thedoctorisin221b:

Previously:  Sherlock
——
John Watson - writer and blogger extraordinaire - simply cannot form any words in his mind or with his lips.  Language has crumbled into ruins.  He has been reduced to quiet moans and heavy sighs.
Everything is a warm haze and every time he closes his eyes he replays the sensations that nearly put him into a pleasure-enduced coma.  He’s vaguely aware of Sherlock’s lips on his chest and a few murmured words about the tally.  He allows himself a moment to float above it; to relish in post-orgasmic bliss.
When he finally manages to come back to himself, Sherlock is poised above him - watching, learning, recording.  John reaches up and begins to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt, taking his time, allowing himself to breathe.  Job done, he pushes the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders and is rewarded with a sensation of deja vu from the night in the shower.  There’s a moment of knockback.  Was that when it all could have started?  John wonders briefly if he wasted precious time being a coward.  If Mycroft had effectively gotten into his head.  He decides all at once to reclaim lost opportunities.
Sherlock helpfully finishes removing his shirt and tosses it on the floor behind them.  John pauses for a moment before reaching out to touch him.  His skin is impossibly soft.  John slides his hands up Sherlock’s stomach to his chest and over his shoulders.  His right hand lingers at his neck and he fails to resist the urge to check Sherlock’s pulse.  It’s there - steady and strong.  Relief floods over him.
Sherlock shifts so he can take John’s wrist in his hand.  He pulls it away from his neck and looks down at him, eyes drawn together in concern.  John smiles back at him softly, and shakes his head.  It’s fine, you’re here.  He tries to convey the words without speaking.  Without intruding on the perfect moment.  He runs a hand into Sherlock’s mess of curls and pulls him down into a kiss.  He tugs gently on his hair and feels Sherlock moan into his mouth.
John is already half-hard again at this point.  He moves his hands down to work at Sherlock’s trousers as they kiss hungrily with no sense of rhythm.  John gets the belt, button and zipper to finally cooperate and then he’s pushing Sherlock off into a standing position at the side of the bed.  Somehow, John had ended up naked rather abruptly and Sherlock had been allowed to remain clothed for far too long.  He was going to remedy that.  Immediately.
“Off,” John husks, “all of it.  Trousers, pants, socks.  Now.”
Sherlock cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head in a look of amusement.  Still, he complies.  He steps out of his clothes and stands in front of John stark naked.  He rests his hands on his hips and smirks.  Sherlock is gloriously hard, his cock protruding from his body, enticing.  John suddenly finds it hard to breathe.
“Jesus,” he whispers.  He self-consciously wraps his arms around his own bare stomach.  ”You look like you were carved out of marble.”
John watches as a gentle blush spreads up Sherlock’s neck to his face.  He shifts his weight and looks down at himself.  John would give anything to know what he is thinking.  After a moment, he pushes off the bed and moves over to where Sherlock is standing.  He lays both hands flat on his chest and pushes him backwards slowly.
“We’re going to revisit that time in the shower,” John says, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind them.  ”But things are going to go a little differently this time.”
——
The way that the water slides over Sherlock’s body is criminal.  John is on his knees in front of him, watching streams flow over his hip bones.  He presses a kiss against Sherlock’s skin, which is pulled taught over all of his wonderful angles.
John wraps one hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock as he licks the entire shaft.  He pauses a moment to circle the head with the tip of his tongue, then he sucks gently on the frenulum.  Sherlock moans deeply and has to reach out to steady himself against the tiled wall.
John traces a few light kisses across Sherlock’s hip as he takes a couple of long, firm strokes with his hand.  Then, he slowly brings his lips over his cock and sucks with steady pressure.  He moves his hand in tandem with his mouth, drawing out the sensation.  Sherlock runs his free hand through John’s hair, tugging when something feels especially intense.
John moans around Sherlock’s cock and he can feel the vibrations travel down the length of him.  A pleasant shudder spreads through Sherlock’s body and he leans more heavily against the wall.  It isn’t long before John can feel Sherlock get a little bit harder, feel him throb a bit in his mouth.  He’s close.
“Fuck, John…” Sherlock’s voice is deeper, smoother than usual.  It’s incredibly sexy.  John increases his tempo, working Sherlock a bit faster, a bit harder.  He wants to make him come, to be the one that drives him off the edge.  When he pulls back, he takes a chance and lets a hint of his teeth slide over the topside of Sherlock’s cock.  Then he rolls his tongue around the head and the contrast of sensations gets Sherlock past the point of no return.
“I’m-” Sherlock attempts a warning, but John already knows.  Sherlock comes hard and John takes it willingly, committing the bitter-salty taste to memory.  He puts his hands on Sherlock’s waist and provides counter pressure to hold him up as he rides out the orgasm.  He is afraid for a moment that Sherlock will collapse in the shower when his knees give out.
A few minutes later Sherlock seems to have caught his breath.  John uses the side of the bath to get himself back into a standing position.  They stand for a moment, under a steady stream of water, just looking at each other.  Sherlock is the first to move this time.  He leans over slightly and kisses John’s neck, wrapping his arms around him.  For the frist time, they embrace skin to skin and John melts into his arms.

thedoctorisin221b:

Previously:  Sherlock

——

John Watson - writer and blogger extraordinaire - simply cannot form any words in his mind or with his lips.  Language has crumbled into ruins.  He has been reduced to quiet moans and heavy sighs.

Everything is a warm haze and every time he closes his eyes he replays the sensations that nearly put him into a pleasure-enduced coma.  He’s vaguely aware of Sherlock’s lips on his chest and a few murmured words about the tally.  He allows himself a moment to float above it; to relish in post-orgasmic bliss.

When he finally manages to come back to himself, Sherlock is poised above him - watching, learning, recording.  John reaches up and begins to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt, taking his time, allowing himself to breathe.  Job done, he pushes the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders and is rewarded with a sensation of deja vu from the night in the shower.  There’s a moment of knockback.  Was that when it all could have started?  John wonders briefly if he wasted precious time being a coward.  If Mycroft had effectively gotten into his head.  He decides all at once to reclaim lost opportunities.

Sherlock helpfully finishes removing his shirt and tosses it on the floor behind them.  John pauses for a moment before reaching out to touch him.  His skin is impossibly soft.  John slides his hands up Sherlock’s stomach to his chest and over his shoulders.  His right hand lingers at his neck and he fails to resist the urge to check Sherlock’s pulse.  It’s there - steady and strong.  Relief floods over him.

Sherlock shifts so he can take John’s wrist in his hand.  He pulls it away from his neck and looks down at him, eyes drawn together in concern.  John smiles back at him softly, and shakes his head.  It’s fine, you’re here.  He tries to convey the words without speaking.  Without intruding on the perfect moment.  He runs a hand into Sherlock’s mess of curls and pulls him down into a kiss.  He tugs gently on his hair and feels Sherlock moan into his mouth.

John is already half-hard again at this point.  He moves his hands down to work at Sherlock’s trousers as they kiss hungrily with no sense of rhythm.  John gets the belt, button and zipper to finally cooperate and then he’s pushing Sherlock off into a standing position at the side of the bed.  Somehow, John had ended up naked rather abruptly and Sherlock had been allowed to remain clothed for far too long.  He was going to remedy that.  Immediately.

“Off,” John husks, “all of it.  Trousers, pants, socks.  Now.”

Sherlock cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head in a look of amusement.  Still, he complies.  He steps out of his clothes and stands in front of John stark naked.  He rests his hands on his hips and smirks.  Sherlock is gloriously hard, his cock protruding from his body, enticing.  John suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” he whispers.  He self-consciously wraps his arms around his own bare stomach.  ”You look like you were carved out of marble.”

John watches as a gentle blush spreads up Sherlock’s neck to his face.  He shifts his weight and looks down at himself.  John would give anything to know what he is thinking.  After a moment, he pushes off the bed and moves over to where Sherlock is standing.  He lays both hands flat on his chest and pushes him backwards slowly.

“We’re going to revisit that time in the shower,” John says, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind them.  ”But things are going to go a little differently this time.”

——

The way that the water slides over Sherlock’s body is criminal.  John is on his knees in front of him, watching streams flow over his hip bones.  He presses a kiss against Sherlock’s skin, which is pulled taught over all of his wonderful angles.

John wraps one hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock as he licks the entire shaft.  He pauses a moment to circle the head with the tip of his tongue, then he sucks gently on the frenulum.  Sherlock moans deeply and has to reach out to steady himself against the tiled wall.

John traces a few light kisses across Sherlock’s hip as he takes a couple of long, firm strokes with his hand.  Then, he slowly brings his lips over his cock and sucks with steady pressure.  He moves his hand in tandem with his mouth, drawing out the sensation.  Sherlock runs his free hand through John’s hair, tugging when something feels especially intense.

John moans around Sherlock’s cock and he can feel the vibrations travel down the length of him.  A pleasant shudder spreads through Sherlock’s body and he leans more heavily against the wall.  It isn’t long before John can feel Sherlock get a little bit harder, feel him throb a bit in his mouth.  He’s close.

“Fuck, John…” Sherlock’s voice is deeper, smoother than usual.  It’s incredibly sexy.  John increases his tempo, working Sherlock a bit faster, a bit harder.  He wants to make him come, to be the one that drives him off the edge.  When he pulls back, he takes a chance and lets a hint of his teeth slide over the topside of Sherlock’s cock.  Then he rolls his tongue around the head and the contrast of sensations gets Sherlock past the point of no return.

“I’m-” Sherlock attempts a warning, but John already knows.  Sherlock comes hard and John takes it willingly, committing the bitter-salty taste to memory.  He puts his hands on Sherlock’s waist and provides counter pressure to hold him up as he rides out the orgasm.  He is afraid for a moment that Sherlock will collapse in the shower when his knees give out.

A few minutes later Sherlock seems to have caught his breath.  John uses the side of the bath to get himself back into a standing position.  They stand for a moment, under a steady stream of water, just looking at each other.  Sherlock is the first to move this time.  He leans over slightly and kisses John’s neck, wrapping his arms around him.  For the frist time, they embrace skin to skin and John melts into his arms.