I’m actually in the process of writing a lists upon lists of fic recs, but I think I’m overdue for another fic rec list to tide y’all over! How about, in the same style of my last “random fic rec list”, a list of the last 50 fics I just recently bookmarked? Listed in word count order, because it’s the easiest way for me to organize these :D Enjoy!
(As a side note, this was only supposed to be “Top 10″, then 20, then 25, and now it’s 50. I had to stop or I would have just done all my bookmarks, LOL)
I-J’S LAST 50 BOOKMARKED FICS || JUNE 2017
Tied by beejohnlocked(E, 1,029 w. || PWP, Bottomlock, Bondage) – Sherlock ties John up and rides him.
The Pigeon’s deplorable nesting place by SlothfulSlytherin(G, 1,482 w. || Alternate First Meeting, Humour, Fluff) – Upon returning to London, John Watson took up residence in a mouldy little flat on Baker Street. The flat itself wasn’t all that special or interesting, his new neighbour on the other hand…
Want by siennna(T, 1,806 w. || Fluff, Pining, First Kiss, POV Sherlock, Requited, Second Person POV) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites
Perfect Solo by Itsallfine(E, 2,384 w. || PWP, Solo Kink, Fantasy, Pining, Dirty Talk, Sex Toys) – Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night. (The one where Sherlock uses his box of sex toys to take himself apart in every way John might have him.)
it’s in the details by kimbiablue (T, 3,272 w. || Fluff, First Kiss, Pining Idiots) – Sherlock and John meet with a forensic artist to determine how capable they are able to describe each other. In which John struggles to adequately describe Sherlock Holmes, and also thinks about his lips a lot.
Posh Boy by panickedbee(M, 3,622 w. || Kinks, RST, Pining, Sexual Frustation) – In his head he greets him with hey, handsome in the morning, calls him genius when he is being too clever again, calls him pretty man and silly git and sweetheart and, of course, posh boy. Part 5 of Sherlock Holmes Is A Very Lucky Man
All That I Have by the_arc5(M, 3,721 w. || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Pining Sherlock, John Whump, Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Light Angst) – In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.
Someone Else’s Heart by thisprettywren(E, 4,188 w. || First Time, H/C, POV Sherlock, Caretaking John, Pining Idiots) – A crime scene, a rainstorm, and something they both should have known all along.
Practical Johnkeeping by what_alchemy(M, 4,330 w. || Beekeeping, Aging, Gladstone, Tooth Rotting Fluff) – Sherlock predicts nectar flow the same way he deduces a murder, but he harvests the honey like John coddles the dog.
Atrium by kali_asleep(T, 3,460 w. || 5+1, Valentines Day, Fluff & Schmoop, First Kiss) – Five times Sherlock gave John his heart, and the one time Sherlock got a heart in return (literally)
How Will I Know? by eragon19(E, 4,895 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, POV Sherlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Papa Lestrade) – Here was the problem: Sherlock Holmes was completely and irrevocably in love with John Watson, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell him.
Linger by queenoftrivia(E, 4,908 w. || Lingerielock, Fluff and Smut, BJ / HJ, Bottomlock, Dirty Talk) – Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.
Wasted Hours by songlin(E, 4,973 w. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.
Sociopathy and Other Fibs by kinklock(M, 5,314 w. || 5+1, Miscommunication, Humour, Friends to Lovers, Post S3, Love Confessions) – Five times John called Sherlock out, and one time Sherlock returned the favour.
a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh(E, 5,395 w. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of
Thirty Three Hours Without John Watson by Bookaholic, mybrotherharry(M, 6,232 w. || First Kiss / Time, Pining Idiots, BG Mystrade, Crackish) – Sherlock can SO TOTALLY survive without John Watson. It should be a piece of cake.AKA the time when Sherlock braved grocery store lines for milk, purchased and gave away a box of tampons and figured out what the X-Factor is. Greg and Mycroft didn’t sign up for this shit. Next time, they are going to the Bahamas.
The Effect of Memory by testosterone_tea(E, 6,430 || Praise Kink, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Confused Sherlock) – John has temporary amnesia coming off of anaesthesia after an operation and not only does he not recognize Sherlock, he starts flirting with him! After John recovers, he doesn’t remember the incident at all. But Sherlock does. Confusion ensues.
Onomatopoeia by aquabelacqua(M, 6,904 w. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Domestics, Word Kink) – Something is the matter with John. Sherlock is determined to figure out what it is. Mark his words.
Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w. || Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.
Six Dates by avawtsn(E, 7,421 w. || 5+1, First Time / Kiss, Post S4-Compliant, POV John) – A rather accidental 5+1 written for the prompt “is this a date?” Hint: it is.
Christmas by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 7,673 w. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.
I’d be Lost Without my Blogger by shadenc(T, 8,057 w. || Rev. TRF, H/C, Angst) – "There are several snipers with their guns pointed at your head this very moment. Now, if you look up you’ll see John and myself on the rooftop of Bart’s. Understand the game yet?“ “Shoot me. Let him go and shoot me.” “Noble now, are we? Unfortunately, you are not the one who will make that decision.”
A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy(M, 8,886 w. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.
The Devil You Know by PipMer (T, 9,300 w. || Friends to Lovers, Romance, Holmes Brothers, Jealous Sherlock) – The Holmes brothers are behaving oddly. John is dazed and confused. In other words, it’s business as usual at 221B Baker Street. Except when it’s not.
Out of the Darkness by Irrevocably_Sherlocked(M, 12,165 w+ (WIP) || Death, Overdose, Heavy Angst, Whump, Mary is Not Nice, Post S3/TAB Compliant) – John Watson has long assumed Sherlock Holmes is immune to sentiment, “doesn’t feel things that way.” Sherlock, however, would do anything for the person he loves most in the world, including putting himself in danger while keeping John in the dark in hopes of keeping him safe. Tired of being left behind, John is running a strategy of his own. Unfortunately things do not go as planned for either of them. And as John lays bleeding, Sherlock finally allows himself to say the things he’s always meant to… This is the story of love, forgiveness and finally making right all the wrongs in these two men’s lives.
Anytime by SilentAuror(E, 17,995 w. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavors) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him.“You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”
Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695 w. || 5+1, Case Fic) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.
Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh(E, 20,776 w. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”
Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.
Don’t Leave Anything Out by lookupkate(E, 27,422w. || Epistolary, Falling in Love, Misunderstandings, Alternate First Meeting) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock’s hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you’re in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you’re the one who lied? How on earth do you put the pieces back together?
“finally kiss the bloody idiot” by Salambo06(E, 29,812 w. || Mutual Pining, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Fantasies POV John) – Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : “John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not.” Part 1 of The Pool
A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat(E, 37,018 w. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.
Resistivity and Relative Charge by liriodendron(E, 41,750 w. || Synesthesia, Angst, Case Fic, Romance, Est. Rel., Homophobia, Religious Content, Victor Trevor, Mild Jealous John, Mild John Whump) – In which Sherlock Holmes meets an old acquaintance, John Watson doesn’t enjoy a trip to the country quite as much as he thought he would, and the past absolutely refuses to stay where it belongs. Part 3 of Conductivity
Fan Mail by scullyseviltwin(E, 53,942 w. || Stalking, Obsessive Fans, Angst) – “WatsonChick143 has been rather maniacal in her commenting as of late… she’s left comments on everything you’ve posted John, something so obvious can’t have escaped even your attention.“
A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01(E, 81,665 w. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.
The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction(E, 96,022 w. || Magical Realism, Demons, Slash to Pre-Slash, AU, Happy Ending) – "What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?”
The Heart In The Whole by verityburns (E, 101,650 || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Drama & Angst, H/C, First Time) – Events after ‘The Great Game’ leave Sherlock dependent on his best friend and colleague. But John has a secret of his own…
between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles(T, 107,998 w. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat
Hi! I recently came across your page and think your an awesome writer. Little nervous to ask but could it be possible to write one where Kit tries to make you say you love him during sex but you can't. Tells you how much he loves you while you sleep and you blurt out that you love him in an argument the next day. Thanks 😊.
A/N: First of all, I want to say thank you to my followers that have persisted to follow this blog and send in requests in my ridiculous absence. In my attempts to work on my personal projects, I put aside my Imagine blogs (I have two others) and focus on my own projects. But life gets in the way and I slowly found my productivity dissipating. In an effort to continue and satisfy all of you that have stuck around, I will be continuing IKH. I apologize for keeping you all held out for so long, and to keep flexing my writing muscle there will be more posts in the future. Thank you all for your kind words, it has truly been a jolt of inspiration to come back to your love! While writing smut-fics is sometimes uncomfortable, I most definitely owe it to the readers that have asked. I hope you enjoy, I am a little rusty.
When the lights shut out there was nothing but a solid succession of silence between the walls of your flat, the softest sheets of rain against the window, and a howl of the wind’s might every now and then. With the TV and cable box now pitch black and dead, the two of you sat further into the couch.
“Well, I guess we won’t be finishing that tonight.”
On the couch, you and Kit had found a comfortable tangle beneath the protection of your favorite blanket. The central air had given out from pumping cool air to your atmosphere, and just like a scene in some apocalyptic horror movie the streets beyond your windows when dark.
You had stood on bare feet and padded over to the window to check that the streetlights were still working when you turned back to Kit on the couch.
“Blown transformer or alien death ship?”
As casual as ever, his shoulders rose and fell as he stood, stretching his arms high and straight to the corners of the room with a yawn, “Alien death ship, I bet. Candles?”
With an almost solemn pout, you nodded, “Candles. I have no idea where the flashlights are.”
“No flashlights, but an armada of candles. Our priorities are prime.”
You shove him aside as you head to the kitchen and begin to sprawl out your collection atop the counter. A battalion of vanillas, a fleet of fresh cotton, a squadron of peaches and mangoes alike, and a small garrison of cinnamon. With only the faint light of the moon to guide you, Kit insisted on lighting the candles. One by one, using only the short lighters he carried around, the flat flickered back to life by the light of small candles on safe surfaces in each room.
The two of you spent the next ten minutes trying to find something to do.
You started with cards, a short game of rummy here and an attempt at poker there, but the dim light wasn’t enough to check the other’s poker faces and interest was steadily as lost as the electricity in your neighborhood.
Boardgames were an idea, but being that they were in basement storage it seemed a bit fruitless to navigate a darkened apartment building just to rescue Monopoly from the clutches of your horror-inducing basement (complete with all the creaks and claustrophobia one could ask for).
So instead, you two settled to lie in bedroom until a better idea came to you. Kit lingered in the kitchen to grab water bottles for the two of you while you sauntered to your bedroom. Larger windows meant a fraction more moonlight trying it’s hardest to touch your bed, but falling just short. Instead the candle light made up the distance, flicking and stretching as it swallowed the wick an inch by the second.
The loss of the central air mean that the habitual heat of your apartment would clutch you soon enough, fueled all the more by the abundance of candles and challenged none by the ceiling fan seemingly frozen in time.
At the foot of your bed, you peel the maroon sweatshirt from your body,tossing it in the hamper with your shorts and moving to comfort your bones with the mattress beneath you. It felt a little better in your underwear, but you always preferred the cold.
You close your eyes aligning your back with the surface beneath you, and begging your muscles to readjust their relaxation to spread elsewhere but it just wasn’t enough yet.
“I would be if you would just join me already.”
When close enough to the bed he tossed the water bottle to you and the frigid cold jilted your senses as it kissed your skin. You hummed pressing the plastic to your head and stomach for a moment before cracking it open and taking a few mouthfuls.
Without even looking at him you knew exactly what he’d been doing; peeling off his own shirt and sweats to feed the hamper but settling in the bed on what had become his side. For a moment the two of you just laid back, faces towards the ceiling, eyes closed and breathing. In the center, your fingertips kissed, gently moving against one another’s each second.
“My sister called me today. She wants me to visit her in the city a next month, the family is getting together for my Pa’s birthday just before she goes on vacation.”
He’s quiet and you know exactly why. Your move to London didn’t exactly go without a hitch when it came to your family. Despite the fact that you are well beyond the age where your parents make decisions for you, a continental move towards a man you’d never introduced them to was a hulking, flame-infested red flag and they certainly were not quiet about it.
Divorced since age sixteen, this issue was the closest you’d seen your parents align since you’d begged them to let you get an elaborate eyebrow ring when you were sixteen. Credit was due for that one. In hindsight, you were glad they stopped you, but your life here with Kit was a topic they knew absolutely nothing about.
With the exception of the storm tonight, there was nothing about your life with Kit that you’d have changed. It was your choice not to mention your relationship with Kit for so long, and it was your decision not to introduce him to them as well. Neither of which you regretted. Even during your foray into adulthood, the leash your parents had kept on you did not let up. This move to London was inevitable for work, the decision to move in with Kit was your own and in your mind, there was no need for an explanation. You are a grown woman, gifted with the opportunity to mold your own life, and unfortunately you can’t make a smooth, beautiful structure with pieces that won’t bend.
“Hello? Are you in there?”
Shit, he’d been talking to you this whole time.
“I’m sorry, love, say again?”
Leaning on bent elbow, hand propping up his head and watching you intently. His eyebrows were high and knitted together.
“I said,” he started taking a shallow breath in, and moving his finger to your shoulder, softly hooking your bra strap and flattening it’s cross, “I think you should go.”
“You always say that.”
“I know. Have you thought a bit about why?”
“No, and for a pretty-”
Now it was your turn to narrow your eyebrows. Almost without thought you swatted his hand from your shoulder as you sat up to face him, “Go on.”
Kit watched you for a moment as if trying to gauge how annoyed you were getting with him at this very moment so he could stutter-step his way into an explanation that you would actually consider. He shifted his head back to the pillow, going back to start and facing the ceiling with eyes closed.
“Don’t let them continue to believe you coming over here was a bad decision. Cutting yourself off from them all is just reinforcing the idea,” he turns over to look at you, “Your sister is just trying to hold on the best way she knows how. She even offered to come out here just to see you. I know you’re caught in your own feelings about the way things went when you left, but it’s worth it to try again. They’re your family. Go back, and show them how you’re really doing. If you’re happy, maybe they’ll be happy for you. And if not, then you can cut them off just how you want.”
You stared him down with narrowed brows, you hated when he was right, but he truly was. Your eyes dropped down to your hands, and you sucked your teeth.
“That’s a long way to fly just to realize that I should’ve stayed behind with you until you leave.”
He laughs one of disbelief at you and rolls his eyes, “You are so fucking stubborn.”
“No, I just don’t want to waste time I could’ve spent enjoying the company of someone I really do care about before they leave for however many months in exchange for a week being ridiculed for making a quote ‘decision drenched in girly lunacy’. I’m done being spoken to like a sixteen year-old, I’m 31 years-old.”
That laugh came again and now you were rea pissed off.
“And how many times have you told me that your sister isn’t like them?”
“Plenty, but I don’t want her knowing my business either.”
“Is that fair?”
No, it wasn’t. You knew you were being childish, but this wasn’t something you wanted to do. You did it again, he would tell you once he realized it too, that you were looking for an argument. Throwing a topic into the air looking for someone to back you up to make you feel better, but the more he talked (more than he’d ever spoke in relation to your family), the more you know he was right. He was usually right, except when he was being a jackass which, most of the time, was after alcohol had reached his system.
“I really don’t like you right now.”
“Yeah, because you’re acting like a sixteen year-old.”
Now you were glaring and you could tell. You palms were beginning to sweat and you could feel your ears getting hot. His eyes were dead set on you, watching you on the verge of an eruption, but instead you took a breath in and pushed it back out.
“You’re right,” your shoulders were clenched if it were ever possible, you were nearly grinding your teeth and everything about your upper body was strained until this moment, “I should go. If not for them, then for her.”
“Yeah, you should, and don’t be so testy when you get there. You’re a ticking time bomb. And if you use me as an excuse not to go at the very last moment, I’m going to be really upset with you,” his hand found your knee as you leaned back on the king-sized mattress and gazed up at the ceiling fan, just wishing that any moment now it would flick back on.
All you did was throw him a thumbs-up from here you laid. You closed your eyes against the pillow top and took another breath in, each scent from the lit candles hitting you at once, all hoping to find a warmth like the candle they come from within you. It helped you relax a bit, and as the thunder cracked again you reached over for his hand.
Like long before you were inspired by the storm to wreak intended havoc on an otherwise peaceful night, now you seemed to seek resolution.
“I’m sorry,” you told him, the tips of your fingers dancing together until they grew tired and tangled in a rest.
“But I was a jerk.”
“I’m a jerk sometimes, and you check me too.”
You sit up and shift over to where he lay, laying over him like a blanket, resting your head just beside his neck. The edges of your lips stretched wide as you could hear the pace of his heart thumping heavily and feel yours pumping quick until eventually they both slowed damn near harmony.
This was where you wanted to be. Going back to the states to visit your family wasn’t high on your ‘To-Do List’, but it had to be done. All you wanted was just not to lose a week of this in exchange.
You turned your head, you opposite hand resting against the neck that you pressed your lips to. From nape to jaw, your lips traced a trail until you could feel his hand against the back of your shoulder. A grin ghosted against your lips as those same fingertips trailed along your blade until you pulled yourself up just enough so to shift to a straddle. Between your hands, the shadow of his beard was soft against your hands and you guided eager lips together for a dance.
Kissing him each time was something so sensual, so refreshing, and fulfilling. No touch was the same as the last, as if each were predestined to illicit some uncovered feeling to the surface of your skin. While you felt you could only offer the same few tricks, he came back to you every time with something all the more intriguing, finding new ways to show you just how he felt without utter a word.
So all you could do was coax the moment, keep up with his strides, and pick up a trick on the way. Each time you felt as if there was more you could, each time he drank you, he left only the littlest reserve for you to recover, taking all you had.
You lips moved in slower strokes, teeth taking his lip for you tongue to trace as you backed away, but he never let you. His hand always found the back of your neck and pulled you back in, tongue taking it’s turn to stroke yours, twisting in ways that seemed improbable, but remembering to allow his lips to romance you. It was an important factor you and you saw time and time again that he made an effort to avoid shoving his tongue straight into your mouth like you remember so many of your exes doing in the old days.
Your tongues tangled in a cyclone as his freehand on your hip pushed you into him, your own hips pressing down a little extra just for him. He groaned in your mouth overtaking you all the more. Your hands departed his face to press against your headboard and push the two of you apart. From atop his lip, you grinned, hooking your fingers against his neck and pulling him back and on top of you. Your head leaned to the edge of the bed, exposing the full length of your neck to him, but he didn’t take the bait.
Instead his hand ran over your thighs as he settled between your legs, his fingers trailing slowly along the lining of your underwear. In the thick of your bedroom’s heat, he stared you down and a chill spread down you spine to your hips until you lifted them just enough for the garment to fall away with his touch. There’s a twitch in his lips as they drop to the floor and your bra slipped away just as quick.
The thunder cracked again but you didn’t even hear it. There was no sound but your direct vicinity, no storm outside, no gentle wicks cracking beneath the heat of the flame, no heavy breaths, just your skins meeting in every attempt to fuse together. His final garment slipped to the dark oblivion on your floor and your bed sighed just as you did at the feel of his touch on your thighs.
Your hands fought each others’ grasp until they became tangled in each other. You sat up to move on him, and press your waists together once more then your hand took him firm. Trailing along the entry toward his shelter from the rain, guiding all around for the sensation it produced causing your breaths to catch in your throat. You head rolled back and he kissed your neck, letting his own hand rest over yours and slide into you smoothly.
He fills you like water until there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched, pulling out to do it all over again. You held him to keep you steady until his hands reach around to your back and you roll against his touch, swirl into his penetration. You take him to the brim and stop, clenching your walls to tell him this is exactly where you both belong.
Like fire on the wick, you engulf one another repeatedly until each time felt like there was no other option but an explosion.
“Yes,” you panted, pulling your faces far enough just to see one another. Your eyes met molten brown and they stared you down as your bodies burn for more fire. You rolled over to take control, sitting atop him and using his hands as leverage in your attack. Quick until his breaths grew labored, and slow to bring them back to speed. Grips on your sides, thighs and ass got rougher, trying to manipulate as best as he could from his position until his own hips reached up to grasp the distances you’ve held him from. When he tried too hard you just pull away again, and his head pressed back against the pillow in a pleasant frustration, audible in the groan he shot at you.
“You’re so mean,” he told you, resigning his hands to trail your sides. When it came to battles like these, you were, but he was cruel as well. You knew he’d show you those colors if you gave him the chance, but that moment was yours to exact your own form of torture in the way you saw fit. Your game was always to tease him, give him a taste of the full show, and spent act two and most of act three building the tension for his finale. Sometimes you didn’t even let him get that, and right at that moment, you hadn’t decided.
The smirk on your lips told him that you were enjoying ever second of his tormented bliss, and when you flicked your hips at him that way he knew you were only getting started. You rested your hands on his chest, using a forehand to sweep your hair over your back and keep yourself going.
But every once in a while a road block comes in the way in the form of the involuntary tightening in your thigh.
“Ow, Charlie Horse, fuck,” you murmur, and straighten your spine, hand shooting to your thing to massage and calm the muscle there.
He laughs aloud at you and is quick to sit up and flip you to your back.
“You’re mine now.”
“Wait, just give me a second,” you sat up a bit, trying to coax the stiffness away, but he grabbed your hand in the attempt.
“Oh no, I’ll take care of that for you, love.”
You recognized that shit-eating grin of his, it popped up at moments like these and lingered for longer than it was welcome. He settled in between your legs, his hand reaching down to your thigh, stroking the muscle he could feel had clenched up until it relaxed. When it did, he peered up at you with a grin, his face slipping lower and lower until you could feel his lips spreading over the skin, kisses and touches from his tongue started low. Traveled they did, until they reached your gateway, parted the doors, his tongue stroking your center and slipping through the threshold to taste you.
“You’re cruel, you know that?” your voice was a hum to him, egging him on and when you looked down you saw that gaze again and realize that your wick was nearing its’ end. Your breath caught in your throat, fingers melded with the curls atop his head, “Deeper.”
He chuckled below and took your request for its’ truth. Your breath went deep, and caught that tickle and you held for the ride. Your free hand takes the bedspread in your grasps so tight that knuckles turn to match to moon.
When he felt your walls close in, saw your chest begin to race he pulled back from you, wiping his face and descending to you once again. Your eyes fluttered at him, flickering like the light of the candles and as positioned himself over you with that lopsided smile, you thought he might undo you at that very moment. But he wasn’t done yet.
He lifted one of your legs to his hands and pressed into you once more, you realize that you’d missed him the entire time. His freehand rests against your face gently at first, tips of his fingers moving over the landscape of your features as his waves were gentle. Kit holds your gaze solid and you yearn to feel his lips. He hit that spot and your eyes close as you moaned for him, he smirked, taking your chin rough and commanding, “Look at me.”
You eyes fluttered back to the smolder that takes ever centimeter from your wick that’s left, hips pressing with a grander force than before and your mouth opened for his delight. He slipped from inside you and dipped his fingers in you quickly, pulling them out placing them on your tongue. You grinned a little and grabbed his hand, closing your lips over his fingers and sucking them dry. His mouth opened, he twitched against your thing. His hand slides himself back inside you and you knew that act three had come.
His arm scooped around your abdomen and hugged you close, his free hand resting on your jaw as you could feel both wicks on their final burn. His strokes had purpose, like a painter opening the flood gates for his emotion against canvas, long and forceful you both began to curl around one another in attempt to close whatever space was left. The fire pushed from your insides out to your skin, pressing against one another and setting one another ablaze. His forehead pressed on yours and in one final twist, you rolled him over and slammed yourself down on him.
“Fuck,” he uttered and you dropped low to his level, keep the same pace he had set before. His hands grasped at your sides, until he grew restless once more and rolled to your side and over again until he seemed satisfied to align against your side. You lifted a leg, and he slipped into you once more, his hand busying itself with playing you like his favorite instrument. His head settled against the back of your neck, lips kissing and biting at your sides and shoulder.
You clenched against him once more and the both of you moaned for the fire itching at your skin, praying for it to finally engulf you both. Your hand reaches back around to him, begging him closer.
But he’d been done with begging, done with teasing and name-calling. He reached for your neck, turning your gaze to his eyes once more and then as you clenched on him again and the flame took you both whole. You watch the fire pop in his eyes as the both of quake from the burn.
Your breaths got harsh, fanning your lips until all that was left was the smoke curling from your lips as you kissed. Once more you curled into one another, your body turning back to him as you tangled yourselves again. Your head found it’s place in the crevice of his neck, just far enough to breathe and close enough to feel your sweat fuse. Your arms found their way around him in a comfortable position and his own fill the empty space. His fingers were in your hair and on your shoulder, smoothing your hair and tracing shapes.
And when you felt the sleep crawling from your toes to your face, you heard him say it as bold as the thunder struck, “I love you, so much.” You feigned sleep that night, but even after the calm of his breathing told you, it had taken him over, it never came for you.
It was 3:46 in the morning. The power had come back on, the house grew cold again, but despite the comfort, you still couldn’t find rest.
What had you expected? A cross-continent move, up-rooting of your life, almost three years of dating so that he could stay as someone you ate, slept, showered, and fucked with? No. Maybe a little more, but love?
The idea wasn’t off-putting, someone like Kit being in love with you was a picture perfect dream, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were still on the roller coaster upwards, love only plateaued the ride. Where else was there to go from there, marriage, children? You could barely remember to feed yourself properly every day. Yogurt wasn’t a solid breakfast, take-out wasn’t logical for dinner most nights of the week, and budgeting for an extra tiny, very needy human being? Love was the peak of human interaction, but where did things go from there.
You watched below, hoping for someone to walk along the sidewalks so that maybe you could think about their life instead of choices that yours were giving you.
“What are you doing?”
He scared the living shit out of you. Standing in the door way, boxers on backwards, sleeping stuck on his eyes no matter how hard he rubbed it away. He was fucking adorable, and you were hating him right now for it.
“Why would you do this to us?”
It was a confusing question sure, but he looked thoroughly lost.
“It’s like 4 am, love. You’re going to have to spell this out for me.”
“Tell me you don’t mean it.”
He took a step further into the living room, towards where you stood with knitted brows and a sour face.
“I’m really lost.”
“You said you loved me, I heard you.”
Now he understood, and for a moment, he is almost bashful with his smile but it fades just as quickly as it came.
“What do you mean 'why would I do this to us’?” he did that laugh again, the one that made your hair stand on end. This time you’re not so keen on meeting his gaze, it’s hurt, you should’ve known it would’ve been, “Why would I not mean it if I said it?”
“You’ve doomed us.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He shakes his head, his hang sweeping roughly over his face, “If we’re not in love, then please tell me what the hell we’ve been doing for the past three years.”
“Two and a half.”
He’s really angry.
“What now, then? I say it back and we go skipping off to sunset? You know what happens when things get to this point, don’t you? It’s our plateau.”
“Says who?” He’s screaming now, hands shaking and all I can do is watch. I’ve hurt him deeply, but love makes people stupid, blind, comfortable.
“It’s what happens when I fall in love.”
He sits down on the couch, and puts his hands on his face as he looks at me.
“Have you moved to another continent for many men?”
“Have you preferred the company of one man over the company of family often?”
“Have you lived with another man, shared bed, food, shower, and clothes with another man for three years before? And so help me god, our anniversary is two weeks from now, please don’t insult me any further.”
He stood from the couch and walked briskly over to where you stood before the window. He took your hand.
“Have you felt about another man the way that you feel about me? Have they known you like I do?”
Your head shook, but he knew the answer already. His grasp finds your chin and your eyes have nowhere to run, “Then I need you to tell me that you don’t love me.”
But you can’t, and you don’t. Instead, you reach forward for his lips, but he doesn’t let you.
“I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much for something that’s not real. I do love you, much more than I deserve to, but I’m fucked up and way away from the world you live in. I don’t want to wake up one day here and realize that I’ve been caught blind. I can’t do it.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. But I need to know you won’t hurt me too. I’m not impenetrable, and honestly, if you think love is the end all for relationships, you have a lot to learn.”
He cracks a small grin and kisses you deeply.
“Teach me then.”
“Oh, I will. Now, please, come back to bed and try not to give me heart failure again.”