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Description
Gone was the glorious morning when the two men had woken up in an embrace.
Once again, Sherlock sat, his knees under his chin, in an armchair, staring into nothingness,
Silently displeased that there weren't any interesting murders happening, right now,
So that the brilliant mind could get into action. Real action, not the newspaper nor his notes.
Appearing from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, John sat on the armrest and kissed Sherlock.
Moment passed, and the tightly drawn lips turned soft, accepting, welcoming the gesture to the fullest.
Eventually, the men had to break for air, Sherlock's heart racing, his pulse was visible on his neck.
Relishing the moment, John discarded the mugs and slid down, forcing Sherlock's knees down.

The pulse was enthralling to John. His fingers, in silence, brushed over the skin, looking at Sherlock,
His eyes as burning ice as John's was liquid fire. Sliding his hand down between Sherlock's legs, John
Raised his head, tiled, and bit slightly on the fascinating skin, nipping it while his hand worked gently,
Each movement rushing Sherlock's pulse further. John pressed his tongue against Sherlock's skin.
A long moment passed when John lingered in the salt on Sherlock skin, and Sherlock wrapped his arms,
Diligently around John's shoulders, tightening his hold when John nipped a little harder.

All the time, John's hand stroke Sherlock's cock through the cloth of his pajama pants, making sure that
Watson was the only thing in Sherlock's mind right now, his motives not as pure as one could think.
Although part of it was to take Sherlock's mind away from things that weren't there, but it was the heat,
Yearn, that Sherlock had eft behind after they'd eft their bed, John pleasantly satisfied, but Sherlock….

From what John knew of the man, his pleasure was Sherlock's. John's cock in Sherlock's mouth,
Oral fixation, the best kind, gave Sherlock such pleasure that on occasion Sherlock had come,
Relinquishing John's flaccid cock finally, John merely touching Sherlock's trembling body.

At the moment, Sherlock shifted in his seat, better adjusting himself, that John could maneuver himself,

Motion speeding up, John's teeth on Sherlock's neck, sucking, knowing it'd leave a mark, incapable
Of helping himself, beside himself, his own prick hard as Sherlock's, the coffee forgotten, as the
Men, sweat, and Sherlock's returned the favour, gliding, slipping his thumb over the moist head.
Everything else vanished. There was the chair, John and Sherlock, and the light through the window
Now flourishing sights that now one saw; two passionate men, beautifully wrapped around each other.
Too much was too much, as always. Panting, John squirmed from Sherlock's hold, the delicious skin.

Lusciously drawing onto his knees, encouraging Sherlock to lift enough so John could undress him.
Only death could separate John and Sherlock's long sleek , dripping cock, curving sweetlyto the right.
Nettling John's tongue without even touching… One swipe along the length, and Sherlock was John's.
Greedily, John lapped the drops of the translucent liquid, before taking Sherlock's erection deep..
'Even.' John smirked around Sherlock's cock, Sherlock moaning silently, his hand stroking John's hair.
Riveting pull of hair, John kneeling, ecstatic, as Sherlock slowly fucked his mouth, just as John loved it.

Description
Gone was the glorious morning when the two men had woken up in an embrace.
Once again, Sherlock sat, his knees under his chin, in an armchair, staring into nothingness,
Silently displeased that there weren't any interesting murders happening, right now,
So that the brilliant mind could get into action. Real action, not the newspaper nor his notes.
Appearing from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, John sat on the armrest and kissed Sherlock.
Moment passed, and the tightly drawn lips turned soft, accepting, welcoming the gesture to the fullest.
Eventually, the men had to break for air, Sherlock's heart racing, his pulse was visible on his neck.
Relishing the moment, John discarded the mugs and slid down, forcing Sherlock's knees down.

The pulse was enthralling to John. His fingers, in silence, brushed over the skin, looking at Sherlock,
His eyes as burning ice as John's was liquid fire. Sliding his hand down between Sherlock's legs, John
Raised his head, tiled, and bit slightly on the fascinating skin, nipping it while his hand worked gently,
Each movement rushing Sherlock's pulse further. John pressed his tongue against Sherlock's skin.
A long moment passed when John lingered in the salt on Sherlock skin, and Sherlock wrapped his arms,
Diligently around John's shoulders, tightening his hold when John nipped a little harder.

All the time, John's hand stroke Sherlock's cock through the cloth of his pajama pants, making sure that
Watson was the only thing in Sherlock's mind right now, his motives not as pure as one could think.
Although part of it was to take Sherlock's mind away from things that weren't there, but it was the heat,
Yearn, that Sherlock had eft behind after they'd eft their bed, John pleasantly satisfied, but Sherlock….

From what John knew of the man, his pleasure was Sherlock's. John's cock in Sherlock's mouth,
Oral fixation, the best kind, gave Sherlock such pleasure that on occasion Sherlock had come,
Relinquishing John's flaccid cock finally, John merely touching Sherlock's trembling body.

At the moment, Sherlock shifted in his seat, better adjusting himself, that John could maneuver himself,

Motion speeding up, John's teeth on Sherlock's neck, sucking, knowing it'd leave a mark, incapable
Of helping himself, beside himself, his own prick hard as Sherlock's, the coffee forgotten, as the
Men, sweat, and Sherlock's returned the favour, gliding, slipping his thumb over the moist head.
Everything else vanished. There was the chair, John and Sherlock, and the light through the window
Now flourishing sights that now one saw; two passionate men, beautifully wrapped around each other.
Too much was too much, as always. Panting, John squirmed from Sherlock's hold, the delicious skin.

Lusciously drawing onto his knees, encouraging Sherlock to lift enough so John could undress him.
Only death could separate John and Sherlock's long sleek , dripping cock, curving sweetlyto the right.
Nettling John's tongue without even touching… One swipe along the length, and Sherlock was John's.
Greedily, John lapped the drops of the translucent liquid, before taking Sherlock's erection deep..
'Even.' John smirked around Sherlock's cock, Sherlock moaning silently, his hand stroking John's hair.
Riveting pull of hair, John kneeling, ecstatic, as Sherlock slowly fucked his mouth, just as John loved it.