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emmagrant01Back to chapter 1
[2]
He'd done a bit of research, of course. An internet search had been helpful to an extent, but asking questions in certain sorts of shops had yielded the most useful results. He'd flipped through the book the sales girl recommended, but it hadn't held any information that seemed terribly critical. It mostly concerned tying people up in uncomfortable-looking positions using intricate webs of rope with complex knots. The accompanying photographs were interesting, but this sort of bondage wasn't quite what he was looking for.
No, he had something different in mind altogether.
"All right, then," Michael said, and he pulled his shirt over his head.
Sherlock held the coil of rope in one hand and ran his fingertips along a length of it. It was soft and strong, and a shade of indigo he'd found inexplicably appealing under the bright fluorescent lights of the shop. He'd practiced a bit that afternoon, experimenting with different types of knots and tension.
"Keep your trousers on for now," Sherlock said, his gaze still focused on the rope in his hands.
Michael chuckled. "Fine. As long as you take them off eventually."
Sherlock's lips turned up at the corners. "We'll see. On the bed, then, up against the rails."
Michael grinned and clambered up into place. "Like this?"
"No, lower. I want you on your back." Sherlock knelt beside him as he shifted into position on the bed and uncoiled the rope. He began threading it between the rails. "Give me your hand."
The sales girl had warned against making the rope too tight, and Sherlock had rolled his eyes – of course he knew better than to cut off circulation – but it had been a bit more difficult to get that detail correct in practice than he'd expected. He slipped two fingers between the rope and Michael's wrist, just to be sure.
"Give it a good tug."
Michael did, and then grinned. "I'm not going anywhere."
Sherlock gave him a dark look and crossed to tie the other one. "No, you're not."
"You really get off on this, don't you?"
"That is the point of this exercise, yes." Sherlock tugged on the knots and sat back to see the full effect. "Comfortable enough?"
"Enough for what?" Michael retorted. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice, just enough that it gave Sherlock pause. The shop girl had made another recommendation, and it came to the front of his mind now. It hadn't seemed quite so important in theory, oddly enough.
"We need a safeword."
"A what?"
"A word you can say that will signal you want to stop whatever we're doing."
"Can't I just say stop?"
Sherlock pursed his lips, uncertain how to phrase what he meant in a way that wouldn't put Michael off entirely. "It should be something you wouldn't ordinarily say in bed, so it would get my attention."
Michael frowned. "I don't ordinarily say stop in bed. And what do you mean, get your attention?"
Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, if we're… No, all right, I suppose 'stop' will be fine."
"No, maybe you're right. How about…" He paused and looked thoughtful. "Chicken."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Fine, be that way. Hamster?"
"Absolutely not."
"It's my word, isn't it? Isn't the point that I get to decide?"
Sherlock groaned. "Do you really intend to shout out 'hamster' when you want me to untie you?"
Michael smirked. "I'm sensing it would get your attention."
"Fine, hamster."
"God, no; I was taking the piss. I prefer 'orange,' actually."
"Orange will do." Sherlock climbed off the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. Michael's eyes were fixed on him, and he slowed down a bit, taking his time with it. By the time he'd carefully folded it and placed it on his desk, Michael was squirming.
"I take it you're planning to torture me?"
Sherlock smirked and unfastened his trousers. "I suppose it depends on your definition of torture. Why, would you like me to?"
"The other night – that was as hard as I've ever come in my life." Michael paused and stretched luxuriously, and something tightened in Sherlock's belly. "I can tell you're used to fucking girls. Most blokes just want to get off quick, not take their time with all that foreplay."
"Are you saying you'd prefer it to be quick?" Sherlock hung his trousers over the chair and crossed back to the bed.
"No, no, I just – are you sure that was the first time you've sucked a cock?"
Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I'm quite certain. Any other questions?"
"No." Michael smiled up at him and wriggled his hips. "But if you're taking requests—"
"Enough talking. I want you to be quiet now."
Sherlock sat next to him on the bed and smoothed a hand over his chest. Michael nodded and his head fell back against the mattress, though he didn't seem relaxed at all. Sherlock leaned over him and kissed him, softly at first, pulling away when Michael tried to deepen it.
"You're going to have to learn to be more patient." He sat back and smirked, and there was a flash of something dark in Michael's eyes. It was gone again just as quickly, but it lit a fire in Sherlock's groin. "Yes, go on. You can be angry at me, if you like. I'd be surprised if you felt otherwise by the time we're done." He leaned down and brushed his lips against Michael's, then traced the swell of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "But you're going to enjoy this, I think." He slid one hand down Michael's belly and over the swell at the front of his trousers, and Michael whimpered into his mouth. "On second thought, I suppose complete silence is a bit extreme, isn't it? Perhaps I should see how many different ways I can induce you to make sounds like that."
Michael chuckled in response, and Sherlock cut the sound off with a rather thorough kiss.
It was fascinating, he thought half an hour later as Michael squirmed beneath him with wide dark eyes and a sizeable tent in his still-fastened trousers, how far he could push this. He'd covered much of Michael's chest and neck with licks and teasing bites, had drawn swirling pink lines in his skin with his fingernails, and had found every ticklish spot in his upper body.
Michael's nipples were especially sensitive and Sherlock had touched them only sparingly – until now, anyway. He sprawled out on his side and circled his tongue slowly around one dark areola, and Michael groaned.
"I suspect," Sherlock began, and then paused to flick his tongue against the tight little bud that rose under his mouth, "that you might be able to climax from this alone."
Michael made a sound of disbelief, and Sherlock smiled. A challenge, then. Good.
He alternated between quick flicks of his tongue and hard sucks, drawing the sensitive tissue much further into his mouth than he'd have thought possible. Soft, hard, gentle, rough, delicate, engulfing – by the time he moved to the other side, Michael was quivering beneath him. He applied the same treatment to the other nipple and used his fingers on the one he'd just left, rolling the tender skin between his fingers and tugging just to the point of pain – all while lapping delicately at the nipple under his mouth.
Michael's face was a storm, reflecting the confusion his body seemed to be feeling as it hovered between pain and pleasure. He strained against the ropes binding his wrists, but he said nothing, made no overt protests. Sherlock took the nipple between his teeth and tugged gently, while flicking the other one with the tip of his finger. Michael shifted his hips, straining desperately for some sort of friction.
"Oh, you are beautiful like this," Sherlock whispered, and gave the nipple a hard suck. His own cock was aching now, just from the thought of how long Michael had lain there, still, tied, quiet, and perfectly pliant. Sherlock could do anything to him now, probably. Several rather disturbing ideas flooded his mind and he pushed them away. Not now – not yet.
He began flicking his tongue lightly against the nipple under his mouth, barely touching the skin at first, and then increasing the pressure, harder and harder. He mirrored the action on the other side with his fingertips, and Michael made a choked sound of surprise.
"Oh, God, I'm—Fuck!" His hips bucked against nothing and he strained against the ropes at his wrists, and the words morphed into strangled cries as he came.
Sherlock sat up on his knees to watch him, and finally couldn't bear it any longer. He pushed his pants below his hips and took his cock in hand. He was close, so fucking close, and after only a handful of strokes, he felt his own orgasm begin. Michael cried out again as Sherlock striped his chest with semen, once, twice, and oh God. He sat next to Michael, panting, his head buzzing from the endorphin rush.
"That was… Jesus." Michael was staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving. "I've never… you didn't even touch my cock. I don't know how you did that."
Sherlock looked down at him and quirked an eyebrow, then stood and stretched. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. "It makes one wonder what else is possible."
Michael laughed. "Oh, God, you're going to ruin me for anyone else, aren't you?"
Sherlock lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, then put the cigarette between Michael's lips. "If you like."
Michael took a long drag, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, and then grinned when Sherlock removed the cigarette again. "If that's the result, then I'm game for just about anything."
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and brought the cigarette to his lips. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Michael."
Michael sighed and closed his eyes, and Sherlock couldn't help but notice he wasn't struggling against the restraints at all. Sherlock blew a stream of smoke into the air above his head, and wondered how long Michael might be willing to be tied up. Perhaps tonight wasn't the night to leave him there until cramps set in, but another ten minutes would provide sufficient data. For now.
*****
"I told my father about us."
Sherlock looked up from the drinks he was mixing. "You didn't."
Michael grinned. "Well, I didn't tell him that you like to tie me up and make me come in innovative ways. I told him we were friends."
"Ah." Sherlock's cheeks tinted slightly at the word, and he ducked his head. Were they friends, then? He hadn't been certain how to refer to Michael in his head. Friend. Interesting. He'd never had a friend before. He held out a glass. "I take it he approves?"
Michael's expression was pure disdain. "Oh, of course. Said it was about time I began to hang about the right sort." He took a sip of his drink and winced slightly. "I think he's far more interested in getting into your brother's inner circle than he is in my social life."
"Reverse nepotism. How original." Sherlock held his own drink up and examined it. "Mycroft suspects he's got a hand in some illegal dealings with the Saudis."
"He probably does. Fuck if I know. The only words I get from him are about how much of a disappointment I am." He took another, larger drink.
"Because you're gay?"
"Oh, he doesn't know about that. He just thinks I'm a lazy stupid fuck."
Sherlock lifted his glass to his lips. "You're not stupid. And you're actually a fantastic fuck."
Michael chuckled. "I suppose I am rather lazy." He looked up at Sherlock again, and his eyebrows rose. "Especially since you do all the work."
Sherlock set his drink down and reached behind the bar for a few items he'd stashed there earlier in the afternoon. He shoved them in a pocket and turned back to Michael. "I've got something different planned for tonight."
"Oh?" There was an odd mix of heat and disquiet in Michael's eyes.
Sherlock stepped closer to him and put one hand on his cheek. Michael leaned in to kiss him, but Sherlock turned his head away at the last moment and nipped at Michael's earlobe. "Strip."
Michael looked incredulous. "What, here?"
"Yes." Sherlock took the glass from his hand and set it on the bar behind them.
"But your brother—"
"Is away on business. He's not due home for several days."
"Staff?"
"Have the evening off."
Michael grinned. "We have the entire house to ourselves and you want to do it here?"
"The bar is where Mycroft prefers to entertain his most powerful and influential clients. I call it his Throne Room."
Michael had expressed admiration for the richly decorated room when they'd first entered, with its Italian leather armchairs, plush Persian rugs, and sleek, well-stocked mahogany bar. Now he seemed to regard it anew. "Your mind is the most gorgeous, wicked thing."
Sherlock smirked and took a step backward. "I know. Now strip."
Michael tugged his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside, then started on his trousers. Sherlock picked up his drink again and watched, anticipation building in his gut. Michael didn't know what was coming, had no idea what Sherlock might have planned, but here he was, removing his clothes without hesitation. He was so perfectly trusting, so willing to let Sherlock play with him.
Five nights ago Sherlock had sucked and licked his cock for exactly thirty minutes, pulling back every time Michael was too close to coming. After Sherlock finally let him climax, Michael had shivered for a solid five minutes, which had worried Sherlock so much he'd run down the corridor to the guest bedroom to fetch another blanket. Michael had just laughed when Sherlock wrapped it around him, and never said a word about the fact that Sherlock had lost his own erection in the process.
Two nights ago he'd tied Michael to the bed face down before explaining that he wasn't going to touch him tonight, that if he wanted to come he should just rub off on the sheets beneath him. Michael was livid, but he'd watched with clear desire when Sherlock sat by his head and stroked himself slowly, whispering every dirty thing he could think of. Ten minutes in, Michael gave in and pumped his hips against the mattress, and Sherlock put on an outright show of masturbation until Michael finally came.
Michael had glared angrily at him when Sherlock untied him, and Sherlock had laughed and kissed him, and finally Michael had given in and kissed him back, whispering, "It was so fucking hot to watch you like that."
Deep down, Michael liked it, liked being pushed and challenged. He liked it when Sherlock denied him sensation, and then gave him more than he could bear. He enjoyed being used as a test subject in Sherlock's experiments about sexual stimulation, and no matter how far Sherlock pushed him, he always came with Sherlock's name on his lips, trembling.
Tonight should be very interesting, if Michael complied as well as he usually did.
"What about you?" Michael stepped out of his pants and tossed them over to the pile of rapidly wrinkling clothing.
"In good time." Sherlock crossed to stand in front of him. "I want you quiet and still now." He let his gaze trail down Michael's body, down to where his cock was beginning to thicken between his thighs. "I'm not typically concerned with physical appearances, but you are undeniably beautiful."
The corners of Michael's mouth turned up slightly. Sherlock crossed behind him and let one hand trail down Michael's spine, stopping just above his buttocks. Yes, this was going to do nicely. He plunged one hand into his pocket and, without saying another word, crossed Michael's hands behind his back and tied them together with a length of rope. Michael kept perfectly still while Sherlock knotted the rope. He'd probably expected that, but Sherlock knew he wouldn't expect what was coming next. He pulled a long silk scarf from his pocket and folded it lengthwise several times. It had been his mother's and was a stunning shade of green. He could only imagine her reaction to the use he was about to make of it.
In a quick movement, he placed it over Michael's eyes and tied it at the back of his head. There was a sharp intake of breath, but Michael didn't respond otherwise. Sherlock stepped back and admired the sight before him. Michael was so beautifully pliant, so willing to let Sherlock play with him like this.
"Sensory deprivation," Sherlock said, and cupped one hand against Michael's arse. "I'm given to understand it heightens arousal." He circled to Michael's front again. His respiration had definitely increased, and there was a light flush on his cheeks. "I'm not going to speak either, further depriving your brain of sensory data." He knelt in front of Michael and blew a tickling breath across his penis.
Michael made a whimpering sound and his cock swelled right then and there.
Sherlock trailed the tip of his tongue down the underside and back up again, then flicked it across the slit for several torturous seconds before swirling it around the glans. Michael groaned appreciatively, and Sherlock licked a bit more before taking the glans in his mouth and sucking lightly for a full minute. He didn't use his tongue or apply much pressure; it was just enough to tease. Michael exhaled shakily and shifted his hips forward, straining into Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock sat back on his heels and Michael made a sound of frustration. Sherlock smiled at that, and had to bite his lip to keep himself silent. He could do anything now, anything at all, and Michael wouldn't see it coming until it was right upon him. It would be the purest sort of response to stimulation, with no influence by preconceived notions. His own cock was rock hard now, and he had to shift and adjust it in his trousers. Or better yet…
He stood and pushed down on Michael's shoulders. Michael seemed confused for a moment, but then knelt down on the floor. Sherlock unzipped his trousers, and there was a hint of a smile on Michael's lips as he recognized the sound. Sherlock pushed his trousers and pants down over his hips and had to pause a moment to collect himself. The raw urgency he felt was nearly overwhelming, and he didn't want to come so quickly. He just wanted to take the edge off, just a bit.
He pushed the head of his cock against Michael's lips, and Michael opened his mouth, took it in almost greedily. It was too much, too soon, and Sherlock braced a hand on the top of his head and pulled out. He waited a moment before brushing the glans against Michael's lower lip again. Michael's tongue darted out and lapped at the underside, and oh, yes, that was what he wanted.
He went up on his toes a bit to get Michael to lick down the shaft, and then finally pushed the head between his lips once more. He held Michael's head still and pumped his hips, fu cking his mouth slowly just with the glans, not pushing in too far. It was lovely, just enough suction, and that tongue–
He was getting too close already, so he pulled out and dropped to his knees, and kissed Michael hard. Michael's mouth was warm and tasted just slightly of pre-ejaculate, and Sherlock lingered there longer than he'd intended.
He finally sat back and stood, pulled his trousers back up, and circled behind Michael. There were several other things he'd wanted to do tonight, but now new ideas sprang to his mind, ones he hadn't planned to try so soon. He fastened his trousers and leaned forward to plant a kiss next to Michael's ear.
"Don't move. I'll be right back."
He left the room and headed upstairs to retrieve some supplies. When he returned, Michael was still kneeling in the center of the rug – Mycroft's favorite rug, Sherlock thought with glee – looking rather discomfited. His erection had flagged in the interim, but Sherlock doubted it would be a problem for long. He settled behind Michael and put a hand on his back, and pressed him forward. Michael resisted for a split second, but then leaned over until the crown of his head touched the rug. Sherlock tugged at his hips to encourage him to stick his arse in the air.
It was an even more fascinating sight than Sherlock had expected. Michael's hands were clenched into fists behind his back and his weight was balanced between his knees and his head. His arse was spread open and his cock and balls hung heavy between his thighs. He looked uncomfortable. It was gorgeous.
Sherlock pulled on a latex glove and uncapped the lube he'd brought downstairs, and applied a generous amount to Michael's arsehole. It dripped down over his balls and onto the rug, and Sherlock stifled a laugh. Mycroft would have him murdered in his sleep if he ever found out. He circled one gloved finger against Michael's anus and watched for his reaction. Michael's hands relaxed and he moaned softly, and Sherlock pressed the tip of his finger inside.
He'd tried this on himself out of curiosity, and it had felt a bit odd. He supposed it was fairly pleasurable, though he couldn't get past the feeling that he was soiling himself. Michael seemed to be enjoying it, though, even pushing back against him. Sherlock pushed that finger all the way in to the knuckle and pulled it out again as slowly as he could manage, and Michael made another soft sound of pleasure. Sherlock added a second finger and watched with fascination as both pressed into Michael's body, eased by the slickness of the lubricant. He pushed them in and out a few more times, experimenting with the effects of speed and depth. He twisted his fingers as he pulled them out (another moan), and then pressed his thumb against the perineum while the fingers inside hooked downwards.
Michael made a strangled sound – ah, yes, that was his prostate. Sherlock massaged it gently with his fingertips until Michael's thighs began to shake. Too much, then. Sherlock pulled his fingers out, and Michael heaved a sigh of relief.
Sherlock squirted more lube onto his anus, and then picked up another object he'd gone upstairs to retrieve. It wasn't a large anal plug, not much bigger in diameter than a finger, but since it was covered with small ridges, he anticipated it would feel quite different. He circled Michael's anus with the smooth tip of it, and Michael went completely still.
Sherlock pushed it in just a bit, and Michael's hands clenched. He didn't know yet what it was, but he hadn't objected. Sherlock pressed the plug in a centimeter more and let Michael's body push it out again, then repeated the action. They hadn't discussed the safeword in over a week, but he assumed Michael remembered. If he wanted to stop, he knew what to do.
Sherlock pressed the plug in further, far enough this time that Michael would be able to feel the texture of it when Sherlock pulled it out again. Michael made a sound of surprise, but the insertion was easy, which Sherlock took to mean that he was relaxed. He pressed it in again, this time not stopping until the flanged end rested against Michael's anus.
He sat back and stripped off the glove, then pushed Michael back up to a kneeling position. Michael's shoulders sagged in obvious relief, and Sherlock couldn't help smiling. He settled in front of Michael and ducked his head down to give his cock one long, hard suck. The sound Michael made at that was almost a word, but he swallowed it down again.
Michael was fully hard now, and leaking, and Sherlock reached into his pocket for the final item he'd purchased earlier that afternoon: a black latex ring. Michael whimpered when Sherlock placed it over the glans and rolled it down to the base, and for a moment Sherlock thought he might protest. He took the glans in his mouth again and sucked gently, massaging the frenulum with his tongue, and Michael seemed to calm down again.
Sherlock sat up and kissed him softly. "You've been perfect," he whispered against Michael's lips. "So fucking gorgeous." Michael caught his lips in a searing kiss, and Sherlock pulled away again. "I want you to be patient just a bit longer. I'll be back in a little while. Don't move."
Michael's jaw clenched, but he nodded, and Sherlock stood. He wanted to stay and watch, to hide in a corner and see what happened, but it would be best if he actually left the room.
He went to the kitchen and rifled through the pantry for Mycroft's favorite biscuits. He made himself a cup of tea, flipped through the newspaper, and finally couldn't bear it any longer. He walked back to where he'd left Michael, stepping as quietly as he could manage on the wooden floors.
The moment Michael became aware of his presence was clear. His body stiffened and his jaw clenched tightly, and his hands curled into fists. His cock still jutted angrily from his groin. Sherlock smirked and crossed towards him.
"Miss me?"
"Where the fuck have you been?" Michael spat.
"Not far away, I promise." Sherlock stroked the top of Michael's head with his fingers, and Michael jerked away. "Oh, angry at me now?"
"That's a fucking understatement."
Sherlock frowned. Had he gone too far? "You have a safeword."
"It's a bit pointless when you're in the other room, isn't it?"
Sherlock winced. "I suppose it is. If you want to stop now—"
"I don't, I just…" Michael paused and exhaled heavily. "It was hot, you know. I was really enjoying it. I liked not knowing what you were going to do next."
"Until I left you alone for fifteen minutes."
"Then I started plotting ways to kill you in your sleep."
Sherlock smiled. "I'm planning to make it worth your while."
"You'd better be." Michael's anger had subsided, but there was still an edge to his voice. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, and Sherlock was suddenly, inexplicably hard.
"Just one more thing," Sherlock said, stepping forward and unzipping his trousers.
Michael groaned in frustration. "You'd better come fast. My knees are killing me."
It was hot, and perfect, and rough, since Michael didn't bother being careful with his teeth, but it was the best blow job of Sherlock's entire life. He pushed farther into Michael's mouth than he'd dared before, and Michael sucked hard, and Sherlock came so intensely that his vision whited out for a moment.
Michael spat on the rug afterward. "Explain that to your brother."
Sherlock laughed. "I think we can do better than that. Lie on your back."
"Finally," Michael huffed, and then hesitated. "Are you going to untie me first?"
"Ah, right." Sherlock pulled his trousers back up and moved behind him to unfasten the knots on his wrists. Michael immediately reached for the blindfold. "Oh, no you don't," Sherlock said, capturing his hands again. "That remains on. Get on your back."
Michael shifted and winced. "Easier said than done with this thing up my arse." He maneuvered onto his back after a bit of a struggle, and Sherlock pushed his knees up into his chest.
"Hands on your knees now. I want you to keep yourself in this position. And no talking."
Michael made a grumbling sound, but he complied. Sherlock sat back and smiled at the sight of Michael spread out before him.
"Now, where shall I begin? This looks as if it needs some attention." He traced one finger up the length of Michael's swollen cock and spread the fluid there around on the glans. "Or maybe I should start here instead." He tugged at the edge of the plug in Michael's arse, and then twisted it 360 degrees inside him. Michael shivered, and Sherlock paused to lower himself onto his belly. He leaned forward and wriggled his tongue against Michael's scrotum. "Oh, but I've neglected these, haven't I?"
Michael whimpered as Sherlock sucked one testicle into his mouth and sucked gently. He released it after nearly a minute and applied the same treatment to the other one. Michael began squirming beneath him, clearly desperate for more stimulation.
Sherlock shifted up onto his knees again and scrambled for the lube. He squirted some into one hand and wrapped it around Michael's erection, slicking it down the shaft. He worked the cock ring off and tossed it aside, and began stroking Michael's cock in earnest. With his other hand, he grasped the base of the anal plug and pulled it out until just the tip was still inside, then plunged it back in again.
The movements were an interesting challenge to coordinate: quick, firm strokes that focused on the head of Michael's cock, tugging the foreskin up over the glans on every stroke, and rough fucking with the plug. Michael kept his knees pulled back, spreading himself open, but he didn't even try to remain quiet.
He came with a string of swear words on his lips, several of them taking direct aim at Sherlock's parentage. Sherlock couldn't resist tilting his penis to the side enough to aim a stream of semen right at Mycroft's favorite chair.
"Oh, fucking bloody hell," Michael said, finally releasing his knees. His hands moved to cover his face, and he groaned. "I've never been so glad to come in my life. You are an utter bastard, do you know that?"
Sherlock pulled the plug out of his arsehole, and winced slightly in sympathy at the reddened skin. "You did say you were up for anything, as long as I make you come. And that sounded like a rather spectacular orgasm."
"Yes." It sounded like a fairly reluctant admission.
"So it was worth it, in the end."
"No." Michael dropped his hands and looked up at the ceiling. "Well, maybe. I'm very confused right now."
Sherlock smirked. "Good."
Michael closed his eyes and winced. "My arse hurts. Jesus fuck, what was that thing?"
Sherlock held up the plug and Michael's eyes narrowed at it. "It felt a lot bigger when it was shoved up me for an hour."
"It was half an hour at most. And you opened right up for me, so I know you liked it."
"No, I don't think I did." Michael's head fell back against the rug. "I'll use it on you one day, and you'll see."
Sherlock chuckled. "Not bloody likely."
Michael was quiet for a long moment. "Why do I let you do this shit, anyway?"
Sherlock crawled over to him and leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Because you like the end result, I imagine." He pressed his mouth against Michael's, and after a strained moment, Michael yielded, kissing him back with an intensity that caught Sherlock off-guard.
Sherlock pulled out of the kiss and looked down at him. Michael's eyes were still closed, and he looked exhausted.
"I suppose I do. That's incredibly fucked up."
"Isn't it, though?" Sherlock pushed to his feet and crossed to the bar to pick up a package of cigarettes. He tapped two out and lit them both, then pressed one to Michael's lips. "At least we can be fucked up together."
Michael inhaled deeply and then opened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah."
*****
Go to chapter 3
[2]
He'd done a bit of research, of course. An internet search had been helpful to an extent, but asking questions in certain sorts of shops had yielded the most useful results. He'd flipped through the book the sales girl recommended, but it hadn't held any information that seemed terribly critical. It mostly concerned tying people up in uncomfortable-looking positions using intricate webs of rope with complex knots. The accompanying photographs were interesting, but this sort of bondage wasn't quite what he was looking for.
No, he had something different in mind altogether.
"All right, then," Michael said, and he pulled his shirt over his head.
Sherlock held the coil of rope in one hand and ran his fingertips along a length of it. It was soft and strong, and a shade of indigo he'd found inexplicably appealing under the bright fluorescent lights of the shop. He'd practiced a bit that afternoon, experimenting with different types of knots and tension.
"Keep your trousers on for now," Sherlock said, his gaze still focused on the rope in his hands.
Michael chuckled. "Fine. As long as you take them off eventually."
Sherlock's lips turned up at the corners. "We'll see. On the bed, then, up against the rails."
Michael grinned and clambered up into place. "Like this?"
"No, lower. I want you on your back." Sherlock knelt beside him as he shifted into position on the bed and uncoiled the rope. He began threading it between the rails. "Give me your hand."
The sales girl had warned against making the rope too tight, and Sherlock had rolled his eyes – of course he knew better than to cut off circulation – but it had been a bit more difficult to get that detail correct in practice than he'd expected. He slipped two fingers between the rope and Michael's wrist, just to be sure.
"Give it a good tug."
Michael did, and then grinned. "I'm not going anywhere."
Sherlock gave him a dark look and crossed to tie the other one. "No, you're not."
"You really get off on this, don't you?"
"That is the point of this exercise, yes." Sherlock tugged on the knots and sat back to see the full effect. "Comfortable enough?"
"Enough for what?" Michael retorted. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice, just enough that it gave Sherlock pause. The shop girl had made another recommendation, and it came to the front of his mind now. It hadn't seemed quite so important in theory, oddly enough.
"We need a safeword."
"A what?"
"A word you can say that will signal you want to stop whatever we're doing."
"Can't I just say stop?"
Sherlock pursed his lips, uncertain how to phrase what he meant in a way that wouldn't put Michael off entirely. "It should be something you wouldn't ordinarily say in bed, so it would get my attention."
Michael frowned. "I don't ordinarily say stop in bed. And what do you mean, get your attention?"
Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, if we're… No, all right, I suppose 'stop' will be fine."
"No, maybe you're right. How about…" He paused and looked thoughtful. "Chicken."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Fine, be that way. Hamster?"
"Absolutely not."
"It's my word, isn't it? Isn't the point that I get to decide?"
Sherlock groaned. "Do you really intend to shout out 'hamster' when you want me to untie you?"
Michael smirked. "I'm sensing it would get your attention."
"Fine, hamster."
"God, no; I was taking the piss. I prefer 'orange,' actually."
"Orange will do." Sherlock climbed off the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. Michael's eyes were fixed on him, and he slowed down a bit, taking his time with it. By the time he'd carefully folded it and placed it on his desk, Michael was squirming.
"I take it you're planning to torture me?"
Sherlock smirked and unfastened his trousers. "I suppose it depends on your definition of torture. Why, would you like me to?"
"The other night – that was as hard as I've ever come in my life." Michael paused and stretched luxuriously, and something tightened in Sherlock's belly. "I can tell you're used to fucking girls. Most blokes just want to get off quick, not take their time with all that foreplay."
"Are you saying you'd prefer it to be quick?" Sherlock hung his trousers over the chair and crossed back to the bed.
"No, no, I just – are you sure that was the first time you've sucked a cock?"
Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I'm quite certain. Any other questions?"
"No." Michael smiled up at him and wriggled his hips. "But if you're taking requests—"
"Enough talking. I want you to be quiet now."
Sherlock sat next to him on the bed and smoothed a hand over his chest. Michael nodded and his head fell back against the mattress, though he didn't seem relaxed at all. Sherlock leaned over him and kissed him, softly at first, pulling away when Michael tried to deepen it.
"You're going to have to learn to be more patient." He sat back and smirked, and there was a flash of something dark in Michael's eyes. It was gone again just as quickly, but it lit a fire in Sherlock's groin. "Yes, go on. You can be angry at me, if you like. I'd be surprised if you felt otherwise by the time we're done." He leaned down and brushed his lips against Michael's, then traced the swell of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "But you're going to enjoy this, I think." He slid one hand down Michael's belly and over the swell at the front of his trousers, and Michael whimpered into his mouth. "On second thought, I suppose complete silence is a bit extreme, isn't it? Perhaps I should see how many different ways I can induce you to make sounds like that."
Michael chuckled in response, and Sherlock cut the sound off with a rather thorough kiss.
It was fascinating, he thought half an hour later as Michael squirmed beneath him with wide dark eyes and a sizeable tent in his still-fastened trousers, how far he could push this. He'd covered much of Michael's chest and neck with licks and teasing bites, had drawn swirling pink lines in his skin with his fingernails, and had found every ticklish spot in his upper body.
Michael's nipples were especially sensitive and Sherlock had touched them only sparingly – until now, anyway. He sprawled out on his side and circled his tongue slowly around one dark areola, and Michael groaned.
"I suspect," Sherlock began, and then paused to flick his tongue against the tight little bud that rose under his mouth, "that you might be able to climax from this alone."
Michael made a sound of disbelief, and Sherlock smiled. A challenge, then. Good.
He alternated between quick flicks of his tongue and hard sucks, drawing the sensitive tissue much further into his mouth than he'd have thought possible. Soft, hard, gentle, rough, delicate, engulfing – by the time he moved to the other side, Michael was quivering beneath him. He applied the same treatment to the other nipple and used his fingers on the one he'd just left, rolling the tender skin between his fingers and tugging just to the point of pain – all while lapping delicately at the nipple under his mouth.
Michael's face was a storm, reflecting the confusion his body seemed to be feeling as it hovered between pain and pleasure. He strained against the ropes binding his wrists, but he said nothing, made no overt protests. Sherlock took the nipple between his teeth and tugged gently, while flicking the other one with the tip of his finger. Michael shifted his hips, straining desperately for some sort of friction.
"Oh, you are beautiful like this," Sherlock whispered, and gave the nipple a hard suck. His own cock was aching now, just from the thought of how long Michael had lain there, still, tied, quiet, and perfectly pliant. Sherlock could do anything to him now, probably. Several rather disturbing ideas flooded his mind and he pushed them away. Not now – not yet.
He began flicking his tongue lightly against the nipple under his mouth, barely touching the skin at first, and then increasing the pressure, harder and harder. He mirrored the action on the other side with his fingertips, and Michael made a choked sound of surprise.
"Oh, God, I'm—Fuck!" His hips bucked against nothing and he strained against the ropes at his wrists, and the words morphed into strangled cries as he came.
Sherlock sat up on his knees to watch him, and finally couldn't bear it any longer. He pushed his pants below his hips and took his cock in hand. He was close, so fucking close, and after only a handful of strokes, he felt his own orgasm begin. Michael cried out again as Sherlock striped his chest with semen, once, twice, and oh God. He sat next to Michael, panting, his head buzzing from the endorphin rush.
"That was… Jesus." Michael was staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving. "I've never… you didn't even touch my cock. I don't know how you did that."
Sherlock looked down at him and quirked an eyebrow, then stood and stretched. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. "It makes one wonder what else is possible."
Michael laughed. "Oh, God, you're going to ruin me for anyone else, aren't you?"
Sherlock lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, then put the cigarette between Michael's lips. "If you like."
Michael took a long drag, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, and then grinned when Sherlock removed the cigarette again. "If that's the result, then I'm game for just about anything."
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and brought the cigarette to his lips. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Michael."
Michael sighed and closed his eyes, and Sherlock couldn't help but notice he wasn't struggling against the restraints at all. Sherlock blew a stream of smoke into the air above his head, and wondered how long Michael might be willing to be tied up. Perhaps tonight wasn't the night to leave him there until cramps set in, but another ten minutes would provide sufficient data. For now.
*****
"I told my father about us."
Sherlock looked up from the drinks he was mixing. "You didn't."
Michael grinned. "Well, I didn't tell him that you like to tie me up and make me come in innovative ways. I told him we were friends."
"Ah." Sherlock's cheeks tinted slightly at the word, and he ducked his head. Were they friends, then? He hadn't been certain how to refer to Michael in his head. Friend. Interesting. He'd never had a friend before. He held out a glass. "I take it he approves?"
Michael's expression was pure disdain. "Oh, of course. Said it was about time I began to hang about the right sort." He took a sip of his drink and winced slightly. "I think he's far more interested in getting into your brother's inner circle than he is in my social life."
"Reverse nepotism. How original." Sherlock held his own drink up and examined it. "Mycroft suspects he's got a hand in some illegal dealings with the Saudis."
"He probably does. Fuck if I know. The only words I get from him are about how much of a disappointment I am." He took another, larger drink.
"Because you're gay?"
"Oh, he doesn't know about that. He just thinks I'm a lazy stupid fuck."
Sherlock lifted his glass to his lips. "You're not stupid. And you're actually a fantastic fuck."
Michael chuckled. "I suppose I am rather lazy." He looked up at Sherlock again, and his eyebrows rose. "Especially since you do all the work."
Sherlock set his drink down and reached behind the bar for a few items he'd stashed there earlier in the afternoon. He shoved them in a pocket and turned back to Michael. "I've got something different planned for tonight."
"Oh?" There was an odd mix of heat and disquiet in Michael's eyes.
Sherlock stepped closer to him and put one hand on his cheek. Michael leaned in to kiss him, but Sherlock turned his head away at the last moment and nipped at Michael's earlobe. "Strip."
Michael looked incredulous. "What, here?"
"Yes." Sherlock took the glass from his hand and set it on the bar behind them.
"But your brother—"
"Is away on business. He's not due home for several days."
"Staff?"
"Have the evening off."
Michael grinned. "We have the entire house to ourselves and you want to do it here?"
"The bar is where Mycroft prefers to entertain his most powerful and influential clients. I call it his Throne Room."
Michael had expressed admiration for the richly decorated room when they'd first entered, with its Italian leather armchairs, plush Persian rugs, and sleek, well-stocked mahogany bar. Now he seemed to regard it anew. "Your mind is the most gorgeous, wicked thing."
Sherlock smirked and took a step backward. "I know. Now strip."
Michael tugged his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside, then started on his trousers. Sherlock picked up his drink again and watched, anticipation building in his gut. Michael didn't know what was coming, had no idea what Sherlock might have planned, but here he was, removing his clothes without hesitation. He was so perfectly trusting, so willing to let Sherlock play with him.
Five nights ago Sherlock had sucked and licked his cock for exactly thirty minutes, pulling back every time Michael was too close to coming. After Sherlock finally let him climax, Michael had shivered for a solid five minutes, which had worried Sherlock so much he'd run down the corridor to the guest bedroom to fetch another blanket. Michael had just laughed when Sherlock wrapped it around him, and never said a word about the fact that Sherlock had lost his own erection in the process.
Two nights ago he'd tied Michael to the bed face down before explaining that he wasn't going to touch him tonight, that if he wanted to come he should just rub off on the sheets beneath him. Michael was livid, but he'd watched with clear desire when Sherlock sat by his head and stroked himself slowly, whispering every dirty thing he could think of. Ten minutes in, Michael gave in and pumped his hips against the mattress, and Sherlock put on an outright show of masturbation until Michael finally came.
Michael had glared angrily at him when Sherlock untied him, and Sherlock had laughed and kissed him, and finally Michael had given in and kissed him back, whispering, "It was so fucking hot to watch you like that."
Deep down, Michael liked it, liked being pushed and challenged. He liked it when Sherlock denied him sensation, and then gave him more than he could bear. He enjoyed being used as a test subject in Sherlock's experiments about sexual stimulation, and no matter how far Sherlock pushed him, he always came with Sherlock's name on his lips, trembling.
Tonight should be very interesting, if Michael complied as well as he usually did.
"What about you?" Michael stepped out of his pants and tossed them over to the pile of rapidly wrinkling clothing.
"In good time." Sherlock crossed to stand in front of him. "I want you quiet and still now." He let his gaze trail down Michael's body, down to where his cock was beginning to thicken between his thighs. "I'm not typically concerned with physical appearances, but you are undeniably beautiful."
The corners of Michael's mouth turned up slightly. Sherlock crossed behind him and let one hand trail down Michael's spine, stopping just above his buttocks. Yes, this was going to do nicely. He plunged one hand into his pocket and, without saying another word, crossed Michael's hands behind his back and tied them together with a length of rope. Michael kept perfectly still while Sherlock knotted the rope. He'd probably expected that, but Sherlock knew he wouldn't expect what was coming next. He pulled a long silk scarf from his pocket and folded it lengthwise several times. It had been his mother's and was a stunning shade of green. He could only imagine her reaction to the use he was about to make of it.
In a quick movement, he placed it over Michael's eyes and tied it at the back of his head. There was a sharp intake of breath, but Michael didn't respond otherwise. Sherlock stepped back and admired the sight before him. Michael was so beautifully pliant, so willing to let Sherlock play with him like this.
"Sensory deprivation," Sherlock said, and cupped one hand against Michael's arse. "I'm given to understand it heightens arousal." He circled to Michael's front again. His respiration had definitely increased, and there was a light flush on his cheeks. "I'm not going to speak either, further depriving your brain of sensory data." He knelt in front of Michael and blew a tickling breath across his penis.
Michael made a whimpering sound and his cock swelled right then and there.
Sherlock trailed the tip of his tongue down the underside and back up again, then flicked it across the slit for several torturous seconds before swirling it around the glans. Michael groaned appreciatively, and Sherlock licked a bit more before taking the glans in his mouth and sucking lightly for a full minute. He didn't use his tongue or apply much pressure; it was just enough to tease. Michael exhaled shakily and shifted his hips forward, straining into Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock sat back on his heels and Michael made a sound of frustration. Sherlock smiled at that, and had to bite his lip to keep himself silent. He could do anything now, anything at all, and Michael wouldn't see it coming until it was right upon him. It would be the purest sort of response to stimulation, with no influence by preconceived notions. His own cock was rock hard now, and he had to shift and adjust it in his trousers. Or better yet…
He stood and pushed down on Michael's shoulders. Michael seemed confused for a moment, but then knelt down on the floor. Sherlock unzipped his trousers, and there was a hint of a smile on Michael's lips as he recognized the sound. Sherlock pushed his trousers and pants down over his hips and had to pause a moment to collect himself. The raw urgency he felt was nearly overwhelming, and he didn't want to come so quickly. He just wanted to take the edge off, just a bit.
He pushed the head of his cock against Michael's lips, and Michael opened his mouth, took it in almost greedily. It was too much, too soon, and Sherlock braced a hand on the top of his head and pulled out. He waited a moment before brushing the glans against Michael's lower lip again. Michael's tongue darted out and lapped at the underside, and oh, yes, that was what he wanted.
He went up on his toes a bit to get Michael to lick down the shaft, and then finally pushed the head between his lips once more. He held Michael's head still and pumped his hips, fu cking his mouth slowly just with the glans, not pushing in too far. It was lovely, just enough suction, and that tongue–
He was getting too close already, so he pulled out and dropped to his knees, and kissed Michael hard. Michael's mouth was warm and tasted just slightly of pre-ejaculate, and Sherlock lingered there longer than he'd intended.
He finally sat back and stood, pulled his trousers back up, and circled behind Michael. There were several other things he'd wanted to do tonight, but now new ideas sprang to his mind, ones he hadn't planned to try so soon. He fastened his trousers and leaned forward to plant a kiss next to Michael's ear.
"Don't move. I'll be right back."
He left the room and headed upstairs to retrieve some supplies. When he returned, Michael was still kneeling in the center of the rug – Mycroft's favorite rug, Sherlock thought with glee – looking rather discomfited. His erection had flagged in the interim, but Sherlock doubted it would be a problem for long. He settled behind Michael and put a hand on his back, and pressed him forward. Michael resisted for a split second, but then leaned over until the crown of his head touched the rug. Sherlock tugged at his hips to encourage him to stick his arse in the air.
It was an even more fascinating sight than Sherlock had expected. Michael's hands were clenched into fists behind his back and his weight was balanced between his knees and his head. His arse was spread open and his cock and balls hung heavy between his thighs. He looked uncomfortable. It was gorgeous.
Sherlock pulled on a latex glove and uncapped the lube he'd brought downstairs, and applied a generous amount to Michael's arsehole. It dripped down over his balls and onto the rug, and Sherlock stifled a laugh. Mycroft would have him murdered in his sleep if he ever found out. He circled one gloved finger against Michael's anus and watched for his reaction. Michael's hands relaxed and he moaned softly, and Sherlock pressed the tip of his finger inside.
He'd tried this on himself out of curiosity, and it had felt a bit odd. He supposed it was fairly pleasurable, though he couldn't get past the feeling that he was soiling himself. Michael seemed to be enjoying it, though, even pushing back against him. Sherlock pushed that finger all the way in to the knuckle and pulled it out again as slowly as he could manage, and Michael made another soft sound of pleasure. Sherlock added a second finger and watched with fascination as both pressed into Michael's body, eased by the slickness of the lubricant. He pushed them in and out a few more times, experimenting with the effects of speed and depth. He twisted his fingers as he pulled them out (another moan), and then pressed his thumb against the perineum while the fingers inside hooked downwards.
Michael made a strangled sound – ah, yes, that was his prostate. Sherlock massaged it gently with his fingertips until Michael's thighs began to shake. Too much, then. Sherlock pulled his fingers out, and Michael heaved a sigh of relief.
Sherlock squirted more lube onto his anus, and then picked up another object he'd gone upstairs to retrieve. It wasn't a large anal plug, not much bigger in diameter than a finger, but since it was covered with small ridges, he anticipated it would feel quite different. He circled Michael's anus with the smooth tip of it, and Michael went completely still.
Sherlock pushed it in just a bit, and Michael's hands clenched. He didn't know yet what it was, but he hadn't objected. Sherlock pressed the plug in a centimeter more and let Michael's body push it out again, then repeated the action. They hadn't discussed the safeword in over a week, but he assumed Michael remembered. If he wanted to stop, he knew what to do.
Sherlock pressed the plug in further, far enough this time that Michael would be able to feel the texture of it when Sherlock pulled it out again. Michael made a sound of surprise, but the insertion was easy, which Sherlock took to mean that he was relaxed. He pressed it in again, this time not stopping until the flanged end rested against Michael's anus.
He sat back and stripped off the glove, then pushed Michael back up to a kneeling position. Michael's shoulders sagged in obvious relief, and Sherlock couldn't help smiling. He settled in front of Michael and ducked his head down to give his cock one long, hard suck. The sound Michael made at that was almost a word, but he swallowed it down again.
Michael was fully hard now, and leaking, and Sherlock reached into his pocket for the final item he'd purchased earlier that afternoon: a black latex ring. Michael whimpered when Sherlock placed it over the glans and rolled it down to the base, and for a moment Sherlock thought he might protest. He took the glans in his mouth again and sucked gently, massaging the frenulum with his tongue, and Michael seemed to calm down again.
Sherlock sat up and kissed him softly. "You've been perfect," he whispered against Michael's lips. "So fucking gorgeous." Michael caught his lips in a searing kiss, and Sherlock pulled away again. "I want you to be patient just a bit longer. I'll be back in a little while. Don't move."
Michael's jaw clenched, but he nodded, and Sherlock stood. He wanted to stay and watch, to hide in a corner and see what happened, but it would be best if he actually left the room.
He went to the kitchen and rifled through the pantry for Mycroft's favorite biscuits. He made himself a cup of tea, flipped through the newspaper, and finally couldn't bear it any longer. He walked back to where he'd left Michael, stepping as quietly as he could manage on the wooden floors.
The moment Michael became aware of his presence was clear. His body stiffened and his jaw clenched tightly, and his hands curled into fists. His cock still jutted angrily from his groin. Sherlock smirked and crossed towards him.
"Miss me?"
"Where the fuck have you been?" Michael spat.
"Not far away, I promise." Sherlock stroked the top of Michael's head with his fingers, and Michael jerked away. "Oh, angry at me now?"
"That's a fucking understatement."
Sherlock frowned. Had he gone too far? "You have a safeword."
"It's a bit pointless when you're in the other room, isn't it?"
Sherlock winced. "I suppose it is. If you want to stop now—"
"I don't, I just…" Michael paused and exhaled heavily. "It was hot, you know. I was really enjoying it. I liked not knowing what you were going to do next."
"Until I left you alone for fifteen minutes."
"Then I started plotting ways to kill you in your sleep."
Sherlock smiled. "I'm planning to make it worth your while."
"You'd better be." Michael's anger had subsided, but there was still an edge to his voice. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, and Sherlock was suddenly, inexplicably hard.
"Just one more thing," Sherlock said, stepping forward and unzipping his trousers.
Michael groaned in frustration. "You'd better come fast. My knees are killing me."
It was hot, and perfect, and rough, since Michael didn't bother being careful with his teeth, but it was the best blow job of Sherlock's entire life. He pushed farther into Michael's mouth than he'd dared before, and Michael sucked hard, and Sherlock came so intensely that his vision whited out for a moment.
Michael spat on the rug afterward. "Explain that to your brother."
Sherlock laughed. "I think we can do better than that. Lie on your back."
"Finally," Michael huffed, and then hesitated. "Are you going to untie me first?"
"Ah, right." Sherlock pulled his trousers back up and moved behind him to unfasten the knots on his wrists. Michael immediately reached for the blindfold. "Oh, no you don't," Sherlock said, capturing his hands again. "That remains on. Get on your back."
Michael shifted and winced. "Easier said than done with this thing up my arse." He maneuvered onto his back after a bit of a struggle, and Sherlock pushed his knees up into his chest.
"Hands on your knees now. I want you to keep yourself in this position. And no talking."
Michael made a grumbling sound, but he complied. Sherlock sat back and smiled at the sight of Michael spread out before him.
"Now, where shall I begin? This looks as if it needs some attention." He traced one finger up the length of Michael's swollen cock and spread the fluid there around on the glans. "Or maybe I should start here instead." He tugged at the edge of the plug in Michael's arse, and then twisted it 360 degrees inside him. Michael shivered, and Sherlock paused to lower himself onto his belly. He leaned forward and wriggled his tongue against Michael's scrotum. "Oh, but I've neglected these, haven't I?"
Michael whimpered as Sherlock sucked one testicle into his mouth and sucked gently. He released it after nearly a minute and applied the same treatment to the other one. Michael began squirming beneath him, clearly desperate for more stimulation.
Sherlock shifted up onto his knees again and scrambled for the lube. He squirted some into one hand and wrapped it around Michael's erection, slicking it down the shaft. He worked the cock ring off and tossed it aside, and began stroking Michael's cock in earnest. With his other hand, he grasped the base of the anal plug and pulled it out until just the tip was still inside, then plunged it back in again.
The movements were an interesting challenge to coordinate: quick, firm strokes that focused on the head of Michael's cock, tugging the foreskin up over the glans on every stroke, and rough fucking with the plug. Michael kept his knees pulled back, spreading himself open, but he didn't even try to remain quiet.
He came with a string of swear words on his lips, several of them taking direct aim at Sherlock's parentage. Sherlock couldn't resist tilting his penis to the side enough to aim a stream of semen right at Mycroft's favorite chair.
"Oh, fucking bloody hell," Michael said, finally releasing his knees. His hands moved to cover his face, and he groaned. "I've never been so glad to come in my life. You are an utter bastard, do you know that?"
Sherlock pulled the plug out of his arsehole, and winced slightly in sympathy at the reddened skin. "You did say you were up for anything, as long as I make you come. And that sounded like a rather spectacular orgasm."
"Yes." It sounded like a fairly reluctant admission.
"So it was worth it, in the end."
"No." Michael dropped his hands and looked up at the ceiling. "Well, maybe. I'm very confused right now."
Sherlock smirked. "Good."
Michael closed his eyes and winced. "My arse hurts. Jesus fuck, what was that thing?"
Sherlock held up the plug and Michael's eyes narrowed at it. "It felt a lot bigger when it was shoved up me for an hour."
"It was half an hour at most. And you opened right up for me, so I know you liked it."
"No, I don't think I did." Michael's head fell back against the rug. "I'll use it on you one day, and you'll see."
Sherlock chuckled. "Not bloody likely."
Michael was quiet for a long moment. "Why do I let you do this shit, anyway?"
Sherlock crawled over to him and leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Because you like the end result, I imagine." He pressed his mouth against Michael's, and after a strained moment, Michael yielded, kissing him back with an intensity that caught Sherlock off-guard.
Sherlock pulled out of the kiss and looked down at him. Michael's eyes were still closed, and he looked exhausted.
"I suppose I do. That's incredibly fucked up."
"Isn't it, though?" Sherlock pushed to his feet and crossed to the bar to pick up a package of cigarettes. He tapped two out and lit them both, then pressed one to Michael's lips. "At least we can be fucked up together."
Michael inhaled deeply and then opened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah."
*****
Go to chapter 3
