#wolvlock

He'd been explicitly banned from playing violin at odd hours, which he found dreadfully unfair seeing as he didn't even have his violin and refused to fiddle with one of the school's instruments for hours to get it to sound right. Scott had apparently read the books about him and made wild assumptions about the type of house mate Sherlock might be based on said descriptions.

Only they weren't descriptions of him, were they? But that of another mutant posing as him which has it's own existential quandary. Yet another thing to keep him up, but it's not the reason for this night's delay.

Sherlock sat at his desk, the head of recently used needle jammed into the wood as the detective idly twirled it. Since his untimely stumble to the universe he currently sat, he'd been falling back into nasty- comforting- habits. Who would scold him for it? Who did he have to disappoint? Closing his eyes, Sherlock lifted the syringe and tossed it back down again to make it stick in the desk. He couldn't think like that. He'd never get home if he did.

His addiction isn't the reason for the delay, either. He'd grown used to the ache that plagued him, homesickness, he supposed it was, but tonight it had taken a more aggressive approach. The ache permeated his entire being, and soon he found himself biting his lip as he imagined a thick cock pressed heavily against his tongue.

He missed his husband. His voice, his presence, his scent. But in that moment, he missed his cock the most. Sherlock exhaled, dropping his head into his hands. He could handle the situation himself- he tried to handle the situation himself, but he only managed to get three fingers inside of him before he realized he needs more. He needs someone else's hand, someone's cock.

It takes twelves steps to stand outside of Logan's door. Sherlock clad in just slacks and a half open button down as he raises his hand to knock but he stops. What would he say? Logan had flirted with him when he first arrived, but it didn't take long to realize Logan flirted with anyone old enough.

No, this is stupid, he decides, and turns to leave just as the door opens and Logan leans against the door, fist planted on his hip. Sherlock tries to glare again, to give him the coldest shoulder he can manage, but Logan looks good. Tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination, and pants hung low enough on his hips that Sherlock can see a trail of dark hair that he foolishly follows with his eyes before they snap up to Logan.

Logan's grinning- no. Smirking. And Sherlock feels his face flush, already predicting how their conversation would go.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Started smellin' you an hour ago. Wanted to see how far you got before you set out lookin' for help. Didn't expect you at my door, though. You're jus' full of surprises."

"You can smell me? I'm insulted."

"No, you're not. We gonna keep doin' this or you gonna admit you're here for an easy fuck."

"Not many people I know would sound so proud to be considered easy."

"I know what I want. Do you?"

Sherlock knew the more he spoke, the more likely he was to talk himself out of this. But what would he do? Try to sleep again? Because that'd gone so well the last four hours he'd tried. He couldn't exactly take another hit unless he wanted to risk over dosing. He needed relief. Logan was that relief. Sherlock hesitates, and he can see Logan inhale to begin speaking.

So Sherlock surges forward and kisses him before he can. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to struggle with making an excuse neither of them would believe. Sherlock's here for one thing, and he'll get and then be on his way.

Logan's hand around his waist is confirmation enough that Logan's just as interested in their encounter as Sherlock. He pulls him into the room, free hand shoving the door shut before both hands are on the detective, lifting him off the ground to carry him to the bed. It's second nature to wrap his legs aroung Logan's waist, one arm braced around his shoulders while the other slides a hand into waves of black.

They're almost to the bed when Sherlock grasps Logan's hair and forces their lips apart. The air between them is hot as Sherlock pulls to force Logan's chin up and bites the underside of his jaw.

"Sit," He commands. "I want to ride you."

His response is a throaty groan, but Logan obeys and sits on the edge of the bed, Sherlock set firmly in his lap. The friction is already better than what his fingers had to offer, and Sherlock is too far gone to concern himself with how improper he might look grinding against the outline of Logan's cock. They move together in just the right way, electric pops of pleasure rattling up Sherlock's spine until he needs more. There's too many clothes in the way.

With a growl of his own, Sherlock stands and steps away to get his trousers off while Logan pulls his shirt off and shifts just enough to free his dick from fabric constraints. Sherlock stares- leers like a stranded man who's just spotted a rescue boat on the horizon.

"Christ," Logan begins, and Sherlock watches as his gaze moves up and down to take in the entirety of him. "You're gor-"

"Don't speak," Sherlock's hand covers his mouth as he moves closer, keeping the hand there while the other strokes Logan's cock and holds it steady. He feels precome smear the inside of his leg as he lowers himself on Logan's waiting cock. It'd been too long since he last felt this full, since he felt his body stretch and that bone deep ache was finally satisfied.

He doesn't fully seat himself. Despite his earlier efforts, it's still a lot to take and he lifts himself up just enough so only the head of Logan's cock remains inside him. Beneath him, he can feel Logan shiver, and Sherlock's grins, the gesture laced with pure deviance. His movements remain shallow, teasing. He feels Logan's arms and legs go taut the longer he plays the game until two large hands finally grab his waist and pull him all the way down.

His breath catches, his cry caught in his throat as Logan's cock sits fully inside him now. Even with his head thrown back, he knows Logan's smirking at him, and Sherlock gathers himself enough to finish what he set out to do.

With hands press to Logan's chest as leverage, Sherlock moves with a singular purpose in mind. His pleasure. Chasing that elusive high he couldn't give himself. It's mounting, he begins to shake with the strain of maintaining his rhythm, but he doesn't stop. He buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck and rides him home.

Logan smells like home. Like sweat, and smoke, and pine. Shit. He's so close, he just- he- he needs something.

Logan's climax surprises him. But it's precisely what he needed to fall over the edge with him. His cock pulses inside of him, and just knowing ribbons of hot white seed follow every jolt sets Sherlock's nerve alight all over again.

He forget he's holding Logan's mouth until the man bites him and it's enough to jolt Sherlock out of the post climax endorphin rush. Jerking his hand back, Sherlock glares. But Logan only grins.

"Stay the night?"

"No, that won't happen." Sherlock stands, hands tight at his sides as he feels the overflow of Logan's spend run down his legs. "And this never happened."