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He blew Sherlock, and Sherlock said "More."

He fucked Sherlock, and Sherlock said "More."

"There isn't more," John said. "We're both knackered."

Sherlock swam against the sheets, too tired to move. John rested his cheek on Sherlock's lower back and stroked his arse. "You're a doctor," Sherlock said. "Think of something."

"God, I didn't know the doors I was opening," John muttered. He drew his fingers down the slight curve of Sherlock's arse and rubbed his thumb against his perineum and Sherlock gasped ah into the sheets and said "More!"

"More, more, more, more, here's more for you," John said, and he sucked Sherlock's bollocks into his mouth, getting another little ah into the sheets. He rubbed Sherlock's lube-slick arsehole with his thumb.

"More," Sherlock mumbled. He spread his legs wider.

John hummed "more" into Sherlock's backside. He opened his mouth and tongue-kissed the hole. He thought strong, pushed his tongue in, pressed his thumbs over Sherlock's tender anatomy.

"John," Sherlock said. "That's..."

"Mm," John replied, and Sherlock just panted into the sheets. John licked him and tongue-fucked him and rubbed him open, opener, until Sherlock's legs were splayed like a frog's across the bed.

He nibbled Sherlock's arse. Sherlock still wasn't hard, not surprising, he came like a hurricane last round, but his cock was red and swollen under John's hand. Sherlock rubbed his face against the sheets, groaning.

He had to stop. His jaw hurt. Sherlock looked back at him. "More," he panted. There was a red flush in his cheeks. John crawled up the bed and ran his hand up Sherlock's side to his underarm to feel the sweat on his skin; leaned over, tasted it, the sweet salt on his back.

"Next would be fisting," John said into Sherlock's shoulder.

"Yes, more," Sherlock said.

"You're going to kill me."

"Why, is your heart weak?" Sherlock asked. He grinned and closed his eyes. John rubbed his face back down the slick curve of Sherlock's spine and considered.

The end.