The Case of the Cuddle Chapter 20

Warning: More nookie.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favourited. This story has turned out to be a mammoth undertaking, but you have made it a wonderful experience just the same. I am so grateful for all your positive comments and constructive criticism.

So, lets start where we left off, shall we?

John looked a little panicked. 'Is that a problem? I didn't frighten you, did I?'

'It's fucking wonderful,' Sherlock grinned. 'And fucking sexy.'

'Seriously, are you okay?' John lay back, slipping his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. The detective snuggled in.

'Fine. Sorry about the panic there.'

'You push yourself to hard. Too much, too soon.'

They lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling.

After a while, Sherlock said, 'I just had sex.'

John grinned. 'No, you are having sex. Present tense.'

'Am I?'

'Yes. Well, I was wondering.'

'Yes?'

'You might not want to.'

'I don't know till you ask me.'

'Will you let me kiss you?'

'Yes.'

'Everywhere?'

'Yes.'

'Even there?'

'Yes.'

'You'll stop me if it's too much?'

'Yes.'

'Fuck.'

'What?'

'I feel like I've just been given the keys to Fort Knox.'

Sherlock laughed. 'I'm not wearing a chastity belt, you know!'

John rolled him over, his eyes twinkling. 'Maybe I should get you one. Might be sexy.'

'I don't think so.'

'Why not?'

'Because I can think of sexier things to spend your money on.'

'Like?'

'Mmmmm, you in a silk shirt, for a start.'

John wrinkled his nose. 'Not really me.'

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. 'Sex on a stick,' he said.

'What, me in a silk shirt?'

'So hot.'

'Your department, I think, silk. I'm more your 'bit of rough' type.'

'Battle fatigues?'

'Don't.' But he didn't look upset.

'Bet you look really cute in your khakis.'

'Now, what did we say about that word, Sherlock Holmes?'

'Doctor Hamish says we're not allowed to use it,' Sherlock parroted.

They giggled.

'I have to kiss you now,' John breathed. And he did.

He had never kissed Sherlock like that. There was a weight in that kiss, a certainty. Sherlock could feel the change, the admission.

When they came up for air, Sherlock looked up into his John's eyes. 'This is for keeps, isn't it?'

'Yes.' John sounded gruff. His eyes filled.

'Me too.' They gazed at one another. But it was too much for John to hope that his lover's mighty brain had switched off for the duration.

'Tell me why you want to kiss me there.'

'Isn't it obvious?'

'Not to me. It doesn't do anything, after all. I can't imagine why anyone would want to, let alone you.'

'After what you just did to me?'

'Doesn't compute. I won't respond.'

'How do you know?'

'I know.'

'If that was my answer to a scientific problem, you'd rip me to shreds.'

Sherlock gave this due consideration. After a while, he suggested, 'Elton Mayo and the Hawthorne experiments.'

'I always thought that sounded like a bad Prog Rock band! Anyway, it's bollocks, you're groping about for excuses. Just 'cos you're watching me, it won't change the result. It's not as if you couldn't watch me. And I'm not interested in the results. I'm interested in whether you enjoy it or not.'

'Surely, that is a result. But I suppose I could close my eyes.'

John shook his head. 'If you don't want me to, just say.'

Sherlock stroked his cheek. 'I want you to. I just don't understand why you want to.'

'Because you are beautiful. Because I love you. Because you are unbearably sexy. Because if I can help you feel even a tenth of what you just made me feel, then it will all be worth it.' He paused. 'And because the idea of having your beautiful soft cock in my mouth is just filing my head up with all kinds of horny right now.'

'You really find it sexy?'

'Yep.'

'Unbelievable.'

'No, utterly rational. It's just that you don't see it.'

John slithered down Sherlock's body and began to kiss his way across his belly until he reached his navel. That was where the magic began.

'Oh, God! I can't believe you're doing that!' Sherlock's voice came out ridiculously high as John tongue-fucked his belly button.

'Fnuffgh,' John said, his mouth fully occupied.

Oh, but it felt good. So good. Something in there was connected directly to his perineum, Sherlock was sure, because there was a honied, piercing sensation spearing him right up between his legs and into the hot core of his bowels.

John laved.

Sherlock squirmed. And squealed.

John came up for air, his face rather pink. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

'Did I tell you to stop?' Sherlock panted back. Hot tingles were coursing down his inner thighs. 'How the hell do you do that?'

John progressed down, licking and kissing Sherlock's groin, gnawing on his hipbones. Sherlock responded with several involuntary thrusts.

'That's it, baby, come to daddy,' John growled.

He set out along Sherlock's thighs mercilessly, leaving no stone unturned in his search for every last sensitive spot on Sherlock's lower body. By the time he reached the arches of the detective's feet, he was a panting puddle of sensation on the sheets. Then John sucked his toes.

Sherlock wailed. 'Oh, yes, please!'

John raised a wry eyebrow at him. 'Shrimping eh? Well I never.' And went back to Sherlock's little toe.

Once every pedal digit was taken care of, John flipped his love onto his front, and worked his way back, taking care over the backs of Sherlock's knees, which he had already established in the shower as especially responsive, and then up the backs of his thighs. Then he sat on his heels and circled his palms over Sherlock's buttocks.

'You really do have the most existential arse.'

Sherlock was almost delirious with sensation. 'I have no idea what that means,' he moaned into the pillow.

'Neither do I, except that it's just begging to be chewed.'

And he sank his teeth in.

It was like electricity had been pumped directly into Sherlock's spinal cord. He writhed, grinding his hips down into the bed, jerking his cock against the folds of the sheets in impotent need. John was having the time of his life, biting and sucking and licking and mouthing and kissing and kneading Sherlock's gluteal muscles, and moaning happily to himself. And that luscious keening overloaded Sherlock's sensory apparatus all the more. He found himself helplessly fucking the bedclothes, his head spinning, his mind swooping and diving blind inside a cloud of sensory pleasure. It was not just that nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It was that he had never dreamed such a thing was even possible. All his life, he had derided those who made themselves slaves to sex, but now he understood them. It was the best high he had ever had, and he wasn't even hard yet. Fuck cocaine! Who needed that when you could have this?

'Oh John Oh John Oh John,' he found himself repeating, an erotic mantra that was consuming his mind.

John, mindful of the advances being made, flipped his lover deftly over onto his back, and took the opportunity of Sherlock's mental overload to make his final sexual ascent. He took the soft roll of the detective's cock in his mouth. Whole.

Sherlock gasped in disbelief.

It was beyond incredible.

His last coherent thought was, what would this be like if I was actually hard?

John pressed his nose into Sherlock's pubic hair as he engulfed him hungrily, and began to work his tongue. Explosions of pleasure broke out across Sherlock's skin. His hips convulsed, jerking up and down. Cold fire blazed down his back and legs. The soles of his feet tingled. Heat bloomed across his chest and cheeks. His balls and anus, even his perineum, began to throb deliciously. He grabbed helplessly at the sheet and moaned, 'Oh, God!'

Then he felt the rushing. A hot sensation in his scintillating gonads. He writhed, gasped. Saw John gulping, his eyes wide with surprise. He had no idea what was happening, but his whole body caught fire, a light, white fire of firing neurons and crackling nerve endings. He shook. He fell back into the pillow, gasping. It was over as soon as it had happened, but he instantly knew that it was something incredible, something important.

John slurped off him, and sat back on his heels again, licking his lips.

'What?' Sherlock asked, his breathing ragged.

'You just ejaculated.'

'What? But that's impossible.'

'No. It wasn't much, but it was definitely there. Was it good?'

Sherlock flopped back against the pillow. 'Incredible.' He was sweating. His heart was galloping. He felt amazing.

'I…I..'

But there didn't seem to be anything he could say.

He started to cry with joy instead.

Tomorrow, in the penultimate episode, Sherlock considers his new life...