DAY 3

29. january 2014 at 20:33 | Thalia Contostavlos
DAY 3) Write a story about couple (3) taking a shower/bath together.
The couple is John and Greg from BBC Sherlock.
Warnings: More or less explicit slash! (my first and I suck :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters


.
......
Greg was standing in front of the 221b Baker Street flat, waiting for Sherlock to find his keys and unlock the door. He sighed as he uselessly swiped at the slowly drying mud that clung to his jacket and frowned at the annoying genius. Not only did he have to follow him through the dirtiest alleys in London, but when they finally found their culprit, Sherlock left it up to the inspector to arrest him. This earned Greg both muddy clothes and a shallow but painful knife wound on the arm. And now Sherlock couldn't find the bloody keys.
......"Wouldn't it be quicker if you'd just picked the lock? Or called John?"
......"Call him yourself. And I don't have a lock pick."
......Greg pretended to be shocked. "You went out without your lock pick and without keys on top of that? You're slacking off, Sherlock."
......"Shut up, I have more important things on my mind than to remember where I put my keys."
......Greg rolled his eyes. "Undoubtedly. I would really appreciate it if you got us into the flat though, I'm dripping mud and blood all over your porch and I would kill for a shower."
......The git sighed theatrically and finally fished out the missing keys. "Here they are. I knew I had them."
......"No you didn't."
......Sherlock didn't deem that worthy of a reply, ran up the stairs and burst inside the flat. Greg could hear him bellowing: "John! You should've seen it. The murderer was exactly where I deduced he would be and he was even wearing what I said he would!"
......By the time John's distracted reply came, Greg was already in the doorway. "Fantastic , Sherlock. That's fantastic."
......"You're not listening to me. Stop writing and listen to me!" demanded the young detective.
......John looked up briefly from his notebook, his fingers not ceasing their rapid rhythm. "In a minute, Sherlock. I honestly need to finish this."
......Sherlock regarded him for a few seconds, then shifted his eyes to Greg before looking back at John. "Lestrade is injured," he said finally.
......John stopped writing and stood up abruptly, his eyes searching the DI. "Where?"
......Greg rolled his eyes. "It's nothing, really. Just a little scratch on the arm here."
......Before he could even finish his sentence, John was by his side, inspecting the gash on his bicep. The doctor nodded. "It's not serious, it might not even need stitches, let me dress it."
......Greg went as if to sit down on the sofa but John stopped him by grabbing his other arm. "I don't think that's a good idea," he remarked looking pointedly at Greg's attire. "Let's go to the bathroom and get rid of all that grime."
......Before the inspector could answer, Sherlock let them know rather loudly what he thought of that idea: "No, he can stay here, I need you to listen to the story John! The deductions weren't difficult by any means, but any other man would've failed completely. Don't you want to hear it?"
......John put a placating hand on his friend's shoulder. "Later, Sherlock. I will listen to the story once I took care of Greg, alright?"
......Their way to the bathroom was accompanied by offended mutterings of an ignored high functioning sociopath and loud angry whooshing noises that sounded suspiciously like a couch being assaulted by a riding crop.
......"He's pissed," said Greg as he started taking his clothes off.
......"He'll get over it. In fact, let's have a shower after I tend to your arm, I haven't showered this morning and you must want to wash up anyway."
......Greg smiled a positively evil smile and nodded in agreement. When he was down to his pants and sitting comfortably on the edge of the tub, John cleaned the knife wound, frowned at it and decided that a stitch would be needed after all. It didn't even take five minutes of Greg's hissing and gasping and the wound was stitched together, dressed and wrapped in plastic foil to prevent soaking.
......John then turned on the shower, locked the bathroom door and started undressing. When they were both naked and the water was hot, they stepped underneath the spray. John helped Greg wash away the mud and then started washing his hair.
......Greg sighed in pleasure. "That's nice."
......He heard John snicker behind him. "Is it?" He finished by rinsing his scalp and went on to massage the inspector's shoulders. Greg groaned as his stiff muscles relaxed underneath the firm pressure. John took his time, his fingers knowing where to press with a medical precision. When Greg thought he might just as well melt into a puddle, John's hands started to get adventurous.
......"I'm not sure I have energy for that, John," he mumbled.
......"I'll do all the work," came the hot reply against his ear. John reached for the baby oil that had its permanent place on the shelf above their heads and soon the practiced fingers were back, massaging, circling, probing and stretching and soon enough Greg was practically begging for some release. When he deemed him ready, John pressed him up against the cold tiles and spread his legs with a move he must've learned in the army because Greg could swear, he never lifted a foot of the ground. The probing sensation came back, this time hitting his prostate in a calculated move and Greg was grateful for John hands supporting him.
......"You're so hot like that," grunted the doctor as he aligned himself with his lover's entrance and slowly pushed in. All Greg did to acknowledge that comment was blush, his pelvis reflexively moving backwards against John. It didn't take long for their groans to reach their peak and as Greg's legs finally gave away, John hugged him close to keep him standing.
......"You alright?" he asked softly.
......It wasn't Greg's voice that answered: "He's fine! Now come here and listen to my story. I swear it's brilliant!"
 

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