Fic: Show(case) and tell
Title: Show(case) and tell
Words: 1318
Rating: R
Warnings: sex in a public place?
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made.
Summary: "Sherlock or John coming against glass. Sweet gay ponies I want to read that." Prompted by atlinmerrick. This is set in mirith's Control, Alt, Delete verse, but will make sense on its own.
John is lying on the sofa, enjoying the fact that Sherlock is not residing on it for once (he is busy filling the kitchen with smoke that at the minimum is unhealthy but probably also deadly) and reading his medical journal.
After a while of comfortably shared silence Sherlock's voice drifts over, closely followed by a cloudlet of afore-mentioned smoke, that lingers over John's head for a moment before moving towards the window on a small draught.
“Do you have plans for tonight?”
“Until a second ago I was planning on staying exactly where I am now. But knowing you, your question means that I will probably spend the night chasing after a criminal, breaking at least two laws on the way and getting a scolding from Lestrade.”
That earns him a chuckle from Sherlock, who has abandoned his attempt at getting a fume poisoning in his own kitchen in favour of leaning against the door frame in a way that leaves John positively flustered.
Sherlock notices the effect he has on John and rewards him with a predatory grin before grabbing his coat.
“I'm off. Meet me in front of the British Museum in an hour.”
“Wha... Sherlock, wait...” Too late.
~°~
An hour later the two men meet again. Sherlock seems to be in a conspicuously good mood, a fact that makes John immediately suspicious.
“This way.”
Sherlock leads him around the corner and opens a small gate in the fence surrounding the quadrangle building.
“What are we doing here? Is there a new case?”
“Shush.”
Sherlock follows a barely visible path to a back door, which he opens with a lock pick in under a minute, much to John's alarm and discomfort.
Without waiting for John to start berating him, he swings open the door and pulls the smaller man in. The door falls shut and they are swallowed by nearly complete darkness.
“Give me your hand.”
“Please tell me that we did not just break into the British Museum so that you have a reason to hold my hand.”
Sherlock can't see it but he hears the amused smile in John's voice. He takes a moment to marvel at the man's trust in him and his willingness to follow him without knowing what awaits them at the end of the path.
He huffs out a laugh, takes John's hand and leads him through the darkened corridor until they reach another narrow door, this one leading to the hall that formerly had housed the king's library and is now used to show an exhibition on the age of enlightenment. It is much brighter here because the moonlight falls through the huge windows of the gallery.
John stops for a moment and Sherlock turns around to look at him.
“That is really impressive. Now, please tell me what we are doing here.”
“Indulging your fantasy.”
“What?”
Sherlock sheds his coat and jacket, revealing the already impressive bulge in his trousers, drops them on the floor and then starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“Excuse me. What are you doing?”
“The book by H. H. Holmes you gave me. Every time I picked it up you were thinking about Julien's study and getting me off until I come against the glass. Don't bother denying.”
One look and Sherlock can see that John's body is not that interested - yet.
“I believe you wanted me on my knees.”
Sherlock drops to his knees in front of one of the showcases holding very old books. He places the bottle with lube beside him, then presses both his hands against the glass and turns his head to look at John.
And just like that John's body is suddenly very, very interested.
He hasn't thought about it until now, but Sherlock is convinced that the rapidity with which they both can turn each other on is not normal. Because the fact that John is becoming harder every second just for him makes him almost dizzy with want and desire.
John swallows audibly and looks down on the beautiful creature kneeling at his feet, trembling with need.
“You are painfully beautiful. And insane.”
John steps closer and kneels behind Sherlock, bringing both hands up at the same time to run them over the smooth and pale skin of Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock's soft moan mixes with John's chuckle.
“And once again you have created a situation in which I would happily participate in your clothing kink, you little minx.”
His hands are busy opening belt and buttons and Sherlock's answer is lost in another moan as John pushes trousers and pants down, grazing his arousal in the process.
John's hands hover over Sherlock's cock, not yet touching, and he leans forward to gently suck at the skin on the other man's neck.
“Talk to me then. Tell me about the books.”
“The one at the far right is by Paracelsus, a 15th century physician, alchemist and.. oh... the first systematic botanist.”
While the word 'botanist' does usually end with a 't', this moment it ends with a rather hissing sound because John just ran his thumb over the head of his lover's erection.
“Keep talking.”
John starts sucking another mark on Sherlock's neck and at the same time builds up a slow rhythm with his left hand.
“Ngh... the small one with the red... cover is by... John!...”
“I am fairly sure it's not.”
He is amused but also breathing heavily by now and his right hand fumbles with his own trousers.
“Go on, love.”
“...is 'The Sceptical Chymist' by Ro...oh...bert Boyle, 17th century. God, your hand John... do that, ah, do that again.”
“Tell me about the black one.”
“Antoine ... Lavoisier. Father of modern... God, yes... chemistry.”
Sherlock's finger are getting slippery on the glass and he almost loses his balance when John suddenly moves in and presses his own erection against Sherlock's buttocks.
Both men moan in unison, Sherlock an entire octave lower than his lover.
John doesn't encourage him to keep talking which is a good thing, because sandwiched between his partner's skilled hands and his persistent cock all words are lost to him.
The air is filled with passionate groans and Sherlock gives himself over to the sensation of a hot body pressed against his back and the cold glass under his fingers.
The movement of John's hips starts to get arrhythmic and he changes the flow of his hands to long, smooth strokes with a little twist at the end that makes the breath hitch in Sherlock's throat.
John's voice sounds shaky and broken as he whispers into Sherlock's ear.
“Come for me, gorgeous.”
Sherlock throws his head back until it rests on John's shoulder and groans loudly. His body is taut like a bow and his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight gives him the appearance of an alabaster statue.
“Yes, John... John... John!”
His whole body shakes as he spills over John's hands and against the glass. It doesn’t take more than that sight to take John over the edge as well.
Both men slump forwards against the glass, leaving even more smears, and it takes a while before they have their breath back.
Finally Sherlock conjures a tissue from somewhere and cleans them (and to some extent the glass) up.
They unjumble their clothing and lay down on the floor side by side.
“So... old books turn you on?”
“No, but you thinking they do and fantasising about jerking me off against a showcase does.”
John chuckles and leans over to press a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips.
“Either way this was amazing.”
“Got your breath back? The guard will make his round in five minutes.”
“What? A guard? Jesus. Let's go, you'll get the rest of the kisses at home.”
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AN: not beta'ed, so if you find anything, let me know.
If you haven't read mirith's Control, Alt, Delete, go now. Thank me later.
Thanks to atlinmerrick, lucybun and arianedevere for the chat and the input about books. <3
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