A Turn of Phrase 4/8as_i_amDecember 31 2010, 05:52:18 UTC
"Hmm." Sherlock's voice lowered and turned into a sensuous, baritone rumble which made John's cock twitch and swell further. "You're quite fit." He slid his hands over John's bare chest, beneath the curtains of his open shirt. "Good bit of muscle from the army still."
"You really know how to talk a man up," John said, a little breathy.
Sherlock tilted his chin up. His throat worked. "What do you find attractive about me?" He asked. "Tell me."
John smiled and lowered himself. He didn't know where to start, so he went right to the top. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across Sherlock's lips. "Your mouth," he whispered. "These full, pink lips. They have such a delicate shape. Do you know when you gasp open-mouthed in surprise they form a perfect heart?"
His lips spread in a wide smile beneath his thumb. "I do actually," he said, sounding amused. "I'm told it's quite a delightful sight around one's cock. Would you like to see?"
John shuddered. "Oh, God."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure you can deduce."
"All right, but first I want to hear the rest."
"The rest?"
"What else do you find alluring about me?"
John chuckled softly. He could barely think, after that one. His cock felt impossibly hard and heavy in his jeans. "Your eyes," he said, gazing down into them. "I think they're gorgeous."
"I know. You stare into them more than strictly necessary."
"And your face," he whispered, stroking his thumb down his cheek. "It's so uniquely beautiful."
"Anything else?"
"Your throat." John buried his face against it and kissed the soft skin next to his Adam's apple. "God, the way you smell." He gasped muffled against his skin. "I want to fuck you so badly."
John heard the sound he made in his throat, felt it against his lips. "Yes," Sherlock whispered, close to his hair. "Say it like that now."
John stretched up and pressed his lips to the shell of his ear, Sherlock's thick curls dragging across the bridge of his nose. "Please can I fuck you?" He whispered. "Can I be inside you? Will you let me in?"
He felt Sherlock shudder beneath him, his chest hitch. Long fingers clutched convulsively at his hip. "Yes," Sherlock answered, rumbling and breathy. "But first my mouth."
John could barely think or even make his body work well enough to roll off of Sherlock and sit up, as he was instructed. Sherlock got off the bed, turned on the lamp next to it, and knelt on the floor. His hair was tousled and his cheeks and lips darkly pink. He urged John to the edge of the bed, legs over the side, and undid his jeans. John pushed down on the mattress with his hands and lifted his hips so Sherlock could drag them down, along with his pants. He was mildly embarrassed at how hard he was and how eagerly his cock sprung out, wet and flushed deep red. He was also a bit embarrassed the whole front panel of his Y-fronts was coated with gooey slickness.
This mild embarrassment turned to a real case of blushing like mad when Sherlock leaned over and licked the soaked front of his underwear, which were spanning the gap between his knees. He sucked at the fabric for a moment, then slid up and dragged his very hot, very wet tongue up the underside of his shaft to the head. "Oh sweet Jesus," John could only gasp out.
"Your cock is beautiful, John. Look how hard you are. I'm pleased."
"Thanks," he shuddered.
"Make sure you watch," Sherlock said. "You might have to push my hair out of the way. Don't be shy."
Sherlock placed a hand on his stomach and made him lean back a bit. He then dropped his shoulders and drew John's cock down, so he more or less had a straight line of sight. Indeed, the vision of that pale pink heart slipping over his cock was the most dizzyingly glorious thing he had ever seen. He took a good bit of him in one go too, down to the halfway point on his shaft, before sliding back up again. John did have to reach out, with a shaking hand, and push his hair away from his forehead to keep a clear view.
"Oh God." John couldn't form any coherent thought beyond calling out to a deity which may or may not have been listening. "Oh. God."
"You really know how to talk a man up," John said, a little breathy.
Sherlock tilted his chin up. His throat worked. "What do you find attractive about me?" He asked. "Tell me."
John smiled and lowered himself. He didn't know where to start, so he went right to the top. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across Sherlock's lips. "Your mouth," he whispered. "These full, pink lips. They have such a delicate shape. Do you know when you gasp open-mouthed in surprise they form a perfect heart?"
His lips spread in a wide smile beneath his thumb. "I do actually," he said, sounding amused. "I'm told it's quite a delightful sight around one's cock. Would you like to see?"
John shuddered. "Oh, God."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure you can deduce."
"All right, but first I want to hear the rest."
"The rest?"
"What else do you find alluring about me?"
John chuckled softly. He could barely think, after that one. His cock felt impossibly hard and heavy in his jeans. "Your eyes," he said, gazing down into them. "I think they're gorgeous."
"I know. You stare into them more than strictly necessary."
"And your face," he whispered, stroking his thumb down his cheek. "It's so uniquely beautiful."
"Anything else?"
"Your throat." John buried his face against it and kissed the soft skin next to his Adam's apple. "God, the way you smell." He gasped muffled against his skin. "I want to fuck you so badly."
John heard the sound he made in his throat, felt it against his lips. "Yes," Sherlock whispered, close to his hair. "Say it like that now."
John stretched up and pressed his lips to the shell of his ear, Sherlock's thick curls dragging across the bridge of his nose. "Please can I fuck you?" He whispered. "Can I be inside you? Will you let me in?"
He felt Sherlock shudder beneath him, his chest hitch. Long fingers clutched convulsively at his hip. "Yes," Sherlock answered, rumbling and breathy. "But first my mouth."
John could barely think or even make his body work well enough to roll off of Sherlock and sit up, as he was instructed. Sherlock got off the bed, turned on the lamp next to it, and knelt on the floor. His hair was tousled and his cheeks and lips darkly pink. He urged John to the edge of the bed, legs over the side, and undid his jeans. John pushed down on the mattress with his hands and lifted his hips so Sherlock could drag them down, along with his pants. He was mildly embarrassed at how hard he was and how eagerly his cock sprung out, wet and flushed deep red. He was also a bit embarrassed the whole front panel of his Y-fronts was coated with gooey slickness.
This mild embarrassment turned to a real case of blushing like mad when Sherlock leaned over and licked the soaked front of his underwear, which were spanning the gap between his knees. He sucked at the fabric for a moment, then slid up and dragged his very hot, very wet tongue up the underside of his shaft to the head. "Oh sweet Jesus," John could only gasp out.
"Your cock is beautiful, John. Look how hard you are. I'm pleased."
"Thanks," he shuddered.
"Make sure you watch," Sherlock said. "You might have to push my hair out of the way. Don't be shy."
Sherlock placed a hand on his stomach and made him lean back a bit. He then dropped his shoulders and drew John's cock down, so he more or less had a straight line of sight. Indeed, the vision of that pale pink heart slipping over his cock was the most dizzyingly glorious thing he had ever seen. He took a good bit of him in one go too, down to the halfway point on his shaft, before sliding back up again. John did have to reach out, with a shaking hand, and push his hair away from his forehead to keep a clear view.
"Oh God." John couldn't form any coherent thought beyond calling out to a deity which may or may not have been listening. "Oh. God."
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