BBC Sherlock: Back to Front (John/Sherlock)

[teacrackers.livejournal.com]

Title: Back to Front
Pairing: (teen!)John/Sherlock (BBC 'verse)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2.5k
Warnings: None, that I'm aware of. Unless you count a warning for teen!lock. ..Badly written teen!lock? Yeah, I'd consider that in need of a warning.
Summary: John receives a surprise visit during the night, which goes from strange to stranger. Written for the prompt, "Nightfall."

I'm sorry, this is... rather terrible, really u.u;;;; In the end I only had a few hours to work with, and this is the result of that! It begs a lot of editing, but I did what I could and now it's 3.30am (I have an appointment in the early morning! damn you guys, haha), so I am off to sleep uvu. Enjoy~!

~*~

If he was being honest with himself, John Watson would admit that he never really expected much out of life. Become a doctor, go to war, save people and shoot people and after all that maybe find himself a wife and have a family with two point five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.

Meeting Sherlock Holmes hadn't exactly been part of the original plan. Then again, accidentally setting his dog on the man hadn't been factored in, either. The hours spent with Sherlock, first in the hospital and then afterwards while surreptitiously cutting class, were always something of a blur to him.

Oh, by no means was John a dim boy - if anything, he considered himself rather bright - but Sherlock was something different entirely. A seemingly infinite source on all things strange and grotesque, and absolutely fascinating in his entirety.

His knowledge wasn't perfect - far from it, in some cases - but as far as facts and figures and practical chemistry went, he was astounding. Add in the odd macabre titbits he was quite keen on demonstrating, and John found himself somewhat reluctantly love struck.

Even so, none of this really explains why it is that, three hours after dark, he catches Sherlock scrambling in through his window while he himself is reading in bed. He's swathed down in an overly large sweater and a scarf, and it's such a strange sight that John almost doesn't recognise him.

"What are you doing?" John asks, trying rather miserably to hold back a laugh. "And what are you wearing?"

Sherlock glowers, immediately pulling off the sweater. "Everything else was in the wash," he grumbles by way of explanation. Underneath he wears nothing but a t-shirt and jeans and still manages to look stunning.

He's working on unwinding the scarf around his neck when John notices the unmistakeable bulge in his trousers. At first he thinks he's mistaken it for something else, which is why he jokes, "Is that a banana in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

He'd been expecting some sort of witty response, perhaps something condescending about originality and how he lacked it but, to his surprise, Sherlock looks down and scowls heavily. "It won't go away," he says, finally vesting himself of his scarf and starting on his shoes. "So I came here to talk to you instead. That usually does the trick."

John really does laugh at that. "You mean you walked ten minutes in the freezing cold and climbed through my window because you thought I'd help you get rid of your boner?"

"That's what I said, yes," Sherlock replies, then glances down. "It isn't working. Quick, start talking about that girl in your Biology class."

John's laughter dies down and a thought comes to mind. "You know, I could help you with that. The proper way, that is. If you wanted. I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but..." he trails off rather lamely and gives a little embarrassed shrug. "Sorry. That's probably weird."

But the way Sherlock's looking at him now isn't judgement, it's more of a curious consideration. "You want to help me ejaculate," he says, somehow managing to make it sound like both a question and a statement.

"Not if you say it like that!" John exclaims, his face steadily turning a rather stunning shade of red.

He almost misses it when Sherlock nods sharply in what he supposes is agreement. What he doesn't miss is the way Sherlock crosses his room in a matter of seconds, shoves all of his books off his bed, and sits himself down in their place.

"Yes," he says frankly.

John breathes in sharply through his nose. He hadn't actually been expecting Sherlock to take him up on his offer, and now that they're face to face, he doesn't quite know what to do. One thing's for certain, though - he sure won't be able to do anything with Sherlock looking at him like that.

"Turn around," he says, his voice a lot steadier than he feels even as he sits against the wall and spreads his legs. "And shuffle back between my legs, lean against me."

Sherlock positions himself, and it almost feels like they're cuddling. John takes a moment to appreciate that thought, resting his hands on the other man's hips as he does so.

He rests them there a little too long, going by the way that Sherlock starts to squirm a little. "Well? I didn't come here just to sit, you know."

There's more, but John starts to tune that particular train of thought out and shuts him up by sliding his hand between Sherlock's legs, pressing his palm over his clothed erection. Sherlock falters mid-speech, then stops speaking altogether when John curls his fingers, cupping his hand around the outline of his cock.

Sherlock huffs out a little breath, shivering as John presses down harder, working a little rhythm of friction through his trousers. He sucks in his next breath when John's other hand works its way under his shirt, stomach fluttering as fingers trace over the skin.

John leans forward, pressing his chest flush against Sherlock's back. It also brings his mouth right beside Sherlock's ear, a position he takes advantage of by flicking his tongue out along his earlobe. "Lucky for you, neither did I," he finally replies, breathing right into Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock's whole body quivers, and it's then that John chooses to deftly undo his trousers and slip his hand inside. He grabs his cock through his boxers and simultaneously slides his other hand up over his chest to rub at a nipple. The dual sensations make Sherlock gasp audibly and arch his back, dropping his head on John's shoulder.

No one has ever said he's one for missing opportunities, and he doesn't miss the one presented to him now. He dips his head slightly and turns it, pressing little kisses against Sherlock's neck and swiping his tongue over his skin. In return, he receives his first contented hum and, when he bites down, his first surprised groan.

John's hand continues to rub against Sherlock's erection through his boxers, and he's preparing to dip into those, too, when he remembers that lube would probably be quite conducive here. Luckily - and occasionally embarrassingly - he'd always kept it underneath his pillow, just in case.

He pulls his hand out of Sherlock's trousers and twists his arm awkwardly behind him, groping around for the small tube he kept there. He receives a discontented grumble from Sherlock for his efforts, but before long manages to find the bottle and bring it out, flicking it open to drizzle some over his fingers.

It's a bit of a feat with one hand and he gets more of it over the two of them than anything else, but he manages it in the end. The bottle gets dropped by his side and John unceremoniously slides his hand back between Sherlock's legs.

The first touch to his cock without a barrier has Sherlock giving a low moan, fingers curling around the fabric of John's own trousers as the matter is properly taken into hand. The angle is somewhat awkward, what with his jeans in the way, but John manages to stroke well and true.

Sherlock's squirming now, trying for better friction even as his breath comes out in short pants, and John would be lying if it wasn't getting a response out of him. He tries to quash the reaction down by sliding his other hand up even further until his fingers are pressing against Sherlock's collar bone.

John takes to Sherlock's neck with a newfound energy, lathing small bites into his skin that have Sherlock gasping, "God, please, more-"

'More' is a demand he's happy to oblige, but for now he replaces his tongue and mouth with his other hand, curling his fingers almost possessively around Sherlock's neck. He doesn't squeeze - just lets the weight of his hand rest against his throat,

Sherlock trembles as John swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, trying to thrust awkwardly into his hand. His jeans are still restricting John's movements, making every twist of his hand oh so good and oh so frustrating.

Finally, Sherlock has enough. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and starts tugging his jeans down, followed immediately by his boxers. He expects John's hand on his neck to follow him as he lifts his head up in an attempt to see what he's doing, but it doesn't.

John leaves his hand right where it is, restricting Sherlock's ability to breathe. The sudden lack of air sends a white hot bolt of arousal straight to his cock and makes him groan loudly. John grins wickedly.

"Don't come, Sherlock," he says. "You can't come yet."

It hadn't really been on his mind before, more of a distant promise than anything else, but now that he's said it, the only thing on Sherlock's mind is that he needs to come, right now. He becomes acutely aware of every torturous stroke on his erection, of the way John's hand squeezes, just a little, around his throat

"Fuck," Sherlock breathes out as John adds a twist to the end of every slide of his hand. "Fuck you," he adds emphatically.

To which John responds by abruptly taking his hands away, making Sherlock give a strangled cry at the sudden lack of contact. "Well, if that's how you're going to be..." he trails off meaningfully.

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and pushes himself away from John's chest. For a second, John think he might actually leave, but to his relief all he does is turn around so that they are now facing each other.

"Don't stop," he says, a little breathlessly.

The first thing that John notices is that Sherlock's been biting his lip. It's red and puffy and god, it makes John want to kiss him.

So he does. He leans forward and presses his lips against Sherlock's, watching as Sherlock's eyes widen. After all this time, he'd managed to take Sherlock by surprise - he just never imagined that it'd be like this.

When Sherlock kisses back, he does so enthusiastically, if a little sloppily. Honestly, John doesn't mind all that much, especially since he uses the opportunity to push Sherlock down into his mattress.

He takes Sherlock's cock back in hand, curling his fingers around it and stroking as they kiss, and Sherlock arches his back with a guttural moan. John breaks off the kiss in order to watch Sherlock, who's watching him back through lidded eyes.

There's a moment of confusion as John shuffles himself to sit on his knees, Sherlock stretched out in front of him with his legs either side of him. His hand leaves his cock and he takes a hold of Sherlock's hips, drags him down the bed and closer towards him.

His other hand trails along Sherlock's hip, coming around to knead his arse and slide along the inside of his thigh. On his slide back up, John's fingers strays between his arse cheeks and he asks, almost reverently, "Can I?"

Sherlock nods immediately, and John wastes absolutely no time in getting his hand slicked up again. He presses Sherlock's legs further apart, runs his fingers along his hole, and watches as Sherlock sucks in a breath and shudders.

It's absolutely beautiful, but it's nothing compared to the reaction he gets when he finally slides one finger inside him. Sherlock's eyes widen and he lets out a breathless moan, his fingers twisting into the bed sheets. He squirms as John stays like that, holding one finger inside him.

"Alright?" John asks, though he can clearly see the answer in front of him.

"Yes, yes, it's alright, god, just- ghhg," Sherlock chokes, cutting himself off as John wriggles his finger inside, taking great pleasure in pulling his finger out and thrusting it back in again.

John takes his time with the first finger, smoothly thrusting in and out and wriggling it on the inward push. He could do this forever, especially when he crooks his finger against Sherlock's prostate just so and Sherlock's back lifts off the mattress in response.

His own erection throbs distractingly in his own trousers but he ignores it in favour of sliding a second finger alongside the first, feeling Sherlock stretch around him. Sherlock writhes, pushing down on his fingers and, if he weren't mistaken, trying to take more.

It's a beautiful sight, and John can't help but watch Sherlock all but trying to fuck himself. He thrusts in with his fingers, twisting as he does, and Sherlock lets out a low, steady stream of gibberish.

Meanwhile, Sherlock's cock lays ignored, jerking oddly against his stomach as he wriggles. John rectifies this by dragging the fingers of his other hand along his length, making a fist around it and wanking in time to his thrusts.

He curls his fingers again, if only to hear Sherlock's little "Nnhgh" as he does so. "Are you going to come, Sherlock?" he teases, once again swiping his thumb over the head of his cock in the way that has Sherlock gasping for breath.

"No," Sherlock replies, rather unconvincingly considering that John can feel him trembling in his hands.

"Yes, you are," he says in rebuttal, pushing his fingers in as deep as they'll go. "Come on, Sherlock. Come - for - me," he continues, punctuating each word with a deep thrust that has Sherlock groaning in pleasure.

Sherlock tenses, pushing down against his fingers and squeezing around them tight. John continues to wank him, taking Sherlock faster and faster to the edge - and then he's falling off the precipice, pulsing in John's hand and spurting all over himself.

He shakes as he comes, mouth open in a perfect little "o" even as his fingers twist into John's blanket. John watches him shamelessly, enjoying just how debauched he looks with his t-shirt still on, streaked in come. He carefully pulls his fingers out of Sherlock, unbuckles his own trousers, and groans in relief as he finally wraps a hand around his cock.

It doesn't take John long. If anything, he'd been worried he was going to come in his pants. He hardly has to worry about that now, even as he strokes himself hard and fast. John trembles and shoves his fist into his mouth and comes all over Sherlock.

Afterwards, he groans and falls down beside Sherlock, who's still laying where John left him, blissful expression on his face. "That was different," Sherlock says eventually.

"Bad different or good different?" John asks, suddenly worried that he'd stepped over the line.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Good, of course. It was great. That... that thing you did. Brilliant."

John grins, happily. "Never thought I'd see you reduced to single word sentences."

"Be that as it may, I'm not going to sleep with ejaculate all over me," Sherlock replies with a little frown.

He tries to get up, to move, to clean himself off, but John snakes an arm around him and pulls him back onto the bed. "I dunno," he says, pressing a kiss on to Sherlock's back. "I rather like it."