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Bonneville Black

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John found the key first.  A single one, attached to a key ring with nothing more than a circular Union Jack keychain to join it.  He knew from the distinguishing cuts along its side that it wasn’t a spare for the flat, but the slightly rounded triangle design that made up its head was faintly familiar.  At the time he frowned down at it and shoved it into his pocket to continue searching the drawer for the scissors, but later that night as he got ready for bed it jangled back to his attention when his jeans hit the floor. 

Half curious as to what it might be for and half uncertain of what he might find, he pulled out his laptop and searched through a few phrases.  When he couldn’t find the right combination of words to get what he wanted, he tossed the key ring into his side table to be forgotten.

He found the helmet next.  Wedged into the back of the hallway cupboard, John usually ignored the black shape, hidden away amongst the chaos, and ought to have so now as he searched for the pile of new towels Mrs. Hudson had brought up earlier in the week.  This time, however, the sheen of it from the light behind him forced him to lean back down and pull it out.  It was a helmet, completely black, with slick lines and an even darker plate of semitransparent shielding across the front.  Once he had a proper look at it, he realized the finish was a duller matte than the shine of the light made it out to be, but it had been cleaned to remove even the slightest edge of a fingerprint.  Though he’d never seen it before, John could tell it was used and used often. 

With his hand resting where a head belonged, John lifted the helmet up to eye level.  He studied it for a moment longer before reaching a decision.  Stuffing it under his arm, he pulled out the towels he originally sought and shut the cupboard door.  The towels were left in the bathroom; the helmet made its way upstairs, settling on the floor just beside the table where the key was still hidden.

To John’s surprise, it took Sherlock nearly a week to realise the helmet was missing.  John sat in his chair, back to the hallway, when he heard Sherlock shuffling around.  The noises gradually grew louder and more discordant as he dug deeper into the cupboard.  When they abruptly stopped, John could feel Sherlock staring across the kitchen at him.

“John.”  Sherlock attempted to keep his voice indifferent, but John noticed the faint quiver of uncertainty in it.  “Have you been through the cupboard recently?”

Humming, John flipped to the next page in his book.  Rather than responding to his question, he asked, “How long have you been riding?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock shuffled over to the drawer beside the sink and began digging through it.  John suspected that he didn’t expect to find what he was looking for, but he admired his dedication towards attempting to keep his secret.  He gave up soon with a sigh, leaning forward over the open drawer with his hands on each side and his head hung between his shoulders.

“What have you done with them?” he muttered at the floor. 

“Answer mine and I’ll answer yours,” John replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the book he wasn’t actually reading.  Sherlock sighed again and moved to stand before John and his chair.  Though he kept his head lowered, John glanced up at Sherlock through his lashes.

“Since I was old enough to get the license.  Where are my helmet and key?”

“Nearly twenty years, then.  Impressive.”  John’s eyes returned to his book before he continued.  “In my room.”

Sherlock darted up the stairs and John’s bedroom door slammed against the wall from the force used to pull it open.  His footsteps stomped above John’s head as he searched the room for his things.  Soon enough he was back in the sitting room, helmet and key in hand, as he headed for his own room.  John debated with himself while Sherlock got ready, attempting to decide whether he should try to bring the bike up a final time before Sherlock left.  His feet made the choice for him as he stood and came to stand and wait at the entrance to the hall.

When he emerged, John nearly choked on his own voice.  Although the outfit wasn’t particularly outlandish, it was different enough from Sherlock’s normal attire to be a shock.  Sherlock had managed to shimmy himself into a pair of dark wash jeans that were tight enough to practically be called leggings.  A simple emerald green t-shirt, its colour almost black and equally tight, lay under a jacket John had never seen him in before. Almost military in style with a suggestion of the pirate he had always wanted to be, the worn leather was a steely grey-black.  Its shape cinched just where the buttons stopped to create a natural curve and ended in double half diamonds that would rest along the top curves of his thighs when the jacket was closed.  Though it currently hung open and unbuttoned, John could easily imagine how fitted it would be to Sherlock’s shape once closed.  John cleared his throat and licked his lips, finally raising his eyes to Sherlock’s.

“So, ah…why’ve you kept this to yourself?  The bike thing?”

Sherlock toyed with the bottom edge of his jacket, avoiding looking at John.  “No one has ever shown interest in it before.  Most of the people know consider it frivolous, so I simply decided it was best to keep it to myself.  I don’t indulge often, but it’s useful, particularly when certain…other cravings show themselves.”

John nodded.  “Can I see it?”

He frowned, but shrugged and jerked his head toward the door.  John followed him down the stairs, studying the sway of his hips in the jeans with enough focus to nearly make him trip on the last few steps.  Once out on the pavement, Sherlock led him down the road and through a small side street John hardly ever paid attention to.  They approached a large garage door with a single small keypad at its side.  Sherlock punched in the code without a thought and the door groaned open, revealing a shadowy room with a few undistinguishable shapes.  John walked through the entrance behind Sherlock, his mouth falling open in shock as he froze.

“Is that a fucking Aston Martin?

Sherlock settled his helmet under his arm as he guided his bike out into the open.  “Hmm?  Oh yes, that’s Mrs. Hudson’s.  She lets me keep my bike here since it doesn’t take up much space.”

“How in the hell can Mrs. Hudson afford an Aston Martin?” John asked in bewilderment as he backed out of the garage after Sherlock, his eyes locked on the car. 

“Well, her husband was a drug lord.”  John barked out a laugh and turned to grin at him when he was distracted by the machine resting between Sherlock’s thighs.

The motorbike’s style was vintage classic, though it obviously had all of the most modern equipment. A slick, black matte similar in shade to his helmet, the only parts of the bike that were a different colour were the shiny spikes making up the rim of the front wheel and the chocolate leather seat.  The curving tank that sat before the seat proclaimed TRIUMPH in bold letters that guided the eyes toward the handlebars, which lay further apart than John would have expected to be comfortable.  A pair of small, circular rearview mirrors jutted out parallel to the handles.  Though the wheels were thin, they balanced out the overall sleekness of the machine.  A large portion of the bike’s interior was open for interested eyes to study, each piece polished to perfection.  The finishing mark of interest to draw fascinated attention came at the rear of the seat where a pair of rounded bars, one low and another higher to support a passenger’s back, brought the hind of the bike into an elegant point. 

“That’s…Jesus, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and glanced down at the bike, rubbing a thumb gently along the tank.  “She’s a Bonneville T120 Black.  I haven’t had her very long, but she rides quite well.”  He raised his eyes to stare across at John through his eyelashes.  “Are…you interested in riding her?  With me, I mean.”

John’s grin broadened.  “Hell yes, I would.  Have you got a spare helmet?”

Knocking down the kickstand and clamoring over the bike, Sherlock scrambled back into the garage and returned with a silver helmet.  He tossed it at John and returned to his bike, nodding his head at John to tempt him over.  John settled the helmet on his head and strode over to swing on behind Sherlock.  His hands automatically settled on Sherlock’s hips below the jacket and he felt him stiffen momentarily in his hold.  Before he could ask if he was okay, Sherlock straightened and hastily buttoned half of his jacket and shoved his own helmet on.  In seconds, he had set the key in the ignition and revved the bike into life, shooting them out into the street fast enough that John had to lunge forward to grasp Sherlock fully around the waist.

They shot down Baker Street and headed toward the congestion of Marylebone Road.  With the ease of someone who was nearly a single entity with his machine, Sherlock weaved them through the traffic, darting between cars, cabs, buses, and bikes with inches to spare.  John attempted to laugh, but the noise caught in his throat as the wind flashed past them.  For once he wished they were out of the city; passing through fields flanking single lane roads, sheep docily ignoring them as they rushed past with helmets carelessly tossed into the wind to allow the air to pass freely across their faces and through their hair.  Though he knew it was a foolish thought purely for safety, he felt himself longing that they could have the closeness that a lack of helmets would provide.

Sherlock set them off towards Regent’s Park Station, their trip briefly taking them through a section of the park before they were back amongst tall office buildings.  Though there was hardly enough room, John forced himself closer by lifting his chin to rest it on Sherlock’s shoulder.  Through the leather of Sherlock’s jacket, John felt him shiver slightly and grinned wickedly.  When they were forced to stop at a light on Euston, John wiggled forward in the seat so that his front was completely plastered to Sherlock’s back.  Sherlock’s grip on the handles clenched tighter for a moment and he breathed in deeply.

“This is amazing,” John muttered just loud enough to be heard over the purr of the engine.  Sherlock cocked his head around enough to glance back at him and John swore his pupils were blown to erase any shred of colour to his eyes.  The light changed before Sherlock had the chance to reply, but John took the sudden lurch forward as an opportunity to thrust his groin against Sherlock’s backside.  Sherlock’s groan was lost in the growl of the bike as it shot around the corner onto Gower.

The street was less occupied than the central thoroughfares, so Sherlock steered the bike straight down the centre lane and increased their speed marginally.  Seemingly automatically, Sherlock hunched forward toward the handlebars, lifting his arse to display it conveniently for John.  The erection that had half-heartedly been growing since he first saw Sherlock in his riding gear furthered its interest at the promising sight.  Before John actively made the decision to do so, he raised himself enough so that his erection slotted into the curve of Sherlock’s bum.  The bike shot forward as Sherlock jolted at the movement, nearly knocking John off.  John dug his grip harder into Sherlock’s hips to keep them close and pulled Sherlock back into his seat and nearly into John’s lap in retaliation.

Sherlock groaned and his head briefly fell down to rest against the handles.  John shifted his hands back up around Sherlock’s chest, the trail they made as they went slow and deliberate.  By the end of their journey John’s right hand settled at Sherlock’s opposite shoulder while his left spread fingers wide against his stomach.  Meanwhile, his hips kept a solid, seductive pattern of thrusting along Sherlock’s arse.  John wasn’t entirely sure how welcome his distractions were until Sherlock rolled his hips into him, arching his back into a deep curve that thrust his arse further against John as he dropped his head against John’s shoulder. 

Abruptly Sherlock swerved to dart down a small alleyway.  As soon as they were far enough down it to hide from the street in the shadows, Sherlock knocked the kickstand down and threw off his helmet, turning on the seat to do the same to John.  The moment both of their mouths were free, they were kissing, tongues instantly fighting to get closer.  As they kissed, John shuffled back enough to rest his bum against the topmost rounded bar, dragging Sherlock down until he was laid out on his back over the majority of the bike.  Pulling away briefly to undo the buttons on his jacket, John took the opportunity to survey his work.  Sherlock’s legs were spread wide to accommodate John, one of his feet pushing against the ground and the other bent at the knee to rest on the exhaust pipe.  His head pushed back against fuel tank, his curls splayed and mahogany along the black, and a flush curled up along his neck to his face.  John dove down to suck a kiss into that rosy neck, pulling a high whine out of Sherlock.

“Mm, quite the beast we have here,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s skin.  Sherlock turned his head to offer more of his neck, his eyes clenching shut as John nuzzled his nose into his jaw.

“Are you referring to the bike or to me?” Sherlock asked on a groan.

“Bit of both,” John replied, moving a hand down to unbutton Sherlock’s fly and pull down the zip.  As he expected from the look of the jeans, he met hot, bare skin rather than the usual pair of pants.  He wrapped his fingers around the interested tip of Sherlock’s cock and twirled his thumb thoughtfully around it.  Sherlock shuddered and thrust his hips up further into John’s grip in response, attempting to shimmy his jeans down to give John better access.  John stilled him with a hand flat against his hip, but he did help shuffle the trousers down just enough so that Sherlock’s bare arse rested on the leather seat.  Sweat that pooled at his lower back squeaked as John settled him further up on the bike and the sound was nearly as satisfying as the noises coming from Sherlock’s mouth.

Before Sherlock realized John’s intentions, he descended on Sherlock’s cock, taking the tip he had been rubbing seconds before into his mouth.  He took a moment to run the ridges of his taste buds along his glans, rotating between sudden hard movements and barely there brushes that ended in soft suction.  Sherlock let out a strangled noise and scrambled around for a better grip.  The foot that had been resting on the exhaust pipe hitched up around John’s waist and attempted to shuffle him closer.  When John refused to take his suggestion, Sherlock lifted his arms up behind him, hoping to find a way to thrust up against him.  His plan backfired, however, when one of his hands landed on the handles and squeezed.  The bike revved suddenly, causing a delightful vibration to run through the machine and therefore along Sherlock’s body.  Sherlock let out a strangled shout, shivering as the vibrations died away and he settled quaking limbs back down across the bike.

John lifted off of Sherlock’s cock to dart up and cover his mouth with his own.  “Shh, or they’ll hear,” he whispered against his lips, his eyes darting mischievously out to the street only a few feet away.  Sherlock whimpered and pulled John’s face down to his with a fierce hand in John’s hair, forcing them back into another powerful snog.  Reluctantly John pulled away to dart in towards Sherlock’s ear, licking it with a brief wet swipe before muttering, “Do that again, though.  The revving.  I’ve got an idea.”

He moved back down to level his mouth against Sherlock’s cock and finally took it fully into his mouth.  Once it had hit the back of his soft palate, he squeezed Sherlock’s hips where he pushed him back against the bike.  Taking it for the cue it was, Sherlock copied his earlier motions to rev the engine.  He nearly fell off the bike as the moment the vibrations began to echo down his spine, John sucked hard enough to create a complete seal along Sherlock’s cock.  Faster than he hoped, Sherlock was coming down John’s throat, unable to send him a warning in the sudden onslaught of pleasure.  As John worked him through the final tremors, Sherlock attempted to catch his breath through gasping praise.  John silenced him with a quick peck on his lips.

Sherlock threw his head back against the tank with a sigh, one of his hands absentmindedly running up and down John’s chest and stomach.  During one of his lower passes, he rediscovered John’s own bulge and his drowsy eyes lit up in interest.  He shot up in his seat to properly straddle the bike backwards, one of his hands tangling into John’s hair to pull him forward for a kiss while the other forced its way into John’s trousers.  Opening them just enough to wrap his fingers fully around John’s cock, he gave it a single long pull and grinned against John’s mouth as he groaned at the movement.

“Shh, or they’ll hear,” he echoed John’s words back to him as he gradually increased his pace.  The faint sounds of voices carried down to them and John clenched his teeth in his attempt to keep quiet.  His gasp was high and sharp when it fell on Sherlock’s tongue as he came as well, coating his fingers and sending a few drops onto the dark denim of Sherlock’s thighs.  As soon as he could breathe outside of wheezing whimpers, he pulled Sherlock in to tangle their tongues together more lazily than when they began.  Both of their heads shot around to the entrance of the alley as a giggle danced along the brick walls.  A pair of women slowly walked past, their heads subtly glancing down at the motorbike and the men on it. 

“Whoops,” John said, Sherlock’s come covered hand squashed between them.  Sherlock burst into low chuckles and he rested his forehead on John’s shoulder.  John dug around in his pocket for a tissue and wiped up his mess, scrubbing futilely at the spots on Sherlock’s jeans.  “We’ll have to wash these, it’s already set.  At least they’re jeans and not proper leather riding trousers.”

Sherlock rubbed at one of the spots and shrugged.  “I suspected this would happen.  Besides, I haven’t tried my only pair of leather trousers on in ages; I expect that after years of being fed by you, they’ll be even tighter than they were before.”

“We’ll have to give them a try when we get home.  Just to check and make sure, you know.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes and chuckled.  John continued, “I suppose we could just go out and get you another pair…it can’t hurt to have more than one, particularly if we’ll be driving around on your lovely bike more often.  Maybe I can get some as well, turn us into a proper motorbiker couple.”  Sherlock’s eyes widened and he smashed their mouths together, his tongue instantly running along John’s.  Chuckling, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and moved his lips down Sherlock’s jaw, muttering against the skin.  “I’ll take that as a strong yes.”