A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.
19 December 2015, Saturday:
He'd been waiting for this for days. Waiting carefully and patiently for the big revelation. Several days on the mainland, simply having to exercise control in a foreign environment.
But he was home now and John was in the other room should he need some help and Sherlock was going to pull himself off his bed and unhook that damn calendar from the door!
It took some work and slow movement because skin was pulling against skin and it was tight and uncomfortable, but he finally managed to stand on his own. He wouldn't need the wheelchair for a whole meter and a half to and from the door, he could get there just fine.
He supported himself against the wall and shimmied on over, unhooking the green tree and shimmying back to the bed where he sat back down again.
He grabbed the burgundy ribbon of the thirteenth gift and pulled it apart to reveal his John, laying on top of a picnic table. He was bench pressing a large amount of weight, arms held straight above his body, balancing the weight perfectly. He had his legs pointing straight out though, instead of hanging over the edge. That way he had to work his abdominals and glutes to the maximum.
Every muscle protruded exactly, but not obscenely.
The best part of it was that John was naked and his cock stood at attention, giving a salute to all who watched.
The fourteenth gift was a silver doorway with two flaps.
John - who was still naked - was holding dumbbells once again, except they were on the ground and he was doing inverted push ups with them. His entire body pointed upward, feet to the sky. He was halfway down, head level with his biceps.
Sherlock had to sit back and marvel at that. John was physically strong enough to hold his own body weight up. That didn't just require strength in the arms, but in almost every muscle in the body. Discipline that would keep his muscles perfectly rigid until they had to be used or relaxed. So nothing would sway out of place.
John wasn't fat even though he weighed more than Sherlock did. It was all muscle and even though he couldn't do the same workouts from before his injury, he was still toned and strong.
Sherlock had always thought that one case where John had literally ran out of a burning building they'd been spying in, holding Sherlock bridal style as he had been injured mid flight, was the hottest thing he'd ever experienced. And he'd experimented a lot with his sexuality so that was saying something.
All of this was the reason why.
Briefly, he wondered if John ever got into gymnastics. It would explain a lot.
The fifteenth present was orange with green stripes and while the outside was hideous, the inside was enough to make Sherlock's erection solidify in his pajamas.
He didn't know John's tongue was pierced.
But it very clearly was and in the photograph, he was smirking lightly at the camera, a small hook attached to the hole in his pink, delicate tongue. Attached to the hook however, was a small stack of weights, three in all and John's tongue was curled upward. The weights were dangling near John's waist, proving how strong that tongue and upper body were. On the side of the photograph was scribbled: 6.35 kg.
John must have had a versatile tongue.
While Sherlock could appreciate everything about John, there was something arousing about this particular photograph and Sherlock made doubly sure to save this image for several places in his mind palace.
Still shivering delectably from the sexual onslaught, Sherlock fixed his attention on the sixteenth photo.
John certainly knew how to pose. Sherlock wondered if someone else had to situate him for this or if it was a part of John's natural charm. If John became so brazen when his clothes were off, Sherlock couldn't wait to see it all first hand. And second hand. And definitely over and over again.
It was a closeup of John's back which was facing the camera and he was doing a handstand, but his legs were swung far out to either side, almost as if he was doing an air split. It gave Sherlock a perfect view of his arse, which was spread apart thanks to the position John was in.
John had a little birthmark on his right cheek!
Though he could only see from John's waist and down - or was it up, considering he was upside down? - he knew very well who it was and appreciated the chance to memorise all the little intricacies of John's physique.
He had arse dimples.
Enough said.
The seventeenth photo was another smile. Happy go lucky. John was bundled in a hideous, blue jumper, but he looked ecstatic and cheerful.
Sherlock adored those moments and saved it for later. Whenever John was angry with him, he could pull up this photo and stare at it longingly until John's wrath dissipated.
Number eighteen got him back on track, cock twitching in appreciation.
Straight up masturbation. John was reclined against the boulder from several photos ago, propped up on one hand and the opposite one was stroking his tanned cock very slowly. And leaking from the tip was just a small amount of pre-ejaculate.
The look on John's face was in perfect harmony with the overall theme. He looked devilish. As if daring the viewer to continue watching. How Sherlock wished it was a film and not a photo.
John never acted in such a way and it would be lovely to see it in reality.
The final photo he had missed, for yesterday, was a close up from the former photo except John had managed to bring himself to orgasm and had ejaculated all over his own fist - which Sherlock may as well mention - only took up half the length of his cock.
If he guessed from the dimensions of the photo, John's cock was about seven and a half inches, maybe a little more. It was thick too, which was perfectly okay with Sherlock.
And to think… that was going to inside of him soon enough.
He shivered, palming himself through his bottoms in order to regulate his arousal. One more photo. Only one more.
Now that he was finally up to speed with the days of the Advent Calendar, Sherlock allowed himself to see what John looked like for the nineteenth.
And Sherlock hefted himself into his wheelchair and rolled himself out to the bathroom because there were certain places that erections could be dealt with and his bedroom provided none of the comforts necessary for the activity.
The mental image of John licking his own cum off his fingers would haunt Sherlock for the rest of the day.
A/N: Another is done!
How was it? Let me know.
Check out my other fics.
See ya! :D
CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.