No Match for the Man

Chapter 10

They retired to John's room because, being at the top of the house, it was warmer. Sherlock added the afghan to the pile of blankets on the bed, then burrowed under the covers. John chuckled at this child-like antic, the sound filling the air as the light turned out. The mattress dipped as John wriggled under the covers, and warm, strong arms pulled him close.

Opening his mouth immediately in response to a nip by the doctor's teeth, Sherlock sighed softly as a warm, slick tongue tangled with his own. John cupped his cheek in one hand, and the other tangled into the detective's ebony curls. The grip at the back of his skull tightened, and John maneuvered them until he was once more straddling the detective's hips.

John stretched out full length over Sherlock's body, and the detective moaned softly against his lips. A growl rolled out of the doctor's throat, and he nipped playfully at the man's jaw. Rough-skinned, gentle hands caressed the long column of pale throat exposed when Sherlock leaned his head back for air. Planting a soft kiss to the pounding pulse, John ran his tongue from the juncture of the detective's collar bone all the way back up to the willing cupid's bow mouth.

Panting at the sensation, the detective slid his hands down the strong back of his partner, and tugged suggestively at the hem of the soft shirt covering it. John rocked back up into a sitting position, knees to either side of Sherlock's hip bones, and pulled the shirt off without a hint of self-consciousness. At the sight of his friend spread out beneath him, John's hips jerked slightly, and the sensation caused Sherlock to throw his head back and groan.

"Holy hell," John breathed reverently, one hand gliding up the practically glowing skin of the detective's torso from hip to shoulder. Repeating the action with his other hand, veering only to tease at a hardened nipple. Sherlock arched into the caresses, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. "God almighty, you are the most," John licked his lips and decided to kiss the man beneath him instead of finishing his sentence.

Nearly purring into John's insatiable mouth, Sherlock slid his delicate fingers over every inch of the doctor's chest and back. He traced the edges of the bullet wound in John's shoulder, and discovered the faint line of an appendectomy scar on the doctor's slightly pudgy stomach. Slinging a leg over the man's hip, Sherlock pulled the warm body above him even closer.

With every stroke of John's hands and lips against his skin, Sherlock felt another little bit of his analytical mind shut down. Normally, that would have been frightening, feeling his higher faculties slip away into dormancy behind the visceral siren song of animal instinct. But, there beneath the gentle press of John's worshipful hands, he felt no such fear. John had never hurt him, and even in the relatively short amount of time they had known each other, the army doctor had never let him drown beneath the weight of his own mind.

As their hips slotted together, John grunted hungrily into Sherlock's moaning mouth. The difference between their heights must have been all leg, as they fit against each other like perfect puzzle pieces. No longer capable of words, Sherlock teased a hand along the inner edge of John's flannel pants, trying to convey his need for more contact. In response, John ran a hand up the thigh wrapped over his hip, then inserted his hands into the rear of Sherlock's trousers.

The detective let out an open-mouthed grunt as John gripped his rear and ground their hips together. He raked his fingers up and down John's sturdy back until he could slide them into John's flannels to grab hold of the doctor's rear. The throaty noise of approval that John made against his lips traveled straight to Sherlock's groin. Making an eager noise, Sherlock pushed against the doctor's shoulders earnestly.

With the swift efficiency born of Army training, John divested them both of their trousers and pants in seconds. He kissed the inside of the detective's knees and thighs, then nuzzled his nose against the hard plane of Sherlock's stomach. The chest beneath his lips and tongue heaved wantonly, vibrating with every pleased noise the detective made. Both of Sherlock's long legs crossed over John's back as the doctor scored his teeth on the sharp prominence of the detective's collar bone.

Sherlock wrapped him up in a full-bodied embrace as they rocked their hips together. Sparks of color rocketed behind his eyes as they undulated, rocking their arousals in a counter rhythm. Furnace hot, John's hands and mouth seared every skin cell he touched to ecstatic life. Pleasure burned through Sherlock's veins, building slowly to a maddening crescendo.

As the detective teetered on the edge of euphoria, John pressed his cheek against Sherlock's and whispered encouragingly, "Come on, you gorgeous thing. Let go. Just for me, love. All for me."

In the end, it wasn't the words or even the friction that drove Sherlock over the edge of pleasure's precipice. It had nothing to do with the susurrus of skin-on-skin, or the heat, or the weight of another body pressing down against him. John's tone, full of hopeful awe and love, was all it took to drive him to rapture.

Letting out a strangled 'Oh!' of bliss, Sherlock's body shuddered with its release. His muscles quivered uncontrollably, and as his limbs clamped down on the body still moving against him, his nails punctured ten perfect half-moons into the doctor's shoulders. Murmuring John's name against the doctor's panting lips, Sherlock urged his new lover onward to completion.

Giving in to the delirium of gratification, John suppressed a sob of joy by giving his partner a bruising kiss. Losing a battle with his overworked limbs, the doctor shakily relaxed his weight over the body beneath him, groaning in satiation. Sherlock somehow managed to wrap his uncooperative arms around the chest of his companion, and pressed an unsteady kiss to the doctor's temple, smiling against the skin there as John made a pleased sound.

After a few moments dedicated to rediscovering control of their limbs, John started to rise up onto his arms, only to find himself suddenly re-tangled in an almost desperate embrace. "No," Sherlock mumbled in a raw voice.

Bringing his hands up to pet through the detective's sweat-dampened curls, John sweetly brushed his lips against his new lover's forehead to shush the man. "Just grabbing my shirt to clean us off. Not going anywhere, 'Lock."

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock flopped his arms wide open onto the bed. Sighing in an exaggerated fashion, he huffed out, "Fine."

Once their combined stickiness was gently cleaned away, Sherlock flopped over onto his stomach and wriggled down into the warm blankets. He stole John's single pillow and clenched it to himself. John chuckled, but since he had expected the detective to be just as entitled to John's sleepwear as he was about his laptop, the doctor didn't bother getting angry. Instead, he simply used the detective's body as his pillow, centering his ear over the steady heartbeat of the man beneath him.

Sighing in bone-deep contentment, Sherlock felt his entire body relax as John's solid weight settled over him. The doctor hummed in agreement, and pressed a lingering kiss to the pale skin beneath his cheek. "Night, 'Lock," the doctor murmured sleepily.

"Good night," Sherlock purred back. Just before they both embraced sleep, the detective whispered barely audibly, "No more nightmares, my John."

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