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The screeching. The horrendous screeching. John lifted his eyes from the paragraph he was reading for five minutes now, his eyes fixed on the figure frantically torturing the bow on the other side of the room. I swear to god, I’ll shoot that piece of wood. Sherlock – oblivious to John’s homicidal mood gathering up – was sprawled in his chair wearing pyjamas and a blue robe draped over his lanky frame, the look of infinite boredom carved into his pale features.
As far as John could tell, the violin has almost always been subjected to a variety of musical tortures: elaborately weaved profanities on Bach and unidentified massacres on baroque concertos. The gentle touches and delicate pieces could be counted on the fingers of one hand, occasions rare and unpredictable.
A long ear-splitting wail came from under the bow. John’s glare burned with cold flames.
One more time and-
Screeeeeeech!
“Enough!” escaped John’s mouth along with the first notes of the dramatic wail, his left palm tearing out a page from the Murder is Easy. Ironically, it could have been unbelievably easy right now. Sherlock, almost dropping the instrument, startled, and gaped at his flatmate as if stirred awake from slumber. “I said: enough,” John’s brows were drawn dangerously close, his eyes piercing into Sherlock’s dimly lit features. “Because,” his voice was steady and cool, “Sherlock Holmes, if you don't stop screeching on that bloody violin of yours, I'll wrench it,” the last consonants punctuating the thick air in the room, “out of your hands, smash it against the mantelpiece,” Sherlock’s expression was unreadable, still almost blank when John’s sentence cut through the air between them, “and I will fuck you against the wall until you come all over it and wake Mrs Turner’s married ones.”
The room fell silent, the only sound now was the cracking flames in the fireplace. Sherlock gaped at John, pupils dark and blown wide, still not uttering a sound. Resuming some of his composure, he blinked, stood up, tucked the violin under his chin, and glared at John defiantly. “I dare you,” he hissed as his right hand grabbed the bow and slid it across the strings in one fluid motion with a loud and high-pitched screech. The maniacal glare in his eyes was quite an unexpected reaction to the threat.
Several things happened simultaneously.
John was out of the sofa and next to Sherlock in a heart-beat when suddenly the instrument landed on one of the armchairs in a less violent manner than the threat predicted. Two quick movements and the detective fell numbly into his armchair with John straddling his hips.
What happened next was more of a slow-motion sequence.
John fisted his hands in Sherlock’s robe, pulling him up for a kiss. Their lips crushed together, the kiss violent and bruising, with a lot of tongue and teeth. Sherlock’s lips parted involuntarily under the pressure of John’s searching tongue and a sigh escaped his lips. John bit on his lower lip, and then sucked on it, causing Sherlock to let out another whimper.
Sherlock felt John’s hand loosening its grip on his clothing, and moving upwards, brushing lightly the skin of his neck and then disappearing in the mess of his hair. John broke the kiss, pulling his hair and forcing the other man’s head backwards, exposing his throat. Sherlock hissed, John’s tongue immediately started exploring the pale skin of his neck, teeth scraping against the tendons in his neck. He bit him, leaving red teeth marks on his milky flesh, marking his way down Sherlock’s chest, ripping off buttons of his pyjama for better access. Sherlock’s eyes flew shut, his head still held back by John’s firm grip on his hair.
“John…” he panted heavily as John was sucking on the delicate skin just above his left nipple.
John’s lips momentarily ceased moving, he shifted on his knees to look Sherlock in the eyes.
“Shut up Sherlock,” he said right into other man’s mouth, “you are not allowed to speak until you are ready to beg me for mercy, you little fuck.” When the last sound left John’s lips with a click, he pushed his hand between their bodies and found the bulge that formed in front of Sherlock’s pyjama pants. Sherlock swallowed a moan as John palmed him through the fabric.
“Good boy,” John smirked at that, and took his hand away, standing up from an armchair.
He pulled on Sherlock’s robe, forcing him to his feet. Sherlock’s toes curled into the carpet as he tried to suppress the trembling in his legs. He felt heat spreading from his belly down to his groin. John placed his hand on the nape of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down to face him. Sherlock instinctively leaned in for a kiss, his lips flushed and parted, but John gave him only a wicked grin.
“I will make you beg for release, you stubborn tosser. You will beg me to let you come. All. Over. This. Noisy. Shit,” John panted the words through his gritted teeth pointing at the abandoned instrument on the armchair. Then, he dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock.
John’s hands slipped under the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama pants and pulled them down in one confident move. Sherlock’s already half-hard cock sprung free towards John’s face. He grabbed Sherlock’s hips and swallowed him down his throat.
“AAH FUCK!” Sherlock cried out, unable to stop himself, his head falling back, knees trembling.
John gave him a couple of long and hard sucks before pulling off.
“Shush,” John murmured, ghosting his breath against the sensitive skin of the head of Sherlock’s cock. “Be a good boy and shut up,” he added, emphasizing his words with a smack of his open palm against Sherlock’s buttcheek.
This time Sherlock let out only a suppressed whiny noise, and John swallowed him again. His tongue slid along Sherlock’s long shaft, his hands were caressing man’s perfectly shaped buttocks. With every withdraw John was sucking hard on the head, feeling the salty taste of precum as his tongue circled around the tip. He heard Sherlock’s breath escaping him in heavy pants and hummed around his cock at the thought of having this man at his mercy. This man: squirming under his touch. One of John’s hands crawled up to cup Sherlock’s balls and roll them in his palm while swallowing him deeper. His middle finger slipped further and teased at Sherlock’s entrance, wrenching a soft moan from his throat.
John slipped his cock out of his mouth with a wet noise and Sherlock’s rock-hard arousal now throbbing between his thighs. John got up from his knees to give Sherlock a quick kiss, sliding his tongue along his lips. John’s hands went to rest on his shoulders, pushing the blue robe down as it puddled on the floor. Then, he circled Sherlock’s slim figure, standing behind him.
He felt his own cock twitch at the sight of Sherlock’s exposed bare ass. John placed a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and pushed him forward, towards the other armchair, the one on which his violin was lying. Sherlock hesitated so John gave him a spank and Sherlock’s breath hitched as he tentatively stepped forward.
“Bend over,” John commanded and Sherlock obeyed, leaning down, gripping the armrests to support his weight.
John caressed his buttocks and thighs, kneeling behind him, as his hands slid Sherlock’s pyjama pants further down, to his ankles. He gently bit on one of his buttcheeks, nipping on the skin and leaving a trial of kisses down the curve of his arse and left thigh. He spread the cheeks, slipping his tongue between them. Sherlock choked on his own breath when he felt John’s tongue circling around his entrance.
John’s own neglected cock, still trapped inside his trousers, was aching and twitching. Sherlock’s hole was delicious, John slid the tongue inside and pressed his lips around it. Sherlock tried not to squeal, his breath shaky, as he pushed back on John’s tongue. John’s hand quickly went to slap his arse again.
“Stand still,” John breathed with his face still buried between Sherlock’s cheeks. He slid his tongue flat up and back down, forcing it inside him again. His fingers were digging into the skin of Sherlock’s buttocks hard enough to leave bruises, his tongue sliding quickly in and out of his tightness.
“Oh God, John…” Sherlock groaned loudly at the sensation.
“No talking. Not until you’re ready to beg,” John scolded him, breathing labouriously at his saliva-wet skin.
“Please, John!” Sherlock cried out desperately, “please, oh please… touch me, please.”
“No,” John got up to his feet and spanked him again. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.” He leaned forward, pressing his body to Sherlock’s back and whispered to his ear: “But you’re pleading so nicely and you’re so delicious… I can’t wait to have more of it. Wait here for me, and don’t move.”
John moved away and walked towards the door, leaving Sherlock alone in the living room, bent over the armchair, with his pyjama pants around his ankles and bare ass in the air. Sherlock heard the footsteps on the stairs as John walked up to his bedroom. When he came back with lube, Sherlock was still in the same position, looking at him with lust-hazed eyes and flushed cheeks. John smirked at the sight.
“Good boy, you deserve a reward,” he said, caressing Sherlock’s reddened buttcheek affectionately. Sherlock winced at the touch, but no spanks came this time.
John opened the lube and squeezed some onto his upturned palm. He slicked his fingers and slid one of them down along the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, pushing it inside his hole in one smooth move. He felt Sherlock’s muscles tightening around his finger immediately, as the man whimpered in surprise. John slid his finger out lazily and waited a moment for Sherlock to adjust, then pushed it in again, his movements painfully slow this time.
He kept fingering him for a while, looking down and marveling at the sight of his thick middle finger disappearing into the pink flesh. Sherlock’s cock was pulsing between his legs, twitching at the slightest as John worked his digit inside Sherlock. He wriggled his hips, pushing back against John’s finger. John smacked his arse with his other hand and then leaned to Sherlock’s ear.
“You like it, don’t you?” he murmured.
“Y-Yes…” the answer was barely audible and interrupted by Sherlock’s hitched breath.
“Ask me for another.” John said as he hooked his finger inside Sherlock.
“John…”
“Ask. Me. For. Another. Nicely.”
“Please, John… another. I want…” Sherlock’s incoherent plea disappeared between the needy moans.
“I can’t hear you,” John’s finger knuckle-deep inside Sherlock’s tight ass.
“I want another, John, please!” he cried out eventually, and John nibbled at his earlobe before pulling out his finger and pushing in two again.
Sherlock’s legs trembled as John’s fingers stretched his hole. His world narrowed to the sweet pressure he felt inside his arse. He bit at his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning out loud. The skin on his buttcheek was already burning because of John’s spanks. John twisted his fingers inside him, searching for a different angle. He looked down and saw Sherlock’s swollen cock was dripping with precum, a damp spot formed on the carpet. John closed his eyes not to lose his control, exhaling loudly and adding a third finger without any warning.
“Ah John… please! Please, touch me, I need… need you to touch me.” Sherlock’s voice was husky as he was desperately pushing back on John’s fingers, not caring if he gets spanked again.
John’s cock twitched at that plea and he pushed his fingers deeper inside Sherlock, relishing the feeling of wet, plushy hotness. He involuntarily rolled his hips forward, his aching cock desperate for friction.
“Oh, you have just the sweetest little arse,” John breathed, his voice thick with lust. “I want to fuck you so badly.”
“Yes, John… yes, please, oh please,” Sherlock pushed his hips back gain, his bare arse brushing against the bulge in front of John’s trousers. “Jesus, please! Fuck me already, damn it!”
John’s fingers escaped Sherlock’s body, and he whined hopelessly at the loss. John unbuttoned his own trousers and opened the fly with shaky, clumsy fingers. He grabbed the abandoned lube and squeezed some of it onto his hand. John groaned when he finally took out his neglected cock. Stroking himself to slicken the shaft he looked down at Sherlock, his other hand went to caress the small of his back soothingly.
After a moment Sherlock felt the tip of John’s cock pushing at his stretched entrance. The head of John’s dick sank into Sherlock’s arse and they both let out loud moans. The overwhelming sensation sent shivers down their spines. John breathed out Sherlock’s name as his whole cock disappeared in his hot and welcoming hole. He leaned forward to rest his forehead between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, and gripped his hips. He took a moment to steady his breath and then started moving. John’s trousers slid down his hips as he was thrusting into Sherlock’s arse, gradually speeding up his pace.
“Oh God, you’re so tight,” John arched his back as his hips rolled faster with each thrust.
One of John’s hands moved from Sherlock’s hip to rest on his buttcheek, gripping it tightly. The legs of the armchair were scratching the floor in unison with the slam of John’s hips against Sherlock’s arse. Their bodies, were sliding against each other, skin sweaty and flushed. Obscene sounds of bare skin against skin filled the room. John’s hands moved up to slid underneath Sherlock’s shirt, exploring his slender body. He pinched his nipple, nails leaving red lines along his ribs.
“John, please!” Sherlock cried out. “Please, touch me, I can’t… I… I need it, please. Let me come, please! Let me!”
John chuckled under his breath, amused and even more aroused at the sight of Sherlock Holmes coming undone underneath him. His cock was pulsing inside Sherlock’s arse as he slowly took it out completely, just to push it back a second later.
“Please!” Sherlock begged once again at the teasing.
John only gave his buttcheek a spank and rolled his hips to thrust his cock into Sherlock at a different angle.
Sherlock’s dark curls clung to his sweaty forehead and he tightened the grip on the armrests. His buttcheek was burning, his creamy skin stained with a red mark in the shape of John’s palm. Drops of sweat were running down his belly to his crotch, cold against the skin of his flushed, full cock. It made it even harder to stand the lack of touch. John pushed inside him deeply and rested for a moment, Sherlock felt the coolness of John’s balls tickle his arse.
And then John finally fulfilled his wishes and slid his hand down Sherlock’s stomach, taking hold of him. Sherlock cursed under his breath at the touch, his swollen cock twitched in John’s hand, his body instantly pushing back on John’s dick inside him. John’s hand moved smoothly up and down his shaft, his thumb teasing around his head, spreading a pearly drop of precum that formed at the tip.
“Yes, oh God! Yes, John, fuck me!” each word escaped Sherlock’s throat in the rhythm of John’s fist pumping him.
John felt he’d soon lose it, all the sensations making him dizzy. He kept thrusting his cock deep inside Sherlock’s hot, tight ass, his hips slamming against the flushed skin of his bum, his hand stroking the hard and dripping prick. It was all too much, and John knew he was close. He smacked Sherlock’s arse again to distract himself from this overwhelming desire.
“John, I’m close…” Sherlock’s voice was low and hoarse “John…”
John’s hand squeezed at the base of his cock, and Sherlock cried out again, “please, John…! Please let me come!”
“Say you want to come for me”, John murmured to his ear, his hand tenderly stroking Sherlock’s shaft, slowly, though his grip was firm.
“I want! Yes! I want to come for you, John, let me… let me cum!” Sherlock shivered under John’s touch, his hips jerking frantically, pushing his cock up to John’s fist and his arse back onto his dick.
“Do it. Come for me.” John sucked on his neck, his hand pumping Sherlock’s cock faster, his other hand squeezing his buttcheek to steady his movements as he was entering him.
“Oh God, John… fuck, yes, YES! JohnJohnJohnJohnJohn….” Sherlock’s cries turned into incoherent mumbling as he came, his orgasm rushing through his whole body, a wave of heat and electricity hitting his head and blurring his vision. His breath hitched and his arse tightened around John’s cock, as his own prick spurted ribbons of sperm. His arms trembled under his weight, he squeezed his eyes shut and cried out John’s name once again, as his ejaculate spilled all over armchair and the abandoned violin.
The aftershock still hasn’t left Sherlock’s body as John felt his own release building up. Maybe it was the way Sherlock’s ass clenched around him that took him over the edge, maybe it was the sound of his name mumbled, breathed and moaned in that gorgeous man’s deep, velvety voice, or maybe it was the feeling of his warm, thick sperm streaming over John’s fingers.
John managed only to let out a strangled moan vaguely resembled Sherlock’s name. His fingertips left bruises on Sherlock’s hip as John gripped him tight. He came buried deep inside Sherlock, spilling his semen into his hot tightness. The rest of his body tensed as his hips jerked with a few last and merciless thrusts, his cum easing its way inside Sherlock’s arsehole.
John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s back and caught his breath. His heart was racing madly against his ribcage, and for a while the beating was all he could hear. He was absent-mindedly stroking Sherlock’s side, his hand brushing against his ribs and back in soothing movements. His other palm moved down from Sherlock’s cock to cup his balls, causing the other man to jerk and sigh almost painfully.
When John felt his cock soften, he pulled out slowly. Sherlock winced at the loss and sudden burning sensation. And then his legs failed to support him, and he dropped to his knees on the carpet, in front of the stained armchair. His stretched hole was burning, his whole body was trembling, his breath heavy. John knelt on the floor next to him, with his trousers still pooled around his thighs, and his soft cock exposed. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s slim waist and held him close, Sherlock’s head rested against his shoulder and he returned the embrace.
“You’re the most stubborn, childish, and annoying little prick, Sherlock,” John murmured and couldn’t resist grinning, his face buried in the mop of Sherlock’s dark curls.
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, “and this is exactly what you love about me.”
-fin-