Sherlock WIP: "Unusual Requirements"
Dec. 29th, 2013 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
resonantI have mixed feelings about this, but if I'm going to get the Sherlock's Sexual Dysfunction story posted before getting a bunch of new canon to digest, this is the only way I can think of to do it.
It should be OK -- it's pretty much 100% sex or talking about sex, so it's not as if there's any plot for me to mess up and come at in the wrong order ...
"If we are to do this, John, I think it's only fair to tell you that I have. Ahem. Unusual sexual requirements."
John blinked, and his smile went a little stiff around the edges. Sherlock could just imagine what he must be picturing. "Yes?"
He'd sworn, after the last disaster, that he'd always explain matters upfront -- if he were even foolish enough to begin another relationship at all -- but it was damnably difficult. He wished, for the nth time, that other people didn't insist on having the dots connected for them. "It's nothing painful or upsetting. In fact, it requires nothing of you at all." John's face had shifted from pained-but-game to I'm-a-doctor-tell-me-anything. Sherlock became aware that he was arranging and rearranging his own fingers, and forcibly stilled his hands. "In point of fact, I don't have orgasms in the presence of other people."
John blinked again, and then a broad, suggestive grin began to spread across his face. "You did yesterday."
"That was --"
"Quite spectacularly, in fact."
"Yes, well, that was an unusual occurrence." He felt the memory of it in his blood. It was the reason he was going to all this trouble in the first place. "I was as surprised as anyone."
John, poor fellow, was trying to work it out. "So it isn't that you don't *like* to ..."
In fact it had been a stunning intimacy. Breathtaking. Unprecedented. Almost frightening. Luckily John had been too distracted by his own equally premature climax to register how shocked Sherlock had been, how laid bare. Didn't *like* to? Other people could have that every *night* if they liked, but for Sherlock -- well, no sense expecting lightning to strike twice.
"It isn't that I don't like to," he agreed. "Ordinarily I can't."
"Can't like --" John mimed losing turgidity in the most vulgar way imaginable. "Or --"
"Isn't it enough to say that I've found it preferable to go away after, and achieve climax by myself in private?"
"Yeah," John said with a placating gesture. "Yeah, Sherlock. We can do it any way you want."
What he wanted was kissing, any kind, for hours and hours, slipping down from the sofa to the floor for greater contact; stripping away the costume that disguised John Watson as an ordinary man, and letting him strip Sherlock bare (hesitantly, after Sherlock's confession, waiting for signals that it was acceptable until Sherlock lost patience and removed his clothes himself). He wanted John waking his hungry skin with fingers and tongue ("Yes, it's fine, it's, ah, *very* good, so long as your expectations aren't, oh, *John*"), and he wanted to touch John all over and taste his skin, pinch, bite, squeeze, swallow, and lock his eyes on John's beautiful weathered face in that moment when he lost all self-consciousness to pleasure.
And then he wanted to kiss John's slack mouth and withdraw to his own room and remember everything without haste for as long as it took and come like a nuclear bomb into his own patient, familiar fist.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
It should be OK -- it's pretty much 100% sex or talking about sex, so it's not as if there's any plot for me to mess up and come at in the wrong order ...
"If we are to do this, John, I think it's only fair to tell you that I have. Ahem. Unusual sexual requirements."
John blinked, and his smile went a little stiff around the edges. Sherlock could just imagine what he must be picturing. "Yes?"
He'd sworn, after the last disaster, that he'd always explain matters upfront -- if he were even foolish enough to begin another relationship at all -- but it was damnably difficult. He wished, for the nth time, that other people didn't insist on having the dots connected for them. "It's nothing painful or upsetting. In fact, it requires nothing of you at all." John's face had shifted from pained-but-game to I'm-a-doctor-tell-me-anything. Sherlock became aware that he was arranging and rearranging his own fingers, and forcibly stilled his hands. "In point of fact, I don't have orgasms in the presence of other people."
John blinked again, and then a broad, suggestive grin began to spread across his face. "You did yesterday."
"That was --"
"Quite spectacularly, in fact."
"Yes, well, that was an unusual occurrence." He felt the memory of it in his blood. It was the reason he was going to all this trouble in the first place. "I was as surprised as anyone."
John, poor fellow, was trying to work it out. "So it isn't that you don't *like* to ..."
In fact it had been a stunning intimacy. Breathtaking. Unprecedented. Almost frightening. Luckily John had been too distracted by his own equally premature climax to register how shocked Sherlock had been, how laid bare. Didn't *like* to? Other people could have that every *night* if they liked, but for Sherlock -- well, no sense expecting lightning to strike twice.
"It isn't that I don't like to," he agreed. "Ordinarily I can't."
"Can't like --" John mimed losing turgidity in the most vulgar way imaginable. "Or --"
"Isn't it enough to say that I've found it preferable to go away after, and achieve climax by myself in private?"
"Yeah," John said with a placating gesture. "Yeah, Sherlock. We can do it any way you want."
What he wanted was kissing, any kind, for hours and hours, slipping down from the sofa to the floor for greater contact; stripping away the costume that disguised John Watson as an ordinary man, and letting him strip Sherlock bare (hesitantly, after Sherlock's confession, waiting for signals that it was acceptable until Sherlock lost patience and removed his clothes himself). He wanted John waking his hungry skin with fingers and tongue ("Yes, it's fine, it's, ah, *very* good, so long as your expectations aren't, oh, *John*"), and he wanted to touch John all over and taste his skin, pinch, bite, squeeze, swallow, and lock his eyes on John's beautiful weathered face in that moment when he lost all self-consciousness to pleasure.
And then he wanted to kiss John's slack mouth and withdraw to his own room and remember everything without haste for as long as it took and come like a nuclear bomb into his own patient, familiar fist.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4