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It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. John shouldn’t be allowed to do this! Who did this anyway? Why had he agreed? “Had enough?” Sherlock shook his head, unwilling to give in even though he really wanted to. He’d made a bet and he wasn’t going to lose it. “Are you sure? There’s no shame in saying you’ve had enough.”
“Keep going.” Sherlock took a deep breath and made himself as comfortable as he could. John resumed his activities.
“Okay, just remember that I asked and I didn’t have to, not according to our agreement.” Sherlock snorted derisively at John’s words. “Don’t be cheeky now or I’ll stop being nice.”
Nice? Was John being nice? “Just keep going, Watson!” John did and Sherlock felt sorry for himself, but silently.
It had all begun over dinner and drinks at 221 B Baker Street where they were alone for the weekend, a rare and almost freakish occurrence made possible by John’s sister who had stepped into her role as aunt to her niece Rosie with aplomb. She and her wife, Clara, together again after a long painful reconciliation from the early parts of their once tumultuous marriage, were wondering about having children of their own and decided to practice on Rosie. Apparently, practice meant taking Rosie nearly every day, and now, for the entire weekend. Since Sherlock and John had cases to solve as well as other obligations, they were grateful that the couple was there to look after the little one when they were so busy. Rosie adored her aunt, shamelessly abandoning her dad the second she caught sight of John’s sandy-haired older sister. The unexpected free time had prompted Sherlock to dig out an old bottle of whisky he’d liberated from Mycroft’s spirits cupboard, and they’d had an after dinner drink.
During the reparation period phase of their resumed friendship, John had moved back to 221 B Baker Street. Their relationship was far more familiar and open that it had ever been, John paranoid with fear that he’d miss something that might drive Sherlock to suicide, even though it hadn’t been real. To John, it had been, and for two years he had blamed himself. Sherlock had fervently promised never to hide anything from John ever again and their daily talks had begun. He hadn’t expected tonight’s to end up with him tied naked and kneeling on John’s bed while John teased his body in whatever way he could think of but there they were, both not wearing anything more than their erections, and John with three fingers buried in Sherlock’s arse.
Somehow or other they’d started talking about sex. Sherlock claimed that nothing influenced the degree with which an orgasm could feel to someone – you had one and that was it, you got what you got. John argued that there were plenty of things that a lover could do to improve his partner’s experience, and Sherlock had immediately scoffed when John questioned his sexual abilities. “I bet I can drag out your arousal until you are nearly in tears, begging me to stop.” John looked pugnacious.
“The volume of partners you have had is not quantifiable proof that you are a good lover, John, in fact, it tends to suggest that you are incapable of satisfying one enough to keep them.” That had started an entire argument that led to both of them storming up to John’s room where Sherlock insulted John further by tying his own hands to the headboard after he stripped so “he didn’t help John because he obviously needed it” where John had promised “to ruin Sherlock for anyone else because he was that good.”
The gauntlets were thrown and there they were. Sherlock had long since regretted his own hubris because John was magnificent. Sherlock had almost come at least seven different times now, not that he’d admit that to John. In a less dishonest part of his mind, he admitted that John had pretty much won his bet the moment he introduced Sherlock to rimming, an act he’d heard of but which he’d never had done to him.
“You look gorgeous like this,” John was blowing little puffs of air over Sherlock’s stretched anus, “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s alright.” Sherlock lied, sweat dripping down his forehead. He was going to chew his lower lip off trying to stifle his moans.
“Oh? Just alright?” Sherlock instantly regretted his flip answer when he heard John’s mild tones. That never boded well because it usually meant that John was just about done playing around and was going to get serious. If that was the case, and John had already made him feel like a whining mewling mess, then Sherlock Holmes was in a lot of trouble. “I guess I’ll just have to try a tiny bit harder.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to ignore how John was now sliding his fingers deliciously slowly in and out of him and using his other hand to stroke Sherlock’s cock. The dual stimulation was almost enough to make him come. His cock had been drizzling precum for several minutes now, and the duvet on John’s bed was definitely going to need to be sent out for cleaning. John was unbelievably good at sex. Sherlock had never experienced anything even close to what John had to offer, not the way he kissed, not the way he stroked his hands over Sherlock’s body, and definitely nothing like the way John’s hand moved over him with such delicacy. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open when John slowly and deliberately drew a large circle around his prostate, not touching it directly, but dancing all around the edges of it, torturing Sherlock with anticipation. Without meaning to, Sherlock gasped, “Please, John!”
Sherlock could almost see John smile behind him as he begged for the first time, “Too much? Sorry, Sherlock.” John withdrew his fingers and Sherlock nearly sighed regretfully except that John surprised him yet again by beginning to snog his arse in a way that should have seemed ludicrous except that it felt so sinfully good. John allowed his tongue to fuck in and out of the now slick orifice while his wicked hand pumped his cock at the same time. His lips moved and teased Sherlock as much as John’s tongue did and Sherlock’s legs trembled as tension began to build. Already the flashes of pleasure he was experiencing were eclipsing any pleasurable sensation he’d caused himself to experience, which was John’s point.
“Brace yourself.” John’s voice was so soft, so gentle. Sherlock heard something slick sounding. More lube? It was followed by the sensation of something cool against his anus, “It’s a plug. I’m going to push it in and then we’re going to change position.
Sherlock was feverish with desire by then and the pressure of the plug entering him was almost enough to make him orgasm. For several moments he teetered on the edge but John didn’t provide the last bit of stimulation he required. “Yes, John.” Sherlock was too on edge to think of perhaps protesting or making things a bit harder for John to accomplish. All he could think about was how hard his cock was and now, how full his arse was.
John turned Sherlock over, settling him on his back with pillows mounded behind him so he could breath easier. After John retied Sherlock’s arms to the headboard he made sure the detective was comfortable, gave him a drink of water, and then sat on his lap. “Sherlock, I’m going to stroke your cock. The moment you think you are getting close to coming, you tell me and I will stop. Agreed?”
Sherlock nodded, “Agreed.” John wrapped a warm firm hand around his aching erection. The doctor had put a large amount of lubricant on his hand and it made a wet squelching sound as he pumped it up and down slowly. John reached out with his other hand, smoothing it over Sherlock’s belly and chest, stopping to tweak one nipple and then the other. When he swiped his thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock, Sherlock nearly leapt up. “Close,” he groaned. Orgasm was right there! He could feel it. It was so powerful already and it hadn’t even happened. Sherlock marvelled at how much he was feeling right then. John truly was a master.
“Good, good for telling me.” John took his hand off of Sherlock’s cock but didn’t stop touching Sherlock’s body, smearing lube all over his chest and belly until he was shiny before taking Sherlock’s cock back into his hand, “Tell me when you’re close.”
John stroked for only half a minute before Sherlock felt the telltale pressure and tingling begin. “Close.” John stopped but only for a few moments. Soon, he took Sherlock’s cock in his hand again, stroking it firmly. Sherlock lasted an entire minute this time, “Close.” John stopped yet again and it almost ached. After a full minute, John resumed stroking Sherlock but this time, he rubbed the shaft of Sherlock’s cock with his also erect penis, causing Sherlock to moan out an awkwardly long and wordless sigh. When John pressed their cocks together and began to rut against him, the words slipped out again, “Please, John!”
John stopped instantly, even pulling back though Sherlock tried to move closer. “Not on, Sherlock. Sit back and take what you get, no more.” Growling with frustration, Sherlock threw his head back and sulked for a moment but then, he felt something on his cock. It was warm, wet, and accompanied by a tongue. Sherlock looked down in shock because John was sucking him off. It took only seconds, “Close!” he nearly shouted.
John sat back up, wiping the shiny slick from his lips. Looking Sherlock directly in the eye, John shifted closer, pressing their cocks together again, “Don’t take your eyes off me.”
John began to move, “John.”
John didn’t stop moving, “John.”
John undulated, making his cock slide back and forth and side to side. Sherlock realised that he was thrashing his head and bucking his hips, “John!”
John reached down and fondled Sherlock testicles, lifting them and letting them slide off his fingers, making them wet with lube while his other hand held their cockheads together. “John! Please!” Sherlock felt like he needed to cry.
John gripped Sherlock’s hips with his knees and began to rock. It made the plug inside his arse begin to shift, rubbing back and forth slowly as John began to play with his testicles again, squeezing and rubbing their shafts when he could, “Oh god, John!” Sherlock felt his forehead wrinkle as his toes curled. He was gasping in short draughts of air in between moans, his hips bucking as John rocked him faster, “John, oh god, please, John! I need to come, please let me come, please John please John, please! Oh god!”
John somehow managed to lean forward just enough to catch Sherlock’s left nipple in his teeth and he bit down gently. Sherlock heard a high pitched shriek and then it seemed like he lost his ability to hear. His entire body was pulsing and throbbing and his nerve endings were on overdrive as the most intense orgasm of his life ripped him apart. He felt a pain in the back of his head and then another on his temple. He'd hit the headboard. His shoulders ached and his wrists were screaming at him but he couldn’t do anything, still caught in the intense rictus of orgasm. “Beautiful, perfect, god I love you Sherlock, you perfect, perfect, perfect man. I’m coming. Oh fuck, yeah, I’m coming.”
Sherlock managed to open one eye enough to see John stroking himself hard and fast, his head hanging back as his come streamed out in little bursts that painted Sherlock’s overheated cock and still tense belly with semen. He felt like he was still coming, and knew his cock was still hard. He wondered if he’d be hard forever, “You win.”
John sat there, head still hanging back, one hand still loosely holding his penis. After several minutes he managed to look up, “I think we both won.”
Sherlock remembered the words John had groaned out and hoped the doctor would be able to hear the sincerity in his voice, “I love you too, John. I hope this isn’t our first and only time.”
John slowly came back to himself looking as worn out and flushed as Sherlock felt, “Your arms!” He untied Sherlock who gave him a weak hug the moment he was free, “Good. I mean about how you feel. Good to hear it. Just the beginning. Promise.”
“Mmm,” agreed Sherlock, limp and incapable of shifting around even a bit, “Excellent.” John got up eventually and brought Sherlock some damp flannels and another glass of water, “So, round two?” He asked with a grin after finishing his drink.
“Oh god yes.”