Warning –rimming XD
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After John had given himself a cursory wipe-down, put on his dressing gown and filled the kettle, he went to run a cold shower. Glancing through to the living room, where Keith cocked his fluffy black-and-white head curiously at him from the coffee table, he grinned conspiratorially.
"I just had the best sex ever," he whispered loudly to their pet, then giggled at the happy absurdity of it. He stretched luxuriously in the balmy, still air of the flat, before mussing his own sweat-damp and ruined hair, cringing a little.
"Sherlock!" He called through to the bedroom, hearing a faint groan in response. "We need a shower, come on, get up."
A long, grumpy grumble echoed out, but in a little while Sherlock stood loosely clad in his dressing gown in the hallway before him, stretching his arms and grunting pleasurably when a few joints popped. He ushered John inelegantly toward the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him, pulled off his doctor's robe, then his own, and leant heavily on him, mumbling into his ear.
"Love you."
"I know, Sherl. Come on," he insisted gently, before pulling the still-recovering detective under the delightfully cool, refreshing water.
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Ten minutes later, John sipped tea in his armchair, his wet, ash-brown hair sweetly spiked, absently watching the TV, waiting for Bargain Hunt to start. Sherlock sprawled on the full length of the sofa, staring at his phone with an intense look in his eyes, and occasionally flicking a piercing gaze toward his doctor. His glossy, near-black curls were starting to frizz slightly as they dried, and the sharp, sweet smell of their tea tree shampoo permeated the cosily-cluttered room.
A pleasurable, cooling breeze was starting to pick up and invited itself through the open living room window, stirring the previously languid heat. Keith was quietly nibbling on some leftover chicken on the kitchen counter, his luscious tail wafting happily with every few mouthfuls.
"I know you're watching me, Sherl," John commented mildly without taking his eyes from BBC1, and turning the volume up a little with the remote, before putting his tea down and re-adjusting his loose dressing-gown ties absently.
The brunette licked his plump lips briefly and grinned, holding up his phone and grunting insistently to get John's attention. The doctor glanced at the image on the screen and sighed irritably at the sight of himself, prone and desperate in bed, from a little while earlier. "Is it too much to ask for you to delete that?"
"Yes. Obviously. This is visual gold."
"Thought as much." He went back to watching the TV screen for a few seconds, and then frowned. "…Hang on…have you been staring at that picture for the last ten minutes?"
"Yes. It's very…stimulating."
John glanced at Sherlock's hardened crotch under his silky blue dressing gown and boxers and rolled his eyes. "You might have a refractory period of about 2 seconds, but I don't, and I definitely cannot manage anything right now. I'm knackered."
"I can wait," Sherlock murmured darkly, going back to wriggle against the cushions and analyse the photo.
There were a few minutes of pleasant quiet, the London-tasting breeze cooling the room with intermittent gusts, the TV humming away.
"…I was thinking," John offered hesitantly, "…did you want to…talk about planning? I mean…you can't just summon a wedding out of thin air."
Sherlock's eyes flickered distantly as if he was considering the physics involved with conjuring anything out of thin air, then focussed again. "Dull. Let Mrs. Hudson do it."
John scoffed indignantly. "She's our landlady, Sherl, not your mother."
"She might as well be."
The doctor let out a long-suffering sigh, about to reply when Sherlock waved a careless hand in the air, a distasteful expression on his pale, angular face. "Can't we just do it online or something?" He appeared serious.
Chewing the inside of his mouth and counting to five, John replied calmly. "You can't do everything online. Why did you ask me if you don't want some kind of ceremony? Thought you'd love having the world revolve around you for a day."
"The world revolves around me every day."
Clenching his right fist, John dug his nails into his palm and took a fortifying breath. There was a faint bump behind him as Keith jumped down from the kitchen counter and ambled into the room, bouncing onto John's lap and nuzzling his face with chicken-breath and faint chirrups. The doctor stroked the surprisingly-heavy mammal, attempting to ease his rising irritation.
"You didn't think this through at all, did you?"
"Of course," Sherlock huffed. "It took me two months to find the right ring for you."
John stilled, and stared at the petulant detective who now huddled childishly on the sofa, glaring intently at his phone.
"…Sherlock, you proposed two days ago. And that was just after our anniversary…how long were you thinking about this?"
"…A while," came a small, muffled reply.
"Two months before our anniversary?"
"…Had to…get something you'd like…in case you said yes. It took a while," Sherlock mumbled, the words barely audible. "Wanted to ask on our anniversary...but…"
"…But…you chickened out?" John asked fondly, a wide smile on his face.
A faint, annoyed huff, and a long pause. "…A bit."
John chuckled warmly, setting the skunk aside before getting up and going to kneel on the floor beside the sofa, cupping Sherlock's sculptured, hard cheekbones and kissing him on the tip of his nose. Keith trotted away, out of sight, into their bedroom.
"…I love the ring. It's perfect."
Sherlock perked up a bit, meeting John's eyes and uncurling slightly from his 'sulking' position so that he lay flat on his back, head on the armrest. His cheeks were faintly pink with embarrassment, causing his icy, grey-green eyes to stand out more sharply in contrast.
"It's ivory. Whale bone. A hundred and fifty years old," he offered hopefully.
John grinned. "I figured it was bone, didn't know it was an antique. It's brilliant," he beamed, and Sherlock noticeably relaxed with a barely-audible sigh and a small, shy smile. The doctor leant down and captured Sherlock's plump lips in a hard smooch, the detective immediately pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, groaning softly as John's hand smoothed steadily down his robe-clad torso, thumbing teasingly over his nipples.
Thirty seconds later, Sherlock was unconsciously grinding his hips, his long fingers shakily grasping John's face, and ejecting short, sharp grunts of need.
"Sherl…Sherl!...sweetheart," John managed, finally pulling away from the detective's groping hands at his face and crotch, and from his greedy, cupid's-bow mouth. A faint whine of frustration answered him from the prone, lean, beautiful figure on the sofa.
"Sherl, I really can't…" he paused, embarrassed, "…get it up yet…but…just so you know, I…bought you something." John flushed slightly, licking his thin lips. "A present."
"What?" Sherlock retorted, sitting up suddenly and frowning. "Why didn't I find it? Where is it?"
The doctor giggled heartily, knowing that Sherlock would have noted any kind of gift he would have tried to smuggle secretively into the house, and that equally, he would be extremely distressed at having missed it.
"Chillax, Sherlock. It's-"
He was rudely interrupted as Sherlock stiffened as though in pain and stung him with a frigid glare, a long finger pressing abruptly against his thin lips.
Sherlock spoke evenly, though his expression was murderous. "John. Never, ever use the word 'chillax' in my presence again or I will be forced to seriously hurt you."
John burst out laughing, dark blue eyes crinkling, and he nipped gently at the finger on his lips.
"Duly noted," he grinned. "I ordered it online for your birthday…but there was a problem with stock for a while…I tried again, it should be here in the next few days."
Sherlock calmed a little, before his pale eyes narrowed in contemplation. "…My birthday?"
"Yeah…they had some delivery problems, I don't know. Tomorrow, it should be here," John smiled, before getting off of his painful kneeling position on the floor by the sofa and straddling Sherlock's waist with a groan of relief as his joints eased and the detective protectively took hold of his hips, looking up at him with an odd expression.
"…My…birthday…when was that?"
John quirked his brow in utter disbelief. "Your birthday? You still don't know when your birthday is?"
"Well…I know people sometimes give me presents for no reason. In the summer. It was…recent? " Sherlock queried doubtfully.
John sighed. "How many times do I have to remind you, Sherlock?"
The detective shrugged, his thumbs rubbing lazy symbols into John's hips. "It's not important."
"It's July 19th, Sherl." He ruffled his detective's nearly-dried, fluffy dark curls. "When's mine?"
"September 8th," Sherlock replied immediately.
"Aw, you do love me after all," John grinned, giving him an indulgent kiss, feeling the brunette squirm and sigh delightfully underneath him.
"What did you buy me?" Sherlock gasped after John pulled back.
"A toy," John admitted.
"A toy?" Sherlock asked, his angular face crinkled deeply in confusion.
"Sex toy," John elaborated, flushing.
"…Oh," the detective replied quietly, eyes dilating, and then flickering away as he considered the possibilities. "…Why?"
"Because you're completely insatiable," his doctor told him, playfully running his palm over the damp bulge in Sherlock's underwear in demonstration. The detective flinched, and then cleared his throat, his cheekbones stained a dusky, wet pink. He hesitated for a few moments, and then spoke. "Can we do something…new?"
"What were you thinking?" John soothed, palms easing under Sherlock's dressing gown and over his bare, flat stomach, which quivered visibly with the application of the doctor's knowledgeable hands.
Sherlock merely smirked, and poked his tongue out at his doctor.
John quirked his brow, almost ready to laugh and childishly poked his tongue out at his detective in playground-style retaliation.
"Grow up Sherlock, what do you want?" he said, giving in to a small chuckle.
Sherlock's features darkened in discomfiture, and he swallowed, his succulent pale throat bobbing. "No John, your…your tongue, in … …I saw it on the internet," he murmured, gesturing one long, pale hand towards his crotch.
John gasped, laughing awkwardly. "…I've…this would be the first time, I've…"
"I know…would you, though?" the detective asked uncertainly.
John leant down and gave Sherlock a brief, hard kiss on his cupid's-bow lips, a faint smile creasing his dark eyes.
"Okay."
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Ten minutes later, Sherlock was writhing, his lean legs trembling violently as they rested on his doctor's shoulders. He sat on the edge of the sofa, John kneeling on the floor between his jerking legs, holding them apart with considerable effort and teasing him with the tip of his tongue.
A ferocious, yet choked symphony of growls and hitched gasps had greeted John for the last ten minutes, but now he had to pull back, with a frustrated, wordless noise from his detective, who was stroking himself slowly and intensely, his large fist glistening with pre-come, his veins pulsing prominently.
"Sherl…you have to go faster…please," John implored. His jaw was aching, his shoulder was throbbing, his knees were killing him.
Sherlock whimpered in acquiescence, speeding up his violent masturbation till he sobbed, a slick, wet, totally frantic rhythm set up. His beautiful face crinkled into disrepair as he forced out a sharp, guttural yell, his breaths coming in frighteningly short, wheezy gusts.
"John inside now," he seethed, eyes squinching briefly as his heavy hips bucked unconsciously.
His doctor spread him once more, continuing to lick in and around him, before pushing his tongue as far inside Sherlock as he could.
He panicked briefly as Sherlock's strong, heavy hips bucked, his thigh muscles flexed and jerked, and a deep, throaty shriek sounded out somewhere above him, but he managed to hold on to his detective through his brief, violent climax. He nipped and kissed at Sherlock's inner thighs, massaging his backside and hips, as the detective came down with massive, heaving, noisy gasps, swallowing deeply every few seconds, all his muscles twitching with exertion.
"Nnnggh," Sherlock groaned, collapsing back onto the sofa, gasping wheezily, his bright, grey-green eyes staring at something beyond the ceiling. John grinned, getting up on sore legs and pecking him on the cheek.
"I'll be honest Sherl, that was knackering. No more of that for a while, okay?"
"Mmh."
"Least we tried it, though. Tea?"
"Nnh…"
John translated that accurately as a 'No,' and got up to go the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. "Now are you going to give me some time to watch Bargain Hunt?" he grinned playfully.
Sherlock swallowed thickly. "…They won't find anything as nice as your ring," he announced groggily.
"I'm sure they won't, Sherl. See you in a bit," he murmured affectionately, before exiting.
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