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Pliant

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“What the fuck were you reading while you were away?”

“‘Laving’ the ‘hardened bud’ now,’ “ and Sherlock’s tongue pushed and probed and flicked. John rolled his eyes.

“Nice enough, I suppose—wha-ah! TEETH!”

“You liked that.”

“Might’ve been the shock value… or not—“ John writhed. “What was that particularly deranged expression?” he asked when he could speak.

“My ‘wicked grin.’”

“Please don’t, your right mind’s frightening enough.” He moved his hands down below Sherlock’s waist, savouring the topography.

“My ‘plush arse’.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. But very squeezable, I like it when you’re relaxed like this.”

“ ‘Pliant’. Though I think ‘pliant’ has to be the one underneath. Might be forced analogy with with ‘com-pliant.’ Oh, God, move like that again—LITHE! '“

“I thought ‘lithe’ was for trees, but I’ll take it. More exciting than ’sturdy’. ” John did things with his hands. Sherlock wriggled, apparently undecided whether to push back or away.

“‘Nimble fingers,”’ he gasped.

“ ‘Surely ‘nimble’ went out around the same time as ‘candlestick’? What about this?”

“ ‘Entrance’—“

“More often an exit, I’d’ve thought—“

“ ‘Tight hole’, oh, gently, OH—“

“Bit porny--”

“John, with all respect and affection, what we’re doing IS—“

“Only if you’re doing it right…am I?”

“ ‘Sweet—torture—‘“

“You want me to walk out of this room, don’t you?”

“No. Really. I promise, I’ll behave.”