The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 5

After the two had watched the end of the programme and checked on Rosie, they retired to Sherlock's room cautiously. John stood in the doorway, as Sherlock swept into the room and quickly moved the pile of books which covered his mattress. Taking off his dressing gown, he hung it on the door of the wardrobe and turned to stare at John.

"Well?"

"Well what?" John mumbled, his nervousness threatening to derail the whole encounter.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sherlock laughed softly.

John mumbled right under his breath and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking at Sherlock who moved to the middle, his bum resting on his knees. The detective sighed, and grabbed John by the shoulders to manoeuvre the smaller man onto his back on the mattress with his legs open for Sherlock to climb between. John eeped with surprise but quickly smiled at his friend who had patiently folded his arms back into his lap.

"Do you have rules?" Sherlock asked quietly, "where I can and can't touch? How you prefer it?"

"Not really," John shrugged, "I just... need this."

Sherlock nodded in understanding before reaching for John's pants. Stilling his hands he looked up at John, "May I?"

John nodded and watched as the hands from his wet dreams began plucking at the cord to his pyjamas. Sherlock quickly and methodically worked until John was lying naked from the waist down, his legs spread wide and his face flushed red.

The detective used the chance wisely; staring down at John's body, he quickly memorised every detail. The dusting of silver blonde hair which covered John's chest and stomach, trailing down to the patch above his cock and down his inner thighs and balls; Sherlock bit his lower lip as he let his eyes drift over his best friend's prick. John had already begun to stiffen as they walked from the living room, but now, he was completely erect, his dusky pink tip peeking out from his tight foreskin to rest against his stomach. Sherlock ran his fingers up and down John's thighs without thinking, watching as the doctor shivered with the sensation and gasped loudly.

Sherlock recognised the sounds as pleasure, not pain, and continued his journey; circling his fingers up and over the tight skin, he felt the pulse of prominent veins beneath his digits as he gently stroked his thumb across the sensitive frenulum, smiling when John jerked upwards and moaned. Thinking back to the times he had resorted to pleasuring himself, Sherlock repeated the movements he himself preferred by grasping John's prick tight and beginning a slow and teasing rhythm. Normally he would rush himself to completion, but knowing that John needed the release from weeks of stressful celibacy, Sherlock slowed until he felt John rocking his hips into the grasp.

"God, that's good," the older man growled low, his fingers tangling into the bedding.

Sherlock preened under the praise but remained focussed on his duty. Stroking a thumb over John's slit, he felt the first drips of precum leaking to be smeared over the shaft. Tightening his grip, he milked the shaft from top to bottom, watching as the clear fluid dripped from the end to roll down into John's pubic hair.

"Sherlock," John whispered, although his eyes were closed. Sherlock's own cock gave a twitch of need as his name was reverently spoken by the man he adored.

"Shh, John," Sherlock soothed. He didn't want to get distracted by his own urges, and with John groaning and moaning in that way, Sherlock wasn't sure how much he could take before he ripped off his trousers and rutted against John's skin.

John silenced himself quickly; he was aware that Sherlock was doing this as a favour and not for any personal or sexual reasons. He bit his lip to attempt to quell his sounds, but found that whimpers and moans forced their way past as Sherlock continued to stroke and play with his cock in an almost perfect replica of the way he did it himself.