Work Text:
‘Why?’ John asked as his eyes skittered over the laptop screen Sherlock had just pushed in front of him, ‘Why would someone send something like this to you?’
‘To us,’ Sherlock corrected, pointing to the top of the screen, ‘and isn’t it obvious?’
At John’s blank look he sighed, leant in so his head was resting on John’s shoulder, and began to read:
Joe moaned desperately, writhing against the leather restraints binding him to the headboard as Sheridan continued worshiping his inner thighs. The sight of those dark curls, damp with sweat, moving between his legs when he was achingly hard and had been untouched for so long was too much. Words, breathless and broken, began spilling from his mouth, “Sheridan please … Oh God, I … I need … Your mouth … Those lips …”
‘Well?’
‘It’s gay porn. So?’
‘The protagonist’s names start with J and S, John.’ Sherlock’s tone was long suffering, ‘Plus “Sheridan” has dark curls and “those lips”.’
‘This is supposed to be us!’ John swallowed, hard, ‘People write … people imagine us … you … tying me up and spending hours …’
John’s voice, as it tailed off, was low and thick, his breathing rough and ragged.
Sherlock smiled triumphantly before pressing an open mouthed kiss to the jumping pulse in John’s neck, murmuring, ‘Well if the idea has appeal … tomorrow is your birthday.’