“Probably not.” They shared a quiet, mutual laugh before Sherlock’s hand moved into ‘Mr. Holmes’’s hair, in a way that’d almost be tender if it weren’t for that odd, determined (incredibly arousing) gleam in his eyes.
It became obvious that this was definitely not something sweet when the hand in his hair suddenly tightened, and the clone’s breath caught. He could only watch, entranced by the way he seemed to be both cradling the back of his head and about to attack at the same time, getting on his knees to loom over him threateningly.
“Should we tell him or decide on our own?” His clone grinned, angling his head so his and the original Sherlock’s mouths were just inches apart.
“This is pretty fun. And besides, it might be good for him to see what he’s getting into.” Sherlock nodded once before tugging on his hair again, earning an open-mouthed gasp that he could take full advantage of. He crushed his lips to his clone’s, not hesitating in the slightest with his tongue. He felt a breathless groan pour into his mouth as his clone pressed back up into him, his tongue coming out and pushing against his.
John watched in mixed horror and fascination when Sherlock’s free hand slid up his bare torso, then felt himself twitch at the noise of absolute ecstasy the clone made when Sherlock’s nails bit in and scratched slowly, leaving four quickly reddening lines from his collarbone down to his hips. His back arched with the touch, seeming to roll up into him as his hand moved, forcing his nails precious millimeters deeper into his skin while his hands came up to grip his shoulders, fingers clenching and digging into him.
Sherlock only winced a bit at that, but instead of pulling away or reprimanding him, he took his bottom lip into his mouth as if to say ‘Congratulations’ in a language only he seemed to know. The clone opened his mouth more, readjusting his legs to loop them over Sherlock’s thighs, and gave a futile push up with his hips; the hand that could have possibly had his blood beneath its nails now wrapping around his hip. ‘Really?’ The original bit down hard on his lip, surprising him enough that he jumped. Sherlock took full advantage of it, pulling him onto his lap and holding him tightly, grinding up into him hard enough that had he not had a vice-like grip on him, he might’ve fallen off. ‘No.’
The clone looked disappointed for a second, perhaps having thought he’d gained an advantage. When with a roll of his hips he realized he hadn’t, the hands on Sherlock’s shoulders moved to his neck. He pulled away from Sherlock’s lips, bringing himself to his knees over his thighs and glaring down at him. ‘Are you sure I haven’t gotten even a bit ahead?’ His thumbs pressed in below his Adam’s apple, cutting off his air supply suddenly. Sherlock stayed calm, simply holding his breath and grinning, tilting his head up to kiss him without hesitation. His hands snuck behind his knees, pulling them out from under him and flipping him again, pinning him with his hips. John sat up just slightly, not quite believing his eyes. One minute they were both going down on him, the next choking each other on the floor. Unbelievable.
They continued… whatever it was they were doing, all scratching and sly looks and silent communication. It was frustrating, it was intriguing. But John distantly registered it as hot, oh God, hot, and continued to watch in shock and fascination, still trying to figure out just what the hell the problem was that they had mentioned.
Although the clone was the one pinned down, it was obvious that they both were gaining advantages and disadvantages. Sherlock would scratch just hard enough to get a shudder, only to be stopped by legs wrapping against him and grinding up hard enough that it looked like it hurt.
It occurred to him that the entire time they’d been… for lack of a better word, wrestling, on the floor, their hips had moved with everything they’d done.
Have you two been frotting this whole time? His Sherlock began to look frustrated, grabbing his wrists from their grip on his shoulders and moving them above his head. He crossed his wrists with longer fingers, using only one hand and shoving the other into his clone’s jeans. John felt his dick twitch at the sound of a Sherlock holding in a groan.
He could see the original’s hand moving quickly, the loose jeans allowing more than enough room for him to move comfortably.
“Sherlock.” He was amazed at how level he had managed to keep his voice, but all that pride went to hell when Sherlock looked up at him, eyes dark with lust and glaring at him for interrupting. John stared back, somehow managing to keep a straight face when Sherlock twisted his hand a certain way under the denim and ‘Mr. Holmes’ arched into him.
“Sh-Sherlock, stop…” The clone was pleading with him, unable to communicate in the universal Holmes language of a flick of the eyes or twitch of the lip, concentration totally out of the question as those ridiculously long fingers played over him. Like a violin.
John shook the thought from his head and glared at him. “Sherlock, let him go.”
The original just grinned, sitting up and tilting his head back. “John, lean in just a bit further, please.”
On instinct he obeyed, finding his lips covered with a very warm mouth. Kisses seemed to be his way of changing the subject. He felt teeth dig into his lip from a wince and focused his eyes, realizing that the clone was still pressed tight to his hips and arching up, making tiny little whines and gasps against his will. Sherlock pulled away to turn his attentions back to his double, speaking one more word out loud while adjusting his grip on the wrists in his hand.
John, still shocked by the fact that Sherlock had just absolutely, completely refused to stop touching the younger version of himself pinned beneath his hips, suddenly thought that maybe he wanted to see Sherlock cum by his own spidery fingers, pinned to the floor of a too-cold morgue. A moment later he realized Sherlock had flat-out told him ‘no’ and grinned, then returned to stroking his clone. A split second after that, ‘Mr. Holmes’ made a noise that may or may not have been a garbled version of ‘Watson’ or ‘Sherlock’. With the low volume and the fact that it rose from the back of his throat between gasps, it was honestly impossible to discern whose name it was. If it was a name at all.
He was bucking his hips up against Sherlock’s, desperately trying to get his hands free. He didn’t let him, obviously; struggling and shutting his eyes tightly, and wrapping his legs around his waist. Sherlock visibly winced at the heels digging into his back, but instead of taking them away, he pressed closer, still stroking with a determined speed. The clone arched his back and—
“Not—fair…!” He shut his eyes tighter as he came, hips stilling far from the ground over Sherlock’s lap. He said nothing during or immediately after, letting orgasm take him with a small whine of pleasure and defeat, and shivering as he rode it out, hips still pushing weakly against Sherlock as he crumpled.
Sherlock leaned forward, the hand that had been stroking him moving up to his mouth.
“Well?” The clone glared at Sherlock as fingers pushed against his lips. Finally he gave a shaky sigh and opened his lips. Sherlock grinned as he pushed his fingers too deep into his clone’s mouth, taking pleasure in the wince he got at the flavor of his own fluid being forced in with the digits. He begrudgingly closed his mouth around his fingers, sucking at them and cleaning his taste from him.
Sherlock pulled his fingers away with a wet sound, laying his entire torso flush to his clone’s as he kissed him roughly, further asserting dominance.
“Thank you,” he teased, pressing another kiss to his mouth before pulling away completely. He still rubbed his hand over his hip and across his thigh, smirking down at him with an unmistakable expression stating himself as alpha. His omega stared back up at him through barely open eyes, still trying to catch his breath.
John decided to speak. Better now than later.
“…What. The hell. Was that?”
His Sherlock just grinned, giving one last squeeze to his clone’s now over-sensitive groin before standing, sliding fluidly into John’s lap but still hovering high enough that he didn’t touch him. He wrapped his arms around his neck, nuzzling into his ear in a way so dramatically over-sweet that it had John worried.
“Nothing. Just some…” He trailed his tongue over the rim of John’s ear. “…decision making.”
Trying to maintain a strong voice even as he tilted his head to expose more skin, he wouldn’t accept him just brushing it off. “Deciding what?”
Sherlock’s lips moved down his neck, open-mouthed kisses pulling off with suction enough to leave a series of red spots. “Who gets to have fun first.”
It took John a second to realize what he meant, mostly because of the very distracting lips along his jaw. Then before he could speak, he found a hand tilting his head up, lips meeting his own.
He moved his hands to Sherlock’s hips, trying to push on him enough to make it clear to get off and let him speak. Much to his surprise, he complied, biting him softly once before pulling away and standing in front of him.
He stopped for a second, then turned to his clone, holding a hand out. ‘Mr. Holmes’ refused it, but Sherlock glared. With a scoff, he took his hand, letting him help him up. As soon as the clone was on steady legs, he took his jacket off, wrapping it around him tenderly with a kiss to his temple.
“Keep this warm for me.”
Why do I feel like that means something much less innocent?
Pulling away, he had already began unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor before he was even completely facing John. His fingers immediately moved down to his hips, smoothing over his own jutting hipbones before moving to the front and beginning to undo the button and zipper.
“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?”