Remember Me (John/Anthea friendship)

"Careful," he mumbled when he was dragged closer, no doubt causing Sherlock to wince again. "I don't-" but all his good will evaporated at the words whispered in his ear. "Yes, okay, alright," he found himself agreeing mindlessly.

His hand was moving of its own accord, finding its way on Sherlock's thighs and then cupping his quickly growing bulge, massaging it softly through his trousers. He remembered a few things about his past, before meeting Sherlock, but sex was not one of them. He had no idea what to do, and even though his body seemed to move on his own, he began to worry whether he could pull this through at all.

As he looked at the other's body, as he felt him move, he couldn't help but wonder how it was that they usually did it, but he was scared of asking, afraid it would put Sherlock off. He couldn't ruin this, it was too important.

"Can I undress you?" He muttered, deciding to start from the basics.

Sherlock shuddered at John's touches, emitting a loud gasp when his hand touched him between his legs, sending a powerful sensation right down his spine. He bucked upwards towards John, hungrily wanting more. Wanting everything.

"Yes, undress me," he replied quickly. "Please. I'm begging you..."

Sherlock's voice, low and pleading, was making his cock twitch in need, his thoughts and doubts jumbled up and he was hardly able to stop himself from ripping the other's clothes off.

The detective was wearing only his trousers, the rest of his body covered only in bandages, and John's fingers were eager in the way they undid the zip and button and pulled them down, together with his pants. If he caused any damage to the fabric, he did not know and did not care.

His eyes widened, his heart skipped a few beats, Sherlock was all pale skin and long limbs, aroused and so bloody needy. John had never seen anything more beautiful.

He was about to lean on him, to kiss every inch of that body when he realized he was supposed to take his own clothes off. He started throwing his jumper aside, grimacing slightly at the soreness of his shoulder and then his tank top.

He felt self-conscious, knowing his scarred foreign body was hardly attractive, but he figured Sherlock had seen it before, so it really didn't matter.

Once he was completely naked as well, kneeling by Sherlock on the bed, his eyes looked for the detective's pair, "Can I?" he asked, running his hands over the other's hips. He knew he was being way too polite, he knew that he was supposed to be more forward, but it felt like Sherlock was something fragile he was supposed to take care of, instead of something he should just claim.

Sherlock was shocked by the ferocity of John's actions as his trousers and boxers were practically ripped from off his legs. He was certainly seeing a new side to his friend, he reflected, but he was too far gone in desire and need to really think about that now. Wherever John was heading, he was fully prepared to head there too.

He looked down at himself and saw his erection throbbing and hard. He'd never in an all his life been that hard before, that desperate. Sherlock watched with widening eyes as John began to undress himself, the fit soldier's body of his friend only increasing the now painful tension between his legs.

"God you look...amazing..." he muttered, tracing his hands along John's bare chest, hesitating slightly on his shoulder. "I wish I could kiss you better...."

He locked eyes with John and nodded. "Do anything you like," he whispered. "I...um...I need you to take the lead...I think," Sherlock hesitated, suddenly aware of his own lack of experience.

John's heart filled with warmth once again, Sherlock's eyes were speaking volumes of what he felt and the words only added to the intimacy of the moment. He didn't expect compliments, and what Sherlock said felt like something new, as if the detective was hardly used to them. John didn't let himself think about that though, he just wanted to go on, to feel Sherlock against him and around him.

"You are already doing that," he commented, leaning closer and kissing the other's lips. "I feel better just by being close... and your kisses are wonderful..." he added with a whisper.

He nodded when Sherlock asked him to take the lead, it made sense considering his injury, the possibility this was the first time they were doing this never even crossed his mind.

He let his fingers caress the other's thighs, he parted them softly and his fingers explored further, brushing down the detective's shaft, his sack and lower.
A vague memory awakened in the back of his head, his first time, fuzzy and unsure, and something telling him that he was missing something.
He blinked. Protection.
"Sherlock... I am afraid I don't have... condoms..." he muttered sheepishly.

"Your kisses are wonderful too," Sherlock replied, placing another one on John's neck and biting it gently. "I...I think I'd like to kiss you all over," he admitted, suddenly feeling a little scared about baring all his thoughts and emotions in this manner. It was OK, he told himself, he was with John. It was fine.

He closed his eyes and tried to let go, shuddering and whimpering as John's fingers danced between his legs. He couldn't help but raise his hips slightly towards the other man's touch.

Sherlock sat up slightly on his elbows when John mentioned the condoms, or lack of them, a small frown on his face, trying to recall something from his mind palace. "Yes!" he cried finally, "Left out of this door, down the corridor, third room on the right, bottom drawer of the left hand bedside cabinet. There should be at least one in there," he explained, before adding smugly, "It's been a while since Mycroft saw any action in the bedroom department."

John couldn't help the grin on his lips at Sherlock's words. "You think?" he teased him, finding the other's shyness rather adorable, especially considering how confident and smug the detective had seemed to be earlier. "I would like you to do that... and I would like to do the same... I want to explore everything again..." he whispered sincere.

He listened carefully as he explained where to find what they needed. "You are amazing, as usual," he heard himself saying, placing a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips before he slid off the bed. he didn't remember usual though, but he had spoken without thinking.

"I really hope no one is around at this time," he commented, and motioned for Sherlock to wait. "I will be right back," he said and made his way to where the detective had addressed him.

Sherlock frowned slightly at John's words but said nothing, simply watched as he got up and slipped out to head down to Mycroft's room for the condoms. He'd never noticed what a fantastic body his friend had before. Well, he'd never really even considered things like that before. It just didn't happen.

But a single word John had said was ringing in Sherlock's mind. Again. He'd used the word again. Again implies having done something before, again implies repetition. And they had certainly never done this before, so what could he possibly mean?

Whilst he was alone and waiting for John to return he thought it through, turning it over again and again in his mind until finally. Oh. Oh! Of course! John had no memories of what had gone on before, yet somehow he'd got it into his head that he and Sherlock had been lovers in the past. He couldn't understand what had given him that impression, but it was the only possible explanation of the facts.

The only question remained was what to do about it. A question that Sherlock found relatively easy to answer. Nothing. He would do nothing about it. He certainly wasn't about to tell John and risk ruining what was about to happen. Sherlock wanted this. He only had to look down between his legs to know that. And John wanted it too. In fact, John probably thought they were...well...boyfriend and boyfriend. Sherlock chuckled aloud to himself, recalling all the many times John vehemently denied being gay to anyone and everyone who would listen. Someday, sometime in the future, he'd tell John the truth and laugh at him. That would be fun. But for now he would just have to act. Pretend that he knew what he was doing. He could do this, he told himself. He was good at acting.

John's heart was beating fast in his chest as he walked down the corridor, his breathing a bit ragged, but the lines of his face relaxed and smooth, he was truly happy. It was a strange feeling, his empty head was now filled with Sherlock. He had no memories of him, but his feelings were enough to make up for it.
His heart clearly hadn't forgotten him.

He opened the drawer, surprised to find refurbished content. Maybe Mycroft got more action than Sherlock thought.
He took the unopened bottle of lube and a few condoms, blushing a bit, thinking about the possibility of another go in the morning.
He wondered briefly how experienced his older self was. The vague memory of his first time seemed old, and he was rather sure it was with a girl.

He made his way back to the room, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Sherlock sprawled on the bed, even more beautiful than a few minutes ago. "I found plenty," he commented, crawling back on the bed, needy to run his hands over the other's pale skin.

Sherlock blushed a little as John re-entered the room, glad that the doctor couldn't read his thoughts. He was still painfully hard and definitely wanted to go through with this. He ever thought sex would be something that would interest him but faced with John's new interest in him, it became impossibly hard to resist. Could it be that he had secretly had an attraction for his flatmate all along, but he just hadn't realised? It was difficult to work out.

"You found plenty?" he asked suspiciously. That was surprising, and Sherlock was rather annoyed that he'd got it wrong. Had Mycroft found himself some kind of boyfriend, girlfriend? He made a mental note to investigate it further later.

All thoughts were soon wiped from his mind however when John came crashing down onto the bed, his hands finding their way quickly and easily onto Sherlock's body. Sherlock shuddered under the other man's touch and reached his own hands out to bring him closer, bringing his head down for a deep passionate kiss.

"It's been so long," he whispered.

John found the other's surprise quite adorable, but he knew for a fact that siblings were always surprising. He frowned at his own thoughts, where had that come from?
No time to dwell on it now, he told himself, melting against the other's body as he was pulled in for a passionate kiss.

The words, whispered against his lips made his heart clench. "I wish... I could remember everything..." he whispered, guilty for having forgotten their first kiss, their promises, their first time.

He was going to make Sherlock tell him everything soon enough.
Not now.
Now he was too busy exploring his body, memorizing again the way it felt under his fingers.

"I think..." he mumbled and swallowed hard. "I am going to need you to turn around..." he muttered, his mind following a perfect logic. "I need to... yes, I need to prepare you," he exclaimed, glad things were coming back to him.

Sherlock felt like John's fingertips were burning his skin, the other man's touch was so delightful, so electric, he was tingling all over as he pushed his hips up towards him, eager to find out what would happen next. He ran his hand down John's back and squeezed his bottom gently, surprised at how firm and muscular it was.

It had been a long time since Sherlock had even thought about sex in any shape or form, and now he suddenly struggled to try and remember what normally went on between two men. Of course he knew the basics, he wasn't completely ignorant, but then, he didn't specifically know the actual logistics of doing it. Who did what? He'd already suggested that John should take control, partly because Sherlock didn't have a clue what he was doing, but as far as John was concerned, Sherlock knew it would make sense because of his injuries. So John would...John would...mmm...he tried not to appear too nervous when John asked him to turn round.

He slowly lifted himself up with his good arm, and turned over onto his stomach, placing his weight slightly more on one side so he wasn't pressing down on his shoulder injury. He half knew what to expect but he found it quite amusing that John appeared to know what to do. He certainly hadn't done any of this with Sherlock before, so it begged the question, who had he done it with? Something else to investigate at a later stage, he smirked to himself as he buried his face in the pillow, his heart pounding with expectation.

John found himself swallowing hard when Sherlock turned around. He noticed him searching for the right position and he wondered briefly if there was a better way to do this.
He could prepare him like this and then turn him around again, so that less weight would press on the injury, he thought briefly, while his hands traveled down his back and over his buttocks, massaging them softly, adoringly.

"You are just... perfect," he whispered, squeezing a bit of lube on his fingers and then running them down the crack to touch his entrance.

Memories sparked in his head, confused, but he remembered doing something like this before. Not with Sherlock though, he realized with a pang of guilt.
No, he would have never cheated on him, he thought, shaking his head, convincing himself it had been before meeting his boyfriend.

He closed his thoughts off, and slowly pushed one finger inside Sherlock, moving it around a bit, going slow when he realized the other didn't seem to react so well.
He pushed it deep and then moved it in and out, trying to create some needed friction.
God, he couldn't wait to be inside.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied gently, genuinely pleased that John would find him attractive in any way. No one had ever complimented him before and he couldn't help but feel...happy. He smiled and settled himself down into position, trying to empty his mind.

It was weird not being able to see what was going on, and a little disconserting. There was a short pause and then he felt an odd sensation between the cheeks of his bottom which he realised quickly was John's finger, greased up with the lube from Mycroft's bedside drawer.

Suddenly the finger began to penetrate him, pushing its way inside his tight virginal hole and he couldn't help but gasp and squirm a little. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to control his breathing and not make it appear like he was a complete newcomer to all this. As John moved his finger in and out he relaxed and it became even a little pleasant.

"That's...that's good..." he mumbled into the pillow.

John's heart was beating like a drum in his chest, making him shake with need. This was too special, he told himself, he knew he would have never jeopardized this, he would have never traded Sherlock for some passing fancy, he told himself, even though his thoughts were hardly coherent by then. It was just a mix of feelings, fear and want, lust and need, insecurity making him that bit more hesitant.

He added another finger, his eyes moving on the condom, it was almost time, he thought as he scissored them inside Sherlock, he could feel him muscles give out a bit.

At some point he was using three fingers, thrusting in and out until he thought it was time to move on.

He pulled his hand back and shakily started to roll a condom on his arousal.
"Do you want to do it like this?" he asked unsure. "Or you want to turn around? I don't want you to put weight on that shoulder," he explained with clear concern.

Sherlock bit down hard into the pillow, burying his head into the soft feathers in an attempt to muffle the small moans of delight that were escaping his lips every time John's fingers thrust that little bit deeper inside him.

God knows what he was doing down there but whenever he moved tiny shockwaves of pleasure jolted around Sherlock's body like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life. And it had hardly even started yet, he realised. His mind became lost in the moment, thinking of nothing except the sensations and of John.

Suddenly there was an emptiness and a throbbing ache and need when the fingers were removed. He turned round onto his good shoulder, craning his neck to look back at John, just in time to see him rolling a condom onto his extremely hard and rather big erection. He wondered what it would feel like inside him.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "It does hurt a little." And he rolled over onto his back, feeling a lot more comfortable now the pressure was taken off his shoulder.

John smiled at him, a bit hesitant and a bit besotted, "Like this then," he whispered, running his hands over Sherlock's thighs, eyes moving on his body, his erection, his bandages, checking for hints that all was ready.

The flash of another memory raked his brain, his eyes closing for a moment and sickness grabbed his stomach.
Again that other man.
Who was he?

He swallowed hard, pushing away that memory, concentrating on what was now, focusing on the way Sherlock's skin felt under his fingers.
"It's just the two of us... we... are special..." he whispered, deciding not to let his brain trick him again, he needed this, this needed to be perfect.

He bent Sherlock's knees, he guided himself to his entrance.
"Ready?" he asked, waited for an answer and then pushed inside.
Very slowly, wish small quick thrusts that took more and more each time.
Until he was buried deep into Sherlock and he felt warmth erupt in his chest.

"Jesus, Sherlock, so, bloody, tight," he exclaimed, panting, overwhelmed.

Sherlock's body shuddered continually at every single touch from John's hands. He reached up and gentyl carressed the other man's cheek, staring up into his eyes.

"Yes...yes are special aren't we?" he answered curiously. He had never really thought of it before but it was quite true. He and John had a unique relationship unlike no other. A relationship that was about to head into an entirely new direction. Sherlock was nervous but had learned not to let it show. He was too excited to stop and he knew John would be angry if he felt as though Sherlock had been deceiving him somehow.

He felt the tip of John's erection pressed up against him and nodded to show he was ready.

He winced and bit down on his tongue, gripping the sheets up into his hands and trying desperately not to reveal how bloody painful this was as John pushed inside, stretching him completely, splitting him right open. He held his breath, every single muscle tense and on edge. This wasn't helping. Relax, he told himself.

Sherlock was quite glad when John stopped, and he reached down his hand between his legs to feel that he was completely inside him. "Fuck," he muttered, his heart pounding loudly. "I...I'd forgotten how big you were."

John was buried deep into Sherlock, his hand reaching out to the bed, helping him keeping himself balanced as he panted.
He needed to take things slowly, he told himself.

Sherlock's words made him blush, "Sherlock," he whimpered, embarrassed, feeling himself grow even harder.
"I'm... going... to..." he warned him incoherently and he started moving back.
Soon he was thrusting into Sherlock, a steady rhythm, becoming faster and harder as it went on.

"God, Sherlock..." he whimpered, grabbing his hips now, watching him, wanting to see the pain disappear from the other's face.

Sherlock lifted his hands up behind his head and grabbed hold of the bed stead. He nodded at John, unable to speak as he slowly began to thrust inside him.

He grimaced and tried to relax his muscles, telling himself the pain would pass. It must do, he reasoned, otherwise people wouldn't bloody do it. And it did. With every small thrust from John's hips Sherlock felt the pain slowly subsiding and being replaced by something completely different.

"Oh Jesus," Sherlock gasped, unable to hide his surprise and delight, "it's...it's...oh John...Christ..." He released his grip on the bedstead and wrapped his hands around John instead, tracing patterns along his back with his fingernails.

John's movements were fueled by Sherlock's reaction, his heart beating faster, his muscles tensing further, and he pushed himself into him, hard and fast.
He had no idea how sex was supposed to feel, but this felt just incredible. He didn't want to stop, he wanted to savour this forever, but he also couldn't help going faster and running after his orgasm.

"Sherlock, God, Sherlock," he whimpered, his hand moving on his chest, hands wrapping around the other's leaking erection, moving fast on it, in time with his thrusts.

He groaned at some point, pushing particularly hard into him and grabbing his thigh, changing their position a bit so he could push deeper.
The bed started to creak under their movements and John forgot everything about Sherlock's injury, he forgot about everything that wasn't the feeling of thrusting into his lover.

Sherlock had never felt such pleasure, so many intense sensations and feelings coarsing through his body. He whimpered and shook underneath John's incredible touches, the thrust of his hips sending his mind into oblivion. He just really hoped John didn't notice how inexperienced he really was.

It wasn't long before the initial pain he had felt melted away completely and was replaced by the most amazing pleasure and delight he had ever felt in all his life. It took a lot of effort not to release himself immediately, not to cry out John's name loudly, not to moan and gasp and groan with every small movement of John's mind blowing powerful actions.

Sherlock couldn't feel any pain from his wound anymore. He'd forgotten all about it as he reached his hands up to wrap around John's waist, dragging him down even closer on top of him. "Fuck me," he growled into John's ear, familiar with the terminology despite his lack of experience. "Fuck me hard John..."

John groaned at the words, his body shaking in lust, to hear his voice, to understand the words, it made chills of pleasure run along his spine, robbing him of his breath.
"Jesus, Sherlock, I won't be able to last long," he moaned, his head tilting up, his lips wrapping around the detective's earlobe, sucking softly.

He couldn't concentrate for long though, his lips parting, letting out ragged breaths he could not control.
"God, Sherlock," he whimpered again, pushing hard into him, losing his mind more and more in each thrusts.

Sherlock had occasionally wondered what sex was like, wondered what all the fuss was about. Now he was beginning to wonder why he hadn't tried this with John a long time ago. He'd masterbated a few times at Uni, so he knew what an orgasm felt like, and he could tell that one was approaching incredibly soon.

John's thrusts were hard and deep, shaking his body to its core, rippling through him, every inch of him trembling with desire and lust for his friend, now his lover. His hands firmly wrapped around John's back, not caring that his nails were digging into the skin. He needed something to hold onto, something to root himself away from the intensity.

He tried to speak but the words just came out jumbled and strange. "John...hmm...I'm...I'm going to...uhhh..." Finally it hit him, and he could hold on no longer. He threw his head to one side and cried out loudly as his climax washed over him, his hands falling from John's back to grasp the bedsheets in his fists.

Sherlock's warning was hardly registered, John was lost in his own quest, but he felt the other's muscles clench around him, he felt the pleasure of it push him that much harder towards his own release.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, thrusting one last time, his muscles tensing and letting go, giving in to his orgasm, the first he could remember.

He panted, leaning over Sherlock's body, hardly able to pull out of him, his muscles spent.
"God..."