Cuddles, the beginning of it all, in front of the telly when a leg is flung over the others
Raising interest, a quirked brow met with a quirked smile, a rub here, a hand sliding under
Alarming nerve endings, the scattered, nigh luminescent hair below Sherlock's belly button
Zeal of John with which he slides down onto his knees and opens the buttons of Sherlock's jeans,
Intrigued, always, blissful, each time he positions himself between Sherlock's legs who forgets,
In all its entirety, the surrounding world, lured, summoned to feel only John's hot mouth, his tongue
Called to feel the love coursing through John's veins, the manifestation of the dizzying feeling right
At the tip of that maddening tongue, swirling, licking, curling around Sherlock's cock until it's all too
Compelling, unbearably luscious, entirely too promising, and by god, too Imuch/I when Sherlock
Teeters on the brink of another world, his eyes find John's hand on his own cock, stroking languidly
Utterly lost in the world which belongs only to Ithem/I, their bond, their intertwined lives
Zinging endorphins…No.. Itching to touch, greedy for John, the taste of Ithem/I, and Sherlock Iwants/I.