Beta'd by the one and only justfoolinground! Thank you so very much!
Go to the story on Ao3 - there are pictures!
John tugged tenderly at Sherlock's hair.
"Stand up and listen carefully."
Sherlock stood and tilted his head to the side, looking for a moment like an excited child with a strange, serious expression.
"Tonight I'm inclined to indulge you," it amused John how Sherlock's eyes lit up at his words. "Nevertheless, there is a price for you to pay."
John expected to see Sherlock's face fall, but instead his breathing sped up.
"Do you see this table?" John asked in a low voice and pointed to the furniture next to both of them.
"Yes," Sherlock answered with a slightly puzzled look.
John looked him straight in the eyes and said very slowly, "I will have you, right here on this table, until you have begged for mercy – twice."
A slight flush crept into Sherlock's pale cheeks, but the puzzled look remained.
"I don't beg," he stated.
John flashed him a serene, but toothy grin.
"Yes, I know. You demand."
The flush deepened.
"You may come as often and as hard as you like," John interjected. "But not before you've begged. For. Mercy. Twice." He made a pause, before he continued.
"And don't think for one second about faking it. I would know," he threatened and noticed how Sherlock shivered, with heavy-lidded eyes, his full, red lips opened a small crack. What a sight to behold!
"Now... are you ready for your first lesson on how to beg properly?" John asked in a very kind and friendly manner.
"Yes," Sherlock breathed his consent. "Teach me."
"Wise choice," John complimented. "Let's get you naked."
With this, he peeled Sherlock out of his jacket and let it fall carelessly onto the floor.
"Should I?" Sherlock asked with a small confused frown and reached for his shirt buttons.
John shook his head.
"No. I like to unravel you by myself."
He proceeded to unbutton the tight shirt and tugged it out of the trousers. Sherlock gasped when John touched his chest for the first time.
Slowly, he stroked the pale, smooth, hairless chest. The merest touch to those pink nipples made them harden, and Sherlock gasped again.
"No need to hold back," John allowed - his voice dark, laced with slight amusement.
He had barely finished this sentence when Sherlock immediately pressed his body flush against John's. His breathing was heavy, and sounded so very sweet to John's ears. He continued to rub the palms of his hands over those small pebbles, and the first moan escaped Sherlock's lips.
Oh, how John longed to twist and bite and suck on those nubs until they're swollen and tender, but he kept his touch light and affectionate. Although Sherlock probably would have gotten off on a little nipple torture, John had promised himself to kill him with pleasure – not with pain.
A nice, firm erection was being rubbed against his hip, and John decided it was time for Sherlock to lose his trousers. He let his hands slide down over the taut stomach, and while listening to Sherlock's hitching breath, he undid belt, button, and zipper. Soon the trousers were pooling around Sherlock's ankles.
"Step out of them," John ordered, taking a step backwards to allow Sherlock the necessary room to slip out of his shoes, socks, and trousers.
He was now only left in his open shirt, hanging from his shoulders, and the silken, purple boxers, featuring already a dark, wet patch on the front.
John noticed with a smirk that Sherlock's eyes were glued to his crotch. The tell-tale bulge was nearly destroying the cut of his bespoke suit. Yes, his tailor was rich.
"The boxers, too – but leave the shirt on. I like it," John told him.
Sensuously graceful Sherlock obeyed without a word.
John admired the view.
"You really are beautiful," he said softly.
A pained expression flashed over Sherlock's face.
"Why do you keep saying that? I know that it's not true. There's no need to humiliate me. At least not like this."
John stared at him, rendered speechless for a moment, before he gathered his wits again.
"When I tell you, that you are beautiful, I'm telling the truth," he said firmly.
With a sad smile Sherlock shook his head.
"I'm a freak. Too skinny, too pale – my clients don't book me for my looks, but for my skills."
Stepping in front of Sherlock, a frown formed on John's forehead.
"You are a piece of art. Skin like marble. A lean, flexible body - like a dancer," John declared. He touched both of Sherlock's shoulders in a tender caress and felt the boy tremble like a flower. "With lips like blood, skin like snow, and hair like ebony," he teased playfully. "And with a very nice, aesthetically pleasing cock and an arse... simply begging to be filled," he murmured into Sherlock's ear and let his left hand travel down over Sherlock's back to the firm, round buttocks.
Sherlock trembled again, but now it was from renewed lust, not from some unwanted sentiment.
A little while later, John had Sherlock manoeuvred onto the table, where he was lying on his back with John standing between his spread legs. Still toying with his nipples John had Sherlock writhing under him. His hard, leaking erection nearly constantly rubbing against John's still clothed crotch, moaning shamelessly the whole time.
After some time John looked down at their joined hips and noticed that Sherlock was making a mess of his clothes.
"If you are soiling my trousers, there will be hell to pay," he warned.
"I'm so sorry that I can't control the flow of my pre-come," Sherlock replied sarcastically.
"Still coherent and feisty - far too much for my taste. I'll have to remedy that... but first... if you can't control your wanton body, I'll do it for you. Good thing I came prepared."
Sherlock observed curiously when John retrieved three small objects from the inner pocket of his jacket – a box, a pump spray, and a tube – putting them on the table beside Sherlock.
With a grin that bode not too well, John sated Sherlock's curiosity.
"A special lube," he explained, indicating the tube, then picked up the spray. "A special disinfectant."
Without warning he sprayed the cool liquid onto Sherlock's glans and onto his own hands, which earned him a shocked hiss.
"Oh, quiet," he scolded good-naturedly, while opening the box. "As you are clearly not able to control yourself," he drawled, "this little device will be quite helpful."
It was a ring, too small and delicate for a usual cock-ring. Attached to it was a small, moveable hook-shaped frame with a sphere at the other end.
"What's that?" Sherlock blurted out.
John's grin deepened.
"It's called sperm-stopper. Neat - don't you think so?"John glanced knowingly at Sherlock.
Sherlock swallowed convulsively, but his cock seemed to be very fond of the idea to be restrained.
John showed him the ring.
"This goes around your glans. And this," he moved the hook with the sphere up and down. "This goes inside your urethra."
A hoarse moan was all he heard from Sherlock.
"I'll take that as a yes," John smirked and smeared some of the lube onto Sherlock's glans.
Sherlock hissed again and John looked up to see Sherlock biting his lower lip a little bit too hard.
"No need to be anxious," John appeased him with a calm voice. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me. It won't hurt."
John waited a moment and only continued when Sherlock gave a small nod. With just a little effort John pushed the ring over the glans until it settled directly under the head of the cock. The effect was immediate. Because the blood flow was slightly constricted, the glans swelled, and Sherlock's thighs began trembling.
"Oh God," he moaned. "Feels great..."
"Told you so," John said dryly. "But now to the best part."
Slowly and very carefully he spilled more lube directly onto the slit of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock followed the procedure with wide eyes and enlarged pupils. With even more care John moved the hook and directed the sphere to the tight slit. Only a little nudge was needed and the sphere was seated snugly inside Sherlock's cock.
"Oh God," Sherlock moaned again. "OH GOD!"
He threw his head back on the table, his chest was heaving, his erection twitched, but no more pre-come was leaking out.
"Incredible," Sherlock breathed.
"That good?" John asked teasingly.
"Even better," Sherlock groaned in a deep, dark, lust-ridden voice.
"Perfect," John smiled devilishly. "Ready to beg?"
"What? Why?" Sherlock asked uncomprehendingly.
John just flipped his forefinger against the hard, swollen, and tender glans, and Sherlock cried out in ecstasy.
After a few flips, John amused himself with pulling the sphere out of the tender opening and pushing it right back into the slightly stretched slit. If the moans filling the room were any indication, Sherlock had the time of his life. He had grabbed the table-edge above his head and held onto it for dear life.
"Poor boy," John whispered with mock pity. "Still not enough? Still not ready to beg for mercy?"
He laid his hand on Sherlock's incredible hot erection, pressing it down on the quivering stomach. He then started petting the drawn up balls with his other hand, while he rubbed tenderly up and down Sherlock's swollen shaft.
A pained, desperate but nevertheless ecstatic sob escaped Sherlock's throat.
"No... please... stop! John! If you don't stop... I'm going to... I'm going to come!"
"And the magic word?" John asked unfazed.
Sherlock banged his head on the table.
"Please!" he cried, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. His teeth were biting hard into his lower lip, rendering him unable to speak.
"Please what?" John echoed with false friendliness.
"God, John! You know... please... stop... please... have..." He bit his lip again. "HAVE MERCY!"
"Good boy," John cooed and took his hands away.
Sherlock sobbed in relief.
"One down... one to go," John informed him with an evil smile.
Sherlock shivered languorously.
"Shall I take it out?," John asked, indicating the small hook, which disappeared in the slightly swollen slit, but Sherlock shook his head violently.
"No," he breathed.
A quiet laugh escaped John's mouth.
"You really are an insatiable, wanton slut."
"And you like me just the way I am," Sherlock whispered with a strange, sincere gleam in his eyes.
Had it been something like hope? John wasn't exactly sure, but he was sure that he didn't like the feelings this simple statement evoked in his chest.
"Put your feet on the table," he commanded a little more harshly than he had intended, but Sherlock complied nevertheless without hesitation and with a small sigh.
He spread his thighs wide, thus baring the most intimate part of his body to John's hungry gaze. John ran a finger teasingly over Sherlock's tight, firm, and drawn up balls, down over the soft skin of his perineum, and further down to the perfectly closed wrinkled pucker. Every time he brushed his finger over it, Sherlock's breath hitched and his moans were caught in his throat, coming out as broken sobs.
"You haven't played with yourself?" John asked.
The opening seemed to be as tight as he remembered it.
"No," Sherlock answered with difficulty. "It... belongs..."
He gasped and continued with a shaking voice, "I haven't touched it. No one has touched it since..."
Something like pride swelled up in John's chest. Completely unwanted and uncalled for. Why should he be proud because Sherlock at last had shown some restraint?
In favour of an answer he poured lube on his finger and after a few teasing touches, pushed it inside Sherlock's wanting, eager body. A long, drawn-out sigh accompanied his action while Sherlock thrust his hips, trying to impale himself further on John's finger.
Soon John had three fingers inside Sherlock's writhing body, thrusting and twisting, but at the same time doing his best to avoid the prostate on purpose. An accidental, soft brush against the gland made Sherlock buck so wildly, that John feared he would fall off the table.
"Easy there," he murmured with a hungry gaze.
His own cock was practically weeping in his trousers, begging to be freed and get some action. John wasn't able to deny the needs of his body any longer. One-handed, he opened his fly and zipper, pulled his hard shaft out of his underwear, and nudged it near Sherlock's opening, where his fingers moved in and out in a sensual rhythm, slowly driving Sherlock mad with desire. He pulled his fingers out, listened to Sherlock's complains and whines, and gazed hungry at the widened, convulsively clenching hole.
In no time John had his throbbing member encased in a condom and now pushed the head of his cock with torturing slowness inside Sherlock's yielding body. And then… he stopped.
It was agonizing for him, too – but as he saw the sweat break out on Sherlock's skin it was well worth his while.
"You want to stay like that all night?" Sherlock asked irritated and breathless. "Move!"
John puckered his lips, pretended to contemplate the request – no, the demand – and pulled his cock out again.
"No," he simply told Sherlock.
"What?!" There was a slight edge of panic in Sherlock's cry. "Oh, no… don't you dare…Leaving me like this!"
"Like this?" John echoed. "Wanting… needing… to be filled and fucked with abandon? Wishing for a hard cock to show you your place… your purpose in life? Like this? Hard and leaking – if the sperm-stopper would let you, that is – practically gagging for release? Aroused, and so horny that it nearly hurts?"
Sherlock shuddered at those words, moaning.
"Yes," he confirmed hoarsely. "Will you put it back now?"
"Still demanding, are we?" John cocked an eyebrow, but pushed back into Sherlock's opening.
A sob escaped those sinful lips, but John stopped his movements - just like before – the very moment his glans was firmly seated inside the gaping, hungry hole. Sherlock's body trembled, clearly trying to suck more of John's cock into his arse.
"You're so sensitive," John whispered almost adoringly. "I bet, with the right training you would be able to climax without a single touch to your cock."
A moan of pure delight came from Sherlock.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" John grinned.
"Yeeeeessss…," Sherlock hissed.
"But not tonight, though," John told him, pushing a little bit deeper, enjoying Sherlock's writhing, and the silken heat around his cock.
He was pushing as slow as he was able to, but all too soon he was buried to the hilt in Sherlock's arse. He leaned down and pressed his stomach deliberately against Sherlock's red, swollen, and incredibly hard erection.
"OH GOD!" Sherlock cried feeling the pressure on that part of his body where he wanted it most, desperately trying to rub himself against John's black turtleneck.
"None of that, slut," John scolded and moved away.
A heart-breaking sob was heard. Sherlock's cock twitched and quivered convulsively. John couldn't believe his eyes when a fresh stream of pre-come – or was that already ejaculate? - dripped out of the slit onto his stomach. He tugged harshly at Sherlock's balls. His cry was a mixture of pleasure and pain but yet again, his cock was dripping.
"Are you coming?!" John demanded to know.
"No... yes... I don't know... it's... it's too much... need... need you...," Sherlock babbled.
"You. Are. Not. Allowed. To. Come. Is that understood?!" John said furiously.
"I can't... please," Sherlock began begging, clearly too aroused to form a longer sentence.
With a fast and hard motion John pulled out his cock, waiting a few seconds and thrusting punishing hard all the way back in, where he stayed still, balls-deep, before he pulled all the way out again.
The brutal rhythm, and the constant, alternating feeling of emptiness and fullness made Sherlock weep and sob. In spite of the sperm-stopper he was leaking freely now, his feet slipped on the table, and John picked them up and arranged them over his shoulders instead.
His injured left shoulder wouldn't be able to hold the dead weight of Sherlock's leg too long, but John found that he didn't care. He had a boy to fuck into submission.
"Stop!" Sherlock finally cried, and John stopped dead mid-thrust.
"What?" John asked, masking his slight concern with sternness.
Sherlock's breathing was laboured.
"Just... let me," he stammered and gasped for air. "I... will you please...," he stopped, biting his lip while his over stimulated cock twitched again. "Oh God. I need to come, please let me come, please fuck me, fuck me hard, and let me touch my cock, it's too much, I can't take it anymore, I... am begging you," he looked directly at John, with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
"Have mercy," he whispered, "and fuck me so hard, that I will have trouble walking."
One tear rolled down his cheek and John wiped it away with his thumb.
"That has been my intention from the start," he replied more softly than he had wanted to.
His hand stroked downwards, over Sherlock's throat, his chest, his stomach, until he reached the weeping, sensitive cock. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the hard, hot flesh, and pounded into him like a man possessed.
Sherlock's body arched and opened up for him a way John hadn't thought possible. Sucking him in, milking him, submitting to his hard, deep thrusts with shameless abandon.
After all the teasing and the torturing build-up, it didn't take long. Finally John really took mercy, pulled the sphere out of Sherlock's cock-slit, and stroked him in time with his thrusts.
Sherlock's ecstatic cry was ear piercing, but the sight was spectacular. His flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, his tousled curls, the sweat on his heaving chest, his arched back, the look of utter bliss with just a touch of incredulity and awe on his face.
His whole body trembled and tensed up, his heels digging nearly painfully in John's back. The cock in John's hand twitched hard, and the first splash of come did land on Sherlock's collarbone. A relieved sob escaped those full, red lips and the next stream of ejaculate painted his chest and stomach.
Sherlock's muscles convulsed around John's cock - milking him without mercy, while his orgasm seemed to go on forever. John fucked him through the long-lasting spasms and the aftershocks wrecking the pliant body beneath him. But then the need to spent himself in that eager, wanton boy became unbearable. Although he didn't wanted it to end, his body surged forward, and the waves of his lust drowned him, suffocated him, blinding him, leaving him breathless, exhausted and unbelievingly satisfied.
He looked down at Sherlock who lay with closed eyes. Only his heaving chest betrayed the fact that he was still amongst the living.
A tender smile tugged on John's lips, and he put the heavy legs gently off his shoulders. He pulled out carefully, disposed of the used condom, tugged himself in, pulled up and closed the fastenings of his trousers. When he was presentable again, he pulled Sherlock in an upright position.
"What… what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, his words slurred due to exhaustion.
"Just making you more comfortable," John answered softly, while picking Sherlock up from the table, carrying him bridal-style to the small, comfy sofa, where he laid him down.
Sherlock tugged with the gesture of a sleepy and sheepish child at the sleeve of John's jacket.
When John hesitated, he continued, "Just a little while… please?"
The last word was merely whispered and seemed to be added as an afterthought, but John knew how hard it was for Sherlock to beg instead of demand, and he decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. Little did he know.
He sat down beside Sherlock, who instantly clung to him like an octopus. One hand clasped at the lapels of his jacket while his head rested on John's shoulder. It humoured John that he was used as an overgrown cushion, and he started combing his fingers through the sweaty locks on Sherlock's head.
"Will you come back?" Sherlock asked after a little while, obviously trying very hard to not sound too desperate, but failing enough for John to notice.
"I promised to train you how to climax without touching your cock, didn't I?" John replied with a leer. "Therefore I have to come back eventually."
"Good," he simply said, lifting his head. "I'm looking forward to it," he whispered and pressed his lips directly on John's mouth in a short and unexpectedly sweet kiss.
John was too stunned to react. Only when Sherlock once more nestled up against him - with a content smile and a yawn - and relaxed in his one-armed embrace, his brain caught up with the incident.
Tonight, John really had learned something new about Sherlock. This boy was not only a very talented cocksucker, an exceptional lay and made the most wonderful noises in the throes of passion - but he was also a very promising thief.
Because with this one chaste kiss from those usually so sinful lips, Sherlock had managed to steal John's heart.
And in that moment John just knew he had to come back to Sherlock again and again… and again.
This is the end...
...but I have plans with this AU. Firstly, I will make a much needed break. But in a few weeks (I hope) I will start re-writing this whole story in German. With more details – and with more chapters, because (in my head) the REAL story starts right after this chapter. When I will have finished the whole thing in German, I will send it to my lovely translator who had already volunteered to translate it back into English. It will then have a better quality than this.
The German version will be titled: "Unberührt – Deflowered – extended version"
and the new English version will be called: "Deflowered – extended version – Director's cut".
I hope you will come back and read and enjoy. Thank you... and... see you later!