Archive of Our Own ^beta

John was… he wasn't nervous. He was just a little anxious about finding out who he'd be sharing a room with all semester. He'd had bad roommates, he'd seen how horrible things can go. He just wanted to get through the semester till he could get his own place with some friends, just have his space, and hopefully find someone who'd respect a sock on the door.

At least it was a guys only floor.

At least he thought that until he opened the door to room 221b Baker's Hall. And half the room was decorated in medical diagrams, crime drama posters, and everything purple and black. Including the fuzzy purple beanbag that sat at the end of one bed. Which sat a pale body, purple striped tights on under a black leather skirt, layers of different undershirts and over shirts all a mirage of purple and black and sparkles of silver covered, chunky headphones, notebook in he-hi-their lap.

"Uh… Hi." John said after staring for too long to be appropriate. He shifted and side stepped towards his own bare side of the room. The person looked up, eyes sharp like blades, ice blue.

"Sherlock Holmes. No this isn't the co-ed floor, no I'm not a girl, yes I smoke, and if you call my brother I'll cut your cock off. If you find that amenable, it's nice to meet you." The per- The man said. John blinked, eyebrows going up as he thought it over. He nodded, processing as he looked towards the window, ashtray on the sill. He nodded, stuck on the brother part but everything else was… agreeable.

"Alright. Well uh don't cut my dick off, I planned on fucking my way through the semester. I'm John. I don't smoke, drink occasionally, and I don't even know you're brother. I won't… tattle on you for smoking." John said, reaching out a hand to the other. He couldn't help as his eyes really took in Sherlock. Thin, lithe, the skirt making his hips look wider, he looked so… feminine. What a weird guy, John thought.

"Very well than. But the tattling is mostly because of my addiction." Sherlock said as he stood from the beanbag, rising to be taller than John by a good bit, especially with the boots he had on. John didn't notice his eyes going wide.

Sherlock put on a fake smile and shook John's hands before the shorter could respond.

"I'm a sex addict, but since you're okay with it! We should get along just fine. Glad to have you John." Sherlock purred his name, all sly and teasing. John stood there, hand still in the air, blinking, as Sherlock flopped onto his back on his own bed, skirt fluffing up to show his slender thighs. They weren't tights. They were stockings. John barely glanced and saw the black satin underneath the leather skirt.

This was… John left his bag and left. He needed to get some air because fuck… he knew he asked for too much. Of course he got roomed with tall, hot, and freaky. He just wanted to fuck through gen-ed and try not to get an STD and pass his classes. The world wasn't fair.

The first issue with living with Sherlock Holmes was his closet. Or rather the two dressers that were filled to the bring and unorganized as possible. Pants tailored to the centimeter, jeans so tight they cut circulation, blouses, dresses, skirts, long sleeves, cardigans, everything. Sherlock had everything. John learned quickly that Sherlock was loaded. He wasn't flashy, one good watch, a few finer pieces of jewelry kept in a small lockbox, nothing extreme. But the clothes were everywhere. John had to have a conversation with him about leaving unmentionables out when other people are coming to the room. (Especially after his sister visited him and a pair of cut out lace panties were thrown over the back of his chair with a purple bodysuit.)

A positive that arose, among few others was that Sherlock, after a month of living in awkwardness, was positively fond of John. Sherlock was weird, no doubt. However the nineteen year old was brilliant. John was never short of amazed when Sherlock figure out things aloud. And Sherlock flourished with the praise, the attention. John needed a new bookbag, his having gotten snagged and ripped open, and before he could sew his old one up, Sherlock had bought him a heavy duty one, sturdy and expensive. It was the least Sherlock could do, really, because he was such a pain.

Sherlock did understand a sock on the doorknob. The few times John brought anyone to the dorm, Sherlock had kept away. However Sherlock himself did not adhere to the etiquette. John walked in on him far too many times, catching Sherlock astride some poor bloke, riding him for hells worth. And Sherlock wasn't even phased, not when John walked in on him getting utterly plowed, not mid blowjob, not even when he had a pair of blonde twins eiffel towering him. John realized that for all his strangeness, Sherlock did have a certain… appeal. However after a long talk, those walk-ins slowed. Fading into a story of the past.

After three months John realized something to his own horror. He was oh so fond of Sherlock. His weirdness, his ability to drag John into the strangest of situations, the excitement that followed him everywhere, John had never been so happy.

However everything came to ahead when they had three days off together. How Sherlock got John into the gay bar, on a drag night no less, he didn't know. But they were both drunk, Sherlock dressed to the nines, makeup dark and precise, smelling like rich perfume and pen ink, and John in his cups. He didn't even realize how late it had gotten, they'd been talking and talking and talking but then the bell rang for last call and they both turned for the door.

"You know.. You know I told you I'm a sex addict." Sherlock slurred as he held onto John, his platforms a little wobbly under his feet.

"Yeah… first time I ever even met you!" John said with a laugh. Sherlock giggled as he leaned down, smelling John's shampoo.

"I was lying. I don't- I don't even like the sex. I- I like the intimacy." Sherlock said, voice quitter, confessional. John shook his head, looking at the street signs, trying to get them back to Baker's Hall.

"Intimimacy is the sex Sherl, it's like, a cinnamon." John said, a little too dizzy to be holding Sherlock up. Sherlock shook his head and sat down at a passing bench, tugging his shoes off.

"I like being touched. I don't even- I've never liked sex. But being kissed, touched… loved. I enjoy that part." Sherlock said, looking out ahead of himself. John admired him. So pretty, soft and even with his makeup smudged, he looked perfect. John sat down next to him, squished together.

"I could… I could give you that. Give you a cuddle. Pants on and all if you want." John said looking over at his friend. God, when did that happen…

"Yeah. Maybe just our pants though. I maybe enjoy the sex a bit." Sherlock said, cheeks all red, eyes blown. John cracked up, laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and he couldn't pinpoint why, but it felt good. Sherlock had a funny laugh, snickery and light, and the more he laughed, the more John laughed, leaving them both cackling into the night like maniacs.

John had a vague memory of it, mostly just the image of Sherlock, makeup smudged, glowing in the street lamp light, laughing. It came back to him much faster when one day, after Sherlock had apparently met with his father, and John was laying on his stomach on his bed, attempting to read the material he needed, and Sherlock came in with a huff, a whirlwind of words as soon as he was past the threshold, boots and slacks going to the floor, bag slung onto his own bed, purple silk button down coming loose and open before he flopped onto John's bed, snuggling into the blonde man's back as he quieted.

"I couldn't possibly think of a more horrible way to spend three hours. Read to me." Sherlock ended his rant, chin resting on John's shoulder, looking at the book below. John was frozen, Sherlock was so very close, and smelled like expensive hair products and was a comfortable weight against his back and was so… bare.

"What?" John asked, looking to the side and realizing they were barely a hair separated. Sherlock looked down at him, all cool and collected, completely unfazed, nodding towards the book.

"Read to me. You have to anyway and it'll better your speaking skills. I'm taking you up on your offer for a… a cuddle." Sherlock explained, eyes rolling on the last word. John's eyebrows rose as he nodded, turning back to his book. A Cuddle. With Sherlock. Who'd taken his clothes off. A cuddle with Sherlock in his little black underwear and open shirt.

John cleared his throat and looked back down at his place marker. He could tota-

"Can I take your clothes off. I prefer skin to skin." Sherlock said, not waiting for an answer as his hands shoved themselves under John's hips, fiddling with the button on his jeans. John squawked, flinching around to push Sherlock onto his back next to him on the bed, jeans opened. He didn't even know what to say as he sat up, up on one arm, hovering over a far too smug Holmes.

"You can't just- just do shit like that!" John finally said, face heated and heart thrumming a little faster than he'd like to admit. He couldn't help as his eyes swept down the other's body, his slender torso, toned long legs, the dark briefs, John felt a little breathless wondering if it was a thong, only made his pale skin look ever more flawless.

Sherlock smiled, cattish and sly, hand raising up for a single finger to poke John in the belly.

"You don't seem to mind that much." Sherlock purred as his finger slid lower, towards where a bulge was forming under the layers of John's clothes. Sherlock looked far too happy with himself when John shivered, letting out a laboured breath.

John watched, looking down like he was watching it happen to someone else, as Sherlock ran his finger, long and delicate, down the line of John's cock, coming back to grab his zipper. John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Sherlock unzipped his jeans and then pulled his hands away.

"Sherlock…" John said, the name the only word that he could come up with, each letter feeling impossible on his tongue. The other man just smirked, but John noticed his tensed muscles, the trepidation in his eyes. Sherlock was an impatient man.

But John wasn't.

Usually.

"You're a little shit." He said as he finally broke down, crashing down to press his lips against the ones that had been pulled into a smirk for an irritably long time. John didn't hold back, forcing his tongue forward, nose wrinkling at the first taste of cigarettes and sweetness that stuck to Sherlock's mouth. John groaned as hands shoved at his shirt, pulling at jeans, all while Sherlock sighed into the deep kiss.

"God, I thought you said you didn't even like se-" John started to say kneeling up on the bed to pull his tops off, tossing them to the floor before sliding off the bed to manage his jeans down.

"It's not the same. This isn't… that." Sherlock argued, pushing his own underwear off. He was being obtuse, John was sure. So when he turned around, bare as the day he was born, eyebrow raised, he expected Sherlock's usually obtuse reply.

"This isn't sex?" John asked, a bit too proudly as Sherlock's eyes widened, scanning over him with a certain… John's triumphant smile dropped when he noticed the way Sherlock was holding himself, stiff, uncomfortable.

"John…" Sherlock said, voice quieter, name hanging in the air, eyes going to the side.

It was the first time John had ever heard Sherlock say that word to him. First time he'd ever seen the other man look…

"Don't be shy now, Holmes. You certainly didn't lure all those other men into your bed by being timid." John said, trying to sound reassuring as he climbed back onto the bed, expecting to be pulled atop the other man. John had his few dalliances with men, usually ending up on the receiving end. But Sherlock just groaned and picked his knees up, letting John settle between them.

Sherlock was even better looking up close, John discovered. His cheeks held onto a powdery pink blush, skin all smooth and pristine, except for a few little scars along his arms, a few stray dashes on his sides. It made John want to- John smiled to himself as he bent down, realizing he could just lick them.

Sherlock moaned, dexterous hands coming up to grab short blonde hair, wiggling under John's warm tongue. He couldn't help the whines and groans, he wasn't used to attentive attention.

"Shush, Don't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea do we?" John teased and pulled back, enough to look into Sherlock's eyes, to lean up and seal their lips once again, settling himself against the younger's body. Sherlock was featherlight, soft, even down to his hard cock, the skin was soft and perfect, utterly perfection.

John pulled back, sitting up all the way, hand coasting down Sherlock's chest, eyes trying to memorize the way his lips hung open, kissed pink and puffy, eyes blown and dazed, before he finally wrapped his hand around the other's shaft. Sherlock hissed, eyes closing as his head went back, pressing into the pillow.

John gave him a few tight strokes before stopping, hand tight around his base. Sherlock whined a complaining noise as he looked down, wanting to know why John had stopped.

"Lube, condom, come on Sherlock." John teased, raising an eyebrow at the other man and he blinked. Sherlock thought about what John had said, body catching up with his mind after a second. He scrambled over, reaching towards John's own bedside, yanking it open forcefully, looking for the requested items. John didn't have much in that drawer other than condoms, lube, some pens, mints, and a stack of tissues. He was civilized.

"I don't require… much. I'm used to it." Sherlock said as he handed the lube and single condom over, looking toward the wall, unable to meet John's eyes. John understood, quickly slicking up two fingers before pressing them into the other, more perfunctory than anything else, getting Sherlock stretched and wet.

Sherlock for the most part just grabbed onto the blankets, grimacing a bit before John pulled away. Sherlock watched John roll on the condom, as he shifted forward more so the younger's hips were up on his thighs, almost in his lap.

John lined himself up, waiting a minute, just to look at Sherlock. Just to take it all in. That was until a heel kicked his butt.

"Come on, John." Sherlock said, trying to sound confident but it just wasn't there. He sounded desperate, voice cracking over the other's name. John didn't say anything though, just pushing forward to indulge Sherlock.

And himself. Because Sherlock was tight and hot and perfect, especially he moaned, eyes closed as his head tilted back against John's pillow. John groaned as he was surrounded by heat, bottoming out he leaned forward, first to hover over Sherlock but then farther, up on his elbows on either side of Sherlock's chest.

"Okay?" John asked, letting his forehead fall onto Sherlock's shoulder, breathing heavy as he resisted fucking the other, holding himself back. Sherlock hummed a rough 'mhm' as his hands let go of the bedding, wrapping them around John's shoulders instead, body curling around the older's, legs wrapping around John's hips.

John huffed a laugh, the touching. That's what Sherlock liked. He understood then. He pulled back a bit, not moving apart from the other, thrusting forward enough to make Sherlock gasp. It wasn't the best angle, but John kept up a rhythm, bending up to kiss Sherlock's neck, one hand going to rub and down his side, trying to touch the other more. Sherlock only got louder, moaning and writhing against the bed, cock trapped between their stomachs.

"John- John, close" Sherlock panted out, hands grabbing at John's shoulders, his hair, settling with one in his hair and the other around his hand. John couldn't deny that he was close too, Sherlock was so noisy, so well behaved. Nothing like he was when he wasn't getting fucked. Maybe that's one of the appeals, he thought as he sped up.

The bed started to squeak and John fucked harder, chasing his own pleasure as Sherlock pushed back into his thrusts, both groaning when John came, filling the condom, Sherlock making a mess between them.

John wasn't sure he'd ever catch his breath, panting as he collapsed against Sherlock's bony chest, head rising and falling with Sherlock's own gasping breath. He couldn't help but force himself to sit back up, pulling away from the dead weight of Sherlock's limbs, long legs flopping to the bed, arms curling up on his own chest. He hissed as he pulled out, getting the soiled condom off and into his trashcan, brain half functioning. He laid down beside the other man, pressed between Sherlock's side and the wall, with a huff.

"Sherlock, I hate to break it to you but I think you do actually like the sex part of sex." John said, staring at the cum that was glimmering on the other's pale concave stomach. Sherlock groaned and reached over, hand clumsy as it shoved at John's face. John laughed and held onto his wrist, stopping the movement.

"I think… further research is necessary. If you're amenable." Sherlock said, swallowing in the middle. He started up at the ceiling, savouring the warmth of John's body as it pressed against his own.

"Yeah, we can go again. In a minute." John said and closed his eyes, relaxing against the bed.

"Of course." Sherlock said before letting his own eyes slip shut, his fingers weaving between John's, just… loosely.