Sherlock's robe gets messy
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John hadn't expected anything different to their usual evening cuddles, curled up on the sofa with the television playing in the background, completely forgotten as it drowns out the soft, clicking kisses of passion. John rose up, almost covering Sherlock with his smaller, more compact body as he kissed and kissed those swollen, red cupid bow lips. One hand curled into Sherlock's hair, the other between their bodies to grip their erections tightly.
Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant.
Bucking his hips, John swallowed the whine from Sherlock's throat. Head spinning as their sensitive frenulums rubbed and frotted together, their precome mingling until it dripped in stringy threads onto Sherlock's bared stomach.
John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock's belly.