Mycroft had given them a wonderful wedding present: use of a little French cottage in an out of the way village in the country. It was quiet and beautiful, the perfect place for a honeymoon.

"I hope you won't get bored and start terrorising the locals," John commented to Sherlock with a smirk.

Sherlock replied, "Well, then you'll have to keep me entertained , Doctor." He was laying against piled pillows, hair still damp from a quick shower he'd taken to wash the germs of the plane off of himself.

"And what if I wanted you to entertain me, huh?" John asked, hands on his hips. Sherlock thought he might have been more intimidating were he wearing more than a pair of red pants.

When they had first begun dating, both men were reluctant to be naked around the other. Not because of obvious reasons, but because of their scars. John was ashamed of his bullet wound, and after a lot of prodding from Sherlock had admitted it made him feel weak, like a failure.

Sherlock had proceeded to slowly strip John's shirt off and kiss his whole body, ending with the scar. "This scar means you fought a hard battle and survived, John. It is confirmation that you are here with me."

"Then why are you reluctant? I know you lived a hard life. I'm sure your arms are scarred, and I know you were shot-I was there, remember-so what is it?" John had asked.

Sherlock had sighed, standing up and beginning to untie his robe. "It is not those scars. I also have a bullet wound in my thigh, from before we met. Those scars are not my concern. It is what I received when I was dismantling Moriarty and Moran's network that gives me pause."

"Show me, please, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I do not want your pity, John," Sherlock replied.

John looked up from the bed where he sat and said, "I will never pity you. I will kill whoever would dare hurt you, but I will never pity you."

Sherlock smiled. His John. Always so protective. "No need for that: the ones who are not dead are incarcerated." He turned, dropping his robe and standing there in the room clad in nothing but black pants, the deep scars from all the whippings and floggings he had received garish in the bedroom light. He knew what it looked like. He had seen a horse with the same scars, whipped to death by a harsh master.

He heard John gasp and felt his calloused fingers tracing each scar. Where each finger traced, a soft kiss would follow.

"I am sorry I wasn't there," John whispered. "I'm sorry you had to be hurt."

Sherlock turned, taking John's hands in his. "That is the past. Now, there is nothing but pleasure to be found in our future."

Now, there was no more insecurity between the two men. Every scar-physical and emotional-had been laid bare.

Sherlock smiled at John, crawling to the edge of the bed. "And how would you like me to entertain you, John?"

" Captain ," John corrected sternly, and Sherlock felt a little shiver travel down his spine.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

John maintained a stern face. "You don't sound sorry, pet. Why don't you come over here and prove to me how repentant you are?" He pointed to the spot on the area rug in front of him and Sherlock climbed off the bed and crawled towards John. The light in John's eyes was enough to get him fully hard.

Sherlock pulled John's pants down with his teeth, allowing the doctor's thick cock to spring free, already dripping precome from the tip. Sherlock eagerly licked it off, and he felt John shudder. After six months together, they knew what the other liked quite well.

Sherlock felt John's hands come to grip his curls, but he didn't restrict his movement just yet. Sherlock licked a stripe down John's length, tasting him before sucking just the head into his mouth, rolling his tongue and treating it like a lolly.

John groaned, his fingers gripping Sherlock's curls tighter. "You bloody tease," he said. "Hold still; you're going to pay for that."

Sherlock did as he was told, relaxing his jaw and throat muscles as his Captain began slowly thrusting in and out of his mouth, picking up velocity as he went. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt a sharper tug in his hair.

"You'll look at me, pet, or I won't let you come tonight," John threatened. It was an empty threat and Sherlock knew it, but he complied. He was so hard he was dripping, and didn't think he could handle any of John's sexual punishment without coming too soon. John was an absolute master in the bedroom, and Sherlock was one very happy man.

John fucked Sherlock's mouth mercilessly, only stopping eye contact when he pulled Sherlock's mouth away. "Fuck you're good at that. How can you be brilliant at everything?"

Sherlock didn't answer. John did not know he used to perform oral favours in order to get drugs when Mycroft had cut off his cash flow, and he hoped John would never know. He hated that Greg knew!

"Come on, on the bed on your hands and knees, now," John ordered.

Sherlock got on the bed and felt it dip as John got on behind him.

John squeezed Sherlock's arse hard, pinching and rolling the flesh in his warm hands, and Sherlock groaned.

John leaned forward, biting Sherlock's ear as he said, "You're such a little slut, begging for it. But you're my slut, and I love you."

Sherlock felt John part his cheeks and then groaned as John's hot tongue rimmed the tight ring of muscle around his hole, slowly licking him open. Sherlock wriggled his hips, trying to get more of John's tongue inside of him, but the Captain simply swatted him, making his flesh sting in a pleasant way.

"Fuck, Captain, please," Sherlock begged.

John didn't respond, just roughly shoved two fingers into Sherlock's mouth. The detective knew what to do, licking and sucking on the fingers as well as he had sucked John's cock a few moments ago. He knew this was all the preparation he'd be getting, but he didn't mind. Both he and his new husband had found out quickly that they both liked it rough and raw.

John took his fingers from Sherlock's mouth and the younger man felt one enter his arse, quickly followed by the second. His body naturally resisted at first, but he began to relax into the rhythm John was setting with his fingers, scissoring them to open Sherlock wider.

John brushed across Sherlock's prostate and the detective groaned, moving back for them to go in deeper, earning himself another harsh slap. John removed his fingers and Sherlock whined involuntarily at the sudden emptiness.

A moment later Sherlock felt John's head poking at his entrance, just pushing past the first rings of muscle. They both hissed at the burn, both loving it as much as it hurt.

John took a moment to be fully seated inside of his husband, and Sherlock felt wonderfully filled. John massaged his arse as he started to move inside Sherlock, starting out slowly.

Sherlock's senses were heightened, he could feel every centimetre of his love inside of him, feel the precome slowly help ease John's passage.

With every short, hard thrust, John got deeper and deeper inside Sherlock, groaning out a steady stream of mixed curses and praise for the detective.

"You delicious fucker, you drive me absolutely mad… Damn it, Sherlock, you're so fucking good… No one has ever taken my cock like you…"

Sherlock felt his untouched dick getting harder, the head was surely purple by then, but he knew better than to touch himself. In bed, that was John's property, and only he could touch it.

"John, please," Sherlock moaned. "I can't…"

John was a rough lover, but considerate of Sherlock above all else. He knew when Sherlock was close, and knew what to do to take the detective over the edge with him.

Leaning forward and biting into Sherlock's neck, while taking his swollen cock in one hand, John increased his pace, shoving in hard and barely moving out before thrusting back in, hitting Sherlock's prostate every time.

"Come for me, Sherlock. Show me how beautiful you are when you let go for me," John whispered, and Sherlock came with a cry of his name, staining the sheets and covering John's hand with his seed.

John came a second later, filling Sherlock's arse.

They both stayed the way they were, John's softening cock still deep inside his love. They were breathing hard, John's face buried in Sherlock's neck. Sherlock could feel his heart rate slowing back to normal, and everything was overly sensitive, especially John's hand on his spent cock.

John pulled out of him, rolling over and dragging Sherlock with him. The detective promptly cuddled against him like a cat, and they wrapped their arms around each other, a tangle of limbs. They could not tell where one began and the other ended, and they loved it this way.

"Our first shag as a married couple," John said, doing that little thing where he stated the obvious. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"We'll have to find a way to keep things interesting for the next forty years or so," Sherlock commented. "Can't stand being bored in bed."

John chuckled, kissing the top of Sherlock's head. "Oh, Sherlock, I don't think I'll ever get bored with you."

Sherlock looked up and kissed his husband. "And I will never get bored with you, either."