John moaned and worked his shirt off, wanting to let Sherlock have the expanse of skin. His hands both moved and cupped that stupidly gorgeous arse. God damn bespoke trousers. They made his arse look good. So very good.

He ran his tongue around that little nub and nipped gently. Very gently. More. He wanted it forever. To feel Sherlock ontop of him. Moving. Taking.

His head spun with pleasure and and... he moaned and nipped a bit harder. He ached in his denim trousers.