Waiting for Benedict to do the ASL ice bucket challenge like
The camera angle they never show on TV
flower language has always been an intense source of disappointment for me
like, they all mean really generic things like “love” or “forever” or “i’m sorry”
i thought you could combine flowers
like you could just send someone a bouquet and from the…
There are all kinds of virginity.
There’s the never-been-kissed sort. John lost that at thirteen. Sherlock just before sixteen.
There’s the never-had-sex kind. John lost that at nineteen, Sherlock at thirty-four.
And then there’s, well, there’s the never had anal-sex kind of virginity and John and Sherlock both lost that within the same week, Sherlock first.
The morning they made this new kind of love John almost had heart failure. So scared was he of doing it wrong, of hurting Sherlock, of coming too fast, the good doctor quite nearly didn’t come at all.
Well he needn’t have worried.
Almost as soon as John slid slow inside his lover’s long body, Sherlock sighed, wrapped arms and legs around smooth flesh, and pulled his sweetheart close.
As John murmured endearments and diminutives—”It’s all right baby, breathe my love, it’s fine”—Sherlock actually giggled, drunk on equal parts pleasure, pain, and the sweet heat of John’s bare skin.
And as John thrust soft, slow, and so-very-right, the good detective’s gentle caresses became nails leaving pretty tracks along his lover’s back.
By the time Sherlock came—long before John—he was so overdosed on pleasure his toes were curled and he was quite possibly speaking in tongues.
Yes, there’s all kinds of virginity, and too many are lost in ways far less sweet. But Sherlock, and later that week John, were lucky. They lost this kind to each other and the only regret either had was that they didn’t do it sooner.
Well that, and maybe it’ve been nice to record it.
I wanted to write something for the so-very-gifted Kuuttamo. When I asked what she’d like she requested a story to go with this virgin!Sherlock drawing of hers that I love. This is that (slightly silly) tale. About tail, I guess. Thank you Kuuttamo!
can’t wait for the generation of grandmas with winged eyeliner
I heard a kid say “I was born in 2003” the other day and he was like “I’m 11” it fucked me up… aren’t kids born in 2003 only supposed to be like 4 years old not going into 6th grade
Tony being a dork and entering every room just before Bucky does so he can loudly announce that winter is coming
I just can’t not to draw them… XDDDDD