To render Sherlock Holmes into a puddle of babbling pool of arousal was no trick, really.

Everything John needed was in the palms of his hands, his fingers traveling over Sherlock's spine

Naked, surrendered, waiting, hoping, anxious to get to that stage where he begged to be fucked,

Downwards, slowly, pressing harder and lifting himself, scissoring Sherlock's arse, John pushed

Reeling in his on mind, his cock against those buttocks, shifting, so that he was cocooned between them

Irrationality stepped in as Sherlock sighed happily, rubbing himself against John's cock.

Lick here, another there, upwards, until John reached Sherlock's ears; Whisper, sweet nothing,

Seething with passion, John continued to lave Sherlock's ear, making him shiver and moan, almost

Over the edge of reason, but not just yet. The wet ear was sensitive to John's breathing, and with a grin,

Fiends in his eyes, John breathed hotly, gasping Sherlock's name, gathering his hands against his back.

No escape, and the line between pleasure and torture began to fade. Another lick, an deep sigh,

Inhale, and Sherlock trembled in John's grip, all the while grinding himself against the older man.

Gasps escaped from both the men, but mercy was out of reach. Not yet. Not now, when John was

Having so much fun. Gradually, rubbing Sherlock's wrists, for John had gotten a bit too excited,

The torturer found in his heart to grant a wish; Lubricating himself thoroughly, he positioned himself, indulging

Taking his time, enjoying the sight of Sherlock's long neck stretching to see what was happening behind him

'Immortality', the only thought in Sherlock's mind as John filled him. 'This is what it must feel like.'

Mumbling into the pillow, Sherlock pushed back, insisting more, harder, the whole of John.

Even the shadowy notion that Mrs. Hudson was right downstairs couldn't shut him up.