Chapter Text
The night was almost over.
The clubs were spilling out onto the streets, everyone in sight engaged in a last minute bid to find someone and cop off with for the night.
John stood huddled in a doorway kissing frantically, licking and biting.
It had seemed a good idea at the time. The bloke was hot, tall, dark hair tight jeans covering a plush, tight arse. But somewhere between the first slide of tongue and a hand on his prick he got bored.
He just couldn’t help it.
The next hot guy was just waiting round the corner, and if he spent too long with Mr Right Now he might miss him and miss out on the best sex of his life.
But seriously, he was much too old for this shit. At thirty he felt ancient, the average age in the club tonight must have been closer to twenty, probably younger, and If he drove by the local school gates in the morning there was a damn good chance he’d recognize half of them.
It was easy to forget how young he’d been his first time. It was the games teacher, Mr Davis, he was about the age that John was now, muscular and hairy with a deep, gruff voice. John had gone back to the changing room for his football boots and Davis had been in his office. He’d called John in and talked shite for a while about the cup match against some rival school the following week and then, right there in front of John, he’d flicked on his shower, stripped off his clothes got stark bollock naked and stepped under the steaming spray. The weird thing was, John couldn’t remember being scared at all back then, although with hindsight he must have been. Davis had noticed the rock hard boner tenting John’s school trousers, and the bastard had done it on purpose, continued talking as if nothing had changed, soaping himself up with his giant, hairy man-cock on display. John had walked right on in there, fully clothed, stepped into the shower, got on his knees and sucked that cock so far down his throat he almost choked. Youthful enthusiasm, too much tooth and crap technique, soap and spit and water rolling down his chin and the warm bitter tang of someone else’s come.
But none of that mattered, it was the having that was important, to finally be doing it instead of just the crude and completely made-up bollocks the rest of the lads in his year had bragged about.
He should really head back now.
Mike was waiting by the car to drive them home.
“Cheers mate, thanks for that”, he said. He wiped his hand on the side of his jeans, stepped out onto the pavement, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“But…. I thought we were heading back to yours?”
“Nah mate sorry, I don’t do sleepovers”.
“Well fuck you very much”, the bloke huffed, zipping up his jeans and re-fastening his brown leather belt.
“Hey, you’re welcome”.
John turned, and casually walked away.
And then he saw him.
Six feet of wide-eyed, skinny, teenage perfection softly illuminated by the hazy yellow street-lamp.
God, he shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t.
John Watson, you’re a bad, bad man.
~*~
Sherlock leant back against the street lamp and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
Make that cigarette he thought with a sigh.
He pulled out his last and clamped it in his ice cold lips, lit it and took a long drag.
It felt like he’d been out here forever, but in reality it couldn’t have been more than an hour or so. It was his first time down what was affectionately known as Anal Street, a stretch of busy bars and night clubs, the hub of the local gay scene. But now he was here, too nervous to even set foot inside a door and just try it, watch the men dancing with no expectations beyond satisfying an idle curiosity. Or so he’d told himself. The reality being he was past fucking desperate, but totally clueless in the art of hooking up with men.
He should stop being such a prat and just ask someone.
This bloke here would do.
He looked old enough to be his father, striding impatiently down the pavement towards him and muttering at no one in particular under his breath.
“Er, excuse me?” he ventured shyly.
The bloke pulled up short. “Christ, how old are you then….isn’t it past your bed time lad?”
“Er no”, Sherlock answered, trying his best not to sound too affronted and piss the bloke off, everyone else he’d seen so far had looked far too intimidating or down right predatory. This was an all-round safer bet. “I’m almost twenty-one.”
“Is that right?” the man said, looking him up and down, and obviously not believing him in the slightest, quite rightly. Sherlock flushed under the scrutiny of his gaze, but still, at least he’d bothered to stop, and so Sherlock decided to push his luck a little further.
“I just wondered…where’s the best place to go round here?”
“Depends what you’re after,” the man said testily, curling his lip while surveying the men spilling out of the nearest bar. “If you want bastards, try in there.” He jerked his thumb to the left, to a pink neon sign that said ‘Skin’. “Or if you rather have a wanker, try in there”. He jerked to the right this time, toward ‘Randy’s’. “And if,” he spat red-faced by this time, “you really want a lying, cheating tight-arsed bloody dick-head, take your pick, they’re all bloody full of them.”
And then he stomped off down the street leaving Sherlock slack-jawed and flushed with embarrassment.
“Don’t listen to that miserable old shit, we’re not all bad you know.”
Tousled blond hair, tight jeans and a black leather jacket, he stood with his hands in his pockets, head cocked to one side smiling warmly in the muted yellow light; he was older by a mile, at least thirty, so ancient by Sherlock’s standards, military trained and absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. Sherlock’s heart skipped several beats, his hand shook as he raised his cigarette to his lips again and took another deep drag to calm his nerves.
“Had a good night?” the bloke asked casually and sauntered along the pavement toward him until they stood, only inches apart. His eyes roved up and down, taking in every inch of Sherlock’s body in a way that couldn’t have made it clearer just why he’d approached him in the street at chucking-out time on a weekend if he’d tried. Sherlock might have been inexperienced but neither was he an idiot.
He unconsciously parted his thighs and the man smiled up at him wolfishly.
Oh God, he really shouldn’t have done that.
“Yeah?” he stuttered back, pretty sure that had come out like a question and not an answer to anything, sounding uncertain even to himself. Christ, he was an idiot.
“Is that a question?” the bloke aske in amusement. “Because it could be you know, a good night I mean, there’s still plenty of time. You got anywhere to go?”
Sherlock swallowed nervously. “No.”
The answer came quickly. “Wanna come back to mine then?”
It made his stomach swoop, alarmingly.
This was such a bad idea on so many levels. This was moving much too fast, his mind screamed, drowned out by the ‘Oh God Yes’ that was stirring in his pants.
“Okay” he answered shakily, teenage hormones winning the internal battle over common sense.
This was much too easy he thought, there had to be a catch to this, there had to be. It shouldn’t be this easy. His first time out and he was really going to do it. Hook-up, get off, get fucked for the very first time.
Sherlock wondered if the bloke could tell, if it was written all over his face and in his body language.
Virgin.
“Good…. that’s good,” the bloke said, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. “Oh, and I’m John by the way.”
“Um…Hi?” Sherlock stuttered, voice rising at the end in a question again.
This was so embarrassing. Losing the ability to make basic conversation hadn’t exactly been part of the plan.
“Sherlock…my name is Sherlock…sorry…I…just, sorry…nice to meet you.” He finished lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at the ground.
Anywhere but at John.
Nice to meet you?
What the hell was that?
Sherlock kept his eyes to the floor, scraping his toe along an extremely interesting crack in the paving stone. Right about now, John would realize he was just some stupid kid, make his excuses and leave him here. If the weird name hadn’t done it, his stellar impression of a bumbling idiot must have sealed it.
“Well aren’t you something else Sherlock.”
His head snapped up at the obvious heat in John’s voice. “Shall we?”
Sherlock nodded vigorously.
John beamed in approval and gestured down the street toward a shiny black jeep to where a bloke about John’s age leant against the side. Every line of his body screamed impatience. He frowned, brows creasing as he watched them approach, scowling in open disapproval first at John and then at Sherlock.
John opened up the passenger door flipped the front seat, and gestured for Sherlock to climb into the back.
“Oh my god, you bloody well didn’t Watson… put the kid back you utter wanker… you’re trashed, I’ll take him home.”
“Jealous much Mike?” John shot back at him, and a warm palm pressed into the small of Sherlock’s back as he climbed in behind him.
The aforementioned Mike huffed in annoyance, ramming the seat back down and walking round the car to get into the driver’s side instead.
They drove slowly through the late night traffic, John squashed into the back seat with Sherlock, sitting much closer than was strictly necessary brushing soft teasing strokes along the inside of his thigh.
Sherlock swallowed thickly.
He was embarrassingly hard already and the slow deliberate movement had his teeth on edge and he whimpered helplessly as John nuzzled close sucking an earlobe between his lips.
“I’m going to fuck you all night, is that what you want?” he breathed, one hand grasping Sherlock’s chin and tilting his face toward him.
“You don’t have to do what he says,” snapped Mike, interrupting, as watched them both through the rear-view mirror. “He’s always like this on a weekend….Where do you live kid, we’ll drop you off first, no harm done eh?”
“No,” Sherlock snapped, heat and want and need burning hot in the pit of his stomach. This was what he came out for wasn’t it? There was no bloody way he was backing off now, not when he was this close. “I want to go with him,” he said defiantly, managing not to sound quite as scared as he felt inside, he flushed with pleasure as John nodded into his skin. “Good boy.”
John’s flat was one of those posh warehouse conversions on the fourth floor of an old factory building only half a mile out from the city centre. Sherlock wondered what the hell John must do for a living to afford these luxurious surroundings, a long leather sofa, an open- plan kitchen in stripped oak and chrome, the biggest flatscreen he had ever seen in his life and old-school arcade machines lined up along the back wall.
But that was only part of it, the rest of the cavernous space was divided off by frosted glass and sliding panels, giving only shadowy glimpses of the rooms that lay beyond.
“Shut the door,” John said, grabbing a bottle of water from his obscenely large double fridge, cracking off the cap and swallowing down the ice-cold liquid in long greedy gulps. Sherlock stood mesmerized, watching as his throat worked, tracing the progress of a trickle of water which bled out from his lips rolling slowly down his neck and chin.
“Well?” John swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and fixed him with a smouldering gaze. He placed the bottle down on the counter pulling the now saturated t-shirt off over his head. He tossed it aside carelessly, picked up the bottle again and bent his head down to pour the rest over the back of his head. The floorboards beneath him were soaked, a pool collecting at his feet. John flicked back up again and shook off the droplets with a shiver while Sherlock just stood there uselessly, gaping at the glistening beads of water running in rivulets down John’s tanned and muscular torso. It dripped down his face, shining like diamonds where it caught amongst his eyelashes and the layers of short blond hair.
What would it be like to run his tongue through the tracks it made, turning salty and bitter as it mingled with his musky sweat?
“Are you coming….. or going?” John said again, amused, and just as if he already knew the filthy mental images in Sherlock’s mind, he grasped at the buckle of his jeans and slid the smooth black leather through the soft denim loops, dragging it off with a snap like a whip-crack.
“Or perhaps, you’re coming….. and then going,” he smiled, “Or coming,” he paused for emphasis and smirked when Sherlock’s breath hitched, “and staying,” he finished with a sinful grin and pushed his jeans to the floor before stepping smoothly out of them and kicking them aside.
He was naked underneath, his cock blood red at the head, slapping damply against his abdomen, glistening at the tip already.
Sherlock fumbled awkwardly for the sliding metal door at his back, and with a shuddering breath he pushed it hard until it slid home and closed with a loud metallic clang.
This was it, he was really going to do this, tonight, now, with a bloke almost twice his age.
Perhaps it wasn’t the time to mention he hadn’t even had a first kiss.
Sherlock turned around slowly.
“I’m staying.”
~*~