Ruffled Apron
Title: Ruffled Apron
Author: crazycatt71
Rating: R
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Word Count: 731
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: None
Summary: Sherlock, a ruffled apron, high heels
A/N: a shoe fic
John wearily trudged up the stairs to the flat. He had worked several long shifts at the clinic and he was tired. As he pushed open the door, he silently prayed that Sherlock was either in a good mood or not home. He just wanted to collapse in his chair with a cup of tea and enjoy some peace and quiet. All thoughts of tea and peace and quiet went right out of his head when he saw Sherlock standing in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but a frilly apron and high heeled shoes, dusting the mantle with a feather duster. The flat was immaculate; no clutter or experiments. John’s scrambled brain registered that the black apron was covered in skull & cross bones and the bright pink pumps matched the apron's trim.
How very Sherlockian John thought. Was that even a word? He wondered and then shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Oh good, you are home.” Sherlock said as he turned from the fireplace, wide smile lighting up his face.
He pranced, there was no other way to describe it, over to John and place a kiss on his cheek.
“You look tired.” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand and leading him over to his chair, “Sit down and relax while I fix your tea.”
John sat with a dazed look on his face, watching his nude except for an apron, flat mate move about the kitchen, fixing tea. No John Watson was British and strongly believed there was little that couldn’t be fixed with a proper cup of tea but he seriously doubted there was enough tea in the empire to help make sense of what was going on. Sherlock brought him his tea and then moved behind John’s chair and began rubbing his neck.
“You poor dear you are all tense.” Sherlock cooed. “I know just how to fix that.”
John was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about more tea. Sherlock proved him right by walking around the chair, pushing John’s thighs apart, and dropping to his knees in front of them. John stopped breathing when Sherlock quickly unbuckled his belt. His breath whooshed out of his lungs when Sherlock made quick work of his flies and tugged his jeans and pants down to his thighs. He began breathing in short heavy pants as Sherlock wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and began to swirl his tongue around the head. John gripped the arms of the chair and stared in awe as Sherlock licked the length of his cock, gently nibbling as he went. He groaned and let his head rest on the back of the chair as Sherlock parted his luscious lips and took all of his cock down his throat. A moan escaped from John as Sherlock swallowed causing his throat muscles to constrict around John’s cock. John tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s curls, holding his head still as he thrust his hips, pushing his cock into the tight, wet heat of Sherlock’s throat.
“God, that’s so good.” John panted, “I’m so close.”
John’s breathing became more ragged, his thrusts faster and harder until with a final push, he came as his eyes flew open to reveal the cracked ceiling of his bedroom. His cock pulsed in his fist as cum spilled over it.
“Oh Shit.” he groaned as reality hit him.
It had been a dream, a very erotic dream, a very enjoyable erotic dream. John lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a grin on his face until the cum on his belly cooled and then reluctantly got up and went into the bedroom. After washing up, he pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a tee shirt before heading down stairs. Everything was normal, well their version of normal, all the clutter was in place, the kitchen table was buried under one of Sherlock’s experiments and the detective was curled on his side on the couch, his back to the room, his fingers pressed to his lips, not an apron or high heel in sight.
“John, must you be so loud, I’m trying to think.” Sherlock grumbled.
John grinned as he headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“Sherlock,” he called as he got mugs out of the cabinet, “how do you feel about ruffled aprons?”
Normal was nice, but it never hurt to ask.
Author: crazycatt71
Rating: R
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Word Count: 731
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: None
Summary: Sherlock, a ruffled apron, high heels
A/N: a shoe fic
John wearily trudged up the stairs to the flat. He had worked several long shifts at the clinic and he was tired. As he pushed open the door, he silently prayed that Sherlock was either in a good mood or not home. He just wanted to collapse in his chair with a cup of tea and enjoy some peace and quiet. All thoughts of tea and peace and quiet went right out of his head when he saw Sherlock standing in front of the fireplace wearing nothing but a frilly apron and high heeled shoes, dusting the mantle with a feather duster. The flat was immaculate; no clutter or experiments. John’s scrambled brain registered that the black apron was covered in skull & cross bones and the bright pink pumps matched the apron's trim.
How very Sherlockian John thought. Was that even a word? He wondered and then shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Oh good, you are home.” Sherlock said as he turned from the fireplace, wide smile lighting up his face.
He pranced, there was no other way to describe it, over to John and place a kiss on his cheek.
“You look tired.” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand and leading him over to his chair, “Sit down and relax while I fix your tea.”
John sat with a dazed look on his face, watching his nude except for an apron, flat mate move about the kitchen, fixing tea. No John Watson was British and strongly believed there was little that couldn’t be fixed with a proper cup of tea but he seriously doubted there was enough tea in the empire to help make sense of what was going on. Sherlock brought him his tea and then moved behind John’s chair and began rubbing his neck.
“You poor dear you are all tense.” Sherlock cooed. “I know just how to fix that.”
John was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about more tea. Sherlock proved him right by walking around the chair, pushing John’s thighs apart, and dropping to his knees in front of them. John stopped breathing when Sherlock quickly unbuckled his belt. His breath whooshed out of his lungs when Sherlock made quick work of his flies and tugged his jeans and pants down to his thighs. He began breathing in short heavy pants as Sherlock wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and began to swirl his tongue around the head. John gripped the arms of the chair and stared in awe as Sherlock licked the length of his cock, gently nibbling as he went. He groaned and let his head rest on the back of the chair as Sherlock parted his luscious lips and took all of his cock down his throat. A moan escaped from John as Sherlock swallowed causing his throat muscles to constrict around John’s cock. John tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s curls, holding his head still as he thrust his hips, pushing his cock into the tight, wet heat of Sherlock’s throat.
“God, that’s so good.” John panted, “I’m so close.”
John’s breathing became more ragged, his thrusts faster and harder until with a final push, he came as his eyes flew open to reveal the cracked ceiling of his bedroom. His cock pulsed in his fist as cum spilled over it.
“Oh Shit.” he groaned as reality hit him.
It had been a dream, a very erotic dream, a very enjoyable erotic dream. John lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a grin on his face until the cum on his belly cooled and then reluctantly got up and went into the bedroom. After washing up, he pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a tee shirt before heading down stairs. Everything was normal, well their version of normal, all the clutter was in place, the kitchen table was buried under one of Sherlock’s experiments and the detective was curled on his side on the couch, his back to the room, his fingers pressed to his lips, not an apron or high heel in sight.
“John, must you be so loud, I’m trying to think.” Sherlock grumbled.
John grinned as he headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“Sherlock,” he called as he got mugs out of the cabinet, “how do you feel about ruffled aprons?”
Normal was nice, but it never hurt to ask.