23 October 2010 @ 11:34 am
English > Sherlock > "Jumper Humper"  
Title: Jumper Humper
Spoilers: Nothing explicit
Category/Warnings: Slash, sheep fetish, tongue-in-cheek bordering on crack-ish; no actual bestiality, just the mentioning of desire to do...
Rating: Mature
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft/John
Short Cut: Mycroft likes to fuck sheep. John likes woolly jumpers. Mycroft finds John to be rather sheepish at times - a very endearing trait in Mycroft's mind.
Disclaimer: Sherlock isn't mine, neither is Mycroft, nor John. All I own is way too many stuffed sheep to make me entirely comfortable in retrospect.

Author's notes: I am so, so sorry to everyone who's expected the next chapter of "Disease that we crave" here. *blushes* But this "Mycroft likes to fuck sheep" prompt combined with this fabulous fill inspired me to write this sort-of follow-up. Since I started this has evolved into a fully-grown universe. There might be more, especially more art-fills.

Jumper Humper

Cradling John in his arms was probably not what people would have expected of him, but he just couldn't resist the temptation of a woolly jumper combined with a warm body (John's – he began to realise it was important) underneath. So he sat in the back seat of the car, John leaning against his side and blanket wrapped around him, but Mycroft's arms holding him steady underneath the artificial, un-woolly fabric.
Mycroft was trying to remember if maybe John shouldn't be undressed as he was certainly slightly hypothermic, but then he couldn't bear to lose the woolly comfort of the cable-knit jumper – and didn't the undressing rule apply to wet people mostly? Also there was the point of John's head wound. Mycroft tried to remember the rules about head wounds and sleeping and his thoughts were scattered and lost as his fingers brushed against the soft jumper again.
“He is breathing regularly. He was conscious earlier,” Mycroft muttered to himself, talking aloud and listening to his own words helping him think. He came to the conclusion that John must be exhausted and a bit of rest shouldn't do him any harm.
When John stirred a little later Mycroft's hand instinctively came up to support John's head. The sensation of soft hair against his fingertips went through him like a jolt of electricity, though, putting a buzz in his head and heat in his groin. For a moment he was unable to think and his mouth went dry – even more so when John let a soft moan pass his lips, a so quiet 'ah' that Mycroft would have called it a sheep whisper.
A few strands of John's hair were clotted with blood. There was an angry cut on John's forehead, the tissue around it red and tender. Mycroft unwrapped John from his embrace when John was steady and blinking up at the older Holmes' brother.
Mycroft turned to the first aid kit lying on his other side, put on gloves and soaked a compress with disinfectant, turning back to John and began cleaning the cut.
John jerked back as the disinfectant stung in the wound.
“Hold still, lambkin,” chided Mycroft gently, dabbing at the cut again. When he was satisfied with the result he taped two skin closure strips over the cut and finally taped a compress over the cut.
Mycroft finally smiled down at John, getting rid of the gloves.
“There you are, lambkin. It should heal nicely, if you're careful.”
John's eyes were wide and he blinked once, twice... it was so very adorable and simply sheepish that Mycroft could have wept with joy. He did the next best thing and kissed John. After a second of physical shock John kissed him back, after the few seconds of mental shock he softly pulled away – not forcefully or disgusted though, Mycroft noted pleased.
“Mycroft,” muttered John, a question and statement pressed into the two syllables.
Of course Mycroft had never kissed a sheep. There was – for all his love and appreciation for sheep – something disgusting about kissing someone who,
a) didn't know how to reply properly,
b) ate (unwashed) grass,
c) didn't brush their teeth ever.
But as he let his lips brush over John's again, and John let it happen, Mycroft was sure it was so much better than the nibbling of velvety sheep lips upon his palm the few times he had come around to feeding sheep.
No, John's face and lips weren't as velvety as sheep lips, his stubble was more on the plush side. But Mycroft was sure he would manage, the lack of soft texture no match against the sheer pleasure of warm, tender flesh under his lips. Also, he didn't need to bribe John with food to let his lips touch him, he simply needed to play his cards right now.
“I'm straight. As a general rule,” John muttered.
“And I don't like humans, as a rule,” Mycroft replied, making John laugh. Soft, trusting, gentle John, ignorant to Mycroft's associations, to the true nature of Mycroft's desires. But the way John kissed him now was quite promising and they both would have to cut back on their wants. But with his fingers tangled in soft wool nonetheless Mycroft was sure he would cope somehow.

And cope he did, gifting John five woolly jumpers over two months – two for his birthday and three individually, when he had picked John up in the middle of the night, soaked and miserable from a chase with Sherlock. Those three times John had stripped off his soaked shirt and slipped into the warm, inviting garment. And every time Mycroft eventually had snogged him within an inch of his life, his hands between warm skin and wool. John had grinned into the kisses and pulled Mycroft almost on top of him, tugging at expensive fabrics but well aware of their situation.

Otherwise they progressed slowly, John only staying over after those two months, a few visits to Baker Street spent with movie marathons and cuddled up on the couch and countless little dates.
When John finally stayed with Mycroft it happened as suddenly as everything else had. And John had been soaked again, a slight bump on his head and a frown on his face.
The frown had left John's face, though, when Mycroft had swept him off the crime scene, been bundled into the back seat of a black car, driven to Mycroft's house and ushered under the hot shower. Afterwards he found soft fleece pyjamas left for him to wear and he slipped in, sighing with pleasure at the feeling of soft, warm fabric against his skin.
Mycroft awaited him with a smile, dressed in his own pyjamas and dressing gown. John raised an eyebrow at the sheep print showing under the silk gown.
“It's late,” Mycroft said and pressed a kiss to John's lips, “let's go to bed.”
They slipped under the fleece blankets together and Mycroft switched off the lights.
It was the first time anything ever progressed to below the waist.

Although the finally did have sex, John found it almost awkward. They were always bundled up in bed under blankets, hands in pyjama bottoms and jerking off almost secretly.
John was blushing furiously as he talked to Mycroft about it, or rather mumbled a few sentences. Mycroft on the other hand was calm as ever, even when he asked, “Is there a way I could make this better for you?”
John was completely flustered now, “Well.. dunno. I... I think I just want... more.”
“More,” Mycroft asked, watching John intensely. “What would define as 'more'? Fellatio? Rimming? Penetration? Bondage? Spanking?”
John's mouth was so dry no word would pass his lips, but Mycroft had read his replies from his expression. “Dunno, just... maybe we could experiment a bit?”
One of Mycroft's eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he smirked. He certainly had something in mind for a later time.

Mycroft had calculated how quick he would have to go exactly to get John worked up and mindless but still have enough time to go through with his plan. He knew John's weak spots by now and he made short work of John's self restraint by kissing him just like that, by sucking on that sensitive spot below his jaw, licking along his ear and fingers trailing up and down the groove of his spine.
It took less than ten minutes for John to be reduced to carnal putty in Mycroft's hands, hardly noticing losing his trousers and pants.
Mycroft himself was not feeling much more coherent and he knew he would need to act quickly or John's state would get to him as well.
Currently John was attached to his neck with his lips, sucking a bruise onto the soft, pale skin above Mycroft's collarbone. So Mycroft blindly grasped for the little tube hidden under the pillows.
John was oblivious to his surroundings, still mouthing the soft skin and running his hands under the shirt he had pulled free from Mycroft's trousers. When the feeling of skin under his hands wasn't enough anymore he reached further down, unzipping Mycroft with practised ease. Mycroft hissed as John's fingers met his hot flesh and quickly pulled John in for another mind blowing kiss.
John whimpered as Mycroft slipped two lubricated fingers into him, stretching him a bit quicker than strictly necessary. John bit his lip and pushed back against Mycroft's fingers, a small moan rolling from his lips. The soft 'Ah!' did things to Mycroft he didn't want to dwell on otherwise this would be over too soon. John began whimpering again when Mycroft added a third finger, slowly finger fucking him until the resistance had lessened enough.
Mycroft withdrew his fingers and whispered, “Turn around.”
Now Mycroft could hardly hold back, placing himself behind John and pushing in, as gentle as he could, as powerful as he had to.
Another 'Ah!' left John's lips and Mycroft whimpered under his breath, hands gripping John's hips, warm woolly jumper between John's skin and Mycroft's fingers. Mycroft set a slow rhythm and it didn't take long before each of his thrusts was commented with an 'Ah!'. One of Mycroft's hands wandered up John's back, fingers tangling in the jumper.
John's moans got louder and Mycroft couldn't hold back much longer, picking up speed. He came harder than ever before.
Mycroft quickly spun John around, going down on him. His lips around John's cock, sucking hard and slipping two fingers into John's slippery, loose hole, setting another merciless rhythm to match his mouth's.
John's moans spiked into a cry and his hips jerked up and he came into Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft kept sucking until John was clean, releasing his moist, flaccid prick after a few minutes. John's moans had died down to the occasional hum of approval by now and he pulled Mycroft up to his side. He stretched lazily.
“You could have told me,” John mumbled.
“Hm?” Mycroft asked, barely able to keep his eyes open, fingers tangled in the soft wool.
“You could have told me that you want to fuck me in my jumper,” John replied, clumsily petting Mycroft's hair. “Your obsession with wool isn't all that secret.”
“It's a little more than that,” Mycroft replied, resting his head on John's shoulder and rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric. Warm, soft, woolly and utterly fuckable John.
“But it's just the wool, right?” John asked, a bit alarmed when Mycroft didn't reply. But then, John thought, it could be worse. “Never mind...” he mumbled and thought that there were things that were infinitely worse than wool and-or sheep.
Mycroft could have been into dinosaurs.

(Two weeks later John got a sixth jumper and with the way Mycroft shagged him senseless it wasn't all that much of a chore for John to wear it while Mycroft proceeded with the shagging.)
Die Toten Hosen - No one is innocent
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