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The flat's a shoebox, tiny and cramped and swallowed by a messy sitting room that seems to spill over into the rest of the home.

Sitting room: Hideous, 70s wood-paneled walls, dusty and scuffed wooden floors half-covered by miscellaneous overlapping rugs that absolutely do not match and that cause Mycroft to scowl every time he visits. A plush, grey sofa is shoved against one wall, a blue beanbag chair sits in the centre of the floor, and two mismatched chairs face each other by the windows, which are draped in dusty red curtains. Complete and utter junk is strewn everywhere. Every laptop Sherlock has ever owned, from his secondary school days until now, is lying around, buried under piles of paper--reports and photocopied chemistry articles and research papers and who knows what else. Approximately six mugs can be spotted around the room, each different in design, each holding a different beverage or what used to be a beverage. There is unopened mail, Christmas cards, trinkets and souvenirs and strange objects John's not sure about. On an Ikea stand against the far wall rests a large television hooked up to an Xbox 360 used mostly to connect to Netflix but occasionally to play football and racing games. The cabinets below hold John's DVDs--from Bond to Doctor Who, Breaking Bad to True Detective--and Sherlock's dusty old books.

The room smells of warm spice, of the air deodoriser John plugged into the wall to help mask the funk of Sherlock's experiments, but a faint, shower fresh scent lingers, a twist of Sherlock's sandalwood soap, his poncy Argon oil shampoo.

Sherlock stands before John, wrapped in an oversized green towel, his hair damp and an absolute mess, pushed back off his forehead into a mountain of unruly curls atop his head. John sits in his chair, dressed in a purple rugby T-shirt that he clearly slept in and a pair of blue training shorts.

It's nearly ten in the morning. Grey light from outdoors slants into the sitting room, casting a glow across the dusty floorboards. Being Human plays low on the telly, only half-watched by John, who's munching on the last of a chocolate chip granola bar and glancing at Sherlock, quite a sight to behold, indeed.

John: [lazily] Mmm. Take. it. off!

Sherlock: [kicks John's shin with his bare foot] I'm out of clean pants.

John: Ooh-hoo. Definitely take it off, then. [His eyes are flirtatious. Challenging.]

Sherlock: Shut up. I can't go without pants. My trousers chafe.

John: No pants, no trousers for you, I s'pose. What a shame.

[Sherlock scowls, attempting to appear perturbed.]

John: [watches for a moment, still challenging, still flirting, but finally sighs] Do the washing, then?

[Sherlock stares.]

[John stares back.]

[Sherlock shifts on his feet. The floorboards creak.]

John: Oh, no. I am not doing your washing.

Sherlock: John.

John: It's bloody freezing outside and this arse is staying right here in front of the telly.

Sherlock: Jo-

John: And I'm not too keen on rooting around in your dirty pants, thank you ver--

[Sherlock drops his towel, which hits the floor with a soft thud. He stands before John, utterly naked, tiny-waisted and day-glo pale. His penis, pink and slightly below average in length, is soft and sweet, nestled amongst a thatch of dark pubic hair, which poufs out due to the recent wash and dry. His nipples are tight and small, chest smooth, belly flat. A purple love bite is just to the left of his navel, a suck-kiss spot from the day before, a mark of affection.]

[John trails his eyes from Sherlock's head to his flexing toes, up and down, and sighs.]

Sherlock: [crawling onto John's lap, slotting his knees on either side of John's and resting his bare bum in the small space between John's knees] Jooohn.

John: That is absolutely not fair, that is not fair, this is not fair. [placing his hands on Sherlock's hips] Not fair. Also--oof... [shifts a bit, sliding his hands down to hold Sherlock's bum and moving backwards with a body heave so the two of them are more snugly squeezed into the chair] Also-- [playfully squeezes Sherlock's arse]

[Sherlock snorts, places his hands on John's shoulders, and braces himself, shifting around to get as comfortable as possible.]

John: You're a menace. A menace and-- [Sherlock settles, thigh shifting, inadvertently brushing against John's cock] --eh!

Sherlock: [lowering his head to John's shoulder, opening his mouth, and sucking three little rhythmic sucks onto the skin of his neck] [muffled] You just-- [huffy laugh, two bursts of air] You squeaked.

John: [silly voice] You touched my peen.

Sherlock: Your peen.

John: [chuckles, strokes a hand down Sherlock's spine, rubbing at the bony knobs] My peen. I like your peen. Lemme see it.

Sherlock: [snorts] My peen?

John: Your peen.

[Sherlock sits up straight and places his hands behind him, bracing them on John's knees so he can lean back, exposing more of himself.]

John: [beams, exaggeratedly happy for comic effect] Your peen. I see your peen. [reaches out and tugs at a bit of Sherlock's pubic hair, a quick little playful pull, gentle] Curtains match the drapes.

Sherlock: [coughs] What--

John: [grins and grips Sherlock's slim hips] Kiss me.

[Sherlock smiles, just a little quirk of his lips, and leans in. John poises his mouth for a kiss, but the second Sherlock's breath puffs warm against his, Sherlock stops and pulls back, a flirtatious look in his eyes.

When John looks at him, eyebrows raised, he smirks and closes the gap, pressing a slow, warm kiss to his lips.]

John: [through kisses, muffled] Mm. Are we [kiss] going to [kiss] do the sex?

[Sherlock pants slightly, turns his neat kisses into messy, wet smears, cheeks colouring, a flush dusting high over his cheekbones.]

John: [pulling back and grinning] You're blushing. [runs fingers across Sherlock's cheeks] You-- [cute, noisy peck of a kiss] You are, you lovely thing.

Sherlock: [pokes out his bottom lip] I am not. [blinks quickly, three, four times]

John: Adorable.

Sherlock: Shut up.

John: [teasing] I licked your arsehole last night.

[Sherlock tries to look unfazed, avoids eye contact, but flushes further.]

John: [takes Sherlock by the hips and squeezes, so gentle, so loving] [sucks a kiss onto the skin above Sherlock's right nipple] Mmm. [another kiss, a peck] Came inside you, all warm and-- [wavers, some] wet.

[In spite of himself, John starts to blush, as well, and his fingers bite into Sherlock's hips.]

Sherlock: [triumphant] You're blushing now.

John: [touches his lips to Sherlock's neck] [sniffs] So I am.

[Sherlock drops his head, resting his forehead against John's shoulder and wrapping his arms around him.]

[John slides his hands from Sherlock's hips, up his sides, to his armpits, touching the hair there briefly, before running his fingers back down.]

John: [whispers, faux-sexily] My peen's getting hard.

Sherlock: [snorts, loud and embarrassing, against the fabric of John's T-shirt] John.

John: [laughs, a burst] I had a tingle. [in a silly voice] Felt that rrrrush of blood.

Sherlock: [exasperated, embarrassed, but happy] Hell.

John: Quickly. I need to see yours again. [presses on Sherlock's belly, helping him lean back] Mm. See? Just as I thought. [rubs his palm over Sherlock's penis, which has plumped, the pink head beginning to peek out from the foreskin] Two tingly peens. What ever shall we do?

Sherlock: [trying to be serious] I hate you.

John: Mmm. [kiss-kiss-kiss, 'mwah' kisses] I looove you.

Sherlock: [beginning to smile] You're embarrassing.

John: Sorry. [not sorry]

[John begins to stroke Sherlock, fist slowly moving between them, as he leans in and mouths at his neck, sucking, kissing, licking.]

[Sherlock pants, breathes huffily, eyes closed, lips parted.]


John: [sliding both hands up Sherlock's flat, tensing belly, his left hand leaving a faint, shiny smear of the tiniest bit of precome, the amount of just two drips that had begun to bead out of Sherlock, gathering in his exposed slit] Skinny. [open-mouthed kiss to Sherlock's chin, a messy lick]

Sherlock: [scrunches up his nose] Your spit smells like chocolate.

John: [licks Sherlock's cheek like a puppy, fighting a laugh] Does it, now?

Sherlock: Stop, stop. [swipes his face with his hand] I detest--

[John presses in and swipes his tongue across Sherlock's face, over his lips, and both cheeks]

Sherlock: [laughs; he can't help it] God. Stop, stop! [squirms, wiggling on John's lap]

John: Adorable. [fond smile] [places his hands on Sherlock's bum, cupping his cheeks]

Sherlock: [huffs] Blech. Take off your clothes. [swipes his face one last time and reaches down to help John tug off his T-shirt]

John: [holds up his arms and wriggles his shoulders as Sherlock removes his top] Did you get another-- [shirt slides over his head and face] peen tingle?

Sherlock: [thumbs John's nipples, two little rub-rubs of pads to hard-soft peaks] Shorts. [sucking kiss to the neck]

John: [laughs] I'll take that as a 'yes.' [kiss] Mm. [kiss] Me, too.

[Sherlock climbs off John's lap and awkwardly holds his hands in front of his penis, which is hardening, thick, the head mostly exposed, and beginning to lengthen and lift.]

[John hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts and tugs them down, not even bothering to stand--simply lifting his bum in the air and wriggling as he works the fabric down to his knees. He's not as thin as Sherlock, sturdier, more compact, with a small belly roll when he sits.]

[Sherlock climbs back onto John's lap, sliding in close and getting his arms around John's neck. He kisses him for a while, slow sips of kisses, little tongue-licks, nose-brushes, sighs.]

John: [a murmur] Closer. [tugs on Sherlock's bum to help him scoot in until their bellies touch, until Sherlock's balls are pressed against John's groin, the head of John's penis sliding against the shaft of Sherlock's]

[John drags his lips from Sherlock's, down his chin, jaw, throat. He opens his mouth and presses it to Sherlock's neck, right where it's soft and warm, and sucks, wet, slurping sucks, as he takes the two of them in fumbling hand.]

Sherlock: [eyes closed] Ssss! [inhaled through teeth]

John: [exhale against skin, slow] Feel good? [strokes his hand up and down, awkward strokes, the height difference due to Sherlock's seat in John's lap making the slide complicated]

[Sherlock swallows and nods, arm hooked around John's neck, holding him warm and close as the two of them seek pleasure.]

[The quiet of the flat is filled with the sound of nothing but breathing, panting that escalates, that is cut off by the intermittent squeaks of kisses, low hums.]

John: [whispers, hand continuing to stroke, beginning to make slick sounds as the two of them grow wet, leaking with arousal] So hot, you are so-- [exhale] So hot.

[Sherlock wriggles on John's lap, hips shifting with pleasure. His mouth drops open with a barely-voiced hhhhhh.]

[John groans and covers Sherlock's open mouth with his own, turning his head to the side, pinching his lips, and sucking, slipping his tongue out and in for a taste.]

Sherlock: [audible, but just] God, John. [shifts, thrusts just the tiniest bit] Hrrmmffuh.

John: [smears his mouth across Sherlock's cheek, leaving behind a trail of saliva] What was that? [kiss] Mm.

Sherlock: [pants] I don't-- Hm.

[John slowly releases the two of them, drawing a faint whine from Sherlock, who twists his hips, gives a tiny thrust. He holds up his left hand, which is smeared with precome, and shows the result of their arousal to Sherlock, who trembles and squeezes his thighs against John's.]

John: [places both hands on Sherlock's thighs and gives a little pull] [whispers] Up.

Sherlock: Mm? [blinks slowly, slowly] [exhales and brings his palms to John's shoulders, pressing off him so he can get up on his knees]

[John cups Sherlock's bum in his hands and squeezes, massages, as he lowers his mouth to the skin just below Sherlock's navel, where the barest bit of fuzz is beginning to develop as he becomes hairier in his early 20s. He sucks and licks, laving the skin until it's warm and wet, before dragging his mouth downward to capture the tip of Sherlock's penis in his mouth.]

[Slurping sounds fill the room--squeaky things, wet things--and Sherlock sighs, reaching out to take John by the hair.]

John: [pulls off of Sherlock with a slight pop] [The corners of his mouth shine with saliva, and he licks it away.] Come in my mouth. [whispered] I want you to-- [presses his face to Sherlock's groin, sniffles and rubs and kisses at his pubic hair, the shaft of his penis, his scrotum]

Sherlock: [breathes loudly, staring down at John, who recaptures his cock and begins to suck once more] John. [blows a stream of breath up into his face, causing his curls to flutter]

[John slips two fingers into the cleft of Sherlock's arse, rubbing, just rubbing, dryly over his arsehole, touching the fuzzy hairs, the puckered skin, feeling the muscle. His mouth on Sherlock makes a soft, wet sound, which occasionally becomes a slurp or a chuu depending on his speed and the twitch of Sherlock's hips.]

[Sherlock's nails bite into John's scalp, and he hisses.]

Sherlock: [choked] Oh, God. J-- [exhales and leans over to rest his forehead on the crown of John's head, hips beginning a rocking motion] John. [muffled]

John: [pulls at Sherlock's left cheek, spreading it away from the other slightly, enough that his hole is pulled open and exposed to the air just the littlest bit] [slurps off of Sherlock's cock, mouths his balls] [murmurs] That's it, ba-- Mm. Come on. [lets go of Sherlock's arsecheek and places his hand around his shaft, stroking slowly as he continues to mouth the head, wetting his lips and chin with precome]

Sherlock: [stutters] Cl-close, Jo-- [groans]

[A burst of precome squirts out, that rare but not-unheard-of gush that comes with the same force as ejaculate, and lands on John's cheek, a slippery fluid that trickles down to the corner of his upturned lips.]

John: [giggles, kissing the head of Sherlock's cock and reaching up to swipe his cheek] Squirter.

Sherlock: [laughs, a huffy thing, like a burst of air] You shouldn't-- [gasps] --giggle, Jo-- Mm. John. It's-- [whines]

John: God, you're sexy. God, you're so, so-- [kisses, sucks] So-- Mm. [wraps his lips around Sherlock's cock and begins the slurp-tug, slurp-tug meant to get him there]

Sherlock: John. John, I can't-- [groans]

John: [pulls back just to say--] I love you, I love you, come on, you're-- [slurp-tug] Mm.

Sherlock: Right-- [panting, hips jerking] I'm, I'm--

John: [hums, hums, places a hand back on Sherlock's arse and pulls] Mmm. [muffled, choked] C'mon-- You're almost--

Sherlock: Uh-uh-uh-- [crying noises, squeezes his eyes shut, scrunches up his nose] It's there, it's, it's-- [inhales-inhales-inhales, exhales] [shakes] Feel it, it's, it's--

[John presses further, taking in as much of Sherlock as he can without choking, and squeezes at his bum hard enough to leave white marks on the pinkened flesh.]

Sherlock: [inhaling, inhaling] Fuckfuckfuck it's it's, it's-- [whines, whines, shakes and shakes and--] Ah-ah-ah-JohnJohnJoh-- [groans, low and deep, and bites it off with a hhhfffllluuu of nonsense noise]

[John continues to suck, suck, little pulses of sucks, until it's obvious that his mouth has just been flooded--his eyes widen slightly, sucks become more shallow. He rubs at Sherlock's bum, tender, affectionate touches, and sucks, sucks him through the aftershocks.]

Sherlock: [nonsense noises, more and more] Oh. Oh. Hhhfffmmm. [sighs, exhausted]

John: [gives Sherlock's arse one last pat] [pulls back, lips slightly parted, and cups his tongue so he can show Sherlock the milky white come in his mouth]

Sherlock: John. [embarrassed, tired, but smiling]

John: [makes a show of swallowing noisily, an unsexy-but-still-sexy gulp of a swallow, and grins] [in a silly voice] Caah-mere.

Sherlock: Hrrmph. [slumps, dropping his mouth to John's and kissing him softly, little pecks of kisses that squeak in the quiet of the flat] Mm. Mm. [kiss] What-- [kiss] [pants a little] What d'you want?

John: You. [kiss, kiss, kiss, silly and filled with love]

Sherlock: [blushes furiously] [grins against John's mouth] Tell me when you-- [places a hand on John's cock, which is impossibly hard and wet with dripping precome] When you're-- [kiss]

John: [fast, weak, as if strangled] 'bout ten seconds, I reckon. [grins around a pant]

Sherlock: [kiss, kiss] In about ten seconds, then. [smiles, and it's beautiful]

[Sherlock works his fist, up and down, up and down, kissing John all the while with a soft, wet mouth.]

John: Hmmmmm. [groans] Oh. Oh, Sherlo-- [inhales, exhales]

Sherlock: [moves his fist faster, faster] Tell me when.

John: When, when-- [whines]

Sherlock: [more, more] Are you--? Now, are you--? [out of breath]

John: I, I. [jerks his hips, bites his lip] Mmm.

Sherlock: John. [lowers his mouth and sucks on John's neck, hard sucks that will bruise, that will embarrass him later on when a friend at uni points them out]

John: [shakes] Sh-- [nonsense, nonsense] Ohfuckfuck. Oh. Nownow--

[Sherlock shoves himself backwards, off of John's lap, and drops to his knees, landing with a thump that likely hurt but immediately pressing his face to John's groin, mouthing him, mouthing him, rubbing his nose and lips and chin into the wetness.]

John: [laughs, laughs as he's coming, rubbing at Sherlock's neck and touching at his hair] Oh, my God. What are you-- [laughs through a groan, and it's lovely, so lovely]

Sherlock: [shoulders shake, laughing, licking John's cock and balls and the fuzz at his belly roll] Shut up.

John: I love you, you are-- [sighs, happy, so happy] Mmm.

Sherlock: [sucks and licks, strokes John's thighs] Mm. [pulls back and snorts]

John: You'll have bruises on your knees. [grins] You've got come on your face.

Sherlock: Lick it off.

John: [leans down and kisses at a streak of come on Sherlock's cheek] You don't like it when I lick your face. [teasing]

Sherlock: [swipes the residual come off his chin with his thumb and rubs it on John's bottom lip] There.

John: [licks his bottom lip] Adorable.

Sherlock: [rolls his eyes but smiles when John runs a hand through his curls] [sighs, lays his head on John's thigh] Wash my pants.

John: Wash your own damn pants, lazy-arse.

Sherlock: You like my arse.

John: I love your arse. [bends forward and kisses Sherlock's head] And your peen.

Sherlock: Stop with the "peen."

John: Your willy, then.

Sherlock: [groans] Oh my God.

John: Peeper. [laughs] What'd you call it?

Sherlock: It's a penis, John.

John: [sighs, happy, triumphant] Adorable.

Sherlock: I hate you.

John: You love me.

Sherlock: [presses a kiss to John's thigh]