Synopsis: John & Sherlock go undercover at a gay bar
Written for Kyna
Almost ALL smut… and more coming
Complete: 6/8
Sherlock’s mouth, when open and from just the right angle, made a perfect heart shape… a fact which was not lost on John. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew he had envisioned that mouth… that heart… wrapped around his cock, but the vague memories of his fleeting fantasies were nothing compared to the opportunity now presenting itself. John felt the nagging urge to ask if Sherlock was sure, but the invitation wasn’t all that vague. The only sort of conversation he could imagine them having about it involved him falling asleep without having a single orgasm while Sherlock rambled about pheromones.
John had never seen Sherlock in such a state. Those bright, mysterious eyes, usually filled with brilliance and power, now looked wantonly at him… expectantly. It was an alarmingly erotic sight for the Army doctor. He wove his fingers into the spun copper of Sherlock’s curls and waited for some further sign of permission. When Sherlock tipped his head forward and licked the still-forming drop of pre-cum from the tip of John’s glans, permissioned seemed to be well and truly granted.
The tenuous part in Sherlock’s lips beckoned John, and he eased in with a soft moan. The instant seal around his shaft was nothing short of glorious, and the hollow formed under the detective’s sharp cheekbones as he began to suck was indescribable. Eventually, Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered closed, and John could only see a mop of quivering curls as Sherlock’s head bobbed up and down on his prick. His grip on Sherlock’s damp locks tightened, and he felt a gentle hum against his cock which radiated throughout his body. John’s entire body, save for one very important part, went lax, and he fell back. His hands rested on his ankles, his arms going rigid at the very last moment so as to remain somewhat upright. Staying upright was important, as was the overwhelming urge to stay buried in Sherlock’s throat. The tip of Sherlock’s nose nuzzled into the coarse, blonde hair at the base of John’s cock, of which he had rather impressively engulfed every centimeter. I don’t think this is his first tiiiiii— At first a disturbing idea, John’s train of thought was derailed with another soft, but very deliberate, humming sensation.
Sherlock’s palm on John’s chest urged him to contort even further back, and he didn’t protest. His head made contact with the mattress, his back arched into an almost painful position… almost. Pain was relative. The angle of his hips allowed Sherlock to easily place delicate, open-mouth kisses along his inner-thighs and the underside of his cock. Whatever pain might have existed was overshadowed by the incredible degrees of pleasure emanating from his groin. A thumb and index finger tweaked his nipple, and he jerked as much as he could under the circumstances. Then came the long, slow drag of nails down his chest, abdomen, and pubis. Pubis? I’ve been spending too much time around “Sheeerlooock,” John whimpered, nearly pained, as the detective traced circles with his tongue on John’s perineum. He was sure he could hear Sherlock grin in response.
With Sherlock’s circled fist pumping his prick and tongue teasing at his scrotum, John wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. His face was flushed and sweat was quickly saturating the sheets near his head. None of it would be lost on Sherlock, no matter how pre-occupied he may have been, and John knew it. His hips were tugged further forward, and his cock quickly disappeared it Sherlock’s mouth once again. He focused on the head, his hand making up the difference, and John whined. The only thing still standing between him and release was what little was left of his own iron-clad restraint.
Unlike Sherlock, who noticed everything, John was far too distracted to hear the faint snap of a plastic cap. That said, it was a complete surprise when he felt a long, thin finger, hot and slick, trailing down the cleave of his arse. He thought about fighting it, but he was in no position to argue with much of anything. Calm down. It’ll be fine. He trusted Sherlock his life; he could certainly trust him with his rectum. At least, he hoped he could. The finger’s tip gently teased at his tight entrance, and John was smart enough to try to relax and breathe through the process. If he was being honest with himself though, anything beyond short, ragged breaths was a tall order. Still, Sherlock quickly and expertly wriggled his first knuckle past John’s external sphincter and waited. Definitely not his first time. He had eased off of John’s cock a bit, and John was thankful for it. Too many stimuli had been making his brain start to spark. Sherlock still leisurely stroked him enough to keep him hard and aching, but not so much as to bring him off. Too fucking smart… Too fucking good.
John pressed himself harder onto Sherlock’s finger, giving him a clear sign he was ready for more. A bit of twisting and a gentle shove was enough to get the digit past the internal sphincter, and he stilled again. Slow, tight circles provided a gentle stretch, and John pressed down again. Sherlock pulled out slightly, and began to work a second finger back in with the first. John was sure Sherlock had already worked out his tolerance and physiological tells, so he let his more obvious signals fall to the wayside. The fingers scissored slightly as they plunged deeper, the continued stretching creating a surprisingly satisfying burn. Despite whatever degree of discomfort, John’s body cried out for more. As difficult as it was from his position, John bucked his hips, fucking himself on one of Sherlock’s hands and forcing a bit more friction from the other still encircling his cock.
The detective let out a low, ominous chuckle before torqueing his fingers to try and find John’s prostate. John was sure the yelp that caught in his throat would be more than enough to let him know he’d found it. It was. Sherlock lightly brushed the bundle of nerves, and John trembled with each touch. When Sherlock’s tongue swirled his glans once again, he was nearly undone. With only a few measured strokes and some gentle suction, John was coming apart under Sherlock’s calculated control.
“Oh. God. Sherlock. I’m gonna cu—”
The muffled “mmm hmm” reverberating in Sherlock’s throat was enough to make John’s warning a reality. His vision went white as he convulsed, tightening around Sherlock’s fingers and erupting into his mouth. Sherlock pressed deeper on both ends, his fingers buried as deep as they could go while sucking and swallowing every drop of cum John could muster.
Utterly drained and still shaking, John lowered his spine to the bed after Sherlock had released him. Christ… that… was… the best… orgasm… I’ve had… in ages. Even the voice in his head was panting. He wasn’t generally one to complain about any orgasm, but the most recent was particularly worthy of extra praise.
John blinked his eyes open and saw Sherlock clutching his dog tags, staring at him. “Okay… I think I worked it out.”
Sherlock’s expression went from lustful to perplexed. “Worked what out exactly?”
“The eleven ways.”
“You think so?” Sherlock chuckled. “Fine. This should be interesting.”
“You really don’t have any faith in me, do you?”
“A better question is how much faith you have in yourself. Get them all right, and I’ll take care of myself and go to sleep. Get them wrong, and I get to penetrate you.”
“Wait… I… but…”
Sherlock glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s getting late, John. What’s your decision?”
John glared. “You told me about my pupils, pulse, biting my lip, the tic in my hand, and pheromones.”
“Yes, though I’m surprised you could recall those in your current state. That’s five. What else?”
“I noticed I was flushed and sweating. My entire body was tensed, and my breathing had gone ragged.”
“Better than expected. Perhaps I won’t get my way after all.” Sherlock looked genuinely disappointed, but John couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all an act. “Two more.”
“I…” don’t know. It was true. John wracked his brain trying to uncover something Sherlock must have noticed that he had missed. He replayed as much of their conversation as he could remember, which wasn’t all that speedy a process. “Ah! Erection! You subtly pointed out I had an erection.”
“Impressive, John. Last one then?”
Dammit! If he hadn’t known moments earlier, he really didn’t know now. There seemed to be no clues in their conversation, and the detective’s eyes gave nothing away. He was going to lose the game, and he wasn’t sure he was all that upset about it. “I… don’t know.”
“Do you really not know? Or are you simply trying to rationalize allowing me to penetrate you?”
“WHAT? No… I…”
“Because I know you want that as well.”
“What? How? I don’t… I…”
“It’s good news for me, regardless. Do you give up?”
John winced, both at losing to Sherlock and his own desire to pay his penance. “Yes, fine. I give up.”
“The way you say my name just before you climax.”
“The what?” John was growing angry at the thought of that being the eleventh sign. “You hadn’t even heard me… say… that… when you said there were eleven ways.”
“John.” Sherlock sighed. “I’ve known you long enough to know your vocal patterns. We share a flat. I’ve heard you orgasm before. It’s not as if I couldn’t work it out.”
“No! That doesn’t count.”
“Fine. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re forcing my hand. Last night, when you were in the shower, you called my name. I don’t think you even realized you did it. It was muffled. I imagine you must have been biting your lip at the time. Still, there was no ignoring it. It was clearly my name.”
John’s brow furrowed against his own palm, his eyes shut tight. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t joke, John. I will admit, it sounded significantly filthier tonight than it did last night, though. Incredibly satisfying.” Sherlock crossed the room toward the loo. “Condoms in your overnight bag then?”
“Yes… but, wait… did you go through my things?”
“No need. You had lube with you. Two possible reasons. Either you anticipated this happening between us, less likely since you hadn’t yet accepted you wanted it. Or, more likely, you hadn’t ever removed it after your trip to New Zealand with Sarah.” Sherlock rifled through the bag and quickly returned.
“Sarah, obviously.” John crinkled his nose. “Can we maybe not talk about her right now, though?”
“Fine. Whatever you like.” Sherlock waved the notion away. “Having lube denotes a likelihood of having condoms as well, and I was correct.” He held up several small foil packets. “Either your trip was rather sexually unsuccessful, or you took far more of these than was strictly necessary.”
“Sherlock!” John snapped, more abruptly than he intended.
“Yes, right. No Sarah. Sorry.”
“Th-thanks.” Sorry? Did Sherlock just apologize? I’d have let him fuck me ages ago if I’d known it would make him human. “How do you want me?” He could hardly believe what he was saying.
(to be continued)
