Note: Sorry about the italics in the last one, I messed up the tags. Apologies!
'This' was a condom, and the girl slid back and off Sherlock's lap to give him space, and his fingers shook a little as he pulled the latex over his cock. He could hear John taking deeper breaths, measured, as though the army doctor was counting them out in his head, trying to stay in control. He looked up at his flatmate, and John indicated where he wanted him to go with a curt nod of the head.
Sherlock - he should have been alarmed at how he was going along with this, but, christandallthesaints, he couldn't deny that he wanted it - pulled his legs up, scooted and stretched until he was lying full length on the bed, arms crossed above his head, fully exposed to God and the world, but mostly to John Watson.
And the girl, he thought belatedly, as she straddled him, resting on his stomach. Her too.
"Ready?" she asked, rocking against him, running a hand down his chest, and further down, to just where her legs were spread on his abdomen. He brought down one of his own hands, spread it over hers, the fingertips of his last two digits just brushing the thatch of her pubic hair. He could see John behind her, watching them, watching him, in all probability touching himself though he couldn't be sure from the angle.
"Yes," breathed Sherlock, for the second time that night, and he saw John inhale sharply, pupils clearly dilated, even at this distance. "Yes," he said again, firmly, keeping his eyes fixed on his flatmate.
The girl nodded - she had to be aware of what he was looking at, but he didn't care, and she didn't seem to mind, though he would have thought she would, given that she was about to take his, Jesus, his virginity and he was paying her all the attention of a convenient place-holder - and lifted herself to her knees, edging downwards, until she was even with his cock. She reached down, took him in hand, guided him to her entrance, still slick and wet from what John had been doing.
The thought of his cock being where John's mouth had been made his hips buck upwards, pushing the head of it that much further into the girl. He gasped, loudly, surprised at the warm, wet tightness of it, or rather surprised at how it felt, he'd known the theory, but, despite several good hard wanks in the past, he hadn't expected...
Sherlock actually groaned as she lowered herself further onto him, taking more of him inside, and his hips canted upwards, his back arched in a tight curve, his head went further back into the pillows, his entire body - transport! said a very small voice, very, very deep inside his brain - just wanting more.
Fill - 5/?
'This' was a condom, and the girl slid back and off Sherlock's lap to give him space, and his fingers shook a little as he pulled the latex over his cock. He could hear John taking deeper breaths, measured, as though the army doctor was counting them out in his head, trying to stay in control. He looked up at his flatmate, and John indicated where he wanted him to go with a curt nod of the head.
Sherlock - he should have been alarmed at how he was going along with this, but, christandallthesaints, he couldn't deny that he wanted it - pulled his legs up, scooted and stretched until he was lying full length on the bed, arms crossed above his head, fully exposed to God and the world, but mostly to John Watson.
And the girl, he thought belatedly, as she straddled him, resting on his stomach. Her too.
"Ready?" she asked, rocking against him, running a hand down his chest, and further down, to just where her legs were spread on his abdomen. He brought down one of his own hands, spread it over hers, the fingertips of his last two digits just brushing the thatch of her pubic hair. He could see John behind her, watching them, watching him, in all probability touching himself though he couldn't be sure from the angle.
"Yes," breathed Sherlock, for the second time that night, and he saw John inhale sharply, pupils clearly dilated, even at this distance. "Yes," he said again, firmly, keeping his eyes fixed on his flatmate.
The girl nodded - she had to be aware of what he was looking at, but he didn't care, and she didn't seem to mind, though he would have thought she would, given that she was about to take his, Jesus, his virginity and he was paying her all the attention of a convenient place-holder - and lifted herself to her knees, edging downwards, until she was even with his cock. She reached down, took him in hand, guided him to her entrance, still slick and wet from what John had been doing.
The thought of his cock being where John's mouth had been made his hips buck upwards, pushing the head of it that much further into the girl. He gasped, loudly, surprised at the warm, wet tightness of it, or rather surprised at how it felt, he'd known the theory, but, despite several good hard wanks in the past, he hadn't expected...
Sherlock actually groaned as she lowered herself further onto him, taking more of him inside, and his hips canted upwards, his back arched in a tight curve, his head went further back into the pillows, his entire body - transport! said a very small voice, very, very deep inside his brain - just wanting more.