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John wasn’t sure why they were bothering to keep the affair secret. Anyone who had ever met John and Sherlock already assumed they were a couple, so this… whatever it was they were doing wasn’t exactly far off the mark.
It wasn’t like they were actually having an affair, anyway. A little kissing and groping here and there to take the edge off wasn’t that unusual. It certainly wasn’t anything John hadn’t already done once or twice in the army, and more besides. But everything changed during one post-case make out session on the couch. Their hip movements were becoming more impatient and needy, and it suddenly occurred to John that something in this arrangement had shifted to the point where mere rutting wasn’t enough anymore.
They both sensed it, John could tell by the way their movements suddenly became more hesitant, like they both knew they were considering venturing into uncharted territory and were waiting for the other to make the first move. Slowly, deliberately, Sherlock reached for John’s zipper and tugged it down, halting at John’s sudden unsure intake of breath.
“Just the tip.” Sherlock promised, closing his fingers over the head of John’s cock and massaging the foreskin delicately over the sensitive head. John groaned, his resolve crumbling, and allowed his flatmate to toy with his cock, biting back protests as Sherlock became more and more bold with his movements until he was stroking the entire length, clearly striving to bring John off in this manner. John came spectacularly, his tension immediately returning when he looked down and saw Sherlock’s pale hand wrapped around his slick, exposed cock.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sherlock whispered against John’s lips, guiding John’s hand to the front of his own pants. John made a noise of both discomfort and arousal, knowing very well he’d been manipulated into doing this under the guise of returning the favour. It killed him that he didn’t really mind all that much.
*
Hand jobs then. Hand jobs weren’t that bad, John decided as they sat side by side on the couch a week or so later, each with a hand on the others erection. They’d become quite good at it too, and John wryly chastised himself for making it a point of obscene pride that he could easily make Sherlock come well before him just by stroking and squeezing the detective in a way that John now knew he liked so much. When the organ in John’s palm grew impossibly hot and hard the way it did when an orgasm wasn’t far behind, Sherlock quickly removed his hand from John and used it to still John’s wrist.
“John, I want you to…” Sherlock glanced down at his lap and then fixed his eyes very pointedly on John’s mouth.
John’s stomach swooped. “No way.”
“Please.” It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even good manners. It was just a word Sherlock knew to use to get his way.
“Sherlock, I can’t. I’ve never… done that.” John meant it too. Hand jobs were one thing, but this? Forget it.
“You don’t have to take the whole thing.” Sherlock wheedled. “Just the tip. Just for a second, I just want to feel you.” Sherlock bought a finger up to John’s lips and pushed it inside, mouth falling open at the warm, wet sensation. The thought of how that might feel around his prick caused a fat bead of precome to leak from the head, and Sherlock smirked his victory when he felt John’s mouth water.
“Just the tip.” John said firmly. “And only for a few seconds.”
Sherlock’s blue eyes were impossibly wide with false innocence. “Of course.”
Five minutes later, John’s jaw was stretched to bursting point as he struggled to accommodate Sherlock’s girth. Jesus, how had this become his life?
“Oh, that’s so lovely John…” Sherlock breathed above him. “You’re going to love this when I do it do you.”
John grunted a protest, but it was muffled around his mouthful of cock. His own dick jerked and dribbled with excitement, and that was how John ended up lying complacently on his back just a few minutes later, dazed by the sensation of Sherlock’s head bobbing furiously in his lap, and the taste of Sherlock’s seed dancing on his tongue.
*
They were naked. They were in a bed. Everything anyone had ever said about Sherlock and John was coming true like some horrible, glorious, self-fulfilling prophecy.
John was harder than he’d ever been in his life and he blamed the whole thing on the raven-haired detective moaning and writhing underneath him as they mashed their cocks together in a furious struggle for the peak.
For once though, it wasn’t Sherlock who wanted to push things further. Sherlock had unconsciously allowed his legs to fall open, and John couldn’t stop thinking about the quick glimpse he’d gotten of Sherlock’s hole right before he’d draped himself in between. Sherlock’s pale thighs trembled around John’s waist, his arse tilting up in the air as he drove up against John, and really, it just seemed unfair how easy it would be to…
“Pass us the lube.” John grunted, and Sherlock, in a rare display of complete obedience, tossed the bottle John’s way with no apparent clue as to what John planned to do with it.
“John?” Sherlock gasped and stilled as he felt wet, cold fingers rub insistently over his hole, forcing beads of lubricant up inside his body. “What are you doing? Hey!” Sherlock yelped as John flipped him onto his stomach. Sherlock may have been taller, but the short army doctor was thick and stocky and held Sherlock down as easily as a rag doll. Sherlock could feel his heart beating madly against the mattress beneath him.
“Oh-ohhh,” Sherlock moaned as John slipped his cock in between the slick crevice of his buttocks, gliding lazily and clearly enjoying himself. He dragged Sherlock’s hips backwards and forwards with his movements, rubbing Sherlock’s cock on the soft sheets beneath him. Sherlock’s balls hitched a warning, and then he was coming, tensing and releasing shot after shot, until his body gave up completely and Sherlock relaxed quite happily in a puddle of his own mess.
John waited for Sherlock to get his breathing back, sighing with pleasure as he felt how relaxed Sherlock’s tight barrier had become post-climax. John lifted Sherlock’s hips just enough to reposition his cock, smirking when Sherlock’s head jerked up in alarm.
“John, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked breathily as the blunt head of John’s cock pushed up against the entrance to his body.
“Shh, it’s okay.” John murmured, draping himself across Sherlock’s back and peppering it with kisses. “Just the tip.”