thedoctorisin221b:

Previously:  Sherlock
——
It’s an odd sensation, to say the least.  When rage slides off of him in an instant, to be replaced by…  what?  He’s not really sure.  Everything is suddenly hyper real and he wonders absently if this is how Sherlock feels all the time.
First, it’s Sherlock’s hands, tangled in his jumper, fisting it tightly.  It almost as though he can feel the fabric crushed in his grip.  Like he can hear the sound it makes; the rustle and smudge of fabric against skin.  It’s the firm pressure of Sherlock pulling him towards him, holding him - unyielding - and the tension in his arms.  It’s like John is caught in the gravitational pull of his long-awaited moment of impact.
It’s also Sherlock’s lips, pressed roughly against his own.  It’s the sheer impossibility of the moment, like somehow the universe should intervene and pull them apart.  That maybe John hasn’t earned this, not yet.
It’s the body heat, the closeness, the absence of barriers.  It’s the way Sherlock smells and how he tastes, seeping in through John’s senses, intoxicating him.  It’s the slowing of time, the way he looks through half-lidded eyes and the sensation of being outside of himself.
It’s exhilarating.  Perfection.  Arousal.  Desire.  John lifts his hands and holds Sherlock’s face as he finally lets himself drown in the moment.  It’s everything, all at once.  Too much and not enough.  Lips part and tongues meet and John feels dizzy.  The Earth starts to spin in the opposite direction and he feels himself falling deeper into the moment.  Seconds that feel like hours (but never long enough) pass and Sherlock pulls away.
John can’t help the faint moan that escapes his lips.  Or maybe it’s a whimper.  The world snaps aggressively and painfully back into focus and suddenly they are staring at each other.  Their faces are mere inches apart as John takes in a ragged breath.
It can’t be over that quickly.  He won’t allow it.  He slides a hand into Sherlock’s dark curls and pulls him forward to close the space between them.  Their lips touch and they kiss like they were built for each other.  John has often been told he is a thoughtful lover and he spares no ounce of effort for Sherlock.  If this is his one and only chance to seduce his best mate, he’s going to fucking knock it out of the park.
He sucks slightly on Sherlock’s lower lip, eliciting a hum of pleasure.  As he releases, John bites with gentle pressure.  Sherlock’s grip tightens and he pulls John in towards him, forcing him to the edge of the couch.  The insides of his thighs brush against Sherlock’s torso and John’s mind goes to places far beyond first base.  He shifts, trying to reposition his growing erection before it becomes abundantly apparent to Sherlock.
A dark flutter of doubt crosses through his mind like a shadow.  Is this just a tactic to get me to stay inside?  A ploy to make me obedient?  He pulls out of the kiss like the wind has been knocked from his chest.  Sherlock seems to almost lean into the space that he just vacated.  John is about to speak when Sherlock cuts him off.
“Do you understand now?  I can’t lose you.  Tell me you understand.”
John opens his mouth and closes it again.  He barely recognizes the man in front of him.  Sherlock’s expression is one that John has never seen him wear.  There is genuine concern.  An immediate and all-consuming wave of panic held tightly in check somewhere behind those eyes.
John must take too long to respond because suddenly Sherlock’s hands are on him again, pulling him off the couch and on to the floor.  John takes a sharp breath as his knee impacts the ground and sends a wave of pain up through his thigh.  But it doesn’t even matter because Sherlock is kissing him again.
John takes advantage of a moment when Sherlock pulls back to slide his mouth to his neck, kissing hungrily.  He presses his lips against the pulse point in Sherlock’s neck and feels his blood pound strong and quick.  He reminds himself that he will never tire of Sherlock’s heart beat.  He pulls the collar of Sherlock’s shirt away from his skin and kisses his collar bone.  
Sherlock lets his head fall back and lets out a quiet moan.  When he speaks, it sends pleasant vibrations through John’s lips.
“I’m sorry,” he says.  John lifts his head to regard him, his skin slightly flushed.  ”I didn’t know how else to make my point.  I know you’re not…  well.  I understand that you’re not gay.”
“Sherlock, did you-  Have we not just shared the same moment, just now?”
“I coerced you.  I apologize.”  He sits back on his heels, increasing the distance between them.
“Listen to me.  My preferences are my own.  You don’t get to decide what I am or who I want to shag.”  John shuffles forward a bit on his knees, trying to take some of the pressure off his bad leg.
“But you’re always declaring-“
John waves the comment away.  ”I know.  But I’ve realized something.  Maybe my sexuality is fluid and you or me or Mycroft - we don’t get to compartmentalize it into little containers marked ‘gay’ and ‘straight’.”
“Mycroft?”
“Shut it.  I’ll explain later.”  John replies, with an embarrassed grin.  ”Here’s is what I know.  You, Sherlock Holmes, have changed me by simply being.  You have changed me on such a fundamental level, that I am a completely different person.  A better person.  A happier person.  And when I look at you, kneeling before me, there is nothing I want to do more than to pleasure you in all the ways I know how.”
Sherlock stares.
“And maybe a few I don’t.”  John takes a handful of Sherlock’s shirt and pulls him back up on his knees.  ”You will never lose me Sherlock.  When you were gone, I could barely breathe.  My chest was empty.  You are the air in my lungs.  The blood in my heart.  You sustain me.”
“I could destroy you,” Sherlock replies in a small voice.  ”I don’t do things in the appropriate manner.”
“I invite you to try.  I’m stronger than I look, leg injury not withstanding.”  John smiles, but Sherlock still looks unconvinced.  ”Besides, if you stop kissing me now that you’ve started, I will hospitalize you.  Remember, I was a soldier - I’ve killed people.”  He cocks an eyebrow.
“You were a doctor,” Sherlock replies with a grin, replaying one of his favourite moments with John.
“I had bad days,” John dutifully responds.  Then he takes a hold of Sherlock and pulls him down to the floor.

thedoctorisin221b:

Previously:  Sherlock

——

It’s an odd sensation, to say the least.  When rage slides off of him in an instant, to be replaced by…  what?  He’s not really sure.  Everything is suddenly hyper real and he wonders absently if this is how Sherlock feels all the time.

First, it’s Sherlock’s hands, tangled in his jumper, fisting it tightly.  It almost as though he can feel the fabric crushed in his grip.  Like he can hear the sound it makes; the rustle and smudge of fabric against skin.  It’s the firm pressure of Sherlock pulling him towards him, holding him - unyielding - and the tension in his arms.  It’s like John is caught in the gravitational pull of his long-awaited moment of impact.

It’s also Sherlock’s lips, pressed roughly against his own.  It’s the sheer impossibility of the moment, like somehow the universe should intervene and pull them apart.  That maybe John hasn’t earned this, not yet.

It’s the body heat, the closeness, the absence of barriers.  It’s the way Sherlock smells and how he tastes, seeping in through John’s senses, intoxicating him.  It’s the slowing of time, the way he looks through half-lidded eyes and the sensation of being outside of himself.

It’s exhilarating.  Perfection.  Arousal.  Desire.  John lifts his hands and holds Sherlock’s face as he finally lets himself drown in the moment.  It’s everything, all at once.  Too much and not enough.  Lips part and tongues meet and John feels dizzy.  The Earth starts to spin in the opposite direction and he feels himself falling deeper into the moment.  Seconds that feel like hours (but never long enough) pass and Sherlock pulls away.

John can’t help the faint moan that escapes his lips.  Or maybe it’s a whimper.  The world snaps aggressively and painfully back into focus and suddenly they are staring at each other.  Their faces are mere inches apart as John takes in a ragged breath.

It can’t be over that quickly.  He won’t allow it.  He slides a hand into Sherlock’s dark curls and pulls him forward to close the space between them.  Their lips touch and they kiss like they were built for each other.  John has often been told he is a thoughtful lover and he spares no ounce of effort for Sherlock.  If this is his one and only chance to seduce his best mate, he’s going to fucking knock it out of the park.

He sucks slightly on Sherlock’s lower lip, eliciting a hum of pleasure.  As he releases, John bites with gentle pressure.  Sherlock’s grip tightens and he pulls John in towards him, forcing him to the edge of the couch.  The insides of his thighs brush against Sherlock’s torso and John’s mind goes to places far beyond first base.  He shifts, trying to reposition his growing erection before it becomes abundantly apparent to Sherlock.

A dark flutter of doubt crosses through his mind like a shadow.  Is this just a tactic to get me to stay inside?  A ploy to make me obedient?  He pulls out of the kiss like the wind has been knocked from his chest.  Sherlock seems to almost lean into the space that he just vacated.  John is about to speak when Sherlock cuts him off.

“Do you understand now?  I can’t lose you.  Tell me you understand.”

John opens his mouth and closes it again.  He barely recognizes the man in front of him.  Sherlock’s expression is one that John has never seen him wear.  There is genuine concern.  An immediate and all-consuming wave of panic held tightly in check somewhere behind those eyes.

John must take too long to respond because suddenly Sherlock’s hands are on him again, pulling him off the couch and on to the floor.  John takes a sharp breath as his knee impacts the ground and sends a wave of pain up through his thigh.  But it doesn’t even matter because Sherlock is kissing him again.

John takes advantage of a moment when Sherlock pulls back to slide his mouth to his neck, kissing hungrily.  He presses his lips against the pulse point in Sherlock’s neck and feels his blood pound strong and quick.  He reminds himself that he will never tire of Sherlock’s heart beat.  He pulls the collar of Sherlock’s shirt away from his skin and kisses his collar bone.  

Sherlock lets his head fall back and lets out a quiet moan.  When he speaks, it sends pleasant vibrations through John’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  John lifts his head to regard him, his skin slightly flushed.  ”I didn’t know how else to make my point.  I know you’re not…  well.  I understand that you’re not gay.”

“Sherlock, did you-  Have we not just shared the same moment, just now?”

“I coerced you.  I apologize.”  He sits back on his heels, increasing the distance between them.

“Listen to me.  My preferences are my own.  You don’t get to decide what I am or who I want to shag.”  John shuffles forward a bit on his knees, trying to take some of the pressure off his bad leg.

“But you’re always declaring-“

John waves the comment away.  ”I know.  But I’ve realized something.  Maybe my sexuality is fluid and you or me or Mycroft - we don’t get to compartmentalize it into little containers marked ‘gay’ and ‘straight’.”

“Mycroft?”

“Shut it.  I’ll explain later.”  John replies, with an embarrassed grin.  ”Here’s is what I know.  You, Sherlock Holmes, have changed me by simply being.  You have changed me on such a fundamental level, that I am a completely different person.  A better person.  A happier person.  And when I look at you, kneeling before me, there is nothing I want to do more than to pleasure you in all the ways I know how.”

Sherlock stares.

“And maybe a few I don’t.”  John takes a handful of Sherlock’s shirt and pulls him back up on his knees.  ”You will never lose me Sherlock.  When you were gone, I could barely breathe.  My chest was empty.  You are the air in my lungs.  The blood in my heart.  You sustain me.”

“I could destroy you,” Sherlock replies in a small voice.  ”I don’t do things in the appropriate manner.”

“I invite you to try.  I’m stronger than I look, leg injury not withstanding.”  John smiles, but Sherlock still looks unconvinced.  ”Besides, if you stop kissing me now that you’ve started, I will hospitalize you.  Remember, I was a soldier - I’ve killed people.”  He cocks an eyebrow.

“You were a doctor,” Sherlock replies with a grin, replaying one of his favourite moments with John.

“I had bad days,” John dutifully responds.  Then he takes a hold of Sherlock and pulls him down to the floor.