Fair warning: sorry this is late again. My work schedule is rather insane at the moment. Beyond that, we've just got some more orgasm delay and feelings! :D

Greg sipped his tea calmly. Sunday morning. No obligations. Nothing to dread. Just a wonderful day of relaxation. Perhaps he'd catch up on some paperwork later. Sun streamed in through the window. The weather was supposed to be lovely for the entire week. Perhaps he'd go for a walk later.

"Greg! I swear to fucking god… ugh…" a loud moan drifted from his open bedroom door.

He smiled.

"You still sound uppity," he called, "that's no way to talk to your betters."

"Please just make it stop!" Sherlock groaned.

"No. I think you like it. You know what to say if you want this to end."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"Well, then. I'm not going to untie you."

A choked moan, and then silence. Well, silence and the dull buzzing of the vibrator Greg had shoved up Sherlock's arse. He'd turned it to the absolute lowest setting. Nowhere near enough to send Sherlock over the edge. At least not for a while.

But more than enough to tease the bastard horribly.

Really, this was more a reward than a punishment. He knew it. He couldn't really help but let the bubble of giddiness swell in his chest.

His ex had called earlier that morning while Greg was in the shower. Sherlock had answered his mobile for him.

Though he still didn't know exact details, she'd obviously been rather shocked by the sound of somebody else's voice. Sherlock had supposedly been polite. Asked if he could take a message. She'd demanded to know who he was, why he had Greg's mobile, and he'd told her—I'm Greg's fuck toy.

He would have traded almost anything in the world for a picture of her face the moment she heard that.

She already knew Greg swung both ways. He'd told her pretty early on, and she'd agreed not to ever spread it around, for the sake of his career. Still. Must have been a bit of a surprise for her. She probably expected him to still be moping around over her.

And oh, he bet she'd be really upset if she found out Sherlock was only thirty. And gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous…

"Please, Sir!" Sherlock gasped raggedly. "I can't take it anymore."

"It's only been five minutes," Greg gulped down the rest of his tea, "I'm sure you can last a little longer."

"I need your cock inside me right now."

Well that sent the blood rushing south. But Greg resisted the urge to run back to his bedroom right away. He washed out his mug. Took his time. Strode back across the flat easily. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Sherlock's wrists were cuffed to the bed. He was completely naked, apart from the collar around his neck—a mess of sweaty skin, writhing around on top of the duvet.

"Are you sorry yet?" Greg half raised an eyebrow.

"No," Sherlock moaned.

"Do you understand what you did wrong?"

"No."

"God, you're hopeless," Greg sighed. "Cock whores are not allowed to answer the phone on behalf of their masters."

"Fine. It won't happen again, Sir—ah—I just… please fuck me."

"If I give you what you want, what are you going to learn from this?"

"That I have a wonderful—ugh—kind, benevolent master that—ah—has the most marvelous cock in the world."

The vibrator continued to buzz. Sherlock squirmed a bit more frantically. He couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to get away from the stimulation or get more of it.

Greg stepped into the room and grabbed the remote off the bedside table. He decided to have a bit more fun before he gave in. He pressed a button, and the vibrator began to increase in speed. Sherlock let out a little choked sound—eyes squeezing shut. He went still, gasping.

Then Greg hit the off button. Stopping the motion immediately.

Sherlock made a small noise that sounded an awful lot like a sob. Greg counted to thirty in his head before turning the toy back on, to the lowest setting.

"Sir, I can't—I—oh god"

"I love it when you get to the point where you can't even form sentences," Greg commented offhandedly. "It's fun to watch a genius get all scattered and disoriented."

"You're awful."

Greg turned the vibrator up again, slowly, "yes. And so are you."

He watched Sherlock's body tense. Watched him get close to the edge. Really, for a moment he debated just letting the younger man come. He liked watching. But he liked participating even more. So he turned the vibrator off again, and Sherlock grunted brokenly.

He gave another pause, to let Sherlock catch his breath.

"Now then, are you ready to behave yourself?" He asked in a honeyed, condescending tone.

"Yes, Sir," Sherlock nodded meekly.

"Good. What's the lesson?"

"Don't answer your mobile."

"Exactly."

He stepped up to the edge of the bed and reached down, grasping the base of the vibrator and pulling it out slowly. Sherlock made a few, low, breathy sounds. His body clenched around the toy. It popped out, slick, and Sherlock's hole fluttered. Greg promptly replaced the toy with three of his fingers.

"Mmm, so loose and sloppy," he smiled, "what a delicious little whore. You need it badly, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. Please."

Greg withdrew his fingers and pulled off his t-shirt. He undid the tie of his pyjama trousers and let them fall to the ground. He kneeled on the edge of the bed and situated himself between Sherlock's thighs. The younger man wrapped his legs around Greg's waist, pulling him in closer.

The DI supported himself with one hand and positioned his cock with the other. He sank in slowly, even though Sherlock's body didn't offer a whole lot of resistance. It was a smooth glide all the way in.

He paused for a moment, when he was fully sheathed, just breathing. On a whim, he dipped down and stole a kiss. Meant to just be a small peck. But Sherlock returned it, opening his mouth. Their tongues brushed against each other lightly.

Greg rolled his hips. Starting to move slowly. Sherlock moaned into his mouth. The younger man was already so on edge. Greg doubted it would take very much to get him over. But he wanted to take his time. Savor his prize. Melt into the silky heat that was Sherlock's perfect body.

He kept his motions slow, but steady. Like a pulse of music. A heartbeat. Sherlock rocked upwards, meeting him halfway, but he didn't try to speed them up. He was slack. Surrendered. Utterly calm and quiet except for the occasional moan.

There was a strange importance in it.

The fact that such a generally sharp and prickly individual could become so soft if you caught him at the right moment. Sometimes Greg wondered about the person buried underneath all of Sherlock's haughtiness and carefully developed defense mechanisms. He wondered about the human that lived inside the façade of mechanical coldness.

Because at times like these, it was easy. When Greg thrust into the younger man gentle and almost tender—it was easy to believe that they were just two normal, every day people in love. Not a mad, crime solving virtuoso and an aging DI, clutching to each other desperately in stolen moments, wrapped up in an affair that was more like a train wreck than anything else.

Greg mouthed the side of Sherlock's neck, barely grazing his teeth across the sensitive skin and Sherlock's breath hitched.

"You're beautiful," Greg murmured.

"I'm not."

"I think you are."

"Your opinion is biased, because you're currently inside me." Sherlock shuddered underneath him as Greg angled upward slightly.

"I always think you're beautiful. In fact, I spend a lot of time wondering exactly what you're doing with an old sod like me."

"Oh hush… you're perfectly aware of how attractive you are."

"No. I think you should tell me." Greg snapped his hips. Starting to increase his pace.

"Well for one thing you have a magnificent cock," Sherlock chuckled breathlessly.

"Do go on."

"You have kind eyes… even when I'm being infuriating… and when you smile I feel…" Sherlock trailed off. Looked away.

Greg kissed his neck. Dipped down so their bodies pressed closer together. Skin sliding against skin.

"You are lovely, Sherlock," he barely whispered.

Sherlock's legs squeezed around him just a bit tighter. But the younger man closed his eyes. He breathed more rapidly. Squirmed. Getting close. Greg began to thrust harder. Driving into him. Giving him what he needed.

He felt Sherlock start to tense.

"Look at me," Greg breathed.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Wide with a strange emotion. Panic? Desire? Some odd mixture of both. Greg almost recognized it. Maybe it was the feeling that stirred around in his chest when he thought about the impermanence of whatever they had going on here.

He shouldn't have opened his mouth. Should have left it alone. Call it his savior complex. Call it the heat of the moment.

"You're mine. And I'll be here as long as you want me." It came out half-mumbled. Mixed up. But Sherlock seemed to latch onto it.

A small grunt. Then Sherlock clenched around him. Trembled as he rode out his release. Pulsing, sticky, smearing their stomachs with come.

He thrust frantic, rapid, seeking out all the sensation that the heat of Sherlock's body had to offer. He didn't last too much longer. He soon crashed on his own pleasure. The fire fizzled out—leaving him a tingling, tired mess.

Sherlock sought out his lips. They kissed slow. Unhurried. Each movement a lazy afterthought.

Greg withdrew when they broke apart. He un-cuffed Sherlock's wrists, and the younger man curled up beside him. They wrapped around each other. Soaking in all the things they didn't have to do the rest of the day. The expansive freedom of it.

"What do you find most attractive about me?" Sherlock mumbled into Greg's shoulder.

"Besides your mind, which is equal parts stunning and annoying… I'd say your eyes."

"You're lying. It's my arse," Sherlock snorted. "That's what everybody likes best."

"And I won't argue its superior quality," Greg laughed, "but I stand by my previous answer."

"Why?"

"Because your eyes are lovely, and expressive, and sometimes they say things that your mouth doesn't."

Sherlock fell quiet for a little while. Greg almost wondered if he'd fallen back asleep. It wouldn't be a bad thing. Any time the odd young man wanted to sleep or eat, Greg was all for it. It was his unspoken goal to try to make Sherlock's ribs stand out a little less. Try to nudge him just a little bit more in the direction of healthy.

"You don't have to be nice to me. We can still do this, either way," Sherlock said softly.

"Maybe I want to be nice to you sometimes."

Sherlock crowded a bit closer against him. "Tell me again."

"What?"

"That I'm..."

"Beautiful."

Sherlock hummed quietly, soaking it in. Greg smiled and planted a small kiss on his forehead. The entire day to themselves. He'd be perfectly happy to waste it all cuddling in bed.

There you are friends :D

I'm changing posting day to Sunday. At least for next week, until I get my schedule sorted out.

See you then!