Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from writing this. Just too inspired by the show that I had to borrow them.
A/N: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone! I know I'm almost a month late for Christmas, etc, but I couldn't go without saying it to all my beloved readers - I hope you all had a fab time!
Once again, thank you for your support and your patience while I've been writing this. Christmas, New Year and Sherlock Series Three does take it out of one, believe me. I feel like I've run the bloody marathon!
To allay anyone's fears, this story will not be influenced by the events of series three, or indeed any of the series to date. I only refer to them occasionally as a character study and I won't be making any references to series three in this story. Officially Spoiler Free!
Enjoy my lovelies! Xxx
No sooner had the words escaped John in a rush before Sherlock's mouth was on his again, pushing his tongue past John's lips and practically invading every corner he could reach. John moaned into the onslaught, letting his mouth go soft so Sherlock could explore to his heart's content, the subtle dominance urging him to surrender to Sherlock in a way that somehow surpassed the surrender that came with pain.
He'd seen Sherlock do this before (not kissing because he would've remembered that), but absorb himself in something so entirely that the man experienced it with all his senses, and it still felt a little daunting to be on the receiving end because it was like being one of Sherlock's experiments. This wasn't completely the same as Sherlock's experiments though, some of which could be started and forgotten about within the first five minutes. In this, John felt more like the very expensive bottle of Cockburn Vintage Port that Mycroft had given them as a post-case present (all national security, very hush hush), never mind the fact that Sherlock had flat-out refused to take it and Mycroft had given it to John for safe-keeping.
"Nineteen-twenty-seven," Mycroft drawled with a distinct authority when the port traded hands. "A very good year, John, so do try to make sure it doesn't end up down your sink like the previous bottle. This vintage is very hard to come by."
John nodded and quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock once Mycroft left the flat, querying, "So, your brother… Bit of a port fan, is he?" Sherlock didn't dignify him with a reply, instead burying himself more deeply into his dressing gown and giving John ample opportunity to hide the gift before Sherlock could get any ideas.
It was a good thing John had hidden it too because, once the danger of Sherlock throwing a fit over seeing the bottle had passed, the port had definitely been something to savour. Sherlock himself had served the ruby liquid into glasses fit for the purpose and they'd both hummed appreciatively as the berry flavours, tinted with a smidge of toffee and chocolate that came from the aging process, swirled inside their mouths and left a deep burn when swallowed. It had been so good that even Sherlock had smiled with it.
"It's all chemistry," Sherlock said, peering over the rim of his glass at John. "The time the grapes are picked, which ones you choose, the barrels the port is stored in. All done purposefully to achieve a certain result," followed by another slow sip and accompanied with half-closed eyes and a deep rumble in Sherlock's chest. "Of course they can't account for all the variables, but this… This is exquisite."
Smiling into the kiss at the memory, John tangled a hand in Sherlock's curls and slid his fingers around the back of Sherlock's skull, increasing the pressure between their lips marginally before releasing his hold. "We shouldn't keep Greg waiting," he said and gasped when his bottom lip was nipped between Sherlock's teeth.
"No, we really shouldn't," Sherlock agreed, pulling back and getting to his feet.
As Sherlock waltzed around the flat, gathering his shoes, coat and scarf, John finished dressing himself before he began to stand up and he couldn't stop his jaw clenching when the plug twisted inside him, pushing on new muscles that had yet to get used to the unyielding stretch of the plastic. He was relieved in a way that the plug wasn't long enough to reach his prostate, but he also wasn't stupid enough to realise that it wouldn't matter when Sherlock switched the damn vibrations on, and the smirk Sherlock gave him when they made eye contact left no doubt that the detective already knew this little fact. It was then that John felt a small bout of nerves at what they were about to do, which was bloody ridiculous really because he'd invaded Afghanistan and having a plug up his arse as they went to NSY certainly didn't come anywhere close to that, but still…
Shoving his nerves aside, John applied himself to the task of finding his shoes, shifting from one foot to other as he gingerly tested any new limitations caused by the plug. It turned out it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, so long as he didn't make any sudden movements with his hips, and he shot a small grin at Sherlock as he slipped his shoes on.
When he was finally ready, navigating his way from the living room to the front door was proving to be a trial in its own right and John forced himself to use the time wisely. He tried not to think about the movement of the plastic inside him and made a concerted effort to walk as he normally would, shoulders back, feet square, facing forward and, 'Holy Jesus, fuck!' His erection gave a deep throb at the first pulse of the toy and he stumbled against the wall next to the stairs, heaving in great gulps of air and clenching his eyes shut as each shift of his body pushed the vibrating toy against as yet untouched areas.
Only the tight grip of Sherlock's hands around his waist stopped him from sliding to the floor in a heap and possibly tumbling down the stairs. "Careful," Sherlock said as his breath ghosted over the nape of John's neck. "We don't want you have a little accident, do we. Now slow your breathing down, John. That's it…"
Gradually John managed to be his breathing under control, using Sherlock's touch at his waist to ground him though the intense sensations happening between his glutes. The rim of his arse continually clenched around the base of the plug and each pulse centred itself in his prick, which had gone from a vague awareness to please-touch-me-right-this-second. 'I could come like this,' John thought, and bit into his bottom lip to distract himself because thinking like that certainly wasn't going to help.
Neither was the second setting on the remote Sherlock held, followed quickly by the third.
"Sherlock! Oh God please!" John begged, the strength of the vibrations becoming audible when he unintentionally held his breath for a second or two. It was so wrong, but he half-hoped the Yard would have a nice grisly murder by the time they got there because it was becoming a very likely possibility that he would die of embarrassment if they were pulled into a quiet office with Lestrade on their own. He pressed his forehead against the wall he was partially leant against and wished it was colder, the sweat already beginning to form under the collar of his jumper as the toy had its ruthless way with him.
"Ssshhh…" Sherlock stroked one hand through John's hair that left a tingling sensation in its wake, like a spider had just crept across his skull. The detective's body heat pressed against his back, almost pushing him into the wall, and Sherlock's coat draped around them in a small flourish before settling just within John's line of sight where he was looking at the floor. He felt like he was being smothered. "Mrs Hudson is just downstairs. You don't want her to hear, do you?"
John cursed again, reaching up for Sherlock's hand on his head and twining their fingers together. "Sher… Ahh God, you're killing me." No, no, no, moving was such a bad idea right now, don't try to move… Try to move… Yes, just… there, ung, "Yesss," and, oh, when had his hips started moving? His jeans were so tight now, pressing on the head of his cock in a growing constriction as his flesh swelled beneath the fabric and Sherlock was so firm, Christ, was that Sherlock's erection beginning to twitch against him? And the vibrations were bloody fantastic, don't stop, Sherlock, please, "Don't stop…"
A small groan filled John's ears. "Again," Sherlock breathed, sliding the hand from John's waist to the front of his jeans where he could barely feel the pressure.
"Don't stop," John repeated, his voice cracking a little at the end.
"Don't… don't stop, Sherlock, please." Sherlock's hand pressed against John's erection with a firmer touch in answer, sliding the heel down his length once, twice, before it was gone and the vibrations did the exact opposite of his plea. John whimpered, actually whimpered when Sherlock moved away, his hands gently turning John's body so his back was against the wall. John looked up at Sherlock through vision gone slightly fuzzy around the edges, having to shut them for a second because Sherlock was looking at him like that and it wasn't fair that the other man looked that bloody gorgeous when all John wanted to do was climb up him.
"There'll be time for that later," Sherlock said, almost as though he'd read John's mind and John's thoughts, as highly strung as they were, immediately diverted to what Sherlock might be thinking about. Possibly of pressing him back against the wall and hoisting him up so he could wrap his legs around Sherlock's hips as he was lowered onto a hard, thick cock, muffling his cries into Sherlock's coat collar.
Oh, now there was a thought.
Maybe Sherlock would be fully clothed while John was completely naked, just opening the fly of his trousers so he could expose himself and all John would feel was the slick slide of that organ inside him, followed by the harsh press of a zip against the soft skin of his groin, making him hiss as the thrusts deepened, became harder… 'Stop it, John!'
"Are we going?" he asked, a little sharper than intended, but the look Sherlock gave him was completely understanding and, because of that, just a little infuriating.
"Whenever you're ready," was the reply, followed by a wink before Sherlock descended the stairs ahead of him.
The cab ride, to John's relief, was completely uneventful. He'd been tense the whole time they were confined in the small space because the cabbie hadn't even had the decency to put the radio on to cover up the noise if Sherlock activated the plug, but he supposed it wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Put simply, the toy wouldn't have been heard because of the positively indecent amount of traffic on the road, 'thank God for last minute Christmas shopping,' but Sherlock had probably had the same idea and was waiting for a more opportune moment.
Not that John could give it any more attention than that. No, all of his focus was on trying not to wince when he sat down, figuring out how to shift his body in a way that lessened the pressure in his groin and still managed to look normal. The chill of the weather helped disguise the flush in his cheeks at least (and he hadn't had the forethought of grabbing his scarf or jacket) which meant he could use it as a viable excuse for his reactions to the toy. He could just envision the conversation… "Sorry, Greg, I think I'm coming down with the flu. Can't you tell by the flushing or the sweating? No, the moaning is actually me writhing in pain, not because I have a vibrating butt plug up my arse."
Too soon for comfort, Scotland Yard loomed into view outside the cab window and John swallowed against the butterflies in his stomach, plucking at the sleeves of his jumper. He glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye and saw the other man give him a measured look, actually saw Sherlock's eyes glance down at what his hands were doing, before the detective passed the cabbie the fare and opened the door to the pavement, getting out with his coat flaring behind him.
John eyed the open door with a little wariness where Sherlock was waiting for him, suddenly unwilling to get off his seat for half a second and then telling himself, in no uncertain terms, to get a grip. 'You got in the fucking cab, you can bloody well get out of it.' Shuffling along his seat, he murmured a quick thanks to the driver and stepped onto the payment, turning to shut the door after him. 'Nnnggg… Should've accounted for that,' he thought;his eyes half closing when the turn in his body caused a similar, and altogether more pleasurable, twist in his arse.
"John." Sherlock's voice snapped him out of it, the daze he'd launched himself into, and he realised he'd been standing on the side of the road as though he wanted to cross it, judging by the looks of irritation on the drivers faces who were waiting for him.
"Sorry," he said, mouthing the word more than necessary so the drivers could see it, and then stepped away from the curb so he could face the entrance to the Yard and Sherlock. He shrugged. "Lost myself there a bit."
Sherlock put his hands into his coat pockets, sidling up to John until their proximity lay on the border of almost-too-close-between-friends. "Uncomfortable?" he asked, dipping his head down with his voice low.
"Not terribly, no."
"Good." Sherlock's eyes glanced around the area, a subtle sweep, taking in the bustling streets and the few policemen who were still on duty. "Still, it would be terribly remiss of me to leave you out in this weather for longer than necessary." He looked back at John and his eyes smouldered for an instant. "Shall we?"
The heat was the first thing to hit John when they walked through the front doors, the air conditioning set to what felt like tropical temperatures to keep the cold air out. Looking around, John saw that there were still quite a few people in the office and they looked rushed off their feet, the phones ringing almost constantly in the background as they tried to get everything sorted before their own holidays started. Honestly though, did the office have to be this damn hot? He felt the skin on his face prickle as the cold was leeched from it to be replaced with heat and he made a show of rubbing his hands up and down his arms as though he was warming up. Sherlock had barely paused once they'd entered the building and John kept his eyes on Sherlock's back, following the taller man on the way to Lestrade's office and quirking an eyebrow when Sherlock led them away from the quickest route. "Erm, Sherlock?"
"Just a little detour, John," Sherlock said over his shoulder, marching his way through the corridors until John realised where Sherlock was taking them.
"And what exactly are we doing here?" John asked, watching as Sherlock checked down the corridor leading off from the main toilets with quick, almost erratic movements. "I thought you went before we left. What…? What are you doing? Oi!" John barely had time to react before Sherlock manhandled him to the disabled toilet on their right, one built for a single occupant, and pressed John against one of the walls with one hand while he turned and locked the door with the other. "What the hell are you doing?" John said and gasped when Sherlock turned back to him and pressed a gloved hand over his mouth.
"You didn't think I'd let you off that easy, did you?" Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing as he took in John's surprise like it was something rare to be dissected and categorised. "Coming to the Yard, a little buzz here and there to keep you on your toes while you struggle to keep a straight face? You clearly underestimate yourself, John, as you underestimate your ability to deal with this. I'm reminding you that I'm not here to make it easy for you."
John muffled a protest under Sherlock's hand, grabbing hold of Sherlock's wrist to try and pull it away from his face. He got what he wanted (Sherlock did remove his hand under the pressure), but he didn't expect the tables to be turned on him, the detective taking hold of his wrists and pinning them above his head, high up so he was almost on the tips of his toes. "Christ!"
"Know your place," Sherlock growled, deep and unfathomable, and John's bones ached when he finally understood what Sherlock was doing. His attempts to struggle out of the uncomfortable position stopped immediately and he sank against the tiled wall.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, keeping his head lowered and his eyes averted away from Sherlock's. "Fuck, I'm sorry."
Sherlock's hands transferred John's wrists until they were being held by just one and the fingers of the other crept under John's chin, turning his head up so he could see Sherlock's face. "Relax," Sherlock said, pressing his face close to John's until they were sharing the same breath. "Trust me."
"I do," John replied, pressing his lips against Sherlock's briefly. "God help me, I do."
Sherlock didn't say anything further, kissing him again with a soft, almost tentative touch; an acceptance of John's declaration. The hand underneath John's chin slid down his body with no preamble, boldly cupping his groin and kneading his cock until it was straining under his jeans, stimulated by the rough press of Sherlock's clever fingers. "Some ground rules," he murmured, sharp eyes watching the way John's body jerked against his hand. "You're not allowed to lose your erection while we're here and, if you feel like it's happening, I want you to do something about it. You can think about whatever you want; the dirtier it is the better, quite frankly, but I'm not interested in how you do it. I want you as close to coming as you dare without going any further."
"Jesus," John gasped, thrusting his hips into Sherlock's hand and trying to stop himself at the same time. "What happens if I can't control it?"
"Then I'll tie you to the bed, put a bigger vibrator inside you and leave you there until the batteries run out," Sherlock growled. "Oh yes, you might think it sounds good now," he said, watching the flush spread over John's face, "but it won't be so much fun after the first hour. Not when I change the vibrations every few minutes, barely giving your body enough time to adjust. Can you imagine it, John? How your body would sink in relief at a lower one, only to be fraught with tension as you longed for a stronger pulse?"
That was half the problem actually, because John could imagine it.
His cock would be throbbing after the first ten minutes and his breathing would quicken, his voice becoming raw from his cries of pleasure after the first twenty. His wrists and ankles would start to ache after his almost constant tugging on his bonds and his body would be soaked with sweat, straining for a release that wouldn't be granted until Sherlock allowed it. If prostate stimulation was involved he'd probably leak so much that, by the time he came, it would be dry, but so fucking strong that blacking out was a strong possibility.
Oh yes, he could imagine it, but he couldn't decide whether he'd be begging Sherlock to stop after the first hour or pleading him for more.
You need to stop making punishment sound bloody fantastic," he said, allowing the desire he was feeling to colour his voice, to fill his eyes so it was all Sherlock would see.
Sherlock chuckled and the low sound curled around John's prick and squeezed. "Don't be fooled, John," he said eventually. "It's not an incentive." He let go of John's wrists, allowing him to settle his weight back on the heels of his feet. "Are we clear?"
"Crystal," John said, grabbing Sherlock's coat once his hands were free and rearing up to press his mouth against Sherlock's, biting at his lips and sucking on Sherlock's tongue until they were both panting. Only then did he pull back, licking the traces of Sherlock's saliva from his mouth. "Let's go."
A few precious seconds were spared to check appearances in the loo mirror and then Sherlock was ushering John out the door towards the main corridor, and John exhaled a small sigh of relief that they hadn't been spotted leaving the same toilet. He didn't know what they'd have done if someone like-
"So the DI finally arrested you, did he?"
John groaned inwardly, barely keeping the grimace off his face when Sally Donovan walked right up to them and stepped in front of their path. Just what he needed…
"Ah, Sally. Always a pleasure," Sherlock said, giving her a cheeky grin and looking pointedly around the office. "Anderson not around?" At Sally's glare, Sherlock's face only settled into a knowing smirk. "Oh, away with the family, is he? Well, that's to be expected. Can't have the wife getting suspicious at such a festive time of the year."
Sally frowned, her face almost turning to stone as she looked at John instead. "Why are you still following this guy?"
John pretended to think about it for a bit. "Err, because he's bloody brilliant," he replied, offering Sally one of his most pleasant demeanours. "And he's good at what he does." Including buggering the hell out of John's mind but Sally obviously didn't know that. 'Speaking of buggering…' His cock twitched at the memory of Sherlock's own hardness pushing its way inside him, larger than the toy currently taking its place by far, and John couldn't wait to have it again. He knew he'd be stretched enough after the toy was removed so it was be so easy for Sherlock to push against his arse, forcing his way in until John felt the man's balls on his cheeks.
Hmmmmm… Perhaps after they were through here.
Discernable to anyone because of the office noise, and perhaps because of the turn his thoughts had taken, the toy began to throb inside him.
John felt the muscles on his face freeze as the pleasurable sensations crept through his groin in a white hot smoulder, causing his passage to flex and grasp at the plastic warmed by his body heat. 'For God's sake, John, keep it together.' He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to keep himself balanced and to give himself a small burst of relief from the gathering tightness in his abdomen, clasping his hands behind his back and unable to stop thinking about the plug happily buzzing in his arse. Somewhat sadistically for him, he really hoped Sally could read the satisfaction on his face because he doubted Anderson was even half as considerate a lover as his very own consulting detective, and Sherlock had such a good understanding of what John wanted, both in bed and out of it that it was difficult not to feel smug.
So much for feeling humiliated in front of Sally.
Going by the look on her face, he was pretty sure some of it got through. "You're both barmy. Completely mad!"
"Makes for an interesting ice-breaker," Sherlock said, leaning down so he was at Sally's eye level. "Now, if you don't mind, Sergeant, we're here to see the DI." He looked over his shoulder at John and they both grinned stupidly at each other until Sally walked off with a huff, shaking her head as she went.
John wished he'd remembered his phone so he could take a picture and just about masked his grunt of displeasure with a fake cough when the toy stopped. "You're a piece of work," he said to Sherlock, not at all unkindly, and he knew Sherlock would know what he meant by it.
"Always, John," Sherlock said, his eyes filled with humour and no small dash of desire before it was hidden again, recommencing their visit to Lestrade with a buoyancy in his step that John couldn't stop smiling at.
Lestrade's door was open when they finally got there and Sherlock didn't even voice a greeting, walking straight in and sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Lestrade's desk, taking his gloves off and removing his scarf. The DI, currently on his mobile, gave Sherlock an impatient look before motioning John inside. John took the remaining seat with more care than it would normally warrant, trying to avoid pinching his dick in his zip because that would certainly kill off his libido, and took a moment to see that his seat was more in front of Lestrade's monitor than the man himself. Sherlock's chair to John's left was more centralised, making the detective the more prominent figure, and John wondered whether Sherlock's choice of seating was a deliberate one. No, scrap that. Whatever Sherlock did, it was always done deliberately.
Across from them, Lestrade hung up on the other person and placed his mobile on his desk, huffing a bit before leaning back in his chair and absently twirling a pen between the fingers of his right hand. "Took you long enough! When I said before midday, Sherlock, I didn't actually mean the exact minute before."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Shame. I'm not actually a mind-reader but I can understand why you'd think otherwise. Perhaps you should just specify a time."
"Most people don't need telling."
"I'm not most people."
John listened to the exchange with half an ear, his eyes dancing between Sherlock and Greg as they volleyed barbs at each other. It was all in good nature, of course, because Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to piss off the one man who could cut off his access to crime scenes and, more than that, Greg actually seemed to be enjoying it. Maybe bantering with Sherlock provided him with some sort of stress relief and, considering the state of the people outside his office, John wouldn't be surprised if some impromptu verbal sparring was just what Greg needed at this time of year.
'You're not meant to thinking about that, dammit!' Short of clamping his hands over his ears to drown out their words, John tried to let his focus drift away to the state of his cock without Greg noticing, feeling the distinct press of it inside his boxers as it fought for room in the small space. Despite his careful posture, any position would be uncomfortable now because Sherlock had made it impossible not to be hard. If he kept his erection, the pressure inside his jeans was enough to make him ache for more, no question, and if he somehow lost his erection, the very thought of what Sherlock would do to him afterwards was certainly more than adequate at making John's blood rush in his veins. The thought of that vibrator inside him, left there for hours…
"As riveting as this is, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled, "I do have some cultures in the kitchen which are nearing a crucial stage in their development so if we could hurry this along…"
Lestrade paused mid-rant. "Cultures?"
"Yes. There is a rather virulent strain of TB that I simply must attend to before it spreads-"
That was enough to wake John up. "He's kidding!" he interjected, leaning forward in his seat to get Lestrade's attention and wishing that he really hadn't when the toy moved with him, giving his cock a thick, almost lazy pulse. He kept his eyes on Lestrade's face, forcing a calmness he really didn't feel; all he really wanted to do was take his clothes off. "He's kidding," he repeated. "It's just mould, not TB."
Sherlock canted a look at him. "You've been paying attention."
John shrugged. "Only so I know whether or not we need to borrow Mrs Hudson's fridge. She's going to start charging us for that, by the way."
Sherlock made a vaguely disagreeing noise (probably at the audacity of being charged for a fridge he never used), and turned his attention back to Lestrade. "Well, you wanted us here. Although why you couldn't have just used John's blog for our statements-"
"We've been over this," Lestrade interrupted. "Look, I know it's bothersome to your mould growths-"
Lestrade paused, taking a deep breath. "I personally don't give a flying frack what you do in your own kitchen as long as I don't get a phone call at the end of it, Sherlock. And you know we can't use John's blog because we need…"
John slouched back in his seat, rubbing a thumb and forefinger over his eyes as he waited for the end of the debate between the two men and nearly jumped half a mile when the vibrations started again.
From his slouched position with his legs slightly apart in front of him, the toy left little to no noise above the sound of the two men in the room with him but, oh boy, did it feel like they would notice anyway. The fingers of his right hand gripped the end of the arm rest until they were almost white, not that he could see this because his left hand was still covering his eyes, and his throat closed up as he fought the sharp intake of breath he wanted to make. Between his thighs his erection began to match the pulses of the toy, a thick weight in his trousers as it swelled further, and the vibrations made his arse start flexing again around the base, stimulating the smooth skin of his perineum in the process. It quickly became a constant battle to keep his breathing slow and even.
Until Sherlock upped the stakes, skipping the second and third setting and causing the toy to vibrate in small, even pulses.
A small groan slipped free from his lips, 'Too late, couldn't stop it, you know you couldn't, just… Oh hell, that feels so good,' and he quickly clamped his mouth shut, a blush rising on his face that had nothing to do with the heat in the office.
"John? You okay?"
'Oh, fuck right off, Greg!' He made what he hoped was an affirmative noise, rubbing his eyes in what he thought was a successful act at having the worst headache in existence. "'m okay. Just a headache…"
'Called Sherlock Holmes.'
"You sure? You don't look so well, mate."
"I'm sure he's fine, Lestrade," Sherlock said smoothly. "He's a doctor; he can take care of himself."
When John opened his eyes, the DI didn't look convinced. "Should you have come here in the first place? John, if you're not well just say so and we can leave this till after Christmas."
John didn't dare look at Sherlock, but he could feel the detective's eyes burning holes into the side of his head. Not that it had any bearance on his decision. "No it's okay." He shuffled in his seat, trying to adjust to the sensations and failing miserably when it just gave his cock more room to flex. His cheeks warmed and he could feel a flush sliding down his neck as it twitched in his boxers and he just knew that Sherlock was discretely watching it happen. "Best get this over with and then we can all go home."
"Straight to bed for you, I think," Lestrade said, giving him a concerned look and going over to the filing cabinet for the paperwork they'd need.
'You have no idea,' John thought, risking a glance at Sherlock while Lestrade was busy and just stifling the moan he wanted to release. Beside him, Sherlock was almost glowing with satisfaction and beneath the mask of the cool, aloof detective there was a brief flash of hunger, like he wanted to bend John over Greg's desk, pull the toy from his arse and eat him out until John was howling from it. And John wanted Sherlock to do it. Very, very badly.
A small movement in Sherlock's right pocket caught John's eyes for a fraction of a second, and then the vibrations increased in intensity (another level on the damned remote), so much they could now be heard between each pulse. Shooting an anxious look at Lestrade, John locked his spine straight against the urge to lean back against the chair, to arch back into the pressure of the toy and start palming himself roughly through his jeans. But he couldn't quite control his breathing, couldn't quite stop the muffled whimper that forced its way out of him, and his body writhed once in the chair, a slow, deep undulation that he had to stop right this second before-
A tap on his left hand made him open his eyes again (when had he closed them?) and he saw Sherlock had grabbed his mobile before they'd left the flat, something which John had completely forgotten about in his haste to get them here. Unthinkingly, he took it off the detective and felt his face flush a deeper hue when Sherlock said quite clearly, "John, your phone's going off."
Fucking hell, was Sherlock trying to get Lestrade's attention? And why was that such a turn-on?
"Right… I'll just get that then, shall I?" John couldn't quite keep the bite out of his tone, but it was more out of the frustrated urge to tackle Sherlock off the chair and ride him on the office floor until John came all over that gorgeous purple shirt, rather than any misplaced anger on his part.
Sherlock, on the other hand, looked like he was enjoying every second of John's discomfort, and he pointedly looked at the mobile before looking back at where Lestrade was still looking through the filing cabinet.
And, just like that, the vibrations stopped.
John took a shuddering breath, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jumper and willing down the blush in his cheeks as his body continued to clench around the toy, longing for the pleasure to continue. He leaned back to slip his mobile into his jean pocket, biting into his lower lip as his muscles tightened around the toy again before returning to his previous position.
At that point Lestrade came back to his desk (had he really been away for as long as it felt to John?) and placed two sheets of paper in front of them. "You're probably best to take these away to one of the empty offices around the corner," he said, placing two pens on top of the blank statements. "Don't take all day though. I need these done within the next hour if you can manage it." The last was said with a pointed look at John.
"As if we would take all day," Sherlock said, pushing up out of his seat and reaching for his set of the papers. "I can assure you that we have much more interesting things that require our attention."
"As do we all," Lestrade said meaningfully, and he wasn't actually talking about the same plans as Sherlock, he just couldn't be because that would be too weird for John's mind to handle.
With some careful manoeuvring on his part, John stood up and reached out for his own statement, but his fingers barely touched the paper before the toy started up again on the lowest setting. Lowest setting be damned, he still groaned with it and sat back down in his chair when his knees gave out, the pressure on his arse enough to make it feel like the toy was thrusting into him and making his body arch with surprised pleasure that he immediately wanted to replicate. His body was more than happy to make the decision for him, pressing his buttocks against the seat before thrusting his hips forward, and there, there was the magic spot, God, was Lestrade watching? He must be, John hadn't exactly been quiet and it felt so good. He wanted Greg to watch, to see what Sherlock was doing to him and be jealous of it; he wanted Greg to be absolutely blind with envy and he could do it, if he could just get his stupid trousers off-
"John!" Sherlock's hands were on his face now, tilting his head forward from where it had fallen back to expose his neck, his fingers gently lifting one of John's eyelids as though to check his pupil dilation while his other hand disappeared from view, taking one of John's wrists and pressing his fingers into the area where John's pulse would be. If it was anything like the heart beating in his chest and the roaring in his ears, John knew his pulse would be racing.
"Shit, John! Are you all right?" Lestrade came round to his side and placed a hand on his right shoulder, following Sherlock's lead in believing it was a medical matter as he tried to make eye contact with him. "Jesus, Sherlock, you didn't tell me he was this bad!"
"Sherlock," John said, or tried to say because his tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his breathing had escalated into a series of short pants. "God please…"
"It's ok, John," Sherlock said, cupping a hand onto John's face and holding him steady. "You're fine, you're doing brilliantly, just breathe, okay. Deep breaths with me and it'll pass, all right. In, out, with me, that's it… In, out…"
John had no idea how Sherlock managed to slip a hand into his coat pocket to deactivate the toy quietly buzzing inside him without Lestrade noticing, but it still made him choke back a sob when it stopped. He wanted to come so badly that it felt like his cock was trying to burst out of its own skin and having Sherlock's hands on his body wasn't enough, it would never be enough.
"I need to get him somewhere quiet," Sherlock said to Lestrade, sliding a hand around the back of John's head to stop it from falling back again. "Somewhere where he won't be disturbed until I can get him back to the flat."
"You can still use the offices around the corner," Lestrade said and John felt the other man move away when Sherlock slid an arm around his waist and hoisted him to his feet. His hands caught on the lapels of Sherlock's coat and he clutched onto it, pressing his face into Sherlock's shirt and breathing in the scent of the man, the deep, musky odour of Sherlock's natural scent and, when he pressed his ear to Sherlock's chest, he could hear the rapid thump of the detective's heart.
"Come on," Sherlock was saying, "this way, John," and John tried to follow Sherlock's directions, he really did, but his legs felt like they'd turned to jelly.
"Bloody hell, come 'ere," Lestrade said and then one of John's hands was pulled from Sherlock's coat and wrapped around the back of Greg's shoulders, Sherlock immediately copying the position until John was held up between the two of them. "This way."
With their support, John managed to get his legs underneath him and they quickly moved from Greg's office to one that was free, bare of everything except for the desk. As they moved into the room, an insane urge to giggle trapped itself in John's throat and he stubbornly pushed it down, but he was being helped by the DI for having a vibrator up his arse for God's sake! Who wouldn't laugh?
Sherlock led them over to the desk and prompted John to get on its surface, laying him down so he was on his back with his calves hanging off the end while his hands gripped the edges on either side. "You can go now," Sherlock told Lestrade and John saw the look Sherlock gave the DI, one that made him one to fist a hand in that too-tight shirt of Sherlock's and pull him down into passionate kiss. He dug his nails into the wood of the desk instead, grunting at the pain to stop himself from doing exactly that.
"Do you need anything?" Lestrade asked. "We have trained medical staff here, they could help-"
"Thank you for the offer, Lestrade, but what John really needs now is some rest," Sherlock interrupted, leaving John's line of sight and presumably ushering the other man out the door. "I'll text you when John's ready to move but until then you need to leave. And don't let anyone disturb us; I don't want anyone else seeing him like this."
Although clearly disgruntled on John's behalf, something that John was quietly touched by, Lestrade eventually left them alone and the door closed with a resounding thunk, the tread of Greg's shoes leaving the office until they faded completely. "Please," John whispered when the coast was clear, looking over at Sherlock as his body writhed on the hard surface. Sherlock came over to stand at his side, tracing John's face with the tips of his fingertips while his eyes bore into John's own.
"John," Sherlock murmured and the way he said the word made the hair on John's arms stand on end, it was filled with so much want.
"Touch me," John pleaded, thrusting his hips up using the leverage his hands could give him on the desk. "Please, Sherlock, touch me."
Sherlock's hands left his face, sliding down over his jumper until they reached the button on his jeans, undoing it and pulling the zip down. John groaned at the release of the pressure on his erection, arching his neck and shuddering when Sherlock's hands tugged his boxers down and exposed his cock, so hard and already dripping with pre-come. "You are fantastic," Sherlock said, leaning down so he could suck at John's bottom lip. "Do you know what I wanted to do to you in Lestrade's office? Knowing the plug was buzzing inside you and you were helpless to do anything about it?" A noise which was almost a growl escaped Sherlock's throat, his face turning dark, possessive, before he tucked it into John's neck, the long fingers of one hand pulling down the neck of John's jumper so he could sink his teeth into the flesh above John's collar-bone.
"Fuck!" The word would have had more volume, had John had the air to express it, but it was very quickly drowned out by Sherlock's own noise of pleasure, the detective pulling back so he could seize John's mouth in a fierce kiss. John kept his hands on the edges of the desk as Sherlock devoured him, gripping its surface until his fingers ached because he didn't trust himself not to bury them in Sherlock's thick curls or wrap them around his own cock if he loosened his hold. Sherlock's left hand followed the path of John's right arm from shoulder to wrist and John could taste Sherlock's approval as he loosened John's fingers and laced them with his own, bringing their joined hands up to the side of John's head on the desk.
"Good, John," Sherlock murmured against John's lips, squeezing their hands together. "Very good."
John sobbed into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his head back against the wood to stop himself from begging Sherlock for the release he so badly yearned for. At the open fly of his jeans, his prick twitched continuously, each brush of the tip against his abdomen smearing his skin with the sticky fluid leaking from his slit.
"How badly do you want to come right now?" Sherlock asked, reaching down with his free hand to tease John's cock, dragging one finger along the vein from root to tip.
"God…" John shut his eyes as that finger stayed on the tip, spreading his pre-come around until the flared head was slick with it. "So much," he said, reaching up with his left hand and curling his fingers into the fabric of Sherlock's coat. "I want it so much, Sherlock, please let me…" and clamped his lips shut because he knew once he started begging he'd never stop.
Sherlock pulled back, the exact opposite of what John wanted him to do, but before John could voice a protest Sherlock took hold of John's wrists and tugged him to an upright position, stepping back a pace and getting John to stand beside the desk. His eyes were half-lidded when John looked at them, the colour almost silver with pupils blown wide, and John had to remember how to breathe. "Show me," Sherlock murmured, taking his hands away from John altogether. "If you really want to come, show me how much you want it."
John groaned, desperate now that he'd been given permission to do something and his prick jerking in the cool air of the office as Sherlock's demand got to him in the best of ways. He did the first thing that came to mind, sliding his hands into Sherlock's hair and kissing him, putting all his hunger into it as he pushed his tongue into Sherlock mouth to tangle it wetly with Sherlock's own.
Not wanting to linger for too long on one thing, he tore his mouth away after a minute, pressing his lips along Sherlock's jaw, 'such a strong jawbone, so hot, God, I want him,' and pushing Sherlock's shirt collar out the way with his fingers so he could attack the length of Sherlock's neck. He mouthed the pale skin, nipping it gently and soothing with warm lips and an agile tongue, travelling up until he reached Sherlock's right ear and taking the lobe between his teeth. As well as hearing it, John felt the moan Sherlock released when he licked at the lobe and teased the sensitive skin behind it, felt the vibrations of it pass from Sherlock's throat to his lips in a little miniature earthquake. God, the man's voice was incredible.
John shuddered at the noise, pressing his body close to Sherlock's and pushing a leg between Sherlock's thighs against the hardness there, already straining against the expensive dress trousers that the detective insisted on wearing. John took a second to thank whatever deity existed for Sherlock's refractory period, having only just sucked him off earlier that morning, so to find him hard again already was truly a blessing. He barely had to think of his next move, it was so obvious, needing his hands full of that cock almost as much as he needed it to fuck him on the desk, and it was so simple now to undo Sherlock's trousers, reach inside and…
Oh, he really should do this more often. In his haste to get to Sherlock's prick, he'd almost completely forgotten about his own, already throbbing in need as it came close to brushing against the one John held in his hands. The image of the two of them together, jerking them off at the same time until Sherlock's come spurted hot and wet over John's fingers and cock, burned across his brain and it was just too good to pass up. He hopped back onto the desk to gain a small height advantage and perched on the edge of it as he pulled Sherlock towards him by his hips, shoving their clothes out the way and grasping their lengths to press them together with a fevered need. Sherlock's breath huffed out of him at the first touch, helpfully adjusting his stance so they were practically flush from root to tip and John could wrap his hands around them, easing their foreskins back and beginning to slowly stroke them.
'Really, really need to do this more often,' John thought, panting into the hollow of Sherlock's throat and squirming when one stroke was just right, their cock-heads thrusting against each other with each small movement of their hips. In front of him, Sherlock was becoming a bedraggled mess, moaning into John's hair and gently encouraging John's manipulations as he kept their bodies close together.
'Oh… Oh God, right there, right… there, I'm gonna…' Abruptly John released his grip, fighting down the whine as the stimulation ceased because he couldn't, couldn't disobey Sherlock, no matter how much they both seemed to want it.
Sherlock, on the other hand, had no such hesitations.
Growling, he pushed John back against the desk and began to tear at his shoes, nearly taking one of John's feet with them before wrestling John's trousers and boxers off his legs. Exposed from the waist down, John blushed so hard he felt it all the way down to his sternum and barely stifled the yell he made when Sherlock's fingers gripped the plug and began to pull it out, slowly to start and then with more pressure until his body yielded its hold with a trickle of lube.
He didn't even hazard a guess at where the toy disappeared to, barely had time to get used to the feeling, 'empty,' and then Sherlock was hoisting him up again, leading them both to the wall next to the door and pressing John into it harshly. "Yes," John whispered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck as the other man gripped his buttocks and effortlessly lifted him up, using the wall as leverage until John could wrap his legs around Sherlock's middle and, Jesus, Sherlock's cock was right there, right fucking there, so hot and pushing inside so sweetly that John actually thought he was going to cry.
Once buried in John's heat, Sherlock wasted little time, slipping his hands under John's knees so his calves ended up resting on Sherlock's shoulders and fucking him deeply, the moist sound of their joined bodies almost lost in the harsh noises coming from them both as Sherlock used him for their pleasure. John badly wanted to reach between them and stroke himself off, but there wasn't enough room between his abdomen and thighs and he whimpered when he realised Sherlock had near enough bent him in half against the wall. "Please," he begged, "please, Sherlock…"
"Don't you dare come," Sherlock said roughly, ignoring John's begging, his hips moving in a seamless rotation. "I want you to hurt with it, you want it so much. I want you to suffer, John."
Jesus, the word by itself was enough to threaten the very command Sherlock had given him, and John gritted his teeth when Sherlock's thrusts sped up, became mindless and uncoordinated, and then Sherlock was coming. John whimpered as Sherlock moaned into his throat, the man's hips moulding themselves against John's glutes in an effort to bury his prick as deeply as he could, and John swore he could feel the heat of Sherlock's release as that hardness throbbed inside him. "Please," he whispered, so far gone he could barely see when he opened his eyes, he needed so much. "Please, please, please…"
The last shudders worked their way from Sherlock's body to his, the detective gasping hotly into his neck and letting John's legs slip down from their perch on Sherlock's shoulders. As his legs came away, Sherlock's cock slipped wetly from his hole and John closed his eyes, panting at the sensation of Sherlock's release dripping down his thighs, having to lean against the wall when his legs started to tremble.
Later, John would tell himself that he couldn't help it. He'd been waiting so long that it really wasn't his fault and he could do so much better next time, but that was later, and right now, when hot, wet heat wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked him down in one smooth glide, John's only coherent thought was, 'Oh my God!'
Looking down between his legs, he saw Sherlock's mouth had taken him in all the way to the base and, fuck, how the fuck did Sherlock do that? He cried out when he felt a tightening around the head of his cock and it was only when it happened a second time that he realised Sherlock was swallowing around him, using his throat muscles to squeeze John's cock and it really didn't take long at all after that. Not when Sherlock was looking up at him, watching him fall apart as Sherlock expertly deep-throated him, his pretty lips sucking on John's cock and using his tongue like that and, "Argh, Sherlock!"
The world began to gradually re-orient itself through the haze John found himself in, moaning quietly when Sherlock's lips slid from his body and the cool air hit too sensitive flesh. He watched as Sherlock stood up and wiped his mouth with a finger, God that was hot, looking back at John and wearing a cat-got-the-cream smirk. "Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?" he asked, the words broken amidst his panting as Sherlock walked back to the desk and gathered John's clothes.
Sherlock helped him back into his clothes, gently putting his prick back in his boxers and even going as far as to put John's shoes on for him, tying the laces with quick, efficient knots. After that, John's arms were full of a gloating, thoroughly pleased detective who was generously snogging the living daylights out of him, and John was being literally held up by Sherlock when he couldn't taste his come and he knew he'd just come down Sherlock's throat.
"Now that," Sherlock murmured with a smirk when they stopped for breath, "would be telling."
To be continued