A/N: I would like to admit that I did try to do research for this fic by figuring out where all of Benedict's freckles are so that it could be as accurate as possible, but with Photoshop and makeup and poor quality of photos, I had to end up making most of them up. I hope any inaccuracies don't throw you off ;)
Sherlock is slowly pulled out of his Mind Palace by the feeling of something repeatedly rubbing one point on his right hand.
He sighs heavily, "Yes, John?" He asks before he even turns his head towards the other man.
John looks up at him suddenly, looking as though Sherlock brought him out of a trance with the words. His hand stills, continuing to hold the other man's.
"Sorry?"
Sherlock shakes his head and fights an affectionate smile, but his eyes glow with it, "You were rubbing your fingers over the freckle you prefer on my hand."
John looks down and notices that his own thumb is covering the mark, "Oh! Right," he says, then looks back at Sherlock, "it's fading."
Sherlock looks confused yet intrigued, lifting his hand closer to his face. John is right, of course, because the older man knows every freckle on his body better than Sherlock does himself. John would never refer to it as a fetish, but he's definitely got a thing for finding and kissing every single one on his partner's body.
"Hmm," Sherlock hums, eyes taking on a mischievous glint, "Looks like you'll have to pick a new favorite, then."
John flushes in embarrassment, "I don't have a favorite freckle."
"Yes you do," Sherlock smiles, "you preferred this one," he says, using his left forefinger to point to the nearly faded mark on the knuckle at the base of his right middle finger, "because you liked to watch it move with the bones and tendons."
Sherlock is right, because of course he is.
"This one is new, you know," Sherlock points out casually, using his right forefinger this time to point out a dark freckle on the back of his left hand, almost perfectly centered between forefinger and thumb.
John is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. How a freckle can look enticing and elegant, he's never really been certain. But that new freckle just seems to increase the sensuality of the hand it adorns. Sometimes, when John realizes how attractive he finds the small marks all over his lover's body, he wonders if there's something wrong with him.
He lifts Sherlock's left hand, covering the rest of the distance with a bend of his waist, and places a light kiss to the new mark. A shiver moves through Sherlock at the feel. He has no interest in any of the marks on his transport, but he loves that John does.
John moves his attention to Sherlock's left middle finger, between the first and second knuckles, and places a kiss on the freckle there. He notes with a touch of sadness that it, too, is fading. He trades the left hand for the right, kissing the freckle on the knuckle that will keep getting lighter until there's no trace of it left. He kisses the even lighter one on the ring finger, followed by the slightly darker one near his wrist.
Sherlock barely has any freckles on his right arm at all, but he places a kiss to the one midway up the radial bone, then gently turns the arm so his palm is facing the ceiling to kiss the sole freckle just below the crease of his elbow. So close to where needle tracks used to be much more visible. Those are marks that John is not at all sorry to see go. He places a reverent, thankful kiss to the healing area, as well.
Sherlock smiles sadly at the gesture, knowing John's train of thought without him even needing to speak. He has not used drugs since the middle of the Magnussen case. As soon as John came back in to his life - including moving back in to 221B after things fell through with Mary - he had no need for them. Love and admiration are the new drugs, and John is his only dealer. He rolls his eyes at his own teenage poetic sentimentality, but John doesn't notice as he moves back to his left arm.
There are more freckles on the left than the right. John starts with a kiss to the largest, on the top side of his wrist where his watch typically falls, visible now in the comfort of their home. Next is a smaller one diagonally down and to the right, closer to the thumb. One nearly midway up the forearm on the ulna side, almost invisible for its lightness and nearness to the outside of the bone. In quick succession, he kisses three that make up a small obtuse triangle before moving on to a lone one near the crease of his elbow. He places a loving, ceremonial kiss to the inside of this elbow, just as the other, and thanks a God he's not entirely certain he believes in for Sherlock's strength to overcome his past addiction.
John can travel no further up due to Sherlock's sleeves. He's wearing one of his white button-downs with the sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows.
Without a word, John moves confidently to straddle Sherlock's lap, smiling as they lock eyes before kissing heatedly. John's hands move in to those outrageous curls as Sherlock's travel down John's sides to grasp at his hips.
John withdraws from his lips slowly before moving his attention higher. He moves his left hand to Sherlock's fringe, pushing it aside so that he can kiss the freckle between his hairline and right eye. Next is the more prominent one above his left eyebrow. John moves to Sherlock's right ear where there's a freckle near the top of his earlobe. Sherlock had no idea this one even existed before the first time John worshipped each mark. They don't do this often, but Sherlock can admit - if only to himself - that he truly enjoys it. He loves the feeling of John relishing in locating and kissing each and every freckle, in the intimacy of his exploration. Before John, Sherlock never truly felt desirable.
John kisses the freckle on the ear before pulling the entire lobe in to his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth. Sherlock moans and tilts his head slightly to the left, allowing John more access and subconsciously directing him down towards his neck.
John obliges, pausing briefly to place a kiss to a small freckle on the underside of his jaw first, before continuing to one of the most prominent of the freckles. John feels as though the one slightly to the right of his adam's apple should have always been his favorite due to its ability to draw his gaze to the tantalizing expanse of sensitive flesh there. But it doesn't land at the proper location; so instead of being a marker of Sherlock's most sensitive spot, it instead acts as a decoy.
John kisses it, but then moves down - mouth open and breathing hot as his lips drag across the skin - to the spot along the tendon, just above the collar bone, that seems to have a direct connection to Sherlock's cock when teased.
Sherlock moans loudly, managing out an, "Oh, John" as his right hand comes up to grasp the back of John's head to hold him closer. His hips jerk reflexively upwards while his left hand presses John's hips down, causing the older man to moan in to his neck as their cocks rub together through the fabric of their trousers. It's not a spot with a freckle, but John doesn't stray from it until he's driven Sherlock mad with desire and has left a mark of his own on the milky expanse.
John noses his way to the other side of Sherlock's neck, as though he can't bring himself to break contact with him for even a moment. Sherlock naturally rolls his head to the right to accommodate the move, eyes closed and mouth open in silent pleasure.
The cluster of three freckles towards his collar bone are closer to the correct spot, so he kisses them before lavishing the same attention to them as the other side. John isn't exactly certain why the left side of his neck is more sensitive than the right, he just knows it to be true. Thus, he moves on a bit quicker to place a loving kiss to the previously neglected freckle that is actually on the collar bone.
John removes himself from the overly warm skin with a flushed face, moving to kiss Sherlock's mouth passionately as his hands begin to work on the buttons of the other man's shirt. As if in answer, Sherlock's hands finally dare to sneak under John's jumper to caress the bare skin beneath. John pulls back and lifts his arms, as if surrendering. Maybe, in a way, he is.
Once his torso is bared, Sherlock runs his hands reverently over the skin before John swoops in for another hungry kiss. It's a short one, John pulling back quickly to resume his work of undoing Sherlock's buttons, forcing him to scoot back towards the taller man's knees slightly to allow room for his hands to work. Once undone, John slowly guides the expensive material towards Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock leans forward, kissing John as his own hands move behind his back to yank the material off of his arms, throwing it to the side, uncaring of where it lands.
Sherlock leans back against the couch comfortably, giving John a sultry look that dares him to continue on. John answers the look with his own one of mischief before placing his hands on either side of Sherlock's head to brace himself as he places his feet on the floor. He utilizes the standing position he's now in to open the button and fly of his trousers; not to remove the garment, merely to relieve the pressure on his burgeoning erection. Sherlock looks less cocky as he bites his bottom lip, eyes focused on John's actions hungrily.
John falls to his knees between Sherlock's spread legs, running his hands from knees up to the button and fly of the other man's trousers now. John grabs the fabric of both trousers and pants, pulling gently at first to try to avoid causing any discomfort to the other man's cock, while Sherlock lifts his hips to aid their departure.
John tosses the garments aside before moving up again to support his hands on the seat cushion to either side of Sherlock's bare hips. He leans down and kisses the lone freckle along the defined line where shoulder meets torso before moving to the six freckles of varying size and pigment located on his chest and sternum, above his nipple line.
His heart still gives a guilty lurch whenever his eyes land on the bullet scar that remains their only reminder of Mary. His left hand moves from supporting him to lovingly running over the skin near it. He kisses it as though it still pains Sherlock; as though he could never apologize enough for its existence.
Sherlock sighs at his lover's sentimentality, running his right hand through John's hair reassuringly. 'We've been over this' the action says.
John raises his eyes, the apology only lasting a moment before they turn dark with want again. He lowers himself yet further, kissing the freckle to the far right of his belly button, just above the hollow of his hip. It's the closest one to Sherlock's cock, and by far the most alone-looking without any fellows within a foot of it.
He debates simply moving on, leaving Sherlock's cock untouched, but it is long and thin and beautiful and one teasing kiss couldn't hurt, could it? He breathes warmly over the shaft, noticing the roll of the lanky man's hips as he strives to gain any sort of contact there. He places a kiss to the frenulum reverently, but moves on much too quickly for Sherlock's liking.
Sherlock has fewer freckles the further down his body one gets, most of them being centered on his neck and shoulders, but John finds them efficiently. One kiss to each: the inner left thigh midway between groin and knee, two in a diagonal line at the very base of his right calf muscle, one on the outer arch of his left foot, and finally one in the middle of his fourth toe on the right foot.
John stands before offering his hands to Sherlock and aiding him up to his feet. Sherlock knows he's simply meant to turn around and kneel on the couch so that John can have access to the marks on his shoulders and back, but he can't help but to pull John flush against him and kiss him hungrily first. Sherlock presses his cock against the other man, but hisses slightly at the discomfort of coming in to contact with the other man's trousers. He removes them efficiently, but before Sherlock can do more than appreciate his nudity, John gives him a wicked smirk before turning him to face the couch and purposefully pressing him forward.
Sherlock positions himself as he knows John will like. They've never done this thorough exploration of the marks on his body outside of their bed before, but Sherlock of course knows how best to aid John in the endeavor in this new location. His hands are braced on the back on the sofa, his knees spread comfortably wide so that John can fit close to him via the space between his feet.
John moans quietly at the sight before him, his already incredibly hard cock pulsing at the trusting, submissive pose. It's always like this: it starts off with John having every intention of taking this slow, worshiping him for hours, but he can never seem to keep himself under control long enough. Oh, he'll complete his map of each mark on Sherlock's body, just a bit quicker on this plane of it. It helps that he doesn't have as many on his back as the front.
He places his hands at Sherlock's mid-back before running them down to grab his hips. He makes a conscious decision to ignore Sherlock's quiet "Yes" as he pushes back towards his straining cock, but his body still feels it. He leans down to Sherlock's left shoulder blade where three freckles lie in a line, as though tracing the muscle that lies underneath. The other shoulder blade with two lighter freckles spaced further apart with no sense of reason.
On his way to the most prominent of the rear ones – a large, dark freckle mid-back just to the left of his spine – he strays to kiss the scars. There are only five remaining: the proof of Sherlock's time away all those years ago. Proof of the precise lengths he was willing to go to protect John. John's heart swells with love and regret every time he sees them. How he ever missed that Sherlock cared this much for him is beyond his comprehension. That he ever thought this man to be an unfeeling machine. He kisses that last freckle next to his spine in apology, and then he moves down.
He kneels on the floor behind his lover and begins to lavish his hole with kisses and teasing licks without any warning. Sherlock moans loudly and pushes backward reflexively. After teasing, John moves to the left a little ways to reach the lube they have hidden between the sofa cushion and the furthest armrest.
"John, please," Sherlock begs as John gently prepares him, one finger slowly increasing to three.
As John removes his fingers and Sherlock senses him preparing to enter him, he stands swiftly. John looks confused and a bit worried for only a moment before Sherlock is kissing him and leading him to the floor.
Sherlock has always been shy about vocalizing his desires, but he has no issue showing the other man. He leads John to lie on his back with his mere predatory dominance, his desire-filled eyes locked with John's. He straddles his hips, feeling desirous; John may have just spent ample time worshiping his body, but now it was his turn to do the same. He holds John's cock steady as he slowly lowers himself on to it.
"Jesus, fuck," John swears as his hands grasp the bony hips and his head slams back against the floor.
Sherlock doesn't wait long before beginning to move. They have shared this dance countless times and he knows the steps by heart.
"John, John, John," Sherlock pants as his pace increases. Neither of them will last long, not after what John has put them through.
"Yes, love," John praises before demanding, "Fuck my cock."
Sherlock moans loudly, having always been appreciative of light dirty talk. Too much is…well…too much, but small statements like that encourage Sherlock that he's making John feel good, which is all he strives for.
As John moves his gaze from Sherlock's face to his bouncing cock, his eyes are drawn naturally to his own left hand. The freckle on Sherlock's right hip falls just above the knuckle of his thumb, as if approving of the hand being there: making their joining more beautiful.
He groans deeply from his chest as his right hand – he can't bear to move the left one now – grabs hold of Sherlock's cock, stroking him off as his hips begin to pound upwards. Sherlock's face freezes in shock at the sudden dual pleasure. He falls forward so that his hands are on either side of John's face, lost beyond words and merely able to pant and moan.
John moves his right hand back to the hip reflexively so that he can slam up harder in to the willing body, fucking him hard because he could not desire this man more if he fucking tried.
Sherlock comes seconds later, untouched, and John's orgasm is brought on quickly as his alpha side preens to have caused it to happen.
Sherlock falls on to John's chest, happily sated, and buries his face in his neck. He noses at a sensitive spot just below John's right ear before kissing his neck. John sighs and lifts his right hand to run it through Sherlock's mess of curls.
John turns his face and kisses Sherlock's forehead where he can reach it, "I love you so much."
Sherlock hums in lieu of a pompous 'I know' before lifting up just enough to kiss John on the lips, "And I you," he assures once the kiss ends. He rolls off to the side, not wanting to suffocate the smaller man under his weight.
After a few minutes, Sherlock appears to be happy to pass out – completely starkers – on the living room carpet where anyone could simply walk in and see him, and John moves up on to his right elbow to stare at him with his head supported by his hand.
He reaches out with his left hand, caressing the freckle near Sherlock's hip bone.
"This one," he says fondly, proclaiming his new favorite freckle.
Sherlock turns his head to look at John in confusion before lifting up just long enough to see where he's pointing. He falls back with a smile.
"Why that one?" He asks, his eyes falling shut in contentment.
"Because it compliments my hand on your body," he says simply, enjoying the way Sherlock's eyes shoot back open at the statement. When their gazes have locked once more he adds, "And I'm the only one to have ever seen it."
Sherlock smiles, turning on to his left side to pull John in for another kiss, "And the only one who ever will," he promises once they part.
"Damn right," John asserts with a straight face before he can no longer stop the smile from reappearing.
They may be more than the marks on their bodies, but John can't help but love every tiny detail about this crazy man that he is proud to call his.
A/N: I think freckles are sexy, and I really just couldn't help John thinking so, too, especially considering how many BBC Sherlock has.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it even a bit; I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!
Follow me on Tumblr at goddess-of-the-night04 for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)