As soon as the car had pulled away from the Holmes Estate Sherlock was pinning John to the upholstery and undoing his silvery tie with a wicked smile on his face. Once the offending necktie was gone, Sherlock swooped in and kissed John's throat, nibbling at the pulse point, licking over his new husband's Adam's apple until John let out a shaky moan, his head falling back in appreciation. "I love you," he breathed, his face awash with bliss, and Sherlock felt his heart expand and expand until he felt as if it were to burst. Consumed by his passion, he flew back down for another bruising kiss. As he and John let their tongues mingle together, loving and exploring, John's fingers found Sherlock's necktie and he removed it, working on the buttons of his shirt and jacket next.
It only took a few more moments before Sherlock's torso was uncovered and John was free to rub his hands over the smooth chest, the muscles, the tiny trail of hair down Sherlock's taut stomach. He let his fingers toy with the waistband of Sherlock's expensive trousers. The detective let out a gasp as John rubbed the skin there in slow circles, chuckling at his lover's reaction. Sherlock let out a whine of disappointment when John pulled away, and John laughed again, pulling him in for a quick, loving kiss. "Patience- we've got a bit of a car ride," John reminded him, and Sherlock rolled his eyes and pouted, knowing full well that John couldn't resist the sight of his full bottom lip.
"Why not spend that time doing something useful? Something stimulating?" Sherlock asked innocently, nibbling a bit on his lip to draw John's attention there. John narrowed his eyes at him, knowing exactly what he was doing. He decided to ignore Sherlock's display- for now. Soon, Sherlock's ministrations would be impossible to ignore; he might as well ignore them while he could.
"We could debate how much these suits cost," John suggested in a dry tone, lifting his tie off of the floor of the limousine. He knew that it probably cost more than his life was worth, and yet he had let Sherlock throw it carelessly to the floor.
"Roughly 100,000 pounds altogether, judging by the weave pattern, the quality of the wool-cashmere blend, and, of course, the quality of the silk ties," Sherlock rattled off carelessly, giving a huff at John's disregard for his wants. "Don't worry about them, John. Felicity may have taken care in picking them out, but she knew that we'd never wear them again." Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his seat with a huff, literally crossing his arms over his chest like a child. John raised an eyebrow at his actions, a small part of his brain lamenting over the price and a larger part of his brain thinking about what he could do with two silk ties that no one expected to see again. He especially wondered what he could do with those ties and Sherlock. The idea of it made him lick his lips reflexively.
"Who says we won't wear them again?" John asked before Sherlock could comment on his lip-licking. He let that innuendo hang in the air and Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly, feeling his excitement build inside him at the mystery John had presented him with. While he and John had most definitely had sex and they had most definitely experimented a bit to learn what each other liked, they were still so young a couple as to have not looked at or satisfied their deeper fantasies. John had seen Sherlock looking at his riding crop contemplatively after sex more than once, but for the most part, he hadn't pressed Sherlock on his deeper desires. Not yet.
"Did you have something in mind?" Sherlock asked, proud that he had been able to keep his voice perfectly level, at an almost uncaring tone. However, John knew the detective better than he knew himself, and he had picked up on that uncaring tone in Sherlock's voice. He could see how excited Sherlock had been by the idea, and his faked nonchalance was just another clue to John that he was hitting a nail of Sherlock's right on the head.
"A few ideas, actually, but since we are in a limo…" John let himself trail off thoughtfully, even though he already knew exactly what he was going to do to Sherlock. He grinned internally when Sherlock sent him a look that clearly expressed what the detective thought about holding back simply because they were in a moving vehicle. "Got one," John announced, bending down to pick up Sherlock's long abandoned shirt and tie. "Do you trust me?" He asked Sherlock, and for once, the detective held back a scathing remark. Instead, he met John's gaze without blinking, letting the weight of his conviction rest in his expression. Their stare increased in tension as the two of them refused to look away, with the exception of looking at each other's bodies briefly before resuming eye contact. "Right, turn around." John asked finally, and Sherlock sent him a lust-filled gaze over his shoulder and through his lashes before complying.
Wincing internally at what he was about to do, John took Sherlock's discarded shirt and twisted the entire garment into a long rope with the sleeves at both ends. Once the expensive fabric was wound tight enough, John used it to bind Sherlock's hands behind him, placing butterfly kisses across his shoulders and back as he did so. Sherlock wriggled a bit once he was tied, but made no comment against what John had done. John gently turned him back around and looked at Sherlock a moment, admired how his strong arms looked pulled behind him. The idea of what he was doing, what he was going to do, made his cock twitch inside his fancy trousers. He took his tie and tied a knot in the middle of the smooth, silky fabric. They way Sherlock's eyes sparkled with excitement as John raised the improvised gag for his inspection nearly made John pull him over and kiss him hard. Taking Sherlock's obvious excitement as acquiescence, John kissed Sherlock anyway and then gently slid the knot inbetween Sherlock's lips and tied it behind his head. "You're going to be begging for it by the time we get there," John made sure to whisper in Sherlock's ear as he secured the gag, and Sherlock shuddered, letting out a muffled moan when John licked the shell of his ear.
Now that Sherlock was bound and gagged, there was only one tie left in John's hands. He used that to blindfold Sherlock, pressing a kiss to his temple as he did so. As the grey fabric covered Sherlock's eyes and obscured his vision, he felt a pang of arousal flash through his body. He had no idea what John was going to do, no idea where he'd gotten the idea in the first place, and had no idea how long John would keep him this way. Despite that, he didn't care- in fact, he liked it, and if the brief glimpse of the bulge in John's trousers Sherlock had seen before he was blindfolded was any indication, John liked it too. Sherlock dreamed briefly of doing the same thing to his lover when ghosting hands traveled down his chest, his spine. The feather light touches made gooseflesh rise on his skin, made him squirm a bit. Usually he would rely on his hearing to help him when his other senses were diminished, but all he could focus on was the pulse in his ears and the sensation of John's fingers.
John suddenly pushed him against the leather seat with a firm shove, surprising him. A soft grunt made it through his gag, which quickly turned into a moan of pleasure when John's tongue found his nipples. The doctor teased and teased, nipping and sucking and twisting until Sherlock was groaning like a whore, writhing a bit on the seat. He arched in his seat as John's cruel fingers skimmed down his ribs, reaching his belt. John lavished his long neck with kisses and then hickeys as he undid Sherlock's belt and slid it out of the loops. Nimble fingers undid the detective's button and fly, and inched first trousers and then pants off of the detective, stopping briefly to get off his shoes and socks. Before Sherlock could reflect on the fact that he was completely naked in the back of a limo, John pulled him over his lap and he groaned at the sensation of his cock pressing into John's thigh, the doctor's own erection poking at his side.
The pop of a bottle of lube opening brought him out of his haze of lust briefly, and he perked up a bit, listening in earnest for other noise to help him figure out what John was going to do. In turn, he let out of a shocked moan of pleasure when John's hand suddenly came down over his exposed arse, slapping it. The warm glow of heat and pleasure that spread through his arse at the sensation made him wiggle, grinding his erection into John's thigh and gasping at the sensation. Another slap came down, harder, and a hand tugged at the curls on the back of his neck, keeping him from humping against John's thigh. The groan that came out of Sherlock was deep and primal that time as his arms jerked in their makeshift restraints. He wanted to grind on John, to stroke himself and the doctor. "Patience, Sherlock," John said, his voice husky with arousal, and another slap came down, this time on the other cheek, the other hand still holding his hair firmly. Sherlock wriggled and moaned, throwing his head back into John's touch, a silent beg for more, more attention, more slaps, more friction, more anything.
His wish was granted when a finger slippery with lube pushed at his entrance, rubbed the tight ring of muscle, massaged the sensitive skin between his anus and testicles, and then finally the bollocks themselves. Sherlock moaned and groaned and shook at John's ministrations, arms once again pulling at his restraints. The feeling of having his hands confined, of the delicious pull of his trapped muscles, made his already engorged cock only swell. The fingers returned to his anus and pushed in, stretching him, adding a finger when he pushed back upon them, moaning out John's name from around his gag. The fingers scissored and stretched until they could reach inside and massage over the bundle of nerves that was Sherlock's prostate.
The detective nearly arched off of John's lap as John continuously worked the bundle with a doctor's precision, stroking and rubbing in circles of alternating speeds until Sherlock was a panting, groaning mess. His cock was hard against John's thigh, and was leaking precome onto John's expensive trousers. It wasn't long before the detective was shuddering with his oncoming orgasm. He could feel the heat coming, feel the sensation of the most intense pleasure slowly approaching down his nerves and to his groin. John's heavy erection was still poking into his side, and his own trapped cock every once and awhile brushed against John's trousers, creating delicious friction.
In the end, it was John bringing a palm down to slap his arse again that pushed him over the edge and into orgasm. With a low, long and shuddering moan, Sherlock came, spilling his seed down John's trouser leg and onto the floor of the limo. He was so deep in the sensation of his orgasm that he didn't realize that John had removed his fingers and was undoing the shirt tied around his wrists until his one arm flopped off of his back and hit the ground. John untied the gag first, and then the blindfold, helping his now shaky love off of his lap and onto the seat next to him. John's wolfish grin made Sherlock's heart swell with love, and he leaned over and kissed his blogger sweetly, making it a deep, passionate kiss. When John started chuckling, Sherlock pulled away, surprised at John's reaction. "What's so funny?" He asked, his voice low through his post-orgasm haze, and John laughed again, affectionately rubbing Sherlock's curls.
"We're here, Sherlock. We've been here for ten minutes. You lasted a long time," he broke into swooping bouts of laughter as Sherlock blinked at him, just realizing that the smooth limo was no longer moving and that there was silence all around them. "Was that a stimulating enough of a pastime for you?" John asked, and Sherlock practically purred low in his throat, lunging forward to steal a kiss.
"Thank you," He told John as they pulled apart. John responded by handing Sherlock his pants and trousers. Ignoring the semen stain on his trousers, John opened the door and climbed out of the limo, holding the door for Sherlock. It was very late, but he could see the outline of the beautiful cottage in front of them, could hear the sea crashing against the coast a dozen meters or so away. The driver of their limo had long since driven off, leaving the two of them there to their own privacy and desires. The air was clean, so different from that of polluted London. Sherlock ambled out behind him, closed the door, and took John's hand. He pulled him behind him, almost impatiently, until they got to the door of the cottage. Sherlock pulled him inside, through the dark corridors of their new lodgings, and to the bedroom.
It was clearly the largest room of the house, sporting a huge bed in the center, a four-poster. Even in the dark, Sherlock navigated over and pushed John down onto the bed, hungrily nipping at his throat and fumbling with his shirt buttons. "Sherlock, what-?" John managed inbetween kisses as the detective slapped his hands away from helping with the removal of his shirt.
"It's your turn, John," Sherlock told him in a low, almost predatory voice, and John felt a shiver race up his spine.