sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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First part is done, I hope to cntinue tomorrow and post soon afterwards, as it won't be too long, maybe just a couple of parts, but I'll try not to make it boring.

Okay, it's done. I'm going to give it an edit and post it tomorrow. Now I'm nervous.

TW: NC17 for explicit sex and possible crack. And while it’s probably a bit not good I hope it’s a bit fond, too. I should warn for anal sex, a gag and some (*cough*) bondage, used completely consensually. Oh, and a flexible snake scope camera. Also, Sherlock in his new role as a film director. He’s a bad man sometimes, but it is For Science, after all. If you can think of other warnings I should add, please let me know. It’s not my intention to offend or upset anyone.

A/N: This is for the anon who responded so positively when I prompted the idea a few days ago. Thank you, I hope you like it. It’s just porn, really.

-

Curiosity, it’s said, killed the cat.

With this in mind, Sherlock had asked one more time: “Are you sure, John?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because if you’re not…”

“I said I’m sure.”

“But if it turns out to be a mistake…”

“Then we won’t do it again.”

“I just want to know, that’s all.” He hadn’t been wriggling. Sherlock Holmes didn’t wriggle. But it was close.

“I know. It’s okay, we have done it before, you know.” Strange, how reassuring John could sound while naked and lying on his stomach, flashing various bits of himself.

“I know.”

“And before that, too”

“You have?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock had nodded to himself, sliding his two fingers a little deeper. “In the Army,” he deduced.

“At Bart’s actually,” John corrected matter-of-factly, at which Sherlock stopped moving his fingers, unable to imagine what circumstance could possibly have led to John doing this at Bart’s. He found he didn’t want to know.

“What are you waiting for?” John asked curiously, looking at Sherlock over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, striving to get back some of his equilibrium.

And since then they had repeated the experience, more than once. More than a few times, actually. Having said that, this was all still sort of new to him. He’d had some experiences with women, of course he did - infrequent, messy and distasteful experiences. But this was different; this was John, which somehow translated in his head to ‘This was John!’

No-one needed to tell him how to do it, of course not. He’d looked it up, had even tried some of it on himself with surprising results. He’d learned the right way to pleasure his partner and himself. He knew which parts to stimulate during the build-up, where to stroke so that he’d have John quivering and begging. So far, as he progressed, their expectations seemed pretty well matched, although he’d been surprised to learn that scratching seemed to be a big thing for John, particularly on his arse, and Sherlock had managed to elicit some very unusual noises when he’d slipped his hands beneath John and carded his fingers through his partner’s abundant pubic hair.

He knew when to be careful and when John needed something a little more forceful. It was usually when John said something like: “That’s it, Sherlock, just there! Bit deeper, mate, yeah? I thought you were longer than that.”

“How much longer can an erect penis get than nine inches?” Sherlock had wondered, but hadn’t said. He hadn’t wanted to sound like he was boasting.

That particular question would take some further investigation he thought, and under other circumstances he would have withdrawn without another thought and gone to investigate immediately, but he had the impression that wouldn’t have been very polite.

Among all the instruction she gave him, which he had mostly consigned to a large dustbin in the garden of his Mind Palace, his mother had tried to teach him to be polite. The lessons she provided hadn’t always taken but that one still surfaced now and then, and he actually knew that just now it would be inappropriate to leave without warning.

In the short time since they’d been doing this his intention had been to curb his enthusiasm and not cause pain, but evidently John wasn’t too concerned about that, so that was when Sherlock adjusted his thinking, put his questions aside for later, and went at it a bit more forcefully, pounding into the tight opening, feeling the drag as the walls of John’s passage fit snugly around him and moved with his actions.

John was panting now, beyond words, uttering rhythmic little gasps of pleasure as his rim was scraped raw by the generous cock inside him. His closed fists hit the pillow he was leaning his head upon and he pushed his bum upward to take Sherlock’s enthusiastic thrusting. Sherlock made a mental note to provide an extra pillow next time to elevate John’s hips. A change of angle might serve to enhance the experience for both of them.

Next time.

Now, there was a thought. How had this even happened, that it had become so necessary so quickly? He tried again not to get lost in his own head as the process continued. It was difficult because the friction was producing little lightning bolts of pleasure down his back; the area from his shoulders down to his hips was tingling with it. He hadn’t anticipated that, he’d imagined it was still all about the penis.

Speaking of which, John’s inner walls were fluttering around him; it was like being stroked by butterfly wings, only harder. Dragonfly wings, perhaps, he wondered? Humming-bird wings? Whatever insect or other creature could produce this sensation he didn’t know, he wasn’t a butterfly or a humming-bird. Realistically it was like being held gently but firmly in someone’s hand. And he certainly knew what that felt like.

Suddenly he wanted to bring more of his senses into play here. He knew what it felt like, now he found himself wanting to know what it looked like, being held and cherished like that inside John’s warm body. He wanted to know how it worked, to see the physical manifestation of that feeling translate into flesh, into the tender care John was providing by sheltering him safely inside like this.

He had to know. He needed more data. But how to go about gathering it? He could just ask, of course. John was a man. He would no doubt have some insight into this, some opinion or description that would assist in the amassing of data.

When he came back to himself John was still moaning softly, flexing around him, trying for more. More closeness or more friction? Most likely both.

Sherlock smiled – this wasn’t the time for gathering data, even though he was rather good at multi-tasking - and gave John what he wanted - sliding deeper, shifting to clutch John’s body between his thighs, lying down flat on the smaller figure, pushing in as far as he could go and making his movements fast and shallow, bouncing on the flesh beneath him, trying for completion, the friction against his testicles particularly pleasing.

The abrasion from both locations finally won out. He gasped as the snug passage contracted around him, and John cried out, shuddered, and came all over Sherlock’s expensive silk sheet. Sherlock leaned down and placed an almost chaste kiss on the back of John’s sweaty neck as he gave a final deep thrust and spurted into the willing body beneath him, feeling the walls of John’s passage kneading him as he moved. And even as the bliss faded he was already wondering what it looked like in that tight space just now, bathed in his come, what it really felt like, and what affect his lovemaking had had on John’s body. And nothing would satisfy him until he found out. Right now it was the thing he wanted to know - more than anything - and he didn’t question why it should be.

He stayed still for so long that John moved first, rolling to dislodge him.

“We finished?” John asked sleepily.

“Oh! Yes, John. Thank you, that was very nice.”

“Nice,” John’s face registered a little hurt. He’d been about to give Sherlock a chaste, loving kiss and confess how much he cherished him, telling the selfish git that he would happily spend the rest of his life on his belly if only Sherlock would keep doing that to him.

He’d expected Sherlock to be a little bit more enthusiastic about the sometime hidden wonders of his arse and a bit more vocal about their first time. But it had probably been somewhat overwhelming, he conceded. “Glad to know you enjoyed it,” he said.

“You too?” Sherlock asked diffidently.

“You bet,” John said and made himself smile as cheerfully as he could.

“So we can do it again sometime?”

“Yes. I’d like that. Not tonight though, eh? I’m a bit – “

“Sore?” Sherlock interrupted quickly, actually on the verge of panic.

“Tired,” John said.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Can I help you with that? Would you like to stay?”

“If you like,” John said softly, not about to remind him that his own room wasn’t that far away. What they had done, he realised, meant just as much to Sherlock as it had to him. Sherlock was being considerate, just in his own contrary fashion.

And this was what he adored the most. After the hot, sweaty, pounding there would be the gentle washing and then the holding. And if Sherlock was distracted enough he might even get a few sweet kisses to take with him into his dreams.

Sherlock seemed a little nervous, John thought, then thought better of it. Sherlock didn’t get nervous, surely? What was there to be nervous about? John had rarely seen him lost for words.

Sherlock started to speak several times before stopping himself, moving from the sitting room to his bedroom and back again to no good purpose. It was driving John up the wall, frankly, and he’d had enough.

“What is it, Sherlock?” he asked.

“I’m…” a little head movement delayed the moment when Sherlock would have to tell him where he’d been that morning and what he’d been doing.

“You’re…” John paused, waiting, inviting more comment from his -flatmate? – Lover? - Whatever Sherlock had become to him just lately.

Apparently Sherlock didn’t find the awkward silence at all awkward. The two of them in the same room, not speaking, was nothing new to him. John was going to punch him, any minute now. And then –

“John, would you like to go to bed?”

Just like that the impulse for violence went away.

He couldn’t say no, really. His prick was already paying close attention, trying to burst out of his pants, his arse was burning with sense memory and his balls gave an aching throb and joined in the general air of need he was experiencing.

He silently walked into Sherlock’s arms and lifted his head to look up at him. It was still such a new thing, to have to encourage a partner in this way. But this – oh, this was beyond anything he’d ever known. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d entice and encourage and give himself without stinting if it would only mean he’d never have to be without this man again.

A/N: That 2nd part 2 up there. It's actually part 3. Arghhh...

Sherlock saw it all. He wanted to tell John not to be so stupid, not to lay himself open like this. It was dangerous and foolhardy. But John was well used to walking into danger. It was why they even knew each other. His invitation just now was part of the reason why they would stay together, because John would let him. John would always let him. He smiled down into John’s face and gave the only man who trusted him wholeheartedly the kiss he craved. He would make this good, he told himself. He’d make it so good that John would forget any objections and be part of it. For the knowledge. And that, finally, gave him the courage to ask for what he wanted.

“John, there’s something I want to try,” he said.

“For a case?”

“Not exactly. But it may prove useful in the future.”

“But I’ll still get off, right?”

“Oh yes.”

“Fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, here we go again. Sherlock, I’ve told you before. As long as I get a good rogering out of it, I don’t mind what you do. Unless it’s that thing I told you I don’t like. You know, the…”

“Yes, I remember. There won’t be any of that.”

“Good. So when do we start?”

“Right now, I think. We have the time. You’re not working and I’m not expecting visitors today. Come along, John.” And he grasped John’s hand in his own and led him into his bedroom. His lair.

Once there, he leaned down to kiss John’s face, his cheeks and forehead, before ending with a sweet press of lips.

“You’re so good to me, John,” he said. “So accommodating. No-one else would be prepared to help me in this way. I really do appreciate your assistance.”

John shrugged, unused to the compliments. “So what do you need?” He asked.

“Please strip naked and lie down on the bed.”

John waggled his eyebrows. “So soon?”

“Please, John.”

John’s eyebrows pulled down into a not-quite frown. “Okay,” he grumbled, “just trying to make it fun.”

“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but I have some serious motives here, John, I need you to focus.”

“Okay.”

There was silence for a while, apart from the rustle and slide of clothing being removed, John’s ending up folded neatly on the chair beside the bed, Sherlock’s more expensive gear ending in a crumpled heap on the carpet.

“Anything else?” John asked from his place on the bed.

“On your front, please.”

A ripple of arousal shot through John at those words. Hadn’t he thought earlier that he’d roll over for Sherlock if he asked him to? So far the reality was living up to the dream. He rolled over and lay belly-down on the bed, waiting. Just what he’d wanted from the moment he first met Sherlock Holmes.

“Do you want me to describe what I’m doing?” Sherlock asked.

“Might be nice. No nasty surprises that way,” John said, already comfortable and not really caring that much what was going to happen.

“Very well.”

There was a faint rustle of plastic and a few things were laid on the bed next to John’s leg. It didn’t seem to be that heavy, so that ruled out a few things.

“First we have this,” Sherlock said, after a few more noises off to the right. “This you will already know about. It should be familiar to you and not at all alarming.”

John felt his head being raised and before he could speak something hard was placed between his lips, hard and leathery with straps on that was swiftly buckled behind his head.

“I’m sorry about this part, John, but you know how loud you get. Remember that time Mrs Hudson came up here to defend you?”

She’d burst into the room with her trusty frying-pan held aloft, ready to batter whoever it was who was causing John to cry out in that terrible fashion. And then she’d let her weapon drop to her side and smiled at his raised arse and at Sherlock thrusting enthusiastically into it. John hadn’t taken her to be so un-shakeable. Maybe having a serial killer for a husband did that for a person.

“So you’re not gay, then, John? A likely story,” she’d said, then winked at Sherlock – who right at that moment didn’t know where to look - turned around and left them to it.

It was several weeks after that before she’d stopped smiling knowingly when she saw John.

John looked up at Sherlock now and simply nodded. On reflection the gag was probably a good idea.

He wasn’t too sure about the restraints, though, actual chains with padded leather cuffs fastening him to the bed, or the sturdy spreader bar that kept his legs open. Did Sherlock think he was going to fight him? They weren’t into role-playing, at least not yet, so was it really necessary?

“Yes, John I know what you’re thinking,” Sherlock told him. “But this, too, is a necessity; they’re for your safety. Movement could be dangerous, so I am removing the temptation. It’s amazing,” he remarked conversationally, “you really can buy anything on the Internet.”

John wanted to see him. He could sense the movement around him, could feel the pale skin brushing him as Sherlock went about the various tasks he was performing. It would all end one way, he hoped, but he didn’t relish not being part of the process.

“Now, John, this is the difficult part,” Sherlock said. “Please keep very still.” His voice actually faltered a little. “What I have here in my hand is a – a flexible snake scope camera light. It is a very thin plastic lead with a light on the end and is attached by this tiny wire to a miniature digital film camera, which I will strap securely to your leg. It will feed into your anal canal and illuminate your interior walls to enable the camera to film the proceedings as I have you. The filming will feed directly into my computer, enabling me to see the entire process of you being taken

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he continued, gently sliding the lead into John’s arse. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time, to see inside your body in this way. Molly has been very indulgent but even autopsies don’t have the fascination of a living body, especially not one in the throes of orgasm. You will, in effect, be something of a pioneer.” He kept his voice placid and low, covering the progress of the lead with gentle strokes to John’s body.

“There, all done,” he said in due course. “We can only hope that this experiment works, but I’m sure we’ll both do our best, won’t we?”

He finished his sentence at the exact same moment as he finished fixing the strap around John’s leg.

“Is that comfortable?” he asked. “Please indicate if it isn’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Nothing was indicated that told him John was at all uncomfortable. Stunned, maybe, but not uncomfortable.

“Very well,” Sherlock said. “We’ll begin.” And he reached over for the spare pillow and pushed it under John’s hips.

The first thing that happened was Sherlock switching on the tiny light at the end of the thin plastic lead.

John waited for him to say “Lights, camera, action!” but he didn’t.

Sherlock wished that it were possible to just see inside without the benefit of the light but it wasn’t going to happen. So next he switched on the camera. It began filming immediately and he felt himself getting excited just at the thought of it there inside John, unlocking mysteries.

He was so pleased that John was a part of it. It couldn’t have been better, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was going to make this so special for John, who was doing this marvellous thing for him. He spent some time kissing John’s neck, stroking his back, reaching around to roll his nipples between languid fingers. And of course John liked to be handled, liked it when Sherlock - well, anyone really – squeezed his cock gently, encouraging him to join in with this blatant reminder of his own masculinity. And Sherlock thought the older man might actually be able to free himself from the cuffs when he used his left hand to scratch his specially-grown fingernails over John’s buttocks.

John. Sherlock was reminded of his presence when he aimed himself just so and John gave a loud groan at finally being entered.

“Oh, John, this is lovely,” Sherlock murmured. “I can honestly say that this is quite relaxing. I can feel the lead inside you despite the condom but it doesn’t restrict my movement at all. Can you feel it? Is it comfortable for you?”

John gave a little squeak.

“Oh, good. This….this is amazing,” Sherlock panted. “I find your passage quite enjoyable. And it’s exciting to think that afterwards I’ll have a visual to go with these sensations. Putting the two together will be a first, for me undoubtedly.”

John shivered, feeling the slow drag down to his bones. He loved this. The presence of the camera – he still couldn’t quite believe what Sherlock had done – was nothing. It wasn’t important. What was important was that he was being comprehensively fucked by the man he loved. It couldn’t get any better than this.

Only it could. He pulled on the cuffs, wanting to gasp with the sheer happiness of it all but knowing he was unable to, leaned his head back, desperate to be kissed again. But Sherlock’s experiment was progressing apace by now. The cock inside him began to move that little bit faster, he shuddered almost constantly at the feel of it stroking him inside, listened to Sherlock’s breathing get faster and faster and waited in position on the edge, ready to be swept over.

Sherlock suddenly gave a muted cry and pushed into him one last time, wrapping arms that were stronger than they looked around his body, holding him close as they went over together. John was aware of the sticky fluid spurting into him, warm and familiar, and welcomed it in with a groan of joy.

“There, it’s done,” Sherlock whispered as he dropped his head to John’s back. “You are my love, John Watson. Who else would give themselves so completely, who else would trust me, of all people, let me do what I have done?”

He stayed where he was for a few minutes more, letting John’s kindness warm him through and through. It wasn’t an unquestioning love, this love John had for him, but it was fierce and tender all at once, it was the bedrock of his life and he was determined to keep it.

Slowly, reluctantly, he let himself slide out of John’s passage. He left a cheeky kiss on the left buttock, which was glistening a little bit, and smiled when John started protesting, voice muffled by the gag.

“Let’s get this out of you shall we?” he said, and started to gently remove everything, first the camera lead, then the strap from around his leg, and finally withdrawing the light. And he couldn’t help adding: “I can’t wait to see the footage.” He couldn’t keep the anticipation out of his voice.

He placed the paraphernalia on the beside table and finally got around to removing the restraints from John’s body, freeing his mouth a little reluctantly, waiting for the earful of abuse he was sure he was in for.

It was something of a relief when all John did was move around gingerly and hold out his arms to be massaged and all he said was: “Thanks, love. That was amazing.”

“Want to see the footage?” Sherlock asked, gently kneading John’s arms and legs one after the other and John laughed an exhausted laugh.

“Later,” he said. “Come here and kiss me.”

They sat together after eating dinner and watched the telly, only this time it wasn’t Eastenders that occupied their attention.

“Wow”, John marvelled, fascinated. “Is that really me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock told him. “It’s all you. You see where you did that thing with your anus just then? That was amazing. It felt like I was being manipulated by unseen fingers. And look, that’s…”

“That’s what my back passage looks like from the inside,” John said quietly. “And that’s you inside it.”

On the screen they could see the shaft advancing, pulsing gently, before withdrawing slightly, only to push deeper. And repeat. And repeat. They sat close together on the couch, watching with rapt attention.

“Oh, and there’s the moment where I located your prostate,” Sherlock pointed out as the part of John they could see on the screen moved abruptly with a sharp yet muffled cry of pleasure.

The unseen Sherlock on the screen murmured softly “That’s my John, move a little now, come on, and take me deeper.” And the John whose arse they could see into on the screen did just that.

The John beside him on the couch snickered. “I can see a whole new career opening up for you as a film director,” he said. “Before you call Steven Spielberg for advice you might want to vary some of the camera angles, though.”

Sherlock scowled. “Shut up, John.” He said. “I want to concentrate.”

It was nearly over and the whole point of even doing it was for the sight in front of him. He wanted to see and feel the way it had been, so that he never forgot it.

And then it was happening, and he saw himself bring John to an absolutely brilliant climax. It was no different to the others he’d coaxed out of his doctor, but this time he could see it from both sides, feel it from both sides, and it lodged in his memory as something he would never forget. He immediately stowed it carefully away on a DVD on a shelf in a room in his Mind Palace. He would be returning to this moment again. He was especially proud of his own orgasm, long and sharply gratifying waves, making every muscle he had seize up in pleasure.

Then he saw himself remaining in that tight space for a while, enjoying the aftermath while cherishing John in trembling hands.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” John said. Well, no more than I wanted, he thought.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said again. “Now I know.”

“Now you know?” John made it a question.

“Yes. Now I know exactly what you do for me.”

“Besides patching you up, chasing all over London with you, reminding you to do the necessary things everyone needs to do, putting my life on the line for you?”

“Yes, all of that and more, John. You give me a reason.”

He didn’t elaborate.

John’s head tilted to one side as he regarded his lover. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t about to point out that whatever he did for Sherlock had just been returned, many times over. In Sherlock’s unique way, maybe, but he’d take that.

He put his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and slid one arm around him. And Sherlock let him. Things like this tonight didn’t really matter, John thought. What mattered was that they were together.

It was enough for John.

End

Oh my wow that was great every which way a fic can be great. Thank you so much for sharing, I personally loved it and hello new kink!

<3

Author!Anon here. Thanks so much for your kind comments. I'm glad you enjoyed what they got up to :-)

This is enthusiasticanon! Wow...that was so awesome! I loved how you really got into his head about why he wanted this so badly...how it was a form of even greater intimacy for him. I love when Sherlock obsesses over the details of John's body as a way to really really know him like no one else. It's a kind of beautiful thing to me. And to really know what you are doing to/for someone is probably the root of this kink, but if don't really care....you hit it spot on, and thank you for writing it yourself so we didn't have to wait. I loved it!

Thank you for your kind comments, I'm so glad and relieved that what I came up with pleased you, enthusiasticanon! Apart from the obvious porn aspect I wanted it to be about love and a little bit of strangeness, the idea of wanting to be really a part of someone like that is to me part of Sherlock's character. I think he would be that kind of person when truly in love.. And wanting to share the entire experience with John would come naturally to him, I think. I was hoping someone would write it but frankly I couldn't wait.

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