Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1289119.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson, Johnlock
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, teen!sherlock_-_Character, teen!john_-
      Character
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Teen!John, Teen!Sherlock, teen!verse, Johnlock_-_Freeform,
      teen!johnlock, House_Party, Spin_the_Bottle, Sherlock_-_Freeform, John_-
      Freeform, Sherlock_Holmes_-_Freeform, John_Watson_-_Freeform, Alternate
      Universe, Kissing, Snogging, Making_Out, Fucking, Anal_Sex, Anal_Play,
      Fingering, Bottom!Lock, top!John, Consent, teenage, Sex, johnlock_sex,
      explicit_-_Freeform, sherlock_x_john, john_x_sherlock_-_Freeform, Smut,
      Lemon, request, Denial, Closeted, Gay_Sex, Older_John, Younger_Sherlock,
      18_year_old_john, 16_year_old_sherlock, Fluff
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-09 Words: 11368
****** Spin the Bottle ******
by crimsonwinter
Summary
     Menacing, negative, wanna-be soldier John Watson is soon to graduate,
     but he's dragged to a house party by his only friend and is tricked
     into playing Spin the Bottle with his enemy: the younger, nerdier,
     just-as-negative Sherlock Holmes. They snog while playing the game,
     inevitably winning. Sex in the host's room ensues.
Notes
     I know that it is an American schooling system that I'm using here,
     but Europe's confuses me and it works better with the setting.
     P.S. John constantly asking if Sherlock wants to continue is
     asdfghjkl
     **Feb 18 2015 EDIT**
     This ficlet is almost a year old now, considering it's one of the
     first I've written for this damn ship. Since then, I've written SO
     MANY more, all of which are longer (and frankly, better) than this
     one. There's a range of AUs, canon domestic!lock, and other ficlets,
     so please check them out! Also, more fics are coming in the future!
     Happy reading! <3
See the end of the work for more notes
John Watson parked his car with tremulous hands. He didn't know why he'd agreed
to come to this party, but his friend was ecstatic that he had, and he'd driven
himself with his angst-ridden music up so loud he didn't have to think. It was
nearly nine, and the house was already buzzing with dancing bodies and the
smell of sex and alcohol.
He peered out the steamy window with doubtful eyes. The house was grand, its
colors of white, yellow, and brown giving it a Victorian feel. There were
various students around the grass having the time of their lives. It was
sickening.
Oh, to be 18 and nearly out of here… He thought. He opened his car door and
made his way across the wet road to the house. He sucked in his breath as he
recognized the faces from his high school. They turned into expressions of
surprise to see a "tough guy" walking calmly up the brick steps and into a
popular house party.
John Watson always got into fights, he rarely did his homework, and he loathed
those who sucked up to the teachers. It was a wonder why he'd been invited at
all. He darted his eyes around him, watching for prats and pricks who he'd
hoped he wouldn't run into. He hated the lot.
Especially that one. The one he knew was going to be at the party which he now
maneuvered through silently, after pushing the mahogany door open with a
sweaty fist. 
His navy eyes were frantically soaking up the scene around him, hoping to
notify him from when he saw the know-it-all.
"John!" One of the party's hosts, a friend of the friend who'd invited him,
made his way over to the tense, short young man. John felt out of place. "So
Charity persuaded you to come?" 
"Yeah." John clenched his teeth, his short blond hair receiving a ruffle from
the suave, older boy.
"This is the last big party we're going to throw, and since you'll be
graduating with us, I thought we might as well send in our best woman to force
you to come. Besides, we might need someone to beat up the coppers for us."
"Very fun, Stanley." John couldn't keep his eyes focused on the host in front
of him, his stomach clenching whenever he saw a dash of curly brown hair or a
tall figure.
"Who're you lookin' for? Charity's back there with Sarah," he nodded his red
head towards the back door. The teenaged bodies that blocked it were either
swaying, laughing, talking, kissing, or drinking. John didn't feel like
drinking tonight. He just wanted to make an appearance and leave. He had shoes
to scuff up and nerds to intimidate. 
"Oh. Okay." John muttered. Stanley must have seen the anticipation and worry in
the almost-delinquent's countenance, because he made an embarrassing sound and
called him out. 
"Aw, he misses his girlfriend!"
The host disappeared mid sentence, because John was still looking to avoid that
pretentious bastard and didn't process the words until it was too late. "She's
not my - "
Charity appeared between sweaty bodies and John was happy to have found her. He
stepped over the card game in the center of the living room and approached her,
grateful for finding his friend but cursing Stanley and his assumptions.
Charity most definitely wasn't his girlfriend, but his best friend. In fact,
John Watson was gay and closeted, said best friend the only person he'd ever
come out to. Those who didn't assume or know any better supposed she was his
girlfriend, although her small frame and wide eyes contrasted his
intimidatingly broad shoulders and dark stare.
"Johnny!" She pounced on him and he couldn't help but smile. She still smelled
like lemons and not alcohol, as he'd been wary of. She couldn't stop drinking
if she started, and her body usually couldn't handle the intensity. "You came!"
Her brown eyes sparkled in the yellow house light.
"Yeah," John muttered.
"Oh no…" She added with a second glance, a small smirk teasing her thin lips.
"You haven't seen him, have you?" 
John snapped his gaze away from a different dark haired boy at her words.
"What? No. Why would I even - "
"Pfft, John. Don't even start with me. You've been picking on this kid for
ages, and then as soon as he stands up to you and calls you out in class, you
make the biggest deal. You're so gay for him it's ridiculous."
John glared at her, his worn eyes and grey-blue irises threateningly beautiful
like his large, mussed black jacket. "Don't even start with that again. And
keep your voice down. I don't like him, I don't like him," John had to say it
twice to convince himself, "I just don't want to run into him. I might have to
snap his scrawny neck."
Charity laced her arm in his and led him through the crowd, the students too
blasted to have heard her remark. "Let's get a drink, loverboy."
"I don't want - "
"Shh…" She pressed a finger to his lips, an added effect to those who now
watched with wide eyes as they approached the drink table. It was littered with
beer bottles, cans, and a punch bowl.
A punch bowl. How original. John wanted no part in this stereotypical event.
===============================================================================
The boy on the other side of the room felt the same. He was tall and slim, but
his natural muscles were worked on strenuously, and he was rather strong in
that sense. His face was unique and magnificent, his high cheekbones and
startling unnatural eyes causing all the girls with good sense to swoon. His
white dress shirt was pushed up to his forearms, the way it always was, and his
dark curled hair was a mess on his head. His nimble fingers played with a pen
as he stood aside, out of the way from the rest of the students. He was
deducing everyone at the party, something he did without a second thought no
matter where he was.
Deducing was discovering nearly everything about a situation based on the
simplest of hints. That girl in the red dress who was draped across the lap of
a very excited boy was actually attempting to make the boy's best friend
jealous. A hopeless attempt, the best friend was interested in her friend, who,
of course, only had eyes for the boy who had a tight bodied red dress in his
lap.
A stupid conundrum, Sherlock Holmes thought. Sentiment and love are stupid.
Everything's stupid. I want to go home.
Sherlock had two classes with John Watson. One was Chemistry, even though he
was a good two years younger than the boy. He was massively intelligent and
always had taken classes above his grade level. John Watson could care less
about education, and fell behind in the class. The other was Ceramics, which
Sherlock had only taken for his art grade. John Watson took it for the same
reason.
If they didn't loathe each other, Sherlock would have made the best tutor and
even friend. The young men shared the same opinions on everything - how
pointless life was, how much the school system was flawed, the idiots who threw
this party they now awkwardly stood at. They even liked the same comic books
and - funny enough - were both closeted.
The reason for their feud was this; Sherlock had corrected the teacher during
science class, and John had pointed out that he was pretentious and uselessly
fighting a dying cause. He accused him of being a stuck up nerd. Now that it
was the end of the year and he was inches away from graduating, John's once
muttered comments had become louder and more vicious, and the whole class soon
knew of their tiff.
Sherlock had fought back. He couldn't resist letting out his pent up anger in
the form of his unnatural talent. He deduced John, from the rip on his left
shoulder to the blade he used to shave. He used personal facts about the boy to
back up his accusations. At the end of the rant, he called him out on being a
"false badboy" and a "stubborn cock" who had everyone believe that he was a
criminal and bully in order to hide his sensitive, feminine nature.
John had gotten up from his desk and was ready to punch the high cheekboned
face when the teacher finally started to give a shit and stepped in, sending
John back to the principal, who he knew on a first name basis.
What was worse about the situation, for both teenagers, was that the other was
completely correct. Sherlock shouldn't have wasted his breath correcting
someone with two weeks left of school, and John was hiding himself behind his
large muscles.
Sherlock found John now, his eyes never straying from the boy, who was tensing
uncomfortably at the taste of the punch.
Oh, he doesn't like that at all. He doesn't want to drink. He doesn't want to
be here. Why does he keep looking around?
Sherlock Holmes, the nerd who was invited to the party only because he had
stood up John and helped one of the hosts with her homework, found the eyes of
John locked on his own.
===============================================================================
Shit. John thought.
"Oh, look, there's your boyfriend." Charity snorted a small laugh into her
drink.
"Shut the fuck up. I want to leave." John wondered why his groin tightened as
he accidentally got lost in the other boy's brilliant turquoise orbs.
"Oi, no need to be snappy. Look, let's go through here. Just avoid him until
midnight, then you can drive home. Just don't drink." Charity cared too much
for the rough boy to let him drive away intoxicated and angry, so she did all
she could to prevent him from leaving. Of course, her own drinking habits were
tossed aside and she hoped to be passed out drunk by the end of the night.
The two friends worked through a separate room, John's pulse quickening with
the thought that Sherlock was following them.
He was, but he waited until they disappeared behind the closed door until he
moved from his spot, the younger girls who had been watching him sighing
hopelessly as his long legs passed them. They squealed, but he only had eyes
for one, even if those eyes were filled with rage and a nervous need to
confront him.
Charity squeaked with happiness as she found Sarah once again, John left
awkwardly to his own devices in the isolated room. There were less people, most
of them in his same grade. He recognized some faces and gagged when some of
those faces were mashed together in a corner.
Bloody fucking prick, why did I have to come to this goddamn party? Fuck you,
Charity. Fuck the person who invited him. Fuck him. John couldn't even say his
name in his head, which made him more angry. And what the fuck was that? My
stomach flip flopped when I saw him. Fag. John was adamantly against the idea
that he was attracted to the younger adolescent, which was problematic for him
because that same boy was ardently attracted to him as well.
Sherlock slipped through the door behind a couple, attached at the hip. He
sneaked in and sat on the ground beside someone from his English class, his
eyes never wavering from the rough boy who leaned sensually against the wall.
John didn't notice that Sherlock was there, even as one of the female hosts
stood and clapped her hands to get the room to quiet.
"Alright, now that you guys all came in here, we're starting a game of spin the
bottle. No leaving." One of the girl's friends was given an obvious signal and
left the room hastily, the sound of a lock clicking into place outside the
door.
Fuck, wait, what? John swore, his lip being bitten so hard it nearly drew
blood.
Oh, my. Sherlock pressed his face into his hand in a sign of defeat.
"Lauren!" Sarah shouted, her voice half exasperated and half excited.
Lauren waved a hand, her blue dress sparkling as did her jingling bracelets.
"Now, everyone get in a circle. If you don't play, I'll tell your parents you
were here. I'm being serious." Lauren was a paragon student and knew all the
parents of the school because she was the principal's daughter. She also loved
gossip and stuck her nose in everyone's business.
The twelve people shuffled into a ring in the center of the room, some of them
anxious, others extremely unhappy. They had no choice. They were locked in with
a serious bribe, as well as being actually locked in.
"No fucking way," John said. Charity tugged at his arm, a thought arising in
her eyes as she noticed Sherlock awkwardly scooting closer. "Oh, fucking hell,"
he added after seeing the nerd. "No."
"Shh, John, it's okay. He looks just as uncomfortable as you. If we play it
smart, we'll be able to get out of here without having to do much. Just be nice
and relax. Have fun. Look, there's that cute guy from your math class here."
Charity feigned innocence, her evil thought still bubbling. Of course, if John
were to land on Sherlock or vice versa, that wouldn't be her doing, but she
could persuade John to get it over with. She knew that it wouldn't be over once
it happened, though. John would have to realize why he felt so hot and bothered
if the sophomore were to wrap him in a kiss.
 Sherlock wouldn't take his gaze off John. It was terrifying, his unwavering
look. Sherlock's sharp eyes finally pulled away as John was forced to comply
with Charity and sat uncomfortably across from him. 
The first to spin the glass beer bottle was Lauren, who landed on the cute boy
from John's math class. She crawled on all fours over to him and planted a soft
kiss on his lips, her mischievous smile still lingering.
Maybe this won't be so bad, just pecks,the young men thought.
The boys and girls spun and kissed one another, but when the first same sex
spin arose, John prepared himself to hear homophobic hate fill the room.
Surprisingly, nothing happened besides the two girls kissing. A light peck,
like before. Nobody cared. John snorted, It's because everyone loves lesbians.
It'd be different if it were two boys.
The group continued to play until Lauren clapped her hands once more and said
that the level had been raised. It'd been six turns, exactly half of them had
gone. John's stomach dropped, he had had his turn once and even then he felt
uncomfortable. He'd just had to peck a girl in his Ceramics class, and it
wasn't awful, but he most certainly didn't want to have the stakes raised.
Said stakes were that the kiss must be open-mouthed and last five seconds. The
game continued as it had before, but now the audience squeaked and shrieked a
tad louder when two people who'd had a history or a crush had to kiss. John was
utterly shocked by the acceptance in the group, and as he watched more boys and
girls kiss, he noticed that this group was one that was not particularly rude.
All twelve of them were either outsiders who were somehow invited or simply
didn't give a shit, and he was beginning to wonder why he hadn't hung around
these people more often. They just wanted to have fun, some of them even
completely sober. Must be mostly the theatre kids, he thought. They're pretty
nice, actually. Except for that one. 
Sherlock had yet to go. He spun next and the bottle landed on Charity. The girl
wiped her palms on her pants and crawled forward across the circle. Charity
flipped her long hair over her shoulder along with her gaze. She gave a naughty
look at John, who pretended he hadn't seen it. 
The slender faced boy leaned in for a kiss with parted lips. They were plump
and slightly glistening from being chewed on, and John felt a spark of jealousy
course through him as he watched his best friend and his nemesis kiss. Of
course, he didn't know at which one of them this jealousy was directed at. He
forced himself to think he was just being protective of Charity, but his heart
told him otherwise.
Fag. He told himself at his reaction. John Watson was completely sure he was
gay, but that didn't mean he was accepting of it. He constantly called himself
names in order to make it clear to himself that he wasn't attracted to any of
the boys at his school. They were all either creepy, stupid, or ugly. Of
course, there was one who was none of these… John mentally slapped himself,
berating himself with slurs once more.
Sherlock pulled back from the kiss and darted his eyes over to John, whose
brows were furrowed behind Charity.Must be possessive over her, he deduced. His
intelligence was extensive, but he was still oblivious to the workings of a
regular brain. Charity plopped down beside John.
 "Thinking of insulting me?"
 "What?" She whispered back.
 "You must've caught his disease, go on, see if you're unnaturally smart and
cocky." John snickered at his insult. Charity glared at him.
 "He was a good kisser. Nice lips." She smirked at her own torturous words as
she watched John's face flush and mind churn. He didn't want to think about
those lips. Those plump, very prominent lips…
The group played some more, none of the players ever calling anyone out or
rejecting anyone. Even those boys who'd groaned at first were now hooting and
hollering as their mates kissed, their knees clinking the bottle as they
crawled forward.
The first male couple to kiss was a little put off by the idea, but Lauren
persuaded them that it was just a game, and that nobody actually cared. They
shrugged and kissed, John and Sherlock's entire bodies both sparking in
arousal.
Okay, now this is almost too accepting, John said to himself. 
The small room with various knick-knacks and dark paintings on the walls
tightened as Lauren upped the level once more. By this time, the room had
darkened, the curtains getting pulled closed by Sarah. She turned on a dim
yellow light in hopes to set the mood.
The mood was set successfully. Everyone was blushing, fidgeting, and horny.
"Okay, round three. This time, you have to kiss them for ten seconds - with
tongue. And also you have to move your lips. Once again, same rules. We go in a
circle and nobody judges." For a possessive, power hungry control freak, Lauren
did have good morals.
The game continued. Hoots and hollers were still shouted. Crotches were
adjusted. Charity made out with a boy who was in John's gym class, Sarah kissed
the girl in Ceramics, and Lauren kissed one of the boys who'd been resistant to
kiss his mate. When it came to John's turn, he prayed that it was Charity, some
girl, or even a random boy. He had a pit in his stomach that he felt catch in
his throat, his knees now sore from sitting for so long.
Please don't land on him.
The bottle disregarded his plea and landed on Sherlock, whose face flushed. His
thighs jolted awake with sensitive nerves and he felt his stomach coil. His
groin tensed.
John reacted similarly.
Charity giggled. Her plan was go.
"Fuck no," John swore, his body sparking with a 'Fuck yes.'
"Hey, we said no judging!" A small girl from the circle said. Sherlock deduced
that she was most definitely into seeing two men kiss. He smirked at her,
admiring her confrontation. He didn't want to kiss the bloke, though.
"Yeah, John, just kiss him." Charity pleaded, her face stretching into a huge
smile.
"No, not him. I don't want to play this game." John stood up but a sharp, bony
hand yanked him back down.
"You're not going anywhere. John, is it? Here's some knowledge for you: Nobody
gives a shit about what you think. We've been playing for nearly an hour and
we've all been having a great time. You're the first one to make a fuss over
kissing someone, and nobody cares. I could care less if you hate this guy or
love him or even live with him, you're going to kiss him and we're going to
continue playing."
"I'm not gay." John spat his lie and folded his legs into himself stubbornly.
Fuck this place.
"Neither am I," the boy who'd kissed another boy earlier said, "But it was fun
to have the girls react and continue playing the game. It's a risk and nobody
gives a fuck. We don't care here. I know you're the tough guy around school,
but this is a private game. Just kiss him." 
"Yeah, just kiss him." The others almost chanted it, their words slicing into
John like razor blades. Part of him wanted to tell them to shove it, but
another part of him wanted to see what it'd be like to kiss Sherlock, who was
sitting placidly, waiting for his kiss. He was being quite respectful and
wasn't acting like an arsehole, so John really had no reason to be upset with
him. He was even nice to Charity when they went.
Sherlock watched everything unfold around him, the pink faces of the girls who
laughed at John's reaction, the windows fogging with steam, nervous glances
between boys. Sherlock met John's eyes for half of a second, and he found that
his had pulse elevated as well as his cock.
Sherlock cocked a brow. He'd had a sudden change of heart. He didn't even know
what caused him from switching from loathing this prick to wanting to feel him
up, but the change was there and quick, and he anticipated John's tongue and
lips.
John grumbled and gave in, clearly no way out. Shit.
He began to crawl forward on hands on knees, the chants turning to cheers as he
got closer to Sherlock. Sherlock's face was red and his eyes were dark blue, a
change from the brilliant green they'd been when they started the game. John
wanted to tell Sherlock that he'd hate this, but something in him told him he
wouldn't. Sherlock was definitely attractive, smart, and stubborn, those
characteristics drawing John in immediately. However, the way he showed him up
during class would never be forgiven. John was inches away from Sherlock's face
now, and he finally let his eyelids slide closed. He leaned in.
Sherlock had watched John crawl towards him, and in that moment, he knew that
he no longer hated the boy but most definitely liked him. He breathed sharply,
his heart rate increasing. His body couldn't fool his brain, and he counted the
seconds until John said something, his nearly black eyes now heated and half
lidded as he came closer. Sherlock studied every line and blemish in John's
face, seeing it as devilishly handsome. Now that he'd had his actual first
kiss, the girl before, this one would count as his first kiss with the sex he
fancied.
The boys took more time before their lips met than the crowd had hoped, but
everyone gasped when the air between John and Sherlock was compressed and their
red and pink lips met in a perfect fit.
John melted. Sherlock heated.
Charity couldn't hold her excitement. She let out a cheer.
The young men were forcing themselves not to feel as much as they'd already
felt, but the feel of the other's lips and the knowledge that it was who it was
that they now kissed rushed to their heads and John found himself parting his
lips.
Sherlock felt him open his mouth but he wasn't sure if it was because of the
rules or because he wanted to. Either way, he trailed his tongue across John's
bottom lip, feeling him tense. 
By the three second mark, Sherlock had successfully gained entrance to John's
mouth. Throwing caution to the wind, John received the tongue happily and
played with it with his own, not in a dominating way, but in the way that
someone so inhuman and intelligent was incredibly real, right here, before him.
John found his fingers touching something soft and curly, and it took him
another blissful second to realize that he had entangled his fingers in
Sherlock's hair. Completely aroused and inundated with the romantic and sexual
response he felt, John pulled Sherlock's head deeper into his mouth, his lips
parting and closing as he worked his tongue over Sherlock's teeth.
Sherlock sparked and found his hands at John's hips. He couldn't hear the
cheers or gasps from the group, but he could feel the solidity of John's bones
and the sweetness of his taste, a touch of punch still on his tongue.
Ten seconds had definitely passed, but the boys were still indulging in their
kiss. It became a little too heated when Sherlock pulled back with an open
mouth, only to crash it onto John's again, the entranced group catching a
glimpse of Sherlock's wet tongue between their lips.
Charity was proud that her assumption had been correct: John liked Sherlock.
What she was surprised at finding, however, was that Sherlock liked him just as
much, if not more.
 She finally glanced at Lauren who nodded. Charity tugged at John's trouser
cuff and snapped him from his heaven. He turned around with a glazed look and
her raised browed expression brought him back to reality. He glanced back at
Sherlock, whose eyes were closed, a look of bliss on his face. 
The older boy untangled his hand from his partner's hair and retracted it
shakily. Sherlock sat back down, obviously adjusting his trousers.
John did the same, Charity smiling at him knowingly.
Lauren was about to move the game along, but before she did, she said, "That's
it, you won the game," to John.
"What? How do you win 'Spin the Bottle?'" John was dazed.
"Like that." She nodded towards Sherlock, whose once clear mind was fuzzy and
heated.
"I don't - " John was cut off for the nth time that night, the girl walking
tremulously in her heels towards the door after rising from the floor. She
knocked thrice and her friend unlocked it. She opened it with a rush, the smell
of alcohol, weed, and sex coming from the main room of the house. 
"Just take your boy and get out, you've won. You can go. Ask Stanley for a
room."
"What!?" John sputtered, the weight of her words finally hitting him.
Lauren sighed, her auburn hair cascading down over her shoulder. "We play this
game in hopes of having fun and pushing people to the limits. As you witnessed,
we don't give a lot of fucks about what happens, as long as it's fun and
interesting. However, when two people have to kiss and end up full on snogging
in the center, it's obvious that they're the ones who had the most tension, the
most chemistry. Now get the fuck out and take a room, you obviously need it.
Sherlock, follow him." She nodded her head towards the door.
John was puzzled, but Charity pulled him to a standing position and pushed him
out of the room, Sherlock close behind. Her hands left his back and the door
shut, the girl locking it once again.
"So you're the blokes who won Lauren's game? Don't let anyone know what
happened, and you'll probably be able to make it to the room in one piece."
John and Sherlock were both still shocked as to what had just happened, but the
girl at the door gave them two little shoves and they were mindlessly making
their way through the crowd. Sherlock didn't leave John's side. John was
completely aware of his presence and could barely contain himself as he felt
Sherlock grip his arm when a rambunctious football player toppled down in front
of them. They scooted around him and continued to step slowly through the
living room, both of them attempting to draw out the walk to meet Stanley as
long as they could.
John found Stanley beside another door, a girl draped in his arms, a beer
bottle loosely dangling from his fingertips. Sherlock loosened his grip as John
approached.
He tapped Stanley on the hand, which was on the girl's arse, and he pulled back
enough to recognize who it was. "John?"
John had to speak over the music, "Apparently I've just won Lauren's 'Spin the
Bottle' game?"
"Ahhh, lucky guy. She reserved a room from the main host for the winners," he
was blasted drunk and the girl in his arms was fiddling with his trousers.
Stanley didn't even see who John was accompanied by, he just mindlessly opened
the door and pushed him inside. "Have fun!" 
John finally came to his senses as he took in the sight of the guest room. He
looked at the pressed sheets, Sherlock noticing the lock on the door behind
him. There were vases without flowers and paintings of multicolored horses. The
window on the adjacent side was open, its white curtains rustling slightly. The
small patter of rain on the sill was accompanied by the loud music from the
main room, which was fortunately muffled from inside the bedroom. John Watson
was heated so the drizzling breeze was welcome. He ran over the facts in his
head. He concluded that there was some messed up trickery going on. It's like a
fucking sex club.Lauren had set up a game and reserved a room for the two
people who got the most heated during the game. That must've been him. Him and…
Sherlock appeared beside him. John was startled by Sherlock's close proximity
but was then curious as to what the younger grade boy had to say. He'd only
just stopped loathing him, after all. He didn't know if Sherlock felt the same.
"Do you know what's going on?" He asked stupidly.
Sherlock responded, "It seems she supposes us to have sex since we were quite
caught up in the moment during the game. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel
about her assumptions."
John suddenly felt very uneasy. He sat on the bed quickly and removed his
jacket, his thin shirt clinging to his muscles, his silver dog tags falling
from his collar.
Sherlock locked the door in secret when John turned away to fold his jacket
beside him. Here we go… He thought hastily. Sherlock's long legs carried him
towards the boy on their own accord.
He sat beside him, the bed sagging slightly under his weight. Sherlock Holmes,
the genius who knew all the roots of every language and every person at the
party's reason for drinking, was now unsure of what was about to happen. "Dog
tags? Do you want to be in the military?" His eyes swept over John's form. Once
again, he found it hard to pull his gaze away.
John found himself incredibly grateful that Sherlock had asked him that. He
forced himself not to notice that Sherlock had just given him prolonged eye
contact. "Yes, actually, after I graduate. I s'pose you'll still be here when
I'm there." Why the fuck would I say that?!
"I suppose so." Sherlock swallowed and licked his lips, pulling the bottom one
into his mouth and letting it slip out with a bouncing tenderness. "I'm sorry
if I… offended you… In class a few days ago. I was just - " Sherlock found his
apology tumbling out of his mouth faster than he'd hoped.
"It's okay, I'm sorry, too." John didn't know why he was getting sentimental.
"You were right, though. That teacher is an idiot."
"Most people are idiots to me. I'm sort of genius." Sherlock smirked, now
wiping his hands on his trousers. He couldn't look away from the smiling face
of the wannabe soldier. There was an unspoken secret that they exchanged, but
they spoke like friends as if there wasn't. Sherlock was extremely flirtatious
with his grin, and John noticed.
"Oh? I knew that. The thing you did, when you knew everything about me from my
boots. How do you do that?" John felt stupid in his questions, but Sherlock
admired it.
"It just happens. I see the chalk on your fingers and I know that you played
hopscotch with your little sister before you came to the party. I know that you
started using aftershave since I called you out. Your clothes are handed down
by your father, but you had similar body shapes so they fit you. That, or
you've been training yourself to fit them more snugly. You also did your hair
different since then, more up. Which leads me to believe you actually care what
people think of you, so you try to look presentable."
"Brilliant." John said, in awe.
"Sorry?"
"That was… amazing."
"Oh." Sherlock looked at his hands. It was strangely easy to converse with John
Watson.
"What?"
"That's not what people usually say." People like you, before all this
happened. Holmes lifted his eyes and had them hit John's face with that intense
and startling ferocity that they had no matter what the context.
"What do people usually say?" John forced his smile to stay hidden, but it was
hopeless.
"Piss off." 
John smirked. He wanted to kiss Sherlock badly, but he didn't know if the game
was just a freak occurrence or if anything was actually supposed to happen with
them. He wanted it to. Funny, he thought, an hour ago I hated this bastard.
"I suppose this means we don't hate each other anymore?" Sherlock asked,
crossing his legs to adjust his partial erection.
"Seems that way. It's like we would've been mates if things had been different.
You probably even like the same comics as me, or something." John felt silly
and less intelligent by the second, but as he talked with the boy, his guard
dropped and he let himself react comfortably to Sherlock's presence.
"I probably do."
"What do you like?"
You. "Spiderman."
"Deadpool." 
"Of course you'd be a Deadpool fan, you sarcastic bastard. You're just like
him."
"I'll take that as a compliment," John could feel himself becoming fast friends
with the boy he'd just indulged in kissing.
"Good, it was supposed to be one." Sherlock wanted to kiss him. He wanted to
ask, at least. "So what about that game? We ...won?"
John heated. It had really happened. "Yeah." Sherlock had already mentioned the
game, and the assumption that they were supposed to have sex now. He thought
of it actually happening. It would cause problems if they decided they didn't
like each other like that. He wanted to ask. He went over the ideas in his
mind, in case he assumed wrong. He could use the facts for backup.
They'd snogged well and seemed to be physically attracted to each other. And
Sherlock was looking at him with a funny expression. 
 "They think we're going to have sex in here," Sherlock repeated, the words
strangely heavy in his mouth.
Fuck it, John thought. "Do you want to?"
"Yes." Sherlock said, before the words could catch in his voice due to
surprise. With that sign of consent, John kissed him again, finding the dark
curls with his fingers and pulling his mouth into him. 
This time, there were no screaming girls or chanting boys. It was just them.
John gave Sherlock a gentle push backwards and Sherlock was on his back on the
bed, shifting his bum to get into a comfortable position. He was afraid of
being hurt because the boy was older and more solid, but Sherlock was taller
and smarter, so he had some advantage. Not that height was an advantage when
horizontal.
Sherlock went through the facts in his mind. He pulled back and asked John the
things he didn't know, and with the new information, he went back to concluding
why it would work. He wrapped his lean legs around John's middle and was
instantly met with John's groin. John ground into him as Sherlock wrapped his
arms around John's neck and shoulders. John slipped his hands under Sherlock's
back and lifted him up, positioning him more firmly between his legs. 
John was heady, horny, and in a haze, but he was still respectful and gentle,
as he was always told to be.
Sherlock had a clear head, but it clouded when John began to suck on the tight
skin of his neck. He replayed the facts once again.
John was a virgin, so was Sherlock. John was educated about the workings, so
was Sherlock. John was gay, so was Sherlock. John was clean, so was Sherlock.
John didn't have a condom or lube, but Sherlock assured him that he'd find some
in the dresser beside the bed. 
John pulled Sherlock into him and rolled over. Sherlock was on top now, and
John asked him again, "You want this?"
"Yes." Sherlock adored his respectful eyes, even though he could tell John
wanted to ravenously devour him. The spoke once again about the state of their
virginities.
"Will you bottom?" John asked, feeling particularly dominant, even from the
position below Sherlock's grinding hips.
"Yes, please." Sherlock cut off John's approval with another kiss, his groin
rubbing into John's with a circular rotation. He'd recalled the pornography and
books he'd researched, and he knew that John knew what he was doing as well. He
wasn't worried, although he was afraid of bottoming hurting. He wanted to feel
the great pleasure after the pain, though.
John pulled the hem of Sherlock's white dress shirt from his black trousers and
began unbuttoning it. When Sherlock sat up and John shed his shirt, Sherlock's
surprisingly chiseled young body glistened in the streaming moonlight. His
shoulders were strong and sharp, his hips thin and bony, although his stomach
and abdomen resembled a washboard. John was almost jealous. He ran his fingers
over Sherlock's outlined muscles and pursed his lips before speaking, "Do you
work out?"
"Yes." Sherlock found it incredible that he was able to hold a friendly
conversation with John Watson while he rubbed himself pleasurably on him.
Sherlock asked, "Do you?" as he pulled off John's thin t-shirt.
Yes, yes he does.
John was strong and solid, his shoulders and hips wider and thicker than
Sherlock's. Sherlock threw the shirt over his head and pulled at the chains of
John's dog tags with his teeth, hunching over and nipping at the skin right
below the tag, John's collarbone.
The senior found the sophomore's mouth with his once again and explored his
hips and sturdy back, tracing a finger down the column of his spine, down to
his round, firm rear. John was eager to slip his hand into Sherlock's pants but
decided against it. He ended up making circular rotations with his fingernails
on Sherlock's back instead, his mouth tugging at Sherlock's bottom lip.
Sherlock growled into John's mouth and pulled away, "You're a good kisser," he
said, his eyes closed. He pressed the flat of his tongue onto John's neck.
"So are you," John moaned. It seemed nothing was off limits at this point, and
John began to feel the hem of Sherlock's black dress trousers, the smooth skin
of his tailbone teasing his fingers. He slipped his hand below his pants and
felt the smooth, firm skin of his rear. Sherlock tensed at the touch and John
paused, worry coating his eyes.
"It's okay, just new. You can continue." Sherlock's voice nearly cracked from
arousal, his usual deep voice now even deeper, grumbling with a sensual
huskiness. John nodded, and Sherlock returned to kissing his neck and
collarbone.
John's other hand undid the clasp at Sherlock's front in order to make more
room for exploration. He resisted touching the younger adolescent once again,
although his fingers itched to wrap themselves around Sherlock's pulsing
erection. 
Sherlock snapped his neck up and rolled his eyes. "Are you going to touch me
there or not?" 
Prick. You really do know everything, don't you? John plunged his hand into the
front of Sherlock's trousers and immediately felt all of his muscles contract
at the feel of someone else's groin. He was now completely exploring both the
front and the back of Sherlock, his left hand in his front, his right around
his back. John felt the soft black curls at Sherlock's pelvis before finding
the silky skin of his cock. He wrapped his fingers around its width and sighed
with content. John was patiently awaiting the same treatment, and after a small
whimper, Sherlock obliged.
Sherlock Holmes slid his unnaturally large hands down John's hips and landed
them on the tight bulge in between John's legs, which was right below his own.
He nimbly unbuckled his belt, slid it off when John raised his hips, and threw
it aside. It hit the door by its metal clasp loudly, and John and Sherlock
heard a voice from outside the door. "Ayyyyy~" it said.
They laughed momentarily before hustling to get back to work. Sherlock popped
John's trousers opened and revealed his blue pants. "I was expecting to see
fuzzy bunnies on these," he huffed with a sneer.
John glanced down from Sherlock's flushed face and down to his own crotch. He
cocked a brow and lifted his hand from Sherlock's groin to check the pants that
fit snugly beneath it. They were dark purple with a black pattern. "Arse," John
said, "But I think I win anyway."
With that, Sherlock pulled at the hem of John's pants, his cock springing
forward. It was thick and peach in color, dark blond hair at its base, its tip
already damp. Sherlock had never seen another person's, and it was as
fascinating as it was beautiful. John looked down himself at it, and then up at
Sherlock, whose face was reddening. 
"You sure you still want to do this?" He asked once again. Sherlock was almost
annoyed by this point, his constant worry admirable but also unneeded. There
was nothing that would make him turn back now, his crush for the older boy was
full-blown. 
Sherlock didn't answer, but instead shimmied down John's legs and sat on his
knees beside John's calves. He bent over and John sucked in a breath while
Sherlock brought his face inches away from his throbbing cock. John watched as
Sherlock's eyes widened and closed, his head moving towards it. He took it in
his mouth and instantly touched it with his tongue, lightly at first. His plump
lips were perfect and John couldn't tear his eyes from the sight of his slender
face sucking him off.
So this is what giving head is like, Sherlock thought as he increased in
pressure, his tongue now flat and sliding up and down the length of John's hard
but tender cock. John was wide and stuffed his mouth, but it wasn't
uncomfortable, and he maneuvered his head as he sucked his cheeks in, his
cheekbones now more prominent than ever. It was a magnificent sight, and his
green eyes on John's face from his crotch was enough to push the senior over
the edge. 
Fuck, John thought. He'd never have thought that the annoyingly handsome kid in
his Ceramics class, who'd stood up to him in Chemistry, would be blowing him at
a party in a stranger's room only a few days later. The course of events was
new but most definitely well received. John noticed that he felt more than
sexual pleasure for Sherlock as he dipped his head back, his jaw clenching.
Sherlock continued to please John as he whimpered, but John wanted nothing more
than to feel Sherlock's body close to his. While he was pulling at the sheets
beside him, switching from lacing his fingers in Sherlock's dark curls and
tangled the blanket beneath him, his knuckles white, he was able to mutter,
"Sherlock, stop."
Sherlock stopped as was directed although he wanted to tease John and push him
to his limits. He was touching himself as he'd been blowing John, but he
deduced that John wanted to be the cause of his pleasure. He pulled his damp
lips from John and leapt from the bed. Sherlock shed his trousers and pants
completely, and although John was captivated by Sherlock's long, pale cock, he
shimmied out of his own clothes. He tossed them off to the side.
The men pulled off their shoes and socks while chatting lightly, laughter
floating through the air. Sherlock was more than pleased with the way he was
able speak in such a tense, horny time. John felt the same.
"Sorry, that was great, I just didn't want to finish too early."
"No, it's okay, I understand." Sherlock smiled as he crawled back onto the bed,
pulling at John's hips as he did so. John was pushed onto on his back,
completely flat, as Sherlock sat on him once again. John felt a mysterious
flirty spark in him and bucked his hips. Sherlock went tumbling off him and
onto the empty side of the large bed. He rolled onto his side once he regained
his balance, laughed, and kissed John's cheek. "Arsehole," he said into John's
ear.
Sherlock should have been quivering with fright, he should have thought John
lying when he told him was clean and inexperienced. Sherlock should have been
embarrassed and clumsy and awkward. Sherlock should have wanted everything to
be perfect, the pressure of their first time crashing down on him... But he
wasn't any of these things. He was making jokes and giggling and tumbling off
John as he tried to situate himself and John bucked him off just then. He was
laughing at the joke of the matter instead of growing touchy and embarrassed.
Sherlock crawled back ontop of him, and when he did, he kissed him lightly,
"Funny."
John was completely captivated by the casual nature of it all. Although he
wanted to make it last and do it right, Sherlock acted safe and silly around
him, and they probably would be able to discuss homework as John rammed into
the pale student. John smiled widely, "I like that neither of us are drunk."
"Me too," Sherlock said, bending low once again to pull at John's earlobe with
his teeth. Nothing seemed to bother him, and Sherlock was glad. He was slightly
nervous that he'd do something that John wouldn't like. Then again, he could
just ask.
"So neither of us are allowed to regret this tomorrow, okay?" John was blushing
at his own words more than he was at the fact that Sherlock had pressed their
cocks together and was now thrusting into him, the silky texture of his cock
smoothly rubbing against his own. John's head fogged with the pleasure, and
Sherlock's answer to that question only caused him to gasp with wanton desire.
"I wouldn't even if I was drunk. Never." John put his hands on Sherlock's hips,
his bones gyrating beneath tight skin as he moved. Sherlock found his hands on
John's chest as he thrusted in a slow, powerful rhythm. The color of their skin
was slightly offset, and the movement of their bodies in the dark room, along a
window cooling them off and muffled pop music surrounding them, was definitely
a sight. Sherlock's chiseled alabaster form and John's sturdy peach skin
reddened when John finally made the transition from Sherlock's hips to his
beautifully shaped cheeks.
He pulled them and pushed them apart, squeezing the firm, round muscle.
Sherlock let out a small groan, each new area that was touched by John Watson
the first time he'd ever been touched at all. It was horny and heady, but it
also felt comfortable and right. All the stories his brother had told him about
a teenager's first time seemed untrue as he smiled down at the boy.
"Can I...?" John asked.
"Please..."
John lifted his right hand off of Sherlock's left cheek and raised his fingers
to Sherlock's face. He took them in his mouth and sucked on them, letting his
spit drip down John's fingers. Sherlock looked at him with his heated eyes as
he did this, and it was more sensual than when Sherlock had sucked him off.
John retracted his fingers and went back to resting his wrist on Sherlock's
cheek. His fingers were damp and he was eager to put them inside his
intelligent friend.
"Okay?"
"Okay. Wait - "
"Hm?" John was afraid he'd call it off, since his hips slowed to a halt. Just
in time, John thought. Composing himself would be harder than he'd originally
thought.
"What do you like? To do?" Sherlock asked, his lips tugging into into a proud
smile.
"Well, I don't have enough experience to go off of. But I like the way we've
been doing things. Er, and actually I think I'd like to have you on all
fours." Did I just say that?
Oh, that's hot. "I can do that." Sherlock once again lifted his long legs from
either side of John, the absence of John under him slightly frustrating. He
moved onto his hands and knees beside John, who was momentarily phased at his
compliance.
"The drawer," he said. Now Sherlock was feeling the first-time nervousness. He
was completely exposed. He didn't know what wouldn't work for him, but he knew
that all that had happened earlier was a good sign that John would be gentle.
It was also the older boy's first time, so he would most likely be just as
awkward.
John slipped from the bed and smeared Sherlock's spit on his cock, not that it
needed help staying hard. His young sex drive and libido alone cause him to get
rock hard whenever he sought release, and now, having the dark haired boy on
all fours for him, John felt his core tighten and his heart spark. He walked to
the night table, a soft, "I'm waiting," coming from Sherlock. John prayed that
a condom and lube would be in the drawer as the genius had said, and as he slid
it open slowly, he was relieved to find that Sherlock was right.
There was an unopened bottle of high quality lube and a strip of high quality
condoms. "Wow, when they said that there was a room reserved for the winners,
they weren't lying. Look," John said as he ripped one of the condoms off its
strip, the lube in the other hand.
Sherlock turned around from his position and John felt his stomach drop. Half
of his face exposed from that position looked extremely sexy, not to mention
that his arse and privates were exposed. 
"Fantastic." Sherlock swallowed hard. Okay, now this is really happening.
John crawled up on the long, wide bed behind Sherlock and used his back as a
table. He set the condom down on his tailbone and squeezed some lube into his
fingers after breaking the label.
"Okay. Are you alright?" John took the condom with his clean hand and set the
lube beside them.
"Just fuck me, John." Sherlock was anticipating pain, but what he got instead
was one slick finger. "Oh!" he exclaimed. 
John Watson smiled at his partner's surprise, he was sure that he'd been
bracing himself for something else. John had read enough erotic stories to know
that that wasn't how things should happen. He fingered Sherlock as he stroked
himself with his other hand, the nerves around Sherlock's opening igniting. He
breathed raspy breaths and pulled at the blanket with his trembling hands. He
hoped that John would never stop, his finger coming closer to the spot inside
him that he'd discovered when he was thirteen and curious. 
Jesus, this is incredible. John watched as he pushed and pulled his hand from
inside Sherlock, his spine and tail bone arching, his hips starting their usual
rotation into his hand. John composed himself at the wetness and feeling of
Sherlock's insides, and on one particularly deep rotation, John felt a change
of texture inside him and heard Sherlock gasp loudly. With that, John added
another finger.
Sherlock pushed himself down in the direction that the spot was and felt
himself melt as he hit it. He lifted his right hand from the blanket, which was
now wrinkled and crumpled, and began to stroke himself. He was in bliss, his
stomach dropping with each touch, John's hot breath in his ear, his thighs
touching the back of Sherlock's. John was so close to taking him, but he wasn't
going to yet, because Sherlock was new and needed to be prepared properly. He
was new as well, for that matter.
If Sherlock hadn't believed that sentiment was a defect and love was dangerous,
he'd have sworn that he was falling for the respectful, older, sexy, near-
graduate at that very moment. And if John, who was eager to get out of the
small town, hadn't been constantly reminding himself that this was the case,
he'd have thought the same of the moaning sophomore who begged him to add a
third finger. John obliged, releasing himself for long enough to add more
lubrication, directly squeezing it onto Sherlock.
He shrieked happily, his moan turning into a laugh at his own naughty sound.
John felt Sherlock tense with coming close to finishing, but he was feeling
dominant and sentimental and he wanted to make it last, so he pulled back and
angled his fingers so they wouldn't be hitting Sherlock's prostate any longer.
"Why?!" Sherlock asked between loud gasps and groans.
"Because I want to tease you and make you last," John's voice had become raspy
and husky as well, and he wanted nothing more than to replace his hand with his
cock. He asked gently, "Sherlock?"
John adored the sound of the boy's name on his lips, and Sherlock sparked at
hearing it. He felt ready. "Yes. Please." 
John retracted his fingers and wiped them on the host's bed. Sorry, not
sorry,he thought. The host and popular kids had been very kind to them, in
giving them a room and supplies, but some things just had to get messy. John
rolled his back in preparation, and gently pushed Sherlock from his hips as a
sign to scoot up on the bed. Sherlock did so, although his legs shook slightly,
and he reached for the headboard for support. John situated himself between
Sherlock's legs once again and bent down. He kissed Sherlock's shoulder. He
almost said something he might regret, but he didn't, and he replaced the
confession with a kiss. Sherlock turned his head and met John's mouth, sloppily
pulling at John's lips with his teeth and tongue. He reveled in the feeling of
John behind him and in his mouth. He wanted it, he wanted it now.
"Now," he ordered. John lifted himself up and added more lube, mixed with his
own spit, to Sherlock's reddened entrance. Sherlock felt John take the condom
from beside his knee. He heard him rip open the packet and throw it aside. John
slid it on as he'd been taught in sex education, and although he wished he
could feel Sherlock purely in every way, he wanted to be safe. He took his now
wrapped cock in his right hand and gripped Sherlock's left shoulder with the
other. He pressed the tip to the opening, and both teenagers felt John harden
more at the contact. He guided it inside slowly and Sherlock bore down at the
discomfort. Thank God for lubrication, he thought. Sherlock was grateful that
John had actually put on the condom, instead of pretending to. He was feeling
more for the young man as they continued to go further.
When half of John's cock disappeared into Sherlock, he stopped. "Are you okay?"
He asked for what seemed like the millionth time since they started fooling
around, almost twenty minutes previous. It felt like it'd been much longer, but
the boys had moved through the foreplay fast, even as it prepared them both
perfectly. This time, when John asked, tears welled at the corners of
Sherlock's eyes and dripped down his sharp nose. The discomfort of John's width
and the respect and worry in his voice caused these tears, but his heart was
also swelling with appreciation at John's words. 
"Yes, John." Sherlock said, his voice cracking. John pushed deeper until the
whole of him was inside Sherlock. His tailbone had hidden the entirety of
John's cock and the view from John's perspective was glorious. He looked down
at the strong, pale back of Sherlock Holmes, whose dark curls contrasted with
his alabaster skin. His spine led down to his tailbone and his rear flared out.
In between his cheeks, John could only see his own blond tuft of hair. He
pulled out a few inches, slowly, and he heard Sherlock's pained gasp from the
front of the bed. He winced at the noise but knew that that was the downside to
first times. He pushed it back in, his hands now finding the underside of
Sherlock's body. He felt his abdomen and slid a hand up to his chest. John was
hunched over, his dog tags trailing lightly across Sherlock's shoulder. John's
hand had left Sherlock's shoulder blade and was now wrapping itself around the
teen's cock, which was the hardest it'd been that night.
John thrusted slowly. He was tentatively keeping himself from opening the gates
of heaven. He wanted Sherlock to finish with him, and he controlled himself as
best he could as the lubrication caught up with him and allowed him to slide in
and out easily. Sherlock was tight and wet. The condom was slick with lube and
it glistened as John pulled and pushed himself into Sherlock. 
Sherlock was now feeling the same pleasure he'd felt when he was being
fingered, but it was more in his stomach and wider. He felt full and content
and he began to drool as John thrusted into him. For the next five minutes,
John just ground his hips slowly into Sherlock, the same rhythm bringing
Sherlock closer to release. John swirled the sticky substance that came from
Sherlock's tip around the head of his cock and dug his fingernails into his hip
as he heard Sherlock begin to moan louder and louder with each thrust. Between
groans, however, a word fell from Sherlock's damp, swollen lips."Harder."
John agreed and increased his speed, thrusting harder into Sherlock. He was now
moaning an octave lower than Sherlock, who whimpered and nearly screamed with
the throaty gasps. Sherlock moved his hips backwards, eager and selfish. He
wanted to feel John hit the spot, even if he knew it was already sensitive and
probably would cause him to lose all feeling in his limbs if he did.
John hit it. Sherlock shook, his hands gripping the headboard to steady
himself. John wrapped his strong arms around Sherlock's middle and picked him
up, scooting him even up. Sherlock was now leaning at a diagonal, his chest
touching the headboard. The new angle was worse for Sherlock's sanity as John
hit the spot over and over, never being able to miss it.
John kept his arms wrapped around Sherlock tightly, his mouth sucking at the
tight skin of Sherlock's neck and shoulders. He squeezed him, his arms
completely embracing Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's fingernails scraped the walls
of the room until his palms flattened out and slapped it flat. He moaned loudly
and John would've laughed if he had not been grunting himself. 
The young men were oblivious to the ears that were pressed up against the
bedroom door, the people at the party who had turned down the music and
directed their attention at the door. Stanley and his girl were on the couch
now, and the various drinkers and card players that were in the center of the
circular rug were now listening intently, making comments and snickering. John
and Sherlock didn't hear any of this, or the new absence of music, because they
were lost to the throws of sex and passion, both moaning loudly. 
The entire party was secretly cheering them on, the sexual slapping and rocking
of the bed seeping under the locked door. John had now been increasing his pace
and pressure so much that his pelvis was slapping loudly against Sherlock's
bum, causing it to turn red and sore. Sherlock bit his arm in order to match
the pain, but surprisingly that only made him moan more. The added pain brought
him close to the edge. John was groaning in Sherlock's ear and Sherlock was
struggling to breathe with the intensity of the pleasure. He was melting, stars
in his eyes, his legs becoming a shaky mess. He'd gotten drool all over himself
and his mouth hung open in a circular shape, his thick brows furrowing. John
was not stroking him anymore because his arms were squeezing the breath from
him, but he didn't miss that familiar touch. The mind-blowing pleasure he felt
now was due to having his prostate stimulated. Every bit of John heated, from
his curling toes to his thighs to his neck, and he felt his core tighten in
that usual way it did when he masturbated. This time, however, his stomach
fluttered and sunk with the realization that he was fucking one of the most
incredible, handsome, witty, stubborn, and dangerously attractive boys at his
school - his opposite, no less. John found his hand leaving its position of
gripping his own elbow from his embrace. It traveled up into Sherlock's wild
curls, and he gently pulled at them, causing Sherlock to bend his head back and
find John's mouth with his own. His moans were muffled with the kiss but the
grumbling from his throat continued.
John was close, the damp lips and wet tongue of Sherlock pushing him over the
edge for the final time. He continued in the same motion as before, but he
pulled back farther as to hit Sherlock harder. "Sherlock, I - I'm close!" He
attempted to say after pulling his mouth away, and Sherlock's response was just
a strangled sound of pleasure. He moved his head to meet John's mouth once more
and together the young men rocked back and forth roughly and moaned with need. 
Every single muscle in John's body tightened and he rode out his orgasm while
thrusting into Sherlock, his stomach dropping, eyelids fluttering, semen
spilling in long spurts into the tip of the condom. He continued to press on as
his legs shook and he reached his limit. Sherlock was yet to finish.
When he did, however, he screamed John's name loudly, and felt each nerve
ignite, his lips bitten down so hard that they were sore, his legs, arms, and
hips a trembling mess as he rode his orgasm out. He came in steady streams on
the host's blanket, but he was paralyzed in pleasure and didn't care.
Experiencing the best orgasm of his life, he tensed and halted, his heart
escaping his lips with one final whimper. He went numb and sagged his head
between his strong shoulders, John still clutching him. Their naked bodies were
sweaty and breathing heavily, and it was nearly two minutes before either of
them could move.
John pulled Sherlock down into the bed and they landed on their sides, still
attached. John pulled out of Sherlock slowly but continued to press himself
into him. His mind was clearing and he felt completely content at the
happenstance of what had just occurred. Sherlock felt the same, a smile tugging
his swollen lips flat, his chest heaving with tired breaths.
John Watson nuzzled his nose into the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock
muttered something along the lines of "Don't fall asleep..." but John was
already drifting off, the cool breeze kissing his hot skin soothingly.
The teenagers' breath returned and their heart rates calmed. Those outside the
close, sentimental room were gossiping.
"Was that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes?"
"I thought they hated each other?"
"But he's a sophomore!"
"I didn't even know he was gay."
"Did you seem them drink?"
"Seemed like a good fucking, though."
"I wonder what Charity thinks."
"They aren't even dating, are they?"
"Sherlock's pretty cute, actually."
"Faggots." That last comment received its owner a kick in the arse and a shove
out the door. Those who experienced the sex by listening knew that the gender
of the participants didn't matter, that it was some of the most satisfying and
fulfilling sex they'd ever heard. Suddenly John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were
out, and people like the boy who was kicked out started to change their minds
or hold their tongues. The school and its students were in awe of the amazing
ferocity of Sherlock's moans, and in turn, the young men's budding
relationship. Sherlock and John's high school had already accepted them, and
they weren't even aware that they were suddenly famous almost-lovers.
The two boys came back into reality when the open window began to chill their
naked bodies. Sherlock awoke and rolled over, his body damp from sweat. "Hi,"
he said.
"I'm cold," John replied, his eyes still closed. Sherlock kissed his brow.
Suddenly he felt the need to brand this boy as his, and he wanted so badly to
ask him out. His stomach sank, however, when he realized that John was supposed
to hate him and they were in completely different cliques. He begged himself
not to tear up, since caring wasn't an advantage and he'd only just fallen for
him tonight.
That's not true... I think I've liked him since I saw him. Sherlock bit his
sore lip to keep the words in, but John said them for him.
"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" His voice was sleepy and beautiful. If
Sherlock asked for a reason why he'd said that, John would've said, Well, we
just had the most mind-blowing sex ever... You're really amazing, with your
deductions and your intelligence, and even though we were having sex, I still
had fun and felt safe with you. And not to sound super gay, but I think I
really like you. Although I think we've already crossed the 'no homo' line.
"John Watson. John Watson the bully, John Watson the near criminal, John Watson
the ruffian, John Watson the barely-passing graduate... You, John Watson.
You've just asked me to be your boyfriend. I don't think I want to, I don't
think we'd be a good match. I think you're too old for me." Sherlock turned his
head so John couldn't see his blush and his grin.
"Fine. Prat." John was hurt and immediately left Sherlock's side, the absence
of his strong arms around Sherlock already painful. He stood beside the bed and
began to pick up his pants, but his legs were shaking and he fumbled backwards
and onto his naked bum. He was seated on the bed, but his exposed back was
turned toward Sherlock in anger.
I knew it. Why do I even try? John's thoughts were corrupted by two pale arms
wrapping around his neck and some hot breath surrounding nipping teeth at his
ear.
"I was kidding, you bloke," Sherlock's plump lips breathed his words joyfully.
"Of course I want to be your boyfriend, who else will spend forty-five minutes
drawing out my every fantasy and respecting me on my first time? Not to mention
that it was your first time, so I have that part of you. You also gave me the
best orgasm of my life and made me feel worthy and safe and silly. You're such
an arse. Of course, of course, of course." He kissed the spot on John's cheek
right beside his ear. He finished his thought, "Except, one condition."
"What's that?" John said, happiness budding in his heart to an unnatural level.
"Can you give me a ride home?" Sherlock asked his boyfriend.
End Notes
     CHARITY SHIPS IT SO HARD
     Writing John and Sherlock as more of angsty/ignorant arseholes than
     they already are canonically was really fun but also annoying as
     hell.
     Hope you liked it! X
     follow me @ my tumblr for more johnlock/fic updates: crimson-
     winter.tumblr.com
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