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Festival of Colors

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Returning his attention to Sherlock’s cock, John gripped it in his right hand and rubbed the tip against his lips interspersed with gentle butterfly kisses. Looking up and meeting Sherlock’s eyes, he began licking his cock slowly as if it was the most delicious ice cream he’d ever had then began sucking on the head.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s fingers tightened in John’s hair pulling him against his pelvis so hard that his cock hit the back of John’s throat causing him to gag.

“Sorry. Sorry. It feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

Five minutes passed, then ten, at the fifteen minute mark, John’s jaws were aching and he didn’t think that he could do this much longer.

Using the palm of his hands, Sherlock stopped John and pushed him away until his cock slid out of his mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can hear your jaw cracking and I’m beginning to feel guilty.”

“Were you getting close at all?”

“No. It seems to be stuck.”

“Stuck? What’s stuck?” John asked.

“My orgasm. It refuses to cooperate. I can’t come. It’s stuck.”

John sat back on his heels, thinking.

“Time to use the magic word?”

“What part of ‘stuck’ don’t you understand. I’m just going to have to wait it out.”

“I’m not giving up yet!” John reached into his pocket pulling out a sachet of sugerical lube. He wiggled the packet up at Sherlock.

“Perks of working in a clinic.”

“Do you always carry that?”

“I just started recently. We’ve gone to so many crime scenes lately and I’ve had to watch you bending over for extended periods of time. I’m just a man, Sherlock. I can only stare at that beautiful arse for so long before I want to take you off to some dark corner and shag your brains out. This just happens to be the first opportunity I’ve had.”

“I see, well, while I appreciate the sentiment I despise being messy. I can’t walk home with lube drying on my cock.”

“You’re to only person I know who can be incredibly aroused but still be willing to stop at a moments notice. I’m almost certain that I should be offended. Aren’t you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you like to get some relief?”

“Yes, but…”

“But nothing,” John said, placing a hand on Sherlock’s hip and pushing him back against the wall.

“Let the doctor take care of you.” John said in a sultry tone of voice that was guaranteed to melt Sherlock into a puddle of lust - hopefully.

“Yes. Ok. Yes. Just, try not to get anything on my trousers.”

“What a romantic.”

“I’m practical, John and this is highly impractical. And I want you to know that I’m doing this under protest.”

“Duly noted. Now, be brave…”

Placing a hand on Sherlock’s hip, John pushed his trousers down until they rested around his knees.

“How’s that?” John asked.

Sherlock looked down and said, “The cuff of my left pant leg is perilously close to touching the ground.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it. Now, lean back, shut your eyes AND your mouth, and let me do my job! I’m starting to have performance anxiety over this. It’s a matter of pride at this point. We’re not leaving until you come!”

“So much pressure…”

“What did I just say?”

Sighing in surrender, Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Proceed.”

“Insufferable arse.”

Placing the packet between his teeth, John ripped it open in one smooth pull and applied a generous amount lube to Sherlock’s cock.

“Too much,” Sherlock said, without moving.

“Would you like to do this?” John asked in exasperation.

“I’d like to go home.”

“Well, too bad! Now shut up while I jerk you off!”

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s not luck. It’s all skill, baby,” John said, tightening his fingers around Sherlock’s cock. Using that tightness, he simulated penetration by creating resistance as he slowly slid his hand down to the root and back up again.

He continued picking up the pace until Sherlock began to moan; he’d reached the perfect rhythm. Hopefully, there would be no more talk of going home to finish this.

John was so turned on that when he went to grab Sherlock’s arse with his left hand, he found that he still had ahold of the packet of lube.

He spontaneously squeezed some down Sherlock’s cleft. Sherlock was so gone by now that he didn’t even complain.

Following that path, John searched for and found Sherlock’s hole, slowly easing the tip of his index finger inside. Sherlock gasped, his hips stuttering briefly then he began fucking John’s hand on his own.

Unerringly finding Sherlock’s prostate, John began to massage it lightly. Sherlock bucked and moaned.

John pressed his erection against Sherlock’s calf while he continued working him into a frenzy. He was going to need relief himself by the time this was over.

“God. Yes. Right there. More. I need more. Fuck me with your fingers,” Sherlock moaned.

Sliding his middle and index fingers through the lube, John eased them into Sherlock and began massaging his prostate again.

Sherlock was panting and moving his hips erratically causing John’s fingers to slip out. Sherlock finally got a rhythm going and he thrust forward into John’s fist and then back onto John’s fingers.

“I’m so close, John. Almost there. Oh god! You’re amazing. Don’t stop.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, yes?”

“LÁL!” John said quickly sucking Sherlock’s cock head into his mouth.

“Fuck! Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming, John. Oh my god! Oh my god!”

John felt Sherlock spasming around his fingers as he came hard and copiously, John swallowing continuously.

When Sherlock had finally finished convulsing, John slid his fingers out of his hole. Releasing Sherlock’s cock with his other hand, John suddenly realized that he had two hands full of lube. He looked around for something to wipe his hands on and with a shrug, finally settled on the lining of his coat.

“That’s disgusting, John,” Sherlock said.

“I’ll clean it off when we get home and run it round to the dry cleaner’s. Problem solved.”

Sherlock just stared at him as if that was the oddest thing he’d ever heard, then he shivered all over and said;

“God, that was amazing, John. I’m not enjoying the feeling of having an arse crack full of lube but it was still highly enjoyable.

“I’m glad to hear it. Here, let me help you with cleanup. Turn around.” Placing a hand on Sherlock’s arse for support, John slowly rose to his feet, joints cracking, back aching. Picking up his coat, he separated the lining and finding an unused section, began cleaning Sherlock with the silky material.

“That feels so good. We should cut the lining out of this one and buy you another coat.”

“We won’t be doing that. We’ll just buy the fabric instead,” John chuckled.

“Oh. That’s good too,” Sherlock said and smiled.

“Well, got off to a slow start but finished with a bang,” John grinned.

“That word was the final push that I needed to come. I wouldn’t want to go through this again but I’m happy with the way it turned out.”

“Me too. Maybe you could, you know, reciprocate when we get home?” John said, hopefully.

“Definitely, I’ll be more than ready to fuck you by then too,” Sherlock said, pulling his trousers up, belt buckle jingling.

Suddenly there was a loud crash followed up by a shout of “FUCK” from around the corner. John and Sherlock froze, staring at each other.

“I told you that someone was watching,” Sherlock hissed.

“Well, too late to do anything about that now.”

They heard quick fumbling and the surprisingly loud sound of a zip being pulled up.

“Good acoustics in this alley,” Sherlock commented.

“Should we go see who that is? It doesn’t sound like they’ve left yet.”

“I’d rather not.”

There was another shout;

“Anderson! What the hell are you doing lurking in that alley? And why are your trousers unbuckled. Couldn’t you just find a loo like a normal person?” Lestrade barked.

“Sorry sir. It was… It was an emergency.”

“Your shoulder must be feeling better.”

“What? Oh, yes. They popped it right back into the socket. No problem.”

“And about this afternoon…” Lestrade started.

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.” Anderson stammered.

“It’d best not. If it was anyone else, I’d swear that you had a crush on Sherlock.”

They could hear Anderson sputter and cough over that.

When he’d recovered, he said, “Sir. You know that I despise Sherlock Holmes. Can’t stand the sight of him.”

“Just leave him alone from now on and let him do his damned job. And stop staring at him all the time. You know that only irritates him…”

They listened to the sound of footsteps and conversation fade as they walked away.

“Anderson?” John said.

“What?”

“Anderson has a crush on you!” John said in sing song tone of voice.

“He does not!”

“Sherlock, the man just jerked off listening to me jerk YOU off.”

“Doesn’t mean that Anderson has a crush on me,” Sherlock said, his cheeks pinking.

“He does! He wants your sexy arse! Looks like I’m not the only one who enjoys watching you bend over.” John teased.

“Fuck you, John,” Sherlock said and began walking away.

“Wait,” John held out his jacket. He couldn’t wear it now so he just folded it in half and hung it over his forearm.

Catching up up with Sherlock, John sang, “Sherlock and Anderson, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

“That’s not funny,” Sherlock huffed.

“It’s pretty funny. Oh, look! There’s Anderson and Lestrade! Let’s go say goodbye to them.”

“John, no!” Sherlock reached out to grab John’s arm but he’d only touched air. He just put his head down and reluctantly followed him.

When they reached Lestrade, they saw that Anderson was in a position that was virtually the same as Sherlock’s. Neither Anderson nor Sherlock would look up preferring to stare at their feet instead.

“What’s up with them?” Lestrade asked.

“Who knows. Hey, Anderson. Seen anything good lately?” John asked, smirking.

“No. Nothing. I didn’t see a thing,” Anderson got out, his face staining an ugly red.

“That’s too bad,” John said, rocking back on his heels. “You’re missing out on some good stuff.”

Anderson mumbled something in reply.

“What was that?” John asked.

“Sorry about earlier. Won’t happen again,” Anderson said, face still a flaming beacon of embarrassment.

“That’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again. No hard feelings?” John held his hand out but Anderson just kept his hands in his pocket.

“Anderson! That’s rude! Shake the man’s hand!” Lestrade barked.

“Oh, uh. My hands are dirty.”

“Mine too,” John gave Anderson a knowing gaze.

“Well, back to the Yard. I’ll catch up with you two later,” Lestrade said, turning to leave.

“Oh. Almost forgot. If you guys could quit masturbating at my crime scenes, I’d appreciate it,” Lestrade said with a wave. “Ta. Come on, Anderson. We need to have a chat.”

Sherlock and John stood there, open mouthed, watching Lestrade and Anderson leave. They turned to each other.

“Perhaps we should curtail our exhibitionist tendencies for awhile,” Sherlock said.

“Maybe. Or you could quit screaming when you come. Although, I actually do enjoy that.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t promise that, John.”

“I wouldn’t want you too anyhow. I do wish that we’d quit getting caught by the cops with our pants down all the time though.”

“I’ll take the blame for that one,” Sherlock said.

“Why? I instigated it.”

“True but I should have stopped you as soon as Lestrade and I made eye contact.”

“Well…wait. What?! Lestrade was watching us too?!”

“Not together. They were at either end of the alley although I didn’t see Anderson so that was a bit of a surprise.”

“I’m going to go home and die now.”

“Tried it, I don’t recommend it,” Sherlock said, trying to suppress a smile and failing.

“That’s not funny,” John snapped.

“It’s a little funny.” Sherlock walked over to John and wrapped an arm about his waist.

They turned and began the walk home in an uncomfortable silence, John with an angry frown on his face.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“You’re such a cock sometimes.”

“I know but you love me in spite of myself,” Sherlock beamed at him.

“True. You’re very important to me.”

“I know,” Sherlock said smugly.

“You know what else?”

“No, John. What?”

“PILA!!!” John shouted and took off running.

“GODDAMN IT JOHN!!” Sherlock yelled.

John disappeared around a corner, laughing maniacally.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, JOHN!”

Sherlock faintly heard John yelling back, “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!”

Sherlock began running after him, stiffening cock thwacking painfully back and forth against his thigh.

‘What an arse!’ Sherlock thought. ’God, I love that man!’