and stretch you a bit, it that alright? It might be a bit uncomfortable, just relax and tell me if it's too much yeah?"
Sherlock hummed and nodded in response before turning his head so he could kiss John properly. John slid his tongue into Sherlock's mouth at the same time he added an extra finger, stilling his hand to let Sherlock relax as he distracted him with his lips and tongue.
Trying to ignore the sharp twinge as he was stretched, Sherlock kissed back, focusing how passionately John was kissing him instead. After a few moments the burn faded to a slight discomfort, and he moved his hips experimentally. Finding no additional pain, he gave John permission to move, tipping his head back in a silent request for more attention on his neck.
Only too happy to oblige, John planted wet kisses down Sherlock's neck as he began to slowly move his fingers. Once Sherlock seemed comfortable enough to be meeting John's thrusts he crooked his fingers to return attention to Sherlock's prostate, watching his cock twitch at the sensation.
"You can touch yourself if you want to," John murmured after placing a kiss behind Sherlock's ear. "Just don't cum yet, I want you to cum with me properly inside you."
Sherlock whimpered at the words, his hand trailing down his torso until it formed a loose fist around his cock. It provided just enough friction to push Sherlock's pleasure up a notch, and John took the opportunity to start scissoring his fingers gently, slowly stretching Sherlock open as he made sure to brush Sherlock's prostate often enough for the pleasure to outweigh the pain.
Twenty minutes, some more lube and an extra finger later, Sherlock was practically writhing on the bed, both hands fisted slightly in the sheets. His cock, which he'd had to abandon for fear he'd cum too soon, was deep red and harder than he'd thought possible, aching for attention as precum beaded on the head. He was ready to quit the prep and have john inside him already; actually, he'd been ready about five minutes ago, now he was desperate.
"John Hamish Watson…I swear…if you do not get on with it…and fuck me…right now…they will never…find…your body," he panted, incapable by this point of getting the whole sentence out in one go.
John grinned, flicking his tongue across Sherlock's nipple one more before sitting up and slowly pulling his fingers from Sherlock. Sherlock whimpered at the loss, feeling empty after having those fingers in him for so long, but eager for what was next.
John grabbed a condom from the draw and rolled it on before applying some lube. He grabbed one of his reading pillows and, after getting Sherlock to lift up, slid it on his hips to improve the angle. Placing one of Sherlock's legs over his good shoulder and the other around his waist, he leant down to press a soft kiss against Sherlock's lips before lining himself up with Sherlock's entrance.
"I'll go slow," John assured him, seeing the nerves flick across Sherlock's face now that the moment was finally here, "and we stop any time you want. I love you."
A smile flashed across Sherlock's face at the words, and he leant forward to give a soft kiss of his own before tugging at John with his legs slightly.
John pushed in slowly but surely, burying himself to the hilt in one long, gentle move before stopping to let Sherlock adjust. The tight heat was incredibly intense, and he was grateful for the slightly dulling sensation of the rubber, or it may have all been over before it began. He buried his heat in Sherlock's neck, planting soft kisses there in an effort to simultaneously distract him from the overwhelming urge to move and sooth Sherlock's discomfort.
Sherlock couldn't deny that the action had hurt. But it wasn't the violent stabbing, searing pain he'd experienced before, it was tolerable; a burning, stretching sensation which was uncomfortable but not bad enough for him to say stop. Nevertheless, he was profoundly grateful when John stopped moving - apparently pausing simply to give him time to become accustomed to the sensation – and the gentle kisses were a comforting sensation.
After a few moments, the burn had settled into a sort of vague discomfort, the kind Sherlock was sure could be cured with some sort of movement.
"John, move. Please," he murmured in John's ear, shifting his hips slightly.
John lifted his head to look Sherlock in the eye as he slowly pulled about half way out before thrusting back in. He couldn't help but moan at the tight friction, the sensation only heightened by Sherlock's smouldering eyes and shuddered gasp.
"Tell me when I find the good spot, alright?" he whispered, and proceeded to change angles slightly with each thrust, not wanting to chase his own pleasure before he was sure he could guarantee Sherlock's.
Turned out Sherlock didn't have to say anything, the exulted cry and full bodied shudder where ample indication that John had found Sherlock's prostate, and he grinned at his success.
"Just there hey?" he chuckled lowly, before proceeding to hit that spot as often as possible, thrusts becoming harder and faster.
Sherlock squirmed with pleasure, pushing back to meet John thrust for thrust. The friction against his insides, a sensation which had once disgusted him, now made it feel like someone had lit the best fire possible in the pit of his abdomen, and each brush of his prostate set of sparks between his eyelids. But what really pushed him close to the edge was the fact that it was John who was surrounding him, inside of him, pleasuring him – it was everything he'd thought he'd never want and never known he'd need, but god he needed it now.
"John please," he pleaded, begging to the only person who could ever make him do so, "So close…just need…please…"
Thank Christ, John thought to himself; he'd been unsure how much longer he'd be able to hold out against the pressure building up inside of him as the tight heat surrounded him. He took half a second to really look at Sherlock, to memorise the sight of him needy and trusting and vulnerable, before he wrapped a hand around Sherlock's cock.
A few strokes and a flick of his thumb over the head were all it took for Sherlock to scream his release, this orgasm even more intense and longer lasting than the first. The muscles surrounding John spasmed and tightened, and that was enough to tip him over the edge, the release all the more intensely gratifying for the long build up. He collapsed on top of Sherlock as both of Sherlock's legs slid to the bed, chest heaving as he shivered through the after shocks.
After an incredibly long moment, John gently pulled out and pulled away just enough to remove and dispose of the condom and flop down next to Sherlock, pulling the lanky man into his arms and burying his face in his dark hair.
"I love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the soft curls, "I love you."
Sherlock nuzzled into John's chest, long limbs attaching him to John's side like a limpet.
"I haven't heard that in a long time," he confessed, voice muffled by John's chest, "Not since I was five."
"What happened when you were five?" John whispered, one hand snaking up Sherlock's back to stroke his hair.
Sherlock leaned into the touch silently for a moment before answering. "I deduced Father's affair. Accidently of course – I didn't know that asking him about the other lady he'd been visiting at the dinner table would cause such a stir. Mummy used to be the only one who'd say it to me; she stopped saying it after that."
John sighed sorrowfully, planting another kiss to Sherlock's curls. With his past, it was no wonder the genius had become so abrasive and closed off.
"Well I'm going to make sure I tell you every day," John promised.
"And show me often too?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
John chuckled. "That too. I take it you enjoyed yourself then?" He asked the question lightly, but meant it in all seriousness; he wanted to be sure that he'd been able to give Sherlock a positive experience after so many negative ones.
Curls brushed over John's chest as Sherlock nodded. "I…didn't know it could be like that," he admitted. "Did you…like it too?"
A satisfied smile spread over John's face. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. And 'like' is an understatement; trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."
A yawn interrupted Sherlock's reply, and he closed his eyes, deciding to leave discussions about what else they could do until later.
"Why am I tired, I didn't wake up that long ago," Sherlock moaned lightly; he hated wasting time sleeping.
"You don't sleep well at the best of times, and you've stressed yourself recently, mind and body," John replied, wiggling and fidgeting until he had them laying under the covers, not on them. "Go to sleep for a bit, I'll be here when you wake up. And we can talk about how you're going to talk to me next time instead of taking drugs."
"Don't need to talk," Sherlock whispered, "I won't do it again, promise."
John smiled, for once genuinely believing the detective would keep his word. However, the words which really made his heart stutter were the ones Sherlock mumbled into his chest, just on the verge of sleep.
"I love you John."