+1: West Coast - Lana Del Rey [REQUEST]

Dedicated to @CountVonSquah as it was his request.

-

Going undercover was always a bit of a pain. It was moments like these when Sherlock truly understood what his older brother meant when he grumbled about legwork.

At least the beach was empty at night. It got him away from the rowdy crowds in town. Plus it was gorgeous, just an added bonus.

He'd never had much interest in space and the universe but Sherlock had to admit that the stars and moon looked exceptionally beautiful on this clear night.

With a small sigh Sherlock raises a bottle to his lips, taking a small sip. The bottle had been a gift from an admirer at the club where 'Shezza' was currently working. Sherlock didn't much care for where it came from.

Whoever it was had good taste and that was all he cared about right now.

He remembered saying that he was waiting for a case where he could put his dancing skills to use. He was biting his tongue now.

Placing the bottle down on the sand, Sherlock stretched his legs out before him.

"Having fun, darling?" A voice, a familiar voice, asked from behind him.

There's a sound of a match being struck and then a burst of orange flame reveals the face of James Moriarty.

Sherlock just hums, not paying much attention to the man behind him.

The bottle is once again picked up, but not by Sherlock, as James sits down, taking a long drag on his cigarette. Sherlock's hands itched to reach out and take the item from between Jim's lips.

Quickly reminding himself that he was quitting - no, had quit, Sherlock looked down at his feet.

"What do you want? I'm working" Sherlock breaks the silence that had formed.

"I've been watching you" James replies, slowly letting out the smoke.

Sherlock's eyes follow the trail of white smoke as it mingled with the night air.

"You always are watching me" He says, eventually, when all the smoke had disappeared.

"No" Jim shakes his head, handing Sherlock the bottle. "I've been watching you, Sherlock"

Ah. Well.

Sherlock looks down again, at the bottle in his hands this time. He wasn't sure whether to be ashamed that the man he, if he was being honest, respected the most out of the others on this planet had seen him dance for a group of horny men and women or not..

Exotic dancing certainly wasn't on Sherlock's bucket list.

In the end, Sherlock just hums in acknowledgement as a reply.

It's silent for a long time, both men admiring the way the light of the moon shimmered on the water's surface. It made the sand and water it hit glow, just adding to the tranquil feel the deserted beach had.

"Do you like to swim, Sherlock?" Jim asks, gently putting out his cigarette in the sand before sliding the butt into his pocket - even he didn't want to ruin the clean white sand by leaving cigarettes there.

"I suppose" Sherlock shrugs before looking to man to his side. "Why?"

Jim nods towards the sea. "Let's swim"

There's a pause as Sherlock purses his lips in thought, debating.

"Why?" He repeats, eventually.

It was Jim's turn to shrug. "Why not?"

That, Sherlock decides, was a very valid point. Although, Sherlock wasn't sure if this wasn't some scheme to get him in a vulnerable position. All it would take is for Jim to overpower him long enough to hold him under water.

Despite the risks, Sherlock nods.

Jim smiles, glancing at Sherlock and nearly blinding him with this sudden cheerfulness. After a moment, Jim pushes himself to his feet and begins to unbutton his shirt. The fabric falls to the floor and Sherlock's eyes follow it in much the same way they had the smoke.

Jim stands there, topless and smirking down at Sherlock.

"Well? I'm not stripping if you're not"

Sherlock just snorts a laugh at the irony of that statement before he too stands and begins to undress. As his fingers work each button open, he feels the heat of Jim's eyes following the trail and mentally popping each button just before Sherlock does so himself.

Only an idiot would miss the way Jim licked his suddenly dry lips when Sherlock's deep purple shirt fell to the floor beside his own, and Sherlock was far from an idiot.

Jim's hands settle on his own belt but he doesn't move to unbuckle it, his eyes on Sherlock's trouser button. Sensing what Jim wanted, Sherlock pushed the button through the hole. He doesn't touch his zipper just yet, only allowing Jim a small glance of his black Gucci underwear.

The air around them felt as if an electric current was moving through it, looping around them and trying desperately to push them together or at the very least get them to hurry up and reveal themselves to one another.

It felt dangerous. It was dangerous.

Sherlock had no idea where this was going but had every intention to find out.

Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime of waiting, Jim pulls his belt free slowly. Sherlock's eyes dart all over, watching the belt slide through each hoop. One by one.

The belt falls to the floor with a clink. Jim undoes his own top button.

That's when they look up, their eyes meeting. Sherlock was more than pleased when Jim's next inhale was far sharper than it usually would be.

Before long, zipper's are pulled down and trousers are stepped out of. They don't look yet, eyes locked together in a never ending staring contest.

Expect it did end, because Jim started to fiddle with the waistband of his own underwear, pushing it down a few centimetres before allowing it to smooth back into it's original position.

Sherlock takes in every movement with darkened eyes, drinking in the sight of Jim stood before him.

Jim stops playing with the waistband then and starts forward. Sherlock watches him until he's stopped at the water's edge, that's when Sherlock also walks towards the water. He stops beside Jim.

In almost perfect synchronisation, they remove their last articles of clothing before sinking into the water, not allowing the other to get a good look.

This had not been the plan for this trip but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to regret it as they silently swim circles around one another, slowly getting closer and closer until they're just spinning.

They still don't touch, just stare and circle.

Keeping with what was quickly becoming a pattern, Jim makes the first move. He reaches up, exceedingly slow, to cup Sherlock's cheek. As contact is made for the first time, they come to a gentle stop in the water.

Sherlock's own hand, which he later swears did not hold a tremor, raises out of the water to touch Jim's shoulder, his thumb making circles into his skin.

Neither of them were entirely sure how it happened but soon their foreheads were resting against each other, lips and legs just inches apart. Sherlock could feel the heat coming off Jim even without touching.

"Sherlock..." Jim speaks, voice softer than Sherlock's ever heard ever before.

"Yes, Jim?" Sherlock whispers back.

"I.." His voice shakes. "Kiss me"

Sherlock smiles but doesn't move forward yet.

His hand slides up until he's got a gentle hold on the back of Jim's neck. His other hand trails up Jim's thigh, fingertips barely there but all too present on Jim's skin. When he gets to Jim's hip, his hand settles but the hold is still ghost-like. So gentle that it could almost be mistaken for part of his imagination.

Sherlock stays like that, liking the way Jim's hand slid to his shoulder and gave a near impatient squeeze.

Instead of bending down and meeting Jim's lips, Sherlock pulls the other man flush against him but ensures their lips do not meet.

Jim squirms in his arm, making a low whining sound.

Sherlock could feel him everywhere and the sense of power just makes him smile more.

After long minutes spent breathing in the scent of one another and stroking as much skin as they could, Sherlock finally gives Jim what he wants.