Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1492249.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson
  Additional Tags:
      Teenlock, balletlock, AU, Blow_Jobs, Public_Blow_Jobs, sort_of, Hand
      Jobs, Throat_Fucking, PWP, Drabble
  Collections:
      Let's_Write_Sherlock:_Challenge_12
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-20 Words: 1616
****** After the Dance ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Sherlock is a rising ballet star, working hard to get past auditions.
     John is his rugby captain boyfriend. Things get interesting when
     Sherlock wants to experiment.
Notes
     Available now in Russian here
See the end of the work for more notes
John? SH
Yes?
I require your assistance. SH
I’m studying, Sherlock. Massive test in bio tomorrow, remember?
I’ll help you study later. SH
Please, John. It’s for an experiment. SH
Yes, because those words are really going to make me wish to help you.
I’m dancing and I need your help. Please. SH
[Delayed] Yes, alright, fine, you twat. Are you at the studio?
Obviously. I said I was dancing. SH
You are so lucky that I love you.
Sherlock didn’t reply, instead setting his phone on top of his bag, which was
stuffed into the corner of the room. He was only wearing his tights and his
socks, already sweaty from the hour he had put into the dance. He stared at
himself in the mirror for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, his lower
ribs visible with each breath. He had pushed himself to build up the amount of
muscle that he currently had, but he was still nothing compared to the other
kids that he had seen in the studio. When he compared himself to his
competition, he was certain that he didn’t have a chance.
Not to mention his astounding lack of an instructor. He was in this alone,
aside from the occasional moral support from John.
With a determined lift of his chin, Sherlock started dancing again, the music
only heard to him – the violin piece that he had composed and that he would
play when he went in for try-outs. He was original, in every way, but he was
still behind the other students without a proper teacher.
He heard the door open nearly halfway through the dance, but he didn’t falter,
didn’t pause to look over at the intruder. He instead closed his eyes and put
everything he had into a leap. He turned mid-air, landing in a sweeping bow,
his fingertips just brushing the floor.
When he rose, his arms were outstretched, his hands all but loose as he turned
his head, offering his profile to the make-believe audience that he was dancing
to.
Through his heavy pants for breath, he heard footsteps approach, and then one
hand pressed against the base of his spine and the other against his chest,
curving his back.
“Makes you look more dramatic,” John breathed, his voice soft as if he didn’t
want to break the silence. John’s voice was always volumes louder than anything
when Sherlock heard it, though. It always crashed around him and consumed him.
Sometimes, it left him gasping for breath.
Sherlock waited until John pulled away before he dropped his arms and faced his
boyfriend, assessing him as he always did. “Good thing no one else is here. You
certainly look as if you’ve been studying for the past many hours,” he said
with a smirk.
John shoved him, which of course only made Sherlock laugh, his low voice
bouncing around the confines of the mirrored room. John chuckled as well,
adding to the crescendo of noise.
“Okay,” John said after a moment, gaining control of himself again. “You got me
down here. Now what did you need my help with?”
Sherlock looked John up and down, smirking before taking a step forward,
setting a hand on John’s chest and pushing him backwards towards the wall and
the stool he had set out earlier. “I realised,” he said lowly, stopping just
before the wall, “that, despite the many times you’ve seen me dance, you’ve
never seen me in my tights.” He tipped his head down, brushing his lips against
the shell of John’s ear as he reached down to cup John through his jeans.
This wasn’t the first time they had done this, but it was the first time that
Sherlock was going to experiment with it.
“I was curious to see what it did to you. Obviously,” he murmured, slowly
starting to kiss down John’s neck, “you like it rather a lot.”
His long fingers quickly went to work on getting rid of the fabric that was
keeping Sherlock from what he wanted, and soon he had dropped John’s jeans and
pants to his thighs.
“Sherlock… we’re in a public place,” John argued, just now coming to his
senses.
“How astute of you,” Sherlock purred, guiding John down onto the stool and
quickly kneeling before him, pulling him down into a kiss. “But don’t worry. No
one ever shows up at this time of day.”
“You do,” John countered, but it was obvious that he was slowly losing his
argument.
Sherlock had to smirk at the predictability of the average teenage boy. Offer
them some form of sex, and they were instantly putty in your hands.
“Yes, well,” Sherlock murmured, pushing on John’s chest until he was leaning
back against the wall, “that’s precisely why I come in at this time.”
He licked his lips then, leaning down to mouth along John’s cock, leaving wet
kisses as he worked his way from the base up to the tip. He looked up at his
boyfriend, watching his brain slowly turn to mush as the endorphins settled
into his system. John was his to mould, to conquer.
“Fuck, Sherlock,” the blond boy gasped when Sherlock licked over the frenulum,
his fingers finding their way into Sherlock’s slightly damp curls.
Sherlock just hummed, taking John between his lips and sucking gently on the
head, his tongue teasing along the glans and the slit. He hummed, taking John
deeper, bobbing his head and flicking his tongue. He knew that he could take
John all the way, but why rush it? By the looks of things, John wasn’t going to
last too terribly long anyway.
Once he had taken John most of the way, he pulled off and paid attention to his
balls, sucking them gently into his mouth as he continued to stroke his shaft,
his thumb occasionally running over the head. 
John moaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening in Sherlock’s hair.
Sherlock released John’s balls, moving back up to lick up and down John’s
shaft, practically purring at the way he tasted, the bareness and delicacy of
him.
He had John in his mouth a second later, not holding back anymore as he
swallowed him down, working along John’s length until the tip of his cock was
against the back of his throat, his nose touching John’s lower abdomen. He held
there for a moment and then picked up a quick rhythm, sometimes forgetting to
breathe as he went down on John. His hand gently rolled John’s balls, tugging
lightly at them as he continuously took him down his throat.
And then John did what Sherlock had been hoping he would do. He tightened his
fingers further in Sherlock’s hair to hold his head still and then lifted his
hips, fucking himself into Sherlock’s mouth.
Sherlock looked up at John from underneath his lashes, something that he knew
the rugby captain liked. John swore again at the sight, fucking himself down
Sherlock’s throat until he came hard, tossing his head back with a shout.
Sherlock swallowed, waiting until John was spent before he pulled off and
licked over John’s sensitive cock to clean him up.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” John breathed a little raggedly. He combed
through Sherlock’s hair, trailing his hand down to cup Sherlock’s cheek.
Sherlock smiled as if he had just won an argument, and John chuckled at his
look.
John reached down and hiked up his pants and jeans, buttoning them and pulling
up the zip. He held his hand down to Sherlock, offering him some help up.
Sherlock accepted, rising slowly to his feet with John’s help. He gasped as
John immediately spun him around and pinned him against the wall, reaching down
to grab his leg and set his ankle on his shoulder.
John grinned devilishly, keeping Sherlock pinned where he wanted him. He turned
his head, gently kissing Sherlock’s ankle, trailing his lips down his leg to
his calf. “I think I owe you something,” he murmured, looking up at Sherlock
with the spark in his eye that always got his heart racing.
“Please,” Sherlock begged, tipping his head back against the wall.
“Always happy to oblige,” John murmured, reaching into Sherlock’s tights and
pulling out his heavy, leaking cock. “God, look at you. You always make fun at
me, being so needy of you. Jesus, have you ever looked at yourself?” he asked,
slowly stroking his hand over Sherlock’s cock.
Sherlock shivered, grabbing onto John’s shoulder and trying to force himself to
not thrust into John’s hand. John was setting the pace, now that his mind
wasn’t filled with cotton.
“I look at myself every day,” Sherlock commented sarcastically, gesturing
absently to the mirrors around the room.
“Good,” John whispered in a tone that made Sherlock moan. “Look at yourself
now.”
Sherlock did, and his mouth fell open in a soft gasp. His lips were flushed a
bright red from giving John his blowjob, and there was a high pink flush over
his cheekbones. His hair was a mess from where John’s hand had been pulling on
it. He looked desperate and engulfed in desire.
“You look beautiful,” John murmured, pressing closer to Sherlock and working
his hand faster.
Sherlock whined, tossing his head back and clinging to John as he slowly felt
his orgasm building. And then he was gone, shaking apart in John’s hand and
spilling all over them. John worked him through it, stroking until he was too
tender to want the attentions anymore.
“Well,” Sherlock said after he had caught his breath, “that experiment went
better than I was hoping.”
John just smacked him and laughed, leaning his forehead against Sherlock’s
shoulder.
End Notes
     This was written for three reasons:
     1. For the LWS prompt
     2. For threader's AMAZING art
     3. For bennyslegs' fic prompt/request
     THIS is the amazing art in question
     Uh... I don't know what happened. This wasn't supposed to be smut,
     but smut happened.
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