Entwined. A Sherlock/John PWP
Title: Entwined: A Sherlock/John PWP
author: ettuinarcadia
Rating: NC-17+
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: very explicit sex, no plot, fisting kink
Summary: Sherlock's long slender fingers look so pretty entwined with John's blunt, calloused ones, pushing . . .
Disclaimers: I don't own them, I just like to play with them.
NOTE: Written for the prompt at the sherlockbbc kink meme, Pt. XX p. 14
Sherlock's long slender fingers look so pretty entwined with John's blunt, calloused ones, pushing into Sherlock's warm core. A sight John could look at forever, really. But if he really had to, he thought he could do more than look.
A good thing, because Sherlock is greedy, and tonight it's possible he's bordering on insatiable.
John is still glowing from their first orgasm; Sherlock is still flushed, tumbled-looking from it.
But just moments later his impossibly long arm is twisting around and those pale fingers are pressing up, up through the glistening cum, right up into his own ass, and looking at John through lowered lashes, parted lips; watching, calculating. To see what he might do.
Hell, right now what John would like to do is watch, but as Sherlock spreads three fingers wide and pushes in a little farther, his gasps start to sound a little desperate, like he can't reach farther, can't push them where he wants, wants to feel filled, or maybe he just wants to feel more of John in him.
For a long moment John does just watch him. Writhing a little, craving.
It doesn't take very much of this at all to make John's cock twitch and lengthen again, sooner than he expected, and he knows what's going to go down.
This is journey that had been started many times but never finished, might never be finished.
He grabs a fistful of lube and puts his palm flat against sherlock's, buried almost to the top knuckle now, and just insinuates one of his fingers between Sherlock's own until there are four fingers up there, in him, embraced by a tight, quivering ring of muscle.
The expansion and tightness of just that single extra finger, blunt, thicker than his own, makes Sherlock groan, loud and sharp.
And now he's eagerly pressing himself down on it, taking it in. The warmth in there, the tangle of slick fingers where his cock had been just a minute before is making John a little dizzy. When he looks again at their hands, fingers pressed so tightly together in that tight pink hole, he gets a whole lot dizzier.
He resists with all his will the obscene whisper in his head, the one that urges him to piston his hand and batter his way in and make Sherlock scream with the ecstasy of it.
Instead, his single finger crooks its way around and gently, slowly, pulls their entwined fingers until they brush the bulge of Sherlock's prostate. John knows well it is sensitive from an explosive orgasm, just a minute before. John guides their fingers, together, just barely teasing that tender flesh, making Sherlock moan rhythmically now and his cock is rising again, hard and fast; harder than it has any right to be, really; but John doesn't allow himself to touch it.
Not yet.
After a few long, exquisite minutes of just rocking their fingers together, no longer cool but hot, slick, and straining in the tightness of Sherlock's hole, maybe not pretty anymore but just so damned beautiful, he slides in his middle finger and now there are five fingers, entwined.
John feels a stab of sharp lust when he senses Sherlock's slim fingertips massaging himself, deep, forcing sharper moans from one of them, both of them -- impossible to tell, now.
Something about their locked fingers is making John throb deep inside, as though he, too, was being pierced. The strain of his untouched cock was close to driving him mad but if he lost focus now, everything would be over.
And he never wants this to be over.
He needs to press all of his fingers in, all the way, until both of their hands are stretching that tightness open farther than it ever has before. He shudders at the thought.
Sherlock's twisted arm is starting to shake and something about this, just this, makes John gasp, "You're so fucking hot like this, do you that know you're driving me mad," diving in for a hard, deep kiss while pushing up farther with his fingers into that dark, slick, hungry place.
Where virgin territory beckons.
This stretches Sherlock's arm beyond discomfort, and his groans into John's mouth become whimper, a plea, a plea that John is powerless to deny. Sherlock is trying hard to pump on their joined hands.
Instead of helping, John gently pulls their entwined fingers out now, shining and slippery, feeling his ass just suck on his hand all the way out, and Sherlock begs, "No, John, no, " at the aching sensation of loss.
He is thrusting into the air now at sheer emptiness, and John swears there are tears in his eyes at the sheer frustration of being denied.
Sherlock's hand goes right back of its own will where it wants to go, needs to go, but John whispers surely, soothingly, "Sherlock, it's all right now. Stop. Relax."
It is hard to tell whose breath is louder, more ragged, as John carefully pushes lube into him again, and then even more, and lets Sherlock watch him slick his entire hand and forearm.
Up to the elbow.
John presses back in with three fingers, pointed, and starts twisting, pressing, relentlessly working the ring of flesh open wider.
Their breath is coming together in hoarse pants now. There is no resistance as the little finger, and then the just tip of his thumb folded completely flat against is palm, slides in.
All that is left is his knuckles, the widest part. John is grateful for his small hands.
His heart is hammering so hard Sherlock must be able to hear it.
Everything is incredibly slick, and John can feel the quivering of that hot stretched ring of flesh, opening just that fraction more and his breath catches in his throat as he presses home steadily. But then everything tightens down again, as so many times in the past, pushing his hand away as Sherlock gasps, "Oh God, John, please, please, I need it, help me."
This time, John says between clenched teeth, "Just take it, then, love, take it all in now," and just pushes steadily through to Sherlock's almost-sob of "Please, please," a sound that makes John sure he’s never going to be able to take what’s coming, it’s all too much, too intense. Too everything.
There is a sudden precious yielding. After a frozen moment on the very brink, his folded hand just plunges past the clenched barrier and with a guttural cry Sherlock's ass opens fully to his hand.
John thinks the feeling of this might drive him mad.
His hand is sunk to the wrist in a warm, dark, moist, clinging embrace like no other, and there was nothing right now that he needed to do but just watch the utter rapture transforming Sherlock's face as he shudders there, his entire being impaled on John's strong hand.
John's cock was so hard now he didn't know how he could ever manage to move, let alone think, but he bends in closer.
He admires the sheen of sweat on Sherlock’s flushed skin while holding his hand still, so still.
He bends farther to kiss him tenderly on the belly, right above the spot where his hand, amazingly, is buried within him, and he presses his hand up inside to meet that kiss. Sherlock growls.
"Tell me what you feel," John pants, just twisting the hand, not pushing deeper -- yet.
"Ahhhh-- so much, so -- full, John. So good. So tight, ahhhhh, it fills me," Sherlock gasps.
John has to brace back against Sherlock's thigh to stop him pumping back on his hand.
"No, Sherlock, slowly, shhhhh. I don't want to hurt you."
Now he slowly drew his fingers into a fist.
The quivering walls cling to his hand.
Now he pushes slowly, intimately. In, out. In, out, just an inch. Perhaps less.
Sherlock's cock was standing straight up, hard and red with tight flesh so stretched it shone.
John had never seen Sherlock so hard, he had never been this hard.
John wanted so to take him into his mouth, and his own inflamed cock was bumping and straining against the bedsheets now, but this moment had been so long coming that he made a superhuman effort to ignore his overwhelming need.
Instead, he forced the whole world down, all the way down to the narrow scope of his hand and the slick, warm, plush tightness that was Sherlock's ass clinging to it.
Sherlock's cries were faster now, louder too; swears, curses, pleas, jumbling together as if he was in the throes of a delirium as precome leaks a steady stream from his slit.
This sight. Those sounds. God, had he ever heard Sherlock moan like this, from down deep, like he might die if John ever stopped?
"Now or never, " he thought, and just pushed in deeper, and harder.
His arm was now, impossibly, buried halfway up his forearm.
He rocked it there for ten slow, steady strokes. He made each just a little harder.
Sherlock took every bit of it, his entire body opening, swaying and glowing under the unique sensation of being massively invaded by John's strong hand.
The only intelligible sounds from his slack mouth were, "yes, yes," to John's dominating stroke.
This power, this control, was beyond anything John had ever imagined, and he exulted in it. They were floating, soaring into a new place, golden and silent, everything reduced to the sensation of purest pleasure in waves from deep in Sherlock's hot core, through John's pistoning arm, and straight to his cock.
John finally bent to take Sherlock's purpled cock into his mouth. He could feel every single vibration on his tongue as Sherlock began to quake with long, rolling shivers that clamped hard around John's hand. Cries of ecstasy and gratitude wrenched from Sherlock's very deepest place as his cum shot burning into John's throat, flowing and overflowing in an endless gush.
John gently pulled his slick hand out while the orgasm was still cresting, and a second wave slammed through Sherlock as he just pushed in with his throbbing cock, desperate to feel that slick, hot place. John held nothing back, whispering, "You're so amazing like this, I just need to fuck you now, I'm going to pound you so fucking hard."
The press of John's cock banging his tender prostate sent Sherlock’s head spinning from the exquisite sharpness of it. Sharp, sparkly fireworks clouded his vision and as John came, the hot melting of it after the sharpness sent him over one last time, shuddering a last spurt and they collapsed together, entwined as their fingers had been, warm and close, murmuring each other’s name.
author: ettuinarcadia
Rating: NC-17+
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: very explicit sex, no plot, fisting kink
Summary: Sherlock's long slender fingers look so pretty entwined with John's blunt, calloused ones, pushing . . .
Disclaimers: I don't own them, I just like to play with them.
NOTE: Written for the prompt at the sherlockbbc kink meme, Pt. XX p. 14
Sherlock's long slender fingers look so pretty entwined with John's blunt, calloused ones, pushing into Sherlock's warm core. A sight John could look at forever, really. But if he really had to, he thought he could do more than look.
A good thing, because Sherlock is greedy, and tonight it's possible he's bordering on insatiable.
John is still glowing from their first orgasm; Sherlock is still flushed, tumbled-looking from it.
But just moments later his impossibly long arm is twisting around and those pale fingers are pressing up, up through the glistening cum, right up into his own ass, and looking at John through lowered lashes, parted lips; watching, calculating. To see what he might do.
Hell, right now what John would like to do is watch, but as Sherlock spreads three fingers wide and pushes in a little farther, his gasps start to sound a little desperate, like he can't reach farther, can't push them where he wants, wants to feel filled, or maybe he just wants to feel more of John in him.
For a long moment John does just watch him. Writhing a little, craving.
It doesn't take very much of this at all to make John's cock twitch and lengthen again, sooner than he expected, and he knows what's going to go down.
This is journey that had been started many times but never finished, might never be finished.
He grabs a fistful of lube and puts his palm flat against sherlock's, buried almost to the top knuckle now, and just insinuates one of his fingers between Sherlock's own until there are four fingers up there, in him, embraced by a tight, quivering ring of muscle.
The expansion and tightness of just that single extra finger, blunt, thicker than his own, makes Sherlock groan, loud and sharp.
And now he's eagerly pressing himself down on it, taking it in. The warmth in there, the tangle of slick fingers where his cock had been just a minute before is making John a little dizzy. When he looks again at their hands, fingers pressed so tightly together in that tight pink hole, he gets a whole lot dizzier.
He resists with all his will the obscene whisper in his head, the one that urges him to piston his hand and batter his way in and make Sherlock scream with the ecstasy of it.
Instead, his single finger crooks its way around and gently, slowly, pulls their entwined fingers until they brush the bulge of Sherlock's prostate. John knows well it is sensitive from an explosive orgasm, just a minute before. John guides their fingers, together, just barely teasing that tender flesh, making Sherlock moan rhythmically now and his cock is rising again, hard and fast; harder than it has any right to be, really; but John doesn't allow himself to touch it.
Not yet.
After a few long, exquisite minutes of just rocking their fingers together, no longer cool but hot, slick, and straining in the tightness of Sherlock's hole, maybe not pretty anymore but just so damned beautiful, he slides in his middle finger and now there are five fingers, entwined.
John feels a stab of sharp lust when he senses Sherlock's slim fingertips massaging himself, deep, forcing sharper moans from one of them, both of them -- impossible to tell, now.
Something about their locked fingers is making John throb deep inside, as though he, too, was being pierced. The strain of his untouched cock was close to driving him mad but if he lost focus now, everything would be over.
And he never wants this to be over.
He needs to press all of his fingers in, all the way, until both of their hands are stretching that tightness open farther than it ever has before. He shudders at the thought.
Sherlock's twisted arm is starting to shake and something about this, just this, makes John gasp, "You're so fucking hot like this, do you that know you're driving me mad," diving in for a hard, deep kiss while pushing up farther with his fingers into that dark, slick, hungry place.
Where virgin territory beckons.
This stretches Sherlock's arm beyond discomfort, and his groans into John's mouth become whimper, a plea, a plea that John is powerless to deny. Sherlock is trying hard to pump on their joined hands.
Instead of helping, John gently pulls their entwined fingers out now, shining and slippery, feeling his ass just suck on his hand all the way out, and Sherlock begs, "No, John, no, " at the aching sensation of loss.
He is thrusting into the air now at sheer emptiness, and John swears there are tears in his eyes at the sheer frustration of being denied.
Sherlock's hand goes right back of its own will where it wants to go, needs to go, but John whispers surely, soothingly, "Sherlock, it's all right now. Stop. Relax."
It is hard to tell whose breath is louder, more ragged, as John carefully pushes lube into him again, and then even more, and lets Sherlock watch him slick his entire hand and forearm.
Up to the elbow.
John presses back in with three fingers, pointed, and starts twisting, pressing, relentlessly working the ring of flesh open wider.
Their breath is coming together in hoarse pants now. There is no resistance as the little finger, and then the just tip of his thumb folded completely flat against is palm, slides in.
All that is left is his knuckles, the widest part. John is grateful for his small hands.
His heart is hammering so hard Sherlock must be able to hear it.
Everything is incredibly slick, and John can feel the quivering of that hot stretched ring of flesh, opening just that fraction more and his breath catches in his throat as he presses home steadily. But then everything tightens down again, as so many times in the past, pushing his hand away as Sherlock gasps, "Oh God, John, please, please, I need it, help me."
This time, John says between clenched teeth, "Just take it, then, love, take it all in now," and just pushes steadily through to Sherlock's almost-sob of "Please, please," a sound that makes John sure he’s never going to be able to take what’s coming, it’s all too much, too intense. Too everything.
There is a sudden precious yielding. After a frozen moment on the very brink, his folded hand just plunges past the clenched barrier and with a guttural cry Sherlock's ass opens fully to his hand.
John thinks the feeling of this might drive him mad.
His hand is sunk to the wrist in a warm, dark, moist, clinging embrace like no other, and there was nothing right now that he needed to do but just watch the utter rapture transforming Sherlock's face as he shudders there, his entire being impaled on John's strong hand.
John's cock was so hard now he didn't know how he could ever manage to move, let alone think, but he bends in closer.
He admires the sheen of sweat on Sherlock’s flushed skin while holding his hand still, so still.
He bends farther to kiss him tenderly on the belly, right above the spot where his hand, amazingly, is buried within him, and he presses his hand up inside to meet that kiss. Sherlock growls.
"Tell me what you feel," John pants, just twisting the hand, not pushing deeper -- yet.
"Ahhhh-- so much, so -- full, John. So good. So tight, ahhhhh, it fills me," Sherlock gasps.
John has to brace back against Sherlock's thigh to stop him pumping back on his hand.
"No, Sherlock, slowly, shhhhh. I don't want to hurt you."
Now he slowly drew his fingers into a fist.
The quivering walls cling to his hand.
Now he pushes slowly, intimately. In, out. In, out, just an inch. Perhaps less.
Sherlock's cock was standing straight up, hard and red with tight flesh so stretched it shone.
John had never seen Sherlock so hard, he had never been this hard.
John wanted so to take him into his mouth, and his own inflamed cock was bumping and straining against the bedsheets now, but this moment had been so long coming that he made a superhuman effort to ignore his overwhelming need.
Instead, he forced the whole world down, all the way down to the narrow scope of his hand and the slick, warm, plush tightness that was Sherlock's ass clinging to it.
Sherlock's cries were faster now, louder too; swears, curses, pleas, jumbling together as if he was in the throes of a delirium as precome leaks a steady stream from his slit.
This sight. Those sounds. God, had he ever heard Sherlock moan like this, from down deep, like he might die if John ever stopped?
"Now or never, " he thought, and just pushed in deeper, and harder.
His arm was now, impossibly, buried halfway up his forearm.
He rocked it there for ten slow, steady strokes. He made each just a little harder.
Sherlock took every bit of it, his entire body opening, swaying and glowing under the unique sensation of being massively invaded by John's strong hand.
The only intelligible sounds from his slack mouth were, "yes, yes," to John's dominating stroke.
This power, this control, was beyond anything John had ever imagined, and he exulted in it. They were floating, soaring into a new place, golden and silent, everything reduced to the sensation of purest pleasure in waves from deep in Sherlock's hot core, through John's pistoning arm, and straight to his cock.
John finally bent to take Sherlock's purpled cock into his mouth. He could feel every single vibration on his tongue as Sherlock began to quake with long, rolling shivers that clamped hard around John's hand. Cries of ecstasy and gratitude wrenched from Sherlock's very deepest place as his cum shot burning into John's throat, flowing and overflowing in an endless gush.
John gently pulled his slick hand out while the orgasm was still cresting, and a second wave slammed through Sherlock as he just pushed in with his throbbing cock, desperate to feel that slick, hot place. John held nothing back, whispering, "You're so amazing like this, I just need to fuck you now, I'm going to pound you so fucking hard."
The press of John's cock banging his tender prostate sent Sherlock’s head spinning from the exquisite sharpness of it. Sharp, sparkly fireworks clouded his vision and as John came, the hot melting of it after the sharpness sent him over one last time, shuddering a last spurt and they collapsed together, entwined as their fingers had been, warm and close, murmuring each other’s name.