emmagrant01 | FIC: A Cure for Boredom (Sherlock/John, NC-17, 3B/8)

Back to part 3A

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the door opened again; he'd apparently dozed off in his post-orgasmic daze. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock standing beside the sofa. He held out a bottle of water.

"Thanks." John slid up to a sitting position and uncapped the bottle; Sherlock sat on the sofa next to him, still watching him. John drank a third of the water, surprised at how thirsty he was. He hadn't even noticed until now.

"Are you all right?" Concern was an unusual enough expression on Sherlock's face that it gave John pause.

"I'm fine. Better than fine." He drank again. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Sherlock's eyes narrowed a bit, as if he saw something on John's face that indicated he didn't quite believe him. "We have ten minutes until our next guest arrives."

John nodded and settled back against the sofa, oddly content. That alone ought to worry him. But he could worry later. Tomorrow. Tonight he was going to enjoy it.

"Well?" Sherlock asked after nearly a minute of silence.

"Well what?"

"Did I get it right?"

John burst out laughing and turned to face him. "I should have known that was what was bothering you."

"It isn't only that. I actually am genuinely interested in whether you're enjoying this."

"Only to the extent that it affects your data," John retorted with a grin. Sherlock seemed prepared to protest and John patted him on the thigh. "Yes, it was good. You did very well. I'm surprised that wasn't obvious."

"It was obvious, but… could it have been better?"

A pleasant tingle worked its way down John's spine. "Oh, I see. Let me think about that." He tried to imagine things she could have done differently, less pressure here, more tongue there. Sherlock caught his hand after a moment and moved it off his thigh where John had been absent-mindedly stroking with his fingers. "Oh, sorry. I can't think of anything specific to make it better. But--" He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "--I'm open to new ideas."

Sherlock nodded, his expression switching immediately into search mode. That would have worried John a week ago, but at the moment it just turned him on. Sherlock was proving to be unusually creative in this particular area.

There was a knock at the door and they both started.

"Five minutes early," Sherlock said with a glance at his phone.

"Not a problem," John said. God, it really wasn't. He was like one of Pavlov's bloody dogs at this point. He finished the water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin across the room. Perfect shot.

He turned back to the open door and froze. Standing there next to Sherlock was a young man. He was young, maybe twenty, and was dressed not unlike John's mental image of a 70s glam rock star. He seemed almost to be posing in the doorway. "Hi."

John forced himself to relax. After their conversation that afternoon he'd been expecting this; honestly he was surprised it hadn't happened before now. But it didn't change the fact that John's stomach twisted into a knot at the idea. With Ryan, there had been a woman in the room, so he hadn't had to think about it very much. His fantasies about Sherlock were just that, fantasies. He had no expectation they would ever be anything more.

But this was different. There was no denying that he was about to have sex with a man -- hell, a boy, really. God, he was probably old enough to be this kid's father, which was not a thought to dwell on right now, Jesus. But there was also no denying that he'd thought about what it would be like to have sex with a man, sex that went beyond that one frantic fumble in the army. There had always been a spark of something there, something he'd always known went beyond mere curiosity. He'd never pursued it; he liked women without a doubt, so why go looking for trouble?

Sherlock closed the door, pulling John from his thoughts.

"I'm Cam," the boy said, smiling slyly at John now.

Hello, Trouble. How the hell had Sherlock figured this out? Or was this about John at all?

"I'm Sherlock and this is John."

"Does he talk?"

"Not tonight."

Frankly, John was grateful for that rule. It made things so much easier.

"He's cute," Cam said. He settled on the sofa next to John and leered at him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Blow job. I'll help."

Aha. A direct comparison. Now quite a few things were becoming clear.

"Can I kiss him first?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. "Yes."

Cam leaned in and pressed his open mouth against John's. It was all tongue and John couldn't help but smile. He mentally adjusted Cam's age down a couple of years. Fortunately, controlling a kiss without looking like you were taking control was something he'd learned how to do quite well by now.

After a few minutes Cam sat back with a dazed expression. "Fuck, you're a good kisser. I'm hard already." He took John's hand and pressed it against his groin. John smiled and stroked his erection through his trousers as subtly as he could.

"Moving right along," Sherlock said, suddenly hovering over them.

"Oh, right. He's not allowed to touch. Pity. I'm going to have dreams about that tongue." Cam slid to the floor and unfastened John's trousers. John lifted his hips to let him pull them off. Cam tossed them aside and regarded John's half-erect penis with an expression John could only describe as hunger. He leaned forward and nuzzled the foreskin with the tip of his nose, inhaling.

"Condom." Sherlock dropped the packet onto John's belly.

Cam groaned. "Ugh, do we have to? I hate giving head through latex."

"Non-negotiable," Sherlock replied, his tone almost possessive. John bit his lip in an effort not to grin.

"Fine." Cam stroked John's dick to hardness with one hand and then ripped the package open. He rolled the condom on and leaned forward, swallowing John's cock in one quick movement. He sucked hard and moved fast, his hand steadying the base.

John's eyes flew open in surprise. Shit.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Sherlock grabbed a handful of Cam's hair and yanked; Cam howled and sat back, rubbing at his scalp. "How old are you, really?"

Cam glared up at him. "That's what guys usually like."

"In the back alley, just after they give you a fiver?"

"Oh, fuck you. I didn't come here to be abused."

"Sherlock." Cam and Sherlock turned to look at John, both equally surprised. "Not. Helping."

Sherlock looked like he was at war with himself for a moment. His face smoothed out and he forced a smile. "Apologies." John knew he didn't mean it, but hopefully Cam would buy it.

"Accepted," Cam said, still looking miffed. He glanced up and John smiled reassuringly. "What would you like me to do, then?"

"Start slow," Sherlock said. "Use your tongue and take your time. His Mum's not going to barge in on you, so there's no rush."

Cam rolled his eyes, but he seemed to have made up his mind to stay. He flicked his tongue against the head of John's cock experimentally and John rewarded him with a moan.

"Good," Sherlock said, stroking his fingers in Cam's hair. "Do you see how he's relaxed? He likes that."

Cam swirled his tongue around the head and kissed the tip, lightly sucking. The difference in sensation was amazing. He licked his way down the shaft and back up again, and John squirmed when his lips grazed the head.

"There, he wants your mouth now," Sherlock said softly.

"Can I suck him then?"

"Not yet. Draw it out a bit longer."

John groaned and pressed his hands against his face. Fucking torture, it was. Oh, the irony of Sherlock teaching someone how to give head.

Cam went back to work, using his tongue to great effect. It was delicious and not nearly enough, and John finally thrust his hips up slightly, trying to send Cam a subtle message.

"Impatient, John," Sherlock said. "Go on then, but slowly."

Cam sucked the head in and kept working his tongue, and John moaned. One hand flew to Cam's head without thinking about it.

"John." He sounded annoyed. John let his hand fall to his side.

Cam popped off long enough to say, "I don't mind."

"But I do. Move down to his balls now."

Cam pressed John's thighs further apart and wriggled his tongue against John's scrotum, and oh fuck that particular part of him had been ignored quite a bit lately. Cam drew one ball into his mouth and sucked gently. John closed his eyes.

"Use your tongue as well."

Cam did and John whimpered. God, that was amazing. He sank into the sofa even more and Cam shifted so that his shoulders were supporting John's thighs. It was a position John loved having a woman in, and he'd frankly never expected to be there himself.

"And the other." Sherlock's voice was soft and John couldn't quite tell where he was, how closely he was watching. Cam released one ball and moved to the other, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin before working it into his mouth. His nose was pressed against the base of John's cock, breathing heavily. He pulled off and flicked his tongue against the skin just behind John's balls.

"Oh, fuck," John said, unable to stop himself. That was just -- God, close enough to being completely filthy that it melted his mind.

"Up again," Sherlock said, and John wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Cam kissed and licked his way up John's cock again, and then sucked the underside of the head. He was a quick study.

"I want you to finger him now," Sherlock said. John's eyes flew open.

"Oh hell, yes," Cam replied, sounding a bit breathless now.

Oh God. This was new territory, completely new. Hell, he'd only fingered himself once out of curiosity, and it hadn't really done anything but weird him out. Open mind, open mind. He closed his eyes again.

There was another ripping sound -- lube packet, he assumed -- and then Cam's mouth was around his cock again, sucking the head lightly and working it with his tongue. He tried not to tense when he felt a slick finger probing at his arsehole. It pressed into him surprisingly easily.

Sherlock whispered something John couldn't make out. Cam hummed as if in acknowledgment, and oh God, twisted his finger and pulled it out again, timing it with a long slow movement up his cock and Jesus fuck but that was intense.

Okay then. That explained a lot. John was definitely onboard with things-in-his-arse now, because damn.

"That's perfect," Sherlock said. "Keep doing that."

Oh, yes please.

It was stunning how much that one finger changed the intensity of everything, and John found himself moaning incoherently in short order. The pace was slow enough to hold off his orgasm and he felt like he could keep this up for hours. It was incredible.

Cam's finger twisted and brushed up, and there -- John's hands flew to Cam's head again, clenching tightly in his hair.

"Hands off," Sherlock said, his tone one of warning, and John dropped them to his sides. "You found his prostate. Do that again."

Cam pressed up and John winced.

"Too much," Sherlock said. "Just stroke, very lightly."

And oh yes, that was definitely what John needed. Fuck fuck fuck. Cam's tongue flicked the sensitive spot at the base of his glans with the same motion and John cried out. God, he wasn't even coming yet. What was that going to be like?

"John!" he heard and realized his hands were in Cam's hair again. He couldn't move, though. He wanted to obey, but he couldn't do it. He stared up at Sherlock helplessly.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything else. He circled behind the sofa, reached over John to pull his arms up roughly, and then pinned his hands against the sofa just above his head.

God, this was just... God. John twisted his wrists so that he could clasp Sherlock's hands and squeezed.

He was hanging by a thread now, stretched and suspended between Cam's mouth on his dick and his fingers -- there were two now -- in his arse and Sherlock's hands clenching his own tightly over his head, his breath hot in John's ear. Everything else disappeared around him, nothing but pure sensation was left. His head was light and his arms felt numb, and the universe contracted down to his cock and his balls for a long moment. And then it all expanded again with shocking intensity.

He was fairly certain he made an embarrassing amount of noise, but it was hard to tell. There were things happening around him that he wouldn't be able to process for a while yet: Cam moaning around his cock, Sherlock's rhythmic breathing in his ear, sharp fingernails digging into his wrists. He was left shaking when it was over, struggling to catch his breath.

Sherlock released his hands, but didn't move from the spot. He petted John's head like he was a cat. John would have purred if he could.

Cam released John's dick and pulled his fingers out a bit too quickly; John winced at a scrape of fingernail on sensitive tissue. Cam's forehead pressed against John's thigh and he panted, and John realized he was wanking. He should probably offer to help. It would be the polite thing to do. As soon as he could speak again. A moment later Cam groaned and stilled, his face still pressed into John's bare skin.

Sherlock's lips brushed John's temple as he stood and backed away. John tried to open his eyes, but they still weren't cooperating. Actually, he couldn't really move at all. Not that it mattered at the moment.

"That was insanely hot," Cam said, pushing back on his heels and fastening his trousers. "Every guy I fuck, ever, is going to implicitly thank you two."

John managed a laugh at that.

"If you're going to fuck him now, can I watch?" Cam asked.

"No," Sherlock replied.

"If you're not going to fuck him, can I help you with that?"

John opened his eyes just in time to see Cam's hand cup Sherlock's groin. Sherlock pushed his hand away immediately, and there was no doubt he was completely hard. "I can assure you that is in good hands. Thank you."

"Suit yourself." Cam shrugged and then turned to John. "Later, boys. It was fun."

John managed a little wave before Cam walked through the door, a definite swing in his step.

"Oh my God," John said at last, pressing his hands over his eyes. "That was un-fucking-believable. I don't want to move ever again." He dropped his hands and grinned at Sherlock.

Sherlock was leaning against the wall, staring back at John. He looked dazed. John's eyes flicked down to the obvious tent in his trousers. "Has that ever happened before?"

Sherlock frowned. "Of course it has."

"I mean, here. While you were watching… me."

Sherlock's cheeks tinted and he looked away. "Certainly not to this extent."

John stretched and then curled up on the sofa, wincing at the slight twinge in his arse. Note to self: trim nails before you ever do that to another person. He pulled the condom off and looked up to see if Sherlock had regained his composure yet. He hadn't. John patted the sofa next to him. "Sit."

"I can't."

"I won't bite."

"No, it's… a bit difficult at the moment."

John smiled. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be me, right?"

"I'm not--" Sherlock began and then stopped. He couldn't seem to meet John's eyes.

John pressed his lips together. There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask, at least twenty things he would like to say, but now was not the time. Instead he pushed himself to his feet and redressed, giving Sherlock as much privacy as he could manage. "Ready when you are," he said at last.

"Right," Sherlock said, his eyes darting around the room. "Could you just give me a minute? I'll meet you upstairs. Have a drink if you like. Charge it to Mycroft."

John frowned, but nodded. "All right. I'll be upstairs."

The bar was busy and it took him a few minutes to get the bartender's attention. He finally managed to get a beer and he stood off to the side of the main room, watching the action. As always, there was an amazing variety of people: young and old, couples and singles, people who were incredibly attractive and people who were average-looking at best. And all of them were laughing, talking, and so clearly looking. The barriers that he would normally see in a bar, the walls people put up around themselves and their small groups of friends -- none of that seemed to exist here. Over there a portly middle-aged man was flirting with a pair of girls who looked like university students; nearby a fairly geeky-looking young couple were entwined around a woman who'd be generously described as a "cougar". It was incredibly refreshing.

But then, how exactly did he fit in here? He wasn't out there, meeting people and defining his own sexual boundaries. He wasn't exploring his own desires and fantasies. Sherlock was doing all of that for him, and John just let him. And John actually enjoyed letting him do it -- that was the fucked up part. Tonight when Sherlock charged in all pissed off and domineering, John's knees had gone weak, literally. It was as if his brain had shut itself off, handed the controls of his body over to Sherlock, and smoked a joint… or something. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it.

And that didn't even begin to touch on the extremely gay sex he'd just had. It was practically a threesome, if he included Sherlock. And really, he felt like he had to. God, that was going to be an awkward conversation.

"Ready."

He turned to see Sherlock standing next to him, his eyes scanning the crowd as well. "That was fast." Sherlock's jaw clenched and John gaped at him as realization dawned. "Did you seriously just kick me out of that room so you could wank?"

"Yes."

John had to look away to keep from glaring at him. "Un-fucking-believable."

He put his half-finished beer on a nearby table and headed for the door. Sherlock was right behind him and had the good sense to say nothing as John stalked down the street and hailed a taxi. They rode back to the flat in silence. John kept his eyes firmly fixed on the passing scenery. Sherlock was squirming in the seat next to him; John could practically hear the thoughts spinning in Sherlock's head as he tried to work out what he'd done wrong.

Well, no, John doubted Sherlock thought he'd done anything wrong. More likely he was trying to work out why John was being such an unreasonable wanker.

And fuck it all, he was probably being completely unreasonable, but he didn't give a shit. He felt like he'd been turned inside-out tonight for Sherlock's viewing pleasure, and the man didn't even trust him enough to let John see how much he'd been affected. Always putting up fucking walls, Sherlock was. Never letting anyone inside that brilliant head of his. It was infuriating.

Neither of them spoke until they were standing in the parlor in the flat, in the near-darkness lit only by the streetlamps outside the window. John's eyes adjusted at last and he saw Sherlock standing by the window, facing him.

Sherlock's voice was tight. "I assume we need to talk about this."

John sighed and made his way to the sofa, intentionally sitting in Sherlock's customary spot.

"Go on then," Sherlock said.

Jesus, where should he start?

"Fine. I don't understand why, after everything that's happened, you wouldn't feel comfortable wanking in front of me."

"I have wanked in front of you."

"Yes, but--" John paused. It was hard to believe that night on the sofa was just a week ago. "What are we doing, Sherlock?"

"You know exactly what we're doing."

"I thought I did, but now I'm not so certain. I thought this was about you studying my responses to sexual stimuli."

"That's precisely what it's about." Sherlock sounded frustrated now.

"But it's also about you, isn't it? You're trying to figure out what turns you on as well."

"I'm not trying. It just happens."

There was a pause. John waited, fairly stunned by that admission. He'd only heard Sherlock admit to feeling anything a few times, ever.

"I thought I could be objective. And I was, to a point."

"I see." John felt a twinge of guilt. He'd been so confident in Sherlock's ability to remain detached. God, he hadn't even considered that it might be otherwise.

"This is all rather more complicated than I'd anticipated." Sherlock crossed to the sofa and sat on the other side, an arm's length from John. He folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

John considered his next words carefully. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Sherlock had ever even hinted that he was wrong about something. "Was that the first time you've wanked after?"

Sherlock stared resolutely ahead. "No. It happened Sunday as well."

"After you saw me with Ryan."

"I waited until we got to the flat, at least."

"I did wonder why you went straight to bed." John grinned and was pleased to see Sherlock finally crack a smile. "Tonight was different, though, wasn't it?"

"Clearly I lose all ability to be objective when I see you with another man."

John bit his lip at the choice of the word another. Best to let that one go for now. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"You've earned the right, haven't you?" Sherlock turned and looked at him for the first time since they'd come home.

"Are you gay?"

Sherlock looked away again, pursing his lips. "It's not a question I've thought about for years, but in light of recent events, I believe the answer is yes."

John nodded. It was utterly fucked up that they were only having this conversation now, after all this time and after the last week, but at least they were having it. There was another question he'd wanted to ask Sherlock for a while now. "Have you ever been in a relationship with… anyone?"

"No."

"Have you had sex?

"Yes." There was a pause during which John picked his jaw up from the floor. "Does that surprise you?"

"Absolutely. With a man or a woman?"

"Both."

John toed off his shoes and turned his body sideways, pulling his feet up on the sofa. "Tell me."

"Why?"

John gave him a long look and Sherlock sighed. "You're going to be horribly disappointed, I assure you."

"Trust me, I won't."

Sherlock leaned back into the sofa cushions and stared up at the ceiling. "My last year at university, I worked in a lab run by a brilliant scientist. Her research was something I was mildly interested in, so we spent quite a lot of time working together. At the end of term we were in the lab late one night and she asked me if I'd like to come back to her flat for a drink. I honestly didn't know she was propositioning me until we got there."

John struggled to contain his glee at this information. "You lost your virginity to your professor? That sounds like the plot of a porno."

Sherlock shrugged. "I wasn't interested in her -- she was attractive enough, but…"

"You're gay."

"Well, there is that. But I was curious. Everyone else went on about sex constantly, and I decided that since I had the opportunity I should find out what the fuss was over."

"And what happened?"

"It was fine, nothing spectacular. She kept me up half the night, which was kind of annoying."

John smirked. "How many times did you do it?"

Sherlock thought. "If you simply count orgasms, five." At John's looks of shock he added, "I was twenty."

"What, did she have you in every position she could think of?"

"Something like that." Sherlock's lips twisted as if he were trying very hard not to smile.

John laughed -- he couldn't help it, the mental image he had of this situation was completely insane -- and after a moment Sherlock laughed as well. John stretched his legs out and pressed his socked feet against Sherlock's thigh. "What happened after that?"

"It was horribly awkward. It turned out she had a boyfriend and they'd recently had a row. I seemed to represent some sort of revenge on him. The next time I saw her she barely spoke to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, it was a relief. I was terrified she'd think we were dating after that. I liked her, but not personally so much as professionally."

"So did that turn you off to sex completely?"

Sherlock's fingertips stroked the tops of John's feet. "For a bit. It was pleasant enough, but it was messy. It was difficult enough to interact with people on a daily basis. As hard as it may be to believe, I had even more problems with social interactions then than I do now."

John let that one go, though it took effort. "What about casual sex? Strangers in bars, that sort of thing?"

"Heroin was so much easier." A tight-lipped smile at that.

John closed his eyes. The idea of Sherlock as a young man so adrift and alone made his guts twist. "You said there was a man as well."

"Yes. He was the son of a man Mycroft knew. He introduced us, at least. The timing was good; I needed a distraction."

"From what?" John asked. A single look from Sherlock answered his question. "Right. How old were you?"

"Twenty-four. He was a bit younger. I thought he was a complete idiot, though that's hardly unusual for me. But there was something about him that I found fascinating, and it took me a long time to understand that it was sexual attraction."

"Was that when you first thought you might be gay?"

"Yes, but that didn't matter. I needed a distraction desperately and he made it clear he was interested. One night we had dinner and I invited him to my room and he proceeded to shag me most of the night."

"And then what happened?"

"He wanted to see me again and I said no."

John frowned. "Why?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I got bored, essentially. In one night we'd tried everything once. I realized it really was just about the sex, and sex alone wasn't enough to justify putting up with him outside the bedroom. He really was an idiot; you've no idea."

"So you ended it."

"I assumed I knew all there was to know about sex with a man. So I moved on."

"And you survived on occasional masturbation for the next decade." John shook his head. He understood choosing celibacy when it was otherwise inconvenient and he understood that some people simply weren't interested in sex, but this was something he couldn't really wrap his brain around at all.

Sherlock shrugged. "It seemed extremely unlikely I'd encounter anyone I'd actually enjoy being around for any length of time, whom I'd be attracted to and who would also be attracted to me. The rational thing to do was not to waste time on it, to focus myself on other things."

John bit his lip and considered that statement for a long moment. "You said the experiment had become more complicated than you expected. What did you mean?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it again and shook his head.

John sighed. "We have to be honest with each other about this. Whatever this is, there's sex involved, even if it's not between us, and that's going to make things messy. If there's even a chance of losing your friendship over this, I won't go back to the club again. I'll end it right now."

Sherlock turned to look at him, but still said nothing.

"Do you need some time to do a bit of exploring yourself? We could switch for a few days. I could find partners for you."

"No." Sherlock's tone was surprisingly sharp and John drew his feet away in response, pulled his knees into his chest. Sherlock exhaled smoothly, almost as if trying to choose his next words carefully. "I'm not interested in sex with strangers. I already know that's not what I want."

"Then what do you want?"

He threaded his fingers into his hair and clenched his hands, something that always made John think he was trying to corral the thoughts spinning chaotically in his head. After a moment he pressed his palms over his face and exhaled. "I need to examine my own reactions more closely. If you're willing to continue, I would appreciate it." He looked at John then, his expression as open as John had ever seen.

John took a deep breath. "All right."

He desperately wanted to qualify his participation in this, to set limits, to tell Sherlock what had happened to him tonight and how much it had turned him upside-down. But he had a feeling it would be a bad idea, that the timing wasn't right. Sherlock was fragile now as well, maybe even more than John. Best to keep walking forward one step at a time and trust that their friendship would be strong enough to survive whatever happened.

"For what it's worth, Sherlock, I trust you."

"I know." Sherlock stood and stretched.

"Do you trust me?"

"I do." No hesitation.

"Good. I need to borrow your laptop."

Sherlock's expression changed to one of suspicion. "Why?"

"Well, mine is still at the shop, being repaired after someone spent eight solid hours viewing porn on it and contracted three separate viruses, requiring the hard drive to be wiped completely." He raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock waved a hand in the general direction of the computer. "The password is the 15th through the 22nd digits of pi with the obvious letter substitutions in the 16th, 18th, and 19th places."

"Thank you," John replied, already reaching for it. It'd take him fifteen minutes to work out the damn password, but it was doable.

Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom and John sat in the darkness for a long time without moving, clenching Sherlock's laptop to his chest. It had indeed become complicated, much more so than he'd ever expected. For all his comments about the importance of honesty, he was keeping a few things close to his chest.

All in good time. First, he needed to do a little research of his own. He opened Sherlock's laptop and took a deep breath.

[End of Part 3]

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