Chapter Text
The pillow was damp. William knew it because it was a logical thought: He, freshly showered and without time to dry his hair, was lying on it. And despite this knowledge, he turned his head to the side; his cheek hit the cool, damp cover. William breathed in the smells trapped in there through his nose: the shampoo he had just used, the ever-present smell of Sherlock's disastrous tobacco that could be smelled throughout the apartment. A fading aroma from the previous day's deodorant. In some places, there would even be traces of his own perfume - according to Sherlock, who never tired of sending him messages at night when he found one of these places - but he didn't want to move from his comfortable position at the moment.
An unyielding strand of hair that didn't belong there was stuck to William's temple. But his hands were busy, so William resigned himself to his fate for the time being. One hand rested on damp, dark hair and stroked individual strands carefully. Small wet streets ran across William's stomach as Sherlock moved his head higher and placed his lips under his belly button.
Their source of light was the night light, which was now working again and had a new bulb. William saw the alarming grin but did not want to reward it with attention. His hand stroked Sherly's cheek, who leaned into this movement. He turned a little and pressed one of so many, countless kisses into William's palm, then lowered his head again and let his tongue run prominently and deliberately slowly over William's stiff member again. Sherlock had spent the last few minutes there and clearly enjoyed putting on a show for the young professor. What a blessing that William could enjoy this sight. At least now, they had also included oral sex in their catalog of possibilities. It had become something that no longer made him swallow nervously and that he didn't have to give himself courage for fear of doing something wrong. Sherlock always seemed very content, and William rightly imagined that he could interpret his body language well. Besides, communication was key.
Now William was the one lying on his back with his legs open in front of his friend.
He wrapped the one untamable strand around his index finger and then pushed the rest into the black tangle.
"I actually just wanted to take a shower, you know." That wasn't a question; he just wanted to put the obvious into words. Sherlock didn't answer and started sucking. William breathed in through his mouth and blew the air out to keep control of himself. He didn't want an answer at all; Sherlock was welcome to stay there and carry on.
William ran his tongue over his lower lip and resisted the urge to push Sherly's head down.
“Just take a quick shower and then put on something warm. Socks that aren't soaked in rainwater. Underwear.”
He heard a quiet smacking sound, but more than that, William felt that Sherlock was ignoring his words and had made the tactically very wise decision to ignore his friend's chatter. William wanted this; they both knew that. His plan may have been different when he arrived at Sherlock's soaked from the rain, but now they were at this point.
Sherlock had been planning this since Liam went into the bathroom to shower. He had followed him to go under the warm water. Actually, to let his hands wander generously over Liam's body, and a few moments later, this had happened. There was nothing Sherlock disapproved of when it came to giving a blowjob. As the recipient, it was a dream, but as the one who could serve, it was a rush. Maybe it was because he had always been a very orally fixated person: He smoked, he preferred drinking from bottles to glasses, and ever since they had first started petting, Sherlock couldn't control himself and had started exploring his friend with his tongue. Liam was Sherlock's drug, and he never tired of consuming more of him. The slight tug in his hair and the breaths struggling for control would make him grin if his mouth had the space for it at the moment. He knew that the sweetest sounds would come from Liam if he just licked the tip with his tongue for a moment, but Sherlock wouldn't give him exactly what he liked best so quickly.
He let the member slip out of his mouth and pressed a kiss against the shaft, putting his hand on one side and his cheek on the other so he wouldn't push it away. The light from the small lamp next to Liam fell just right for one eye to be brightly lit from the side.
was being raised. Bright red stared at Sherlock, and he knew it was behind a glassy veil. Sherlock moved his chin along Liam's member, which made him snort, including the corners of his mouth twitching.
"Are you turning onto your stomach, darling?"
Staring again, a slowly creeping realization spread across William's face. His eyebrows twitched upwards, and he bit the tip of his tongue to avoid giving a hasty answer. Sherlock knew that this man's beautiful mind analyzed situations in a split second and looked for a final solution. Sometimes, there were seventeen final solutions, each requiring a different approach, but that seemed to be acceptable for William, too.
Sherlock slid his hand up William's inner thigh just as he had almost started to nervously wiggle his leg. There was no conflict and only the hint of nervousness. The new situation just needed to be properly grasped.
"Can I have a safe word?"
“I mean… sure if you need one. But I’ll stop anyway if you feel uncomfortable. No or stop would be perfectly fine.”
Sherlock pushed himself up and moved over William to kiss him on the mouth and make better eye contact. Eventually, the one kiss turned into a second, and Sherlock found himself all too quickly on the pretty neck to nip there. Liam let that happen for a few moments, and then he slid his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders and pushed him up enough to give him enough room to turn. William adjusted so he could lie comfortably on his stomach, and Sherlock pressed a kiss on the back of his neck.
“You can always tell me to stop.”
“I know, I know. Start or I’ll back out.”
“Ahw, are you nervous? How sweet. I can do something romantic if that helps.”
“… I'm tempted to allow that, just to see what someone like you sees as romantic.”
Sherlock, who had leaned on both hands and was kneeling so prominently over Liam, was silent for a moment; he was well aware of this very favorable pose. And he knew which hard body part was pressing against his buttock. But he trusted him; Sherly wouldn't just push it in.
He got another kiss on the neck, a little longer than before.
“Not my thing. But I can use Google to give you some basic setup. Candles and that kind of rubbish.”
William left this offer hanging in the air without comment, and Sherlock took that extra step to make his amusement clear and laugh against the blonde hair. In order not to make it even stranger for either of them and because his impatience reached a new level, he ran his hands down Liam's arms, pulled them under his pelvis, and pushed it up a little to relieve the counterpressure of the mattress and because he just wanted to fully enjoy the moment.
Sherlock searched under his body for Liam's fingers and wrapped them in his own before briefly touching his lips on his back. He quickly went down, all his antennas focused on any clues William's body language would give him. He was lying on his chest, his head resting on the side of the pillow, rubbing the back of Sherlock's hand with his index finger. Sherlock applied pressure to assure him that he was noticing.
And William's head was filled with empty noise, as he was basically waiting for the impact. He already knew this feeling, and impatience had always rewarded him so far. That's what had happened to him seconds before his first kiss with Sherly, and since then, this common thread had run through their relationship: sleeping over, touching, petting, blowjob, and now this. Every time, there was white noise in his thoughts, and every time, fireworks exploded in his head when the decisive point was reached. There was no way he would present himself to anyone else like this. But with Sherlock? Sherlock had always been right; there was no doubt about it.
And in fact, the wait lasted barely a few seconds before William very clearly felt a warm, wet tongue. Somewhere between shame and tension, his sex brain switched on, and William successfully resisted turning his head into the pillow. He heard himself breathing deeply. It wasn't as if Sherlock first took a step back and studied him - he didn't have to, he would notice everything anyway - and so the tongue was actually an immediately recurring phenomenon.
For a moment, William wished that his sex brain and analytical brain would work together to better control his own behavior. But the second part was completely switched off, and so only the horny mode remained. The one that combined the slow tongue with sudden r enthusiasm. The one who could imagine, right then, lifting their extremely long wait and swinging himself on top of Sherlock and riding him like a very misguided cowboy. They should talk about it. Later, when the analytical brain took over again. So much later.
William missed the moment when Sherlock's fingers left his and was therefore overwhelmed for two whole seconds when he felt them on his buttcheeks again; the man would melt his synapses one day. As the ever-present tongue applied more pressure, he looked for a point to hold on to and failed miserably. He would only pull the sheets off the mattress again; there was no bed frame, and Sherlock, who was usually at least within reach, also fell out. William took the pillow. His hands dug deep into the soft material, and he turned his face into the damp patch after all; maybe an ear would catch fire?
It was a wonderful feeling, and Sherlock seemed to be running through several programs. He alternated between circular licking, light pressure, and caresses, all of which William had to process later.
Two things happened at the same time: the tip of his tongue repeatedly pressed into William's body in quick, repetitive movements, and Sherlock closed his hand around the professor's erection.
William gasped and managed with difficulty not to twist his body to the side when he came. That was difficult under the circumstances but not impossible, and he sank back into the little bit of space that Sherlock had created between him and the mattress when he pushed William's hips up.
The fireworks were there and were now gradually replaced by white noise; there was a strange pressure on his ears that only slowly disappeared. Sherlock lay down next to him on the mattress and slowly ran his index finger up and down William's upper arm. He turned his head again to look at Sherlock and closed the distance between them to kiss him very directly on the mouth. William could practically feel Sherlock's eyebrows rising towards his hairline and broke the kiss to press his nose against that of the remarkable man next to him.
"I'm down for that, but are you sure?"
"Are you trying to tell me I'm not clean?"
"Of course not, you madman."
William looked for a moment at the man he had let intrude so unexpectedly into his life. Then he pushed himself up, pushed Sherlock back by the shoulder until he was lying on his back, and put one leg over his hip; again, he was sitting dangerously close to his cock.
William put a hand on Sherlock's chest and drew small circles with his index finger.
"I haven't had time to read up on the subject - obviously - but I have a firm opinion on the subject."
"That has developed in the last twelve seconds?"
Sherlock's hands wandered, stroking his thighs and up to his hips.
“It's principles, Sherly. If your tongue can eat my ass, then I can kiss you. As simple as that. I would feel hypocritical if it weren't so.” He managed a smile. His hand reached behind William's back, and he grabbed the erection that was pressing against his bottom.
“Now, I'd like to take care of you.”
-
-am. Liam, hey.”
No noise, no fireworks; a heavy, black blanket had crept over William's thoughts. He looked in front of him and saw a plate of pasta, then he noticed the fork in his hand. Ah. They had gotten up to eat something. Only after Sherlock had come did they spend some time in bed. To talk, to kiss, to lie next to each other -
Now it was time to eat, and William could literally feel his head slowly sinking towards the table. He straightened his sitting position, but that didn't last long. At times, darkness returned; he had to slide away from the edge, or his head would hit it. The last hospital stay - the one when he had asked Sherlock to pick him up - had been a few weeks ago now, and he didn't need a repeat anytime soon.
And Sherlock watched William's futile attempt. Then he put his fork aside and caught his head with one hand as it fell forward, placing it on his shoulder. Carrying Liam was no big deal; the man was basically made of antique book dust and tea. Also, the narcoleptic attacks were only a problem when he fell against objects or to the ground. And Sherlock had vowed to always catch William.