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They’d been standing in an alleyway, laughing over the unconscious form of the criminal John had just knocked cold, when Sherlock’s self-control had broken.
John had been gorgeous, bathed in the orangey glow from the street lamps and the faint moonlight, his face flushed with amusement and exertion. Before Sherlock had been entirely aware of what he was doing, he’d backed John up against the brick wall that had been directly behind the shorter man and sealed their mouths together. When his brain had finally caught up with his body, he’d been absolutely horrified, jerking his head back and starting to pull away, prepared to apologize profusely and act as if nothing had happened.
But then John had tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, urging the taller man back down with a breath that sounded like “God yes,” which effectively stamped down any feelings of regret that had been threatening to surface.
After almost a full hour, which consisted of waiting for Lestrade and his entourage of idiots to finish up at the crime scene and the most agonizing cab ride of his entire life, Sherlock had finally, finally been able to forego propriety and take what he wanted. As soon as they had closed the door to 221B, Sherlock had slammed John up against the nearest wall and sealed their mouths together in a fierce kiss that was all teeth and no tenderness. When John had started squirming, desperate and letting out little whines of “Sherlock, please,” Sherlock had taken pity. He’d dragged John down to his bedroom, where they’d both stripped with frantic urgency, too keyed up to tease. Sherlock had pushed a naked John back onto his bed with a dangerous, predatory grin before clambering over him and picking up much where they’d left off against the door.
Now, they’d slowed down a bit, their kisses longer and deeper as they explored one another fully. Sherlock ran his hands along John’s soft stomach, flicking a nipple at the same time he sucked on John’s lower lip, eliciting a gasp. John arched up into Sherlock, grabbing his arse and pulling him closer, the movement causing their erections to brush together slightly. Sherlock moaned and circled his hips until they were more or less lined up. He began to thrust, and after a few minutes they’d developed an erratic rhythm, no longer kissing but sharing breaths.
“Sherlock,” John whispered, his breath catching on the last syllable. “Aah! Need you--want you--inside--” his sentence was cut off with a groan as Sherlock wrapped his hand around both of their erections and pulled.
“Are you sure?” Sherlock murmured as he continued to move his hand at a torturously slow rhythm. “Have you ever...?”
“Oh, yesssss,” John hissed when Sherlock flicked his thumb over the heads of their pricks, arching and gripping Sherlock’s arse tighter. “Wanted you--for ages--”
Sherlock practically whimpered at the admission, diving back down to claim John’s mouth once more. After a few minutes of heated snogging and erratic thrusts, Sherlock could feel himself getting close. He forced himself to pull back, and then forced himself not to plunge back in at John’s desperate whimper.
“Lube,” he said breathlessly, scrambling to his bedside table and pulling a half-used tube out of the drawer. When he looked back at John, he had to mentally recite half the periodic table to keep himself from coming. The man was leaning back on his elbows, his erection leaking against his stomach. He was sweaty and disheveled and absolutely wanton, and Sherlock was certain he’d never seen anything sexier in his entire life. He noticed Sherlock’s eyes raking over his body and grinned open-mouthed. Sherlock had to bite his lip to cut off a moan as John slowly, deliberately spread his legs. He jerked his head in invitation.
“Come on then,” he said, panting slightly, “show me what you can do.”
Sherlock fumbled with the lube, spilling too much onto his hands in his eagerness before settling himself between John’s legs. He hurriedly prepared John, adding a third finger when the first two slipped in easily. John just gripped his biceps and encouraged him with breathless gasps of “More” and “Harder,” and Sherlock just tried not to come on the spot. After a much shorter period of time than Sherlock had expected, John scrabbled for the long-lost tube of lube, wordlessly pushing it into Sherlock’s free hand. Sherlock didn’t even consider protesting, instead opting to quickly spread lube over his cock and press the head at John’s entrance. He hesitated there for a moment, allowing them both to mentally prepare, before he began to slowly push in.
“Yes,” John breathed, as Sherlock slowly penetrated him, “that’s it, oh come on, I’m not going to break--”
With a cut off curse, Sherlock made a final, sharp thrust home. Both men moaned simultaneously.
“What are you doing, move,” John begged, effectively spurring Sherlock into action. He pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in, hard enough to push John back a few inches on the bed. John let out another long, low moan that went straight to Sherlock’s cock. He began to thrust rapidly, his self-control once again ebbing away with every slap of his balls against John’s arse.
“Wait, no, stop,” John gasped. Sherlock, terrified that he had somehow hurt John, stilled immediately.
“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply. “Are you alright?” He began to pull out, already mentally berating himself for letting his arousal get in the way of preparing John correctly.
John let out a whimper. “I didn’t mean stop, I just meant--here--” he wrapped his legs round Sherlock, feet crossed and digging into Sherlock’s arse. “Just--slower.” He dug in his heels, pushing Sherlock inside of himself at a pace that was both wonderful and excruciating. Sherlock buried his face in John’s shoulder to keep himself from making any embarrassing noises.
“Ohhhhh, yes,” John sighed, his breath hot on Sherlock’s ear. “I don’t want to rush. Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve fantasized about having that gorgeous cock inside of me?” John’s legs were still locked around Sherlock, forcing the taller man to move at the same slow, torturous rhythm. “You’re brilliant at everything... Knew you’d be brilliant at this too.”
Sherlock cut off his moan by biting at John’s neck. The other man gasped, his rhythm faltering for a moment as he arched slightly off the bed.
“Didn’t you wonder why I could take you so easily?” John whispered, his voice now shaking slightly. “I have a half-used tube of lube too, you know. I lie in my bed and finger myself and pretend it’s you. Pretend you’re stretching me so I can take in every inch of you.” He dug his heels in and lifted his hips, letting Sherlock slide in a fraction more.
“John,” Sherlock gasped, helpless, and dear God, when had he become the helpless one? He was fully inside of John, the shorter man’s legs wrapped around him, and yet he was the one being taken apart. John Watson was a bloody menace.
“Do you fantasize about me too? I can just see you, thrusting into your hand, imagining you’re thrusting into me, coming inside of me.” John dropped his heels and planted them on the bed, grabbing Sherlock’s arse again. “God, I’m ready. Come on Sherlock. Come inside of me.”
Sherlock actually did groan at that, lifting his head from the safe haven of John’s neck so he could capture the other man’s mouth as he began to thrust in earnest. When they had to break apart for air John moaned and lifted his arms above his head. He tilted his hips up, searching for that perfect angle.
“Yes, yes, yes, oh God, Sherlock, there,” he chanted as Sherlock’s thrusts reached the same skin-slapping rhythm they’d been at before. When Sherlock felt himself drawing close, he lifted himself slightly so he could see John’s face. John looked absolutely wrecked, with his hair sticking up all over and his face twisted into an expression of pleasure so intense it might be mistaken for pain. With a low, feral growl, Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s cock and began to pull roughly, just barely managing to match the rhythm of his thrusts. A few harsh strokes and John was there, yelling “Sherlock!” as he painted his chest with stripes of come. The feeling of John spasming around his cock combined with a final strong thrust sent Sherlock tumbling over the edge right after him.
After his orgasm had washed over him, Sherlock pulled his softening cock out of John's arse and flopped over on his back. They both lay there for a moment, panting, until John began to chuckle.
“Oh my God,” he laughed breathlessly, “that actually just happened, didn’t it?”
Sherlock frowned. “Of course it did. Did you not mean for...”
“No no no,” John said hurriedly, rolling over so he was half on top of Sherlock. He took the detective’s face in his hands. “None of that. I meant every word I said.” With a small, uncharacteristically shy smile, he leaned forward to press a light kiss to Sherlock’s lips. Warmth bloomed in Sherlock’s chest as John wriggled his way to Sherlock’s side, his head pillowed on the taller man’s chest. At the feeling of Sherlock’s arm tentatively settling around his shoulders, John burrowed himself in further. “Although, I probably won’t be able to sit for about a week,” he said, mildly accusatory and not at all sounding like this was a bad thing.
Sherlock tutted in mock disappointment. “Looks like I’ll have to try for two next time.” He felt the low rumble of John’s chuckle against his skin.
“You’re an arse,” John said fondly, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s chest, “but I can’t say I’d be opposed to the idea.”