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“You were brilliant today,” John mumbles between kisses, pressing Sherlock against the wall.

“I’m always brilliant,” Sherlock counters as John mouths at his neck, but his voiced is filled with desire instead of the usual hauteur.

“Yes, but today especially,” John says, forcibly pulling himself away to be able to look at Sherlock’s face. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Sherlock eyes widen, and God, John wants to ravish him. He wants to rut against Sherlock’s thigh right here just so that he can see Sherlock lose control and come in his pants, he wants to bury his fingers in those rich curls as he thrusts inside that maddening, plush mouth, he wants to bend Sherlock over the kitchen table and fuck him until he screams John’s name, wants Sherlock to stretch and fill him and make him see stars with perfect, precise strokes, he wants all of that at once and more, but more than that, he wants to see Sherlock undone. He wants to give him more pleasure than Sherlock had imagined possible, show him just how much John wants him and loves him and adores him.

“What kind of reward?” Sherlock asks, voice a little hoarse. No doubt he can see John’s arousal written clear across his face.

John smiles at him.

“Why don’t you take a shower,” he whispers, running his thumb across Sherlock’s plump lower lip, “get yourself nice and clean, and then wait for me on the bed. I’ll show you exactly what I have in mind.”

Sherlock’s pupils blow wide as John speaks, and he must know what John has in mind already – he knows that John is perfectly happy to have sex when neither of them has washed for two days, that there is really only one act John would require Sherlock to be clean for.

Sherlock swallows and nods sharply. Then he disengages himself from John’s arms and disappears for the bathroom.

Sherlock has turned out to be unexpectedly responsive in bed, especially when it comes to any kind of anal stimulation. He loves being fucked, loves being fingered while John sucks his cock, loves all kinds of toys. But there’s one thing John suspects Sherlock loves even more.

They only tried rimming once, and briefly, in the early days of their relationship, and John couldn’t not notice that only a few licks turned Sherlock into a quivering mess. At that time, though, only the third time he got to have Sherlock in his bed, he was too desperate to get his mouth at other parts of Sherlock’s body, and later there were always other acts at the forefront of his interest. But today, he wants to take his time and spoil Sherlock.

He has to adjust his jeans a couple of times as he waits for Sherlock to be done in the bathroom – he’s hard just from the thought of burying his face between Sherlock’s buttocks, but he needs to keep himself in check. If everything goes according to plan, he won’t get to come for some time.

The shower stops, and in a moment he hears Sherlock pad towards his bedroom. John lets him wait a little – as long as he can keep himself from rushing to have a look at that stunning body. Sherlock likes it when John is the one in control in bed – not dominating, exactly, but undeniably in charge of the proceedings. So he keeps Sherlock waiting a little bit, and when he can’t bear it anymore he goes to the bedroom, taking a bottle of water and a thoroughly wet flannel with him – Sherlock can get a little clingy after sex, and John doesn’t like having to leave him even for a second.

Sherlock is lying on his side, pale body stretched, head resting propped up on one hand. His cock is at half-mast and there is a flush to his cheeks that John knows has little to do with the steam of the shower. He is breath-taking.

John closes the door and turns off the overhead light, leaving only the bedside lamp on. He likes to see Sherlock, but Sherlock prefers the lighting to be more intimate, and isn’t going to deny him this. He sets the bottle and flannel on the bedside table, never taking his eyes off Sherlock, making his desire obvious.

“You’re gorgeous, do you know?” John asks as he starts taking off his clothes.

“So you’ve said,” Sherlock says, affecting nonchalance, but John knows that compliments to his looks flatter him almost as much as compliments to his intelligence. And then: “You are, too.”

John fumbles a little with his belt as Sherlock’s heated gaze sweeps over him hungrily, unabashed in his appreciation of John’s body. Lust courses through John’s veins with renewed force.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” John asks when he finally kicks off his trousers and pants and stands naked in front of Sherlock.

“Anilingus,” Sherlock breathes, tripping over the word slightly.

John smiles, both at Sherlock’s word choice and at the obvious want written in his face.

“Yes,” he agrees, trying to fill the word with promise. “Sounds good?”

Sherlock nods, and John can almost see the shiver that runs down Sherlock’s spine.

“Good. Now on your front.”

Sherlock complies immediately, lying on his front, arms in a loose circle around his head.

John climbs on top of him, covering Sherlock’s body with his. The pleasure of finally having skin-on-skin contact is so intense that John can’t help but rut against Sherlock’s lower back for a moment to ease the ache in his balls.

“I want you to come from nothing but my tongue up your arse,” John whispers against Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock’s breath hitches. “Think you can do that?”

“I—I don’t…” Sherlock stutters, then whimpers as John sucks on his earlobe.

“It’s all right if you can’t,” John assures him, because the key to Sherlock’s pleasure is making sure he doesn’t feel pressured. “I can make you come in other ways. But I think you can. You’re halfway there already, aren’t you, just from the thought of it.”

Sherlock lifts his head at that, turning his face towards John, seeking his lips. John kisses him hungrily, plunging his tongue deep into Sherlock’s mouth, swallowing the little sounds Sherlock makes. Sherlock kisses back like a man possessed, his left arm twisted back at an awkward angle as buries his fingers in John’s hair, trying to bring his head impossibly closer. John could go on kissing him for years if he didn’t have a more exotic destination in store for his mouth.

He breaks off, pride sharpening his desire as he takes in Sherlock’s kiss-swollen lips and dazed look. Sherlock sets his head back on the pillow with a sigh. John starts off by mouthing at Sherlock’s pulse point, kissing and licking and sucking until Sherlock whimpers helplessly, and then he kisses down Sherlock’s spine, vertebra after vertebra, lavishing attention on every single one of them. By the time he reaches Sherlock’s coccyx Sherlock’s breathing has gone heavy and ragged, from nothing but the anticipation of where John’s mouth is headed.

“Spread your legs,” John instructs him, almost light-headed from the effect his ministrations are having on Sherlock. “Like that, that’s enough. Now lift.”

He reaches for a pillow and pushes it underneath Sherlock’s hips, forcing himself not to touch Sherlock’s cock as he does it. It must be rock hard and leaking by now, if the flush on Sherlock’s skin is any indication. Sure enough, as soon as the pillow is in place Sherlock thrusts against it, desperate for friction.

“No, keep still,” John says, laying a hand on Sherlock’s hips. “Can you do that for me?” Sherlock stills obediently, but John can tell what an effort it is, and he plans to make up for it. “Very good.”

He settles between Sherlock’s legs, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides before finally bringing them to stoke his luscious arse.


Encouraged by how wrecked Sherlock’s voice sounds, John lowers his head and nibbles at Sherlock’s inner thigh, licks at the soft skin in the crease where his leg joins his backside.

“John,” Sherlock repeats pleadingly, and John takes pity on him – and on himself. He spreads Sherlock’s cheeks with his hands, finally revealing his prize: Sherlock’s tight pink hole, clean and inviting.

“So pretty,” John whispers, pleased by the shiver that runs through Sherlock when John’s breath hits his heated skin. Inspired, John breathes a hot puff of breath directly against Sherlock’s entrance, and he’s rewarded by a desperate sound that tears itself from Sherlock’s throat.

Unable to wait any longer, John licks broadly from Sherlock’s perineum all the way up to his tailbone. Sherlock’s answering sigh is one of relief.

“This what you want?” John asks, as if there could be any doubt at all.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers, a hint of impatience colouring his voice.

John sets to work, repeating the long broad lick once before focusing on Sherlock’s anus. He laps at it gently at first, soft little licks designed to tease, to drive Sherlock wild – and they do. John can tell he’s fighting the urge to squirm, trying not to rut against the pillow under his hips or press against John’s mouth, but to keep still as John instructed him to. Pleased by his obedience, John rewards him by making his strokes firmer. He circles the rim and pushes against the muscle, licking and probing and sucking but not pushing in, not yet.

Sherlock lets out a displeased whine when John has to stop and take a break to rest his jaw and tongue, but John soothes him by kneading his buttocks and rubbing his perineum with his fingers. When John returns to the task at hand he goes straight to the point, pushing the tip of his tongue against the ring of muscle until it yields. He sets about opening Sherlock up, making his hole loose and wet and all but ready for John’s cock – not tonight, of course, tonight John wants to bring Sherlock to orgasm just like this, but the thought of preparing Sherlock with his tongue rather than his fingers on another occasion is very alluring.

He finds a rhythm soon, he alternates tongue-fucking with gentle sucking and licking – both inside and out – and brief breaks when he nuzzles Sherlock’s buttocks, fondles his arse and balls. Soon there is a hint of voice in Sherlock’s breathing, every exhale almost a moan, and then nothing but a moan, not loud but brimming with need all the same.

By the time John’s mouth returns to Sherlock’s hole after the third break, Sherlock’s moans are almost continuous, his mouth is hanging open in a desperate effort to get enough air into his lungs and there is a sheen of sweat covering his body. John knows it’s not going to take long now, and the knowledge makes him lap at Sherlock with more vigour than ever, thrusting his tongue inside him as hard and deep as it will go.

“John,” Sherlock breaks his string of moans and whimpers, his voice as unlike itself as John has ever heard it. “Jo-hnnng, don’t—ah!—don’t stop now, don’t… please, yes, there…” John wouldn’t stop if his muscles cramped now, not when Sherlock descends back into incoherent noises of pleasure and his body goes taut, ready to snap, and John gives the last few licks and thrusts everything he has, mashing his face between Sherlock’s buttocks, wordlessly trying to encourage him to let go – until Sherlock does.

His back arches as his body is hit with the tidal wave of orgasm, and a low, drawn-out guttural groan escapes his lips before he finally relaxes.

John scoots up next to him, kissing his damp brow and pushing him to his side so that he can press himself close to Sherlock’s chest.

“That was amazing,” he whispers as strokes Sherlock’s hair and peppers soothing kisses all over Sherlock’s face. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sherlock’s breathing quietens a little but not completely, and when he opens his eyes to look at John it’s not with the glazed, post-coital look he usually gets, but with undiminished want.

“Fuck me,” he demands hoarsely. “Please. I—I need you to fuck me.”

John frowns a little.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He wants to fuck Sherlock badly, but Sherlock’s bound to be oversensitive now and John couldn’t bear to cause him discomfort. Besides, he’s so turned on that just humping Sherlock’s hip is sure to cause a spectacular orgasm. “You don’t have to—“

Sherlock takes John’s hand and guides it to his cock, and John is surprised to find it still hard. Despite the evidence of Sherlock’s climax that’s coating it, his erection hasn’t waned.

“Please,” Sherlock begs again, looking almost wild with need, and John couldn’t resist the plea if someone offered to pay him for it.

“On your knees,” John growls. He has never been more aroused in his life, and he doubts it’s possible for human penises to get any harder than his is right now. Because Sherlock liked having John’s tongue inside of him so much that one orgasm wasn’t enough to quench his thirst for release.

Sherlock hauls himself up with visible effort, thighs quivering as he braces himself against the headboard. In another situation John would tell him to lie down, but this position offers the best angle to hit Sherlock’s prostate, and John knows he wouldn’t last long enough get Sherlock off – for the second time, God – otherwise.

He grabs a tube of lubricant from the bedside table and positions himself behind Sherlock, where he can see Sherlock’s hole still glistening with John’s saliva. He slicks himself up quickly and then presses inside without preamble.

“Yes!” Sherlock hisses and pushes back against John. John grunts as he is sheathed in tight heat, slightly different from what he’s used to – Sherlock is relaxed post-orgasm but still tighter than when John opens him up with his fingers, and the velvety warmth that envelops him is almost too much.

He bites his lip to prevent himself from coming as he pushes in as deep as he can before withdrawing almost completely, only to thrust back in immediately.

He finds Sherlock’s prostate on his third thrust, as evidenced by Sherlock’s loud groan. It surprises John a little – while Sherlock is often vocal in bed, he’s never been very loud. John certainly doesn’t mind the change, though – he loves hearing him.

“Touch yourself,” John tells him, and Sherlock does so without hesitation, one hand flying to pump at his cock with rapid strokes.

“Harder,” Sherlock gets out between moans and John is happy to comply, thrusting in deep with force, skin slapping against skin.

“God, like this, yes, John,” Sherlock babbles breathlessly, another thing that’s unusual but very welcome. “Harder, oh God, yesss! More, John, please, like that—ahhhh!”

John isn’t going to last very long, not with the noises Sherlock’s making, but he doesn’t have to. Sherlock lets out a series of escalating moans that can only mean one thing, and the knowledge that he’s about to give Sherlock his second orgasm in such a short time would be enough to push John over the edge even if he hadn’t been holding himself off for ages. The pleasure that has been pooling at the bottom of his stomach brims and spills, knocking the wind out of him with its intensity.

Sherlock comes with a hoarse shout, followed a long, loud moan as John’s body moves on autopilot and fucks him through his orgasm, drawing it out until, finally, he stills.

Sherlock collapses under him, and it takes all the strength John has left not to fall right on top of him. He slumps next to him instead, entirely wrung out and almost dizzy after the force of his climax. He puts his arms around Sherlock, who is shaking, and when John’s mind finally clears enough from the post-orgasmic haze he notices there are tears clinging to Sherlock’s eyelashes.

John’s heart almost stops at the sight, even though Sherlock’s enjoyment had been more than obvious.

“Hey,” he whispers, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “All right?”

Sherlock nods, sluggishly pushing himself closer to John.

“Intense, was it?” John asks, brushing sweat-damp curls from Sherlock’s face. It must have been, coming so hard twice in, what, fifteen minutes?

Sherlock nods again. “Hold me,” he says softly. And so John does – he holds Sherlock’s close, stroking his back and murmuring endearments and praise to his ear until Sherlock’s shivers subside. Only then does John reach for the flannel and cleans them both up as much as his current lack of energy allows. The water bottle seems almost too heavy for Sherlock to hold when John hands it to him, but he drinks deeply – his throat must be parched.

Sherlock collapses back on the pillow as soon as he has drunk his fill, looking half asleep already. John settles next to him, cuddling close the way they like it.

“You were rather brilliant today, too,” Sherlock murmurs sleepily, his breath tickling John’s skin.

Somewhere, John finds the energy for a self-satisfied grin.