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13 February 2012 @ 08:52 pm

‘Will you ever, not work?’ John feels annoyed he is once again having tea on his own. His flat mate never sits with him at noon to have a sandwich, drink tea and – like any ordinary couple – talk about how dull their Sunday afternoon was so far. Once again, Sherlock Holmes is working at his desk, his chemistry equipment installed all over the table.

‘No,’ Sherlock says as he writes something down on a piece of paper before peering into his microscope again. ‘I’m working – I don’t do tea when I’m working John.’

‘You haven’t even got a case!’ John says desperately, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. ‘You’ve been staring into that – thing for hours now! Can’t you just – stop?’

For the first time, his partner looks at him, his eyebrows raised. ‘I thought you’d know by now I’m not the sitting down type. I drink while I work. I eat when I need to.’

‘People need breaks, Sherlock.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Even you, Sherlock.’

Sherlock shakes his head once and his eyes drop down again, examining the sample that lies underneath the lens of the microscope. I look around in frustration and spot the power source that feeds the microscopes lamp. I pull the plug. Sherlock’s microscope goes dark.

I hear him huff with annoyance and he looks up at me again. For a moment we star at each other, the plug still in my hand. He brings his hands together, fingertips touching and brings his index finger to his mouth.

‘And what exactly, do you think you will achieve with this, John?’

‘A bit of attention, maybe?’ John says as he finally lets go of the plug. ‘I want to be able to sit down with you – have tea at noon and just – sit with you.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then – nothing!’ John stammers, not understanding why he needs to explain himself. It is apparent that once again Sherlock has no idea of relationships. ‘Let us just have tea now, Sherlock – please. It’s what people do.’



‘We’re partners, not couples.’

‘Yes we are,’ John says and points his finger at Sherlock. ‘People who sleep together frequently are called couples. Being partners is just a profession.’

‘We worked together before we began to sleep together. That makes us partners, not a couple. The sexual intercourse came later. But we started our relationship as a partnership – that makes us partners.’

‘Well – even partners have tea together!’

‘Well I don’t, John!’ Sherlock gets up and John can sense he is staring to grow impatient now. Sherlock walks towards where John is standing and bends over to pick up the wire that is dangling over the side of the table. He is about to plug the microscope back into the electric point when John grabs his wrist.

‘No, Sherlock – please. Do this for me, just this once.’

Sherlock inhales deeply, his chest rising and making himself appear taller than he actually is. He leans closer to John, looking down at him with a look that John can only describe as arrogance. But he was used to Sherlock Holmes being arrogant.

‘No,’ Sherlock says as he inhales, his chest deflating slightly, but still towering over John as if he is an ant about to be crushed. ‘I will not,’ and he opens his hand, the plug falling down and hitting the side of the desk again. He twists his hand and John’s grip around his wrist loosens, their fingers entwine.

John feels his belly rumble with arousal and he’s pulled close by his friend, whose lips touch his in a rough yet soft way. He parts his lips wide, wishing Sherlock to invade his mouth. Their tongues clash and a puff of frustrated air escapes John’s mouth. Why does this man always have to be cruel first before he became passionate? John had learned by now it was his ego. And even though he often longed for affection, there was no one else in the world he would want to snog right now.

John claws at his chest with his free hand, tearing at the purple shirt his friend is wearing. Their hands part and he feels Sherlock tugging at his jumper, pushing it up high enough John’s stomach shows. He feels Sherlock’s cold hand on his hip which is a signal for him. A signal that Sherlock wants him. John is more than happy to oblige.

Sherlock’s fingertips dig into his skin painlessly, and turns him towards the table, pressing himself against John as if afraid he would escape. In fact – John has no possibility to escape now. His bum is pressed against the table and Sherlock pressed against his front. But he does nothing to change the situation. He’s way too willing for that.

Now that his other hand is free, he grabs his friend’s shirt and pulls it out of his trousers so he too could feel the man’s skin. While his spider-like hands are often cold, his body is warm – almost hot underneath his hand. The hand that had been clawing at Sherlock’s front find his throat and he slides it around his neck, Sherlock’s dark curls gliding between his parted fingers. Their lips never part and it is when Sherlock pushed his jumper up so far his nipples are almost exposed that their finally end the kiss. Sherlock bends his head down and his lips caress John’s chest. He closes his eyes and his jaw locks with tension as Sherlock’s tongue plays with his left nipple. He feels his teeth scrape over his skin and he exhales through his nose, as if he had been holding his breath all the time. In fact – he had.

By Sherlock is doing anything to make John’s skin red and irritated, he removes his hand from Sherlock’s hip and starts to fumble with the buttons of his friend’s shirt. Meanwhile, he felt he had difficulty hiding his swelling pride in his trousers. He unconsciously trusted his hips forwards and feels something equally hard, hidden in Sherlock’s trousers brush against his leg.

He manages to undo all of Sherlock’s buttons and he is about to raise his arms so his friend can lift his jumper of his head but Sherlock grabs him by his shoulders and turns him again, slamming him painlessly against the desk again, his back touching Sherlock’s exposed chest.

‘S-Sherlock,’ John breaths as he reached back at Sherlock’s thighs. He looks down and watches as the man’s spider-like hand fumbles with his belt, button and fly. He forces his hand in John’s pants and cups his swollen manhood. ‘S-Sher-Sherlock,’ John whispers again as he throws his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder, his eyes closed. Sherlock’s lips touch his neck and his hand close around his cock.  John’s lips part, an unsteady breath erupting from his throat.

He feels Sherlock’s hard bulge press against his bum and wants it. Needs it. He reaches behind him and gropes Sherlock’s package.

‘Please – Sherlock,’ he breaths, his cheek pressed against his friends. He doesn’t want to wait much longer. Ever second that passes seems like an eternity to him. And even though he doesn’t ever want this to end – he is growing impatient with every second that passes.

He’s disappointed when Sherlock releases his cock to push down his trousers and pants. John places his hands on the table as he heard the sound of Sherlock undoing his belt buckle. He listens while he hears fabric move against skin as Sherlock pushes his own trousers down far enough. His eyes race over the table in search for a lubricant when he spots the microscope. For a moment he realizes Sherlock will not easily forgive him if they accidentally knock it off the table. He reaches out and lifts the piece of equipment up by its metal frame and carefully sets it down on the floor beside him. He looks over his shoulder at his friend, a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes. Even though Sherlock doesn’t easily attach to people or possessions – he is quite fond of his microscope. Only one other thing has found a place in Sherlock Holmes’ heart – his best friend and partner, John Watson.

Sherlock reaches beside John, opening the drawer of his desk. The tip of Sherlock’s prominent cock brushes against John’s bum and his shivers. Sherlock rummages around in it for a second and finds a small tin of Vaseline. He puts some on his fingers and brushes them around John’s arse, the man squirming and whimpering slightly as he gently inserts is fingers into him. He rotates his hand, making sure enough jelly is distributed John’s arse. He takes his fingers out and guides himself into John, the tip of his cock gently sliding into him. John throws himself flat on the table, finding support to pull through the first pain. But Sherlock is gentle – probably one of the few times he wants to be.

He slowly started to move his hips, pumping into John with caution, a hand hooked around groin. He pushes John’s jumper up, exposing his naked lower back, caressing his sweaty skin with his other hand. His own shirt slides down his shoulder and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach built. He sets his hand down on the desk beside John to support himself, afraid he would put too much pressure on John’s body.

John’s muscles have finally started to relax and his arse is moist enough for Sherlock to become rougher. He starts to move quicker, his front clapping against John’s bum. He feels the pressure in his stomach become unbearable for a moment and slows down; reaching around John’s hip and takes his rock hard cock in his hand. John whimpers loudly and is so overwhelmed that he has to rest his head against the desk.

John’s nails scrape over the wooden surface of the table. He bolds his fists as Sherlock slowly strokes his shaft, squeezing the tip of his cock every time his fingers reach the head. He huffs and whimpers with agony and pleasure – he isn’t sure what this feeling is. He wants to come, but also does he want this to last. But he can’t. It is too much. Sherlock’s cock brushing past his prostate and his hand around his cock. It’s too much. Within half a minute, he ejaculates; spraying on the floor. He gaps loudly and throws himself flat on the table, the familiar tingling feeling spreading through his limps. He feels weak in the knees but tries hard to keep standing. His warm seed runs down his friend’s hand, which he places on John’s hip again, giving one final trust before exhaling loudly through his mouth. John feels Sherlock’s cock thumbing inside him and knows he’s having his orgasm. He keeps flat on the table as his flat mate catches his breath, his arms trembling as he tries to support himself. His wrist hurts from leaving on it for a long while and he collapses, his naked, sweaty chest touching John’s equally sweaty back.

They stay where they are for a full minute, catching their breath and not moving. Sherlock finally pulls back and reaches for the Tork roll that’s standing beside his desk, tearing off a piece of paper to wipe his hand off and softening manhood off. John does the same with his own. They dress in silence again and it is Sherlock who speaks first: