You're doing it again - parading around in nothing but your pyjama bottoms. I know you're not wearing pants under there, you never do. Not when you want to get my attention.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you wanted me to fuck you into next Tuesday, parading around like that." I'm aiming for witty, but even to my own ears my voice sounds breathy and ragged. Already. I've only been awake for twenty minutes. "Hell, Sherlock. The things you do to me..."
Rubbing my face, I shuffle into the kitchen, trying to calm down by busying myself with the coffee pot. Sometimes I forget how silent you can be, so when you sneak up on me, wrapping those long, thin fingers around my waist, I nearly drop my mug.
"Shit!" the curse's escaped my mouth before I have time to think about it, but you don't seem to mind.
Oh god, I can feel you behind me. You're so hard already, grinding against the curve of my arse. Without thinking, I push back. I can feel my own cock thickening again, a rush of warmth in my groin. I've barely just controlled my morning hard-on, and here you are, making me harder than before. Christ, your lips are brushing gently across the back of my neck. I can feel your tongue, lightly tracing around my vertebrae. That shouldn't be as hot as it is.
"Ngnh..." Wait, that's not right, let me try again. "God, Sherlock. You can just ask, you know. Not that I" oh fuck... your lips around my earlobe... "not that I mind you being so demonstrative..."
Your lips are right against my ear, your chest flat against my back, and your erection still trapped against my arse, only two thin layers of cotton flannel between us. I'm not wearing anything under my bottoms either, but you've deduced that by now, I know you have. "Fine then, John Watson, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to bed?" You're so close, I almost feel you more than I hear the deep rumble of your voice, and it goes straight to my knees. Suddenly my legs are made of jelly, and I dig my hands into the counter to support myself.
I scrabble against the countertop, trying to get my bearings so I can turn around and just fucking kiss you already. I manage to face you, the edge of the counter digging into my hips, but right now I couldn't care less. Not when you're staring me in the face, your cheeks flushed and your eyes wide and dark. I lean up and grab your lower lip between my teeth, my hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you hard against me. The pressure of your engorged cock against mine startles me, a groan escaping. You're making those strangely high-pitched needy noises, the ones that go straight to my fucking reptile brain, the ones that block out every want, every need I've ever had, other than the desperate, urgent ones to take you, to possess every inch of you.
With a whine, you pull away from me and duck down the hall towards the first-floor bedroom. "Hurry, John." You sound as needy, as impatient as I feel.
"I just hope Mrs. Hudson is out, or that her telly's turned up full volume, because I am going to fuck you until you scream." I love watching your adam's apple bob when I say things like that. I love knowing that even if you instigated it this time, I still have some control, some ability to drive you completely fucking crazy. As crazy as you make me.
We get into the bedroom and I can't resist, I push you down onto the bed, flat on your back, and straddle you. I'm fumbling to get your pyjamas off, to get mine off, but all I can focus on is the way you've thrown your head back, the pale expanse of your throat so vulnerable and exposed. I give in, pinning you down and running the flat of my tongue up, starting at your collarbone, working my way up to your ear. I can hear you whimpering, feel you writhing under me. My cock is throbbing, desperately aching as you buck up and rut against me.
Finally we manage, somehow, to get our of our pyjama bottoms. Finally, you're laid out for me, naked and so blatantly, hungrily aroused. I drop down again, relishing the moan you let out as I grind my prick against yours. So aroused, bloody hell, we're both slick and dripping already.
"How do you do this to me, Sherlock?"
"I'm talented." I can feel the warm, moist huff of your breath across my throat as you chuckle at me.
"God, you have no idea. Where the hell's the lube?" I raise myself up on my knees, feeling strangely bereft as a rush of cool air fills the gap between our over-heated bodies. I'm trying to reach the lube in the bedside table, but your tongue - that impossibly skilled tongue - has found my earlobe again and it's making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. I manage to concentrate long enough to find the bottle. Part of me wants to make you prepare yourself while I watch, but you're such a bloody show-off, I don't think I have the patience right now.
I get two fingers good and slick, giving you a second to readjust yourself. Your feet are planted firmly on the mattress on either side of me, raising your hips up and giving me access to open you up. Seeing you like this, so eager for me, nobody else, makes me shudder, my cock twitching against my body in anticipation. I circle the tight ring of your anus with one finger, spreading the lube around. I'm trying to go slowly, I really am, but you keep grinding your hips down to meet my hand.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, you're trying my patience..."
"Then just fuck me, John. I want you now." God, your voice. I'm powerless to fight it. I drop my head, brushing my lips against the soft skin of your throat, dragging a line of sloppy eager kisses across your jaw until my mouth finds yours. Your lips are moist and hot as I part them with my own. My tongue slides into your mouth as my fingers slide into your puckered hole. I swallow the satisfied groan you let slip through your lips as I stretch and scissor my fingers. We've done this often enough, we're both too desperate to draw it out, and it's not long before you're easily taking in three fingers.
"That's... ngh.. more than enough, John. I want you inside me."
Who am I to argue? I shift my weight, breaking the kiss and dropping back onto my knees, lubing myself up with my other hand. I pull my fingers out of you slowly, savouring the anguished groan you let out. I line the head of my cock up with your stretched and ready hole, fighting myself not to just fucking impale you.
Your eyes snap open and you raise your head to look at me. You're biting your lower lip, drawing even more blood into the tender, swollen flesh. That fucking mouth. With a nod and an undignified whimper, you throw your head back, inviting me in further.
Oh, god. Fuck, right there... You're so tight, so warm. I can feel you bearing down, pulling me deeper and deeper in. You're moaning in earnest now, every time you inhale and tense your muscles, and then a sharp little hiss every time you relax and exhale. Jesus, it's so hard for me not to just slam my fucking hips forward, bury myself inside you, but I manage. You're digging your fingers, those long, gorgeous bloody fingers, into my hips, one long pale leg thrown over my shoulder. I lean forward, and suddenly your other leg is wrapped around my hips for leverage, and you've pulled me hard against you. "Nnngh" Groaning, I feel your heat engulf me, my cock now buried entirely inside of you.
"Now, John. Fuck me." God, you don't have to ask me twice. I drop down onto my forearms, my weight balanced on my hips and shoulders, and start thrusting in earnest.
"You are the most beautiful fucking thing." The long pale expanse of your torso arching up off the bed, your cock swollen and flushed. The head's lurid and glistening, you're already leaking all over your stomach. I tilt my hips, trying to angle my cock inside of you, probing for the one spot that will make you lose it completely. I grind my hips down and forward, and I'm rewarded with a sharp, animalistic cry and a full-body shiver. You've opened your eyes again, the sharp blue-grey nearly entirely engulfed in dark pupil as you stare at me. Something about that unbroken gaze makes me feel exposed, more so than even watching my cock slam repeatedly into you. I have to break eye contact, kissing your throat and neck again as an excuse as I pound my throbbing cock into you over and over again.
The edges of my vision are starting to blur, sharp heat coiling in my belly. Not long now.
"God, Sherlock... touch yourself." I want to see you. Want to watch you lose control before I do. "Come for me." I keep thrusting, pounding into you as you wrap one of those obscene hands around yourself. You're tugging hard, twisting up at the head the way you always do when you're close. God, look at you. Your eyes screwed shut, lip caught between your teeth as you fuck your fist, as I fuck your ass. I'm gasping for breath too now, trying so hard to hold on.
I feel you before I see you, clenching down around my cock maybe a half-second before you let out one loud shout. I drop my head, watching you climax. Your body goes rigid under me, hand locked around your spasming cock. Hot spurt after spurt as you come all over yourself, and I can feel you around me, coaxing my orgasm out with your contractions. Christ. You've hit your own chin. I lean forward, and licking it off you, thrusting deeply.
OH! There! Fuck...
I bury myself in you, muscles quivering, roiling, as the climax hits me and everything goes grey, except for the bright spots of colour bursting right behind my eyes. I gasp, slackening and dropping myself onto you.
I catch my breath and roll over, pulling out of you with a whimper. I can feel your come cooling on my stomach as I reach over to brush a sweat-soaked curl off your face. I love watching you like this, all sated and pliable and flushed. You curl up on your side, burying your face in my shoulder and I can't help but wrap my arm around you. We're both sweat-slick and sticky but right now I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. I feel you, gently wiping me off with something soft. Somehow, mustering the energy to raise my head off the mattress, I look up.
"Sherlock... are those my pyjama bottoms?"
"Wasn't going to use mine now, was I?"
"Git". Love you. Must be crazy, but I do.