Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2428895.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Victor_Trevor, Sherlock_Holmes/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, Victor_Trevor, Mycroft_Holmes, Original_Male_Character
      (s)
  Additional Tags:
      Teenlock, First_Time, Virgin_Sherlock, Sherlock_is_a_Brat, Oral_Sex,
      Rimming, Fingerfucking, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, Light_Bondage,
      Masturbation, Bottom_Sherlock_Holmes, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Mildly
      Dubious_Consent, Alternate_Universe_-_Teenagers
  Series:
      Part 3 of Deduce_My_Ruined_Heart
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-09 Words: 5648
****** Love Never Wanted Me (But I Took It Anyway) ******
by alexabarton
Summary
     It's his sixteenth birthday and Sherlock Holmes will lose his
     virginity to family friend Victor Trevor.
     Really. He will.
     Sherlock can be very persuasive and Victor is only human after all.
     A twisted little love story.
Notes
     This story was just begging to be told before I can concentrate
     properly on John and Sherlock's next big adventure!
     It might be a bit ambiguous as to whether Victor is a major douchebag
     or not - I'll let you decide who is to blame - Victor or Sherlock?
     I've tagged for underage because Sherlock is 15 years old when the
     story begins and he does engage in sexual activities, but there is no
     intercourse until Sherlock has reached the legal age of consent - 16
     in England.
Sherlock was at home and he was bored. The summer holidays were drawing to a
close, a new school term beckoned.
Dull.
There was to be a formal dinner this evening and he was expected to attend. How
fucking tedious. Mycroft was bringing some people over, ridiculous members of
his ridiculous supper club, a bunch of boring arrogant, self-important tossers
with their braying voices and attitude of superiority. Sherlock would hate them
all.
He lay in the long grass on his back, palms pressed together and steepled below
his chin and thought. He was thinking about how best he could annoy everyone,
say or do something outrageous. Mycroft would dismiss him from the room, send
him upstairs alone in disgrace, and Sherlock would climb out of the window and
sneak into town. Oliver was having a party tonight, a pre-back-to-school get
together, there would be alcohol and weed, much better than overcooked beef and
bitter red wine. Sherlock might even let someone suck his cock. He knew at
least half of them wanted to, and the rest were probably too intimidated by
Sherlock to ask. But still, a much better evening then. That was what he would
do – it was settled.
Sherlock yanked at his collar in annoyance. He hated having it fastened at the
neck, it felt restrictive, claustrophobic. Mycroft had also insisted that he
wear a tie. It felt like a noose, he was going to choke. There was no way he
would be able to swallow any food. The drawing room was filling up with bodies,
the cloying stench of expensive aftershave hung in the air as Mycroft pressed
palms and smiled nauseatingly at each guest who arrived. It was the usual
assortment of minor government officials, club members and old school bum-chums
noted Sherlock.
One of the last to arrive, entering the room in a burst of nervous energy,
apologising profusely was quite frankly the most beautiful creature Sherlock
had ever seen. Golden curls framed soft creamy skin, defined jaw and
beautifully full curved lips. Green eyes twinkled, crinkling pleasingly at the
corners.
“So sorry I’m late Mycroft old pal!”
“Not at all Victor, we’re still expecting a couple more, grab a glass, I’ll be
with you shortly”
Victor’s eyes flashed around the room, taking in the surroundings, seeking out
the proferred drink. Sherlock found himself moving, propelled inexorably
forward. He lifted a full glass from the side table and approached cautiously.
“Erm…here…,is this what you were looking for?”
(his voice was much steadier than he felt)
“Oh, thank you so much. My name is Victor, Victor Trevor, I’m so pleased to
meet you. (He held out his right hand) And you must be Sherlock? Mycroft has
told me so much about you”
(Has he now)
Sherlock decided then that he would forego the adolescent blow-job this
evening. He was in the mood for something a little more challenging.
For the rest of the evening Sherlock was utterly charming, smiling and chatting
politely, with all the boring fucktards in the room. (He saved his genuine
smiles for Victor). If Mycroft was surprised he covered it well, preferring not
to draw attention to this unprecedented character transformation.
At the end of the evening, after everyone had left, Mycroft beckoned him into
his study.
“Thank you for this evening Sherlock. I know these events are not your forte,
and I greatly appreciate your effort”
Sherlock thought about Victor’s mouth, and slipping his tongue inside it.
The next time Victor came over, Sherlock was in a terrible mood. He had been
conducting an experiment in his room, calculating the decomposition rate of
arachnids and the cleaner had removed it. He was furious. Victor was
sympathetic – “Tell me about it Sherlock, how was it going till disaster
struck?”
Sherlock smiled. Victor smiled back at him.
The next few weeks were a heady blur for Sherlock. He lived for the days when
he would see Victor, and he would compete with Mycroft for his attention,
asking questions about his work, job, family, anything to wrest him away from
his brother. Sometimes he would catch Mycroft frowning at him from across the
room.
On one particular occasion he sat next to Victor at dinner and the knuckles of
his left hand accidently brushed with Victor's right. Sharp sparks of
electricity shot up Sherlock’s arm and heat pooled in the pit of his stomach.
He could feel his cheeks flush hot. If Victor felt anything he didn’t say, but
Sherlock caught him casting nervous glances at him from time to time.
The Christmas holidays were approaching and Mycroft was hosting a supper party
at the house. Victor was invited of course, but Sherlock was dismayed to
discover the invitation included a plus one and decided that Mycroft was a
diabolical bastard. He vowed to get completely pissed on champagne and smoke
one of Mycroft’s god-awful putrid cigars.
Sherlock felt the bottom fall out of his world when Victor entered the room. A
tall dark-haired man stood beside him, looking annoyingly handsome in a black
tuxedo, polished and perfect. Sherlock felt ugly and awkward in his charcoal
grey tailored suit and white shirt. Then the oily git was laughing, touching
Victor’s arm as they talked, standing much too fucking close. Sherlock seethed.
A couple of hours later when Sherlock was dizzy with alcohol and heart sick of
every single idiot in the room, he walked out to the back terrace to smoke
until he vomited. The French doors were open, white voile curtains billowing
lightly in the breeze. He heard a soft murmur of voices. Oh fucking shit, it
was Victor and the smug bastard. They hadn’t heard him and he couldn’t move,
only look on in horror as Victor tilted his head towards the other man, and
their lips met, tongues swirling, hands groping. White noise rushed in
Sherlock’s ears the music from the drawing room was too loud, it was too hot,
too everything… Sherlock thought he might faint. It wasn’t fair. He wanted
Victor, he wanted to kiss him and hold him and touch him. Sherlock fled.
He was drinking a glass of Mycroft’s brandy in the study when Victor came to
find him.
“You haven’t spoken all night Sherlock, is everything okay? You don’t seem
yourself”
(Fuck You Victor)
Sherlock shrugged and took another large mouthful of brandy. It caught the back
of his throat and made him cough.
“Steady there mate, Jesus Christ”
Victor took the glass from his fingers and set it on the mantelpiece, his other
hand was resting on Sherlock’s arm, he didn’t remove it.
“I think you’ve had enough now, maybe you should call it a night, go to bed”
“I will if you come with me”
Victor sucked in a breath.
“For fuck’s sake Sherlock, you can’t say things like that”
“Why can’t I? It’s true. I want you to. Come to bed with me that is” he
hiccupped.
“You’re fucking pissed Sherlock. You’ll feel like shit in the morning. I’ll go
get someone, stay here”
“No!”
Sherlock put his hand on Victors arm, holding him in place.
“I saw you out there, with him. I saw you kiss him. It should’ve been me. I
want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me not him”
“You’re fucking 15 years old Sherlock, are you trying to get me arrested for
god’s sake?"
Victor pulled his arm away roughly, and stalked out of the room. A few minutes
later his Uncle Henry appeared with a glass of water, made him drink the whole
thing down, and helped Sherlock upstairs.
“Better keep this from Mycroft old pal”.
Sometime in the night someone placed a wastepaper bin lined with a plastic bag
by the side of his bed and another glass of water with two paracetemol beside
it. Sherlock woke at 5.00am stumbled into his bathroom where he vomited
profusely, then staggered back to bed where he swallowed the pills and sank
back into a fretful sleep. It was late when he woke, headache returned and
mouth like sandpaper. He drank the rest of the water, got out of bed with a
groan and padded into his bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited a minute
before stepping under the steamy spray. The embarrassing horror of the night
before flooded back. Oh god, he had made such a fool of himself, Victor would
never speak to him again. Sherlock had ruined everything. Stupid! Stupid! Fuck!
Sherlock’s stomach pitched and roiled. He should eat something. He felt light-
headed and his legs were shaky. He turned off the shower and gave his body a
few cursory pats with the towel, shaking droplets of water from his thick
curls. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out of his room.
Sherlock had forgotten that some guests were staying over until he heard a tut
of disapproval to the left.
“Good god Sherlock, go and put some clothes on, we have company” Sherlock
rolled his eyes dramatically.
“ We need to talk later about your behaviour last night, Mummy was most upset.
It is simply unacceptable for you to have been so inebriated in front of
guests”
He stalked past and Sherlock flipped his middle finger at his retreating back.
“Don’t be so bloody childish Sherlock” (Damn!)
A door opposite clicked open. Sherlock’s stomach turned over again. It was
Victor. They stared at each other, eyes locked for what seemed an infinite
amount of time, before Victor’s eyes left his face and slowly roamed the rest
of his body. Sherlock felt paralysed, heart hammering uncomfortably in his
chest. His body began to respond to the intensity of Victor’s gaze as heat
pooled in his groin and he felt the first stirrings of an erection. Victor’s
eyes widened and he began to breathe more rapidly, swallowing convulsively as
he noticed Sherlock’s arousal. Sherlock longed to hook his finger into the knot
at his waist and let the towel fall to the floor. His hand was poised to do
just that when Victor turned away. The door to his room clicked shut.
Sherlock hoped the bastard needed to have a wank, and that he was thinking
about Sherlock in his towel while he did it.
~*~
It was New Year’s Eve before Sherlock saw Victor again, but this time he had a
plan. Sherlock was to entertain a guest himself tonight, a classmate of his and
younger brother of one of Mycroft’s colleagues. His name was Jeremy and he was
stupid but pretty. It was Mycroft’s idea. To keep him away from Victor,
Sherlock assumed. First he texted Victor. I need to apologise.
Meet in your room at 11.15? So sorry – SH
Next he made sure that Victor saw him at every available opportunity, laughing
and flirting with Jeremy in a most un-Sherlock way. Touching his arm, brushing
a crumb from his lip with his thumb, sitting with their thighs pressed close on
the sofa. Victor shot dark looks at him from time to time, and ignored his
date.
Sherlock felt mildly triumphant.
At 11.00pm he whispered in Jeremy’s ear “Come upstairs with me “
“Why?” (Oh god what a half-wit)
“Because I want you to blow me, now come on” Sherlock tugged insistently on
Jeremy’s arm.
“Okay, s’nothin better to do”
Sherlock and the idiot left the room. Victor watched them leave.
“In here, no-one will disturb us ” Sherlock lied, as he opened the door to the
guest bedroom that Victor always used. He sat on the side of the bed facing the
doorway.
“Wouldn’t it be better up on the bed properly, lying down?” asked Jeremy.
“No, I like it like this with you on your knees on the floor”
Jeremy coloured slightly.
“Shall we?” (he needed to hurry this along now) Sherlock gestured to his
crotch, at the growing hardness there, as he thought of Victor. He unzipped his
trousers and pushed them and his pants down, over his thighs and knees until
they pooled around his ankles. He spread his legs as wide as he could and
Jeremy shuffled dutifully between his knees. Sherlock sucked in a breath as
Jeremy’s clumsy mouth sucked down his cock, grazing slightly with his teeth.
“Careful” he warned. Jeremy tried again,, more tentative this time, trying
experimental licks and kisses up and down the shaft and over the head. Sherlock
moaned softly. It had been an age, he had forgotten how wonderful it felt even
when it was a bit crap. Jeremy grew in confidence, hollowing out his cheeks and
sucking down the length. Sherlock leant back on his elbows and tilted his head
back, breath huffing out raggedly. The door clicked softly. Jeremy was
oblivious, head bent to his task, and Sherlock knew it could only be Victor. He
risked a quick glance. The door stood open a crack, and there he was, silently
watching.
Sherlock decided to put on a bit more of a show. He reached out his left hand
and grabbed a handful of Jeremy’s auburn hair, pushing his head down slightly
and canting his hips up. A little face-fuck should do the trick. Jeremy hummed
with enthusiasm and Sherlock fell back on the mattress, both hands now cradling
Jeremy’s skull, panting and writhing exaggeratedly. He really did need to come
now though, despite the theatrics. He was on the very edge. Jeremy cupped his
balls and pressed his thumb into Sherlock’s perineum and he came, hard, down
the other boys’ throat, cock pulsating over and over. “Victor” he gasped
softly.
The door clicked shut. Sherlock smiled.
At 11.40pm Sherlock reappeared in the drawing room. Victor was glaring at him
from across the room, eyes flashing darkly. Sherlock wiped his hand across the
back of his mouth while looking into his eyes. Victor wasn’t to know that
Jeremy had left ten minutes ago. He nodded curtly at Victor and turned to walk
out of the room again, not needing need to check to see if he was being
followed.
He returned to the scene of his previous crime. The bed still rumpled , showing
an imprint of Sherlock’s prone body. He stepped inside and stood with his back
to the door in the darkness. A chink of light, a figure behind him, a hand on
his shoulder,
“What the fuck was that little performance about” Victor breathed in his ear.
Sherlock shuddered.
“You obviously liked what you saw Victor”
“Christ you’re such a cock-tease Sherlock”
A hand slid around his waist from behind.
“Why, for fucks sake, why?”
Sherlock had no idea if this was a question he was supposed to answer. He
turned around slowly. They were almost the same height, Sherlock thought
absently, as he tilted his head forward. A slight hesitation. Victor crumbled
and pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s desperately, tongues pushed and swirled
insistently, and Victor gave an embarrassed moan. Sherlock pulled him in
deeper. Oh God this was better than he could have imagined, Victor tasted
delicious. Sherlock knew what he wanted now. With Victor distracted by his
mouth , Sherlock’s hands drifted down to the waist of Victor’s trousers- no
belt, good. He popped open the button and gently drew down the zip. Victor
broke the kiss.
“Shit, what the fuck Sherlock?”
“Let me Victor, you want me to, you know you do, please… just let me”
“Oh God”
Victor bit down on his lip as Sherlock snaked his hands inside Victor’s
trousers and tugged his boxers down until they rested under his balls. His
beautiful cock felt hot and heavy in Sherlock’s hand. He looked Victor in the
eye while he licked his right palm, coating it with saliva, before returning it
to Victor’s prick.
“Oh fuck! Oh god Sherlock”
Sherlock moved his hand in long teasing pulls as Victor grasped his shoulders
tightly, panting into Sherlock’s neck. He increased the speed slightly,
Victor’s shaft was slick with leaking fluid. He tried faster, shorter thrusts
now, concentrating on the head and he felt Victor bite down into the soft skin
of his shoulder. He flicked his thumb across the head, and drew teasing circles
around the slit. Victor convulsed around him, his warm release coated
Sherlock’s fist.
“Fucking hell Sherlock” Victor gasped, what have we done?”
Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed in the New Year.
Everyone cheered.
~*~
It was the 6th of January, Sherlock’s sixteenth birthday. Mycroft had arranged
a special dinner for close friends and family. Sherlock only wanted Victor.
Victor had left early on New Years Day, by taxi, urgent business apparently.
Sherlock had felt lonely in his cold bed after Victor sent him away that night.
Mycroft musn’t know he had insisted.
Sherlock shivered with anticipation as he imagined what might happen tonight.
It was still early and he was still in bed. He let his right hand trail down
between his legs, cupping his balls gently. What would it feel like with
Victor? Would he touch Sherlock there first? He would have to. He would have to
get him ready, prepare his body. Sherlock slid his index finger back from his
balls and began idly stroking the skin of his perineum and gave a sharp gasp at
the intense tingling sensations that ran all the way to the tip of his cock. He
pulled away for a second, bringing the finger up to his mouth and sucking
gently, pushing the digit in and out, coating it with saliva, and then swirling
his tongue around it greedily. He moved it back down between his legs, finger
sliding further back this time to his puckered entrance. Victor would touch him
like this, he thought as he circled counter-clockwise, experimentally, basking
in the delicious sensations, slick skin, gently fluttering muscle, continuing,
panting slightly now, until his body ached for more, more contact, more
everything… He felt an uncontrollable urge to have something inside him,
filling him – he felt so empty.
Holding his breath for a beat he tentatively pushed his finger inside his own
body. Heat, intense tight heat around his finger but smooth and silky too. It
didn’t hurt, just a faint sting, an odd feeling but good. Gathering courage now
he began to pump his finger in and out of his hole, pushing a little deeper
each time. His hips began to cant in time with his movements, it was time to
try another. Sherlock didn’t want to remove the first finger while he wet
another, didn’t want to lose the sensation for even a second, so he spat on his
left hand and brought it down to coat his other fingers that way. He pulled his
index finger out reluctantly, almost to his entrance and pushed back in with
his middle finger too. Aah! The burn intensified, and his erection sagged
slightly, but he pushed and pulled up and down gently at first then faster as
the burn gave way to a throbbing ache of pleasure. When Sherlock accidently
brushed a fingertip against his prostate he saw stars, back arching from the
bed, a long strangled moan escaping his lips.
Oh god, if anyone heard, if anyone came in now, fucking hell!
But it was impossible to stop now, not when it felt so unbelievably good. By
the time a third finger was added Sherlock felt exhausted but still gripped
with lust and want, hips rocking back and forward, slowly and deliberately
fucking himself on his own fingers, wishing it was Victor’s cock. Unable to
bear it any longer he slicked the palm of his left hand with saliva and ran it
up the length of his neglected erection. He was so close, it wouldn’t take
much. He pumped his closed hand once, twice three times and he came, throwing
his head back against the pillows, still impaled on his own fingers.
Oh god, if it was anything like that for real, Sherlock would die.
It would be worth it.
In a moment of panic he wondered if Victor would even be there tonight.
Sherlock was sixteen now, what possible reason did he have to say no? He
grabbed his phone anyway and dashed off a quick text.
Two words.
Please come.
~*~
The first half an hour of the party were agony. Sherlock opened gifts and
pretended to look happy, but Victor was nowhere in sight. He had scared Victor
away with what they had done at New Year, too big a risk, fucked up completely.
He stole a moment alone and ducked out onto the terrace, nervously clamping a
cigarette between his lips. He was onto his third successive smoke when a low
voice rumbled in his ear
“And I have to kiss that ashtray mouth later”
He jumped in shock and twirled around wrapping Victor in a huge hug, flooded
with relief.
“Steady on there mate, remember where we are?”
No-one had noticed.
Sherlock nodded mutely.
They agreed to keep their distance for the rest of the evening, polite
exchanges only, never to be seen alone together. This could all fall apart in
an instant if Mycroft suspected anything. The tension between them was
palpable. Sherlock worried about inappropriate erections and kept some ice in
an empty glass beside his plate just in case. By half past ten Sherlock was
cursing the stragglers, willing them to leave and fighting the temptation to
roll his eyes with disdain every time another boring topic of conversation
arose (yes, school is fine, no, I haven’t chosen a university yet, I’m ever so
sorry your cat is ill et cetera, et cetera, fucking et cetera)
Victor smirked in obvious amusement and winked at him. Sherlock blushed.
Finally, only the overnight guests remained, an uncle and aunt, a second
cousin, and Victor. They retreated to Mycroft’s study where the men all drank
brandy.
“A finger for you Sherlock?, after all it is a special occasion”
He remembered the last time he had been drunk, the brandy tipping him over the
edge.
“No thank you Mycroft, in fact I might call it a night actually” he yawned
widely.
~*~
Sherlock lay in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, waiting. The house was
silent, the last footsteps had died away almost an hour ago and Sherlock was
aching with arousal, unwilling to relieve himself if there was a chance Victor
would appear. It was self-imposed torture.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door softly opened. Victor was
dressed in a blue silk dressing gown, clearly naked underneath, his erection
already tenting the front of the material, he was carrying a small bundle which
he placed on the bedside table and slowly crawled across the mattress to
Sherlock. Without saying a word he cupped Sherlock’s face in his palms and
brought their mouths together gently in a chaste kiss. Sherlock tilted his head
to the side and parted his lips, inviting Victor inside. Victor accepted and
their tongues began to swirl and dance, pushing and licking and tasting as
their hunger grew. Victor kissed down his jaw and neck, pausing to nibble and
suck on the sensitive skin, he licked the bruise and continued, now trailing
the tip of his tongue around the shell of Sherlock’s ear. It was unbearably
erotic.
Sherlock was already near naked, only his grey pants remaining and Victor took
advantage savagely, laving his tongue over each nipple in turn until they stood
out dark and erect against his pale skin. Sherlock could do nothing but moan
softly, lying back against the cotton sheets.
“So beautiful Sherlock, so fucking gorgeous” Victor murmured into his skin,
kissing down his body, dipping his tongue into Sherlock’s naval and eliciting a
strangled gasp.
“Hush now Sherlock, hush, you want this so much I know, just relax love, let it
happen” Sherlock whimpered softly, he was hot and cold and tingling all over,
he couldn’t stand this much longer he was sure. He reached for the belt of
Victors dressing gown and fumbled desperately at the knot. Victor stilled his
hands.
“So eager Sherlock, not yet love, not yet”
His frustration was building to impossible levels as Victor finally took pity
and unfastened his robe, letting it fall away. A man, not a boy Sherlock was
reminded. A strong muscular, defined physique, ripped abdominals a thatch of
golden hair on his chest and a magnificent erect penis standing proudly out
from his thick pubis. Sherlock salivated at the sight and wondered how that was
ever going to fit inside his body. He didn’t have long to drink in the sight
before Victor placed his hands at Sherlock’s hips and flipped him over onto his
stomach. He turned his head to the side in order to breathe, his erection
trapped between his body and the mattress. Victor straddled his thin body and
leaned close
“ I need to get you ready now love, just trust me Sherlock, I won’t hurt you I
promise”
Sherlock nodded in assent, not sure what to do now. He pulled on the waistband
of his pants, pushing them down his legs and off. Victor moved further down the
bed and gently pulled up a little on Sherlock’s hips.
“That’s right love…on your knees a little….spread your legs for me…yes…that’s
good”
Victor murmured encouragement as Sherlock shifted his position, shoulders down,
arse in the air. He felt faintly embarrassed and exposed. He had never done
this before. His eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath as Victor’s cool
palms circled the globes of his arse and gently eased his cheeks apart. He felt
a puff of warm breath and then tensed as the warm wet tip of Victor’s tongue
made contact with his skin. It was so unbearably intimate and filthy, Victor
lapping at his entrance making him shudder and gasp. His cock and balls hung
heavy between his legs.
He began to relax, accepting Victor’s ministrations, and satisfied, Victor
stiffened his tongue and pushed at the fluttering ring of muscle, breaching his
entrance in a single thrust. Sherlock’s body reflexively tried to jump away
from the intrusion and Victor gripped his hips, stilling him, then stroked slow
soothing stripes across his back, his tongue thrusting firmly in and out
fucking Sherlock open. Sherlock was aware he was making desperate keening
noises, he needed to touch his cock, he needed to come badly, he reached around
his body. Victor realised what was about to happen, his tongue withdrawing
immediately. He placed a hand over each of Sherlock’s wrists where they lay on
the mattress beside him. His body slumped flat.
“No love, no, not yet, you’ve been so good Sherlock, just a little longer – I
can help, will you trust me?”
(Yes Victor, Yes)
Sherlock writhed against the bed now, almost fucking the mattress, desperate
for some friction against his aching cock.
“Look at you, such a greedy little boy aren’t you Sherlock, you want this so
bad don’t you? You want my cock”
(Yes Victor, yes!)
Victor reached over to the bedside table and extracted a bottle of lube from
the bundle, he popped the cap pouring some into his hand, and coated his
fingers generously. His tongue was replaced by cool slick digits, two at first
then three as Sherlock bucked and moaned.
“I’m going to fill you up Sherlock, fill you with my cock and my come, and
you’re going to beg me to do it…”
(Yes, he would beg, anything Victor, anything!)
“I want to make you come Sherlock, just me, just from my cock. Trust me
Sherlock, do you trust me?”
Sherlock would have agreed to anything, he was past caring, lost utterly.
Victor took the bundle from the bedside and sat straddling Sherlock.
“Give me your arms love…good…that’s it”
He tenderly held Sherlock’s wrists together and bent his head to kiss them
reverently.
“ I’m going to tie them together now… is that okay love…tell me it’s okay”
Sherlock nodded mutely, moaning faintly, over and over. Thick cord wrapped
around his wrists, not too tight, Victor was gentle. He would be able to
wriggle free if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. Victor tied off a knot and
raised Sherlock’s arms above his head, taking the two loose ends of cord and
securing them to the headboard. Sherlock was stretched out beneath him,
vulnerable. He was lying fully on his back now, and he drifted, dizzy with
want. Victor climbed back between his legs and pulled up his knees, hooking
each one over his shoulders. There was no resistance.
Victor tried an experimental probe with his finger. Checking to see the
Sherlock remained open and ready.
“It’s time love”
He lined his cock up with Sherlock’s entrance, it felt impossibly big and hard.
Sherlock’s stomach knotted in nervous anticipation as Victor steadied the shaft
with his right hand and pressed the other the mattress to brace himself. He
pushed forward. Sherlock bit his lip to stifle his scream, the burn and stretch
overwhelming. Victor would split him in two, Victor had lied. Hot tears
gathered at the corners of his eyes “Victor, Victor” he gasped.
“Hush now Sherlock, it only hurts for a second, it will be good, I said it
would love, believe me please”
Sherlock squeezed his eyes tight as Victor eased further forward, cock pushing
deeper inside. He drew slowly back and gently pushed forward again, repeating
until he was fully sheathed inside Sherlock’s body. His hips thrust back and
forward slowly, finding a natural rhythm, and Sherlock relieved to find that
the pain receded with each pass, the delicious hot tingles returning, his cock
fully hard again. Victor looked down with approval.
“Look at you Sherlock you’re so fucking beautiful, I knew you wanted
this…fuck!”
He changed the angle slightly, his cock hitting Sherlock’s prostate now, over
and over. Sherlock bucked his hips wildly, desperate to meet Victor’s thrusts,
chasing down his orgasm.
“Oh god you’re so fucking amazing Sherlock, such a good boy, come for me now
love, come for me, let go, I want to fill your arse but I want you to come
first..”
“Nngh… can’t…. need …hand…need …nngh”
He was wild now, delirious. Victor thrust into him roughly shoving him across
the mattress, the headboard began to bang against the wall.
“Victor… I …need…”
“What do you need Sherlock? I want you to beg for it… tell me Sherlock”
“Fuck me harder….harder… now…”
Victor thrust roughly again and Sherlock’s world exploded behind his eyes.
He screamed.
Victor followed, hot pulses of come making him feel warm inside, body jerking
erratically, before slumping boneless over Sherlock’s chest, smearing his
sticky release. Sherlock’s legs slipped from his shoulders and fell to the
mattress.
They lay for a while, just breathing.
Victor couldn’t stay, even when Sherlock whined in protest. He gently unwrapped
the cord from around Sherlock’s wrists and kissed the blooming red welts.
“ Put some cream on those, don’t let Mycroft see, he wouldn’t understand”.
Sherlock nodded in agreement.
The bed felt cold and empty again. Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest in a
tight ball, wrapping his arms around them.
He didn’t sleep.
~*~
At eight a.m, he decided sleep was fruitless so he threw on his robe and made
his way downstairs to the kitchen. The house was still dark and silent, winter
still heavy in the air.
Sherlock shivered and turned on the lightswitch. Mycroft sat at the kitchen
counter nursing a half-full cup of coffee, lips pinched and brow furrowed.
“Good morning Sherlock, you had quite a night I can see”
Sherlock felt confused
“Yes Mycroft, dinner was wonderful”
(Oh god, fuck no! – he couldn’t know surely?)
“Yes, so it was” Mycroft drawled, “ I expect Victor enjoyed his dessert much
more though”
The calm tone was chilling.
“ I see you have temporarily lost the ability to form a coherent sentence
Sherlock, let me assist you – did you or did you not fuck Victor Trevor last
night?”
The expletive sounded filthy and unnatural coming from Mycroft’s mouth.
Sherlock stood in silence.
“The state of your neck would attest to that I see” Mycroft continued. “I
expect you are in need of refreshment after your vigorous activities”.
He walked to the kitchen bench, reached for a coffee cup and poured some for
Sherlock. He held out the cup. Sherlock reached forward to take it…. White
china and scalding liquid crashed to the floor as Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s
outstretched arm.
“What have you done? What has he done?”
Mycroft looked stricken. Then he exploded in wall of noise, shouting in
Sherlock’s face, veins popping and pulsing at his temples, body thrumming with
barely suppressed rage. Sherlock couldn’t process the words, he didn’t even
try, he just knew that his life was over.
~*~
Sherlock was confined to Mycroft’s study. He sat by the fireplace in the old
brown wing- back chair ignoring a tray of tea and toast that Mycroft had put
there earlier. A neat stack of clothes sat on the sofa opposite, jeans, a t-
shirt, pants, Converse. He ignored those too. He could hear rushing footsteps
and banging doors, the house was a hive of activity. When he was finally set
free just before lunch it was to a Victor-free house, not a whisper of him
remained.
Mycroft explained to him sternly that Victor would not be returning, and that
unfortunately Mycroft could not press charges because Sherlock was now sixteen.
He asked Sherlock softly, if they had ‘done’ anything before his birthday.
Sherlock refused to answer, the kindness somehow worse than the anger.
Mycroft announced the next day that a wonderful opportunity had arisen for
Victor, an internship with a prestigious advertising firm in New York. It was
for a year, starting Monday.
Sherlock hid in the pantry, clutching his phone to his chest. He knew Victor
wouldn’t answer, but he still wanted him to know.
I’m not sorry. I miss you - SH
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