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Sherlock pushes down on John's cock, groaning, spreading his slender thighs further apart to gain more purchase and the headboard knocks into the wall of their hotel room noisily. John watches through wide, blue eyes as Sherlock fucks himself hard on his cock, forcing John deep inside, so deep that if John was doing the fucking he'd be afraid he was hurting him. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind, quite the opposite in fact, and John decides he'll really go for it next time. They’ve not been doing this long, this - physical - aspect of their relationship, and they’re still feeling their way around each other, working out how far they can push. John is amazed at the change wrought in Sherlock once they finally stopped dancing round each other and admitted they were both idiots. So much for it all being transport - Sherlock has turned out to be one of the most profoundly sensual people John has ever known. Just as in day-to-day life, every one of his senses is turned up to 11, and he seems to want nothing more than to saturate all of them with John Watson.
The hot, damp air is filled with the sounds of their moaning; Sherlock's arse is so tight, and John's so big, and Sherlock tells him so in breathy gasps as he slides fingers and palms coated with oil across John's stomach, chest and then nipples, rubbing and pinching until John is whimpering and digging his short fingernails into the delicate skin of Sherlock's hips, where he is clutching at him desperately, panting as Sherlock's muscles clench rhythmically around him.
Sherlock grabs John's upper arms and holds them tight as he pounds down so, so hard on John, getting faster and faster as he fucks himself absolutely senseless. They’ve just solved a case, and he’s pumped up with adrenaline and glowing with his own incandescent brilliance, needing everything to be too much and right now, and it’s all John can do to hold on for dear life as Sherlock rides him. After a few minutes the detective releases John’s arms to grip the headboard with white knuckles and arches his back further, taut stomach muscles quivering as the change in angle has his full lips dropping open, face going slack with pleasure, a high-pitched whine slipping out.
John takes advantage of the freedom of his arms and slides his hands up from Sherlock’s hips and around to his beautiful, round arse. John fucking loves his arse, it’s utterly magnificent, and just the feel of it in both his hands has him groaning aloud. He can’t help but slip a finger down between Sherlock’s cheeks to feel where he’s stretched around his cock, the delicate skin taut and twitching slightly with the effort of taking all of John in. The angle is all wrong, but John can’t help but just press, ever so slightly, sweeping his finger up and down next to his cock, round Sherlock’s arsehole, and for the first time Sherlock’s punishing rhythm falters and he cries out loudly, his voice hoarse:
“F-fuck, John! Fuckfuckfuck, God, so fucking big in me-”
He releases his grip on the headboard with one hand and begins to pump his hard, weeping cock desperately.
“Fuck, I’m so full, Christ-"
John feels a surge of arousal hit him in the gut at Sherlock’s words; at the fact that his partner’s normally ice-cool composure is shattered and he can’t seem to stop cursing. He knew Sherlock liked his – endowment - but hearing it confirmed in such a manner transports John suddenly dangerously close to coming.
Sherlock is frowning slightly in concentration now, dark sweaty curls falling in front of his eyes, head bent, biting his lip, and John takes pity on him. With the hand not stroking at the place where they are joined, he takes hold of Sherlock's thin wrist gently and removes his hand, before taking over. Sherlock's long eyelashes flutter, pale eyes widening at the new pressure and speed, the feel of John’s strong calloused hand around him. He rocks his hips back and forth, and reaches his now free hand down to caress John’s face, flushed and sweaty, and he looks at him desperately with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.
“Fuck, please, John…”
The sensations have been so intense for so long Sherlock doesn't realise he's about to come until John slides his thumb over the slick head of his cock and he's suddenly right there, spurting hot and thick over their stomachs, whimpering and moaning uncontrollably, the sensation radiating out from where John’s buried deeply inside him, filling him completely, stretching him perfectly. John chokes out a shaky sob as Sherlock's muscles clench tighter than ever around him and he comes hard inside him, pulse after pulse, the strength of his orgasm bringing tears to his eyes, heels skittering on the mattress.
When Sherlock next opens his eyes, he realises he is lying like a dead-weight on top of John, panting wildly into the pillow. He can feel John’s pounding heartbeat next to his own. Reluctantly, he pulls off with a wince, feeling John’s come running out of him and down the inside of his thighs. He shivers, loving the feeling of it although he knows it will be uncomfortable in a few minutes when it starts to dry. Worth it. He collapses next to John, who instantly gathers him into his arms, tucking his curly head down against his chest, which is rising and falling with rapid breaths.
“Bloody hell, Sherlock” John pants “That was… incredible.” He blows out a long breath with a soft whistle. “Though, you do realise you probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow?”
Sherlock lifts his head up slightly and regards John with one slitted grey eye, tiny creases around the edge belying his mirth. Secretly, he loves the idea of not being able to sit comfortably on the train home in the morning; of shuffling into Scotland Yard to give his statement and everyone just knowing that he’s moving like that because he got fucked into next week, by John no less. He loves the idea of every twinge of discomfort reminding him of John’s cock inside him, making him his.
“Lucky I’ve got a Doctor around to help me out then” he smirks, leaving the rest of his thoughts unsaid, for now.
John just rolls his eyes and swats his head playfully before pulling him in tighter and placing a kiss on the top of his sweaty curls, and Sherlock tucks his face into John's side, unable to keep himself from smiling.