He was shaking. He couldn't... Oh dear god. He couldn't. Sherlock was... Someone walking in and seeing this. John bit his fist to keep from sobbing and begging for that. He whined. This was filthy, utterly filthy and depraved.

And he wanted more.

He wanted every filthy and depraved thing that Sherlock could do to him.

Another cry, though muffled, escaped him. Sherlock was going to be the end of him. This was wonderful.