Under the Downs Chapter 10

A/N: Dear all, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so extensively. I am especially proud that the sense of what I call 'golden memories' comes over about the landscape and the town, thank you so much for letting me know I got that right. I really wanted to give the feeling of the Downs as a tangible presence, a personality intervening in their lives, and it seems to have worked. And incidentally, I can't believe this scene is going to take so many chapters to publish, its going on forever! (Luckily for everyone who likes that sort of thing!) Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this with their elevenses!

But don't forget that if they delete this story, you can still read updates at evenlode1967 dot livejournal dot com.

Warning: men going at it, does what it says on the tin.

He takes a minute to look carefully, to really see. It is what I'd expect if him. Then his eyes brim.

'Oh, love,' he whispers. And I know he has understood.

He reaches out, hesitates, fingers hovering close. 'Can I touch you?'

'Just be gentle,' I tell him. I am shaking. The emotion of this is threatening to overwhelm us both.

The tips of his fingers brush what is left of my skin. I am scored and scarred there, in the depression between collarbone and breast. What I didn't expect is that the shattered nerve endings there are not merely heightened to pain, but to all sensation. When he touches me with his beautiful fingers, it blows my mind.

'Oh, God, Sherlock!' I moan.

He snatches his hand back. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No, no, its-' I can barely speak. My whole body is singing with the ghost of his tingling touch.

He pulls me onto his lap. I straddle his thighs with his arm looped around my waist, marvelling at the roughness of the hair on his thighs rubbing against mine. Everything is so intense. The tips of our cocks touch, and electricity arcs between, making us both shudder and gasp. I feel dizzy with want. He leans his head down, and kisses the knotted flesh, and I moan. Then he starts to lick, like a tigress laving her cub, as if his saliva will miraculously heal the ravaged skin. But we've had all the miracles we are going to get, I think, at least in that area. Still, the feeling of his tongue makes my shoulders curl in, cupping him, and I hang onto his shoulder blades and let the sensations consume me. I can't believe he's doing this. I can't believe he still wants me, knowing what he does.

I find myself bucking my hips, grinding up against his cock, wanting something I can't even name, straining towards a union that defies me still. He kisses and licks and nips his way up my neck and finds my mouth again. His hands grip my buttocks, and knead.

I moan. 'Oh, God, Sherlock!'

He growls.

I look down between us and see his cockhead, slick with precome, beautiful and glossy and pink and proud, with the foreskin retracted. Before I know what I am doing, my hand has slipped between our bodies and wrapped around both our erections, clamping the shafts together. Instinct takes over. We both pump upwards, into my fist.

'Fuck,' he pants.

He pushes me onto my back and spreads my legs to lie between them. His skin is cool on my chest. He kisses his way down along my collar bone, nuzzles further, finds a nipple and sucks. Then kisses his way across to the other. My cock presses into the softness of his belly as he lies over me, and I can't help thrusting. My balls are aching now, the need is so great, and every little nip sends an agonising thrill south. I want release with every cell in my body.

His mouth progresses, rasping and sucking, finding the tender places on my stomach and hips, the sensitive spots that make me squeal or moan. He works his tongue along my hip bone and down my groin, tugging at my belly hair with his teeth. He nudges between my legs to lick ribbons of pleasure up my inner thighs, until I am shaking with desire. He works his way back up then, until he reaches my scrotum, and butts it gently with his nose, breathing deeply the musky odours of my crevices. He sucks one of my testes into his mouth, and it is at this point that I lose any power of speech that I might have retained. He seems to like the taste of that one, rolling it on his tongue, because then he tries the other one. I become aware that I am making an odd keening noise in the base of my throat. No one has ever done anything like this to me. Bits of me are singing that I never thought could be sexually responsive. Especially down there.

Having apparently finished his hors-d'oeuvres, he gets down to the main event. He licks his way up my shaft, tasting the salty flesh, tickling the throbbing veins with the tip of his tongue. He laps at the head, and when I look down I see a thin, glassy thread of precome linking my cockhead with his lower lip. He looks up at me and there is a familiar impish glint in his eye. He takes the glans fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, sucking gently, and I make the quantum leap into heaven.

Lost to the world, lost to everything other than this man's divinely talented mouth, this man who has always been my friend, who is now my lover, I drift on a sea of sensation. I don't know why I thought that mouth, that tongue, those lips, could be anything other than talented. Clever, clever Sherlock. In my mind's eye, I suddenly glimpse the future, our future; hours and years of horizontal ecstasy stretch out before me, of us losing ourselves in one another's bodies, and I mentally take a moment to kick myself for being such a bloody fool as to actually put this off.

And just as I reach the point where I think this couldn't get any better, Sherlock does the unthinkable. He stretches out that magnificent throat, opens wide, and takes me right up to the hilt.

Tomorrow, Sherlock displays an unexpected talent…