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resonantPart 1
Not work safe, did I mention?
The next bit was predictable; people were idiots, and all idiots reacted the same way to the same stimuli. So it began with John in Sherlock's doorway asking for more information (Because I am abnormally slow about it; John, surely you know me well enough to be aware that I don't consider 'abnormal' to be an insult of any sort; I am aware of when others are not happy with me, I simply don't care most of the time; whatever you're about to propose, you may rest assured that it has been tried and found wanting) and evolved into a blazing row, and ended in the usual, expected, wearisome --
Wait. Hold on. That wasn't how it was meant to --
John pulled off with a mischievous expression and said, "Shut up and enjoy it, Sherlock. When I get bored of it, I'll stop."
And he did, and said, "Oh, christ, that's all I can," and made extremely selfish use of Sherlock's hand and Sherlock's bare hip, which Sherlock didn't mind a bit, and then kissed him on the forehead and said, "Idiot," and padded out of Sherlock's room with his trousers in his hand, leaving Sherlock in the novel position of not being certain which he wanted more: to come, or to think.
-----
"This ... unusualness of yours. Is it something you're interested in changing?"
"I thought you were going to bed. Anyhow, it won't work."
"You don't even know what I --"
"It won't *work.* Don't you think I've tried it? It doesn't matter how much I 'close my eyes' and 'focus my mind,' it ends with a frustrated bedmate and a sore prick. Better to stick with what works."
"I only meant: suppose you did it and I stood out here and listened?"
"Why would you want to do that? Because you fancy yourself a sex therapist?"
"Because it turns me on, you twat."
"... does it? I don't ... make noise or anything. Talk, or ... scream ..."
"But I could hear you *breathing.*"
"Y-yes. I think -- Yes. ... John?"
"Yeah?"
"Just checking. ... John?"
"Still here, Sherlock."
"This is strange."
"Too weird, huh? I'll go."
"No! Don't. I ... like it."
"Yeah? Want to tell me what you're up to?"
"No."
"Right, sorry, I --"
"But you could ... keep talking."
"Yeah? You like it, knowing I'm out here, listening?"
"You can't hear anything."
"Your voice has gone all velvety. I can hear that."
"Velvety. What ... rot."
"And you're breathing fast. And anyway, I can picture it. Are you on your back?"
"Side. Facing -- facing the door."
"Facing me. Mm. If I opened the door --"
"John!"
"Sorry, sorry, I won't do that, I wouldn't -- Sherlock? Did you --"
"Yes."
"Oh, god. I talked right through it like an idiot. Sorry."
"It was ... good. ... John?"
"Yeah?"
"You could ... come in. If you wanted. ... Sorry. You needn't --"
"That would be OK? Really?"
"... Yes."
-----
And so he found, unexpectedly, that it worked very well. If one of them snored, or kicked, John could retreat to his own bed, and naturally Sherlock often only lay with him until he went to sleep and then got up to tend to a test tube. But just the same, it was glorious to fall asleep relaxed from orgasm *and* touching John's warm skin.
And in the morning he could wake up already hard and wanting, already kissing, and get John off in just a moment or two, and be so ready for his own climax, aching for it --
"John!" he said. "Go, leave, I want --"
John, the utter bastard, yawned hugely and stretched, putting his sleep-flushed and slightly bitten torso on display. Sherlock was *vibrating* with the need to come, and John was still here. "Why are you still here?"
"God. Just want to sleep. No, seriously, Sherlock," because Sherlock had begun to push him off the bed. He grabbed the pillow and blanket and held on. "Look, I'm just going to go down here on the floor, all right?" And he slid off the bed in a pile of fabric. "I'll turn my back," he said, muffled in the pillow.
"Fine," Sherlock said between his teeth. Before he was done, he thought he heard a snore.
Part 3
Part 4
Not work safe, did I mention?
The next bit was predictable; people were idiots, and all idiots reacted the same way to the same stimuli. So it began with John in Sherlock's doorway asking for more information (Because I am abnormally slow about it; John, surely you know me well enough to be aware that I don't consider 'abnormal' to be an insult of any sort; I am aware of when others are not happy with me, I simply don't care most of the time; whatever you're about to propose, you may rest assured that it has been tried and found wanting) and evolved into a blazing row, and ended in the usual, expected, wearisome --
Wait. Hold on. That wasn't how it was meant to --
John pulled off with a mischievous expression and said, "Shut up and enjoy it, Sherlock. When I get bored of it, I'll stop."
And he did, and said, "Oh, christ, that's all I can," and made extremely selfish use of Sherlock's hand and Sherlock's bare hip, which Sherlock didn't mind a bit, and then kissed him on the forehead and said, "Idiot," and padded out of Sherlock's room with his trousers in his hand, leaving Sherlock in the novel position of not being certain which he wanted more: to come, or to think.
-----
"This ... unusualness of yours. Is it something you're interested in changing?"
"I thought you were going to bed. Anyhow, it won't work."
"You don't even know what I --"
"It won't *work.* Don't you think I've tried it? It doesn't matter how much I 'close my eyes' and 'focus my mind,' it ends with a frustrated bedmate and a sore prick. Better to stick with what works."
"I only meant: suppose you did it and I stood out here and listened?"
"Why would you want to do that? Because you fancy yourself a sex therapist?"
"Because it turns me on, you twat."
"... does it? I don't ... make noise or anything. Talk, or ... scream ..."
"But I could hear you *breathing.*"
"Y-yes. I think -- Yes. ... John?"
"Yeah?"
"Just checking. ... John?"
"Still here, Sherlock."
"This is strange."
"Too weird, huh? I'll go."
"No! Don't. I ... like it."
"Yeah? Want to tell me what you're up to?"
"No."
"Right, sorry, I --"
"But you could ... keep talking."
"Yeah? You like it, knowing I'm out here, listening?"
"You can't hear anything."
"Your voice has gone all velvety. I can hear that."
"Velvety. What ... rot."
"And you're breathing fast. And anyway, I can picture it. Are you on your back?"
"Side. Facing -- facing the door."
"Facing me. Mm. If I opened the door --"
"John!"
"Sorry, sorry, I won't do that, I wouldn't -- Sherlock? Did you --"
"Yes."
"Oh, god. I talked right through it like an idiot. Sorry."
"It was ... good. ... John?"
"Yeah?"
"You could ... come in. If you wanted. ... Sorry. You needn't --"
"That would be OK? Really?"
"... Yes."
-----
And so he found, unexpectedly, that it worked very well. If one of them snored, or kicked, John could retreat to his own bed, and naturally Sherlock often only lay with him until he went to sleep and then got up to tend to a test tube. But just the same, it was glorious to fall asleep relaxed from orgasm *and* touching John's warm skin.
And in the morning he could wake up already hard and wanting, already kissing, and get John off in just a moment or two, and be so ready for his own climax, aching for it --
"John!" he said. "Go, leave, I want --"
John, the utter bastard, yawned hugely and stretched, putting his sleep-flushed and slightly bitten torso on display. Sherlock was *vibrating* with the need to come, and John was still here. "Why are you still here?"
"God. Just want to sleep. No, seriously, Sherlock," because Sherlock had begun to push him off the bed. He grabbed the pillow and blanket and held on. "Look, I'm just going to go down here on the floor, all right?" And he slid off the bed in a pile of fabric. "I'll turn my back," he said, muffled in the pillow.
"Fine," Sherlock said between his teeth. Before he was done, he thought he heard a snore.
Part 3
Part 4