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That damn, piece of shit dressing gown.

He had the deep burgundy one on today, the one whose material appeared both silky smooth and soft as down, that fit a touch tighter than any of the others, framing his shape even when the belt lay loose to trail across the floor.  The colour was what really caught John’s attention, light enough that when the sun caught it just right it gave off dazzling golden undertones but dark enough to make Sherlock’s already pale skin have an even stronger ethereal glow than normal.  The dressing gown alone was usually enough to settle John’s brain into focused, aroused static.  But then – then – he had to forgo his trousers and shirt, leaving him striding through the flat in nothing but that fucking dressing gown and a pair of tight, dark pants that clung to him as well as one of his shirts.  Really, what came about as a result was no one’s fault but Sherlock’s own.

Their relationship was still just new enough that neither would initiate physical contact without the slightest touch of uncertainty, a breath of disbelief that such an action would be not only acceptable but encouraged.  Normally it began with a glance, one of them watching the other through his eyelashes and a narrowed gaze as he waited to be noticed.  When the sensation of being watched caused their eyes to finally meet, blinking surprise would soon become pleased acceptance with a come hither smile.  Today, however, Sherlock seemed oblivious to John’s subtle advances and stronger methods needed to be employed.

Currently Sherlock stood in the kitchen, a half forgotten mug of tea in one hand and his mobile in the other.  He leaned his hip against the table as his eyes darted across the screen, reading some article Lestrade had sent him about their last solved case.  Where his hip jutted into the table’s edge, the dressing gown bunched up just above his pants, drawing John’s already interested gaze to where they sat low under his exposed hipbones.  As he stared down the skin that taunted both his fingers and tongue, John licked his lips and stood to stalk across the room towards Sherlock.

John grabbed at his waist, his thumbs tracing across the edge of his pants.  Sherlock jumped slightly, blinking down at John with large eyes as he held his mug and mobile aloft and out of John’s way.  With a half grin and lowered lashes, John shifted his grip along Sherlock’s stomach, the calloused tips of his fingers barely brushing against the now shivering skin.  He danced them down to feel along the expensive material that was nearly as delicate as the body beneath it.  Pressing down just enough to feel the muscles tensing underneath his touch, John followed their shape as they guided him towards the cock that was quickly seeking his attention.

“John, wha –“  Before Sherlock could finish his question, John leaned against Sherlock’s thighs to settle between his feet.  He shifted around until he sat under Sherlock, one leg bent at his side for comfort and the opposite knee bent up to balance himself.  He slid a hand back up Sherlock’s groin once he settled, staring up at him as he lightly toyed with the outline of his cock.  Sherlock’s mouth gaped open as he stared down at John, his grip on his mobile slipping until it clattered to the floor.

“Do you have any idea…”  John paused to glide his fingers up to the edge, rubbing at Sherlock’s hidden tip with his pants until he could feel the moisture beneath.  “Just how tempting…”  He followed the curve of his tip down and ran his thumb and index finger just below his crown, enjoying Sherlock’s shaking inhale of breath.  “You look like this?”

“I – “  Sherlock attempted to take a deep breath just as John nuzzled his face in where his fingers had been moments before.  His voice came out choked and garbled as the rest of his sentence stuck in his throat.  Leaning his arms back, he shakily set his mug out of reach and braced against the table, his eyes clenching shut as he shook his head.

“Let me show you,” John whispered, his words lost in the heat of Sherlock’s groin.  Sherlock flexed up onto his toes to push himself closer to John’s mouth, a silent but begging encouragement for him to continue.  John slipped his hands into the front of Sherlock’s pants where the material met the creases of his legs.  He stroked against his pelvis, purposefully avoiding the twitching shape that Sherlock tried to thrust into his touch, and guided his grip around to his hips.  Making sure to hold Sherlock firmly in place, John settled his mouth against the skin just above the band of his pants, his chin barely brushing along the head of his hidden cock.  Sherlock groaned and set his hand on top of John’s head, pushing him away just enough to glare down at him.

“John,” he muttered, his lips forming a pout.  John grinned up at him and leaned up enough to place a small kiss on his belly button.  Sherlock sighed, the sensation of his breath releasing pushing his lower belly into John’s lips.  While he trailed kisses across his stomach, John moved his hands out from below Sherlock’s pants and back up to their band.  Moving with calculated slowness, he pulled them forward enough to reveal the very tip of his cock, a tiny pearl of precome at the slit.  Unable to help himself, John paused to dart down and lap at it, letting Sherlock’s pants come to rest at the crown as he dove forward.  Sherlock huffed out a sharp pant and made to shift forward, one hand attempting to grasp and pull at his pants.

“Alright, alright,” John soothed, pulling off his cock and moving back to where Sherlock’s hand sat.  “Impatient man.”  Grinning, John shimmied them down to nestle directly below his cock, hiding his balls and straining at his lower hips.  Sherlock leaned back against the table once more and stared down at John, watching him intently. 

Bringing his lips to Sherlock’s cockhead, John set one of his hands along Sherlock’s outer thigh in a steadying pressure and guided his opposite leg closer, resting his cheek with soft fondness against him to feel the heat of his skin.  Sherlock’s hips jutted out obscenely, seeking much needed friction, and John used the movement to guide cock to lips.  He followed the line of precome now following down the curve of Sherlock’s cock, meeting it where it slid along his crown.  Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, one of them soon peeking open to watch John’s movements with rapt attention.  As John shifted to fully lick at his slit, Sherlock’s legs pushed against John’s opposing handholds to rock himself up on the balls of his feet.  His toes flexed against the lino in time to John’s tongue, pushing himself further into John’s mouth with each shift.  Unable to get a firm enough grip to properly thrust, Sherlock whimpered and dug his nails into the tabletop.

“John, please,” Sherlock begged, both of his eyes clenching shut as John ran his tongue against the vein along the side of his cock.  The corner of John’s mouth ticked up in amusement and he swallowed Sherlock down fully, causing Sherlock’s hips to jolt and his head to fall back.  John hollowed his cheeks and swallowed, his hand that rested under Sherlock’s leg travelling upward under his dressing gown to rub along the crease between his pants and his arse.  Sherlock lifted his right leg to settle carefully over John’s shoulder as he panted up at the ceiling, his toes curling into the open air as he fought to push himself deeper with his arms and straining left leg.  John gripped his thigh in a desperate hold to pull him in better and Sherlock let out a yelp of warning before shuddering down John’s throat.

Sherlock’s chest rose and fell in deep gasps as John sucked lightly and pulled away to brace his forehead against Sherlock’s groin.  He buried his nose into the dark curls there and yanked at his own fly, attempting to steady his desperate fingers.  Once Sherlock realized what he was doing, he lowered a hand to card through John’s hair, scratching at his scalp in silent encouragement.  John whined and caught a small bit of tender skin between his teeth, carefully mouthing at the still trembling muscles of Sherlock’s pelvis as he worked himself to completion.  After half a dozen more pulls at his cock, he came across the floor with a muffled cry.

John fell back to sit fully on the floor, panting as he stared up a disheveled Sherlock.  One shoulder of his dressing gown had fallen off his shoulder, lying in artful disarray along his outstretched arm.  He lifted the other arm to run his hand through his hair, ruffling it with a sigh.  When he caught John staring, he grinned down at him.

“Any particular reason for all of that?” he asked, quirking a brow.  John chuckled and groaned as he rose to his feet, stretching out his back before stepping close between Sherlock’s legs.

“Waltzing around the flat in nothing but your dressing gown and pants, did you really expect anything other than this to happen?”  When Sherlock’s grin widened, John smacked at his arm in realisation.  “You did this on purpose, didn’t you, you prick?”

Shrugging, Sherlock draped his arms over John’s shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss.  “I can’t help it that I can read you so well, John.  You never could stop watching me when I dressed like this in the past.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose you won’t mind cleaning up,” John said as he pulled himself out of Sherlock’s grip with a chuckle and moved back into the living room.  “Since you’re really the reason why there’s come shot all across the floor.”

Sherlock’s grumbled protests followed behind John as he threw himself into Sherlock’s chair to watch.  Down on his hands and knees, his pants still nestled snugly below his now flaccid cock, John studied him and contemplated how else he could wreck him before the evening came.