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Sherlock plucked the strings of his violin, looking through the window as the sun was setting and the street lamps started to glow. He’d just seen John cross the street, his walk stiff, his left hand balled into a fist at his side. It was quite apparent that the outing with his army buddies had gone as poorly as Sherlock had anticipated, and he could only hope his messages had helped John break away from what must have been a horrid evening.
“Did you send those pictures to get me home faster?” John growled the moment he swung open the door to 221B.
With a sheepish glance, Sherlock turned and shrugged, placing the violin in its box. Of course, he had. John agreed to go to a pub with a bunch of beefy men who would either ogle him or judge him now that he was out of the closet. So, courtesy of a nice lens in his phone, he had sent a few selfies to John, hoping to get his blood flowing faster. If he’d been having fun, he would have just ignored the pictures, but if he’d been having a horrible time, they would give him an excuse to leave the tedious conversation and get back home.
“Well, it worked,” John said, his voice softer, albeit still full of a gravelly quality. Sexy . “I checked the messages when sitting by the table and didn’t hear my name being called for several moments as I was lost ogling the curve of your arse on that pic you sent.”
“Not... good?” Sherlock asked, trying to hide his amusement, to no avail.
“Yes, it’s not fucking good cause I had to excuse myself to come here, while trying to hide my raging hard-on all the way.” His voice was accusatory but his lips twitched with a smile.
“I think I know how to alleviate your problem.”
John’s stern look turned into a full-blown grin. Mission accomplished.
“Of course you do; you’re a genius after all.”
“Lock the door,” Sherlock smirked, watching lust spark in John’s eyes as he clicked the lock into place.
The fact that John was hard and horny but didn’t pounce immediately was one of the things Sherlock loved about him. John always tried to judge Sherlock’s mood before approaching him and now, even if it was clear they both wanted to engage in fornication in the middle of their sitting room, he still waited, breathing ragged, trousers tented in front.
With a soft swoosh, Sherlock untied the sash of his silk dressing gown and let it pool at his feet. He didn’t miss John’s sharp intake of breath at his nakedness, firm proof of John’s adoration of Sherlock’s body, despite having seen, touched and tasted it many times before. They’d been engaged for over a year and their passion never wavered, even if their sex fluctuated from soft and gentle, hard and fast, to almost nonexistent when in the middle of a particularly engaging case.
Kneeling in front of John, Sherlock slid his palms up the rough fabric of John’s jeans to his upper thighs. The click of John’s belt buckle seemed loud in the room as Sherlock continued to peel off the layers of John’s clothing to get to his prize.
John’s cock sprang up and Sherlock licked the underside of it with the flat of his tongue before taking it between his lips, relishing the ragged breath John let out. Salty tanginess filled Sherlock’s mouth and he sucked, encouraged by the loud moan from his fiancé, revelling at the instantaneous lessening of tension in John’s muscles.
John usually came back distressed after meeting with his old colleagues, be it from uni or the army. It was Sherlock’s duty and privilege to assure John that other people’s opinions — be it his army buddies or the papers — and whatever nonsense they spewed about him were of little to no consequence to him. He could only hope that the words and actions would stop hurting John as well.
After each time, Sherlock used his powers of deduction to find out if John wanted to take Sherlock hard and fast, letting go of the steam, make sweet love and find solace in each other’s arms, or simply to be owned by Sherlock.
It was the last one today, judging by the absence of John’s hands pulling Sherlock’s hair, by the soft moans and pliant stance as he leaned against the desk, throwing his head back. Sherlock’s hand slid under John’s shirt to brush over his nipple, feeling it harden instantly as John wordlessly gave himself away to be pleasured.
“I nearly punched Damian today,” John growled between panting breaths. His lips formed a snarl when he said the name of his fellow captain. Sherlock looked up to convince John to continue, let it all out. “When I looked at your picture and excused myself to leave, he said… he — “ His breath hitched as Sherlock cupped his balls, fondling them gently as he pumped faster with his other hand. “He asked if I have to go home because I couldn’t wait to have your cock up my arse.”
Sherlock pulled away to take John’s left hand and brush his lips over the bruise-less knuckles.
“But you didn’t punch him.”
“No,” John chuckled, kneeling to face Sherlock. “I told him…” He smiled, cupping Sherlock’s face. “I told him that it was exactly why I had to leave. That having my fiancé’s cock in me was more important than hanging out with the bigots.”
Pride and affection bubbled up in Sherlock in the form of a chuckle.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”
John’s grin was like sunshine that could fill the darkest of days with happiness. With a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips, he sprang to his feet to sit bare-arsed on the sofa. Having pity on the man, Sherlock wrenched the shoes, trousers and briefs off of him then offered a hand to pull him to his feet.
“Look John,” Sherlock said, approaching the window with John by his side, the tails of his checkered shirt flapping as he walked. “Do you see all these people?”
“Yeah.” John nodded, watching the steady stream of people taking an evening stroll outside.
“Their opinion doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, but —”
“Now place your hands on the windowsill for me.”
John did as asked, but looked over his shoulder with a questioning quirk of an eyebrow.
“Look through the window and show them a face of a man who is proud of who he is.”
With that, Sherlock reached into the desk drawer for one of the bottles of lube they had left in strategic places in the house, and coated his fingers. Approaching John, he glided a finger along his crease to tease his entrance. Sherlock’s cock twitched and he took it in hand to stroke it slowly as he dipped his finger into John.
A long, lascivious moan filled the room as John’s body welcomed the digit. Sherlock leaned over to whisper into John’s ear.
“Do you like being filled, John?”
“Yes…” John breathed, and Sherlock added another finger, smirking at the lewd, slick sound of his hand moving in and out.
“Do you think those people out there have a right to dictate what we do in the bedroom?” Sherlock asked, dropping the tone of his voice the way John liked it.
“Fuck no. Ahhh…” he moaned, thrusting his bum on Sherlock’s fingers.
Mmm, so needy.
“Tell me what you want now, John.”
“I want your cock inside me.”
“Vey well, then.”
John rested his forehead on the glass, perking his bum further as Sherlock took his hand away.
Bending, Sherlock placed a kiss on the beautiful curve of John’s buttock before grazing his teeth over it in a gesture filled with both lust and love. In the faint light of the floor lamp, he watched goosebumps break on John’s skin. Pouring more lube over John’s crease, he slicked his cock and positioned himself behind his fiancé.
“Are you ashamed of yourself, John? Of asking for my cock, of needing it so much in the first place?” Sherlock goaded, pushing John’s limits.
“No.” John’s decisive growl was tinged with anger before it turned into a moan when Sherlock’s cock breached his entrance. Sherlock had to bite his lip not to groan in pleasure, but stick to his plan of action.
“Are you happy with your life? With your sex life?” Sherlock slid in an inch further, his hand travelling under John’s shirt to flick his nipple.
“Yes, God, yes.” John looked over his shoulder and reached around to pull Sherlock by the nape of his neck.
They kissed sloppily at the awkward angle, mere inches from the glass overlooking Baker Street. Oblivious people walked below them, not knowing that if they looked up they would see a happy couple kissing, shamelessly fucking against the window of their own flat.
“I’m happy with you. I want you… I need you…”
“Good,” Sherlock thrust all the way, seating himself deep, before he stilled. He placed a kiss on the side of John’s neck, above the collar. “I need your mouth properly,” he breathed, pulling out with a hiss.
John groaned at the motion but followed Sherlock’s prompt to turn around. Hand on John’s hips, Sherlock helped him hop to sit on the window sill. Placing John’s legs around his waist, Sherlock slid back in, their moans exchanging as their lips met and their tongues tangled.
“My John,” Sherlock panted between kisses, breathing in the scent of his lover. “My proud soldier.” Sherlock braced his hand on the glass above John’s head with a smack, thrusting faster as tingling heat swirled down his spine.
“Sherlock! Ah! Ah!” John gasped, clawing at Sherlock’s back. “I’m close… I’m, mmm...”
John moaned into Sherlock’s mouth as they kissed, needy, sensual. The pitch of John’s voice soared as his body pulsed around Sherlock’s cock, taking Sherlock with him for the ride of pleasure more intense than the storm of the second circle of Dante’s Inferno .
Breathing ragged, Sherlock kissed John’s cheek, jaw, then neck, before resting his head on John’s shoulder. He started to pull out but John tightened his legs to keep them linked for a moment longer.
“Other people’s opinions matter to me, they always will,” John said, his voice hoarse. “I just get to choose whose opinions are important. Yours are because you are important to me.”
“Mmm,” Sherlock murmured in acknowledgement. They’d come so far from tiptoeing around each other when they met to becoming a team in crime-solving as well as running this little two-person unit Sherlock learned to call family.
“We need to wash the pub stench off of you and then you can show me which part of me matters to you the most.”
“You’re an incorrigible cock, you know that?” John chuckled, slapping Sherlock’s back.
“Your incorrigible cock,” Sherlock mused, nipping John’s ear.
“Yes…”
John sucked in a breath when they pulled apart to head for the shower, both smiling from ear to ear.