Sherlock's obvious and essentially canon military kink is what gives me life, so fanfiction just had to be written. All the nice girls like a soldier, isn't that right, Sherlock?
I wanted to publish this completed, but my brain just isn't cooperating and it would have taken like a million years, so I figured I'd just publish what I have so far. I haven't even started the second half of this fic, but I shall try my damnedest not to leave you guys hanging for too long. I know I suck at finishing fics with more than one chapter, but I'll try. I swear. I actually know how I want to finish this, unlike a lot of my other incomplete fics, I'm struggling with the actual writing it down part so... yeah.
Anyways, reviews would be nice. It's the only way I learn.
And if I owned BBC Sherlock, Johnlock would have been canon after the first episode, so obviously I own nothing.
Captain
It had happened completely by accident. They had only been having sex for a couple of weeks, were still getting to know each other in that respect, and Sherlock had managed to hold it in until that particular night. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He was barely even aware he was speaking, what with John shagging him so vigorously into the mattress and his orgasm so painfully close. He hadn't realised he's said anything until the words were already spilling out of his mouth.
"Oh yes, sir... fuck me, sir... ohh, Captain!"
Lying in the afterglow with John's arms wrapped around him, Sherlock felt mortified. He had called John 'sir' almost unconsciously, had screamed the word 'Captain' as he came all over his stomach; not John's name, as he had done many times before, but... Captain. He had said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but he had no idea where the desire to do so had even come from. Somehow, referring to John by that title had actually made everything feel so much better, although Sherlock was at a loss as to why. At least John had been considerate enough to pretend like nothing untoward had happened. Sherlock wasn't quite ready for this conversation yet.
The next morning, for the first time in a while, John wasn't late for work. Usually Sherlock would be begging him to take a day off and stay in bed, or insisting on joining John in his morning shower, which always resulted in him having to get dressed at lightning speed, shovel down a quick breakfast and practically run out of the flat so he'd arrive at work on time. This morning, however, Sherlock let John get ready for work in peace, pretending to be asleep as his lover showered, shaved, got dressed and had breakfast without interruption.
"I'm off to work, love," John finally whispered, rubbing Sherlock's shoulder.
"Dull," Sherlock mumbled into his pillow, squirming as John laughed and kissed to top of his head.
Sherlock listened hard until he heard the front door close downstairs, and then he was out of bed like a shot, wrapping himself up in the bed sheet as he couldn't be bothered to get dressed. He needed a shower as he still smelt like sex, and his stomach was growling with hunger, but he had more important things to be doing than bathing or feeding himself. He padded into the living room, grabbing the first laptop he laid his hands on, which just so happened to be John's. Sherlock curled up on his armchair, figuring out John's new password in next to no time (use-your-own-bloody-laptop-sherlock, lower case and all one word). He had just opened up the search engine when his fingers stilled over the keyboard.
Sherlock had been thinking of what he needed to do all morning while he was pretending to sleep, but now he wasn't sure where to start. Sex may not have alarmed Sherlock, but there was so much about it that he was still unfortunately very naive about. Thirty-odd years of self-enforced abstinence meant that Sherlock hadn't ever explored his own sexuality. He didn't really know the specifics of what turned him on. John was the first and only person he had ever had sex with and, being the more experienced one, John had always taken the lead in a gentle and cautious sort of way, in charge but never forceful or commanding.
But that's what he wanted, Sherlock realised. He wanted John to be forceful. He wanted John to stop treating him like he was fragile, like he was made of glass that would shatter if his touch was anything more than a gentle caress. He wanted John to take charge like the Captain he was, to give orders and dole out punishments that Sherlock would accept with a dutiful "Sir, yes, sir." Sherlock knew what he wanted, he just needed more data. With a deep breath, he typed 'military fetish' into the search engine and began his research.
Sherlock didn't move from his armchair for several hours, except to go to the bathroom and to wolf down a slice of toast and half a cup of tea so he felt a bit less faint. He had created an entire new room in the 'John' wing of his mind palace, filling it with his research. It wasn't just military and uniform kinks, but bondage and spanking, submissives and dominants, sadomasochism and examples of healthy BDSM relationships. He read amateur erotica, watched countless videos, and browsed through websites that sold handcuffs, riding crops, ball gags, blindfolds, spanking paddles and restraints.
When Sherlock had finally finished his mind was buzzing with all the new and exciting information, and there was still half an hour before John was due to come home from work. Sherlock shut the laptop without bothering to close any of the pages he'd been looking at, uncurled himself from his armchair and made his way back to the bedroom. His research had left him more turned on than he'd been in a very long time, his prick rock hard between his legs and his skin already hot and flushed. He dropped the bed sheet carelessly on the floor and threw himself on the bed, spread out stark naked. He used to only masturbate occasionally, more out of necessity than for his actual pleasure. But now his imagination was running riot. He hardly noticed his hand wrapping around his erection, so lost as he was in his own fantasies.
Sherlock imagined himself kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, head bowed respectfully. On one of the websites he had browsed through, he had been particularly taken with a leather collar that had long silver chains at the back which attached to sturdy looking cuffs. Sherlock imagined himself wearing it, his arms behind his back, the cuffs feeling tight and secure around his wrists without being uncomfortable. There were already welts across his back from a riding crop and bright red hand prints on his arse cheeks. His punishment still hurt, stinging in a way that made Sherlock feel like he was on fire in the best possible way. He cock was painfully hard, curved against his stomach and dripping pre-come, completely untouched and a cock ring around the base. A strong hand twisted in his hair, tugging hard to make him look up at John – no, not John anymore. Captain Watson.
Sherlock shuddered at the sight of the Captain Watson of his imagination. He wore his army gear, tan t-shirt tucked into desert camouflage trousers, heavy boots laced up neatly and dog tags around his neck. He looked stern and calm, his fingers tangled tightly in Sherlock's hair and his other hand working his trousers open.
"You know what to do, solider," Captain Watson said, in the same clipped and commanding tone he had used to pull rank at Baskerville – that voice had excited Sherlock, though at the time he wasn't sure why. "Put that mouth to good use for change, Holmes. And you're going to swallow every drop of my come or it's another ten lashes, do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Sherlock whispered, barely suppressing a shiver.
Sherlock could picture Captain Watson's cock perfectly, long and thick – so much longer and thicker than the average for a man of his size – and absolutely mouth-watering. He felt that beautiful cock push into his mouth, right down his throat, and he imagined Captain Watson just holding him there for a while, his nose pressed right against the sandy pubic hair. Sherlock could feel that huge cock filling his mouth, could feel himself choking and gagging, swallowing around that length as he struggled to breathe and tears swam in his eyes.
But Sherlock's imagination refused to stay on one image for too long. Suddenly he was in the living room, stood to attention beside Captain Watson, who sat very comfortably in his armchair with a cup of tea and a newspaper. Sherlock wore a different leather collar this time – a different one from a different website, which had a leash attached to the front that Captain Watson was holding loosely in his hand. Sherlock was still fully erect with a cock ring keeping him that way, only now he also had a rather sizable vibrating butt plug inside him on its very highest setting.
His orders were to not move or make a sound, and although Captain Watson appeared to be ignoring him completely, Sherlock didn't dare move a muscle, his hands balled into fists by his sides. He was so painfully close, so desperate to come, the vibrations of the plug feeling so good but not quite enough. Before he could stop himself he let out a deep, shaky moan. Captain Watson looked up in deep disapproval, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"On your knees," he ordered, tugging harshly on the leash.
"Yes, sir," Sherlock said, trembling as he did as he was told. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to..."
"Shut up," Captain Watson said slowly, dangerously, getting to his feet and grabbing the riding crop from the coffee table. He tugged hard on the leash until Sherlock was on his hands and knees on the floor, and proceeded to bring the riding crop down on Sherlock's arse, whipping him until the detective had tears running down his face. The vibrations of the plug coupled with the pain, the wonderful, unbearable pain, were so good, so perfect, oh yes, Captain Watson, this is just want I wanted, punish me, sir, punish me...
Sherlock came with a shout, his orgasm taking him by surprise and rocking through his whole body until his back arched off the bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had come so hard. And his imaginary John – his Captain Watson – hadn't even touched his cock. It took much longer than usual for him to recover, his heart racing and his limbs feeling like jelly, but eventually his body and his mind finally started to cooperate with each other and he stumbled off to the bathroom for a much needed shower.
By the time John arrived home, Sherlock was fully dressed and composed, lying on the sofa and thinking. John greeted him with a kiss on the forehead, before going to make himself a much needed cup of tea.
"So how's your day been, love?" John asked as he potted around the kitchen.
Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, smirking to himself. "Uneventful."
"Well, thanks for not destroying anything in a fit of boredom while I was out," said John with a fond little chuckle. "I'm really not in the mood to clean up your mess."
John came back into the living room with two steaming mugs of tea, leaving one on the coffee table for Sherlock before grabbing his laptop and sitting down on his armchair with a grateful sigh. He was just about to sign on to his blog so he could write up their latest case, when he tutted in frustration.
"Sherlock, you've been using my laptop again, I see."
"I didn't know where mine was," said Sherlock with a nonchalant shrug.
"You could have at least shut it down properly, and closed down all these pages. I only just got it back from the repair shop after it got all those bloody viruses. What have you even been...?"
Sherlock looked at John as he sentence trailed off, gauging his reaction to all the websites he hadn't bothered to close once he was finished with his research. John looked surprised, of course. But also, if Sherlock was not mistaken, uncomfortably aroused. It was time to test the water.
"I've been collecting data, John," he said, standing suddenly to go and sit in his armchair. "I needed to research a few things about myself. Of course, all of that was merely theoretical data. What I really need is something more practical to draw from. And, as you may have already guessed, I will require your assistance with that."
John cleared his throat awkwardly, tearing his eyes away from the laptop screen. "My, erm... my assistance?"
"Yes," said Sherlock. "Call it an experiment. Last night after we had sex, you were courteous enough not to mention what I had called you, but I would like to further investigate what happened."
"You mean when you called me Captain?" said John.
"Yes, when I called you Captain," said Sherlock, lowering his voice to a register that he knew never failed to arouse John, and practically purring the last word. "After much research, I have come to the conclusion that I have a rather strong fetish for your military status – the title, the uniform, and so on – as well as a highly submissive nature and a desire to be dominated by you which, before last night, I had no idea existed within my psyche. I believe this newly discovered fetish of mine needs to be explored further."
John raised his eyebrows, letting out an incredulously laugh. "Wow, so... you want me to dominate you?"
"Yes."
"And what would that involve exactly?"
"You will give me orders as Captain Watson, and I will endeavour to obey them."
John smirked. "Captain Watson?"
"I think there should be some distinction between you, my partner, and you, my dom. And as your sub, I will obey your orders in exchange for praise and rewards. Should I fail to follow your instructions, you will punish me. Preferably with a riding crop, but any other way you could think of would be fine. Pain is quite a large factor, but I have a very high threshold so you don't have to worry about hurting me. Besides, you're a doctor, so the aftercare should come easily to you. I'm also rather partial to restraints, and not entirely averse to the idea of being gagged or blindfolded, although I require some more practical data on that. While we play I will refer to you exclusively as 'sir' or 'Captain', and you may refer to me in any way you see fit. Oh, and if I begin to feel uncomfortable with anything we're doing, I'll use the safe word and we'll stop immediately."
"And the safe word is...?"
"Anderson. Ultimate mood killer. So, any thoughts, John?"
John looked as if he had too many thoughts to possibly begin to convey. Eventually he mumbled "No, I think you, erm... you covered it all rather... concisely. You've put a lot of thought into this."
"Of course I have."
John closed the laptop and put it on the floor, taking a sip of his tea just so he would have a second more to think. Sherlock gave him the once over and was pleased to find that John was clearly aroused, his face flushed, his pupils dilated, and he had to be at least half hard already, judging by the bulge in his trousers. But he still looked rather unsure. It was rather a lot to take in all at once, Sherlock supposed.
"We'll start slow, John," he said reasonably. "It would make no sense to jump right in at the deep end, I mean, we're both inexperienced at this sort of thing. Before I met you, I had no desire to have sex with anyone. And now I appear to have a BDSM fetish."
"I certainly didn't see that coming," John chuckled.
Sherlock chuckled too. "Neither did I. It's going to take a lot of exploration of fully understand this part of myself that I've been ignoring all these years, an awful lot of experiments. It could take a very long time. Are you willing to help me, John?"
"Of course," John said quickly. "Whatever you want, Sherlock. You know I'd do anything to make you happy."
"I know you would," said Sherlock with a fond smile. "As would I for you. I'll let you know when I'm ready to begin. This experiment is going to take a lot of planning."
Part Two coming up as soon as I manage to actually write it.
Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.
xxx