Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2065728.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Teenlock, babysitter_john, Sherlock_is_a_Brat, Mycroft_is_too_old_for
      this_shit, Sherlock_Being_a_Tease, Dirty_Thoughts, Ephebophilia,
      Belligerent_Sexual_Tension, Rough_Sex, Riding, Oral_Sex, Fingerfucking,
      Pushy_Bottoms, Loss_of_Virginity, Explicit_Sexual_Content, This_Is
      STUPID, Plot!_Plot!_What_is_Plot?!
  Series:
      Part 8 of Cliche_AUs_And_Where_To_Shitpost_Them
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-03 Completed: 2014-08-21 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 7190
****** Mad About The Boy ******
by A_M_Kelley
Summary
     John usually doesn't do things like this, considering that he's a
     doctor and not a babysitter damn it. But still, here he was on his
     way to Mycroft's house to watch over his little brother.
Notes
     Title taken from a song of the same name. Also, Sherlock is 15 in
     this fic.
***** Chapter 1 *****
John usually doesn't do things like this, considering that he's a doctor and
not a babysitter damn it. It was his day off for crying out loud and he
definitely had better things to do. But still, here he was on his way to
Mycroft's house to watch over his little brother while Mycroft attended to some
pressing matters.
Mycroft and him weren't exactly close friends but they were far from being just
acquaintances either. They had known each other for a while now, just under a
year in fact, but Mycroft was a busy man, thus making lunch dates very few and
far apart. He knew enough about Mycroft to call him a good friend, but John had
found this request to be quite outlandish and perhaps a little presumptuous.
He doesn't know why he's complaining, though. In fact, if John were being
honest he wouldn't say he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart. John
was well aware of Mycroft's financial success and if John could make a quick
and reasonable fee for just watching a kid for a few hours, then why not? To be
fair, this wasn't the only reason John was friends with Mycroft but it didn't
hurt either.
There was no shame in this fact, however, because Mycroft knew why John was
doing it and he didn't care either way. As long as John carried out the dubious
task. Anyone with half a brain knew to steer clear of Mycroft's infamous little
brother. John has never met Mycroft's brother in person, but he's certainly
gathered enough information about him by colleagues him and Mycroft share.
His name was Sherlock which was, just like Mycroft, a rather silly name if you
asked John. It made John want to question who on Earth would name their
children Mycroft and Sherlock. But it wasn't his place to ask, or complain for
that matter. John didn't have to do this and no one had twisted his arm. This
was on his own volition.
John arrived at the front of Mycroft's house a few moments later and he did not
have to double check to see if he had the right address. He wouldn't go so far
as to call it a mansion, but it was pretty darn close and it put John's tiny
apartment to shame ten times over. And then some. John couldn't even begin to
imagine how much this made a dent in Mycroft's bank account, if it made one at
all.
He makes his way up the big path, taking long strides to cover the distance in
half the time. John gets to the front door, giving the impressive archway a
once over before ringing the bell to make his presence known. He stands there
for a long moment just waiting, rocking on his heels and back again. It's a big
place and John doesn't hold anything against Mycroft for taking a considerable
amount of time to answer the door.
"Ah! John Watson," Mycroft greets when he's opened the door and there is a
faint smile of familiarity, or maybe the look is astute. "Please, do come in."
"I'm not late am I?" John inquires, getting ready to apologize if he is, but
Mycroft shakes his head lightly.
"Right on time actually," Mycroft clarifies, shutting the door behind them.
"Was the place difficult to find?"
"Not at all. I just got a late start this morning," John tells him with a
nervous chuckle as he looks around.
"I can imagine so," Mycroft comments. "Excuse me a moment, would you?"
Mycroft walks past John to stand at the foot a big staircase, resting a hand on
the banister while he plants the other on his hip.
"Sherlock! I say, Sherlock!" Mycroft calls out, letting his voice carry up the
stairs. There is no initial response and this Mycroft to become cross.
"Sherlock get your narrow behind to the foyer this instant!"
Which was a nice way of saying, get your scrawny ass down here right now or
else. John has to cringe a little at that outburst, wondering how Mycroft can
raise his voice at his little brother with such contempt. There is still no
response, even to this threat, but there is a faint shuffle of feet that can be
heard coming down the hall upstairs.
A head of wild curls emerges at the top of the stairs and John's jaw literally
drops at the sight of the kid because, by all rights, he's not a kid. Not
entirely, at least. John had expected many things, even the worst, but he was
almost certain Sherlock was a child going by the things people have told him.
This, however, was not the case.
"For god's sake, show some manners and come greet our guest!" Mycroft calls up
to him. He turns sideways, mouthing the word sorry to John.
Sherlock sighs heavily as if it really pains him to do so and lazily takes his
time descending the stairs. He grips onto the wooden railing, letting his hand
run down the smooth polished surface. Each heavy foot fall results in
Sherlock's curls bouncing slightly and his head bobbles around, presenting the
appearance of being too lazy to have any posture to speak of.
"And would it kill you to stand up straight?" Mycroft remarks rhetorically.
Sherlock doesn't react to this, in fact his posture slackens even more, going
so far as to stick his tongue at Mycroft with a pinched expression. It's in
this moment when John realizes what a brat Sherlock is and why everyone had
referred to him as a child because he certainly acted like one.
Sherlock seemed to be in his mid-teens, possibly fourteen or maybe even
fifteen, going by the light acne and petulant attitude towards his brother. He
was easily taller than John, though, seeming to have hit a growth spurt earlier
on, thus making him appear older.
But the boy, despite his childish demeanor, was absolutely breathtaking in
every sense of the word. From his bright blue eyes all the way down to his
long, pale legs that stemmed from his shorts. Sherlock was the embodiment of
sin itself and if it were up to John, he would most definitely have his way
with Sherlock right now on those stairs in front of Mycroft's disapproving
scowl of contempt.
When the boy finally reaches the base of the stairs he goes out of his way to
step around Mycroft with his nose turned up, and, oh what a brat he is. John is
able to make more accurate assessments now that Sherlock is on ground level
with him and the mere presence of the boy is staggering as it is overpowering.
"What's so important that you had to call me all the way down here?" Sherlock
comments in a snotty tone, rolling his eyes.
And, oh god, does that make John's blood boil in the best way possible. The
very attitude of this boy is enough to send him climbing up the walls.
"Don't pretend that you aren't aware," Mycroft accuses knowingly, scowling ever
so slightly. "I told you last night."
"You know I don't listen to a word you say," Sherlock points out and it's an
obvious lie meant to rattle Mycroft's cage. His irises drift over towards John,
becoming vaguely curious of the older man. "To what do I owe the dubious
thrill?"
"As you should already know, I'm going to a very important meeting today,"
Mycroft informs as he goes on to introduce John to shift the focus of the
conversation. "This is Mr. Watson. He'll be looking after you in Mrs. Hudson's
absence."
Sherlock's bright gaze flicks over to the blonde man again, giving him an
apathetic once over as if he's deducing him quietly. This soon changes when
Sherlock gives John a sly little smile, hinting at a plot or scheme in the
making. John squirms slightly, feeling put on the spot by Sherlock's sudden
keen interest on him.
"Well, you certainly are an improvement," Sherlock observes suggestively,
referring to John as he stares at him more thoroughly. "Are you not going to
introduce us more properly, Mycroft?"
"Sherlock, this is John Watson. He's a friend of mine. John Watson this is
my... pretentious little brother, Sherlock" Mycroft bites out, casting a stern
gaze at Sherlock that goes ignores for the most part.
"It certainly is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Watson," Sherlock purrs, slinking
up to John almost in a lewd manner as he gnaws on his thumbnail to emulate
innocence.
"And it's nice to meet you--"
"Very stimulating," Sherlock adds, cutting off John's sentence.
"Sherlock, behave yourself now," Mycroft warns, gaining him a scornful look
from the rambunctious teen.
"You'll have to excuse Mycroft. He's quite the stick in the mud. A real prude,"
Sherlock says, raising his voice on the last sentence to get a reaction. "Never
lets me have any fun."
"Yes, poor Sherlock... Always playing martyrdom," Mycroft mocks with a bored
tone, turning to John instead. "If you need to contact me you have my number.
Don't hesitate to do so either. Though I'd prefer it if you text rather than
call."
"Thank you, but I'm sure we'll be quite fine," John assures with a well-
practiced smile even though his cringing internally.
"Let's hope so," Mycroft remarks with a weary look, grabbing his umbrella from
the coat rack near the door. "By all means, make yourself at home and don't
hesitate to take a look around. I should be back by eight. I have to get going
now."
Mycroft spared a look down at his watch and quirked his eyebrows in surprise,
rushing out the door with another word. The front door clicked shut and John
was left there, standing alone in silence with Sherlock who began to walk
around him in a circle as if to study him more thoroughly. It unhinged John a
little but he let Sherlock satisfy his curiosity.
"So, is there anything I should know about? Anything that you're not supposed
to do in particular or..?" John offers, trying to start a conversation.
The questions make Sherlock stop in mid stride as he was about to come around
to John's front. Sherlock places his hands upon his hips and steps around John,
brushing against the older man fleetingly. John shivers at the contact, letting
his eyes rake along the backs of Sherlock's exposed calves, all the way up to
his taut little butt barely concealed within his shorts.
Oh, the things John would do to this boy if he were a few years older. How
glorious this boy would look in the throes of passion as John scraped his blunt
nails down the expanse of Sherlock's undoubtedly pale back, leaving vague welts
in their wake. John would enjoy making this brat suffer in the most pleasurable
way possible.
"Do you think I'd really tell you if I wasn't supposed to do something?"
Sherlock presses, basking in his perpetual arrogance.
"Honesty is the best policy," John states, willing himself to concentrate on
other things. Sherlock seems to consider this.
"Suppose you're right," Sherlock agrees, mulling it over for a moment longer
before dropping his hands down off of his hips. "But I honestly can't remember
half the things I'm not allowed to do. You see, I've lost count."
"I guess it doesn't matter either way. As long as you don't burn the place
down," John chuckles lightly, trying for a joke.
"Can't make any promises," Sherlock retorts with a wicked grin, and oh how his
lips curve just a shade of sinful.
Sherlock's lips are in a perfect bow shape, almost reminiscent of those sappy
hearts people receive on Valentine's day, and it gets John's pulse pounding.
It's unfair how gorgeous this boy is and the fact that he's only fifteen makes
it even more ludicrous. John unconsciously licks his dry lips, wondering what
it would feel like to claim those lips as his own and what it would sound like
if he were to bite them tenderly.
John smiles nervously, feeling himself be drawn in by the boy's uncanny ability
to seduce a man with a suggestive gesture or comment. He walks further into the
house, past Sherlock and into what he assumes to be the family room. There's
plenty of antique furniture lying around as well as a fireplace and John is
definitely impressed by how well off Mycroft is, if not a little jealous.
Sherlock undoubtedly follows John around like a lost puppy or, better yet, a
shadow. He trails close behind John as the older man inspects some of the
trinkets and other dull family heirlooms that Sherlock couldn't care less
about. He watches as deft fingers brush against brass and silver, collecting
dust on the tips before rubbing the residue away on his jumper. Sherlock is
fascinated by John in a very subtle way.
"My brother must have promised you a big sum for watching me," Sherlock states
aloud, snapping John out of his preoccupation with useless knick knacks. "Why
else would you be here?"
"What makes you think I'm not a babysitter?" John asks, turning his attention
to Sherlock once again.
"Well, considering you're a middle aged man and babysitting is a predominant
occupational choice found mostly in young women, I wouldn't believe it for a
moment," Sherlock rattles off stepping in close to John to invade his space.
"That maybe so, but I don't see how it's relevant," John replies, side stepping
around Sherlock to avoid feeling crowded.
"Just curious..."
"About what?"
"You," Sherlock puts simply, following John as he makes his way towards a
bookshelf. "Who you are, really."
"No one of consequence, I can assure you," John brushes off.
"I still want to know," Sherlock bugs and this makes John stop abruptly and
turn around sharply.
"Haven't you got some things to do? Like homework or chores?" John inquires,
seeing how some people can be easily annoyed by Sherlock asking questions.
"Haven't you got a job to do?" Sherlock quips and it shoots John down as he
crashes and burns.
John gives him a truly irritated look and there's that smug little grin of his
spreading across his face again. Sherlock's grin widens even more because he
knows he's gotten under John's skin now and there he will stay until he's
thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Yes... This was going to be fun indeed.
***** Chapter 2 *****
"Can I ask you something?" Sherlock inquires rhetorically, watching John snatch
a book from the shelf. "Did Mycroft tell you why he needs someone to watch me?"
"I suppose it's because he's busy and needs a helping hand?" John concludes
sarcastically, giving the book he grabbed a once over.
"Oh, please... I'm fifteen. Don't you think I'm perfectly capable of watching
myself?" Sherlock goes on to say.
John slides the book back into it's place on the shelf, looking at Sherlock
with a furrow brow. Maybe it was odd that a fifteen year old boy needed to be
looked after but John figured that precaution is normal. Mycroft must be either
really protective over Sherlock or paranoid.
"I'm sure he has his reasons," John dismisses as he goes for another book.
"Of course he does, but that's not my point," Sherlock sighs, shifting a little
closer. "Out of all the people he's acquainted with, why is it that he picks
you? This place must be well out of your way, so it's not geographical. Maybe
it's because he trusts you. Maybe it's because he wants to see what we'll do."
"What are you trying to say?" John asks finally, hating the way Sherlock twists
it around to sound mildly sexual.
"Nothing," Sherlock says suddenly, but the idea has been planted. He makes his
way over to the other side of the room. "I'm just thinking out loud."
John sighs and walks towards the chairs. John sits down in one of the two plush
leather chairs with the book he snagged from the bookshelf. He was trying to
ignore Sherlock's last comment by busying himself with a book while Sherlock
milled aimlessly around the room. He didn't like Sherlock's silence though. It
made him feel like the boy was secretly plotting something.
He can hear Sherlock pacing behind him, moving things, or otherwise disturbing
them ever so slightly. Sherlock makes his way over to the bookcase, sifting
through the rows and leaving some of them half pulled out purposely. Possibly
to annoy Mycroft when he got back. No wonder Mycroft had such contempt for him.
Sherlock stands up on the tips of his toes, stretching an arm to get at a book
on the highest shelf. John's eyes betray him and run up along the expanse of
his body. Sherlock's shirt raised up a fraction, revealing the small of his
back, and John's eyes consumed it selfishly.
The boy takes a moment to look over his shoulder, peeking back at John to see
if the older man is watching him or not. Of course John is looking, how could
he not? John averts his eyes back to the book and Sherlock smiles as if he's
satisfied with himself. He isn't sure if Sherlock is trying to seduce him or if
he just enjoys teasing him.
"Look, I didn't come here to play games..." John begins to say, lowering the
book and turning his attention towards Sherlock.
"Of course not. You only came to babysit," Sherlock presses, stopping his
little charade and leaning his back against the bookshelf. "What did you plan
on doing with me, if not playing a game?"
Oh, I can definitely think of a few things to do with you, John muses
consciously, but he refrains from saying it. Sherlock has his arms folded
across his chest, smirking slightly, almost cheeky in his pride.
"You don't seem like the Conkers type," John remarks, deflecting Sherlock's
advance.
Sherlock makes a sound as if he's truly insulted by the idea of playing a
school yard game that did little to strength brain function. He knew John was
only saying this to make a snappy joke, or at least he hoped John wasn't being
serious.
"Don't be silly, that stuff is juvenile," Sherlock practically scoffs.
Sherlock pushes off of the bookcase and walks over to the mantle, opening up a
clock face to deviate the time. John has to shake his head at this. Funny how
Sherlock thinks Conkers is juvenile but messing with things around the house
just to spite Mycroft isn't.
"And I take it you have something more mature in mind?" John inquires,
disregarding Sherlock's strange quirks.
"A game of deduction," Sherlock declares.
He turns around sharply with his head held up high, like he's trying to be
dramatic, but John is still as clueless as ever. As much as it infuriates
Sherlock to dumb down his words, he must admit that John looks fairly cute when
he's vacant.
"You mean like Cluedo?" John asks dimly.
Sherlock's shoulders slump a little in disappointment and he stomps one foot in
frustration like a petulant child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. John can
see why Mycroft needs an extra hand taking care of someone with such high
standards.
"I was thinking of something a little more elegant," Sherlock says.
Elegant like the curve of that slender neck of ours I'd love to sink my teeth
into, John thinks idly.
"Alright," John sighs heavily, setting his book down on the end table and
giving the boy his undivided attention. "I'll humor you."
"If I can guess what you do for a living correctly, then we get to do anything
I want," Sherlock proposes and doesn't elaborate any further.
"And if you're wrong?"
"I'm never wrong," Sherlock proclaims. John makes an indignant huff as if he's
unconvinced and Sherlock has to groan internally. "Okay, if I am wrong... Then
I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night. Deal?"
John concedes and simply nods in agreement. Sherlock walks over towards the
vacant seat across from John and perches on it like a bird instead of sitting
down like a normal person. He presses his hands together, assessing John
wordlessly as he processes the information in the silence of his own mind.
The boy just stares at him, unmoving, and making John squirm subtly. John
places his arms on the armrests, willing himself to relax. He thought Sherlock
was just pulling his leg, trying to get a rise out of him, but he really did
seem focused on the task at hand. A part of John thinks Sherlock has figured
him out but another part screams bullshit.
"Have you got anything?" John asks impatiently, drumming his fingers on the
leather armrests.
"Only everything..." Sherlock says neutrally, clearing his throat. "We've
established that you can't possibly be a babysitter, so that's obviously out of
the question. But you're very empathetic and you do care a great deal about
people, so definitely some type of caregiver. It's safe to say that you work a
standard nine to five, which means you're used to a certain routine. Am I right
so far?"
John doesn't reply because he's too gobsmacked by Sherlock running his mouth at
the speed of light. It was so disturbingly accurate that it couldn't possibly
be true... But it was and Sherlock was reading him like an open book.
"I'll take your silence as a yes," Sherlock goes on as if it was just a speed
bump in his deduction. "Going by your state of personal grooming you're rather
professional, so either your job is serious or you take it quite seriously.
This means you're always ready in case of an emergency. Which only gives us one
solid answer: general practitioner. Am I wrong?"
"Mycroft told you about me, didn't he?" John is quick to accuse, finding it
nearly impossible that Sherlock is spot on with his deduction. "There's no way
you could figure that out."
"I didn't know about you before today. Your body language is telling me
everything I need to know," Sherlock tells him truthfully. He hops down from
his perch and sits cross legged instead. "So, I guess this means we get to do
whatever I want."
They did have a deal and John figures he has to honor that deal no matter how
much the idea makes him cringe. He can't begin imagine what asinine things
Sherlock is going to put him through just to get his kicks. But it scared him
to think that Sherlock might do something that he'd like.
Sherlock pushes himself out of his chair, stalking to where John sits tense.
His deceivingly long legs move slowly, sinuous even, and every time Sherlock's
knobby knees bend, John swears his heart stops. John's palms are sweating and
Sherlock's getting closer and closer until finally stopping just in front of
him.
"Mycroft keeps me locked up here all day," Sherlock says as he climbs onto
John's lap. John freezes up noticeably and Sherlock wraps his arms around his
tense shoulders. "Do you know why?"
John just shrugs as he bites the inside of his cheek, digging his nails into
the armrests and trying, in vain, not to reach out and touch Sherlock. John
should be pushing Sherlock off of him but he can't. He wants to grab those
slender hips and grind his groin up into the boy.
"It's because I keep trying to lose my virginity," Sherlock continues,
straddling John's lap to his comfort. "Mycroft didn't approve of who I was
bringing home, so he locked me up in a tower in hopes my Prince Charming would
come and deflower me one day. I mean, if you believe in that fairy tale
rubbish."
"How romantic," John remarks mirthlessly, squirming slightly.
"And then what does he do? He leaves me all alone with one of his male
acquaintances, knowing how I'll react," Sherlock elaborates, making John think
about it for a moment. "I was right."
"About what?" John asks at a loss.
"Mycroft trusts you. Enough to know you'll resist your urges. You're doing it
right now," Sherlock points out, bringing his hands to John's chest to feel his
heart racing. "But, as noble as your efforts are, they're ultimately wasted."
Sherlock grinds his hips into John, moving just the right way for John's hard
on to strain against Sherlock's backside, and the boy smirks devilishly.
Sherlock goes in for a kiss but John fists his hand in the front of Sherlock's
shirt, stopping him. John's pupils are blown wide and his breathing is labored,
suggesting that it's taking great willpower to do just this.
"We had a deal. Whatever I wanted to do," Sherlock reminds in a rather
dangerous tone, as if he has authority over John.
"And we still do have a deal. Just not that," John says, twisting the thin
fabric of Sherlock's shirt in his hands.
"Why not? I know you want to. I can tell by the way you breathe," Sherlock
postulates.
The boy tries to lean in for a kiss again only to be met with more resistance
from the older man. Sherlock unconsciously rubs his backside further into
John's erection and John twists harder, sure enough to stretch the fabric.
Sherlock makes a little put off noise and pouts petulantly and oh, does he look
like sin.
"You're too young for me," John offers lamely, knowing damn well that isn't the
reason that's stopping him. "I could get into serious trouble."
"Petty excuses... It's perfectly consensual and Mycroft would never speak a
word of it," Sherlock says with promise, making John's decision easier by the
second. "We agreed. Anything I want to do..."
"And what is it that you want?" John inquires, swallowing thickly even though
he already knows the answer.
"Even you can't be that clueless," Sherlock teases with a to die for smile.
John isn't sure if he's mocking him or complimenting him, either way he ends up
giving in.
***** Chapter 3 *****
John lets go of Sherlock's shirt, loosening his grip until finally coming to
rest his hands on Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock takes this as silent submission
as if John is stopping his attempts to postpone the inevitable. There's a
moment when Sherlock just stares at John, bright eyes piercing right through
him, before leaning forward to leave a tentative kiss upon John's lips.
The kiss itself is inexperienced and somewhat hesitant, but there's a confident
subtext to it. Almost like Sherlock is nervous but dead set on proving himself
in a way to impress John. John doesn't respond at first, more interested in how
Sherlock will commence, and isn't surprised when he kisses him again.
Sherlock braces his hands against John's chest, craning his head slightly to
deepen the kiss but his efforts yield no favorable results. John cups one hand
behind Sherlock's head, angling it just the right way, and opens his mouth
against the boy's as if to show him how to do it properly. He gasps a little at
John's sudden interested but it's not entirely unwanted.
John steers the kiss in a more successful direction, letting Sherlock mime his
movements until the boy finally gets the hang of it and they are both
responding accordingly. Kissing Sherlock's lips turned out to feel a lot better
than John had previously thought and he didn't plan on stopping.
John brings his other hand around Sherlock to push him closer by the small of
his back until they are chest to chest. Sherlock's breath hitches ever so
slightly, causing his chest to inflate against John even more. John's arms wrap
around Sherlock's slender body, loving the way Sherlock shifts here and there
against his broad chest.
They part breathlessly, panting even, as they gasp for much needed air.
Sherlock's lips are a bit pinker than before but that's really no surprise
since he's flushed to a lovely shade. He's aroused, as clearly as John is
aroused. Sherlock shifts back marginally so he can spare a look down between
them, smiling faintly at the sizeable bulge in John's trousers.
"I suppose we ought to do something about this," Sherlock murmurs suggestively,
dropping a hand down to grope John.
"Assuming you know what to do," John jests, spreading his legs a little to give
Sherlock better access.
Sherlock kneads the older man's erection, marveling at the distinct hardness as
he bites his lip in concentration. Maybe his hand trembles a little, because
Sherlock hasn't even done this before. Feeling a grown man so intimately for
the first time is definitely a great start, but the end result is what Sherlock
is really after.
"Go on then," John urges, nodding towards Sherlock's hand. "Give it a try since
you're so bold."
The boy purses his lips together and squints his eyes as if he is in no mood
for a challenge, but he takes the bait anyway. Both hands work diligently to
undo the front of John's pants, fumbling as he reaches into the opening. John's
hands curl around Sherlock's thin wrists, stilling them just long enough to
help Sherlock get what he's after.
Sherlock's nerves were getting the better of him and when John pulled himself
out of his pants Sherlock couldn't stifle the moan that surfaced from his
throat. Now, of course Sherlock has seen one before, for research and such, but
never has he seen one in person. Seeing as how John was his first, Sherlock can
honestly admit that he was not disappointed in the least.
John was much bigger than him obviously, since Sherlock was still growing, but
not excessively so. Sherlock was confident that he could take him, with
preparation of course. Still, there was a tiny part of Sherlock's psyche, a
piece of him he tried to bury deep, that was a little hesitant towards the
notion. Which is why his body was making involuntary noises and tremors.
"You can touch it. If you're still up for it, that is," John goads, egging
Sherlock on.
"I plan to do more than touch it," Sherlock rebuffs.
He slides off of John's lap, dropping down to his knees just at the older man's
feet and reaches for John's cock. Sherlock grasps the base of it, squeezing it
firmly but calmly and making John groan at the touch. Sherlock's fingers are
long and elegant, applying just the right amount of pressure to stroke John.
Sherlock knows how to do this because he's practiced many times on himself. For
data, of course. He shuffles up on his knees to lean in better and drapes his
curls in John's lap. The view is obscured on John's end but he knows what the
boy intends to do down there. And it isn't just to prove a point.
There's a tentative lick that is meant only for tasting and feeling just how
hot John's aroused flesh is. Then Sherlock licks at the tip again and again
until he eventually swipes his tongue up the underside agonizingly slow. The
spit trail stops before he reaches the tip but Sherlock is more than plentiful
with saliva.
John has a taunt on the tip of his tongue but it gets lost in the groan of
pleasure when Sherlock wraps his beautiful lips around him. John immediately
threads a hand in Sherlock's curls to ground himself more than anything and
Sherlock moans around his mouthful at the quirk. He silently hopes John will
pull his hair.
Sherlock tries to go down as far as he can in one go, but he doesn't get very
far when his gag reflex starts to protest. He pulls off altogether, choking
slightly as he still holds John's cock in one hand. John smooths his hand
across his scalp in a calming manner, letting his natural caring demeanor take
over.
"It's not a race, alright? Take your time," John says with a hushed tone.
Sherlock huffs at this, hating the way John makes him out to sound like a kid
or something. He knows that's not what John is getting at, but it still
irritated him to think he couldn't do something. Sherlock adjusts himself
better and hovers over John's cock once again, taking a moment to stroke him
before bending down to suck on the head.
"Yes, just like that," John groans, squeezing at Sherlock's curls as the boy
timidly ventures downward. "Nice and steady."
Sherlock slides down further, moving in intervals of centimeters rather than
inches to test his limits. He reaches the top of his knuckles where his hand is
wrapped firmly around the base of John's cock. Sherlock believes he can go down
further if he moves his hand, but he opts to stroke instead.
Seeming to be pleased with this, Sherlock starts a somewhat steady rhythm,
syncing his mouth with his hand. John's hand tangled in Sherlock's curls begins
to move up and down to the cadence of Sherlock's bobbing head, relishing in the
way it feels to have that hot pretty mouth enclosed around his cock.
The boy gets carried away in his own musings, sucking harder and becoming more
bold and purposeful with his rhythm to the point that John yanks on his hair
tenderly. It's meant to stop Sherlock but the boy keeps going, taking this as
motivation more than anything as he moans wantonly. John pulls his head back a
little roughly but Sherlock doesn't wince.
"You keep doing that, then this will all be over much more quickly," John warns
with a faint chuckle.
Sherlock hums in acknowledgment, giving John's cock one more solid lick before
standing up. His knees are red from where they rubbed against the carpet and
his lips are obscenely shiny from saliva. Couple that with his slightly mussed
curls and Sherlock is quite the sight right now.
"We can't have that," Sherlock agrees, voice slightly hoarse from abuse. "We
haven't even got to the best part yet."
Sherlock digs around in his pocket to retrieve his supplies he kept concealed
until now. He tosses a condom and a small packet of lubricant at John who
fumbles to collect them. John looks up at Sherlock dumbfoundedly, furrowing his
eyebrows less than subtly. He holds them up precariously.
"You had these on you the whole time?" John inquires.
"Problem?"
"Why--" John sighs with resignation, unclear of how to form his sentence. "You
know what? I don't want to know why..."
"Good. Then it'll save us the trouble."
Without further hesitation, Sherlock bunches the hem of his shirt in his hands
and pulls it over his head. He tosses his shirt off to the side and proceeds to
undo his shorts. John watches intently as they slide down his legs and drop to
the floor. It's the first time John notices that Sherlock is barefoot, though
he doesn't see how this is significant.
John's gaze slowly drifts back up the length of Sherlock's long legs, coming to
rest at his groin. John swallows because Sherlock isn't wearing any underwear,
leaving his flushed and hard cock exposed to the naked eye. He certainly is
grown for a boy his age, John entertains.
The boy is practically glowing in his adolescent perfection and John has to
wonder how he was lucky enough to be given the dubious task of deflowering such
beauty. Sherlock shuffles towards John, prompting the blonde man rid himself of
his jumper and attempt to take off his shirt only to be stopped by Sherlock.
"No."
He bends down just slightly to pull John's pants down a little more and climbs
onto John's lap, straddling him in such a way that makes their hard ons rub
against each other. Sherlock bunches his hands in John's button up and rips the
front of it open, sending buttons to fly everywhere. John jumps at this but it
also gets him going.
"I want you like this," Sherlock informs, turning into something else
altogether. "Prepare me."
"What?"
"Oh, for god's sake!" Sherlock groans, grabbing the packet from John's hand and
tearing it open with his teeth. "Open. Me. Up. Now."
He squirts some of the liquid onto John's fingers and raises up on his knees so
John can get his hand between them. John rubs his fingers over Sherlock's
virgin hole, making the boy sigh with content at the slick feeling. He rubs it
again, firmer this time, pressing a finger in ever so gently.
His finger slips inside and, oh does Sherlock make the most beautiful noise
John has ever heard. It's a gasp caught between a moan and a sob, cracking
slightly at the end as if it takes Sherlock's breath away. John slides it all
the way until it's enclosed within Sherlock's tight undiscovered body.
John makes quick work of Sherlock tight entrance as he starts to finger him
expertly, adding a second finger followed by a third when Sherlock starts to
relax. Sherlock has his hands braced against John's shoulders, spreading his
shirt open further as he rides the blonde man's fingers.
Sherlock comes to an abrupt halt when John's fingers curve marginally, pressing
hard against the inside of his walls. His pupils are blown wide and his mouth
drops open but no sound comes out. Not at first. Sherlock fists a hand in
John's short hair, pulling painfully so, and practically wails at the
sensation.
"Perks of being a doctor, huh?" John chuckles breathlessly, loving how Sherlock
breaks just slightly. "I can do a lot more than that."
John leans forward and tender kisses Sherlock's neck, tasting a slight tang of
salt that suggests Sherlock is covered in a thin sheet of sweat. He withdraws
his fingers from Sherlock's body and rips open the condom packet, letting the
boy roll it down the length of his cock. Sherlock spreads the rest of the
lubricant all over John, stroking even to elicit small sounds from John.
"I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt," John warns, locking gazes with
Sherlock.
"I know it is," Sherlock shoots off quickly, feeling insulted by the fact John
sees the need to comfort him. "I'm perfectly capable of taking it. Now shut up
and fuck me already."
Well, I certainly don't need to be told twice, John thinks and without any
further preamble, he grips the base of his cock and brings Sherlock's lower
half down to him. John lines up to Sherlock's entrance and Sherlock takes a
deep shuddering just before he breaches the boy, marking virgin territory as
unchaste with one swift thrust.
Sherlock calls out despite himself and it really knocks the wind out of him. He
had been prepared for this moment and now he feels as inexperienced as he
appears to be. Maybe John smirks a little at this, but his hands drop down to
Sherlock's hips, helping to steady him as the boy sinks onto John's cock until
he's fully impaled.
John gives Sherlock a moment to catch his breath, stroking his hair and his
back until Sherlock squirms against him. His legs are a bit cramped in the
confined space of the chair but the strain is worth it. Sherlock raises his
body up a fraction, testing the resistance of his body before dropping back
down.
Sherlock grips the backrest of the chair tightly, making his knuckles turn
white and he simply nods at John. John takes the hint and picks the slender boy
up by his hips and pulls him back down. Sherlock winces and makes a tiny noise,
but he never asks to stop. He's come too far.
They start a steady rhythm like with John dictating the pace and controlling
Sherlock's own movements. But soon enough they break out of this sequence and
Sherlock begins to hump and grind on John's lap, riding him jaggedly and
possibly trying too hard, but John enjoys the show the boy puts on for him.
It still hurts like hell, Sherlock will admit, but he thrives off of the
adrenaline the pain brings and he swears it makes him bounce on John harder.
John opts to just hold onto Sherlock's hips and enjoy the sensation of
Sherlock's tight hole gripping him securely. It hurts him almost as surely as
it hurts Sherlock.
Sherlock hangs his head down to where their foreheads press together, hopping
in John's lap and panting in the hot space between. They share a heated kiss,
swallowing each other's noises and mashing their sweat slick chests together.
And, fuck, do they feel right at home.
John feels a shift between them and notices that Sherlock is stroking his cock
fervently. It stills Sherlock's movements, provoking John to carry on where the
boy left off. He poises Sherlock's hips in such a way that makes them both go
crazy when John thrusts relentlessly into the lithe body.
Sherlock looks so beautiful and glorious in this moment with his head thrown
back and slack jawed and John can't resist the urge any longer. He leans
towards the stretch of Sherlock's neck and bites lovingly, marking the flushed
skin until it bruises. It's enough to make Sherlock whine and stroke himself
vigorously until he finally comes.
His cock pulses in his tightly fisted palm as it coats his knuckles and John's
abdomen with his release. John sucks on Sherlock's neck, fucking him thoroughly
through his last tremors before finding solace in his own climax. Sherlock
isn't sure if the pulsing in his channel is coming from John or his throbbing
and abused entrance, either way it feels magnificent.
"I do believe, Mr. Watson, that you have proven to be not such a disappointment
after all," Sherlock pants out of breath and feeling sore all over.
John figures this is Sherlock's way of saying good job.
They stay like this, gasping in each other's arms until they come down from the
high of their lovemaking. John suddenly feels glad for the events that led up
to this moment and he wouldn't mind it if Mycroft asked him back one day.
*~*~*~*~*
"I trust everything went swimmingly this afternoon," Mycroft says later when he
finally comes home.
John is reading the book he never started earlier and Sherlock is lying on the
ground on his stomach, studying the fibers of the carpet with a magnifying
glass. John looks up from his book to acknowledge Mycroft with a somewhat
nervous smile.
"Yes, yes of course. Things went very well," John gushes, setting down his book
and standing at attention. "He was very good."
Mycroft looks around the room and notices a few things a little off. First,
there's the things Sherlock purposely left askew and then there's the stray
buttons from when Sherlock ripped open the front of John's shirt. Mycroft
shifts his gaze between John and Sherlock, instantly noticing the love bite on
his brother's neck and rumpled shirt beneath John's jumper.
It doesn't take much to put two and two together and it's so obvious, like they
hadn't even bothered to keep it a secret. But that was what Sherlock wanted,
wasn't it? To rub it in Mycroft's face. Touché, is all Mycroft can think.
"I'm sure he was," Mycroft humors knowingly.
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