Re: Stolen Moments pt 16/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 21:41:42 UTC
And honestly, it was just rubbing body parts together. Why make such a big deal of it? A mere biological function, hardly worth the amount of thought and energy normal people devoted to it. Why couldn't people relieve the itch and have it done without dragging all these relationship expectations into it? Why did it have to be so complicated?
Sherlock paced the floor of the sitting room, round and round the coffee table. He hadn't heard John's footsteps upstairs for an hour. He considered playing the violin but he didn't want to risk waking him. Sleep, he willed. Sleep while I think this over.
John was already so much a part of Sherlock's life, it seemed preposterous to think that, if not for the fear of wrecking what they had, he would not go along with this. If he could easily forgive that girl for injuring him, why wouldn't he forgive Sherlock for giving him a bit of pleasure?
It was the rational decision. It was the necessary decision. The question was not whether Sherlock should do this. It was "why was he hesitating?"
John kept lubricant and condoms in his dresser drawer. For Sarah, probably, for the day he overcame Sherlock's block. There were tissues to clean the inevitable mess. There shouldn't be any marks or bruises, Sherlock wasn't planning anything kinky. He didn't think penetration was necessary.
Two hours since John stopped moving. Time.
Steeling himself, he padded up the stairs to John's room. The door opened silently. John's breathing was slow and deep. Sherlock moved quickly to the head of the bed. He'd done this enough times that his movements were sure and swift. John didn't even rouse before his thumbs found the spots on his neck.
"John," whispered Sherlock. "Please wake up."
"Yes?" For a second Sherlock worried that the hypnosis hadn't worked this time. But John's breathing was as slow as before. He wasn't really roused.
"Undress for me."
While John sat up and removed his pyjama top, Sherlock turned the light on in the room. Turning back he saw John stand to pull the bottoms down. He felt a sudden rush of endorphins at the sight. He'd never seen John fully stripped before. The bits of newly bared skin made Sherlock's flesh tingle in sympathy. John's penis, though limp, was respectably long. He wasn't cut and the foreskin dangled like an empty sleeve past the rise of his balls. Sherlock bit his lip and squelched an unmanly whimper.
Sherlock paced the floor of the sitting room, round and round the coffee table. He hadn't heard John's footsteps upstairs for an hour. He considered playing the violin but he didn't want to risk waking him. Sleep, he willed. Sleep while I think this over.
John was already so much a part of Sherlock's life, it seemed preposterous to think that, if not for the fear of wrecking what they had, he would not go along with this. If he could easily forgive that girl for injuring him, why wouldn't he forgive Sherlock for giving him a bit of pleasure?
It was the rational decision. It was the necessary decision. The question was not whether Sherlock should do this. It was "why was he hesitating?"
John kept lubricant and condoms in his dresser drawer. For Sarah, probably, for the day he overcame Sherlock's block. There were tissues to clean the inevitable mess. There shouldn't be any marks or bruises, Sherlock wasn't planning anything kinky. He didn't think penetration was necessary.
Two hours since John stopped moving. Time.
Steeling himself, he padded up the stairs to John's room. The door opened silently. John's breathing was slow and deep. Sherlock moved quickly to the head of the bed. He'd done this enough times that his movements were sure and swift. John didn't even rouse before his thumbs found the spots on his neck.
"John," whispered Sherlock. "Please wake up."
"Yes?" For a second Sherlock worried that the hypnosis hadn't worked this time. But John's breathing was as slow as before. He wasn't really roused.
"Undress for me."
While John sat up and removed his pyjama top, Sherlock turned the light on in the room. Turning back he saw John stand to pull the bottoms down. He felt a sudden rush of endorphins at the sight. He'd never seen John fully stripped before. The bits of newly bared skin made Sherlock's flesh tingle in sympathy. John's penis, though limp, was respectably long. He wasn't cut and the foreskin dangled like an empty sleeve past the rise of his balls. Sherlock bit his lip and squelched an unmanly whimper.
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