Do You Wanna Touch?

I'm a Natural Ma'am, Doin' All I Can, My Temperature is Runnin' High

 “Sherlock,” John said across the table, putting a hand over Sherlock’s, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“John, you’re a terrible liar,” the consulting-detective-slash-exotic-dancer-on-the-weekends told him, smirking, “The only reason you came to this reunion is because you wanted me to cause a scandal. Most likely you want to impress and slash or traumatize one of your ex-girlfriends. Or several, knowing you.” He quirked an eyebrow and turned his hand so he could run his fingers very lightly over John’s in an idle attempt to assuage his boredom.

John smirked back, trying and failing to look like he didn’t find the way Sherlock saw right through him incredibly sexy. 

Sherlock had adapted his most feminine mannerisms for the evening, to match his outfit—sheer, backless black top, wide-legged black trousers, and, of course, the obligatory black heels. He wore very little makeup, at least.

“You’re staring again,” the taller man said, “You only do that when you either want to rip my clothes off or think I’ve gone over the top.”

“Mostly both,” John told him.

“Ah, that’s why it’s so difficult to tell!”

John started giggling. Sherlock followed suit.

“God, when we get home, I am going to—”

“John!” A feminine voice interrupted John’s threat/promise to Sherlock, thankfully before it could get too obscene.

“Katie?” He looked up to see one of his ex-girlfriends approaching from behind Sherlock.

“Hello, John,” she said, sidling up to their table, “My, you two look cozy.”

She placed a hand on John’s shoulder, brushing some invisible lint off of his jacket. “Is this your… wife?” she guessed.

“No, no,” John chuckled embarrassedly, “Definitely not wife. Actually—”

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she pressed on, obviously not caring much about the answer.

“Sherlock, this is Katie. Katie, this is Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded silently, smiling in the slightly threatening way he sometimes did when it was obvious someone was vying for John’s attention. Usually, he’d loudly tell them off. That he was entirely silent made John slightly nervous.

“Sherlock. What an interesting name.”

John had opened his mouth to correct her mistake, but before he could say anything he felt a sharp kick under the table. He winced and glanced at Sherlock, who was still smiling as predatorily as ever.

Katie, meanwhile, seemed to have noticed the length of Sherlock’s legs, sticking out from under the table.

“And I see you’re tall,” Katie continued, “John always did like tall girls. Of course…” She smiled in a similarly threatening way, “You wouldn’t know it by me.” Katie leaned into one hip, as if to emphasize how petite she was.

“So, how did you two meet?”

“We met at a club.”

John didn’t have to look to realize Katie nearly fell over when she heard the deep, extremely masculine voice coming from across the table. She latched onto his shoulder to keep her balance.

“Oh—h?” Katie’s voice wavered slightly.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, standing up to his full height, plus 5 inches, “As a matter of fact, I was dancing across the bar. He was standing at the end.” Sherlock stalked the short way towards John, sitting on the edge of the table, and let his voice get deeper as he went on. “I left a considerable amount of glitter on his face, took him home, and rode his cock”—he rolled his “r” and clicked the hard consonants—“until we both passed out.”

Katie stood with her mouth open and her eyes wide, hand still on John’s shoulder.

John cleared his throat. “Yeah, he’s a… he’s a really talented dancer,” was all he could think of to say.