Ten minutes after he had arrived home from Christmas shopping, John knew he was doomed. Doomed not to wrap presents or spend a leisurely afternoon eating Mince Pies and watching The Muppet's Christmas Carol. John was doomed to spend the next few hours/ days in bed with Sherlock. Not that he was complaining. Much. It was just that he really wanted to get all his Christmas stuff sorted out before, well, before Christmas.
Sherlock had pounced on him as soon as he got through the door. His carrier bags hastily put down and forgotten about as Sherlock pulled John out of his coat, scarf and flat cap. Then out of his jumper and shirt. Then Sherlock had shoved a rather cold hand down the front of John's jeans and dragged him towards his bedroom, muttering something about test driving the new bed.
The new bed was a lot bigger than the old one. It was super king size or something. And it was more springy, which was interesting. It was a well known fact that short men got better leverage, something to do with the angle of approach. Add an extra springy mattress into the equation and you had a killer combination. Which Sherlock had just discovered as John bumped against his prostate for the third time and Sherlock dissolved into the world's only consulting jellyfish.
John carried on for another five minutes before Sherlock was begging him to stop. Then telling him not to stop. Which was confusing. Then telling him to stop whilst pushing his arse back so far against John that his balls nearly disappeared into Sherlock as well. John felt he needed some further clarification as he made a tentative thrust.
"Do you want me to stop or carry on?"
"Yes. God yes."
"That isn't an answer."
"Yes don't stop." Sherlock managed to gasp out as he squirmed round underneath John. John bounced a little and adjusted his position, making a mental note that they should try having sex on a bouncy castle sometime in the near future.
Two hours later John left Sherlock passed out on the new bed, and went into the lounge to wrap Christmas presents. And eat mince pies. And look up bouncy castle hire on the internet.
Xxxx
In his bedroom, Mycroft cleaned himself up with a towel and looked thoughtfully at his brother's sleeping form on the CCTV monitor. Perhaps he should get them a trampoline for Christmas. They could keep it in Mycroft's garden. Then they could all have a bounce.
