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John stretched out on his favorite chair. University had been long, and hard, but at least he’d finished and could relax for a while. Still have to find a job, but that was a worry for later. With his grades he shouldn’t have any problem. He sipped the celebratory scotch he’d poured himself. Probably should call up some mates and go to the pub, but really he just wanted a quiet evening in.
And, of course, there was a knock on the door. He glanced at the clock, set down the scotch and went to answer it. Of all the people it might be, he was not expecting a good-looking stranger dressed like….a rentboy?
“Good evening, sir,” Sherlock purred as he stepped through the doorway and right up against the short uni student he’d been paid to service. By his sister, obviously. She’d just given him an address and told him to ‘go make Johnny happy on his big day’, and now that he could see eye and hair colour and facial structure, the relation was obvious. As was the reason for celebration. Just passed finals, received degree, flatmate on vacation--just left today, and now ‘Johnny’ was looking forward to a quiet night in. Well, if he wanted a quiet night, then that’s what he’d get. If he wanted Sherlock to be loud, well, Sherlock could do that too. After all, learning what people wanted and how they got it was what this experiment was all about. “Where would you like to start?”
John gaped at him a moment before collecting himself. “Now hold on a second. Who put you up to this?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. Harry.” He turned and went to the table, fumbling a bit until he found his mobile and and could dial. He watched the stranger close the door behind him and make himself comfortable in the opposite chair as Harry’s phone rang.
"Do ya like my present, Johnny? I knew when I saw him that he was perfect!"
“Are you drunk again Harry, or just insane? I don’t need a rentboy.” John turned away from the stranger, though obviously he was talking about him.
Despite the near-offensive words, Sherlock smiled. No, it was clear that the graduate had frequent sexual relations, though usually with women. But it was just as clear that he was interested in his 'present'. The woman who'd paid for him, the sister, 'Harry', was clearly homosexual. Perhaps her sexuality had caused a rift with their parents this child had sought to avoid. And despite the other man showing him his back, the conversation was still rather clear in the quiet of the flat. "Oh, yes you do, Johnny. You're in uni and you haven't experimented once. And I know your flatmate is gone. So... experiment!"
“I’ve been trying to graduate.”Shit John pinched his nose again. Of course that argument meant nothing now. He took a breath, then another. “Fine, Harry. But we’re not done talking about this.” John ended the call, took another breath and turned to face the man. He was deliciously handsome, no denying that. “Do you want a drink or something?”
Sherlock trailed his eyes down what he suspected was a rather fit form hidden behind those frumpy jumpers and let his gaze settle on the somewhat prevalent crotch. "Or something," he replied with a mischievous grin. The brief flash of arousal in the bright blue eyes was immediately tempered by...disgust? Wondering what he'd missed, his eyes darted around the room again. Books on the shelf. "Ah. Majoring in medicine. The thought of coming in my mouth or down my throat arouses you," further evident by the dilation of pupils and unsubtle shifting, "but the doctor in you is concerned about the transmission of sexual disease. Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to allow my transport to be inundated by something like that. I would require that you wear a condom," he scoffed with a wave of his hand. In the moment of silence that followed, he realised he'd done exactly what he'd said he wouldn't do: reveal his deductions. Now he would be kicked out and his experiment would need to be started anew.
John cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s brilliant,” he said after a few moments of silence. He really was impressed. The medicine was probably easy to figure but the way he could tell just what he wanted…. John stepped a little closer. “I bet you’re brilliant in bed too, being able to read people like that.”
Sherlock's head snapped sharply back to 'Johnny' and he regarded the man with a suspicious look. "I'm brilliant everywhere," he replied slowly, spreading his legs a little as he leaned back in the chair. An obvious invitation, but one that was going to be accepted, if the heated look on the other's face was anything to go by. "What about you, 'Johnny'?" he drawled, tilting his chin up for max exposure of his throat, like prey offering itself to a predator. "How good are you?"
"John. And quite good." He crossed the room but stopped short of climbing into the man's lap. "What do I call you?" Just because he was being paid didn't mean John had to be rude.
Making a noise of irritation, Sherlock hooked his fingers in the man's belt loops and tugged him forward until he had a lap full of compact, blond doctor, thighs sprawled on either side of his and erection pressing into his stomach. Sherlock rolled his hips, pressing his own erection into the firm arse above him, and growled, "You may call me whatever you like. However," he considered using an alias for a split second before discarding the idea entirely--judging by the flip phone he'd used to call his sister, his customer was not technologically advanced enough to search him out and therefore would not come after him, "my name is Sherlock."
John moaned softly. He grabbed a handful of hair and tugged his head to the side, mouthing the side of his throat. A kiss would be too intimate. "Any hard limits?" he asked as he breathed against the pale skin. There was no way this beautiful creature was a full time rentboy. At least, not a price Harry could afford. He'd have to look him up later. Couldn't be that many Sherlock's out there. If that was his real name. Already he found himself wanting to know more about this man. Another roll of Sherlock's hips reminded him of his purpose. John pulled back and looked into the pale eyes. He wanted to mark that skin and drown in those eyes. "Limits?" he asked again.
"Condom required," he gasped, neck tingling from John's attention to it. "No bodily fluids except saliva. No permanent facial disfigurations." He was unbearably hard, erection trapped below the doctor's comfortable weight and he rolled his hips seeking friction. Already his intended results were becoming skewed by his own reactions. How did rentboys get by like this? How did they ever think with this much pleasure and arousal in their systems?
John chuckled. He could tell just how much Sherlock was enjoying this. He leaned in and nipped his neck again, rewarded with another roll of his hips. “Come on. My bedroom. I’ve got condoms and lube.” He got up and took his hand, pleased by the dazed look on his face. He pulled him back into the bedroom and then onto the bed, climbing over him. He nearly kissed him, then remembered this was just once. And he’d probably never see him again. Blushing, he started on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt.
The form over him was warm. Very warm. And all of a sudden, they were both wearing too much clothing. John was already working at the buttons on his shirt, and he wanted to help, but he had no clue what the etiquette was for the situation. Tentatively, he reached his hands between them to undo first his own button and zip and then John's before he cupped the hard, heavy pant-encased erection it revealed. There was a broken moan and a canting of hips from his actions that had him smirking up into suddenly-hazy blue eyes.
Looking down at him, John smiled. He quickly shoved off his trousers and pants before dropping a hand into Sherlock's pants. He knelt between his legs, feeling the length of it while Sherlock gently stroked his own thick erection. " I want to fuck you," he panted.
“Okay.” It was the only thing he could say. Really, it was the only thing on his mind. John’s hand on him made him want to writhe like some wild thing and he shoved impatiently on his own pants and trousers, making the man above him chuckle. It never felt like this when he touched himself. What was it about someone else doing it that made it so much better? There was the tearing of foil, and then a condom was rolled down his cock. His head snapped up in surprise and he only received a mischievous grin as a second condom was opened and placed on John’s own cock. A firm hand pressed against his forehead, pushing his head back to the pillow and he settled back down, unsure and uneasy because of it. There was the snap of a cap and then a slick finger pressed against his hole as a mouth encased his cock.
The loud moan and spread of Sherlock's legs was more than worth the taste of the condom. He worked the man open slowly, drawing out the pleasure, stopping when he felt Sherlock was close. By the time he felt he was ready, Sherlock was nearly begging.
"More," Sherlock gasped, the same thing he'd been saying for so long even he didn't know. All he knew is that there were three fingers embedded in his arse and it was nowhere near enough. A noise of protest slipped from his throat when those not-enough fingers pulled out of him, and then turned into a choked-off moan a moment later when a thick cock pressed against his hole instead. But then it stopped, just held against him as John laid over him. He whined again, rolling his hips, only for the body against his to press against his more firmly.
John pinned him down. God all he wanted to do was bury himself in this man. To watch him writhe on his cock. Instead he took his time, keeping him in place as he thrust in just a little, giving him time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him.
The slow pace was killing him, but the weight against him gave him no leeway to shove himself down on that thick cock. But it seemed as if the good doctor was intent on torturing him. "Please," he said, mouthing along the thick, tanned neck. Spends a lot of time outside, small but muscular, contact sport, likely rugby. His teeth worried at the skin below his mouth, trying to encourage the cock further into him, but still he insisted on tiny, shallow thrusts that were slowly driving him mad.
Taking pity on Sherlock, John thrust deeper, rewarded by a loud cry. God this man was amazing. He kept a slow pace, but thrust harder. He was so tight around him, John had to be mindful of his control. He leaned down and nipped a pale shoulder. .
Finally! Finally he was all the way inside! And oh, it was glorious! There was a low sound in his ear that he suspected was himself, and he eagerly wrapped arms and legs around the man above, willing him to remain where he was.
John chuckled and thrust shallowly, grinding against him. Sherlock was making low noises. John raised up just a bit to wrap a hand around his cock, sucking a hickey into his throat.
He couldn't stop the shout that burst from his throat when a palm wrapped around his and teeth and tongue attacked his neck. Nor could he keep himself from squirming as John continued to stroke him slowly. Then there was a particularly hard thrust, a shift of his hips and--
"John!" Well, it certainly never felt like that when he fingered himself. He needed more. "Again," he demanded, his experiment already being shaken free of his mind under the onslaught of pleasure.
“Demanding little bottom aren’t you?” John chuckled and this time he did kiss him. Forgetting that this was all just because Harry had paid for him. He thrust again, listening to Sherlock’s delicious moan as he hit his prostate again.
"Yes," Sherlock gasped, wishing John would just fuck him faster. "Now, if you must talk, at least fuck me harder while you do so." There was laughter in his mouth that wasn't his, followed by a tongue that wasn't his either. And both distracted him quite fantastically, but quite impermanently, from the fact that John neither went faster nor harder.
“Patience,” John whispered against his skin as he broke the kiss and mouthed his collarbone. “I will get you there. But we can enjoy this.” He bit down, enjoying the cry Sherlock made and the way he bucked up against him. Delicious and wonderful. He never wanted this to end, though of course it must.
"It feels too good to be patient," Sherlock complained, and then promptly rolled them. To his surprise, John rolled him right back onto his back and pinned down his wrists. His hips, frustratingly stilled to pin his lower half in place.
John gave him a wicked smile and moved minutely. “I could tie you down if you won’t behave.”
The thought made his cock throb and he lowered his chin, looking up at John through his eyelashes. “Could you?” he asked with a slow lick of his lips.
“Oh, you would like that,” breathed John. He kissed him again and reached over the side of the bed, finding his bathrobe. He pulled the cloth belt free, keeping Sherlock’s wrists pinned as he looped it through the headboard. He quickly and expertly bound his wrists, planting his hands on either side and giving a slow, experimental thrust as he watched his face.
“Ohhh...” Sherlock breathed, wrists tugging at his new bonds. The binding provided an element of sharpness and danger to their coupling that had him arching up, eager for touch. Instead, John sat back on his heels and shuffled forward until Sherlock was practically in his lap. Callused hands gripped his hips, and he knew his torture was far from over.
Could this man be any more gorgeous? John fucked him slowly, the soft moans and raw desire fueling his passion. He wanted this to last as long as it could, though even now he was dangerously close with the way Sherlock's tight heat surrounded him. His thumbs traced the hip bones, straying near, but not touching, his cock. John wanted to keep him, didn't want anyone else to touch him. But what could he do? He tried to banish those thoughts though his thrusts stuttered.
He knew some men could come from prostate stimulation alone, but he never believed himself to be one. John was changing that. Easily. His cock, when he managed to crack an eye long enough to look at it, was positively leaking, and it only throbbed harder with each almost touch against it and with each slow slide up against his walls and prostate. "John," he moaned, tugging at his bonds and gyrating his hips, driven near to madness, held on a razor's edge. "Please!"
John took pity on him again. He leaned in for another kiss, taking his cock in hand. Only one stroke and Sherlock was coming, easily filling the condom. As he gasped and squeezed around him, John followed him over with a loud moan.
The relief, both mental and physical, made his vision go so white that, for a moment, he thought he was going to black out. When he regained his faculties, it was to find himself engaging in a slow, sloppy kiss with John as the man trembled against and above him. Slowly, he rolled his hips, clenching down on the hard cock still inside him and gaining a fuzzy sort of satisfaction from the broken moan and tremors it evoked in his bed partner.
Trembling and tingling, John reached up to free Sherlock. He wrapped the man in his arms, not wanting to let him go. He found himself tearing up and buried his face against the soft skin.
The form above him settled more firmly into the cradle of his thighs, a soft mouth nuzzling at his neck as something wet dripped against his skin. "John?" he asked softly, wrapping newly-freed arms around the man's back, holding the doctor tightly to him.
“I don’t want you to go,” John said softly. “I know this is crazy. I know we just met. I don’t even have a job and you’re only here because of my sister. But I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you. I don’t want to lose you.”
Sherlock's heart thumped heavily in his chest. So, it wasn't just him. "I'm not actually a rentboy," he confided into short blond hair. "I'm actually a detective. This was an experiment. An investigation into the regular habits of rentboys. For the intended outcome, I must label the experiment a failure, as I doubt many rentboys offer a job and a flatshare to their customers."
John raised his head. “A job and a flatshare?” Surely he hadn’t heard right. But Sherlock’s eyes were honest and he blinked back the tears.
“Hopefully murder victims won’t bother you because having a doctor along on my cases would be quite beneficial,” Sherlock said, running his fingers through John’s hair.
“I’d love to,” breathed John. He leaned in to kiss him again, this time gently.
“Good. When can you move in?” As comfortable as he was, the thought of installing the man above him in his flat had his body suddenly filled with energy and he shifted restlessly.
John grinned and carefully pulled out. “You want to help me pack?”
FIN