AUTHOR'S NOTE: Bit different to my usual stuff, but I promised this request to someone too long ago so here it finally is. LT3003 hope it's at least a little close to what you wanted. Sorry it's not very long; I'm pushed for time. Hopefully the rather humid plot will make up for it 🙃
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CONTEXT: Honeymoon. Teasing. Ocean sex. Need I say more?
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Y/N doesn't think she'd ever seen Sherlock with a tan. He's been porcelain white since the day she met him, a consistent, marshmallow sort of colour. They'd picked Greece as their holiday destination with that in mind; somewhere warm but not so warm it might utterly fry their inexperienced Londoner skin.
Perhaps they needn't have taken that precaution, though. After only a week, Sherlock has more than settled into this sultry climate, his complexion now closer to 'toasted' marshmallow. His skin darkened easily to a lightly bronzed, soft sort of brown, his shoulders flecked with the lightest sparkling of freckles.
Y/N had no idea he freckles.
Now she knows, and can't stop thinking about it. She keeps kissing them one by one, tracing them like she's mapping constellations. She'll miss them when they return home and the miserable London sky scrubs him clean again.
Y/N turned onto her side when she felt Sherlock's shadow grace her face. She moved carefully as not to ruck up the beach towel stretched beneath her, flecks of sand already making their advance. She'd been sunning herself while Sherlock fetched an ice cream.
He'd already had one, he just wanted another one. The nibbling giving him something to do. He's not much one for sunbathing; he gave it---what was it? Three minutes stretched out on his front, then climbed aboard Y/N's towel to nose playfully at her ear.
Kissing and nibbling, that's what he's spent the past four days doing. Sometimes the nibbling is food. Usually it's Y/N.
"Welcome back, Mr Holmes," Y/N crooned from the floor.
Sherlock flopped down next to her, a smooth furling of limbs like a Japanese fan folding up. The corner of his lips turned up at one corner. "Thank you, Mrs Holmes."
That's who Y/N is now; Mrs Holmes. They'd married in a sprawling castle, as mystical and ancient as Hogwarts, nestled amongst the British countryside. They'd kept it small---in fact, Y/N had wondered if Sherlock would want a wedding at all---but apparently, he did, his hidden romantic side making a rare appearance.
That had been a fortnight ago. Now they're lounging on a squat little Greek island, gritty with sand, skin sun-kissed and hair stiff with salt.
Y/N watched as her husband devoured his ice cream; a show she would never tire of. She could regard that slick pink tongue for hours. Watch it and play with it. When he's done it'll taste of bubblegum sauce.
A rivulet of it was dribbling from the icecream's pique, and Sherlock lapped it up, looking much more content, his curls loose and falling floppily about his head.
"Do you want some?" he asked, offering her the ice cream. A smirk was playing on his cream-stained lips.
Y/N didn't entirely trust him when she leant forwards to take a lick, and rightly so.
She managed to get a decent amount of the treat onto her tongue before he raised his hand slightly, smushing the tip into her nose. She frowned at him. "I did know you were going to do that."
"And yet you let me anyway," he teased, creasing his eyebrows in mock pity.
When Y/N didn't move, he leaned forwards and licked the cream from her nose. If she tasted of suntan lotion, he didn't seem to mind. "Better?"
Y/N forced her lips into a line. "No. I think I deserve another lick. As compensation."
He shook his head. "I think that would be an indulgence, frankly." He used his lips to bite the top of the icecream clean off. He didn't lick them clean; he knew Y/N was staring. He probably knew she'd lick them clean for him, too.
"We're married now, we have to share our assets," Y/N pointed out; a statement she did not stand by. There are several things in their apartment she wants nothing to do with. Like that blood-encrusted harpoon he keeps by the front door. And that bag of hauntingly-unlabelled red squishy stuff in the fridge.
"Don't think I won't divorce you over ice cream, because I will, Y/N." He'd closed his eyes, making a show of savouring the treat Y/N was missing.
Y/N used this as an opportunity to straddle his thighs, her knees pressed into the sand either side of his hips.
Sherlock's eyes flicked open with a mischievous glint sharp as chipped of aventurine.
Sometimes Y/N wonders whether he eats things just because he knows she will physically fight him for a taste.
She let herself settle into his lap, getting the soft edge of a moan. It took Sherlock a few moments to open his eyes. When he did, they were creased with a grin. His free hand gravitated to the dip of Y/N's waist.
"Hello."
"Just one lick."
"Hmm, where have I heard that before?"
Electing to ignore that, Y/N pushed her head forwards to claim her share of the ice cream---but Sherlock just moved it smoothly out of her path.
The corner of his lip twitched. It's stained blue from bubblegum sauce. "Nice try."
He released Y/N's waist to prop himself up with one arm, letting his legs stretch out leisurely. He'd reached the crisp cone of the dessert now, and had to dip his tongue deep inside to extract the remaining ice cream.
Y/N watched him with entranced fascination.
When all cream was well and truly out of his reach, he finished off the cone in a series of crunchy mouthfuls, popping the remaining pointed end into his mouth.
"Enjoy yourself?" Y/N asked, the 'ff' morphing into a little squeak as Sherlock took her hips and lifted her easily off his lap.
Before she knew what was happening, he'd pushed her back into the sand, his body crouched over hers as though she were prey he'd just expertly tackled. The look in his eyes was about the same as he caught her lips for a sweet, ice-cream-flavoured kiss.
"I am now," he replied in all but a growl. His hands found her wrists and climbed them, painfully slowly, to smother her hands, pushing her knuckles into the warm, gritty sand. At the same time, his lips smothered her mouth again, his tongue slick as he fought back Y/N's attempts to take back a little command.
When he broke the kiss, he dragged his wet lips over her flushed cheeks, lingering when he reached her forehead. Nudging her hairline with his nose: "Mine."
Y/N squirmed beneath him, her heartbeat thrumming excitedly against his palms. He's still sort of hovering over her and she wishes he wouldn't. She wants him to lower himself down so she can feel his weight, the firm press of his body---of his arousal---against her front.
He's still kissing her, drawing a daisy-chain of tingling nerve cells, down to the hollow between her collarbones. Another long, lingering caress. "Mine." He kept going, to her sternum ("Mine."), Between her breasts ("Mine."), catching the soft centre of her stomach in his teeth, "Mine".
Breath fast and shallow, Y/N could do nothing but smile bashfully at him from pinned to the sand as he crawled back up to hover over her lips.
His right hand brought Y/N's left up so he could touch her ring finger---as he'd become so fond of doing---rotating the gold band of her wedding ring. He kissed her lips deftly, a touch as light as the breeze, catching the lower one between his teeth. When he spoke, his voice came rough and through a smile. "Mine."
Y/N grinned up at him, and tried to chase him for another kiss, but he drew away and stooped, scooping her up in one smooth motion, getting a surprised little 'hey!'.
Laughing, she clung to him, coarse flecks of sand crushed between their bodies. "What are you doing?"
He carried her across the beach, and Y/N's grip around his neck tightened, adrenaline flapping feathered wings in her chest. He's going in the direction of the ocean.
"No, no, no, no---"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes," he retorted, face split in half with a beam. The water splashed under his feet as they met with the tide, seafoam thick about his ankles. A spray of water burst against his shins, the shards of it bursting against Y/N's back.
"Sherlock!" Y/N squeaked, almost clawing at him to climb higher on his person. "I was sunbathing, you bastard."
He only laughed and continued striding between the weak little waves as Y/N wriggled in his grip; a feeble, half-arsed attempt to escape.
She shrieked again as she felt the first lap of chilly water sink into the fabric of her bikini. "Don't you dare drop me," she warned, although she knew he wouldn't. He wants her close.
The water rose about Y/N's stomach and she gave up on escaping. Instead, she repositioned herself, shifting in her husband's arms so her legs could encircle his waist as though she was clinging to a tree. A warm tree she's scared of falling out of.
Protectively---or perhaps just hungrily---Sherlock cuddled her close, wrapping his long arms about her, keeping her little body flush against his.
The shallows stretched out famously far into the Aegean Sea, the water level rising mere millimetres with every couple of Sherlock's wide strides. Y/N didn't wait until there was a sufficient gap between herself and the sunbathing holidaymakers before tipping her head forward and mouthing at his neck.
She felt his grip tighten, the tang of salt sharp on her tongue.
He growled his appreciation, a deep rumbling in his chest and found her hips---now underwater---his hands hot in comparison with the crisp temperatures of the ocean.
Using them to pull Y/N tight against his belly, he finally came to a stop, his long lean body settled firmly between the firm squeeze of her thighs.
His sensitive spots are marked clear in her mind, and she followed them, a chain of sensation up to his ear, and bit the lobe teasingly. She could feel the grid of muscles in his stomach contract as they pushed up a moan, his heart thumping quickly.
"All you did was kiss my chest," Y/N breathed teasingly against the shell of his ear. He's so sensitive. So needy. They hadn't left the hotel for the first day and a half of their honeymoon just because Y/N pulled a new set of lingerie from her suitcase.
Sherlock laughed at himself, the syllables rolling into Y/N's skull, and she felt him let his knees bend. The water rose around them, enveloping Y/N's breasts, her shoulders, her collarbones until it lapped at the base of her neck. Her skin grew taught with the cold and she pressed herself closer to the firm strength of Sherlock's body.
"What can I say?" he breathed, tipping his head to the side to give her exploring mouth more real estate. "You are incredibly hard to resist." His hands had slipped down to support Y/N's thighs. Well, one of her thighs. His right hand had started to climb her back. It followed the dip of her spine until it reached the clasp of her bikini, and toyed with it, turning the little plastic clip between finger and thumb. In a voice as thick as honey: "May I?"
There's no need to ask. She's still aching from him, from earlier; in the hotel bedroom, the shower, the patch of floor by the big windows that open out onto the bay. She wants him anyway, she's wanted him constantly since they'd arrived here, since she's met him and got a glimpse of his luscious curls, his transparent eyes, his sinfully sinewy body.
He's clutching her, possessively, intimately closely.
Y/N glanced self consciously at the beach, but it's so far away she must appear only a speck to the people lounging on the sand.
She gave Sherlock's ear a small suck.
He tastes of the sea.
"Please do."
Her husband slipped her bikini from her skin easily, so easily she was only vaguely aware of the cups sliding away from her body, her breasts tightening with the chill. She pressed them to him, seeking his warmth, the ache in her pelvis rising to meet the ache in her chest.
Sherlock hummed appreciatively, his lips sucking a red rose onto her throat. His voice was low and dark as the bottom of the sea as he lifted his head and said against her cheek: "I can't believe I'm here."
Y/N hadn't been expecting that. She'd thought he'd utter something lewd; that's what he usually does. 'How can someone so posh have a mouth that dirty?' Y/N would wonder, his words curling inside her like black ribbons.
But this had been...sweet. And strangely innocent. For a moment, Y/N was back on their first date, watching his cheeks turn pink as he shyly asked if he could hold her hand. "Nor can I."
He's still kissing her. Had he been in a position to, Y/N knew he would have spread her out and dutifully set her every nerve alight one by one.
Blasted ocean.
"No, I mean, really." Another kiss, like a pendant hanging at the base of her neck. "I wish I could tell seventeen-year-old me that one day he'd be in a tropical ocean with the legs of his breathtakingly gorgeous wife wrapped around his waist."
Y/N didn't know what to say to that.
She pulled away enough to cradle his face, the hard lines of his jaw settled neatly into her palms. They fit so perfectly.
He's grinning.
She bet he could feel the bands of the rings on her left hand, as warm as her blood against his skin.
She kissed his cheekbone, between his eyebrows, over his closed eyes. "I love you an unbelievable amount."
Nestled comfortably in the curve of Y/N's waist, Sherlock's right hand rose slightly, the thumb brushing teasing, tender circles onto each rib. "I love you too. More than I could ever hope to express."
Y/N's hands found his hair as one of his palms closed over her left breast. It made her giddy, just like the first time, just like every time, tingly and flustered and high.
The wet coils of his curls were slick and loose between her fingers and she used them to draw him in for a kiss.
Sherlock's hand still at her thigh rubbed its thumb over her skin, sending little bolts of something all the way down her legs, setting her toes into a curl.
The aching is gaining force, a low, throb, and Y/N shifted her hips against Sherlock's belly in search of some kind of friction. It was futile; the bottom half of her bikini guarded her pleasure like a stubborn wall. It didn't help that the pad of Sherlock's other thumb was teasingly circling the areola of her nipple. He pinched it, rolling the pert, flushed bud between finger and thumb.
Desperate, Y/N canted her hips against him again, and he stopped, his hand falling away to slide back down to her side.
Y/N felt it twang the band of her bikini bottoms.
"I don't like these," he muttered into the shell of her ear. He sounded thoughtful, the curve of his forefinger moving around to the string bow at her hip. He toyed with it, and Y/N knew he was tugging a tassel, easing the elastic free. "They're always getting in the way."
Y/N let him strip her of it, thankfully, feeling the material slide from her where he'd untied it.
Good riddance.
He stuffed it with the top half in the pocket of his swim trunks, and then he was touching her again. He's always touching her. A comfortable hand on her knee. A supportive palm at her back. His long, slender fingers slotted neatly into the spaces between hers.
Y/N mewled appreciatively as she felt one of those fingers dip down to that ache between her legs.
He gave it a little rub, his mouth curved with a lazy grin as she writhed against his touch. "I wish we were on land so I could taste you," he said, almost sadly, his breath humid on her already slick skin.
Y/N could only make a small gasping noise, his finger still playing absently with that bundle of nerves. She clutched his hair tight, anchoring herself to his body and he hummed. Hungry for that sound, his rich, mellow baritone, her lips found his. He tastes of bubblegum sauce.
Sherlock hasn't forgotten how Y/N used to tease him when he was new to all this; bring his body to life in ways he'd only dreamed---then make him beg for it, that final, sweet release.
Now it's his turn.
It's almost unnerving how quickly he'd become devilishly good at Y/N's own game.
Teasing her entrance, Sherlock moved his hand with her as Y/N tried to push him deeper. He loves his wife's frustrated little sounds. Being wanted.
Desperate, Y/N caught his lip between the hard edge of her teeth, trying to distract him. She only needs a second, for him to let down his guard long enough for her to grind her hips just right before he can follow her movement.
Kissing him seemed to work, not so much as a distraction but as encouragement. Y/N sucked his lip and, with a strangled moan, he plunged deeper all at once, one of Y/N's hands falling down to grab at his shoulders as she gave an ecstatic cry.
"Sshhh." He smirked. He'd started a rhythm---in and out---playing her like the violin he'd mastered back home. He's mastered her too, over the years, learning which parts of her produce which sound, what strokes and presses will make her sing. "The coast guard might think you're being eaten by sharks."
Y/N knew there were no sharks; she'd made very sure of that whilst they'd surfed the net for holiday destinations. "Bastard." She said again, giving one of his curls a little yank for trying to frighten her.
He only moaned softly, letting his head fall forward to rest in the crook of her neck. "Your bastard."
Y/N felt his grin against her skin, his rocky teeth as they opened and closed to suck that tender spot by her helix. When her hair is dry he has to push his nose into it to get there, his cheek brushing her ear. But now she's wet with seawater, the feeble waves rocking slowly around them, and she's sure all he's tasting is salt, and all he's feeling is her hot, goosebump-pricked skin.
"More." Y/N panted against the side of his head, rolling her hips on his hand. Sensation shot through her, her body clenching hard as a fist around his digit. So close. "Please."
Sherlock withdrew his hand and Y/N whined plaintively, pulling back to frown at his smirky face, all twinkling eyes and white teeth.
Before she could complain, he claimed her lips, forcing the words back into her throat. Y/N's mouth had been parted to speak, and he took advantage of the fact, flicking his tongue along the roof of it.
Y/N melted into him as his ice cream had melted down his thumb.
Vaguely, she was aware of his hand wandering to tug down his swim shorts, and then she was being lifted up, the waterline momentarily exposing her bare breasts to the humid Greek sky. Sherlock's eyes watched them, her nipples pert buds, one ruby red from his teasing, and he picked his lips.
She grinned down at him, the sun warm on her prickly skin. His eyes the colour of the water surrounding them, shining blues and liquid greens. It's bright, the sun high in the sky, but his pupils are almost swallowing his irises, dark as night.
Without warning, Sherlock pulled her back down, sheathing himself inside her all at once.
His groan vibrated into Y/N's mouth. He's as hard as granite but had done a good job of hiding the fact, of stuffing his own need down until he felt Y/N had been sufficiently tortured.
Y/N just gasped as he filled her, so deep, her abdomen curling in on itself with that familiar delicious ache. Just having him inside her is almost enough on its own.
Her grip on his curls tightened and he shifted between the firm squeeze of her thighs, his jaw going slack.
"God, I love you," he panted into her ear, one of his hands clutching at the swell of her hip. His breath came hot and humid as Y/N ground down onto him, their gasps mixing in the tantalisingly small gap between their mouths.
...
Y/N came first and he fell quickly after, a bitten moan tumbled from his mouth, his every muscle tightening with that spasm of pleasure.
Then he went slack, contented, his powerful body feeble in Y/N's arms. The water held them up, buoyant with salt. He waited until Y/N stopped clenching about him before easing her gently off. He liked to rest inside her as he softened, relishing her warmth surrounding, her closeness.
After a few seconds of just breathing, holding each other, Sherlock's right hand found one of Y/N's breasts again, softly. He circled the nipple with his thumb underwater, his touch idle.
Y/N gave him a sloppy grin and he returned it, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "Do you want to go out for a meal tonight?" She asked, her voice as gritty as sand from moaning. "We could go back to that place you like. The one by the docks."
"Or, we could just stay in our room." Another kiss, lazy and sated, "I've got all I could eat right here."