Based on the information you have provided, we have decided to match you with 'necromancerab' to fill their request for a fic. Their prompt is: "John feeding Sherlock his cock." Their preferred rating is E. Remember, prompts are only the basis of your work - it is up to you as to how you interpret them.
The genre they have requested is: Romance. If more than one is listed, you do not have to feel obligated to fill all of them; once again, it is up to your discretion and interpretation.
Their deal-breaker is: forceful!John. Please refrain from incorporating these into your creation.
Please contact us with any questions or problems you may have regarding this message.
Sweet Tooth
By LadyElayne
"I'm not gay"
"I'm not his date"
"We're not together"
Why am I always the one saying these things? Why is it automatically assumed that Sherlock and I are shagging. I mean I am not opposed to the idea, and as of late I am pretty certain he isn't either. But it's just not true. I'm not gay, never have been his date, and we are only together in the sense that we occupy the same space most of the time. Sherlock killed that thought before it even had time to be a dream, Mr. Married-to-my-work. As much as I might have wanted to take the man apart and see that stoic glare turn passionate and heated, I respected his refusal and attempted to put it out of my mind. Yeah…right…
Despite my attempts at ignoring the sexual perfection that was my flat mate, focusing solely on our friendship, he just kept doing things that would set my trashy mind at work, making my body misbehave. Walking around in nothing but a sheet for example…that was downright evil. His lithe muscular thighs just peeking from under the folded shroud, defined arms barely holding the sheet in place as he shuffled around the flat. The bastard. And his shirts…good lord, his tailor must be half blind, everything fits him as though it was made just a few inches smaller than it should be. Every fabric clings to his firm body, creasing and folding with his every movement, I could watch that man twist and turn in front of his microscope for days. The way his strong hands turn the dials, his firm upper body poised before turning to record results, it was hypnotizing. But, as I have said-repeatedly, I'm. Not. Gay.
For those who require a label I would say I am bisexual. So, instead of lusting after my flat mate, which would eventually cause a rift in our friendship. I kept my mouth shut, my hands to myself and spent my free time with ladies who were most definitely not Sherlock.
As our time together went on, it became clear with each failed date, that Sherlock wasn't fond of my extra-case activities. Unless of course, they involved him in some way. With each date he would foil, it became rather obvious that he wanted me all to himself, which was very flattering. I would also notice that at random times, he would stare at me with those wild fire eyes, intensely drawing his gaze to various parts of my body. He thought I wasn't paying attention, but the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't as clever as he thought he was, especially when I began to notice his body misbehaving. It was clear that Sherlock wasn't a virgin, but he wasn't very experienced either. He could hide his emotions better than anyone I had ever seen, however, lust didn't seem to count.
When Sherlock had sex on his mind, his whole demeanor changed. His cheeks would become flushed, his breath would hitch and when his eyes landed on whatever it was that sparked the desire, he would take his bottom lip between his teeth. As of late, this would occur whenever I was in the room, especially if I was wearing trousers that hugged my body a bit too tightly; he deserves a bit of taunt, if only in retribution for that damnable purple shirt! The more obvious I made my body's assets, the more breath hitching, cheek flushing and lip biting played out before me.
I have seen that look before, not from Sherlock of course, but a few dates who later expressed a very enjoyable desire to wrap their lips around my cock. That same hungry look, coveting what lie beneath my zip, licking their lips in preparation for its firm heat. That was exactly what Sherlock was lusting for…as surprising as I might find it. Sherlock wanted very much to devour my cock in every way possible. If I'm being honest, I can't say I haven't lusted for his manhood a few times myself. Ok, more than a few…
I began to notice that when I would come into the living room in my night clothes, his gaze would pause longer over my groin area, than on other areas. Each evening was like this. His eyes float over the rest of me, but they would always come back to my crotch. It was difficult when I first noticed this, my body began to feel his eyes ghosting over it, and my cock would become very interested in the possibilities. But as of about a week ago, I became much more controlled in his presence. I was more and more relaxed and capable of allowing Sherlock to deduce me as he wished, without my dirty mind getting the better of me. Of course I usually retired early on nights where Sherlock would succumb to his lustful imagination. It took a great deal of control not to say something when I would notice his tongue darting across his soft lips, taking his lower lip between his teeth while staring longingly at my cock. All in the fraction of a second, when I would turn enough to catch his eye he would move just enough to make it seem accidental. Trying to leave me guessing at his obvious interest. But once I retired to the privacy of my room, where I knew I was mostly able to indulge in my Sherlockian fantasies, I tore my trousers and pants from my aching body, got into the bed and ravaged myself.
The image of Sherlock worshipping me with that luscious mouth was enough to make me harder than I could ever get with all previous lovers. His heart shaped mouth seemed so soft and supple, that sharp tongue slowly gliding over my swollen manhood, taking me deep. God…what if he could deep throat…? That idea was usually what got me coming faster than any other train of thought. On nights where I would allow myself a quick and feverish wank, I would then plot once my head was clear. How would I finally get to penetrate the perfection that was his mouth? What did I need to do or say that would give him the necessary information to deduce that it was what we both wanted? The answer to all of these questions came the following morning, in the form of jam.
I came down to breakfast, Sherlock as always, crouched at the table with his experiments, completely immersed in some new bacteria culture in his microscope. I dragged my sleep dazed body over to the sink and filled the kettle. Preparing a bit of tea and toast for Sherlock and myself was commonplace for our mornings. Sherlock would never eat, but that didn't stop me from trying. Getting out the jam and putting the toast and tea on the table, I sat down next to Sherlock and began to spread jam on my bread. Apparently I was still a bit asleep and I spilled jam onto my trousers. I wasn't aware of this until several seconds later when it sounded as though Sherlock had stopped breathing.
Looking at his eyes, they were staring unabashedly at my groin. Following his gaze, I saw that I had not just dropped jam on my trousers, but I had dropped quite a bit of the wet, sticky substance directly over my still sleeping cock. A small devilish grin spread across my face, but quickly swallowing my new thought process, I wiped it from my expression and looked back up at Sherlock. His eyes were glazed over, pupils blown and his bottom lip was being chewed on quite harshly. Reaching across the table to get a napkin, I slowly wiped the jam from my trousers. Taking time to wipe lengthwise a bit slower than one would normally employ, but not so slow to be obvious. Then sighed softly.
"Well…I was going to shower anyway." I said, then slid out of my chair and went to my room to get a change of clothes. As I walked back through the kitchen Sherlock was still staring at my empty chair, lost in his lustful day dream. Walking around the table it was very obvious that his thoughts were both explicit and elaborate, his trousers were much smaller across his thighs and a substantial bulge was forming. Before being noticed, I turned my head and got into the bathroom, softly closing the door.
"Jesus...Christ…" I breathed to myself. My body was far past misbehaving at this point, the state of Sherlock's arousal had me so far beyond control it was appalling. Turning on the water, I stripped and climbed under the hot spray. Soaping up my body and then swiftly taking my throbbing cock in hand. Splaying one hand on the wall above the faucet, I leaned into my curved palm, thrusting into what I was imagining was Sherlock's hot mouth. My imagination overwhelmed me to the point where I could almost feel his soft lips stretched around me, his hot tongue darting around the tip of my leaking prick. Just the hint of his teeth as I slowly inched down his throat. I could feel his mouth tighten around me as he swallowed me over and over again. His deep voice moaning around me as I came down his throat. Biting into my forearm as I moaned his name, I came hard onto the tiles. My imagination was quite the distraction, I didn't even hear the bathroom door open, but I definitely heard it close, softly, quietly. As a devilish smile painted my expression once more.
That was when the plan came to my mind. Sherlock has a thing for sweets, chocolate sauces, whipped cream, caramel…jam. In fact it seemed to be the only thing he would actively seek out. It shouldn't be too terribly hard to get him so aroused he snaps if I keep accidentally coating my groin in his favorite flavors. The man has a sweet tooth…the makings of a delightful Watson cock obsession, and less patience than a 3 year old in a candy store. Hopefully it won't take long for him to get the point of my little experiment.
Over the course of the next month I became a klutz of amazing proportions. I spilled everything from jam to honey, caramel and at one point bread pudding across my trousers. Each time Sherlock's breath hitched, his trousers would tent magnificently, and his gaze would go blank. Every time he seemed more and more lost in his lust and I knew for certain he wasn't giving himself a hand in that department because I heard many a time his harsh voice whispering "go away, be gone, ill not deal with you anymore", when he would shower, or before bed.
I hated teasing him like this, well, I mostly hated it, ok so part of me loved it. He had been torturing me for years with his cheekbones and shirt's and riding crop, wait what?… so in a way this was payback. I just hoped that it would reach a boiling point soon. Otherwise, I was going to have to go to drastic measures.
When I woke up the following morning I decided that enough was enough, Sherlock was going to eat my bloody cock before the sun went down, or I was going to die trying. Grabbing a change of clothes, my tightest jeans, and a simple black button up I went downstairs to shower. Thankfully, Sherlock wasn't awake yet, so my plan might actually work accordingly. Sherlock wasn't used to seeing me without clothes covering the bulk of my body. At night my bed clothes were mostly cotton trousers and a t-shirt, so only my forearms and feet were uncovered. So I felt it was time to use a bit stronger bait, when I say strong. I mean, mostly naked Watson bait, with chocolate on top.
Climbing from the steamy shower, I combed my hair a bit, allowing it to look disheveled enough to be accidental, wrapped a towel around my waist and went into the kitchen. Sherlock was still locked in his room, so I prepared toast and coffee leisurely, and with a bit more noise than usual, again, not enough to be obvious. As I turned off the faucet to place the full kettle on the stove I heard his door open.
Counting his purposeful strides down the hall I paused when it reached 6, knowing that the 7th would put him just inside the door way, in full view of the bait. I nearly shivered, both in anticipation and because a very cold drop of water fell from my hair and was slowly gliding down my back. A harsh intake of breath behind me pulled me from distracting path of the droplet and I slowly turned towards my flustered flat mate. Toast and a knife full of Nutella in hand. Sherlock's one legal vice, only allowed in the flat on rare occasions. Because I never get any of it!
"Morning Sherlock, sleep well?" I said as I swiped the chocolate across my bread, successfully dropping some not just on the edge of my towel, but all down my front. Score!
"Bollocks!" I whispered and turn slightly to put down the bread and chocolate covered knife. Straightening up in front of Sherlock's frozen form I stick my thumb in my mouth, licking it free of chocolate while moving to slide by Sherlock. His glacier eyes followed the trail of chocolate down my abs and belly button, dripping over the edge of the towel and ending just above my slowly thickening prick. Angling myself to move into the hallway I slightly allowed the heavy thickness of my groin to ghost across Sherlock's thigh, then walked towards the bathroom. Leaving the door cracked, I stood just out of view and dropped the towel. Grabbing a flannel to remove the Nutella I heard Sherlock's slow steps come towards the bathroom. Finally!
I could feel his gaze taking me in as he peeked through the gap in the door. I was positioned in such a way that he could see my profile, and my hips and up reflected in the mirror. I started to bring the flannel to my chest when the door flew open and Sherlock swept in. His eyes a blaze of lust and greed as he turned my back against the sink and fell to his knees in front of me.
I looked down as Sherlock's eyes traveled from my own blown pupils down my shoulders, and over my chest, following the line of chocolate to its completion just below my navel. Then he let out a heavy breath, licked his lips, and took that succulent bottom lip between his teeth and met my gaze. "Always the tormentor until the very end, eh?", my eyes said to his.
His teeth released his lip to allow for a seductive cocky grin before leaning forward, breathing on the chocolate, cooling it and causing my flesh to pimple. I took in a deep breath, his eyes boring into my soul, and watched as his perfect tongue slid from his mouth and began tasting the genesis of the chocolate spill. I felt the heat from his tongue touch my skin. I couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped my lips as my head fell back. Positioned at the base of my sternum, Sherlock's soft tongue slowly lapped at the sweet stripe. Bringing his hands to my hips, he pulled me tighter against his hungry mouth. He moaned softly as he lapped up every trace before moving lower.
When I planned my little experiment I should have allotted for a much shorter path to my cock; this was torture! His breath against my skin, the heat from his tongue, the way he would lick the Nutella from my chest then kiss and bite a bit before moving lower: he knew exactly how crazy his ministrations were driving me. I'm fairly certain that evidence of my insanity was leaving small wet spots across the flesh of his soft chest…wait… naked?…ohgod!
I opened my eyes and looked down as Sherlock lowered a bit more, lapping just above my navel, his tongue sliding closer and closer to dipping inside it. On impulse, my hands - which were gripping the edge of the sink - now pulled free and immediately ran through Sherlock's curls to hold the back of his head close to me. His arms wrapped around my waist and my right hand slid down his neck to his bare shoulder. I hoped that Sherlock would have divested himself of all of his clothing before coming into the bathroom. I tried to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous arse by leaning forward. As I leaned, Sherlock gripped my hips and pushed me back against the sink. A throaty laugh echoed off the bathroom tiles.
"Now, John… You've been teasing me for months…I think it's time for a little payback. It's only fair, really," Sherlock whispered, his eyes boring deep into mine, both of our gazes drenched in desire.
"I teased you for a month…you've been teasing me for years, you gi—oh…god…" I'm cut off when Sherlock's warm breath brushed across my straining cock. My hips tilted into that warmth without my consent and Sherlock's soft lips brushed against the top of my shaft before he tilted his head to bite down hard on the flesh over my hip bone. My legs went weak and I was sent to the floor. Sherlock's grace and speed had him over me before I even realized I was laid on the tiles. Holy hell…he is naked…weeping Jesus! A deep groan escaped my gaping mouth as I arched up into him and wrapped my arms around his lithe form.
Opening my eyes, I saw him slither up my body, sliding between my thighs and grinding our hot erections together. Moaning against each other's mouths, our eyes met. For a split second I thought he was going to pull away and shut himself up in his bedroom again, but just as the thought played out in my eyes Sherlock smiled and slowly leaned down taking my mouth in a soft, chaste kiss. His mouth was sweet, soft, hot Nutella, and Sherlock. His weight rested on his elbows and I felt his hand against my neck. His tongue darted out to beg entrance to my mouth. Moaning into him, I arched up again, dug my fingers into his hair, and dove into that perfect mouth. Our tongues twisted and danced together as I wrapped myself around his body. Taking advantage, I successfully flipped us over. I straddled his hips and indulged in the look of shock and overwhelming desire that filled Sherlock's eyes. Giving him my most devilish smile, I sat back on my heels, Sherlock's eyes lost focus a bit as he lifted his head. The landscape of his flesh pulled over flexed muscles to allow his mouth to lap at my dripping cock. Realizing that he couldn't reach, I laughed and slid up his body, pinning him between my legs, my prick hovering just over his mouth.
"Not teasing now, am I?" I said, my voice much deeper and more sensual than he usually hears it. It didn't fall onto deaf ears. His eyes widened and his tongue slid out to moisten his lower lip. Leaning over his hungry mouth, I gripped the edge of the tub as Sherlock tilted his head up and swallowed my length to the hilt. OhmygodhecandeepthroatholyFU CK! My mind exploded at the sensation of his hot mouth devouring me, his deep groans sending delicious vibrations through my body as I slid back, pulling from his mouth.
I was momentarily astounded at yet another ability of my flat mate's sharp tongue. My mind completely shut off. Sherlock took advantage of my pause. He sat up and slid my body softly to the floor between his legs. My back pressed against the cool tiles as Sherlock pulled from under me and quickly hovered over my pained arousal. Watching as his warm breath taunted the swollen flesh of my cock, his eyes blown, greedy and hungry, heavy lids blinking slowly as a small smile sharpened his features. Exhaling softly against my flesh, a chill ran up my spine just as I felt his lips part and slowly take me just inside his mouth. The feeling of his tongue, hot and soft licking at the tip of my cock was enough to make my hips thrust up into him. His large hands pressed me firmly back to the floor, taking his time with me, tonguing every vein from base to tip. Each lap of that tongue, the pressure of his taught lips, and every moan from his body threw me closer and closer to the orgasm waiting within me. Ohgotnotyet! Was all I could think, I had wanted this for so long, and now that it was here, I was nearly thrown over the edge just watching this man slowly devour my cock. Slowly…oh so bloody slowly…
All I wanted was for this man to feverishly shove me down his throat and suck the orgasm from my body. And since it was obvious that this was my cock's desire - and this was Sherlock we were talking about - he was intent on prolonging it! That damnable, beautiful man! A deep laugh echoed off the bathroom tiles. I opened my eyes (which I wasn't even aware that I had closed!) and I saw Sherlock's greedy stare. His eyes laughing, dancing before me as though he had a secret he couldn't wait to share.
"Jesus…Sherlock…please…," I moaned, carding my fingers through his hair and arching against his firm hold. I felt a soft groan against my swollen prick as he took me deep, all the way to the hilt, down the tight heat of his throat, then he slid off just as quickly.
"FUCK! Sherlock…Dammit…!" I growled into the room, my head falling back against the floor with a depressing thud. I felt his tongue lapping at my sensitive balls, my prick straining, lonely in the air. Sherlock's hands slid around my hips and under my arse, lifting me up enough to slide his tongue down the taught flesh of my balls, and then further behind …ohgodseriously?! The tip of his tongue teased and taunted the rim of my arse, then drove straight in, stretching my quivering flesh around his thick tongue. An embarrassingly loud groan escaped my chest as I writhed against his talented tongue.
After effectively leaving me a trembling mess, he lowered my hips back to the ground, his tongue following its previous path, back up towards my leaking cock. He was holding me down by my hips again. My mouth was gasping, moans and groans escaping my breathless lips. I watch through heavy lids as my delicious flat mate's tongue slid up the underside of my cock and twirled around the tip, a drip of precum caught before his talented tongue slid back into his mouth. A small crease formed between his eyebrows and he moaned…moaned… as the taste of my passions flooded his senses.
His eyes opened. Fire and ice met my gaze. His devious, torturing glare was gone, replaced with desire, need, want.
"Sher-," I tried to moan before his mouth opened and I was quickly swallowed down. Expecting him to stop, to tease me once more, I paused. But he just continued to swallow around my throbbing member. His head rose up a bit then swallowed me over and over again, his throat constricting around my sensitive flesh. His hands pulled away from my hips, one ghosting up my body to my chest, clawing at my nipples, while the other tickled down the crease of my thigh and teased my opening. Arching up into him, I felt him groan around me as his deft finger penetrated my body, immediately seeking out my prostate. Feeling the pad of his long finger lightly brush across it I thrusted into his mouth, holding his head firm, effectively fucking that tight throat.
"Bloody…fucking…Christ…oh God…Sherlock…," I screamed into the room. My body writhed and thrust into his. His hands coaxed my orgasm from deep within me, and when I felt his finger begin to massage that tight bundle of nerves, I immediately started coming straight down Sherlock's greedy throat. I held his head with both hands and I felt his tongue swallow around me, sliding up my shaft as much as possible, milking my pulsing cock. The whole world went white and I felt Sherlock groaning around me as I slid just out of his throat, him still suckling the tip while rubbing my prostate. It was the longest orgasm I had ever experienced, long enough to be able to consciously think that it was oddly long in fact. In my haze I looked down to see Sherlock's lips still suckling my heavy prick, both shoulders moving slightly, and I feel the absence of his hand on my chest. Oh…OH…is he…bloody…FUCK! A sharp pressure slammed into my prostate and I was coming hard once more into Sherlock.
As the orgasm receded and I was left a wrecked mess, I felt Sherlock slide up my body, his hot, heavy cock dragging up my leg and nestling in the crease between my thigh and exhausted prick. His expression startled me: still greedy and swimming with desire, but there was an apprehension behind his eyes, almost a self-consciousness.
"Oh…God…Sherlock…Fuck me…," I whispered into his ear, as I licked and bit at his ear lobe. Having that beautiful prick buried deep inside me wasn't even something I thought I wanted before, but now that it was right in front of me (or on top of me to be more accurate), it was all I could think about.
Sherlock rose up on his elbows to look right in my eyes. "John?"
"I need you, inside me…god…fuck me Sherlock… please," I begged. Knowing exactly how my words and tone were effecting his manhood, I embellished it a bit. Just after feeling him swell against my leg, he bent his knees and spread my legs wide, kneeling between them. Reaching up into a bag on the sink he pulls out lubricant…my genius flat mate, thank god. Taking some in his hand he slid two fingers slowly into me. The relaxation of two orgasms left me pliant and sated, but the feeling of his hands invading me was slowly waking up my arousal. I felt his fingers slide and stretch me. I saw his other hand gripping his manhood. Just as the rest of him, it was beautiful: long and thick…god…really thick…I was immediately thankful for the post-coital relaxation. He met my gaze and I nodded at him, begging him to push that perfect cock deep inside me.
Pulling his fingers from my body, he rose up a bit and positioned himself just against my body. I could feel the heat from his prick as it slowly slipped inside me. He held himself firmly against me, his shoulder flexed, his chest, god...his abs…all of him was perfectly poised to penetrate. I wrapped my legs around his waist and I tugged him harder against me. I could feel every inch of him spreading my flesh, pressing against me, filling me up, and when he was all the way in, the delicious slide against my prostate woke up my already leaking prick. Lowering himself to me, our chests pressed together. I wrapped myself around him as he began to thrust his hips slowly.
The bathroom, most likely the flat, and quite possibly the whole building were full of our groans, screams, and growls as Sherlock picked up speed. His desire thrust into me. We ground our hips together. My cock pressed tightly between us; giving it such beautiful tugs with our movements I was close once again. Pulling Sherlock down to me, I dove my tongue deep into his mouth. Our breathless cries and moans were dying on each other's tongues as I felt him swell inside me. He then rose up off of me, threw his head back, and let out the most arousing sound I could have ever imagined would come from that mouth. So arousing in fact, my third orgasm of the day came just after Sherlock's. As he collapsed against me, I could feel his prick slowly fall from my body. He tilted us over on our sides and we tried to catch our breath. As our heads lolled to the side, we caught each other's gaze. There was a moment of awkwardness between us before we were both laughing, giddy and exhausted.
"Bloody…buggering fuck, Sherlock! What the hell took you so long! We could have been doing that ages ago!" I said, full of laughter and breathless wonder. I mean really: Why the hell hadn't we been doing that all along?
"I was just waiting on you, Doctor," Sherlock said, leaning towards me, his hand sliding up my chest and over my shoulder pulling me towards him. "As I have been saying: you see…but you do not observe," he whispered, his voice dripping with sex, sending pleasant jolts through my body.
"Bloody git," I whispered before meeting his lips in a very deep, very arousing kiss.