Innominate [1/1]
anonymous
September 14 2010, 12:52:44 UTC
I'll just leave this mini!fill here, and back away very slowly... connection aprods? really, captcha?
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It starts when the knuckle of Sherlock's forefinger grazes along the small of his back. It's a light brush, a dismissible sensation not quite reaching past fabric to skin, so John barely registers it in a moment of distraction, promptly forgets it within the next passing second.
The second touch is more purposeful, objective - leather slides against the dip of his spine, eases the hem of his shirt over the line of his belt. John turns his head, slackens his mouth to voice some kind of complaint, some kind of exclamation, but then Sarah's fingers curl against the crook of his elbow and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, useless. Sherlock's gaze is directed towards the stage, unwavering. John drops his chin to his shoulder, swallows, then drags his head back in front of him.
His thoughts are a frantic litany of what- and I don't- and this can't be actually happening, he's clearly not even left the flat, must have fallen
( ... )
Re: Continued!junaleleSeptember 16 2010, 09:41:46 UTC
I wouldn't have thought it possible but I'm pretty sure Sherlock recounting John's fantasies was even more deliciously-squirmy-sexy than that fantasy playing out. I mean, imagine him saying that in that voice of his... Oh. God.
Re: Continued!wildejoySeptember 17 2010, 14:18:11 UTC
It's a good thing I'm not standing up because my knees would have buckled, I swear. ♥Oh god, just imagining Sherlock's voice saying those things... I am totally undone. YOU HAVE RUINED ME THANK YOU, MORE PLEASE?
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connection aprods? really, captcha?
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It starts when the knuckle of Sherlock's forefinger grazes along the small of his back. It's a light brush, a dismissible sensation not quite reaching past fabric to skin, so John barely registers it in a moment of distraction, promptly forgets it within the next passing second.
The second touch is more purposeful, objective - leather slides against the dip of his spine, eases the hem of his shirt over the line of his belt. John turns his head, slackens his mouth to voice some kind of complaint, some kind of exclamation, but then Sarah's fingers curl against the crook of his elbow and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, useless. Sherlock's gaze is directed towards the stage, unwavering. John drops his chin to his shoulder, swallows, then drags his head back in front of him.
His thoughts are a frantic litany of what- and I don't- and this can't be actually happening, he's clearly not even left the flat, must have fallen ( ... )
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Blew me away...amazingly hot!
Only wish it could have been longer, but great work!
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(also, so, when is the net time? =D)
Thank you for continuing!
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That should be a prompt by itself!!!
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I have no words to adequately describe the hotness that this is. I just beg for more!
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<3
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