ihadabadday | Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed

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Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

John Watson was a professor of Archaeology, with a focus in ancient Middle Eastern artifacts and history. He was mild mannered and ordinary. People assumed he was boring, university educated and went home to do whatever it is that ordinary people do when.

But John Watson had a secret. He often carried out interesting archaeological missions (for lack of better descriptors) for the British Government. Things that the government didn't want others to find, to keep secrets safe from the public. Not that the public didn't deserve to know. But there was much that John Watson found that would turn history in its head, which would cause chaos among the population.

But this day, he had finished his classes and was sitting in his office. He was researching something he had been working on his entire career.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon and thus the other missing Ancient Wonders. The only one that had survived antiquity was the Great Pyramid of Giza. And John suspected that was for a reason. There had been reports of other pyramids being dismantled, of crumbling and collapsing. This pyramid was the height of the pyramid building craze that clutched ancient Egypt for so long.

But that wasn't his focus.

He didn't tell many he was researching the Gardens. Too many other archaeologists had been laughed out of a career for it. No. He wanted to find them, prove their existence before he published anything.

He closed his notebook and tucked it into his messenger bag. It was leather and worn, he had taken it on many of his adventures, and he always kept a gun tucked into it. John left the university ground and hailed a cab. He was off to the British Museum to see the Alexander the Great exhibit that was there. Maybe there was something in the collection that would lead to another clue or breakthrough.

At the museum he was stopped in front of a large stone tablet (a recent discovery) reading the text and translating. It wasn't too busy this day, as it was a Wednesday, but there were still people milling about, talking. And he suspected the Curator, one Sherlock Holmes, was watching or around. Bringing this particular exhibit to the museum had been a feat.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sherlock's eyes went wide. He could feel what John was doing. But he had never had.. anything done there to him. He had occasionally experimented with himself when his stupid transport needed a good wank, but he could never make himself feel good, so he never thought about.. well that kind of stimulation.

He looked like a deer in the headlights, he was biting down hard enough on his hand to actually break the skin on his knuckles, to keep from screaming. HIs whole body was tensed and thrumming, building to the inevitable end.

He slowly rubbed his finger over the hole, just light fleeting touches. He wanted Sherlock to feel good. He wanted the man to let go.

He used his other hand to unzip his own trousers to try and get some relief. But it didn't help. He needed to be touched, fucked, something. Anything.

"Ahhhhh!!'' Sherlock cried out, only to stifle himself with his hand again, shoving as much of it as he could into his mouth. His entire body shook, he leaned his head back as far as he could, his eyes up towards the heavens.

"Johnnnn.. I...." His voice was muffled and low, it was as much warning as he was able to give as he cried out again, his hand dulling his cries when his cock twitched and pulsed, filling John's mouth with his warm, salty essence.

He swallowed all that Sherlock pumped into his mouth. God. John pulled back and let out a breath. His lips were swollen and he had some of Sherlock's release smeared on them.

He looked up st the other man as he pulled away. "Better?"

It took a few moments for Sherlock to answer. He was going to have small scabs on his left hand, it looked like he had punched something. But it was worth it, the effort mostly quelled his cries.

He couldn't help but smile to see how debauched John looked, even though it was him that had just felt like he had had the most intense orgasm that he could remember in a very long time.

HIs voice was still low and harsh, and breathy as he looked down at John. "But.. what.. about you?" It was quite obvious that he hadn't gotten himself off yet.

John swallowed and shifted a bit at the reminder of his aroused state. "Do... Do you want to watch me get myself off?" He asked.

John locked his lips, tasting a bit of Sherlock left. He shivered and closed his eyes. God, if the man was that wild with a blow job, how would he react when John sukk down into his cock?

For a moment, the earth turned on its axis, and Sherlock wasn't sure if he could stay upright.

There was nothing in this world that he wanted more at this moment.

"Yes... p-please." he managed to stammer out.

John rose to his feet, even though he was a bit shaky. He unbuttoned his trousers and moved them and his pants off. He was now nude in front of Sherlock Holmes. Everything was on display for the man.

He sat on the bed and spread his legs, giving Sherlock a view. He wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly began to move it up and down.

Oh, God, John was beautiful.. not quite as long as Sherlock, but quite thick, dark and veiny.. perfection.

Sherlock locked his eyes on John, watching his every moved, tracked him as he moved to the bed and sat, turning his body to get a full view of the man in front of him.

A soft moan escaped his lips when John started to stroke himself. He licked his lips and his cock gave a twitch of appreciation, though he was far from being able to get even remotely hard again.

John moaned softly. It was Sherlock's name. He moved his hand along his length, gasping and whimpering softly. Fuck.

He would be lying if he hadn't imagined what sex would be like with the man. What it would feel like to push into him, or being taken by him.

He jerked his hips up, gasping. His cock was leaking pre-cum, which aided in him getting off.

Sherlock was desperately wishing that he hadn't already just come. His body wanted to react, but it was just too damn soon. He could still feel the endorphin rush from the orgasm that had just waned a couple of minutes before.

"John...." He groaned softly, wanting to step closer but not daring, wondering what the precome would taste like on his lips. He put his hand up to his mouth again, knowing that watching this was going to draw the most exquisite noises out of both of their mouths.

John moved his hand faster, gasping and moaning. He finally brought his other hand up and bit the back of it. He needed to remain quiet. But knowing Sherlock was here, watching him... it was addicting.

He kept moving his hand, body starting to tense and tighten and it felt like a spiral. He was so close.

Sherlock could see his body reacting, tensing, he could tell that John was close, and he wanted nothing more right now than to watch John in the throes of passion, seeing him sullying himself with his own seed.

"Yes, John. That's it." Sherlock encouraged him, his voice an octave lower than usual. "Come. Come for me." he had said it before he was even thinking about what he was saying. An embarrassed blush flushed his cheeks, but he didn't regret it. He wanted John to feel like he had just moments before.

John shouted against his hand at those words. The tone of Sherlock's voice. Everything. It all came crashing down on him and he came with a jerk of his hips. His seed splattered along his stomach.

He pulled his hands away and fell back onto the bed. He felt completely boneless.

Oh, John's face... Sherlock etched that look into his mind, filing away into his mind palace so that he could pull it up any time. It had been golden and radiant and perfect.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, before tentatively walking over to John, sending beside the bed but not sitting or laying on it quite yet.

He could smell John, sweat and sandalwood shampoo and musk and the salty excretions on his stomach. God, he wanted to dip a finger down, and taste it, taste John but once again he held himself back and watched the man as he came down from his high.

"Sherlock..." he looked at the man and reached out, touching his hand. John pulled it over and put it on his stomach. He gave a sigh when he felt the touch.

He ached for Sherlock to touch him, to feel him. He let out a breath.

John's warm fingers around his wrist sent another shock of warmth through him. He let the man guide him a few steps closer, then felt the pads of his fingers press against John's bare stomach, just above where he had soiled himself.

His fingers were still, then he moved them infinitely slowly and gently around the skin. He could see the bullet wound in the man's shoulder, and he ached to asked questions, but he kept his mouth still and moved his eyes back down his body, toned but still slightly soft with age.

He gasped when his fingers first touched the milky stickiness on John's lower stomach. He ran his index finger through it, and before he could talk himself out of it, brought it to his lips and took a tiny taste.

"Ohhhh...."

John parted his lips and stared at Sherlock as he moved. Oh god. He whimpered and and.... If he hadn't just come, he might be convinced to become hard once again.

He licked his lips and whined.

"You... God. You are amazing..." he breathed.

"I... I didn't do anything." Sherlock admitted. You are the one who admitted his feelings, you are the one who made an advance on me, and you are the one who.." He paused as a flush came to his cheeks ".. who fellated me.. and then masturbated himself while I looked." He paused again. "I did nothing. I let you do it all. " And he was glad that he had, because he never would have had the gumption to do what John had just done.

"You didn't push me away. You didn't scoff at me or storm away." He watched Sherlock.

He let out a breath and smiled. "Why don't we get some sleep. We're both exhausted."

Sherlock went to the lo, found a flannel and put some warm wet water on it. He came back and very gently cleaned John's stomach. He didn't need much cleaning, John had done a good job, but he gave himself a little wash anyways, then put the flannel in a basket and climbed into bed. It wasn't a huge time difference to London, but enough that a rest sounded good.

He was asleep minutes after his head hitting the pillow.

They gathered supplies and sorted them, making sure they, as a pair, had enough to last them for at least a week. John wasn't sure how long it would be. They did have to check in physically every four, so he wasn't too concerned. But he knew how things could be in the desert.

John knew he was ordinary looking, unassuming. Most people overlooked him, ignored him. He used that to his advantage. While gathering supplies, he made sure he had extra bullets and another gun, just in case. He also had a couple of knives and a collapsible baton.

He looked at Sherlock as they started towards the area where the base camp would be set. "Are you ready?"

Sherlock threw the last of their supplies into the back of the old, battered up Jeep that they had procured for the trip, loaded down with enough extra fuel for them to get around the desert. He was dressed much like the locals, and though he was trying to grow a beard, it was quite slow in coming in, so it was just stubble. He was jealous that John's growth was much thicker and even.

He nodded. "No time like the present." He said, and jumped in on the passenger's side.

John climbed into the driver's seat and donned his sunglasses. A pair of mirrored aviators that he had forever. He glanced at Sherlock and winked before starting the jeep.

They were off.

It was obvious that John was an expert at driving through the desert. He had done it numerous times before and had a calm demeanor that fell over him. It was only a six hour drive from the city to the area of base camp. And he was not in the least surprised to find it bustling already.

He parked the jeep and got out, looking for who might be in charge.

Sherlock had expected the ride to be indeterminably boring, full of sand and nothing else. But the land surprised him, it was hilly, with mountains in the distance, rocky patches, and even small bits of vegetation and.. surprisingly, small scrubby bushes and trees. As loud as the Jeep was, they hadn't really talked any, but he had seen enough to keep him entertained on the 6 hour drive out.

Still, he was glad to reach the camp, and it was nice to see people bustling about, both locals and Englishmen with their pasty white skin covered up as best as possible.

Sherlock jumped out behind John, stretching his long limbs, trying to work the ache out of them. he followed behind John, silently observing the bustling around them.

Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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