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emmagrant01Series: Missing and Alternate Scenes for A Cure for Boredom
Author: Emma Grant
Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock BBC, John/Sherlock, John/others
Index of all missing and alternate scenes
Alternate scene 3.4
Rating: Explicit
Length: 6400 words
Summary: Set during chapter 3. Sherlock's POV of the blow job from Cam. (This will probably make no sense if you haven't read the original fic.)
Notes: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drinkingcocoa for the speedy beta! This wouldn't have been posted on time without her encouragement and hard work.
Alternate link: On AO3
Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door to room two. John was stretched out on the sofa, apparently having fallen asleep in the twenty minutes Sherlock was gone. Sherlock closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, measured breaths.
Sherlock was only barely keeping it together, but John seemed calm, even to be enjoying himself. He didn't appear to be struggling with errant emotions and desires the way Sherlock was. He'd done exactly what Sherlock had asked of him, which was to follow directions and keep an open mind, and he'd done both of those things far better than Sherlock had expected.
John was holding up his end of the bargain, but Sherlock was struggling to do something as simple as stick to an established protocol. As delicate as the situation was, he had to be careful, had to follow his own carefully outlined procedures. And of course, everything depended on John's reaction to their next guest. Sherlock had to make certain that it went well, that John enjoyed it. If he didn't, it would severely limit the parameters of the experiment from here on out. That was not something Sherlock was ready to consider.
He'd gone upstairs with the intention of buying them another round of drinks, but after staring intently at the colorful bottles on the shelves behind the bar for a full five minutes (whilst running through a comprehensive list of all possible combinations of mixed drinks and cross-referencing these with their potential effects on inhibition, libido, and ability to maintain an erection), he'd finally decided against it. He couldn't predict with more than 60% accuracy how alcohol would interfere with John's strange mental state, and he certainly didn't want there to be any reasons for John to feel he'd been coerced afterward. It was crucial that John consented to whatever might happen next. Sherlock suspected John was bisexual, but it was time to find out for certain. Sherlock knew enough about human sexuality to know not to take it lightly.
He crossed to the sofa and cleared his throat, and John blinked sleepily at him. Sherlock held out the bottle of water he'd brought from the bar.
John sat up. "Thanks."
Sherlock sat on the opposite end of the sofa and watched him. He seemed to be functioning normally again, not as dazed as he'd been earlier – though he was drinking the water like he'd just run a race. Was that normal? Perhaps even minimal participation in sexual activity required enough exertion to result in mild dehydration. He made a note to look into it when they got home. "Are you all right?"
John gave him an odd look. "I'm fine. Better than fine. Are you all right?"
"Yes." He wasn't, of course, but John, like most people, had difficulty determining when Sherlock was lying. "We have ten minutes until our next guest arrives."
John nodded and drank more water, and seemed to lose himself in thought for nearly a minute. Sherlock typically appreciated this amount of silence from John, but at the moment, he needed more information than John seemed willing to give him. In particular, he needed to make certain that John's experience with their next guest was a good one. And that was, oddly enough, mostly up to Sherlock.
"Well?" he asked at last.
"Well what?"
"Did I get it right?"
John laughed in that way that typically meant Sherlock had done something so outrageous he could barely believe it. "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."
Sherlock frowned. He was concerned about the data he was collecting, of course, but it wasn't as if he had no concern for John at all. Had he not made that clear?
John's hand settled on Sherlock's thigh, and it startled him into silence. "Yes, it was good. You did very well. I'm surprised that wasn't obvious."
"It was obvious, but… could it have been better?"
The smile started at the corners of John's lips and slowly made its way to his eyes. "Oh, I see. Let me think about that."
His eyes unfocused for a moment, but the hand on Sherlock's thigh shifted slightly, fingers stroking the fabric of his trousers in long lines that left tingling skin in their wake. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from wriggling under that touch. It was nearly maddening. He finally had to still John's hand.
"Oh, sorry." John pulled his hand away; apparently he hadn't been aware he was doing it. "I can't think of anything specific to make it better. But I'm open to new ideas." He grinned.
Sherlock nodded, though he knew full well that John's definition of new would be tested the moment their next guest walked through the door. Still, it would be good to prepare a list of options, things they hadn't tried before. Sherlock's mouth watered slightly at the prospect. For example--
There was a knock at the door. They turned to look at each other.
Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed it on. "Five minutes early."
"Not a problem," John replied as Sherlock stood and crossed to the door. It was indeed a problem, though; Sherlock wasn't ready for this. He needed a few more minutes to think, to feel like he had the situation under control. He was out of his depth here, unprepared and uncomfortable with the idea of improvising under these circumstances, but there was nothing much he could do about it at the moment.
He opened the door and immediately had to suppress the urge to scowl at the young man standing on the other side. He looked a good five years younger than the 22 he claimed to be on his profile. He looked completely out of place in an institution like this one, where the clientele tended toward couples in their thirties and forties. Sherlock's eyes raked over him, taking in details: expensive haircut with a truly ridiculous amount of product (also expensive), trendy clothing from one of the Saville Row shops that caters to celebrities, and reasonably attractive, though in a non-conventional way, which was clearly exaggerated for effect given the hair, clothes, and very dark eyeliner. Everything about his demeanor indicated upper-middle class, public school-educated, and bored.
Sherlock frowned.
"Hi," their guest said, and he stretched one arm up against the doorframe. An attempt to look confident, casual.
Two possibilities: one, his parents had paid for the membership, fearing he'd get into some sort of drugs trouble otherwise; two, his parents paid little attention to him and gave him enough money to keep him out of their way, and he'd paid for the membership himself. In either case, he was clearly desperate for attention, and not nearly as confident as he tried to appear. Typical.
Sherlock turned to look at John, who was now staring at the boy with more than a small amount of trepidation; it was difficult to tell whether it was because of his age or his appearance, or the fact that he was male. Sherlock pressed his lips together. There were too many confounding variables here; he should have chosen someone older for a first exclusively male encounter. He'd been trying to keep the parameters as similar as possible between the two encounters and all of the other potential male candidates had been in their late thirties. This had seemed the best option at the time, but now he wasn't so sure.
The boy stepped forward. "I'm Cam." His gaze moved from John back to Sherlock.
"I'm Sherlock and this is John."
"Does he talk?"
"Not tonight." Definitely not tonight.
Cam walked past Sherlock and sat on the sofa next to John, and looked him over as if he were considering renting him by the hour. "He's cute. What did you have in mind?"
Did none of these people actually read their emails? Sherlock stifled a sigh. "Blow job. I'll help." He saw John's eyebrows rise slightly at that. So he was paying attention after all.
"Can I kiss him first?"
Sherlock hesitated. Becca hadn't asked to kiss John, and it hadn't occurred to Sherlock to have her do it. He glanced at John's face, which was now cautiously blank. John had been amenable to kissing a man before, and it might be a good idea to start slow. "Yes."
Cam didn't waste time; he slid closer to John and leaned in to kiss him. John didn't flinch or recoil; his eyes fluttered closed and within a few seconds it was clear that he was an active participant in the kiss. Sherlock could see his jaw moving, could see glimpses of tongue in the occasional gap between their open mouths.
Cam groaned and shifted on the sofa so he was facing John and the kiss grew even more heated. A minute later Cam pulled out of the kiss and looked up at John. "Fuck, you're a good kisser. I'm hard already." He pulled one of John's hands between his thighs and John's fingers traced the line of a clear erection through the tight black trousers Cam wore. He wasn't hesitant about it at all.
Sherlock frowned: John was supposed to be passive here; it was up to Sherlock to decide what would be done to whom and by whom. Cam was grinning at John now, encouraging him, and the situation was on the verge of spinning out of Sherlock's control.
He moved close enough that he could push them apart if necessary, and glared at Cam. "Moving right along."
Cam's grin faded slightly. "Oh, right. He's not allowed to touch. Pity. I'm going to have dreams about that tongue."
There had been enough remarks on John's kissing ability now that Sherlock was genuinely curious. It was kissing: how good could it possibly be? His own experience with kissing had always been messy and strange and far too wet to be pleasant. What was it about John's method of kissing that seemed to affect his partners so very much? He should interview their previous guests; he could contact them via the web forum, after all.
Focus.
Cam already had John's trousers off and had positioned himself on the floor between John's thighs. He leaned forward and brushed the tip of his nose along John's erection, and Sherlock shoved a hand in his pocket to fish out a condom. He considered hurling it at Cam's head, but settled for dropping it onto John's navel instead.
"Condom."
Cam grimaced. "Ugh, do we have to? I hate giving head through latex."
"Non-negotiable." John had been fairly horrified about the lack of a barrier on the first night, and in retrospect, Sherlock felt rather guilty about it. He understood his role in this much better now than he had done that first night, and the fact that he'd put John's health at risk simply because he hadn't wanted to spoil the outcome of the experiment was utterly inexcusable. And it wouldn't happen again.
John didn't take his eyes off Cam, but he looked pleased. Sherlock felt a small flutter of pride at that.
"Fine," Cam replied with a very teenaged eyeroll.
He stroked John's penis a few more seconds until it was fully erect, and rolled on the condom. John bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, and just as Sherlock was about to give instructions, Cam leaned forward and swallowed John's cock to the base. His head bobbed and he moved quickly, and John's eyes flew open in a manner that was almost comical.
So no, that wasn't working for him. Not that Sherlock was surprised. He felt an odd wave of emotion then, something between anger and frustration, and he wanted nothing more than to stop this, to get this boy off of John and — and what?
"Oh, for fuck's sake." He clenched a handful of Cam's hair and yanked; Cam howled and sat back, rubbing at his scalp. Sherlock glared at him. "How old are you, really?"
Cam stared up at him in shock. "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."
Sherlock turned to look at John, who as fixing him with the same sort of stern expression he used when Sherlock had said something socially unacceptable. He ran back through the previous few seconds, unsure what he'd done wrong.
"Not. Helping." John's eyes focused on his, and it was clear that he thought Sherlock had crossed a line. The fact that he'd broken the no-speaking rule, which he'd never done before, must mean it had been serious. Sherlock looked at Cam again. The boy was practically pouting, still rubbing at his scalp where Sherlock had yanked him off John.
Sherlock frowned. He didn't doubt that stopping it was the right thing to do. John didn't look angry, and didn't seem to want the encounter to end. Perhaps Sherlock had been a bit too rough? He supposed he could have asked Cam to stop, rather than yanking him off by the hair.
Of course. That must be it. Sherlock exhaled and forced himself to smile at Cam. "Apologies."
"Accepted," Cam said, though the pout didn't subside completely. He shifted forward again, sliding his hands up John's thighs. "What would you like me to do, then?"
Sherlock swallowed down his annoyance that Cam was apparently addressing John instead of him. John said nothing, though. He just smiled back at Cam and waited. Perfect.
"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."
He leaned forward to watch as Cam's tongue flicked against the shaft. John moaned and relaxed again, and Sherlock nodded. Yes, there, that was right. John liked that.
"Good." Sherlock said, and patted Cam's head, threaded his fingers into his hair. "Do you see how he's relaxed? He likes that."
He gave Cam's head a small push and Cam intensified his movement, swirling his tongue around the head. Sherlock tightened the hand in Cam's hair and he seemed to understand immediately, easing back to just kiss the tip of John's penis before moving his tongue down the shaft and back up again.
There was tension in John's shoulders now; he wanted more, was desperate to bury his prick in Cam's mouth. Sherlock stroked Cam's scalp again, gently. He could control this completely, use Cam like a puppet to make sure John got exactly what he wanted. He wouldn't have to say a word.
Ah, but John liked to hear Sherlock give instructions. It was part of what he found erotic about the experience, the fact that Sherlock was telling his partners exactly what to do and when to do it.
Sherlock released his grip on Cam's head and moved around to the side of the sofa for a better view. "There, he wants your mouth now."
"Can I suck him, then?"
"Not yet. Draw it out a bit longer."
John groaned and brought his hands up to cover his face, and Sherlock smirked. He was getting better at reading John now, but he still wanted to know how far he could push him, how long he could string this out until John would protest, would take control back from Sherlock. He watched Cam work John's cock with his tongue, going torturously slowly, not quite enough pressure to satisfy, but enough to increase John's arousal. John's hips were shifting now, as if he was trying very hard to stop himself from thrusting up into Cam's mouth. He was on the edge of what he could take, Sherlock realized. He could force it to go on, to see what John would do, or he could give John what he wanted.
Tonight wasn't about endless teasing or orgasm denial, though. That was much further down the list, several weeks away. Tonight was about observing John's response to fellatio from a female and a male partner.
"Impatient, John. Go on then, but slowly."
Cam took the head into his mouth and John moaned, his hips thrusting up. Cam was following instructions well, though, and he shifted back to keep control. John's frustration was clear on his face and a moment later he pressed a hand against Cam's head, pushing him further down.
"John." Sherlock's tone was one of warning, and John's hand fell away immediately.
Cam pulled off, his breathing heavier now. "I don't mind."
"But I do. Move down to his balls now."
John exhaled, but said nothing as Cam pushed his thighs further apart and buried his face between them. John's eyes fell closed and his jaw went slack. Sherlock had to contort himself to get a good view. Cam was sucking gently on one of John's balls, and from the way John's hands were gripping the sofa, he seemed to be enjoying it. In fact, it seemed it wasn't quite enough, that he wanted more.
"Use your tongue as well."
John's immediate whimper implied Cam had done just that. John slid down the sofa to give Cam better access, and Sherlock felt a rush of arousal at the sight. John's thighs were draped across Cam's shoulders and Cam's nose was pressed against the base of his cock, his mouth working in slow, steady movements, and it was so wanton, so… Sherlock exhaled steadily. Control. He needed to keep control of himself, of his reactions.
"And the other," he said, certain his voice was giving him away. He was well on his way to an erection and there wasn't much he could do about it now. He unfastened his trousers enough to slide a hand inside and adjust the position of his penis, and the touch of his own hand was enough to make him completely hard. He hesitated: he was crouched next to the sofa and John and Cam were preoccupied; he could touch himself and neither of them would be the wiser. He gave his cock a single stroke and had to stifle a groan.
"Oh, fuck," John said. He was gloriously close to losing control.
And that was why they were here. This was about John, and if Sherlock was distracted, the entire evening was pointless. He refastened his trousers.
"Up again," Sherlock said and Cam moved, licking his way up over John's balls and up the shaft. Sherlock bit his lip. Where exactly had Cam's mouth been before Sherlock stopped him? He'd seen lots of porn featuring anilingus, and though it was on the list, it wasn't something he'd planned to try on John for at least another week. Had it just happened without his even realizing it?
Whatever Cam's mouth had been doing, John had clearly enjoyed it. He hadn't objected, certainly. They hadn't discussed anal play at all; he had no idea what John would be willing to do along those lines.
Sherlock frowned. His intention had been to keep the two blow jobs as similar as possible. But then, he'd already changed the protocol, hadn't he? Sexual activity was fairly unpredictable, it seemed. It was perhaps best to take advantage of opportunities as they arose, rather than to try to plan for them. Right, then: time to see if John was amenable or not.
"I want you to finger him now." Sherlock watched John's face as he said it, watched his eyes open and an expression of surprise flicker across his features before it settled into something more like acceptance. He hadn't done this before, Sherlock realized, but he wasn't objecting. Good.
"Oh hell, yes," Cam said as he sat back on his heels. He took the lube packet Sherlock held out and ripped it open before leaning forward and sucking on the head of John's cock again. Sherlock had to contort himself to watch as Cam pressed one slick finger into John's body.
Oh, that was… Sherlock's erection was even harder now, and he wasn't sure how he was going to hide it once this was done.
Cam's finger pressed in to the knuckle, and he just held it there for a moment while he worked John's cock with his mouth. Sherlock wondered yet again if Cam had even half the experience he'd claimed. Fortunately, this was a topic Sherlock had rather thoroughly researched.
He knelt beside Cam and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I want you to take it slow, don't try for his prostate just yet. Push in while you take his cock in your mouth, and then slowly out while you pull up, so the two movements are coordinated. And take your time; I don't want him to come just yet."
Cam hummed an acknowledgment and set to work, and the effect on John was immediate. His mouth fell open and he huffed out a breath, and it was clear that he wanted that, more of that, yes, please.
Sherlock smiled. "That's perfect. Keep doing that." He'd considered letting John hear his instructions, but had decided at the last moment not to do. He wanted to see a raw response, to see what would happen if John didn't know what was coming.
Cam continued his movements, long slow slides up and down John's cock, his finger moving in the same rhythm, and twisting as it moved out, which John seemed to like. Sherlock filed that detail away for future reference. Cam changed the angle of his wrist then, did something different that made John whimper, made his hands fly to Cam's head.
"Hands off," Sherlock told him, and the speed with which John dropped them again sent a jolt to Sherlock's balls. Oh, that was gorgeous. "You found his prostate. Do that again."
Cam repeated the movement, but John winced, his body recoiling immediately.
"Too much," Sherlock said, a hand on Cam's shoulder now. "Just stroke, very lightly."
Cam's hand stilled and his tongue flicked at the underside of the glans, and John seemed to melt into the sofa. He closed his eyes tightly and his mouth fell open, and he cried out in a way Sherlock hadn't heard him do before. The expression on his face was mesmerizing, erotic, incredible. Sherlock had seen John have a half dozen orgasms by now, but he hadn't seen anything quite like this.
John's breathing was shallow and irregular, as if his body was so overwhelmed he couldn't be bothered to breathe. Sherlock stared at him, taking in every detail, each flex of muscle, every stutter of breath and slight whimper of pleasure, each clench of his fingers. He wondered how long he could make it last, how long he could keep John here, right on the edge of orgasm.
Cam did something then that made John cry out again, and his hands went to Cam's head once more. Was he that far gone, or was he being deliberately disobedient?
"John!" he said, and John's eyes flew open. He stared back at Sherlock, but he didn't move. There was no hint of willfulness there, nothing that implied John was doing it deliberately; on the contrary, he seemed frozen in place, unable to control his actions. Was that even possible?
The reason was irrelevant, though; if John couldn't control his limbs, Sherlock would do it for him.
He moved to stand behind the sofa and reached over it to grasp John's wrists. He pulled them up over John's head and pinned them against the top of the sofa cushion. He felt John struggle against him and he tightened his grip, and John made a strained sound and – Sherlock stared down at him with wide eyes. Oh God, what had he done? He'd deliberately maintained his distance until now, had given instructions and direction, but he'd been so careful not to touch John in the midst of one of these sexual encounters. And here he'd done it without thinking. He was undeniably a participant in this now, literally binding John's hands and forcing him to comply.
John's wrists were hot and he struggled against Sherlock's grip, and it was too much, far too much to process. Yes, they had a safeword, but Sherlock didn't trust it now, didn't trust himself to hear it.
He loosened his grip with the intention of stepping away, point made, but then John's hands twisted beneath him, slid against his wrists and gripped his hands. John wanted him there. John needed him and was holding onto him almost desperately, as if Sherlock's touch was the only thing keeping him from losing himself.
He looked down at John's body, at the sight before him: John stretched out on the sofa, naked from the waist down, Cam's lips stretched around his cock, John's thighs splayed across Cam's shoulders, and Cam's hand moving just out of sight, pressing his fingers into John's arse.
John panted and squeezed Sherlock's hands, just enough to feel like a yes, please, and thank you, and Sherlock squeezed back. He was leaning over John now, close enough that he could turn his head just slightly and kiss his temple, if he wanted. John's breathing grew erratic and the muscles in his thighs tensed and his toes curled, and Sherlock held his breath.
He could see the moment John's orgasm began, could hear it in his voice and feel it in the clench of his fingers. Sherlock held on tightly and only barely resisted the urge to press his hips against the back of the sofa. He'd become aroused watching John before, but he hadn't wanted to act on it since the first night on the sofa, more than a week ago. He forced himself to focus on John, on the sounds he made and the way his hips arched up into Cam's mouth.
It seemed to be quite a long time before John quieted and his body relaxed, shivering as if cold. His fingers slackened around Sherlock's and Sherlock released his hands. He pushed one hand against his own groin and threaded the other into John's hair, and pressed his forehead against the back of the sofa, struggling to calm his breathing.
It would be so easy now to unfasten his trousers and stroke himself off. It wouldn't take long.
He heard a moan from the floor in front of John and raised his head. Cam's forehead pressed into John's thigh and his hand worked his own cock quickly. Sherlock watched him, trying to shift his focus away from John and from his own arousal. A moment later Cam groaned and finished, and Sherlock blinked.
Nothing. That had done nothing for him. He knew he was attracted primarily to males – watching porn had made that painfully clear – and he knew he was attracted to John, but he'd expected to find the sight of any male orgasming just a few feet away from him to be erotic. He'd certainly been intrigued by Ryan the week before, and John – well, John was in a category all his own.
And that was the issue, wasn't it? This was all about John, and about the way Sherlock reacted to John's sexual stimulation. He felt a level of possessiveness that he wasn't certain how to justify or explain, along with an intense need to make certain John was sexually satisfied.
He allowed himself to kiss John's temple before he stood. He was grateful to be behind the sofa at the moment.
Cam sat back and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "That was insanely hot. Every guy I fuck, ever, is going to implicitly thank you two."
John laughed, but his eyes were still closed. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Cam. God, he didn't want to talk or something as asinine as that, did he? Cam stood and stretched, and refastened his fashionably tight trousers. He made no move to leave.
Sherlock frowned. His erection wasn't going away anytime soon. He'd rather a stranger see it than John, though, so there was nothing for it but to escort Cam out and deal with it later. He crossed to the door and opened it.
Cam smirked, arms folded across his chest. "If you're going to fuck him now, can I watch?"
"No."
Cam stepped forward, far too close for comfort. "If you're not going to fuck him, can I help you with that?" On the last word, his fingers pressed against Sherlock's erection.
It was an odd sensation, both pleasurable and uncomfortable at once. It had been years since he'd been touched that way by another person, so long he'd forgotten the jolt of sensation and the rush of heat. Cam's fingers shifted slightly, tracing upwards, and no, it was too much.
And of course, now that Cam had called attention to the state Sherlock was in, there was no way John could miss it.
Sherlock batted his hand away and nodded in the direction of the open doorway. "I can assure you that is in good hands. Thank you." He gave Cam a tight smile, the sort John always called his fuck-you smile.
Cam looked slightly annoyed, but he shrugged. "Suit yourself. Later, boys. It was fun." He left with no further argument.
Sherlock closed the door and leaned back against it. His penis was so hard it ached, and it didn't seem as if it would go away anytime soon. There was no way John had misunderstood that exchange, and he would certainly understand the implication. Sherlock wasn't sure how to explain, nor was he certain how John would react. He looked over to the sofa, where John had his hands pressed over his eyes.
John sighed. "Oh my God, that was un-fucking-believable. I don't want to move ever again." His hands fell to his sides and he grinned at Sherlock. It was nearly a second before his gaze traveled lower, where it remained for two and half more seconds before he spoke again. "Has that ever happened before?"
Sherlock stared back at him. Had John already forgotten how this experiment had started? "Of course it has."
John shook his head. "I mean, here. While you were watching… me."
Sherlock was suddenly very aware that John was naked from the waist down, still wearing a condom on his softening prick, and utterly un-self-conscious about it. Images from the last ten minutes flashed through Sherlock's mind and his face warmed. God, this was awkward. He looked away. "Certainly not to this extent."
John was silent for a moment, and Sherlock was grateful for the space. He tried to clear his mind, to push it away, but his erection was far too much of a distraction. He risked a glance at John again, just in time to see him pull the condom off. His penis was still half-hard, and Sherlock found it difficult to drag his gaze away.
When he did, John was looking back at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He patted the sofa next to him. "Sit."
Sherlock swallowed. "I can't."
"I won't bite."
"No, it's… a bit difficult at the moment." He felt heat rise to his face again.
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 bit off the rest of the words. He was embarrassed, but he didn't understand why. After everything that had happened already, after the sex acts he'd watched John participate in – for God's sake, he'd just seen him come with two fingers shoved up his arse – why should Sherlock be the one who felt embarrassed?
John didn't press the issue, happily. He stood and dressed, and carefully avoided looking in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock, on the other hand, watched John's every move, watched him wrap himself in his incredibly ordinary clothing again, making himself look completely unremarkable. Sherlock knew better, now.
"Ready when you are." John stared back at him steadily, and there was something unnerving about it.
Sherlock had so far relied on John's lack of observation skills. But of course, John wasn't unintelligent; in fact, he was rather sharper than average. Had he finally noticed that Sherlock was only barely maintaining control?
John's gaze flicked down to the bulge at Sherlock's groin and back up again, and Sherlock had to look away. Was that interest? God, what if it was? He felt a flush of excitement mingled with fear, followed immediately by dread, for there was no possibility of that ending well.
Or was it instead simply concern that Sherlock was facing a very uncomfortable taxi ride before he could get home and take care of his erection?
He glanced at John's face again; his brows were knitted and he looked uncertain. He didn't look like he was about to offer to relieve Sherlock's condition himself. An image flashed through Sherlock's mind of John doing just that, striding towards him and pushing him against the doorway. He shook it away, refocused. John was still watching him, lips pursed slightly now, the expression on his face very similar to the one he wore when he thought Sherlock ought to eat something.
Concern, then. Sherlock swallowed, exhaled. Right.
He didn't have to wait until he was home, of course. They were in a private room, after all. It would only take a couple of minutes. John could have a drink, perhaps, and by the time he'd finished it, Sherlock would be sorted.
"Right," he said. "Could you just give me a minute? I'll meet you upstairs. Have a drink if you like. Charge it to Mycroft."
John's concern didn't abate, but he nodded. "All right. I'll be upstairs."
The moment the door closed, Sherlock pressed his forehead up against it. He curled his fingers around his erection through the front of his trousers and stood there for a moment, listening until John's footsteps had receded.
When he was certain John was gone, he unfastened his trousers and slid his hand into his pants, and oh God. His fingers were dry and cool against hot skin, and no, this wasn't going to take long. He turned around to lean against the door and pushed his trousers and pants down enough to free his cock. He didn't take his time; he didn't try to make it last longer. He kept his gaze focused on the sofa, where not ten minutes ago John had been stretched out, his cock down a man's throat, fingers up his arse, and his hands clenching Sherlock's, hanging onto him as if Sherlock were an anchor in a storm of sensation. And when John came, Sherlock had been close enough to hear every moan and whimper, to feel every tremor.
He'd done that. He'd made John come that hard, and even though it hadn't been his mouth or his fingers, Sherlock was still responsible. It was heady, having that sort of power over someone else's body. It was addictive.
His hand moved quickly, short, firm strokes that tugged the foreskin over the glans, and that was it, right there, just another… yes.
He gritted his teeth and slid down the door, and panted. There were stars in his field of vision when he opened his eyes again. He felt mildly tingly, even.
He couldn't recall sex with a person ever feeling quite as intense as this. There had always been a messy layer of uncertainty and expectation, and it had never been quite what he wanted. But this, this, whatever it was with John, this was so close to perfect that it was nearly overwhelming.
He cleaned himself up and fastened his trousers, and headed upstairs. John was near the bar, a half-drunk pint in hand, surveying the crowd. Sherlock followed his line of sight. Who was he looking at? What sort of partner might he be interested in next time? Sherlock hadn't made plans for the following evening yet and this might be a good opportunity to collect some valuable information.
"Ready."
John turned to look at him. "That was fast."
There was something odd in his tone, and Sherlock flinched. Did John still think he was doing it wrong? Masturbation frequently took a long time in porn, but he'd assumed that was unrealistic. Perhaps it wasn't?
"Did you seriously just kick me out of that room so you could wank?"
Sherlock's eyes focused again: John's expression had changed completely; he was undeniably annoyed. Had it not been obvious what he was going to do?
Sherlock hesitated a fraction of a second before responding, "Yes."
John's annoyance blossomed into anger and he looked away, muttering, "Un-fucking-believable." He set his unfinished pint on a table and stalked away, heading in the direction of the entrance.
Sherlock was frozen to the spot for a moment before he sprinted to catch up. He was completely uncertain what had just happened. He caught up to John at the front door, but one look at his face dissuaded Sherlock from saying a single word. He'd learned from experience that when John was this angry, anything Sherlock said, no matter how reasonable and logical, only made it worse. Though Sherlock generally didn't bother avoiding an argument (winding John up was a source of amusement, after all), this felt different.
And this was a place, a situation in which Sherlock did not want John to be angry. If John was angry, he might not want to continue. And if he didn't want to continue, if he wouldn't let Sherlock experiment on him anymore – Sherlock felt an odd knot of anxiety well up in his throat. He couldn't bear the thought of not continuing.
John hailed a taxi and climbed inside, and Sherlock followed. John looked out the window opposite, hands clenched into fists, and said nothing. Sherlock gave the driver the address and then sat back, as far from John as possible.
Why would the fact that he'd masturbated anger John so much? Wasn't he allowed to enjoy this as well? Hell, John had even told him he needed to wank more; that was how all of this began in the first place.
He watched John's profile a minute more before turning and staring out of his own window. Whatever it was John was angry about, Sherlock had the feeling he would soon find out. And he would fix it. John had to let him fix it, because for all the things that John did every day to take care of Sherlock, from helping him with cases to making him tea to steering him through social encounters Sherlock couldn't be arsed to understand, Sherlock had finally found a way to take care of John in return. He could do this for John; he wanted to do this for John, and fuck, John had to let him. They couldn't stop now, not when it was becoming so very fascinating.
*****
Comments and feedback welcome! :-)
Go to next part
Author: Emma Grant
Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock BBC, John/Sherlock, John/others
Index of all missing and alternate scenes
Alternate scene 3.4
Rating: Explicit
Length: 6400 words
Summary: Set during chapter 3. Sherlock's POV of the blow job from Cam. (This will probably make no sense if you haven't read the original fic.)
Notes: Thank you to
drinkingcocoa for the speedy beta! This wouldn't have been posted on time without her encouragement and hard work.Alternate link: On AO3
Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door to room two. John was stretched out on the sofa, apparently having fallen asleep in the twenty minutes Sherlock was gone. Sherlock closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, measured breaths.
Sherlock was only barely keeping it together, but John seemed calm, even to be enjoying himself. He didn't appear to be struggling with errant emotions and desires the way Sherlock was. He'd done exactly what Sherlock had asked of him, which was to follow directions and keep an open mind, and he'd done both of those things far better than Sherlock had expected.
John was holding up his end of the bargain, but Sherlock was struggling to do something as simple as stick to an established protocol. As delicate as the situation was, he had to be careful, had to follow his own carefully outlined procedures. And of course, everything depended on John's reaction to their next guest. Sherlock had to make certain that it went well, that John enjoyed it. If he didn't, it would severely limit the parameters of the experiment from here on out. That was not something Sherlock was ready to consider.
He'd gone upstairs with the intention of buying them another round of drinks, but after staring intently at the colorful bottles on the shelves behind the bar for a full five minutes (whilst running through a comprehensive list of all possible combinations of mixed drinks and cross-referencing these with their potential effects on inhibition, libido, and ability to maintain an erection), he'd finally decided against it. He couldn't predict with more than 60% accuracy how alcohol would interfere with John's strange mental state, and he certainly didn't want there to be any reasons for John to feel he'd been coerced afterward. It was crucial that John consented to whatever might happen next. Sherlock suspected John was bisexual, but it was time to find out for certain. Sherlock knew enough about human sexuality to know not to take it lightly.
He crossed to the sofa and cleared his throat, and John blinked sleepily at him. Sherlock held out the bottle of water he'd brought from the bar.
John sat up. "Thanks."
Sherlock sat on the opposite end of the sofa and watched him. He seemed to be functioning normally again, not as dazed as he'd been earlier – though he was drinking the water like he'd just run a race. Was that normal? Perhaps even minimal participation in sexual activity required enough exertion to result in mild dehydration. He made a note to look into it when they got home. "Are you all right?"
John gave him an odd look. "I'm fine. Better than fine. Are you all right?"
"Yes." He wasn't, of course, but John, like most people, had difficulty determining when Sherlock was lying. "We have ten minutes until our next guest arrives."
John nodded and drank more water, and seemed to lose himself in thought for nearly a minute. Sherlock typically appreciated this amount of silence from John, but at the moment, he needed more information than John seemed willing to give him. In particular, he needed to make certain that John's experience with their next guest was a good one. And that was, oddly enough, mostly up to Sherlock.
"Well?" he asked at last.
"Well what?"
"Did I get it right?"
John laughed in that way that typically meant Sherlock had done something so outrageous he could barely believe it. "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."
Sherlock frowned. He was concerned about the data he was collecting, of course, but it wasn't as if he had no concern for John at all. Had he not made that clear?
John's hand settled on Sherlock's thigh, and it startled him into silence. "Yes, it was good. You did very well. I'm surprised that wasn't obvious."
"It was obvious, but… could it have been better?"
The smile started at the corners of John's lips and slowly made its way to his eyes. "Oh, I see. Let me think about that."
His eyes unfocused for a moment, but the hand on Sherlock's thigh shifted slightly, fingers stroking the fabric of his trousers in long lines that left tingling skin in their wake. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from wriggling under that touch. It was nearly maddening. He finally had to still John's hand.
"Oh, sorry." John pulled his hand away; apparently he hadn't been aware he was doing it. "I can't think of anything specific to make it better. But I'm open to new ideas." He grinned.
Sherlock nodded, though he knew full well that John's definition of new would be tested the moment their next guest walked through the door. Still, it would be good to prepare a list of options, things they hadn't tried before. Sherlock's mouth watered slightly at the prospect. For example--
There was a knock at the door. They turned to look at each other.
Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed it on. "Five minutes early."
"Not a problem," John replied as Sherlock stood and crossed to the door. It was indeed a problem, though; Sherlock wasn't ready for this. He needed a few more minutes to think, to feel like he had the situation under control. He was out of his depth here, unprepared and uncomfortable with the idea of improvising under these circumstances, but there was nothing much he could do about it at the moment.
He opened the door and immediately had to suppress the urge to scowl at the young man standing on the other side. He looked a good five years younger than the 22 he claimed to be on his profile. He looked completely out of place in an institution like this one, where the clientele tended toward couples in their thirties and forties. Sherlock's eyes raked over him, taking in details: expensive haircut with a truly ridiculous amount of product (also expensive), trendy clothing from one of the Saville Row shops that caters to celebrities, and reasonably attractive, though in a non-conventional way, which was clearly exaggerated for effect given the hair, clothes, and very dark eyeliner. Everything about his demeanor indicated upper-middle class, public school-educated, and bored.
Sherlock frowned.
"Hi," their guest said, and he stretched one arm up against the doorframe. An attempt to look confident, casual.
Two possibilities: one, his parents had paid for the membership, fearing he'd get into some sort of drugs trouble otherwise; two, his parents paid little attention to him and gave him enough money to keep him out of their way, and he'd paid for the membership himself. In either case, he was clearly desperate for attention, and not nearly as confident as he tried to appear. Typical.
Sherlock turned to look at John, who was now staring at the boy with more than a small amount of trepidation; it was difficult to tell whether it was because of his age or his appearance, or the fact that he was male. Sherlock pressed his lips together. There were too many confounding variables here; he should have chosen someone older for a first exclusively male encounter. He'd been trying to keep the parameters as similar as possible between the two encounters and all of the other potential male candidates had been in their late thirties. This had seemed the best option at the time, but now he wasn't so sure.
The boy stepped forward. "I'm Cam." His gaze moved from John back to Sherlock.
"I'm Sherlock and this is John."
"Does he talk?"
"Not tonight." Definitely not tonight.
Cam walked past Sherlock and sat on the sofa next to John, and looked him over as if he were considering renting him by the hour. "He's cute. What did you have in mind?"
Did none of these people actually read their emails? Sherlock stifled a sigh. "Blow job. I'll help." He saw John's eyebrows rise slightly at that. So he was paying attention after all.
"Can I kiss him first?"
Sherlock hesitated. Becca hadn't asked to kiss John, and it hadn't occurred to Sherlock to have her do it. He glanced at John's face, which was now cautiously blank. John had been amenable to kissing a man before, and it might be a good idea to start slow. "Yes."
Cam didn't waste time; he slid closer to John and leaned in to kiss him. John didn't flinch or recoil; his eyes fluttered closed and within a few seconds it was clear that he was an active participant in the kiss. Sherlock could see his jaw moving, could see glimpses of tongue in the occasional gap between their open mouths.
Cam groaned and shifted on the sofa so he was facing John and the kiss grew even more heated. A minute later Cam pulled out of the kiss and looked up at John. "Fuck, you're a good kisser. I'm hard already." He pulled one of John's hands between his thighs and John's fingers traced the line of a clear erection through the tight black trousers Cam wore. He wasn't hesitant about it at all.
Sherlock frowned: John was supposed to be passive here; it was up to Sherlock to decide what would be done to whom and by whom. Cam was grinning at John now, encouraging him, and the situation was on the verge of spinning out of Sherlock's control.
He moved close enough that he could push them apart if necessary, and glared at Cam. "Moving right along."
Cam's grin faded slightly. "Oh, right. He's not allowed to touch. Pity. I'm going to have dreams about that tongue."
There had been enough remarks on John's kissing ability now that Sherlock was genuinely curious. It was kissing: how good could it possibly be? His own experience with kissing had always been messy and strange and far too wet to be pleasant. What was it about John's method of kissing that seemed to affect his partners so very much? He should interview their previous guests; he could contact them via the web forum, after all.
Focus.
Cam already had John's trousers off and had positioned himself on the floor between John's thighs. He leaned forward and brushed the tip of his nose along John's erection, and Sherlock shoved a hand in his pocket to fish out a condom. He considered hurling it at Cam's head, but settled for dropping it onto John's navel instead.
"Condom."
Cam grimaced. "Ugh, do we have to? I hate giving head through latex."
"Non-negotiable." John had been fairly horrified about the lack of a barrier on the first night, and in retrospect, Sherlock felt rather guilty about it. He understood his role in this much better now than he had done that first night, and the fact that he'd put John's health at risk simply because he hadn't wanted to spoil the outcome of the experiment was utterly inexcusable. And it wouldn't happen again.
John didn't take his eyes off Cam, but he looked pleased. Sherlock felt a small flutter of pride at that.
"Fine," Cam replied with a very teenaged eyeroll.
He stroked John's penis a few more seconds until it was fully erect, and rolled on the condom. John bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, and just as Sherlock was about to give instructions, Cam leaned forward and swallowed John's cock to the base. His head bobbed and he moved quickly, and John's eyes flew open in a manner that was almost comical.
So no, that wasn't working for him. Not that Sherlock was surprised. He felt an odd wave of emotion then, something between anger and frustration, and he wanted nothing more than to stop this, to get this boy off of John and — and what?
"Oh, for fuck's sake." He clenched a handful of Cam's hair and yanked; Cam howled and sat back, rubbing at his scalp. Sherlock glared at him. "How old are you, really?"
Cam stared up at him in shock. "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."
Sherlock turned to look at John, who as fixing him with the same sort of stern expression he used when Sherlock had said something socially unacceptable. He ran back through the previous few seconds, unsure what he'd done wrong.
"Not. Helping." John's eyes focused on his, and it was clear that he thought Sherlock had crossed a line. The fact that he'd broken the no-speaking rule, which he'd never done before, must mean it had been serious. Sherlock looked at Cam again. The boy was practically pouting, still rubbing at his scalp where Sherlock had yanked him off John.
Sherlock frowned. He didn't doubt that stopping it was the right thing to do. John didn't look angry, and didn't seem to want the encounter to end. Perhaps Sherlock had been a bit too rough? He supposed he could have asked Cam to stop, rather than yanking him off by the hair.
Of course. That must be it. Sherlock exhaled and forced himself to smile at Cam. "Apologies."
"Accepted," Cam said, though the pout didn't subside completely. He shifted forward again, sliding his hands up John's thighs. "What would you like me to do, then?"
Sherlock swallowed down his annoyance that Cam was apparently addressing John instead of him. John said nothing, though. He just smiled back at Cam and waited. Perfect.
"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."
He leaned forward to watch as Cam's tongue flicked against the shaft. John moaned and relaxed again, and Sherlock nodded. Yes, there, that was right. John liked that.
"Good." Sherlock said, and patted Cam's head, threaded his fingers into his hair. "Do you see how he's relaxed? He likes that."
He gave Cam's head a small push and Cam intensified his movement, swirling his tongue around the head. Sherlock tightened the hand in Cam's hair and he seemed to understand immediately, easing back to just kiss the tip of John's penis before moving his tongue down the shaft and back up again.
There was tension in John's shoulders now; he wanted more, was desperate to bury his prick in Cam's mouth. Sherlock stroked Cam's scalp again, gently. He could control this completely, use Cam like a puppet to make sure John got exactly what he wanted. He wouldn't have to say a word.
Ah, but John liked to hear Sherlock give instructions. It was part of what he found erotic about the experience, the fact that Sherlock was telling his partners exactly what to do and when to do it.
Sherlock released his grip on Cam's head and moved around to the side of the sofa for a better view. "There, he wants your mouth now."
"Can I suck him, then?"
"Not yet. Draw it out a bit longer."
John groaned and brought his hands up to cover his face, and Sherlock smirked. He was getting better at reading John now, but he still wanted to know how far he could push him, how long he could string this out until John would protest, would take control back from Sherlock. He watched Cam work John's cock with his tongue, going torturously slowly, not quite enough pressure to satisfy, but enough to increase John's arousal. John's hips were shifting now, as if he was trying very hard to stop himself from thrusting up into Cam's mouth. He was on the edge of what he could take, Sherlock realized. He could force it to go on, to see what John would do, or he could give John what he wanted.
Tonight wasn't about endless teasing or orgasm denial, though. That was much further down the list, several weeks away. Tonight was about observing John's response to fellatio from a female and a male partner.
"Impatient, John. Go on then, but slowly."
Cam took the head into his mouth and John moaned, his hips thrusting up. Cam was following instructions well, though, and he shifted back to keep control. John's frustration was clear on his face and a moment later he pressed a hand against Cam's head, pushing him further down.
"John." Sherlock's tone was one of warning, and John's hand fell away immediately.
Cam pulled off, his breathing heavier now. "I don't mind."
"But I do. Move down to his balls now."
John exhaled, but said nothing as Cam pushed his thighs further apart and buried his face between them. John's eyes fell closed and his jaw went slack. Sherlock had to contort himself to get a good view. Cam was sucking gently on one of John's balls, and from the way John's hands were gripping the sofa, he seemed to be enjoying it. In fact, it seemed it wasn't quite enough, that he wanted more.
"Use your tongue as well."
John's immediate whimper implied Cam had done just that. John slid down the sofa to give Cam better access, and Sherlock felt a rush of arousal at the sight. John's thighs were draped across Cam's shoulders and Cam's nose was pressed against the base of his cock, his mouth working in slow, steady movements, and it was so wanton, so… Sherlock exhaled steadily. Control. He needed to keep control of himself, of his reactions.
"And the other," he said, certain his voice was giving him away. He was well on his way to an erection and there wasn't much he could do about it now. He unfastened his trousers enough to slide a hand inside and adjust the position of his penis, and the touch of his own hand was enough to make him completely hard. He hesitated: he was crouched next to the sofa and John and Cam were preoccupied; he could touch himself and neither of them would be the wiser. He gave his cock a single stroke and had to stifle a groan.
"Oh, fuck," John said. He was gloriously close to losing control.
And that was why they were here. This was about John, and if Sherlock was distracted, the entire evening was pointless. He refastened his trousers.
"Up again," Sherlock said and Cam moved, licking his way up over John's balls and up the shaft. Sherlock bit his lip. Where exactly had Cam's mouth been before Sherlock stopped him? He'd seen lots of porn featuring anilingus, and though it was on the list, it wasn't something he'd planned to try on John for at least another week. Had it just happened without his even realizing it?
Whatever Cam's mouth had been doing, John had clearly enjoyed it. He hadn't objected, certainly. They hadn't discussed anal play at all; he had no idea what John would be willing to do along those lines.
Sherlock frowned. His intention had been to keep the two blow jobs as similar as possible. But then, he'd already changed the protocol, hadn't he? Sexual activity was fairly unpredictable, it seemed. It was perhaps best to take advantage of opportunities as they arose, rather than to try to plan for them. Right, then: time to see if John was amenable or not.
"I want you to finger him now." Sherlock watched John's face as he said it, watched his eyes open and an expression of surprise flicker across his features before it settled into something more like acceptance. He hadn't done this before, Sherlock realized, but he wasn't objecting. Good.
"Oh hell, yes," Cam said as he sat back on his heels. He took the lube packet Sherlock held out and ripped it open before leaning forward and sucking on the head of John's cock again. Sherlock had to contort himself to watch as Cam pressed one slick finger into John's body.
Oh, that was… Sherlock's erection was even harder now, and he wasn't sure how he was going to hide it once this was done.
Cam's finger pressed in to the knuckle, and he just held it there for a moment while he worked John's cock with his mouth. Sherlock wondered yet again if Cam had even half the experience he'd claimed. Fortunately, this was a topic Sherlock had rather thoroughly researched.
He knelt beside Cam and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I want you to take it slow, don't try for his prostate just yet. Push in while you take his cock in your mouth, and then slowly out while you pull up, so the two movements are coordinated. And take your time; I don't want him to come just yet."
Cam hummed an acknowledgment and set to work, and the effect on John was immediate. His mouth fell open and he huffed out a breath, and it was clear that he wanted that, more of that, yes, please.
Sherlock smiled. "That's perfect. Keep doing that." He'd considered letting John hear his instructions, but had decided at the last moment not to do. He wanted to see a raw response, to see what would happen if John didn't know what was coming.
Cam continued his movements, long slow slides up and down John's cock, his finger moving in the same rhythm, and twisting as it moved out, which John seemed to like. Sherlock filed that detail away for future reference. Cam changed the angle of his wrist then, did something different that made John whimper, made his hands fly to Cam's head.
"Hands off," Sherlock told him, and the speed with which John dropped them again sent a jolt to Sherlock's balls. Oh, that was gorgeous. "You found his prostate. Do that again."
Cam repeated the movement, but John winced, his body recoiling immediately.
"Too much," Sherlock said, a hand on Cam's shoulder now. "Just stroke, very lightly."
Cam's hand stilled and his tongue flicked at the underside of the glans, and John seemed to melt into the sofa. He closed his eyes tightly and his mouth fell open, and he cried out in a way Sherlock hadn't heard him do before. The expression on his face was mesmerizing, erotic, incredible. Sherlock had seen John have a half dozen orgasms by now, but he hadn't seen anything quite like this.
John's breathing was shallow and irregular, as if his body was so overwhelmed he couldn't be bothered to breathe. Sherlock stared at him, taking in every detail, each flex of muscle, every stutter of breath and slight whimper of pleasure, each clench of his fingers. He wondered how long he could make it last, how long he could keep John here, right on the edge of orgasm.
Cam did something then that made John cry out again, and his hands went to Cam's head once more. Was he that far gone, or was he being deliberately disobedient?
"John!" he said, and John's eyes flew open. He stared back at Sherlock, but he didn't move. There was no hint of willfulness there, nothing that implied John was doing it deliberately; on the contrary, he seemed frozen in place, unable to control his actions. Was that even possible?
The reason was irrelevant, though; if John couldn't control his limbs, Sherlock would do it for him.
He moved to stand behind the sofa and reached over it to grasp John's wrists. He pulled them up over John's head and pinned them against the top of the sofa cushion. He felt John struggle against him and he tightened his grip, and John made a strained sound and – Sherlock stared down at him with wide eyes. Oh God, what had he done? He'd deliberately maintained his distance until now, had given instructions and direction, but he'd been so careful not to touch John in the midst of one of these sexual encounters. And here he'd done it without thinking. He was undeniably a participant in this now, literally binding John's hands and forcing him to comply.
John's wrists were hot and he struggled against Sherlock's grip, and it was too much, far too much to process. Yes, they had a safeword, but Sherlock didn't trust it now, didn't trust himself to hear it.
He loosened his grip with the intention of stepping away, point made, but then John's hands twisted beneath him, slid against his wrists and gripped his hands. John wanted him there. John needed him and was holding onto him almost desperately, as if Sherlock's touch was the only thing keeping him from losing himself.
He looked down at John's body, at the sight before him: John stretched out on the sofa, naked from the waist down, Cam's lips stretched around his cock, John's thighs splayed across Cam's shoulders, and Cam's hand moving just out of sight, pressing his fingers into John's arse.
John panted and squeezed Sherlock's hands, just enough to feel like a yes, please, and thank you, and Sherlock squeezed back. He was leaning over John now, close enough that he could turn his head just slightly and kiss his temple, if he wanted. John's breathing grew erratic and the muscles in his thighs tensed and his toes curled, and Sherlock held his breath.
He could see the moment John's orgasm began, could hear it in his voice and feel it in the clench of his fingers. Sherlock held on tightly and only barely resisted the urge to press his hips against the back of the sofa. He'd become aroused watching John before, but he hadn't wanted to act on it since the first night on the sofa, more than a week ago. He forced himself to focus on John, on the sounds he made and the way his hips arched up into Cam's mouth.
It seemed to be quite a long time before John quieted and his body relaxed, shivering as if cold. His fingers slackened around Sherlock's and Sherlock released his hands. He pushed one hand against his own groin and threaded the other into John's hair, and pressed his forehead against the back of the sofa, struggling to calm his breathing.
It would be so easy now to unfasten his trousers and stroke himself off. It wouldn't take long.
He heard a moan from the floor in front of John and raised his head. Cam's forehead pressed into John's thigh and his hand worked his own cock quickly. Sherlock watched him, trying to shift his focus away from John and from his own arousal. A moment later Cam groaned and finished, and Sherlock blinked.
Nothing. That had done nothing for him. He knew he was attracted primarily to males – watching porn had made that painfully clear – and he knew he was attracted to John, but he'd expected to find the sight of any male orgasming just a few feet away from him to be erotic. He'd certainly been intrigued by Ryan the week before, and John – well, John was in a category all his own.
And that was the issue, wasn't it? This was all about John, and about the way Sherlock reacted to John's sexual stimulation. He felt a level of possessiveness that he wasn't certain how to justify or explain, along with an intense need to make certain John was sexually satisfied.
He allowed himself to kiss John's temple before he stood. He was grateful to be behind the sofa at the moment.
Cam sat back and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "That was insanely hot. Every guy I fuck, ever, is going to implicitly thank you two."
John laughed, but his eyes were still closed. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Cam. God, he didn't want to talk or something as asinine as that, did he? Cam stood and stretched, and refastened his fashionably tight trousers. He made no move to leave.
Sherlock frowned. His erection wasn't going away anytime soon. He'd rather a stranger see it than John, though, so there was nothing for it but to escort Cam out and deal with it later. He crossed to the door and opened it.
Cam smirked, arms folded across his chest. "If you're going to fuck him now, can I watch?"
"No."
Cam stepped forward, far too close for comfort. "If you're not going to fuck him, can I help you with that?" On the last word, his fingers pressed against Sherlock's erection.
It was an odd sensation, both pleasurable and uncomfortable at once. It had been years since he'd been touched that way by another person, so long he'd forgotten the jolt of sensation and the rush of heat. Cam's fingers shifted slightly, tracing upwards, and no, it was too much.
And of course, now that Cam had called attention to the state Sherlock was in, there was no way John could miss it.
Sherlock batted his hand away and nodded in the direction of the open doorway. "I can assure you that is in good hands. Thank you." He gave Cam a tight smile, the sort John always called his fuck-you smile.
Cam looked slightly annoyed, but he shrugged. "Suit yourself. Later, boys. It was fun." He left with no further argument.
Sherlock closed the door and leaned back against it. His penis was so hard it ached, and it didn't seem as if it would go away anytime soon. There was no way John had misunderstood that exchange, and he would certainly understand the implication. Sherlock wasn't sure how to explain, nor was he certain how John would react. He looked over to the sofa, where John had his hands pressed over his eyes.
John sighed. "Oh my God, that was un-fucking-believable. I don't want to move ever again." His hands fell to his sides and he grinned at Sherlock. It was nearly a second before his gaze traveled lower, where it remained for two and half more seconds before he spoke again. "Has that ever happened before?"
Sherlock stared back at him. Had John already forgotten how this experiment had started? "Of course it has."
John shook his head. "I mean, here. While you were watching… me."
Sherlock was suddenly very aware that John was naked from the waist down, still wearing a condom on his softening prick, and utterly un-self-conscious about it. Images from the last ten minutes flashed through Sherlock's mind and his face warmed. God, this was awkward. He looked away. "Certainly not to this extent."
John was silent for a moment, and Sherlock was grateful for the space. He tried to clear his mind, to push it away, but his erection was far too much of a distraction. He risked a glance at John again, just in time to see him pull the condom off. His penis was still half-hard, and Sherlock found it difficult to drag his gaze away.
When he did, John was looking back at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He patted the sofa next to him. "Sit."
Sherlock swallowed. "I can't."
"I won't bite."
"No, it's… a bit difficult at the moment." He felt heat rise to his face again.
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 bit off the rest of the words. He was embarrassed, but he didn't understand why. After everything that had happened already, after the sex acts he'd watched John participate in – for God's sake, he'd just seen him come with two fingers shoved up his arse – why should Sherlock be the one who felt embarrassed?
John didn't press the issue, happily. He stood and dressed, and carefully avoided looking in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock, on the other hand, watched John's every move, watched him wrap himself in his incredibly ordinary clothing again, making himself look completely unremarkable. Sherlock knew better, now.
"Ready when you are." John stared back at him steadily, and there was something unnerving about it.
Sherlock had so far relied on John's lack of observation skills. But of course, John wasn't unintelligent; in fact, he was rather sharper than average. Had he finally noticed that Sherlock was only barely maintaining control?
John's gaze flicked down to the bulge at Sherlock's groin and back up again, and Sherlock had to look away. Was that interest? God, what if it was? He felt a flush of excitement mingled with fear, followed immediately by dread, for there was no possibility of that ending well.
Or was it instead simply concern that Sherlock was facing a very uncomfortable taxi ride before he could get home and take care of his erection?
He glanced at John's face again; his brows were knitted and he looked uncertain. He didn't look like he was about to offer to relieve Sherlock's condition himself. An image flashed through Sherlock's mind of John doing just that, striding towards him and pushing him against the doorway. He shook it away, refocused. John was still watching him, lips pursed slightly now, the expression on his face very similar to the one he wore when he thought Sherlock ought to eat something.
Concern, then. Sherlock swallowed, exhaled. Right.
He didn't have to wait until he was home, of course. They were in a private room, after all. It would only take a couple of minutes. John could have a drink, perhaps, and by the time he'd finished it, Sherlock would be sorted.
"Right," he said. "Could you just give me a minute? I'll meet you upstairs. Have a drink if you like. Charge it to Mycroft."
John's concern didn't abate, but he nodded. "All right. I'll be upstairs."
The moment the door closed, Sherlock pressed his forehead up against it. He curled his fingers around his erection through the front of his trousers and stood there for a moment, listening until John's footsteps had receded.
When he was certain John was gone, he unfastened his trousers and slid his hand into his pants, and oh God. His fingers were dry and cool against hot skin, and no, this wasn't going to take long. He turned around to lean against the door and pushed his trousers and pants down enough to free his cock. He didn't take his time; he didn't try to make it last longer. He kept his gaze focused on the sofa, where not ten minutes ago John had been stretched out, his cock down a man's throat, fingers up his arse, and his hands clenching Sherlock's, hanging onto him as if Sherlock were an anchor in a storm of sensation. And when John came, Sherlock had been close enough to hear every moan and whimper, to feel every tremor.
He'd done that. He'd made John come that hard, and even though it hadn't been his mouth or his fingers, Sherlock was still responsible. It was heady, having that sort of power over someone else's body. It was addictive.
His hand moved quickly, short, firm strokes that tugged the foreskin over the glans, and that was it, right there, just another… yes.
He gritted his teeth and slid down the door, and panted. There were stars in his field of vision when he opened his eyes again. He felt mildly tingly, even.
He couldn't recall sex with a person ever feeling quite as intense as this. There had always been a messy layer of uncertainty and expectation, and it had never been quite what he wanted. But this, this, whatever it was with John, this was so close to perfect that it was nearly overwhelming.
He cleaned himself up and fastened his trousers, and headed upstairs. John was near the bar, a half-drunk pint in hand, surveying the crowd. Sherlock followed his line of sight. Who was he looking at? What sort of partner might he be interested in next time? Sherlock hadn't made plans for the following evening yet and this might be a good opportunity to collect some valuable information.
"Ready."
John turned to look at him. "That was fast."
There was something odd in his tone, and Sherlock flinched. Did John still think he was doing it wrong? Masturbation frequently took a long time in porn, but he'd assumed that was unrealistic. Perhaps it wasn't?
"Did you seriously just kick me out of that room so you could wank?"
Sherlock's eyes focused again: John's expression had changed completely; he was undeniably annoyed. Had it not been obvious what he was going to do?
Sherlock hesitated a fraction of a second before responding, "Yes."
John's annoyance blossomed into anger and he looked away, muttering, "Un-fucking-believable." He set his unfinished pint on a table and stalked away, heading in the direction of the entrance.
Sherlock was frozen to the spot for a moment before he sprinted to catch up. He was completely uncertain what had just happened. He caught up to John at the front door, but one look at his face dissuaded Sherlock from saying a single word. He'd learned from experience that when John was this angry, anything Sherlock said, no matter how reasonable and logical, only made it worse. Though Sherlock generally didn't bother avoiding an argument (winding John up was a source of amusement, after all), this felt different.
And this was a place, a situation in which Sherlock did not want John to be angry. If John was angry, he might not want to continue. And if he didn't want to continue, if he wouldn't let Sherlock experiment on him anymore – Sherlock felt an odd knot of anxiety well up in his throat. He couldn't bear the thought of not continuing.
John hailed a taxi and climbed inside, and Sherlock followed. John looked out the window opposite, hands clenched into fists, and said nothing. Sherlock gave the driver the address and then sat back, as far from John as possible.
Why would the fact that he'd masturbated anger John so much? Wasn't he allowed to enjoy this as well? Hell, John had even told him he needed to wank more; that was how all of this began in the first place.
He watched John's profile a minute more before turning and staring out of his own window. Whatever it was John was angry about, Sherlock had the feeling he would soon find out. And he would fix it. John had to let him fix it, because for all the things that John did every day to take care of Sherlock, from helping him with cases to making him tea to steering him through social encounters Sherlock couldn't be arsed to understand, Sherlock had finally found a way to take care of John in return. He could do this for John; he wanted to do this for John, and fuck, John had to let him. They couldn't stop now, not when it was becoming so very fascinating.
*****
Comments and feedback welcome! :-)
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no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:05 pm (UTC)It's hilarious that when Sherlock thinks of John as being in a category all his own, unlike the rest of us, Sherlock literally means a separate category. *beaming fondly*
"Bored"! Bwa ha ha! Oh, Sherlock, don't worry, you're much more desirable than Cam. *cuddling beautiful genius*
As intimate and thrilling as it is to witness someone orgasming close up, the way Sherlock has just seen John do, it's the most thrilling thing in the world to see a beautiful strange creature like Sherlock fall in love close up, the way you're showing us. This is what breaks my heart and makes my heart sing at the same time, always, about this masterpiece story of yours.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 10:25 pm (UTC)One of the things that is fantastic about your beta commentary is that you seem to distill for me the important themes of the story. After that, it's very easy to fill in the gaps!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:20 pm (UTC)*pff pfff*
I've been waiting for this part with Sherlock's POV and ohmygoooooooooooooooooooooood I'm SO NOT disappointed it's so lkjnfkjnvkjqdvkjbqdfv and the hand-sofa part kdf,vksmdjnvqkjnvqmfk Emma I love you so, keep doing this, I'm so fan girling right now and I've no shame about it
"He loosened his grip with the intention of stepping away, point made, but then John's hands twisted beneath him, slid against his wrists and gripped his hands. John wanted him there. John needed him and was holding onto him almost desperately, as if Sherlock's touch was the only thing keeping him from losing himself."
Yesss yes yes yes yes. Favourite. Lines. Ever.
(PS: I'm french! They are a lot of fan of you on french forums, I don't know if you're aware of it, I just wanted to say it :D And thanks by the way, my English is sooo much better now I read you :D)
Annie-
no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 10:05 pm (UTC)And of course, it wouldn't be a Cure for Boredom if it wasn't the sexiest thing to read on the internet.
Ah, such a lovely afternoon treat, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 06:32 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-30 01:48 pm (UTC)In which I am borderline incoherent
Date: 2012-12-27 04:04 am (UTC)You have no idea how much I have been looking forward to this installment. Like, you could stop writing these now and I'd be happy. (I hope you don't, obviously.)
I'm alone in the living room and my roommates/boyfriend are upstairs, and partway through I was ridiculously tempted to just stick in my hand in my pants (hah, and I'm wearing John's red pants today, how appropriate) as I read. But I was afraid I wouldn't be able to look normal in time if someone came downstairs.
I'll try to be semi-lucid: I love seeing these scenes from Sherlock's perspective even more than I expected. Especially since he notices lots of things John doesn't, of course. My mental image of Cam is a lot more precise than it was before. And ooooh, Sherlock does not like him. I wonder how much of it is jealousy?
And FUCK ALMIGHTY, if I thought this scene was hot BEFORE, just, holy fucking jesus. I had no idea how much Sherlock was controlling this scene. John must have had his eyes closed not to notice that Sherlock had his hands in Cam's hair while Cam was sucking his cock. The mental image of that is going to get me off for WEEKS. WEEKS.
And Sherlock wanting to know why kissing is such a big deal. I know where that's going. (My heart is aching already, dammit!)
Oh god, all the details on the hand-grabbing scene. I'm totally flailing over here. Yet another thing to get me all excited every time I think about it. (Fuck, it already did, but now, oh god.) That moment is probably my favorite in the whole original story (and judging by the fan art, I'm not the only one). Thank you so much for expanding on it.
Poor Sherlock, not knowing yet why John is mad. I feel bad for him.
*fans self* fuck. I'm totally going to reread this later tonight when I can do it one-handed. Holy shit.
Re: In which I am borderline incoherent
Date: 2012-12-27 04:36 am (UTC)YES.
I mean, I probably have several candidates for that title, but this is definitely one of them and I have never forgotten it from the first wild-eyed moment I read it.
Everything that goes on between the two of them just between their clasped hands. Everything. Everything.
Re: In which I am borderline incoherent
Date: 2012-12-27 07:43 am (UTC)Re: In which I am borderline incoherent
Date: 2013-01-09 06:37 pm (UTC)John must have had his eyes closed not to notice that Sherlock had his hands in Cam's hair while Cam was sucking his cock.
There is a mention of this in the original story, actually. ;-)
I love seeing these scenes from Sherlock's perspective even more than I expected. Especially since he notices lots of things John doesn't, of course.
That's been one of the things I've really enjoyed about writing these parts from Sherlock's POV. It's allowed me to flesh out the universe in ways I couldn't when restricted to John's perspective.
Thank you, as always!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 03:11 pm (UTC)<3 <3 <3
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-27 09:27 pm (UTC)I've only read a couple orgasm denial stories. One of them was pennydreadful's, and god was that good. (Sherlock was doing it to himself with John's help--for a case, of course--but hnnnng.)
ANYWAY.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 06:32 pm (UTC)Thanks!
Wow!!
Date: 2012-12-31 12:30 pm (UTC)I am loving this!!!!
I am new to Sherlock (i know!!!! but god i'm making up for it now!!)
I am also very new to fanfic!!! and what a place to start :P
This is amazing!!!!
But I hadn't check the dates these were written when I started reading a few days ago
and now i've read it all and realised it's not finished!!!
I can't wait to read Sherlock's reaction the his first kiss with John!!
Sitting a Wales tapping my foot and waiting for the next bit....................
x
Re: Wow!!
Date: 2013-01-09 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-02 08:14 pm (UTC)I can't wait for Sherlocks thoughts on them finally getting together but first i'm going to enjoy Sherlock's take on reading the websites John leaves for him
And his reaction to John safe wording!!!
Thank you
no subject
Date: 2013-01-09 06:33 pm (UTC)