Stairway to Heaven
NC-17 PWP for the crack tumblr sherlockspinkbutthole .1) Sherlock and John generally have sex in John's room because it's a greater distance from Mrs. Hudson's earshot. While practical, it has resulted in almost automatic arousal for Sherlock when he takes the second flight of stairs because there is hardly ever another reason for him to take them. This has caused a handful of issues when following John up stairs at crime scenes. Sherlock's subconscious sexual appetite is a huge turn on for John. Luckily, most crime scenes have bathrooms with locks.
2) The fact that John has started to bring lubricant with him to crime scenes just in case has made it very easy for Sherlock to act on his desires without cause for shame or confusion. With the NSY kicked out and the door to the bathroom locked, Sherlock can drag John away by his coat collar and shove him against the wall, hands making quick work of the man's trousers and pants as he shoves them both down his thighs while John eagerly tangles his hands in his curls, pulling his face close to kiss.
3) There's no need for foreplay--there will be postplay. There will be the sly attempts to hide their sated faces and shared amusement at their indiscretions in so in appropriate a place. There are only a few long, heated kisses shared before both of them have their trousers down, Sherlock's resting on the tile floor at his ankles as he turns and grabs the sink, preferring to watch John through the mirror as he gropes his bare arse, palms heavy against the mounds of flesh as he parts them hungrily.
4) John licks his lips, his every expression in full display to Sherlock in the mirror. The way his head tilts as he looks at him with appreciation and wonder, the way his eyes become those of a predator eying his prey, the complete, animalistic desire that requires him to all but grunt as he gives Sherlock's arse a squeeze, fingers digging into his hips. John's lust is strengthened by his love but this is no time for 'I love you's--it's obvious anyway. Now is the time for fucking.
5) Sherlock loves to watch John rip the lube packet open with his teeth, both rugged and practical. He loves the feel of it when John pours it out along his lower back, letting it drip along his crack, warming itself against his skin as John rolls fingers through it, helping it along, and following the trails between the globes of his arse to rub the silken liquid against the pucker of his hole, teasing once, twice, and then not at all as his finger breaches and strokes within, strong and insistent
6) Sherlock watches John's teeth bite against his own bottom lip, the arch of his brows that says how much he wants him, how much he needs him, how much he loves him and that this is now theirs to share with each other. Bodies, heat, their actions a confession of things that still seem more real when unspoken. John's body is the prodigy to Sherlock's instrument. His finger sends a roll of pleasure down Sherlock's spine as he pushes back against it, with it, a single cord desiring the melody.
7) They can't be discrete if Sherlock can't walk straight after but it is so tempting to John to leave the preparation at a single digit and lubricant, to work through the stretch around his cock instead, to watch Sherlock's face in the mirror as well as he all but gags on his cries of confused discomfort clouded in the fog of pleasure. So tempting to strut behind him back down those stairs where NSY is waiting with Sherlock's careful steps assuring that they all know. So very, very tempting.
8) It's not worth only a moment's smugness is the only reason John presses into his lover with a second finger instead, a smirk pulling at his face at the fantasy all the same. Not that he doesn't love this; the feel of Sherlock's body both resisting and accepting him, the texture of his hole and internal walls that are often overlooked when explored by his cock which is far more concerned with matters of friction and currently making demands as he twists and scissors, eager to proceed.
9) Sherlock grinds down against his fingers, wanting to move on, enjoying the sensations but needing so much more and aware their time is limited and short. There's a case to solve and every reason to have ignored base desire--every reason which he himself ignored in favor of a quick shag. It's John's fault. John and his ridiculous swaggering step and incomprehensibly strong presence of masculinity. How could anyone keep their pants on when faced with mobile sex like him? And he was all his.
10) Sherlock lets John know when he's had enough, when he's sure he can take him. No words--words are wasted here. He reaches back with one hand and grabs hold of his own arse cheek, helping to keep himself exposed so John can lube up and enter him with one hand to spare. John is easy to read in most situations but is a book laid open with the best bits in highlighter when Sherlock offers himself this way. His grunt is deep in his chest, tongue on his lips again, as John strokes himself slick.
11) Sherlock keeps his eyes on John's face as his lover finally breaches him with the head of his thick, hot cock. He loves the pleasure he finds in his expressiveness and in the intimacy of looking straight into John's eyes through the reflective glass as he himself is made bare with every hint of pleasure running through him as well. John's first stroke is long and slow, opening Sherlock with precision until he bottoms out, pubes to cheeks, their balls greeting each other with a glancing touch.
12) Like the starting of a locomotive it begins steady and slow, a driving force weighted in preamble as bodies seek rhythm and find themselves in perfect unity. John's cock finds the perfect motion to make Sherlock's knuckles go white in their grasp on the bathroom sink and his head tilt back in wonton abandon and the engines, now warm, hasten. Slow strokes taken with the extent of his length shorten into forceful juts of precision, building up speed with the same insistence building inside himself
13) Sherlock knows he must be quiet, they both must be--it's part of the game--but oh it is hard when John is on task. Not every stroke is perfect, John knows Sherlock too well to give him something repetitive. The randomness at which spikes of pleasure burst out from his core make Sherlock lose his mind much quicker, spiral him towards ecstasy with assurance, allowing John to plunder him in short intervals that leave him dizzy and unable to focus on the reflection before him, beautiful and tan.
14) John can feel Sherlock tightening around him, his whole body growing tense with the uncoordinated effort to either bring it to and end or stop it from every ending. He knows Sherlock is done for when he can no longer see his eyes in the mirror, the detective's face lost in his own experience with John existing as an idea and a memory even as he grips his hips to balance with each thrust, obviously existing in the present moment. The sound of slapping skin in almost louder than their breathing.
15) Sherlock has only the presence of mind to put his hand between his teeth as a moan becomes much more, the escalation of pleasure reaching a tipping point as his other hand dares to touch himself under the bend of his body. The first stroke is nearly too much, the second is a warning, and the third is made moist as his body shudders into ecstasy, spilling itself into his palm as his teeth imbed themselves into the other on a gasping cry of exquisite completion.
16) John knows he's talking, knows he's muttering something dirty and proud, but they're not words from his head--not the one on his shoulders. John's tongue slides along praises that come straight from his loins, exalting the beauty of his lover's completion with words he'd be embarrassed to ever hear repeated. His mind is gone though, so completely a part of Sherlock that the sensation of him contracting around him is a phantom embrace across his whole body, urging him to thrust heavy and follow.
17) Sherlock does his best to wipe the bursts of colors from his eyes in order to watch John but finds his sated body far too heavy to control. Instead there is just the presence of John to indulge in, the hands on his hips, the slap of his body against his arse, the sweet presence of his thick cock inside him, still pleasurable though no longer building towards something blinding. John's last few thrusts are jerky and desperate, fingers tensing on a release that echoes in the bathroom on a moan.
18) John all but falls forward, still managing to remain standing though his body bows towards Sherlock's where he'd have gladly rested his head. Oh, that was good. They were both very bad people but it was so worth it sometimes to not be good. He takes a minute to breath, certain he just watched his life flash before his eyes and deeply dissatisfied with how little Sherlock there was in it. He needed more, but his erection was spent. At least he knew memories like these would continue to be made.