Here be porn
Nov. 14th, 2011 08:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_eyed_1987Title: Untitled Sherlock porn
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: Porn. Fingering porn
A/N:Unbetad porn. No plot was harmed in the making etc. The ending is a bit rubbish because how do you end porn? Also, I own nothing.
John knows the minute he sees Sherlock’s face that it’s going to be one of those nights. He’s not sure what exactly is going to happen, but Sherlock has got his observing face on, intense, worrying, and - although John won’t admit - sexy as fuck, even in his ratty bathrobe. This right here, the fact that he’s simultaneously worried and aroused, this says more about him than the months of compulsory psychoanalysis.
Sherlock just smiles and pushes John up the stairs to his room with a series of kisses that get more ragged and messy as they nearer John’s door. John stumbles more than once, but Sherlock’s hand’s are firm on his hips and shoulder, maneuvering him safely up the stairs.
They burst into John’s room, Sherlock kicks the door shut behind them. John shoves Sherlock back against it, sucking a kiss into the soft skin under Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head.
Sherlock will not be distracted for long, however. His long fingers work at John’s buttons, undoing his shirt and flinging it across the room. The t-shirt John wears underneath also flies through the air.
John gasps as the cold air hits his skin, raising gooseflesh. He pushes the robe off John’s shoulders, placing kisses along Sherlock’s shoulder as it’s revealed. Sherlock makes quick work of John’s remaining clothes and bundles him onto the bed.
“Ok, ok. Impatient.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Sherlock says petulantly. John opens his mouth to reply with something about work and rent but Sherlock clambers on top of him and presses his hips down, and the words die on John’s tongue.
“That’s better.” Sherlock smirks, shifting again to reach into the drawer of the bedside table. John arches upwards, shuddering at the friction. Sherlock hops off John and grabs the lube.
“Fuck, Sherlock.”
“Now who’s being impatient?” Sherlock lies down next to John, kissing him again. John rolls on his side, and Sherlock hitches John’s leg over his hip. John scoots closer, trying to get some friction against his cock, groaning softly. Sherlock slicks his fingers with lube and reaches over John’s leg, circling his hole.
John gasps into the kiss, and Sherlock licks at him, curling his tongue around John’s. One finger just penetrates him, and John squirms. The finger pushes into the first knuckle, stroking gently.
“Ah,” John says, “ah.” He clenches around the intrusion, Sherlock gasps and pushes against it.
“So good, John.”
“More.” John gasps. Sherlock adds another finger, pushing against John’s prostate. John arches his back, clinging to Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock shivers at the feeling of John’s blunt fingernails digging into his skin, and the knowledge that John’s slowly coming undone.
John buries his head into Sherlock’s neck as Sherlock thrusts slowly. He rocks against Sherlock’s stomach, the pressure coiling slowly in his stomach.
Two fingers becomes three and John presses desperate kisses against Sherlock’s jaw, whimpering into his skin. Sweat breaks out on his skin, running down his temple. He thrusts harder against Sherlock, breath catching when their erections catch and rub against each other. Sherlock gasps John’s name, hitching closer. John tightens the leg around Sherlock’s hip in response, grinding into Sherlock.
Sherlock’s thrusts his fingers in deep, twisting and rubbing against John’s prostate. John sinks his teeth into Sherlock’s shoulder as tremors start to run through his thighs. Everything clenches and he shoves bruisingly against Sherlock’s stomach, groaning deeply as he comes. Sherlock slowly removes his fingers and curls his hand around his cock, moaning like he’s in pain. He only needs a handful of thrusts before he comes, hot liquid splattering against John’s skin.
John grimaces as he removes his leg from Sherlock’s hip, muscles complaining after being tensed for so long. He flops onto his back, panting at the ceiling.
Sherlock arches like a cat, smug and luxuriating.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: Porn. Fingering porn
A/N:Unbetad porn. No plot was harmed in the making etc. The ending is a bit rubbish because how do you end porn? Also, I own nothing.
John knows the minute he sees Sherlock’s face that it’s going to be one of those nights. He’s not sure what exactly is going to happen, but Sherlock has got his observing face on, intense, worrying, and - although John won’t admit - sexy as fuck, even in his ratty bathrobe. This right here, the fact that he’s simultaneously worried and aroused, this says more about him than the months of compulsory psychoanalysis.
Sherlock just smiles and pushes John up the stairs to his room with a series of kisses that get more ragged and messy as they nearer John’s door. John stumbles more than once, but Sherlock’s hand’s are firm on his hips and shoulder, maneuvering him safely up the stairs.
They burst into John’s room, Sherlock kicks the door shut behind them. John shoves Sherlock back against it, sucking a kiss into the soft skin under Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head.
Sherlock will not be distracted for long, however. His long fingers work at John’s buttons, undoing his shirt and flinging it across the room. The t-shirt John wears underneath also flies through the air.
John gasps as the cold air hits his skin, raising gooseflesh. He pushes the robe off John’s shoulders, placing kisses along Sherlock’s shoulder as it’s revealed. Sherlock makes quick work of John’s remaining clothes and bundles him onto the bed.
“Ok, ok. Impatient.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Sherlock says petulantly. John opens his mouth to reply with something about work and rent but Sherlock clambers on top of him and presses his hips down, and the words die on John’s tongue.
“That’s better.” Sherlock smirks, shifting again to reach into the drawer of the bedside table. John arches upwards, shuddering at the friction. Sherlock hops off John and grabs the lube.
“Fuck, Sherlock.”
“Now who’s being impatient?” Sherlock lies down next to John, kissing him again. John rolls on his side, and Sherlock hitches John’s leg over his hip. John scoots closer, trying to get some friction against his cock, groaning softly. Sherlock slicks his fingers with lube and reaches over John’s leg, circling his hole.
John gasps into the kiss, and Sherlock licks at him, curling his tongue around John’s. One finger just penetrates him, and John squirms. The finger pushes into the first knuckle, stroking gently.
“Ah,” John says, “ah.” He clenches around the intrusion, Sherlock gasps and pushes against it.
“So good, John.”
“More.” John gasps. Sherlock adds another finger, pushing against John’s prostate. John arches his back, clinging to Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock shivers at the feeling of John’s blunt fingernails digging into his skin, and the knowledge that John’s slowly coming undone.
John buries his head into Sherlock’s neck as Sherlock thrusts slowly. He rocks against Sherlock’s stomach, the pressure coiling slowly in his stomach.
Two fingers becomes three and John presses desperate kisses against Sherlock’s jaw, whimpering into his skin. Sweat breaks out on his skin, running down his temple. He thrusts harder against Sherlock, breath catching when their erections catch and rub against each other. Sherlock gasps John’s name, hitching closer. John tightens the leg around Sherlock’s hip in response, grinding into Sherlock.
Sherlock’s thrusts his fingers in deep, twisting and rubbing against John’s prostate. John sinks his teeth into Sherlock’s shoulder as tremors start to run through his thighs. Everything clenches and he shoves bruisingly against Sherlock’s stomach, groaning deeply as he comes. Sherlock slowly removes his fingers and curls his hand around his cock, moaning like he’s in pain. He only needs a handful of thrusts before he comes, hot liquid splattering against John’s skin.
John grimaces as he removes his leg from Sherlock’s hip, muscles complaining after being tensed for so long. He flops onto his back, panting at the ceiling.
Sherlock arches like a cat, smug and luxuriating.
