Synopsis: John & Sherlock go undercover at a gay bar
Written for Kyna
Almost ALL smut… and more coming
Complete: 5/8
Once John was satisfied with the cleaning and patching up he was able to do with the limited supplies available in their hotel room, he settled next to Sherlock on the bed. “It’s the best I can do with what I’ve got.”
“It’ll do nicely,” he replied, admiring John’s handy work.
There was a brief silence before John spoke again. “You never told me. Where did you find my dog tags?”
“In the bottom of a drawer in your room. I tore up the flat one day looking for them while you were out.”
“You noticed I was out?” John was touched.
“I noticed you didn’t stop me. I realized later it was because you were out.”
John sighed. “When was this?”
“It’s fair to say I’ve had them for a while.”
“But you said you only wore them to keep your mind focused for this case.”
“Mm. You said there were people following us in order to explain away you kissing me.”
“I… there… I mean…” John’s eyes were wide with horror. “There were.” He was a poor liar.
“There weren’t.” Sherlock chuckled.
“Why did you…?”
“I didn’t say I minded. I was just… surprised. We had no time to sort anything right then anyway, so I thought it best to give you an excuse.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you don’t know if you should do it again or not.”
“No… I…”
“You should, John. Kiss me.”
John blinked, shaking his head. “What did you say?”
“Kiss me, John.”
“What if I don’t want to kiss you?”
“That’s almost amusing. Shall I explain all eleven ways I know you do? Because, I can if that’s what it’s going to take.”
Ah, well… Kissing was one of the ways I considered shutting him up earlier. John delicately fingered the silver chain from whence his dog tags were hung and wrapped it once around his fist. Sherlock’s words had either dropped off completely, or John had just found the mute button somewhere in his head. Either way, he tugged on them slightly and pulled Sherlock’s mouth within a micrometer of his own.
Sherlock whispered, “I could start by explaining what your large, dark pupils mean, sexu—”
“Oh, shut up!” John pressed his mouth hard against that of the beautiful, obnoxious man sitting before him. It was different now… with intention, which made his growing erection somewhat less disconcerting. When he pulled away, he was a little breathless.
“I’d ask if you enjoyed yourself, but the answer seems fairly obvious.”
“Oh, god!” John crossed his legs. “I—”
“Well? Are you going to sit there? Or are you going to do something about it? No use pretending you’re not interested now. Your heart rate alone—”
John crawled onto the bed, one knee planted firmly between Sherlock’s thighs and close enough to his groin for his mouth to snap shut. He rocked forward, putting just the proper amount of pressure on the overly-talkative detective’s cock, and felt a faint twitch through the constraint of the trousers.
“You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?” John loomed over Sherlock. “Do you ever just… just stop?”
“You must realize a person cannot simply st—”
John nibbled his way along Sherlock’s jaw and sucked in his earlobe. He bit lightly, teasing it with his tongue. “You were saying?” came the hint of a whisper in response.
A soft moan seemed to be the most Sherlock could manage.
“That’s better.” John swung his leg to the outside of Sherlock’s thigh and sat straddling him. His fingers threaded in and out of the loose ginger curls, now damp. He breathed it in the musky scent of Sherlock’s sweat and ground his hips in such a way that they both keened at the friction of cock pressed firmly against cock.
Every time John would start to raise up onto to his knees a bit further, Sherlock’s hands were quick to slam his hips back down. The feeling was far more satisfying than John had ever imagined it would be. It seemed there was no use fighting against something so glorious, so he gave in. The heat emanating from the denim between them seemed almost dangerous, though… ignitable.
Sherlock made quick work of the buttons on John’s shirt and slid it off his shoulders, sending a chill through the doctor. His hands were still clutching at the masses of curls atop Sherlock’s head, and they were joined at the mouth once again. John could feel the slow, gentle scratch of Sherlock’s nails dragging down his back and up his sides, exploring every inch of his newly exposed flesh.
Then, the taste of Sherlock’s mouth receded and the warm heat from it was on John’s neck, the occasional nip swiftly soothed by Sherlock’s tongue. Jesus, fuck… tongue. It was just like his dream, only so much… more? The flick of the same tongue on his nipple sent a jolt through his body, and the gentle sucking that followed did little to minimize the electricity surging through him.
When Sherlock’s lips migrated across his chest to the other nipple and then further up to his scar, he immediately winced. “Sherlock, no. It’s—”
“Beautiful,” he said, finishing John’s sentence, albeit incorrectly.
John wanted to protest, but instead closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation of Sherlock’s soft lips on the harshest reminder of his past. When he peeked out to watch Sherlock’s tongue circling the marred flesh, the sensuality of it was nothing short of shocking. Seeing Sherlock lick, kiss, and suck at the area which had become the bane of John’s existence was somehow empowering, and his cock pressed ever harder at the already taught fabric.
What little friction could be felt through their trousers was no longer enough. John rolled his neck and clenched and unclenched his left hand, now holding his dog tags against Sherlock’s bare chest, several times.
“There’s another,” Sherlock quipped, nodding toward the tic in John’s hand.
“You can stop that any time now.”
“Mm. I was merely suggesting that I could find a better use for your hand.”
John chuckled nervously. “Still shut up.” He shivered and did exactly as was suggested. He slowly let his hand drift down Sherlock’s chest and abdomen before sliding his hips back for easier access to the button and zipper standing between him and the object of his current obsession.
After a brief fumble with Sherlock’s fly, he could clearly see the detective’s prick straining hard against the fabric of his pants, the slightest hint of flesh peeking out from the top of the elastic band. The cotton nearest the glans was already saturated with pre-cum, and it had since started to pool and mat in the fine, dark hair below his navel. John dragged on finger slowly through the small puddle. “You’ve made a mess.”
The soiled finger was raised near Sherlock’s face to show him just what sort of mess he’d made, and John was surprised to feel it being sucked slowly and deliberately into the man’s mouth. The feeling of a tongue swirling around his index finger made his hips buck forward of their own volition. After a painfully slow extraction from his flat mate’s mouth, John dropped his hand back to its previous position and set it back on task. He allowed his thumb to gingerly grace the barely exposed head of Sherlock’s cock and felt the body beneath him go rigid. A whimper escaped Sherlock’s throat, and John’s own cock thrummed at the sound.
John carefully peeled back Sherlock’s pants and watched his erection sway lazily in wait. Jesus, even his erection looks fucking bored. Pre-cum strung from the pool on Sherlock’s groin up to the slit of his cock, and John glazed his palm with every drop he could collect before curling his fingers tightly around the base of Sherlock’s engorged prick and taking his first long, slow stroke. The ragged breath and depraved cry it elicited were more than enough to soothe any doubts remaining in the doctor’s mind. Each successive stroke was just as agonizingly purposeful, and Sherlock’s sound effects became more and more whorish by the second. He rolled Sherlock’s foreskin up and back with each motion, and intermittently rolled the pad of his thumb around and across the opening of his glans. The way the detective’s breath caught in his chest was enough to make John’s prick ache for attention, but the lascivious noises erupting from his partner were payment enough for his patience.
As John eventually quickened his pace, Sherlock’s moans failed to provide proper pittance. He needed stimulation. He loosed his grip on Sherlock’s cock and received something akin to a hiss in return. John sighed. “Calm down. Must you be such a petulant child all the time?”
“I can’t imagine you wishing to think of me as a child under such conditions, John. If so, I fear I’ve misjudged you.”
“Oi! Fuck off. I’ll be right back.” John shook his head. Why? Why do I put up with him? He quickly grabbed a small bottle of lube from his overnight bag and made his way back toward the bed. Seeing Sherlock spread languidly across the duvet, his cock still jutting out from his body as the most obscenely beautiful angle possible, his question was answered. That is absolutely worth it.
John wriggled out of his pants, practically dripping with his own pre-cum, and reclaimed his position straddling Sherlock’s thighs. He drizzled some of the lubricant into his palm and bit his bottom lip.
“Ah, another one.” Sherlock chuckled.
“Another what?”
“I told you there were eleven ways I knew you were interested in me. Biting your lip is a dead giveaway. You might want to watch that in the future.”
John glanced down at their cocks, bobbing closely together but never quite touching. “We could just take care of ourselves and call it a night if you like. I mean, if you’d rather continue this discussion than…” He lightly traced the underside of Sherlock’s shaft with his fingertip and waited for a response. He received none. “No? Good.” The doctor smirked again before sliding forward and pulling their cocks together into one overflowing fist and began to pump.
Their pricks were hot against one another, the mixture of lube and pre-cum making for a sinfully slick surface on the sensitive skin. John had very little trouble working both himself and Sherlock at once, and he allowed his own head to drop back. He closed his eyes and rocked his hips, feeling nothing but the ecstasy of pulling himself off against Sherlock’s impressively hard cock.
John’s breath was growing shaky, his thighs beginning to ache, when Sherlock’s voice pulled him out of the moment. “No, wait.”
“What’s wrong?” John stilled instantly.
“If you hadn’t stopped, I’d likely have cum.”
“Well, yes…” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the point of this, isn’t it?”
“Obviously. But not yet. Not like this.”
John’s curiosity was piqued, to say the least. “Oh? How so?”
Sherlock’s hands grasped firmly at John’s arse as he tugged the doctor forward and onto his chest. John’s cock bobbed just inches from Sherlock’s face, and the sight was more distracting than John could have ever expected.
“Pheromones,” Sherlock stated pointedly.
“What?” John’s tone lacked amusement or even mild traces of interest.
“That’s six.”
“Are you really still doing this?”
“It would appear so, John.” The detective smirked. “That is, unless you can find a better use for my mouth.”
(to be continued)
