John stood at the foot of the bed, the very definition of sex. His clothes had already been discarded and he exposed himself to Sherlock's gaze with total confidence. Holding one hand behind his back he stared straight at his lover, pure carnal lust darkening his eyes. John's cock jutted out in front of him such a deep red that it was almost purple, and the head shiny with precum. His balls were already tingling with the anticipation of what was to come, all the things he could do. His right hand slowly clenched around the riding crop, the one thing Sherlock couldn't see. He was currently tied to the bed, panting harshly even though he had yet to be touched. John slowly and deliberately extended his right arm, flexing the muscles as he let Sherlock see the crop. Sherlock's prick twitched with excitement, even as his eyes widened and his breathing became shallow and rapid. John leaned over the bed, tracing the tip of the crop over Sherlock's stomach, his hip, his thigh, ghosting over his calves and tickling the soles of his feet before pulling off. He then walked to the side of the bed, pulled the blue scarf from its hiding place in the drawer, and held it to Sherlock's mouth as he uttered a single syllable: "Bite."
