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Lestrade saw Sherlock roll his eyes at the uniformed man pointing the gun at him.
“Is this really necessary?” Sherlock said.
Mycroft pushed a button on the other side of the glass, allowing his voice to crackle over the loudspeaker into the stark tiled room.
“You were within contamination limits, despite explicit orders to draw back. This is the consequence,” Mycroft said. “Now, strip.”
Sherlock looked over at John and Lestrade, who also both had guns in their faces.
“Is the forced at gunpoint part really needed?” John asked.
“Standard operating procedure,” Mycroft said, although his grin revealed it might be otherwise.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes again and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. John followed suit. Only Lestrade hesitated, blush forming across his cheeks.
“You too, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said.
“I don't suppose I could...” Lestrade started. But then the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face, and he decided a life of embarrassment and ridicule was better than no life at all.
It only took a moment after all their clothes had been removed from the room for someone to catch sight of what Lestrade had hoped to hide. It was John who first began to cough loudly, which was telling of the man's oft-denied sexuality. He could see Mycroft laughing on the other side of the glass, one eyebrow raised suggestively. Lestrade didn't catch Sherlock looking, but the deep red blush across his face and down his neck suggested he'd managed to sneak a glance.
Lestrade cupped his cock in an attempt at modesty, but everyone could still tell what a handful it was. He would never live this down, not now that Sherlock knew. The whole yard, hell, probably all of London would witness a snarky remark from the consulting detective with no sense of social niceties before the week was out.
The hot water started from the ceiling and Lestrade held his breath while a uniformed man scrubbed his body hard, until Lestrade was raw and pink. After the water was turned off, the man handed him a towel. And his phone number. Lestrade winced a smile.
As the three men sat in their towels in the locker room, waiting for their clothes to be cleaned, Lestrade waited for the mocking to begin. But Sherlock just stared at the ceiling, John stared at the floor, and Lestrade began to worry they would simply never speak to him again, perhaps out of some manly inadequacy issues. But it wasn't as if either of them were lacking in that department. Lestrade just happened to be very, very overqualified. Painfully, embarrassingly so. Too many bad sexual encounters left Lestrade feeling envious of the average man. He was the inadequate one in the room.
Finally their clothes returned, and Lestrade dressed in the corner, not wanting to put on any more of a show than he already had. They said a brisk goodbye outside the compound, Lestrade loading into one taxi and Sherlock and John in the other. Lestrade was glad to go home, to just sit and watch some crap telly and not think about the horrors of the day any more.
That was, until he got a text from Sherlock.
You ever get it in anyone? -SH
Lestrade sighed. Maybe Sherlock was avoiding being mean in front of John to appease the kinder man.
Bugger off. -GL
I'm not making fun. I want to know for science. -SH
Lestrade didn't even want to engage with this man so intent on making him miserable.
Yeah, well you can suck my cock for science. -GL
When? Where? -SH
He had to be kidding. This was Sherlock's twisted idea of a funny joke.
You couldn't handle it. -GL
I bet I can. Let me prove it. -SH
The taxi pulled up outside Lestrade's flat. He slipped the phone into his pocket. He didn't have the energy to deal with Sherlock right now. Maybe after a good night's sleep he would be better equipped to deflect the man's taunting.
Lestrade made it inside, stuck some food in the microwave, and put on the telly, ready to watch anything, anything at all to not think about Sherlock Holmes.
His phone buzzed again. Lestrade waited a moment and then gave in.
I have to get myself ready, but then I'm coming over. -SH
If Lestrade had just taken a sip of beer, he would have done a spit take.
What the hell? No, you're not. -GL
Have you ever measured it? I want to make sure I use a big enough plug. -SH
Lestrade had measured it, and it was a number he never wanted on anyone's phone records, ever.
Plug? -GL
I'll see you in an hour. -SH
Lestrade didn't know what to do with that. Was Sherlock joking? Was this an elaborate prank? Could the smarter man actually want to sleep with Lestrade? He pushed away the heat in his groin caused by that thought. Even in a bizarro world where Sherlock Holmes actually felt sexual attraction, to Lestrade of all people, Lestrade had had enough sex in his lifetime to know that his cock in anything but his own hand was apt to end in disaster.
He paced the length of his living room, then decided his beer was not strong enough and went to the kitchen to pour himself a shot of whiskey. Three shots later, he decided it must be a sick joke, and went to sit in front of the telly, ready to spend the night feeling sorry for himself.
Which was where he was when he heard the sharp knock on his door.
When he opened it, Sherlock shoved his way inside the flat, slamming the door behind him.
“Jesus, what's wrong with you?” Lestrade said. Sherlock was flushed and sweating, eyes crazed, hair sticking out all over the place.
“I must admit...it may have been a mistake...to use the vibrating plug...in the taxi,” Sherlock said, breathing hard. “Oh, God, I'd forgotten how big this one was.”
Lestrade looked him up and down, eyes wide. “I'm sorry—what?”
“I should be plenty stretched at the very least,” Sherlock said.
The gears clicked into place in Lestrade's head. “Oh. You've got a...and it's in your...right.” He looked Sherlock up and down.
“I don't see how you can stand to live being so bloody thick,” Sherlock spat, though the edge of his insult was dull considering the lust raging in his eyes.
“And you want me to...?” Lestrade said, body gearing up for some lust of its own.
“Damn it, Lestrade, do I have to spell everything out for you? I like big cocks, okay? I want you inside me, I can take it, you just have to stop being an imbecile and fuck me.”
“Look, I can see you want to...but I don't think you understand. I'm not flattering myself when I say, this is not just a big cock. It's not really been pleasant for anyone...ever.”
“Oh for fuck's sake. I know you wouldn't assume it from my demure personality, but I trust me when I say I can take a giant cock. And I know from your erection that you want me to take yours.”
Lestrade looked down at the considerable tent in his trousers. “Yeah, alright. But if you want to stop, I won't take offense.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Sherlock said, shoving off his coat and undoing his shirt.
It only took them a moment before they were down to their pants, Lestrade's erection dwarfing Sherlock's considerably.
“Do you want to, ah, go to the bedroom?” Lestrade asked.
Sherlock shoved him against the wall, grinding their hips together, eliciting a moan from Lestrade.
“I'm not going to make it that far,” Sherlock said. Then he kissed Lestrade, hard and hot.
Lestrade couldn't help it. He'd repressed his lust for this man far too long. He kissed Sherlock back with full force, pushing him back until they stumbled into the kitchen. Sherlock bumped into the table and took it as a sign to take control again, shoving Lestrade to the ground.
“Oi, watch it,” Lestrade said, rubbing his arse where he'd landed. But then Sherlock pulled off his own pants and straddled Lestrade, so he couldn't complain.
“Pull your pants down,” Sherlock gasped, reaching behind himself. Lestrade wiggled out of them, letting his fully erect cock bounce free. Sherlock's eyes went wide for a moment at the sight, but then they were closed again, head tipped back, face flushed, as he dragged the plug slowly from his arse.
“Oh, fuck, Lestrade,” he hissed. Lestrade grabbed his hips in support. Then the plug was free. Lestrade half chuckled at the sight of the thing. Sherlock hadn't been kidding, the thing was huge. It didn't have the length of Lestrade's cock, but at its widest it was certainly bigger around.
“Damn,” Lestrade said when Sherlock set the plug down beside them on the floor.
“I told you,” Sherlock said. “Now, please tell me you've been tested recently.”
It took a moment for Lestrade to realize what Sherlock was asking. “Yeah, well, at least since my last partner, yeah. Have you?”
“I'm an ex-intravenous drug user. I make it a habit.”
Then Sherlock was lining Lestrade's cock up with his slick hole. Lestrade couldn't believe Sherlock had prepped for this at home. The thought of the other man lubing himself up, gradually increasing plug size until he could take the largest one, made Lestrade's heart race and his head spin.
Without warning, Sherlock sank down on Lestrade's cock. The sensation was overwhelming, but Lestrade could hardly appreciate it. He waited for Sherlock to cry out in pain, to realize it really was too much. Sherlock wouldn't even have the delicacy of some of the women Lestrade had loved over the years; there would be no, “It's not you, it's me.” For a second, Lestrade feared this one moment would lead to the most awkward work relationship anyone ever had, ever.
But when Sherlock made a noise, it was not one of pain, but a deep moan of pleasure. He seated himself almost fully on Lestrade's cock, as far as he could go, and the obvious enjoyment on his face made Lestrade weak inside.
“Oh God, Lestrade, that's perfect,” Sherlock said.
“Really?” Lestrade breathed.
“You have no idea,” Sherlock said. Then he raised up and lowered again and both men gasped.
“In a moment, I'll be ready,” Sherlock said, moving slowly, letting out small grunts. “And then I want you to fuck me, hard.”
Lestrade groaned loudly.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Sherlock said. “Hands and knees okay?”
“I want to see you,” Lestrade managed. Sherlock nodded, bouncing a little faster, making Lestrade thrust slightly. Then he pulled off, and Lestrade mourned the loss of contact.
Sherlock lay back on the kitchen floor and beckoned to Lestrade, who found his way to his knees between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock lifted his ankles to Lestrade's shoulders and Lestrade lined up his cock with Sherlock's worked-open entrance again.
“I'm not a flower, Lestrade, I'm not kidding when I say I want it hard,” Sherlock said.
Lestrade still pushed in tentatively, giving a little snap of his hips as a test.
“Fuck, Lestrade, hard. I won't break.”
He thrust properly and Sherlock moaned wantonly. Lestrade did it again, wanting a repeat of the sound. Sherlock was gorgeous like this, skin shining with sweat, legs wide and hooked over Lestrade, face and chest flush with arousal. When Lestrade set up a rhythm, slapping his hips against Sherlock's arse and thighs, the expression on Sherlock's face was enough to provide wank material for the rest of Lestrade's life.
“Damn it, man. Is that all you've got?” Sherlock gasped.
Lestrade took the challenge. For the first time in his life he pounded into someone, letting his body fulfill its biological impulses to ram his cock as fast and as hard as possible into another body.
Sherlock cried out, and Lestrade nearly slowed. But then Sherlock chanted, “Yes, God, yes!” and Lestrade felt the build of orgasm beginning gather in his groin.
He snapped his hips, fucking Sherlock as hard as he could, watching the other man writhe in ecstasy. Lestrade's hands gripped Sherlock's thighs, so he couldn't really reach Sherlock's cock to wank him, but it didn't matter.
Without warning or touch, Sherlock yelled Lestrade's name and thrust his hips forward, coming hard across his own stomach. It was the hottest thing Lestrade had ever seen, and it brought him to the brink himself. But he slowed slightly, not wanting to overwhelm Sherlock.
“Don't stop,” Sherlock heaved, “Come inside me.”
That was all Lestrade needed to hear. It didn't take long. He pounded into Sherlock's lax body until the sensation and sound of Sherlock's cries was too much. He slammed forward, body convulsing, orgasm rushing through him like never before.
Sherlock dropped his legs from Lestrade's shoulders and Lestrade collapsed forward unceremoniously. They lay together on the kitchen floor for a moment, breathing heavily, sweat and semen mingling on their skin.
Finally, Lestrade found the strength to sit up. He slowly pulled out of Sherlock, guilt jabbing at his heart when Sherlock winced.
“Fuck, mate, I'm sorry,” Lestrade said.
“Don't. I like it that way. I told you I could take it.”
Lestrade sighed, looking at Sherlock's fucked-open hole, slick with cum and lube. Then he lay down next to Sherlock, running his fingers absentmindedly up and down Sherlock's thighs.
“The real question is, why didn't you tell me about it sooner,” Lestrade said.
“How was I supposed to know you have a fucking huge prick?” Sherlock asked.
“What, you can't deduce that kind of thing by the way I walk or something?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and Lestrade smiled.
“Doesn't matter,” Lestrade said. “That was brilliant.”
“I know,” Sherlock said, and received a small slap from Lestrade.
“So, um, what now?” Lestrade asked.
“I'm not going to be your boyfriend, if that's what you're asking,” Sherlock said.
Lestrade's heart sank a little. It wasn't really that he wanted a relationship with Sherlock. Hell, that would probably be totally insufferable. But this was the best bloody fuck of his life.
“But if you think this is never going to happen again, you're more of a fucking idiot than I thought,” Sherlock said.
Sherlock let out a muffled sound of surprise when Lestrade tackled him with a kiss.