Work Text:
“JOHN”
“What love?”
“BORED!”
“What do you want me to do about it?” John replied absentmindedly. He was two paragraphs deep into a blog post on their latest case, tempted to include a sentence (or paragraph) on the way Sherlock’s arse looked while he was chasing the suspect up some stairs, then thought better of it as it sounded a bit unprofessional when Sherlock started with his usual routine of pouting on the sofa.
“Entertain me” He announces from his sprawled display of ennui.
John looks up from his laptop fleetingly, just to get a glimpse of the drama queen before returning his gaze to the screen before replying, “I’m not a performing monkey, just here for your amusement. Git. Come on don’t you have something to experiment on == not me I might add.”
“Nope boring.” He flops onto his stomach to pout at me and give his patented puppy dog stare.
“Play with me!” He whines.
Dear God. He finds it difficult to resist when Sherlock combines all three in such a lethal attack on his person, but John tries to and succeeds for at least 30 seconds before finally giving in.
“Alright alright. Fine! What do you want to play darling?”
“Hmmm…” He purrs turning seductive in seconds causing all blood to reroute south. “How about we play…. Doctors” He pounces from his spot on the sofa with such agility that it takes John’s breath away.
Before John gets a chance to get it back Sherlock straddles his thighs (having chucked John’s laptop to the floor) and snogging the living daylights out of him.
Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s shoulders and glides his glorious arse up John’s thighs, closer to his hips, where he gives a slow and dirty little grind causing John to lose all thoughts apart from the words – fuck, oh god and Sherlock.
John grabs Sherlock’s hips and slides his hands to rest on that fan-fucking-tastic arse and gives it a generous squeeze causing Sherlock to moan indecently in his lowest tone possible, which reminded John of swimming in a dark chocolate lake.
Rutting like wild animals and devouring each other’s mouths in John’s chair like teenagers, both can feel themselves getting close to going off like fireworks, they break apart to plant sloppy kisses – around panting – onto each other’s necks, cheeks, jaws and the sensitive spot behind ears.
John grabs Sherlock’s arse cheeks, pulling him in tighter trying to get more friction for his hard as stone cock, moaning loudly like a two-dollar whore. Sherlock shifts closer, grinding impossibly harder trying to get just that little bit extra to finally push him over into seeing stars, when John starts to nibble on Sherlocks perfect porcelain neck.
“FUCK”
They both fall over the precipice in complete unison, leaving them sticky and sweaty, and panting to get their breath back after such sublime efforts.
Sherlock collapses into Johns arms which are still wrapped around him, hands gripping is arse unable to release him just yet.
They eventually fall asleep in Johns armchair, waking sometime later to aching and stiff limbs, numb legs and an uncomfortable grossness in their pants which becomes more disgusting when they try to move towards the shower to clean up.
Never again, they swear that this is the last time that will happen.
That’s what they’ve said before.
Liars.