ouanku.com 
John pulled away immediately with an apology on his lips, but Sherlock cut it off. "You'll make me come, and I don't want to yet," he explained.
John's eyebrows shot up. "Just from that?" he asked incredulously.
Sherlock shrugged, forcing himself to calm. "An experiment for another day," he suggested and John smiled the most gorgeous of all his smiles.
"So many more days," he agreed.
"All of them."
John kicked off his shoes then tugged his jumper over his head and started on his shirt buttons. "All of them," he promised.
Sherlock started to remove his dressing gown, but John stopped him with a quick hand to his sternum. "Let me?" he requested, looking oddly bashful but determined. "If we're talking about things we've dreamed of doing..."
"By all means." Sherlock settled back to watch as John resumed unfastening his buttons, then finally stripped off his shirt, revealing the T-shirt underneath.
"How many layers do you need?" Sherlock demanded, reaching for the hem and tugging upwards. "It's like 'pass the parcel'."
John snorted out a laugh. "How did a children's party game survive deletion?" he asked, his voice muffled by the fabric being pulled over his head.
"It was a very good party," Sherlock recalled as John's face reappeared. "Mycroft ate too much cake and threw up on Mummy's new shoes." He tapped his temple and grinned. "I saved the whole day." John was giggling as he cast the last of his layers aside.
After living together for nearly a year, the sight before Sherlock was hardly a new one. But to see John half naked just for him, because he desired it, because he had asked for it... that was different in a way that made his mouth dry and his heart pound. He sat up and reached out his hands but then pulled them back.
"Do me," he requested, holding his arms out to the sides and John obeyed, pushing the dressing gown off his shoulders. The silk rustled as it slithered down and Sherlock shook himself free, allowing the material to pool behind him. John lowered his hands to the hem of his T-shirt, then paused and Sherlock could feel the tremor in the fingers brushing his skin.
"Feels like Christmas," John said.
"Bit late," Sherlock observed, thinking 'Come on, come on!'
John just smiled as he started pulling upwards and Sherlock raised his arms and leaned forward to help and then they were both topless.
"Now that was worth waiting for," John declared emphatically, his eyes roving all over Sherlock's upper body. He stood up, twisting before Sherlock could follow suit and settling back onto the sofa but this time with a knee on either side of Sherlock's hips, and hands on his shoulders. He eased his weight back down to rest on Sherlock's thighs, and his smile was slow, and seductive and full of intent.
"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you," he murmured, his hand sliding up Sherlock's neck, thumb stroking over the mark he had made, and Sherlock's lips parted but he didn't make a sound. "Hope we don't get interrupted."
"I turned off my phone," Sherlock promised.
"Bloody hell!" John sat back, looking surprised and impressed in equal measure. "It must be love!"
"I keep telling you."
"You've told me once."
"I'll tell you every day."
"No, you won't."
"I'll mean it every day."
John smiled. "Good enough."
Sherlock became aware that he was smiling back in an unacceptably fatuous manner, and straightened his features. "Shut up and kiss me."
"Not a problem."
And this... this was another first, not the wanting another mouth against his own, because he'd spent far too many hours thinking about John's, but the anticipation... feeling lips brush the skin just below his ear and knowing where they were headed, angling his jaw as John worked his way along it and being content just to wait, and Sherlock hated waiting, loathed and detested being dependent on another person's schedule, but this was the best kind of waiting he had ever done, absolutely the best, because John was getting closer and Sherlock parted his own lips and then the waiting was over.
And as he held John's head in his hands and explored his mouth all over again, the knowledge that he could do this whenever he wanted gradually began to sink in. This wasn't just another fantasy, this was real. If he wanted a kiss, he could ask for one, or he could even just take one, or more than one... perhaps many, many more than one. He was vaguely aware of being lowered backwards, strong arms supporting his weight, but he was happy to leave himself in John's hands as other visions started to present themselves: waking up and John being there, right there, close enough to touch and he would be able to touch... John wanted him to touch, John wanted him, he wanted...
Sherlock pulled away. "I think I'm having a seizure." His heart was racing and his chest felt tight.
"No, you're not."
John was smiling but Sherlock struggled to focus on him. "Call yourself a doctor? I can't breathe!"
"Sherlock, you're crying."
"I am not!" He raised a hand to his face, then blinked at his fingers, rubbing the tips together, the evidence irrefutable. "It could be you. You're on top, you're probably dripping on me."
"If you say so."
John's expression was fond and incredibly familiar. Had there always been such love in it? How had he never identified it before? Sherlock closed his eyes. "You'd best get on with the shagging, before I really embarrass myself."
He heard a snort of laughter, then John shifted and stretched out on top of him. "Just give me five minutes," he requested. "There must be a hundred times I've watched you lying on this sofa and wanted to spread myself over you, I'm not missing the chance now. You can think about which bedroom you want to start in."
Start in...? Sherlock didn't get any further before John was kissing him again, scattering his thoughts and tugging him round onto his side. Sherlock obliged, twisting and shuffling backwards to make room, wrapping his arm around John to make sure the whole enterprise didn't end up with one or both of them crashing spectacularly into the coffee table.
"I thought you wanted to be on top? Why are you... Oh." He got his answer as John's hand slipped under the waistband of his pyjamas and down onto his backside.
"Well that answers that question," John murmured against his lips, his voice a little husky. "I've spent a ridiculous amount of time debating what you wore under these things and the answer is exactly what I hoped it would be."
His hand was kneading bare flesh as he spoke and Sherlock groaned and pressed forward, his erection sliding along the hard length of John's through the barrier of their clothing.
"If you don't take me to bed soon, you'll have to carry me," he warned breathlessly, his toes curling into the upholstery.
John smiled, then let out a small laugh and Sherlock quirked a brow. This certainly wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for.
John shook his head. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you," he said, with a reassuring squeeze. "I was just thinking that last night I wanted to break the nose of that bastard who tried to kiss you, and now I'd quite like to kiss him myself."
Sherlock endeavoured to hide his guilty expression, but John's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"What did you do?"
Sherlock squirmed, which felt amazing with John's thigh between his legs, and he couldn't stop himself from doing it again while he considered how to handle this.
"Sherlock..." John's tone was warning, but he made no attempt to move away.
"For some reason, I find it much more difficult to hide my feelings after even a moderate intake of alcohol."
