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He could practically taste it. His mouth was literally watering for it.
"Sherlock, please."
The man just smirked. Held his weight against John's chest as the smaller man tried to curl forward and get his lips closer to that cock.
"Ah, ah, ah. None of that, Dr. Watson. You can look, but you cannot touch."
"Fuck, Sherlock. That's enough. Please." He didn't care that he was begging. He'd had the other man babbling and begging underneath him often enough. Turnabout was only fair-play, and John was a scrupulously fair man.
But the begging didn't help. Sherlock just laughed, actually fucking laughed. A deep rumble that caught in his throat and ended on a growl as he gave a particularly satisfying tug to his own cock.
"Do you want this that badly? Do you think all you have to do is ask nicely? It's like you don't know me at all sometimes, John."
"I know I'm going to strangle you when this is over."
"Hmm? Oh, you mean after I've made myself come. After I've pulled on my cock while I rocked on your chest. Rubbed your nipples into hard little buds with the cheeks of my ass. I can feel them you know? Every time I rock like this," he said as he gave a sinuous thrust of his hips. Pushing his dripping member into his own fist and brushing against John's nipples.
John had more fantasies about that ass than he could number, but he'd never even thought how wonderful it would feel on his chest like this. Never dreamed how the lush flesh and soft skin would send bolts of pleasure straight from his chest to his cock. To his cock which he couldn't reach. Actually he could reach it, but he'd promised Sherlock he wouldn't touch himself. So he wouldn't. But if he'd had any idea the state Sherlock would bring him to, he never would have agreed to such a thing. He was a half-step from babbling and thrusting mindlessly into the air until he either passed out or Sherlock gave him some relief.
He didn't even realize he'd closed his eyes until he heard Sherlock order, "Open your eyes, John. I need you to look at me. I want you to watch me come. I want you to see my come shoot out of me onto your face and your neck. I want you to feel it splash hot across you, want you to reach your tongue out and try to get a taste. Do that for me, John. Do it now. Open your mouth. Now. Now!"
John did as ordered just as Sherlock started to peak. The rocking had stopped, but the man's fist was furiously pumping until creamy hot fluid began to spurt out of his slit. The first spurt landed in John's hair, across his forehead. The next few painted his face. Striped his cheeks and, thank God, landed across his open mouth and chin. He swallowed what was in his mouth like it was water in a desert. Then he did just like Sherlock had predicted and stuck his tongue out as far as he could to lick around his own lips. To swipe up every delicious drop he could reach. He worked a slow circle around his mouth with his wet tongue, licking up come all the while.
Sherlock's ejaculation had slowed to a sporadic drizzle by this point. He was still pumping slowly and had begun rocking his hips slightly again. He saw John watching him and closed his eyes and threw his neck back. He knew how much John loved his neck, and he clearly wasn't above putting on a show. So he rocked and moaned and squeezed. Rubbed his dripping fingers up and down his softening cock and brought his other hand up to rub at his own nipples, stroke up his long neck, suck on his index finger, moan around it like it was ambrosia.
He could feel John practically buzzing underneath him. The man lay there covered in come and sweat and trembling with desire, and he'd still kept his word. Hadn't touched his own cock, not even once. And, oh, how Sherlock loved him for that.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, too," John choked out.
Sherlock took a calming breath and lifted up onto his knees, "Your turn, I believe?"
"Oh, God, yes!"