The love bite wasn't difficult to hide, but John wanted to see Sherlock's reaction to it. Technically, he couldn't have been 100% sure the man he had fucked really was Sherlock just because Sherlock was a crazy stalker who never let John have any fun unsupervised. No, there was still a chance it was someone else who smelled and tasted and felt just like him, small as that chance might have been.
That's why John left his room the next morning wearing only jeans and an old cotton v neck jumper. It hid the bite on his shoulder, for now. He went about his usual routine, making them tea and breakfast and they ate in comfortable silence, reading their papers until Sherlock's phone chimed with a message from Lestrade, summoning them to a crime scene. The men got up and put on their coats, ready to leave the flat.
Before they did, Sherlock turned to John, stepping into his personal space and pulled a little on his jumper, exposing the love bite. John looked him straight in the eye, daring him to say anything.
"You might want to hide that." Sherlock said, touching the tip of his index finger against the bruise. "Do you want to borrow my scarf?" He asked.
"Thank you, I would like that very much." John answered in the same polite, neutral tone, as if they were talking about the weather. Sherlock took his scarf from the hook on the door and tied it around John's neck.
"There." Sherlock straightened it unnecessarily, flattening non-existant wrinkles and tucking it into John's jacket, lastly zipping that up.
"You're very welcome." And then they left. John could feel his heart racing in his chest all the way to the crime scene.
John let one week pass before going back to the club. Like the last time he waited for half an hour and only then did he go to the dark room. He thought about the strangeness of it all and what it meant for him. Thinking about it he came to the conclusion that it wasn't the publicity of the sex that turned him on, which he was grateful for. No, truth be hold, both times he had forgotten all about the other people in the heat of the moment. Seeing them was arousing, but he honestly couldn't say he got off on the thought of being watched. That was just coincidence. John would have been happy fucking Sherlock anywhere.
So, it was Sherlock then. That was, surprisingly, okay. Not that big of a shock, strangely.
He entered the room and started circling around, again watching the handful of couples already there and letting the atmosphere rope him in. A man entered the room shortly after. He, too, wandered around until he found John. He was tall, thin, smelled nice, and definitely not Sherlock. John froze. How could he explain he was waiting for a specific person? When this was a place where you were supposed to have anonymous sex with total strangers?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw somebody else enter and a thought, an idea hit him. Maybe this was a chance to take this thing between him and his flat mate to the next level.
When not-Sherlock touched his hand, asking for permission, John nodded. The man leant in and started licking at his neck, his hands going straight to John's cock, palming him through his trousers. John almost giggled. The man had no style what-so-ever, he felt almost sorry for him, a boy probably, judging by his attitude. John could see what he thought must have been the real Sherlock close in on them and was confirmed when that man seized the other man by his hair, tearing him away from John. He could only smirk. Jealousy, interesting.
"Mine." He growled, the first words he had ever uttered in the room, low and dangerous, and definitely, 100%ly Sherlock.
The boy was probably confused and angry.
"What? Fuck off, I was here first." He sputtered.
"Wrong." Sherlock leaned in to him, face close to the boy's face and he was so lucky he couldn't see the expression in his eyes. "Now. Fuck. Off. Before I hurt you." He whispered. His voice didn't need volume when his tone was enough to let the hair on the back of John's neck stand on edge, even though the words weren't meant for him.
Thankfully, the boy understood.
"Freaks." He muttered and left the room, hurriedly.
"Jealous, are you?" John asked, not able to hide his smile from his voice. Sherlock gave a positive growl.
"Not jealous, possessive." He put his hands on John's hips and walked him backwards to the wall. "I don't share." He breathed into John's ear and then bit at his earlobe. John brought his hands up and placed them on Sherlock's shoulder blades, letting the man tongue his ear and then neck. It seemed Sherlock was an oral man. John privately thought he could probably learn to live with that.
"How did you know it was me?" Sherlock asked after a minute petting John with his mouth.
"There aren't many six-feet-tall men who smell of formaldehyde and follow me. God, I really hope there's only one, that's creepy. Do that again!" He tipped his head back, the better for Sherlock to access the spot. He complied enthusiastically.
"Christ, I love your tongue!" John was panting already and they hadn't even kissed yet. He had to change that. Forcefully he pulled Sherlock's head to the side, bringing their mouths together. John let his own tongue probe at Sherlock's lips, slipping it between them and running it over the front of his teeth and dragged it over the tender backside of his bottom lip. Sherlock shivered slightly and John did it again. Sherlock moaned, opening his mouth, John using the opportunity to slip this tongue into that hot mouth, running it over his palate, tickling exquisitely.
"You taste so good." John whispered. Sherlock delved for the side of his neck, again biting and licking at his throat.
"I could eat you." Sherlock said against his throat. "But first I need to fuck you." Sherlock swearing was a turn on. John weept and Sherlock took notice. Reaching down for John's belt, he unbuckled it one-handedly and continued whispering against his pulse point.
"I bet you'd like that. In fact, I bet you fantasized about it. Tell me John, how often did you dream of me, my cock buried in your arse?" He opened his jeans and reached into his pants for his hard prick. "Did you wank off to it? Tell me, are your fingers enough?" He brushed his thumb over the head of John's cock, rendering the man incoherent while Sherlock over-enunciated each word. "Or do you prefer mine?" He ran one hand around John's back and pushed it into his pants, fingering for his hole, pressing down but not in. John jumped under his sudden movements.
"Christ!" He panted, eyes shut tightly, chest heaving, rigid, not knowing what direction to move in. Between Sherlock's tongue on his neck, his hand on his dick and a finger almost in his arse it was difficult to decide where he wanted the attention most. Sherlock was stroking him now and John was leaking precome, resulting in an obscene squashing sound.
"God, I love this. Do you hear this, John? You're so wet for me, I wish I could see you right now. Are you hot? I bet you're flushed. My little blushed fuck puppet." He smirked against his throat and stroked faster, gripping harder. "I can't decide how I want you. I could bend you over the table or maybe against the door, but we must be quiet lest Mrs Hudson hears us, we wouldn't want that, would we? Mrs Hudson knowing we fuck, listening in on me fucking my cock into your virgin arse, fucking you raw." He was pushing his finger into John's arse, the dry sensation heightening the feeling even more. John forgot to breathe.
"I can't wait to see you spread your legs for me. Breathe!" John very audibly did. "Come for me, John." And then John came all over Sherlock's hand still half in his pants.
"Beautiful." Sherlock murmured, kissing his lips with a lot less urgency than before.
"You can't see anything." John laughed.
"I don't need to." Sherlock explained smugly. "You like it when I talk dirty?"
"Christ, Sherlock, between your voice and your hands, you could read me the phone book and I'd probably come!" Sherlock fell stiff at that. "Wait, you're not insulted, are you? Sherlock, that was incredibly hot, it really was." John sought his lips and pulled him in for a kiss. It took a moment, but Sherlock relaxed into the kiss, deepening it. He stepped back when John reached for his groin.
"Don't you want to...?" John started, but was interrupted.
"Not here. I told you what I want." He sounded a little petulant. John swallowed. He had thought it was only dirty talk. A fresh wave of arousal flooded through him.
"Oh God." He muttered.
"Unless you don't want to." He relented.
"No, Jesus, I want to. Yeah. Let's get home." He pulled up this trousers and dragged Sherlock from the room, replaying in his head everything he could remember Sherlock saying. Yeah, definitely all that.