Chapter Text
Sherlock moans as the Soldier opens his camouflage trousers, revealing a thick, long cock - no underwear, of course. The Soldier’s hand wraps around his straining member and begins stroking in lazy, practiced moves, giving Sherlock a show.
“Like what you see?” the Soldier asks in a breathy rumble and Sherlock nods, his eyes trained on the hard length sliding in and out of the Soldier’s powerful fist. He’s sweating on his bed, his own erection lying flush against his stomach, but he’s not touching himself, oh no.
“You want this nice fat cock in your mouth, don’t you?” the Soldier teases, and Sherlock nods, licking his lips. “You can’t wait until I stuff you full, hmm?”
“Yes, please,” Sherlock moans, writhing helplessly as arousal pulses between his legs.
“Please what?”
“Please, sir. Please fuck my mouth.”
“There’s a good boy,” the Soldier says smugly and yanks Sherlock’s head forward . Sherlock’s hand scrambles on the bed sheets until it locates the dildo he’s laid out for this purpose and he rams it in his mouth. It’s smaller that the Soldier’s massive member but it doesn’t matter, it’s just a prop for him to suck on. The Soldier’s penis stretches his mouth almost to the limit and hits the back of his throat, but Sherlock doesn’t choke, no, he takes it easily, his mouth and throat accepting this onslaught without trouble. He moans obscenely around the length in his mouth, sucking hard.
“Yeah, that’s it,” the Soldier grunts as he plunders Sherlock’s mouth roughly. “Fuck yeah. You love this, don’t you? You love having that pretty mouth full of cock. So take it, fuck. Take it!” And Sherlock takes it, obediently, loving each hard, powerful thrust. The Soldier’s strength, his dominance, the way he takes what he wants, it’s perfect, it makes Sherlock’s body thrum and burn with need as he pushes the dildo in his mouth with increasing speed.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the Soldier chants as he approaches orgasm, tightening his grip on Sherlock’s hair and thrusting even harder and faster. “Such a good boy. Oh fuck. So good for me. So good.” He groans loudly and comes, his cock twitching and spilling hotly in Sherlock’s mouth.
“Oh, OH!” Sherlock cries out, his voice muffled around the dildo, even as his fantasy self diligently swallows every drop of the Soldier’s come. He thrashes on the bed, his hips lifting off the mattress and jerking up, searching for friction, for release that looms tantalisingly close but doesn’t materialise.
“Fuck,” he sighs as he collapses on the bed, feeling an unbearable mixture of arousal and frustration. He was so close, he almost came without any sort of direct stimulation.
“ You were so good for me,” the Soldier tells him breathlessly, pulling his spent cock out of Sherlock’s mouth. The bitter aftertaste of his come on Sherlock’s tongue is maddening. “You almost came just from that, didn’t you? I think you’ll manage it next time, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Sherlock sighs. “Yes, sir.”
“But for now, I think you’ve earned a little reward. Do you want to come?”
“Yes! Oh please, sir!”
“Very good. But remember, no touching your cock or your hole.” He hands Sherlock the small vibrator Sherlock got from Patrick and Sam as a Christmas present. “Only your perineum.”
“Yes, sir,” Sherlock agrees eagerly and grips the vibrator, bringing it between his legs immediately. He pushes it behind his balls and switches it on, moaning in relief at finally having some sort of stimulation.
“There, does that feel goods?”
“Yes, ooh, hnnng!” Sherlock presses the vibrator harder against his sensitive spot, his hips rocking forward. He’s so hard he could burst.
“But not as good as my cock in you would feel, hmm? Or my fingers, my tongue? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, if I spread your gorgeous arse open right now and ate you out?”
“Hnngg! Yes! Please, ooohhh,” Sherlock cries out, imagining the feel of the Soldier’s tongue lapping at his furled opening, licking him open, fucking him with his tongue. He increases the vibration setting, crying out at the spike in sensation.
“I’d open you up with my tongue, get you nice and wet and ready, and you’d be gagging for it, begging me to fuck you, and I’d take pity on you.”
The two scenarios play out at the same time, the Soldier teasing Sherlock with what he would do and actually doing it, grabbing Sherlock’s hips and pushing his cock into Sherlock’s willing body.
“I’d fuck you so hard, because that’s what you need, isn’t it? A good, hard fuck. You’d be screaming, begging me for more, and I’d give it to you.”
“Yes! More! Oh please, more, harder! Fuck! Harder! Ah, ah, ohhh!” Sherlock howls as he dials the vibrations up to the highest setting. He can feel the Soldier’s thick girth inside him, stretching him wide open, stuffing him full and impacting his prostate with every thrust, sending electric shocks of pleasure down his every nerve, each push sending him closer to the edge.
“I’d pound your tight little hole so hard but you’d keep begging me to go harder because you love it, you love taking my hard cock, screaming for more.”
“Yes! Yes, YES! More!”
“And then you’d come, completely untouched, just from the feeling of my cock inside you.”
The Soldier rams into him hard and fast, each push of his hips punctuated by a deep grunt and a slap of his heavy balls against Sherlock's arse, increasing in speed and force until Sherlock’s entire frame is shaking and so is the bed and the room and world---
“OHHHH!!!”
His orgasm explodes out of him and he can’t stop himself, the hand that isn’t pressing the vibrator to his perineum as hard as possible flying to his spurting cock and stroking roughly, increasing and lengthening his climax. He throws his head back and doesn’t hold back as he cries out his pleasure. “ Yes, John! Ohhh, oh, hmmmmm! Ahhh.”
His body sags into the mattress as the last aftershocks ebb away, sweaty and spent as he switches off the vibrator.
“You were amazing, love,” John murmurs to him, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Rest now.”
He waits for his breathing and heart rate to get back to normal, savouring the way satiation spreads through his body. He knows he doesn’t have much time, but he stays in bed as long as he can, basking in the afterglow, until he forces himself to his feet and pads to the bathroom.
He replays the session in his mind as he showers, storing it appropriately in his mind palace and updating his statistics. It’s been over three months since he and John reached their agreement, and a month since they officially entered into a romantic relationship, but there has been no sex so far, so Sherlock has been using his celibacy as an opportunity to delve more into his own sexual preferences and needs. He’s current experiment involves attempting to learn to get himself off using only his mind, without touching himself in any way. He hasn’t achieved it yet, but he thinks he’s on the right track.
He’s had very good results so far with the character of the Soldier, who doesn’t have any fixed physical appearance, ranging anywhere between Daniel Craig and Idris Elba, depending on what Sherlock’s libido finds most appealing at any given point, but his permanent qualities involve dominance and firmness while always making sure that Sherlock’s getting what he wants. There’s also the Victorian Doctor, who stays fully clothed and collected while he subjects Sherlock to various “examinations” and “treatments”. There’s the Dancer, who seduces Sherlock with erotic ballet until they rip each other’s clothes off and have frantic sex on the dance floor, and the Lover, who simply worships Sherlock’s body, intent on making Sherlock feel good. All in all, Sherlock has discovered that his sexual imagination is very powerful. He’s aware that some of the things he enjoys in his fantasies would be out of his comfort zone in real life, but it’s interesting and enlightening to explore them. He sometimes finds he gets off on his own enthusiastic consent to the things that are done to him as much as on the acts themselves.
As he reviews and rates the session he realises that at some point during the second half of the proceedings he heard Jack bark from the living room but he was too far gone to care. He must have made enough noise to upset him, Sherlock surmises and blushes, stupidly embarrassed that his dog heard him masturbate. But it could have been something else that disturbed Jack, so Sherlock shuts off the water and dries off quickly, shrugging a dressing gown on to go check on him.
Jack, his black Cocker Spaniel/Dachshund mix who is objectively the best dog in existence, doesn't seem traumatised by having had to listen to Sherlock's moans or anything else and he rushes to Sherlock happily when he exits the bathroom.
"Hello there, little bug ," Sherlock says as he crouches to give the dog a good scratch. "What happened, hmm? Were you scared something was happening to me? It's okay, I'm fine. Now, are you ready for your walk?" he asks as he stands back up and Jack's tail waggling immediately goes into overdrive. "John will be here soon, and then we'll go to the park." He checks the time, and curses under his breath. "Actually, John is running a bit late, so let's get dressed quickly, okay?" he says, which Jack naturally takes as an invitation to get under his feet as he tires to slip into his suit trousers as quickly as possible. It's really not very practical to take his little self-care breaks in the middle of the day, but what can he do? He's discovered it's easier to deal with John being unbearably attractive if he's had a good, satisfying wank shortly before seeing him.
It's been four weeks, three days and twenty-one hours since they officially became a couple, but so far their relationship has been very, very chaste. They kiss, and cuddle, and hold hands, and touch each other in a myriad of little ways, but that's it. And that's okay, it's not like there's any rush. They decided that even though they felt ready to take that symbolic step and start being together , they still needed to take their relationship very slowly. It's been good and needed to grow accustomed to each other's bodies slowly and gradually, and the prospect of sex with John still fills Sherlock with a vague sense of trepidation, but the truth is that lately it's become increasingly hard (in more ways than one) to remain unaffected by John's proximity. Sherlock's sex drive has been very active ever since he started acknowledging and feeding it, and John's frequent presence and touches and kisses and hugs and caresses and I love you’s haven't exactly been helping matters to calm down. Hence the necessity of strategic personal time.
He's still buttoning up his shirt when he hears the downstairs door open and bang shut rather louder than necessary, and then there are heavy, stomping footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock frowns, quickly shrugging into a suit jacket. It's John, clearly, but why on earth is he stomping around like an elephant?
"Sherlock?" he calls when he's on the fifteenth step, and that is also odd.
"John?" Sherlock calls back, feeling a bit foolish, and he strides quickly to the kitchen and opens the door to the landing. "Is everything all right?" he asks, but the answer to the question becomes obvious the moment he takes a good look at John.
John's holding a paper bag from the French bakery that Sherlock favours and that is most definitely not on John's way from the surgery. His ears are pink, his body language stilted and awkward. He made a lot of noise coming up just now, drawing attention to himself, signalling his presence. Jack's bark. The evidence is damning: this isn't the first time John has climbed the stairs to 221B today. No, he first came about half an hour earlier, before his scheduled time, when Sherlock was right in the middle of things and not being quiet about it.
"Oh," Sherlock exhales, feeling his cheeks heat. "You, um. Heard."
John ducks his head, avoiding Sherlock's head. Clearly, he hoped Sherlock either wouldn't notice, or wouldn't mention it if he had.
"Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly at Sherlock. "I was able to get away a bit earlier and, well. Sorry. I should have texted."
"It's fine," Sherlock says automatically, and oddly enough, it sort of is. He seems to mind John overhearing less than Jack overhearing, for some strange reason, even though he knows he’s blushing furiously. He steps aside when he realises he's been standing frozen in the door and lets John pass through to the kitchen.
It's awkward, certainly, a bit embarrassing, but on the other hand... it could be an opening. In all this time, they've never really talked about sex properly, not with respect to the two of them together. They've talked about almost everything else, alone or during their joint therapy sessions - John's abusive, homophobic father, his self-denial and rejection of his bisexuality. Sherlock's fake suicide and return from the dead, and how it affected them both. Mary. John's anger and violent tendencies and the three major instances when they manifested with Sherlock as the target: upon Sherlock's return, during the Culverton Smith case, and the sexual assault. Sherlock's self-esteem issues and feelings of worthlessness, and his gradual recovery. They have even talked a bit about Sherlock's sexual history, brief as it is, because accepting himself as a sexual creature has been an important step towards accepting himself as a person, and his journey of sexual discovery mirrored to a large extent his journey to self-acceptance and recovery. But they have yet to discuss sex as something that could potentially happen between the two of them. It's a sensitive topic, one that they've both been reluctant to broach. He knows they're both hesitant it, with good reason, but he also knows they can't keep putting it off forever, as Sherlock's libido reminds him with increasing insistence.
He decides to bite the bullet.
"Did you like what you heard?" He imagines John standing on the stairs, listening to Sherlock's unabashed cries of pleasure and growing hard in his trousers. A not unpleasant shiver runs down his spine.
John goes from embarrassed to scandalised within the blink of an eye. "Sherlock, that was a -- a very private moment that I shouldn't have intruded on. I have no business having an opinion it. Here, I brought you almond croissants." He shoves the paper bag in Sherlock's hands.
"I'm not asking for your opinion ," Sherlock says as he opens the bag greedily -- a good orgasm always makes him ravenous. "I'm asking if you, as my boyfriend, subjectively like the sounds I make when I'm experiencing intense sexual pleasure. Surely it's not surprising I might want to know that."
John's lips press into a thin line and more colour rises to his cheeks as his left hand flexes nervously. "Yes, all right, I liked it," he grits through his teeth as quickly as possible. "Are you ready to go?" Sherlock doesn't think John's even been as eager for a walk in the park as he is now.
"Don't you think we should perhaps talk about it a bit more?"
"No I bloody don't!" John snaps, then closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. There's nothing to talk about, all right? It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again. Now let's go, I can see Jack's dying for a walk."
Sherlock decides to let it go for now. He knows there's point trying to press the matter right now - John always clams up a bit after he does something that he perceives as a failure to keep his temper in check, even though, objectively speaking, he has been very good at managing his anger in recent months. The worst thing he's done in Sherlock's presence is raise his voice a bit, and even those instances have been minor and infrequent. John always catches himself quickly and is able to calm himself down, but Sherlock knows he beats himself up for not being always completely level-headed. And admittedly, there is still a part of Sherlock that flinches whenever it happens, despite the fact that on a conscious level he knows that there's no need.
One thing is clear, though, and that's that the times when John's self-control tends to slip are when he's confronted with his own feelings that he doesn't want or know how to address. That's nothing new, of course, but his reactions now are much more moderate and, most importantly, he's now always, without exception, willing to address it after a while, which he didn't use to be. Sherlock decides it's best to give him the time he needs to process things on his own before bringing the matter up again. He'll certainly do that, though, because if there's one thing that John's reaction proved, it's that they have to talk about it, and they've been diligent about talking about things that need to be talked about.
John takes his hand as soon as they leave the house. It's because he feels bad, obviously, but it's still nice. Overall, Sherlock has been pleasantly surprised by John's willingness to engage in moderate displays of affection in public. Nothing major, mainly just holding hands or the occasional guiding hand on the small of Sherlock's back, but it's way more than Sherlock expected. He knows John started doing as a sort of challenge for himself, outing himself to random passers-by, but he's fairly certain that by now John simply likes doing it -- his hand in Sherlock’s has certainly stopped being overly tense and sweaty, and relishes the absolute joy of walking down the street hand in hand with his boyfriend, his dog trotting happily next to him.
They enjoy a nice long walk in Regent's Park, playing fetch with Jack and talking about nothing in particular, mainly Rosie and the fact that Lestrade is very obviously thinking about proposing to Molly. It's nice. They've spent a lot of nice and relaxing time together in the last three months, since they admitted to each other what they both wanted, but this happy time has been dearly bought with other, significantly less pleasant moments, mainly during their therapy sessions, the discussions they made themselves have afterwards to go through what transpired during the therapy session, and the "homework" Ella gave them. They decided to have their couple's therapy with Ella since she knew both of them, and although Sherlock worried she might be biased because Sherlock was her current patient and John wasn't, she has been very professional, gentle and uncompromising as needed. The sessions have been gradually getting easier, since they have now gone through all the major skeletons hiding in the closet of their past and they are better at opening up now, but a lot of it has been harrowing. Sitting in a room with John and talking about the abuse he experienced at John's hand was one of the most difficult things Sherlock has ever done, but it was necessary and they got through it by sheer force of will.
And it’s been more than worth it. They’ve learned to understand each other better, reestablish trust, rebuild their friendship. And last but not least, gathered the courage and confidence to take the first tentative steps as romantic partners. They’re doing well, Sherlock thinks. It’s not easy, but there are moments of such pure happiness and no shortage of affection. They kiss and cuddle as much as they can, and once John understood how much Sherlock loves it, he’s made a habit of stroking Sherlock’s hair and massaging his scalp, which is, in a word, heavenly. There’s no falling asleep together or waking up together, of course, because they don’t live together. John and Rosie moved out of Harry and Michelle’s house after Christmas to finally let the two women have some privacy, but they moved to a boring one-bedroom flat close to John’s surgery and not to Baker Street. Which is good, Sherlock knows that, they’re not ready to live together, but he still loathes that flat everytime John has to return to it. But other than that, he has all the little things he’s ever dreamt of in the deepest depths of his heart, little things that taken all together make him feel loved . And perhaps the best thing of all is that he’s not the only one who thrives on their affection -- at first, John was as hesitant to bestow touches as Sherlock was to accept them, but now, it’s more than obvious that touching and kissing Sherlock and simply being close to him makes John happy too. That feeling is worth any number of exhausting therapy sessions and difficult conversations, and besides, those are getting easier too.
But they are not out of the woods yet.There's one thing that Sherlock has known in the back of his mind since the beginning, but that has now made itself clearer than ever before: it will never be truly behind them until they have sex. It's the memory of the assault that's stopping both of them, stopping them from fully acting on the love and desire they feel for each other, and they have to overcome that. There’s taking things slowly, and then there’s stalling.
Sherlock has thought about it many times, and he’s certain that John has too, but neither of us has ever spoken about it, let alone done anything. Sherlock wants sex with John, he has no doubt about that. He feels comfortable and safe in John’s presence now. The idea of John touching him intimately no longer inspires the kind of revulsion mixed with arousal he used to feel when he first came back, not in the slightest, but it’s not unambiguous want, either. It’s want with a shadow hanging over it. That feeling, however, isn’t new to him - it’s more or less the same thing he felt before he started having sex in general - wanting it, but being scared of it at the same time. The benefit of that is that he knows how to deal with his hesitance: he just has to push through it and do it. Slowly, carefully, starting with the least threatening option and working his way up, but he has to do it . No amount of thinking and waiting will take the hesitance away, only actions will do. The problem is that he’s not sure how to bring the actions about. He doesn’t think John will ever dare make the first move, he’s very careful about not accidentally pushing Sherlock into anything and he lets Sherlock take the lead in all their physical interactions. That’s good and necessary for now, but it puts Sherlock in the position of having to be the one who makes the first step, and he’s not sure he can. He doesn’t want to do it until he’s sure he can take it and won’t panic (that’s really what he’s afraid of: not John, not at all, but his own reactions; who knows how his subconscious will react when John touches him intimately), but he won’t know that until he does it. It’s an impasse. But maybe talking about it would help resolve it somehow.
They pick up fish and chips on their way home and eat it while watching the telly, like the old times. What's not like the old times is that when they finish eating, John puts his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock curls up with his head pillowed on John's chest and John’s fingers in his hair. It's so lovely Sherlock doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere, but he knows he has to.
"John, about earlier..."
"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you," John says immediately, then sighs. "I just... it made me uncomfortable."
"I know. But I think we have to talk about it. Not - not what you heard or that you heard it, but just -- sex. Us, having it."
John shifts against him. "You don’t think it's too soon? We shouldn’t rush this."
"It’s not too soon for talking about it. We're together and neither of us is asexual. I don't think we can avoid the topic for much longer."
John stays quiet for a moment, his fingers sifting through Sherlock's hair. “I don’t know if I’m ready for it,” he admits.
“For talking about it, or doing it?”
“Both, really. You think you are?”
“For talking about it, yes. For doing it… possibly. As ready as I’ll ever be, I think. My body certainly is.”
“You really want to have sex with me?”
Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Why do you think I make a point of masturbating right before spending an extended period of time in your company?”
“Oh,” John says, and his reaction makes it clear that he doesn’t have to resort to such a solution, that perhaps being in close proximity to Sherlock doesn’t affect him as much, or at all.
“Do you?” Sherlock asks. “Want to have sex with me? I remember you said that part of your life was over.” What if that’s it? What if John’s simply not interested in sex anymore? Sherlock would still want to be with him, there’s no doubt about that, but could it work?
“That was before we got together,” John says and he touches Sherlock chin gently, making him lift his head and look at him. “Of course I want to have sex with you,” he says looking Sherlock straight in the eye without any attempt to hide himself. Sherlock shivers. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. But I -- it’s complicated. I honestly don’t even know how to put it into words. I admit I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, just hoping it would sort itself out somehow.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “As if I haven’t learned that never works.”
Sherlock leans in and kisses him gently on the mouth. He knows that their relationship represents a different set of difficulties for John than it does for him, and he knows that John still struggles with feeling undeserving, and Sherlock can easily imagine that he feels he has no right to want Sherlock sexually.
“It’s complicated for me, too,” Sherlock admits. “But I know that I want this kind of intimacy with you.” He’s had a lot of very enjoyable sex, but he has yet to experience what he truly craves: sex as an expression of love.
John swallows visibly and closes his eyes as he brings their foreheads together, his hand gentle on Sherlock’s nape.
“Can you give me a little more time?” he asks softly. “I think I need to… deal with some things on my own before we talk about this again.”
“Of course. Are you going to bring it up with Arthur?” They both still have separate therapy sessions and John continues to be very diligent about his.
“Yeah, I think I should, if that’s okay with you?”
“Of course it’s okay with me, John, it’s your therapy session.”
“Right. Well -- I think I’d like to talk through some things with him, and then we’ll -- see. Talk about it again. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, John,” Sherlock agrees readily. Even this short conversation has been quite taxing, and he thinks it will be good for him too to have some time to think about what exactly he wants and how he wants to approach it. He kisses John again and smiles. It’s not easy, and they’re fumbling and bumping into obstacles, but overall, he thinks they’re doing fine.
“I love you, you know,” John murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over Sherlock’s lower lip. He has said this many times by now, but it hasn’t lost its charm. Sherlock doesn’t think it ever will.
“I love you too.”