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“You … you want to what?” John stares at Sherlock lounging in his chair, one leg hanging over the side, his top two buttons undone and his feet decadently bare.
“Fuck you. As I said. Don’t pretend that you’re shocked, John. It doesn’t sit well on you.”
John closes his mouth, suddenly aware that the surprise is making him look ridiculous. “So, you just ask, do you? Does that ever actually work?”
Sherlock smiles, a sharp flash of white teeth and a mischievous twist of lips. “Usually. Often, really. I’m well used to getting what I like, John, when I like it. And what I like right now is you.”
John rolls his eyes. Heaven help him, Sherlock’s bluntness was going to be the death of him someday. But he really had to admit that he didn’t quite think it would manifest itself quite in this way. “Yeah, I’m going to have to say no on this one. Lovely for you to offer and all, but we haven’t even-“
“Don’t get sanctimonious on me. You’ve had more one-night stands than I have digits to count them on.”
“But the point of a one-night stand is one night! You leave after, clean break and all that. I still have to live here!”
Sherlock spins around in his chair and stands up quickly, crossing the room to stand in front of John. He raises one hand and cups John’s jaw.
“If that’s your only objection, it’s a weak one,” he purrs, “because think of how wonderful it could be to have someone attractive to shag on a semi-regular basis. And I do find you attractive, John.” Sherlock dips his head to brush his lips across John’s jaw. “The set of your shoulders, the smell of you when you’re close to me.” Sherlock traces his lips up John’s ear to whisper heatedly. “Your arse in those jeans. God, John, I just want to bite it.” Sherlock emphasizes this little bit of spine-tingling repartee with a quick squeeze of John’s arse.
John whimpers a little, feeling a bit overwhelmed by Sherlock’s sudden amorous offensive. Christ, he’d thought about it; who wouldn’t have? But John had always preferred his men a little broader in the shoulder, a bit more olive skinned and dark-eyed. Sherlock was like a porcelain doll he could admire from afar but never touch, and while he had idly wondered what it would be like to bed such a beauty, he never thought very seriously about it actually happening. He shouldn’t do this, he knows he shouldn’t, but Sherlock’s fingers tracing down between the collar of his shirt are maddening, a spark lighting a flame of desire that makes him glow from within.
Its that flicker of heat in his belly that decides him, pushes him from wavering to committed. John angles his head, wraps his hand around the back Sherlock’s elegant neck and pulls him in, because if they’re going to do this, then John is going to damn well do it right. He claims Sherlock’s mouth, kissing him deeply, using his other hand to bring Sherlock’s hips flush against his own.
“Yes,” Sherlock growls. He kisses like he talks, pushy and forceful, brilliant and so insightful. His tongue traces around John’s at the same time he starts to press little rhythmic thrusts against John’s stomach, his erection straining and obvious behind his well-cut trousers.
“Come on, “John says, pulling away to take Sherlock by the hand. “My room, I’ve got what we’ll need there.”
Sherlock looks at him heavy lidded, his mouth parted, lips shining and red. “Then we best go, before I have you bent over the sofa.”
“Romantic,” John quips, and starts to walk toward the stairs. But before he gets a step away, Sherlock reaches out and winds his long arms around John’s waist, pulling John’s back against his body.
“More efficient,” he says, kissing the nape of John’s neck, making him shiver. “Fastest way to get what I want, which is as deep inside you as possible.”
“Jesus,” John says, and he’s a bit breathless, at the same time a little annoyed. “You don’t mess about, do you?”
“No. I want you, and I know you want me.” With that, Sherlock reaches a bit lower to rub his fingertips down the length John’s cock, full and trapped uncomfortably against the front of his jeans. “We’re both experienced and mature enough to please without all the insecurities and shyness that get in the way. Aren’t we?”
John turns in his arms, capturing his mouth in another toe-curling, blazing hot kiss. Passion without self-consciousness, sex without censorship, that’s what Sherlock is offering, and John, despite his own pile of backlogged worries about himself, really thinks that sounds like a fantastic idea. Losing oneself in the moment is easier said than done, but again, Sherlock has no qualms about saying exactly what he means: no judgment, no fear.
“Upstairs, now,” John says lowly, “and you better hope you’re undressed by the time I get there.”
Sherlock bolts for the stairs.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Sherlock’s pale skin glows gold in the late afternoon sun that slants through the windows, and John is more than happy to taste every soft inch of it. John kneels over him, presses a kiss to his breastbone, brushes his lips across firm pectorals until he captures a nipple and swirls his tongue around it, making Sherlock arch and gasp.
“Like that, do you?” John says, and does it again, teasing and nipping until the nipple is hard and pebbled under his tongue.
Sherlock nods, his eyes closed and hands clenched in the pillow. John smiles at the sight of Sherlock’s mouth slack with pleasure before he slides down the bed and positions himself between Sherlock’s slim thighs, kissing each in turn before nuzzling up under his balls. He smells gorgeous, warm and male, and John happily settles on his stomach and shoves his arms up under Sherlock’s legs to wrap around his hips, holding him gently as he sucks his balls into his mouth one at a time.
“Good God, John,” Sherlock says, letting his legs fall open extravagantly and tipping his hips slightly. “More, please.”
John smiles against Sherlock’s skin, reveling in his responsiveness. Despite Sherlock’s eagerness to get to the main event as soon as possible, John is determined to wring every bit of pleasure he can from this, an opportunity for free exploration of a beautiful man. He lifts up to kiss the tip of Sherlock’s cock, letting it press heavily against his lips for a moment before opening his mouth and taking it down as far as he can, sucking gently. Sherlock groans aloud, his hands coming to rest on John’s head, his fingers threaded through John’s hair. John sucks him lazily for a while, letting his tongue flick over the smooth head a few times to tease him, before pulling off and resting his head on Sherlock’s thigh.
“You taste fantastic,” he says, and it’s true, wonderfully true. “Next time I want you to come in my mouth.” Amazing. They’d just gotten started and already he’s contemplating a next time.
Sherlock sucks in a breath and hooks a hand under John’s arm to pull him up the bed. They wrestle playfully, John suddenly on his back and Sherlock above him, staring at him with an intensity that leaves John tongue tied, desire flaring along the base of his spine.
“I’ve a mind to let you,” Sherlock says, “but I have other plans.” He reaches back and pushes his hands under John’s knees, raising them up and out until John is spread open, bared completely. John fights the instinct to cover up, but he can still feel the blush spreading down his chest.
Sherlock kisses the inside of his knee. “None of that, mature, remember? You’re gorgeous. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve thought of doing this.”
“You didn’t,” John says, because really? How could the same man who simply made the blunt offer to fuck him a half an hour ago ever hold anything back?
“I did,” Sherlock says, and wraps his fingers around John’s cock, stroking softly. “I needed a bit to calculate, make sure you were willing. I don’t offer lightly and I’m not used to being turned down. I wanted to be sure.”
“No risk for you, then,” John says, and he’s starting to feel the threads of his orgasm winding around him, the longer Sherlock strokes him.
“Not as such, no. What’s the point of asking if you could be denied?” He releases John’s cock, trails his fingers down between John’s buttocks and presses lightly against his hole.
John moans, the pressure of Sherlock’s fingers making him ache to be filled. “But where’s the thrill in that?” he says, his voice broken, needy.
“That’s not what I enjoy. I much prefer this,” Sherlock says, and presses harder, his fingers breaching John’s body, pressing and insistent inside him. “Tell me what you want, John. I want to hear it.”
John rocks against Sherlock’s questing fingers, arching off the bed when Sherlock finds his prostate. Oh God. “This, oh God, this, please,” John grips his own cock, stroking it in time with the motion of Sherlock’s fingers.
Sherlock fumbles one-handed in John’s nightstand, his certainty of what’s in there confirming John’s back-of-the-mind suspicions of his nosy nature. He pulls out a condom and puts the edge of the packet between his teeth and tears it open, all the while taking John to pieces with his other hand. He doesn’t seem to want to stop fingering John long enough to put the condom on, and John can’t stand the delay any longer, so he takes the torn packet from him, sorts it all, and waits for Sherlock to pull back enough so he can roll it on for him before Sherlock reaches in again and finds the lube.
John hisses at the first cold touch against his skin, but Sherlock’s blood-hot cock warms him quickly, pressing insistently at his hole for a moment before pushing inside with three rocking thrusts that leave John seeing stars. Sherlock falls forward with a breathy “oh”, resting himself on his hands as John wraps his legs around Sherlock’s back and waist. The weight of Sherlock’s body presses him even more deeply into John’s body and they pause, simply breathing at each other, reveling in the feel of their joined bodies.
“Better than I’d even hoped,” Sherlock whispers, “I knew it would be perfect.”
“Better than,” John says, and lifts his head up to kiss him, feeling a bit smug.
Sherlock kisses back as he begins to move, a slow slide of his cock that sizzles along John’s nerves, making him tingle and gasp out his pleasure. John tilts his hips as much as he’s able to meet Sherlock’s thrusts, watching Sherlock’s face as he closes his eyes in pleasure.
“Harder, please,” John says, and Sherlock’s eyes snap open. He begins to rock against John a little faster, adding a snap to the end of each stroke, his hips hitting John’s with a soft sound of skin on skin. John groans, pleasure making things grow a bit fuzzy around the edges except for the crystal clear sensation of Sherlock’s cock inside of him, deep and full. John flexes slightly, tightening up his body until Sherlock gasps at him, his eyes wide, his breathing sharp and stuttered.
“Oh fuck, John, beautiful, beautiful like that, oh-“ and he suddenly shoves hard against John’s arse, shuddering and gasping as he comes. The sight is heartbreakingly stunning, Sherlock’s neck arched back, his dark curls tipped with sweat, his mouth open and gasping with the pleasure John’s giving him. John starts to reach for his own cock, his body primed by Sherlock’s orgasm to rocket toward his own, when he feels Sherlock push his hands away. He’s still hard and deep in John’s body, and as he slicks his hand over John’s cock with firm, sure strokes, he rocks his hips in gentle thrusts.
John relaxes, Sherlock in and around and over him, murmuring encouragements in his ear, bringing his body to a sharp peak of awareness until he flashes over into his own orgasm, trembling and calling Sherlock’s name.
Sherlock pulls away gently, quickly disposing of the condom before settling back on the bed with his head propped up on his elbow and watching John with a curious, expectant expression.
“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” John asks, and traces his fingers along Sherlock’s hip. He isn’t sure what he expected he’d feel, but right now he’s content, and satisfied, and oddly happy. Despite this whole thing being Sherlock’s idea, he suddenly hopes he doesn’t regret it.
“Contemplating the nature of the ‘one-night stand,’” he says as he glances down, seeming oddly shy for all his earlier bravado.
“What of it?”
Sherlock looks up, catches John’s eyes with that unearthly blue-grey gaze of his. “Care to make it more than one?”
John’s heart stutters in his chest. “Trying a bit of that thrill-seeking risk, are you?”
“Am I?” he says, and smirks just a little, enough that John laughs, both at Sherlock’s ego, and at himself.
“No,” he says, and brushes his thumb over Sherlock’s full lower lip. “Not at all.”
Title from: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - Breakdown