A/N: Hi everyone. People were adding this story to alerts and even though I thought it was just going to be a one-shot I came up with this. This is my very first time writing smut and I'm a bit embarrassed about this so it would great to have some feedback on it, and how it could be improved. This is M-rated so if it isn't your cup of tea the first chapter can stay as a one-shot.

John pulled Sherlock through the door of 221 Baker Street and slammed him against the wall. He moaned as he leant against the taller man, placing his hands on Sherlock's hips and pulling him flush against the doctor's body. In one split-second of distraction- oh Christ, I didn't know Sherlock could do that with his tongue...- he was flipped around and pinned against the wall instead, while the other man attacked his throat enthusiastically with sharp nips and licks. The tongue returned to a spot behind John's ear that Sherlock had discovered in the alley, and John trailed one hand to wrap around riotous, dark curls, the other dropping down to cup that gorgeous arse. Sherlock rumbled deep in his throat against his collar bone and he couldn't wait anymore. Grabbing a slender hand the army surgeon half-dragged the Consulting Detective up the stairs to their flat. They were both so delirious, so focused on each other that the brief walk back had felt like an age.

The moment both their feet reached the top landing Sherlock pulled John back into a kiss, tongues intertwined as their bodies did the same. Fumbling behind him to open the door, John barely noticed when they stumbled back through the doorway, Sherlock kicking the door closed behind them. Both their coats were discarded on the floor, and Sherlock's shirt well on the way to joining them before John murmured against his lips,

"Bedroom."

"Which?"

"Mine. I've got lube and condoms."

There was no further conversation between them as they negotiated their way up the other flight of stairs. When they passed through into the bedroom, John pulled Sherlock in front of him, so that the taller man fell onto the bed as the back of his legs hit it. John licked his lips as he inspected the feast spread out on his bed; Sherlock, his dark curls riotous around his defined face, one lock obscuring John's view of dark, dilated eyes. His alabaster skin contrasted with the deep purple shirt lying open across his chest, highlighting muscles hidden by his skinny frame. The blonde's eyes were suddenly drawn to the Detective's long, slender hands as they ran down their owner's chest, onto his stomach.

"Enjoying the show?" asked Sherlock as he undid the buttons to his trousers, the haughty tone ruined by his breathlessness.

"Oh God, yes," came the familiar reply, causing Sherlock to laugh. The laugh quickly turned into a moan as John slipped a hand inside his boxers, stroking him firmly.

"Clothes off. Now," The rich baritone ordered. The brunette grumbled softly as John removed his hand but took the opportunity to remove the remainder of his clothes in record time. Reclining back on the soft pillows he watched John remove first his jumper, then undershirt. His mouth went dry as scanned the expanse of tanned flesh now exposed to his gaze. He'd seen John topless before, after showers and on lazy days, but not like this, knowing that the hard muscles and soft skin, were his to touch, to taste.

Then John was back on him and he couldn't think, and now they were naked they friction was so much better and Fuck John was stiff against his stomach and he was so hard it hurt...

Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head as John reached a hand between them to grasp his cock, resuming the same controlled, slow, infuriating pace from before.

"St-stop teasing, John," growled the very aroused detective, reaching down with both hands to grab the other man's arse, pulling him closer, their groins grinding together. He licked a line from a tanned, muscular neck up to the owner's very talented mouth. Sucking on his tongue, Sherlock couldn't stop the shiver of delight that shot through him as John's breathing became heavier against his mouth, his strokes erratic and faster. Arching up into the touch, Sherlock reached out blindly to grab John with his hand, matching the frantic pace of the hand jerking him off.

In the end they didn't need condoms. They had danced around each other for so long, ignoring the tension, the emotions and the knowing glances all around each other, so when they came it was quick to arrive and very intense. John's arms trembled and he collapsed on top off Sherlock, panting. When he could move again he dropped a kiss onto Sherlock's forehead and then rolled off.

"No, don't leave!" protested Sherlock.

John snorted. "I wasn't planning on it, but unless you want to be squashed by me lying on you, I thought I'd better move." He reached out and grabbed his boxer's, cleaning himself off and then offering them to Sherlock. When they were done he lay back down and was instantly attacked by Octo-Sherlock, who had obviously grown extra limbs since the last time at looked. A brunette head was pillowed on his chest and John was thankful for the freezing temperatures outside, else he would've quickly overheated.

He dropped his head and chuckled softly against dark curls.

"What th' matter?" asked Sherlock sleepily.

"Never would've pegged you for a cuddler, that's all."

"Oh, shut up."

"Shan't," said John, sounding remarkably like everyone's favourite Consulting Detective having a sulk.

Sherlock just huffed against John's chest, his hair blowing up with the movement. Somehow, John found the action incredibly endearing. "Oh, love, go to sleep," he said affectionately, the endearment slipping out naturally.

Sherlock's reply was soft, hesitant. "Call me that again?"

"What, love? Okay then, love. Whatever you say, love." John teased. He could feel Sherlock's grin against his chest and let himself fall into sleep, a matching smile on his face.