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The wedding reception is finally over and John is ready for their wedding night. John has already had Sherlock in every conceivable way: he has fucked him from behind against the kitchen counter; he’s fucked him face-to-face and marveled at his beautiful features transfixed by the pleasure he was giving to him; they’ve had sex in their bed, on the sofa, in their chairs, and on the carpet in front of the fire; they’ve had sex in alleys after long and useless stake outs; they’ve had frantic post-case sex; they’ve even had sex one unforgettable night in an empty office of the NSY because they couldn’t wait to get home.
But tonight is special. They declared their undying love to the world (well, ‘the world’ being reduced to a handful of friends and family who already knew about them), and they are wearing matching golden bands. They are standing in front of the door of their hotel room holding hands. They decided the tradition of the groom carrying the bride wasn’t their thing; Sherlock is too tall, and John refuses to be carried, and so they enter to the room together.
John takes his time to admiring his husband (finally his forever!). Sherlock is always heartbreakingly beautiful, but tonight he is glowing; his love for John pours out of him like starlight. John feels a lump of emotion in his throat, but before the emotion can overwhelm him, he cups Sherlock’s face with both of his hands and kisses him. Sherlock’s arms around his waist tightens and he welcomes John’s exploring tongue into his mouth as John’s hands travel to his neck and curls. They kiss for a long time, exploring each other’s mouths like it’s the first time. There is no hurry; they have all the time in the world. Sherlock breaks the kiss and whispers,“Please, John, my beloved husband, take me to bed.” John realises that his heart stop everytime he hears that simple word in Sherlock’s voice. Husband. The implications of forever and growing old together lights a fire inside of him so he does the best he can do to show his emotion. John kisses him fiercely one more time, overwhelmed, until they are out of breath, and then, lips beside Sherlock’s ear, he growls, “Oh god yes, my husband.”
John takes his time undressing Sherlock; he always loves this part. He can feel the anticipation and arousal growing in Sherlock. For every button he undoes on Sherlock’s jacket, John gives him a little kiss on his neck, and when he reaches to the final button, he licks a long strip along his neck with his tongue while he pulls him free of the garment. Sherlock moans and reaches for John’s shoulder already trembling with anticipation. Then he works on his shirt, and after every button he opens, he kisses Sherlock’s smooth skin until his nipples are exposed. Sherlock is breathing hard and John can feel his hot breath in his own skin. His own cock is hard and the need for a touch is unbearable, but he wants to take his time with this. John licks and nips at his nipples until they are hard and Sherlock’s knees wobble. John catches him by the waist. “Let’s move this to the bed, shall we?”
Sherlock nods, and he is already out of words thanks to John administrations, his cheeks are flushed red. John leads them to bed while he kisses and sucks Sherlock's delicious collarbone until they are both lying down, and he eagerly removes Sherlock’s trousers and pants. He wants to go slow but the desire to see Sherlock naked is too strong to ignore. The sight of Sherlock’s pale and smooth skin is a feast for his eyes, one he cannot resist for long. So he decides all clothes must go immediately. Sherlock looks completely debauched and they haven’t even started yet. His cock is hard and flat against his belly, and he looks like a sex god and he knows it. John hurriedly takes off all of his clothes and throws them haphazardly on the floor. He doesn't care if his suit is ruined; much more interesting matters are waiting for him in the bed.
Finally, they are both naked and enjoying their treasured closeness. John always loves the feeling of Sherlock’s skin against his; it makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. He, John Watson, is the only one allowed to see, touch and enjoy Sherlock’s body, soul and heart. They kiss for a long time, and John can’t help but bite Sherlock’s lips; they were made for him to suck and lick.
They reach to a point where John can’t keep ignoring their hard cocks. He shifts so that he can rock his hips against Sherlock’s body. The friction is lovely and they set a slow rhythm, pleasurable but not enough to make them come, just enough to tease. Sherlock’s strong hands roams all over his back and arms, gripping and touching and the sensation sends shocks of pleasure direct to John’s hard cock. Sherlock moans in John’s mouth and the sensation makes him shiver with lust just as Sherlock hooks a leg over his waist. The friction increases as Sherlock thrusts against him more urgently, rocking his hips to seek more pleasure. John knows that if they keep this rhythm soon all will be over.Though they’d been caught up in each other, he’s not ready to end this yet, so he forces himself to slow down. John removes himself from Sherlock’ grasp, though, and holds Sherlock’s hips steady with his hands, then places little kisses all over his chest. Sherlock whimpers at the lost of friction but John soothes him, though he is shaking for the arousal running through his body. “I know, love, shhh” more kisses near his groin. “You know I’m going to make him feel so good” he licks his navel. When he reaches his cock he mouths all along the girth and then he swallows and sucks with slow movement s, relishing the sounds Sherlock makes. Sherlock’s little moans and half words in various languages are driving him insane.
His left hand goes to Sherlock’s butthole and he begins to work him open. He teases him with one finger, massaging the entrance. He knows exactly what Sherlock needs and what makes him beg for more.
John never ceases to be amazed at the sounds that Sherlock makes; they make him proud and immensely aroused. He keeps sucking at Sherlock’s cock and fingering at the same time. Sherlock is writhing and moaning helplessly, surrendering completely to John’s hands and mouth. John uses two and then with three fingers, he knows that given the proper time, he could make Sherlock come just with his fingers and his mouth. But Sherlock begs him, “Please John, fuck me,” and John obeys his command with pleasure.
He releases Sherlock’s cock with an obscene pop and positions himself between his legs. A wide smile spread over Sherlock’s face, because he knows what is about to happen. John looks at him and his heart does something funny in his chest, is like a broken piece that finally found their place. John is breathing hard overwhelmed by his emotions and the arousal. He holds him by the hips and reaches for the lube, then pours a good amount on Sherlock’s hole and all over his own prick. Sherlock is nicely wet and open already but John wants this night to be perfect.
He enters him slowly, which required an incredible amount of self control, but he manages. Sherlock is no longer speaking coherently; he is reduced to a babbling mess, mouth hanging open, his head a mess of untamed curls fanning out on the pillow in passion. Sherlock is gripping John’s arms hard in a silent plea for more, more, more. John slowly, but without stopping, enters him until he is fully in. Only then he begins to thrust, tiny, short movements of his hips, pleasurable but not nearly enough to tip them over the edge. Sherlock looks at him through his lashes and begs one more time, breathless “Please, husband, fuck me harder,” and so John leans in and kisses him, sucking at his tongue and lips with utter adoration.
“Yes, husband, I will,” he says, and he does. He starts to thrust into Sherlock faster and harder, relishing in the sensation of Sherlock around him, all hot, and wet, and so, so tight. He leans in again to kiss Sherlock and tug at his curls. The kiss is all tongue and teeth but neither of them really care. John changes the angle to hit Sherlock’s prostate and both of them see stars. He keeps moving and hitting that spot while he speaks to Sherlock, “Come on, love, my beautiful husband, come for me.” Sherlock is panting and he is looking at him, his face a mix of love, lust and wild pleasure.
John thrusts into Sherlock one, two, three times and Sherlock is coming hard, with his name on his lips. John can feel Sherlock’s body clenching and squeezing around his cock. With two more thrusts, all the pleasure building in his belly unleashes in an orgasm that leaves him knocked out for a couple of seconds; he seems to forget how to breathe. When he returns to his body he is curled over Sherlock in a sloppy embrace. He tilts his head and Sherlock is looking at him with bright, shiny eyes.
John brushes one little tear of his cheekbone and murmurs, “Hey, husband.”
Sherlock giggles and just like that, they are laughing like they did in their first night together. Sherlock hugs him closer and says, “I can’t wait to do this over and over for the rest of our lives.”
John kisses him and quietly whispers, “That’s my promise, my wonderful husband.”