A/N: This story was co-authored by me and Urgetofall. That should explain any differences in writing style that you might see. The story was prompted by this picture.

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We acknowledge that we are not professional smut writers. Please be gentle when you review!

"Yes John. That's perfect…" Sherlock gasps these words as John teases his mobile fingers up the inseam of Sherlock's tailored trousers, making his way up his thigh…

"Like that, do you?" John smirked up at Sherlock, his tongue darting out for a moment. Sherlock hummed in response, gripping at the side of the table.

"God, yes."

"You want more?" John nuzzles Sherlock's thigh, causing the man to jerk with desire.

"Don't be daft, John, of course I want more. OH, CHRIST. Where did you learn to do these things with your hands?" John had slipped his hands up Sherlock's thighs, feeling the man's thin legs flex.

John looks up again, his face mischievous. "Beg for it."

"I don't-" he cleared his throat, barely able to get the words out, "Beg"

"Oh really…" John fingers lightly ran up his thigh, close to reaching his destination before he stopped "Beg." He repeated.

"You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?"

"Beg." Sherlock's desire is compelling him to grovel, but his imperious nature is waging war.

"What if I was to turn the tables, John?" So saying, Sherlock brought John to his feet and pushed him onto the table, letting his long white fingers leave trails of fire down John's chest.

"Spoilsport," John whispers, determined not to give up. He lets Sherlock think he's given in, bending his head back as the Detective kisses his throat, letting Sherlock crouch on the table over him as he bears down on John with his weight and his lips. Sherlock, assuming his victory, is surprised when John's hand comes up to caress Sherlock through his pants, his member already a solid and demanding heat in his trousers, his need for John strong. "Beg."

Sherlock let out a needy moan against John's neck before biting down as pay back. "I told you, '".

John squeezed lightly stopping again a soft whimper returned on Sherlock's behalf when this happened. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock nuzzled against John's neck. He hated the thought of losing to John, but he desperately needed it. "John," he whispered, needy and barely audible, "Please."

"There's a good boy," John mutters into Sherlock's neck, letting Sherlock keep his more dominant position on top of John, but the Soldier is obviously the one in control. He lets his hand begin a steady kneading, feeling Sherlock's hips shaking as he holds himself over John. Sherlock's gasps become moans as he tries to hold himself still under John's insistent hand. "Shh, darling, don't make a sound." Sherlock bites his lip to keep from crying out as John's hand finds its way into his trousers, lightly letting his fingers part around Sherlock's desirous cock.

John teased Sherlock for a few moments. "Dammit John," he said, "So help me if you don't do anyt-"

"Tsk, I thought I said to stay quiet." He bit the tip of Sherlock's ear. Sherlock went back to being silent, his breath quickening, "I think this is the only way to keep you silent" he smirked, "We must do this more often"

Sherlock felt his retort die in his throat as John's hand, which had caressed him within and inch of release, teased it's way out of his trousers and up under his shirt, leaving him more than a little frustrated and lusty. He whimpered with impatience. "Shh, love. No more noise from you."

Sherlock's breath hitched as John pulled him down by his collar, fastening his mouth on Sherlock's Adam's Apple, using his teeth as he kissed his way up Sherlock's throat, ending with a small bite to his chin. John knew he was being cruel, but that made it all the more fun. Having Sherlock at his mercy was the one thing that no one else has had.

"I want you to touch yourself now, Sherlock. Through your pants. I want you to kiss me while you do it. No noise, or else we stop."

Sherlock's face was filled with desire, and some frustration at being teased, but he needed this more than air. He feels his own tension building, his body eager to respond to his own tentative hands. Is there a limit to how much he can touch himself?

He leans over John again, his hand already making a dry rustling noise as he rubbed it across the fabric covering his arousal, staring into John's blue eyes. Eyes that look so cold and masterful as he presses his lips to John's. John watches Sherlock's face as he kisses him, letting Sherlock rile himself up, while he remains calm, ready to command silence again. Sherlock's eyes close as he fervently increases the passion of his kiss, letting his tongue flick into John's mouth once, testing to see if he'd allow it, and then making large wet swipes when John didn't protest.

His hand is hot with the friction of flesh on cloth, and the throbbing heat of his cock. His body is thrumming with anticipation as he increases the rhythm. His breathing is out of control, and he can hear his gasps getting louder as he tries to reign them in, knowing that to be forced to stop now would be too much for him to bear.

John smiled into their kiss, "Louder and louder," He mumbled against Sherlock's mouth, "This could end quicker than I thought."

Don't you dare, Sherlock thought. He wouldn't allow John to build him up like that just to stop in the middle of it. He silenced himself once more, his kisses becoming more demanding, damn his hold over me. Sherlock was involuntarily grinding against John's body as the friction between fabric and flesh grew.

John giggles into the kiss, sending Sherlock's mind whirling with the influx of more endorphins than his body can process. "Sherlock. Take your hands, and put them on either side of me."

Sherlock's eyes scream for mercy, only fueling John's actions. John reaches a hand to stroke his way down Sherlock's back, fingers clenching the flesh of Sherlock's plush arse as he pulls his hips up to meet Sherlock's, pressing them together once, and then letting the fabric of both of their trousers touch lightly, teasingly but without enough pressure to satisfy the Detective.

John hears the whimper deep in Sherlock's throat, leaving him lightheaded when he contemplates the power he has over the man that's crouched on top of him. "D'you want this, Sherlock?" He indicates what THIS is by grinding his hips into Sherlock's again. "D'you need it?" Thrusts up again, causing Sherlock's legs and arms to nearly give out. "Beg for it, pet. Beg for it, but no words. Show me how much you need it without using your pretty tongue."

With my tongue? How am I supposed to do that. "Tick, tock" John teased with a smirk. Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but thought better.

He lowered his head to John's neck, allowing his tongue to dart out, swiping along the tendon. It had barely taken seconds before he licked back up the neck, to his jaw line. John had thrown his head back with with a faint moan. He licked his way down to John's collarbone, but faltered when John involuntarily thrusted up against him.

He knew this was far from over, so he quickly gathered himself back up, and started to unbutton John's shirt. Sherlock thought for sure that John would try and stop him from removing the shirt, but there was no complaint, as long as Sherlock kept his tongue busy on his neck.

Once the shirt was undone and pushed down John's arm to stop at his elbow. Sherlock ran a hand over John's chest, a ghostly touch causing him to arch his back, letting out a contented sigh.

John let Sherlock lick his way down his chest, tracing dirty things into his skin, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's as he gasps, letting himself get louder and louder, both to torment Sherlock over his need to be silent and to let himself fully experience the sensation of such a glorious organ against him.

With a grip like steel, John twists his fingers in Sherlock's hair, pulling slightly, guiding Sherlock's face back up to his own. John pulls Sherlock's face down, the pressure of their lips causing their jaws to ache, the sounds coming from John were needy and exhilarating, sending Sherlock into further angst over his submissive state.

"Get on your back," John growls, his fingers pushing on Sherlock's chest, shifting him. Once John positions himself over Sherlock, their groins in alignment, he bends down and rips Sherlock's shirt open, the buttons clattering onto the table, then bites down, nibbling on Sherlock's collarbones, each of them casting a delicious shadow across his white flesh.

"You're mine." It's a statement, not a question. Sherlock grips John's hips, begins to grind them together while John leaves marks of a brilliant scarlet across the snowy plane of Sherlock's chest. John's fingers are clenching Sherlock's shoulders, the nails digging into his skin, drawing small crescents of blood.

God yes, John, Sherlock mouthed against his shoulder as the other man continued licking, biting and sucking his neck.

John placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's shoulder, "You like that, hm?" He smiled as he placed another kiss down before grinding against him, "I rather enjoy you in this state. So vulnerable" kiss "So very" kiss "very sexy."

The silence was killing Sherlock. He wanted to scream, moan, beg, anything, but more than anything he just wanted John.

"So desperate…and deliciously aroused." Kiss. Bite. John's hands stroke over Sherlock's nipples, feeling the tender flesh perk up under his fingers. He watches Sherlock's throat flex as the Detective throws his head back, letting it hang over the edge of the table, all of the ligaments in his neck protruding artfully, throwing shadows. John sends his heated tongue into each and every hollow, determined to chase the shadows away, feeling the shift as Sherlock swallows down his moan.

Sherlock's hands clench down and he moves, making the slightest motion in between himself and John, bucking slow and then much faster, silencing even John's moans with a long and delicate hand creeping into the waistband of John's trousers.

He smiles, leaning up to press his chest to John's abdomen, which is covered in a light sheen of sweat, he runs his tongue over John's nipples finding them to be delightfully firm and distinctly prime for nibbling on. Pay back for teasing me. Sherlock places his mouth over one nipple, and his deft fingers over the other, his mouth giving a pulsating suction while his fingers gently tease and tug, leaving John a gasping mess convulsing in Sherlock's lap, both of them nearly too far gone to put up much of a fight against each other.

"God, you're a better lover when your lips are sealed."

Over your tender nipples? Or your rock-hard cock? Sherlock thinks to himself. He lets himself nuzzle John's chest, his mouth still latched, letting his teeth graze over the pink flesh, drawing a highly gratifying plea for mercy from John.

John let out a moan of pleasure, tightening his grip on Sherlock's shoulders. "Lucky boy," John kissed into Sherlock's curls, tangling his fingers into his hair as Sherlock continued sucking, "If you keep going like this, I won't be able to hold on much longer."

Good. He bit down gently, causing John to jerk against Sherlock. He flicked his tongue out, swiping John's nipple one more time before pulling back, smirking as he looked up at the other man.

John pulled Sherlock's head back by the hair, a faint gasp escaping before he was silenced with John's lips crushed to his. "Damn you." He mumbled against his lips, "Such torture. Perhaps you deserve to be punished." John bit down on Sherlock's lower lip as he pulled back growling.

What could be more punishing than this! Sherlock dug his nails into John's hips before moving in to catch another kiss.

John loves leaving marks across the alabaster flesh pinned beneath him. His own fingers leave pink welts as they trace possessively across Sherlock's ribs, sliding around until they met at his back, pressing on the bumps of Sherlock's spine, feeling them create a silent xylophone effect as he rubbed his fingers downwards.

"The only thing for it is to… strike… preemptively." John lightly slaps Sherlock's face, feeling the ridge of a sculpted cheekbone flush with heat. He feels himself get dizzy with pleasure at hearing the sound that supple flesh makes when hit.

Sherlock lets out a loud breath, nuzzling his face against the heated skin of the Soldier like a cat, begging for more attention. God, yes. Please, John. John leans forward, pressing his weight against Sherlock, forcing him down onto the table, moving so that he kneels in between Sherlock's legs, his head bent over the Detective's pale abdomen. Starting just under Sherlock's sternum, John leaves a trail of love bites, each with the distinctive shape of a heart, a trick that John learned at Uni, stopping once his lips brush the waistband of Sherlock's trousers.

"You've been much too silent for too long, my love," John said as he ran his fingertips along the top of the waistband "Feel free to answer." He placed a gentle kiss onto Sherlock's hipbone, "How much do you need this?"

An electric shiver shot up Sherlock's spine under John's touch. "M-more than you know"

John placed a few more kisses on Sherlock's skin, following the line of his hip as he undid Sherlock's trousers and pulled them down to his knees. John raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Such a good boy, and you've been so paitient with me." he purred, "Shall I reward you now?"

Under John's touch, Sherlock's voice had become almost a whisper, "P-please."

Sherlock can feel John's breath ghosting along his thighs as he lays back, not daring to follow the Soldier's progress towards his waiting and eager cock. He feels a warm and firm pressure just at the tip, a kiss, his hips jerking, his abdomen and legs flexing with the effort of not interrupting John's touch.

Sherlock's voice no longer comes out in words, the unintelligible pleadings and mumblings stringing into one long prayer for release at the hands of his Lord and Savior, John Hamish Watson.

"." He feels his entire body spasm as John's mouth sheathes the tip of his engorged phallus, sliding down, the light dragging of tongue and the heat of the tight pocket of the Soldier's mouth left Sherlock unsure of what was up or down.

Sherlock's hands move to grip the back of John's head, his vision distorted and sparkling with the fierce suction and insistent undulations of John's jaw.

Sherlock could barely create words as John worked his mouth and tongue exquisetly on his cock. His words got lost in translation through the loud moans he was creating - and rather grateful he could now. Sherlock was practically clawing into John's scalp, causing a small smirk on his behalf. With the flick of his tongue he had sent Sherlock closer to the edge.

Sherlock's thigh muscles danced beneath their flesh, suddenly reaching to wrap around John's back pulling his face down further over Sherlock's cock.

John can taste to musky pre-come that is leaking its way out of Sherlock's engorged phallus, his mouth working and pulsing and pulling and licking as he admires the way that the Detective flinches and squirms underneath him.

Mercy? Continued torture? With a twist of his tongue, John decides on mercy, reach a hand to squeeze the base of Sherlock's penis, hand and mouth working in unison.

In a moment of perfect clarity and haziness Sherlock experiences release. John watches as Sherlock's face turns the perfect shade of dark pink, his entire body rigid for a moment, then relaxing back with a sigh.

The entire scene of watching this gaunt, tall man get aroused, teased, and gratified has left John with the singular most intense need he has ever experienced in his life.

He swallows the salty Essence of Sherlock, leaves a kiss on the tender belly of the spent Detective and gets off the desk, walking gingerly, his trousers chafing against his erection despite it being tucked upwards into his waistband.

"John, didn't you want to finish?" With a needy plea on his face John shakes his head. He's a sucker for self-inflicted suffering. With an even needier sound exiting his lips, John walks out of the room unsatisfied.