This is a little excerpt from a raw, unedited Johnlock fic my friend and I were working on about a year ago… I don’t know why we never finished it. Perhaps it was because we stopped writing together. I miss that. BTW, it’s NSFW. I wouldn’t read it if you don’t like Johnlock smut.
There was a moment of silence, in which John lay very still next to Sherlock, his mind working. He was not a genius, not like the Holmes boys, not even close. But he was no fool, either, and if there was one thing he knew better than anything or anyone else… it was Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps… the experiment had not been a total failure. Perhaps it was simply not the outcome he’d expected. He’d been trying to elicit a reaction from himself, and had failed in the wake of Sherlock’s sudden and outrageous petulance. But he HAD gotten a reaction. It was just from a different source. After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, John settled down in the blankets once again, pushing the laptop aside and spooning his little body behind the lanky one. A strong arm looped around, pinning Sherlock’s back to his chest, and John placed his palm over the great, beating heart. And… there it was. John’s body stirred, and the experiment was complete. He exhaled, a little surprised to find that he was not more surprised. He rested his cheek against Sherlock’s from behind, sighing softly. “Tell me to go once more, and I’ll go.”
Sherlock gurgled again, his body immediately demanding that he grind back against the soft cock behind him. John was just teasing him. He knew it now. John had figured out what the problem was, and now he was going to lord it over him. Oh, Sherlock knew John wasn’t going to let him forget this! He’d rubbed it in John’s face too many times for the little man to just leave him his dignity and go. But he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of furthering his embarrassing predicament. He wasn’t going to give John an inch! The little bastard. He could be so cruel sometimes without even realising it. “I’ll get you back, you know.” Sherlock finally snapped, pulling his knees up again, this time ready for the little surge of pleasure that went through him as the tops of his legs rubbed up against his almost painfully hard erection. “I’ll find something on you that’s equally as embarrassing. You know I will, so there’s no point in hanging around. Just leave me to… relieve myself, and… keep quiet.” The detective began to dig his fingernails into the soft fabric of his trousers, just to keep himself from rolling his hips experimentally.
"Is that what you think of me?" John asked quietly, his dry lips brushing Sherlock’s cheekbone. He clutched the front of his chest, understanding exactly why Sherlock’s body gave a little jerk when his knees collided with his stomach, and loving him for it. "Really, Sherlock… Is that what you think of me, after all this time?" He began to pet his chest, his thumb grazing him gently, and he sighed, disappointment colouring the warm breath that gushed over Sherlock’s ear.
Sherlock, flustered, began to struggle again, but it wasn’t very effective. His body had had enough, it was just ready to give in, consequences be damned. “You’re ALWAYS teasing me! Always! And this is just… I know it’s too big for you to let escape! Hell, I know even Lestrade would have a field day!” The detective whined in desperation, the ache growing stronger with every second that passed. And John was only making it worse by breathing on him, by… by… holding him like a lover. Everyone loved making a fool of Sherlock when he stumbled over something. It was inevitable that if he ever made a mistake around someone, that person would throw it in his face and never, ever let him forget it. John was no different. He still brought up that bloody constellation incident and laughed, even though he KNEW how much Sherlock hated to have his errors thrown in his face.
"This isn’t… a miscalculation." John’s voice was dropping by the second, until it was raspy, low, and sultry. His lips now brushed up and down the curve of Sherlock’s ear, and his hand was beginning to slide lower, lighting over his flat stomach, rubbing comforting circles into his firm abdomen. "And I’m not laughing. I’m not teasing. If you want me to go, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay…" The little hand dipped again, fingertips just glancing over the heated throb between Sherlock’s curled legs. "I’ll stay."
Sherlock gasped, his body flying into action, rolling up in desperation, trying to find the pressure once more. He shuddered as John’s mouth began to make a slow trail down his neck, lips dry and oddly stimulating. It was just too much for the poor young man to bear. He wanted so badly to just… rock against John. To turn around and thrust his hips into the solid body behind him. But his mind, his most powerful asset, faster and more reliable than a computer, held him back. There was one more reason not to. One more reason that was swiftly beginning to dissolve as John took this situation into his own hands. “If you stay… things will change.” Sherlock whispered, terrified. “And then you might not be my friend anymore… and what if… what if you get bored, or you don’t like it. You’ll leave. I don’t want that to happen.”
"I’ll never leave you," came the whispered reply, more faint, because John was losing his breath. He was beginning to grind gently into his friend, and the sensations were wonderful, unfamiliar, sensational. "Never, Sherlock, never, ever, ever. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never leave." His hand was shamelessly kneading the detective’s crotch now, and the feeling of the hard cock beneath his palm sent John’s blood boiling. He rocked his own into the seat of Sherlock’s pyjamas, and groaned softly. He gave him a gentle squeeze, exhaling. "Never." His other arm slipped under Sherlock’s neck, and with precise care, John rolled him onto his back so that Sherlock’s head was cradled on John’s chest, and his hands had free reign. John encouraged the lean thighs open, and with his right hand, he began to pet and stroke the virginal man, eyes trained on every shudder, every convulsion.