Handcuffs

„John please, give it to me!" Sherlock begged, holding his hips up as high as possible, supporting them with his shoulder blades and feet on the mattress.

John couldn´t help but staring at him.

He had just come out of the shower after their slow love making in the bathtub and an excellent orgasm at the end, now cleaned and dry and in the prospect of cuddling with his lover in bed or picking locks of other hotel rooms (whatever the detective desired). But instead he found said detective, completely naked, offering himself to him.

And cuffed.

How the hell was it even possible for him to get himself cuffed to the headboard?

Surely John would have noticed someone coming in.

Or did his lover call the room service?

"A bottle of champagne and two glasses please. Oh! And could you cuff me to the bed?"

No. He wouldn´t have done that.

But it was Sherlock, he was thinking about.

"John!"

The doctor snapped out of his thoughts with a little shake of his head.

Sherlock stared at him, looking rather unhappy with not having his full attention.

John had, somehow, already made his way from the bathroom to stand directly in front of Sherlock´s welcoming genitals, eyeing them with eager anticipation. The emotion already showing itself between his legs.

"What?" He tried to say as innocently as possible.

"Would you now be so kind and fuck me?" Sherlock wriggled his hips teasingly at him, but the question sounded more like a demand and the look on his face betrayed his words.

John couldn´t help but smirk.

Hell, he... really liked Sherlock.

But when Sherlock was this bossy, it was time to play.

"How did you get yourself cuffed there?"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows but answered eventually. "Not a big deal. They are Lestrade´s. Already worn out enough to wriggle through." He shortly pulled a face of disgust, and then put on, what he assumed, was a sexy look.

"Now please shove your cock into me."

John could see Sherlock´s effort to hold himself up. His muscles were already shaking.

I have to apologise to Greg again, he thought, grinned lopsidedly and got onto the bed, hands first, crawling.

John got on top of his lover, almost like embracing him, licked Sherlock´s lips once, then dipped in for a short kiss. Just their moist lips touching lightly. And the detective was wax between his fingers.

Sherlock, having dropped his hips to let John near him, raised them again to create friction as their faces parted.

John sat back on his heels. They held eye contact until John´s fingers entered Sherlock´s relaxed hole. He let his back drop onto the mattress, closed his eyes and sighed dreamily.

"John..." He said.

But his silence seemed to say much more.

Please tell me what you think!