Heya, guys.

Okay! So. This is going to be a Series. We'll call it the 'Taste Me' series, for simplicity reasons.

Basically, this is about how Sherlock is not as endowed as previously imagined, but John loves him anyway - and loves his penis, too.

And oh boy do I have some fantastic ideas for the other parts of the series.

I hope you like it!

[also, I literally just wrote this in like two and a half hours, so PLEASE tell me if there are mistakes. I will fix them right away.]

It's come to my attention that the idea that John "forcing himself" on Sherlock is disturbing to some people. Let me clarify something - this is a fan fiction based on my own personal kinks and preferences. This is not real life and it is in fact only a pornographic story. The plots in these stories are based solely on my own ideas and I find each of the acts written here to be exciting and racy. They are all my own creation and fantasies. I mean to say that if there's a problem with your opinion and the way these stories and character interactions are displayed - please remember it's not real and while you may not find it "hot" I do.

This is my disclaimer. Please do not read if you have issues with what's been said above. I will not adjust my writing (unless there are mistakes made).

For everyone else, I thank you for continuing to read my story despite the problematic plot lines. And I thank you as well for understanding that some plots in fanfiction are not something you should want (unless you are a consenting adult) in a real relationship.

The amount of dejection John experienced from the loss of Sherlock, his best friend, was overwhelming – but it was also what caused him to realize his true feelings regarding the detective. John reasoned that had he not thought Sherlock dead for so many years, had he not grieved for him every moment he was gone – had he not felt the aching in his heart left by the man, he would not have known how much he truly loved Sherlock.

At first, John felt sick to himself at the thought that he'd never be able to tell Sherlock that he loved him. But then his nausea faded to nothing, after months of despair, and he finally fell asleep at night believing that Sherlock must have known how he felt – obviously.

But the loneliness he had was not the kind to go away with one night stands. And not even girlfriends could make him feel better. He had lost the love of his life and he was now alone – forever.

Or so he had thought.

The detective was now standing before him, holding his cheek where John had punched him – merely an instinct, though John felt no trepidation whatsoever. It had been God knows how long that he thought Sherlock was dead and now – he was standing before him?

And then Sherlock's deep melodic voice explained why he had taken so long to come back to John. And John, though he listened intently, mostly stared at the face that he had thought rotted in a coffin six feet under-ground. And he was so relieved to see him that when Sherlock's voice ended abruptly – his voice rasping in that way, the way someone sounds before they cry – John surged forward and wrapped the taller man in an all-encompassing hug and squeezed and he did not let go, and neither did Sherlock, and they stood that way for hours, just hugging, holding, rocking, crying, murmuring, to one another that thank God, oh thank God and I'm so sorry, so sorry, until Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs with tea and those cookies that Sherlock had favored before he died.

And their lives went by wonderfully after that – Sherlock continued to be a hero, a consulting detective – a huge dick. And John was the side kick, the man that kept Sherlock Holmes human. And they liked where they sat.

Their relationship, however – that was indeed different. For one, John decided that telling Sherlock how he felt about him was of the utmost importance, and soon after Mrs. Hudson had left the first day of his return, he had told him.

Sherlock's reaction still caused John to shiver – for Sherlock's cheeks had gone the most delicious shade of pink and his chest heaved at John's admission, and his voice broke while saying the words 'and I you, John' - and well – John knew when someone was turned on, and they snogged right there – which sealed the deal for the both of them.

John wasn't one to push a lady into sex, not until their third date at least, however, Sherlock's behavior when sex was involved in conversation or circumstance – he became that wonderful shade of pink and bolted from the room. At first, John had not thought the behavior to be strange, but it happened time and again – if John dipped his hand too low on Sherlock's bum, or tugged on Sherlock's shirt or waist band – Sherlock would all but flee from his grasp, claiming he needed to conclude an experiment.

And after the third week of abstinence, John was not in the mood to take things slowly any longer. They had snogged multiple times daily, they had cuddled and spooned and Sherlock's mouth was always so warm and wet – and he loved to trail his tongue along the roof of Sherlock's mouth – and if he went deep enough with his tongue and curled it just so – he could get Sherlock to arch and moan deeply and hungrily into his mouth.

But that was as far as they had gone. And John wanted to taste Sherlock elsewhere.

So John devised a plan – to treat Sherlock as though they were going to cuddle – and then pin him down and fuck him. John licked his lips at the thought – oh yes, it would be delicious.

/

Sherlock tucked his head under John's neck and inhaled his scent. Sherlock loved that smell – it helped him think. And the arms wrapped around him, stroking his hair and side, were calming him as well. He liked feeling John's breathing under his cheek, and his heart beat softly beating under his ear. He breathed in deeply again, almost drifting off to sleep in the softness of his John.

And then everything changed – he was underneath a solid weight of a blonde, who was suddenly licking deep into his open and startled mouth and oh his tongue did that thing again straight off, no teasing, just instant pleasure – and Sherlock's breathing escalated and his cheeks flushed (a soft mmh left John at the sight) and Sherlock forgot that he should stop for a moment – but that moment passed with too much time and when he regained himself through the haze of lust – he realized John had already ripped apart his shirt, buttons flying, and was already working on his own.

John knew Sherlock would struggle, he was indeed uncomfortable with the idea of fucking, but John would show him how good it was, he would show Sherlock how good he could feel.

John fought dirty – he made Sherlock moan, deeper this time, by sucking a pink nipple into his mouth, and nipping it with his teeth. The distraction gave John enough time to slip off his own trousers and pants, but by the time he removed them, Sherlock was attempting to flip them over and escape. Which was unacceptable.

John sat down upon Sherlock's thighs, naked, staring down at the flushed pink detective. He cocked his head to the side, and asked him, "Sherlock, do you not love me?"

And the confusion upon Sherlock's face was answer enough, John supposed, but Sherlock answered, "John – I – do, however – I do not believe – you will… particularly like – all of – me."

John's eyebrows furrowed, as the whole explanation did not make any sense. And he said to Sherlock "perhaps you should let me decide that, yeah?" and leaned down and held Sherlock's face with his hands, tilting his chin upwards – Sherlock's hot breathe escaping his mouth and filling John's, the act alone deliciously sensual.

John's tongue curled around Sherlock's, twisting around to the roof of his mouth, all around, filling him with his tongue and his taste and Sherlock accepted it greedily – moaning and gasping through his nose for more. John pulled away slightly, tugging Sherlock's pink swollen lip between his teeth and biting down – not hard enough to bleed, but enough to make a mark – and Sherlock cried out, tugging John's shoulder and waist toward him, closer, closer.

John continued to trail Sherlock's jawline with his tongue and teeth, gentle yet fierce, wet and hot – and Sherlock was merely a heaving and gasping mess underneath of him. And John loved it.

"I love you, Sherlock," he said, with every bite and lick – all the way down Sherlock's trembling chest. He licked inside of Sherlock's navel – causing the man to twitch and yelp – but John pinned him by the shoulders, keeping his weight upon Sherlock's legs and tongue fucked that little belly button, until Sherlock was squirming and squeaking and arching into the air – and John pulled away after a swift bite to the soft skin of Sherlock's belly.

John unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers – noting that there was not much there to show he was enjoying their interactions. And John had a sinking thought that perhaps – perhaps Sherlock was afraid and that he felt as if John were forcing himself on him.

The thought made John sick – and he leaned forward and up, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's.

"I love you, Sherlock. I do. And if that means waiting for you to be comfortable enough to make love – I can wait." He kissed Sherlock's forehead, after pulling away to look into those icy eyes. "I can wait, if that will make you feel better, Sherlock." His hand stroked the soft porcelain cheek, and he kissed his forehead again, "but you need to let me know what you want to do."

Sherlock's voice was thick and filled with desire – and he answered John with a soft nod, "I want to, John, I want you to take me," his breathing escalated again at the admission, and his cheeks darkened some more, "please," he whispered.

And John – he sucked on Sherlock's mouth, hard, quick and it was hot and after he pulled away, smiling at the glazed look he left on Sherlock's face, he quickly un-fastened the zipper to the trousers Sherlock was wearing, and pulled them slowly off his legs, trailing his hands down those soft, pale legs – stroking them, and pulling them apart, and kneeling between them.

He tugged on the pants he was wearing – black briefs, with a small tent in the middle – indicating that Sherlock was indeed aroused, however – not as endowed as one would imagine. He took a glance at Sherlock's face, seeing his lower lip tremble; his eyes averted somewhere that was not John. John allowed him to continue this, and he pulled the briefs off the slender body, and he looked at Sherlock's penis for the first time.

It was small, only about two inches or so, flushed a deep red that was begging John to taste it. But Sherlock's eyes had clenched shut the moment it was exposed, and, glancing down at his own seven inch cock – thought perhaps, Sherlock was ashamed of himself. He felt inadequate, and was embarrassed by his own nudity.

And John would not allow that.

"Look at me, love," John murmured, kissing Sherlock's cheek. His lower lip still trembled, and John saw tears gleaming around those long eyelashes. "Sherlock – I said, look at me." John's voice was sterner, this time, and Sherlock forced his eyes open and looked at him, taking in a huge trembling breathe.

"You have an adorable little cock, Sherlock." John gave him a cheeky grin. Sherlock's eyes widened in shock, and he began to shake his head at John in disagreement – but John held the detective by the cheeks, stroking his thumbs over the protruding cheekbones, and told him again how lovely his cock was.

"Mhm, I can taste all of you at once, Sherlock – oh I can just imagine how delicious you are." His head tilted to the side, looking Sherlock over – his mouth was open, panting, his chest trembling again – desire, this time, not fear. "I bet I could get you to come with just my mouth, without even using anything but my tongue and my lips – without even letting you thrust into my mouth." John smiled at Sherlock as he thrust against the air again, a moan leaving his lips.

John laughed, "I can see you like that idea," he told Sherlock as he stroked down his chest, down to the soft hairs on his groin. "Mm, and I am going to enjoy sucking you off."

John settled upon his knees, spreading Sherlock's legs apart by the knees, allowing himself an ample amount of room in order to give Sherlock an orgasm.

He kissed Sherlock's inner thigh, a sharp hiss leaving the detective's lips at the contact which turned into a sharp cry as John began tonguing his way towards Sherlock's penis. He bit at the juncture of leg and hip, bit and sucked a red love-bite into that sweet pale skin, tasting his salty flesh, and finally making his way to the fucking adorable, cute, little dick attached to his love.

And he sucked it into his mouth in one solid motion, Sherlock keening at the sudden onslaught of heat and moisture and suction and oh oh oh OH he was already on the brink of orgasm, and his voice cried out into the room absolute nonsense words – and his hands tugged into John's short blonde hair and he tried to thrust into that hot mouth but was unable to as John had him pinned by the hips against the mattress and he writhed in agony and in absolute ecstasy as John's tongue continued to torment him – and oh, oh God how Sherlock loved John – oh.

John looked up at Sherlock as his tongue circled around the head of his penis, moaning at the sight of the dark curls being shaken as Sherlock turned his head in any direction, trying to escape the pleasure, trying to get more and more of it. Keeping his mouth firmly attached to the base of the small cock, he sucked hard, putting the tip of his tongue right on Sherlock's frenulum – tonguing it hard and slow, and the noise that came from those wonderfully pink and swollen lips – it was divine.

John leaned forward a bit more, the pressure of his body leaning onto Sherlock's cock, and John's mouth never giving him a moment of clarity, had him crying out, and with one more flick of the tongue – Sherlock came into John's greedy mouth, one hand in John's hair, the other white knuckling the dark sheets, his back completely arched off the bed.

"John!" Sherlock's voice echoed through the bedroom, and oh how John savored it, just as he savored the come pouring into his mouth. He sucked every last drop, until Sherlock was spent – the tall body wearily sagged onto the bed, his chest still heaving for breathe.

John kissed Sherlock's hip, then leaned all the way up to Sherlock's face – he was blissed out, almost in a daze from the intensity of his orgasm. John smiled, and Sherlock smiled back at him, a bit dreamily, and closed his eyes. John kissed his soft lips, still pink from their earlier treatment, and said, "go ahead and sleep, you big git. When you wake up, I have more fun in store for you."

Sherlock, though almost asleep, still blushed pink at John's words. And John laughed, kissing that sweet face again, before he tugged the blankets around the languid body, and Sherlock was asleep the moment the blankets were tucked under him. John then left for the bathroom in order to take care of his own leaking cock. John, after quickly bringing himself to orgasm, hoped that Sherlock now understood that he would love him no matter what – including the size of his cock.

And if John were to admit it – they could have a lot of fun with this anatomical part of the detective.

A lot of fun, indeed.