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Sherlock Holmes had never been particularly interested in sex, truth be told. He hadn’t ever understood what all of the fuss was about, from what he’d been able to ascertain in his adolescence, it seemed to cause more trouble than it was worth. He’d completely disregarded it without a thought when he was in Public school and when he went to Uni. He’d had much better things to concern himself with than having sex.
This had never been a decision he'd regretted until he'd met a certain ex-army doctor who seemed to push every single one of the buttons he'd never known he had. Suddenly he'd understood why people had sex, his mind had been overwrought with desire and it was exceptionally irritating. It had been like an itch you couldn’t ever scratch no matter how hard you tried.
The sexual tension had finally gotten the better of the two of them one night after a particularly grueling case which had flexed Sherlock’s mind and involved chasing and disarming a couple of dangerous criminals. He and John had both been high on adrenaline and the rush of victory; the moment they'd stepped through the door to their flat John had looked at him and Sherlock had looked at John and then they were kissing. Neither of them really knew exactly how it happened, simply that one moment they were staring at each other and the next they were snogging and stripping one another of their clothing.
It had been fantastic, better than fantastic, even. Sherlock had never realized something could make his body feel that amazing outside of drugs. And so withou further ado, their relationship had taken off. Adding sex to their relationship had been rather good for the two of them overall and Sherlock had discovered that he had quite a few “kinks” as John called them. As luck would have it, John had been more than happy to indulge him. The man really didn’t discriminate in the type of sexual acts he enjoyed committing, apparently he hadn’t been dubbed Three Continents Watson for nothing.
But, as it stood at the moment, Sherlock found himself very much alone in the flat, with little to do to occupy himself in the two hours before John’s return from the clinic, and with an erection that simply would not subside. It was torture. Sherlock was terrible at masturbating, he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand (pardon the pun) and the gratification he received when he was successful was astronomically inferior to the euphoric feelings of release when John was the one responsible for getting him off.
One of the largest contributing factors to his arousal was the fact that his skin was feeling sensitive today. He’d done the only logical thing and wrapped himself up in nothing but a sheet all day; every other article of clothing he’d attempted to don felt like it was chafing his skin. This in and of itself was nothing out of the ordinary, but the sheet he’d chosen still smelled like John. He could smell the clean mixture of deterrent, shampoo, and body wash but he could also smell the richer, headier scents of John’s sweat and musk. The scents on the sheet were sending Sherlock’s brain into overdrive and he was about five seconds away from attempting to hump the union jack pillow when the door opened and John walked in.
“Hello, love.” John called out from the doorway where he was hanging his coat without looking at Sherlock. “Got off a bit early today, the clinic was slow.”
Sherlock unfolded himself from the sofa and stepped up and over the coffee table, before pressing himself (and subsequently his erection) to John’s back. “I’m dying,” he groaned.
John turned around, an easy grin gracing his lips, “Well we can’t have that now can we?” He gave the sheet wrapped around Sherlock’s neck a gentle tug and brought Sherlock’s lips to his. He nipped at Sherlock’s lips before soothing the slight sting with his tongue. Sherlock sighed into the contact and all but melted against John. John stroked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and rubbed at his scalp for a moment and Sherlock whimpered at the contact. John grinned against his lips before giving his hair a light tug to tip his head back and grant himself access to Sherlock’s neck and collarbones. Sherlock gasped and his hips rocked forward to press his erection more insistently against John’s belly.
John’s fingers slipped from Sherlock’s hair and scratched lightly at the skin of his neck before sliding down and lightly tracing his collarbone. His hands continued their journey, parting the sheet further to allow him to circle the erect nub of Sherlock’s nipple. He pinched Sherlock’s nipples between his forefinger and middle fingers as he mouthed at the sensitive skin of Sherlock’s neck.
After another moment, John pulled back and relinquished his hold on Sherlock’s nipples and neck. Sherlock swayed slightly and John reached out to steady him before he slipped the sheet down and off of Sherlock’s shoulders, baring him completely to his gaze. Humming appreciatively, John began a slow circle around Sherlock’s body.
Sherlock couldn’t help the bit of a flush that crept up his cheeks and chest. He wasn’t sure what it was about being inspected so closely by his lover that always made him feel embarrassed and hot, but having John’s eyes on him, appraising him, always left him flushed and breathing a touch heavier. When John was behind him his hand stroked down Sherlock’s spine; it was a light, barely there sort of touch but it made Sherlock shudder. He felt the vibrations of that touch in the tips of his fingers and his toes, in his lips and in the tightening of his groin. He let out a whimper of pleasure in spite of himself.
“Feeling a bit sensitive today, are we?” John asked as he walked back around to Sherlock's front.
“Yes, Sir.”
At the word, John glanced up to Sherlock’s face, reading him as surely as Sherlock ever read anyone else. It was like a bit of a code between the two of them, when Sherlock called John ‘Sir’ it meant he was in the mood to be controlled, in the mood to be told what to do, and quite possibly in the mood for a bit of punishment. There was nothing better for Sherlock on the days he’d been fighting with his body and with his mind than giving his body and mind over to John’s control. John knew how to take care of Sherlock so much better than Sherlock knew how to take care of himself.
“On your knees.” John said in the low, commanding voice that always left Sherlock’s knees quivering. He loved it when John pulled rank, loved it when John got that no-nonsense tone in his voice and told Sherlock exactly what to do. He loved it when John took the control away from him.
Sherlock sank to his knees without a thought, “Good boy.” John murmured encouragingly and Sherlock felt his cock give a throb at the words. “Undo my trousers.”
Sherlock reached up with his hands to do just that but John gave them a light slap. "Hands behind your back. Use your mouth."
Sherlock swallowed and leaned forward, grasping the zipper between his teeth and dragging it down first before working the button through its hole with his teeth and tongue. Once the button and zip were undone Sherlock couldn't help but mouth at the bulge of John's cock through his pants.
John pushed his trousers and his pants down his hips exposing his cock to Sherlock’s gaze and Sherlock couldn’t help the saliva that flooded his mouth at the mere thought of tasting John’s member. His body swayed unconsciously forward, like a moth drawn to a flame.
“So eager.” John said as he reached out and caressed the side of Sherlock's face before running his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip, dragging it down a bit and revealing his teeth. John took his half hard cock in his hand other hand and led it to Sherlock’s lips. “Open for me.”
Sherlock obliged him, leaning forward a bit and putting his hands on John’s thighs to aid his balance.
“Hands behind your back.” John said sharply, drawing back so he was out of Sherlock’s reach again. “Don’t make me get the ropes.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Sherlock said as he obediently drew his hands behind his back. The effect putting his arms back had was immediate, with his shoulders back, Sherlock felt his nipples pull taut; forming tighter nubs and sending shocks of pleasure coursing through his body and straight to his cock. On another day, Sherlock might have pushed it and gotten John to tie him up; it always felt amazing having absolutely no control and being forced to trust John implicitly. But with how incredibly sensitive his skin was today he didn’t think he could stand to have the material wrapped around his wrists.
“Open.”
Sherlock did as he was bid once more and John moved forward, slowly sliding his cock into Sherlock’s mouth. Even though he wasn’t fully hard his cock still sat heavy on Sherlock’s tongue, filling his mouth and causing him to salivate more profusely. He groaned around his mouthful and massaged John’s thickening member with his tongue. He loved it when John did this, when he let his cock get hard in Sherlock’s mouth; he loved feeling the way it lengthened and hardened on his tongue. He loved the feeling of disparity between the two of them, John clothed and in control of his body and Sherlock bare and completely erect all but gagging for John’s cock. It made him feel wanton and whorish, it made his cheeks burn faintly with embarrassment and it made his cock leak even more.
“Good boy.” John said as he slowly began to thrust in and out of Sherlock’s mouth, working his cock in a little deeper on every pass. “My good boy, staying so still and quiet.” John encouraged. “You’re doing so well.”
Sherlock shuddered at the praise, doing his best to relax his jaw and let John in further down his throat. John groaned, “Just like that. You’ve got such a fantastic mouth.” After a few more leisurely thrusts, John pulled out. “Good lad.” He said, cupping his cheek in his palm once more and wiping away the bit of saliva that had escaped Sherlock’s mouth. “On your feet.”
Sherlock clambered to his feet, all traces of his normal grace gone in his haste to do what John bid him. John looked at him calculatingly for a moment and Sherlock shivered under the weight of his gaze. “Right.” John said after a moment of deliberation. “I want you to go over to the kitchen table and lean across it, I’ll be back in a moment I’m going to fetch some supplies.”
Sherlock hastened to obey, his pulse thundering in his ears.
“Oh, and Sherlock?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t you dare touch your cock.”
Sherlock nodded and went over to the table and leaned across it, wrapping his fingers around the edge and subsequently putting his bum prominently on display. He felt so exposed and vulnerable like this, he was sure his tiny hole was completely visible and he could feel his balls and cock hanging heavy between his legs. His cock gave a twitch at the thought of how he must look spread out like this.
His mind started racing toward what John was going to do to him, how he was going to take him and open him up, how he was going to possess and claim his body. Sherlock groaned and his arse clenched around nothing as his hips gave a tiny abortive thrust. He was so hard, he was sure his foreskin had fully retracted and the tip of his cock was shining with the precum he could feel leaking from him. His nipples pressed and rubbed against the table and came to stand even more prominently. The feel of the abrasive wood against his nipples sent prickles of pleasure racing through his spine and caused his hips to stutter forward once more.
His cock ached, the lack of attention it had received was making it even harder and he desperately needed a bit of friction; he desperately needed his cock to be touched. What was taking John so long?
Maybe if he just slid his hand down and gave his cock one little stroke it would take away some of the unbearable pressure. He glanced over his shoulder to check that John wasn’t in the room before he slid his hand down the table and traced his fingers along his abdomen.
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn't; if John caught him he would be furious. But just one couldn’t hurt, just one stroke and then he would put his hand back on the table and John would never have to know. He slid his hand down further and wrapped his fist firmly around his erection; he gave it one solid stroke and groaned at how incredible it felt. He couldn’t resist giving it another, or a third as his hips began to set up a rhythm, pumping his cock into his fist as he thought about John setting to work stretching out his tiny hole.
“Sherlock!” John’s commanding voice snapped at him.
Sherlock immediately froze, his hand releasing his cock and his hips stilling. He could feel a flush staining his cheeks and his chest at his lack of self control.
“What did I tell you?” John asked as he marched over to Sherlock and none to gently returned his hand to its place on the table above his head.
“Not to touch my cock.” Sherlock groaned as John adjusted his position, toeing Sherlock’s feet apart with his own and stretching his arms up higher on the table until Sherlock’s back arched a bit; he gave Sherlock’s hands a firm press against the table for good measure.
“That’s right. So imagine my surprise after giving a direct order to come in and find you disobeying me.” John took a step back from him and Sherlock could hear him setting something down on the counter behind him before rummaging around in the cupboards. “Do you know what happens to disobedient, naughty boys?” John asked.
Sherlock shuddered, “They get punished,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. What happens to naughty boys?”
“They get punished.” Sherlock said a bit more loudly, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment at being called naughty like a disobedient child.
“That’s right.” John said, setting a wooden spoon up on the counter by Sherlock’s face so he could see it. “I think an infraction such as this deserves twelve, don’t you agree?”
“Please, John, sir.” Sherlock pleaded, “Don’t use that.” The wooden spoon had a wicked sting that equally left Sherlock arching away from it and craving another.
“We’ll do the warm up first.” John said and Sherlock felt his hand come up and rub over his bottom as if he were trying to get an accurate feel for his target. “Six to start with, and I want you to count them. You miss one and I add another five. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
John's hand drew back, then Sherlock heard the clap of flesh on flesh as John’s hand whacked his right buttock firmly in the center. Sherlock could feel his bottom giggling and felt his cheeks flushing as he imagined what he must look like. “One, sir.” He gasped out.
John’s hand drew back once more before he gave Sherlock’s left cheek a matching hand print, “Two, sir.”
The next two landed in the center of Sherlock’s buttocks, one right after the other and Sherlock gasped out the numbers as the punishing force of the smacks drove his body forward, the motion caused his nipples to rub against the hard wood of the table. The next smack was delivered to the flesh in the crease between Sherlock’s buttock and thigh, “Five.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth as the sting faded a bit into a more widespread pain. John then delivered a blow to the exact same place on the opposite side. “Ahh. Six.” Sherlock gasped.
“Good boy.” John said, rubbing at Sherlock’s smarting flesh to disperse the sting a bit.
Sherlock groaned at the feeling of John’s hands on his smarting flesh; his cock throbbed between his legs. He wasn't entirely sure how it was this ridiculously sexy. From a logical standpoint (and if you'd ever asked Sherlock before John or outside of the context of John) leaning over a dining room table with his arse in the air and his bits hanging down while he was spanked like a naughty child didn't have any sort of appeal. In fact, it had rather the opposite, it sounded embarrassing and degrading and Sherlock was rather opposed to feeling degraded and embarrassed at an intellectual level.
But logic somehow didn’t seem to apply to his kinks where John was concerned. Somehow, standing on display in his kitchen, bent over the table and being spanked for his disobedience was the sexiest thing imaginable. His cheeks burned in mortification but his cock stood proud and flushed.
“Let’s put your hands to a better use, hmm?” John said.
It took Sherlock a moment to process but he eventually realized John was waiting for a response, “Sir?” he asked.
John took a step back from where he was standing, “Hold yourself open for me.”
Sherlock felt his cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red as he imagined reaching back and pulling apart his buttocks to display his tightly furled anus to John even more prominently. Why did he want to see it? What was the benefit to having him on display that way? Did he plan to spank the delicate skin between Sherlock’s buttocks with the unforgiving wooden spoon? It would sting unbearably. Sherlock shuddered at the thought and he felt a dribble of precum drip from the end of his erection and onto the floor.
“Sherlock.” John said warningly and without another thought Sherlock's hands came back to grip and part his heated buttocks. He whimpered a bit at the sensation of his palms touching his smarting flesh. “Better.” John told him and Sherlock couldn’t stop the happy shiver that raced up his spine at John’s praise.
Sherlock was still, allowing John to look at his hole and contemplate whatever he might do next. He jumped when he felt a slick finger press against his flesh but his yelp of surprise turned into a groan of pleasure as John pressed his index finger past the tight ring of muscles at his entrance. His muscles clenched instinctively against the intrusion for a moment before they relaxed.
“Mmmmmh. Yes.” John said softly and Sherlock relished the low, husky tone John’s voice had taken as he breached Sherlock with his thick digit. “Your hole is so tight, Sherlock.”
Sherlock didn’t respond with words but spread his stance a bit wider and pulled his buttocks a bit further apart to give John easier access, canting his hips up toward John’s fingers as he did.
“So eager,” John said as he added a bit more lube to his fingers and re-inserted his index finger, followed swiftly by a second. Sherlock whimpered and thrust his hips back on John’s fingers. “Be still.” John commanded with a sharp slap to the crease between Sherlock’s bum and thigh. Sherlock let out a high pitched whine as John continued to thrust his fingers inside him. “You’re always so impatient to be filled with my fingers and my cock or anything else I want to fuck you with.”
Sherlock felt his cheeks warm once again at John’s words as he reflected on how incredibly wanton he must look with his legs spread as far as he could manage and his hands prying apart his arse cheeks to allow John easy access to his hole. He could see it in his mind’s eye; his pink bottom; his hard, dripping cock; his balls drawn up tight and high to his body as it shook and trembled under John’s attention.
“But you’re my desperate, horny mess, aren’t you, Sherlock?” John asked as he rubbed his fingers teasingly along his prostate. “You only spread your legs for me, right?”
“Yes, Sir!” Sherlock cried out as John’s fingers stroked his prostate more firmly. “Only for you.” he panted, his cock leaking a copious amount of ejaculate on the floor as a result both of how completely desperate he was and from John’s toying with his prostate.
John hummed in a pleased manner before he removed his fingers and Sherlock groaned at the loss, “Please,” he panted, “Please, sir.”
“Did you think your punishment was over?” John asked.
Truthfully, in the heat of the moment Sherlock had forgotten about his punishment entirely. “Please, sir.” he whimpered. “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.” It was a bit of a risk, Sherlock knew but he continued, “I’ll be so good for you, I’ll ride your cock and take you so deep.” A panting moan fell from his lips as he thought about what he was offering John. “I’ll sink down on your thick cock so slowly and milk your orgasm right out of you, Sir. You’ll feel so good, I promise.” Sherlock groaned, his hips twitching as he spoke.
John hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t think so. You were a very naughty boy, Sherlock.” John replied. “And naughty boys can’t get away with doing bad things or they will never learn their lessons.”
Sherlock felt smooth, cool plastic slip between his buttocks and press against his hole. John hushed his whimpers as he slowly worked the large plug inside of him. The plug stretched and filled him, putting pressure in all of the right places as John pressed it the final few centimeters into his body.
“Good boy.” John said and Sherlock shuddered as the words made his balls clench painfully. “Put your hands back up on the table.” John instructed. “It’s time we finished your punishment.”
Sherlock groaned and released his hold on his bottom. The smarting had subsided but there was still a dull ache throughout his entire seat.
“You might want to get a grip on that table,” John suggested. “I have no intention of going easy on you.”
Sherlock wrapped his fingers around the table’s edge, his body quivering in anticipation; he felt goosebumps break out across the flesh of his exposed bum. John picked up the wooden spoon and rubbed the back of it along Sherlock’s sensitive flesh.
John’s arm drew back and he popped the spoon down with stinging precision on Sherlock’s right buttock, Sherlock momentarily froze at the pain that washed through him. “Seven.” He gasped out.
John drew back once more and brought the spoon down on the opposite buttock. Sherlock’s clenched his buttocks together in an effort to stop feeling the terrible sting the wooden spoon left on his bare bottom. “Eight.”
John brought the spoon down across the center of Sherlock’s arse, stinging both cheeks at once. “Ahhh.” Sherlock groaned, wiggling his hips a bit to stop the pain. “Nine.” He choked out. “Please, sir.” And at this point he wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for.
John brought the spoon down once more on the fleshiest part of Sherlock’s right buttock, “Ten.” He gasped.
“I love the way your plump little bottom giggles under my attention.” John said, his voice coming out dark and rough. “I could spank your naughty little bum all day, just to watch the way your arse moves.”
Sherlock’s anus clenched around the plug inside of him as he shuddered from John’s words. “Please.”
“Please what, Pet?” John asked, teasingly rubbing the spoon over Sherlock’s aching bottom.
“Please finish my punishment, sir.”
John hummed and the spoon was drawn back once more, he brought it down with enough force to make a tear spring to Sherlock’s eye. Sherlock gasped and fought the urge to come. He was so very close, but John would be so displeased. His mind was racing as he fought back the temptation to thrust into the empty air and release.
John cleared his throat, “What do you have to say Sherlock?”
“Oh.” Sherlock groaned out. “Eleven. Please, John. Oh, I’m sorry.” He didn’t think he could make it through another six, he would come for sure.
John rubbed his hand over Sherlock’s bottom, tracing the lines the spoon had left. “I think you deserve an extra one for the reminder. Two more, pet.”
“Yes, sir.” Sherlock said with a whimper.
But they didn’t come right away, instead John took the handle of the spoon and slid it up the split between Sherlock’s buttocks; starting just behind his balls and sliding it teasingly gently between his two plump cheeks. Sherlock moaned as the handle pressed lightly against the plug, causing it to shift slightly and provide a bit more pressure on his already sensitive prostate.
It was removed a moment later and then Sherlock felt John prying his inflamed cheeks apart to put the plug and subsequently his stretched hole on display oncr more. Sherlock heard the click of the lube being uncapped and shuddered as John poured a bit directly onto the base of the plug before working around it with his deft fingers. Very gently John pressed just the tip of his finger in next to the plug, running it around the rim of Sherlock’s anus once to spread the lube. Sherlock moaned, he felt so full, he knew he’d be fuller when John finally put his cock inside of him but it felt so incredible to be stretched around the plug. It felt dirty and a bit deviant and it made Sherlock’s cock leak even more.
“You like that, don’t you?” John’s voice washed over Sherlock’s senses, drowning him in the calming, commanding waves of John’s presence. “You just love having your tiny hole stretched so wide. Imagine how much better it will feel when it’s my thick, hard cock stretching you. Imagine how much fuller you’ll be.” John whispered softly.
Sherlock panted and tried not to come on the spot, John pulled his hand away and Sherlock saw the wooden spoon disappear from his peripheral. The hand holding his buttocks apart did not go away however. A moment later he discovered why as John brought the spoon down on the end of the plug.
He didn’t bring it down hard by any means but it was enough to make all of the sensitive nerve endings in his anus tingle, Sherlock all but howled at the sensation. “Twelve!” he cried out, practically in ecstasy. “Please, sir. Oooh, John, please.”
John brought the spoon down once more on the plug and Sherlock cried out, “Thirteen. Oh, thank you.” he felt a shudder rake through his body as John released his hold on Sherlock’s buttocks and set the spoon down.
“Good boy.” John murmured, softly, running a hand affectionately through Sherlock’s hair.
Sherlock could do nothing more than pant and give his head one shaky nod.
“Let’s get you a bit of cream for those welts, hmm?”
“Sir. Please.” Sherlock cried out desperately. His balls had clenched up so tightly to his body that they ached.
“Don’t worry, your arse will feel much better once I get the cream on it. It has a mild analgesic.” he informed him. Of course the slight smirk was evident in John’s voice, he loved it when Sherlock started to get really desperate; prolonging the inevitable was something John excelled in.
A moment later John’s sure hands were back on Sherlock's bottom once more. He gently rubbed the cream into the lines the spoon had left, hushing Sherlock’s whimpers as he went. “Good boy.” he murmured as he continued to rub at Sherlock’s buttocks and massage them in his palms.
Sherlock’s whimpers of sensitivity became whimpers of pleasure in about 3.5 seconds as he relaxed into John’s touch. John reached between Sherlock’s legs and fondled balls with his still lotion slicked palm and Sherlock keened as John rolled them in his palm and gave them a light tug away from Sherlock’s body. He reached further forward and gave Sherlock’s cock a leisurely stroke and Sherlock had to exhale heavily through his nose to keep himself from coming, his fingers digging into the table. John gave a small hum of approval and moved his hands back to massage Sherlock’s sore buttocks once more.
Drawing his buttocks apart, John gently ran the tips of his fingers between his cheeks, tweaking the plug is his arse. Sherlock could only groan as John grasped the plug more firmly and slowly drew it out. “Ahh.” He gasped as the widest portion slipped past the ring of muscles once more, causing a ripple of sensation to radiate through his body.
“That’s it, good boy.” John said softly as his fingers moved to take the place of the plug, he thrust two of them into Sherlock’s loosened hole. “You're still so tight.” John commented.
“Please.” Sherlock begged and John took it as the cue it was to slip a third finger in along with the first two. Thrusting them in and out a few times before spreading them and stretching out Sherlock’s hole even further. He didn’t waste any time or tease Sherlock any further and he was profoundly grateful for John’s fundamental understanding of his body and its needs and limits.
“You’re not to come until I say, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Sherlock said with a groan.
John’s fingers were removed once more and Sherlock felt his hole flutter at the loss, clearly trying to find something to draw back inside of him. He heard John’s fly unzip and then the muffled sound of clothing dropping to the floor before the head of John’s cock was pressing against Sherlock’s entrance.
“Yes.” Sherlock hissed, “Please, please, please.” he began chanting and John began to press forward. It was always such a stretch to get John’s cock inside of him, it sent a hot spike of pain at first and then a dull heat that spread throughout his entire body as he allowed John to open him up. The stretch and the burn felt exquisite and it was a feeling Sherlock had rapidly found himself addicted to.
“So fucking tight.” John said with a groan. “You always feel like a vice around my prick; hot and wet and smooth.” John licked a stripe up Sherlock’s back and nibbled at the sensitive skin on the back to Sherlock’s neck and just behind his ear.
Sherlock groaned and his hole twitched and clenched around John’s cock as he struggled not to come simply from having John filling him and putting pressure in all of the places he’d been so incredibly desperate to have it. When John was fully seated he stopped moving and stroked his hands up and down Sherlock's sides soothingly. He slid his hands up Sherlock’s arms and pinned them to the table as he sucked a deep bruise into the nape of his neck.
“Please.” Sherlock whimpered, he was starting to feel a bit frantic.
“Hush.” John said firmly. He took his time nibbling at the skin on Sherlock’s neck and shoulders. He moved his hips agonizingly slowly, drawing back out of Sherlock’s hole, circling his hips and teasing the sensitive flesh at the entrance of Sherlock’s body. When he was almost all the way out of Sherlock’s body, John snapped his hips forward plunging into Sherlock until his hips were flush with Sherlock’s arse. He kept up the erratic pace, wreaking havoc on Sherlock’s senses and keeping him off balance.
“John.” He panted out desperately, “I can’t...” he gasped a shuddering breath as he fought off his orgasm, “I’m going to-”
He was abruptly cut off as John reached down and firmly grasped the root of Sherlock’s cock to prevent him from coming. “Come on, Sherlock.” John said as he continued to thrust into his body, grinding his cock against Sherlock’s prostate on every thrust. “You can do this, control yourself.” John said in a commanding growl that vibrated through Sherlock’s entire body.
Sherlock let out a half scream, half sob and gripped the edge of the table even more firmly in his fingers. His breathing was ragged, his chest was heaving, and he was covered in sweat. If John didn’t let him come soon he was fairly certain he was literally going to die. He exhaled heavily and focused on calming himself down.
“Good boy.” John said, as he released the grip he had on Sherlock’s cock, his hands coming down to grip Sherlock’s hips as he plunged into him. “You’ve been such a good boy.” He grunted as he buried himself inside of Sherlock’s body. “You’ve done exactly as I told you and you took your punishment so well.” He smacked Sherlock’s arse lightly with his palm as a reminder.
Sherlock groaned as the smack sent a dull wave of pain through his body that his brain completely mixed with pleasure. “Sss.... Sir... Please.” Sherlock groaned. His forehead thumbed forward onto the table as he exhaled and poured every ounce of self control into keeping himself from losing it right then and there.
“Are you ready?” John asked in a dark husky whisper. “Do you want to come for me? Are you desperate, Sherlock?” John asked as he wrapped his fist around Sherlock’s cock and stroked it teasingly in time with his thrusts.
“Yes!” Sherlock wailed, his hips lost the battle to stay still and he began to pump his his in and out of John’s fist seeking friction in vain. “Please.” Sherlock begged. “Oh, please!”
“Good boy.” John encouraged, gripping Sherlock’s cock more firmly and adding a twist to the end of each stroke. He pounded into Sherlock’s body, driving his cock forward into his fist. “Come for me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock came explosively with a shout of ecstasy, “John, John, John.” He chanted as his hips continued rocking back and forth, his muscles clenching down hard around John’s cock.
“Sherlock.” John groaned as he lost himself in his own orgasm, thrusting once more into Sherlock’s body and stilling.
John rested his forehead against the middle of Sherlock’s back as the two of them caught their breath. After a long moment, John pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled out as gingerly as he could.
Sherlock winced at the sting as John slipped out. After a moment which Sherlock spent feeling like he was floating, John brought a flannel back and gently cleaned the mess off of him before grabbing the jar of lotion and applying a second coat of it over Sherlock’s still sore bum, paying special attention to the welts that had formed from the spoon.
When he finished he rubbed his hand over Sherlock’s back and pressed another kiss to the nape of his neck over the bruise Sherlock could still feel throbbing a bit. He had aches and twinges in all of the right places, he felt sore and beautiful. He sighed contentedly.
“Come on, love.” John murmured softly, massaging the muscles in Sherlock’s neck. “Let’s take a little nap before dinner, yes?”
Sherlock nodded but made no move to get up off the table he was still sprawled out across.
“Come on,” John nudged, “My shoulder’s flared up because of the rain, I can’t carry you today.” His voice had that fond sort of exasperation that Sherlock did truly love; it was a sound that Sherlock associated with jumpers and tea and home, it was the sound that left him feeling warm and fulfilled.
With a huge sigh and a mammoth amount of energy Sherlock pressed up off the table, stretching his muscles and feeling the pleasant burn. He hummed in what could only have been construed as a pleased manner
John shook his head, “You really are a pain slut, you know that?”
Sherlock grinned at him, “I didn’t before I knew you.”
John chuckled and pulled Sherlock into their bed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock as he pillowed his head on John’s chest. “Thank you for that.” Sherlock said through a yawn. “My body’s been trying to destroy itself all day.”
John hummed, “Don't mention it. How’s your bum? Not too sore?”
Sherlock shook his head, “It’ll be fine.”
“Good. I worry I’m a bit too rough sometimes.”
“I trust you implicitly, John. You know my limits far better than I do. Stop doubting yourself.” Sherlock yawned again, “You’re an idiot.”
John flicked his ear but also pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “I love you, too.” he replied; this was, of course, the exact correct response to the words ‘You’re an idiot’ coming from either of their mouths. The phrases were interchangeable in their vocabulary.
Sherlock smiled, he wasn’t sure how he had ever gotten quite this lucky, but somehow he’d found what he never thought he wanted. He wrapped his arm more firmly around John’s waist and gave him a light squeeze. John stroked his hair in acknowledgement and pressed another kiss to the crown of Sherlock’s head. They both drifted off to sleep, warm and cozy, cocooned in the world they’d made for themselves.