Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3631512.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Mike_Stamford/John_Watson
  Character:
      Mike_Stamford, John_Watson
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Prostitute_John, Teen_John_Watson, slutty_John, i_guess
      but_it's_his_job, Implied/Referenced_Abuse, Mike_is_a_pimp, Bottom_John
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-28 Words: 1596
****** walking the line of black and white ******
by demoncat22
Summary
     Mike was 41 years old. John was 17.
     Mike tried to keep his distance, tried not to think
     that way
     , because he wanted to be a good man, but John was beautiful and
     willing and demanded to be his.
Mike wasn't a good man.
He tried very hard to be, he tried very hard not to notice. He went to church
every Sunday, as if that would somehow wash him clean. He listened to the
priests, to their droning words and patient lessons, hoping he would find a way
to learn, to be one of the men and women sitting by him, eyes closed, at peace
and fingers entwined as they murmured their faith in the Lord.
He tried so hard not to notice.
But a job like his, a handler- no, a pimp, how could he not?
He was no better than the rest of his 'colleagues', who groped and leered at
the pretty young men and women desperate enough to sell themselves for money,
who grabbed at the prostitutes - because why not call them as they were - and
handled them roughly. He was worse, because he'd rather pretend he wasn't, even
when he found his eyes straying, found his trousers tightening and his throat
clogging.
He tried to comfort himself, telling himself that he only wanted the one.
The name itself meant God is gracious, and God must have been when creating
him, for the boy behind the name was as alluring as the mermaids in folklore,
drawing in unsuspecting men into the depths of the ocean. The very thought of
the young man under his care had warmth blooming in his chest, a swirl of
affection he couldn't afford to have, espcially not for a rent boy almost half
his age.
But John. John.
John with his shy smile, lighting up his entire face when one of the older
prostitutes ruffled his hair and brought him sweets, smaller than the rest of
them and already a favourite in the first week he started working here. Body
bruised in so many places, ripped shorts that showed off the curve of his bum
and barely covered it at all. So desperate for any scrap of attention, eager
for warm regard instead of gruelling punishment.
And John had started gravitating towards him, his gentle assurances and his
kind face, friendly eyes behind his round glasses, fingers clasped around the
cuff of his sleeves when he guided him around, a hand on his back. The first
weeks, John would appear uncertain at his office door, smelling of cigarette
smoke and sweat, and red marks tender on his skin.
And Mike knew when he started thinking about him. When he itched to see every
inch of John's small, lithe body, to have John straddling him like he did to
the men who asked for him. He knew when his cheeks warmed seeing John fidgit in
his seat, bottom sore from a previous client.
And John knew too.
 
When slender hands roamed his soft belly, when guileless blue eyes lined with
heavy kohl watched him hopefully for approval, he could do nothing but swallow
the lump in his dry throat and nod.
Deft fingers opened his fly, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from John
between his legs, because John had no one else, because this was the only way
John knew how to say thank you, to keep him from leaving, to say stay,
always, and he should assure that he would never leave John, not ever, not for
all the money in the world, not for his wife, but he didn't.
He didn't say anything, and only watched as John's eyes lit up at the sight of
his cock, already hard, creating a tent against his boxers.
He pulled them to his knees hurriedly, heart skipping when John, settling
himself on the matress, swirled his fingers into an old bottle of lube,
slicking them up with a fair amount before reaching down to push them into his
own arsehole, the first breach making him throw his head back in a soft moan,
body arching off the bed.
He swallowed reflexively at the sight, pupils dilating hungrily to meet John's
darkened gaze.
He leaned against the headboard, breath coming out short, watching John stretch
himself with quiet whines and soft grunts, cheeks reddened with a pale flush as
he pulled his fingers away, crawling towards him and grasping him by the collar
gently. His thin lips brushed chaste kisses along his neck, trailing up his
jaw, sitting up by his knees, only just taller than him.
"Mike," John breathed, head tilted to expose the delicate arch of his neck,
swaying his hips, rubbing his stretched hole over the fat head of his cock.
He groaned softly, eyes closing even as the image was forever seared into his
mind, John's bared shoulder within easy reach of his tongue, so close he could
press his lips against the childhood scar that marred John's body. The
dangerous thought that this was his, that John wanted him as much as he did
John. His cock throbbed to be buried in John, his hips canting up, but John
only hummed amusedly against his skin, only allowing the tip of his cock to dip
shallowly into his arse.
"John," he gasped wetly into John's ear, his hands coming up to stroke along
the young blond's bare back, the line of his spine, firm and demanding.
It was enough encouragement for John to slowly impale himself on his cock, his
entire body shuddering with want, a long moan against his neck that only
tapered off when he was seated on his lap, shoulders loosening.
He panted heavily against John's neck, hips bucking weakly as John started
fucking himself on his cock, wet, warm hole pulling him in even as John pulled
out.
"Mike, oh Mike," John panted sweetly into his ear, pulling back to bounce
properly on his cock, experience teaching him when to clench down, how to twist
his body, blue eyes glimmering in dim light and half closed in pleasure, sweat
gleaming along every line of his slender body.
“You’re a good boy, John,” he moaned, couldn't help himself from reaching out,
hands splayed on John's hips in a possessive hold that just felt right,
squeezing with each clench around his cock. They fit together so well it was as
if John was made for this, for him, born just so they could find each other,
and in the small space of the spare room they had found themselves in, he could
think of no one else he would rather live with but John.
"Good, good boy, John, John," he chanted, listening to the obscene slapping of
flesh against flesh, to John's breathy, gasping voice calling his name, and
that was all it took for him to come into John with a dizzying rush, his cock
pulsing in the younger boy's heat.
John's resulting moan was almost a sob, cum dripping between his thighs,
bouncing desperately on his softening cock, unable to reach climax.
His hands faltered listening to John's whines, but simulation to his over-
sensitive cock had him hissing softly, reaching up to press against John's head
to still him.
John made a sad noise, his legs wavering, his balls angry and red against his
jutting cock, blue irises wide and shining with want.
"Please, Mike," he whined.
He brushed his fingers through John's hair, dripping with sweat, but pressed
even more insistently.
John made an even sadder noise, almost a whine, and reluctantly pulled away,
just to be a good boy, just for approval, sitting up on his knees again to let
his limp cock slip out of his hole, red and well fucked.
"Come here." he said in a quiet sigh, and John shifted closer with a hopeful
expression, pre-cum gleaming from his cock.
He wrapped his fingers around John's cock, his other hand coming up to curl
encouragingly around John's waist in a comforting hold, and John moaned
happily, content to fall into him, a shiver shaking his body as he nuzzled into
his neck. He slid his hands from the tip of John's cock to the root, squeezing
ever so slightly to milk gorgeous, breathless noises from the blond in his
arms.
“Mike,” John moaned wantonly, “Oh please-! Mike,” with a shuddering breath and
his name on his lips, John came all over his hand, spilling cum over his
fingers and belly in long stripes.
Catching his breath for a brief moment, John allowed him to take his weight,
head resting on his shoulder, letting him squeeze him tenderly by the waist as
he curled into himself. Breathing in tandem in the flickering light of the
lamp, John seemed to count quietly under his breath before he drew back
sluggishly.
With a shy smile and warm trust in his eyes, John reached forward, only needing
to lift his hand for him to understand. Wordlessly, he allowed John to encircle
his hand with careful fingers, and a pink tongue flitted out to lap up the cum
on his skin.
That damned fondness welled up in him again when John looked up at him with a
bright smile, white making his lips gleam, and he really couldn’t have kept
himself from running a hand through strands of blond.
“I love you, Mike.” John whispered, leaning into his touch.
His breath stolen from him, he stared at the 17 year old boy sitting on his
lap, far too young for a life like this, far too young to know whether or not
he really loved anyone. His mouth opened even as sudden guilt closed his
throat. “Love you too, John.” He murmured back, for watching John's eyes light
up was worth anything he may be feeling at the moment.
 
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