Fic: Touching (Sherlock/John, NC17)
Touching (NC17)
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: Sex. Actual Sex.
Spoilers: none
Word count: 1000-2000 words
Summary: In which John discovers fanfiction, nightmares are a fond memory and Sherlock learns that there is more to life online than simply weather reports...
This was inspired by a couple of kinkmeme prompts and was beta'd by the _officially_ amazing warriorbot - I know, I've read Mycroft's report! She is the best beta anyone could wish for and has saved me from name confusions and bad sex hell. I am profoundly grateful! John and Sherlock aren't mine - I wish they were... Comments are love!
AN: Sequel now up also at my LJ: Closer - http://ginbitch.livejournal.com/1330.html
John can’t remember (or, at least, pretends he can’t remember) when touching became so...awkward. He and Sherlock used to touch all the time: Sherlock takes little notice of personal space and looms, snatches and grabs at those around him with impatient disregard for social niceties. But lately it has started to get a bit, well, awkward. When their hands accidentally meet over cups of tea or half completed experiments he feels a jolt of electricity and it takes all his self-control not to jump. God! He sometimes even finds himself _blushing_. He doesn’t think Sherlock has noticed yet but it’s surely only a matter of time. And the horror he feels at this prospect makes it worse, makes him even more conscious of those fleeting seconds when his and Sherlock’s fingers meet.
The dreams haven’t been helping - he tells himself that he almost wishes he had his nightmares back. This isn’t strictly true. But at least the nightmares didn’t leave him waking flushed and confused at three in the morning, wincing with embarrassment at the scenes which are still racing through his head. Christ! He hasn’t felt so furtive since he was a teenager. At least Sherlock seems to have temporarily given up coming into his room. John takes to leaving his laptop downstairs to try to discourage future visits.
This creates a problem when he finds himself googling Sherlock. Repeatedly. He _ tells_ himself that he is only trying to find out more about his housemate. That, and making sure that Sherlock doesn’t post anything incriminating - he suspects Sherlock has about as little regard for privacy as he has for personal space. Of course, Mycroft probably has it all under control, but he might as well be sure... There is surprisingly little: Sherlock’s own website, of course, and a bizarre fansite called ‘Three Patch Problems’ which he imagines Mycroft has left up to annoy his brother. It seems to be full of very bad fiction in which Sherlock rescues damsels in distress before taking them roughly in his arms with a flick of his swarthy curls. John really shouldn’t find such things erotic but he feels quite flustered as yet another heroine cries ‘Oh Sherlock! Your manly scent makes me shudder!’ (The piece in question appears to have been badly translated from Japanese. At least, he really hopes it’s a bad translation...).
Things are getting out of hand when he posts the fic request. To be fair, he is drunk, frustrated and Sherlock is out at the morgue. He’s getting used to the online language now and is very proud that he has worked out that h/c doesn’t stand for Hard Core - and that anything marked dub-con or non-con contains things he really doesn’t want to think about. He tries to keep it short and simple - ‘Sherlock gay - nothing too kinky’.
The responses, which he checks furtively from work, are for the most part not encouraging. ‘OMG I just can’t see this!!!!’ reads the first reply while others complain that it’s ‘WHAY TOO VANILLA’. One even contains a threatening message saying that he’s going to hell for blasphemy. He’s not sure if this is because it’s gay or because it’s Sherlock - the poster seems to have an unhealthily _intimate_ interest in his flatmate’s moral character.
The next time he checks, however - at 2am, after another disturbing dream - he’s surprised to find that someone has answered his request. The story is very short but surprisingly intense. It also, as he realises with a shudder of dread, features his name. It begins with him and Sherlock watching television. “John” puts his hand around Sherlock’s shoulder and Sherlock turns to kiss him. The description of their lips meeting is electric and the piece ends with them in a tight embrace, their fingers entwined. There is no actual description of sex or any indication as to what might happen next - only the kiss, the grasp and the touching hands.
He tells himself to calm down - the poster must have got the name from John’s blog. Surely it is an accident. Just to be certain, however, he compares the IP address to that of his original post.
The numbers match.
His mouth is dry and he can’t breathe. He looks up and realises to his horror that Sherlock is standing in the doorway, gazing at him with an uncomfortably inscrutable expression. John is definitely blushing now and any chance of passing this off as a whim, an accidental search result which he has glanced at but not read, is waning fast. He licks his lips and tries to speak.
“Sherlock...”
“What do you think?”
He struggles to his feet. This is acutely embarrassing but perhaps he can still come up with an explanation - pass it off as a joke, blame Sarah, blame the bloody server - anything...
But now he is standing he sees a strange tension about Sherlock, a slight tremor which he has come to associate with expectancy... It stops him in his tracks. He tries again, hesitant but determined.
“I want... you?”
Not his smoothest line - in fact it sounds uncomfortably like one of the corny lines in the despised fanfictions. But it is all he can manage right now.
Apparently it is enough.
In a quick bound Sherlock has closed the distance between them and oh God, oh God! They are kissing and his hands are in Sherlock’s hair, drawing him close. He is so damn warm.
As he pulls Sherlock back onto the bed he sees a flicker of fear in Sherlock’s eyes. He nibbles Sherlock’s earlobe and murmurs soothing compliments as his hands slide under Sherlock’s shirt and wrap themselves behind his back, drawing him closer. Sherlock still seems uncertain but when John whispers ‘are you sure?’ there is a tiny, abrupt nod. Long fingers slide under John’s shirt, raking his back and making him shudder.
The sensations are so intense and they aren’t even touching yet (at least not like that). It is all he can do to control himself - it has, after all, been a long time - and he wonders how Sherlock, for whom this seems to be new, is coping. He slows down his movements and gently starts unfastening Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock bats his hands out of the way with a hiss of frustration and drags the shirt over his head, causing a couple of buttons to fly off. He then unceremoniously pulls off John’s t-shirt. As soon as he can see again, John has to pause in wonderment at the sheer _beauty_ of the man. He had never thought that men could be beautiful. Never before, never, he suspects, again - never for anyone except Sherlock.
Sherlock refuses to be distracted and has started trying to tear off his own trousers but John slows him, undoing the zip himself and running his hands along Sherlock’s inner thighs. Sherlock tips back his head and groans. John kneels beside him, and slides off the remainder of the other man’s clothes - surprising himself at the ease of the movement - before kicking off his own pyjama bottoms. Sherlock looks nervous again and mutters “John...I haven’t...” but John stops his mouth with a kiss and slides one leg across, straddling him. Sherlock groans again and clasps John’s waist and John leans forward to cup Sherlock’s face in his hands. He runs his fingers through the thick hair and kisses Sherlock’s mouth, his chest, his neck.
Sherlock is very close - John feels the other man’s cock twitch and stiffen still further as he takes it in his hand. Sliding down the bed is slightly awkward but it is worth it to be nuzzling at Sherlock’s thighs, breathing in his scent (it turns out the unknown Japanese author was more right than she’d ever know) stroking and delicately licking at the impossibly smooth head that he holds in his curled fingers. He takes Sherlock in his mouth and it is easy, so much easier than he had expected. This may be new to him but his body knows exactly what to do. The hands twisting in his hair, the slight flutter of Sherlock’s half-closed eyelids tell him everything he needs to know.
Sherlock comes with a slight gasp - a single, surprised ‘oh’ followed by silence. This, too, feels right. John eases his weight forward and slides next to Sherlock, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. John hasn’t come yet, but although he is still achingly hard, it seems strangely unimportant in this moment of perfect intimacy.
He feels Sherlock’s position shift. Sherlock’s hand curls around him and begins to stroke, hesitantly at first but with increasing confidence and where did he learn that twist with his fingers - oh God, oh God, oh God...
Sherlock dabs them clean with the t-shirt - John is far too blissed out to protest.
They settle back down side by side. It is warm, and gentle and perfect. Their arms are close together, their palms are touching and their fingers are entwined.