Epilogue

My stomach growled painfully in response to the tantalizing scents swirling through the mid-morning air. I opened my eyes against the light streaming in through the thin curtains and inhaled deeply. I rolled over to find the bed empty, the sheets cold. Something clattered loudly into the kitchen sink, and I sat up in surprise. I slipped out of bed and surveyed the room for my clothes from the previous evening. A quick check beneath the bed and even on top of the wardrobe, but no luck. I threw open the wardrobe, retrieved a pair of Sherlock's expensive silk pyjama bottoms and slipped them on. I pulled at the too-long fabrics so that my feet once again made contact with the floor. I shrugged to myself and shuffled towards the kitchen, trying not to tread on the pools of silk at my feet.

I froze near the fridge and watched Sherlock move – no, dance – through the chaos that was now our kitchen. Pots and pans bubbled and simmered on each burner of the stove. Flour dusted every surface it could find, including Sherlock's wild curls which were now grey in places, thanks to the powder. His arm and shoulder muscles flexed as he whipped at something in a large mixing bowl. A timer buzzed angrily, a small puff of flour expelled from its casing, and Sherlock silenced it with his elbow, the rhythm of his mixing unmarred.

I observed his waltz for a few minutes more, Sherlock still unaware of my presence. I found myself longing to be nearer to him, the hours since our last encounter seeming an eternity. I started to stifle the longing before I remembered: I can have him. I grinned and my heart fluttered as I picked my way through misplaced cooking debris. I snaked my hands beneath his shirt and around his waist, stroking at the skin of his stomach, and sneaked a peek at the contents of the bowl. Sherlock jerked in surprise, his arm mid-whip. My eyes widened as dollops of freshly whipped cream splattered my face. He regained his composure but quickly lost it in a fit of giggles as he turned to face me. I felt myself mirror the smile spreading across his face.

"Look at you! You're a mess!" he laughed.

"I'm a mess?" I gestured around the room and finally to his shirt, splattered and painted with sauces of all sorts.

Sherlock just smiled again and gingerly wiped his finger at a spot of cream on my face. He slipped the tip of his finger into his mouth before working at the rest of the errant topping. When I felt that my face was finally clean, I moved in to kiss him. He stopped me with a gentle palm on my bare chest. In one swift movement, he swiped his fingers through the bowl and deposited a large dollop on my pursed lips. Sherlock gave me a lopsided grin before leaning down and darting his tongue across my mouth, a small mmm escaping his.

My heart fluttered in my chest at the contact of his lips and I pushed mine forcefully against his. Our greedy, hungry kiss spread the cream across our chins and up onto our cheeks. My tongue danced with his and I tasted the delicious concoction for the first time. Sweet, but also salty, as I combined the flavor with that of Sherlock's lips and the skin surrounding them. I worked my hands beneath his shirt and lifted the stained fabric over his chest. He bent a little and I freed the shirt from his body. Somewhere in the frantic groping that followed, the remainder of our clothing joined his shirt in a heap on the floor.

I held Sherlock at arm's length, savoring the sight of his naked body. My eyes traveled over his pale, smooth skin before settling on his eyes. I smiled at the hunger and adoration I found there. I am his and he is mine. I pulled him to me, my lips crashing to his, our growing erections trapped between our bodies. We both let out a low hiss as we ground our hips together. I dug my fingernails into the skin of his lower back, pulling him harder against me.

Sherlock answered the pain of my nails by trailing kisses along my neck, over my collar bone, and down my chest and stomach as he sank to his knees. I swallowed deeply before reaching out and clasping a handful of curls between my fingers. I tugged his head forward until his closed lips brushed the head of my cock. The heat in his gaze burned into me and he smiled, small and mischievous. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he parted his gorgeous mouth. I watched as his pink tongue darted around my tip and flicked lightly at the slit there. A gasp escaped my mouth and I tightened my grip on the locks between my fingers. With a groan and a sigh of pleasure, he swirled his tongue and sank down on my cock, his lips stretching and his cheeks hollowing as he sucked lightly. The flat of his tongue worked magic against the underside of my captured prick and my breath shuddered. I managed little moans and expletives through my stunted breathing.

"Fu... Oh God, Sherlock..." I strangled out through clenched teeth. Just before I reached the point of climax, he pulled off of me with a wet, obscene sound. My cock twitched at his absence and I took deep breaths to try and regain control over my faculties.

Sherlock reached one long arm up to the counter and retrieved a bottle of something while his other hand coaxed me to join him on the floor. I knelt in front of him on the flour coated floor. My eyes widen as he filled his palm with olive oil and slicked it over his engorged cock. His fingers slid effortlessly over his skin and his hips drove forward as he fucked his hand. Sherlock pushed a hand to my chest and I leaned back and he occupied the space between my thighs. My cock rested heavily against my stomach and he smiled at me as he drizzled olive oil along the length of it. He grasped it with his oiled hand and massaged me in the same lewd way. I began thrusting into his hand and he slid his cock into his hand as well, his long, thin fingers encasing both of our cocks at once. My back arched off the floor and my eyes rolled back into my head.

Sherlock's grip loosened on our cocks and he sprawled across me. Our hips continued to work against each other and I felt Sherlock's muscles tense as I gripped desperately at his back. Sherlock circled his hips, each movement bringing the divine pleasure of our cocks thrusting together. I wrapped my legs around him as I ground up against him. I bit at the skin of his neck, his shoulder, bruising the flesh with my teeth. Sherlock moaned loudly into my ear, his speed increasing, until we both shuddered and our come mixed with the oil trapped between our bodies.

Sherlock's arms faltered and he fell heavily onto my chest. I hugged him close to me as aftershocks coursed through us. I petted his messy curls and kissed lightly at the bruises forming where my teeth had so recently bitten. After a few minutes of recovery, we both struggled to stand, hampered by the oily mess surrounding us. I giggled as I clung to the safety of the counter top and extended a hand to Sherlock. His long, gangly legs slipped through the oil and flour and he looked like a deer on an icy lake. I pulled him roughly to me, securing my arm around his waist. I surveyed the kitchen. Oil, semen and flour combined in a paste beneath where we has so recently been entangled on the floor. Smoke was beginning to rise from the stove and Sherlock extended a long arm, deftly flicking the burners off.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson will have a fit if she sees this," I said, turning to Sherlock.

His lips turned up in a secret smile, one he saved solely for me. He pressed a single kiss to my lips, said nothing, and lead me carefully to the bathroom.

A/N: As a reward for surpassing 35k page views, I thought I would write up a smutty epilogue. Nothing says celebration like oily, messy kitchen sex! Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorite/commented on this story. I am forever grateful :) As a reminder, I have an author Tumblr set up. If you want to connect with me, feel free to check out the info in my profile. Thank you again!