watson and holmes
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The Jumper ||
John hummed against Sherlock’s lips as the man’s fingertips ran over the exposed skin of his neck, in return occasionally dipping his fingers under Sherlock’s shirt to ghost his own skin. It was moments like these John had already grown to love, the sheer intimacy of them getting to know each other inside out, knowing exactly what made the other tick, or gasp, or smile.
He could always lose himself in the detective’s gaze, the way Sherlock strived to be as close as possible to him. And so when the brunet wrapped his legs around John’s waist, the doctor had to smile against his lips, simply pressing himself closer to the detective in response to his entrapment.
It was then that John’s fingers finally pushed their way under his shirt, allowing his palm to rest over Sherlock’s stomach as they breathed, trancing his fingers over each indent and curve of the man beneath him’s torso.
Sherlock had never thought he could enjoy something so tactile and emotional, things he never indulged in before. He had thought it would be uncomfortable and annoying, but John made it anything but. John knew what he was doing, knew how to ease Sherlock in to this and give him plenty of things to find fascinating about it. He was addicted and engaged in every second he was with him like this.
He smirked against his lips when John pressed closer, loving the feeling of being so close to him. He sighed happily as John slipped his hands under his shirt, shivering faintly under the attention. He pulled back from the kiss to kiss along his jaw, nuzzling his neck and wrapping his arms around him tight.
“I want you to show me more, John,” he said in a whisper against his ear, squeezing his shoulder encouragingly. “Back to bed?”
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