docwithablog | storyline one.

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[ One beat, another, John's breathing stuttering out of him and then - yes. His cock pulses between Sherlock's lips, along the length of his tongue and while he can't taste it, he can feel the load as it quirts down his throat. Swallowing multiple times, his throat working quite hard at this point to accommodate the massive girth of John's cock, he slowly - slowly - pulls back. John sags down onto his back, clearly spent, his fingers trembling in Sherlock's hair and that's nice, must be a sign he's done it right, if his orgasm two seconds ago didn't already prove it. As he draws back, John's cock sliding slowly out of his mouth, he tastes traces of cum, sweat, skin. He's feeling almost oversaturated with it and his cock, half-hard until now is slowly becoming flaccid. Well, it's not like they'll have any use for it in any other state tonight.

Glancing up, he looks at John's face, the way he keeps licking his lips and touching his face. Oh, he really is done. With a smirk - his lips feel mostly numb right now, along with his throat - he sidles up to him and drops onto his back, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. He tastes John at every intake of breath, every time he wets his lips or swallows. It's almost as if there's a John-filter on his sensory system, it's quite impressive and not at all unpleasant.

The fact that they've just had sex is an odd thought, like something that must have happened in a parallel universe of sorts, because Sherlock's long since decided that he won't and John was willing to die for him tonight which is also flat-out unrealistic. Sherlock doesn't have friends, let alone anyone willing to... But there you go. Lots of things he doesn't have or doesn't do. Happens anyway. He glances sideways slowly at John, lips still quirked in a half-smile. ]

[ He comes to only slowly, blinking himself back into existence -- an existence, apparently, where Sherlock and he are having sex and where Sherlock swallows his cock to the base without, he presumes, ever having done anything of the sort before. Meanwhile Sherlock moves up next to him and John only catches a glimpse of the smirk on his face as the other man looks him over, a bit preoccupied with the afterglow riding through his body. Smug bastard. As Sherlock wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, traces of his taste still clinging to John's tongue when he swallows in response, and glances at him sideways, John raises an eyebrow at him in a manner exactly that telling. Saying exactly that, I see you. ]

You're absolutely mad. Fantastic, granted, but mad. [ A contemplative pause. ] I've never been deep-throated before, you know -- [ His own voice still sounds raw from his rather intimate acquaintance with Sherlock's cock and he keeps it low to save his sore vocal chords some work. It's an observation, not an admittance, by the way, because... ] -- most sane people think twice about trying. Not to flatter myself, but that thing could kill you.

[ Turning his head, he looks directly at the other man, smiling slightly. If this is what Sherlock's first attempt at sex looks like, John sure hopes he's going to be around for the whole, long ride, because he's going to be a god at the end of it. The way he's good at just about everything else, if you cut his general people skills some slack, yeah. Which you learn to do when you're a person and you happen to live with him.

He shifts a bit, freeing his left arm and gesturing with it once in invitation, come here. He has no idea whether Sherlock's even a cuddler, but judging by how he can actually fold himself up in a tiny lump when he wants to, he wouldn't be surprised. ]

[ You're mad, says John and proceeds to tell him that he's never been deep-throated before which makes Sherlock's smile just a little bit sharper. Hah! Worth the soon-to-develop ache in his throat, certainly, as well as the rawness of his lips. Stretching out a bit on his back, all his muscles feeling pleasantly relaxed and his mind soaking in chemicals, still, he looks away from John, gaze gliding across the room lazily. For once, he doesn't concern himself with what he sees. ]

I learned to swallow a foil, once. [ Pause. His voice sounds as if he's smoked five packs of cigarettes in one go. ] For a case. Technically there are... similarities.

[ He doesn't attempt to elaborate or expand upon the story, it isn't even altogether interesting and he's tired, exhausted. It's as if his mind's suddenly aligned itself with his body properly, like the fact that they've had a terribly eventful day and night is only now truly sinking in. He looks at John's outstretched arm for a moment, frowning. He's been alone for so long. Sometimes, distance becomes a matter of psychological certainty, something that can't and isn't supposed to be bridged and right now, his brain is trying to tell him that he can't, he should get up, go to bed downstairs and stop pretending that having it both ways is an option.

Taking a deep breath, he shuts his eyes and rolls sideways into John's waiting embrace, pressing his nose against the side of his neck. Though he may not always be as clever as he wants to be, he's certainly brave enough to take risks. And John, surely, can never be an exception to that. ]

storyline one.

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