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He knows it’s a bit not good. No. It’s more than that, really not good. John wouldn’t approve. He would frown.
Only John is so drunk he can’t keep his eyes open, or maybe he is unconscious, no difference, and can’t say much. Sherlock is still drunk, but not as much as he was before they got arrested. He napped in a police car while John pointlessly tried to argue.
The officer on duty checked on them once and, unless they start to be noisy, won’t come back until morning. Which was perfect, all things considered, detective didn’t fancy getting more charges.
John was an absolute dead weight and didn’t move even when Sherlock removed his trousers and pants, and then flipped over, so that he was lying on his stomach. He wasn’t as fit as he used to be during army days, but his arse was perfectly round, muscled and almost hairless. Sherlock spread those lovely cheeks to reveal a small, pink hole. His cock hardened completely.
He was going to claim that, the only virginity left in John.
He licked a long stripe along the wrinkled opening, savouring the slightly musky taste. He earned this, waited patiently for almost three years only to be denied because of a woman who would never be good enough. This was supposed to be his reward after everything he went through. He was still going to take something, even if it was going to happen in a small, suffocating cell, starkly different from what he imagined.
He licked almost viciously, let saliva run down his chin while his hands were busy kneading strong thighs and hips. John let out a quiet moan when detective’s tongue forced its way inside his body.
Sherlock was very thorough, more for his own benefit than John’s. He enjoyed feeling filthy, tasting something that wasn’t meant to be tasted, enjoyed fucking John’s hole so intimately. He didn’t even try looking for prostate, the older man was too drunk to get aroused. His own cock, in contrast, was leaking, ready to plunge into the tight opening. It was going to be incredibly tight, Sherlock was long and thick, and too much for a virgin to accept with just saliva as lube, but he didn’t care anymore. He laid a kiss on each cheek before spitting on his hand and smearing it over his own dick. The first push was almost painful for him, John’s body tensed before yielding and allowing intrusion. Sherlock observed wrinkles smoothing out as he sunk deeper, until his hips touched John’s arse.
Bliss.
Vice like grip forced him to stop and take few deep breaths, he couldn’t come too soon, he wanted to ravage John’s hole, make him swell with it. He started again, focusing on John’s breathing, to keep the pace of his pushes, slow and easy. He stopped every time doctor’s breath changed pattern, though it didn’t seem that he was going to wake up.
Slow and easy.
Slow and easy.
Sherlock let his mind wander a bit, but his thoughts concentrated on John anyway. On his bright smile, skilled hands, sharp sense of humour, soft jumpers, tea-making abilities, deliciously small hips…
Oh.
His brain came to a halt when he felt a telling pull in his balls. His thrusts sped up almost against his will, but he had enough experience to know that there was no point in trying to stop his orgasm to draw out the intercourse. He would have to stop fucking his friend, and the idea was hateful. He arranged John the way he wanted him, with thighs pressed together and started a new rhythm. More forceful, almost brutal in the way he pushed, pounded the pliant body. John let out a quiet, pained sound, but Sherlock was past caring. He felt sore, the friction was too much, skin catching on skin… But at the same time it was the best feeling, better than drugs, than cases, than winning.
A lone cry tore out of his throat when his balls drew up and he came violently. He pulled out only when his cock softened and he couldn't handle John's warmth anymore.
John’s hole was puffy, and it fluttered before slowly closing again. The white of Sherlock’s semen contrasted with the abused red of John’s skin.
It was his mark.
It will disappear, but John won’t be able to forget about it.
***
It was going to be fine.
John will wake up feeling sore, and he will assume that he agreed to everything. He would never even think that Sherlock didn’t ask, as he was one of very few people who thought Sherlock was a good person.
John was going to feel guilty, but it was better than the alternative. Sherlock couldn’t bear the thought that John may ever hate him.
It was going to be fine.