Ebony
"Have I told you that I love your hair?" said Sherlock, twisting his fingers through it roughly.
"Never," sighed Jim. "You never give me compliments."
"That's because you always gag me."
"True," he smiled. "But don't pretend that you don't enjoy it."
"On the contrary," replied Sherlock, returning the smile. "You know how much I lust after you when you take charge."
"Yes I know very well." He traced his fingers lightly across Sherlock's naked collarbone. "So My hair?"
"Mmm. Delicious."
"How so?"
"Wonderfully soft, perfectly sculpted. Smells like coconut before sex, and me afterwards. And the colour, that's my favourite part. Ebony, like night. Like a delicious cocaine addicts pupils. Like iron-rich blood. You remind me of a panther, always stalking his prey, hair as dark as your soul."
"Oh god," said Jim, a moan escaping his lips. "Come here and remind me never to gag that pretty little mouth of yours again."