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John twisted his fists in the bed cover, moaning loudly while Sherlock wriggled his tongue behind John's scrotum. His cock was leaking, leaking, and Sherlock lapped up the little drips that found their way down to his mouth.
"Christ, Christ, Sherlock!" he groaned, releasing the cover with one hand and grasping his dark curls with it. Sherlock took the hand that was tight in his hair and laced their fingers together. He brushed a kiss at the base of John's shaft and murmured, "Had enough for now? Want to do some more?"
"Oh, god yes," came a breathy reply, and Sherlock lifted himself upright to reach for the bottle on the nightstand. John closed his eyes and he heard the click! of the cap, and started a bit at the cool, slick finger circling his hole. Sherlock chuckled a bit, and John cracked an eye open to throw him a dubious look. Sherlock wrapped a hand around his own cock teasingly, but his hand slowed a bit as he basked in the buzzing pleasure. He leaned his head back and hummed, bracing himself on a slippery hand and sullying the blanket (again). He took a shuddering breath, then leaned over John, long-limbed and seductive, to press his lips against his lover's. He held himself directly on top of John as he slid into John with slow and shallow movements, only filling him when John was finally ready and pushing back against him.
"Mmmph, good John, good," he groaned. Sherlock thrusted him, hard, and John cried out in pleasured response.
"Yes, yes, yes, oh Sherlock, harder, harder!" John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's hips and his hands flattened on his shoulderblades, seeking a place to hold while Sherlock pounded him into his mattress. Sherlock grabbed his legs and pushed them back. He tipped his head forward to watch as his cock slid in and out of John's slick and sexy arsehole.
"Oh John if only you could see," he gasped.
"Fuck me, Sherlock!"
Sherlock pressed a hand around his mouth and whisper-hissed, "Shut up, you're so filthy."
John yipped and slipped his hands between his legs and began to stroke his cock feverishly. Sherlock moaned and chuckled, "That's right, get yourself off, right here in front of me, so dirty, John!"
"I- oh god Sherlock I'm cum-ming!" he cried. He tossed his head back and whined a lusty cry as hot white spunk painted his chest. His orgasm left him trembling beneath Sherlock for minutes, and Sherlock slowed his thrusts a bit while he waited it out. When John finally stopped twitching, he grinned up at him and clenched his muscles, causing them to tighten around Sherlock's cock. "Ready for your turn?"
"Oh yes, John," he replied, and resumed his frantic thrusting. God, did he want to cum. He needed to cum; he'd been aching to for hours and days, and the urge to fill his partner up with his seed overwhelmed all other needs and wants. He could feel his body bracing itself, tightening and trembling and ready for a colossal orgasm. He picked up the pace and slammed into John...
...and his orgasm disappeared. The tingling, the buzzing, the peaking pleasure faded to a throbbing ache from moments ago. Sherlock's eyes shot open, and he stared above John's head. His thrusting slowed to a complete stop. Confusion clouded his thoughts. John leaned up and put a hand on his shoulder in concern.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" When Sherlock didn't respond, he tapped him. "Sherlock?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, John," he said, distractedly, then shook his head rapidly as if to clear it. "I just want to fill you up with cum so much, you'll be leaking until morning," he crooned, slowly resuming his hard thrusting.
"God yes, cum inside me then," grunted John.
Sherlock gasped with relief as the whoosh of pleasure started sweeping through him again. He held his breath, sped up as his cock twitched and...
...nothing happened again. He let out his breath with a cry of frustration. "God dammit!" he shouted.
"What, what is it?" asked John, alarmed.
"I...I lost my orgasm," he grumbled, sliding out of John and glaring at his bobbing, erect cock. What's gotten into you tonight? he thought grouchily, That's twice you failed to achieve the desired goal. What on earth are you doing? His glare faded into a worried stare. Am I ill? Did one of my experiments do damage to my member? He fretted in silence until John finally cleared his throat.
"Well, uhm, so? That...that happens, yeah? Just... why don't you try again?" He pulled Sherlock's head down for a gentle peck on his lips. "I'm sure you'll be just fine in a few minutes...especially if you take me from behind," he added with a wink. Sherlock grinned slyly despite the previous worries; John knew him well and knew how much he loved to see his naked, pretty arse in front of him. He nodded, and John scrambled to turn himself over. Sherlock pressed him down into the bed and slid himself back in. He brushed aside any thoughts of not cumming, and focused instead on making himself completely swamped with arousing feelings.
His mind focused on the feel of John's arse beneath his hands, on how he clenched around him to make himself feel tighter, on his little whimpers and louder moans, his begging and his nodding, how much John really wanted to be filled up, and once more his body zinged with pleasure ready to burst, and once more he sped himself up, willing his body to cum and cum.
Once more his body refused. This time, though, he was not about to let it stop him. He kept going.
And going.
And going.
His thrusting was harder, he dared not slow down, and he teetered and lowered on the brink so many times he began to lose count. What finally stopped him was a cry from John.
"Please, Sherlock, stop, it hurts!"
Sherlock, on the verge (again), froze. He shook and groaned and cried out in frustration, but he pulled himself out, slowly, and flopped back onto the mattress. John winced as he rolled himself to face his lover, who had thrown his arm over his eyes.
"Sherlock...are you okay?"
"No," he whimpered.
"What happened?"
"I...I can't cum, John."
"What do you mean?"
Sherlock panted and turned his head away in shame. "I just...I keep getting so close, so close...and then it just disappears! I can't even make it go, it just disappears and it's killing me, John." Ever the melodramatic, he rolled over and curled himself into a pitiful lump.
John recognized the seriousness of the matter and tried very hard not to giggle. After a minute he snuggled up to the shaken Sherlock.
"Love...you can't force yourself to have an orgasm. I know you think you can, but...you really can't. You need to just let it happen."
"Well it's not happening, and...I need it, John."
"I know, love, I really do." He smooched his back. "Maybe you're going about it the wrong way. Maybe...maybe you shouldn't do all the work?" His voice deepened. "How about I help you get off, hmm?"
A long, nervous moment hung between them before Sherlock turned over. "You said you were hurting, John." He flushed and glanced at him, "I'm so sorry, John, I didn't realize and I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Hush," was John's firm reply. "Later, not now. Now we've got to keep you in a happy mood. A sexy mood." He ran a finger over Sherlock's flagging erection, which twitched up at the contact. "Well hello there," he cooed, repeating the movement a few more times, before wrapping his fingers around it. His hand pumped up and down, slowly and carefully, encouraged by the heavy pants and little moans from Sherlock. "Just like this, yeah? You like that?"
"Mmm, yes John, that's wonderful...but could you maybe pick up the speed a- ooh!" The hand around his cock tightened a bit.
"Not on your life, Sherlock," he said sweetly, "You went too fast before. We're going to take this slowly. You're not-" He tightened at the tip, "-going to rush this." He tightened again, and Sherlock pushed his hips up. John held him down. "No, Sherlock."
"John, please-"
"What, hmm? Going to cum now?"
"Close, very close," he panted. And he was. Sherlock felt dizzy from how many times he'd been brought to the edge, and now he leaned back and closed his eyes as he trembled again. His face scrunched in concentration, willing himself to burst, and John saw. His hand slowed and loosened, a move that caused Sherlock to glare at him.
"Stop thinking, Sherlock. Just a little. Just breathe for a bit." He resumed.
Sherlock groaned and stared up at the ceiling, willing his breaths to be calmer and his mind to be...emptier. John murmured, "That's it, love, you've got it." Sherlock flashed him a shy smile, promptly followed by a loud groan as John's fingers grew slick with pre-cum, making him more slippery and adding to the heightened sensation.
"Oh god, John, John!"
"Hmmm? What is it?" His hand quickened the slightest bit.
"Oh please, please John I think I'm ready, I think I'm ready, I'm-"
The whoosh overtook him before he could finish his pleading, and with a ragged, relieved scream, he came. He came and came, coating John's hand and wrist. John never stopped, never changed the pace, and it was only due to an insistent push at his hand that he released him. Sherlock slumped, unable to move as John went away to wash his hands. His head spun and his breathing was ragged. John came back and took his hand in his.
"Better?"
"Mm. But," he murmured, slightly slurring his words, "I don't...want to have...that happen again...any time soon." He yawned.
"Of course," said John. He leaned over and kissed the detective's nose. "Go to sleep now." He rolled over and clicked off the light.