Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Nine: A Shoelace Noose

*

"C-Chemistry.."  John whispers, his voice lower and muffled against the skin of Sherlock's neck.

The taller boy's mouth was roaming over John's neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. His hands were just trailing up and down the blonde's bare sides, just teasing, but John felt like the touches were sending little jolts of lightening through his nerve endings.

The patterns Sherlock was creating with his fingertips certainly had John squirming on the bed, growing more impatient and needy with each touch.

John had absolutely no clue how they'd gone from studying Chemistry to doing this. He wasn't exactly complaining.

Sherlock breaths a chuckle, his hot breath ghosting over John's bitten and bruised skin. "Would you prefer I stop and we continue reading?"

John shakes his head before Sherlock had even finished his question, his hands coming up to tangle in Sherlock's curls. Pulling him closer when he had a firm grip on them.

"Don't you dare stop.."

Sherlock chuckles again, his mouth right next to John's ear. In response, John arches up, his hips pressing into Sherlock's own. Somewhere along the road, Sherlock's top and trousers had made themselves a home on the floor. Meaning only two thin layers of cotton were separating the two boys.

John's action has the desired effect and the boy above him makes an odd half groan half gasp into John's ear.

This eggs him on and John presses up again, one of the hands in Sherlock's hair sliding down to crawl under Sherlock's waistband and take a hand full of that plush arse.

Sherlock's hands stop teasing John's sides and pull John down into a soft, almost lazy kiss. They could barely move, not wanting to lose any contact.

Humming, Sherlock's hand move again and settle on John's waist. He presses down, holding John in place on the mattress.

John blinks when he realises Sherlock had stopped and what he sees takes his breath away.

Sherlock's eyes, a mixture of blue and a pale green, were watching him closely, searching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. John's heart melted a little, right there. Sherlock's expression revealed so much, was so open.

John could see it all. He adored the blonde, was worried for him and cared more the anything else about him. He didn't want John hurt and was checking he definitely wanted his. He was putting John before himself.

Love. That's what John was seeing.

He didn't need the words. Seeing it was good enough.

So John took hold of Sherlock's neck and dragged him in for a kiss that told Sherlock all the same things that one look had told John.

When they pull back for breath Sherlock was grinning against John's lips and John could feel that his own smile was just as wide.

Sherlock's hands become firmer in the next moment, pushing John down again. Sherlock sends John a nervous look. Without hesitation, John nods.

John received a peck on the lips before Sherlock grinds down on him.

Both of them make one of those half moaning, half gasping noises. One of John's hands fly out to grip at the bedsheets while the other stays on Sherlock's behind, squeezing now and then as he ruts upwards to meet Sherlock's movements.

"J-John..." Sherlock sighs, his mouth by John's ear again.

Sherlock gets a soft moan as a response. Then a warm large hand in sneaking into John's boxers and almost shyly taking hold of him. The well experienced teen above gives a few tight strokes, sending John's world momentarily white.

The next thing John fully registers is a damp heat quickly migrating south. Down his neck, over his collarbone, a brief pause at his nipple and then further down his abdomen and, before long, the inside of his thigh.

Sherlock must have removed his boxers because John didn't have any idea where they'd disappeared to.

The blonde takes a sharp breath when Sherlock's tongue suddenly runs from the base and right up to his head. He does something with his tongue, swirls or flicks or something, and John bucks up, gasping again.

A hand settles on John's hip, keeping him in place. He squirms and gives a small upwards push of his hips. He excepted Sherlock to retreat, so he could start when he was ready but instead he took the initiative to sink down.

"O-Oh.. God.." John moans and lets out a long stuttering breath that he seemed to be holding.

Sherlock does that thing with his tongue again before he takes John to the hilt. He swallows around John, making him mumble Christ's name. It was also too much, the moist heat was just perfect. John was having trouble keeping his hip's still.

Then Sherlock began to move his head up and down, John sliding between his lips and down his throat perfectly. The panting blonde didn't know how Sherlock kept so relaxed but God he was thankful.

"Sher.." John breathes, his hand sliding into those curls and gripping them tightly as those cupid bow shaped lips sped up.

Sherlock moans around John and it was certainly the most beautiful feeling John had ever experienced. He couldn't stop it, John thrusts up gently.

Two hands were on his hips then, holding him down and showing John exactly where the power was at this moment in time. Wow... That sent tingles all over John. Straight up his spine and all the way down to his fingertips.

Sherlock pulls up and teases at John's tip, lightly sucking and licking away all the pre-cum. Another flash of white over takes John's vision and he grips those gorgeous curls tighter, warning the other boy.

Sherlock sinks down again, relentless as he bobs his head faster then ever before. John's moan is cut off by another moan, all the sensations bombarding him faster than the heaviest rainfall.

"I.. Sher.. Sher-lock!" John's shout is weak and broken by his lack of breath and a string of moans as he pushes up and fills Sherlock's sinful mouth.

Naturally the devil swallows all evidence and a smirk slowly spreads over his lips as he crawls up to half lay on top of John. John's hands dip into the small of Sherlock's back, gradually moving lower.

John hums, his hand sliding into Sherlock's boxers and once again taking a hand full of Sherlock's lovely behind.

"I want to touch you too.." John whispers, his hand moving towards the tent in Sherlock's boxers.

He stops, fingertips just brushing Sherlock, letting him both regain their breath.

Everything's quiet for a moment, just the sound of their breathing filling the room.

"Of course.. But, first, you have to wake up" Sherlock whispers, placing another kiss to John's lips before his weight disappears.

"What?"

John blinks, frowning at the ceiling above him.

Before he can even begin to sort through his half awake thoughts, the alarm clock on his bedside table starts making an ungodly noise. The sleepy teen presses the button in record time, shifting to sit up in bed as he did.

John sighs, not needing to lift his bed covers to see the situation in his boxers. Just one of the lovely side effects of having a dream about his tutor (Sherlock had come round as planned and they'd decided to make Wednesdays the days they meet up for revision)

Sliver lining though, John now knows his attracted to males isn't just mental.

Another sigh escapes John before he shuffles out of bed and heads for the bathroom. He definitely needs a shower. A cold one, preferably.

~

Thursday at college had passed in another awkward silence. Sherlock was back to rolling around his fruit and ignoring them all, even when Irene had snapped about how he'd been laughing with them just the day before.

Friday, it seems, was destined to pass almost exactly like the day before it. Almost.

Irene and Molly were chatting away about a school project while John caught up on homework. Jim was talking to Michael, who had decided to join them, although he'd occasionally shift awkwardly and risk a glance in Sherlock's direction.

The tall boy's curls were hanging over his forehead, his eyes and chin cast down as his skilled hands work at various shoelaces he held.

He was tying knots from what John could see. Sherlock was so focused and sure of his hands that John wondered if Sherlock had ever been to scouts when he was younger. He could imagine a smaller cute child version of Sherlock running around the woods in his little uniform, not caring about the scrape on his knee.

John's eyes follow Sherlock's movement, the pen in his hand coming to a stop on the paper.

Somewhere along the way, John had become complete focused on watching Sherlock's fingers work on the white laces. It was mesmerising to watch the way he was one hundred and ten percent content with his dexterity. John could only imagine what else those hands could do.

With a mental groan, John pushes away those thoughts and tries to refocus on his homework. It's only a mater of moments before John is distracted by Sherlock again.

He'd avoided it most of the days since but now, suddenly, his dream from Thursday pops up. The way those hands had held him down, pressing John's smaller frame into the mattress.

A shiver runs down John's spine and he can't stop the almost pained gasp that pushes out from his lungs.

Molly sends him a worriedly glance but continues talking when John gives her a small reassuring him.

John looks back to Sherlock then, to continue watching him, and when he does a pair of icy blue eyes meet his own. Sherlock's hands are still pulling at the shoelaces, forming the knots but his eyes were on John, as if analysing him.

After nervously gulping, John raises a brow with a thin curious smile on his lips.

The other teen winks before looking down at the shoelaces again.

Molly nudges John, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. The blonde simply shrugs, ignoring both her and the flip his stomach did.

John turns back to his homework, shaking his head at himself.

Sherlock's fingers continue to work at the shoelaces, twisting and tying to slowly form a shape.

Jim risks yet another glance at the focused teen. Sherlock's sharp hate filled eyes flash up again, meeting Jim's softer brown ones. There's a tense moment between them that somehow passes unnoticed by their friends.

Sherlock's expression says a lot to Jim. It's the one he gets when he's completely focused and serious about something. Rare was it for Jim to see the look in a situation that had nothing to do with The Game.

It was frightening for the Irish boy. He'd seen Sherlock angry, he'd seen him disappointed and he'd seen him full of hate. All those times, Sherlock's emotions came with lovely side effects for Jim. This time... This time it was all directed at him and he had no idea how to cope with that glare.

His usually blue/green eyes just turned so cold, changing to an icy grey colour that would give anyone chills. It made Jim's skin crawl. He felt so small, such a disappointment, when that glare was on him.

Yet he knew that he deserved every ounce of Sherlock's hatred. That doesn't men he didn't hope that Sherlock would forgive me. Maybe even help.

Sherlock stands abruptly, drawing the attention of those around him. The lanky boy slowly raises his hand in front of him, presenting the now formed knots.

A noose. He'd created a noose, from shoelaces.

Jim stares at them, eyes wide and disbelieving as he realises exactly why Sherlock had done this. What he had done.

"That's.. You've been in my room" Jim whispers so low that their mini audience nearly miss it.

Sherlock laughs at his friend (if they were even that). He actually laughs. Not a condescending laugh or a fake laugh, an actually humour filled laugh. As if he found Jim's reaction hilarious.

The shoelaces get dropped onto the table and Sherlock saunters off without another word, still laughing.

Jim was physically shaking, his eyes stuck on the shoelaces. Irene slides over a seat, pushing Michael off before wrapping her arms around the distressed Irishman.

Michael doesn't say a word in protest as he's pushed by the girl, just stands and sits again, sending a curious look in the direction of Sherlock's retreating form.

A moment of silence passes, Jim's face pressed into Irene's shoulder as he hugs her for dear life.

Then John is out of his seat and rushing after Sherlock, ignoring all of Molly's protests and questions.

He finds the mysterious (to the point it was bloody irritating) boy heading for the doors out of the building. John calls out to him and, thankfully, he pauses and John's short legs carry him quickly to his side.

"Don't you have another lesson?" John asks, gesturing back towards the main area of the college.

Sherlock shrugs. John's expression briefly clouds over in annoyance.

"Oh, so you'll talk to me at 3am at my bloody bedroom window and at my house but you can't in this building?"

Sherlock shrugs again and John struggles with his urge to punch the boy right in his beautiful face.

"Well, since you're ditching your last lesson and I don't have one--"

"You do" Sherlock interrupts, with a nod at the paper that had John's half written homework on.

John rolls his eyes but can't help the smile on his face. Sherlock had spoken to him at least. That was a start.

Is it bad that this whole only talking to him situation was making John like Sherlock more? ..Probably.

John pauses for a moment, wondering when he even acknowledged the fact that he was, on some strange level, crushing on the tall gorgeous boy before him. Typical. As soon as he accepts the fact he's most likely bisexual, he forms a crush on the biggest tart in college.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm not welcome to tag along?" John asks before his staring got too creepy.

Sherlock shrugs, a smirk on his lips. John was so close to slapping that stupid smirk off it was unreal.

"If you're not going to answer, I'm just going to stalk you" John smiles back, holding the door open for Sherlock like he would a mother pushing a pram or an elderly person.

Sherlock makes an over dramatic bow, his fingertips grazing the floor as he dips down. He then walks out the door and heads for the carpark.

As promised, John follows him.

Once they were settled into Sherlock's car, John speaks up again.

"I've been meaning to ask--"

"No questions about Jim" Sherlock cuts him off, frowning.

"If you listen then you'd know I was going to ask you to come along to my sister's girlfriend's cabin this weekend. Seeing as we planned to meet up tomorrow for some revision stroke tutoring time" John shrugs towards the end, looking out the window as he does, almost nervous.

Humming, the boy in tight jeans purses his lips. His long fingers tap at the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead but his mind drifting off.

The next five minutes of the drive are silent before they pull into Sherlock's drive. John wonders if Sherlock was inviting him in.

After pushing his curls away from his face Sherlock climbs out of the car and, ever true to his word, John follows right behind. Should it ever become a job, John would make an excellent shadow.

The door is unlocked and they wordless make their way to the kitchen.

John slides onto one of the stools at their island, watching Sherlock's skilled hands prepare tea for them both.

John questions how Sherlock knew the way John could his tea but decides not to voice the question. The two boys, tea now in hand, start towards the living room but are stopped halfway when the front door opens and a petite lady walks in.

She frowns upon seeing Sherlock.

"You've ditched, again?" She didn't seem all that angry. If anything, she seemed confused.

John guesses that this is Sherlock's mother.

"Yes, I did. It was only History" Sherlock murmurs, blowing on his tea.

The lady gives a huff before turning her attention to John. The blonde, who was actually shorter then her, gives a nervous smile.

As always, John felt the need to impress his elders. It always paid to be seen as the friendly good next door type, even if he wasn't quite so angelic.

"A new friend? I don't believe we've met" She offers a bright smile. 

"No, ma'am. I'm John Watson" John informs, expecting her to not be fazed by the name but her face lights up in recognition.

"Ooh! You're the writer! Sherlock's mentioned you a few times" She grins again before nodding down at the bags she was carrying "Well you boys have fun, I'm going to put this lot away"

Sherlock gives a nod, sipping his tea before heading for the stairs.

"Nice meeting you" John smiles before rushing after Sherlock for the second time today.

Damn those long legs. It was hardly fair. John was barely over five and a half foot and was sure Sherlock was over or approaching six.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Sherlock well before John, the blonde glances back down to check Sherlock's mother couldn't hear.

"You told your mum about me?" John asks, his tone amused and terribly teasing.

Sherlock snorts "Shut up. Come on, you need to help me pack for tomorrow" Sherlock flashes a smirk before pulling John into his room, careful not to spill any tea.

John smiles back, glad Sherlock had agreed to come.