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He'd had broken bones, concussions, lacerations; if his body could be harmed in some impermanent way, it had been. And for the most part, he had been able to lick his wounds, set bones, mend hurts with no issue. But this knife wound was too deep. He needed stitches, at the very least, and the chances of internal bleeding were high. He just needed to find... There. There was a doctor he knew of that did not discriminate based off one's secondary race, and was often seen in the seedier parts of town helping those who would not go to a hospital. Sherlock had caught his scent on more of his network than he could count, and it had taken only the work of an hour to locate the man's flat. Exhaustion weighing on his limbs, the cat-man curled up on the clean stoop to wait.
John was tired as he headed home in the rain. As he neared the flat he caught the scent of blood. His long ears twitched and he heard labored breathing. He moved quickly and found the dark form on his stoop. There was blood being washed away by the rain. "You're badly hurt. Come on, can you stand?" He unlocked the door and moved to help him. Part cat, this one.
Even as the doctor questioned him, he was already being pulled to his feet, a low groan pulled from his chest as the motion aggravated his wound. Sherlock's eyes snapped open at the pain, but his vision was fuzzy and he couldn't make out anything more than a dark, blurry shape. The hand around his wrist tightened, slinging his captured arm around a low shoulder as a sturdy arm wrapped around his waist. His head fell onto a shoulder and something furry tickled his face. Automatically, his tongue darted out, licking at wet fur, grooming what he could reach. There was a disproving sound and the furry thing jerked away from his mouth and then hit him in the face, almost making him stumble in surprise when he was guided to a set of stairs.
John was used to people wanting to touch his ears. But he rather drew the line at being licked by a stranger from God knew where. He got the taller man up the stairs and into his flat proper, laying him down on a chaise he kept for this sort of purpose. He turned on a light and saw him flinch. “It’s all right,” he said soothingly, brushing his ears back out of habit. “I’ll fix this right up.” Looked like the knife had missed the heavy coat and gone right into his side. He got up and fixed a quick drink that would at least dull the pain, if not knock him out completely and helped him drink it before going to wash his hands and tend the wound.
Whatever he was laying on was a lot more comfortable than he suspected it would have been had he not been injured, but Sherlock sunk into it as if it was a cloud. He was just starting to drift off when his clothes were tugged on and he hissed, claws and tail lashing out weakly as he attempted to move away from his attacker.
“Shh,” said John, cutting away the expensive looking material. He easily caught the wrist trying claw his hand. “I’m going to stitch you up. Just go to sleep now.” He watched as the cat-man flailed just a little more before drifting off. He must be strong, especially if he got himself here alone. John gently probed the wound, seeing how deep it was. This would take all his skills. Kneeling next to the chaise and adjusting the light, he got to work.
.oOo.
Waking up had never been so difficult. Sherlock's mind was fuzzy and there was a pain in his stomach greater than any he'd ever felt before. A low hiss slipped from his throat as he shifted, trying to become more comfortable. It was only then that he realised the scent around him wasn't his own. Nor was the bed he was sleeping on or the clothes he was wearing. His mind, slow to start, began to whir in earnest, spitting out a memory of looking for the Network's faceless doctor and of gentle, firm hands against his stomach. He tried to shift again, wanting to get his paws below him, but nothing of his body was working, and he was having trouble even opening his eyes. Despite his normal control over his animalistic side, he couldn't help the angry rumble that boiled in his chest at being so helpless in a stranger's territory. A stranger whose secondary race he couldn't guess and could very well be a predator. The growl deepened.
John heard the quiet yowling and stepped into the bedroom with a mug of tea. “You’re safe,” he said gently. “I doubt anyone knows you are here. But you have to stay in bed for a while.” He set the mug on the end table and went back out for the stranger’s coat, knowing the smell would comfort him. It was a nice smell, he thought, then quickly pushed that thought aside. He was a patient, after all.
Out of nowhere, a layer of fabric was laid over him, one that smelled like him, and it instantly relaxed him. For a long moment, he simply relaxed and lay there, breathing in his own scent and getting used to the strains of the stranger's all around him. When he was calmed, he was finally able to open his eyes and catch sight of his doctor, and was more than surprised at the sight that greeted him: a short, compact man with ashen-blond hair and floppy rabbit ears that hung just below his shoulders and tail made of matching fur was bustling about the room, tidying up. A rabbit helping a strange cat? How unusual. And then he turned, and Sherlock saw his hair cut and posture: military. A military doctor rabbit. "Fascinating..."
John turned and raised an eyebrow. “There’s some tea there for you. May I check your bandage?” He approached the bed carefully, not wanting to startle his guest. “My name is John.” In the light of morning he could see that his ears and tail matched the dark hair on his head. His eyes were pale and even still a bit loopy from the drugs they held a fierce intelligence. He could only imagine how he’d ended up stabbed and on his doorstep. Probably one of the homeless had told him about the doctor, though, he never had told any of them where he lived. He frowned slightly, but decided to put the questions off until later.
"Sherlock," he introduced, watching the most interesting man he'd ever met edge closer to him, hands in clear sight. Slowly, he sunk back into the bed he was laying on, though the exposure of his delicate and injured belly had his tail lashing in clear discomfort. The rabbit's bright blue eyes darted back and forth between his tail and his hands, as if measuring the probability he may lash out using his serpentine limb as a gage. There was a calm expectancy about John's action that told the detective that the man had treated his fair share of wild people. There was, however, a fresh, short line of claw marks on the doctor's left hand. Sherlock had done that. He felt an uncharacteristic guilt at the sight, and his hand flashed out to wrap carefully around a wrist, pulling the injury closer to his mouth. Before the rabbit could react, the cat's tongue was set loose, cleaning the scratches avidly yet gently.
John watched him, letting him clean the wound. Well, if it would make Sherlock feel better, it wouldn’t cause any harm. With his other hand he carefully lifted the bandage. Gently taking his hand back, John looked at his face. “I need to clean the site. It’s going to hurt and sting, but I’ll do my best to make it fast.” He knew the cat was listening. He seemed to brace himself while John went to get the disinfectant. True to his word he cleaned it as quick as he could, hearing Sherlock hiss at the pain. He replaced the bandage and pulled the blanket and coat back over his exposed belly. “There you go. You’ll have to remain here a few days. Are you hungry?”
"No," Sherlock replied at the same moment his stomach let out an angry rumble. He jumped, surprised, and the doctor let out a laugh that had him blinking at the rabbit instead. "It's just transport," he snapped, offended that his doctor was laughing at him. Despite the pain in his stomach he curled on his side and away from John, ears pressed flat to his head and tail curved to the shape of his arse and legs.
“Aw, don’t be that way.” John touched his shoulder gently. He went into the kitchen and got a thin stew. He brought it in to Sherlock and set it on the end table. “Eat and drink, it’ll help. And sleep.” John wondered if he’d done something wrong. “Is there anyone I should contact about you?”
"No. And if he shows up, tell him he can go fuck himself." The thought of Mycroft of all people seeing him like this had all of his hair and his tail standing on end.
John soothed his hand down Sherlock’s side. “I’ll keep everyone out.”
As it turned out, the man that had Sherlock so upset showed up a couple hours later, after Sherlock had finally fallen asleep. He looked at John with a steely gaze, umbrella tucked under one arm. His tail twitched with annoyance but his ears didn’t go flat. His hair coloring was a little more red than then the other, but they were likely related. “No,” John was saying. “He’s asked for no one to be allowed in.”
“I am his brother,” he said.
“Well and I think it was you specifically he didn’t want to see.” John set his stance firm as if expecting a physical altercation.
He scoffed. “I can get an order from the police that will require you to hand him over.”
It was difficult to remain asleep with the sound of Mycroft's voice slithering in through his ears, and he was instantly on edge. His tail almost hit a cup of cold tea on the nightstand as he struggled to put his feet on the floor. People always caved to his brother's threats and he needed to find an escape route for when his doctor eventually followed the suit of every temporary 'protector' he'd had in the past. Then the rabbit's next words made him freeze.
“No. Clearly he is of age. And if he is refusing to see you, then you aren’t seeing him.” The man’s eyes were cold, but John had faced down plenty of predators in his life. He wasn’t about to start bowing to one now.
The man seemed slightly taken aback by his stubbornness. “Very well then, John Watson. This isn’t the last time you will see me.” He turned on his heel and walked out.
Sherlock knew how these things worked; everyone expected repayment and as he didn't have any money... He was naked when John walked back into the room, laying on the bed with his arse in the air, stiff tail held carefully in one hand to keep his hole exposed. He kept his face pressed to the pillows, though his ears flicked wildly, tracking the approaching sound of the rabbit's steps until they stopped just inside the door.
John froze and stared for a moment. He blushed deeply. “Sherlock whatever you think you’re doing, you’re in no shape to be doing it.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. But parts of him were definitely attracted. He took a breath to regain his composure and stepped forward, grabbing the blankets bunched at the foot of the bed and covering the cat. “Go back to sleep, Sherlock.”
He was so surprised by the rejection that he almost missed John walking out the door. His head snapped up. "I don't understand."
Wondering if Sherlock could smell his arousal, John smiled, though he suspected he was still pretty red. “I didn’t treat you to sleep with you. There’s no expectation of payment from anyone that I take care of on the street...or shows up on my doorstep. Surely whatever contacts told you about me also told you that?”
“I... never asked about you. I only deduced that they’d been treated and it was always your smell on them after such treatments,” he said slowly, turning his hips just as slowly to the bed. Away from John.
John shook his head, still smiling. “Well, that’s brilliant of you. I had wondered how you found my place. Try to go back to sleep, I need to go out for a while, but I’ll back this evening. There’s some food in the fridge if you get hungry later.”
Sherlock was still attempting to process this unexpected change in events when the rabbit walked out the door. He could still hear him, moving about the flat, getting ready for his day job. Despite his normal dislike for sleeping, he was unconscious before the man had left the flat.
The feeling of hands on his belly awoke him and he was lashing out before he’d even registered who was touching him. All he knew was that fingers were prodding his wound and they weren’t his.
John caught his wrist before he could scratch. “It’s me, Sherlock. Be still, please.”
The scent of his doctor caught up to him just before his words did. “John?” His voice almost made him jump, it came out so raspy.
“Yes. Looks like you aggravated it moving around earlier. I need you to be still for a few more minutes, okay?”
Slowly, he pulled his hand free from the other man’s grasp and relaxed onto the bed. He did, however, curl his tail around his doctor’s wrist, both a way to ground himself and so he could remove the man’s touch if it became too much.
John was gentle as he could be. He had to make a few small stitches, but at least the wound was starting to heal. “A few more days and you’ll be back on your feet.” He gave him a soft smile and gently pet his tail.
It had been a long time since anyone had touched his tail without intent of harm, and as the petting continued, slowly starting farther and farther up, he relaxed even further, a low purr building in his chest.
Chuckling softly, John settled him on the bed. “Go on back to sleep.”
.oOo.
It was a week before his wound was healed enough for John to ‘let’ him out of bed. Not that he hadn’t already been out of bed each day to snoop while his doctor was at work. Everything he found only made the rabbit more interesting. On his eighth day there, the ex-captain walked in after work with the placard of his medals held carefully in Sherlock’s claws. He’d already expected the Operational Service Medal for Afghanistan and the Accumulated Campaign Service Medal, but the Victoria Cross was more a surprise than he believed the rabbit was capable of.
Caught completely off guard, John could only stare at the cat for a moment. He blinked and took off his coat. He knew Sherlock had been peeking around his flat, it was only a matter of time before he found that. “Please put it back.” He focused on his breathing, not even really angry. After all, he was the one that insisted Sherlock stay. And he couldn’t tell the whole story, even if he wanted to. Part of him wondered if that’s why the brother had stayed away. He kept expecting him to call or make himself a nuisance, but there hadn’t been any sign of him.
Sherlock placed the placard carefully down, but did not take his eyes from the other man. “Whom did you save, John?”
“Nobody I can tell you about.” John took the placard and put it back in it’s hiding place. “I don’t even officially have the medal. I will tell you that was the mission where I was wounded and had to retire afterward.”
“A member of the royal family then,” Sherlock deduced. It was the only thing that would have him so silent. He was sure Mycroft already knew all that though. Which made him wonder why his brother expected John would give him up. A test, perhaps? He was always claiming to be looking out for Sherlock. Maybe he finally was taking his brother’s wishes to heart.
“You know I can’t confirm or deny that. Now, since you’re up and about, I take it the wound isn’t paining you so much today?”
It was clear he wouldn’t get any more from John, today at least, and he turned, throwing himself on the bed. “I have never been in more pain. Absolutely dreadful.”
Shaking his head, John turned away from the memories and went to Sherlock’s side. “You’re a bit of a drama queen you know.” He sanitized his hands and carefully lifted the bandage, aware of the way Sherlock’s tail wrapped around his wrist.
It was almost instinct now, wrapping the rabbit in his tail. A sign of ownership. A single band of his scent around the man’s wrist. His hands and forearms always smelled strongly of antiseptic when he returned from his job at the surgery, but if he went about his rounds with the homeless, he smelled of them instead. As did the rest of him. Sherlock hated that. He wanted the doctor covered in his scent. Always. Annoyed at his own thoughts, he turned his head away as John checked his stitches.
“Much better.” John smiled at him and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “Another day or two and you can go home.” His throat caught suddenly, but he tried to push the emotions away.
“I don’t have a home to go to,” he replied. John’s hand moved to pull away and he butted his head against it, silently encouraging his doctor to repeat the motion through his hair, even going so far as to tilt his head so those fingers skimmed across an ear. The sensation had a shiver rolling down his spine and he licked his lips, tail tightening around the captured wrist as he tugged lightly lightly, prepared for another rejection. But this time, it wasn’t repayment on his mind.
John licked his lips. “Sherlock, I told you, you don’t have to repay me.” He was red down to the tips of his ears, he bet.
He wondered if John knew how husky his voice sounded. Or how delicious the first strains of his arousal smelled. "I know," he whispered back, tugging again.
Climbing into bed, John found himself nuzzling Sherlock’s neck. John’s long ear draped across the bare skin of Sherlock’s chest. Always, John was careful to not get too attached to patients. But somehow this cat had wound his way around his heart. He settled over Sherlock’s waist, feeling his erection already pressing against his own.
"Yesss," Sherlock hissed as the rabbit's weight settled over him. He kept the one hand against his stomach with his tail and the other he laced his own fingers with, dragging it up above their heads, forcing his doctor off balance. With his other hand, he carefully curled his claws around the rabbit's determined-yet-delicate jaw, turning those lips from his neck so he could press them against his own.
John moaned against his lips. They’d been watching one another all week. John had been careful to focus on the wound, but there was no denying the attraction. And now he wanted to melt into Sherlock’s arms. He rocked up against him, pulling a moan from his lips. Any chance of holding back now was doomed.
The cat flipped them in a split second, releasing the tail-caught wrist only to transfer it to the hand holding John's other wrist, keeping both trapped above the short blond hair. He was only wearing a pair of thin, cotton, pyjama bottoms, but his prey was still wearing his day clothes, and they were in his way. He growled and began to tug at the hem of the silly jumper, but the weight of the man made it immovable and he quickly turned his attention to undoing button and zip and pulling out the thick, hard cock underneath. A second later, he'd pushed his own trousers underneath his testicles and began to frot their erections together.
“Oh God,” John’s head rocked back at the sensation. Sherlock’s large hand covered them both. Growling, John flipped them over and rutted hard against the taller man’s cock. Leaning in, he kissed him deeply, the way he’d wanted to for days.
Now it was Sherlock's hands trapped against the pillows, next to his head rather than over, but he couldn't much be arsed to care as long as John didn't stop. Spread his thighs, his doctor settled in more comfortably as the cat carefully began to stroke them faster. The rabbit's sweet moans were eagerly devoured, his long, dexterous tongue slipping into every crevice of the man's mouth.
“Can I take you?” John panted. He needed him. He’d been thinking about that tight little arse all week, if he was honest. Besides, he was going to come in a minutes if Sherlock didn’t let them up.
“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied, dropping his head back on the pillow and lolling it back, elongating a neck he knew to have quite the impact on people of either gender. “Can you?”
Growling, John nipped his neck. He quickly stripped off his jumper and finished pushing off their pants. “Goddamnit,” he muttered. “Be right back.” he got up and went to his own bedroom for lube and condoms.
Sherlock was impatient for the other’s return as soon as he left, and promptly rolled onto his stomach, sucking three fingers in his mouth. The height of his arousal had them drenched in seconds and he reached behind himself and under his tail, pressing in one finger, moaning loudly. “You’d better hurry, John!” he called, pulling out his finger to his fingertip before shoving it back inside. In seconds, he was too caught up with his own pleasure to hear his rabbit return and he jumped when, just as he was about to press in the second finger, teeth nipped his lower back above his tail and a stern hand pulled his hand from his arse.
“Let me.” John pushed two slicked fingers inside, rewarded by a yowl. The tail twitched as he worked him over. He didn’t need to hurt Sherlock. But he was going to thoroughly enjoy fucking him.
As soon as John pressed two fingers inside, he began rocking back onto them, almost purring at the delicious stretch. But it wasn’t where he needed it to be. “I need you. Now,” he panted, reaching back to lightly stroke the cock to which he was referring with his claws.
“You aren’t ready yet.” John scissored his fingers and nipped his hip, getting a faceful of tail for his trouble.
“Yes I am,” he returned, glaring over his shoulder at the rabbit. John’s expression was trepidatious at best, and Sherlock put on his most earnest expression, needing John to understand. “I promise. I’m ready. It feels better. It feels so much better this way, John. The way you’re going to stretch me... I’ll be so tight around you...”
Biting his lip, John withdrew his fingers and pressed the blunt head of his cock against him. Squeezing his hips he pushed past the tight ring of muscle and groaned at the tight heat. His ears were trembling as he focused, moving slowly. “This is amazing,” he breathed.
“Wait until you’re all the way in,” Sherlock breathed back, rolling his hips to encourage said sheathing even quicker. The delicious heat of John’s chest draped over his back as the rabbit pressed in in one, smooth glide. And in a second, he was filled completely and had completely lost use of his voicebox.
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s chest, shifting minutely, eyes closed against the amazing pleasure. He hadn’t slept with anyone in quite a while, and once again, he found himself on the edge already. “Sherlock,” he whispered, leaning down to lick a strip up his spine. He even tasted divine.
The sound that escaped Sherlock’s throat in response was garbled at best. He couldn’t think past the thick, hard cock filling him, but it felt like he’d never felt a thicker cock. “Oh god, John,” he moaned, claws reaching out to grip the headboard as tight as he could. The wood biting into his palms helped pull him back from the edge enough that he knew he wouldn’t orgasm upon the rabbit’s first thrust.
Taking a breath, John partially pulled out and thrust back in, both of them groaning brokenly as he moved. John reached around to take Sherlock’s cock in hand, and knew the cat wasn’t going to last long at all. Hell neither was he. He thrust again, still slowly, not daring to go faster.
“I know you can go faster, John,” Sherlock panted. “I know you can go harder.” He rolled his hips back again, needing. “Please, John. Fuck me hard. Fuck me fast,” he begged.
John let go of his cock and gripped the back of his neck, pushing his head down against the pillow. He held his hip still with the other hand and started moving faster, harder. He moaned, getting lost in the delicious sensations. Everything was Sherlock, and it was all he needed.
When John gripped him by the back of his neck, his tail stood upright at the domination, and then he nearly cried when it brought the rabbit’s punishing cock in contact with his prostate. If he had been been any more present in his mind, Sherlock would have realised he was shredding the wood of John’s headboard beneath his claws. Instead, all he was aware of was the thickness filling him again and again and again. His tail was twitching with each thrust, and he was only vaguely conscious of the way it kept brushing against John’s nose
Okay, that tail had to go. John let go of his hip and grabbed at it from the base. Sherlock yowled at the contact and came suddenly, clamping down around John. He swore and thrust deep as he could, cumming thickly inside of him until he collapsed over his back.
He had never had such a surprising orgasm in his life. It turned his sight, hearing, and mind into white noise, and all he could do was let the pleasure pulse through him. He could feel John twitching inside him, and for a moment, he could only regret the doctor’s need for a condom. He wanted the rabbit’s scent on him as much as he wanted his scent on the rabbit.
When John came back to himself he’d rolled them to the side, still buried in Sherlock, spooning tight around him. One hand splayed against the cat’s chest as they both tried to breathe. This was amazing. “You’re gorgeous. And brilliant. And amazing,” he whispered in Sherlock’s ear.
“I know.” There was a quiet huff of laughter against the back of his neck, and after he got over his momentary surprise at the reaction, he joined in. Slowly, he curled up in John’s embrace, the rabbit following suit, keeping his slowly softening cock pressed as far inside Sherlock as it would go. The cat’s tail was swishing lazily as he settled into his contented state, and then it slowly settled back around John’s waist, curling around the short fluffy tail he’d yet to touch, something he planned to remedy when he awoke.
.oOo.
John woke to Sherlock's touch. He was gently petting his long ears and John smiled at the touch. Another hand dropped down to his fluffy tail and he found himself arching up into his hand, arse in the air.
Sherlock froze for a moment at the unexpected display, having become so entranced in what he was doing that he hadn’t even realised his doctor was waking up. But at the quiet sound of disconnect, he resumed his stroking of the soft, bulbous tail as he reached over for the lube on the bedside table and one of the condoms. What he really wanted was to lick John until he was screaming his name, imprint the taste of his rabbit on his tongue, but that sort of thing would need to wait until they’d both been tested. Never stopping his stroking of the fluffy tail beneath his claws, Sherlock rolled a condom one-handed onto the erection he’d woken up with half an earlier prior, knowing that once he started, he wasn’t going to stop. Once done, he somehow managed, with help from his teeth and tongue, to open the lubricant bottle and pour a healthy amount onto his free hand before he slid the first into the sweet bud that still tempted his tongue.
John moaned. He'd always liked going both ways, but was careful about predators. With Sherlock though, he was more than willing. The long fingers probed him eagerly, and John spread himself more open for him.
He had three fingers pressed into the other before he deemed him ready. Or rather, before he’d become too impatient to wait any longer. He shuffled into place behind John, pressing the tip of his cock to the little hole. Sherlock paused there, considering, and John let out an angry noise, shifting his hips back in an attempt to impale himself. “Shhh...” he murmured. “It’s my turn now.” He quickly wiped his wet fingers on the sheets and then curled both hands around the rabbit’s narrow waist, his own tail curling around his waist to tightly hold on to the fluffy ball of a tail. There was a strangled noise from John at that, and then Sherlock was pressing inside, and all of his mind found itself focused on the hot, tight heat around his cock.
Moaning again, John tried to move back, held in place. A bit of panic crept up, but he pushed it away, focusing on the tug of his tail and the wonderful stretch inside of him. He gripped the pillow and tried to relax, giving himself over to the pleasure.
It was impossible to not notice the momentary tension in John’s body, and Sherlock could only assume the scent of ‘predator’ was finally getting to the rabbit. He slowly draped his chest across the lightly tanned back and dropped to his elbows, lining their forearms up so he could press a palm each to the back of his doctor’s hands and lace their fingers together. “It’s all right, John,” he said, the purr in his chest nearly distorting his words past the point of recognition. He pulled out and slowly thrust back in, and then again, keeping his movements firm but gentle as he began to groom the long, floppy ears with his tongue. “I won’t hurt you. It’s all right. You’re safe. I will protect you.”
As far as John was concerned, he didn't need any protection. But there was no denying the pleasure coursing through his body, and the way the grooming started to relax him. He sunk deeper into the pillow, perfectly content in Sherlock's arms. Their mingling scents only made him more comfortable.
A hearty purr built in his chest at the feel of his prey relaxing beneath him, vibrating the rabbit's back to the point that it reached down his arms and tickled the cat's palms where they still curled over the back of John's hands. He tried to be gentle with his doctor, unsure of his level experience with either opposite-gender or cross-species mating, but each thrust was firm and just a bit hard as the tight heat gripped him, though he kept his tongue soft against the satiny ears, slowly covering every last inch of them with his scent. When John went to work in the morning, he wanted the doctor to feel their coupling with every step, and he wanted everyone within scenting distance to know that the rabbit had been claimed.
John had never been claimed so thoroughly. He writhed slowly underneath him, barely able to move and not minding a bit. His ears were damp but that only added to his utter arousal. He'd never felt so deliciously helpless with a predator. Never had he really wanted to mate with someone. Sex, sure, but mating was something completly different.
The rabbit was starting to writhe under him, hands tugging to get away from Sherlock's claws as his hole began to tighten rhythmically around his cock in such a way that indicated an oncoming orgasm. The purr in his chest became a growl of annoyance at the squirming until he clamped his fangs into the delicate skin of the back of his prey's neck. Upon the touch, John immediately sagged, plaint, beneath him, and the growl became a purr again. And as his orgasm built in the pit of his belly, his hips increased pace, faster and faster and harder and harder, as the purr in his chest grew louder and louder.
John’s eyes screwed tightly shut. He was pliant underneath Sherlock, but his heartbeat was staccato. He’d never let a predator control him like this. Had always made damn sure that any predator he might get in bed with knew exactly how he felt about predator/prey relations. The sharp points of Sherlock’s fangs tingled in his neck. His cock was still heavy and full, but he was fighting back the panic threatening him again, just wanting Sherlock to finish and let him up. And at the same time, not wanting the cat to realize and stop. Because it did feel damn good.
The scent of fear tickled his nose as an accelerated heartbeat did the same to his ears. John was still pliant beneath him, not trying to fight him and incredibly aroused, but despite the soldier's accomplishments, he was still a rabbit, and there were some biological instincts that couldn't be quelled. Like being uncomfortable in the presence of a predator. Like Sherlock's own need to capture and keep. Slowly, he eased the pressure of his fangs, but did not release the rabbit's neck entirely. He was too close.
John moaned as the fangs retracted, just a bit. He panted as the cat’s cock slammed into him a little harder, a little more needful. He squeezed around him as he sheathed himself fully and was rewarded by a low cry and the warmth of him coming. He wanted to touch himself, but couldn’t move from under Sherlock’s hands. Instead he simply quivered, feeling the way he still moved inside of him.
It was clear John had yet to reach his own peak when Sherlock's washed over him. If only he could just... Continuing to fuck into the tight hole past the point of pleasure had him squeezing his eyes shut and his jaw clenching in overstimulation as he kept shifting his hips, trying to find his partner's prostate and knowing that if he managed to get past the overstimulation, the reward would be even greater than the orgasm he'd just had. Suddenly, the rabbit let out a high, sweet cry and tightened almost painfully around the cat. But Sherlock, past the tails of the first orgasm and chasing the second, only smiled victoriously around the flesh in his mouth. A few thrusts and a tug to that short tail wrapped in his own, and John was comingshoutingcrying, and the convulsions pulled the cat into a second orgasm so strong it turned his world temporarily black.
When John came to again it was with Sherlock drapped heavily over his back. “Sherlock?” he mumbled. No response. John shifted and turned his head. “Sherlock?” He said it louder, worried for his mate. Maybe he’d torn his wound with the vigorous exercise.
The concerned tone in John's voice was quick to draw him from his stupor, but not powerful enough to clear the fuzziness from his mind. Sherlock toppled them to their sides, purring loudly to comfort his mate and licking every bit of skin or fur within range. "Mmm... Joohhhnnn..." he rumbled, tightening his arms as he nuzzled the back of an exposed neck, feeling floppy ears twitch into his face when he did so. He gave the closest a playful nip and it smacked him in the face. Laughing lightly, he settled back into his nuzzle, content at the feel of his rabbit safe in his arms.
John settled in and finally fell asleep. Comfortable and yes, safe.
He was awakened by the sound of someone in his front room. Sherlock was still asleep. He slipped out of bed, pulled on trousers , took his gun from where it was hidden and moved towards the door. Peering out he saw the brother sitting in his chair as if he belonged there. Sliding the gun into the back of his trousers, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The entire flat reeked of intercourse, and it was all Mycroft could do to not wrinkle his nose at the scent. His tail, laid along his leg, twitched as the armed doctor moved about his own flat, looking for all the world as if he were about to prepare his morning tea. "Sherlock has not had an easy time of things these last few years, Doctor Watson. A great many of his 'friends' did not hesitate to take advantage of my brother when he was too vulnerable to deny them."
“I turned him down once.” John moved to make tea. No point in being rude. “And if he doesn’t want to go with you, then you aren’t taking him.” He had the feeling this man knew all about him, and he couldn’t say that it made him comfortable.
"Yes, the infamous bravery of Captain Watson, RMAC. I often find that to be a kinder word than 'stupidity'," Mycroft mused aloud as the rabbit brought him a cup of tea. There was a twitch in the man's eye and wrist, a quick contemplation of what would happen should he dump the steaming liquid in the cat's lap. Despite his jab, the older Holmes knew the doctor wasn't entirely unintelligent, and a moment later, the cup, still full, was held carefully in his claws. "But Sherlock is no prince, Doctor. You will get no medals or accommodations for saving him," he informed, voice low as he sipped his tea.
“I’ve never sought anything of the sort. If you know my history like it seems you do, then you would also know that. I’m just a simple doctor these days.” He sat across from the cat, back straight, though he doubted this would end up being a physical altercation. Still, he wasn’t about to submit to anyone. Except Sherlock the voice in the back of his head unhelpfully supplied.
"A simple doctor. Who spends all of his spare time and money helping the homeless of the city, regardless of their animal race," he continued to prod. Despite his reservations regarding Sherlock entering into any kind of relationship with any kind of person, he could see what had his brother so interested. John Watson was an anomaly, an anomaly of contradictions whose animal characteristics did nothing to inform strangers of what he was capable of. A contradictory anomaly wrapped in deceptive, misleading jumpers. Yes, alas, he could see exactly why his brother had become so abnormally enamoured.
"You seem to know everything already," said John. "So let me ask again: what are you doing here? What do you want?" He hoped Sherlock was still sleeping.
For a long time, Mycroft let the rabbit steep, watching him grow more and more restless, trigger finger twitching like he was about to pull the firearm back out. “I want to know you are not like the rest, Doctor Watson,” he finally said, sipping delicately at his tea. “And it has become clear to me that you are not.” If by no other proof than that no other in the past had ever let his brother mount them; too often did normal people associate ‘dominance’ with ‘penetrative partner’. By the faint scratches on the back of the ex-soldier’s neck, it was clear he had given Sherlock free reign their last coupling, but he doubted that would last. Perhaps, at last, his worrisome brother had made a correct choice.
"I will take care of him. And I'll protect him. You know who I am and what I've done." John's tail twitched. "If you leave me your number, I'll call if you'd like. But I think he'll be fine here."
Surrounded in John’s sheets, curled up in a ball, Sherlock’s heart thrummed frantically at the rabbit’s words. He could care less about Mycroft’s; the man was an expert in manipulation. But his doctor’s... His guileless doctor. There was the sounds of movement from the sitting room and then that of a closing door. John walked through the doorway a moment later, sliding a gun from the back of his trousers and dropping it in the bedside table’s top drawer. He moved to get back in bed, face looking contemplative, and he’d lifted the corner of the sheet and pulled a knee up when he realised Sherlock was looking at him and he stopped moving. Sherlock just stared back at him, resisting the need to shiver at the cool air seeping into his previously-warm cocoon.
“Did you mean that?” he asked, tail curled around his hip and switching languorously. John licked his lips and finally slid in, though he did not attempt to pull Sherlock back into his arms. The cat huffed and wiggled forward to wrap around the other man.
Kissing the top of his head, John sighed. "About protecting you? Absolutely."
“You’re not the only one who has no need for protection,” Sherlock scoffed. He was quiet for a bit longer, fingers occupying themselves with tracing the lines of John’s softening muscles with the tips of his claws. “You’ll take care of me?”
"I can do that too. If you need it. But you're a strong man." He relaxed a little. "Whatever your brother thinks, I'm just a doctor these days."
Sherlock’s hand stilled over John’s heart, his fingers spreading wide and reaching from collarbone to collarbone. “But you’re my doctor,” he breathed, both fascinated and comforted by the beat under his palm.
John smiled at him. "We can take care of each other." He relaxed under the touch.
A hand slid into his hair, running through his curls and stroking his ears. He began to purr at the touch and relaxed into the rabbit’s body, curling even further around him. “Yes,” he agreed, voice coming out in a bit of a hum. “Yes we can.”
FIN