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There are a few things which John Watson has learned through his burgeoning relationship with Sherlock Holmes. The first is that Sherlock is a fantastic kisser. The detective seems to use all of his deductive skills to his advantage, working out the numerous ways in which John's tongue is somehow connected directly to his cock. Sherlock kisses like it's his only joy, uses the perfect pressure and little flicks to have John arched into him, moaning and desperate.

The second thing is that Sherlock Holmes is fantastically sensitive. One well-placed kiss to a spot just below Sherlock's ear has his legs going wobbly and those acid callused fingers bunched into the fabric of John's jumper. Sherlock's neck begs to be kissed, and John is only too happy to comply as he works his lips across tender, pale skin. What was once unblemished flesh is now mottled with teeth marks and love-bites.

John's favourite discovery, however, is that Sherlock is a cuddler. The man who once spouted that caring isn't an advantage now nuzzles his nose into the crease at John's shoulder and mumbles soft expressions of love and devotion, in languages which John can't understand but the meaning is there regardless. Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson as much as John loves him. Their names go together as perfectly as up goes with down, as sunrise to sunset and fish with chips.

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.

Now though, they don't have the time or the patience for long edging sessions. They have just solved a major robbery case and adrenalin is running high, singing in their veins as they rock their hips. Sherlock moans deep and desperate, one hand on John's jumper, the other on his arse keeping rhythm as though it was a violin concerto.

“God...” John groans, head falling forward to rest on Sherlock's as their eyes meet. Sherlock's fringe is wet, glued to his forehead as he bites his swollen lip.

“Yes… Yes…. Oh...” Sherlock manages before his body is clenching tight, abdomen muscles bunching as he comes hard and covers the small hairs from his bellybutton to crotch in pretty pearls of ejaculate.

The movements send John over too. Giving three more rough thrusts, John chokes on a groan and then his come joins Sherlock on his stomach, hot and musky as it drips around Sherlock's waist to soak into the detective's discarded gown on the leather.

Sitting back with his knees on either side of Sherlock's upper thighs, John catches his breath and pants as the afterglow of his orgasm buzzes around him. Sherlock's skin is pink and shiny with sweat, his nipples erect and puffy which beg to be touched. John is not a strong man, he cannot fight the urge as he rubs the palm of his hand up Sherlock's stomach, smearing their ejaculate onto Sherlock's skin, marking him with their combined scent as a possessive alpha might do to their omega. Sherlock rolls his eyes fondly but allows John to continue as the rhythmic sweeps of John's hand extend the pleasure of his climax.

It's not often they get to indulge like this. Sometimes their couplings are barely finished before a client, or Mrs Hudson or – god forbid – Mycroft raps at the door. John uses his time efficiently and leans down to give snuffly kisses along Sherlock's throat and then follows the line of his jaw until they can kiss sweetly again.

“Still worked up?” John asks, knowing how tense Sherlock gets after cases.

Sherlock gives a half shrug which John knows means yes. Sherlock won't admit it, but John can read his body like its a manuscript.

“Hold on,” John replies, climbing from Sherlock's lap to waddle awkwardly until he can kick off the trousers and pants around his ankles. Now bare, John tenses his buttocks for Sherlock's amusement and heads off to their shared bedroom. He finds what he's looking for easily and then returns to Sherlock, immediately stripping Sherlock's legs of his pulled down sleep trousers, and tugging off the man's inside out cotton t-shirt.

“I had it made especially,” John says as he opens a small tub of sweet, lavender scented lotion “It'll apparently help you to sleep. Calms your nerves and it has moisturiser in it too”

Sherlock gives a haughty sniff of the lotion and raises an eyebrow as John returns to his previous position. Now that Sherlock is completely bare, John can see the streaks where he had rubbed in their come, can see the mottled blush of arousal which still shows on Sherlock's skin. It's endearing and lovely and John wishes he could paint a picture of this post-coital angel.

Scooping some of the lotion into his hand, John rubs them together to warm the liquid before gently beginning a slow, soft massage of Sherlock's stomach and chest. The scent of lavender and arousal permeates the air and John smiles as he hears a rumble of an exhale from Sherlock as he slowly begins to loosen up, relaxing back into the sofa cushions.

John works slowly, using every technique he had learned from his physio massage therapist to work out the knots in Sherlock's muscles. He feels Sherlock falling slack, easing up from the adrenalin-fuelled high as he rubs across Sherlock's perfectly formed biceps, naming each set of muscles as he caresses them Tendinous intersections, pectorals major, clavicle and deltoid.

Shuffling backwards, John rubs down the crease of Sherlock's thigh, where the sparse hairs from Sherlock's inner thighs become coarse and plentiful around his bollocks. The younger man's cock is still half hard and leaking from his orgasm, so John lifts it carefully and strokes the lotion into the drips of leftover ejaculate, pushing down slightly to scratch his nails through Sherlock's bush of pubic hair. Sherlock sighs, lets his head fall forward so he has six chins as he gives a giddy and soft smile.

He's adorable like this. Soft and sweet and exclusively John's.

Nobody has ever seen Sherlock like this. Sherlock had admitted as much when they had decided to further their relationship from friends to lovers. Unsure and nervous, Sherlock had reluctantly sat John down and explained that he had the desire for sexual activity, but nothing but theoretical knowledge to back it up with. John had grinned and immediately rolled them onto the floor for their first mutual orgasm which left Sherlock sticky and John with cramp in his shoulder for two days.

John felt it was entirely worth it.

Once John has worked his way down Sherlock's strong legs, down to his strangely chimp-like toes, he taps Sherlock's hip “Turn over?” he asks, giving two soft kisses to each of Sherlock's prominent hipbones.

Careful so as not to end up kicking John in the bollocks, Sherlock shuffles to lay on his front. His lotion covered body sticks unpleasantly to the silk of his dressing gown under him, but its only for a short time until he dries, and until he feels John's hands on him – pulling his thoughts away. Only allowing him to think about each sweep of John's hand, on each drag of his skin.

John works in silence, unknotting Sherlock's shoulders and neck. The scars from Sherlock's time away have healed to white and silver, but each one bumps into John's hand reminding him of the sacrifice which Sherlock had undertaken in order to protect him, and the people he loved. John had learned later that he had reopened the wounds when he tackled him in the French restaurant, resulting in them being deeper and taking longer to heal.

The guilt swoops in his gut once more, and he bends down to follow each silvery trail with his lips. If he could, he would kiss them all better, healing them with his love alone. Sherlock freezes for a moment and then relaxes, turning his head so they can make eye contact for one long-lasting second before John skims his hands away again. No point in dwelling on the past when they have an entire future to enjoy.

The future is on John's mind as he reaches the curve of Sherlock's bottom. Their sexual relationship hasn't gone much further than handjobs and oral sex, although John did once wake up to Sherlock rocking his erection against his buttocks leading to John coming in his pants and Sherlock soaking their bedding and John's back with his ejaculate. They've seen each other naked, touched each other intimately but never gone so far as to explore that one secretive area.

Sherlock's buttocks are perfection. They should be copied in marble and shown in museums. Scholars should be studying Sherlock's form and agreeing that he is remarkable, that he is the perfect specimen of manhood.

It's only when John brings himself back to the present that he realises that he's spent the last few minutes massaging and stroking Sherlock's bum and that Sherlock has gone very, very still.

“Okay?” John asked tentatively. He knows that if Sherlock didn't like what he was doing he would have been pushed off the sofa. Or punched. The lack of movement is purely Sherlock attempting to work out new sensations

“Yes,” Sherlock says, but his voice is husky.

John smiles and uses his thumbs to spread Sherlock's buttocks, looking at that small untouched place hidden inside. Sherlock whines, his hips lifting slightly until John removes a hand to push them back down to the sofa, he doesn't want to rush this.

Lifting and circling Sherlock's buttocks, John watches as Sherlock's hole winks at him with each pulling movement. John has seen a lot of anuses, both at work and during his sexual encounters but none have ever made him feel the dizzying arousal that he feels about Sherlock's.

As carefully as he can, John moves down so he can kiss along Sherlock's spine. The arousal blush has spread from the front to the back now, and the nape of Sherlock's neck is practically crimson as John gives a nip with his teeth. Sherlock hisses and raises his hips again with a moan, goosebumps erupting over his flesh under John's skilled hands and mouth.

The lavender lotion doesn't taste nice, but John ignores the minor inconvenience as he kisses, licks and nibbles his way down Sherlock's spine, biting where Sherlock's kidneys sit. The detective is mewling now, rocking back and forth on the sofa as though he's trying to hump it desperately, his hands gripped into the leather and his face turned towards the back of the sofa, allowing John to see the pretty blush across his cheekbones.

The sofa is too small for the task to be comfortable, but John shimmies further down until his testicles are practically resting on Sherlock's feet. This position allows him to slowly begin to kiss across Sherlock's bottom, starting at the sacrum which he kisses with his tongue, dipping it into the cleft of his bum before working outwards across the thicker, fleshier buttock.

Sherlock moans, eyes tightly shut as he puts one hand into his hair and tugs, centring himself to the sensations as John works back in again, following the curve where buttock meets thigh. Sherlock is sensitive there it seems, because he almost gets up onto his knees before John is pushing him back down with a soft shush and a plea for him to be patient.

John didn't realise that he could get hard so quickly, but he is. His cock hangs heavy and thick away from his body, tickling the arches of Sherlock's foot with each movement as he leans in and gives a heady exhale before he bites hard and sucks at the meaty cheek of Sherlock's bum.

“John!” Sherlock shouts, moaning and choking with a croak as he once more attempts to get onto his knees only to be pushed back down.

The older man can barely wait. Sherlock is so beautiful and desirable that John barely thinks twice before he has his thumbs on each side of the crack of Sherlock's bum, pulling it open and once more showing him the small hole hidden beneath. John dives in, mouth fastening itself around the tiny opening which he licks at with small, soft flicks of his tongue which send Sherlock into a moaning, desperate frenzy of wantonness. The detective begs, brainless and aware only of his urges as his volume increases with each wet sweep of John's tongue around and around the wrinkled skin of his anus.

Soft 'oh's' are escaping Sherlock's lips now as his legs tremble. His clenching toes are forcing John's cock to rub against the creased sole of his foot and it sends John's head spinning as he pushes his tongue inside, sweeping it around the verge of Sherlock's hole.

“Up...” Sherlock pants, startling John as he begins to move, “I need to – I need to get up.”

John panics, thinking that he has pushed Sherlock too far but Sherlock seems to only want to get up on his knees, legs wide and head low onto the sofa which opens his cheeks enough that John no longer needs to hold him open. Diving in, John continues to lick and caress that tiny opening and the sensitive skin around it. Sherlock tastes divine and its a heady flavour that has John moaning, sending a buzz of vibrations through Sherlock's entire body.

“Please...” Sherlock is repeating, pushing his back end closer to John in a desperate plea for more sensation.

John doesn't hesitate and continues to kiss Sherlock's hole whilst his hands – now free – reach under Sherlock and caress his hard, leaking cock. John cups Sherlock's bollocks with his other hand, feeling them tight and heavy in his palm as his thumb snakes up to stroke and stimulate his prostate from the outside.

Sherlock groans so loudly that it seems to echo around the flat. John hears Mrs Hudson turn up her television volume from downstairs, either annoyed that she's missing Bargain Hunt or to give them a little more privacy. John barely gives it another thought as he feasts on Sherlock's bum, thrusting his tongue into the now loose and relaxed hole, pushing in as far as he can before pulling it out and repeating it again and again, simulating what he wants to do with his cock if Sherlock ever gives him the opportunity.

“Please, John…. Please… Oh please!” Sherlock is rambling, hair a frizzy mess as his head moves from one side to the other, his hand in his hair gripping tightly whilst the other stretches out to grip the arm of the sofa for stability.

“Shhhh, I've got you,” John says, taking his lips away from Sherlock's anus just long enough to give a few soft kisses to each buttock, and then a harsher bite lower down on the cheek “You getting close?”

Sherlock whines, non-verbal as he nods his head rapidly and seemingly attempts to speak with his mouth pushed into the skin of his arm. John knows that Sherlock is biting it and he nips Sherlock's bum again just to hear the desperate “hah!” noise which rumbles from Sherlock's throat.

John can barely focus as he thrusts his tongue back into Sherlock's delectable arse, feasting on it and tongue fucking the tiny opening as his hand picks up the pace on Sherlock's prick. His fingers are soaked with precome, and he can feel the slickness dripping onto Sherlock's robe beneath them. He wants to taste it, wants to put it into his mouth and suck them off to clean them but he can't bring himself to pull his tongue away from where Sherlock needs it. Not when his lover is so close.

It only takes another three strokes and two circles of Sherlock's perineum before Sherlock is coming with a bark of pleasure, shaking as his cock twitches, throbs and then pulses to join the precome on the dressing gown. Sherlock trembles, his hole throbbing around John's tongue and his perineum contracting with each pulse of ejaculate which is forced from him at John's skilled ministrations.

John pulls his lips away from Sherlock's body and clambers to his own feet. He's awkwardly hunched over, feet barely balanced on the sofa at Sherlock's knees as he strokes his cock with hard, rough pulls until he too is over the edge with a loud groan, come splashing over Sherlock's twitching hole and up his back. The force of the second orgasm almost sends John toppling over onto Sherlock, but he manages to grip the back of the sofa to keep him steady as he coaxes the last drops onto Sherlock's buttocks.

Careful so as not to push Sherlock off the sofa, John shuffles towards the back of the sofa and lays on his side. The leather is cold on his sweat-slicked skin, but all is forgotten when Sherlock practically collapses onto his side, pushing his wet bottom against John's leaking prick and reaching for John's arm which Sherlock positions as a pillow. John smiles, kissing the back of Sherlock's neck as his other hand wraps around to draw patterns onto Sherlock's still quivering stomach, bringing Sherlock gently back down from his high.

The pair lay there for a few moments, panting and breathing. John can smell the sweat on Sherlock's body, and he's sure that he smells just as much. Perhaps they'll shower together before collapsing into bed for their usual ten-hour post-case-coma sleep.

“That was...” Sherlock begins after being silent for a whole minute, “Good. Very good. I liked it.”

John beams, nuzzling into the back of Sherlock's neck “Good, I'm glad you like it”

“I liked it a lot,” Sherlock continues, “It was – fascinating. The sensations were – ” he sounds like he's going to finish off the description, but trails off instead “We should do it again.”

“Absolutely,” John agrees, “Whenever you like”

“And in various places.” Sherlock smiles, mind a whirlwind of possibilities “Over the kitchen table?”

“If its clean,” John argues,

“And in bed,” Sherlock continues,

“Provided we put towels down. I'm not sleeping in the wet spot” John giggles, hand resting over Sherlock's navel.

“In the lab?” he persisted,

“As long as Molly isn't there” John laughs,

“At the Yard?”

“Surrounded by police officers? Think that's probably a bit risky” John giggles but kisses Sherlock's neck “Madman”

“Your madman” Sherlock clarifies, he knows how much John loves to hear that Sherlock considers himself to be John's.

“And only mine,” John purrs.

“Obviously,” Sherlock answers and then settles down to doze on the sofa with the love of his life.

 

5 minutes later

“Oh god. Your semen is making my anus itch! I need to shower!”