Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Fifteen: Tea Makes Everything Better

*

Guarded brown eyes- God, it'd been an age since Sherlock had seen those beautiful brown orbs- darted around the room, taking in everything. Well, everything minus the blonde that lay on the bed; half naked, hints of a bulge fading in the front of his boxers and panting like he'd run a marathon three times over.

John had become the poster boy for awkwardness as Jim stood there in the doorway, looking as though he hadn't just walked in on his best friend/fuck buddy on top on a boy they'd known for less than a month.

It was humiliating. Sherlock and Jim were both completely ignoring him now, which was good for his pride- sort of. As the two boys engaged themselves in an odd staring match, John muttered about tea and left the room.

Jim waited until he had heard John's footsteps descend at least five steps before he spoke.

"Well. Here I am. A week later" He opened his arms a little, as if asking what now? What the hell happens now, Sherlock? You tell me.

"Nice of you to dress for our reunion" Jim's eyes gestured to Sherlock's state of dress.

And that really pissed Sherlock off. Not only because Jim knew that he was this way (fucking people, gaining points and notches to his bedpost just because he could) but Jim was just being so.. not Jim.

He'd fenced himself in, behind a wall of sarcasm and concealed emotions. He wasn't letting Sherlock see how much pain he'd caused. Not truly.

"Don't" He warned, tone low and almost dangerous "Don't hide behind a wall of sarcasm and wit, Jim. You wanted to talk. So don't be such a twat about all this and let's talk"

Jim said nothing. The silence dragged on for almost three minutes but it felt a hell of a lot longer than that.

With an almost silent exhale, Sherlock straightens and looks to Jim. He'd had enough of this damn silence between them to last a lifetime. The taller teen takes a few steps forward so he's closer to Jim. Granted, he's not as close as he would usually stand.

That little step of extra distance between them almost killed Sherlock, on the inside. Yet he knew he couldn't go closer, he couldn't risk Jim running from him.

Jim's eyebrow rose the second Sherlock had stepped closer.

"I've missed you.." Sherlock speaks honestly, his voice barely a whisper in the silent room.

Once again, Jim says nothing. He just stares at Sherlock, as if he were a stranger who'd come up to him in the street, gotten down on one knee with heart shaped chocolates and asked to marry him.

Sherlock's own eyes, now a clouded blue, raise from Jim's shoulder to meet his eyes again. They're not as guarded as when he entered the room, but they're also no where near how open they used to be around Sherlock.

"I'm sorry" Sherlock says, despite knowing that sorry just wouldn't cut it.

And God, if those deadpan eyes didn't just speed up the rate the guilt was consuming him.

When Jim does speak, it's not what Sherlock expected at all. He had excepted Jim to ask what happens to them now, or to tell Sherlock just how bloody much all this was hurting him. Maybe, Sherlock thought, he'd just act like it didn't happen and launch into a conversation about the game.

It was none of that. Instead he uttered three single words.

"John likes you"

Sherlock frowns at his.. friend? Can he still call Jim that? He frowns, out of shock mostly but also because he had no idea- absolutely no idea- why Jim was bringing this up.

"I- Er. Yeah, I guess he does" Sherlock eventually replies, giving a small shrug.

"No. Sherlock" Jim was using that tone. The one he uses with the idiotic people of the world. Never had Sherlock had that tone aimed at him. "He likes you."

Oh.

"That really isn't news to me, Jim" Sherlock bites back a scoff.

"What? You don't like him?"

Sherlock pauses for a moment. His mind drifting back to that annoying angry feeling (he still refuses to call it by it's actual name) when Mary had taken John away the night of Harry Watson's birthday party.

"Don't be silly. I don't like anyone that way"

It's the truth. Sherlock Holmes doesn't do emotion. Especially not love. Not anymore.

"Molly?" Jim asks, tilting his head.

Sherlock has no idea where Jim is going with this but he answers anyway. "No"

"Irene?"

The urge to vomit arises at the thought of himself and Irene... She was like a sister. Definitely not that kind of friend.

"God, no"

Jim's fingers twitch with the next name. "Michael?"

"No" Sherlock shakes his head.

A raised eyebrow, this time. "Me?"

"N-" Sherlock stops, staring at Jim for a few long hard moments. Why the hell did he ask that?! How was Sherlock meant to response? "I- No. Of course, not"

"What about--"

"Jim" Sherlock stops the boy from this pointless quest. "I don't do feelings like that... not now, anyway. We both know that"

Jim gives a nod, eyes softening at the mention of Sherlock's past. Then, in one movement, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Sherlock.

Sherlock's breath catches before he slowly raises his arms to hug Jim back, burying his face in Jim's shoulder as he does. It felt good to be close to Jim, in his arms.

It felt like home.

And that thought scared the shit out of Sherlock but he didn't run. He stayed there with Jim, clutching to him like a child does their favourite toy- scared he may disappear again and, this time, never return.

"I've been an idiot" Sherlock mumbles, turning his face so he's speaking into Jim's neck and his lips brush the pale skin there as he speaks.

A small shiver runs through Jim, much to Sherlock's delight, as he runs a hand down Sherlock's bare back. Sherlock shivers, much like Jim, before hugging the other tighter.

He needed to know this was real. That Jim was honestly here. That he wasn't going to leave. Sherlock almost let out a whimper and begged him to never leave. Almost.

"You have been" Jim agrees.

"Can... Stay tonight." Sherlock raises his head to meet Jim's eyes but their arms are still wrapped around each other.

Jim shakes his head. No.

"Why n--"

"I haven't been home yet. I want to see Dad. Plus you've got John here"

Sherlock doesn't reply for a moment, shocked by all the pain buried in Jim's eyes now he's opened up. His eyes looked sad. Sadder than Sherlock had ever seen them. Sadder than Sherlock had ever seen anyone's eyes.

It broke his heart. His untouchable, cold heart that he'd locked away a not-so-long time ago. In that moment, it broke for Jim. For his best friend.

"Fair enough" Sherlock nods, eventually. "But stay for a cup of tea. Please?"

Jim gives a small chuckle and nods, finally- disappointingly- unwrapping himself from Sherlock's embrace. Sherlock had to beat down his inner demons that wanted to reach out and latch onto the Irish boy for as long as they possible could. They wanted to keep him close, protect him. Be anything he needs them to be.

Great, Sherlock thinks, now I'm starting to sound like bloody Jacob Black. And, he adds, I should be ashamed for knowing so many twilight references.

"Tea makes everything better" Sherlock finds himself saying as they leave the room and trail down stairs.

Sherlock's wasn't overly surprised to find his Dad sitting on the sofa, reading a book on the universe (utter rubbish in Sherlock's opinion). He supposes that he'd let Jim in.

When the two recently reunited boys enter the kitchen, a certain short blonde turns the colour of a cherry as he continues to slowly, very slowly, make tea for the three of them. Sherlock briefly glances at Jim before crossing the room to help make the tea- being the good host his mother would want him to be.

Jim slides onto a stool stationed at the island, not overly interested in the art of tea making.

Sherlock leans into John, a small smile on his lips. Ever the shameless flirt.

"Jim can't stay tonight.." He says, low enough that his father would hear nothing. And neither would Jim, unless he was closely listening. "So, after he's gone, if you want, we can..." Sherlock shrugs, almost dismissively.

John's eyes widen and he swallows, mind going into overtime. Before, in the heat of the moment, it was different. This is Sherlock asking a clear headed, still half naked, John if he wanted to climb into bed with him.

John knew that he really should say no. No, he doesn't want to be another point to Sherlock. He doesn't want to be left feeling used. Not just that but this was his first time with another guy. Surely he shouldn't give that experience to an arrogant teen that just wanted to bed him to get ahead in some game he'd made up with his friends to keep themselves amused. This was a boy who'd broken many hearts for the sake of saying he'd won. For a feeling of superiority and power. All John would be doing was encouraging Sherlock to go ahead and sleeps with as many people as he could, break any hearts he wanted and use people as he pleased.

Yet, even with all those logical reasons not to, all his mind was saying was: yes, yes, yes, Sherlock, Sherlock, yes, yes, yes, Sherlock, Sherlock.

God, he was an idiot. Say no. He should say no.

John finds himself nodding. "Oh, God, yes" He whispers.

The sound of a stool screeching back makes the two tea-makers jump back slightly. They both look towards Jim. He's standing, gripping his phone so tight that his knuckles are turning white. He's looking at the screen but even John can see that it's blank.

John's torn between smirking and feeling guilty.

Sherlock, the oblivious git, gazes at Jim in worry- not even realising what John could spot a mile away. It wasn't Jim's phone that made him react that way.

John can't help it this time, a small smirk takes over his features. Neither of the other boys notice, though, as Sherlock steps towards Jim.

"What's wrong, Jim?" Sherlock questions, voice riddled with concern.

Jim's jaw clenches. "Text. From Dad. He knows I'm home. I've got to go"

He's already heading for the door before Sherlock can reply. The curly haired teen chases after his friend, catching his arm at the door.

"You'll come see me?"

Jim pauses for a moment, in no way used to Sherlock pleading and looking so damn desperate for his attention. It was almost annoying. Like that puppy that always wants it's belly scratched and ears tickled. But, taking everything in consideration, Jim couldn't find it annoying. It showed Sherlock cared about him.

He was here, all but begging to see Jim again. He wasn't in the kitchen, making tea with John and trying to bed him. He was with Jim.

That felt like a small victory to the Irish boy.

He nods, giving Sherlock a tiny smile. "Tomorrow.. Well, later today"

Sherlock stills for a moment, as if remembering something, before he returns the smile. "I can't do tomorrow. Visiting family. I have to go this time, sadly"

"Sunday then?" Jim offers.

Sherlock lets go of Jim's arm as he nods. "Definitely"

They embrace for almost a full minute before Jim disappears into the night.

Ten minutes later Sherlock and John had returned to the bedroom, tea in hand as they settle. John climbs into the bed, movements slow and nervous as he sets his tea on the beside table.

Sherlock sips the last of his tea before sliding into the bed beside the other, not wasting anytime in attaching his mouth to John's.

John responses immediately, like Sherlock had been kissing him this way for years, as his hands slide up to Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock moves to straddle John, pleased to find that John was already filling out and was only getting harder by the second. It was nice to know he had that effect on him. That John wanted him enough to be getting hard without being touched.

It definitely made a bubble of pride form in Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock is about to dip down for another kiss when John places a hand on his chest, nervous blue eyes raising to meet Sherlock's own.

"Can we just..." John trails off, turning pink at the ears.

That was rather cute, Sherlock decides. The heat of his blush and arousal painting his skin a glowing shade of pink. It just made Sherlock want him more. Sherlock's skin was in a similar state, arousal colouring it as he pushed forward and pressed himself against John.

He nods, understand John's incomplete sentence.

"Yeah. Anything you want, John"

He then dips down for that kiss.

It remains like that for some time. Sherlock slowly turning down John's nerves with soft gentle kisses.

A familiar feeling washes over Sherlock. Similar to when he'd been kissing John at the party. Just content to kiss John until time ends.

John didn't share that content feeling, apparently, as within another few kisses he's arching up into Sherlock with a desperate whine. He rubs himself against Sherlock's thigh, hips making slow circles as he searches for the friction he needs.

Sherlock shifts again, this time so his hips are more in line. They're fully pressed together now, Sherlock fully on top of John. Thigh to thigh, panting chest to panting chest.

John watches Sherlock's face in a mixture of fear and excitement.

Then.. Christ. Sherlock's head tilts back, his eyes going half lidded and his plump lips falling open in a moan as he rolls his hips down to meet John's for the first ever time. Never had it felt so good for John to rub himself against something through clothes.

He could feel every inch of Sherlock through their boxers. He could feel the heat, the pulse, every throbbing ridge. Granted, John didn't have anything to compare it to but this.. God.. he could even form the thoughts to describe it- never mind the words.

John's hand clutch at Sherlock's back, trying to pull him closer. He hooks his ankle  over Sherlock's calf like a vice, preventing him from moving away (as if he wanted to).

Pants and grunts fill the room as Sherlock works his body against John's, nudging them closer with each long slow grind of Sherlock's hips. 

John's eyes had fallen closed and just as he feels himself harden further and near the edge, the world turning a soft white, he feels a wet drop fall onto his bare shoulder. Sherlock stills above him and John blinks, confused as to why Sherlock had stopped when they were so close. So so close.

When he looks up, he sees Sherlock's bloodied hand under his nose, wide eyes looking absolutely mortified. John bites his lips, trying to keep in the laughter rising within himself. Sherlock's eyes harden and narrow as he shots daggers at John. The boy below can't stop the giggle slipping past his lips and once it was out, the rest followed of their own accord.

"Shut up" Sherlock mutters, looking as embarrassed as he sounds as he holds his still bleeding nose.

John just laughs harder. Sherlock wipes his nose with the back of his hand, ignoring the tiny dribbles of blood as he reaches out with his clean hand and slides his fingers into John's boxers.

The boy's laughter is cut short as Sherlock moves his hand over John's heavy leaking cock. John's gasp almost sounds pained as he pushes up with a whisper of Sherlock's name.

Sherlock goes faster, using his thumb and ridiculously long fingers to massage all the right points and flick over John's head with each twist of Sherlock's wrist. One finger slides down to skim and teases at John's balls briefly.

That's what has John gripping onto Sherlock's shoulder with his left hand and the bedsheets with the other. He gives a near violent thrust upwards into Sherlock's fist as he spills, hot and dirty, over Sherlock's hand and himself.

John receives a kiss on the temple before Sherlock disappears towards the bathroom to sort out his nose.

John giggles again. That certainly wasn't what he expect. Then again, who does expect for someone to get a nosebleed right in that middle of sex.

Sherlock returns to the room fifteen minutes later, all blood and erection gone. John feels a bit guilty he didn't give anything back and Sherlock took take of himself but his worries fly out the window as Sherlock slides back into the bed and wraps an arm around him.

"That's never happened before..." Sherlock mumbles into John's back.

It's new. Being the little spoon, but John doesn't mind. It's nice to be the one 'being looked after' sometimes. He didn't need to be all manly. He could just cuddle up to Sherlock and close his eyes, content.

John laughs gently, his fingers intertwining with Sherlock's.

"Don't worry, it's fine"

A few minutes of comfortable silence pass, and then "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Did..." He clears his throat "Was that another point?" He asks.

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, it wasn't another point"

John grins, the words registering with a totally different meaning to Sherlock.

To Sherlock, it wasn't a point because there had not been penetrative or oral sex which is what the rules state. There were no fingers or erections near any holes so no, it wasn't a point.

To John, it wasn't a point because Sherlock didn't view John as another notch to his bedpost. It wasn't a point because Sherlock didn't want to include John in that, he cared enough to not make him another tally point on a chart. He wasn't another number to Sherlock.