Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2840048.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson, Mary_Morstan/John_Watson
  Character:
      John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes, Mary_Morstan
  Additional Tags:
      5+1_Things, Alternate_Universe, aulock, Shota, Shotalock, Shota_Sherlock,
      Daddy_John, Married_Mary_Morstan/John_Watson, Minor_Mary_Morstan/John
      Watson, so_minor, First_Time, Underage_Sex, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Blow
      Jobs, Adultery, Infidelity, Affairs, Masturbation, Sleepy_Sex, Begging,
      Rimming, Coming_Untouched, Sherlock_Is_A_Bit_Not_Good, Hand_Jobs,
      Crossdressing, Skirts, Boys_in_Skirts, Crossdressing_Sherlock, Sherlock
      in_Skirts, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Top_John, Bottom_Sherlock, secret
      blow_jobs, Kissing, Cunnilingus, literally_the_only_Mary/John, Sex_Tapes,
      Autofellatio, Deepthroating, Multiple_Orgasms, Presents, Christmas
      Presents, Panties, Sherlock_in_Panties, Toys, Sex_Toys, Anal_Plug, Quiet
      Sex, Gags, Dirty_Talk, Cuddling_&_Snuggling, Sleepy_Cuddles, POV_John
      Watson, POV_Sherlock_Holmes, Chastity_Device, Cock_Cages, Sounding,
      Vibrators, Sherlock_in_Stockings, Sherlock_in_Heels, Sherlock_in_Dresses,
      Sherlock_in_Makeup, Sherlock_in_Jewellery, Light_Dom/sub, Orgasm_Delay/
      Denial, Orgasm_Denial, Come_Inflation, Come_Stuffing, Public_Sex, Cock
      Warming, Dry_Orgasm, Possessive_Behavior, Possessive_Sherlock, Nipple
      Play, Nipple_Licking, Delayed_Orgasm, Blacking_Out, Wake-Up_Sex, Fluff,
      Fluff_and_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-25 Completed: 2015-02-26 Chapters: 10/10 Words: 35364
****** Five Gifts and a Celebration ******
by TheMadKatter13
Summary
     John is prepared to love his newly adopted son in whatever way the
     boy wants or needs. He's just not prepared for Sherlock to want or
     need that kind of love.
Notes
     A few notes before we get started: first, though this has 10
     chapters, it is a 5+1 (my first). The +1 is simply too large to be
     one chapter and was split into 5. Second, Mycroft deserves all the
     love. Unfortunately, he'll get none from this story, as he is not in
     it. Sorry, Mycroft. However, third, this story does feature John with
     Richard_III_beard. uwu And last, this is not only my first Shota
     Sherlock, but also my first Shota where both participants are human,
     and I can not stress enough that, if you are in a position like
     Sherlock's, do not start something like this (unless you're of age
     and then that's up to you and the other party) and, if you're in a
     position like John's, do not let it happen (same proviso). I'll
     condone the incestyness of real relationships as long as everyone is
     of age and informed because that's their business, but I do not
     condone relationships where one party is significantly under the age
     of consent. At all.
     This story was inspired a bit by a very telling section of 'Falling'.
     I can't stop reading that story, but I read "You can't tell Mummy",
     and this thing positively bloomed into what it is now. So thank
     fireofangels for the gift(s) you are about to receive~
See the end of the work for more notes
  This work was inspired by
      Falling by fireofangels
***** The First Gift *****
Chapter Notes
     It just hit midnight for me so, Merry Christmas everyone.
Despite being a military man whose adult life was built on routine, John still
found, at times, some routines were difficult to fall into. This, thankfully,
had not been one of them.
The young boy (no longer quite a child but just shy of puberty) that Mary and
he had adopted was an almost frightfully intelligent, independent boy. When
John had first expressed his wish to tuck Sherlock in at night, he had been
equal parts surprised and relieved to find only acceptance. As the nights
passed, he grew to realise that perhaps Sherlock looked forward to that time as
much as John did, and the new spike in the pattern of their daily lives was, in
its own way, a relief to fall into. As he smoothed the duvet over his boy's
chest like he'd done every night the last two months, the door to his and his
wife's room downstairs slammed shut.
"Is Mary mad at me, Daddy?" The soft voice, nearly ready to break and deepen,
broke through his fugue and he glanced up into bright grey eyes.
"Of course not, sweetheart," he murmured as he leaned down to press a kiss to
the pale forehead, Sherlock twitching away and giggling when John's beard
tickled his nose. The laughter broke the normally cool, detached expression of
the doll-like face and suffused John's heart with warmth. It still boggled his
mind how perfect the boy looked, and often times his wanking fantasies would be
overtaken by Sherlock's features, and his intelligence. Nor did it help that,
of all the variations of 'father' for the son he'd adopted to call John, he had
to choose the one with the most lewd connotations, especially when the only
thing he called his adopted mother was 'Mary'. "Why do you ask?"
"She doesn't like my deductions."
John pursed his lips as the spike of heat in his blood cooled at the words, and
he sat on the side of the bed, laying his hand over the smaller one hidden
beneath the blankets. Sherlock's deductions were the most brilliant things he
had ever heard, and the power of that brain never ceased to amaze him. But Mary
had treated them like... a mutation. From the very first observation uttered,
she had shied away from their adopted son's abilities.
"Mary's like most people, sweetheart," he finally said. "What you can see
frightens them. It feels invasive because they don't understand how you see the
world, how brilliant you are. " He paused and began to stroke through the dark
curls, hoping it would help lessen the inevitable sting of his words. "I would
love to say that will change as you get older, but it won't. People tend to not
understand those who are different, and you are most certainly 'different'."
Sherlock was quiet in turn for a long moment, the look on his face like the one
he got when he was organising new information in his Mind Index, as he once
told John was how he kept his mind in order. "Good different, Daddy?"
The doctor's heart beat painfully in his chest as the years ahead of Sherlock
stretched out before him. "For most people? No. You'll get called a lot of
names, and-"
"Like 'freak'?" the child interrupted, and John felt a surge of anger at the
tone of his voice and at the reminder of his wife calling their adopted son the
same thing earlier that day. They had been at The Science Museum, and Sherlock
had been deducing people to them. As soon as they let him off to explore
without their 'glacial' place hindering him, Mary had whispered that word under
her breath. John had almost left her.
"Yeah, like 'freak'," he said, smiling sadly.
"Am I a good different to you though?"
"Of course you are, sweetheart," he assured, ruffling the hair under his hand.
Sherlock glared at him and knocked his hand away. John just chuckled and his
smile lost its sad edge. "I love you, Sherlock," he said a bit more firmly,
cupping the small cheek and keeping eye contact to make his point. 'More than
you know,' John's mind whispered what he'd left unsaid.
"I love you too, Daddy," Sherlock replied, a hand emerging from under the
covers to lay over John's. The same pulse as always went through him at the
touch and he felt his smile go shaky before he pulled back as quickly as he
could without making it seem like he was running away.
"Good. As long as we know that. Now, to sleep with you," he said sternly,
standing up and walking to the door.
"Sleep well, Daddy," Sherlock said as John flicked the light switch down. There
was something odd about his boy's voice, but he wanted to get away so badly
that he didn't dare pause to examine it.
"You too, sweetheart," he replied before closing the door.
Downstairs, none of the lights had been left on for him, and he could only sigh
at the passive-aggression of Mary's temper as he navigated the dark to their
bedroom. Thankfully, it wasn't locked, and when he walked in, his wife was
already asleep, an empty cup of tea on her side table. But her bottle of
sleeping pills weren't next to it, so she wasn't that angry. Hopefully she had
realised how wrong she had been, calling Sherlock what she had.
As John readied himself to bed, all he could remember was how happy Mary had
been in the months prior to the finalisation. He hadn't met the boy they were
going to adopt until the day of, he had been so busy getting everything ready
for their new life: new house, moving their old one, insurance, schools, so
many things that he had nearly lost count. But Mary had come home every day
after she'd spent with their to-be son practically glowing- happier than he'd
seen her since they'd gotten together. But the day of the finalisation,
Sherlock had apparently dropped his mask because she'd started acting like
she'd never seen him before. John could understand why; the child must have
been passed up time and again after displaying what he could do, and when a new
family showed interest in him, he was intelligent enough to hide his abilities
until it was too late for them to turn back.
The doctor sighed as he slid naked into bed. His wife was as far away from his
side as she could get, her back to him. But he knew she was asleep by the
familiar, slow rise and fall of her ribs. He heaved another sigh and settled
down, resolving to find a way tomorrow to get the two most important people in
his life to get along better.
~
A hot mouth enveloping his cock pulled John slowly from sleep, soft kitten-
licks to the glans and the gentle nips and kisses along his shaft a welcoming
summons as the warmth of a body between his legs kept him drowsy in that realm
of half-sleep/half-wakefulness. He groaned and flexed his hips, thrusting
lazily into the soft heat.
"Another nightmare?" Mary murmured at his side, rolling into him and throwing a
leg over his waist. John froze and his brain snapped awake as the mouth at his
cock continued, the body between his legs he was only now realising was too
small, too skinny, to be his wife's. It moved, straddling his leg and grinding
a small, hard cock into the meat of his calf.
"Yeah," he finally managed to say, voice choked from the force of arousal
suddenly pounding through every centimetre of his veins. "Nothing bad. Go back
to sleep."
"Okay," she agreed in a low slur. The moments waiting for her to fall
unconscious again as the mouth continued at his erection were the most heart-
pounding ones he'd ever experienced, even more than ones invading Afghanistan
had been filled with.
When her breathing had deepened and the push and pull of her breasts against
his ribs slowed, he whispered her name, making sure she had passed back into
true sleep. She didn't react, and he breathed a low, deep sigh, trying not to
moan again.
"Sherlock..." he breathed. Finally, the soft tongue lapped at his by now
likely-leaking slit one more time before pulling away.
"Yes, Daddy?" a voice whispered from below the sheets (that painfully soft,
innocent voice), before that equally innocent tongue began its attentions
again.
"What are you doing?" he choked out as as a slim, calloused finger pad pressed
against his perineum, beginning to massage his prostate from the outside.
"Showing Daddy how much I love him," his boy whispered back, warm breath
fanning across his glans and making his hips jerk. Mary's leg across his hip
tightened as she nuzzled into his chest, the fuzz between her legs hitching for
a moment into his hip, and he was struck with the sudden realisation that,
while his wife was sleeping next to him, their adopted son was, for reasons he
couldn't begin to grasp, giving him an award-winning blowjob beneath the sheets
in the dead of night. Arousal was hot and heavy in his groin, and he realised
the absolute risk and taboo of the situation was only urging his orgasm forward
faster. Even with the threat of Mary waking from his actions, John couldn't
stop his hips from flexing rhythmically into the enthusiastic heat.
"Why-" Without warning, his cock was swallowed down and he had to hastily throw
a forearm across his mouth to prevent sound from escaping, to prevent himself
from waking up his wife and alerting her to what was occurring.
He hadn't realised his orgasm was as close as it was, but with a hard press
against his prostate from the outside and a ripple of the throat around him, he
was coming, biting into the soft flesh of his arm and eyes squeezing shut as
his release was swallowed down without pause. The hips against his leg rutted
furiously before stopping dead, and the hot liquid spilling across his skin
made his cock pulse again with lust and a secondary orgasm.
The unfamiliar, but far from unwelcome, prostate stimulation left him trembling
as he came down from the glow, and soft lips suckling the head of his cock,
lapping up every last drop of his release, kept him in a hazy state of unending
pleasure. The body straddling his leg settled in more comfortably, a head
covered in soft curls settling into the cradle of one pelvis and the wet heat
settling over his cock like it had no plans to leave.
With a hand that shook, John reached down to thread his fingers through the
soft strands, feeling so weak that he could barely grip to tug. But the body
draped over his seemed to get the idea, and pulled reluctantly away. He gasped
when the heat abandoned his cock, and the bed dipped along his side free side
as the small body crawled up, following the pull of his hand. When Sherlock
emerged a moment later, lips swollen and red in the moonlight, John had to bite
his lip to keep from groaning as his cock twitched up into the sheet.
"Where did you learn how to do that, sweetheart?" ended up being the first
whispered question out of his mouth. It wasn't what he had intended to say
first, but once it had emerged, there was no way to take it back. And he wanted
to know the answer anyway.
"I researched pornography on your laptop and practiced on cucumbers, Daddy,"
Sherlock replied as he draped himself over John's chest, nuzzling into the neat
trim of the doctor's beard. Now he was surrounded by soft heat on both sides,
his two loves keeping him warm and comfortable in his bed.
"And where did you get the idea to do that?" That was what he had intended to
say first, but he'd somehow found it more important to assure himself that
Sherlock hadn't done this before. Or rather, that it hadn't been done to
Sherlock before.
"I wanted to show Daddy how much I love him," his beautiful boy said, now
nuzzling into his neck as those long fingers danced over the ex-soldier's
chest, stopping at the scar to explore.
"I love you too, sweetheart, but you don't have to show me like that," he tried
to explain. Wanting, needing, it to be clear. The many boundaries this kind of
relationship crossed were taboo for a reason. Besides, John could never force
someone he loved into something they didn't want to do. The thought that
Sherlock might think that this was what was required of him in order to keep
his life here broke the doctor's heart. "That-"
"I want to show you like that!" the child exclaimed hotly, and then they both
froze as Mary hummed and shifted. Despite his recent orgasm, once again, his
cock pulsed at the thought of being caught with Sherlock wrapped naked around
him. A moment later though, his wife settled again and they both took a deep
breath.
"Okay," he whispered, smoothing his hand down the curve of a soft spine.
"Whatever you want, Sherlock. It's all fine. It's whatever you want." His hand
paused as spine turned into buttocks, but then Sherlock's hips pushed back,
pressing the plush arse into his palm. He didn't moan when his fingers curled
over and around soft skin, but it was a near thing.
"I told you, Daddy. I love you." There was that tone again, the same one from
when John had tucked his boy in, but now he had the time and the will to
analyse it. It was mischief. Mischief and smugness. It struck him suddenly that
if Sherlock had been practicing, then he had been planning this for at least a
few days, if not weeks. "You always looked at me like you loved me, but you
never saw when I looked back at you the same way."
"Oh, Jesus, sweetheart," he breathed, his cock beginning to swell again. He had
noticed those looks, but he hadn't associated them with meaning… well, this. He
had known Sherlock had been an orphan for several years, never been adopted,
considered, but never finalised, and he had believed the boy had just needed
someone to trust, to latch on to. John had been more than happy to be that
person, to be anything that Sherlock wanted or needed. He'd never anticipated,
or even guessed, that Sherlock would want or need something like this. "You
need to go back to bed, Sherlock," he finally forced himself to say.
"Okay, Daddy," his boy agreed, surprisingly quickly. But then he pushed up and
pressed his mouth to John's in a kiss as slow and soft and loving as the
blowjob he'd bestowed upon him minutes ago. When he finally broke away, the
doctor was hard again, cock pulsing angrily beneath the sheets in a cry for
attention. A small hand curled around the shaft, stroked once, and then pulled
away as the body next to him slid out of the bed. "Goodnight, Daddy." He could
almost see the smirk through the dark.
John couldn't reply though. He was too busy furiously moving his hand over his
cock, just the mere memory of Sherlock's mouth working him, of Sherlock using
his body to come to completion, had him spilling over his own hand in seconds.
This orgasm flashed hot and furious through him, and when it was over, he felt
frustratingly unsatisfied, knowing to his bones that his hand was a poor, poor
substitute for that sweet mouth.
When he finally managed to pull his hand away, he wiped it lazily on his own
stomach before relaxing into bed and his wife's embrace. Next to him, Mary
slept on, completely unaware of the affair that had just begun or the fact that
John had just gotten off twice within less than an hour, all because of the
unexpectedly amorous attentions of the boy they'd adopted together.
When John finally fell back asleep, it was the best rest he'd gotten in years.
***** The Second Gift *****
Chapter Notes
     It just hit midnight for me so, Happy New Year everyone.
When John woke the next morning, he thought it was just another dream, a vivid
fantasy like so many others that occupied his unconscious mind at night. But
then he shifted, felt the dried come pull at the hairs on his legs and his
belly and pelvis. And if that wasn't enough to assure him that the previous
night had actually occurred, turning around from making tea and finding
Sherlock staring at him, the boy's lips stretched wide over a freshly peeled
banana and a predatory smugness in his eyes that John was sure boys his age
shouldn't display, much less know about, was. The temptation to stride across
the room and lick the sticky-sweet juice from those Cupid's bow lips was nearly
unbearable. Thankfully, Mary had breezed in a moment later and pulled him into
a deep kiss.
It was a thorough one- the tongue in his mouth invasive, like she was laying a
claim to him. Even as she snogged him, he couldn't get it out of his mind how
his boy had done the same just a few hours ago, and he stared across the room,
keeping his gaze locked with a furious grey one until his wife broke away. He'd
forced a smile and told them to join him as he whipped up a quick breakfast for
the three of them. Sherlock didn't say a word, neither did Mary, and John
floundered for a good hour, trying to get them to converse with one another.
The pattern continued throughout the week, neither speaking to one another,
both trying to one-up each other in order to spend time with him, and it was
driving John round the bend. Sherlock never tried anything like sneaking into
his bed again or advancing on him when he tucked his boy into bed though, so
the doctor left well enough alone. As it was, the lack of communication and the
constant competition between his wife and their adopted son was wearing him
thin, and he was going to bed exhausted every night. And each night, Mary was
already naked and asleep, laid underneath their sheets like a failed
temptation. His nightmares returned to wake him at ungodly hours, and he woke
up just as exhausted than when he'd gone to sleep, sometimes even more so.
Finally, Sunday rolled around, and John was just so sick of all of it that he
called a family movie night. A time for the three of them to sit and relax and
rest with no other expectations than to not leave the family room. And to
punish the both of them, he put in his choice before either of them could start
bickering with each other about what they were going to watch.
"Oh, John, Bond again?" Mary complained from where she was already curled up at
the end of the couch. Before Sherlock, they used to sprawl together on the
sofa, but after the week they'd had, John felt no desire to share the seat with
her- the armchair positioned just off to the side of the couch was calling his
name.
At the same time, from the other end of the couch, Sherlock chimed in with
"Daddy! Those movies don't even make sense!"
He turned around and glared at the both of them and they both huffed, crossing
their arms and looking away. "We are going to sit here, watch a movie, and no
one is getting up until it's over, understand?" Reluctantly, both his wife and
his adopted son nodded. "Good."
But as soon as he sat and reached for the remote, Sherlock popped off the
couch. "Sherlock…" he said, a clear note of warning and exasperation in his
voice. The boy paused, but didn't seem to dare to turn around. "What did I just
say?"
"Well, I wanted to make Daddy and Mary tea," he said, still not turning around.
John sighed, scrubbed a hand down his face and over his beard. "I promise I'll
be right back. Start your movie, Daddy." He didn't move forward, but he didn't
turn around either. Finally, John let out a sigh.
"Okay, yes, fine. But please hurry. I was looking forward to spending this time
with both of you," he said pointedly, reaching out for Mary's hand.
"I know, Daddy. Just press 'Play'. I'll be quick." And like that, Sherlock was
gone. The urge to sigh again was strong, but he held back, calmed by the
sweeping motion of Mary's thumb across the back of his hand.
The first few minutes of the newest Bond film were just as action packed as he
was used to, and it was a familiar comfort that had him relaxing into his
chair. Sherlock breezed back in during the opening credits, pushing a cup of
tea into first Mary's chest, forcing her to let go of her husband's hand or
risk having the steaming liquid dumped into her lap, and then John's, and then
breezed back out before John could say anything. A thumping sound up the stairs
and a rustling-thumping sound back down the stairs seconds later, his boy was
blowing like the little whirlwind he was back into the living room, trailing
the down comforter from his bed, just as the opening credits were completing.
Before the doctor could quite be sure what was happening, Sherlock was climbing
into his chair with him, curling up on his lap and nuzzling a head full of
black curls just under his chin. His tea was nearly knocked out of his hand
when the comforter was suddenly snapped out, the dark fabric billowing upwards
before draping over the chair, cocooning both John and Sherlock in the soft,
nearly-weightless fabric. When the commotion settled, Mary was glaring at them,
well, at their son, cradling her tea as James Bond downed whiskey on their
television screen, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice as he pulled John's arms
around him and snuggled further into the doctor's embrace.
It took nearly three full scenes before John could relax in his own chair, his
body a live wire waiting for his boy to try something new. But the child seemed
content to just sit there and watch the movie, and John decided to do the same.
If Sherlock wanted something, he would let John know. Mary, meanwhile, kept
glancing their way to glare at the dark head nestled under his beard every few
minutes, taking sips of her tea in between. By the time the movie was half
over, John felt melted into his chair and his wife was nodding off on the
couch. Sherlock was a comfortable, solid weight in his lap, and despite wanting
to see the film through to the end, the doctor found himself nodding off as
well.
A short while later, the sound of the DVD menu playing softly in the
background, he woke to his body sliding from the chair until he was on his
knees, his spine arched uncomfortably to keep his shoulders flat to his seat.
Fingers tugged at his hair, angling his head back, and he hummed in question,
but was shushed softly as a warmth settled just above his face.
"Stick out your tongue, Daddy," Sherlock whispered from an odd distance above
him, and he obediently stuck out the muscle. A delicious musk drifted into his
nostrils, and something puckered dragged itself across his tongue. There was a
moan from above and then it happened again. Drowsy with sleep, it took too long
before John realised what was happening, but when he did, his eyes snapped open
to a sight so arousing that he almost came in his trousers right then.
Sherlock was naked, his thighs spread wide, his knees and calves pressed into
the arms of the chair keeping him splayed and open as his hands pressed to the
top of the back of the chair to keep himself balanced. His bollocks and cock
were nearly brushing across the doctor's forehead as the boy dragged his
entrance across his daddy's tongue. Best of all, his expression as he did this
was one of absolute bliss: his head dropped down between his arms, eyes closed,
mouth open. John groaned low in his throat, and raised his arms to palm the
plush globes of his boy's arse.
"Shhh, Daddy. You don't want to wake Mary," the voice from above him whispered
again, making his cock pulse where it was trapped in his jeans. Instead of
responding verbally, he simply curled his fingers around Sherlock's hips and
pointed his tongue, pressing it against his boy's hole. The aborted whimper
made his skin burn from the inside out and he drew back before doing it again.
The hips in his hands were jerking against his grasp, trying to grind down
against his tongue as it worked on loosening the tight muscle.
John didn't want to miss the sight of Sherlock's face, pleasure-flushed as it
was, but he couldn't help his eyes closing as he licked his boy's entrance open
enough to the point that he could work his tongue in. The soft mewls and the
breathless pants in the dark in combination with the friction of his jeans
against his hard cock only made him more enthusiastic, only made him harder and
more eager to come.
Slim fingers reached down to thread through his hair, gripping tight as his
little genius finally discovered he could move up and down, and just a little
back and forth. Just enough so that soon, Sherlock was enthusiastically
(desperately) riding John's face and beard, the tip of his small cock bouncing
against the ex-soldier's sun-weathered forehead, dotting it with spots of
precome. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than for his wife to be woken up
to their adopted son's quiet sounds of pleasure, for her to see how happy John
made him and how happy John was to do this for him. The threat that she was
just an arm's length away and likely to wake any moment made the pleasure
sharper, made his impending orgasm beat harder through his veins.
There was a breathy, gasped litany of nothing but "DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddy" in the
dark, and John thrust his tongue harder, determined to bring off the apparently
sensitive boy off using nothing but his tongue, even as he tried to grind his
own erection into the harsh fabric of his jeans, orgasm poised and waiting for
the final spring to break. He wanted to speak, to goad his beautiful boy on,
tell him how much he loved what was happening right now and how much he wanted
to see Sherlock come, come before his wife woke, but he didn't dare put his
tongue to any other use.
He got his wish a moment later anyway, his boy crying out his release, the
sound the sweetest thing John had ever heard, as come spattered across the
doctor's face, his hair, the seat below his head. The sight and sound wasn't
enough for the doctor to come though and, reluctantly, his hips settled as
Sherlock collapsed, trembling, forward into the chair. Shaking thighs were
barely keeping the child from dropping down onto John's chest, and he hastily
slid the rest of the way from his chair to pick up the small form, his back
twinging angrily at the movement. He could feel come sliding down his face, but
when Sherlock tilted his head back and his chin up in a silent request for a
kiss, John happily obliged until both their faces were smeared with it.
Finally, Sherlock broke away with a giggle. "Daddy needs a shower!"
"I'm not the only one," he countered with a laugh. A sudden snore had his blood
freezing in his veins and laughter dying in his throat as he turned to where
his wife was curled up on the edge of the couch right next to his chair, right
next to where their adopted son had just ridden his tongue until he came
untouched (and didn't that thought just make him harder). Somehow though, Mary
had slept through it all, and continued to sleep. He hadn't thought much of it
while he'd been occupied, but now that he wasn't, he was beginning to realise
how odd it was that his wife hadn't even woken when Sherlock had cried out like
he had. The more he thought about it, the odder it was that his boy had even
made them tea in the first place.
"Sweetheart, what did you do to Mary?"
"Oh, I put her sleeping pills in her tea," the boy replied nonchalantly,
smiling up at him. John looked down, and the smile slowly disappeared. "Not
good?"
"Yeah, a bit not good," he agreed, nodding.
"Well, I didn't want Mary to wake up while Daddy was eating me out," Sherlock
pouted. For long minutes, John warred with himself, wanting to lecture the
child against drugging someone without their permission, but also wanting to
praise him for such forethought. Unable to decide, he broke into giggles
instead. His boy looked confused for a moment before he smiled tentatively.
Still carrying Sherlock, the doctor picked his way through the dark into the
toilet, his chuckles interrupted sporadically by soft kisses from the boy in
his arms. The shower itself went about the same way, until John went to rinse
out his hair and arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Small hands gripped
his cock, bringing it back to full hardness so quickly that he had to brace a
forearm against the tile just to keep him upright. As palms alternated stroking
over his glans and fondling his testicles, his knees threatened to buckle
before he was coming into those wicked little hands with a throaty groan.
After they had cleaned off and turned off the water, the child's yawns turned
drying off into an affair of limp, uncooperative limbs. It took longer than
usual to tuck Sherlock into bed, or rather, it took no time at all to tuck him
in, but every time John went to leave, he was drawn back in with tugs to his
shirtsleeves and sleepy kisses. At last, his boy was asleep, and he could slip
back out and downstairs, where picking Mary up and tucking her into bed was its
own affair. Finally, later in the night than he had gone to sleep in a long
time, John gathered his wife to his chest and fell asleep to the memory of
Sherlock curled up, warm and soft, in his lap.
***** The Third Gift *****
Chapter Notes
     Sherlock Seattle 2015~
As soon as his last patient had finally been shown out and John was able to
lock the front door behind the old woman, his shoulders slumped and he let out
a sigh of relief. It was his first day back, and he already wished that their
summer hadn't ended. But the new school year had started, and Sherlock was out
of the house most of the day anyway, so John and Mary had returned to work.
He had been happy to find his practise hadn't fallen apart in his absence, but
he'd been here since opening just to be sure nothing was amiss. Mary had gone
home hours ago, to be there when their adopted son returned from his first day
away from them and to start dinner. He wished he could have been there when his
boy walked in, but hopefully the child would still be awake when he got home.
It took another few minutes to clean up the front, tidy the waiting room, make
sure windows and doors alike were locked and shades drawn. When he was
satisfied, the ex-soldier limped back to the only lit room, stopping dead in
the doorway a moment later, trying to absorb what he was seeing.
He had actually expected for Sherlock to be sent to fetch him for dinner, but
he hadn't expected the boy to still be wearing his school uniform. Neither had
he expected for Sherlock to be sitting on the doctor's desk, trousers exchanged
for a girl's uniform skirt, legs spread wide and feet propped up on the arms of
John's chair. And he especially hadn't expected for Sherlock's head to be
tilted back, mouth open in small gasps of pleasure as his hand moved in the
hidden-from-view space between his thighs, the indiscreet squelching sound of
him fingering himself echoing in the sparsely decorated office.
"Hey, sweetheart," he managed to croak, mouth and throat suddenly dry from the
perfect vision his boy created- especially with those dark curls contrasting
beautifully on pale, flushed skin. "How did you get in?"
"Nurse let me in when she left," Sherlock slurred back, and then moaned long
and slow in time with the sudden slowing of the motion of his hands. "Hid in
the toilet."
John hummed as he stepped forward, the ache of his suddenly hard cock making it
difficult to move. "What are you doing?" he asked, moving into place behind
Sherlock and placing his hands on the child's shoulders.
"'m getting myself ready for Daddy to fuck me."
"Oh, fuck," he groaned as he leaned over his boy's shoulder and found four
fingers working themselves in and out of a hole dripping lubricant.
John knew he was well endowed, and so far, Sherlock hadn't complained about it
the few times he'd gone down on him. The sight of those perfect lips stretched
around the head of his cock never failed to send a bolt of arousal through him
so strong that he almost came upon seeing it. But fuck, how his cock might look
getting sucked up by that tiny, pink hole...
"Please, Daddy," Sherlock moaned, the jerking of his hips utterly inefficient
because of the way they were positioned. John was around the desk in a flash,
lifting the leg in his way up before placing it back on the chair. Standing
there, between Sherlock's legs, seeing the way that small pink cock was hidden
by the skirt, tenting the fabric, was like looking on paradise.
"Fuck," he breathed again, reaching out, his hand stopping just short of
contact. It was like being at a museum, staring at one of the ages-old statues
with placards warning off gawkers seeking to touch history.
"No, please, Daddy!" his boy cried, those four fingers slamming inward, the
hand wiggling as if he were trying to reach his prostate. "Please, touch me!
Fuck me!"
Before he could move, small fingers were yanking at his belt and his trousers,
wet digits pulling at his cock and using it to tug him forward. Long, slim legs
were wrapping around his waist, frantic heels jabbing into his lower back as
that hand directed him to sink into a tight, wet hole. He had to pause the
second his glans popped inside.
"Jesus, sweetheart, you're so tight," he groaned, closing his eyes against the
pleasure of it. He'd never felt anything this tight, this hot.
"Oh God, Daddy," Sherlock moaned in turn. John wrenched his eyes open, and the
first place they went was to where they were connected.
"Oh fuck." The sight was too amazing. "Sweetheart."
"Please, please move, Daddy," his boy begged. Those long slim fingers were
curling and uncurling on the desktop, crinkling the paperwork strewn there, the
lubrication-drenched fingers soiling the delicate papers.
"Anything you want." The doctor licked his lips and began pressing inside.
Sherlock's internal muscles were clenching around his cock, pulling him deeper
and deeper inside, as if they were as anxious to surround him as he was to be
surrounded. His mind was a haze of pleasure: it was tighter than a woman,
tighter than his boy's lovely mouth. It was perfect beyond reasoning. It was
almost a surprise when his testicles made contact with the soft skin of that
plush arse.
"Daddy. Daddy you're all the way inside me." Those bright grey eyes were opened
wide now, the boy curled over his spread legs, and he was staring avidly at
where the thick girth of John's cock had disappeared into the no-longer virgin
hole.
"Yeah I am, sweetheart," the doctor heard himself murmur. He was staring at
where they were connected too, entranced by the sight.
"I feel so full." His boy's voice was full of wonder, a kind he'd never heard
before, and it made lust pound through his veins. "Oh God, Daddy. You're so
big."
"Does it hurt?" John couldn't help but ask, concern for his boy momentarily
overriding his arousal.
"It aches a little. But a good ache," Sherlock assured, his hands finally
uncurling from the fists they'd formed on the desk and curled around John's
neck, tugging him down for a soft kiss full of slow tongues. "It gets better,
right? If you move, it gets better?"
"Of course," he replied quickly, pressing a kiss to a pale, wrinkled brow.
"Then I want you to move. Please, Daddy."
John couldn't help but chuckle. The times he'd heard Sherlock say 'please'
could be counted on one hand. And most of those in the last hour. The chuckle
died a quick death when he began pulling out though, the slickness around him
trying to pull him back in.
He couldn't keep his first thrust inside from being anything other than full,
sinking back inside with one smooth motion. Sherlock undulated against him,
fingernails digging into the skin of John's neck. The pain was a delicious
counterpoint, and it made his second thrust harder than he meant it to be. But
Sherlock’s cry was one of pleasure, not pain, his sweet voice echoing through
the doctor's mostly bare office.
John's hands, previously curled into fists at his side to keep from moving too
hard too fast, couldn't remain passive any longer. His fingers slid under the
fabric of the skirt to grip the beautiful arse that he could never get enough
of touching. He tugged Sherlock closer, and the legs around his waist
tightened, until they were pressed flush chest-to-chest. John regretted their
first time had to be with clothes between them, but it seemed neither of them
had any patience to undress first.
The change in position had more than one benefit besides closeness. At his next
thrust, Sherlock screamed and rippled around him, his hips jerking in the
doctor's grasp. John, high on the success of finding his boy's prostate so
quickly, could no longer restrain himself. He began fucking into the tight, wet
hole hard and fast, and the filthy squelching sound of his thrusts echoed
throughout the office; he just knew that he would hear that sound echoing in
his ears any time from now on when his office was empty. His testicles had
already been drawn up high from the mere sight of Sherlock splayed out on his
desk, and they only grew tighter with the friction and clenching of the slick
walls surrounding him.
"Oh God, Daddy, I'm going to come!" Sherlock cried. John swallowed hard. His
boy was always so sensitive, and he loved nothing more than making him come
without a single touch.
"Good boy," he moaned, tightening his grip and thrusting harder. "Let me see
you come on Daddy's cock. I want to see you come, sweetheart."
The fingernails in his neck dug in so hard they were probably drawing blood,
and a bolt of arousal shot through him at the thought of Sherlock leaving marks
on him. A mark that he would have to explain away to Mary. A mark that he could
feel and touch when he was fucking his fist during his morning shower. He
selfishly hoped he was gripping his boy hard enough to leave bruises that would
last for days.
"DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddy," Sherlock was crying, that beautiful chanting he always
took up in the moments before he came under John's tongue every weekend during
movie night. Movie nights that now had the potential of taking on filthier
turns. Just the thought of his boy curling up on his lap and under that soft
down blanket, sinking onto his cock as Mary sat an arm's reach away, of
watching a movie surrounded by that slick, unmoving heat, had his release
surging forward through his cock.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned, ducking down for a harsh kiss. "I'm coming inside you,
sweetheart. Fuck, I'm coming I'm coming I'm-."
His pace turned brutal, and the high cry of Sherlock's orgasm pierced the air,
echoing deliciously against the walls. The muscles around him spasmed,
squeezing every last drop of his orgasm from him as the small pink cock hidden
by that pleated skirt jumped and twitched and dampened the thick material.
When it had all passed, Sherlock still hadn't moved from where he'd buried his
face in John's neck and the doctor pressed a kiss to the sweat-dampened curls.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he murmured, reaching up a hand to stroke through the
beautiful dark hair. His boy just moaned weakly, his hot breath fanning across
John's skin making him shiver.
Slowly, he lowered Sherlock down to the desk where the child flopped
bonelessly, his arms spread wide and his chest heaving. His gorgeous, pale face
was flushed, and John could only stare at it for a long moment before moving to
pull out. His boy gave a full-body shiver as the doctor's cock slid from his
hole, and he was instantly hypnotised by the sight of his come leaking from the
puffy, twitching ring of muscle.
"Jesus, that has to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmured
under his breath, reaching down with a trembling hand to futilely push the
liquid back inside. He didn't stop till the cold air of his office got to his
still-sensitive cock, and he finally reach over his boy to tug a few tissues
free to clean up the mess he'd made. Sherlock still hadn't moved by the time
he'd finished, and the doctor was starting to get concerned.
"Sherlock? Sweetheart?" he called softly as he quickly tucked himself away. "I
need you to say something. I need you to let me know that you're all right."
"Never. Better. Daddy," Sherlock slurred, and the relief that ran through the
doctor was hot and sharp.
"Good boy," he praised, running his fingers up the inside of pale thighs. They
trembled under the feather-light touch, and he bent to press a kiss to one. In
front of his nose, the skirt-covered cock jumped. "None of that, Sherlock. We
need to get home before Mary comes looking."
"Can you dress me, Daddy?" His boy sounded on the verge of sleep and the sound
made John's heart warm and full.
"Of course, sweetheart."
Sherlock's trousers were pooled on the floor under the desk, hidden from view,
and John relocated them to the desk before carefully peeling away the skirt.
That he folded and put off to the side, and when they left, it would go in his
jacket pocket. It would be too easy to just drape the fabric over his face
while he lay in bed, breath in the familiar musk as he wanked. Too easy, and
too tempting. A split second later, John's mouth was on that small, soft cock,
carefully licking away the still-damp release, easily riding the bucking of
narrow hips his attentions to the sensitive organ was causing.
When he was satisfied and his boy had calmed again, the doctor tenderly slid
the trousers over the slim legs and did up the button and zip. The folded skirt
was tucked into an inner pocket of his coat, his coat went on, and then he
lifted Sherlock into his arms. The child was asleep before John had even locked
up, and he slept through the cab ride and John getting him into his pyjamas and
into bed. It wasn't until he'd pressed a kiss to those curls he loved so much
that his boy stirred again, if only to sleepily ask for a kiss. He fell asleep
again before he'd even retracted his tongue from John's mouth. The doctor
slipped quietly out, smiling softly as he joined his wife in the dining room
for supper.
That night, he ate dinner with his wife, conversed with his wife, kissed his
wife, went to bed with his wife, with the taste of Sherlock's release still
lingering, dark and musky, on his tongue.
***** The Fourth Gift *****
Chapter Notes
     This is that warned chapter with a little John/Mary, but I swear that
     you won't really mind.
Winter was setting in around London, and with it, the coughs and the colds and
the fevers and the aches. Which meant that John was so slammed during office
hours with helping patients that he couldn't get any actual paperwork done.
Which meant that he was bringing it home.
He let out a deep sigh, powering on the computer in his home office before
sinking back into his office chair, scrubbing a hand down his face and over a
beard that was already in need of a trim. He jumped when hands pressed against
the insides of his parted thighs and his eyes popped open as he ducked to look
under the large wooden desk. Bright grey eyes peered up at him from between his
legs and above a mischievous smile.
"Hey sweetheart," he greeted with a fond smile, the child's presence alone a
soothing balm to his tired soul. "What are you doing down there?"
The desk had no opening on the other side and it created a small cavern of
gloom he could barely see into. Still, there was a movement like shrugging
shoulders in the dark.
"It's clear in the creases of your trousers alone that you haven't had a moment
to relax all day," Sherlock explained as delicate fingers picked apart the
button and zip on his trousers. Just seeing his boy between his legs had gotten
John half hard, and being pulled out of his pants and into small talented hands
made him fully so. "I just want to help Daddy with that," he continued, leaning
forward and pressing a kiss to the slit of the doctor's cock. "Now quiet,
Daddy. Mary's home and your door is open."
Since he hadn't expected a treat like this, there hadn't been any reason to
close his office door. Now there was nothing separating Mary from seeing
Sherlock swallowing down his cock except the desk backboard. The thought made
his cock pulse and there was a hum around the girth as if his boy knew exactly
the direction of his thoughts and approved, if the added suction was any
indication. Then, as if summoned by his thought, Mary appeared in the doorway
and John's heart began pounding in his chest.
"Hey, Mary," he greeted, discreetly scooting his chair further in as he slid
his right hand into curls, encouraging the bobbing head not to stop. Not that
he thought Sherlock would stop; the boy seemed to thrive on the adrenaline rush
as much as the ex-soldier did.
"Hey," she greeted back warmly, walking to the back of the desk and leaning
over it in a graceful arc to press a kiss to his lips. Without warning, below
the desk, Sherlock deep-throated him and John had to hum to hide the moan he
really wanted to release. His left hand reached up to thread through his wife's
hair, a bit longer than Sherlock's and stick-straight rather than naturally
curled, deepening a kiss he didn't feel the way he used to. It reminded him how
their marriage had slowly been falling apart before they'd decided to adopt,
how neither of them had actually initiated anything sexual with one another for
a long time.
Tugging gently on the hair curled around his right hand, John waited until
Sherlock's mouth pulled off his glans and turned its attentions to his shaft
before he slowed the kiss. Beneath the desk, he held his palm up, a sign to
wait, and a short lick across his palm put a warm smile on his face that
matched the one Mary was already giving him. He cupped his boy's cheek and
stroked his thumb over the cheekbone before withdrawing his hand entirely.
"I'm sorry to say that it's only now hitting me how much I've been neglecting
my wife," the doctor husked, his tone darkening his wife's eyes.
"Yeah?" Mary murmured, licking her lips before darting forward to press several
short kisses to his lips.
"Yeah," he agreed. "For example, I haven't kissed you in a long time." Mary's
brow furrowed and the careful nips to his shaft paused. He could only hope his
somewhat temperamental boy didn't start throwing a tantrum, that he had the
patience to wait to see the ex-captain's plan out to the end.
"We kiss all the time," his wife corrected, still frowning. John smiled.
"I didn't say where."
A moment later, Mary's pupils expanded and a whispered "Oh," slipped passed her
lips.
"But what about Sherlock?" she asked suddenly, her head turning to eye the
still-open door.
"You know how involved he gets in those experiments of his," he said easily.
John had never been good at lying, and the last few months had helped him a
great deal, teaching him to give a truth for an answer while not quite
answering the question. "He won't be pulled from them until we go and get him.
You can scream as loud as you want and he wouldn't hear a thing."
The mouth at his cock began again, tentatively, and Mary bit her lip. John's
heart was trying to beat out of his chest. He could hardly believe what he was
about to do. This was so much riskier than Sherlock waking him with a blowjob
with Mary asleep next to them. Now she was awake and in the same room, climbing
up onto her husband's desk on her hands and knees, unaware that their adopted
son was less than a foot below her, giving John another spectacular blow job.
In seconds, his wife was splayed in front of him like Sherlock had been all
those weeks ago; like how he continued to find his boy the days the doctor
needed to be fetched from the practise for dinner. Except Mary's skirt wasn't
pleated and was already sliding up her thighs to pool at her waist, exposing
the simple cotton underwear that she tended to favour. John smiled
mischievously as he drew the fabric down her legs and off her feet, dropping it
to the desk next to her hip. He could see out of the corner of his eye the way
her face was flushing as she watched him avidly.
It didn't hit him until he was staring down at her sex how long it had been
since he'd even looked at a vagina. He'd been so preoccupied with Sherlock's
attentions that he hadn't even wanted to watch pornography, or start anything
with Mary. He didn't really want to start anything now, but just the thought of
what he was about to do, what he and Sherlock were about to do while his wife
sat just above unawares, made his cock throb in his boy's hands. There was a
slow, lingering lick to his slit and he guessed that he'd begun to leak
precome.
He slowly smoothed his hands down the paler insides of Mary's thighs, then used
his thumbs to hold apart the folds of her labia, exposing her clitoris. With a
hungry growl that had nothing to do with his wife, John dove in with his tongue
as his hips flexed, barely thrusting the head of his cock back into that warm
heat. But Sherlock got the idea. As Mary dropped back onto her elbows and her
head fell back on the desk, his boy got to work below the desk, his tongue
infinitely more enthusiastic than John's.
Sherlock deep-throated him again, his throat rippling around John's cock as he
swallowed the intrusion, and the doctor couldn't help but moan. Mary moaned in
turn, collapsing onto her back as he shoved his tongue into her. He'd forgotten
how much different it could be, how much looser and wetter it was than his
boy's own tiny, tight entrance. His wife now too distracted to look at what he
was doing, his head buried between her thighs and his upper lip and moustache
working her clitoris as his tongue working the spongy tissue of her G-spot just
inside, John withdrew his hands from her thighs and reached down to stroke the
dark curls bobbing between his own thighs.
To his surprise, Sherlock knocked his hands away and pulled off. John's cock,
but more importantly, his heart, panged at the loss. He wanted to reach out, to
touch his beautiful boy, but he'd been rejected for the first time and it hurt.
Perhaps what he'd started just now was a bit too much. John put his hands on
his knees and curled his fingers in the fabric of his jeans, squeezing his eyes
closed to prevent from seeing who he was really going down on, someone the
complete opposite in every way of who he really wanted to have his tongue
inside right now.
Mary was moaning loudly and unabashedly now, her arms above her head and her
hands grasping frantically at the desk's edge. For a moment, he hated the sight
and the feel and the taste of her spread out on his desk and across his tongue.
Somehow, losing Sherlock hurt worse than losing Mary ever had. He closed his
eyes again and swallowed against the lump in his throat, and it was then that a
hot, wet, tight ring of muscles pushed against the head of his cock. Thank God
his sounds were likely blocked out by hers, because John let out a long, low
moan against his wife's clitoris as Sherlock sunk unexpectedly down on him
until his testicles were, oddly enough, pressed to the underside of his boy's
own small cock and testicles.
The smooth muscles rippling around him gave him courage to let go of his
trouser legs and reach out, trying to determine how Sherlock had positioned
himself to accomplish his current position. He smoothed his calloused hands
down the soft lower spine curved over his lap to the plush arse pressed to his
pelvis before following the line of thigh down far enough to realise that
Sherlock's legs were folded in half, the child's shins hovering just in front
of the man's and small toes curled around the edge of the desk from underneath,
providing Sherlock leverage to fuck himself on his daddy's cock. The
positioning took a moment to form as a picture in his mind, and then John
realised his boy had to be balancing his weight on the back of his head, neck,
and shoulders. His little genius contortionist.
"Fuck," he whispered into Mary's clitoris, his tongue on autopilot now as his
hands wrapped around the thin waist of his boy and pulled the plush arse the
rest of the way down. Sherlock must have prepared himself already, because
John's cock slid in smooth, helped along by the somehow always-tight muscles.
It never ceased to amaze him how tight his boy always was for him. One day,
he'd like to play around with that, see how loose he could get that sweet
little hole, what he could do with it…
He accidentally shoved Sherlock down onto his cock, hard, and there was a
strangled sound from below the desk that he covered with a moan as he sucked
Mary's clitoris in between his lips. Adrenaline-fuelled arousal surged through
him at the thought that that could have gotten them caught, that his wife could
have heard that one, simple, small moan and realised that it hadn't come from
her or her husband. He told himself to be more careful with his precious,
delicate lover, but then fingers wrapped around his ankles, fingernails digging
into the skin above his socks as the arse in his hands lifted off his cock and
shoved forcefully back down. Now John was moaning for real as his boy fucked
himself on his Daddy's cock, and the doctor eagerly tightened his hands around
that small waist to help.
John started tugging Sherlock onto his cock so hard and quick that he began to
hear the slick sound of flesh slapping flesh echoing along the wood of his
desk. It was faint, but he could hear it, so he doubled his efforts on his wife
until all he could hear was the sound of her moans. He wished more than
anything he could see what Sherlock looked like in that moment, but- Fuck. He
could. He definitely could. After a fashion.
Sherlock's nails dug in like claws the second he let go, but John just quickly
pulled his mobile from his pocket, easily accessing the camera from the front
screen out of the corner of his eye, and turning on the front facing camera. He
waved it down towards his boy and it was taken from him a moment later. He just
hoped the lighting would be enough.
The doctor's hands resumed their position a moment later, and it became clear
that they were all quite ready to come: Mary had gone mostly silent with the
exception of her deep breaths, but her internal muscles were spasming around
John's tongue and she was writhing like a snake on his desk; Sherlock's
internal muscles were doing the same around his cock, and the fingernails
imbedded in his flesh had to be drawing blood; John's testicle were drawn up
tight, and he let the sensation wash over him as he concentrated all of his
tongue's skill and power on the sensitive clitoris, and all the strength and
speed of his arms into pulling his boy onto his cock.
Mary suddenly shouted, her back arching off the desk and her thighs clamped
around her husband's head as her juices wet his face and beard. Below him, in
his hands, Sherlock went tight as a bow and John had to bury his face between
his wife's legs as he came with a harsh groan, his boy's inner walls spasming
around him, drawing out an orgasm heightened by the adrenaline coursing through
his veins.
For a long time, it felt like the entire house had fallen still, nothing in it
moving except the three of them, one in secret, panting from the intensity of
their orgasms. Finally, legs still trembling, Mary began to sit up. Carefully,
John smoothed his hand over his boy's arse and then held it still as he leaned
back and pulled out. He flinched as he swiped his left palm over his sensitive
glans which seemed to still be drooling a strand of come no doubt leaking from
Sherlock's hole. His wife opened her mouth as she righted herself and, already
anticipating the question, John held up his dirtied hand with a wry smile.
"You should hear the way you sound when I eat you out," he said throatily, and
she bit her lip as her eyes dilated minutely.
"You should feel the way your mouth vibrates when you come," she returned with
a grin that he easily matched. All of a sudden, a smell filtered through the
air and her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, dinner!" she exclaimed, scrambling off
the desk and darting out the door.
"Could you get me a wet flannel?" he called after her, but wasn't surprised
when she didn't respond.
There was a beat of silence, then: "Daddy?"
"Shhh, not yet sweetheart," he whispered back, reaching down with his clean
hand to stroke the smooth skin of his boy's arse. With his dirtied one, he
easily slid two fingers into the stretched hole, pressing them as deep as they
could go. The second the rough pads of the ex-soldier's fingers brushed over
the undoubtedly oversensitized prostate, Sherlock's shins hit John's as he
jumped with a squeak. "Shhh. Mary will be back any minute. Unless…" His fingers
paused and there was a low whimper as muscles spasmed around his fingers, but
he wouldn't relent just yet. "Unless you want her to know what a good boy you
are for me. Unless you want to share me and you want her to hear all the pretty
sounds you can make. Is that it? Is that what you want?" John's voice was low,
nearly a growl, and it almost covered up the sound of feet coming up the stairs
at the end of the hall.
"No, Daddy. I don't want to share," Sherlock whispered back, the one hand still
around John's ankle tightening again as the boy's toes uncurled from the edge
of the desk and wriggled out of view.
"Good boy," John praised, brushing his fingers up against his boy's prostate in
reward. There was a strangled sound from below the desk that was muffled the
second before Mary appeared in the door, wet flannel in hand.
"Saved the roast," she announced as she sauntered into the room. In that
moment, the doctor was infinitely thankful that his chair was under the desk as
far as it would go, hiding his boy and his exposed cock from view. He turned
his face towards his wife as she came around his right side, and he curled his
arm around her waist as she wiped her juices from his face. As she cleaned his
skin and his facial hair, John never stopped the slow, sweeping motion of his
fingers over his boy's prostate, and the doctor had to keep up a constant,
approving hum to help cover up the muffled sounds Sherlock was making.
When she was done, Mary handed him the flannel before pressing a kiss to his
forehead, wrinkling her nose when he moved to press their lips together. He
found it interesting that his wife of several years avoided his mouth like the
plague after he'd eaten her out, but his lover of several months actively
sought it out, moaning at the taste of their usually combined come on his
tongue.
"Thank you, Mary," he said with a soft smile that felt forced and a grope of
her arse. "Why don't you go ahead and finish up on dinner and I'll get myself
cleaned up. I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess down there," he explained with a
wry grin. Mary's nose wrinkled in apparent disgust, but she nodded and pressed
a kiss to his silvering hair before walking towards the door, a little more
sway in her hips than usual.
"And Mary?" he called as her hand landed on the doorknob. She paused and peered
coyly over her shoulder at him. "Why don't you lock and close my door, just in
case Sherlock pops out of his hiding place? Wouldn't want him to know what you
and I get up to, would we?" His lecherous grin was easily matched by his wife,
and she clicked the lock on the inside of the door before slowly closing it
behind her.
"Don't take too long, John," her voice informed him softly through the closing
gap. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Sure thing," he replied right before the door clicked closed.
John's chair nearly fell over with the force he used to shove it back, and then
he dragged his boy out by his wrists. Before Sherlock's feet could fall to the
floor, the doctor straddled the dark, curly head and hooked small, pale ankles
under his arms to keep the child's arse up and exposed. Without pause, the
doctor began to finger his boy's sloppy entrance with an almost-excessive
enthusiasm, a strangled sob reminding him how terrible the child could be at
keeping quiet in times like this. Normally he loved it, loved hearing all the
sounds that could come from that sweet mouth, but normally, Mary was asleep
under the influence of her sleeping pills. He hastily shoved his half hard-
again cock into Sherlock's mouth, and with the instant suction applied to it by
his dutiful, beautiful boy, he began fucking that hot mouth.
The pace and the pressure of his fingers increased, incensed by what seemed
like the sound of Sherlock choking on his cock. Even as it worried him, it made
his blood burn in his veins and he shoved another finger into the wet hole.
Sherlock jerked under him at the surprising stretch, but that didn't seem to
stop him from swallowing down John's cock when it was pushed deep into his
mouth or from letting it free when the doctor pulled out. Like they had done it
a hundred times before, his boy easily established a smooth rhythm to
accommodate the thick cock thrusting down his throat.
It wasn't long before a second orgasm began brewing at the base of John's spine
and he could feel his own control on his voice box breaking. His fingers were
now furiously fucking his boy's hole as bruises bloomed under the lips and
teeth he applied to the pale skin of an inner thigh, and only the girth of
John's cock down his throat muffled the scream Sherlock made as he came. The
vibrations made stars burst behind John's eyes as he released down his boy's
throat, hips thrusting shallowly into the unresisting mouth to wring the last
of his orgasm from himself. The fingers in Sherlock's arse had slowed but were
still stroking the small prostate, the body around and under him twitching as
if in the midst of a seizure. It would have been concerning if not for the fact
that he could feel spots of come land on his collarbone where his parted shirt
exposed his skin. When the only things his fingers were inducing were full body
trembles and hip jerks like his boy was trying to get away, John moved them
away from the prostate, letting them rest in the spasming heat.
"I'm going to leave my fingers in you while I clean you off," he murmured into
a pale thigh. "Will you clean me as well?" He waited for a moment until
Sherlock hummed in agreement before leaning forward to place the small, soft
cock in his mouth.
Sherlock jerked and whimpered until he pulled off, and then did it again when
John leaned forward a second time. But the third time, the the third time he
only twitched, and the doctor finally turned his attention to cleaning the come
from the soft cock, tongue sweeping gently under and around the foreskin to
remove the last traces of semen as the mouth and tongue around his own cock did
the same. It was oddly relaxing, kneeling there and feeling Sherlock's mouth on
him for no other purpose than cleaning, than warming him, and he hoped the
opposite was true for his boy, but didn't dare pull away long enough to ask.
When he was finally satisfied, John gingerly released the cock in his mouth
before lifting his own free and then sitting back on his heels. Looking down at
his boy's face for the first time since Sherlock had appeared under his desk,
he was surprised to find the child's face and chest spattered with come.
"How did you make this much of a mess, sweetheart?" he murmured, using the
still-damp rag to clear the remnants of their releases from the pale skin.
A shaking hand lifted and held something out to him, and it took John a moment
to realise it was his mobile.
"Watch the video, Daddy," was all Sherlock said, smiling wickedly.
~
After dinner, when Sherlock had been tucked into bed and Mary had fallen
asleep, John absconded to the secrecy of the backyard to watch the video, and
he had pulled out his cock and began to stroke it before he'd even pressed
'Play'. Instantly, he was speared to the core with lust by the image of
Sherlock curled in on himself, every one of John's thrusts forcing his boy's
cock into his own mouth. When Sherlock came, it was with that lovely pink cock
spilling semen over the equally lovely face and chest, and then directly into
that soft mouth.
John had never come harder from his own hand in his life.
***** The Fifth Gift *****
"So how's the practise been going, John?"
John hated Mary's family.
"Business been down?"
John really hated Mary's family.
"Can't get it back up?"
The ex-soldier gritted his teeth and did his best not to lunge over the table
of fine china to murder his wife's brother.
"Is that why you're trying to divorce my sister?"
He didn't care what branch of the military the other man had been in, John
would take him down with his fucking caviar spoon.
"Sebastian!" Mary snapped as her mother tutted at the other end of the table.
"And where is my grandson?" the Moran family matron asked, rapidly shifting the
subject, even though she already knew the answer. "He's missing Christmas
dinner!" The doctor's hand clenched around his fork and Mary's hand dropped
over his. Carefully, discreetly, he took several deep breaths then let the
silver fall from his hand.
"He's resting from a fever in the guest room," he said after a minute, eyes
darting to the wall to his right, the same wall separating said guest room from
the dining room they were sitting in. Mary's mother had even directed him to
put Sherlock there herself, surprisingly, rather than having one of her
servants do it. Not that she had the good grace to remember that.
John hated Mary's family.
~
The main course had only just been delivered by a man in a butler's outfit with
a golden cart when there was a sudden pounding on the wall between the dining
room and the guest room. The Moran women jumped and tsked and muttered
"Goodness me" while the Moran men glared and tutted and muttered "What the
bloody hell".
"DADDY!"
John could have sighed in relief. Besides making him uncomfortable, the food
Mary's family always served was always 'too good' for his 'low class palette'.
Even if they were serving normal food, her family kept returning to the topic
of the potential divorce, which should have been between John and Mary, but
somehow had spread to include every one of her relatives, and he was more than
done with the entire affair.
"Excuse me," the doctor muttered, wiping a cloth napkin down his beard as he
stood from his seat, feeling like he was shedding a cloak of lead with that one
movement. "Don't wait for me, I'll stay with Sherlock until he's feeling well
enough to come eat. Just set us each a plate aside."
Mary didn't bother trying to stop him or join him as he walked around the vast
table and strode towards the short hallway and the guest room's door. Their
relationship had been deteriorating rapidly since Sherlock had come into their
lives, and John wasn't sure if it was because the relationship between her and
Sherlock had never recovered from that first day the genius had revealed what
he could do, or because it had already been falling apart before the adoption.
It didn't matter though. If they got divorced, as long as she didn't fight him
for custody of Sherlock, or even if she for some reason did, as long as she
didn't win, he would be happy. He could do without the rest of the world, but
losing Sherlock would cripple him.
He slipped into the guest room and let a sigh loose as he leaned against the
door and locked it without a second thought. Just one more barrier between
himself and the Morans.
"Are you all right, Daddy?"
John hadn't even realised that his eyes had closed, but they slid slowly open
to find Sherlock in bed, the covers drawn up to his chin and his grey eyes wide
and concerned.
"Just tired, sweetheart," he managed to get out. Sherlock cocked his head at
him and the familiar look of deduction made a smile tug at John's lips.
"You don't like Mary's family," the child said and the doctor huffed out a
single laugh.
"Unfortunately, you don't have to be a genius to see that, sweetheart," he
replied.
Because his own parents had been dead before he'd even gone off to Afghanistan,
and because Harry and he had been on the rocks since their teen years, John had
never thought about the fact that Mary never talked about her family or had him
meet them while they were dating. He'd understood why when they'd appeared at
the wedding. There had been instant dislike between him, an army doctor who got
lucky with money, and her kin, born with silver spoons in their mouths. Every
interaction with them only made him exhausted, and he sagged against the door,
closing his eyes again. As hungry as he still was, all he wanted to do was
sleep.
He might have actually started to drift off against the door, because the next
time Sherlock spoke, it was directly in front of him.
"I want to give you your present, Daddy, but you have to keep your eyes
closed."
John did as asked, even as he frowned. "We did presents this morning back home.
Why-"
"This is a special present, Daddy," Sherlock interrupted, small hands wrapping
around John's and tugging him away from the door. "I was going to wait, but the
walls between this room and the the dining room are really thin and it sounded
like you needed your present now."
Slowly, as he was walked, he could indeed hear the faint sounds of silverware
hitting the fancy china until his arms were being raised and his hands pressed
to the wall separating the guest room from the dining room. Small hands at his
ankles moved his feet shoulder-width apart, and it was beginning to feel like
he was going to get patted down.
"Sweetheart, what-" A slim finger pressed against his lips, halting his
question.
"Shhh," Sherlock hushed him. "They'll hear you, Daddy. Don't worry, your
present is almost ready. I'm sure you'll like it."
John nodded and pursed his lips, kissing the tip of the finger before it
retracted with a quiet giggle. Skipping the button entirely, his trousers were
unzipped and careful hands pulled his soft cock free from the fabric. The
doctor had to bite his lips to keep his moan at bay when he was stroked to full
hardness, and then slicked with lubricant. There was a fire building under his
skin and he had to deepen his breathing to keep from letting the sensations
affect his necessary silence.
"Tilt your head down, but don't open your eyes yet," his boy instructed from
just in front of him. John gave a quiet hum as he complied, and then he was
being engulfed by the familiar, tight heat of Sherlock's tiny hole.
John had to turn his head into his bicep and bite into his flesh to stop from
making a sound. Beyond the wall his hands were pressed against, he could make
out his wife and her family conversing about John's "rude departure", their
voices creating minor vibrations against his palms. The fact that he could hear
them made adrenaline spike through his veins at the thought that sound worked
two ways.
"Okay, Daddy. You can open your eyes now."
Slowly, John pulled his teeth from his arm, looked down at where his boy was
copying his position: bent over with hands pressed to the wall, and almost
came.
Sherlock was wearing wearing a pair of women's black_lace_underwear shaped not
unlike a bra with scalloped straps of fabric cupping and lifting the bottom of
each arse cheek, putting the pale globes of on display. Connected to each side
of lace was two black ribbons that crossed over one another, created two holes
topped with little bows at each of the two intersecting points. The underwear's
smaller, lower hole had been situated right over Sherlock's puckered entrance,
and it was through this gap between ribbon and lace that the tip of John's cock
had been guided. It was like seeing his boy in that skirt for the first time
all over again. But better. Infinitely better. And to top it all off, a thick
black anal plug, slick and shining with lubricant from when it had been inside
Sherlock, was resting on its base in the dip of that sinuous spine.
"Oh, Jesus fuck, Sherlock," John breathed, removing his hands from the wall to
trace trembling fingers over the lines of ribbon.
"Do you like your gift, Daddy?" He could almost hear the smirk in his boy's
voice and he swatted an arse cheek lightly, eyes glued to the way the muscle
bounced and rocked the thick plug. It seemed so large, and comparing its girth
to his cock's, realising that his cock was still bigger, made arousal thrum
through his veins.
"Tart," he said softly, voice lacking all bite the word usually would have been
accompanied by. "You know I love it. You know I love you."
The dark head turned and grey eyes peered at him from over a pale, naked
shoulder. "I love you too, Daddy," his boy replied, voice and smile soft.
John quickly tossed the plug onto the bed and only watched its progress long
enough to ensure it wouldn't fall off and thump to the floor before he leaned
in to take a kiss from over that delicate shoulder. The closer he leaned, the
deeper his cock sunk into his beautiful boy's tight hole, and with each inch
consumed, the exhaustion that had built up from dealing with the Morans slowly
drained away. As the tight ring settled around the base of his cock (a literal
cock ring), the doctor curled his arm around Sherlock's neck and cupped the
small jaw, angling it for a deeper kiss. He was careful to keep their mouths
connected when he pulled out and thrust back in, easily anticipating the
whimper against his lips from the motion. Beyond the wall that Sherlock's palms
were pressed to, John could make out the topic of conversation finally moving
off him and towards Sebastian's most recent deployment, and his hips thrust
forward roughly in a surge of hatred for the other man. The small form pressed
into his jerked and whimpered.
"You have to be quiet, sweetheart," he murmured as he broke away, trailing his
hands down the prettily curved spine to grasp slim hips as he leaned back to
watch the way his cock repeatedly disappeared inside his beautiful boy's small
hole stretched wide around him. "Or they'll hear you." Sherlock whimpered again
and John gave a violent thrust, forcefully pulling his boy fully onto his cock.
"Unless you want them to hear you?" Sherlock's fingers curled against the wall,
his nails scraping the paint, and John could have sworn he heard a pause in the
conversation as talk moved to the exploits of Mary's other siblings. "Is that
it, sweetheart?" he asked, giving another violent thrust. "Do you want them to
hear how well I please you? How prettily you scream when you take my cock?"
"Daddy," Sherlock whined, his voice high and tight. This time, the ex-soldier
definitely heard the startled scrape of silverware over china ("What's wrong,
dear?" "Mmm… I just thought I heard… Nevermind. Must have imagined things"),
and his heart nearly stopped dead in his chest even as adrenaline exploded
throughout his body. The danger of being caught now was so much higher than it
had ever been before. Even when he'd been fucking Sherlock below his desk while
he ate Mary out on top of it, he'd been able to blank out her mind with
pleasure, keep her from hearing the sounds of his thrusts, while, unknowingly,
filling his boy's mouth with his own cock to keep him silent.
"Hush now," he whispered, releasing one hip, and slowing his thrusts, to press
three fingers between the Cupid's bow lips. "We can't let Mary or her family
know the things you do to me, can we?" Sherlock's head shook, his tongue and
lips sliding over and between the calloused digits stretching his small mouth.
"Then you're going to have to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" Now the dark
head nodded and John let his hips settle completely, his cock only half-
sheathed, so he could put his lips to the shell of a pale ear. "Good boys come
nice and pretty on their Daddies cocks, don't they? They make their Daddies
come deep in their tight arses, don't they?"
There was a garbled sound from deep within his boy's throat as the arse against
him jerked, shoving the full length of his cock back inside. Sherlock began
bucking against him, trying to fuck himself on John's cock, but with how close
the doctor was standing, their positions were hardly ideal. He quickly wrapped
an arm around around the small waist and pulled his boy tight to him,
preventing any further movement. An almost-sob vibrated his fingers and he
pressed a soothing kiss to the pale, sweat-damp brow as his other hand calmly
stroked over a sweat-damp chest.
"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh," he whispered, trying to calm his lust-frantic boy.
"Shhh… That's it." Slowly, the smaller body calmed and became almost dead
weight in John's arm, and Sherlock's own where they were still pressed to the
wall were shaking so hard that he was barely holding himself up. "Good boy,"
the man praised with another kiss to the dark curls. "Now, we both know you
can't be quiet when you come, so do you want my fingers or your plug?" Slowly
he pulled his fingers out and pressed kisses to the small shoulder as he waited
for a reply.
"Can- can I have Daddy's tie?" Sherlock asked instead, surprising John enough
for him to pause, lips still against the pale skin.
"My tie?" he echoed, prompting his boy for clarification.
"I don't want you to pull out to get the plug, but I want you to hold me with
both hands," his little genius explained. "You always fuck me better when you
hold me with both hands." The murmured sentence made the doctor groan low in
his throat as his hips bucked forward. Sherlock so rarely cursed, and when he
did, in that soft, low tone, it always made a bolt of arousal shoot through
John.
"Of course, sweetheart," he said as he righted himself and began tugging at the
fabric's knot. "Anything you want."
He had forgotten he was still fully dressed, and a pang of regret went through
him that the only time he got to experience Sherlock's skin against his own was
in the shower after he rimmed his boy on movie nights. The tie, finally free,
was folded into a rectangle and held up for Sherlock's inspection.
"Now, you have to remember, this won't block everything. Can you be a good,
quiet boy for me, sweetheart?" he asked, tightening the arm around Sherlock's
waist when the other body began to undulate.
"Yes, Daddy," his beautiful boy rasped. "God yes. Please, please, fuck me. I
need Daddy to fuck me hard with his big, fat cock."
It was a line straight out of a porno, the kind of talk John had long become
desensitised to, that he usually rolled his eyes at hearing. In Sherlock's soft
voice, it was as powerful as any aphrodisiac and made him so hard it hurt.
The doctor quickly, but carefully, shoved the fabric between those Cupid bow
lips before pulling his mobile from his pocket. "You know what to do,
sweetheart. Let me see you come in those pretty knickers." Trembling fingers
fumbled the device when he handed it off, and the doctor swatted the same arse
cheek he'd done before. "Don't drop my phone or I'll have to punish you.
Understand?"
There was a garbled noise from Sherlock that he could only suspect was a "Yes,
Daddy," if the nodding head and the new death grip on his mobile were any
indication. As his boy folded his spare arm at the elbow and braced himself
against the wall, John closed a hand over each narrow hip, gripping tight
enough to leave bruises; the thought of leaving his marks all over the pretty,
pale skin before him never failed to arouse something primal and old in his
chest. He waited until he saw the front camera activate and be moved into place
before he began thrusting again.
Every time Sherlock showed up at his empty office to 'fetch him for dinner',
neither of them ever had to worry about the sounds they made. But as John began
to fuck into that tight hole with ruthless abandon, and the muffled sound of
his clothed thighs smacking against Sherlock's bare ones provided the most
delicious accompaniment to the obscene sound of his thick cock pounding into
the sloppy wet entrance, he became newly aware of the sound of silver on china
just feet away.
Each time he pounded into the slick heat and his pelvis smacked into that
plush, lace-covered arse and the front of his thighs smacked against the back
of Sherlock's, he expected to hear a heart-stopping confused "What is that
sound?"
Each time he pulled out and the muscles of that greedy passage squelched as
they tried drawing him frantically back in, he expected to hear a knock on the
door and a voice asking "John? Are you and Sherlock okay?"
Still, despite high chance of being caught, every time there was a lull in
sound from the people on the other side of the wall, John's hips sped up. The
delicious sound and scent of rough sex filled the air and the body below him
began to shake as the passage around his cock started to convulse, silent signs
of an impending orgasm. His own was just as close, turning his pace erratic as
his bollocks drew up close to his body, and he leaned in to put his lips to his
lover's ear.
"You're so tight around me, sweetheart," he growled lowly. "You're so small and
I can feel you stretching around me. You have the most perfect arse; I never
want to leave it." Muffled whimpering made its way to his ear and John grinned
as he continued. "Always so receptive to compliments. Sometimes I wonder if you
prefer them to my cock." Now a muffled sob as dark curls shook rapidly. "No?
You like my cock better?" Desperate nodding. "What about it, I wonder?" he
mused aloud as he shifted the hips in his hands. A subdued, but still high,
whine made it past the gag as Sherlock went tight before shuddering back into
something not-quite-relaxed, and John's heart skipped a beat when there was
another startled screech on the china ("Dear?" "I think I heard that sound
again.").
Adrenaline surged through him again at the realisation that they had maybe a
few minutes before someone came to investigate. Luckily, they were both wound
so tightly that it wouldn't take much for either of them to break.
"Did you hear that, sweetheart?" he murmured. "They heard you. They heard how
much you like being split in two by me. Now let them hear how pretty you come
on nothing but my cock." He had no idea why he was tempting fate so, but the
high whine muffled by his tie at his words and the muscles convulsing around
him, along with the realisation that that last sound had definitely not gone
unnoticed ("I think I hear it now too.") had him coming so hard that he saw
stars. Sherlock was excruciatingly tight around him and in his arms, drawing
out John's orgasm and making him spill deep into his boy whose own rapturous
scream muffled by the fabric in his mouth. But not enough ("That's it. I'm
going to check on John and Sherlock.").
Sherlock was still shuddering like a broken thing as John wrapped his arms
tight around the smaller body, pulling them both away from the wall without
pulling out and stepping gingerly back towards the bed. Chair legs screeched on
lino as someone stood from the table, and the ex-soldier's heart started
pounding so fast so hard that a secondary orgasm crippled him and made him
trip. Sherlock was shoved face-first into the duvet and John was arrested by
the sheer need to thrust and to ride the unexpected wave of pleasure.
"Oh, fuck, sweetheart," he gasped, eyes closed and head thrown back as his hips
flexed helplessly into the limp form. "I swear your arse is heaven."
Sudden raised voices from the dining room ("John's a doctor! They'll be fine!
Come back the table!") startled him into action, and he hastily reached for the
anal plug half-hidden amongst the rumpled duvet. In one smooth move, he pulled
out and popped the bulbous toy in past the puffy, stretched hole, trapping his
come where it belonged: deep in Sherlock. A bit carelessly and more than a bit
guiltily, he rolled the limp form beneath the duvet, plucked his mobile from
unresisting fingers, closed the video camera, and locked the screen to the
sound of a heart-stopping rejection ("No, I have to check on them. Back in a
moment.").
He hastily tucked his mobile into his pocket and his still half-hard cock back
into his trousers as he strode to the door. The doctor almost didn't remember
to wipe the sweat from his face, and he ended up cuffing his sleeve across his
face and down his beard as he one-handed unlocked and opened the door. Even
though he'd expected it, the sight of Mary on the other side, her hand raised
to open the door, the door that had just been the only thing between the Morans
and his and Sherlock's love-making, made his heart stutter in his chest.
Mary frowned at him. "Are you coming down with what Sherlock has?" she asked
suspiciously.
For a moment, his mind went blank. He knew he had to be flushed, his eyes
dilated, and the room around them reeked of sex, but humans as a whole tended
to ignore what weren't looking for or didn't want to notice. In the back of his
mind, he heard the child's constant refrain: "They see, but they do not
observe."
"No, I'm fine," he managed to say. "It was just getting a bit warm in here.
Sherlock however is still running a little hot and he's feeling little sore
right now," John said, and then had to keep from laughing at his own innuendo.
"I was going to get him a cold compress and then stay with him the rest of the
night, make sure he doesn't take a turn for the worse."
Mary and him were supposed to have a room to themselves, and Sherlock a room to
himself, but Mary gave no indication of wanting to fight his plan. If the past
few months hadn't made it clear enough, her care for both of them had dropped
drastically. They wouldn't be missed.
The walk past her family to the toilet and then the walk back was incredibly
uncomfortable, every single member stopping to watch him pass by with his wet
rag. Mary had rejoined them at the table, and her stare was just as impatient
as the rest of them. Shutting and locking the door to the guest room was more
of a relief that he could put into words.
"Come lay down, Daddy."
John jumped, fully expecting his boy to have fallen asleep like he usually did
after sex. Instead, Sherlock was reclining in bed, watching him with hazy eyes.
"Let's clean up first," he replied, pushing off the door. Long fingers flipped
the duvet open, exposing a small soft cock covered in black lace. He had to
close his eyes for a moment to reign in his control, but the image was burned
onto his retinas. The cloth was tugged from his hand and soft lips pressed
against his, a long-fingered hand cupping the back of his skull and angling his
head down. The other hand slid up the front of his shirt, resting warmly on his
belly.
"Daddy needs to get some rest," Sherlock whispered when he broke away. "I'll
clean us up."
"No, sweetheart-"
The doctor was interrupted by lips against his again and, without breaking
away, his boy turned and sat him on the bed. Feeling oddly both mentally and
physically exhausted, John's eyes didn't feel inclined to open again, and he
sluggishly complied when hands guided him to lay down. His trousers and pants
were opened and his cock pulled out and cleaned before being put back. After a
brief, quiet pause, a body was crawling over his and then draping against his
side, insinuating itself smoothly under his arm and curling up against his
chest, a head on his shoulder and a hand over his heart.
After a moment, John remembered the racy panties weren't the only things
Sherlock was wearing, and he raised his hand to trace and then press on the
base of the plug inside his boy. There was a low moan and a singular undulation
before Sherlock stilled against him again, pressing a kiss to the bullet wound
hidden under his shirt.
Suddenly, he remembered the new video on his phone, the one he would watch
later while fucking his fist, masturbating furiously to the sight of Sherlock
coming untouched in his pretty black lace. "Thank you for my present,
sweetheart," he slurred, already on the verge of sleep.
"And thank you for mine, Daddy," Sherlock replied, a coy grin to his voice.
Groaning with the effort, John rolled onto his side and situated his boy close
to his chest, draping his hand over a bony hip and letting his fingers rest
against the base of the anal plug. Sherlock nuzzled up into him, and John let
himself fall asleep, too tired now to be afraid of anyone walking in on them.
With any luck, they wouldn't force the lock, and he and Sherlock could get a
full and proper rest with one another. It was Christmas after all.
***** The Celebration: Part One *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter contains an outfit where each component was chosen with
     painstaking consideration, and I have created a NSFW_tumblr_photoset
     for an overview of the lot with links to each item's purchase page.
     If you prefer to find out what the items look like as you go, the
     first mention of the item in-chapter will have the same link to the
     purchase page.
The front door opened easily under Sherlock's lockpicks and the boy smiled as
he slipped inside his house. Only 96 seconds today. He was getting faster.
"Daddy!" he called as he strode through the house in search of the man who'd
adopted him, the man to whom he owed his every happiness and loved more than
he'd ever thought it possible to love. It had been a startling revelation, to
say the least, but his love was reciprocated, and he couldn't ask for anything
more. Except for the riddance of Mary.
He'd played perfect for her from their first meeting, and he'd actually liked
her during those months. Then the adoption had finalised and he had let his
mask drop unashamedly, let his deductions flow free and unchecked, and she had
recoiled from them like everyone else in his life. Everyone else except for
John Watson. From the very first spoken observation, John had never ceased to
be amazed, amused, interested, not just in the way Sherlock looked, but how he
thought, how he was. Sherlock had fallen for the doctor instantly, and it was
so glaringly obvious that his affections, both sentimental and physical, were
returned, and yet, ever the kind doctor, John had never made a move. So
Sherlock had made it for him. And what a move it had been, what a reception
he'd received.
Now, months into their sordid little affair, Sherlock was still the only one
making the opening moves, but he hoped John might soon take charge. John who
was supposed to have been already been home when Sherlock got back from school.
"Daddy!" he called again. He'd received a text halfway through his day to come
home immediately after school, that there would be a surprise waiting for him,
but there was no trace of the man in the living room, kitchen, office, the
downstairs bedroom. In fact, Mary, who was always home when he got off school
in comparison to John who was always still at work, wasn't here either.
Frowning, the child moved into his own bedroom to change. To his surprise,
there was an array of items, familiar in design if unfamiliar in ownership,
spread out on his bed. Attention arrested by the strange and unexpected
selection, he jumped at the voice from behind him.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
The boy whirled and found John sitting in the chair in the corner, smiling
secretively and looking devastatingly handsome in a fitted black button-up and
matching trousers, neither of which Sherlock had ever seen before.
"What's all this?" he asked by way of greeting, gesturing backwards at the
spread on his bed. "And where's Mary?"
John didn't answer, simply smiled and produced a large brown envelope, holding
it out for Sherlock to take it. Frowning, the boy crossed the room and yanked
it from loose fingers. He darted a glance to the door and ducked in close to
press a kiss to the corner of the man's lips before moving to step away. To his
surprise, an arm curled around his waist and pulled him into the familiar lap.
Even with something as simple as this, John had never been the one to start
things. Even when it was clear by his body language, the look in his eyes, the
tone of his voice, the man who'd adopted him waited on Sherlock to a fault.
Now wary of the packet's contents, he shot John another look and opened the
envelope flap to find two sheets of paper inside. The first made his heart race
in his chest: a certificate of divorce between one John Hamish Watson and one
Mary Agra Moran. The second stopped his heart: a certificate of sole custody of
one Sherlock William Scott Watson granted to one John Hamish Watson.
Tears blurred his eyes and the papers were taken from his hands before they
could be stained. The arm on his waist tightened and his head was guided to the
man's neck where soft fabric gave way to slightly tanned skin, a place for him
to press his face into and cry without being seen doing it. He hated the tears,
hated that he couldn't stop himself, but the relief that swept through him at
seeing that he was always going to be John's was earth-shattering.
The signs of the impending divorce had been evident since not long after the
adoption had been finalised. True, Sherlock had started the affair because he
genuinely loved and wanted his adoptive father, and because he knew that John
genuinely wanted and loved him, but he would be a liar if he said those were
the only reasons. If John and Mary got a divorce, there was a high probability
that he would either be returned to the adoption agency or be given by default
to the mother. Manufacturing a sexual relationship had granted an additional
sentiment-driven attachment that would prompt the father to fight hard for him
should the need arise. The fear that John wouldn't try or would lose had been a
constant and rising fear as the tension in his adopted parent's marriage rose
and rose. Now he didn't have to worry any longer. Now he was John's, and
nothing could take him away from the man he loved.
Slowly, his tears dried and the trembling ceased until he was just a lump in
Daddy's lap. Firm fingers were stroking through his hair, calming him,
steadying him. Finally, he was quiet and still, and John pressed a kiss to his
forehead.
"All right, love?" the man murmured, the lowness of his voice sending a shiver
down Sherlock's spine.
"Yes, Daddy," he replied, nuzzling into the neatly trimmed beard.
"Good. Up you get then," John said, startling him as he stood and deposited
Sherlock back onto his feet. "I've got a date planned for us tonight." The
boy's heart skipped a beat.
"A date?" he echoed, excitement and anxiousness rising in strange hot-and-cold
mix in his belly. What kind of etiquette would that entail? Would he be able to
kiss John in public? Hug him? Hold his hand? "What- um…"
John smiled and drew him into a short kiss. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"
"Of course, Daddy!" he replied hotly, offended at the implication of otherwise.
The doctor laughed as he moved to stand next to the bed, that low, rumbling
sound that never failed to spark embers of arousal in the child's belly. "Good.
Then strip and come here. We have to get you ready for our date."
Sherlock was naked and standing in front of John record time.
The first item to be picked from the bed was a penis-shaped device made of
metal rings.
"This is a chastity_device," he said, holding it up for inspection. It took a
moment, but Sherlock realised there was a small metal bar screwed into the top.
"Do you know what that is?"
"The colloquial term is 'cock cage'," he replied, face heating at the term. As…
adventurous as he got with John, he did not join in sex conversations with his
classmates, and he and Daddy had yet to discuss any of what they'd done.
"Good boy," John murmured, sending another pulse of arousal through Sherlock.
"Now, this," he said, unscrewing the little ball at the top and pulling out the
little metal bar, "is a sound. You know where that goes?" The boy could only
nod. "We're going to put this on you because we have a long night ahead of us,
and I don't want you to come until we're back home tonight."
His mouth went dry. "Yes, Daddy."
John gestured for him to sit on the bed and snagged a bottle of lubricant, one
different from what Sherlock normally used. "Medical lubricant for the sound,
and you'll be drinking cranberry juice throughout the night to prevent
infection," the man, ever a doctor, explained. "Now," he started as he opened
the base of the chastity device that the boy knew would go under his testicles,
"I am in no way requiring this of you. If at any point tonight this becomes too
uncomfortable or begins to hurt, I need you to let me know, understand?"
Sherlock couldn't answer for a moment as the cold metal slid over his barely-
plumped cock and the metal ring was fixed under his bollocks and around the
base of his penis. The metal chill made him exhale in a hiss as the cock ring
was shut and a small lock was clicked into place. His eyes were affixed to the
strange sight of his cock, and a thrum of excited lust ran through him at the
thought that he wouldn't be able to get hard tonight, no matter what his daddy
did to him. And he had no doubt that his daddy would be doing quite a bit.
"Sherlock, do you understand?" The boy's eyes snapped up and his breath caught
in his throat at the sight of the doctor lubing up the urethral rod.
"I understand, Daddy."
"Good." A warm hand wrapped around him, and the heat he could feel between the
metal bars made his cock start to swell, but it was instantly stopped by the
cage. He couldn't help but moan. "Now, take a deep breath for me."
The inhale got stuck in his chest at the first touch of the barely-warmed metal
pressed against his slit and just barely inside.
"Daddy."
"Steady now. It may be a bit uncomfortable at first, but it shouldn't take long
for you to get used to it." He couldn't answer because the man started slowly
fucking his penis with the small rod, pressing a little deeper each time. It
was the strangest feeling, being filled where he'd never been filled before.
Even stranger than the first time Daddy had licked him open. Stranger than
fingering himself open for the first time to prepare himself for Daddy's thick
cock. So much different than being filled by that nearly monstrous girth (he'd
done the research- Daddy was far above the average circumference of most men,
even if the length was about average).
Feeling a bit overwhelmed and confusedly aroused, Sherlock collapsed onto his
back and pressed his hands to his face, curling his fingers tightly into his
hair to keep himself from accidentally shoving Daddy's hands away in his bodily
discombobulation. Before he knew it though, he'd planted his feet on the edge
of the bed and began trying to thrust up, his mind a chaotic mess of need-
needing the bar to be removed and needing for the bar to just penetrate him
completely. A warm palm settled on his belly, gently pushing him back to the
bed, accompanied by soft murmurs of encouragement. He didn't even realise he'd
never exhaled or the that the thrusting had stopped until the sounding rod was
turning inside of him as it was screwed into place.
"Breathe out for me, sweetheart." Immediately, he released the air trapped
inside his chest, and his restrained erection pulsed insistently against the
metal. The end of the exhale was choked off with a sob as his hips swiveled up,
his body and mind dazed by the new sensations, his skin hot and prickly. "How
do you feel?"
"Weird," was the first word that came to mind, his lips moving before his brain
had time to properly process the question. He tried to will his body to cool
and calm, but it was impossible to ignore the metal around and inside him,
every throb of his thwarted erection a reminder.
"Bad weird?" Sherlock clenched his fingers tighter in his hair at the gentle
concern, trying to ground himself against the raging arousal stronger than he'd
ever felt before.
"No, just…" He trailed off as he slowly pulled his hands away and gingerly sat
up, every small shift of his body shifting the sounding rod. He looked down at
himself, the sight of metal around and in his penis a sight as confusing and
arousing as the sensations it evoked. The boy reached out to touch the small
metal ball at the tip of the device and whimpered when it shifted inside of
him. "Just… weird."
"Good," John chuckled, one of his fingers joining Sherlock's to trace over the
cage. When it tapped the sounding bar's top, the Sherlock had to bite his lip
to keep from crying out when it unexpectedly pressed just a little further
inside. "Now, stand up and bend over the bed, sweetheart. This is next." The
item Daddy held up was a black_anal_plug, not quite as thick as the man's cock,
but with a raised patterning around the centre.
Sherlock immediately tried to stand, only to find that his legs were, at best,
shaky, and didn't seem to want to support his weight. Before he could collapse
back to the bed, John reached out and steadied him, helping him turn around and
lay him on his belly across the duvet. The furniture was a bit shorter than his
waist, and the position resulted in his arse pushed into the air, his caged
cock just barely brushing the soft fabric below him. He felt like he needed to
be touched so badly that he would explode if he wasn't, and then a lubricated
finger eased into him.
The boy bucked and cried at the touch, ineffectively thrusting forward and then
back, trying to be pierced faster, trying to be pierced by more. A calloused
hand began to stroke down his spine, like he was a cat to be petted, and soft
kisses accompanied by the gentle scrape of the doctor's beard were peppered
across the top of his buttocks. It felt like hours passed before his body
settled and a second finger was added, but when it was, he only twitched and
let out a deep sigh of satisfaction at the stretch.
The familiar process of being fingered open relaxed him until he was pliant
against the bed, his erection faded enough so that the cage was only an
unfamiliar heaviness around him rather than an excruciating restriction. When
the four fingers were pulled free, he whined at the loss, shoving his hips back
in a plea to be filled again, and then something thick and silicone was
entering him rather than Daddy's cock. He'd actually managed to forget what
they were doing when he'd fallen into his semi-meditative state.
The plug was vastly different than the one he'd used on Christmas: thicker,
wider based, ribbed for his pleasure. He almost giggled at that thought until
he felt his sphincter close around the base and he realised it was long enough
to brush his prostate. Without warning, the base was pressed, and the object
began to vibrate rapidly inside of him, stimulating the small bundle of nerves
and turning Sherlock into a live wire.
"Hhhaaahhh…" Breath forced itself out his throat as his erection filled to its
current limits, pressing against the metal bars and swelling around the sound.
His awareness of his cock and his arse was sharp and vivid, as was his
awareness of the touch of John's hand against his spine and the duvet under his
chest. He'd never before been so conscious of his own body, not even when he
was impaled on his adoptive father's cock with his adoptive mother sat just a
few feet away on the couch. Not when he was swallowing down the man's cock
while the woman was splayed out just above him. Not even with her family eating
in the next room when he couldn't keep his cries of pleasure silent. He was no
longer a human boy, he was pleasure personified.
"Such a good boy for me," Daddy murmured, nipping his arse cheek. The
surprising bite made him jump and the plug shifted right into his prostate. He
cried out as his cock throbbed uselessly, unable to get any harder than it was
now. "Shhh, it's okay. You're doing wonderfully. And now it's time to get you
dressed. Stand up, love."
Sherlock pressed his palms to the bed on either side of his chest and attempted
to push up, if only to roll over, but his arms were shaking so bad that he
couldn't move himself more than an inch. "I can't, Daddy," he whimpered, the
shift nudging his prostate again.
"Oh?" John mused behind him. "You want a treat at the end of our date tonight,
yes?"
"Yes, Daddy," he whispered, clenching his eyes closed as he tried to bring his
own body under control. He'd never needed to come so hard in his life and the
fact that he couldn't even get hard made the pleasure absolutely torturous.
"Well, only good boys get treats," Daddy continued, and Sherlock whimpered. He
wanted to be a good boy for his daddy. He was a good boy for his daddy. Better
than he'd even tried to be for anyone else. But he'd never encountered a task
so hard.
He tried again, focusing all of his effort on pushing with just one arm,
needing to at least get off his belly. He finally succeeded into getting onto
his side, and it was easy to fall onto his back from there. But the gravity and
the position pressed the vibrator into direct contact with his prostate and he
cried out, his hips jerking into the air, trying to get relief from the
unending pleasure and friction against his aching cock. The movement did
nothing, and he nearly died when his hips dropped back down and it just nudged
against him once more, the pressure and the vibrations unending and driving him
out of his mind.
"I need- I need-" he started and then stopped twice, his breath catching in his
throat. He hated his lack of control as much as he loved it, and he forced
himself to take a single, deep inhale. "I need- Daddy- to help me- up," he
finally managed to choke out, the sentence broken repeatedly by his breath
hitching in his throat.
"All you had to do was ask, love," John chuckled, reaching down to pull him
into a sitting position. While it brought him upright, it also forced the toy
inside of him into direct, rather than brushing, contact, and he went rigid for
a second time.
"St- stah- stand," he gasped out, voice pleading and legs trembling as he
raised shaking arms to be pulled to his feet. To his mild horror, Daddy just
smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the back of his hand.
"No, I think I'm going to leave you like that for as long as I can," he was
told and a full-body shudder went through him. "You're going to be wearing it
all night, so home is the perfect place to acclimate you to it."
The boy sobbed as his leaden arms dropped back to his sides. It felt like his
entire body was shaking from either the device’s vibrations or because of the
pleasure, and as his cock continued to throb insistently, it just served to
remind him that tonight, his body didn't belong to him. It belonged to Daddy.
Fabric being guided up his legs made the child jump and he realised his mind
had started to be become overrun by the white noise of lust. John was already
guiding familiar panties up his legs.
"Your Christmas gift," the boy gasped, licking his lips at the memory.
"My favourite Christmas gift," the doctor corrected, lifting one thigh and then
the other to work the lace up rather than helping Sherlock to stand. He did the
same with each arse cheek, never lifting him completely from the bed as the
lingerie was finally tugged into place.
The day after Christmas, Sherlock had changed out of his surprise into normal
pants, stuffing the other ones into a deep corner of his overnight bag. He
hadn't even realised they'd gone missing, but he was glad they had. The lace
was a familiar sensation across his skin and between the bars of the chastity
device, and he got so busy trying to ground himself with the sensation that he
squeaked in surprise when a hand curled around the bottom of his foot and
lifted it to rest on a hard thigh.
"Are you still with me, sweetheart?" John asked, eyes twinkling in amusement.
The boy looked up to find the man kneeling at his feet, a length of sheer white
hosiery bunched up in his hands and already in the process of being slipped
over Sherlock's toes.
"Yes," he croaked, wincing at the sound of his voice. He cleared his throat and
tried again. "Yes, Daddy." The second attempt wasn't much better. He sounded
too whispery, too throaty, like the kind of women he'd seen and heard in the
pornographies he'd used as research.
"Good boy," Daddy said, smile soft as he leaned down to press a kiss to the
inside of Sherlock's knee. The soft brush of lips was followed by the slide of
unfamiliar fabric up his slim legs until the first was fixed around his thigh.
For a moment, the unending vibrations fell to the wayside as his fingers glided
over the smooth white stockings to the thicker black strips holding the
lingerie to his thighs without suspenders. "Feel the backs, love," John
instructed, and the boy immediately lifted his thigh, wincing when it shifted
the plug inside him, and then his breath caught when his fingers found a thin
ribbon lacing up the top of the backs of the thigh-high_stockings. "Do you like
them?"
Feeling suddenly a bit daring, Sherlock looked up and made eye contact with his
daddy who had picked up his other foot and was sliding a stocking up his other
leg. "I bet they look better than they feel," he said breathlessly. For the
first time since he'd come home, the ex-soldier's composure wavered, evident in
the sudden dilation of his eyes and the way his fingers tightened around
Sherlock's thighs with bruising force. For a moment, neither of them moved
other than to breathe, then John let out a sudden, heavy breath and stood.
"None of that, Sherlock," the man reprimanded without heat. "We're on a bit of
a schedule for this portion of the evening."
Chastised, the boy nodded and dropped his gaze to tug on the tops of the
stockings, making sure they were even. The sounding rod was sinking into just a
background awareness, and he was starting to adjust to the constantly-ON state
of the anal plug. He shifted in place, helplessly grinding down a bit on the
silicone as Daddy picked up a pair of high_heels that made him frown. "I don't
think I can walk in those, Daddy."
"You'll be with me all night, sweetheart. You won't be going anywhere alone,"
John promised darkly, kneeling again to slip the boy's small foot into first
one heel, then the other, before tying the thick ribbon around his ankle in a
bow. When the man stood again, taking in all of Sherlock who blushed at the
scrutinization and resisted the urge to cover himself up, John groaned deep in
his chest as he bit his lip, the bulge at the front of his trousers twitching
tellingly.
Automatically, the child reached out, intent on relieving Daddy, but his
fingers were quickly intercepted and kissed. "Not yet, love. Almost," he was
promised in a tone that made him shiver, "but not yet. We still have to finish
getting you dressed."
Feeling giddy, Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. The pleasure was starting to
ease from the overwhelming over-stimulation into something of a persistent easy
fire low in his belly and he shifted in place, biting his lip to keep from
making a sound.
It took a moment for the boy to recognise the next thing to be lifted from the
bed, mainly because, even with what he'd been adorned with so far, he hadn't
even thought about what would come next. But when John held up the black,
frilly_dress, it only made sense, and it only made him more aroused at the
realisation that he would be wearing this on their date. In public.
"Daddy," he whispered, unable to think of anything else to say. Blue eyes
shifted his way from their focus on locating the sleeves and the neck hole, and
he wordlessly raised his arms. Daddy's smile, not just hungry, but relieved,
speared him through his chest and he wondered how worried the man had been
about what Sherlock's reaction would be.
The garment was carefully guided over his head, the doctor's steady hands
taking care to not let his curls get tangled. It settled with a flutter across
his lap, the small bows decorating the front just larger versions of the bows
on his knickers. It was then that he realised how much care his daddy must have
put into the entire outfit, and he resolved to be the best boy that he could be
in thanks for such heart-warming consideration. He tried to look down at
himself, to appreciate the choices Daddy had made, but it was clear he wouldn't
be able to appreciate the outfit in its entirety until he stood in front of his
mirror. Except there still seemed to be some items left to apply.
"Fingers, sweetheart," John said, holding up a small, clear case of fingernail
appliqués. Frowning, Sherlock held up his hand and let the small black-based,
lace-tipped stickers be applied to his nails as he eyed their apparent
unreliability. Though he wasn't sure why even his nails were being decorated,
the fact that they would potentially fail to hold up to even a simple faucet
made it clear that he was expected to do nothing tonight. Which meant that John
was finally taking control.
Despite the vibrator up his arse, brushing against his prostate with every
exhale, and despite the sounding bar penetrating his penis and the cage around
it, the careful attentions of his adoptive father put him in a state so relaxed
that it felt like he was floating. He managed to maintain his bodily detachment
while his fingernails were decorated, something wet was painted across the line
of his upper eyelids, and something heavy was looped around his neck and both
wrists, and he didn't come back until he heard his name being called.
It was almost agony, returning to full consciousness and being reintroduced to
the thickness of the sounding rod and of the anal plug inside of him. But then
he opened his eyes, took in the dazed way John was looking at him, and lost his
breath.
"Daddy?" he whispered, unsure how else to interpret the look in his adoptive
father's eyes.
The doctor broke his gaze and dropped it to the floor before scrubbing at his
eyes. "Sorry, Sherlock," he said, and the use of his name sent an unexpected
shot of something painful through the child's chest.
"Don't-!" he snapped out, and the man's eyes snapped up to his, startling
Sherlock with the surprise in blues rimmed with red as if John had been trying
not to cry. Suddenly shamed by his reaction, he ducked his head and twisted his
hands together. "Don't call me that," he finished in a mumble.
"Don't call you what, sweetheart?" John asked gently, kneeling at his feet
taking Sherlock's hands in his, peering up at him from between his legs. "Don't
call you by your name?" Slowly, the boy nodded. "Why don't you want me to call
you by your name?"
He could feel his face heating at the sentiment behind the reason, but he knew
that the ex-soldier wouldn't let the matter go now that it had been brought up.
He couldn't help but drop his eyes to his hands. "It feels like you don't love
me as much when you say it."
"Sherlock," John breathed. This time, it didn't sound like his name, like a
complaint or a reprimand. It sounded like "Sweetheart" or like "I love you",
and it made his breath catch in his throat. "Sherlock," his adoptive father
murmured, standing slowly and pulling the boy to his feet, drawing Sherlock's
laced hands up over his head and around the back of his neck. "Sherlock," he
said again, reaching up the ruffled skirt to grasp at his bottom and hoist him
up, pushing the white-clad legs around his waist. "Sherlock," he groaned, voice
husky as he pushed his cargo into the wall and pushed a thick erection up into
the base of the vibrating anal plug. Sherlock's weak moan was drowned out by
another "Sherlock." His new favourite sound.
One hand released his thighs and reached below him, turning off the plug. He
hadn't even realised how much he'd gotten used to it, how much he needed it to
never end, until it was gone and the vibrations were no longer shaking the
metal rod in his cock. He sobbed and clawed at Daddy's shoulders. "Please!" he
begged. "Please, Daddy!" he shouted, thrusting ineffectively into the man's
stomach.
"That's it," John soothed. "Don't worry. I'm going to fuck you so hard I may
have to carry you to the cab," the doctor assured, tugging at the base of the
plug. Sherlock whimpered as it was pulled slowly free, as the flared middle
stretched him wide wide wide before popping free. The boy could feel his hole
clenching around empty air, begging to be filled again as the thick, still
silicone was tossed onto his bed. Before he could voice his desperate need,
there was the sound of a zipper in the otherwise-silent room and it was music
to his ears.
Daddy's erection was hot and hard against his tender hole, and the familiar way
it stretched him open had him crying out and trying to shove himself the rest
of the way down. John tutted and pulled first one leg out from behind his back
and hooked it over his shoulder, and then the other. It bent Sherlock clean in
half, forced him the rest of the way down that thick cock- illogically, it felt
like it reached deeper into him than it ever had before.
"Hold on tight, Sherlock." Warm, calloused hands cupped his arse, keeping him
steady and even, even as blunt nails curled in for leverage. The boy barely had
time to dig his own nails into the weathered skin of the ex-soldier's neck
before the powerful hips balancing his arse began to thrust.
It was nothing like he was used to. It didn't start out slow or careful. He was
being forcefully bounced on his daddy's cock, his slick and stretched hole
ruthlessly used for his adoptive father's pleasure. His caged cock couldn't
even bounce properly between them, his lace knickers holding the metal shaping
stubbornly in place. Still, it was thickly plumped between its bars, throbbing
around its urethral sound. Every thrust grazed his prostate, sending pulses of
whitewashing pleasure through his veins, building building building with
nowhere to go.
Sherlock whimpered high in his throat, the urge to just come a solid pressure
in his belly. "I need to come, Daddy!" he cried, clawing and tugging and
dropping his hips futilely. His bollocks were hot and heavy between his legs,
restrained by the lace. "Please! Let me come."
"No, love," the man gasped, fucking up harder. "Not yet. You can't- come- yet!"
he groaned, hips jerking to a standstill as the warmth of his come flooded
Sherlock's arse. The boy cried, clenching around his daddy's cock, needing to
come, needing for the cock in him to continue its abuse on his prostate until
his orgasm made him a useless, babbling mess. More so than he already was. But
it remained still and then slowly softened, such a drastic comparison to the
aching not-quite-hardness of his own cock.
He was nearly in in tears when he was pulled from the wall and walked to the
bed, his drop onto the soft surface dislodging the man's cock from his hole.
Before the come and lube had the chance to leak out from his twitching muscles,
something thick and hard was pressing into him again, stoppering him, keeping
his daddy's come inside. Barely had it finished sinking into him before the
anal plug was turned on again, the unexpected stimulation to his swollen
prostate making the child scream as his back bowed off the bed.
John was there in a flash, straddling Sherlock's hips, pushing them back down
to the bed as gentle hands stroked and combed through his hair, calming him. It
was a slow process, making him push the pleasure that was ruining him to the
side. The vibrator continued to vibrate, overwhelming him with pleasure as it
stimulated his prostate and his cock. It wasn't until John pulled him to his
feet that the vibrations faded away as the device shifted away from where he
was most sensitive.
"Come over to the mirror, love," Daddy urged, moving behind him and placing
steady hands on waist. "I want you to see how I see you." Legs still shaking
and mind still dazed, the boy didn't respond so that he could give all his
concentration over to making sure his unusually-shod feet didn't trip him up.
He found himself oddly fascinated by the black bows tied over his ankles, a
stark contrast from the glaring white of the thigh highs he'd been worked into,
and carefully picked up and set down one foot before doing the same with the
next.
It wasn't as difficult as he'd originally believed it would be, walking around
in heels like he was. Though he could potentially attribute his ease to the
distraction caused by the wide silicone lodged up his arse and the cage still
locked around his cock.
"Okay, stop here, sweetheart," John murmured in his ear, making him jump. He'd
become so preoccupied, so distracted by his own biology, that he'd forgotten
where he was and what he was doing. When he brought his head up to take in his
reflection, he promptly lost his breath.
Sherlock logically knew and understood that he'd been dressed like a female,
but he hadn't expected himself to actually look like one. But the dress, the
heels, the make-up, the state of his hair, turned him into something
androgynous, something ethereal and untouchable. Even the way his eye liner had
been smudged by his own hands during his loss of control aided in the image,
and the wide_diamond_collar and bracelets made him appear older than he really
was.
John was lingering just over his shoulder, the hands on the boy's waist gone
tentative and the expression on his face wary. "I could fix up the make-up but…
what do you think?" he asked, sounding worried.
The child whirled on the spot and threw himself at his adoptive father,
gracelessly shoving his tongue into the man's mouth. He probably would have
jumped up to straddle his waist if John hadn't broken away with a relieved
chuckle.
"I take it that you like it," the ex-soldier pressed, voice still cautious.
"I love it, Daddy," Sherlock replied, finally in the position to assure the
older man rather than the other way around. John placed both palms on the boy's
cheeks, looking between his eyes for a long minute before smiling, a tension
the young genius hadn't realised was there falling away with the expression.
"I'm glad," the doctor murmured leaning forward for a slower, softer kiss.
Before he could coax the man into something deeper, there was a short honk from
outside and Daddy stood up with a grin.
"Cab's here. Are you ready, love?" he asked, striding back towards the bed and
picking up the last piece, a black_shoulder_cape that he tied into place over
Sherlock's shoulders, the thick wool fabric warming his bare upper arms.
Sherlock turned to look at himself one last time, feeling vain for the first
time in his life. But then, who wouldn't with their daddy looking at them the
way John was looking at him now. The boy shook himself, clamped down on the
unending shallow waves of pleasure and of the incredible awareness of his own
cock, and lifted his chin. "For you, Daddy? Always."
***** The Celebration: Part Two *****
Chapter Notes
     If you're wondering why this is posted so late in the day (21:00 me
     time), it's because I've been sickish and completely forgot it was
     Thursday. I would not have recalled at all had a FFN Guest not
     reminded me. Thank you FFN Guest.
If Daddy hadn't been the one sitting kerbside, Sherlock would have flung
himself from the cab as soon as it stopped. The ride had been an exquisite
torture, the damned vibrations pushed directly into his prostate, jabbing it
with every bump in the road. It had only been made worse by the hand clamped
around his waist and the other on his knee, keeping him still, forcing him to
accept the stimulation. Even worse, he'd spent the entire ride biting the
inside of his cheek, his tongue, his lip, anything to keep from making any
noise.
It felt like an eternity until John reached back into the interior to pay and
to help him out, all the while the faint sensation of the buzzing seeming loud
amongst the still leather. It made Sherlock flush at the thought that, if the
driver were attentive enough, he could know what was sitting inside him right
now. Then he was free, standing on the kerb with Daddy's arm around his waist,
guiding him carefully to the queue outside the Royal Opera House.
"I want to be honest with you, Sherlock," the doctor said in his ear, his new
shoes allowing his adoptive father the ability to barely bend his head down to
reach. "I don't think you're going to like the ballet, but you're not here to
watch the ballet." Startled, the child turned his head and was met with a
mischievous smirk before the man's face disappeared when John ducked around the
side of Sherlock's head again. Teeth nipped at his lobe, sending a pulse of
arousal through him at the short burst of micro-pain. "You're here for me."
Only the arm like a steel bar around his waist kept his knees from buckling at
the dark tone.
The man didn't let up with his filthy whispering until they reached the door,
and by that time, Sherlock was a trembling mess, unable to remain upright under
his own steam. When the valet greeted his daddy by name and took their coats,
he could barely manage a smile.
"And this must be your beautiful wife, Dr Watson," the young man, much older
than Sherlock but far younger than John, said, sending the boy a bright smile.
The compliment made his face hot, even as the thought of being publicly tied to
the man he loved more than life, put under a claim that would be visible to
everyone, made his chest warm.
"This is the love of my life," Daddy said, making the child both blush and puff
up with pride. A kiss was pressed to his temple, making him freshly aware of
the fact that he was standing in one of the most opulent rooms in London,
stuffed with a vibrating anal plug and sounding bar, both put into place by the
well-respected man at his side. Sherlock had never felt filthier, or more
aroused. "Say 'hello', sweetheart," John prompted.
"H-hello," the child stuttered out, blushing at the loss of his normal
eloquence. The valet gave him a concerned frown even as John smiled warmly at
him with dark eyes.
"I think it's time we find our seats. My date hasn't been feeling well this
evening," the doctor said, easily excusing them from the valet's eager
attentions. "We will see you after the show, Billy." Before he knew it, he was
being walked away so quickly that it nearly felt like he was flying over the
floor. The stairs weren't so easy. Every step shifted not just the plug, but
the sound, and he barely made it a third of the way before his legs were
shaking and his one-handed grip on his daddy's shoulder was bone-crushing.
"You're doing so well, sweetheart. We're almost there," John was murmuring
encouragingly, tugging him first up one step, and then another, then another.
"Such a good boy for me. Guess what?"
"I don't guess, Daddy," Sherlock snapped hotly under his breath, electrifyingly
aware of the people passing them on the stairs as his skin flushed and prickled
with exertion and arousal.
"Yes you do," the man teased, ducking in for a quick, gentle kiss despite the
somewhat-audience. It made his heart pound faster as his awareness spiked. One
look and everyone would know that he was the doctor's adopted son. One look and
they would know the perversions they explored together. A glance and they would
see the unnatural shape of a metal cock cage around his pulsating erection
under his skirts. People glanced at them, but only smiled with a stranger's
fondness for heart-warming scenes, as if they were just some regular couple out
celebrating their anniver-
Sherlock broke away from the kiss with a startled gasp.
"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" John asked, face pinched with concern as he ran a
well-practised doctor's eye down the boy's form.
"Today," he whispered, feeling oddly choked up. He'd been so occupied with his
own lust that he hadn't even realised how much time had passed. But passed it
had. And precisely one year ago today… "Today… is our anniversary?" The worry
on the man's face disappeared.
"For such a genius, you forget the important things quite often," he chuckled,
helping Sherlock up another stair, ignoring the wince the child made when he
did.
"Yes, well. I had other things on my mind," Sherlock huffed. They were about
two thirds up the stairs now, and flat ground was so close, he could almost
feel the relief it would bring to his prostate.
"Hm," was all John said, clearly more amused than the boy figured he should be.
"Well, when I get you to the top of these stairs and into our private room,
I'll give you something else to occupy your mind with." Sherlock's breath
caught in his throat, and though the remaining steps made him feel as if he
were soaking straight through his knickers to his dress with the force of his
arousal, he made it up them without a word, sighing in relief as he stepped
upon flat ground once more.
Without pause, he was ushered into a small, dark room that overlooked the whole
of the opera house, and all the people below it. As he examined the room,
observed in all its nooks and crannies, John had a short whispered conversation
with the attendee out in the hallway. A minute later, as Sherlock was warily
eyeing the two chairs and contemplating taking a seat, the door clicked closed.
It was impossible not to notice the lack of a lock, and to not notice the two
glasses of dark liquid and the hand towel in John's hands. Before he could ask,
the doctor sat in the chair furthest from the door, set the two drinks to the
side, and spread the towel over his lap.
"Come here, sweetheart," John husked, beckoning with two fingers in a lewd
motion. Sherlock licked his lips and stepped up to the man's legs, oddly
pressed tight together from knee to pelvis as they were. "Turn around," he was
instructed next, and he obeyed without a word, breath catching in his throat at
the quiet sound of a zipper. Hands on his waist tugged him backwards, forcing
his knees wide as he was made to straddle his daddy's legs, and the blunt, wet
head of a thick cock rubbed at where he was stretched around the base of the
plug.
"Daddy," he breathed, feeling a tendril of concern whisper through him. It
wasn't that he wasn't open to having the plug and his daddy in him at the same
time, but now did not seem the place or the time to try and get him to fit.
"Trust me, sweetheart," the doctor breathed back, which the boy almost missed
when he whimpered from the vibrator being turned off again.
The sound of the hall filling with people taking their seats down below was a
low murmur outside their private box, but Sherlock could still hear a faint,
wet, sucking pop when the anal plug was pulled free. He wanted to moan at its
loss, but strong hands were at his waist, pulling him backwards, spreading
Sherlock's thighs with John's before his still-slick hole was being filled with
his daddy's thick cock. The boy clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip to stop
himself from whimpering at the stretch as he was settled in John's lap. His
skin felt hot, especially where it was covered still by his lace knickers and
the soft cotton of his dress and the smoothness of his thigh-highs. The man
behind him hummed as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, one hand
still keeping hold of the anal plug, but he didn't move any more than to settle
back into his seat.
"Relax, love," he whispered, his hot breath fanning over the child's ear and
making him shiver. "We've got two and a half hours until the end of the ballet.
Think of it like movie night: you're here to curl in my lap and keep my cock
warm." The crude wording had Sherlock letting out a breathy moan and shifting
in place, clenching around the welcome intrusion when it grazed his prostate.
"Mmm. That's right. My perfect little porcelain cock warmer."
Sherlock whimpered at the compliment and ground down onto the cock inside him,
trying to get friction against his prostate. John shushed him and settled fully
into his chair, fixing the boy's skirt so it lay flat over the man's thighs,
and arranged the pliant body in his lap until it was draped backwards over his
chest.
"Pace yourself, sweetheart," a rumbling voice said right against his ear,
making him shiver. "We don't want you getting too tired. I don't plan on
filling you until the final act, so it would be a good idea to sit back, relax,
and enjoy the show."
He tried. He really did. There was something about a princess who'd been turned
into a swan, and a prince who loved her, and he only caught that much because
John spent the entirety of the ballet up to the intermission whispering in his
ear as calloused fingers traced random patterns from the outside to the inside
of his thighs. By the time the curtains fell for the break, he was shaking in
his daddy's lap, his cock throbbing, when the fingers pulled away. He begged
and pleaded for their return, only to be encouraged to drink an entire glass of
what turned out to be cranberry juice while John refused to return to his
attentions until the audience had taken back their seats and the dancers their
stage. Sherlock had spent the remainder of the intermission squirming endlessly
with his head cocked uncomfortably over his shoulder, mouth suitably occupied
by the doctor's.
When the music started up again, a faint buzzing began to echo in the air
around them, and he snuck a look to the crowds of distant people around the
second level, all of whom were facing the stage. Before he could ask what the
sound was, his skirt was shifting over his legs and the blunt tip of the
vibrator was pressing against his perineum, his cock cage in just the right
position to rest atop the buzzing silicone. A firm hand immediately clamped
over his mouth just as his lips parted for a silent scream into the warm flesh.
After being spared the vibrations for the last hour, it was a shock to his
sound-speared cock and his cock-prodded prostate and his mind went black.
"Oh God, Sherlock," John groaned against his ear, the arm still around the
child's waist tightening as the vibrator let up for a moment before moving
forward again. Sherlock arched again as the sensations renewed "You feel… Jesus
fuck. The vibrator is making you pulse around me. You're so fucking good,
sweetheart. So tight, so hot, so wet. I don't think I'll be able to make it to
the finale."
The boy couldn't reply. He couldn't do anything other than sit pretty on
Daddy's cock and be fraught with the unbearable need to come and the inability
to actually do so. His daddy didn't even move either. He just sat there,
whispering filthily into Sherlock's ear. As the second half of the show passed
before the boy's unseeing eyes, the vibrator between his legs would pull away,
allowing him to sag into the firm embrace, before pushing forward, right
against his perineum again, making him tighten right back up. Every time that
happened, John would break off his speech to moan a low, deep, rumbling thing
in the child's ear.
He could have come by the time the show ended. Ten times- a hundred times-
over, but the cage forced him into near-impotence. As the audience stood in
uproarious applause, John jammed the vibrator hard against Sherlock's perineum.
The boy's cry of a surprising, painfully unsatisfying dry orgasm was lost in
the ovation as John's was buried in the fabric of Sherlock's dress over his
shoulder.
The ballerinas were still bowing on stage when the hot pulses of his daddy's
come in him stopped. Shaking and crying, Sherlock could only tremble in the
doctor's lap as he waited for the sensations in his body to cease. When he came
back to himself, when his body had slightly eased, though his erection felt
fuller inside its cage and thicker around sound than it had before, John slowly
tipped him forward, keeping an arm around him as the soft cock slipped out and
then was promptly replaced with the vibrator. Barely had it been fully seated
when it was turned on again, and the boy went rigid. He would have crumpled to
the floor if not for the arm around him, and even still, he sat there twitching
in the grip for long minutes, unable to separate the sensations of the dry
orgasm from the unending ones made by the vibrator.
John spent the entire time pressing kisses to his damp temple, whispering
soothing things in his ear as steady fingers stroked through his hair. When the
knock came at their door, he realised that most of the hall had emptied of
people, and they were likely one of the only ones left. He was on his feet
before he knew it, but his legs wouldn't support him. Only the ever-present arm
kept him aloft, and he threw an arm around the man's shoulders for added
support.
"Everything all right in there, sir? Ma'am?" came the concerned attendant's
voice, muffled as it was by the still-closed door.
"My partner is feeling ill," John replied, his voice that wonderful, firm,
concerned doctor's tone Sherlock loved. "We're coming out now."
The door was cracked and held open as they approached, the man on the other
side watching worriedly as they slowly walked out.
"Would you like me to call someone for you?" the young man asked, brow furrowed
as he watched their slow progress. It felt like every muscle in his body had
been worked to death, and despite his overall annoyance with sleep and the time
it took away from him that he could be using on experiments, he felt like he
could happily fall unconscious for a full day. If he wasn't so painfully hard
that it seemed like he would never be able to go soft again.
"No, thank you," the doctor replied with an easy smile. "We'll be taking a cab
from here." When the attendant continued to hover worriedly as they began
descending the stairs, John turned to him with a gentle smile. "It's quite all
right. I'm a doctor and well capable of caring for my loved ones. Thank you for
your concern."
They encountered the same concern throughout the lobby and again with the valet
as John tied the cape back around the child's shoulders. It wasn't until they'd
gotten into the cab and Daddy relaxed that he realised how tense the ex-soldier
had been.
"All right, Daddy?" he croaked under his breath. Despite not having been able
to speak, both by physical ability and by allowance, his throat felt positively
ruined.
John smiled down at him warmly and kissed his forehead. "Perfect, love."
"Oi, where to?" the cabbie called, annoyed.
Exhausted, Sherlock leaned into his daddy's embrace, feeling exhausted and a
bit ready to go home.
"Angelo's," the doctor replied, startling the boy.
"Not home?" he asked, voice smaller than he would have liked. The grin he
received in return was positively devious.
"Oh, I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart." Sherlock shuddered at the husky
promise in the man's voice. "We've some time yet to go before you'll find
relief." The child could only stare up at him, heart pounding and cock
throbbing as the driver finally pulled away from the kerb.
***** The Celebration: Part Three *****
"Welcome to Angelo's!" The cheerful (loud) greeting came from a portly Italian
man that Sherlock suspected was Angelo himself.
"Good evening," John replied with a warm smile that the child wouldn't have
been able to replicate even if his jaw wasn't clenched shut. Standing as he
currently was, the vibrator was situated away from his prostate, and after the
long cab ride, the lack of direct stimulation was more of a relief than he
could put into words. "Do you happen to have any tables near the loo? My date
hasn't been feeling well this evening."
Angelo took a long look at Sherlock, scanning him from head to toe, no doubt
the boy's tension and flushed faced adding truth to John's statement. He
gripped his daddy's hand tighter.
"But of course!" the restaurateur cried after a moment, startling him into
jumping enough for the plug to shift inside him. He bit his tongue and
swallowed down his noises. By the end of this evening, he would not be
surprised to find himself an expert at keeping himself silent. He was certainly
getting in more practise than he'd ever thought he would.
They were led to an intimate little alcove near the emptier back-end of the
restaurant, the door to the loo situated close by. Since Sherlock wasn't
actually feeling unwell, except for the torturous pleasure of the plug and the
cage and the sound, he could only guess at why Daddy wanted to be close to the
toilets. Though, considering how the evening had turned out so far, he could
only wonder how long it would be until he had that thick cock back up his arse.
He couldn't help but shiver at the thought.
"And here is a candle for your date," their guide said with a smile, setting
one on the tabletop and lighting it with a flourish as John guided Sherlock
onto the small, rounded seat, sliding in after him a moment later. Barely had
the man left them alone in the cosy gloom was an arm wrapped around his waist
and a familiar, calloused hand was sliding under his skirt, finger pads tracing
patterns on the insides of his thighs and brushing his swollen cock through the
metal bars around it. They didn't pull away until the waitress appeared to take
their drink order (his throat and mouth so dry, and his tongue so useless, that
his daddy had to order for him).
As soon as the woman walked away, the fingers were back, this time tracing his
hot, heavy testicles before dipping down to trace where his hole was clenching
around the plug. Lips pressed against his ear- not speaking, just breathing,
sending shivers down his spine- as the tip of a finger worked its way into him
alongside the silicone, stretching him just a little bit further. The boy's
breath caught in his chest and his eyes went wide but unseeing as it continued
to pull back out only to push back in, just a little farther. Distantly, he was
aware of the way John was nearly curled around him on the seat at their table,
the hand between his legs hidden by his skirt and the long tablecloth, and the
man's other hand warmly perched on his knee the only thing keeping him
grounded.
When the waitress returned to deposit their drinks on the table, Daddy didn't
bother removing his hand. In fact, as he thanked her and gave her their food
order in an unwavering voice, a second finger worked itself to the first
knuckle in next to the first. They hooked just inside his rim and then stopped
moving, just sitting inside him, keeping his arse open even further than the
plug was. It shifted the plug away from his prostate, enough so that the
trembling in his body eased, and he looked up in time to see the way their
waitress's eyes skipped right over him to scan John. He would have bared his
teeth, but as soon as the order was finished and the menus handed over, the man
turned to him.
"You feel warm, sweetheart," Daddy murmured, pressing their foreheads together,
though Sherlock knew he wasn't talking about his skin. "Are you feeling all
right?"
The waitress was still lingering, watching as if she hoped that Sherlock would
turn out to be John's well-spoiled daughter. Heart pounding in his chest, the
child lurched forward and pressed his lips to the man's, wrapping his arms
around the broad shoulders. Daddy made a surprised noise and then wrapped his
free arm around the boy's narrow waist. Sherlock locked eyes with the waitress
and glared as he threaded his fingers through short, ash-blond hair while a
smooth tongue dipped in his mouth and a third finger dipped just inside his
hole. Her eyes widened in surprise then narrowed, and then she nodded, a short,
sharp motion before turning on her heel and walking away. Sufficiently
satisfied that his claim had been acknowledged, he slowly eased back, unable to
keep the smug expression from his face.
"Feel better now?" John asked, stern expression betrayed by the twitching of
his lips.
"I don't know what you mean," Sherlock replied loftily, taking a sip of his
drink which turned out to be cranberry juice again. The second he'd swallowed,
a fourth fingertip pressed inside alongside the others, making him choke on his
breath.
"Possessive little tart," the doctor murmured, watching as his boy twitched in
his grip and at his side. "Very possessive..." John paused as he leaned in and
placed his lips next to Sherlock's ear, "...for a cock slut." The child
whimpered and ground down into the fingers curled just inside himself, somehow
forgetting about the vibrations and almost yelping when the plug jabbed his
sensitive prostate. "Shhh… We don't want everyone else knowing what a little
slut you are," Daddy murmured in his ear as he tugged on his little boy's rim.
"Or else they might want a little piece of my porcelain doll too."
The ex-soldier was startled from his affections and filthy mutterings by their
plates being set on the table, and Sherlock used the distraction to lean up and
place his lips by his daddy's ear instead. "They can want all they like. I'm
Daddy's little cock slut." John went tense at his side, and for a moment,
Sherlock thought he was going to get stuffed right there at the table. But then
the waitress set down the last dish and walked away, and slowly, the man at his
side eased.
"A right tease you are," he was told as pepper and salt was sprinkled over
their plates, or in Sherlock's case, his bowl. The doctor in his adoptive
father made sure that the genius ate, even when he didn't want to, but the
caretaker in the man attempted to concede to lighter fares such as salads and
soups, the latter of which was being nudged towards him. He didn't want to eat
though. He wanted John to hurry and finish so he could be filled again, and
hopefully this time allowed to come.
The doctor levelled a stern look at him. "You'll need your energy for tonight,
love. I expect you to eat at least half of that." Before he could open his
mouth to argue his energy levels were more than sufficient, the fingertips in
his arse were pulled free one by one. "Good boys who eat their dinners get
rewarded." Sherlock snapped his mouth shut and turned to his dinner, trying to
ignore the way that, when withdrawn, the fingers stayed between his legs,
resting against the anal plug's base.
Dinner ended up being a silent affair as the child practically scarfed down his
soup, ignoring the raised eyebrow he got from John who was eating his own pasta
at a more sedate pace. The second Sherlock was done, he shoved his bowl away
and resisted the urge to draw his knees up to the seat like a begging dog as he
waited impatiently for his daddy to finish eating. To his immense displeasure,
as soon as John was done eating, the waitress came by to grab their plates, and
the doctor put in an order for dessert. Then, to his pleased surprise, Daddy
stopped her before she could walk away again.
"My date has been feeling under the weather for most of the evening," the
doctor said with a pointed glance to Sherlock's flushed face and undoubtedly
glazed eyes. The young genius was already fairly familiar with the way arousal
could be mistaken for an overly high temperature, and he'd been kept on edge so
much throughout the evening that he must look positively feverish. "We will be
using your restroom for a short time. Please leave the plate on the table. We
will return after I am assured of my date's wellness."
"What are you, a doctor?" the woman replies, voice a bit snappish, no doubt
still upset at John's earlier blatant rejection.
"Yes," he replied simply and her eyes went wide as her mouth formed a small
'o'.
"Oh," she said, all tension and aggravation leaving her face. Sherlock couldn't
see his daddy's face, but he imagined the raised eyebrow made an appearance
because the waitress suddenly flushed and took a stumbling step back. "I'll
just… go put your order in with the kitchen. Shall I ask them to delay it for a
few minutes?"
"Yes, please. Thank you," John replied, sliding from the seat before reaching
back down to help Sherlock down. His legs had become useless again from sitting
on the vibrator, and his knees crumpled as soon as he was out of the private
little booth. "Careful, sweetheart," his daddy whispered against his ear,
holding him tightly to the man's chest with that familiar steel arm around his
waist. The waitress continued to watch them as they shuffled away, not turning
to deliver their dessert order until they walked through the loo door marked
'Family'.
Sherlock didn't bother waiting for instruction this time. He could hear the
door being locked as he hobbled over to the sink and bent down, reaching down
between his legs to pull the plug free. He moaned weakly at the stretch, his
spine dipping down to perk up his arse as he dropped the still-vibrating
silicone into the porcelain.
"Daddy, please," he begged, wrapping his fingers around the white edges.
"Please, I need your cock in-" He hadn't even heard the man unzip his trousers,
but in the next second, the hot blunt tip of that delicious cock was against
where he was the most needy.
"You really are a little cock slut," his adoptive father murmured from behind
him as the bottom of his dress was flipped up and a warm hand placed itself at
the base of his spine. "Look at you, so open and wet for me." The hard erection
thrust shallowly forward, barely entering him, and Sherlock whimpered. "You're
such a good cock warmer for me. It makes me wonder though: have you always been
a cock slut? Is that why you were turned down for adoption so many times? You
were too slutty for them?"
The thought of doing this, of being this needy, this vulnerable, in front of or
for anyone else made his heart pound wildly in his chest and his stomach tie
itself in knots. For the first time that night, his penis no longer seemed to
fill the spaces between the cage and around the sound. He didn't realise he was
shaking his head too until his daddy's soothing sounds found their way through
his haze of panic.
"Shhh. It's all right. I've got you. You're fine. It's just us. Only us." He
dimly realised that the cock that had previously been barely inserted was now
filling him with its entirety as hands stroked through his hair and down his
back, then up again.
"It's just you, Daddy," he gasped, twisting painfully to look over his
shoulder, needing the man to understand that- "It's only ever been you. I
promise. Just you, Daddy." The warm smile he received went a long way towards
melting the chill of dread around his heart.
"I know, sweetheart. I trust you," the doctor assured, pulling out and
thrusting gently back in. "You think I haven't noticed how good you are for me?
How good you are for only me?" Hands tightened around Sherlock's waist, pulling
him fully down on the hard thick cock penetrating him. "You've been perfect for
me since day one. My perfect little cock slut doll."
Sherlock didn't get a chance to reply. The hands around his waist tightened,
bruisingly so, and pulled his arse roughly back into his daddy's pelvis. That
first thrust was a direct hit to his prostate and he had to turn his head into
his bicep to keep from making noise as his cock swelled again, filling its
cage. With every thrust, his heels scraped along the floor, and with every
upwards yank, they came down with an echoing click, both sounds creating a
beautiful accompaniment to the melody of skin slapping against skin. The
sensation of his chest being continually driven into the sink was less
beautiful, and the fixture was from from being an ideal piece of furniture to
be fucked over, but as soon as he looked up into the mirror, he forgot all
about the minor pain.
John's face was slack, his lips parted and his eyes glazed as he gazed down at
Sherlock with an expression of absolute adoration. The boy moaned softly at the
look, pleased beyond measure that there was someone who loved him that much. At
the sound, dark blue eyes snapped up and met his in the mirror, and the
expression in them grew darker, hungrier. The pelvis slapping against his arse
sped up and his hips were shifted until his daddy made contact with his
prostate, driving the breath from his lungs and forcing his eyes shut, his
fingers clenching around the rim of the sink with all his might.
All that stimulation with no output was short-circuiting his brain, was making
discomfort and time disappear. He only knew he was being used for his daddy's
pleasure, and that he must have been good, if the man's constant whispered
praise was any indication, the kind words slithering like snakes into his
brain, burrowing amongst his subconscious. He had been vaulted into the clouds,
floating above in the sky with no way to come back down to earth. The cock in
him only forced him higher, faster and faster, until it slammed to a stop
inside of him, pulsing with release.
"That's it, sweetheart," John whispered as Sherlock writhed on his stilled
cock, needing more than he'd ever needed anything for the stimulation to
continue until he came properly. "Milk me. Let me fill you up." The boy whined
high as his hips continued to roll, feeling so painfully close to orgasm, and
yet, he'd never been farther from relief. "Sh, sh, sh. It's all right. I've got
you. You're all right." And just like two other times that night, Sherlock was
soothed until he was no longer shaking and sobbing.
When was calm again, John's now-soft cock pressed a little further into him as
the man reached forward to retrieve the vibrator from the sink. The boy could
feel his hole twitching, trying to expel the liquid he felt nearly full-to-
bursting of, before the silicone was pushed back into him and turned back on,
trapping his daddy's come inside him and making his legs turn numb. When he was
righted, he caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror, his cheeks flushed
beyond measure, his eyes unfocused and blurry with unshed tears. John slowly
turned him and then simply stood there for a minute, gently sweeping his thumbs
just under Sherlock's eyes and across his cheekbones.
"God, just look at you," the man said reverently before dipping down for a
kiss. His tongue swept into the child's mouth, drowning him in a haze of
unending pleasure. John was humming as he pulled slowly back, and it took a
long time for Sherlock to realise he'd closed his eyes.
"Daddy," the boy whispered, unable to raise the volume of his voice any higher
than it already was.
"I think we've both had our fill here, yes?" The words made his cock twitch and
his walls spasmed around his plug, making Sherlock's knees weak to the point of
crumpling.
"Yes, please," he replied, almost begging. He longed for home, for a soft bed
and to be wrapped in his daddy's naked embrace.
"All right then."
Their progress to the door was slow, and when they opened it, their waitress
was standing on the other side. Her hand was raised as if she were about to
knock, but Sherlock couldn't help the flood of arousal that hit him at the
thought of her listening to his daddy fuck him silly.
"You don't look much better," she said, speaking to the boy for the first time.
His lips twitched, expression morphing into something more grimace than joy,
and she shot an alarmed look towards John.
"I think its best that our dessert be made to go," the doctor informed,
expression much too jovial. Though Sherlock did suppose the man had had the
delicious opportunity to come in his cock slut three times that night. Without
a word, the woman fled to obey and John took the opportunity to squeeze his
boy's arse. The sudden shift of the vibrator made the child squeak, and John's
laughter echoed through the restaurant.
***** The Celebration: Part Four *****
"What do you think, sweetheart?" John asked, pressed tightly to his back and
arms draped in a comforting embrace over Sherlock's shoulders and down his
chest. The boy curled his fingers tight around the bars lining the inside of
the London Eye pod the doctor had apparently rented out for the two of them to
watch the sunset together. He would be lying if he said the view wasn't
stunning, but it was more than obvious that watching nature had been the last
thing on his Daddy's mind when he'd decided on this endeavour.
"I think Daddy is an exhibitionist," the child grumbled in reply, widening his
stance to better his balance and incidentally dropping himself a little deeper
onto the man's cock. From the outside, even in the fading sun, they would look
like any other couple wrapped up around one another to watch the last rays of
light disappear beyond the horizon. Had anyone been able to look any closer,
there was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that they would have been able to see the
way his skirt was suspiciously lifted in the back and that he kept rocking
backwards as the man behind him rocked forward.
John's laugh echoed throughout the pod and as he reached down to where the anal
plug, currently off, was wedged between the boy's thighs. "Just for you, doll."
Sherlock couldn't help but shiver. To say that he was fond of this new
endearment was an understatement, and he had no doubt that his mind would
happily supply 'my porcelain cock slut' any time he heard the word henceforth.
Though it should have taken more time for him to form a Pavlovian response to
the sentiment, just hearing his daddy call him that made his cock throb around
his sound. "Now loosen your thighs for me a little. We'll have to make this
round a short one."
As instructed, he bent his knees and spread his thighs, unsurprised when the
vibrator was situated at the apex. His bollocks, hotter and heavier with every
second passed unrelieved, were worked into the space between the base and the
flared middle, which would nestle the tip of the silicone directly underneath
his daddy's own bollocks. It was turned on the second it was in place, and his
fingers tightened around the bar as his hips jolted backwards, grinding his
arse into the man's pelvis.
"Hngh!" A pleasured/pained grunt seemed all he was capable of responding with,
everything in his body going tight as the vibrations shook through him at his
most private, vulnerable area. Warm arms wrapped around his middle and a chin
hooked over his shoulder, lips nuzzling the skin below his diamond collar.
"Jesus," John groaned into his ear, the low timbre making Sherlock's muscles
spasm around him. "I really need to buy a proper-shaped vibrator. So I can fuck
you while it's still in you." The boy whimpered at the idea, the hallucination
of sensation more than a delightful one. "Maybe one of these days I'll have to
tie you to the bed, put the vibrator against you and ride your cock until
you’re sobbing my name."
On cue, Sherlock choked out a "Daddy!" He'd never before considered what it may
be like, to be inside the warm slick heat his adoptive father was always
praising him for, but now that the idea had been given voice, he knew it would
drive him round the bend until he was rewarded with such a rare treat.
"That's it, love." Hands palmed his stomach, rubbing back and forth gently. He
longed to feel the rough texture of callouses against his skin, but now was not
the place. With any luck, he would be provided the sensation before he
inevitably passed out. "Did you know you grip me like a vice every time I
compliment you? Every time I call you 'sweetheart' (hah), 'love' (hngh), 'my
porcelain cock slut doll' (Oh fuck, Sherlock)." He hadn't noticed, but with
each name, Sherlock found his attention drawn to the way his internal muscles
spasmed around the thick cock spearing him. "And every time you clench around
me like that, you bring me just a little closer to coming in that beautiful
arse."
The child moaned, overcome with lust at the mere picture of being stuffed full
with his daddy's come.
"Would you like that, doll? Would you like to be so full of my come you can't
move without fear of leaking, even with the plug?"
"Oh God, Daddy, yes. Please!"
"That's what I thought." John's voice sounded much too smug. Not that the boy
was really in the state of mind to really notice. "Then fuck yourself on my
cock like a good boy. Like my good boy."
With a whimper, Sherlock moved to do what was asked of him, rolling up onto his
tiptoes and then dropping back down onto heels. Each motion brought a sharp
clack from his shoes, and a quiet grunt from his daddy. The arms around his
waist tightened with every drop of his hips, bringing him more fully onto the
erection inside of him. He wasn't at the right angle to hit his prostate, for
which he was grateful as he knew he wouldn't be allowed to come just yet.
The Eye was completing a circle just as John's breathing started to grow
laboured, and the man eased him into stillness as their pod passed by the
attendant working the ride. In the clear glass, Sherlock could see the doctor
smiling at the teen-aged attendant, and the young man smiled back, completely
oblivious to the fact that the nice, bearded older man was standing just feet
away with his cock up his adopted son's arse. He had to bite his lip until they
cycled out of sight, and as soon as the worker was no longer looking at them,
the child rose up and dropped back down harder than he'd done before,
whimpering at the sensation.
"You almost made me come last time, doll," John murmured into his ear, one hand
smoothing down his belly and over his cock cage, renewing his attention on his
throbbing cock. "Do you think you can do it again? Do you think you can make me
fill you and get your plug back in before we pass that sweet boy again?"
Sherlock was filled with a sudden, intense hatred for the attendant who'd
garnered the adverb 'sweet' from his daddy and he let out a growl, increasing
the rise and fall of his hips and studiously ignoring the growing ache in his
calves. Possessiveness swept over him, a burning desire to get the man's come
in him as soon as possible, mark him with his DNA, his musky scent, from the
inside out, laying claim to his actual 'sweet boy'.
"You didn't like that, did you, sweetheart?" the doctor asked against his ear,
hands moving to his waist to assist in his task. "Me calling that worker 'sweet
boy'?"
Just hearing the phrase again incensed Sherlock to ride that fat cock faster,
harder, as he shook his head. "No. No I don't. I hate it. No one else is
supposed to be your 'sweet boy.’ Just me," he spit out, his anger making his
voice sharp, turning his tone into one he'd never imagined he'd be using to
speak to Daddy.
"I'm sorry, love," his daddy replied, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his
jaw. "I won't do it again. I promise. Okay?"
Mollified by the sincerity in the man's voice, Sherlock nodded and allowed his
pace to slow. He felt the odd urge to adjust the vibrator between his legs,
make sure it was properly in place, even though he knew it hadn't moved.
"Good. Then how about my sweet boy shows me how sweet he can be?" Licking his
lips and swallowing around his suddenly dry throat, the child nodded and began
a smooth, quick, rocking rhythm, fucking himself on his daddy's cock.
Just as they were rising to the top of the ride, John's breath in his ear had
begun to quicken and deepen a second time, and the arms around him tightened
like a corset. Sherlock's heart began pounding in his chest in anticipation,
and a moment later, teeth worried at the bared skin between neck and shoulder
as his insides were flooded with that long-desired wet heat.
He found he couldn't stop rocking until his daddy groaned out an "Ungh. Stop,
love," into his flesh. He rocked a few more times, still caught in the rhythm,
until the teeth tightened, sparking an odd stinging pain-pleasure from his neck
to his cock and he froze immediately. Outside their pod, the sun disappeared
completely and the few seconds of afterglow when John's face was still lax from
his orgasm were lost to the no-longer reflective windows.
For a few moments, the pod was completely dark, and the man behind him used the
opportunity to work his hand back under Sherlock's dress to shove the still-
vibrating plug up his arse right after he drew out. The sound of the wet
silicone scraping over the lace was a loud rasp in the otherwise-silent pod and
the boy's legs gave out as the vibrator popped past his rim.
For a terrifying moment, the arms around him disappeared and the back of his
dress fell back into place. He'd only just taken a panicked breath when the
arms were back and those familiar, slightly-chapped lips were brushing against
what was no doubt a blooming hickey, a beautiful, blatant mark of ownership.
"Didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart," John said, wrapping the child back in
his solid embrace. "I had to tuck myself back in before the lights came back
on." On cue, the bulbs lining the pod flickered to life, flooding the moving
room with a muted glow. Sherlock didn't point out that the man's cock had
originally been pulled out in full daylight in favour of remaining silent and
content in the hug.
They stayed like that as the Eye completed it's rotation. When they reached the
bottom, his daddy withdrew from his back only to move to his side, wrapping a
single arm around his waist this time. As the attendant fiddled with the latch,
the closely-trimmed hair of the doctor's beard tickled his neck while lips
tickled his ear. "Are you ready to go home, love?"
For a moment, Sherlock couldn't reply. Then he promptly flung his arms around
his daddy's neck and engaged him in a heated snog. When he finally drew away,
the man's face was flushed, as was the attendant's, but the man's eyes were
hooded while the teenager's were averted. Something about the worker's
discomfort made the boy smile, and he pitched his voice low. "Yes please,
Daddy. Please, take me home."
John grinned widely as he guided the child from the pod. The worker didn't say
anything to them as they passed, so intently was he looking at his own shoes,
until his daddy pressed a folded bank note into the attendant's hands, and then
his head shot up, just in time for John to wink at the young man. The attendant
flushed and his jaw dropped, eyes dilating in clear arousal at the typical
flirtatious gesture. Sherlock bristled and the same possessiveness as before
swelled in him, and then was quickly abated with a clearly spoken, "All right,
doll. Let's get you home." The crushed look on the worker's face only made his
victory, and his bared-teeth smile, sweeter.
***** The Celebration: Part Five *****
Chapter Notes
     Alas, the final chapter.
Even though it had only been hours since he'd gotten home from school and been
given the news of Daddy's and Mary's divorce, it felt to Sherlock like aeons
had passed since he'd last walked through the door to their home. He felt worn
out and stretched to his limits and exhausted in a way he'd never been before
and unsatisfied to such a degree that he wanted to cry and he felt utterly and
completely broken. It wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed so much more.
When they walked in, he half-expected to be ravished against the wall of the
foyer, but his daddy did nothing more than press a kiss to his cheek as he
removed the boy's mini-cloak and then knelt to remove his heels. It wasn't
until his feet pressed flat to the ground that he realised how much they'd been
hurting and he hissed as his knees buckled at the unexpected, pounding
soreness. In less than the time it took to gasp in pain, he was being swept up
into strong arms.
"Why didn't you mention your feet were hurting, sweetheart?" John asked, face
the picture of concern as he carried Sherlock into the kitchen. The boy was set
on the counter and he squirmed in place at the press of the vibrator against
his prostate.
"I had other stimuli occupying my mind, Daddy," he replied dryly. "I didn't
notice until now." The man's head was turned mostly away from him, pulling a
glass from the cupboard, but the young genius could see the hint of a smug
smile twitching his adoptive father's beard.
"Speaking of other stimuli," the man said, pouring a dark red drink from a jug
in the fridge, "another glass of cranberry juice for you." The child wrinkled
his nose but dutifully took the glass. As he drank, John situated himself
between his knees, sliding his hands under his skirt and resting them high on
the boy's legs. He seemed content to do nothing more than stroke the inside of
Sherlock's thighs with his thumbs, each pass making fire sweep up his limbs to
his contained and throbbing cock as the man watched the liquid disappear
between his adopted son's lips.
As soon as he had drained the glass, it was taken from his fingers, and his
legs were wrapped around his daddy's waist. He locked his ankles together
automatically and laced his fingers together behind the man's head. Bright blue
eyes caught and held his own and his breath evaporated from his chest at the
expression in them, the unwavering attention. He felt speared through the heart
by that look, and he barely noticed that they were moving through the house.
"I love you, Daddy," he whispered, unable to look away. John stared at him for
a moment before his face warmed like it was made of sunshine.
"I love you too, sweetheart," he replied just as quietly before stretching his
neck forward to engage Sherlock in a slow kiss that made him excruciatingly
aware of the vibrator still inside him. It felt like there was a fire burning
in every limb, his blood nothing more than gasoline, the pumping of his heart
an accelerant, his daddy's mouth and beard the flame.
"Daddy, please," he whimpered into the soft hair of the man's beard, nuzzling
along his jawline, suddenly unable to handle the stimuli coursing through him.
"Loo first," the doctor said, cracking the soft, intimate atmosphere.
Sherlock groaned and flopped dramatically in the ex-soldier's embrace. "Daaa-
ddyyy," he whinged.
John laughed. "Trust me, love. You'll be glad for it later." There was promise
in those words that made the boy light-headed and he pulled himself upright.
"Okay."
He'd never been one to be embarrassed of his body or by his bodily functions-
until he had to sit on the toilet to pee while his daddy waited patiently next
to the sink.
"This is safer," he was told. "In fact, you should probably relieve yourself
like this until you become more familiar with how to do it while the sounding
rod is in."
Sherlock hadn't even considered that John would want to put him back in the
cage after tonight. Or, worse, that he wouldn't be let out tonight at all. He
turned frantic eyes towards the man, his embarrassment overcome by a surge of
panic.
"You are letting me out tonight though, right?" he asked, the frantic query
spilling from his lips in a breathless rush. John looked down at him and
Sherlock felt a blush spread across his cheeks. "Please, Daddy," he begged.
"Please let me come tonight!"
The doctor watched him for a minute before turning around and pulling several
cotton swabs from the drawer, running the tips under warm water. "Lift your
skirt and come here, love," John instructed, beckoning him forward. Face
heating further, Sherlock hurriedly flushed the toilet and closed the seat
before moving to stand in front of his daddy who kneeled in front of him for
the second time that night. He couldn't help but gasp when his cock cage was
grasped, and then one of the dampened cotton swabs was pressed to the sounding
rod ball's opening, swirling just inside before being pulled out. Slowly, the
metal tube was cleaned, and then the cotton swabs were being applied to the
head of his cock and his slit between the bars, making him gasp with the
somehow unexpected wetness.
"How does it feel? Anything hurt?" his daddy asked as he binned the used swabs
and then stood, eyes carefully examining every micro-expression on Sherlock's
face.
The boy shook his head in reply and trailed his fingers up the man's thighs
before hooking them in the folds of his pockets. "Well, not that kind of hurt,"
he amended after a moment when his cock throbbed in its confines. When John
only continued to watch him, Sherlock rose up onto his toes to whisper against
the man's lips, "Please, Daddy. I've been such a good boy. Please take me to
bed."
Being that close, he was able to feel when his daddy inhaled sharp and quick,
and when he went to brush a kiss on the corner of John's lips, he found himself
being yanked into a hard chest.
"I have to go get something," the man said, his voice a low growl that sent
tingles of pleasure down the child's spine. "When I come back down, you're to
be on the centre of my bed. Take the dress and the knickers off, leave
everything else. Understand?"
"Yes, Daddy," Sherlock breathed in return, low doses of adrenaline surging
through his system.
"Good boy. Now go." He rushed to comply, though the hard slap of a palm to his
arse almost made him trip into a wall. He recovered a moment later and
scrambled away on stocking feet, darting into his daddy's room and jumping up
on the large plush bed. He hadn't even settled before he began to tug and yank
at the ruffles, and after a brief scuffle with his own clothes, Sherlock had
the dress off himself and on the floor. The lace panties followed a moment
later, and they'd barely made contact with the hardwood before he was situating
himself kneeling prettily on his knees.
It took a moment for him to realise his breathing was accelerated, and he
closed his eyes, turning his focus to his own biology in an attempt to calm it.
As it did what he wanted, painful increment by painful increment, the boy's
mind began to wander, and he found himself remembering the first time he'd been
in this bed.
He'd become impatient, seeing that his feelings were reciprocated but not acted
upon, and he'd stripped in his room before sneaking into his adoptive parents'.
It had been easy enough to slide beneath the covers, and he'd been ecstatic at
the sensation of his daddy's thick cock hardening in his mouth. He'd been so
excited, he'd gotten hard from the mere thought of it, and the feel of its heft
on his tongue, the musk blanketing his senses, only served to drive his arousal
so high that he thought he would come untouched.
The sounds Daddy made when he woke made him shudder, and the sounds he made
after he realised who was really servicing him made Sherlock want to rut to
completion on the bed. He'd studiously held out, his little heart pounding and
his little cock throbbing at the danger that his adoptive mother could wake up
any moment. Despite that, or perhaps in spite of it, both his arousal and his
adoptive father's had thrived in the situation, and their orgasms had arrived
in short order. It had been a glorious start to something new and fantastic,
and to this day, Sherlock's only regret was that he hadn't slid naked into his
daddy's bed and put his mouth on that cock sooner.
Coming back to himself with a snap, the boy realised his adoptive father had
been gone for some time and he began to shift on the duvet. Despite the fact
that he wore more now than he had that first night, what he wore filled him
with a strange vulnerability, an aching need to put himself in John's hands,
giving over complete control. He whined at the thought and shifted, the plug
pressing into his prostate. Without quite realising it, Sherlock rolled his
hips again, the tip of the vibrator brushing by the little knob of nerves in
his arse. For a moment, he forgot himself, let his eyes sink closed as his hips
continued to roll like waves against the beach. Only the passing thought that
he wished it was his daddy's cock inside of him snapped him from his trance,
and the boy forced himself to rise to his knees, to let gravity hold the tip
away from where he was most sensitive.
"Look at you." The sudden voice from the doorway had Sherlock sucking in a
breath as he whirled around, and then he promptly lost the ability to get it
back.
Daddy was standing naked in the doorway, watching him with hooded eyes as he
slowly stroked the erection standing thickly from between muscular thighs. It
wasn't the first time Sherlock had seen him naked, not when they got to shower
together every movie night, but somehow, looking at him now was like he'd never
seen him before.
"You're so fucking perfect," John continued, his hand never ceasing the slow
glide of foreskin over steel made flesh. "My perfect little Sherlock. You found
your prostate and then you stopped. Tell me why, sweetheart."
Sherlock licked his lips and dropped down onto his hands, crawling to the edge
of the bed, letting his hips sway with the motion. His daddy's eyes darkened
and his hand slowed and then stopped over his cock as the boy stilled just
short of tipping off the mattress.
"I wanted Daddy's fat cock in me instead," he said huskily. "Daddy's fingers,
his tongue, his vibrator feel nice, but nothing feels so good as that,"
finished with a pointed look at the angry-red organ jutting out from the man's
pelvis. "Won't Daddy please fill me up?" he asked coyly, looking up at the
doctor from under his eyelashes as he pushed his arse up as high as it would go
in his current position.
John grinned and sauntered over, finally taking his hand from his cock and
rubbing a thumb smeared with precome over Sherlock's bottom lip. "Tease," the
man accused, and the boy slid his tongue out and curled it around the digit.
The doctor only allowed it for a moment before pulling his hand away. "On your
back, sweetheart."
The child flopped immediately backwards, and John followed him up onto the bed
with a low chuckle. It was a matter of moments before he was situated the way
his daddy wanted, and then he sucked in a breath, hoping and waiting for his
legs to be spread and his arse to be filled. Properly. His hips were shifting,
pushing his caged cock into the air and making a slight breeze tickle around
the plug.
"Not yet, love," John said, placing a hot, heavy palm on his belly. "I've never
gotten the chance to memorise every inch of you and I plan on remedying that
tonight."
Sherlock moaned and undulated into the hold. "Yes. I want that. Please, I need
that." His daddy chuckled and stretched out next to him, withdrawing his hand
and almost curling around him. The boy automatically tensed, waiting for a
touch that refused to come.
For a long time, there was nothing but stillness, John propping himself up and
eyes tracing Sherlock's mostly naked form, his other hand remaining
frustratingly on his own thigh. Bright blue eyes fixed on his, and though he
was still partially dressed- the diamonds around his neck and wrists, the
stockings up to his thighs- he felt more vulnerable than any time when he'd
been naked and in danger of being caught by his adoptive mother. Under the
intimate gaze, he began to tremble despite the warmth in the room. When he did,
John finally smiled and bent over him.
The first brush of lips and beard over his nipple made him cry and arch
upwards. The hand from before pressed against his belly again, holding him to
the bed as teeth closed gently over the sensitive bud and tugged. He writhed at
the unfamiliar stimulation- somehow, they'd never had time to try something so
simple- his mind overrun by the newness of it. He didn't realise his daddy had
moved to straddle him until the tugging and the heat let off one nipple and
moved to the other.
Now that he had twelve stone of full grown man pinning his hips down, his
daddy's calloused hands were free to palm his ribs and smooth up, pushing his
arms above his head. One hand easily grasped both his wrists, allowing the
other to return to its exploration, the tips of John's fingers tapping a count
of his ribs. The teeth at his nipples continued to tug and nip, moving between
the two buds, the sting soothed by a wet tongue until his chest was aching and
wet. Only then, only when he was sobbing did the mouth move any lower, kissing
and biting along his sternum, though he couldn't help but startle and giggle
when it moved to his more ticklish belly.
"That tickles!" he shrieked, squirming for a less sensuous reason. A warm
chuckle spilled across his skin as the lips settled over the curve of his hip
bone. His own laughter broke suddenly when suction was applied to the sensitive
flesh and he gasped, wanting to escape from the sensation and scrunching his
eyes shut as he tried to not do so. Even as he imposed his will upon his
biology, his daddy seemed eager to shred his control, nipping along his pelvis
and right up to the base of the cock cage.
Without warning, the man pulled away and Sherlock cried out in despair, jolting
against the hold as he tried to raise his hips, his aching stifled erection, to
the retreating mouth. It didn't click that his wrists had been relieved even as
he buried his fingers in thick short hair and tugged, trying to bring those
lips back to his skin. After a moment, they did, but rather than attending his
aching erection, they moved to the insides of his thighs, sucking and biting
harder than they had before. His legs spread automatically, opening himself up
to the man between his thighs and his mind filled with the image of bruises
blooming across his pale skin. The very idea of his daddy marking him fulfilled
something in his chest he hadn't even realised needed to be filled.
The first tug at his vibrator made him start and he tried to jerk away, the
thought of being empty even for a second more than he could handle.
"Stay still, sweetheart," the doctor murmured against the crease of Sherlock's
pelvis where his beard and lips persisted in tickling and arousing. "I don't
want to hurt you."
"I don't want to feel empty, Daddy," Sherlock admitted in a high whine,
planting his feet on the bed and pushing his arse to the mattress.
"I know, doll," John replied, moving up the child's body and settling between
his thighs, pressing pleading, placating kisses to the hairless jaw. "But I
need to be inside you. And the plug's shape is all wrong for us both to be in
you. I have to take it out, okay?"
He didn't want to be empty for a single second, but he wanted his daddy in him
more, so he bit his lip and nodded his head. When the silicone, still vibrating
was pulled from him, he couldn't help but clench around it, his body, full for
so long, resisting the loss. A sob wracked his small chest when the tapered tip
slid free, but before he could reach out, beg for its return, a familiar thick
cock was forcing its way past his muscles and his mouth dropped open in a
silent scream.
"Fuuuck," John moaned in his ear as he slid slowly deeper and deeper inside,
his body draping over Sherlock's like a warm, heavy blanket. "You're so full of
my come that you feel soaked. God, love, you're so wet. So fucking wet."
The boy whimpered and nodded, trying to spread his thighs wide to accommodate
the man's waist, the unfamiliar position forcing him to use muscles he'd never
had to worry about before. But as new as the position was, it instantly wormed
its way to the top of Sherlock's Favourite Positions list. It put his daddy's
face in his shoulder where he could worry the soft, tender skin there, leave
his mark for all to see. Or- Oh. Yes. That was so much better.
John had shifted back onto his haunches, regrettably separating their chests,
but it gave the boy a chance to look him in the eye, something they frequently
missed out on when his daddy had to fuck him from behind due to space and time
restrictions. Sherlock blinked in surprise at the sight of a bottle of
lubricant, the same one from when he'd been prepared and dressed just a few
hours ago, in the doctor's hand. And a small key. Sherlock's breath stuck in
his throat as he watched the lock over his cock cage be unlocked and then
removed, though the cage and ring themselves stayed fixed in place by his
inactivity.
"Don't move a muscle, sweetheart," his daddy whispered, sounding an odd mixture
of awed and stern as he uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount in his
palm. Sherlock cocked his head, watching curiously, unsure why lube would be
needed when John was already inside of him. Then deft fingers began unscrewing
the sound from his cage, and his body went rigid as his hands flew to his hair
and gripped hard.
He'd gotten so used to its presence that he'd forgotten how utterly strange but
satisfying it was to feel that metal bar moving inside his cock. Then it was
being pulled out and he couldn't help but let out a high whine, needing to
move, needing it back inside him again. He hated feeling empty, hated that he
had to be dismantled this way. It almost felt like a goodbye, like this was the
first and last night he would get to spend with his daddy like a real couple
who didn't have to hide between cross-dressing and make-up and the dark. He
loathed the feeling instantly.
Sherlock didn't realise he'd been voicing his thoughts out loud until his daddy
began to shush him gently, stroking the boy's trembling leg with his dry hand
and nudging at where the boy's hands were fisted in his hair with his wet hand.
"This isn't a goodbye, doll. This is 'hello'. A very long, very involved, very
late 'hello', but a 'hello' nonetheless," John assured. "You're mine, and I
won't let anyone take you from me, okay?"
"Okay, Daddy," the child replied, the minor shakes in his limbs calming as he
watched the sound be slathered in lubricant.
"Good boy. Now, just like before, deep breath." Sherlock obediently inhaled,
glad he'd done so when the sound, warmed by his body but slicked with cold
lubricant, pressed back into the slit at the head of his cock. As it slid back
into him, the doctor's other arm wrapped around his leg and his wet hand curled
around Sherlock's cock ring, holding his already-immobilised cock in place as
it was penetrated. Which ended up being a good thing because Sherlock couldn't
hold himself still, the sensation of being filled more strange and exciting and
arousing than having already been filled.
He fully expected it to be screwed into place, to further lock away an orgasm
he was beginning to suspect would never come, but as soon as it was fully
embedded, it was withdrawn, taking his breath with it. Then it happened again,
the rod pushed into him until the ball hit the base, and then pulled back out.
Over and over, his small cocked was fucked by his sound as his daddy sat hard
and unattended to inside of him while the boy squirmed on the bed like a snake.
His unattainable orgasm had been poised within his swollen testicles since he'd
been placed within the ring, and while its intensity had risen and fallen with
the events of the evening, it hadn't ever really faded. Right now, it felt more
ready to spring than it ever had, and something in Sherlock's mind whispered
that this was the bout of fucking, of lovemaking, that would fulfil him like
he'd never been before.
"Please, fuck me, Daddy," he whimpered, opening eyes he didn't remember closing
and finding tears of frustration clinging to his eyelashes. "I want to come. I
want Daddy to come in me, and I want to come. I want it so much it hurts,
Daddy, please," the child begged, finally reaching out to scrape his
fingernails down the sparsely haired and broad chest.
"As you wish," John replied, a secret little smile playing at his lips as if
he'd just made a particularly amusing reference. Sherlock supposed he had, but
he wasn't quite keen on finding out what it was at that particular moment. Even
if he was keen, the first thrust of that thick cock took him by surprise, the
firm press into him enough to wipe his mind of any thought that wasn't Daddy.
With all the dexterity of a proper surgeon, John manage to keep thrusting
slowly into him while delicately sliding the sound in and out of Sherlock's
throbbing cock. It was pleasure like he'd never known, being filled in his two
most intimate places with slow, first thrusts, but somehow, it still wasn't
quite enough.
A strangled noise left his throat and he reached out, needing more without
knowing what was missing or how to ask for it. "Please!" he cried out, knowing
his daddy would know exactly what he needed. Sure enough, John slowed down and
gave him an absolutely wicked grin.
"If I give control of the sounding rod to you, will you be my good boy and keep
fucking your pretty little cock with it?" the man asked, dark, hooded eyes
fixed on Sherlock's face. The child nodded frantically and, at his daddy's nod,
reached out to take hold of the metal ball. As soon as he got a grip on it, the
doctor moved both hands to his hips and hiked his arse up onto muscled thighs.
The very change brought his daddy's cock into contact with his prostate, and
Sherlock went rigid as white fire licked at his spine and his mind.
"Sherlock…" Daddy said warningly, and the boy realised he hadn't been doing as
he'd been instructed, as he'd agreed to do.
"Sorry, Daddy," he whispered, face heating in embarrassment as he began to
stroke the inside of his cock with the hard metal rod. John watched him
carefully for a moment, making sure that he was up to his given task, and then
slid his hands up to the strip of bare skin at the top of Sherlock's thighs,
holding the boy's legs tight to his chest. Then he leaned in, stretching the
limits of the child's flexibility with the position, and finally, finally began
to fuck him right and proper.
The white fire returned with a vengeance, not having been properly stoked since
their first round in his bedroom hours ago, the angle and the pace never
enough. His vertebrae fused together with a numbing heat and his vision began
to grey as his testicles drew up and his toes and fingers curled and uncurled
endlessly. He couldn't see John's face any longer to measure how close he was
to his own orgasm, but he could hear it in increasingly husky filthy praises
groaned into the air.
In no longer felt like he had to come, teetering on the edge of orgasm, but
more like he'd already fallen over and gotten stuck hanging just there. He
cried and sobbed and pleaded and begged for relief. His spare hand flailing for
something to ground him, his fingernails digging in where they found purchase;
the push and pull of the rod in his cock was moving in a blur now, a surrogate
for a hand around his aching erection. As if in response to his wild motions,
the cock in him sped up, pounding into him with a bruising speed and force,
positively abusing his prostate, driving an orgasm to the breakwaters.
Without warning, his daddy's hips slammed to a standstill inside him at the
same moment his hand was knocked away, pulling the sound with it, and his cock
cage ripped off, his cock ring following a moment later. It felt like his
erection swelled into full hardness immediately, and then he was coming, the
five-time ignited but never satisfied orgasm exploding through his body and out
his cock like fireworks. It washed over him so quick and hard that he promptly
blacked out from the overwhelming relief and pleasure of release.
~
Consciousness returned to him with a slow fuzziness he'd never encountered with
sleep before, and with warm, calloused hands stroking across his cheeks and
through his hair.
"Sherlock? Sweetheart? Can you give me a sign you're all right?"
His daddy's voice was a warm balm like honey that smoothed the white noise in
his brain and his body, but there was a thread of concern woven amongst the
comfort. He wanted nothing more than to comfort the man in return, but the only
sound that emerged from his throat was a strangled one made of undecipherable
syllables. Still, it seemed to be enough because there was a deep, relieved
sigh in response.
"Perhaps I pushed you too hard. You really scared me, doll," the doctor told
him, raining lingering, bearded kisses on his face. It took some time, but
Sherlock became aware that the warm blanket of his daddy's body was no longer
draped over or inside of his, but beside instead. He tried to open his eyes,
but they felt glued shut, and a moment later, there was a warm wet cloth
scrubbing across his eyelids and through his eyelashes. "Try again."
This time, his eyelids opened easily, though his sight was blurred. Gentle
thumbs followed where the cloth had gone, sweeping away remnants of tears until
he could see again. His daddy's face swam into view, brow furrowed and eyes
narrowed with concern.
"Daddy," he croaked, throat protesting the use as if overworked. A relieved
smile split the broad face in front of him and something in Sherlock's chest
loosened.
"There you are, sweetheart," John murmured, head dipping down to brush their
noses together. "How do you feel?"
The child took a slow, deep breath and let his eyes closed as he focused on the
sensations in his body. His limbs felt weak, boneless, useless. The idea of
moving wasn't just an improbability, it was an impossibility. He and the bed
were one, and his daddy was the pillows, propping him up. "Melty," he finally
replied.
John chuckled warmly. "That's good. Anything else? Anything bad?"
"Mmm… Nothing bad. Just melty. Good melty." It should have been clear from the
fact that he couldn't speak properly how frazzled he was. A palm cupped his
cheek and lips brushed over his, back and forth until he opened his mouth for
his daddy to slide his tongue in. The slow sweeps of the slick muscle made him
feel like he was basking in the sun and his body had just disappeared. He felt
like light incarnate under his adoptive father's slow kisses, his deep
affections, his unending love.
It was long minutes before Daddy let up, leaving Sherlock dizzy and panting on
the bed when he finally pulled away, but he was more than fine with that. He
grew drowsy again as calloused fingers began to sweep up and down his sternum,
and his mind wandered.
"A little bit ago," he croaked as the memory prickled to life in his mind, "you
said 'As you wish', and then smiled like you do when you make a reference. What
was it?" he asked, voice halting in its rhythm as he strained to regain the
usual eloquence his trained vocal chords provided him.
"It's from a movie it seems I need to make you watch at some point today: 'The
Princess Bride'," John explained, fingers tracing letters over Sherlock's
belly: J-O-H-N-'-S. The boy couldn't help but smile at the possessive marking.
"Not quite a spoiler, but the girl orders the boy around, and he only ever
responds 'As you wish'. Later, she realises when he says it, he's really saying
'I love you'."
Sherlock let that sink in for a moment. "So you were just telling me in a way I
wouldn't understand that you love me?" he asked, voice a mixture of incredulous
and disgruntled.
"Being purposefully obtuse doesn't suit you, sweetheart," Daddy chuckled,
sliding down to press a kiss to the boy's belly. Awareness prickled over like
his skin when the hair from his daddy's beard prickled his flesh as the heavy
weight of the man's head settled just above his hip bone. "If you don't know
how much I love you by now, then you're not as smart as you think you are."
He did. He did know. He really did. Still, his face flushed and he opened his
eyes again, tilting his chin down to find John staring up at him, his cheek
resting on Sherlock's belly. The sight was achingly intimate, made even more so
by the soft look in bright blue eyes. Cheeks heating, Sherlock reached down to
thread fingers that were still shaking through the ashen blond strands just a
little past military regulation. It was one of his favourite things about his
ex-soldier: the shortness of his hair, his routine neatness, the way he fell
into parade rest when he stood still. The minor arousal he felt when he
encountered attractive males in military garb told the boy that he might have a
'porn preference', so-to-speak, not that he had cause to lookup such things
when he had someone who would fulfil any sexual need he wanted.
"I love you, Daddy," he whispered, stroking his fingers through the man's hair.
"I love you too, sweetheart. Now, time for bed." Sherlock opened his mouth to
protest only for John to adopt a stern expression. "Blacking out does not
constitute proper rest. You're already clean so unless you need the loo, it's
bed time."
For the sake of being petulant, Sherlock adopted a pout but his daddy ignored
it and crawled back up his side and tugged the child to his chest before
reaching down and pulling the rumpled duvet over them. Out of John's sight, the
boy allowed his expression to east into a smile. The only time he'd been able
to sleep next to Daddy was on Christmas, and he'd never felt so loved in those
few hours. He hadn't slept that night, too overjoyed about the uninterrupted
embrace and he'd spent the hours just enjoying the hard arm around him and the
soft sound of John's snores.
As he settled down, he realised there was a hard cock nestled between his arse
cheeks, and he realised he was empty for the first time in hours. As much as he
loved being stuffed full of that thick, hot erection, he'd never realised how
much he hated not being filled, though he wasn't sure if it was because he'd
spent half the day filled with something, or because he'd become addicted.
Either one was fine with him, but he wasn't sure how John would feel.
"Daddy?" he whispered, knowing the man wasn't asleep yet but unsure how close
to unconsciousness he was.
"Yes, doll?" the doctor replied, voice thick and lazy with near-sleep.
"Can you… Would you be back inside me? While I sleep?"
There was a pause, and then a kiss was pressed to his shoulder that made him
realise the heavy collar necklace had been removed while he'd been out. It took
another moment to realise his bracelets and stockings were also gone.
"Of course," the man replied before shifting his hips backwards then guiding
his cock to Sherlock's still stretched and soaking wet hole.
Both of them moaned as he was filled slowly, and he almost thought his daddy
would begin thrusting again. But then the man draped over him again, a secure
living blanket with an arm around the boy's waist.
"Better?"
"Yes, Daddy. Thank you."
He wanted to stay awake, like he had at Christmas, to revel in the sensation of
being so full, but it seemed as if his sexual explorations had made him more
exhausted than he'd been in a long time, and he found himself losing conscious
before the man curled around him.
~
He wasn't sure what woke him first: the soft, moaning grunts in his ear or the
gentle thrusts of a hot cock in his arse. He realised he was on his belly, his
arms folded under his head and his legs pressed together. Knees bracketed his
waist and muscled arms were wrapped around his own thin ones while lips and
beard nuzzled at the exposed side of his neck.
"Can this be my new alarm clock?" he asked, voice slurred from sleep and
muffled by his bicep. His daddy hummed into his neck, nipping at his flesh as
the slow press of his erection into Sherlock's hole continued, the pace
leisurely, decadent. The boy's little cock was hard where it was pressed to the
mattress, and arousal was a low burn in his belly. Something told him the man
had been at this for some time while Sherlock slept.
Daddy's hips shifted, and the next thrust brought the thick glans in contact
with his prostate. He let out a weak moan into the cavern of his arms and
received an approving, gentle suck to the sensitive skin of his neck.
"As you wish," his daddy whispered with a soft nip to his earlobe. Safe from
scrutiny in the privacy of his arms, Sherlock's cheeks heated and a soft smile
eased across his lips.
FIN
End Notes
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