The Heart Wants

A/N: ... what it wants ;P This first chapter is basically shameless porn but I swear that it does have a story line xD

Chapter One:

"Don't wait up for me, darling."

Watson bent down to peck his wife of two months on the cheek. She turned her blue eyes onto him exasperatedly, lowering the book to her lap. "What does he want now?"

"It's nothing." Watson said airily. "Don't worry."

"There's really no sense in living with me if you spend every waking moment running back to him for whatever daft little whim he happens to have." Mary said coolly, watching him don his coat and hat.

He did not look up.

"John. Please." Mary said with an edge of irritation to her voice. Watson looked up at her and smiled blandly.

"Really, Mary, it's a trifling little case. It's really nothing."

"Then why does he need you?" She asked him pointedly.

"I promise I'll make it up to you." Watson went for the door. "We'll have dinner. Goodnight, don't stay up too late."

He left her. Mary sighed with a shake of her head and went back to her book.

--

"You're late."

Sherlock met Watson at the door of his rooms, his shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat stains around his collar and his hair looking as though it hadn't been washed in days.

"My God, Holmes." Watson said, staring at his friend's dishevelled appearance. "You look aw-

He was cut off by Holmes gripping him by the collar and wrenching him bodily through the doorway. He was thrown quite painfully against the nearest wall and the detective descended feverishly upon him. Watson clutched at his friend's shoulders, throwing his head back as Sherlock found the sensitive skin of his neck. His attack was a mess of lips, tongue and teeth, the detective not leaving an inch of Watson untouched.

He ran his tongue down Watson's excited flesh. Watson pressed him closer, shuddering with pleasure as Sherlock nipped at the taut skin over his collar bone.

The tightness between his legs began to throb, he pressed himself against Holmes. The sensation of his growing sex against Watson's made them groan in unison. A hot throb of want ran down his crotch. Watson's body was begging for contact.

He gripped Sherlock's chin and brought his friend's mouth roughly onto his own, savouring the strange mixture of sweat, saliva and wine as he forced his way into the damp warmth. He explored Sherlock's mouth with his tongue and Sherlock clumsily reciprocated. He felt hands around his waist, then lower down his hips, Sherlock's fingers were exploring his body in hesitant spurts.

Watson slid his own hands under the detective's shirt to caress the taut stomach muscles, admiring how Sherlock's skin reacted against his touch. He heard Sherlock's mew of pleasure, felt his back arch as he gently slid his fingers down to the pubic bone.

"Why were you late?" Sherlock asked quite suddenly, pulling back to stare at his friend's dazed face.

"Mary was asking questions-

Was all Watson was able to say before Sherlock claimed his mouth again, this time letting his hands find the now fully formed hardness between Watson's thighs. He rubbed hard, savouring the growl it extracted from Watson. Watson broke from Sherlock's lips, letting out an involuntary groan as Sherlock gripped his erection through his trousers, stroking it forcefully.

He looked intently at Holmes; his unshaven face was flushed with arousal. He could feel the heat radiating from his body; every muscle, limb and curve was pressed against him. Watson's heart skipped a beat. He gripped the front of Sherlock's shirt, roughly bringing his mouth to his but stopping short of kissing him. Instead he moved his hand to the buttons on Sherlock's trousers. He could feel Sherlock straining against the material. He undid the buttons one by one, admiring the look of taut desperation on Holmes's face as his hands brushed teasingly close to his throbbing erection.

He felt Holmes's hands hastily go to the buttons on his own trousers, clumsily tugging at them, his fingers slipping unsteadily in his pleasure drunken state. He was trying desperately to keep up with his far more experienced friend; a friend who was more used to pleasure and therefore was not so drugged by it when he experienced it. Watson enjoyed having that one advantage over Holmes.

He smirked and pulled at Holmes's trousers, they slid down his thighs, releasing his hardened member; the tip was already glistening with his need. He pushed it into Watson's inner thigh to stop himself from climaxing right there and then. Watson moaned at the contact.

He hastened to remove his own trousers; the pressure between his legs becoming almost painful. Holmes didn't let go of him as he shimmied out of his slacks and kicked them away.

Holmes pulled him back flat against him. Their two bodies touched and it was as though an explosion of pleasure had run through Watson's entire body. The sensation of Sherlock's loins against his, his limbs entangled around his waist and back and shoulders was intoxicating. For a moment his mind went blank with ecstasy.

And then, before he lost control of the situation, he quickly took Holmes by the waist and pushed him firmly into the wall, pressing his chest to Holmes's back. He could feel the slimmer man's chest heaving up and down against him; his skin was already damp with sweat. Watson gently parted Holmes's thighs with his hand. Holmes whimpered.

"Wait." Watson told him. Holmes nodded, resting his forehead against the wall.

Watson went to the drug cupboard. It was in disarray. Bottles of unlabelled liquids were everywhere along with soap, needles, oil and random objects that looked as though they had been shoved there as a last resort.

"Bloody Holmes, never bloody putting anything back in its proper place..." Watson muttered, picking up what looked like a pocket dictionary and tossing it over his shoulder.

He finally found what he was looking for amongst the laudanum and alcohol rub and hurriedly returned to Holmes who was where he had left him against the wall.

He smirked again to himself and laid himself against Holmes's slender figure again. He felt a shudder go through Holmes's body.

He unscrewed the bottle and poured some of the liquid onto his fingers. He pushed his hand under Holmes's shirt and trailed it slowly down his spine, savouring the reaction of Sherlock's skin. It retracted at his touch, sensitive and unused to the attention. Sherlock kept taking sharp, abrupt breaths, jerking and arching under Watson's skilled fingers.

Watson trailed his fingertips down Holmes's tailbone, to his entrance. Without waiting for Holmes to catch his breath, he slowly and with relish slid two fingers inside of his friend. Holmes jolted and cried out. Watson kept his free hand on Holmes's waist, gently stroking him under his shirt while he carefully and gently prepared him with his nimble doctor's fingers.

"Ugh, hurry up, Watson." Holmes groaned, hunching his back as Watson finally extracted his fingers.

Watson was only too happy to oblige. He dropped the bottle and clutched Holmes's hips, gritting his teeth against the mounting arousal. He pressed his lips against Holmes's neck.

"Now." Holmes said tightly, his head bowed. "Please. Now. Please."

Watson would have teased him longer but his own need was becoming too much. Pushing his face into Holmes's hair, he finally thrust himself inside of his friend and lover. Both of them cried out in unison. One in pain, the other in intense pleasure.

Holmes pressed his palms hard into the wall. He whimpered, his body rocking in rhythm with Watson's firm, forceful movements inside of him.

Watson pushed his mouth and nose hard into the curls of hair at the nape of Holmes's neck, filling his nostrils with his friend's scent. "So... tight..." He managed to gasp.

Holmes moaned in response.

Watson moved one of his hands from Holmes's hip and took a hold of Holmes's erection. Holmes let out a shuddery, wanton whine.

"Harder, Watson." He said through gritted teeth. "Please, harder."

Watson obeyed. With one hand on Holmes's hip and the other firmly around his friend's length, he rocked himself roughly into his friend, now in abrupt, jerking spurts.

Holmes was breathing hard, every breath hitching when Watson pushed himself inside of him and sharply releasing when he pulled back. The movements became harsher, rougher as the two men neared their release. Holmes was moaning and whimpering into the wall, his head bowed between his arms, Watson was grunting and groaning into Holmes's hair.

"Watson!" Holmes suddenly cried out, throwing up a hand to catch Watson's hair.

Watson pressed his lips firmly into Holmes's neck. "Shhh," He said hoarsely, working his hand harder up and down Holmes in time with his thrusts.

It was an overwhelming stimulation of his senses. His eyes were full of his friend's form; his slim, beautiful, masculine form. He could feel not just the pleasure of being inside of his lover but every curve and crevice of Sherlock's figure. He could hear Sherlock's cries, the endless stream of desperate, pleasured cries. And he could smell Holmes's scent, the strange tang of sweat and tobacco. It was almost too much.

Abruptly and almost without warning, the weight between his legs became unbearable. He forced himself once more into Sherlock and came. Hard. He threw his head back with a strangled cry. Holmes came in almost perfect unison with him. He felt the dampness explode beneath his hand, warm and familiar. Sherlock may have cried out his name but in the blur of the rapture he couldn't be sure.

For a few moments following, neither said anything. Watson felt drained. He was still inside of Holmes. His face was still in Holmes's hair. He closed his eyes, concentrating on regulating his breathing. Beneath him Sherlock was also breathing hard and he was shaking slightly. Watson could feel him.

When he finally pulled away, Sherlock turned to him and slumped backwards against the wall, his legs were quivering slightly and he was damp all over.

Without waiting for an invitation to do so, Watson went forward and took Sherlock carefully in his arms. In his post-sex fatigue, Sherlock didn't complain, he held onto Watson and laid his head against his shoulder. The more enthusiastic of their encounters always exhausted him. Watson was always surprised by how light his friend was despite his well-built figure.

Watson took him to his bed and carefully laid him down. He was about to leave when he felt Sherlock's hand on his wrist. "Stay." He said, looking up at Watson with wide, slightly dazed eyes. "Please?"

"You know I can't." Watson said gently, prying Sherlock's fingers off of him. "If Mary woke up and I wasn't there, what would she say?"

Sherlock looked as though he wanted to argue but to Watson's surprise he just nodded and sunk down into his pillows. "Yes, I suppose you're right. She is your wife after all..."

Watson couldn't miss the bitter edge to his friend's voice but he chose to ignore it.

"I'll speak to you soon." Watson said, bending down and kissing his friend on the mouth.

Sherlock didn't respond and didn't reply; he was staring straight ahead, misty-eyed. Watson watched him for a few moments. Sherlock didn't look up or even seem aware that he was still in the room. At length, Watson sighed and left to get dressed.

To be continued...