Drums of blood beating through my chest as his cock smoothes past that one spectacular place. His eagerly squeezing hands circling my hips, encouraging those quick, tight bounces of my weight. The wetness of not only his spit strung from my mouth and falling onto my chest, but the slickness of the lubricant settled around his dick from carelessness.
"Just... Please." He begs beneath me, struggling up a rhythm that's much too fast and hurried, thump after thump, yet just what we need. Why does he beg?
I say nothing as I grip into his hand and shoo them away, splaying my palms and weight on his chest. Curving my hips, his cock a centimeter from popping out, and I sit down forcefully. I do this a few more times before loosing memory of just what happened next.
Waking hours later... Sweaty, warm, full of what I'd expect, being spooned, I turn around. John's face looks just as tired, easy to deduce he woke up not long before me.
"What did we just do?" He laughs into my arm wrapping under his head. His lower half is covered now, mine as well, and I thank him for the kindness with a smile back.
"Sherlock, really." His hand roams for mine entwining our fingers.
I smirk, "Ruined my bed."