Short, fluffy. Sex.

There was a gorgeous piece of artwork that I didn’t reblog because it was porn and I couldn’t put it behind a read more (this one). But, it’s on cumberbitchsandwich’s page. It’s John and Sherlock and sex and dog tags. And it made me write this within twenty minutes…

Happy Valentines Day!

Sherlock’s slender fingers are wrapped around John’s dog-tags. There’s adrenaline pumping through their bodies. The metal chain digs into John’s neck as he’s pulled forward- his lips pressed, hard, against Sherlock’s.


Sherlock’s mouth is hot and pliant- sliding against John’s, his tongue runs across John’s lower lip and presses forward, slipping into John’s mouth to slide against his. John moans into the kiss and Sherlock answers by placing his hand on the small of John’s back and forcing his body forward until they’re aligned from knee to chest. He pulls at the tags and takes several steps back until his back is pressed against the door to their flat, John follows- he mouth never leaving Sherlock’s- John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist and rolls his hips forward.

Sherlock’s body trembles against him. His hips shove back, insistent, and his leg slips between John’s- thigh pressing up with perfect pressure against John’s cock. John sighs into his mouth and leans back a little to bite at Sherlock’s lower lip- he doesn’t have to look to know that Sherlock is smiling, the corner of his lips are tilted upwards and John kisses the curve of his mouth.

Sherlock drops his hand from John’s back and reaches behind himself to twist the doorknob open, stumbling backwards with John’s arms tight around him. He kicks off his shoes without breaking the contact and smiles wider as John laughs against his mouth- he keeps walking them backwards, leading with perfect direction, they pass through the kitchen- one of John’s hands has left Sherlock’s back and has pressed in between their bodies, fingertips sliding the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt open one by one until it’s hanging off of him.

The back of Sherlock’s knees hit the edge of his bed and he stops, pulling his mouth away from John’s with a pout. John laughs again and pries Sherlock’s fingers off of his tags - he steps back, places one hand on Sherlock’s chest and pushes the detective until he falls backwards onto the bed with a soft thump. John’s fingers fist in the bottom of his jumper and he tugs upwards, pulling it over his head and off- he sighs affectionately when he looks down at Sherlock on the bed… Sherlock who is already divesting himself of his clothing.

John’s hands go to his belt and he slides the leather through metal clasps easily, he doesn’t hesitate before undoing the button and thumbing his zipper down. There’s a low moan from where Sherlock is, now kneeling, on the bed when John pushes his pants and boxes down to his ankles- it’s completely appreciative and the sound makes John blush.

“Come here.” Sherlock says, his voice sends lines of fire straight to John’s cock and John stumbles forward, crawling onto the bed to join Sherlock.

Sherlock’s hands are on him at once. Fingers sliding through hair, mouth pressed back against his- Sherlock pulls John forward to him and presses their bodies together in a way that makes them both groan into the heat of each others mouths. Sherlock is leaning backwards, drawing John with him until John is straddling his hips and thrusting their cock’s together with desire and desperation. Sherlock is smiling again and John finds it contagious.

John’s back arches, one of Sherlock’s hands are on his chest- pushing him back until John’s is kneeling above him; the look on Sherlock’s face makes him gasp loudly- Sherlock is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Sherlock’s free hand is stretched out straight beside him, trying- unsuccessfully- to open the drawer of the bedside table. John laughs, low, and leans forward until he can pull it open.  His fingers wrap around the small bottle of lube kept there and he draws it out, pressing it into Sherlock’s palm as he kisses him fiercely once more.

There’s a pop, a wet sound, and then John hears the bottle drop to the floor.

And then.

Then Sherlock’s fingers are pressed against him, Sherlock’s index finger pressing inside of him slowly, Sherlock’s middle finger joining in quickly. They twist and John is lost- his back is curved again and his hips are thrusting down against Sherlock’s with something close to abandon. Sherlock’s voice is low and nothing but John’s name passes his lips.  He pushes himself further down the bed, his knees bend behind John- John’s body automatically re-positions until slicked fingers are pulled from his body and the head of Sherlock’s cock is pressed against him.

Sherlock almost hisses when he pushes forwards. John absolutely does. His mouth is parted open and his breath is coming out in short, sharp, desperate gasps of Sherlock’s name. Sherlock is moving inside him, filling him so completely, his hips pressing forward and back- rocking into John’s body to the time of their racing heartbeats.

John is close. So close. The feel of Sherlock, the sight, the smell, the sounds are surrounding him and he knows that he won’t last very long. Sherlock’s hand reaches up, his fingers tangle in the small hairs at the back of John’s head and he pulls him down- their lips meet with an urgency that doesn’t need explaining.

Sherlock mouths something against John’s lips as they come together.
It feels surprisingly like I love you.