Bumble is in constant want of new friends…even Daddy says that he’s the most popular been he’s ever met, because every new toy we see in the shop wants to come home and meet him.
“Here, now…what’s got you upset, monkey?” Sherlock asked, and reached out to tick John on the chin.
The smaller, surlier man knocked his hand away. “Don’t. Don’t call me that. Now right now.”
Now, this was a puzzle…John had been fine a few moments ago, when Sherlock had changed him. Which usually had the opposite effect on his mood and made him happier, just like any other soggy little tot–but not this time.
Well, Sherlock was always up for a good puzzle. He eyed the grumpy little man who was curled up on the other end of the couch, legs drawn up and arms folded over them as he glared at nothing in particular.
John had been in headspace earlier. And happy. Now, he was neither. The only thing that had happened in between, was a nappy change.
Sherlock turned to face him. “Did Daddy–I mean, did I do something wrong?”
John’s gaze flicked over to him briefly, then looked away again. “No,” he mumbled.
“John, if I did something to knock you out of headspace, then–”
“No,” John answered quickly, and then sighed. “No,” he said again, and this time uncurled from around himself. “No, I just…” he stopped, the words escaping him.
“…You just-?” Sherlock prodded.
“I just, I didn’t…” A blush crept across John’s cheeks. “I just…I didn’t mean to pee.”
“…What?”
“ I mean, I didn’t have to think about it this time. It just happened.” John stared at a loose threat sticking up from the couch cushion, and began to pick at it.
Sherlock stared at him blankly for a moment, then quickly pinched his lips together…but it was too late. A giggle broke free and John’s head snapped up; “What so funny?!”
“You,” Sherlock said, chuckling. “You, pouting over something like that.”
“And you wouldn’t!”
“It’s a compliment, really.”
John’s jaw dropped. “A compliment?!!!”
“Mm-hmm.” Sherlock stood up and, in a momentary loss of self-preservation, kissed John on the forehead. “Daddy was taking such good care of you that you genuinely forgot to be a big boy.”
John could only gape at him as Sherlock walked towards the kitchen. “Wait!” he said when he finally got his synapses working properly again, and got up to hurry after Sherlock . “Peeing myself is a compliment?!”
“Yes, it is.” Sherlock retrieved a sippy-cup from their cabinet. “Apple juice or banana milk?”
John crossed his arms. “ ‘m not thirsty.”
“After that nappy? Yes you are. Juice or milk?”
John glared down at the floor and kicked at a bit of loose carpet around the door frame. “…Milk.”
Sherlock held the sippy-cup in one hand, waiting with that stupidly smug grin of his.
Lol, that was quick! 😛 I’ll work on one ( it’ll probably be pillow humping, shhh) when I get back on my computer, nonny!
Sadie:
12.
Diapered pillow humping (nsfw under the cut)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Be Ready.”
That was the last text John had sent right before getting off work. The last, and only text he’d sent in response to several filthy and increasingly needy texts from one particularly needy little boy.
“Be Ready.”
John checked his phone again, just as he was leaving the clinic: no answer.
Good. That meant that previously idle hands were now busy.
John took his time getting home, a faint smirk permanently plastered onto his face (and his cock straining against the fly of his trousers).
He took his time going up the stoop.
He took his time climbing the stairs (and making as much noise as possible as he did so).
He could hear the heavy panting even before he made it to their landing.
He took his time opening the door (again, making as much noise as he could with fumbling and jingling his keys on purpose).
All of that time and patience and straining and throbbing proved worth it as he opened the door…
And there was Sherlock in the middle of the sitting room floor, stripped down to nothing but the nappy John had left him in that morning…straddling John’s pillow and thrusting into it with enough force that John’s cock nearly busted though his zipper.
John was watching as Sherlock’s arse rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell in time with the grunting, when the salacious little whore looked up and noticed that he had an audience.
It didn’t stop him. If anything, he quickened his pace as he stared at John, slack-jawed and eyes glazed over, face and chest flushed with the effort.
Drool dribbled from the corner of Sherlock’s open, heaving mouth, leaving a long, thin line from his bottom lip to the puddle it left on the floor below him.
John bit his lip and reached down to squeeze his cock through his jeans.
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