Fic: Sunday Phone Sex
Title: Sunday Phone Sex
Words: 1643
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Beta: atlinmerrick
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made.
Summary: John is on the phone. Sherlock wants him to come to bed. Things happen.
The sun was painting strange patterns onto the ceiling when Sherlock woke, his body still slow and uncoordinated from sleep. His mind was awake instantly, taking in all the information available.
The angle of the bed was wrong, meaning John had already left it (his body knew that, even still slow and uncoordinated it was missing John’s warmth and presence, but Sherlock preferred to rely on his brain for these things).
It was ten in the morning (he did not look at the alarm clock, he knew from the position of the sun - why do it the easy way?) and since there wasn't much noise on the street it had to be a Sunday.
Sunday meant not going to work for John and since they had no case, chances were that John would make breakfast for them to eat in bed. It would be a huge breakfast, because John always seemed to fear that multiple orgasms after a case with not enough food and sleep was the final step towards Sherlock collapsing. (It wasn’t. But breakfast in bed was nice. Especially after multiple orgasms.)
He concentrated on the sounds in the flat, found John in the bathroom and listened to him moving in the shower, humming softly (and wrong) to himself while washing last night's activities from his skin.
Sherlock smiled. Had John planned for both of them leaving the bed he would’ve waited for Sherlock because they both liked to shower together when there was no rush.
Therefore this was a sign that John planned on coming back to bed. He knew that Sherlock preferred the clean smell of freshly showered skin while John loved to smell their lovemaking on Sherlock the next morning, it turned him on. So there was more sex on the agenda later.
Sherlock stretched and buried his face in John’s pillow, breathing in his scent. The shower was still running and he let his thoughts wander back to last night.
After he solved a case the sex always seemed to be something like a reward, John taking his time to give him as much pleasure as possible (yes, he knows that John has a hidden agenda because he knows that Sherlock sleeps better and for at least eight hours after these, um, events but it’s win-win for everybody, so why complain?).
Last night had not been an exception. The foreplay had seemed to go on for hours and John took his time fucking him, bringing both of them to the edge a few times before allowing them release.
A shiver ran down Sherlock’s spine as he remembered the feeling of the hot tip of John’s tongue on his entrance combined with the cool surface of the frozen dildo gliding in and out - oh yes, that had been perfect.
John was the most creative lover Sherlock had ever had and he loved every second of it. So delightfully unpredictable!
Thinking about last night had him half-way to a decent erection and he was about to stroke himself lightly when the phone rang.
The shower had stopped a few minutes ago (while he was remembering the hot weight of John on his tongue), meaning John was making tea by now, which he stopped in order to go into the living room and answer the phone.
It was Harry. This would take hours and leave John in a bad mood. He needed to distract him away from the phone immediately if he wanted him back in bed. Which he did. Always.
He jumped out of bed, almost toppled over the garden fork (why was there a garden fork in the bedroom? Case. Probably. He shrugged and got back to business), grabbed his dressing gown and stormed through the door.
Taking two steps at once he descended towards the living room, trying to form some kind of emergency in his head, but stopped dead in his tracks when John came into view.
He was sitting in Sherlock’s chair, naked but for a small towel wrapped around his hips, eyes closed in frustration... no, annoyance. A face Sherlock knew well.
His hair was still wet and little drops of water were running down his neck and over his bare chest. Sherlock’s brain screeched to a halt and everything went into slow motion for a few seconds.
John opened his eyes and gave him a slightly pained smile.
Why was he smiling like that? Oh. Harry. Phone. Sherlock’s brain decided to join them in the living room again.
Distraction needed. Is me wanting him in bed emergency enough? Probably not. I need something different, I need... OH!
Sherlock grinned. Had John looked at him in this second he would’ve known that he was in trouble, but John had focused back on the phone and his sister’s drunk babbling.
Sherlock advanced in what could only be called a feral manner and stopped right in front of John.
He waited until John’s eyes were on him again and opened his dressing gown to reveal his naked body. Without looking he touched the love bites John left last night and was rewarded with a shaky intake of breath from his partner.
Then John closed his eyes and shook his head (not to indicate ‘no’ but to clear it), before mouthing ‘No.’ Oh well.
Not the least discouraged, Sherlock dropped to his knees and put his hands on John’s naked knees. John mouthed ‘No’ again. Sherlock pretended not to notice.
He started to move his fingers in the general direction of John’s groin but was almost thrown to the ground when John hastily crossed his legs to deny him access. Then he realised that this would only encourage Sherlock further, but it was too late.
Sherlock half-raised and leaned forward to run a tongue from John’s collarbone to his navel, following one of the water drops. He was hoping to go deeper, but John grabbed his shoulder and tried to push him away, still mouthing ‘No’. He even added a head-shaking to emphasise his point.
Sherlock pushed back against the hand and managed to bury his face in the towel right above John’s... Oh. Not so indifferent after all... for a few seconds before John actually grabbed his hair and yanked him back.
They stared at each other for a second, both slightly flushed, then John tensed and turned his attention to the phone.
“No, I understand. You did the right thing. Yes, I’m listening.”
Sherlock used the distraction to grab hold of John’s hand and pinned him to the chair, arm above his head, using his taller frame and his weight.
Sherlock ignored the glare in his direction and leaned forward again, this time licking from the neck to a nipple. John gripped the phone tighter and clenched his teeth.
He shot Sherlock a glance that was supposed to be angry but ended up being something else starting with ‘a’ and rhyming with 'spousal'.
Sherlock did not need any more incentive. He bit down.
John dropped the phone.
Harry’s voice drifted through the room while John used his now freed hand to press it over his own mouth because Sherlock’s tongue and teeth had wandered over to his other nipple.
Sherlock followed another drop towards John’s navel and discovered that it was sweat and not water when he caught it with his tongue. John made a soft noise that posed a nice contrast to his harsh breathing.
“John? Are you still there?”
John snapped out of his haze, dove for the phone (regaining the authority over his arm in the process) and pushed Sherlock away.
“Yes. Yes, sorry. Sherlock, um, started a fire...” He rolled his eyes at himself.
The fire-starter snorted and moved in again to, err, blow out the fire. His effort was not appreciated though and since using his arm hadn’t been successful the last time, John put his foot against Sherlock’s shoulder to push him away.
He realised a little too late that he breached his own defences that way, but could only watch in unwilling anticipation as his lover’s slim fingers moved towards the gap in the towel.
“Yes, Harry, I kno...ooh!”
Five very skilled fingers wrapped around one very interested hard-on.
“No, no, I’m ok... the fire... Sherlock... Sherlock!”
Sherlock lifted his head from John’s thigh were he had been busy sucking a love bite and raised a questioning eye-brow.
John was mouthing something. Again. Yet this time it wasn’t ‘No’. It was ‘Help me!’
Without stopping the movement of his fingers, Sherlock reached for the phone.
“Harry, I have to go. I will ca...aah. God.”
Sherlock pried the phone from John’s vice-like grip.
“John Watson. You’d better not be going off to have sex with that lanky idiot while I am in need of your help.”
“Sorry, Harry. He’ll get back to you.”
Sherlock dropped the phone out of reach, pulled off the towel and put his mouth to much better use than talking.
John managed one word ('Jesus'), a few vowels and a wail before he came, sobbing something that vaguely resembled Sherlock’s name.
When John was coordinated enough to move his limbs he pulled Sherlock onto his lap and kissed him until they both ran out of air.
“That was terrible. Poor Harry. I should berate you.”
“But you won't.”
“No, I won't. Thanks for saving me. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
“Food. And you. Not necessarily in that order. Hurry up, I will be waiting for you in bed.”
___________________________________________________
AN: This is my longer piece that I have to post according to the rules for the '365 days of 221Bs challenge'! *phew*
It's for ledasdaughter, who asked for Sherlock trying to make John come against his will. He did not stay unwilling for too long, hope that is ok. ;)
It's also part of the Sunday Series, just a small glimpse into the future of our boys. :)
You can start reading the series here.
The frozen dildo is a shout-out to mirith and her brilliant brain.
Smoochies to Wendy for her lightning-fast beta skills!
And I ended in a b-word again. *sighs*
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