We Can Sleep When We're Dead
Sherlock’s fingers were knotted in John’s hair, forcefully yanking the doctor’s head towards his own. He grabbed the man’s soft lips with his hungry mouth, biting and tugging at the supple flesh. John’s eyes were wide, shocked. Sherlock stopped when he saw that look of confusion, pausing in his actions so that John could catch up…he really could be rather slow sometimes…it was a hindrance indeed. They were suspended there for a moment, John trying to understand, Sherlock refusing to move forward until he had some form of consent, no matter how garbled that form may be…he needed something. He wasn’t a man without principles after all…they may be sketchy principles, but they were there. The look on John’s face softened rapidly as realization crept in.
The doctor resumed their actions. Sherlock almost sighed with relief but he bit the noise back. He wasn’t great with the rules of human interaction but he was pretty sure that a sigh would have killed the mood. John grabbed Sherlock’s coat, the coat that he loved so much, and aggressively tore it from the slim man’s thin shoulders, discarding it on the dusty floor. A cloud of dirt blew up, enveloping them. They didn’t notice.
The doctor’s fingers fumbled with Sherlock’s scarf and shirt. Sherlock’s hands were steady as he removed John’s clothing, almost clinical. Their mouths continued to mesh, tongues flitting over lips and teeth. Finally, both in various stages of undress, they fell to the ground, positioning themselves unconsciously on the heap of discarded garments.
John’s tongue carved patterns of fire on Sherlock’s pale skin. Sherlock’s tongue was cooler, calmer, it grazed gracefully over John’s body, flitting from place to place, delivering beautiful sensations that rushed like a raging storm over the doctor’s skin. John’s breathing was rough, he began to pant. Determined to return the favour, John increased his efforts.
Hands and mouths explored each other’s nude bodies, discovering new sensations, new ways to make the other moan. John giggled. Sherlock shot him a confused look…maybe sighing would have been alright after all.
The two men felt each other, held each other, became each other. They panted a beautiful rhythm as their bodies moved together, shifting perfectly, like cogs in a machine.
Finished, Sherlock turned to look at John’s sleepy form. “Well, that was nice.”
John looked back at him through bleary eyes and smiled. “Why have we never done this before?”
“I’m not sure, but we can do it again…if you like?”
“You mean, like, now?” John asked, shocked. “Don’t we have to, you know, sleep?”
He seems shocked so often. It definitely suits him, Sherlock mused. “Why sleep,” he began softly, running warm fingers over John’s exposed body, “when we can do this instead?”
John smiled softly. “Well…when you put it that way…”