Vacation
April is by far John’s favourite month. It’s a beautiful month. A lovely month. A—“Ohgodyes!”
Oh Jesus bloody Christ April is a glorious bloody month.
He tries to look down but the collar around his neck pulls his head up short, the chain clinking against the headboard it’s attached to. Sherlock, hearing the sound, looks up and John can just see his face, shining with saliva, the trail of precome from the tip of John’s cock a glittering line against one cheek. Sherlock is always so messy when he does this.
“Sherlock,” he pants, “Please.”
Sherlock grins at him, his face flushed between John’s thighs, pushed against his broad shoulders. His eyes are dark and bright and oh so dangerous.
“Do you like that, John?”
“Yes. Oh Jesus Christ yes.”
“You like my tongue in your filthy little hole?”
“Yes, yes, yes yes yes.” He pumps his hips because this is entirely too long for Sherlock to be where he is without doing something more interesting with it than bloody talking.
Sherlock chuckles and oh god it’s a filthy sound. “Impatient,” he chides, and John whimpers because he’s moving away, why is he moving away?
“Sherlock!”
John reaches after him and the collar around his neck pulls tight. He falls back, gasping.
“I like you like this,” Sherlock says. “Unable to go anywhere.” He climbs over John, his thighs straddling his stomach and John bucks up against him, searching for some kind of contact. His cock brushes against Sherlock’s lower back entirely by accident and he almost comes right there. He moans, loud and desperate, and reaches a hand down without even thinking about it.
It’s caught, strong fingers around his wrist.
“If you come,” Sherlock says, “I’m still going to fuck you. You know it gets too much, John, your tight little hole so sensitive. But it’s your choice. Because one way or the other, my cock is going to be up your arse today.”
“Sherlock Jesus just get on with it!”
Sherlock chuckles. “I thought so,” and he leans down and kisses John and John tastes himself, saliva and come and the heavy musk of his own scent, smeared against Sherlock’s face and John is aching for him, swallowing that tongue down in his mouth, desperate to taste him, to suck him down. He doesn’t even register the quiet clank of chains, the tightening around first one wrist and then the other, but when Sherlock pulls back again, John tries to reach for him and can’t.
“Oh my god,” he moans and tugs at the cuffs around his wrists but they are secure with almost no give to the chain and his arms are tight above his head. Slick fingers release the chain from around his neck.
“So pretty, all that leather, all those chains. But I want to hear you screaming, John, and you can never stay still with my cock in you, can you? You can never behave.”
John, wide-eyed, pants up at him, and he sees it and feels it when Sherlock smirks and reaches down between his legs, thrusting a slicked finger up inside him.
“Oh god!”
“I asked you a question, John. Can you stay still for me?”
He is writhing, trying to pump his hips against that too narrow intrusion but Sherlock puts his other hand firmly on his pelvis and doesn’t let him move.
“Answer my question, John. Can you stay still for me?”
“No! No! No please, please!”
“No, what, John?”
“Fuck I’m going to kill you!”
And Sherlock laughs at him and John thinks he might cry or possibly swear but either way he wants to get fucked and that bloody finger in his arse isn’t. Fucking. Moving.
“No,” he snarls, and tries to pump his hips again. “I can’t bloody stay still.”
The finger pulls out and John actually whines trying to follow it but the cuffs drag at his wrists and keep him there.
“When can’t you stay still, John?” Sherlock asks and his voice is far too calm and John hates him with his soul.
“I hate you,” he moans.
“Answer the question, John.”
“When you’re in me, Sherlock.”
“When what’s in you, John?”
“Your cock! Oh god Sherlock please your cock!”
“Where do you want my cock, John?”
“I’m going to kill you. I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“John.”
“In me. In me please Sherlock please I want your cock in me!”
“Where, John?”
“My arse! Jesus Christ up my arse. I want your cock in my arse, Sherlock!”
“There,” Sherlock says and his face is unbearably smug and John would murder him if he wasn’t so desperate to be fucked right now. “You can learn after all,” Sherlock says and he thrusts himself home and John howls.
Yes, April is amazing. April is a beautiful, gorgeous month. He wonders, as Sherlock fucks him into the mattress and the chains clank above his head and he screams and gabbles for Sherlock who loves it when he makes this much noise, if they could find a way to make Mrs Hudson take a vacation in May, as well.
~ceywoozle
