It was mere seconds before John discarded all his own clothing and started back up again, upping the ante with full body contact, as he positioned himself on top of Sherlock, face to face. Their bodies didn't quite line up, but John's thighs created perfect friction against Sherlock's groin, with John pressed firmly into Sherlock's stomach. The simple movement up as John kissed Sherlock's mouth and jawline and back down again to reach the base of his neck and shoulders was all that was needed to have him breathless again. The tiniest sound, the hint of a "j" on Sherlock's lips, and John was motionless yet again. The response was something in between a needy whimper and a sigh of resignation as Sherlock abruptly turned his head to the side, leaving John to whisper in his ear, "That's enough for your first time at this, I think. Besides, I'm not going to want to stop doing this once I get started." He left a sporadic trail of licks and kisses down Sherlock's chest and stomach, which convulsed beneath John's tongue.
Sherlock found his voice in a quiet whisper, with a hint of desperation. "John. John. The things you do to me... I just," as he interrupted his own loosely coherent monologue with a hoarse grunt when John took the tip of his cock in his mouth and was advancing... slow, steady, and relentless. Sherlock slowly drew in air through his teeth as John took a moment to breathe in the scent, his nose finally flush against Sherlock's stomach, before bracing against his arse and pulling in every bit he possibly could. Sherlock looked down at John and gave him a faltering smile.
John slid backward, keeping his tongue against the underside of his cock and wrapped his hand around the base, coordinating his movement... his hand gliding upward as his mouth moved downward. Sherlock's hips bucked and John ran his tongue expertly in a swirling circular motion around his glans, then delicately moved his foreskin back and forth with his lips. As he slid back down again, Sherlock squirmed sideways, as if he was wanting to thrust forward but was preventing himself from doing so. John grabbed both of Sherlock's hands and placed them on his head, pushing himself down on his behalf. "Ahhh hhhh John!", he shouted, now actively thrusting up, but unable to keep a steady pace, faltering. He frowned and shut his eyes. "Can't..."
John stopped only long enough to speak. "Can. Will. Just a little more."
Instead of increasing his speed or the intensity of his grip, John made his touch impossibly light. Traces instead of touches, which felt like a current traveling along his skin. His left hand still gently holding Sherlock's cock, John now rested it lightly on his stomach while reaching back with his right to the flexing soles of his feet. He traced a delicate line up his arch, ankle, calf, slowed down even more behind his knee, moved across to his inner thigh. For Sherlock, it was as if a lit fuse was moving inexorably up his body. A hand softly moved back down his belly as John quickly engulfed his cock to the root, while delicately tracing the other hand from his inner thigh across his perineum. A convergence of points, as both hands moved to where John's mouth was, had Sherlock wrenching forward with a raspy, broken shout which pierced the room... and John pumped every last drop into his waiting mouth. Sherlock collapsed backward. He absentmindedly glanced toward the floor, as if willing a piece of clothing to rise up of its own accord to clean up with, but John was already at his side, and as he came back to his body, he quickly realised he hadn't needed one. There was nothing visible to clean.
"Stay here. Rest. I'll be quick. I haven't done anything yet this morning," John stated matter-of-factly as he headed off to the shower. "It's fine if you fall asleep. I'll come join you," he said, as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
FILL 22c/? 138 (John in slave auction) '
Sherlock found his voice in a quiet whisper, with a hint of desperation. "John. John. The things you do to me... I just," as he interrupted his own loosely coherent monologue with a hoarse grunt when John took the tip of his cock in his mouth and was advancing... slow, steady, and relentless. Sherlock slowly drew in air through his teeth as John took a moment to breathe in the scent, his nose finally flush against Sherlock's stomach, before bracing against his arse and pulling in every bit he possibly could. Sherlock looked down at John and gave him a faltering smile.
John slid backward, keeping his tongue against the underside of his cock and wrapped his hand around the base, coordinating his movement... his hand gliding upward as his mouth moved downward. Sherlock's hips bucked and John ran his tongue expertly in a swirling circular motion around his glans, then delicately moved his foreskin back and forth with his lips. As he slid back down again, Sherlock squirmed sideways, as if he was wanting to thrust forward but was preventing himself from doing so. John grabbed both of Sherlock's hands and placed them on his head, pushing himself down on his behalf. "Ahhh hhhh John!", he shouted, now actively thrusting up, but unable to keep a steady pace, faltering. He frowned and shut his eyes. "Can't..."
John stopped only long enough to speak. "Can. Will. Just a little more."
Instead of increasing his speed or the intensity of his grip, John made his touch impossibly light. Traces instead of touches, which felt like a current traveling along his skin. His left hand still gently holding Sherlock's cock, John now rested it lightly on his stomach while reaching back with his right to the flexing soles of his feet. He traced a delicate line up his arch, ankle, calf, slowed down even more behind his knee, moved across to his inner thigh. For Sherlock, it was as if a lit fuse was moving inexorably up his body. A hand softly moved back down his belly as John quickly engulfed his cock to the root, while delicately tracing the other hand from his inner thigh across his perineum. A convergence of points, as both hands moved to where John's mouth was, had Sherlock wrenching forward with a raspy, broken shout which pierced the room... and John pumped every last drop into his waiting mouth. Sherlock collapsed backward. He absentmindedly glanced toward the floor, as if willing a piece of clothing to rise up of its own accord to clean up with, but John was already at his side, and as he came back to his body, he quickly realised he hadn't needed one. There was nothing visible to clean.
"Stay here. Rest. I'll be quick. I haven't done anything yet this morning," John stated matter-of-factly as he headed off to the shower. "It's fine if you fall asleep. I'll come join you," he said, as he closed the bathroom door behind him.