ASDFASDLFJASDLKFJ YES.
This is exactly what I need to keep me occupied while I'm working the bank holiday weekend. :D
FIVE ACTS MEME ROUND TWO
Here's how it works:
1 - Cut a hole in the box.
2 - Put your--uh ... Post a list of your five favorite acts/kinks/themes/tropes to read about. Check out this list if you need some inspiration. At the bottom, add what fandoms/ ( Read more... )
FIVE ACTS MEME ROUND TWO
Here's how it works:
1 - Cut a hole in the box.
2 - Put your--uh ... Post a list of your five favorite acts/kinks/themes/tropes to read about. Check out this list if you need some inspiration. At the bottom, add what fandoms/ ( Read more... )
John knows the right thing to do would be to shove them straight off and remind Sherlock that he isn't furniture, no matter what he seems to think sometimes. He knows he should do that. That he should do that now.
He gets as far as thinking about curling his hand round one of them and his brain comes to a messy stop.
There's no way Sherlock knows, because no one knows, he's never told anyone, he's never even given any indication. It's just a thing - it's just something he thinks about sometimes.
But suddenly he's staring at Tony Robinson rambling about Anglo-Saxon burial grounds and he's not listening to a word of it. Because he can feel the slow drag of Sherlock's heel through his jeans, and the way his toes catch on the edge of John's jumper every time Sherlock stretches.
John's not going to touch. He's not going to do anything. But he wants to and he knows it. His hand twitches on the arm of the sofa and then closes into a fist. A whole world of restraint
He shifts like he's trying to get comfortable, hoping Sherlock will drag his feet away on a huff. Because there's no way he can sit here with Sherlock's feet in his lap and act like everything's fine. But he underestimates Sherlock's ability to keep whatever he finds and he resists the movement. For just enough long enough that there's no way, no possible way, that Sherlock can't tell that he has an erection.
The silence hangs, and John's half terrified he knows what's coming. But then he listens to a page turn, nonchalant, completely uncaring. He doesn't look over, doesn't dare. He's not quite sure how he's still breathing.
John looks down, then wishes he hadn't because Sherlock's toes curl and then stretch in a way which shouldn't be distracting but somehow is - and he's watching the television again with his fingers dug into the leather of the sofa and not hearing a single world.
Until Sherlock's foot moves, it's one slow drag against the fly of his jeans, which is clearly designed to arouse and can't possibly be mistaken for any sort of accidental brush.
John breathes out in one shuddering exhale, perfectly loud enough for Sherlock to hear and it's maddening that there's no reaction there. Just the rustle of paper.
He starts to think he's imagined it.
And then Sherlock's foot moves away, just a fraction, just enough that John could slip a hand down and unzip his jeans if he wanted to.
Oh Jesus.
John's hand slides off the arm of the sofa, almost without his permission, hovers somewhere near his own knee, uncertain.
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The zip goes down almost completely silently.
Sherlock's foot shifts back, toes flicking the fly open, and John inhales, quick and rough through his nose. Because there's almost nothing between the curl of Sherlock's toes and the sensitivity of his dick. And maybe he was wrong about how much he wanted this because he has his teeth dug into his lip and a whimper somewhere in his throat and he wants it so badly he thinks he might actually pass out.
It's too close and he can feel the steady press of Sherlock's foot, the curve of it, carefully shifting, one slow glide up and then down.
John drops his hand without thinking about it, fingers curling round the smooth arch of Sherlock's right foot, thumb laid over his toes and he drags in a breath because it's impossibly, shockingly intimate in a way he doesn't expect.
Sherlock doesn't seem to mind, the press and rock is lazy, unconcerned by the slow tighten and release of John's hand. John's struggling not to pull, not to do anything that will make this more scandalous than it is. Though he's not quite sure how he could possibly do that.
He wonders, briefly, what it would be like if he dragged his boxers down as well, if it was bare skin pressed into bare skin.
John's fingers tighten, holding Sherlock's foot still and he makes a noise, a stunned exhale and everything is briefly too hot and too shrp.
He loses about half a minute of time trying to relearn how to breathe, wondering how exactly he's supposed to explain this.
John slowly comes down from the dizzy thrill of orgasm that he never actually got his boxers off for. Someone on TV is talking about pottery shards and Sherlock is very carefully rubbing his toes back and forth over the meat of John's thumb.
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OMFG.
I. Yes. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. My favourite kink with my current favourite pairing and it's SO GOOD, UNF, and even without the faptasticness it's a lovely little piece with regards to the dynamic between them, but my brain keeps hanging up on that thought to return to OMG UNF. :D
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I'm so glad you liked it. You put that fairly awesome picspam up the other day and I couldn't help myself. I had to have a go at it for you and I'm very happy you thought I made it work ♥
They are just stupid, stupid love together.
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LOL! I'm kind of in love with that :D
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