Sometimes They Hurry

Sometimes they hurry.

Sometimes they just don’t want to take the damn time. Time to fiddle with buttons, time to fuss with the pulling and the taking off.

Sometimes it’s just damn well urgent.

The need, the need, the need…sometimes it’s so great that now is not soon enough and don’t think they haven’t wondered why. After all, they’re full-grown men and frankly they’ve had one another in most ways it’s possible to be had. And yet…

And yet sometimes the want is nearly overwhelming and they’ll be in the middle of shucking off shoes, pulling off socks, and one of them will moan or growl or make some other wordless noise that says, stop stop stop this so that we can start.

And it’s those times—it’s almost always before they’re leaving or just after they’ve come home—when they’ll give up on the shirts and the pants and they’ll fall on the bed with trousers barely shoved down, but oh yes they’re plenty low enough, low enough so that soon one of them’s groaning at the so-fine feeling of being entered, and the other is whispering a litany that goes something like, “Oh god, oh god…”

The resulting sex is…sumptuous, for lack of a better term, it’s fast enough to raise goosebumps but slow enough that each time one sinks into the other they both feel it from clenched teeth to curled toes.

There’s as likely to be giggles as groans as the passion takes hold, or suddenly someone’s ticklish, or god-forbid sneezes—forcing an erection unceremoniously out—but eventually they settle into a rhythm, fists wrapping round biceps and cocks, and the urgency colours it all, underlines, caps, italicizes every murmur, each stroke, until at last someone’s yelling and then so’s the other and good god there’s come all over everything and two pairs of trousers that need to go straight into the wash, and then…and then as often as not there’s words, a few, and a dozy nap amidst the wreckage, and maybe an early dinner after.

Neither can say why there’s this rare desperation, but the answer’s not really so obscure. It’s because they are rare. Because along with bodies that puzzle-piece together just right, by some miracle their souls fit too, each man’s edges the opposite of the other’s and yet when they’re pressed close like this they fit precisely, two halves that make something far greater than one whole.

Sometimes John and Sherlock hurry, they hurry, they hurry.

Most times they don’t.

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Sometimes you look at artwork and the story is just there. You may ignore it—god knows why—but this being Tumblr you’ll see that artwork again and again there’s the story. And so it went with Doublenegativemeansyes’s lovely art right here. I saw desperation, urgency, two souls feeling the same thing at the same time, thank you so very much for this beauty, Doublenegativemeansyes! NEW! Jesperanda has made a podfic of this story (it’s also on AO3). Thank you so much Jesperanda!