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Her arse was so gorgeous. John was almost salivating by the time they were naked enough to get down to business. Rolling on a condom, he stroked on some lubricant and positioned himself. Without waiting, he thrust hard, burying himself deep within her wet hot folds. “Fuck, yes.” John closed his eyes and began to pump his hips. This was worth every pound he’d promised her. John was so bloody horny. He couldn’t think straight any longer. All he did day in and day out was dream about fucking someone who didn’t want it, and it was killing him.
She was gorgeous and tight, but sooner than he appreciated, the feeling of being inside her cunt wasn’t doing it for him, “How much for anal?”
The woman pulled off his cock and just arranged herself onto her back, “Extra hundred, love.” Spreading her legs, the prostitute just reached down and fingered her anus quickly, “No switching though! One or the other, but not both. You’re lucky I’m letting you change up now.”
John didn’t care about the cost. He drizzled even more lube onto his still hard cock and pressed the head against her smaller opening the moment she nodded her assent. It took a hard push but he finally entered her. Closing his eyes, John smiled. This was the sensation he wanted, the feeling he’d been chasing. The tight rings of her sphincters were doing it for him, and soon enough, John found a deep steady rhythm. He had ages and he planned to enjoy every second. He pulled on the pair of nytril gloves that she’d provided and began to finger her vagina, thumbing her clit as he fucked her arse harder. “You don’t get a discount for getting me off,” she gasped, her body beginning to writhe and twist at long last.
“It’s how I like it, I like hearing my bedmates moan.” John was particularly good at sex, and just because the woman was renting him her body didn’t mean that John wasn’t going to deliver his lifetime guarantee of at least one screaming orgasm per. He had a reputation to uphold, and even when he was the shittiest boyfriend alive, he was at least a good shag. He hadn’t actually dated in months, and he loved sex too much to give it up entirely. Once a month, John treated himself to some paid fun, hiring someone to ride his cock all night without guilt or obligation being involved. It was very relieving, especially when he lived with temptation 24/7.
The woman was keening now, pinching her nipples with painted nails, her legs spread high and wide, toes pointed sharply as her orgasm built. John loved the way her body clenched down on his and rocked his hips in a way he knew would get her off. Only a couple minutes passed before she was groaning her way through what sounded like an amazing orgasm, and John sighed as he felt her body nearly milk an orgasm out of him. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he cautioned, “I’ve got all night.”
She was weak and compliant now, so John took the opportunity to indulge himself while she recovered. He fucked her deep and hard, imagining another arse, another body, another gender. He’d almost bought a boy this time but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He could fuck a woman, but choosing a man felt a little too much like cheating, even if he wasn’t exactly in a relationship. “You’re going to wear it out.”
“That’s the plan. Relax, sweetheart, I’m going to be fucking you for hours.” John was as good as his word. He brought her to orgasm six more times before he finally gave into his needs. His once-a-month forays into the seedier side of physical affection were the only things keeping him from going absolutely mad at home but when he finally orgasmed, it was weak and unsatisfying despite the efforts he had expended. Frustrating. He had a lot of repressed sexual energy to expunge and her arsehole was swollen with use after he was done, but he soothed her with extra cash on top of everything he’d already offered, and a suggestion for an easily obtained medical crème that would help her along. After the prostitute left the cheap room he’d rented, John allowed himself to finally think about his problem.
John was in love with Sherlock.
It was a damnable situation to be stuck in. John was technically a widower now, and childless to boot. He loved the girl he’d thought was his daughter but finding out that his late wife had cheated on him had predicated the following blood-test, and now, his little Rosie was being raised by the extended family of Charles Augustus Magnussen, the very man his flatmate had killed right in front of him. It was all too bitter-sweet to think on, especially now.
It was Christmas Eve. He and Sherlock Holmes were about to celebrate their very first Christmas together after years and months of misery, angst, misunderstandings, death, grievous injury, and general pain. John had originally planned to go endure the holidays with his sister but she’d run off to the Bahamas with her latest girlfriend, cancelling his visit with her via a call from the airport, and leaving him high and dry for the holiday season.
John knew he couldn’t keep the charade up for much longer. Paying women for sex was one thing but it was less and less satisfying every time and then where would he be? He was stuck. He couldn’t leave Sherlock alone, and eventually, the dam would break. He needed to tell Sherlock the truth and let his friend decide how to proceed. He might even have to move out, the last thing Sherlock needed was to be afraid to be alone with his lusting ex-best-friend. There was nothing for it but to out himself at the first proper opportunity and let the chips fall where they may. John got up, showered, and changed into his street clothes. Checking out, he returned to 221 B Baker Street just after dawn.
Sherlock was drinking tea and reading something on his mobile. Twinkling fairy lights were plugged in all over, a testament to Mrs Hudson’s relentless holiday cheer, “You’re going to contract a sexually transmitted disease if you keep this up.” Sherlock’s voice was flat and colourless, but his face was angry.
“I practised safe sex.” John protested instantly. He made very sure to keep himself as safe as possible. He always brought his own condoms as well as lubricant and took care not to expose himself as much as possible, though there would always be risks. He felt a bit defensive for getting a talking to, and once more, the feeling of being caught out doing something that was beginning to identify itself as cheating rose fiercely inside John’s heart.
Sherlock was scowling harder than ever. He looked manic, and John was taken aback by the strength of his friend’s obvious fury. “The women you rent have a high statistical probability…”
“Sherlock. Stop. I want to get laid, but I don’t want to try and find a girlfriend. I just want to come inside someone without feeling obligated afterwards. I’ll risk the STI.” John cursed his own angry reaction. He hadn’t placated Sherlock a bit and had obviously made the already tense situation worse.
Sherlock stood up, his too thin pyjamas clinging to his also too thin body. “Unacceptable, John! We have the same blood-type! We’ve given each other blood more than once! What if you get an infection? What happens to me? Do I just get to die from lack of blood when I need it, all because of your incessant need for meaningless sex?”
Sherlock’s argument was weak as well as ridiculous. “What would you have me do then, Sherlock? Lead someone on? Pretend that I care when I don’t, just so I can get off in her? That’s pretty low, don’t you think? At least the ladies I pay aren’t expecting dinner and flowers, I’m just a job to them.”
“Why do you need to go out and…”
John cut him off and shouted, “I need to have sex on a regular basis, Sherlock!”
Sherlock seemed to shrink into himself, becoming smaller and infinitely more fragile. John regretted raising his voice. Sherlock suffered from PTSD and John cursed himself silently for triggering his best friend who could no longer handle loud noises, and couldn’t deal with being screamed at. Sherlock was looking down, his fingers trembling slightly as he enunciated his words carefully, his voice shaking as much as his fingers, “I understand that John. I just…”
“Just what, Sherlock?” John wasn’t shouting but he was still snappish. Once he lost his temper, even if he instantly regretted it, it always took a while for him to settle down. Now he was too tired. It was far too early, or too late, to be arguing with his flatmate.
“I just wish you’d consider a better alternative.” Sherlock’s hands balled up into fists and at first, John thought Sherlock was going to physically lash out but then he saw how ashen Sherlock was. His friend was nearly swaying on the spot, and an expression of absolute terror and helplessness were taking over. “John?” John recognized all the signs and berated himself once again. Sherlock was going to have a panic attack that John had unthinkingly induced.
Sherlock collapsed. John rushed forward just in time to keep Sherlock from falling onto their coffee table. Cursing himself again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” John felt like an absolute heel. No matter their disagreement, he knew better than to shout at Sherlock. Now he had to watch while Sherlock shook and groaned, lost in his mind as his terrors swallowed him whole. John wrapped his arms around his too-thin friend as they knelt on the dirty carpet, and wished for the millionth time that he could endure this misery for him. “I’m here. I’m not mad. I’m here, Sherlock. I’m watching over you. I’ll protect you. I’m keeping you safe. It’s okay, Sherlock, shh, it’s all okay.”
John hated himself so much, even after the thrashing stopped and sleep took over. He managed to get Sherlock on the sofa, took the jumper off his own body to lay it against Sherlock’s torso to comfort him with its warmth, and sat in his chair to agonize once again. John didn’t know what to do. He needed to have sex. He was a healthy functioning man who had always had a higher than average sex drive. John was acutely aware that his feelings for Sherlock were entirely inappropriate and had several times considered moving away just to spare the man the indignity of having yet another person anxious to get into his pants. John had spent years witnessing people attempting to seduce Sherlock and they had always been met with a cold rebuff and a hint of revulsion. He felt dirty and base, and the sensation of having committed infidelity was stronger than ever. He just did not know how to proceed.
John fell asleep still worried. A long time later he felt a gentle finger stroke against his cheek. “John?” John made a sleepy sound but didn’t move much. “You’re going to have a sore arm as well as a bad back if you keep sleeping like this.” The finger stroked John’s cheek again and he unconsciously leaned into it. There was a second of hesitation but then, an entire hand pressed tenderly against his cheek, the thumb stroking along John’s zygomatic arch, “Wake up, John. I need to speak with you.”
John’s eyes peeled open and he discovered that Sherlock was kneeling in front of him, still wearing only his pyjamas and robe. “What’s wrong. Are you okay? What happened?” Adrenaline rushed through John, forcing sleep away instantly.
Sherlock smiled reassuringly up at him, “Calm down, John. Everything is as well as can be.” John was a bit surprised when Sherlock gingerly reached out and took his hands in his, his head bowed for a moment before he looked up, “John, I have a proposal for you.”
“What is it, Sherlock? Has something gone wrong? What is it? I can fix it, I’m sure of it.” Whatever was bothering Sherlock, John would deal with it somehow. What kind of proposal could he be offering anyway? John often felt helpless when it came to Sherlock’s various issues, so if there was some kind of chance for him to do something that could help, he was all in.
Sherlock swallowed hard and John couldn’t stop himself from squeezing Sherlock’s hands a bit tighter, just to remind the man that he was there to help, no matter what. “Yes, in a way something has gone wrong but the wrongness happened a while ago and it has taken me all this time to understand that the path to healing has been right in front of me, and I have not properly realized that until recently.”
Sherlock stopped talking and seemed to grow smaller once again, hunching in on himself as if wanting to hide away before he finally stiffened his spine, inhaled deeply before exhaling gustily, and looked at John directly, “John, there is something we have never discussed, and I feel that I require that conversation. “You know very well that I am not as…stable…as I perhaps used to be. It’s all a matter of degrees, at any rate, everyone has always thought I was a bit mad. Now, I think I rather am, but in a lucid sort of way.” Sherlock laughed self-deprecatingly, “I’m not making a very good case for myself.”
He stopped talking for a long time. John found himself reaching out and pulling Sherlock in for a rare hug. Sherlock was stiff and unresponsive for only a moment before his long arms wrapped around John’s torso and tightened like steel bands, “You know you can tell me anything, ask for anything, don’t you, Sherlock. I just want you to know that. Go on, say what you need to say.”
Sherlock’s head was heavy on John’s shoulder for a minute before he pulled away and sat back on his heels. He was rumpled looking, and a bit pensive but finally he sighed again and looked back up at John, “For a very long time I have denied certain things. I have argued that I haven’t the time for feelings or sentiment, but here I am, years into it, and I just can’t do it any longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“John, I don’t want you going out to pay for sex, not because I lack empathy for your needs, but because I want to be the one to fulfil them.” John was completed flabbergasted. Sherlock wanted John to have sex with him? Why? “I’ve always been attracted to you, John, and more, since I’m confessing things. I find myself quite besotted, truth be told, so much so that the last few years have been an effort of endurance simply because you were threatened and I could not tolerate that fact. I did everything I could to keep you safe, and in my own way, to keep you happy. Now, I find that it is myself who is unhappy, endlessly so. I have come to an elegant realization, one that will deeply mitigate all the many problems that have become part of my everyday existence.”
“Sherlock?”
“John, I want to have a physical relationship with you, an exclusive one. I realize now, stupendously late in the game, that you have feelings for me, too, and my own words and actions have led you to think that I am incapable as well as uninterested in having more to do with you than friendship provides. This is not the case. I do want more. I have always wanted more. I was trapped by my own self-delusion. I am no emotionless machine. I am a man who is deeply in love with you and I need you in my life in as many ways as possible, John. I feel safe around you. You keep me right in so many ways, you are an extension of myself. I am broken without you. I cannot live with less, not as I am, and I know it’s probably not the best way to cope with my many traumas but, John, please, sleep with me and not them. Share my bed and not theirs. My body has always been yours to touch as you please. You have kept me as hale and whole as could be managed, considering who I am. Take your pleasure with me, share it with me, let me experience it with you. I want that, very much. I want to sleep knowing that you are right there by my side to help me when I need it, to rely on because I do…I rely on you. I know I’m demanding, selfish, needy, shattered, and a right mess, but I am begging you, John, choose me.”
John was completely stunned. He couldn’t speak at first and it wasn’t until Sherlock’s pleading gaze turned away in defeat that he broke free of his temporary paralysis and said, “Yes, god yes.” John reached out and pulled Sherlock close to him once more, “This is the most amazing thing to ever happen to me, a fantasy come true, well, sort of. I never once imagined you confessing yourself like this. If anything, I thought I would break down first, I did, I was. I was going to tell you somehow but I never managed. You’re far braver than I am.”
“You were going to what?” Now Sherlock was the one to look thunderstruck.
“That I love you. I can’t be with anyone but you, I haven’t wanted to be with anyone but you for ages. These nights out have been making me feel worse, and not better. I did it because all I seem to want to do is have sex with you, but you’d always said you wanting nothing to do with that sort of thing, and after all this time…”
“I’ve already admitted that it was my own doing, John. I want to change that, right now.” Sherlock stood up, “John Watson, I would very much like to have sex with you, as soon as possible.” Sherlock eyed him up and down, “If you can manage, that is, I know you’re not a young man anymore.”
Every trace of exhaustion was long gone now. John stood up, “Perhaps not, but I am one of the luckiest men in the world right now, and I think I can muster up a little effort if you think you can handle it.” John grin was filled with salacious promise.
Sherlock’s grin was toothy in a way John had never witnessed before. He felt a frisson of lust rush through his nether regions when he recognised the predatory leer being directed right at him, “You know I’m a scientist, John, any claims you make will have to be consistently repeated before I can verify them as fact.”
“Okay, love, you asked for it.” John yanked Sherlock close and heft him up easily. Startled, Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John’s waist as the soldier carried him off, “Ever been ravaged, Sherlock? Tell me what you’ve done, what you like.”
John wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Sherlock was inexperienced, and he wasn’t wrong, “Never been ravaged, love oral sex, I’m an unrepentant bottom, and when I’ve decided to do so, I like to fuck hard and often.” John’s erection began to make a distinct showing, especially upon hearing Sherlock swear, something he almost never did. “I haven’t been active since I was at school last, but while I was there, I did enjoy a large selection of casual lovers. I’ve tried everything I could think of, so really John, do whatever you like most, I’ll enjoy it.”
John was finding it difficult to think. He was entirely hard already and they hadn’t even really kissed. John kicked the door to Sherlock’s door open and nearly threw the detective onto the bed. John fell forward and found himself being pinned to the mattress mere moments before Sherlock’s mouth crashed against his. It was the most consuming kiss he’d ever experienced. It was perfect in every way, from the sweet taste of it to the passion it evoked. John found his appetites whetted to a fine peak within minutes. Breaking apart, they panted as they tore away each other’s clothing.
Sherlock seemed to find John’s body delicious, he kept mouthing and kissing every part as it became exposed, pausing only when John’s cock was finally revealed. Before John could say a word, Sherlock was leaning over him, his mouth already swallowing him down, “Fucking fuck!” John shouted. Sherlock was a genius, of course he was! He was sucking exactly right, not too fast, not too rough, but eagerly enough that John momentarily worried that he would spend himself before they got any further.
“Not yet, John Watson.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and he sounded almost drunk, “I’ve got you in my bed at long last and I demand to experience Three Continents Watson for myself.”
“You sure, love? I don’t want to ruin you.” The promise sounded like a threat but John was more aroused than he’d ever felt and he knew his words were a dare, just like Sherlock’s were. He’d never felt so alive nor so brilliantly happy. His cock felt like it was about to explode, and he dragged Sherlock up for another deep searing kiss. “I love you, Sherlock. I’m going to fuck you better than anyone ever has before.”
“John.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with hunger, “That’s what I need. That’s what I’ve been dreaming about.”
Everything went hazy with lust. John wasn’t sure who reached for who first but they were soon writhing around the bed together, naked, hungry, and filled with urgency. Sherlock managed to locate a half-empty container of personal lubricant which he nearly threw at John, “I need you in me, as soon as possible.”
There was very little finesse. Their hunger was erasing their skills but enough of their rational minds remained to do things right. Sherlock shivered but spread his legs wide by the time John had managed to work his first finger in, and when John began to broach with his second finger, Sherlock took to fondling himself gently. When John got to the third finger, Sherlock had to grip the sheets, his legs trembling with tension as he rocked down repeatedly to force John’s digits deeper. By the time John managed to fumble on a condom, both men were reduced to grunts rather than words, both panting heavily, and both almost insensible with need.
The first push into Sherlock’s body took more effort than John was comfortable with and he almost went back to using his fingers. Sherlock’s hands were on his hips suddenly and he rasped out, “This is one of the best parts,” before yanking. John shouted wordlessly as the head of his cock was swallowed up. Sherlock’s head fell back and he keened out a sound that made John edge towards orgasm even faster.
John had wanted their first time to be tender and loving but instead it was animalistic and almost violent. Sherlock used his own hands to spread himself wider as John bucked into his body ferociously while the detective chanted affirmations in a deep baritone filled with eagerness. It was the most incredible sex John had ever had, completely unexpected, unanticipated, and brilliant. “John! John, ‘m close. John.”
Sherlock was touching himself again, his large hand stroking his weeping cock with speed. John spread his knees wider so that he could control the swing of his hips better. If it was going to be fast it was also going to be amazing. John realized he was moaning softly and continuously. Sherlock looked so beautiful, red-faced, sweaty, curled up on his back with his legs high and wide. John looked down and watched his cock disappear into Sherlock’s hole. He felt better than anyone John had ever been with, and already the amount of pleasure he was experiencing was almost disabling. He felt his limbs beginning to weaken as his energy began to lessen but he was so close. With heroic effort, John increased his pace and included a bit of a twist to his hips.
Sherlock gave a great wrenching cry. He sounded like he was enduring great pain except for the semen that pulsed from the head of his cock. Sherlock was just stroking the end of his shaft now, milking out the last of his own come, but his hole was still clenching and squeezing long after he was done. “Yes, oh yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes.” John felt his orgasm surge out of him and for a moment, he regretted the need for a condom because having his come inside of his lover would have been brilliant.
Everything was blurry for a long time. Eventually, John realized that he was drowsing on Sherlock, his cock flaccid and spent inside the used condom, both at least safely outside of Sherlock’s body and drying onto the sheet below. Sherlock was entirely still, sleeping heavily, his limbs splayed out widely. His face was peaceful and John could even hear a slight snore. He hadn’t seen Sherlock sleep this heavily since he’d first come back from the dead. Carefully, John peeled himself off before he crept to the loo. Rinsing out a flannel in hot water, he snuck back the bedroom and washed Sherlock down. It was the middle of the day now but John was completely wrung out. He washed quickly and debated about going to his room before he realized that he was being entirely ridiculous. Walking softly, John returned to Sherlock’s room and pulled a duvet over both of them. Sleep came quickly.
It was full night again by the time John rose to consciousness. Sherlock was curled up by his side, his eyes only beginning to open. Groggily, John looked at the clock, “We’ve been asleep for eight hours now.”
“I never sleep for eight hours.” Eight hours solid with no nightmares that John could see. Sherlock was making the same realization and a self-satisfied smile developed, “I was right. This was what I needed.”
“A good shag?”
“No, though it was brilliant, and we will be repeating it as soon as I can handle it. What I needed was you, by my side. I can feel you, smell you, touch you. You make me feel safe, and when I feel safe, I can relax and rest. You do me good, just by being here. I do love you, John. You are every good thing to me. Merry Christmas, my love.”
My love. John’s heart felt like it was filled to bursting with this unexpected gift, “I love you too, sweetheart. Merry Christmas, Sherlock.” John knew they’d be okay. There was going to be rough moments for sure, but now at least he knew what Sherlock truly needed to get past them, and John was more than willing to be there for anything else that might be required. This was the happiest day of his life, “Merry Christmas.”