That Scent Must Sustain (3): I Need Every Day
#3 of That Scent Must Sustain
It's a meeting of alabaster and sandstone, of mind and heart, and it's like a drug.
This is part of a series I'm working on; I have six chapters so far. I'll post them all, and update as I finish more. This is an AU based on Patrick Süskind's 'Perfume'- there will be sex, and violence, and death. You know. All the good stuff. Each chapter is brief, 500-1900 words, to make reading it less of a task. It's also up on AO3, FanFiction.net, and DA.
Beneath him, Sherlock was breathing slowly. The rise and fall of his chest was hypnotizing; John almost lost himself in the rhythm. He shook his head and focused, letting his hands brush the silk robe from Sherlock's shoulders. It pooled around him, soft and shining as John lifted the worn gray tee over the long torso of the detective. Topless, pale, but warm. So very, very warm.
John leaned down and pressed his lips to Sherlock's prominent collarbone, kissing the curve of its features. He worked his way up, up Sherlock's slender neck, paying extra attention to the few freckles scattered sporadically across his skin. Up, to the underside of his jaw. Up to his lips, round and soft, pointed and square, a paradox of angles. Up, to those wicked cheekbones (he looks). Kissing his brow, refusing to move his eyes away from the startlingly blue ones focused on him (like an angel).
Now down, down to his sculpted chest. John placed his mouth against Sherlock's nipple experimentally, darting his tongue around the tender flesh. There was a rumble in the man's chest that tickled John's lips, a deep moan that barely made it past his throat. It was pure and honest, and the doctor felt a hand atop his head. It gripped him gently, did not interfere. Sherlock just wanted to be closer, closer to him. He blushed, hoping Sherlock could not see.
Lower still, across his abdominal muscles and down to his navel, where a fine trail of hair led down past his hips. John kissed and licked, digging his fingers into Sherlock's pelvic bone as he moved. Underneath him, Sherlock growled in pleasure and frustration. Beneath the soft material of his pajamas (which were currently caressing John's chin) he was hard as a rock. John curled his fingers beneath the waistband and began to lower them, grinning as Sherlock cursed at his slow pace.
As he neared the curve of Sherlock's thigh, he paused.
"You're not wearing any pants..."
"No."
"...For four days?"
"Obviously."
Sherlock was smiling; John could hear it in his voice.
"Were you- planning this?"
"Perhaps."
The terse treatment, then? A lovely game, one John was irrationally excited by.
"I'll get you to talk, you know."
John began anew, brushing his fingers through the downy hair at Sherlock's crotch, breathing close to the skin revealed by his half-removed trousers. Beneath John, Sherlock trembled with lust.
"I'll get you to scream."