I hate it when you’re reading smut and you can’t figure out what position they’re in.
sometimes it just ends up being something like
Best. GIF. Evarrrr! (And perfect usage!)
Also? YES! I have to sometimes reread three times to figure out who’s on/in/under whom. Very weird.
Oh wise one, why is there not more Molly Hooper tentacle porn?
OMG! HOW CAN THIS EGREGIOUS INEQUITY CONTINUE?
Greg seductively mouths the icing off the umbrella while Mycroft licks a path all around the top of the donut with the tip of his tongue, getting just a little bit of it on his upper lip. I mean. Ahem. I may also need a moment.
*melts into puddle of aroused goo, steaming gently around the edges*
You, I like you. Yes. Yes, please!
Take your time…
Greg’s orgasm followed soon after, his fluids mixing with Sherlock’s on Sherlock’s taut stomach.
Only moments later,John was sitting up, hungry eyes raking over the sight Sherlock and Greg made, wiping his mouth clear of spit with one hand before bringing the other to his lips, meeting Greg’s eye as he cleaned his fingers of Greg’s spunk. John moaned, his eyes closing as he licked every molecule of Greg’s scent from his fingers. “That was… Delicious.” He licked his lips slowly as he let his hand pull away, eyes fluttering open again. His gaze rested on Sherlock’s spunk covered stomach, pupils blown with desire. “I don’t know if I want to lick it all up, or add to it.”
Sherlock gave half a laugh, breathless and gasping for air. “My vote is for adding to it. I don’t think I could stand the feel of your tongue on me again so soon.”
John grinned, a teasing smirk in the upturned corners of his lips. “And my cock rubbing against your stomach, hard and hot and slick with your own cum wouldn’t be too much?”
Sherlock shook his head half-heartedly. “Of course not. Your cock doesn’t have the habit of sneaking under my foreskin after I’ve just orgasmed.”
Greg couldn’t stop his own laughter at that, leaning forward to give John a kiss. “He makes a good point about that. Your tongue has a wicked way of showing its appreciation.”
C’mon, Sherlock, you know you want John to rub one off on you… *eyes glaze over, mind utterly gone to feeelthy places*
I’m sorry, what were we talking about?
On tumblr we don’t say “I love you”. We say, “hey I made you some porn” which means “I’m thinking of you deep in my heart and though I long to give you a hug and make you cookies you live too damn far away for me to comfort you conventionally”, which I think is beautiful
It’s true, I know I’m loved when there’s smut in my askbox/submit. *nodnod*
(Also, if I write you smut, that’s like a big squishy hug and a smooch on the cheek. With cookies, yeah.)
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In Jonathan Hepburn’s “The Halfway Point,” an astronaut finds himself gravitating toward a crewmate as their ship moves farther from Earth, while in Hero Freyr’s “Human Bonds,” an elf stripped of his magic finds solace in a being as lost as he. “The Amnesiaphiliac,” by Benji Bright, chronicles a doomed romance in a floating city consumed by an epidemic of forgetting, and in Laylah Hunter’s “Direct Connection,” a sentient artificial intelligence and a human man make the most intimate connection of all. Finally, an apprentice sex mage comes into his own in Sasha Payne’s “Season of Fire.”
Check out our site for a hot excerpt…
GF: He leaned back, hands braced on John's thighs for leverage as he moved. Each downward thrust sent John's cock right against his prostate, and he couldn't help but to squeeze down on that thick member in response. He'd grip John's thighs harder to steady himself, and John would grip his thighs harder in return, which only urged Greg into a faster rhythm. "Fucking hell. Christ. I could ride you for ages. You have such a cock. So responsive. Fuck."
I swear I’m not drooling.
As far as you know…
They wrestled each other around, skin sliding and bodies tumbling to the floor. Each man strong on his own became fiery in contact with the other, demanding the pleasures of the flesh be slaked before they burnt like the fire of a sun. Sex noises were ridiculous unless you were part of the pair to become one, whimpers and growls, grunts and moans all becoming a little symphony, a duet that became their own.
Ooooh, another Anon with oblique smuttery for me! Amazing how it’s wonderfully erotic without actually being explicit. Woot! \o/
Woohoo! Thanks for the hotness delivered to my inbox!
I might have to write an orgy for science. My muse likes the idea of Sherlock and John coming to town, and in order for Sherlock and Carlos to test something, all 4 of them have to get it on. In pairs, of course. ;) (let's watch our boyfriends have sex, for science! And if we end up getting it on as well...)
I REALLY, REALLY LIKE YOUR MUSE, M’FRIEND! <3
FOR SCIENCE! \o/
Thank you so much for saying lovely things about my pseudo-tentacled smut. I like what you said! x LB
Oh, you’re entirely welcome! I thought it was hugely fun and unique in the best way! Feel free to make more things of the ficcy sort! ;D
*cuddles* obviously, this predicament can only be solved with tentacle porn. gimme a couple of hours ;) ;)
OMG! You have been planning to do something with that CP thingummy, but… OMG! OMG! ILUbb! <3
(Mind you, anything you want to do is going to be welcomed with squees and fondles and goodies, regardless!)
Banjo Trousers, Cymatics and Cephalopod Limbs (NSFW)
It had all started one afternoon when John had come downstairs wearing what Sherlock ended up describing (quite justifiably), as banjo trousers. They were horrendous. Brown and cream. Very small houndstooth check. And bit too long. Where the hell did John get those? Come to think of it, why the hell did John get those? No doubt there’s an answer to that somewhere.
I am speechless with giddy glee, let me flail on the keyboard till I reblog this so you can all squee with me. Oh, but this was fun smutty silliness with tentacles… if you squint!