Sherlock Tumblr Porn

They had other things to do. Important things. Crimey wimey things. They really must be going.

“John, we really must be going.”

Hmmmmm was Sherlock’s husband’s reply. A sort of low, staticky hum of…what? Need? Want? Desire? Mmm, yes, that was it.

But John was in no hurry. He’d already been going at it for a good ten minutes. Going at it slowly, meditatively, as if the colour, the curves, the god damn cornucopia of it all was new.

On his belly on their bed, stripped bare of winter pajamas, Sherlock rested chin on arms and gave in without struggle. Yes they’d be late. Again. Yes, Lestrade would blame him and not John. Again. Oh but yes, when John took the world and somehow magically slowed it down to this, just this—to the two of them with sweet, sweet time—well however much he might grouse later, Sherlock always loved it now.

And John? Well he loved this man. His brain. His heart. His body. And now, right now, stretched out warm beside Sherlock, he loved watching his strong fingers grip his husband’s sumptuous bum, loved the yield of that sweet flesh, loved visualizing what he could do to it.

Some mornings this was all he’d do. Run his palm gentle over curves, softly stroking, carefully kissing. And later, inevitably, someone would say to one of them or both, “Don’t you look bright-eyed today?”

Some mornings, though, John would do more. He’d nibble, then bite. Lick, then tongue. Fingers would be made slick, then search, sliding deep. And later, inevitably, someone would say to one of them or both, “Don’t you look like the cat who ate the canary.”

John always replied with a saucy lick of the lips. Sherlock would just grin.

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This is for Random Nexus and Livia Carica, both of whom were riffing awhile ago on the delectable idea of John’s fingers kneading Sherlock’s opulent back end. Now excuse me, time to head desk briskly and sort of bite things.