"Sherlock!" The wail filled John's bedroom. Just like Sherlock's fingers filled John. He shook under the assault. So good. Lush mouth on his belly as his body arched into Sherlock's touch, every part on the verge of shattering.

Of course, he'd been on the verge of shattering for...God, half an hour? The sex-hazed memory of glancing at the clock when Sherlock first eased him down onto his bed confirmed what his eyes saw now. Or sort of saw. Mostly it was all a blur of sensory overload from being systematically finger-and-mouth-fucked for the past thirty minutes. God, Sherlock hadn't been kidding about the "therapy job" being plebeian. The genuine feeling between them catapulted this into a whole other universe.

He wouldn't survive the night at this rate but didn't care. Cardiac arrest or a stroke were completely worth this level of unimaginable bliss. Christ, his flatmate not only looked like a sex god, he was one. John wailed again, vision whiting out as Sherlock brushed his prostate. Oh God, and this is just fingers! What would it be like when the man finally got around to serious business? "Please..." John sounded hoarse. All that screaming, he supposed.

Sherlock paused in his cataloguing of each and every pore across John's skin and looked up, an expression of such affection on his face as John had never seen. His fingers moved a bit inside John, pressing out in all directions, like checking the give on a pair of shoes, before withdrawing slowly. Then he smiled and shifted, easing John's legs apart a bit more with his knees, bracing his arms on either side of John's shoulders before leaning down to brush his lips over John's. "Say it one more time. With my name attached."

Oh, thank you, God! "Please, Sherlock, please." An extra couldn't hurt. "God, please! Just...just...now?" Before I die. Before I combust.

"Now, I think. Yes. I think now will do quite nicely." Sherlock grinned at John's glower as he reached over onto the nightstand for a condom.

The soft rasp of the wrapper just ramped John's breathing speed up again. He tried to get his eyes to focus on the sight of his lover sheathing himself, but Sherlock reached over and massaged the tip of John's throbbing and still-ringed arousal, causing another visual white-out.

Pressure, glorious, perfect pressure where those fingers had abandoned him. Was he chanting "yes" over and over? Didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Sherlock pushing into him, filling him, stretching him. John's fingers bit into alabaster shoulders, the muscles toned as the stone they resembled. "Hard. Please. I want to feel you. Want to know you've had me."

"You'll know." It sounded like Sherlock was having to catch his breath as well. "I promise, John, you will know. I just...was making sure knowing wouldn't equal serious hurting." He drew back, almost all the way out, before thrusting deep in a single smooth motion.

"Oh! Yeah, like that! Perfect. You're...perfect." John's vision cleared just enough to catch the look on Sherlock's face. God, he wanted to remember that. Always. The next thrust robbed him of the ability to speak and he just moaned, lifting his pelvis to meet Sherlock.

Slim fingers found the release catch on the cock ring and it slipped away, replaced by a gentle grip that massaged away a bit of tenderness and sent the pitch of the moan in John's throat a little higher. Another long, smooth thrust capped it to a whimper and then a scream.

Release ripped through John, the world a blazing white inferno centered on Sherlock and the fucking glorious sensations the man created. This wasn't sex; this was some bloody out-of-body experience, except John had never been more aware of his body. Every cell of it. Every nerve. And all of them were firing at once. The bleeding best high ever.

He could still feel Sherlock pounding him, as he came down, each thrust an aftershock against his prostate. It almost hurt. Almost. Too high on dopamine to really care. Too high on Sherlock.

I want to see him. I need to see him like this. John peeled his eyes open just as Sherlock paused, breath ragged and shallow. Dear God! Bathed in moonlight, glistening with sweat, every lean muscle corded tight as violin strings, eyes squeezed shut. Hard desire pulsed and twitched inside John. Sherlock visibly trembled, his white teeth caught in his full lower lip. John frowned. "Are you okay?"

A shaky nod and groan as his lover—God! My lover! Mine!—powered into him. Damn, I'm gonna be sore in the morning. He grinned. He looked forward to that. He managed to lift a hand and stroke Sherlock's cheek. God. Beyond gorgeous. "Let go. Just let go."

Silver eyes shot open, pupils blown to nearly nothing, a deep audible gasp, which sounded a great deal like John's name, rounding Sherlock's mouth and filling the space between them. Muscles snapped taut and glorious heat filled John, almost as full as his heart at the sight.

"Bloody glorious." John caught Sherlock as he collapsed, the detective's weight and heat welcome. He didn't want to relinquish this joining just yet. "I've got you. It's okay. I've got you."

Soft lips nuzzled against his ear in a sort of semi-conscious nod. Gentle fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him close. "John."

John hummed in response, as content as Sherlock sounded. He couldn't recall ever being this...at peace. Of having this feeling of being where he should be. He stroked satiny skin and just revelled in the physical presence of his consulting detective. The grin blossomed, full and feeling so good on John's lips. His. Yeah. He could get used to that. He flexed his ankle against the back of one long white thigh just because he could. And anything else would take more effort than John had in him at the moment.

)

"So, you unconscious?"

John didn't bother moving. His head was far too comfortable on Sherlock's chest. "Yep." He smiled and pressed a half-kiss to the warm flesh under his cheek. "Possibly...comatose."

A deep chuckle vibrated against his ear and errant fingers trailed slowly down his spine. "Blissfully, it would appear."

"Oh, beyond bliss." John let his own hand wander over taut abs. "You?"

"Energized. I feel I can take on every case in London. Simultaneously."

"There's a thought to terrify the Yard." John shifted, stretching a bit, scooting up so he could curl tightly against his lover's shoulder. "Give me five minutes to catch my breath and we'll go tackle them."

"Sleep. You've earned it. I'm thinking. Who would have thought sex could be so mentally clarifying? It's quite intriguing, John. You may be far superior to cocaine."

"Oh, good. Then I can quit pretending I don't know you still do it on rare occasions." He traced a path up Sherlock's forearm, over the ubiquitous nicotine patches, enjoying the shiver it elicited.

"Only when the boredom is completely unbearable." The weight of Sherlock's hand on John's hair just added to the unbelievable comfort of the moment. "Sex will be a most acceptable substitute. You will have to make yourself available to me when the criminal element becomes hateful and dull, dear John. Staying home and letting me love you is much preferable to a day at the clinic, in any case."

Something not-so-nice wriggled in the pit of John's stomach. "'Make myself available'?" He pushed up onto one arm, staring at Sherlock. "I'm not going to be just your fix, Sherlock! What the hell do you take me for?" Some of the anger from the night before came back, mixed with a sharp pain right below his breastbone. "You said I wasn't just a...a trinket." He had to swallow bile back at the sight of those perfectly calm grey eyes regarding him. "I'm not going to be your freebie shag, sure as hell not going to risk my job over staying home and letting you—" He blinked. And glowered at the soft smile curving the edges of Sherlock's mouth. "Oh."

"Love is not a word I use lightly. It's not a word I use in connection with myself at all, John." The smile remained firmly in place. "You're wrong, though. You very much are my fix. An addiction I will never be able to shake. I've known that for some time now." Sherlock swept his hand in an elegant gesture encompassing their twined forms. "This is merely part of it."

John nodded. "I'm sorry. I just...after what you said to me last night, about how I'd never regret choosing this...what you said just now started out a lot clinical and I guess I just stopped listening for a minute." He leaned close and drifted a kiss over Sherlock's lips. "I love you, too. Probably from the moment I ripped you up over that damn pill with the cabbie and called you an idiot in return and you just smiled."

"I know. I suspected something...special then." Sherlock stretched. "A friend. Someone...not boring." The lean form relaxed, long fingers drawing designs on John's shoulder. "Never doubt you're mine. I won't change. I'm still me. There will still be days when you'll be thick and slow and your tiny mind won't keep up with me. But you'll still be mine."

"Fair enough." John laid back, pulling Sherlock over to rest on his shoulder for awhile. "But if you toss another hissy fit on me like you did over 'A Study in Pink,' I'm not going to walk out." A grin surfaced as he stared up at the ceiling. "I'll shut the door, pin you on that sofa, shag you blind, and when you're a brainless moaning mass on the leather, then I'll go for a walk and cool down for an hour."

"You have very odd ideas of punishment, doctor."

"Never said it was a punishment. But it might keep me from wanting to strangle you." He let his fingers drift in Sherlock's hair for several minutes, then pressed a kiss to dark curls. "And I love watching you striptease just for me, by the way. You're gorgeous."

"I'll have to repeat the performance." The devilish glint in Sherlock's eyes promised pleasures John greatly anticipated. "You should rest."

"So should you." But John settled a little more comfortably in the bed and let his eyes drift closed as he snorted softly. "Cuddly...right."

Sherlock chuckled and wrapped an arm about John. "Yes. Very." Warm lips pressed to John's temple. "I'll explore the further ramifications of your cuddle factor when we wake. I'm sure the process and the results will prove interesting."

END

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AUTHORS' NOTE: If you liked The Cuddle Factor, check out our published M/M classic Sherlock Holmes romance, KISSING SHERLOCK HOLMES, available in paperback and Kindle at A ma zon, and in other e-formats at www. amberquill. com /AmberAllure /KissingSherlockHolmes .html (no spaces)

Thanks for reading!

T. D. McKinney & Terry Wylis