A/N – Well, mattsloved1 is the reason this story is being written because she asked for it first, but lots of people have sense requested different parts of what is to come. Therefore, I dedicate this to everyone! Divvy up the parts and play nice kids.
This story won't be told chronologically. Each chapter will consist of two parts (before the wedding/and after the wedding) that relate to each other. The intent is to show small changes because of the wedding. Although, that is probably giving weight to a story that will be little more than fluff, sometimes sappy, sometimes smutty, always fluff.
And the last part of the longest Author's Note in history…ScopesMonkey was beta for this and made it infinitely better. She is awesome, I heart her and you should too!
Warnings- male/male smutty goodness. If you don't like that I don't quite know why you are here, but please feel free to ignore it.
Disclaimer – In debt and outta funds, not mine!
"I think you should wear this one." Sherlock comes into the kitchen holding a yellow tie covered with black bees. It was a gag gift from one of the other doctors at the clinic last Christmas. It still has the tag on it. I'm also pretty sure that it was still in the box I received it in and that I'd tossed it haphazardly onto the closet shelf. I vaguely hoped to hide it from Sherlock forever. I probably should have just thrown it away.
I look at him as I finish up my tea. "Exactly which suit do you want me to wear with that?" In theory it would match my black one, Sherlock's favorite, but I certainly don't have a shirt to go with it.
He frowns at me before turning his attention back to the tie. "Is there something wrong with just wearing this?" I cough, choking on my coffee.
"I can't marry you just wearing a tie. I'd be arrested before we even get to the magistrate's office."
Especially that tie, I think.
He rolls his eyes at me; clearly I've failed to follow some train of thought he hadn't vocalized. Stupid me.
"This clearly isn't for the ceremony, John." He waves the tie at me. "I prefer no tie, or rather I prefer you in a suit with no tie. You, with just a tie, is one of my favorite things."
I feel the warmth spread into my cheeks. He smirks. He always enjoys making me blush. "I'm packing it," he says and exits the kitchen.
"Just don't take out anything I've packed!" I yell after him and make a mental note to check the suitcases before we leave.
The tie will be joining a pair of boxers he bought himself that have the periodic table of elements on them. He insists they are sexy. I laughed seeing him in them, his erection poking through the slit between iron and cobalt.
He has also packed specific "acceptable" sleepwear for me. I'd purchased a new set of pyjamas for the trip and he'd been personally offended. The ratty pyjamas I've had since before Afghanistan are preferable apparently, so two days ago the new pyjamas were unpacked and put away and the "acceptable" ones replaced them. He'd then stormed out of the room huffing something about not needing them anyway.
I just shrugged it off, conceding gladly. It gave me the ammunition needed to demand that the purple shirt be worn at the ceremony. I love the purple shirt, and pairing it with the charcoal grey suit makes me very happy. He'd frowned but acknowledged defeat.
He's actually supposed to be deciding on what I will wear to the ceremony now. It is tomorrow after all. The black suit is a given, but the great shirt debate seems to be raging on. Mostly because he keeps getting distracted by other things, like the idea of tying me up with an atrocious bumblebee tie. Also, I refused to be married in a jumper. That was his first choice.
I finish my tea and head towards the bedroom.
Sherlock is leaning against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him. He's tapping on his lips with his right index finger and staring at three shirts that he has hung on the dresser. It's the white one with the grey pin stripes, the blue one that is his favorite with my grey suit, and a pink one he bought me a few months ago.
"Remove the pink one, please," he says focusing his attention on the other two. I grab the pink one and put it back into the closet.
"Will you kindly remove your shirt and model the remaining choices please?" I look at him - his face appears serious, but I can see the glint in his eyes that betray his true intention. I smile at him, grab the blue shirt and put it back into the closet.
He frowns at me.
I climb onto the bed next to him. "I'll make you a deal." I throw one leg over his and settle my weight on his thighs. The glint is back in his eyes along with a huge grin. He settles his hands on my hips.
"I'll wear that shirt right there as it matches the suit the best." He nods. "I'll not wear a tie because you prefer not." His hands move around to my ass and he squeezes. He nods again. "And I'll pack a jumper, of your choice, and agree to wear it the first night in Corsica."
He straightens, pressing closer to me. He squeezes again and I cup his face and gently scratch his scalp. His voice takes on a purr-like quality.
"You'll wear just the jumper and use the bumblebee tie," he pauses, "at the same time?" One of his eyebrows raises slightly and I wonder if he even knows.
I lean forward and brush my lips across his jaw. "At the same time," I whisper.
"God," he grunts, pulling me closer.
I'm glad we decided on one of the hotel's private villas instead of the main building. The sound of the surf pounding on the rocks below us is relaxing and the private view of the sunset over the Mediterranean was magnificent.
Mostly though, it means that no one has disturbed us to make sure that the screams issuing from my new husband are indeed screams of pleasure. They are, of course, but to the outside ear it wouldn't be so easy to distinguish. Someone would probably have to be right outside of our room to even hear John's screams over the surf and the high winds.
The decision was an excellent one. However, not nearly as excellent a decision as the red jumper and the bumblebee tie.
I watch him as he arches off the bed. The position has caused the jumper to ride up and it is currently pooling in the middle of his chest, the bottom of his ribcage now visible to me. His arms are pulling on the tie as it secures his wrists to the headboard. The knots are loose and he could escape easily, but instead he grips the material and is inadvertently causing it to tighten on his wrists. His hands are slightly more red than usual and seem to be darkening. There is little concern though; he's almost done.
His face turning red is a little more alarming - he's holding his breath. I run my tongue on the underside of his shaft as I let him slip out of my mouth. I'm going to tell him to breathe, but the loss of contact has sent the air expelling out of him. He whimpers out an incoherent complaint and his body collapses back onto the bed. He's gasping now and the color is returning to normal.
He opens his eyes and looks down at me. He's desperate, more so than I've ever seen him. I feel momentarily victorious. Patience is not one of my attributes, but I convinced myself it would be worth it here. I've never had an assumption be more accurate.
I have two fingers inside of him and use them to press harder against his prostate. He whimpers again and his eyes close. His hips begin their shallow thrusts into nothing and an excruciating "please" whispers out of him.
I can deny this man nothing. I stick my tongue out to taste the liquid, lighter than usual because of torturous stimulation, which is dripping from him freely. It is so wonderfully John, so wonderfully my husband. My husband.
I take him in my mouth again and watch him arch. The jumper pools around his shoulders, covering his face. It does nothing to muffle him, though, as I press my index finger deeper and he releases.
A matter of moments later, I begin to crawl up him. His body is completely relaxed but he's still gasping for air beneath me. I come to rest on top of him and reach a hand up to quickly undo the knots. I toss the bumblebees onto the nightstand to be used later and grab both of his hands. I do a quick inspection to make sure there are no unpleasant marks. I tied him too tightly once and he got a bruise. He didn't mind in the slightest, but it made me nauseous every time I saw it.
There are no signs of any today and I place a kiss onto each wrist and then each palm. The fingers of his left hand curl around my cheek as I do so. I look down at him with that wonderfully satiated grin on his face.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he says letting out a little chuckle.
"You are my husband, you should never doubt me." I flatten myself against his chest, using his good shoulder as a pillow. He wraps his arms around me.
"Husband," he says. The word quietly settles around us filling in all the empty spaces. Marriage, another excellent decision on our part.