Thanks to everyone taking the time to read my little honeymoon adventure for our favourite boys. I don't own anything. Shame.


Chapter 4 – Achmed and Bubba


After the mess John had made on Sherlock's purple shirt of sex, they nipped into a t-shirt and souvenir shop. Sherlock immediately found a striped hoodie which read "Gatlinburg" across the chest. It screamed "John" so he instantly had to have it. For himself, he found a shirt of Jeff Dunham's Achmed the Dead Terrorist with the caption of "Silence! I KEEL YOU!" on the front.

John pointed and laughed, "That's good. It even looks like you a little."

Sherlock just shot him a look and disappeared into the changing room. When he emerged, it was all John could do to keep his jaw from touching the floor. Jesus, that man could make a dishrag look sexy. The size he'd chosen was small enough to hug every muscle on his chest and the image was almost too hot to stand. John felt an uncomfortable tightness in his pants and quickly paid for the hoodie and shirt, carefully placing the stained shirt in a separate bag.

Walking back to the hotel, John felt his stomach rumble. Food was definitely needed. He looked down the street and found a restaurant he wanted to try.

"Let's go to this one."

"Oh, no. Definitely not." Sherlock shook his head.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's busy. It's loud. And I draw the line at entering an establishment with the name "Bubba" in the title."

"I take it you've never seen 'Forest Gump'."

"Obviously."

"Well, if we've come all the way to the southern US, we have to try some southern food."

"Not a concrete argument; but if you insist, we'll try it." Sherlock pointed at the logo on the restaurant sign. "But please tell me why that shrimp is wearing a top hat."

"Ok, you got me on that one. Let's just go in though. I'm starving."

Reading the menu was an experience in itself. They were brave enough to try the Hush Pups appetizer – a mixture of shrimp, fish, and cornmeal deep fried. But neither one was willing to go for the shrimp and grits. Instead, John opted for Bubba's Bucket of Boat Trash which included flash fried shrimp, fish with Cajun spices and a steamed Canadian lobster claw while Sherlock had the Kentucky Bourbon skewers – large shrimp skewered with red and green peppers and sausage and brushed with a bourbon sauce. While the food in that dish did sound interesting, Sherlock also chose it so that he could play with the skewers.

After taking off all the food from one skewer, he proceeded to prod John and bits of food on John's plate with it.

"Are you having fun?" John asked with a grin.

"Yes. Teasing you is always one of the highlights of my day."

"Good. That's fine. I want you to enjoy yourself, but you need to eat your food too."

"Alright." Sherlock took fork in his left hand and knife in his right, speared some food, took a bite and grinned. "Hmmm, surprisingly good."

"Knew you'd like it."

"No you didn't." Sherlock's words might have sounded rough, but they grinned at each other that silly grin that only lovers share.

Sherlock eventually did get board though and started watching the other customers as well.

Sherlock sighed heavily, "I can never get over how Americans can't even hold a knife and fork properly. They're supposed to be civilized for God's sake, not the last remnants of Cro Magnon Man!"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, John."

"You know you said that quite loud."

"Did I?"

"In fact, that big bloke from the table behind us is starting to get up. And, he doesn't look happy."

John pulled out his wallet quickly and put plenty of money on the table to more than cover the food and give a generous tip.

"Husband."

"Yes, John."

"Run!"

They bolted from Bubba Gump's restaurant and ran for the hotel. Luckily with the town being so busy, it was easy for them to lose the offended American.

After letting themselves into their room, both men tumbled onto the bed in a laughing fit. However, as they calmed down, Sherlock's gaze grew serious.

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to ruin your dinner."

John grabbed Sherlock and brought him into a hard kiss.

"Don't be silly. It gave me a chance to run off those hush pups. Besides, it doesn't feel right if we haven't run for our lives at least once a week."

Sherlock looked at his husband full of awe and love. "Too true."

Kissing John gently, Sherlock maneuvered John on the bed and tugged the cream jumper over his head before producing two silk scarves from out of nowhere. Sherlock kissed down John's neck, over his right shoulder, and down his tanned and well toned arm. Lingering on the underside of John's bicep, for Sherlock, it was one of his favourite places. When he reached John's wrist, he slowly licked and sucked on it before using one of the silk scarves to tie John's wrist to the bedpost.

"Sherlock? What?" John voice only dared a whisper – afraid that it would crack if he tried to give it more volume. Sherlock leaned in and tenderly brushed John's ear with his full lips.

"Hush, my wonderful husband. Let me do this for you."

Any hesitance from John melted away as he let Sherlock do the same with his left arm. His lips danced along the outside of John's scar before letting his tongue taste the center of the healed skin. Sherlock had always had an awe for the ability of the human body to heal itself, but he'd never been more thankful for that fact as it saved the man who would become his husband and was also a major factor in their even meeting in the first place.

He also sucked a the sensitive skin just underneath John's elbow before tying John's other wrist to the opposite bed post with another scarf. Then the lanky detective removed the Achmed shirt and dropped it to one side of the bed before returning to John's lips with a passionate vigor that was searing. Finally breaking apart, Sherlock started his slow and languid decent kissing John's neck and moving downward at his own pace.

After each kiss, John heard Sherlock moan a singular phrase with a multitude of inflections: "My husband" - reverent awe. "MY husband" - possessive need. "My husband" - loving pride. His kisses meandered down John's muscular chest to his tight stomach and further to belly-button and visible hip bones. Each kiss and endearment sending a spark and a thrill down John's spine and ending up at his cock.

He felt more than saw Sherlock unbutton the top of his trousers. Then he couldn't believe what he felt next – Sherlock unzipping his trousers with his teeth.

John and Sherlock had always had an active sex life – once they had gotten over being perfectly stupid and in denial about the whole thing. But, John had never felt more cared for – more cherished than he did at that moment.

Sherlock removed John's trousers with a gentle reverence before running his hand up and down the front of John's pants. He was wearing the red silk boxers that Sherlock had bought him last Christmas -

Sherlock's favourite, in fact. The detective loved the contrasting feel of John's hardness through the ultra soft material.

Becoming slightly impatient now, Sherlock made quick work of his own trousers and pants. Returning to John's waist, he again used his teeth, but this time to remove the silk pants down John's hips, knees, and feet. John's cock sprang to attention finally being freed of the soft yet still slightly constricting fabric.

The sight before Sherlock made his mouth water. Producing lube from the bedside table, Sherlock surprised his doctor by putting it on his fingers and using it on himself. The image of the pale beauty of Sherlock's body getting ready for John was almost too much and John almost came right there and then.

"Please, love. Please. Now." John's voice deepened in his desire.

Sherlock smirked a little before straddling John, kneeling with one leg on either side of John's body, and finally tortuously slowly impaling himself on John's cock. Both men closed their eyes to the pleasure. When Sherlock was finally hilt deep on John, he wiggled his arse a bit to get the full feeling of John inside him.

"Oh, you tease! Move. I need to feel you move."

Sherlock complied and at first started an agonizingly slow pace. Every twist, every turn was felt and added to the overload of emotions building up in both men. Then when Sherlock sensed some indescribable change in the hardness of John's cock, the detective started riding his doctor with and abandon and force that he'd never experienced before. Nothing mattered so much as using his hips to grind down on his husband and fucking him into the mattress.

An uncontrollable string of words fell from Sherlock's lips. "John. My John. My. Mine. All mine."

The possessive need behind Sherlock's words were enough to send John's white hot liquid shooting into the detective's arse. The throbbing tightness that it caused sent Sherlock over the edge without even having to touch himself, and Sherlock came with a roar all over John's chest.

Sherlock released John from the silk restraints and each reached for and cuddled desperately with each other.

John tried to catch his breath, "Amazing, absolutely amazing."

"You know you do that out loud?" Sherlock looked over at his husband mischievously.

John broke down in hysterics at the same words Sherlock had used on their first case together and gathered Sherlock closer to him. Within minutes both men's breathing turned rhythmic signaling their decent into sleep.