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“Sherlock, I’m home,” John called into the seemingly empty flat.
“Come aboard!” Sherlock calls back and John rolls his eyes following his voice to their bedroom where he finds Sherlock sprawled out fully dressed, the blankets kicked off onto the floor.
“I’m not ‘coming aboard’ you over grown child,” John crosses his arms and takes in his man child of a lover.
“Fine, I don’t need you,” Sherlock pouts rolling away and John sighs flopping down on top of him. They wrestle and squirm until they are a tangle of limbs, and it’s entirely too hot.
“Sherlock, I need to get out of my Jumper before I roast.” John finally decides. He disentangles himself and moves to sit up but Sherlock quickly straddles him, pinning his hips down, and shoves his fingers up under his shirt. “Eeep! Your fingers are like ice!”
“You are being rather high maintenance this evening,” Sherlock retorts before pushing his jumper up over his head, and trapping his arms and face.
“Well I never,” John starts to argue but suddenly Sherlock’s long fingers are dancing down his torso, forcing out spikes of laughter as he tries to squirm away. “Sssstop, stop!” He gasps, then finally gets free and flips Sherlock off flopping back down exhausted. “You bloody git!” They lay still once more, John can see Sherlock’s pulse thrumming in his wrist and sticks his tongue out licking it, his arm pinned under his chest. He feels Sherlock tense for a moment then goes still. He licks him again, before turning his head and biting his arm.
“That doesn’t hurt,” Sherlock grunts, and John bites again. They are still once again when he feels Sherlock shift and then the sudden jolt of pain as Sherlock bites him.
“Ow! I didn’t bite that hard!” John says making to effort to pull his wrist out of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock pushes with his tongue but he doesn’t move.
“I can’t get you out,” He grunts against John’s arm.
“That’s what you get for being the bottom biter,” John laughs and Sherlock turns his head, smearing spit on his own face. “Ha!” John gawfs before Sherlock rolls them over and claims John’s mouth with his own. They pull apart pulling off each other’s clothes desperately, Sherlock is flushed, and panting tired from the struggle. John looks down at him hungrily and he knows he’s in trouble, his eyes betray his calm composure and John’s eyes lock with his before he dives down on top of Sherlock. There is pinching, and tickling, lips, teeth, scratching, and soft caresses. The perfect balance between whimpering, moaning, and laughter until he’s begging, John takes a moment to bask in his victory. It takes a lot of work to make Sherlock beg, to make him loose his composure, whereas Sherlock can make John loose his in mere seconds. John pulls Sherlock’s underwear off as Sherlock digs in the night stand for lube. When he turns back, the sight of John makes his breath hitch. He stood in front of him in his boxer briefs appraising.
“Please,” he whispered, sitting up on his knees and crawling to the end of the bed, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer, before freeing his cock from his underwear and taking it all in one motion. It bumped the back of his throat, and he gagged but worked his tongue, drool and pre cum running down his chin as John grabbed his thick curls and began to fuck his face. He choked and gagged until John pulled out and pushed him back hard, before sliding back up Sherlock’s body and meeting his lips greedily depriving him of air. John blindly feels for the lube and quickly slicks it over his aching cock as Sherlock arches up into him. John teases his hole with the head of his prick and Sherlock breaks there kiss moaning. “John, just fuck me!” John laughs and presses a kiss to his collar bone before slowly pushing his way in. Sherlock’s fingers tighten around his upper arms as he gasps throwing his head back.
“Is this to your liking?” John thrusts teasingly slow, almost brushing his prostate, and Sherlock gives him the look of a mad man.
“Faster, fuck me, fa-AST, yeah like that!” Sherlock cries out when John quickens his pace, pressing his mouth against Sherlock’s sweaty shoulder. Sherlock’s blunt nails scrape through his scalp as he grinds down, he starts to pull back but Sherlock wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him close, body going rigid. He holds John tightly against his body, and John couldn’t move if he wanted to, Sherlock squeezing down on his dick, trying to fuck himself without letting John move away. His back arches, his own erection rubbing against John’s stomach and he’s crying out in John’s ear.
“Sherlock, let me move, let me…” John’s hips stutter as he tries to get more friction on his aching prick. Sherlock’s legs loosen giving him a little more space and he moves quickly until his thighs clench and he throws his head back with a satisfied gasp. He softens inside Sherlock, not wanting to move, until he finally slips out and collapses next to his lover. “How’s that for coming aboard?” He gasps breathlessly.
“Satisfactory for now, but next time I want you to call me Captain,” Sherlock replies.
“You wish,” John snorts rolling over and curling into Sherlock’s side.