WARNING: There is a small mention of Sherlock's previous relationships, which implied dubious consent. Read with care.
Straddling John's lap, his long legs curled around the doctor's, Sherlock was desperate for affection. After leaving the doctor at the surgery and walking home, to go upstairs and stand in a corner by himself until John came home had drained him mentally and emotionally. By the time the doctor had returned, the detective was already in desperate need of being forgiven, and so to have been subjected to another punishment until he was allowed to be held close had been almost too much for him to cope with. Admittedly, he deserved every bit of it, and he knew that because John hadn't felt the smallest bit of remorse, apart from that moment just before the punishment, where Sherlock had knelt before him, and even then the emotion had been momentary. But now he felt he deserved to have John's full and constant attention, in the form of the doctor's hands all over him, and his lips firmly attached to the detective's own.
Happily, John seemed to agree.
Pulling the detective firmly against him, John paused in kissing for a moment, glancing down at Sherlock's wet lips and warm, responsive body. The detective had firmly fitted his hips against the doctor, and was rocking very gently against him, the movements become fiercer each time John's touch became firmer.
"You're so pretty when you want something."
Sherlock blushed at this inference to his eagerness, and bit his lip, thus only succeeding to look even prettier, and causing John's pupils to dilate until his iris' looked impossibly dark. In one quick movement, John turned and forced Sherlock from his lap and onto the bed, flinging one leg over him and trapping the detective's arms above his head. Leaning over him, John smiled at the flush that had risen up Sherlock's throat, and for a moment simply admired the body underneath him, spread out like warm, malleable marble.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
The detective's hips very gently thrusted up underneath John involuntarily, and his trapped arms were tense against John's grip. The sensation of John's hands wrapped around his wrists was delicious, and the heat and friction of the doctor's body was tantalising. He wanted everything at once – he wanted John's hands stroking him hair and kissing him gently whilst fucking him roughly, slamming into him painfully and unapologetically. He wanted gentle touches and harsh grip, violent kisses and the carefully running of a tongue over his bottom lip. He wanted biting and soothing, teasing and tormenting. The moans that escaped his mouth were nothing close to an answer, but he couldn't help it – the question had been far too difficult.
Again, John's actions were fast, but simple. Upon hearing no coherent reply, he spread his legs that straddled Sherlock's hips wide enough to turn the detective over underneath him, and releasing his submissive's hands, pushed the back of his legs up until he was kneeling. Using one hand to spank firmly over on the welts he'd administered only minutes ago, he used the other to grasp the back of Sherlock's thigh, forcing the gap between them wider.
The detective yelped in shock, and one of his hands came off the mattress for a moment to clutch thin air, before he replaced it reluctantly. The heat and pain over his arse was unbearable, and he shifted further up the bed to try and get away from it. John's hand snaked round his hip and pulled him back, while the other came to rest around his collar, pulling gently so that the detective's head was raised up slightly. Leaning over the arched back of his submissive, the doctor's lips were just millimetres from Sherlock's ear. There was a moment of silence, where both men breathed a little heavily, Sherlock attempting to recover from the rapidity of John's actions. The tension rose; the air was thick was heat.
"When I ask you a question, what do you do?" John asked, his voice quiet, controlled, dangerous.
A small whimper escaped Sherlock's throat. John's hips were pressed into his lower back, the hand that curled around his collar was firm and steady. The voice in his ear was filled to the brim with dominance, and it made the submissive's stomach curl with delicious nerves.
"Good boy," the doctor said, the words falling from his lips with such sinister gentleness that it made Sherlock's half-hard cock stir.
"When I give an order, what do you do?"
These answers were so much easier, Sherlock thought. His breathlessness had nothing to do with exertion, and the shake in his voice had nothing to do with uncertainty.
"Follow it, Sir."
"Who do you belong to?"
Oh God. Sherlock urged his body not to move, not to give away just how much it responded to that tone, those words. He suddenly noticed the clearness in his mind – there was nothing in it, nothing screaming and throwing its fists against the wall, just simply –
Sherlock felt the doctor nod ever so slightly.
"That's right. You're mine, Sherlock. You answer to me, you obey me; you submit to me. And I think someone as beautiful and clever as you can do those three things very easily, don't you?"
Sherlock swallowed, and would have nodded if there wasn't a hand on his throat, keeping him in place.
"Good boy. You're going to be so good for me. You're going to take a packet of lube from that drawer just there, and prepare your tight hole for me to use, aren't you?"
"Yes, Sir", the detective replied, trying to ignore the desperation in his voice, how needy and eager his tone could become in a matter of seconds.
"I don't want you writhing around all over the place. I want you exactly as you are now, just with your legs spread wider so I have a beautiful view to come back to. Understood?"
"Good." The doctor kissed his submissive lightly on the ear, and plucked the tawse from where it had been discarded underneath the detective.
"One more thing..." he added, releasing his hand from Sherlock's collar and ignoring the submissive's pleading whimper. Standing, he walked over to the drawer he'd had Sherlock open hours ago and replaced the implement, and from another drawer higher up, retrieved an item that made Sherlock fall silent.
Walking slowly back towards his submissive, the doctor noted the conflicting tension in the detective's shoulders, the perfect arch of his back, the beautiful shades and tones that littered Sherlock's body. Coming to a halt, he stroked Sherlock's hair carefully away from his face, and watched as the detective slowly opened his mouth; obedient and expectant.
The gag was gently fastened, and pausing only to stroke a thumb along one of his submissive's cheekbones, John left the room, flinging an order over his shoulder for Sherlock to be ready for him when he got back.
Sherlock hurriedly retrieved the required packed from the drawer, and rather self-consciously spreading his legs wider, squeezed an amount onto his fingertips. Reaching behind him, he tensed slightly at the sensation of his own digits circling his entrance, alternately pressing and smoothing over the ring of muscle. Absent-mindedly, he bit down on the silicone locked between his teeth in concentration, as his body began to react to his tentative touches. Sherlock had been gagged by other men countless times before – it was usually one of the first things they did to him. But this was oddly different. In all other cases, the Dom had simply forced the gag into his mouth before fastening it tightly behind his head, with enough aggression to put him off balance, and to give them a head-start in forcing other things into him. This, in comparison, was how he thought it was supposed to feel. The gag fitted well, and it didn't give him that strange sense of unease he'd grown accustomed to. Like everything that belong to John, it was well looked after, and it was peculiar how turned on the detective became from listening to his own stifled moans as he pushed his fingers carefully inside himself, relaxing into the familiarity of his own body. He knew that dominance-wise, allowing your submissive to touch themselves unattended and for an unspecified space of time was unusual, but John had asserted his authority in so many other ways, that Sherlock couldn't help but feel like he was being controlled even more so than if it had been John who was touching him. Moaning quietly, his back arched sharply as his hips rocked against his fingers, urging his hand to move quicker – to satisfy the slow ache that was beginning to rise up in his hard cock. A small line of saliva escaped from his lower lip and ran down his chin, making him moan with embarrassment. No-it wasn't just embarrassment anymore, was it? It was arousal, arousal because he knew his embarrassment made John's desire for him animalistic, predatory. When he felt at his most disgusting and messy and used – that's when the doctor would come undone.
The tension in his stomach was curling like a coiled spring, his fingers now roughly thrusting and scissoring inside him, he heard John's footsteps along the landing, and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how much long he could go on before he began to squirm and writhe against the bed, and he wanted to stay still, like the doctor had told him too. Hearing the door open behind him, Sherlock whimpered earnestly, his body straightening and his legs spreading just a little wider. He could feel John's eyes on him, just watching him.
Sherlock whimpered, but quickly obeyed this abrupt instruction, listening to the sounds of John undressing behind him.
"That's a good boy...you're so beautiful."
The weight of the mattress shifted as John knelt behind his submissive, carefully soothing his hands over the detective's back, stroking along the dip of his spine before allow his fingers to travel round to Sherlock's torso, where he found the pink buds of his nipples and pinched them sharply. Sherlock gasped and gave a guttural moan, his head arching back for a moment, his eyes closed. Fingers trailed through his hair – the doctor's hands smelling vaguely of fresh ginger. John kissed his submissive's shoulder blades lightly before biting down on the skin just below the detective's collar, just above the dip in his collarbone. Leaving a purpling bruise, the doctor straightened, and let his hands trail down to Sherlock's hips, clutching tightly to elicit another gorgeous moan from him, and then using a practised hand to spread his submissive's cheeks a little wider. Lining himself up, John pressed carefully but firmly inside the detective, groaning in pleasure himself as his balls finally nudged against Sherlock's entrance.
"Good boy," he said a little breathlessly, "You've done perfectly."
Sherlock made a little noise of pleasure at this praise, and John smiled, rubbing his hands along the detective's back. Slowly pulling his cock almost all the way out, before carefully thrusting himself back in, revelling in how well Sherlock's body responded to him, shifting and arching to accommodate his cock, and squirming softly at the sensation of it moving inside of him. John quickly found a pace that seemed to make Sherlock the happiest, keeping his hands busy over the landscape of the detective's body and murmuring softly to him, whilst Sherlock's whimpers and moans became more pointed by the second.
"Fold your arms behind you, beautiful, and rest your shoulders on the mattress...that's it, bring your knees up a little, good boy..."
From this position, Sherlock could feel the motion of every thrust, and noted that John was being gorgeously gentle, giving him time to react to each individual movement of the doctor's body. Not that Sherlock didn't love being manhandled and taken by John, his body overcome with erratic and rapid thrusts that made him shake and orgasm violently, in fact that's exactly what he'd wanted about five minutes ago. But his mood had shifted, he felt tired of violent emotions, and now all he really need was the doctor to take care of him.
Suddenly, John's hips smacked into him, the sensation jarring up his body, and making him gasp in shock. Immediately, the doctor's hand was carding through his hair, and caressing his back, stroking apologies into his skin.
"Sorry, beautiful, are you alright?"
Sherlock nodded into the mattress, but made a small whimpering noise to register his displeasure.
The doctor leant forward and gently kissed him all the way down his back. John had been so busy caught up in a state of his own pleasure, that he'd momentarily forgotten the pace he'd set for himself, and his hips had impulsively thrust into his submissive in an intense desire for friction. He was obviously closer to the edge than he thought he was. It rarely happened, John was usually pretty masterful at controlling his needs to suit Sherlock's, and it was just unfortunate that this mistake had occurred during a particularly intimate moment between him and his submissive.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he very carefully slid back into Sherlock, and said apologetically, "All those times I've told you off for rutting like a desperate schoolboy, and I've just done it."
Sherlock laughed quietly behind his gag and said something incoherent, each word distinctly marred by the silicone in his mouth. Although, bearing in mind Sherlock's reputation for cheek, alongside the intonation with which he said it, John had a pretty good idea of what he might have said.
"No, that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to come. I get a warning first, don't I?"
Sherlock laughed softly again, and nodded, before his expression changed back to one of pure wanton pleasure. John's hand wrapped around his submissive's cock, swirling his thumb over the tip before sliding his hand down to the base and back up. His other hand reached round the detective's torso and gently teased his nipples, all the while carefully focusing on keeping himself steady. Sherlock's moans weren't loud, but they made up for it in intimacy – each one long and drawn out with emotional desire. His body was squirming gently, and John could hear him panting a little.
"Can you spread your legs a little wider for me? That's good, good boy. You feel amazing, Sherlock... and you're all mine."
Sherlock made a noise of agreement, and after a few moments, his noises cranked up a notch, and he pulled his knees further towards him.
"Are you close, beautiful?"
Sherlock nodded, his eyes closed and frowning deliciously. His hands clenched behind his back and he whined quietly to himself, pushing back a little on John's cock. The doctor himself could feel himself quickly being pulled over the edge by Sherlock's little noises and movements, and was determined to keep his thrusts into his submissive as even as he possibly could.
"Do you want to come?"
Sherlock nodded again, and John heard was sounded like a stifled "please". That gag was doing things to the doctor that he hadn't realised it could. The detective's moans seemed amplified by it, as they were the only noises he was really capable of making. The noise went straight to John's cock, and he could feel his thrusts becoming more shallow, and haphazard.
"What if I say no?"
His submissive whimpered pitifully, his face turning to bury him in the duvet for a second as he attempted to control himself. He couldn't articulate how he'd feel if John didn't let him come, and it made his frustrated enough to writhe and shift his weight from hip to hip. But the gag seemed to have a pacifying effect on him, and he couldn't find it in himself try and shout or kick his feet or move out of position.
Reaching his own limit in the face of seeing and hearing Sherlock in such a submissive state, John could no longer afford to tease him, for his own sake.
"Come for me then, Sherlock."
The detective's orgasm did not hit him in the face quite as much as others in the past, but it was in every way just as incredible. His whole body tensed, and his breath caught in his throat and he knew the tension in his own body would send John over the edge into his own orgasm. It was strangely euphoric and Sherlock was so glad to have found someone who took into consideration how he felt, and what he wanted. To him, although he supposed his situation was strange, that seemed rare.
John's senses came back to him after a few moments, and he gently pulled out of his submissive and shifted up the bed, before pulling the detective close to him. Gently unfastening the gag from the back and removing it, the doctor checked over Sherlock's face for marks before kissing him gently on the lips, and wrapping his arms around him. The detective accepted the kiss slowly and thoughtfully, and returned it gently. Frowning and pulling away, he stared at John through strangely clear eyes.
The doctor frowned back at him in concern. "Are you alright?"
"I'm in love with you." Sherlock said bluntly, still staring at John in complete bewilderment.
"I'm in love with you too," John replied calmly. "There's no need to be so unhappy about it."
For a moment, Sherlock carried on just looking at him, shifting his gaze from one eye to the other. Then, the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a smile.
"You're in love with me?"
John sat up and pulled Sherlock onto his lap.
"I've loved you since the first time we sat like this."
The detective narrowed his eyes, and looked for evidence of a lie in John's face. Upon finding none, he wrapped his arms around the doctor's neck and said:
"That's the first day we met."
John grinned and kissed his forehead. "You must have made quite an impression, then."
NOTE: HELLO ANYONE WHO HASN'T GIVEN UP HOPE. I went to Switzerland again, which is why it's taken so long for me to write this, although my reasons for not posting it for so long after I'd written it remain entirely unknown. Off to the corner with me. If anyone spotted the incredibly obvious clue I left as to what might be entailed in the next chapter, well done you. Anddd yes, sappy ending to the chapter, sorry, I thought it was long overdue and needed to be said. Reviews are always welcome, and anyone who's still reading this, as always, deserves some kind of reserved place in perverted heaven. I love you all.