storyline one.

[docwithablog]

chronology -

00. word association w/ Sherlock

1. gen texting w/ Sherlock

2. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

3. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

4. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

5. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

6. texting w/ Sherlock

7. texting w/ Sherlock

8. texting w/ Sherlock

9. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

10. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

11. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

12. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

13. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

14. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

15. texting w/ Sherlock

16. otherwordly w/ Sherlock

17. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

18. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

19. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

20. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

21. texting - part one | texting - part two w/ Sherlock

22. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

23. texting w/ Sherlock

24. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

25. texting w/ Sherlock

26. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

27. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

28. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

29. truth or dare w/ Sherlock

00. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

30. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

31. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

32. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

33. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

34. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

35. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

36. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

37. texting w/ Sherlock

38. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

39. the case of the devil's root w/ Sherlock

00. word association w/ Sherlock

00. texting w/ Sherlock

00. penny for your thoughts w/ Sherlock

40. midnight texting w/ Sherlock

41. interlude w/ Sherlock

42. interlude w/ Sherlock

43. interlude w/ Sherlock

44. texting w/ Sherlock

45. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

46. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

47. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

48. texting w/ Sherlock

49. texting w/ Sherlock

50. texting w/ Sherlock

51. anniversary w/ Sherlock

52. texting w/ Sherlock

53. interlude w/ Sherlock

Comments

[docwithablog]

[ If you'd told him right here and now that Sherlock's been sexually active for months rather than years, he'd have scoffed at you and called your bullshit. It's not that it matters, of course, it's just that the man is such an accomplished, little (okay, not so little, it's a manner of speaking) cocksucker that you'd think he'd done it always. The fact that he hasn't either makes him a natural which John won't put past him, he might very well be, or it's that big brain of his once more, his mental drawers full of irrelevant knowledge, ready to be put to use when -- well, useful. Like now. As Sherlock takes him down that bit further, before pulling back, readying himself for the big showpiece, John can honestly feel his toes curling beforehand, the sounds of sloppy mouthwork, suction and wet slurping making his balls draw up tightly. Oh, but he's got to hold this one out. Can't just come on the spot.

No matter how much he'd like to as the other man swallows him to the base, face burying into his pubic hair and his cock staying absolutely lodged in his throat for one, two, three seconds before he draws back, all drool and harsh panting. He moans, a low undercurrent of a sound. After that, John inkling his head to get a better view, Sherlock sets an uneven rhythm, lips tight around him and his hand grabbing the base. John's upper arms feel like jelly and he actually has to steel himself there for a moment, not to just collapse down onto his back again. Every second exhalation is a tight, held-back grunt.

Gasping for breath, he vaguely notices how Sherlock's other hand pushes down between his own legs, fingers curling around the base of his cock tightly. No. No, no, no, you're not, Sherlock. You're absolutely not. He reaches up with one hand, all his weight now on his right arm, straining, and buries his fingers in Sherlock's hair, tightening his hold slightly, pushing him down just the tiniest bit over his cock. Oh, fuck. For God's sake -- His voice shakes, when he speaks this time. ]

Don't touch yourself yet. [ Pant, pant. Dear God, it's going to be a hard one, just. In a moment. Make the man work for it, right? Make him work, he likes the work, he needs the work. ] No coming until I say so, are we clear?

[acuriousincident]

[ He's trying to work out a pacing, something more even and consequently, more satisfying, when John suddenly buries his fingers in his hair, his grip tight as he pushes him down just slightly over his cock. Consequently, Sherlock half-way deep-throats him mostly as a happy accident, his breath catching in his airway and his back tensing for a second before he remembers to relax his throat. The small, subtle show of force has left his cock weeping at the tip. Naturally, that's when John tells him no coming and oh God, he's an actual sadist, too? He's been hiding it well, clearly, but there you have it. Sherlock groans, deep and rough. He looks up slowly through narrowed eyes, catching John's gaze. The man's holding himself up on the right arm (naturally), his muscles tensed up all the way over his shoulder and down his front. Strong, he thinks as he slowly releases his cock, leaving it bopping uselessly against his abdomen, his climax dissipating and his balls feeling positively blue.

But he listens, all the same, and at this point, slowly but surely, all thoughts of resisting or working against John's commands have disappeared. Instead, his mind is starting to feel empty in a way he can't recognise from anything else, not sex, not drugs, nothing. He just wants to keep doing this, basically, until John tells him otherwise and it should feel wrong and pathetic but instead, all he can truly think is bliss.

His cock tastes mostly like skin at this point, skin and the beginnings of precum. Moving his free hand to John's thigh, fingers curling against muscle, digging in, he gets back to work, head moving up and down, lips growing slowly but surely numb as John's cock slides in, slides out, perhaps a bit faster. ]

[docwithablog]

[ Because apparently they've landed in a parallel reality in which Sherlock just -- does what John says, no sassy comments or logical explanations as to why he shouldn't, the man releases his cock, his balls looking so tight and drawn up that they might spontaneously combust. John breathes hard through his mouth now, something more shallow than panting while Sherlock returns to working his cock with his mouth, head bobbing, John following the movement slightly with his hips, chasing it, more, more, more. It's wet and tight and warm and without removing his left hand from Sherlock's hair, he unceremoniously just keeps him at that angle, in that mode. Holds them both to it, because it's good. It's -- yeah, very good.

His balls are drawing up, too, now. More. More, more. Jesus, Sherlock, it's intense. ] You're -- [ John manages, having to catch himself halfway and even out his breathing to be able to say anything at all. His cock is pushing back into Sherlock's mouth for every bob he does of his head. ] -- doing very well. [ Sherlock, he'd say, if he could, breath abandoning him in stages. He feels faint, God, he's so close. He could've called him private, but then he'd need a uniform.

John might have to think in getting one at some point, let's be honest. If Sherlock can have a pet, John certainly can have a private. ] Very good -- [ Awful grammar there, but really. Come on. Come on. ] - very, Christ!

[ When he finally comes, it's like hitting a wall of pleasure and pretty much slamming through it. He's a moaning, trembling mess, his hips jerking involuntarily and his balls drawing up to the point of agony. His muscles are tightening, releasing, tightening and he doesn't let go of Sherlock's hair, keeps him at it, be sure to swallow... nicely... all of it...

Fuck. What an absolute... fuck. ]

[acuriousincident]

[ Though his jaw is starting ache noticeably, Sherlock keeps going, keeps the pace fast and his lips tight. John tells him he's doing well and the words register, as they would in most contexts, but his mind performs a curious processing response, dimming the literal meaning behind the words and leaving him with an impression of them. A warm, heavy feeling that goes straight into his chest and his abdomen, his cock jerking helplessly while he follows John, taking him towards the edge faster, faster -- ]

Mmf.

[ He lets out a gutteral sound coming from deep within his throat when John's cock suddenly starts pulsing between his lips. John's grip on his hair doesn't lessen, far from it, and Sherlock finds himself incapable of doing anything except swallowing, again and again, while the other man spends himself down his throat. The experience of it is equal parts foreign and intoxicating and when he finally pulls back, popping John's cock out of his mouth (careful not to dislodge his grip on his hair), he feels completely devoid of rational thought. There's just this, the taste of John on his lips, the ache in his jaw and mouth. The desperate need to come. ]

John...

[ He says John's name roughly, his vocal cords sounding thoroughly abused. He looks up at the other man slowly, gaze half-way blank, cheeks flushed and his lips swollen. He doesn't know what else to say, at this point. His cock is so hard that he almost can't bear it but he doesn't reach down, doesn't touch himself. Instead, he simply looks at John. Speaks his name again (John), thinking that he can't ask, he can't make himself.

Not yet. ]

[docwithablog]

[ He comes to only gradually, blinking himself back into this world at present -- there, sheets, sweaty and sticky against his skin, there, his arm, finally giving in as he collapses onto his back, staring up at the ceiling blindly for a few seconds, until Sherlock's voice brings him around, full-circle. John wets his lips and lifts his head, looking down at the other man who's popped his cock out of his mouth and is sounding like he's just gone through a pack of cigarettes. Hot, very hot. Also, although his cock looks absolutely painful between his thighs, he's not gone ahead and just started working on it, he's waited, because John told him to, because John said so. A rush that's roughly comparable to the very good orgasm he just had hits him and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, except follow through. Take it home, boys, as they'd have said in the army. Not about this specific mission, of course, but there are similarities worth of note, he thinks. They've been to war. They've been comrades. Now they need to get out alive.

John swallows heavily and sits up completely, one long push of abdominal muscles and upper chest working. Nodding once, breathing through his nose roughly, he gestures at Sherlock with a wrist maybe slightly looser than normally. He did just have the orgasm of his lifetime, okay, give him a break. ]

You've got permission. Touch yourself.

[ Small pause, mostly to allow for a deeper intake of breath, open mouth, all the way into his lungs. Chest heaving. He supports himself with both arms at this point, easing into the most comfortable position he can manage, leg stretched out in front of himself. He holds Sherlock's gaze, doesn't even blink. ]

Let me watch.

[acuriousincident]

[ John releases his hair and sits up, looking well and truly spent, his movements laxer than normal and his expression dazed, his pupils still slightly dilated from orgasm. He nods, gesturing at Sherlock to go ahead and follows up with words, more words, and God, they go straight to his cock as well, everything inside him screaming for release. Let me watch he says and holds Sherlock's gaze, unblinkingly, the way you associate with hunters and Sherlock swallows heavily, the taste of cum lingering on the back of his tongue. Gaze slipping away from John's, he spits in the palm of his hand and reaches down, sitting up partially on his hip and keeping his thighs spread because someone wanted to watch and Christ, he'll get to watch.

With a long, outdrawn sigh he folds his fingers around the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze before stroking upwards towards the head. His breath comes out shaky now, his thighs quivering as he tries not to just push himself wantonly towards the void except he can't - he needs it so badly. Eyes gliding shut, he leans his head back slightly and just goes with it, his hand moving up and down slickly, thumb brushing quickly over the head on every upstroke. He's not trying to finesse it in any way, shape or form. Instead, he just chases the end, lips parting and breath coming out in short, airy gasps as it builds up, builds up, builds up - ]

Oh -

[ When he comes, coating his fingers and his thighs with cum, it feels like weightlessness. His mind blanks out as he slowly, almost as if in agony, lies down with his head on John's stomach, curled in on himself, his cum-covered hand stuck between their bodies. He's breathing, he thinks. It's actually pretty hard to tell. ]

[docwithablog]

[ The thing about orgasm is that it's one of those bodily reactions you know looks ridiculous on yourself, but it's absolutely beautiful on everyone else. Now is no less the case. Now is actually the prime example of that rule of thumb. Sherlock starts touching himself, strokes himself harshly and without any finesse whatsoever, nothing like how John would have taken him through it, if he'd done it for him, but it's good, it's incredibly arousing watching him jerk off, chasing his climax. Really, if John hadn't been well and truly spent at this point, he'd probably been left with another erection for it, but fortunately that's just not going to happen and he can focus on the movements of Sherlock's huge hand, his long fingers, brushing over the head, taking him -- yes. He gasps for breath just a little bit as Sherlock finally comes with a simple sound of oh, surprise, and what in the world is left that can surprise this man, reaching out automatically as he collapses in the wake of it, head on John's stomach, curled in on himself like he's in pain. Which John very much imagines he's not. It's just -- it's huge. It's big, all right. This thing, between them.

Breathing out slowly, he leans down and folds both arms around Sherlock's upper body, kind of dragging him up along his front, getting cum all over his hip and side, but who cares, it'll wash off tomorrow. Tugging the other man's head in against his shoulder, he aligns himself with him, their legs slightly entangled. Pushes his chin into Sherlock's curls, breathes him in. He smells like sex and arousal and cum. And something sharper. Darker. Always underlying everything else with him. ]

Just stay here, okay?

[ He doesn't say anything sappy like I've got you, though he means that whole-heartedly, or you're safe, because by now Sherlock must know. If John weren't a murderer before he met him, and it's highly debatable, let's be real, he certainly became one afterwards, to save him. Not to mention, they survived Moriarty, face-off number one. Yeah. He just holds him like this, arms soft where they touch. It's okay, it means, you can stay in this space a little while longer.

Some things need orders, others don't need words at all. John can tell the difference, always has. ]