Fics like Parthenophilia

It’s Mycroft’s bloody fault, pure and simple, that John’s sitting on a sofa in bloody Buckingham Palace with bees buzzing in his bloodstream and a mind that’s turned as thick as marmalade. It had seemed odd, the way Sherlock’s gaze had dipped, the way his voice had lowered and sounded musing when he said, ‘Dominatrix’. And Mycroft had pounced on it, smirking. ‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex’. Sherlock had drawn himself up tall and straight and had retorted, ‘Sex doesn’t alarm me’. Mycroft’s rejoinder had been quick and snide. ‘How would you know’? And something bright and crystalline had exploded at the base of John’s brain. Arousal, hot and treacherous, had blossomed in his belly. And the desire, the need, to be the first to run hot, greedy hands all over Sherlock’s pale skin had erupted, unbidden and unexpected, pushing out all other thoughts.

Fics like Parthenophilia

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