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John is kissing him hungrily, tongue plunging deep into Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock is acutely aware of John’s body pressing him into the sofa, the strength of him, the unmistakable hardness nudging Sherlock’s hip. Something at Sherlock’s core releases a wave of warmth, flooding him with desire.
“God, I want you,” John murmurs against Sherlock’s mouth and then moves to suck at Sherlock’s pulse point, making Sherlock whimper, fingers dragging helplessly across John’s back.
“Then have me,” Sherlock tells him, his voice barely recognisable. And oh, how he wants, needs to be had, completely and thoroughly, to be John’s, not to be anything but entirely John’s.
John returns his attentions to Sherlock’s lips at that, but he’s a little gentler now, and the kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as Sherlock would want it to before John pulls away, actually pulls away, extricating himself from Sherlock’s arms and sitting up.
“I intend to,” he promises, “but I have to… I’m sorry, I have to ask—“
“I’m not a virgin,” Sherlock interrupts him, annoyed. He shifts a little to sit up as well, trying to reduce the distance between himself and John.
“Okay, that’s… okay,” John stutters a little, and, gratifyingly, he lifts a hand to cup Sherlock’s face. “I just… I noticed that when things get more intense, you go a little… passive. And that’s fine, ” John reassures him immediately, clearly noticing that Sherlock body has immediately gone tense. How has John noticed that about him already? They have done little more than snogging so far. “That’s absolutely fine, if that’s how it is for you. But I need to know, I need to be sure that you’re all right or I can’t go on.”
“I,” Sherlock hesitates, unwilling to say anything that might make John reconsider his intentions, but at the same time needing to be honest. “Sexual activity involves more strong physical stimuli than I am able to adequately process while retaining enough capacity to act on them.”
John blinks at him. “Are you saying that you get—overwhelmed? Too much data?”
“In essence,” Sherlock nods, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. He can’t look at John.
“That big brain of yours never gives you a break, does it?” John asks, and places an exceedingly gentle kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. “Is there anything that helps?”
Sherlock hesitates for a moment, considers lying. He could tell John that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need anything, but his chances to get off like that are slim, and John is bound to be a considerate lover – he’d notice Sherlock’s discomfort and blame himself for it. Unacceptable.
“It would help if you could tell me what to do,” he admits, looking at his hands rather than at John.
“Tell you?”
“Order me. Command me,” Sherlock snaps, angry at his own inability to talk about this with dignity.
“Oh. So you… like being dominated, is that it?”
“That’s one word for it.” It’s a hateful word, one that involves associations Sherlock would rather do without.
“Okay,” John says, always so easily accepting. “What would that involve, then? Bondage? The—the riding crop?”
Sherlock doesn’t answer, feeling ashamed against his will.
“Hey,” John says softly, lifting Sherlock’s chin. “It’s fine. Whatever it is that you like, it’s fine. I’ve tried all kinds of things, it’s unlikely that you can shock me. Just tell me.”
“Nothing like what you’re thinking. I don’t like pain,” Sherlock gets out finally. “I don’t mind if things get a little rough, but I don’t like purposefully inflicted pain. I can bear it, but I don’t get off on it. I don’t like being restrained. I don’t like any form of humiliation, verbal or physical. But I understand all of that is generally part of the deal.”
“Sherlock,” John says, and the way he says it makes Sherlock look at him. “We’re not making a deal here. This is not a transaction. Nothing you don’t like even enters the picture. So, let’s see if I’ve got this right: you need me to take control because it gives you something to focus on, right? But you don’t want any of the other BDSM stuff.”
Sherlock nods, unable to look away from John’s eyes now. His lovely, kind John – of course he doesn’t want to do anything that would hurt Sherlock. But it’s impossible – in Sherlock’s experience –it’s foolish to expect someone to exercise control without at the very least verbally degrading the person in their power, without at least some rough treatment. The knowledge that John wants to try is enough, though, even if it can’t work. He wants to be claimed, owned by John so intensely that he won’t mind some hair-pulling or being called a cock slut. He couldn’t take from other men, which was what led him to his twelve-year-old period of celibacy, but John is different. Sherlock is sure it will be fine.
“We’ll need a safeword, then,” John says matter-of-factly.
“I don’t need a safeword if we’re not—“ Sherlock starts, but John stops him by placing a finger on his lips.
“No. We’re not going to do anything hardcore, yes, and I won’t hurt you or do anything you said you don’t want – not intentionally. But we’re new to this, to, to each other. I’m not leaving anything to chance. So: a safeword.”
“Fine,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Poison.”
John chuckles. “Okay. Repeat it for me.”
“I’m not a child, John,” Sherlock complains.
“Repeat it,” John says again, but this time his voice drops an imperceptible increment and suddenly it’s Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers speaking, and all of Sherlock’s blood rushes to his groin with a suddenness that almost knocks the wind out of him.
“Poison,” he breathes.
“Once again, louder.”
“Poison.”
“Very good.”
John leans in to kiss him, gentle but with unmistakable intent.
“Rule number one,” he says when they break apart. You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to, Sherlock expects, and a shiver runs down his spine. In his mind’s eye he can already see the moment when John will say now and Sherlock will come like a burst dam.
“If anything at all makes you uncomfortable, you tell me,” John says instead, in that impossible-to-resist, knee-melting voice. “This is non-negotiable. Whatever it is, I want to hear it. This rule overrides everything else. Is it clear?”
Sherlock nods, unable to speak. There is heat coursing through his veins but it’s not just arousal, it’s also the disarming knowledge that for the first time in Sherlock’s life, his sexual partner is someone who cares about him, someone whom Sherlock trusts implicitly.
“Is it clear?” John repeats.
“Yes,” Sherlock says as clearly as he can. They haven’t even properly started yet and Sherlock already feels an overwhelming need to deposit himself at John’s feet. “I’ll tell you.”
“Good,” John says and smiles at Sherlock in a way that ignites Sherlock’s nerve endings with self-satisfaction – his response has pleased John, and Sherlock wants to please John more than anything. “Now, where were we.”
John straddles Sherlock’s thighs, gently guiding Sherlock’s head to look up at him. He brings their mouths together, and change in height difference makes everything somehow rawer, and all of Sherlock’s senses are high-jacked by John, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, the wet sounds their mouths make as they slide against each other.
“Focus on me, ” John tells him. “Kiss me. Show me how much you want to be mine.”
Sherlock does as he’s told, kissing John with all he has. When they come up for air again, John’s irises have almost disappeared.
“You’re amazing. Your mouth is to die for. I love kissing you, you’re so good at it.” Sherlock’s skin tingles with the praise, and a helpless whimper escapes him when John’s hand moves to rub Sherlock’s left nipple.
“You like that? What else do you like?”
“You,” Sherlock pants. “You.”
John makes a low guttural sound and kisses Sherlock again, this time with a hunger that feels insatiable, thrusting his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth like it belongs to him – which it does, oh, it does.
“D’you have condoms in your room?” John asks as he hastily unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt.
“Don’t need—ah! Don’t need them, we were both tested after the—the incident in the morgue.”
John grins at him. “You’re brilliant, do you know? I almost forgot about that. How about lube, then? We’ll definitely need that.”
John’s mouth attaches itself to Sherlock’s uncovered nipple before he can answer, and he moans in pleasure. He’d forgotten how good his body can feel. He wants more of it, wants everything, wants John.
“Yes,” he gets out with difficulty as John’s tongue laps at his hardened nipple. “I have that.”
John looks up at him, predatory.
“And what do you use it for? Tell me. To stroke yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think of me when you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you imagine it’s my hand on you? Do you finger yourself, wish it was my cock?”
“Yes, John, yes.”
“I want to see that,” John growls. “I want to see you fuck yourself on those beautiful long fingers. Will you show me?”
Sherlock whimpers, utterly unable to articulate an answer. He feels like his mind his full of woolly fog, empty but for John.
“You will go to your room now. You will undress, and then you’ll show me.”
Sherlock is getting up from the sofa almost before John gets off his lap, eager to be doing what John has asked of him.
Sherlock spreads himself in the centre of his bed, knees wide apart. John stands leaning against the chest of drawers, still fully dressed but his arousal evident nevertheless. Sherlock’s cock is hard and heavy against his belly, but he doesn’t touch it – he only does what John told him to. He brings two slick fingers to rub against his anus. It’s been a while since Sherlock has done that and it feels amazing, but it’s nothing compared to John’s heated, hungry gaze on him.
“Yes, like that,” John encourages him, almost devouring him with his hungry eyes. “Do it the way you like it. Push one finger in when you’re ready.” Sherlock does so immediately, slowly slipping his index finger inside. The stretch feels like too much and not enough at the same time. The pressure makes Sherlock moan, and at that John moves his hand to palm himself through his trousers. Sherlock thinks of John’s cock, hard underneath John’s hand, and he wants to touch it so badly, wants it inside him, wants John. He pushes a second finger in, desperate.
“Take it easy, don’t hurt yourself,” John tells him, and Sherlock slows down obediently, letting the slight burn dissipate. “How does that feel? Good?”
“Not—not enough,” Sherlock gasps, moving his fingers inside himself, trying to find that perfect spot.
“I’ll give you what you need soon,” John promises. “You’re gorgeous, you know? I can’t wait to be inside you. But get yourself nice and ready first. Go on.”
“John,” Sherlock says as his third finger breaches him, the stretch combined with the weight of John’s gaze almost too much, and then he brushes his prostate and it’s unbearable, he needs John John John.
“John,” he moans helplessly, his body torn between the impulse to push against his fingers and find more of the sweet, sweet pleasure, and the need to stop because John is too far.
“What is it, my love?” John asks, immediately concerned. Sherlock tells him, because he promised he would.
“Please, I need—hnnng! I need you here, please.”
John is next to him on the bed in a flash, kissing Sherlock’s face, and the vaguely nauseous feeling in Sherlock’s stomach is gone, replaced by pure desire.
“I’m here, my gorgeous darling. I shouldn’t have left you alone, not when you’re being so good. I’m sorry, I’ll never stop touching you now.”
Sherlock turns his face to John, seeking his lips, and when John kisses him Sherlock feels like he could come right now, just from John’s lips on his and his own fingers deep in his arse.
“Stop now,” John tells him, and Sherlock does, even if a disappointed sound escapes him as his fingers leave him. “You’ve done so well. You’re ready now, aren’t you? Ready for me to fuck you?”
Sherlock makes an affirmative noise, spreading his legs wider in invitation.
“But I think,” John says, dragging his thumb across Sherlock’s lips, “that what I want now is your mouth. It’s so very talented.” Sherlock’s mouth waters at the words, his need to be filled diminishing in view of John’s wishes. “And if you’re good, which I know you will be, I’ll fuck you after.”
John stands up again, throwing a pillow on the floor by his feet. Sherlock is down and kneeling on it before he knows it.
“Eager, are we?” John chuckles, stroking Sherlock’s face. John unbuckles his belt and Sherlock watches, mesmerised. He’s never wanted to give head more in his life. John cock looks absolutely delicious, exactly what Sherlock wants to have in his mouth as soon as he can, but John hasn’t told him to yet and so Sherlock just nuzzles against him, smelling him. John is still dressed and Sherlock is naked and on his knees in front of him and it feels absolutely perfect.
“Go on, then,” John prompts him. “Show me what you can do. Don’t take more than you find comfortable, though.”
Finally, finally, Sherlock gets his hands on John’s cock, thick and hard. He strokes it once before licking the head, and the sound John makes is almost as good as the taste. A feeling of absolute rightness fills Sherlock as he wraps his lips around John, taking him as deep as he can without causing himself discomfort. He covers the base with his hands and starts bobbing his head, sucking on John’s cock. John groans above him, a sound that goes straight to Sherlock’s balls, and he places his hand lightly on the top of Sherlock’s head.
“God, Sherlock, you feel amazing, your mouth, fuck, do that again, you marvel,” John can’t seem to stop talking, a string of profanities, moans and praise for Sherlock, but never anything Sherlock would rather not hear. He sucks harder. “Fuck yes! Keep doing that, Sherlock—ahhh! I love your mouth, God you’re amazing.” John’s hands tighten in Sherlock’s hair, not nearly enough to hurt but enough to make Sherlock still.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now, you perfect creature, ” John grunts, and Sherlock’s vision whitens with arousal as John’s hips start moving. He moans around John’s cock, and John’s thrusts turn harder, his cock sliding across Sherlock’s tongue and hard palate with force, but never going deeper than Sherlock had initially taken him. Sherlock’s body is aglow with bottomless devotion, he feels like there is warm honey flowing through his veins, dulling the intensity of his arousal so that he can focus on this, on the perfect slide of John’s cock in his mouth, on the noises John is making, on being nothing more than the source of John’s pleasure.
John pulls out suddenly, panting, and Sherlock looks up at him, worried he’d done something wrong.
“I was about to come,” John explains. “But you did such a great job preparing yourself earlier, I don’t want that to go to waste.”
John pulls him to his feet, kissing him hard. Sherlock feels dazed, the memory of John’s cock in his mouth, feel of his tongue in the same place now, and the expectation of finally having John inside him are almost too much to bear. John’s hand roam down Sherlock’s body, cupping his arse and squeezing, bringing Sherlock’s naked pelvis to grind against John’s clothed belly.
“Want to fuck you so bad,” John murmurs, and one of his fingers slides down between Sherlock’s buttocks, circling his hole. Sherlock moans, his knees almost buckling at the jolt of sensation. “I bet this lovely arse will feel just as unbelievable as your mouth. God I can’t wait to come inside you, just let me take this off.”
Sherlock can do nothing but watch as John strips quickly, revealing his perfect, compact body. As soon as John is naked he’s kissing Sherlock again, finally skin on skin, guiding them to the bed.
“I want you to ride me,” John tells him as he reaches for the lube, coating himself in it. Sherlock is almost insensate with want. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you enjoy it.”
John lies down on the bed and guides Sherlock to his lap, stroking his hips.
“You can’t wait to feel me stretch you, hmm? But go slowly, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Sherlock takes hold of John’s cock and slowly sinks down on it, brimming with need. He moans loudly as it fills him, unable to keep quiet.
“God yes,” John groans. “You’re so tight, so good. C’mon, make me come, I know you can.”
Sherlock starts moving, lifting himself up and then grinding down again, slowly at first, trying to find the best angle to hit his prostate, and soon John is fucking up to meet him, gripping his hips tight. Sherlock is only dimly aware of the noises he’s making, loud and unabashed, but he can’t focus on anything else but the feeling of John inside him, fucking him with deep, hard strokes. Sherlock’s cock is leaking and his balls heavy but he doesn’t even care about coming, he just wants John to keep fucking him take his pleasure.
“Fuck, Sherlock, gonna come, come inside your perfect arse, fuck! Ahh-hnnng, like that, like that, yes! You’re mine.” John’s thrusts turn faster, Sherlock grinds down harder, and then John groans and stills, his release spilling inside Sherlock.
Sherlock feels almost like he’s coming too, an intense feeling of satisfaction filling him as he watches and feels John’s orgasm. He’s like a live wire, every twitch of John’s cock inside him sending a jolt of electricity through every nerve of Sherlock’s body.
“Come here,” John mumbles, pulling Sherlock towards him. “That was amazing, you did so well. I think you deserve to come now, too, don’t you?”
Sherlock makes a desperate keening sound, because he’s had John in his mouth and in his arse and it was all he’d ever wanted, but he really does need to come now, his cock feels ready to burst, and he wishes John would tell him to touch himself and get himself off, but no. He does something better.
“Lie still,” John tells him as he positions himself between Sherlock legs. “Come for me.” And before Sherlock’s dazed brain can process what’s going on, John swallows him to the hilt. Sherlock feels his cock hit the back of John’s throat and he all but screams, pleasure reaching an impossible height as John pushes two fingers where Sherlock is filled with John’s come. Sherlock’s back arches as John hollows his cheeks, sucking hard, and crooks his fingers just so, and then Sherlock is coming, coming like an avalanche, his whole body convulsing.
When the blinding intensity of his orgasm dissipates he finds himself in John’s arms, being held close, protected and loved.
“You did so well,” John whispers to him as he strokes his hair. “You were absolutely wonderful, my love. Are you feeling all right?”
Sherlock nods, feeling peaceful in a way he’s rarely known. His mind his blank as he cuddles closer to John. John kisses the top of his head, holding him tight. John had called Sherlock my love, and you marvel, and you wonderful creature and nothing else, nothing that would make Sherlock’s stomach turn, and he didn’t hurt him in any way, and yet he managed to make himself the centre of Sherlock’s universe and give Sherlock a spectacular orgasm, and now he’s making Sherlock feel positively treasured. Sherlock lets out a contented sigh. There’s come drying between his legs, but Sherlock knows, without needing to be told, that John will take care of that, of him, and Sherlock can rest.