Johnlock

Honeymoon- part 2

It's been three whole days and Sherlock hadn't had a fix, no cases, no alcohol, no nicorette patches, and no drugs. He was down to his birthday suit hoping to get a rise out of John so he could feel the high of climax, but there was only so much his husband could take, as it was they were up to five or six times a day, John was beginning to limp and make comments about how 'excitable' he is. But the rush was a craving that he couldn't fix. He was driving his lover insane and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. Of course he wouldn't look elsewhere, he loves John, but he needs something more powerful and longer lasting than a climax.

He needs a cigarette.

John would never be happy if he saw him with one so soon after promising to quit but for god's sake, if he doesn't get something he'll have to commit murder just to entertain himself. Although it wouldn't be such a surprise, he didn't see how John would fair to visiting him in prison, not that he'd ever get caught.

It took two maids, thirty dollars, and a box of matches for him to get a pack. Even then, he was so worried John would find out that he hid the pack up at the top of the cabinets so that he wouldn't see and only smoked outside when the wind picked up. The last thing he needed was for him to smell it on his clothes. But so far, it meant he'd waited three days and still hadn't had a single puff. John was still in bed and it was early morning, too early for the sun to have risen, so he snuck out and grabbed a match.

When the flame hit the nicotine he moaned ever so softly, inhaling so sharply that the smoke burned his lungs. He held it in anyway, letting it fill him before allowing for it to escape. That need for fulfillment finally squeezed out a drop through the smoke cloud that left his nose. He was so eager that he puffed the entire stick in less than three minutes.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more.

"Sherlock!"John snapped, grabbing the open pack from his hands. Although he was desperate, he just stared in shock, seeing the disappointment in his eyes was like a slap to the face. "Where did you get these? You quit!"

"I did but – but I'm going positively mad and I can't take it any more."He admits, pulling those caring eyes on him. "I know it's our honeymoon and I love you dearly, but the only source of excitement I have is fucking you and I can see just how exhausting that is and it's still not enough – I want to do it all the time but I can't fill that need in my chest so I paid a few maids to bring me a pack of menthols and I've only had one! It's a well deserved break, I thought, but I need another."

"That's why you've gotten these? To give me a break?"He glances down at the pack, he'd only smoked one and it was clearly not helping at all. But with as sore as he'd been lately, he knew his intentions were genuine this time. "Why didn't you just say so? I thought you were in over drive or something for the vacation but honestly, I could use one of these myself."

"Oh great, we'll both have -"

"Oh no, you've had one, if you keep going you'll be a chimney before you know it."He scolds, taking one out and pausing only for Sherlock to light it. Although he didn't agree, he hadn't tried to take the pack from his pocket yet, which was longer than he thought his husband would last. He takes the first few short puffs and holds it in a little too long, coughing as it comes out. He can see him inhale the air and it makes him feel sorry for his lover. "I haven't had one of these for so long . . . I really needed this, especially after all of that sex, we've been on fire lately. I don't think I've ever done this so many times."

"Me neither, but then again I've never been married before, either."Sherlock said, but his voice sounded impatient. He could still taste it on his tongue and his lungs were scalded from the smoke, but he craved it like a drug. John would never allow him to take the pack from him and if he stole his cigarette he'd be asking for reprimanding. But second hand wasn't enough.

"I've never been married to a man before, but I doubt that has anything to do with it. I'm rather enjoying myself, but it would be nice to slow down a little bit -"He pauses to take a long drag, but just before he can enjoy it, he's assaulted by Sherlock.

Quickly he grabs the back of his head and parts his lips with his tongue, sucking in every breath of smoke he has to his lungs and leaving him gasping. Then he kisses him like he's never before, sliding his tongue around his mouth to suck off any nicotine left behind. When he finally parts, John sags a little as he tries to catch himself, so much in shock that he forgets to breathe. Sherlock exhales that last of his smoke from his lungs and leans against the windowsill for support.

"Oh god, John, that feel so good."He gasps, closing his eyes. He barely opens them to see John chuck the cigarette into the sand. "What are you doing? That was a perfectly good -"

John silences him with a kiss, pulling the belt to his robe and sliding his hands up his naked body until Sherlock shivers with excitement. The surprisingly mundane man knew exactly how to make Sherlock crumble, and he used everything he had until his husband was a mess in his arms, begging to be fucked.

"I thought you didn't beg?"John teases, but Sherlock hardly notices. So he repeats himself again: "You said you didn't beg?"

"I do for you,John, I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to."He pleads, a wicked smirk crosses John's lips.

"I don't want you to be begging on your knees, Sherlock, you could do so much more."He says, reminding him of Sherlock's favorite position. "I thought the cigarette's would help? They'd slow us down?"

Sherlock grab's a handful of his blond hair in his hands and runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, making his lover moan. "I can't be slowed, John, not with you. I don't want to stop until yours legs are shaking and the whole neighborhood knows my name."

His heart skips a beat as he listens to him, those fiery blue eyes tearing holes through his clothing. "Then don't."

With a quick pull he strips John's clothing and throws it off into the bushes. As soon as he's in his birthday suit he suddenly realizes how lucky he is that the beach they reserved didn't have small children, it would be possibly the worst sight for them, but before he can think too much about the lasting effect it would have on theoretical children, Sherlock grabs him by the hips and wraps his lips around his penis. Any words he has beyond his lover's name are suddenly lost in translation.

**