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It was 2 p.m., and the summer heat kept the streets empty. On days like this, people only stepped outside for work, school, or emergencies. William was no exception. He sat at the table by the window, lost in thought. It had been a while since he and Sherlock began dating, after everything they’d been through. William had felt something for him long before that. Not just attraction, but comfort. Safety. But the day Sherlock risked everything broke the rules, nearly died to save him William fell hard. And then harder. Things were no different for Sherlock. He loved William with everything he had.
The thing was William craved his touch. He was a grown man, of course, with his own thoughts, his own fantasies. Sherlock would kiss him, sometimes slowly, sometimes deeply. He would wrap his arms around him in bed, hold him close, press his lips softly against his forehead, his jaw, his chest. He was gentle. Always gentle. But he never went any further. And William couldn't stop wondering why. Was it hesitation? Was it that Sherlock didn't want him in that way? Or worse—was he not enough? The thoughts haunted him, crept in during quiet moments and long nights. He noticed the way Sherlock's body felt stronger, broader than his, and sometimes—often—he imagined how it would feel if Sherlock were on top of him, not just kissing, not just touching, but claiming him fully. Roughly. Desperately. The way William ached to be touched.It never happened. And when the dreams came—hot, vivid, shameful—he would wake in the middle of the night, flustered, breathless, and painfully aware of how foolish he felt. Was he a teenager again going through puberty ? Still dreaming of things he couldn’t have?
Time passed quickly. Sherlock finally returned home after a long day buried in yet another case drained, exhausted, and in dire need of rest. The second he opened the door to their apartment, a familiar sense of peace washed over him. This was always the best part: coming back to William. His William. The only person he truly cared for in this life—and, if such things existed, likely the next as well. As always, William was waiting for him at the kitchen table, a quiet warmth in his posture and a soft smile lighting up his face.
“Welcome back,” he said, the words simple but full of affection.
“Oh, Lord—I missed you so much, love,” Sherlock murmured, immediately stepping forward and pulling him into a deep embrace. He buried his face into William’s neck, nuzzling the soft skin there, breathing him in like something sacred.
William hugged him back without hesitation, arms strong around him.
“Aren’t you hungry?” William asked with a soft chuckle. “Come on, let’s eat something.”
They sat and ate together Sherlock recounting fragments of his case in that animated way of his, while William listened with the kind of quiet attention only he could give. And once the meal was done, the dishes cleared, and the night finally settled in, it was time for bed. Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom to shower, while William remained seated at the edge of their bed, flipping through a random book waiting for him to return.
William turned another page, eyes scanning the words, but his mind was elsewhere behind the bathroom door. The sound of water had always made him restless. Or perhaps it was simply him. The thought of Sherlock in there, tired and bare, hot water running down his back. He closed the book. He couldn't read like this. It had been weeks of gentle touches and quiet restraint. William didn’t doubt Sherlock loved him. But there was something withheld, something unsaid. And he wanted. God, he wanted him.
Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. The lights in the bedroom were low, casting everything in golden haze. William didn’t notice. He was still sitting at the edge of the bed, back to the window, unmoving lost in thought. Sherlock watched him for a moment. Quiet. Still. His lover, so composed on the surface, but something wasn’t right. He walked closer, then eased himself behind him, arms slipping gently around William’s waist as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. “What’s on your mind, babe?” he asked, voice low and warm. William startled slightly, shoulders jumping before relaxing again. “Oh you scared me...” he said, forcing a soft chuckle. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” But Sherlock didn’t move.Didn’t pull away. He felt the way William’s body tensed under his touch, how his breath caught just slightly before the lie. He knew William. He knew when his silence meant something. “It’s not nothing,” Sherlock said quietly against his skin. “You're thinking too loudly.” William hesitated. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling slightly. He wanted to say something, but the words got caught somewhere between fear and hope. Sherlock shifted, letting his chin rest on William’s shoulder now, his voice softer than before. “Talk to me, love. Is it... me? Did I do something wrong?” That’s when William exhaled slow, shaky. The kind of breath people take when they’ve been holding too much in. “No,” he whispered. “You haven’t done anything wrong. That’s... the problem.” Sherlock stilled.
A pause. Just long enough to feel it the weight of unspoken need between them.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment, his arms still wrapped around William’s waist, his chin resting on his shoulder. The room felt warmer somehow closer. “What do you mean?” he asked gently. William swallowed. His fingers clenched against his thighs before he finally turned his head just slightly, just enough for their cheeks to almost touch. “You’re always so careful with me,” he said. “So gentle. And I love that. I do.” He paused, breath shallow. “But... sometimes I wonder if that’s all you want from me. Just kisses. Hugs. Silence in the dark.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed, and he turned William more fully toward him. Their faces were close now—too close for anything but honesty. “You think I don’t want you?” he said, barely above a whisper. William’s voice cracked. “I know you love me. I know that. But... I want you to show me. Not just with words.”His cheeks were flushed now, his eyes searching Sherlock’s like he was afraid of the answer.
Sherlock exhaled sharply through his nose. He leaned in, forehead brushing against William’s as he spoke. “You think I’ve held back because I don’t want you... when it’s only because I’m terrified I want you too much.” And then his lips were on William’s not soft, not careful, but hungry. He kissed him like something had snapped loose inside him, like all the restraint he’d held for weeks had finally cracked open.
His hands found William’s face, cupping his jaw, then sliding back into his hair as he deepened the kiss slow, then faster, until it wasn’t thinking anymore it was want.
William gasped into his mouth, knees parting slightly on instinct, the book forgotten at their side, hands gripping Sherlock’s damp waist where the towel still clung, barely. Sherlock pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “If you want me,” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to have to tell me to stop now. Because I won’t be able to go slow tonight.”
Sherlock looked at him for only a moment longer—then that was it. Whatever restraint had held him back until now was gone. He pushed William back gently onto the bed, eyes locked with his the entire time. His voice was low, quiet, and firm. “Stay just like that.” William obeyed without question, breath shaky as he leaned back on his elbows, watching Sherlock climb over him, damp curls clinging to his forehead, towel loosening around his hips. Sherlock straddled him, leaned down, and kissed him again—slower this time, but deeper. He tasted him, drank him in, letting his hands trail up William’s chest, fingers spreading over pale skin, feeling every breath. Then his mouth followed. He kissed his way down his throat—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into soft bites and warm suction against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. William gasped, back arching slightly.
“Sherlock…”
But Sherlock only smirked against his neck, his voice low and warm.
“Shh. Let me have you.”
He moved lower, lips ghosting down William’s collarbone, then to his chest—where he paused. Sherlock’s hand slid up, gently brushing over one nipple with his thumb, watching the way William’s body reacted, so sensitive under his touch. He lowered his head, licking slowly, then closing his mouth around it—sucking, teasing, listening to the breath that caught in William’s throat. William whimpered softly, face flushed, fingers digging into the sheets. Sherlock repeated it on the other side—kisses, then teeth, then tongue—every motion slow and deliberate.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, as if he were studying him like a case, every reaction catalogued, treasured.
Then he continued his path downward—trailing kisses down William’s stomach, lips brushing over soft skin, tongue flicking just enough to make him shiver. When he reached his lower belly, just above where William really wanted him, he paused—resting his cheek there, eyes looking up.
“You’re shaking,” Sherlock whispered, voice velvet.
William looked down at him, breathless, wide-eyed.
“I’ve wanted this,” he managed to say. “I’ve wanted you.” Sherlock smiled, dark and gentle.
“Then you're going to feel every second of it.”
And with that, he moved lower hands spreading William’s thighs, mouth tracing fire as it went.
Sherlock’s hands slid beneath William’s thighs, spreading them just enough to settle between them. His eyes never left William’s face not even as he leaned down, lips brushing lower and lower, until he was exactly where William wanted him most. He looked up one more time, his voice velvet and certain.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
William barely managed a nod before Sherlock lowered his mouth, lips wrapping around he's dick with slow, calculated pressure.
“Ah—Sherlock—!”
The cry escaped William before he could bite it back. His hands flew into Sherlock’s hair, fingers curling tightly in the still-damp strands as his head fell back onto the pillow. His thighs trembled, breath hitching with every movement of Sherlock’s tongue—slow, then deeper, then faster. The heat in his stomach coiled tight, too fast, too much.
“God—Sherlock, please—ngh—ah—”
Sherlock hummed low around him, the vibration sending sparks through William’s spine. He moaned again, louder this time, hips bucking up before Sherlock's strong hands pinned him down again. “Stay still,” Sherlock murmured against him, pulling back only for a moment, lips slick and eyes dark. “Let me make you come apart.”
Then he took him in again—deeper, slower, working him skillfully, cruelly gently, until William was gasping, moaning freely, his whole body shaking under the waves of pleasure building inside him.
“I—I’m gonna—ahh—Sherlock, I—!”
His warning came in a broken breath, but Sherlock didn’t stop. He only held him tighter, sucking harder, until William arched off the bed, back tense, mouth open in a silent cry before a desperate moan tore from his throat. His release hit him like a storm, sharp and overwhelming, as he gripped Sherlock’s hair like a lifeline. He collapsed back, chest heaving, eyes fluttering open with dazed wonder. Sherlock slowly rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned over him, placing a kiss just above his heart.
“You’re breathtaking when you fall apart for me,” he whispered. William couldn’t speak—he could only reach for him, eyes glassy, lips parted, wanting more.
William was still breathless, flushed across his chest, lips parted as Sherlock kissed up his torso again—slow, reverent, like he was trying to memorize the feel of him.
When Sherlock reached his mouth, he kissed him long and deep, letting William taste himself on his lips. One of his hands slipped between William’s legs again, stroking slowly—gently this time, teasing.
“Is this still what you want?” he whispered against his lips. “Yes,” William answered, almost too quickly. “God—yes, Sherlock.”
Sherlock smiled faintly, then reached for the small bottle of oil they kept tucked away in the bedside drawer. William’s heart pounded harder the moment he saw it.
“Breathe,” Sherlock said gently as he slicked his fingers, then lowered himself between William’s thighs again.
He kissed along his inner thigh, soft and slow, as his hand found its way lower—his fingers brushing lightly before one finally slipped inside. William gasped, hips twitching slightly at the stretch. “Relax for me,” Sherlock murmured, voice like silk. “Let me take care of you.”
William moaned softly, fingers curling into the sheets as Sherlock moved with aching patience—slowly stroking him open, pressing deeper, adding another finger.
“Ah—Sherlock…” he gasped, back arching.
“That’s it,” Sherlock breathed. “You’re doing so well. You feel—incredible.”
He kissed up William’s stomach, fingers still working gently inside him, brushing against that spot that made William cry out—a sharp, broken moan that he couldn’t stop if he tried.
“Fuck—right there—!” Sherlock smiled darkly, lips brushing his ear. “I know exactly where.”
When he felt William start to tremble, pushing down against his hand, ready, desperate, Sherlock finally pulled his fingers away—slowly, lovingly.
He knelt between his thighs, positioning himself, hands holding William’s hips carefully.
“Last chance to stop me,” he whispered, eyes locked with William’s. “Don’t you dare stop,” William moaned. “Please, Sherlock—I need you.”
That was all it took.
Sherlock pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside him. William’s head fell back with a deep, breathless moan—eyes fluttering shut, fingers gripping Sherlock’s forearm tightly.
“Ahhh—Sherlock—it’s… it’s so much—”
“I know,” Sherlock panted, body trembling with restraint. “You’re so tight around me—fuck—William.”
He paused only once, letting them both breathe—then pulled back, hips rolling slowly, then thrust again, deeper.
“Yes—ngh—don’t stop—don’t stop—” William gasped, legs wrapping around Sherlock’s waist.
“You feel like you were made for me,” Sherlock growled, thrusting harder now, holding William in place as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm—heat, skin, breath, and love crashing into one.
Sherlock thrust deep again—but William suddenly tensed beneath him, his breath hitching not in pleasure, but discomfort.
Sherlock froze instantly.
“Too much?” he asked, voice hoarse but gentle, hands cupping William’s waist. “Tell me.”
William nodded slightly, chest rising and falling.
“J-Just… wait a second…” Sherlock pressed soft kisses to his cheek, his neck, his jaw—waiting, grounding him. “I’ve got you. We’ll go slow.”
When William finally relaxed, Sherlock began to move again—gentler this time, slow rolls of his hips that made William gasp softly, one hand sliding down Sherlock’s back. Then something shifted. The tension gave way to a wave of pleasure again, and William clung to him, moaning against his shoulder.
“Sherlock—please—don’t stop—!”
Sherlock growled low in his throat, fingers digging into William’s thighs as he began to move faster, harder—his control unraveling with each thrust. Their bodies collided, slick and desperate, the air thick with gasps and broken moans. “I’m—fuck—I’m close—” William gasped.
“Come with me,” Sherlock whispered against his lips. “Let go, William. Let go for me.”
And in one last, perfect thrust—deep and rough—William cried out, his body trembling as he came hard, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open in a silent cry. Sherlock followed a heartbeat later, moaning low and deep, hips jerking as he spilled inside him, gripping William tightly like he might fall apart otherwise. They stayed like that for a moment—pressed together, hearts pounding, breath tangled.
Sherlock kissed his temple.“You were perfect,” he whispered.
Sherlock stayed close, still inside him, still trembling slightly as their breathing slowly returned to normal. He kissed William’s forehead, then his cheek, then hovered just above his lips. His voice came out low. Honest. Unshaken.
“I love you william".
William opened his eyes, dazed, flushed, and glowing in the dim light. He smiled—small, soft, and real.
“I love you too my Sherlock ".