psl.

[docwithablog]

the first | action
the second | random scenario
the third | action
the fourth | texting
the fifth | action
the sixth | action
the seventh | shipping picture prompt
the eighth | action
the ninth | texting
the tenth | texting
the eleventh | action
the twelfth | texting
the thirteenth | action
the fourteenth | texting
the fifteenth | action
the sixteenth | action
the seventeenth | action (unfinished)

Comments

[acuriousincident]

[ The dip of the mattress - the rustling of clothes, the scent of John increasing slightly along with the smell of sex, semen and sweat - Sherlock registers John's approach on all parameters save the visual. How he crawls up next to him, his movements slow and heavy, speaking of post-orgasmic bliss. He doesn't glance sideways, his gaze still distant, though the realisation brings his mind closer to the surface. John, drawing nearer. John, who's just spent himself inside his mouth. They've... oh. He blinks. Hard.

Then, John tells him, in his typically romantic-but-blunt fashion, that he'd like them to... do this again, possibly with some sort of regularity and Sherlock suddenly remembers Azerbaijan once again, the promises made to empty air in a clear-cut reflection of John, speaking over his gravestone, asking him for just one, more miracle. I'll give it to you, he'd thought and in his Mind Palace, John had told him to prove it.

He pinches his left thigh. Hard. The memory dissipates, and he glances sideways at John, focusing with an effort. ]

You'd like to?

[ He manages to squash a pitiful little really? and licks his lips. The taste of the other man bursts though his system again, another dose, another high. ]

I mean - [ Ugh. Shut up. ] - I wouldn't mind.

[docwithablog]

[ This time his eyebrow does arch somewhat. The man -- wouldn't mind? Really? Shit, Sherlock, that's pitiful.

Nevertheless, John finds himself smiling, shaking his head and easing down onto his back again, hands folded behind his head. Okay, then, apparently they're the kind of people who do this now, they're the kind of people who have sex and mind you, in some constellations you'd call that a relationship, if nothing else then friends with benefits, yes? However, here -- between them, getting anal about the terminology is probably only as beneficial as their bodies make it out to be, because they still both vividly remember how things played out with Moriarty, he's sure (I'll burn the heart out of you). Getting involved with your hyper-intelligent, crime-solving detective -- friend (and that's really in lack of a better word for the time being, they'll come up with something -- else) probably isn't all that advisable, but when did John Watson ever care about anybody else's advice? Is he supposed to start now of all times, after a very good, very satisfactory blowjob? No, he doesn't think so either. ]

Good, because I'm blowing you next time.

[ His eyes have already fallen shut and he inhales deeply, shifting into a more comfortable position, fully planning on just -- yes, going to sleep would be good, would be very good. Fuck, he's so spent. Having spoken the words, however, he does have to give a thought of admiration to Sherlock's utter skill. You'll just have to hope that he can do something similar, having never been anywhere near a dick with his mouth before which is honestly a pity, thinking about it. If nothing else -- and of this, John's completely sure, Sherlock will be very good at letting him know what to do, what works and what doesn't and Jesus, does he look forward to that part of the process.

No, truly. That part and any other part of it, too. ]