Sherlock Tumblr Porn
“No…there…almost…you’re…right there. No, no ove—yes! Oh god John, yes!”
Sherlock gently banged his forehead against the fireplace mantle in bliss. Then got bossy again.
“Now go down.”
John didn’t go down.
“Please John.”
John didn’t.
“I’ll clean out the refrigerator let you read in peace tell Mrs. Hudson I accidentally put laxative in those scones and walk naked through Regent’s if you’ll just. go. down.”
John shouldn’t have done what he already did, much less go down, but the fridge and some quiet reading?
“Today? You’ll do them today?”
Sherlock moaned, spread his legs wide so he was John-height, gripped the mantle hard enough to crack knuckles. “Yes, John,” he whispered, “please.”
John’s a doctor. He knows better. He really does know better. But he also knows how eye-rollingly good it feels when—
“Now,” Sherlock begged, “Oh god n—”
Fuck it. John firmed his stance, squared his shoulders, and dug the nails of both hands into a spot between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. Then he god damn scratched. Long. And hard.
The sounds Sherlock made were not human. Possibly not even possible. And more than a little arousing.
By the time John was done, Sherlock was pretty much dead with relief, slumped boneless on the floor in front of the fire, scratching his belly and babbling happily to himself.
John looked down at his pajama-clad love. No way was the fridge getting cleaned today. And there’d probably be no apology to Mrs. Hudson.
There could, however, be other things.
John curled up on the floor beside his sweetheart, manacled Sherlock’s wrists in one hand, took over scratching his lover’s chicken pox with the other. It took awhile, but eventually things proceeded nicely from there.
And this time John went down—so to speak—quite willingly.
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The wonderfully gifted Roquentine had a recent bout with the itchy-scratchies. A little porn lotion for your pains, my dear?
