FILL (1/?) Crying
anonymous
January 8 2011, 16:31:13 UTC
It should be offensive, really, the way Sherlock turns on the tears. But Ian Monkford’s wife is a criminal, and John’s not feeling particularly sympathetic toward her. Because he’s feeling something else.
It doesn’t happen every time he sees someone cry. If the person’s in pain, or devastated by loss, John’s reactions are normal - he wants to help.
But sometimes… Sometimes he gets off on the crying.
I will overcome this. Mind over matter, he thinks. But it’s too late. His willpower is gone.
“You’re aroused,” Sherlock says, in that cool voice of his.
John sputters. Sherlock’s expression is amused, like he’s not referring to John’s erection.
Obviously, this is not the first humiliating thing Sherlock has said to him. But it’s the first time John’s desire has been the subject of one of Sherlock’s deductions.
John’s interest in crying (he hates the word fetish) has been a problem forever. At fifteen, his girlfriend had cried nearly everyday, over small things - a poor score on a maths test, a harsh word from a friend - and John was turned on constantly. Constantly. But lucky for John, she’d let him comfort her. And then the comfort led to snogging. He felt a bit guilty about it, but took solace in the fact that he didn’t cause her to cry. He certainly never would bring it on deliberately, but if the person was already upset… well he couldn’t do anything about that.
During university, he’d tried to recondition himself. He’d put pictures of crying people next to horrifying, disgusting images. Maggots, even, which he hated. None of it worked. While he was deployed, he’d known a fellow officer, another doctor, who’d cried when his favorite football team lost the World Cup. John had to wank twice that night.
It was distracting. And inappropriate.
Sherlock is still staring at him. “There’s no reason to be ashamed,” he says.
John sighs. Sherlock is never going to drop this topic. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Sherlock fixes that steady gaze on John’s face. “Human bodies have reactions. Base reactions, certainly, but nevertheless, you -“
John holds up his hand. “Please stop talking.”
Sherlock stops, which is troubling. Because it means Sherlock’s thinking. But John’s thankful for the silence all the same. They make it home, and the silence lasts until they’re back in the flat.
“I don’t mind,” Sherlock says, as he removes his coat.
“You don’t mind what?”
“You being aroused by my crying.”
John just stares at him. Is this supposed to be some sort of twisted permission for John to carry on with his fantasies? Or is it an invitation?
Sherlock drops onto the sofa. His head is down briefly, and when he looks up, John gasps.
A tear rolls down Sherlock’s pale cheek. An actual tear. His lovely eyes aren’t clear now, but they’re watery, filling up. “John,” he says, and his voice actually breaks.
Re: FILL (2/?) Crying
anonymous
January 8 2011, 19:52:12 UTC
John is speechless. Sherlock is doing this for him? Indulging him? Did Sherlock ever indulge people? And they’ve been working together all this time, and John had no idea that Sherlock was interested? And what exactly is he interested in? Sex? A relationship? John has trouble even contemplating that one.
It doesn’t matter. There’s a man in front of him, crying. A beautiful man, who John happens to be in love with, who’s doing this just for him. It’s staggering, really.
John’s dizzy with want. He walks slowly toward the sofa. He sits on the battered coffee table and leans in. A second tear slips out of Sherlock’s other eye. And then another, and another, until his cheeks are wet.
John watched, captivated. He’s never seen anything so breathtaking. He lifts his arm, tentatively, and touches Sherlock’s cheek, feels the dampness. John moans. He’s so hard, just from looking.
He traces the tears with one finger, all the way down to Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock is still, not even blinking.
He presses his mouth against Sherlock’s, gently. In case this is as far as Sherlock will go. But Sherlock surprises him. He grabs John, and pulls him down. They land on the floor with a thud, Sherlock on his back, and John pressed against him.
Sherlock’s lip quivers, and John has to remind himself that his friend is faking it. Because John does not want Sherlock to suffer, not even for a second, no matter how turned on he is. But Sherlock is playing at this, and it’s all for John, so John exhales and keeps going.
He puts his hand on Sherlock’s face, palm flat against his skin, and covers Sherlock’s mouth with his own.
“Oh god,” John says, panting. Nothing will ever be this good. He licks Sherlock’s face, tasting the tears. Sherlock bucks up against him, rubbing, thrusting.
He has to look. He has to see. Sherlock is doing this for him, and he can’t miss one single tear. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, raising up, looking, studying, memorizing, and Sherlock doesn’t answer, but John’s too far gone to be embarrassed. John tears his jumper off and tosses it, then he unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt, slowly, carefully, watching his eyes the whole time. Sherlock sniffs, shuddering, and John moans again, loud.
Which Sherlock seems to like, because he grabs John’s hips, grinds them together, and then John is coming, right inside his trousers.
He somehow gets his hand inside Sherlock’s trousers, around his cock, and it only takes three strokes before Sherlock arches his back and bites his lip, coming all over John’s hand.
The crying is amazing, but watching Sherlock come is the most perfect thing in the whole world.
While John is still blinking down at him, Sherlock wipes his face with John’s discarded jumper.
John can’t form any words. He stares in amazement. “Thank you,” he says finally. He’s not sure that’s the appropriate response, but he’s pretty sure Sherlock won’t care.
Sherlock’s lips quirk. “I’ve always found crying on command to be a useful skill,” he says, smoothing down his shirt as he sits up gracefully.
Bloody hell. Sherlock's voice is as smooth as ever, and John can't even move. John smiles and lets his head fall back against the rug.
Re: FILL (2/?) Crying
anonymous
January 8 2011, 20:12:01 UTC
*anon from above*
UNF. OMG UNF. Hang on, give me a second to get coherent again... Nope. Just UNF.
I don't even HAVE a crying kink, but I think you just gave me one. On the other hand, I have a ridiculously huge and hugely ridiculous kink for John coming in his trousers, so that was good. :D And of course, Sherlock would be all calm and collected afterwards while John's completely "WTF just happened?" :D Is there more? I would like there to be more. *greedy anon is greedy*
PS: Mycroft says "declared dancearr". This is nothing to do with your fic, just thought you might like to know he's gone all piratey on us. :)
OP here for a perfect three.
anonymous
January 9 2011, 17:44:16 UTC
Oh God, this was just, so lovely, and sublime, and...PERFECT. You hit on all the reasons this is a kink for me, MY KINDRED SOUL. Including understanding that it has nothing to do with wanting to watch people suffer (I think it's very easy to get the wrong idea that dacryphiliacs are sadists, when in fact, any actual pain is a turn-off).
Poor John, trying to recondition himself. I remember that shame before I just decided 'hey, I'm a freak, I might as well embrace it.' Though like most fetishes, it's not like I have to walk down the street telling random people once I accept it (though that would be hilarious). The internet made me realize if something exists, someone somewhere is masturbating over it, so you're never really alone. :D
ALL THE TEARS WITH NONE OF THE SUFFERING. I need a Sherlock in my life.
Re: FILL (3/?) Crying
anonymous
January 9 2011, 19:40:57 UTC
It keeps happening. In fact, after their encounter with Moriarty, it becomes more frequent. Usually about once a week, John will look up from the newspaper, or walk out of his room, or step inside the flat, and Sherlock will start crying. It’s always the same: slow build-up of tears, red eyes, flushed cheeks, damp skin.
And John’s absolutely mad for it.
Once, it happens after they’ve solved a crime. Sherlock is giddy, striding away with his usual flourish, but once they’re in a cab, he starts crying. He even sobs, and hides his face in his hands, ignoring the driver’s furtive glances.
John can only stare as the tears flow, all the way back to Baker Street. The sex is mind-blowing, of course, and Sherlock is more than smug afterward. Neither of them can walk straight the next day.
All together it’s happened seven times now, and once they’re done, Sherlock dries his tears, usually with a piece of John’s clothing, and they don’t discuss it.
But John is in love with Sherlock, and has been since the first week he moved in. There’s nothing for it - John’s hopelessly smitten, and he’s afraid it’s starting to show.
John doesn’t bring it up though. He doesn’t want to hear Sherlock’s scorn, or derision. He imagines Sherlock saying something like, “John. My time is far too valuable to engage in trite discussions about your feelings.” He’s not ready for this to end, and he’s willing to play along for however long Sherlock will have him.
One day he comes back to the flat after a movie with Sarah - she’s been kind enough to stay friends with John -- and Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
His eyes are red.
John’s breath hitches.
The last time was only two days ago.
Maybe Sherlock wants to do this more often. Maybe - No, John’s not going to think about what ifs. He’s going to be happy with what Sherlock can give him, and he’s not going to push.
He goes and sits down next to Sherlock, running one hand down his friend’s thigh. But Sherlock doesn’t respond. John jerks his eyes toward Sherlock’s face - his eyes are glassy, and still red-rimmed, but there aren’t any tears. “Has something happened?” John asks. He has no idea what it could be. If something were wrong with Mycroft or Sherlock’s mother, or even Lestrade, surely Sherlock would tell him.
“No,” Sherlock says, and his voice is cold and flat. “Nothing has happened.” He pulls his legs away from John and stands. And before John can grab his wrist, Sherlock is gone, locking himself into his room.
John paces, rubs his forehead. Idiot. Sherlock was upset about something - what could it be? - and John had been insensitive. He’d sidled up to Sherlock and groped him, and offended him. Hurt his feelings? Likely, from the way Sherlock had spoken.
They’d never even touched each other outside of Sherlock’s rounds of forced crying. John had wanted to - he longed for it, actually, and if it were up to him, John would have Sherlock in his bed every night.
His stomach twists. He needs to apologize and before he can rethink it, John knocks on Sherlock’s door.
Re: FILL (4/4) Crying
anonymous
January 12 2011, 01:37:46 UTC
The door opens, and Sherlock stands there in his suit, looking just as composed as ever. “Did you need something?”
All the redness is gone from Sherlock’s eyes. He’d probably created some perfectly functional eye drops with a beaker and some test tubes while John paced.
“I um,” John sits on the bed. Might as well be comfortable. “I want to be with you,” John blurts out. Oh god. He hadn’t meant to actually say that.
Sherlock stares at him.
John can feel his face heat up. This was why he’d avoided this conversation for weeks -- this feeling of utter humiliation and rejection. “All right.” John scratches his eyebrow. All of his skin itches. “Now that’s sorted, so I’m off,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.
“Wait.” Sherlock narrows his eyes. “What are you referring to?”
John closes his eyes and sinks back down on the bed. If the crying weren’t addictive enough, the man’s voice would do him in.
“You. And me.” John opens his eyes and does his best to look at Sherlock through the utter embarrassment. “I’d love to have -“ He swallows. “More. If you wanted to as well.”
“You mean a relationship.”
John nods.
Sherlock is the one pacing now.
Clearly, John is going to have to move this conversation along. “What do you want?”
“You,” Sherlock says, but he doesn’t elaborate.
John is - he doesn’t even know what he is. Shocked? Thrilled? Both, probably. “Me?”
“I did say that.”
John blinks. Scratches his forehead. “I wasn’t aware.”
“You think I’d do the,” Sherlock gestures toward his face. “For anyone?”
“No. I thought you wanted to get off with me.”
“Quite.”
“Sorry, what exactly are we discussing?” Before he makes a total fool of himself, John wants to be sure exactly what Sherlock is talking about. Could John have misunderstood Sherlock’s intentions?
Sherlock stops pacing and stares at him. “You went out with Sarah tonight.”
“As friends.”
Sherlock’s stare turns into a grimace.
“Really. Other than a friendly hug, I haven’t touched Sarah,” John says, and Sherlock’s face relaxes. He’s sure Sherlock can tell John’s speaking the truth by the way John’s moving his hands, or the way he turned his head, or something. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is that Sherlock believes him.
Sherlock stands there, looking pleased, but he doesn’t move toward John. But by now, after the knotted up stomach and all the fretting and pacing, John’s tired waiting - he grabs Sherlock by the shoulders and gets right up close to him. “I love it when you cry. You know that. It turns me on. You’re fucking gorgeous. But I want you, even if you never cry again. I want you. Not Sarah. Not anyone else. No matter what,” John says, and he’s nearly out of breath by the time he’s finished.
“Likewise,” Sherlock says, with his usual aloofness and then he ducks his head. When he looks up, his eyes are shimmering, and he’s got a sly half-smile on his face, but it’s disappeared by the time the first teardrop falls.
“Oh god,” John groans. “You know what that does to me.”
“Precisely the point,” Sherlock whispers as he sinks to his knees, face already shiny with tears.
Re: FILL (4/4) Crying
anonymous
January 13 2011, 20:19:24 UTC
NNNGF.
Lovely. Absolutely lovely and heartbreaking and heartwarming and oh so hot. If I didn't have a crying kink before reading this story, I'd certainly have one now. Thank you for filling this!
Re: FILL (4/4) Crying
anonymous
April 15 2011, 21:27:38 UTC
Oh excellent! He is such a beautiful cryer!! I fourth the dacryphilia on this thread!! It's just so gorgeous and exciting and Sherlock's crocodile tear scene just threw me for a loop. Ben Cumberbatch, though, is amazing when he cries. If you haven't had the opportunity yet, do check out To the Ends of the Earth. Without giving too much away, in the second episode his character, Edmund Talbot, gets a bit punch drunk and is easily emotionally overwhelmed. Gorgeous (but not painful) tears ensue.
OP HERE YET AGAIN
anonymous
January 9 2011, 17:28:00 UTC
Oh my god. I'm assuming you're the person I talked with below over our shared fetish. You really, truly DO understand it! I COULD WEEP! (Er...wait...) You completely understand actual suffering and pain doesn't trigger it. I think that's why having a sex partner like Sherlock who could just cry at will would be the ultimate catch. He's not actually hurting!
It doesn’t happen every time he sees someone cry. If the person’s in pain, or devastated by loss, John’s reactions are normal - he wants to help.
But sometimes… Sometimes he gets off on the crying.
I will overcome this. Mind over matter, he thinks. But it’s too late. His willpower is gone.
“You’re aroused,” Sherlock says, in that cool voice of his.
John sputters. Sherlock’s expression is amused, like he’s not referring to John’s erection.
Obviously, this is not the first humiliating thing Sherlock has said to him. But it’s the first time John’s desire has been the subject of one of Sherlock’s deductions.
John’s interest in crying (he hates the word fetish) has been a problem forever. At fifteen, his girlfriend had cried nearly everyday, over small things - a poor score on a maths test, a harsh word from a friend - and John was turned on constantly. Constantly. But lucky for John, she’d let him comfort her. And then the comfort led to snogging. He felt a bit guilty about it, but took solace in the fact that he didn’t cause her to cry. He certainly never would bring it on deliberately, but if the person was already upset… well he couldn’t do anything about that.
During university, he’d tried to recondition himself. He’d put pictures of crying people next to horrifying, disgusting images. Maggots, even, which he hated. None of it worked. While he was deployed, he’d known a fellow officer, another doctor, who’d cried when his favorite football team lost the World Cup. John had to wank twice that night.
It was distracting. And inappropriate.
Sherlock is still staring at him. “There’s no reason to be ashamed,” he says.
John sighs. Sherlock is never going to drop this topic. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Sherlock fixes that steady gaze on John’s face. “Human bodies have reactions. Base reactions, certainly, but nevertheless, you -“
John holds up his hand. “Please stop talking.”
Sherlock stops, which is troubling. Because it means Sherlock’s thinking. But John’s thankful for the silence all the same. They make it home, and the silence lasts until they’re back in the flat.
“I don’t mind,” Sherlock says, as he removes his coat.
“You don’t mind what?”
“You being aroused by my crying.”
John just stares at him. Is this supposed to be some sort of twisted permission for John to carry on with his fantasies? Or is it an invitation?
Sherlock drops onto the sofa. His head is down briefly, and when he looks up, John gasps.
A tear rolls down Sherlock’s pale cheek. An actual tear. His lovely eyes aren’t clear now, but they’re watery, filling up. “John,” he says, and his voice actually breaks.
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It doesn’t matter. There’s a man in front of him, crying. A beautiful man, who John happens to be in love with, who’s doing this just for him. It’s staggering, really.
John’s dizzy with want. He walks slowly toward the sofa. He sits on the battered coffee table and leans in. A second tear slips out of Sherlock’s other eye. And then another, and another, until his cheeks are wet.
John watched, captivated. He’s never seen anything so breathtaking. He lifts his arm, tentatively, and touches Sherlock’s cheek, feels the dampness. John moans. He’s so hard, just from looking.
He traces the tears with one finger, all the way down to Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock is still, not even blinking.
He presses his mouth against Sherlock’s, gently. In case this is as far as Sherlock will go. But Sherlock surprises him. He grabs John, and pulls him down. They land on the floor with a thud, Sherlock on his back, and John pressed against him.
Sherlock’s lip quivers, and John has to remind himself that his friend is faking it. Because John does not want Sherlock to suffer, not even for a second, no matter how turned on he is. But Sherlock is playing at this, and it’s all for John, so John exhales and keeps going.
He puts his hand on Sherlock’s face, palm flat against his skin, and covers Sherlock’s mouth with his own.
“Oh god,” John says, panting. Nothing will ever be this good. He licks Sherlock’s face, tasting the tears. Sherlock bucks up against him, rubbing, thrusting.
He has to look. He has to see. Sherlock is doing this for him, and he can’t miss one single tear. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, raising up, looking, studying, memorizing, and Sherlock doesn’t answer, but John’s too far gone to be embarrassed. John tears his jumper off and tosses it, then he unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt, slowly, carefully, watching his eyes the whole time. Sherlock sniffs, shuddering, and John moans again, loud.
Which Sherlock seems to like, because he grabs John’s hips, grinds them together, and then John is coming, right inside his trousers.
He somehow gets his hand inside Sherlock’s trousers, around his cock, and it only takes three strokes before Sherlock arches his back and bites his lip, coming all over John’s hand.
The crying is amazing, but watching Sherlock come is the most perfect thing in the whole world.
While John is still blinking down at him, Sherlock wipes his face with John’s discarded jumper.
John can’t form any words. He stares in amazement. “Thank you,” he says finally. He’s not sure that’s the appropriate response, but he’s pretty sure Sherlock won’t care.
Sherlock’s lips quirk. “I’ve always found crying on command to be a useful skill,” he says, smoothing down his shirt as he sits up gracefully.
Bloody hell. Sherlock's voice is as smooth as ever, and John can't even move. John smiles and lets his head fall back against the rug.
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UNF. OMG UNF. Hang on, give me a second to get coherent again... Nope. Just UNF.
I don't even HAVE a crying kink, but I think you just gave me one. On the other hand, I have a ridiculously huge and hugely ridiculous kink for John coming in his trousers, so that was good. :D And of course, Sherlock would be all calm and collected afterwards while John's completely "WTF just happened?" :D Is there more? I would like there to be more. *greedy anon is greedy*
PS: Mycroft says "declared dancearr". This is nothing to do with your fic, just thought you might like to know he's gone all piratey on us. :)
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Poor John, trying to recondition himself. I remember that shame before I just decided 'hey, I'm a freak, I might as well embrace it.' Though like most fetishes, it's not like I have to walk down the street telling random people once I accept it (though that would be hilarious). The internet made me realize if something exists, someone somewhere is masturbating over it, so you're never really alone. :D
ALL THE TEARS WITH NONE OF THE SUFFERING. I need a Sherlock in my life.
Sigh. Thank you.
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It keeps happening. In fact, after their encounter with Moriarty, it becomes more frequent. Usually about once a week, John will look up from the newspaper, or walk out of his room, or step inside the flat, and Sherlock will start crying. It’s always the same: slow build-up of tears, red eyes, flushed cheeks, damp skin.
And John’s absolutely mad for it.
Once, it happens after they’ve solved a crime. Sherlock is giddy, striding away with his usual flourish, but once they’re in a cab, he starts crying. He even sobs, and hides his face in his hands, ignoring the driver’s furtive glances.
John can only stare as the tears flow, all the way back to Baker Street. The sex is mind-blowing, of course, and Sherlock is more than smug afterward. Neither of them can walk straight the next day.
All together it’s happened seven times now, and once they’re done, Sherlock dries his tears, usually with a piece of John’s clothing, and they don’t discuss it.
But John is in love with Sherlock, and has been since the first week he moved in. There’s nothing for it - John’s hopelessly smitten, and he’s afraid it’s starting to show.
John doesn’t bring it up though. He doesn’t want to hear Sherlock’s scorn, or derision. He imagines Sherlock saying something like, “John. My time is far too valuable to engage in trite discussions about your feelings.” He’s not ready for this to end, and he’s willing to play along for however long Sherlock will have him.
One day he comes back to the flat after a movie with Sarah - she’s been kind enough to stay friends with John -- and Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
His eyes are red.
John’s breath hitches.
The last time was only two days ago.
Maybe Sherlock wants to do this more often. Maybe - No, John’s not going to think about what ifs. He’s going to be happy with what Sherlock can give him, and he’s not going to push.
He goes and sits down next to Sherlock, running one hand down his friend’s thigh. But Sherlock doesn’t respond. John jerks his eyes toward Sherlock’s face - his eyes are glassy, and still red-rimmed, but there aren’t any tears. “Has something happened?” John asks. He has no idea what it could be. If something were wrong with Mycroft or Sherlock’s mother, or even Lestrade, surely Sherlock would tell him.
“No,” Sherlock says, and his voice is cold and flat. “Nothing has happened.” He pulls his legs away from John and stands. And before John can grab his wrist, Sherlock is gone, locking himself into his room.
John paces, rubs his forehead. Idiot. Sherlock was upset about something - what could it be? - and John had been insensitive. He’d sidled up to Sherlock and groped him, and offended him. Hurt his feelings? Likely, from the way Sherlock had spoken.
They’d never even touched each other outside of Sherlock’s rounds of forced crying. John had wanted to - he longed for it, actually, and if it were up to him, John would have Sherlock in his bed every night.
His stomach twists. He needs to apologize and before he can rethink it, John knocks on Sherlock’s door.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were upset.”
Silence.
Awkward.
John tries again. “Can I come in?”
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All the redness is gone from Sherlock’s eyes. He’d probably created some perfectly functional eye drops with a beaker and some test tubes while John paced.
“I um,” John sits on the bed. Might as well be comfortable. “I want to be with you,” John blurts out. Oh god. He hadn’t meant to actually say that.
Sherlock stares at him.
John can feel his face heat up. This was why he’d avoided this conversation for weeks -- this feeling of utter humiliation and rejection. “All right.” John scratches his eyebrow. All of his skin itches. “Now that’s sorted, so I’m off,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.
“Wait.” Sherlock narrows his eyes. “What are you referring to?”
John closes his eyes and sinks back down on the bed. If the crying weren’t addictive enough, the man’s voice would do him in.
“You. And me.” John opens his eyes and does his best to look at Sherlock through the utter embarrassment. “I’d love to have -“ He swallows. “More. If you wanted to as well.”
“You mean a relationship.”
John nods.
Sherlock is the one pacing now.
Clearly, John is going to have to move this conversation along. “What do you want?”
“You,” Sherlock says, but he doesn’t elaborate.
John is - he doesn’t even know what he is. Shocked? Thrilled? Both, probably. “Me?”
“I did say that.”
John blinks. Scratches his forehead. “I wasn’t aware.”
“You think I’d do the,” Sherlock gestures toward his face. “For anyone?”
“No. I thought you wanted to get off with me.”
“Quite.”
“Sorry, what exactly are we discussing?” Before he makes a total fool of himself, John wants to be sure exactly what Sherlock is talking about. Could John have misunderstood Sherlock’s intentions?
Sherlock stops pacing and stares at him. “You went out with Sarah tonight.”
“As friends.”
Sherlock’s stare turns into a grimace.
“Really. Other than a friendly hug, I haven’t touched Sarah,” John says, and Sherlock’s face relaxes. He’s sure Sherlock can tell John’s speaking the truth by the way John’s moving his hands, or the way he turned his head, or something. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is that Sherlock believes him.
Sherlock stands there, looking pleased, but he doesn’t move toward John. But by now, after the knotted up stomach and all the fretting and pacing, John’s tired waiting - he grabs Sherlock by the shoulders and gets right up close to him. “I love it when you cry. You know that. It turns me on. You’re fucking gorgeous. But I want you, even if you never cry again. I want you. Not Sarah. Not anyone else. No matter what,” John says, and he’s nearly out of breath by the time he’s finished.
“Likewise,” Sherlock says, with his usual aloofness and then he ducks his head. When he looks up, his eyes are shimmering, and he’s got a sly half-smile on his face, but it’s disappeared by the time the first teardrop falls.
“Oh god,” John groans. “You know what that does to me.”
“Precisely the point,” Sherlock whispers as he sinks to his knees, face already shiny with tears.
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Lovely. Absolutely lovely and heartbreaking and heartwarming and oh so hot. If I didn't have a crying kink before reading this story, I'd certainly have one now. Thank you for filling this!
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This was my first fill ever, and it was a delightful experience. YAY FOR CRYING! :D
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I loved how John's kink and Sherlock's skill go hand in hand. :D
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“Precisely the point,” Sherlock whispers as he sinks to his knees, face already shiny with tears.
OH--OH GOD.
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BLISS.
Moving on to part two now!
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