First Kiss

Summary: After Sherlock manages to alienate yet another of John's girlfriends, he wants to know what the point of all that kissing is. The answer leads to more kissing. Which leads to other things. Sherlock/John slash
Rating: M (for fairly graphic guy-on-guy funtimes)

Author's Note: Much thanks (and a pair of gratuitous name-checks in the fic) to my lovely betas, talk of cake (who helps me with my smut) and Vicky (who helps me sound almost British when I write British characters). You girls rock!

First Kiss

Kissing is like drinking salted water. You drink, and your thirst increases.
- Chinese proverb

Sherlock was supposed to be out all night, so John had decided on a night in with his current girlfriend. Mel was affectionate enough, but uncomfortable with public displays, so it marked the first time she and John had shared a protracted session of kissing and petting. She was a generous girl, and enthusiastic once things got underway, so he was relatively sure they'd be moving up to his room soon. Of course, assuming anything at all was something he should have known better than.

He was kissing Mel fairly energetically, holding her in his lap and familiarizing his hands with her bum and legs, eyes closed so he could better appreciate her warmth, weight, and breathy moans. Then she let out a gasp and went rigid in his arms. His eyes shot open and it didn't take him long to see what had alarmed her. Sherlock was standing there, head tilted, watching them with a vaguely curious expression.

"Sherlock, bloody hell!" he gasped, staring up at him and trying not to sputter. "When did you get back?"

"Ten minutes ago," he answered impassively, still looking at them like a pair of interesting specimens. Had he actually been standing there watching them make out for ten minutes? "Which girlfriend is this again? Vicky? Sarah? Justine? Oh, I know. Olivia, right?" he asked, looking pleased with himself for having guessed.

"Melody," John growled, glaring at Sherlock. "And we'll just be going out now."

"You looked more ready to stay in," Sherlock answered. "Don't let me stop you. I have an experiment to conduct."

Mel shook her head, giving John a Look. "This is the eccentric flatmate?"

"Eccentric hardly seems adequate," John sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind, Mel. We'll just go take in a show, have a meal..."

He trailed off in response to the extremely sexually frustrated look in her eyes. "Or we can head upstairs," he murmured even though he wasn't particularly comfortable with the idea of having sex while Sherlock was in the flat.

"Married women aren't usually to your taste, John," Sherlock contributed abruptly.

"What?" John demanded, glaring at him.

"I'm separated!" she snapped, jumping out of his lap.

"You're... really?" John asked, gaping since she'd certainly never mentioned that.

"Yet you still regularly wear your wedding band. There's a tan-line on your finger and-"

"I will not stand here and be insulted!" she shouted.

"Sherlock, stop it!" John ordered, climbing to his feet.

"Stop what, John?"

"You weren't kidding," Mel hissed. "He is an infuriating bastard." Giving Sherlock a hard, disgusted look, she grabbed her coat and stormed from the flat.

"Mel!" John protested, following. "Don't be angry. I told you, he's just... his mind doesn't work like a normal person's. He honestly doesn't realize it's offensive." Pausing, he added, "And he's right. I never noticed the tan line before, but..."

"I told you, we're separated!"

"You might have mentioned you had a husband at some point," he answered, shaking his head. "Shit, he was right! If you seriously wanted to leave him, you wouldn't still wear the ring during the day." God, no wonder she'd been unwilling to get physical in public. "I'm not sure how I feel about being the other man," he whispered even though he was pretty sure he did know how he felt and it wasn't good. "Mel."

"Go to hell. You and your boyfriend both!" she snapped, spinning and storming off down the sidewalk.

"Jesus," John groaned, drawing a deep breath and heading back inside. "You do this every time!" he snapped as he rejoined Sherlock. "Every damned time!"

"Would you rather I hadn't pointed out the obvious? I do hope you used condoms. She probably has other partners."

"Of course I did, which isn't the point! Would it be so hard for you to just let me have one girl you don't drive off within a week or two of meeting her?"

He expected sarcasm or scorn, not a genuinely contrite, conflicted look from his flatmate. "I... it's very uncomfortable for me, seeing or even accidentally overhearing two people doing... those things."

"We were just kissing, Sherlock!" he hissed. "We still had all our clothes on and we weren't..."

"I... it's not something I understand well. I'm not comfortable with things I can't understand," he pointed out, staring at his feet.

John swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it made you uncomfortable. I've done my best not to be overly demonstrative when I have dates over. I'll just... stop bringing them around, I guess."

"What do you even see in your women, John? They all seem so inadequate."

"They're sweet, friendly, funny, and rather attractive, Sherlock. Those are generally the criteria one looks for!"

"Why? What's the point of them?"

"What's the... Intimacy, Sherlock!"

"Sex, ah," he answered, expression uncomfortable and, John thought, almost embarrassed.

"Yes, Sherlock, sex! But not just sex. Intimacy. The sensation of being close to someone emotionally."

"You're close to me emotionally."

"Yes. So?"

"What makes them different from me?"

"Aside from the fact that they didn't immediately give me the 'married to my work' lecture?" he scoffed. "They're women and I like women!"

"You like men, too."

"Not quite the same thing."

"So it is a matter of sex."

"Not... exclusively. Haven't you ever just... wanted to spend a night curled up cuddling and kissing?"

"I don't know if I'd want that or not. I've never experienced either."

John stared although, to be honest, the lack of cuddling wasn't a surprise. "You've never kissed before?"

"People consider me a freak," he pointed out. "That's not an attitude that lends itself to... intimacy."

"You've never been kissed or you've never wanted to kiss, Sherlock?" he asked, frowning.

"It would be interesting to learn what you see in it," he answered, shrugging. "But you don't like men that way, apparently."

"Apparently. Why does everyone assume I'm gay?" he muttered, then stopped and stared. "Wait, was that some kind of really circular... request?"

"I've never been curious about physical intimacy before," Sherlock told him, shrugging. "But now I want to know what you see in it."

"You want me to kiss you?"

"I want to learn," he answered, tone and expression evasive.

"No." John shook his head firmly. "If you want me to kiss you, you have to say it."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

"Because I'm a proud and cautious man and I am not kissing you until I am entirely convinced it's what you actually want. Because it's me, not because you're curious about one of my quirks."

Sherlock colored, actually had to clear his throat before he spoke. "I want you to kiss me, John," he whispered, voice barely audible and eyes not making contact. "I'm curious. I want to know how it feels to be kissed. By you."

John swallowed hard, wondering what the hell he was doing even considering this. It wasn't even about the fact that he didn't like blokes. He liked Sherlock, in ways he didn't always understand. Maybe he was attracted to him sexually. Or maybe he just loved the man enough to want him and not care one way or the other about gender and orientation. But the idea of doing something reckless and possibly alienating his flatmate was terrifying. If Sherlock decided that the kiss was awful, he'd shut off, withdraw from John after they'd finally found something resembling a comfortable friendship.

"It might change how you feel about me," he murmured.

"I don't think it could," Sherlock answered, sitting down and fidgeting. "If you don't want to, John, say so."

"It isn't that. I'm just not sure it's entirely wise."

"Consider it an experiment. If it fails, it fails and we don't repeat it. Why would it change anything?" he reasoned.

"And if it succeeds?" John challenged gently.

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted, blushing.

Sighing, John sat down next to him. "What if you don't enjoy it?"

"Then I'll ask you to stop and, since you're my friend, you will."

"Fair enough," he murmured, lifting a hand to Sherlock's cheek and feeling remarkably comfortable with the idea of what they were about to do. Swallowing, he brought his lips lightly to his friend's.

Kissing Sherlock was a unique experience. His lips were pleasantly full and cupping that warm cheek was wonderful, felt strangely natural. But Sherlock wasn't even trying to return the kiss and that was a first in his experience. Not that the other man was resisting. He was simply sitting there. Waiting for it to start feeling good, maybe.

"Sherlock," John sighed in frustration, dropping his hand and drawing back. "Not like that."

"How, then?" Sherlock asked, frowning blankly.

"You need to move your lips, too. Like I was."

"Why?"

'Because it feels good' probably wouldn't convince him, so John went with a less emotional answer. "The friction stimulates the nerve-endings more strongly."

"Oh, all right," Sherlock agreed, nodding faintly. "I'll move my lips this time."

"All right. Let's try again," John murmured, taking Sherlock's face in both hands.

"Why do you do that?"

"What?" John asked, frowning but not removing his hands.

"You're... holding my face. Why?"

"It just helps me feel more connected to the person I'm kissing. Physically," John explained, fingers stroking over Sherlock's long cheek bones. "And emotionally."

Sherlock swallowed hard, nodding faintly and not resisting. He seemed to enjoy it but didn't look like he knew what to make of the fact that he did. "Now what?" he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

"Now, Sherlock, we kiss," he told him quietly, leaning in and brushing his lips lightly against the other man's.

The moment their mouths touched this time, John could feel the gentle pressure from Sherlock's lips and, when he kissed more firmly, Sherlock tentatively followed suit. His lips were soft but firm, the perfect combination in a kissing partner, and John was unable to resist the urge to gently suck the protruding lower one. Sherlock gasped, eyes shooting open and lips parting. Making soothing noises, John sucked harder, nibbling gently and caressing Sherlock's face. The detective was clearly shocked, but just as clearly enjoying every second as he sat there, whimpering and panting, passively but enthusiastically accepting the kiss.

John was just on fire, unable to believe that this little 'experiment' was so amazing. He adored Sherlock, of course, but he'd never been particularly attracted to blokes, not sexually. He'd expected to enjoy the kiss, since kisses were always quite nice, but he'd been unprepared for the subtle heat and tension suddenly building in his stomach, thighs, and points between. Arousal was the last thing he'd banked on and he did his best to ignore it and focus on just kissing Sherlock properly. It was important for Sherlock to understand why people went out of their ways to achieve physical pleasure and romantic attachments, if only to stop awkward questions and relentless needling from him in future.

"Stop, stop!" Sherlock choked suddenly, jerking away with a stifled cry.

John felt his stomach clench at that reaction to the kiss, and he was grateful he hadn't gone as far as shoving his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Better that it hadn't gone too far before Sherlock gave in to his discomfort. Less humiliating.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," he whispered, swallowing and trying to ignore the way his trousers suddenly felt far too tight. "This was... not a good idea."

"I feel so strange, John," Sherlock informed him in a weak voice, wrapping his arms around his own chest and sounding more like a frightened child than a grown man.

He froze at that, frowning uncertainly and reaching to squeeze Sherlock's shoulder. "What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?" he asked, wondering if he was perhaps suffering an anxiety attack from the sheer differentness of being enthusiastically kissed.

"I... I'm not sure," he panted, swallowing hard. "This is... it's new. I've never felt this way before."

"Here, let me have a look at you," John directed, shifting onto the coffee table and ignoring the persistent ache between his legs.

It was not helped by what he saw when he started looking Sherlock over. Dilated pupils, flush skin, sweat, shallow breathing. And a raging erection tenting his trousers. Swallowing hard, with Sherlock's assertion that he'd never felt like this before ringing in his ears, he gently took Sherlock's face in his hands again. The detective quivered, nostrils flaring and eyes widening at the contact, but he made no move to draw back.

"John..." he whimpered, expression a confused blend of terror and need.

John swallowed hard. "This has never happened before?" he whispered, not sure how to cope with that.

Sherlock shook his head faintly, eyes shifting to a point behind John's left shoulder. "When I was a teenager, I'd occasionally suffer spontaneous erections, but... nothing as severe as this and... no other symptoms..."

"They're not symptoms, Sherlock. You're just aroused," he explained gently, coloring. "Go, take a shower, deal with it. You'll feel better."

"Deal with it?" he repeated, looking appalled.

"Sherlock, please," John scoffed. "Not even you could reach this age and not know what's involved in wanking."

"I understand it. In theory. I've just never..."

Jesus fucking Christ!

"Never?" John gasped, staring and no longer feeling remotely turned on. "But the human body needs occasional release."

Sherlock looked down, speaking quickly and quietly. "It happens when I sleep. I understand that it's a biological necessity but I don't enjoy waking up sticky and disgusting."

John sighed at the revulsion in his tone, shaking his head faintly. "Well, I can assure you that, messy or not, it feels quite pleasant while it's happening. You'll know exactly what to do once you get started."

"I don't want to!" Sherlock snapped, expression defiant and, John thought, more than a tad defensive. "Ridiculous waste of time."

"Like kissing?" John challenged since it was Sherlock's insistence on the kiss that had created this situation.

Sherlock winced, looking like a kicked puppy. "I was just curious, John. I didn't understand what would happen. Please, make this stop."

It was a plea, frightened and abject. John could suddenly, on some level, imagine what it must have been like to go through your whole life without being consciously aroused and suddenly having to deal with it all at once. No wonder he was frightened, poor man.

"Sherlock, listen to me. If you really want this feeling to end quickly, you have two options."

"Tell me," he demanded, eyes wide and expression attentive.

"You can either bring yourself to orgasm or you can take a very cold shower, which won't be pleasant."

"The cold will cause vasoconstriction which will relieve the erection?"

"Yes," John agreed, nodding. "But it's unpleasant."

"I don't care," Sherlock answered, lurching to his feet. "I have no desire to engage in undignified autoeroticism."

"Fine, then go, bathe in ice-water. Just don't come whining to me afterward. Jesus, Sherlock," he muttered, climbing to his feet and heading into the kitchen, wondering if they had anything stronger than beer in the flat.

Sherlock stared after him, expression forlorn. "You're angry with me."

"No. I'm furious with myself for giving in to your request. Knowing you've never been kissed before, I shouldn't have agreed to it."

"By that reasoning, no one would ever kiss or have sex!" he protested.

"No, Sherlock," he sighed. "Just not people who clearly have no interest in it beyond the academic. Go, take your shower."

"John, I'm sorry!"

He winced at words that left Sherlock's mouth maybe once a year. "Sherlock, I'm not angry, just frustrated," he sighed, approaching Sherlock again. "Go, take the shower, and we'll discuss it afterwards."

Nodding weakly, Sherlock turned and slowly walked towards the bathroom. His awkward gait would have been comical in any other situation, but it just made John feel worse about his part in causing the other man's discomfort. Maybe Sherlock was right about his over-active libido, if he'd take sexual advantage of a man he loved, a completely inexperienced man, on the flimsiest justification imaginable. So he could understand why people kissed, indeed. He shook his head, disgusted with his own idiocy, and poured himself a small scotch. He nearly choked on the first sip when Sherlock let out a shriek.

"Sherlock!" he gasped, dropping the glass and hurrying to the bathroom to see what the matter was.

Sherlock was standing just outside the tub, wet, shaking like a leaf, and staring at the stream of water in horror. "It hurts," he whispered. "When it touches... there..."

"A lot of blood, trying to evacuate far too fast," John sighed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around Sherlock's waist. "It would be easier if you'd just..."

"I don't want to. I've seen what it looks like! People lose control, they stop being able to think!" he shouted, voice a rapid-fire staccato like he didn't think he'd be able to get it out if he stopped to breathe.

John swallowed hard as he realized that what he'd mistaken for stubbornness was nothing less than fear. A virgin, scared of the vulnerability inherent in sex. Sherlock was just taking it a step further to include self-pleasure. God, even asking for that kiss must have been difficult, terrifying. Only possible because he trusted John entirely.

"Sherlock," he whispered, sighing. "Come out of here," he directed, turning off the water. "Let me get you a blanket."

"But the... the problem."

"It'll fade over time. It's uncomfortable but not dangerous. I can give you a warm compress to help with the discomfort."

"That would be... thank you, John," he whispered, sighing weakly.

"Come on," he directed, steering him from the bathroom and leaning into his bedroom long enough to grab a blanket. "We'll try to make you as comfortable as possible."

"Why... why would any man do this to himself?" Sherlock whispered as John wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and body.

"Orgasms feel amazing, Sherlock. So does arousal if you aren't determined to fight it," he explained, steering him to the couch. "Sit. I'll get you a compress."

"Will this condition fade faster without one?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes, but it'll be achy and a little painful."

"I don't care. I just want it gone."

"All right." Sighing, John headed into the kitchen, filling two tumblers with scotch and carrying them back over to the sofa. Sitting down next to Sherlock, he offered one, sipping his own.

"Are you angry, John?" Sherlock asked again, sounding like a little boy in need of reassurance that he wasn't in trouble.

"Not at you, Sherlock," he answered, squeezing his shoulder and draining his overfilled glass. "I should have seen this coming. I just didn't realize that your inexperience was so absolute. Most adults who have never been kissed are still familiar with arousal and orgasm."

"I asked, insisted. You were only trying to help educate me."

"For selfish purposes."

Sherlock glanced over at him, expression thoughtful. "You wanted to kiss me?"

"I wanted you to understand what it's like to really connect with someone, physically." He shrugged. "I don't even know why."

"You could kiss me some more," Sherlock offered, squirming and looking almost shy.

"That won't help your 'problem' go away. It would just make it worse, Sherlock."

"But... you said it feels good," he whispered, swallowing hard and letting the blanket around him fall open. "You could show me."

John swallowed hard, absently wetting his lips. Sherlock's body was surprisingly inviting, especially aroused. It wasn't even those long lines and almost imperceptible softness, nor the small but efficient muscles everywhere. John had never really wanted a man before, but he knew exactly how much that erection must ache and how wonderful it felt to be allowed to simply overload with pleasure. He wanted his friend to experience that sense of relief and delight and he didn't want anyone else doing it to him. It was something that should be between the two of them, something John gave to Sherlock and Sherlock to John. Exposing himself to the more experienced man like that, such a clumsy but genuine attempt at seduction, clearly meant that Sherlock wanted it, too. The problem was that he had no clue what he was asking for, or what it actually meant.

"Sherlock, this is... you're very... vulnerable," he whispered, trying not to stare.

"And you're very aroused," Sherlock answered, squirming. "John, please. I... there will never be anyone else I can ask this of. I trust you. That simply doesn't happen."

"Worked up as you are, it would be fast. You wouldn't be able to enjoy a slow build or lasting orgasm. It's going to feel like getting hit by a truck," he warned, swallowing as it occurred to him that he'd stopped arguing and started telling his friend what to expect. He could deal with the aftermath later. Probably.

"You said it would be pleasant," Sherlock answered, frowning.

"Shockingly so. But it's intense and it's going to flatten you. Can you handle that?"

"You promise it feels good?"

"So good, Sherlock," he promised, giving a shaky nod. "It's raw, powerful, wonderful, achingly intense, and possibly the most profound physical sensation you'll ever experience."

"Then, please, John. Show me?" he whispered, panting and looking somewhere between eager and terrified.

"I will. Wait here," he directed, climbing to his feet and hurrying to his room. Condoms weren't necessary, not for what he planned, but a bottle of lotion would make Sherlock more comfortable and soft tissues would probably be necessary for the mess he expected the poor bloke to make after waiting this long to let himself go. He'd been with a virgin once before in his life and her orgasm, after an evening of kissing and caressing, after he'd learned and exploited her every weakness, had been a screaming, toe-curling affair ending in her unconsciousness. And her supreme satisfaction. This wouldn't be that intense, probably, but it was still likely to be profoundly powerful for Sherlock. And, hopefully, quite satisfying as well.

Sherlock watched him return with wide eyes, pale and trembling slightly. "You promise it feels good?" he repeated, voice shaking worse than his body. "Promise?"

John bit his lip. Sherlock was such a virgin, nervous, eager and innocent in equal measure, and curious to boot. He could hardly wait to ease the fear, satisfy the curiosity, feed the desire, steal away the innocence.

"Trust me, Sherlock," he directed, sitting next to him and kissing his cheek as he poured the lotion into his hands and rubbed them briskly together to warm it to skin temperature.

"For lubrication?" Sherlock asked, watching. "Is that necessary? I seem to be producing rather a lot of my own."

John bit his lip at that, grinning. "When a man is this worked up, the line between too much friction and not nearly enough isn't one you want to mess about with. This will help prevent any unnecessary discomfort. It'll... it'll feel wonderful, Sherlock," he promised, voice catching and rasping in his throat.

He gave a shaky nod, whispering nervously, "I'm ready."

"I know you are. I'm just not sure I am," John chuckled, kissing the corner of his mouth. "The good news is that I'm quite practiced at this particular set of hand motions," he joked, gently taking Sherlock's length in his hand.

Sherlock choked, hips jerking hard at the contact, and he stared at John in wide-eyed shock, body tense and quivering.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" John soothed, licking his lips and stroking gently. "Do you like that, Sherlock?"

Eyes slamming shut, Sherlock nodded like a bobble-head, panting and twitching in his hand. "Yes! John, please..."

"Shh, I have you," he promised, watching Sherlock's face as his free hand moved down to his sac, gently squeezing and massaging as he felt it tightening. "When it happens, you'll feel pretty tremendous pressure and tension and a powerful urge to, um, release it. Don't try to fight it, all right?"

"I... I wouldn't know how," he groaned, chest heaving and hips rocking. Eyes shooting open, he stared down at his hips. "Why am I doing that? I'm not trying to..."

"I told you, your body knows what you need," John reminded him, leaning around to kiss him tenderly. "Just let it take you," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, thumb sliding past his foreskin and brushing over his head as he spoke.

Sherlock choked, hips jerking hard again. "John!"

"Shh," he soothed again, licking his lips and stroking harder, repeating that gentle teasing to the most sensitive part of Sherlock's erection. "Just breathe."

Sherlock sobbed, head falling back as John intensified. Whimpering and bucking against John's hand, he abruptly grabbed at his arm, sobbing hard.

"Just let it take you," John reminded him gently, hand pumping and twisting up and down Sherlock's hard, eager length as the other man started to writhe and bow on the sofa. "Yes, Sherlock. Mmm, look at you," he groaned, feeling like he could come, too.

Seeing his friend like this was beyond arousing, had an undeniably emotional pull to it. He was pretty sure this was what it felt like to have sex with someone you were in love with and that was terrifying yet wonderful, felt indisputably right and proper. When Sherlock started to pant and strain harder against his hand, John knew it was time. He would sometimes tease experienced lovers, edge them and make them beg for their orgasm, but he couldn't do that to poor Sherlock, not his first time feeling this way. Bringing a wad of tissues to his head to prevent the mess from going far, he pumped Sherlock's erection hard and fast, kissing him hungrily and finally letting his tongue find its way between his friend's lips.

Sherlock made a muffled sound of confusion at the intrusion into his mouth which promptly morphed into a howl of shocked pleasure. John moaned at the way Sherlock's hips slammed into his hand and the sticky heat suddenly covering both of them, squirming at how intense the orgasm seemed to be. Sherlock looked to be lost in a delirious haze of pleasure, shaking and whimpering as he just kept jerking and spurting against John's hands. At a guess, John was relatively certain that he couldn't have remembered his own name at that moment and there was something gratifying in stripping the genius of that much of his composure. Moaning and murmuring soothingly, he let his hand slow and gentle, nuzzling Sherlock's face as the orgasm started to pass.

"That was... Oh!" Sherlock managed, panting and twitching as he slumped back against the sofa, entire body still shaking with the force of his release.

"I told you it would feel amazing," John murmured, kissing his tenderly and starting to mop up Sherlock's mess with more tissues.

"Better than..." Sherlock mumbled, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Is it always like that?"

"More or less," John agreed, smiling down at him. "Now, I don't suppose I could ask a favor?"

"F...favor?" he repeated foggily, staring up at John with an adorably vacant smile.

"If I don't come soon, I may explode. Care to lend a hand?"

"But... I don't know how," Sherlock whispered, looking profoundly unsure of himself. Somehow, the hesitancy was endearing. And it begged for John to educate his dear friend very, very soon indeed.

"I can show you. If you want. I'll be more than happy to take care of myself, too."

"Maybe you should. I can barely see straight," Sherlock apologized, blushing and squirming.

"I understand," John assured him honestly. "The first few orgasms, especially, are just overwhelming."

"I didn't know it was possible to feel like this. I... I'm starting to see why people kill over sex."

"Only you," John chuckled, shaking his head and easing down his trousers. He glanced over when he heard a whimper from Sherlock and was startled to see an almost hungry look on his face. "Seeing me like this does something for you?"

"I've seen other aroused men before and not felt anything. But, when it's you..."

"Then enjoy it. Just be careful about touching yourself too much right now. You'll still be tender," John warned, slouching forward on the sofa and taking himself in hand. "I don't generally do this for an audience, but it can be very hot to watch."

Swallowing and closing his eyes, he started sliding his hand up and down his aching length, mind instantly latching on to the fact that his palm and fingers were still sticky with Sherlock's mess. Gasping at the sudden jump in pleasure the thought gave him, he called to mind the way Sherlock had looked, completely at John's mercy and totally lost in gratification, enjoyment, and release. John's orgasm hit unexpectedly at that image, tearing a startled cry from him as it took him in white-hot waves of enjoyment and relief.

"Sh...sh...Sherlock..." he managed, sobbing and grabbing for him. He felt his fingers close around Sherlock's slim, toned thigh, then felt the other man's long, strong fingers close over his. The thought of those fingers, the things they might be capable of on John's body, gave his orgasm a boost, and his hips gave a final jerk in response, every muscle clenching and releasing hard. "Shit..." he moaned, licking his lips and smiling warmly up at Sherlock as it passed. Panting, he breathed, "Sherlock, that was..."

"Messy," Sherlock concluded, pursing his lips and looking a little uneasy. "Does ejaculate come off of wallpaper easily?"

"Did I hit the wall?" John giggled helplessly at that, burying his laughter in Sherlock's bare chest and sighing happily when his friend squirmed but didn't pull away. "I haven't done that in years." Kissing Sherlock's chest above one nipple, he smiled up at him. "I'll have to be more careful next time."

"Then there will be a next time?" Sherlock asked, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Oh, there'll be any number of next times," John promised, sliding into his lap and kissing him tenderly. "In fact, the night is young. I imagine we can work in a few more before bedtime."

Sherlock squirmed at those words, length twitching against John's leg in response to the idea. "This setting is socially inappropriate. We should move to the bedroom and resume," he informed John, nodding wisely.

"Clever boy," John answered, nipping at his lip and sliding off his lap. "Join me," he directed, offering his hands and helping Sherlock to his feet.

"Should we clean off the wall first?" Sherlock asked, biting back a grin.

"Probably," John conceded, laughing and turning towards the kitchen.

"No, actually, leave it," Sherlock directed, taking his hand and tugging him towards the bedroom. "There's an experiment I've been meaning to perform."

"You and your experiments," John groaned, thinking better of asking for actual details.

"The last one worked out well enough," Sherlock pointed out blithely, tugging John into bed.

The End