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Morning light seeped through the curtains of John and Sherlock’s upstairs bedroom, and the cracked-open window let in the sounds of the busy street as well as birds tweeting their little heads off.
Sherlock heard John bustling around in the en-suite bathroom, brushing his teeth, using the loo, and, by the sound of it, composing a song by banging against the sink. Sherlock resorted to hugging the duvet until the warm body of his fiancé returned to bed. Nuzzling close into the heat John Watson emanated, Sherlock kissed his shoulder.
“How are your muscles after last night?” Sherlock asked, his fingers tracing John’s spine as the man lay on his front, his face turned to Sherlock, his eyes closed.
They’d played with rope the night before, or rather, Sherlock had played with it, and John was the one on his back with his wrists tied to the headboard. Even when being very careful, muscle ache and irritated skin were not unusual up to a few days after play.
“Bit sore, especially upper back,” John mumbled, rearranging his head on the pillow.
Sherlock recalled John straining against the ropes, arching in bliss, his muscles taut and his limbs attempting to thrash on the bed to no avail. Yes, no wonder he was sore.
“Need a massage?” Sherlock placed a kiss on the back of John’s neck, the short hair tickling his nose.
“Are you offering?” John perked up. His eyes opened in enquiry, the sharp, blue gaze landing on Sherlock with interest.
“Maybe.” Sherlock stretched on the bed, hands above his head, forcing his muscles to slowly wake up.
“Then yes, please,” John said with enthusiasm, sliding his hands under the pillow he’d been resting his head on and wiggling his body into an awaiting-a-massage pose. It was not in Sherlock’s habit to offer help of the non-erotic variety, so John clearly jumped at the chance when he saw it. He should have known better.
With reluctance but a sense of purpose, Sherlock rolled out of bed and headed to refresh himself in the bathroom.
Before John became part of his life, Sherlock had never considered that making someone else happy could make him happy in return. Contributing to doing house chores, (albeit not more than once a month) or trying to be polite when John needed him to, could earn him rewards. The soft smile or a peck on the cheek, that Sherlock learned to recognise as ‘thank you, I appreciate your effort’, when Sherlock washed the dishes after dinner made performing the tedious chore almost worth it. John would call it ‘growth’, Sherlock called it ‘John’s influence’.
It was different in the bedroom. Sherlock didn’t need a ‘thank you’ or reciprocation for it to bring a sense of fulfilment, warmth and affection. Making John writhe under his touch charged Sherlock’s emotional battery, one he hadn’t been aware he had before John limped into his life.
Eyes fully open, thanks to splashing cold water on his face, Sherlock rummaged in the room to gather items necessary for what he had planned. He was no expert masseuse, and he had to admit that John, with his acute knowledge of muscles, could make Sherlock squirm under his hands, but he’d done enough research over time to know how to alleviate the soreness that often resulted from their bedroom activities.
The ever invaluable tips from The Woman had led Sherlock to purchase massage oil that doubled as a lubricant from a local organic shop. The simple bottle joined the array of massagers, plugs and towels he gathered before laying them all on the bed, next to John.
“You never do anything half-arsed, do you?” John lifted an eyebrow at the stack of items and Sherlock enjoyed how completely unsurprised he looked.
“No, only my full arse for you, John,” Sherlock retorted, adding an eye-roll for good measure, making John smile.
Rolling the duvet to the side, Sherlock exposed John’s bare back and red boxer briefs. He walked over to the window and opened the curtains so he could watch the rays of the morning sun play over John’s body. The man lay in the strip of sunlight, his pale skin putting ideas of a trip to Greece in Sherlock’s mind, knowing John would enjoy the warm weather. He adored every curve and little imperfection and scar on his fiancé’s body, and since he’d noticed John’s self-consciousness about his looks, he made it his mission to make sure John knew it.
There’s no part of you I’m not willing to worship , Sherlock thought while stripping out of his boxers.
Rubbing his hands to warm them, he approached the bed and slid a finger under the waistband of John’s boxer briefs.
“I’d rather avoid smearing them in the oil,” Sherlock said with faux innocence.
“Mmhmm, of course.” The smile in John’s voice suggested he knew that Sherlock’s mind was far from innocent. He lifted his bum and Sherlock slid the red cotton along John’s legs, eyeing John’s arse as it wiggled before settling.
Straddling John’s hips, Sherlock let his flaccid cock rest on John’s lower back as he relished the sight of the trusting, pliant man under him. John’s soft hair enveloped Sherlock’s fingers when he slid them through, putting light pressure on the scalp with his fingertips, before moving to caress the edges of John’s ears and along his neck. John made a happy little sound of a relaxed man on a Sunday morning. It was definitely a good start. Ignoring his growing erection, Sherlock continued. Reaching for the massage oil, he slathered his hands and poured a dollop on John’s back. With his thumbs, he kneaded John’s trapezius muscles, feeling for the tight points to put pressure on, paying extra attention to the scar tissue on John’s shoulder.
“Oh yes, right there,” John groaned, the sound causing heat to bloom in Sherlock’s abdomen. Encouraged, he flattened his palms to move lower.
“How does it feel?” Sherlock asked, even if the purring coming from John was a clear sign Sherlock was succeeding in his mission.
“Good… mmm do that again, oh like this.”
“If you keep up the dirty talk, I won’t be able to focus on your back and will massage something else,” Sherlock retorted, feeling his hardening cock bounce on John’s back.
“Promises, promises,” John sassed before releasing a laugh when Sherlock worked on a muscle on his side. “Oi!” he giggled, the genuine sound making Sherlock grin as John curled to shield his ticklish spot, batting Sherlock’s hand away.
“Okay, okay, now lay back down.” Sherlock chuckled, pressing John to lay flat again.
With the heel of his palm, he increased the pressure, moving down to where John’s back ended and his bum began, eliciting a groan that could only be brought by the painful pleasure of a massage. Purposefully skipping the most obvious erogenous zones, he resumed work on John’s upper thighs, sliding his thumbs under each of John’s arse cheeks. Oh, how he loved that spot...
“Tease,” John groaned as Sherlock used the strength in his fingers to smooth the muscles of John’s calves.
Coming back up, Sherlock straddled John’s thighs. Deeming the first stage of the massage complete, he held John’s buttocks with both hands, and slid his hard cock between them, along the crease. The soft sensation, gentle squeeze and erotic view sent shivers through him as John arched, shamelessly asking for more attention. It would be so easy to dip inside John, make them both moan in pleasure… Alas, he had other plans for now.
Hopping off the bed, Sherlock stood to the left, his bare feet tapping softly on the wooden floor. With an air of finesse, he poured oil on John’s lower back, smearing the clear, unscented substance over the full, round arse with his palm before gliding it along the crease.
“This is the sweetest torture, but it’s still torture, you know.” John tightened his grip on the pillow as he undulated his hips in what looked like a blatant search of friction.
“Spread your legs,” Sherlock instructed, his voice lower thanks to the need coursing through him. If he were a man of poor self-control, he’d have his face buried between those cheeks now, his tongue lapping at John’s entrance. There were times Sherlock cursed his ability to stay poised and focused on his task.
Today is not one of them , he thought when John parted his legs to reveal his erection squished into the mattress. Sherlock reached for John’s balls with his right hand, slicking the delicate skin in oil as he rolled the sac in his fingers, eliciting a moan from John and a twitch of his own cock in reply. Sliding his palm along the underside of John’s cock, Sherlock stretched it on the bed, before wrapping his fingers around it to stroke in the most languid fashion.
“You’re killing me, Sherlock...” John’s voice was close to a whimper, signalling that he was ready for what came next.
With his other hand, Sherlock poured more oil before he circled John’s entrance with the pad of his index finger, feeling it respond to his touch.
“Are you sore?” Sherlock asked, never ceasing his movements.
“No,” John groaned, lifting his bum to Sherlock’s hand. So needy.
Releasing John’s cock, Sherlock pressed his left forearm on John’s upper back so he wouldn’t squirm as he wiggled the finger of his right hand inside. The glistening skin of John’s buttocks rippled with goosebumps as he accepted the digit greedily.
“Oh, Sherlock… fuck… mmm.”
“Do you want more?” Sherlock asked, leaning to speak above John’s ear.
“Yes… more.” John licked his lips, looking up at Sherlock with a stare so intense and lips so lush from biting them, Sherlock had to taste the lascivious moans.
Their lips met in a languorous kiss, full of need, affection and heat, the awkward angle making it feel more desperate. Adding another digit, Sherlock watched John’s eyes flutter closed as he released a long, low moan into Sherlock’s mouth.
He released John’s lips with a parting peck, and straightening up had to tug his glistening erection as the need in him became nearly unbearable. Mustering control, he returned his focus to John.
Every part of John’s body made him want to lick and stroke it, draw as much pleasure as possible.
John released an accusatory groan when he removed his fingers out of John with a wet sound and inspected the array of toys he’d prepared, eyes locking on the prostate massager. No, there would be time to use it, but today he wanted to feel John pulse around his fingers when he came. Having made his decision, he reached for the rechargeable wand massager, bought mainly because it was the same shade of dark purple as the shirt John liked so much on Sherlock.
He turned the wand on and glided the massager over the muscles on John’s back where he’d just kneaded, making sure no place had been left untouched. He could feel John relax under him, and he gathered excess oil from John’s back to slick his fingers before twisting them into John again to stroke lovingly. The low rumble that echoed through the room came from Sherlock as he watched his fingers disappear between the round buttocks with ease.
His right hand still guiding the wand, he massaged the thighs and calves all the way to John’s feet, while he wiggled away, laughing. The soft buzzing continued as Sherlock deemed John’s muscles taken care of and moved the thick head of the wand to slide gently along the underside of John’s cock, which leaked precome on the bed and twitched under the buzzing of the toy along it. Sherlock could feel the vibrations going through John’s body and reaching his fingers nestled deep, teasing.
Closing his eyes, Sherlock drank in the keening coming from John between hitched breaths, the sounds setting Sherlock’s body on fire. Turning the toy off, he tossed it aside. Left hand busy with John’s bum, he took John’s cock in his right, adamant to feel the peak of John’s pleasure without any barrier. Just the two of them. The slick sounds of him pleasuring John synched with his lover’s groans of encouragement.
“Are you ready, John?” he asked, placing a kiss on John’s arse cheek.
A growl followed by a high-pitched sound came in lieu of a reply and Sherlock twisted his fingers to massage the sweet spot inside his fiancé that always guaranteed he’d come within moments.
“Show me how hard you can orgasm from my touch, John. I want to see you come undone in our bed with my fingers inside you.”
As Sherlock said it, he watched John’s toes curl, his hands grip the pillowcase tight and his back arch as he readied himself for a wave of pleasure. John let out an animalistic sound, that roughly resembled Sherlock’s name being repeated over and over again as his cock swelled even more in Sherlock’s grip. Leaning over, between John’s spread thighs, Sherlock took the head of it into his mouth just in time to catch John’s release. Warm, tangy liquid shot into Sherlock’s mouth and he swallowed, his throat working as he sucked gently, swirling his tongue over the crown. He could feel John’s body squeeze his fingers that still glided inside until John was completely spent, his body limp, his breathing raspy but slowing down.
John hissed when Sherlock removed his fingers from his sensitive, post-orgasm flesh and let the softening cock slip from his mouth.
With a triumphant peck on John’s arse cheek, he climbed atop the white sheets to lie next to his fiancé. A contented smile played on John’s relaxed face, bathed in the morning sun. You’re so beautiful, Sherlock thought, trapped for a moment in disbelief that this man had agreed to marry him.
“That was… amazing,” John mumbled in a groggy voice. “But what about you?” His eyes bounced from Sherlock’s face to his erection and back, ever the considerate partner.
“Later. Let me just look at you.”
“Creep.” John released a soft chuckle.
“Shut up.” Sherlock grinned, smacking John’s bum once, watching it jiggle. He hoped John could see in his gaze and feel in his touch how much he meant to him, how integral he was to Sherlock’s existence. How much sunshine this grumpy man had brought into his life. With utmost reverence only John was privy to, Sherlock placed a hand on his lover’s cheek and the man turned his head to place a kiss on the inside of it, signalling that indeed, he understood what Sherlock struggled to convey in words.
They’d been engaged for over two years and maybe, just maybe, it was finally time to make an honest man out of John Watson.