Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/815437.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      John_Watson/Other(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Omegaverse, Parent/Child_Incest, Extremely
      Dubious_Consent, Pedophilia, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Child_Abuse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-24 Words: 472
****** Sheets ******
by anoncock
Summary
     John's father often supposes there's something wrong with him.
     (Tread carefully past the tags. Eroticized underaged incestuous
     omegaverse within.)
Notes
     Written for the rant meme, cross-posted here because.
Jack Watson often supposes there's something wrong with him; familial scents
are supposed to put a man off the rut, or so he's heard. Once in a while
there's a bloke on telly being hauled to court for touching his omega sister,
or nephew, or cousin--damned heats, is all it is. Fucking biology.
Still, biology or no, Jack is pretty sure there's something wrong with him. Not
that it's an easy thing to care about in the moment, when he's got his John
sleepy and pliant under the sheets, and there's nothing but humidity between
his soft little body and Jack's hard adult edges.
John's feet mash and bump aimlessly against his father's hairy shins. He
doesn't seem to know what to do; he's ticklish and aroused and bewildered by it
all, his small hips stuttering and squirming between Jack's broad hands. Jack
works him with soothing murmurs and smiles--good boy, there's my good boy,
daddy's special boy--and it's so fucking good and unfair, the neat cup of his
fingers between John's legs. His balls are small, hairless things yet,
undescended and tender. Jack loves to push John's thighs open and nuzzle in
close down there, suck those little balls with hot, open-mouthed kisses, lick
sloppy stripes up and down that confused little cock.
Jack knows there's something bloody well wrong with him when he creeps a
fingertip back to gently, so gently brush his son's untouched hole, and his own
erection gives a heady pulse of pleasure. He's going to be John's first there,
as well. First a finger, opening the way with careful touches and plenty of
store-bought lube; plenty, oh, his boy isn't nearly old enough to slick himself
yet. He doesn't even smell like sex, trapped in this haze of too-much pleasure
he doesn't quite understand. Good boy, you're so good for me, John.
Jack grips his cock beneath the crown, rubs the fat head of it against John's
quivering skin. He's imagining it now: he'll be the first to touch his son's
vulva, of course, long before the child can take anything inside. He'll find
that soft, sensitive little dip up there, the place where John's vagina will
open when he's old enough, and he'll rub it gently while John trembles and
moans and pushes his bursting cock into his father's coaxing hand.
It's almost enough to bring him to the edge. Jack fists his fat erection in
rapid strokes, nudging the leaking tip over the warm pudge of John's belly. He
ghosts his finger over John's shy hole again, his palm tight and hot against
the boy's swollen little cock. Sweat and alpha pheromones churn between them as
John kicks and kicks, his eyes round, mouth fallen open around tiny gasping
groans.
This might even be worth a few minutes on telly someday.
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