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May. 20th, 2011 12:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laleiaUh, so this is part of that Sherlock fic I'm not actually writing.
Which, I'm not writing it. This is all that will ever get written.
John is convinced that it’s a precarious situation, that his happiness is balanced on the edge of a sword. Or of a scalpel, as it were. A scalpel poised to cut out his heart if things didn’t work out.
Okay, perhaps he was a bit crap at metaphors.
It was just that normal people didn’t live like this, weren’t lucky enough to have people they loved, two people who loved them back, and get to keep both of them. He still wasn’t quite sure how it worked out so that he was being shagged on such a regular basis, alternate nights with Sarah and Sherlock (and some nights both when he had to sneak out of Sarah’s flat because he had an early morning and Sherlock was still up doing experiments when he got home, and was in that frenzied mood that easily translated to horny).
He had been so sure that Sarah was going to dump him (isn’t that what normal women did when their lives were endangered three times within the space of a month and they hadn’t even had sex yet because they kept getting interrupted), or that Sherlock was going to kick him out (isn’t that what superheroes normally did when they discovered their flatmate was their One True Weakness who would be continually exploited by their Archnemesis), and then somehow he was shagging them both and they both knew about each other and were okay with it and he still wasn’t sure how that happened.
Not that he was complaining. He loved Sarah so fiercely, loved the way she fit in the crook of his shoulder, loved the way she threw her head back with a gasp when she came, loved the way she kneed that goon in the groin during her most recent capture. (It seemed she’d started taking self-defense classes when she realized that prolonged acquaintance with John, and by association, Sherlock, meant a rather higher-than-average amount of near-death experiences.)
And of course, he loved Sherlock, loved the way his brain sped through thought processes normal peons could only dream of, loved the way he could still recite formulas and conjugations in a cool, logical voice with barely a hitch even when given a blowjob (and John was very good at blowjobs!), loved the way he tilted his head and templed his fingers when he was about to drop a stunning revelation. (It seemed he had a flair for the dramatic, whether he was solving cases or engaging in foreplay.)
--
So yeah.
I'm not actually writing this fic because I can't write porn (I feel like whenever I attempt to do NSFW NC-17 material, it all ends up coming out rather PG-13) and because you can clearly see that I get too talky, but if I were to write this fic and/or convince someone else to write this fic, I feel it should end with Sarah and Sherlock getting super competitive and ending up having sex contests over John. I'm not sure how sex contests would work -- perhaps extensive testing to see how can bring John to orgasm the most within a three-hour time lit, or who can keep him on the brink for longest, or who can make him scream loudest.
Which, I'm not writing it. This is all that will ever get written.
John is convinced that it’s a precarious situation, that his happiness is balanced on the edge of a sword. Or of a scalpel, as it were. A scalpel poised to cut out his heart if things didn’t work out.
Okay, perhaps he was a bit crap at metaphors.
It was just that normal people didn’t live like this, weren’t lucky enough to have people they loved, two people who loved them back, and get to keep both of them. He still wasn’t quite sure how it worked out so that he was being shagged on such a regular basis, alternate nights with Sarah and Sherlock (and some nights both when he had to sneak out of Sarah’s flat because he had an early morning and Sherlock was still up doing experiments when he got home, and was in that frenzied mood that easily translated to horny).
He had been so sure that Sarah was going to dump him (isn’t that what normal women did when their lives were endangered three times within the space of a month and they hadn’t even had sex yet because they kept getting interrupted), or that Sherlock was going to kick him out (isn’t that what superheroes normally did when they discovered their flatmate was their One True Weakness who would be continually exploited by their Archnemesis), and then somehow he was shagging them both and they both knew about each other and were okay with it and he still wasn’t sure how that happened.
Not that he was complaining. He loved Sarah so fiercely, loved the way she fit in the crook of his shoulder, loved the way she threw her head back with a gasp when she came, loved the way she kneed that goon in the groin during her most recent capture. (It seemed she’d started taking self-defense classes when she realized that prolonged acquaintance with John, and by association, Sherlock, meant a rather higher-than-average amount of near-death experiences.)
And of course, he loved Sherlock, loved the way his brain sped through thought processes normal peons could only dream of, loved the way he could still recite formulas and conjugations in a cool, logical voice with barely a hitch even when given a blowjob (and John was very good at blowjobs!), loved the way he tilted his head and templed his fingers when he was about to drop a stunning revelation. (It seemed he had a flair for the dramatic, whether he was solving cases or engaging in foreplay.)
--
So yeah.
I'm not actually writing this fic because I can't write porn (I feel like whenever I attempt to do NSFW NC-17 material, it all ends up coming out rather PG-13) and because you can clearly see that I get too talky, but if I were to write this fic and/or convince someone else to write this fic, I feel it should end with Sarah and Sherlock getting super competitive and ending up having sex contests over John. I'm not sure how sex contests would work -- perhaps extensive testing to see how can bring John to orgasm the most within a three-hour time lit, or who can keep him on the brink for longest, or who can make him scream loudest.
