Sorry it's been so long, guys, forgive me XD I'm a terrible person and don't have any excuses…except maybe that I've been working on a few co-written fics with the brilliant starrysummernights, do check them out if you get the chance :D
"Good," John replied calmly, before abruptly untying his dressing-gown and shedding it noiselessly onto the dusty floor. Sherlock's grey-green eyes flicked down immediately to his doctor's bare body, and he didn't bother with the propriety that dictated that he should flick his gaze back up to John's face, and at least pretend that his lascivious stare was accidental and regretted.
John grinned and snapped his fingers commandingly, and the brunette raised his eyes in obedience, pupils dilated, the aqua maelstrom of his irises temporarily burdened with a black lust.
"Follow me, there's a good boy," John uttered calmly, before picking up the new toy and striding unselfconsciously to their bedroom. There followed a substantial couple of actionless seconds, before Sherlock found his feet and hastened to accompany his doctor.
Glancing behind him, Sherlock briefly hesitated before inelegantly running to the fridge, dumping a considerable amount of wet cat food into a little bowl for Keith with a voluminous clang of metal can upon plastic. He gave the inquisitive mammal a swift pat on the head, and then dashed into the bedroom, sequestering himself and his partner inside with a quick, metallic slam of the lock.
"Your altruism is quite the turn-on," John murmured from his deeply-distracting, naked, spread-legged pose on the bed.
"He…he needs…if…" Sherlock fought to enunciate, his bright, grey-green eyes fixed irrevocably on the smaller mans' body, the inundation of gorgeous visuals upon his retinas seemingly diverting all function from his other senses – particularly, apparently, speech.
John smiled serenely, closed his eyes and rolled over, nuzzling into the pillow with a soft noise of appreciation, and flexing his naked back enticingly. Sherlock swallowed audibly and quickly shed his own dressing-gown.
"I'm waiting for my massage," the doctor said calmly, and the detective frantically looked around the room before remembering that he had left the pricey oil in the living room. John heard him scramble with the door lock, and heavy feet pound distantly away before returning with even more fervour. The door slammed, and he giggled softly as he felt Sherlock throw his weight onto the bed beside him with absolutely zero grace. He giggled harder when the action apparently brought up a little bit of residual dust and caused Sherlock to let out a series of small, high-pitched sneezes that never sounded as if they belonged to the tall, broad-shouldered man in question.
Eyes crinkling with amusement, fighting down his chuckles, John settled his head into the pillow with a luxuriant, rumbling sigh that sounded enough like his vocals in bed when they made love especially slowly, to cause Sherlock to gulp thickly and hiss at the prompt, impatient throb of his own shaft.
"Still waiting," John whispered tantalisingly, breaking Sherlock's brief reverie, and the detective abruptly picked at the fiddly plastic wrap securing the lid of the bottle with short fingernails. Swearing quietly, he ended up tearing at the stiff sheath with his teeth, spitting out the remnants, and mounting John's naked backside carefully.
"Cushy," he commented cheekily, bouncing on John's arse playfully.
John snorted. "Hush, you," he grinned.
Sherlock nibbled on his plump bottom lip in concentration, as he flicked open the bottle and took a tentative sniff. It had a faint fragrance, sweet, but not at all overpowering.
The doctor adjusted himself a little better under Sherlock's surprisingly heavy weight, and pulled in a grateful lungful of warm, dirty-tasting, comforting London air as a lazy breeze sluggishly managed its way through the open window into the stuffy bedroom.
John flinched abruptly as Sherlock was reading the ingredient list on the back of the bottle with clinical interest, and the taller man looked down inquisitively.
"Feels warm…" John said, and the brunette frowned in slight bemusement.
"I haven't started yet…oh," he murmured with audible embarrassment, after glancing down at where he was beginning to drip jewels of pre-come on the small of John's back. "Um…sorry, maybe I have."
"You what?"
"Um…one sec," Sherlock muttered, smearing away the translucent liquid with his hand. "Sorry."
Before John could reply, a generous slick of pleasantly-cool oil was drizzled upon his shoulder-blades and the length of his spine, and his detective wasted no time in getting to work.
With a deliciously wet, sharp inhale, John immediately melted bonelessly into the mattress. He hummed a little baritone laugh at the liquid squelch of the sweet-smelling oil on his bare skin under the ministrations of Sherlock's cautious fingertips, before groaning deeply and distractingly.
"God, John, the sight of you," Sherlock expressed suddenly and inadvertently, his voice sinfully deep and gravelly. John sometimes fancied that Sherlock's larynx was comprised entirely of sandpaper, nectar and pheromones.
The vague pleasured noise that John responded with resulted in a full-body, powerful pulse that almost sent Sherlock over the edge, burdening him with the tell-tale signs of a tempting orgasm – the helpless jolt of his pale, muscular thighs, the clench of tight stomach muscles, the wonderful, if momentarily-frightening breathlessness of an imminent climax.
"…I honestly am sorry if I ejaculate over you. It's not intentional," Sherlock uttered awkwardly.
There was a sticky giggle, and John responded, snaking one hand back to smooth Sherlock's damp hip as if he were placating an exhausted racehorse by rubbing its tired flanks.
"You're forgiven in advance. It's all good. Please…feel free to continue."
Sherlock licked cupid's-bow lips, and smoothed his large hands over and around John's scapulae, kneading with calloused thumbs, quietly delighting in the slick manipulation of blood-hot muscle and adipose beneath his administrations. Each firm sweep of his hands gifted him with a fresh, unconscious ejection of pleasured breath from his doctor, and he forcibly squinched his eyes shut in an attempt to distance himself from the effect the sounds were having on him.
It didn't help in the slightest.
"…So…good," John murmured, groggy with oxytocin, whimpering faintly as the detective strongly, intuitively, thumbed a few tough knots at the base of his neck. "God…"
Sherlock laughed uneasily, and cleared his throat. "If you don't stop making noises, I'm going to come all over you. And I know for a fact that you don't like having semen in your hair."
John chuckled. "Think you could manage that far?"
"At this rate I could reach the Houses of Parliament."
"…Did you know HP sauce was named after them?"
Sherlock paused, quirking an eyebrow. "…Is your idea of distracting me from orgasm offering factoids about British condiments?"
"Is it working?"
The brunette twitched a quick, bright, crinkly smile. "A bit, yes."
"Anything to postpone your Gentlemen's Relish."
There was a tight, brilliant pause. "…That was awful, John. Truly awful."
John was by now giggling steadily. "Get on with it, you berk," he said fondly.
The brunette obeyed, a few crinkles around his pale eyes, circumnavigating his high cheekbones, betraying his dormant and honest amusement.
He didn't avoid John's scar, he never had - the milky keloid splash on the back of his left shoulder, which he knew John was silently grateful for. He was careful with it, however. It was sensitive, but generally not in a way that caused the doctor pain. In fact, the patch of tender, creamy flesh was ideal when he wanted to tickle John into submission.
He slowly traversed down John's back, massaging professionally either side of his spine, palpating his kidneys with a private little thrill at knowing exactly how they felt, before settling his slippery hands just at the crest of John's buttocks, near to his own crotch. He ceased movement for a few seconds, breathing steadily, tasting the sweet oil, John's perfect and indescribable essence, and grimy London summer in the still, hot air.
John mewed out a little confused noise, insistently bumping his bare backside against Sherlock. "Sherl? Why'd you stop? You were just getting to the good part," and the dirty smirk was evident in his voice, even though his face was muffled by the warm pillow.
"Exactly," Sherlock replied in a devilishly deep mumble.