Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The service was thought up by some union rep or another. Supposedly, a bit of fun.

“So I just leave my number?” John asked, holding a folded piece of paper in his fingers, hovered over a bucket of similar slips.

“Yes!” Harry said, nudging him, “Just do it! Come on, it worked for us didn’t it?” She smiled at the girl next to her and slipped hand through her arm.

“You guys were just lucky.”

“Not luck Johnny, fate.”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s not a thing. I don’t believe there is some woman out there fated to meet me.”

“Well, it there is, you won’t meet her using that bucket,” Clara piped up.

John glanced down at the label pressed around the side of the plastic bucket. Men Seeking Men.

“Whoops.” John said, retracting his hand.

“Yeah ‘whoops’.” Harry grinned.

“Shut up.”

“You’ve been there before,” Harry said, “Maybe the change will be a good. God knows you are useless with women.”

John wanted to move away from the subject. He didn’t care which bucket he put his number in, the whole thing seemed ridiculous.

“It’s a bit desperate isn’t it?” he asked, “Putting your number in a bucket and hoping someone picks it out in some sort of twisted valentines day match-making perversion.”

“It’s a bit of fun!” Harry insisted. “Alright, I admit Clara and I were a lovely but unlikely thing to happen. No one is expecting you to meet your true love and ride off into the sunset. Just put the fucking number in the fucking bucket and chances are you’ll get laid.”

John sighed. He shouldn’t have, because at that moment his shoulder slumped and he grip loosened. Before he knew what was happening, Harry had whipped the paper from his hand and thrust it deep into the depths of the bucket, her arm up to the elbow in folded slips of paper.

“Harr-” John moved after her but stopped when their scuffle started to attract attention. “Wrong bucket,” he finished, lamely.

“Was it though?” Harry asked, retrieving her hand now empty of paper, “I don’t think so.”

--

It wasn’t long after that when the whole thing started. He’d been in the most boring Haematology lecture of his life when his phone vibrated against his hip.

- When and where would you like to meet up for sex? SH

It took John a second to register what he was seeing and to remember he was supposed to be expecting a random communication from a stranger. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so blunt though.

- What, no small talk? :p

- Tedious. SH

Well, John thought, I suppose it is. Still, there was no way he was meeting up with a stranger for random sex without at least knowing something about him. For it was a ‘him’ Harry had seen to that.

- Maybe. But preferable. :)

- Does that preference extend to personal details or is it confined to the mere representation of familiarity to reduce the guilt associated with organising random sexual encounters? SH

John was coming off a dry spell. A long one. his last ‘sexual encounter’ had been in first year when the delights of freshers week had led to an impromptu one-night-stand after a pub golf outing. The guy had lived down the corridor from him in halls and it had been awkward for the rest of the year, especially when exiting the shared bathroom to find him waiting to use it in nothing but a towel. The experience had put him off for a long time and his workload at uni had meant he didn’t really have time for it anyway. Now, two years later, he thought he possibly had time for a little casual intimacy but the thought of it being a completely random person still struck him as odd. His attempts at engaging the very few women he came into contact with in to going on a date with him often ended in disaster. Like Harry said, he really was awful with women.

- Tell me as much or as little as you like.

John was packing up at the end of the lecture by this point. Shoving all his books into his messenger bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Someone interesting?” a voice asked at this shoulder.

“Hey Mike,” John replied, “No, not really.” He put his phone back in his pocket and turned to his friend.

“Pub?” Mike asked.

“Suppose so.”

It was Wednesday after all, and it was sort of a standing arrangement. On the way from the room they collected the rest of their group: John’s other housemate BIll as well as the girl they hung around with, Molly and Sarah. The five of them were sometimes joined by the criminology lot from the lecture theatre across the hall, but it didn’t appear to have kicked out yet. John knew they’d turn up at the pub later it they wanted to, so they didn’t hang around.

It wasn’t unusual for them to spend the rest of the afternoon there. They had no more lectures for the day and didn’t start til late the next day so there was little need to remain sober.

“I’ll get them in.” John said, moving towards the bar.

“I’ll help.” Mike followed as the rest of them settled around a table, pulling extra chairs over where needed.

At the bar John pulled his phone from his pocket.

- No names. No personal details but I will indulge your need for small talk on other subjects. SH

Whoever this guy was, he was absolutely mad. Small talk huh? John grinned a small smile.

- Nice weather we are having.

“You’ve got a new bird.” Mike piped up, “Haven’t seen you texting like that since you and Sarah were trying to make a go of it.”

“That was college.” John said, hoping to distract Mike’s attention.

“So? College, Uni, wherever you are, that grin means you’re getting laid. Or hoping to.”

“Fine.” John sighed and turned to face Mike fully. “Harry put my number in that pick & Mix Valentines nightmare a few weeks ago. They just made contact.”

“Ooh.” Mikey said rubbing his hands together, “Stranger sex. Brilliant.”

“Don’t act like you’d do it anymore than I would.” John said wagging a finger, “You and Molls have got it pretty sewn up as far as I can tell.”

“That’s why I need to live Vicariously through you.”

“My life is no more exciting than yours. You might be settled but I am decidedly not so. Nor do I have time for it. I work you know.”

“Yeah, on the weekends.”

“And I have uni during the week. And placement and coursework and everything else. We’re med students Mike, unless you’re dating another one there is no way to make it work.”

“And you and Sarah are…”

“Ancient history. We’re friends, we dated in college but it didn’t work. I’m too closed off probably.”

The boys looked at each other for a time before clearing their throats awkwardly.

“Well, that got deep.” Mike laughed.

“Yeah and that’s before a pint. Do me a favour, don’t try to talk to me about this later, God knows what I’ll say.”

“I’ll leave you to text your mystery woman in peace then. Not sure I want the details.”

“Mystery man.” John said turning back to the bar and then, “Harry” by way of explanation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And you are the only non-family member that knows that. So I’d appreciate some discretion.”

“Absolutely.” Mike said, turning to the bra as well, “Say no more. You know they don’t care though.”

“I know.”

--

A few pints later and John was staring intently into his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. It’s how he could tell he was drunk. He was appraising his own reflection and had concluded he was indeed smashed. Nothing new there then. Maybe it was the drink talking, but he had also concluded that he was, at this moment, not bad looking. He wasn’t ugly, short yet muscular from his rugby days and his face was quite expressive in a way that people usually found endearing. Certainly not the type of person to be a disappointment upon arriving for casual sex with a stranger. He dug his phone from his pocket with fumbling fingers.

- It’s raining. SH

When had they moved on to weather reports? Oh. Yeah. Small talk.

- Did you get wet? ;)

John laughed. Even drunk he knew how stupid that was. He did not expect a reply, it was nearly closing time and John was sure SH had better things to be doing at half eleven on a Wednesday evening than sitting around waiting for his inane text messages.

- We have progressed to obvious innuendo? Is it your intoxication that invited this shift? SH

John stared at his phone. For a brief moment, he wondered if SH could be one of his friends trying to wind him up, how else could he know?

Luckily, John wasn’t the type of drunk to take leave of his brain entirely and reminded himself that upon receiving a flirtatious text at a late house from a perfect stranger it was probably quite safe to assume there was alcohol involved.

- Beer does wonderful things. Would probably even make casual sex with a stranger seem like a good idea.

- No small talk? SH

- When and where?

- Your place. Tonight. SH

John paused. There was no way he was sneaking a strange man into his room without BIll and Mike noticing.

- No go. Housemates are a fucking nightmare.

- Fine. 221B Baker street. Come at once. SH

And just like that, John has arranged to fuck a stranger. There was a tiny part of his otherwise intoxicated brain that was telling him this might be a bad idea. It could be dangerous, but John knew he would go anyway, he always did. Besides, he could hold his own in a fight and he was pretty sure axe murderers didn’t choose their victims by pulling numbers from buckets in student unions.

John went outside, and flagged down a taxi.

Chapter Text

Arriving at Baker Street, John was already beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. The cold air and stiff breeze in the night air had sobered him slightly and that niggling voice in the back of his head was speaking volumes about the possible consequences of engaging in sex with strangers. The voice, soft and slightly high pitched, sounded vaguely like Mike’s girlfriend Molly. Her squeak was heightened when the door opened to reveal a middle aged woman.

Does he live with his mother? John thought, Wow. Not that you should have moved out at their age, but someone how John had been expecting student digs.

“Um, sorry, I was…”

“Are you looking for Sherlock, dear?” The woman said, smiling and opening the door a little wider.

“Um…”

“He’s upstairs. Been banging about for a few hours now.”

“Sorry,” John said, stepping in off the cold street, “Sherlock?”

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes. That is who you’ve come to see”?

“Oh.” John said, SH. Sherlock Holmes. “Yes, I suppose I have. He didn’t tell me his… um, name.”

“That sounds like him dear, you go on up.” She held a hand out for his coat.

“Thank you Mrs. Holmes.” John said shrugging out of his jacket and handing it over.

“Oh!” The woman placed a hand to her mouth and made a surprised sound. “No, no. I’m Mrs Hudson. Sherlock’s landlady. Not his mother.”

“Err… sorry.”

Mrs Hudson patted him on the arm, indicating for him to go up the stairs and turned to hang his coat on the hooks by the door.

The stairs creaked slightly on his way up, and although the Sherlock guy knew he was coming, John was annoyed at himself for announcing his presence before he arrives. At the top of the stairs, the door was flung open by the tallest, most gorgeous, breathtaking human being John had ever seen. He was frowning.

“How drunk are you?”

His voice was deep, rich, vibrating through John even from two foot away.

“Not very.” John shrugged.

Sherlock tilted his head a little, appraisingly, before giving a small nod of satisfaction. “Your consent it not compromised. Your intoxication levels are not as high as I had anticipated. Good. We won’t have to wait until you have sobered up.”

He reached a hand across the gap and pulled John flush against him with a strong hand curled in his jumper. There was a huff of breath that escaped John’s chest as they slammed together. The litheness of Sherlock’s body belying the strength of him, that neat compact muscle tensed into narrow limbs.

Their lips crashed together too. Teeth clanged against each other briefly before the optimum angle was reached. The soft give and firm press of mouths filled John’s head. There was nothing but the slide of tongue against tongue, the sharp taste of mint that suggested Sherlock brushed his teeth before John’s arrival and John wondered if he tastes like beer. The thought was enough to disrupt his thought process and he pushed Sherlock back with a gentle palm on his silk shirt.

“Slow down.” He urged softly.

“Why?” Sherlock said, that frown back on his face.

“I don’t know,” John said, almost laughing, “Because I’ve just arrived? Because you don’t even know my name? We don’t know a thing about each other.”

“John Watson. Med student, studying surgery but has expressed an interest in joining the army after graduating. Bisexual. Though that is not common knowledge, You had a fling in first year with a male hallmate and have had abysmal luck with women ever since.”

Sherlock rattled off this information so casually while leading John in to the flat, that John has to sit down on the couch without being asked.

“What… How?”

“Well, there are a hundred little signs that could have given me that information just from looking at you. However, in this instance, your mobile number was linked to your student information record, which I hacked to find your name, course information and postgraduate opportunities, then I asked around. Molly Hooper was quite accommodating with her information. As was Sholto, your first year dalliance. Bit of a weird one him, don’t really know why you bothered.”

“You… hacked into my student record?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sherlock smirked. “Small talk is not a reliable way to gain information about a person quickly and despite the irrationality of it, I found I wanted to know something about the person I would be contacting for casual sex.”

“Yes.” John said, nodding without really knowing he was doing it. “I suppose you would.”

“So,” Sherlock said, clapping his hands, “Now that is cleared up, can we resume the sex?”

John looked up incredulously. The expectant and open look on this relative stranger’s face looked so honestly anticipating that John laughed.

“Just like that?” John said between gulps of air, “You’re mad.”

Sherlock frowned, his happy look disappearing.

“I see no comedy in this situation.”

“You said no names.” John said, suddenly recalling, “in your text.”

“Yes.”

“But you knew my name. You knew more than my name.”

“Yes.”

“So... why?”

Sherlock sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I didn’t want all this...” he waved a hand between them, “Why isn’t it simple? Aren’t people our age having anonymous sex all over the place these days?”

“Bad luck of the draw then,” John said, “Med student and all. Learning about communicable diseases puts you off the random sex a bit. Too dangerous.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Yes. Here I am.”

And suddenly the tension was back. The energy in the room ratcheted up so that it seemed to practically thrum with awaiting potential. Something about the dangerous thrill of Sherlock had John itching to do something, to throw caution to the wind and just do.

It was John’s turn to make a move this time, rising from his seat on the couch and coming to a stop just in front of Sherlock.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Sherlock whispered as John’s hand coasted up over his shirt buttons, popping the first one open.

“Me either.” John breathed.

There was a flurry of activity then. John’s hands working steadily at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, revealing pale, flawless skin inch by inch. Hot fingers trailed warm paths along as it was unveiled, scouting a course to Sherlock’s belt buckle.

Sherlock’s own hands were not as steady. A constant thrum of energy and movement. Slipping them below the hem of John’s jumper and t-shirt the cool, calloused tips of his fingers made contact with John’s stomach. Skimming with a certain pressure over his navel and upwards over his nipples as his clothing was pulled from him. It was clumsy and John’s head got stuck briefly but Sherlock growled and tugged harder, flinging the offending items far over his shoulder.

Their lips met again. Hot, humid air gathering in the tiny space as Sherlock’s tongue licked at the seam of John’s lips. John parted his mouth to allow Sherlock entry, moaning softly when his tongue pushed inside. It was hard, heavy and just enough pressure at his mouth for John to imagine it elsewhere.

Deftly, John had the buckle of Sherlock’s belt undone in seconds, the zip and hook to his trousers following behind. There was a fumbling at his own jeans as John pushed Sherlock’s trousers down, watching as they fell past the widest part of thigh and dropped gracefully to pool around Sherlock’s ankles.

Without pausing, as though to stop now would mean giving in to that small voice in his head, John cupped Sherlock gently through the tented material of his boxers. The turgid flesh was warm and weighty in his palm. He squeezed briefly and listened to the rumble in Sherlock’s throat in reply. The sound shot straight into John’s abdomen, pooling low in his belly, between his hips. His cock twitched and John knew exactly what he wanted.

Still in his jeans, unbutton but not yet unzipped John dropped delicately to his knees. Tucking his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock’s boxers as he did and pulling them with him. They fell down Sherlock’s legs, coming to rest nested in his trousers. Then, there in the middle of the living room, John wrapped his lips around the tip of Sherlock’s cock and sucked.

The noise emanating from Sherlock now was no longer a dampened rumble but a full-on moan. Long fingers weaved into John’s hair and seemed to hesitate between holding John steady and wanting to push him further down the shaft.

John made the decision for him, relaxing his lips and cheeks to accept more, John lowered himself steadily on to Sherlock, tongue swiping at the head and sensitive underside as he went. By the time John’s nose was buried in the dark, wiry hair at the base, Sherlock was incomprehensible.

“Oh god…”

The voice was quiet. As if he hadn’t really meant to say it, but John heard him anyway and chuckled. The act must have sent a bolt of vibration around him because Sherlock moaned again and scrambled at John’s hair for purchase.

“No… no stop I’ll…”

John pulled off with a wet pop and grinned. “Eager.”

“Yes, well…”

“I take it… it’s been a while?” John said.

“You could say that.” Sherlock said.

“Me too.” John rose to his feet, “But then, you already knew that.”

Sherlock seemed to waver, fully naked and exposed standing in the middle of the room, they had come to a pause.

“Is there a bedroom in this place?”

Sherlock took John by the hand, stepped out of his trousers, leaving them stranded on the carpet, and tugged John through the kitchen to the bedroom. The door banged and swung back on itself as they entered. Their lips met again in the corridor and they were twined around each other, bodies twisting and contorting to slam the door shut behind them.

Sherlock placed large hands on John’s shoulders and pushed him. Flailing slightly, John fell back on to the bed with a bounce, His head was swimming, they were moving quickly and the build-up of sensation and anticipation had him so close to the edge already John was sure he would embarrass himself. He dropped his head down to the bed so he was lying flat, feet over the side on the floor, and just breathes.

Sherlock unzipped John jeans, gripped at the waistband of both the denim and the soft jersey of his underwear and stripped them with efficiency from John’s legs.

Sherlock’s eyes flickered as he lowered himself to the floor between John’s thighs. His hands ghosted up over John’s knees and higher to the crux of hip and leg and he seemed to hesitate as he lowered his head. There was a gap in time as John waited for contact. His breath was balled up in his chest and his brain was stuck in a loop, ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod on repeat at maximum volume.

It slowly dawned on him that the moment had stretched to breaking point, leaving them now, just waiting. For anything. John raised his head, shifted to raise himself up on his elbows and looked down at Sherlock, frozen in place on his knees.

“Everything okay down there?” He asked.

No answer. Sherlock didn’t look up, didn’t move. Just sat like a deer in headlights, John’s cock the oncoming car.

Slowly, it dawned. “Have you… Have you, done this… before?”

Sherlock made a noise somewhere between disgust and embarrassment.

“Hey, Hey. Come on.” John moved so that he was sitting, urging Sherlock up to sit beside him. Both naked and vulnerable, John threw a pillow on each of their laps before continuing.

“Look. You don’t have to do anything,” John reached out to pet at Sherlock’s arm but was met with a look of utter disdain. He dropped his hand.

“Virginity is tedious, John.” Sherlock said by way of explanation.

“So you wanted to lose it. I get it, being in uni and all, it can get a bit… overwhelming. I understand wanting to do it on your terms. But… Do you think this was the best way?”

“Sentiment is a complicating factor. I wished to expediently dispatch of my naivety concerning sexual congress without the muddling factor of feelings.”

“Couldn’t you do that with a friend or something?”

“There are not many people that would have the misfortune of calling me a friend,” Sherlock said, plucking at the edge of the pillow on his lap distractedly, “I admit I’m not the easiest person to get along with. Which is probably why my… situation has continued as long as it has.”

“You must have had friends. At some point.”

“There was… at boarding school I had something approximating a friend. Victor. We… that is to say, I, had something akin to feelings for him. I had presumed our acquaintance would blossom into a romantic attachment and perhaps even a sexual one but there was a difficult situation involving his father and our association was terminated.”

John was suddenly overcome with how trusting and open Sherlock was being. Obviously he hadn’t known him long, but he got the feeling this was unusual behaviour and the burning sense that he should feel very privileged to be privy to this information was all encompassing.

“Thank you,” He said quietly, “For sharing that with me.”

Sherlock gave a noise of derision but it wasn’t as heartfelt as it could have been.

“So you thought you’d try your luck on a mobile number in a bucket?” John said after clearing his throat, trying to diffuse the rising emotional atmosphere they found themselves in.

“I saw the bucket activity as a way to expedite the process without having to subject myself to someone for too long.”

“Right.” John said, straightening his shoulders and trying to get to grips with the situation. “Let me get this straight. You think you’re a bad person who has no friends so you had to turn to complete strangers because they are the only ones that can tolerate you long enough to engage in sex with you.”

Sherlock nodded.

“But,” John said cutting in before Sherlock could speak, “You still wanted to research me, to check if I was an okay candidate. That about right?”

“That sums it up.”

“You’re not a horrible person,” John insisted, “I don’t know who has told you that but they’re wrong. You’re forthright, blunt as hell and yeah, a bit irritating but none of that makes you a bad person. I just don’t think you’ve found the right person.”

Sherlock seemed to consider this. Drumming his long fingers against his plush bottom lip. “Have I been lucky enough to find the right one now then?” He asked, his eyes sliding to glance at John for the first time since his revelations had begun.

“Thought you didn’t believe in luck.” John said laughing lightly.

“I don’t.”

“Not luck then.” John said, “Something else.”

Sherlock smiled. A genuine smile that reached his eyes. It was ever so slightly mocking so John knew this wasn’t some sort of mushy declaration. It was just the simple acknowledgement that everything he’d shared had been said to someone who understood, someone who had not judged him but accepted him, praised him even. Sherlock was grateful, John realised. Who was it that had damaged him so? Who had told him he wasn’t worthy of this?

That was when he made the decision. They didn’t know each other beyond what had been said tonight. They may never know each other after it, never cross paths again when daylight lit the sky or outside of these four walls. But John had decided, if all he had was right here, right now, he was going to show this man that he was worthy. Whether it was luck or something much grander and unnamed that had brought them together, John knew he’d been bestowed the important task of introducing Sherlock Holmes to physical intimacy in a way that he would never forget.

Chapter Text

John stretched over, throwing the pillow on his lap back against the headboard and pulling Sherlock to him by the shoulders. When their lips connected this time it was with purpose. No more just the application of skin to skin but the press of determination, a silent acceptance of Sherlock’s request and John’s approval.

The heat may have dimmed during their conversation but the fire was back in John’s blood as he ran his hands over Sherlock’s shoulders. He curved his fingers over shoulder blades, then dragged them up over firm muscle and into the luxurious feel of his curls.

Sherlock was tense at first, reacting to the sensation with trepidation. John felt him slowly relax as he worked his digits through the velvety waves of Sherlock’s hair. Curls wrapped around his fingernails as he scratched a tender path over Sherlock's scalp, pulling slightly, just enough to speak the rising flames of lust grating at his stomach.

Slowly, much slower than he had ever been with anyone before, John lowered Sherlock to the bed. They were horizontal, width-ways across the mattress and not lengthwise as John would have liked them to have been, but to move into that position would have meant interrupting their kiss and that wasn’t something he wanted to do just yet.

Sherlock seemed to engage again as he hit the bed. John had manoeuvred the pillow on Sherlock’s lap out of the way too and their naked flesh was pressed together, warm and humid, sweat already building in the heat of the room.

John lifted his hips, snaked a hand down between them and caught Sherlock’s not inconsiderable length in his hand. At the contact, Sherlock stiffened. There was a low noise in his mouth and John grinned despite himself, breaking the contact with Sherlock’s mouth.

“Is this okay?” John asked, moving his wrist slowly.

Sherlock responded at first with a buck of his hips, urging John faster. Then, he seemed to notice John needed verbal confirmation that what he was doing was alright.

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed, barely more than a whisper, as though struggling to get the words out. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, not yet.”

John shifted again, bring his own cock in line with Sherlock’s, pressing them together. They both shivered at the contact and John had to pause.

“That’s--That is…” Sherlock said, breathing heavily.

“Yeah.” John said, suddenly finding it difficult to talk himself. “It is.”

When they had composed themselves slightly, John began to move again. His fingers tightening and his arm working in slow, steady thrusts. After a few moments John felt Sherlock’s hand come up to fold over his own, linking their fingers and increasing the friction around them both.

John groaned. “Oh god…”

For a few moments the air was filled with nothing but the sounds of flesh on flesh, slick skin sliding past slick skin, coated in pre-ejaculate.

Suddenly, John tightened his hand. “Stop.” He said softly as Sherlock lifted his head quickly and frowned.

“What?”

John smiled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “Not like that. I don’t want to come like that.”

“Then how?” Sherlock said before his eyes snapped up to meet John’s, “Oh. You want to…”

“We don’t have to.” John said running a hand through Sherlock’s hair and cupping the back of his neck, “It’s up to you. I just wanted you to have the option. We can do as much or as little as you are comfortable with.”

Sherlock tightened his grip around them again, making John moan in surprise.

“Okay,” he said, panting, “You can just keep doing that.”

“No, no” Sherlock said withdrawing his hand, John’s hips following him unbidden. “You don’t have to keep treating me like I’m delicate. I hereby fully consent to any and all activities that take place this evening. I trust you.”

John’s mouth fell open. “You’ve only just met me.”

“I’m an excellent judge of character,” Sherlock said, “It was all the small talk.”

John chuckled. “Me too,” he said seriously, “With the consent.” He thought for a moment, considering the man beneath him. He was flushed, skin tinged pink across his cheeks and chest. He seemed to small and vulnerable like this. He was strong and opinionated and mad but here, spread out underneath John, he was soft and pliant. “And the trust.” John added, for no other reason that he knew it was true, however insane it was to feel that way so soon after meeting him.

They gazed at each other for a moment. Both grasping for more to say but both equally unable to find the words.

“So…” Sherlock began, attempting to speed the process along and sweep the conversations away until later.

“Yes,” John said, the predatory gleam back in his eyes, “Up the bed, that way.”

John directed him back against the pillows, stripping the duvet down and off so as to prevent the majority of the mess and the inevitable tangle with too much fabric.

“Do you have--”

“Top drawer.”

John dug around in the drawer Sherlock indicated, locating condoms and lube quickly. He returned to the bed, dropping himself between Sherlock’s spread thighs and lowering himself steadily onto him.

He kissed Sherlock once. It was firm and deep, tongues plunging in. There was a nip of teeth at his bottom lip and John marvelled at what a quick study Sherlock was. There was a hand snaking down, gripping his arse and kneading the plush muscle.

John pulled back, shifting downward so he was eye-level with Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock sucked in a harsh breath, head dropping back to the pillows, eyes squeezed shut.

John took him into his mouth. Sucking lightly, circling the head with his tongue, flicking at the sensitive underside. Sherlock squirmed and bucked so John laid his right forearm softly across his hips, holding him in place.

Working Sherlock with his mouth, John uncapped the lube with his left hand. It was a job to squeeze it out onto his fingers and he probably made more of a mess that he’d have wanted to but he didn’t want to move.

Rubbing his fingers together to warm them slightly, John slipped his arm from Sherlock’s hips, pulling his legs up and over his shoulders and settling back down. He slipped his slick hand underneath Sherlock.

At the first contact with his entrance, Sherlock tensed. Hissed a breath at the cold contact and contracted his muscles. John pulled back.

“Relax,” he said soothingly, “It might sting, but I won’t hurt you if I can help it.”

Sherlock nodded, eyes still squeezed shut.

John lowered his head back down, taking Sherlock’s cock back in his mouth in distraction. John circled Sherlock’s entrance slowly, feeling the muscles flutter and give as he applied slight pressure.

Sherlock moaned and moved his hips again, not up into John’s mouth this time but down to his fingers.

John pulled back, feeling how eager Sherlock was.

“Good?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded again, the only sounds his gasping breaths.

John pressed forward, slipping his index finger inside of him. The first ring of muscle gave easily, John paused before breaching the second, allowing Sherlock to adjust.

With his spare hand he applied more lube to the situation, knowing from experience that there was no such thing as too much. Sherlock winced at the first intrusion but settled quickly. John was gentle, slow movements and gentle pressure, never hurrying or forcing muscles to give when they didn’t want to.

John crawled back up, bringing his face level with Sherlock’s. He place his other hand on Sherlock’s jaw, brushing his cheekbone with a thumb.

“Hey,” he said softly, “Look at me.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, seeking out John’s face.

“Are we okay?”

Sherlock looked shellshocked. “John,” he said, attempting his derisive sneer but falling short.

John smiled and crooked his finger, hitting Sherlock’s prostate.

“John!” Sherlock said again, the contrast in how he said the name almost unbelievable.

John smiled down at him, kissing him lightly before moving his finger again, pumping slowing in and out of him. John glanced down, Sherlock was still hard, laying flushed and thick along his stomach, leaking pre-cum in a little pool near his navel.

He stayed that way for a time, working one finger in and out of Sherlock, waiting as he acclimatised to the feeling. After a few moments, Sherlock’s hand came up to find John’s where it was still resting on the pillow next to Sherlock’s head. He twined their fingers together, grasping tightly.

“John, I can’t… I need…”

John, knowing exactly what he needed, kissed him lightly. Slowly, carefully, John pushed in a second finger beside his first. Index and middle finger of his left hand slowing thrusting in and out of the writhing man beneath him.

“You look so good like this.” John murmured as Sherlock settled in to the new contact.

Sherlock’s hair was a mess. Mussed from the friction on the pillow, his skin pink, gleaming with a thin layer of sweat. More than that, he was practically vibrating with need, pushing back on John’s hand now with every thrust.

“It feels incredible,” Sherlock gasped, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“I think you’re ready.” John said after a few more moments preparing him. He’d scissored his fingers, watching as Sherlock grunted and pressed his hips down, revelling in the sensation.

Sherlock’s head whipped around again, meeting John’s eyes with his own wide pupils.

“I’ll take care of you,” John reassured him, “alright?”

“I know.” Sherlock replied, trying with all his might to remain haughty.

John retreated, reaching own to grip his own erection with his lubed hand, slicking himself up and hardening it as he went. The sight of Sherlock panting and grinding down onto his fingers has been enough to keep his cock hard and almost aching. The urge to bury himself deep and claim Sherlock was simmering beneath his skin but John knew he had to go gently.

“Might be easier if you were on your front,” John said reaching for the lube and condoms.

“I… could I stay this way?” Sherlock asked, “That is.. is that a feasible scenario?”

John smiled, ripping open the condom packet. “Yes, it’s a ‘feasible scenario’. Put this under your hips though.” He threw him a discarded pillow, rolling the condom on to himself as Sherlock pushed it into position. The condom was for Sherlock really. John hadn’t been with anyone in forever and Sherlock hadn’t been with anyone period so the risk of disease was almost nil, pregnancy was out as well given their biology, but the added glide the smooth latex would give when covered with lube would probably make it easier. Besides, it seemed rude to assume he could go without.

“Okay,” John said settling himself back down. His fingers slid over Sherlock’s entrance, checking he was still open and ready. “Are you ready for this?”

“Oh get on with it already,” Sherlock said, beating at John’s arse with one of his heels.

John gripped himself tightly, lined himself up with Sherlock’s entrance and pushed, just slightly, so that Sherlock’s body swallowed the head of his cock.

It was John’s turn to moan. “Fuck,” he spat, “You feel bloody amazing.”

Sherlock smiled, his face contorted as once again he adjusted to the strange sensation. John’s cock was wider than his fingers, but he was going slowly.

“I’m not hurting you am I?”

“No,” Sherlock said reaching up to drag John down for a kiss, “It’s strange, but it feels good. More please.”

John kissed him back, sliding his hips forward a little more, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside Sherlock. They both let out a huff of breath as John hit home.

“Don’t stop there,” Sherlock begged, “I’m fine. Please.”

John didn’t need telling twice, lifting himself up onto his hands, bracing himself either side of Sherlock’s head, John began to thrust. His movements were even and steady. Creating just enough friction that Sherlock could feel the drag every time John pulled out and the solid push of him on the way back in.

Soon though, it wasn’t enough for either of them.

“Faster,” Sherlock panted, “You can go faster, if you want.”

John nodded, unable to form words. The tight heat of Sherlock’s body enveloping him was too much. It had been far too long in general but somehow this was different than he remembered. Every now and again he would look up and Sherlock would be looking back at him with such sincerity in his eyes. There was almost passion there, definitely admiration, appreciation for the care John was taking.

Gripping Sherlock by the upper thigh, dragging his legs upwards, John change the angle, making Sherlock cry out as John connected with with his prostate on the next thrust. They picked up speed. Sweat beading on John’s brow as he pumped his hips faster and faster. He was shaking, his arms shivering with the strain of holding himself up.

Sherlock was incomprehensible. Meeting him thrust for thrust, small mewling sounds escaping him as they drove at each other.

Dropping a hand between them, Sherlock gripped his cock. “I’m going to, just a bit more John, God.”

“Uh huh.” John nodded.

Sherlock pumped his cock firmly, a few times was all it took and suddenly he was coming. Stuttering his hips, wet heat blossoming over his fingers. His other arm was slung over John’s shoulders, nails digging into his spine.

“Ahh!” Sherlock cried at the peak, throwing John over the edge with him.

John’s slammed forward, driving himself home one final time as he exploded inside of Sherlock. His vision went white, mind going blissfully blank as stars erupted behind his eyes.

When it was over, John collapsed slightly, arm sagging under his weight. He held himself up for a moment, just a bit of extra strain as he disposed of the condom before falling to his back beside a dazed Sherlock who was swiping at his stomach with what appeared to be his shirt.

“You alright?” he managed as he came round.

“I think so,” Sherlock said. “That was a lot more um, intense, than I had imagined.”

“Are you hurt?” John said, turning so he was propped up on one elbow leaning over Sherlock.

“No,” Sherlock said hurriedly, “I just meant the intimacy aspect.”

“Oh.”

John dropped his head on impulse, pulling Sherlock into an intense kiss. It was languid, neither of them starting anything over again, both satiated and drained but eager for contact all the same.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said as they parted.

“For what?”John lay back down, lifting his arm as Sherlock draped himself over his chest. “Oh for the… yeah.”

Sherlock tucked an arm around him, wriggling until his curls were tucked under John’s chin. They were silent for a few moments, their chests slowing until their breathing was even once more.

“Well at least you’ve dealt with it now,” John said, feeling slightly sad for no reason he could pin down.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, “I suppose I have.”

John nodded, chin connecting with the top of Sherlock’s head lightly.

“Though I suppose there is more than one way to do it. Data would have to be collected, comparisons made. It’s the only scientific way.”

“Er, yes I suppose so.” John said, “At least you won’t be scared of picking up random people now. Worked out alright his time.”

“No,” Sherlock said, his body frozen, tensed.

“What?” John asked, confused, “What did I say?”

“No random people, I don’t want that.”

“Oh,” John said, “Sorry, I wasn’t implying you would just… no, I just meant that now the whole v-card thing is done with you won’t be scared about it scaring people off.”

“I don’t want random people,” Sherlock insisted.

“I know I just said--”

“Because I want you.”

“Ah.”

They weren’t looking at each other, both staunchly maintaining their positions facing away, the tension in the room ratcheted up high.

“You barely know me,” John said, “I’m--I’m terrible. I work all hours and I would have so much work to do. I’m joining the army.”

“I know,” Sherlock said softly. “But I’m busy too, I’m going to be a detective, sort of. And I get very involved with experiments and whatever else is occupying me that week. I can be abrasive and rude and annoying but…”

He twisted so he was facing John this time. John felt he’d decided it was his turn to take a step, to take care of John this time.

“I haven’t felt like that before, with anyone.”

“It’s the sex hormones.” John grinned, “They’re messing with your brain.”

“Do not tell me about my own brain,” Sherlock scolded, “I am well acquainted with what it feels like under the influence of mind-altering chemicals. This is not that.”

“Right. So you’re saying… what exactly?”

“That I don’t know,” Sherlock insisted, “But I just know that I want to do that again. The same way and in different ways, all the ways people have thought to do it and some ways we make up all on our own.”

John opened his mouth, didn’t make a sound, and closed it again. The thing was, that sounded wonderful. They didn’t know each other but there was something there, wasn’t there? Was he mad?

“Okay.” John said.

Sherlock curled himself back around John, throwing a leg over his thigh and twining them together.

“You know what?” John said after a moment, “I told Harry I wouldn't get lucky enough to find anyone I truly liked out of that whole bucket thing.”

“Well,” Sherlock said, “It wasn’t luck.”

“No,” John said, smiling. “It wasn’t.”