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John hadn’t done this since his time at the university, when he’d been young and stupid and no one thought about safe sex outside the possibility of pregnancy. He hadn’t even given it more than a passing thought until Sherlock had asked what he’d wanted (okay, not true; it was a go-to fantasy if he wanted to get off quickly, but after medical school and the realization of how stupid the risks he taken were, there hadn’t been anyone he trusted enough to do it). And of course John hadn’t been able to come right out and admit it, had talked around it until Sherlock had understood as Sherlock always did. The incredible sensation of stretching and fullness, he wanted that, desired to share it with Sherlock. It was something Sherlock hadn’t done before, and intrigued, he had thrown himself into research. Maybe it should have been embarrassing, but John just felt touched that Sherlock would care enough to go through with the trouble of it, when in reality he cared very little for sex.
But John enjoyed it, and because of that, Sherlock pushed himself, sometimes more than John was comfortable with, feeling that he was forcing his partner into things that he didn’t want. The one time he’d brought it up, Sherlock had just scoffed at the thought of John forcing him to do anything he really didn’t want.
And that was what led them to this moment, with John’s hands clasped tightly around the rails of the headboard (“Keep them there,” Sherlock had ordered causing a thrill to pass through John as he complied, embracing the twinge of protest in his shoulder as just another wonderful sensation). It would have been easier on his hands and knees according to Sherlock, but John wanted to watch, needed to see Sherlock’s face as he did this because despite Sherlock’s assurance that he wanted to do this, John still had his doubts.
Toes curling against the sheets and cock twitching as it leaked against his belly, John moaned as the large dildo slid out of him completely. John was horribly empty and knew he was gaping wide as cool air reached heated flesh that normally didn’t experience such sensations. The expression on Sherlock’s face as he suddenly sank four slick glove-sheathed fingers into John’s welcoming flesh washed away the last of his doubts. The look of concentration and wonder told John everything he needed to know. The semi-hard cock between Sherlock’s legs also spoke a magnitude. So rarely was Sherlock interested in sex, remaining limp as he pleasured John.
It had bothered John at first, still did sometimes when he’d awaken to Sherlock’s pretty mouth wrapped tightly around his cock, giving pleasure that Sherlock had no interest in experiencing himself. The relationship had seemed uneven, lopsided, as John took and Sherlock gave. But it was Molly that pointed out (completely unrelated to sex) that Sherlock had become alive since he’d met John. And John realized that maybe, just maybe that everything balanced out in the end. Putting so much weight on just one part of their relationship blinded him and devalued the rest of it.
John drew a shuddering breath as Sherlock twisted his fingers, his knuckles brushing over his engorged prostate. It was too much, and not enough, only just the beginning.
“John!” Sherlock’s voice loud and questioning broke through the hazy of pleasure that had engulfed John.
John tried to control his breathing and relax as he forced his focus on Sherlock, realizing that Sherlock was worried, had said his name multiple times to gain his attention. Calm, controlled, perfectionist Sherlock was worried about him. It was a startling awareness, and John couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face. “Is good,” he said, only to choke as Sherlock pressed purposely against his prostate, a smug smile pulling at his lips.
As Sherlock’s fingers withdrew, John clamped down on him, trying to hold him in place. He most certainly did not whimper as Sherlock fingers left him horribly bereft, his sphincter opening and closing against air in a desperate search for something to fill it again.
When Sherlock grabbed the bottle of lube and squeezed more out onto his gloved hand, spreading it around and up onto his wrist, John wanted so bad to pull him close and kiss him senseless, but he did as he was told and kept his grip on the headboard, fingers tightening around the metal in anticipation.
For one moment, Sherlock seemed unsure and said, “I don’t want to hurt you. Are you certain you dont' want the amyl nitrite in the ice chest?”
John drew a calming breath and shook his head. “No, no poppers. I want my head clear for this. I trust you, and…” John hesitated for a moment, “… I don’t mind a little pain with my pleasure. I want this, you… please.” The last word was breathless, needy. He knew Sherlock would understand, but the suspense was killing him.
Sherlock’s face changed, twisting in wonder and want as his eyes dilated hugely at John’s words, at the new information, the not so shocking confession. Eyes locked with John’s, Sherlock gave a tiny nod and dropped his eyes, gaze following the chain of his dog tags down the curve of his neck, raking over the hard peaks of John’s nipples, the tightness of his stomach muscles and his neglected cock, until they finally rested on his prize, John’s glistening hole, just begging for more. With a shaky breath, Sherlock coned the fingers of his gloved hand and pressed against the loosened ring of muscle.
Unable to prevent it, John moaned deep and loud, trembling with emotion and nerves as he was stretched wider and wider. Sherlock’s free hand raised John’s leg up, opening him farther still as Sherlock’s the last of his knuckles finally brushed against the edge of John'shole. John couldn’t be sure if Sherlock’s fingers shook when they brushed along the back of his raised thigh. “Sherlock. Please. Don’t make me beg.”
For a brief moment, Sherlock’s eyes rose to his before they dropped back down, and with determination, he pushed forward, watching as John’s reddened skin turned white from the strain as the widest part of his hand finally slipped past. John’s asshole spasmed around Sherlock's wrist, and John shouted, his face contorted with pleasure in a way Sherlock had never seen before, and Sherlock couldn’t decide where to look. The black edge of the glove was all that remained outside of John, and Sherlock for once found himself awed.
John’s dick had softened slightly at the overwhelming feeling, but still laid fat and heavy on his stomach, a testament to how much he enjoyed this. He shifted slightly, unable to believe the fullness. He would have been amused by Sherlock’s indecision if not for how overcome he was by the reality that this was happening.
Taking John’s movements as a signal, Sherlock slowly curled his fingers over his thumb, forming a fist inside of John which allowed him to slip in marginally deeper. John’s bowels suddenly contracted hard around Sherlock’s fist as he left out a keening sound unlike anything Sherlock had heard from him before. For one horrifying moment, Sherlock thought he’d hurt John, until his eyes landed on John’s cock as it sent thick strands of semen to coat his chest. Unerringly, Sherlock pushed up against John’s prostate and was rewarded with a yelp and wide eyes as he went over the edge again, all but convulsing with pleasure as sweat coated his skin.
When finally it was over, it was as though all the muscles in John’s body released at once, leaving him completely boneless and relaxed. With infinite care, Sherlock straightened his fingers again and pulled his hand from John’s body, noting with interest how red and puffy his hole was, how it remained slack and leaked lube.
John hissed as Sherlock pulled free, overused muscles twinging in protest. Suddenly going red in the cheeks, John realized how quickly it had ended, how he’d shot off with next to no stimulation. The act itself was intense, wonderful, but the fact that it was Sherlock doing it was an aphrodisiac unlike any other.
As though reading his mind, Sherlock was suddenly crouched over him, a grin on his face. “We’ll try for longer next time.”
Startled by the declaration, John mouthed ‘next time’. The fact that there would be a next time was shocking, that this would hold Sherlock’s interest. That shock was quickly replaced by another as Sherlock suddenly slid his dick into John’s slack hole. And so rare was it that John arched up into it with a cry, his cock refilling painfully fast. Instead of thrusting, Sherlock just squirmed, sinking himself as deep into John as he could before dropping his head to lick at John’s cum coated nipples.
“Trust me?” Sherlock asked between licks, so softly John barely heard him.
“Always,” John responded immediately. The trust from the beginning was almost instinctual, boarding on pathological. It wasn’t true in all situations, but this, when it was just the two of them, he trusted Sherlock completely.
Sherlock ground against him, and John was greeted with a sudden warmth. For a moment, John thought Sherlock was coming, but as the warmth continued and John began to feel decidedly full, kind of like a—John’s eyes went wide, as he realized that Sherlock was pissing inside of him. It wasn’t—he’d never considered—John suddenly tightened as best as he could around Sherlock, suddenly afraid of messing the bed. Raising his legs, John wrapped them around Sherlock’s waist, trying to pull him closer. “Sherlock,” John gasped, a prayer, a question, both maybe, begging for something.
“It’s okay, John,” Sherlock said as he raised his head.
John suddenly released the rails and pulled Sherlock into a kiss, tasting himself, tea, and the uniqueness that was Sherlock. Fingers knotted in his hair with desperation, and Sherlock returned the kiss, nipping hard at his lips, dominating the kiss as his hips suddenly started to move, small little thrusts that had John clamping down desperately. Finally with a small cry, Sherlock lost himself, adding his cum to John’s already full ass.
And as Sherlock collapsed against him, his still hard cock trapped between their bodies, John suddenly started to laugh, which caused Sherlock to moan as muscles in turn contracted around sensitive flesh. Sherlock looked slightly insulted, and John dropped off into giggles, capturing his lips for another kiss.
When Sherlock pulled back, looking decidedly tousled and pleasantly flushed, John couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction, never having seen Sherlock quite so debauched
“I noticed the effect that the enemas had on you and I—. I realize I should have asked—.” For once Sherlock was at a loss of words.
John cut Sherlock’s fumbling explanation off with a kiss, and clenched tighter as Sherlock slipped free of him but wasn’t quick enough as some leaked onto the sheets below him. Good thing it was Sherlock’s turn to do the laundry.
“I wasn’t adverse to it. However, it was a shock. It’s okay to like something,” John said, noting the way that Sherlock’s blush spread wider. Then with a grin, John pushed Sherlock off, and gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Now you’re going to help me to the toilet, and if there’s a mess along the way, you’ll be cleaning it up as this is entirely your fault.”
Sherlock looked ready to protest for a moment, but decided against it and rose to his feet with a dignity John envied as Sherlock helped him all but waddle down the hall. Once he was empty and cleaned off, John wrapped his hand around his woefully neglected cock and gave it a harsh tug. However, Sherlock wasn’t having any of it and pushed John back against the wall before sinking to his knees before him and swallowing him so quickly that John’s head fell back against the wall with a thud at the sensation.
It wasn’t about reciprocation, John realized with a start; it was about love and compassion and wanting to make the one closest to you happy. It wasn’t duty or expectation, but choice. John smiled as he lost himself in the pleasure.