Tomorrow is Mrs. Hudson's birthday, so I'm making a bit of a roast tonight to surprise her, so she doesn't have to cook. My oh-so-sensitive boyfriend doesn't put much store in birthdays, so he's out solving something small and I'm making it on my own, which I really don't mind very much. Sherlock's bollocks in the kitchen. He can be a right 5-star chef when he wants to, mind you, but he very rarely wants to, and Mrs. Hudson's birthday isn't enough of an occasion, I suppose.
I'm just finishing up, slipping it into the stove to marinate overnight, when I hear the front door close, and the next thing I know, he's pressed up against me.
"Hello, beautiful," he states. He always says things like that like facts because, he insists, they are, which makes me blush, which makes him smile. Cocky bastard.
As I'm still bent over the stove, my backside is being pressed right into his lap. He wraps his arms around me when I stand up, dusting my hands off on my apron. I set the stove.
"Hi there," I reply somewhat awkwardly. I turn around to face him and he swoops down into a hungry kiss.
"Did you have a good day?" he asks nicely. Too nicely. He knows that I appreciate it when he shows he cares.
"You want sex, don't you?"
I sigh theatrically, but my heart's already racing and he knows it. We've been together almost a year now, and the sex almost never fails to be absolutely incredible – I say almost, because sometimes he has epiphanies about murders halfway through, and then I'm left to sort myself out in the shower.
"Let me just wash up, I'll be right in." I tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, and he stalks off into the bedroom. I notice his pockets seem bulkier than usual, but I dismiss it. I've started to overanalyze certain things, thanks to him.
I walk into the bedroom after washing my hands and he's on me, suddenly, passionately.
I still haven't gotten accustomed to the fact that he kisses me now, that he touches me now. I'm so used to being at crime scenes and running around London and catching myself staring at his perfect heart-shaped lips, his slender frame, the enticing hollows of his neck. I'm not used to him staring back, to being able to kiss those lips and wrap my arms around him. I don't know if I'll ever be.
My heart's racing faster and I'm already aroused. He holds me in his arms and slips his talented tongue into my mouth, sucking gently at my lips. He runs his hands through my hair and down my body, deftly tossing away the apron I'd forgotten to remove. Still standing, he slips one of his long legs between mine and nudges. Involuntarily, I grind down onto him, rubbing myself against the delicious sensation. He smiles into the kiss – but then bites at my lip, just a bit harder than usual. He covers it with softer kisses, but the bite was there, and I begin to realize that something's a bit off.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, pulling back a bit. There's a disturbingly familiar gleam in his eye – disturbing because it's similar to the one he usually gets when there's been a homicide, not the one when he's about to make love to me.
"I'd like to try something a bit different this evening, my love, is that all right?" he asks. His voice is rough and low with arousal, and I feel my knees growing weak at how hard he makes me, and how much I trust him.
"Y-Yes, all right then," I say, somewhat nervously. He smiles at me, comfortingly, and kisses me again. He wraps his arms around me tighter, slipping his hands underneath my jumper and pulling it off, pulling my shirt off as well. He lays me down on the bed and slips his leg between my thighs again, teasing the bulge growing in my trousers. One of his strong arms slides under my back and the other traces a fingernail lightly down my chest, flicking over one of my nipples and then the other before rubbing at my lower stomach.
When Sherlock kisses me, it's never timid. Even when he's gentle, it's determined. Like everything else he does, his kisses are deliberate and precisely the action he wants to exact.
This time, though, there's a firmer intention in his kisses. His hot mouth closes on me fiercely, tongue thrusting against mine, and I can tell the something different has begun.
He kisses down my neck, comforting me, protecting me, but then pulls back with a somewhat mischievous glint in his eye.
Sherlock's face when he's turned on, hollow cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, with his mouth wet and open from my kisses, is the most sensual, fucking erotic sight in the world – second only perhaps to the sight of his body when he's turned on.
Overwhelmed by the sheer startling beauty of it all, I didn't realize what he was doing until my wrists were already tied together to the headboard.
I open my mouth but I don't know what to say. He smirks down at me.
"You look incredible when you're helpless, my darling," he murmurs. And indeed, I am helpless, completely – it must be special rope, because it doesn't hurt my wrists, but the knot is secure.
That perfectly M-shaped upper lip curls up into something like a snarl, and I feel my own hardness throb.
He kisses his way down my body again, sucking hard, making me arch up against his mouth. Wanton moans escape me; I can't help it even though it makes me blush, he knows the exact crevices on my body to lavish. Just below my scar, just above my hips, the inside of my thigh – and he sucks hard enough to mark me, and I love knowing that he wants me to be his.
When I've thrust my head back and clenched my eyes shut to revel in his practiced mouth, he takes that moment to his advantage. Before I know what's happening, he's bent my knees and pushed my thighs back, so my knees are almost to my head and I'm spread for him – and he's securing my legs to the bedposts.
"Sh-Sherlock!" I gasp.
"You didn't expect this part, did you, my love?" he purrs, sitting back on his heels to admire his work.
My wrists are tied above me, my thighs pulled back with my knees almost to my head. I am spread for him, exposed for him, my throbbing cock bare and revealing how much I – I think I'm enjoying this.
He leans in close to nibble just under my jawline, which always turns me on. His hands explore my body, how it feels different contorted and pulled taut by the ropes.
His tongue flicks out at my earlobe. His face is so close to mine, the movement of his hands on me, his body shifting and writhing flush against mine reminding me of just how immobilized I am, and the heat of his breath warms my cheek. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and my neglected erection is trembling.
"You trust me, yes?" His voice is smooth and deep but rough at the same time. I can never figure out how he does that.
"Oh God, yes."
"Good. Close your eyes."
The instant I do, he's fastening something around them, and I can't see.
"A – a blindfold, Sherlock?" My pulse is pounding, pumping blood through my veins so hard I can almost feel it. With my legs pulled back at this angle, it feels like more blood is rushing straight into my erection – or maybe I just like him dominating me, I can't tell, I can barely think. "But – but I love watching you fuck me." It's a protest, but hardly, because everything is new and I'm so hard and he is focused on me. I'm not doing anything, he is entirely focused on my pleasure, Sherlock Holmes is taking control of my pleasure, and I can't stand how much I like that.
"I know, my darling, but I want you to just feel this time." He's smiling; I can hear it on his voice. He likes seeing me like this, at his mercy, and that turns me on even more. "I want you to focus on how I'm making you feel."
I whimper something incomprehensible, and he chuckles, his voice even more sultry now that I can't split my focus by watching his lips form the sounds. All there is is his voice like music composed just for me.
"Now," he says quietly, and I hear him fumbling with something. "Tell me how this feels."
For a moment there is nothing.
And then I feel something foreign nudging against my erection, something solid that isn't part of his body at all, and then I hear the click of something being switched on, and my whole body strains against the constraints at the entirely new sensation.
"Oh Jesus," I hear myself moan breathily, or something like that. With my vision absent, all I can perceive is the vibrator, pressed against my length, sending fresh tremors of pleasure coursing through me.
"This is the lowest setting." His voice comes through the darkness like a knife, like a kiss. "Maybe another time, we'll try something more intense. But I just wanted to start off with this." I can hear him smiling again, as I breathe heavily, the vibrations making me shiver with excitement. "This would be enough to make you come for me, wouldn't it, John?" I can't say anything, but he rubs the toy up and down my length just enough to make my legs to strain involuntarily at the bonds, trying to rut myself closer to the vibrator. "I thought so." He chuckles quietly again. "But I can't have that, my love, not today." I hear a click and that heavenly buzzing shuts off as quickly as it turned on and I moan despairingly.
"Oh, please, damn it, Sherlock, please, I – ah!" My begging is cut off abruptly when I feel that same foreign pressure of the toy again, but now it's slicked wet with lube and pressed, not against my erection, but right at my entrance. " – oh – "
"Yes, John," Sherlock says, his alluring voice positively dripping with mischief, "oh."
He slides the vibrator in me deep, but doesn't turn it on. Instead, he teases me, rubbing the toy against that spot inside me that he loves to fuck, hard enough to make me nearly bite through my lip, but he refuses to touch my own throbbing need. I can feel myself dripping precum onto my stomach and I push down as hard as I can against the toy but it's so much smaller than my lover's cock and my restrictions won't let me grind down hard enough.
"Do you want me to fuck you now?" Sherlock asks, gruffly. I wish I could see his face. though I realize now that I never noticed how obvious his arousal is on his voice. I can tell he wants me, I can tell that seeing me helplessly squeeze down around the toy is driving him mad, although he's loving my torment.
"For heaven's sake, Sherlock, yes," I groan, gritting my teeth.
"But I don't think this little toy here is quite finished yet," he muses, mockingly. He twists the toy inside me and I'm panting hoarsely now; it's making it worse and it's not enough.
"I want your cock." I can't see. "I want it." I can smell my own sweat and precum. I can smell his warm familiar breath, like black tea and mint and gunpowder and a hint of lotus blossom. "I want your cock." I can hear his low laughter through his own heaving breath, laden with arousal from watching me, from watching how I clench around the toy. "I want your cock, Sherlock." I hear my voice repeating these words like a mantra, like a hymn, from what feels like somewhere distant. I feel my heart beating against my chest like it's fighting to get out, like it's fighting to be with his. "Give it to me." I feel the toy inside me of, teasing, taunting, artificial but it's held by his fingers, his brilliant beautiful fingers that I see every day and now I can't see them but they're pressing this toy inside me, into my ass, pressing it there for my pleasure. Sherlock's fingers, for my pleasure. "Give it to me."
"I still don't think this toy is finished yet – "
" – so I suppose I'll have to share," he finishes smugly, and before I can process what's happening, he pushes the toy up and holds it steady, and then slides his thick cock into me.
I let out a choked sort of scream, my fingers clenching tight against the ropes. I squirm, trying to get used to being so full. Sherlock pushes himself in all the way, so that what feels like the broad un-tapered end of the toy must be nested against his stomach, and both his cock and the toy are buried deep inside me.
"You're stretched for me, John," he murmurs, his voice heavy with aroused restraint. My mouth is wide open as I try to process the two lengths inside me, but before I can so much as get used to it, he begins to thrust, the toy following his motions, and with my thighs tied back, all I can do is take it. "You're so full now, aren't you? Your ass is just marvelously tight. How are you doing it, John? I wasn't quite sure you could take it, you know, but I suppose I've been preparing you well enough." His silken words are punctuated by rough grunts with every thrust, and through my sweat, my mouth turns up into a small smile.
He's fucking loving this.
The great Sherlock Holmes is loving giving it to me, hard.
I'm doing this to him. I'm making him enjoy this, the most human of activities.
"You can tell how much I enjoy this, can't you?" Sherlock's panting harder now. He's picked up his pace, thrusting himself and the toy into me roughly now that he knows I can take it. He himself is so big, and with the toy pressed right up against my prostate, my helpless body is shaking. "You little brat, you like knowing how hard you make me. You like knowing how much you affect my body."
"You're so calm and cool all the damn time, completely in control, like you know everything– "
"I observe everything."
"Yeah, well, right now, all you know is that my ass is about to make you cum, and that gives me the advantage, now, doesn't it?"
He growls, and then I feel a sharp stinging pain on my left ass cheek – he's spanked me, hard. I yelp in pain, but the jolt has made me clench around him and the toy, making me even tighter around his cock. It had already been tight because of the extra length, and that last clench seems to have pushed him over the edge.
He bends over my body, pushing my thighs back even achingly farther, and thrusts into me hard and fast. My mouth falls open into a silent scream as he fucks me savagely, stretching me wide, until he shudders and hurriedly kisses me on the forehead, and then my whole body is hot as he fills me with cum. He thrusts into me a few last times and then slides out, pulling the toy with him.
He plants a kiss on my burning cheek and whispers, self-satisfied, "Who has the advantage now, hmm?"
I'm still painfully hard, my ass damp, filled with his cum and the lube from the toy.
"Oh – oh – I – " Please don't leave me like this. I can't bring myself to say it out loud, but Jesus, please don't leave me like this, this couldn't've been his plan, no, no, I'm so fucking turned on –
I feel his body move off of mine and the bed creaks as he shifts. I feel his hands spread the cheeks of my ass and I blush, I know my asshole is pink and gaping from the double penetration, leaking his cum steadily –
And then I feel his tongue thrust straight into it.
"You've made quite a mess, my darling," he states, licking around my entrance. "Of course, I've anticipated this. The lube is cherry-flavored, and it makes for quite a delicious dessert while I clean you up. Mmm." He flicks his tongue out and licks the sensitive patch of skin between my entrance and my balls, pressing his tongue right at the spot where it stimulates my prostate. My legs are already going numb but I strain against the bonds anyway, trying to grind against his hot tongue. "I imagine," he says, between dipping that tongue deep into my ass, playing with the skin there before thrusting it embarrassingly inside me, "you'd like me to touch you here?" With great appreciation and not a small degree of relief, I sigh as I feel his palm wrap around my desperate cock. "Yes, I thought so." He thrusts his tongue deep into my used asshole, stroking upwards inside me, pressing gentle pleasure against the hot clenching skin. The thought of his pristine bow-like lips pressed flush against my slick ass brings me almost as close to the edge as his skilled fingers do, as they jerk me firmly. "Now, cum for me, John," he commands, and then he doesn't speak anymore, only thrusts his tongue hard up against my prostate and grasps my cock hard, and with those words echoing in my ears, I do.
It's one of the most intense orgasms of my life, I manage to realize as I cry out his name. Stars erupt from behind the blindfold. The bonds around my body seem to channel all the ecstasy into my core instead of it escaping in a burst, and the orgasm rocks through my body much longer than it ever has. I'm vaguely aware that I'm grinding down on his tongue and clenching down around it, and that thought makes the orgasm even better, as does the one that my cum is coating his lovely long fingers.
After what seems like an impossibly long time, I come down. I feel his tongue pull out of me, his lips brush a kiss on the inside of my thighs.
I can't move.
I feel the bed creak and I hear footsteps. I think I hear I'll be right back, and the sound of water running in the adjoining bathroom as he rinses out his mouth and washes his hands, but I can't be sure – my heartbeat is still pounding in my ears. The footsteps return, and the blindfold is whisked off. I blink hard, trying to get used to even the dim lamplight of the bedroom. By the time I can see clearly again, he's undone my bonds. I lower my arms and legs slowly as the blood rushes back into them. He lets me stretch my legs, but then parts my thighs again gently to run a damp washcloth over the cum drying on my stomach, and even more gently across my entrance, cleaning up the last bits of lube and saliva. He stares at me intently when he's done, and without breaking eye contact, tosses the washcloth onto the bathroom floor.
"Did you like that?" he asks. He's studying me closely, and even as I'm still trying to catch my breath, flexing my stiff limbs, I can tell he's – he's actually nervous.
My face spreads into a smile. I grab that gorgeously angled face and pull it close, kissing him deeply. His lips are swollen slightly from their ministrations between my legs, and I smile even more broadly into the kiss.
"The fact that you're an annoying prat is more than made up for by the fact that you are an incredible lover," I mumble against his mouth.
"Good." He grins. "I suppose something should make up for it." He peers more closely at me then, and I realize that I've let a nagging thought show itself on my face. "What is it?"
"Nothing," I say, though I know it's futile. "I mean, it's not a big deal."
"John?" He's worried. He thinks there's something I didn't like about the sex, and well, that would be less embarrassing. But there's no use hiding anything from him.
"It's just – " I sigh, and he pulls me closer to him, kissing the top of my head before pulling back to look piercingly in my eyes again. "Why you wanted to try something new. It's – it's not that you're – " and here it comes. This question has been in my mind since before we started dating, since the instant I began to realize how important he was to me. I'm finally voicing this fear. "It's not that you're bored, is it? That – that you're bored of our sex life, you know, or – or bored of m-me?" The last words come out horribly tiny. My heart jumps into my chest.
"Bored? Bored?" He gives a relieved smile, stroking my sweaty hair back gently. "My dear John, haven't you realized it yet?" The smile broadens, tenderly. "You are the one part of this world that will never, ever bore me. This was not a matter of finding our sex life dull, my love. There are just so many things in this world I want to do with you!" His eyes brighten." And not just sex, of course, though I do have a number of experiments left in that area I want to attempt." Of course. "But my darling, don't you see, now that you're in my life the world has become an infinitely more intriguing place, and I want to explore its intricacies with you." My heart is beating so hard it almost hurts. I've never seen him look so earnest before. "The sexual ones, yes of course, since you've opened up a whole new realm of interest there, but I want to take you to the Alps. I want to take you to Hawaii, to Hangzhou, to Athens. I want to try new sushi with you, hibachi, haggis, pansit! I want to climb mountains and swim in oceans and count constellations and stay in and watch crap telly with you, all those movies I never saw because they're rubbish and I want to make you tea when you're sick and hold you when you're scared and I want to make you laugh because I love it when you laugh, John, and don't you see, don't you see, I've never felt the slightest inclination for any of this before in my life, and it's you, it's you, John." He's out of breath, his face flushed pink, and his eager smile is trembling with something like awe. "You make me want to live."
I don't know what to say.
His words have swept over me like a blanket, keeping me safe from dangers I hadn't let myself fear yet. At the same time it's like he's pulled down a veil I'd been keeping up in front of my eyes because I was too anxious about what I'd see behind it, but now I know – it's my future, and it's him.
"You've never mentioned anything like this before." The words come out like a croak, and they're pointless, they're stalling, because I don't know what words fit, and I know it.
"I'm mentioning it now." He smiles again, but his brows are knit together, and he shakes his head. "I know you don't know what to say, John. It's all right." He touches his fingertip to my lips. "I understand."
And he does, that's the thing, you know, because he bloody understands everything except he never understands emotions, never, except when it comes to me because apparently I'm the exception. And he's mine.
"I love you," I say helplessly, fruitlessly, because he knows that of course. I'm trying to say so much more, though, but I can't, because he's said it all already. What am I supposed to say – same goes for me, thanks? Jesus.
"I know," he says, laughing. He holds me close to him, warm and safe in his arms.
We lie there, sharing breaths, until –
"The roast!" I exclaim.
"I set an alarm, obviously," he murmurs, snuggling me closer to his chest. He glances at the clock. "We've got another ten minutes or so before it's time to take it out." I can feel his heartbeat through his strong chest. "Stay with me?"
I relax into him again.
I will stay with him. Until the end of my life, until I can't anymore. I will stay with him. It will never be dull. It will never be boring. He will never cease to surprise me, to delight me, to inspire me. We will explore this mad world together, making it something of a better place, together.