Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Nineteen: Getting Somewhere

Warning (Even though you should just except it now with this story): Smutty smut smut smut.

~

Jim was far from a happy bunny. Maybe it was selfish of him to expect Sherlock to spend time trying as hard as possible to make sure Jim forgave him. He was stupid though. Because Sherlock didn't work quite that way. He was never open about his feelings all that often anymore. Not since he came back from that place.

Jim knew that he needed to stop obsessing over this. Sherlock and him were friends again. What more did he want?

Lots, his mind answers.

With a sigh, Jim flops down on his sofa beside Molly. She'd come over looking for Irene, who had gone on holiday with some of her family and had forgotten to tell Molly, and the pair had ended up watching movies for the afternoon.

The girl raises an eyebrow at Jim's sulky mood. "Alright?" She asks.

Jim chuckles. She was always so concerned about everyone else. Mainly Sherlock, of course. She really was as selfless people can get.

Jim kisses her cheek and nods. "I'm fine"

She wipes her cheek, wrinkling her nose up in disgust. "Ew, Jim."

Jim rolls his eyes before leaning back and watching the movie. Molly clearly understood he needed a friend because when he cuddled up to her and put his head on her shoulder she didn't say a word.

That was another thing that Jim had noticed with Sherlock. Every time they were alone and not in public, he'd touch Jim as little as possible and even more away when Jim tried to hug him or just press against him like they always used to do. Although.. even in public, he touched Jim less than he used to.

It wasn't the whole Carl thing, they were over that. Sherlock had even gone back and ensured that Jim didn't leave any clues. He'd went with Jim to dump the shoes he'd taken, as they could easily be his undoing. The poison he'd used to kill the boy was on the laces.

Since it wasn't that, Jim had no idea why his friend was being this way. It was almost as if Jim were making advances on someone in a relationship.

Jim freezes, his mind of all a sudden making connections.

Corey.

Sherlock hadn't slept with anyone since Corey turned up out of no where and that was also when Sherlock started this whole not touching thing. It was only Jim though. Sherlock seemed fine with putting a hand on John when he was flirting. Michael too. Jim was the only one Sherlock didn't touch as often as he used too.

Had Corey asked Sherlock not to? Did he not trust Jim?

Why didn't Sherlock just tell them he was with Corey?

He was certainly kinder to Corey and kisses his cheek often, all innocent. Corey even made him cupcakes. It all made sense to Jim now. The two of them were just so lovey dovey.

Once the realisation passes, Jim only feels jealousy.

He tried to convince himself it was just a friendly jealousy. That he was jealous because he wanted time with Sherlock, to just be friends. He wasn't jealous jealous.

He had no reason to be jealous that way. He didn't want Sherlock like that. Sure, he loved their angry sex sessions and the way he could just escape from the world when he was with Sherlock. Other than that, he didn't want Sherlock.

He didn't want a relationship. That was silly. He's Jim Moriarty, one of the biggest sluts in his college. No relationships. Just sex. That was- is- who he is. He is a slut, whore, sex-crazed individual, tart, tramp, whatever you want to call it.

"Jim?" Molly's concerned voice breaks him out of his thought.

"Hm?" He hums in reply.

"You look like John does..."

Ugh. John.

Jim was sick of John. Sherlock was always talking about him of late.

'I need to get somewhere with John'

'John's going to be my next point'

'John's coming over today'

'John wants you illustrate his story'

John, John, John.

Jim was absolutely sick of it. He didn't want to hear about the lovesick blonde who was stealing his best friend nearly as much as Corey was. He just didn't.

"What do you mean?" Jim asks, turning so he was looking at her.

"Well, when John starts to think about Sherlock and how he is... He gets this look. Sad but more annoyed. Annoyed at himself because he knows that Sherlock is.. to be blunt.. a slut" As she was explaining, Molly pushes them up so Jim wasn't on her shoulder anymore and they were facing one another.

"Are.. Are you trying to suggest I have some kind of thing for Sherlock? My best friend?" Jim frowns, giving her a look to say he was seriously questioning her sanity.

Molly hums, looking as if she was debating between being harsh (but truthful) or gentle (and less truthful).

"Let me put it this way" Ah. Harsh but truthful it is. "You're either sitting here being cuddling and all depressed because of Sherlock or Irene. And I'm not stupid. I see how you look at Sherlock. You want to be noticed by him. You're jealous of John and Corey. You want all the attention"

Jim swallows and after some debating decides to not deny it any longer.

"What do I do?"

"Well. Let's face facts.. Half the damn college female population, and a part of the male one, look at Sherlock that same way. Being his friend and part time fuck buddy doesn't give you that much more of a chance." A pitiful look was sent his way.

Jim very much wanted gentle Molly back.

"Let's just watch the movie" Jim snaps, turning back to the TV.

What she said was true though.

Sherlock wouldn't be his and he needed to accept that.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim speaks up: "Do you think he's with Corey?"

Molly looks to him, frowns for a moment before grinning and shaking her head. Jim hoped she was right.

*

John smiles at Sherlock as he hands over a cup of tea. They'd decided to spend the day together, seeing as Jim was at home and Molly wasn't answering her phone. Irene was off with her family too. So that left the two of them.

John had only just arrived and it had been nice so far. Although even John wasn't oblivious enough to miss the looks Sherlock was sending his way. He'd seen looks like that so often when they were up in Clara's cabin.

With a smirk, John winks at Sherlock and turns on his heel, heading for the living room.

Not wanting to let him get away Sherlock follows him, walking much closer than he needed to. As they sit on the sofa, Sherlock on the right and John on the left, one of Sherlock's hands slide around John's waist and settles on his left hip.

John glances at him, planning on just quickly sparing him a look. As always, his idea didn't go to plan and he gets stuck in place by Sherlock's captivating eyes. He didn't even notice they were drifting closer together until he felt Sherlock's lips on his.

Without a word, Sherlock turns and swings his leg over John's so he was straddling him. John really did try to keep hold of his tea but his hands seemed to automatically let go of everything so he could hold Sherlock's hips.

They ignore the split tea, not even acknowledging the fact there was tea all over Sherlock's lovely cream carpet.

John opens his mouth to say something but Sherlock stops him with another kiss and he forgot whatever he was going to say. Sherlock's lips were softer than he remembered and somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that he could taste strawberry ChapStick.

That delicious mouth leaves his and Sherlock pulls back for long enough to shed John's top. Then they're kissing again and Sherlock's long fingers are running up and down John's chest, earning him moans and shivers from John.

It was almost too much. Just a few minutes ago John was being handed a cup of tea and now he's topless and snogging the most gorgeous boy he's ever laid eyes on.

Part of John was screaming, throwing a proper tantrum, telling him that he had to stop because he was with Sherlock, a boy who sleeps with as many people as possible to win some silly competition he made up with his friends.

But John wasn't exactly thinking with his head right now, not when Sherlock bloody Holmes was sat in his lap and kissing him like he needed it more than the air that surrounds them.

John gives back as good as he got, sliding his tongue against Sherlock's feverishly. His hands, which had previously been on the other boy's hips, work on the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, undoing them all as fast humanly possible.

His shirt joins the tea on the floor, neither of them caring once again.

John pulls back, breathing in deeply and out again before he starts to kiss down Sherlock's neck. He doesn't see the other boy roll his eyes. Sherlock's hand comes to his jaw and lifts his face up, so they're looking at each other again. A quick kiss is given before Sherlock pushes John back so they're laying over the sofa, Sherlock on top.

Sherlock's hands slide down John's chest, fingers spread to touch as much as he can. He runs his palm over John's skin, sliding his hand further down to touch John's thigh. Even through his trousers, John felt as if the touches set his skin on fire.

His trousers didn't stay on long and neither did Sherlock's. They were left in just their boxers once their trousers joined the tea soaked pile on the floor.

Sherlock's fingers were all over his thigh, slowly getting closer to his arse.

"Sher..."

"Shh.." Sherlock gives him another peck, before returning his attention to feathering touches closer to John's arse.

Realising what Sherlock was planning on doing, John grabs Sherlock's wrist and flips them over, looking down at the other with wide, scared eyes. He still had an iron grip on Sherlock's wrist but let's go when Sherlock winces.

"Okay..?" Sherlock asks, tone worried.

John nods, before nervously admitting, "I don't... I don't want to bottom.."

Sherlock pauses. He'd bottomed before obviously. With Jim and Benjamin. But never with anyone else. It was much easier on him and his body if he topped all the time for the Game. It allowed him to fuck more people.

He's behind, Sherlock knows that, so he can't waste this chance to get a point.

Bottoming... For someone other than Jim and Benjamin seemed wrong, though. Like he was admitting to himself that he trusted John and cared for him the way he did Jim and Benjamin.

Sherlock bites his lip. He wasn't sure. He did trust John and he did care for him. Bottoming had always seemed so special to Sherlock. Something he did with people he really really cared for.

Slowly, Sherlock nods. He'd let John take him.

John smiles and leans in for a kiss. It's slow, sweet and nothing like before when they were near frantic for each other. It was.. loving. That scared the hell out of Sherlock but he kissed back none the less, his heart pounding.

"Thank you" He whispers, eyes closed.

"Let's go upstairs" Sherlock whispers back, his hands running up John's back and down again. 

"Agreed" John replies with a chuckle.

He helps Sherlock to his feet and gives him another small kiss before they head for the stairs, hand in hand. Their clothing still sits beside the sofa and Sherlock makes a mental note to pick them up afterwards.

When they get to the bedroom, Sherlock gently lowers them both to the bed, him on top despite their plans. He kisses John a few times before he grabs the lube from his draw.

"Do you want to do it or...?" Sherlock trails off, knowing John wasn't the most experienced when it came to sex with another guy.

A wave of pride goes through Sherlock as he realises that he's the only guy John has ever been with.

Turning red at the ears, John gives a small nod. "I can try..."

Sherlock smiles and hands the bottle over. John's hand shook as he popped the lid off and rubbed some of the lube between his fingers. Still shaking, he lowers his hand to Sherlock's cheeks.

It's too slow, and quite painful, for Sherlock but he doesn't mind. For a first timer, John didn't do terribly. Really, Sherlock should have shown him before he tried.

It didn't matter now though, Sherlock was ready.

John was about to roll them over when Sherlock stopped him, holding his wrists gently. He hovers over John, who by now had a condom on too.

"We'll do it this way, you just lay back and enjoy yourself" Sherlock whispers the words by John's ear, beginning to lower himself on John towards the end.

John's groan was far from quiet and the taller of the two was more than thankful that everyone was out. Once fully seated, Sherlock begin to move his hips, earning more moans from the gorgeous blonde underneath him, as he searches for the perfect angle.

Sherlock had a feeling he'd be a bit sore tomorrow but he didn't really mind right now, the look on John's face and the sounds he was making were far too good for him to have any regrets.

Thanks to an experimental roll of his hips, John brushes right against Sherlock's prostate. Panting John's name, Sherlock grips John's shoulders. John does it again and this time Sherlock moans, his lips forming a perfect 'o' shape.

Sherlock looked absolutely beautiful like this. His dark curls bouncing slightly and the muscles in his arms tense as he tries to control his laboured breathing. So beautiful.

Long pale fingers slide all over John's shoulders, touching as much of his tan skin as possible. It was like Sherlock couldn't get enough of him, and that made John so ridiculously happy.

A small kiss is planted on John's lips before Sherlock's hands grip John's shoulders harder and he starts to lift himself up. John does nothing to hold back his moan at the feeling and the sight of Sherlock on top of him, riding him.

Then, like a flip of a switch, Sherlock picks up the pace, lifting himself and slamming down on John like he had moments to live. John just managed to keep his grip on Sherlock's hips.

He rolls his hips upwards, making them both moan when their movements aligned perfectly. Sherlock went down as John went up. The sounds it pulled from them were utterly pornographic.

"Fuck, Sh-Sherlock.. Ah... You're so sexy..." The words slip out between pants without permission but John doesn't care when he sees the smile that spreads over Sherlock's lips.

He was damn sexy and he bloody knew it.

Sherlock slows then, arms still braced on John's shoulder, and rolls his hips forward once before he resumes bouncing.

John could understand why so many that had slept with Sherlock and were dropped by him wanted to go back time and time again. It was as if every move he made was careful and calculated to make them both feel good. Even though it was fast and hot, John still felt as though Sherlock cared about how he felt during this.

His thoughts are cut off when Sherlock picks up pace again and runs a ran down his own chest before taking hold of himself, stroking slowly. The face he made was one twisted between pleasure and the feeling of being tortured. He was purposely moving his hand slowly.

John wanted to take Sherlock's hand away and replace it with his own but he wasn't sure if Sherlock would want that.

John's head falls back on the pillows, his breath coming out in ragged pants. He was close.

"Sher.. lock..." He tries to get the name out in one go but doesn't manager it.

"I know" Sherlock nods.

His hand moves faster then, his hips grinding down each time he sinks completely onto John. Not long now.

John can feel himself approaching the edge and tries with all his might to prolong the moment but he's powerless when Sherlock slams down on him at the perfect angle to hit his prostate. It's the sight of Sherlock's coming, eyes closed and looking so perfect, that makes John buck his hips up and shout out.

They lay there, not breathing a word. Just sucking in gulps of air.

Eventually, Sherlock rolls off John (wincing when John's dick slips out). John disposes of the condom and they both climb under the covers and go to sleep, only cleaning themselves up quickly.