Before you read the first chapter of a request fic, I am sure few of you reading this already follow me, so you know I have been co-authors with Teithril (I promise at some point I will finish the other two stories with her).
I have a third co-writer, Poppy (Who is the one I wrote this with). Who is lovely and talented.
This is a request fic by one of my followers, Mimamia. It took long enough to get it posted but I hope it's worth it. We are hoping to update weekly or at least bi-weekly.
Feel free to Review and tell us what you think. Happy reading!
An alarm went off beeping until he was shut off. It was followed by two deep groans as a red hair male and a greying-blond male pressed against each other.
They were both horny as hell and neither much wanted to get out of bed.
"I see someone's eager." John smirked, looking over at Sebastian's morning erection tenting his pants.
"Says the man with a dick hard enough to chop wood." Sebastian nodded towards the rock-hard purple cock John was pull out of his own black pants. "You're not coming near me with that thing again so soon. I'm still sore from the last time. I'll be fucking you this morning."
"Is that right?" John chuckled, moving to pin the Irishman who narrowed his eyes as he tried to throw off the large weight on top of him.
"It's not happening, John." He added, and then giving up the struggle, tried a new tactic. He smirked and said, his words flowing in his Irish lilt, "Come one, John, you know you want to."
John groaned knowing full well his boyfriend was right. It wouldn't be fair to fuck him while he was still so sore, plus he never minded bottoming. He moved to take off his pants and quickly prepped himself with two of his thick fingers.
Both men loved sex and were pretty versatile when it came to topping and bottoming. Sex, especially, for John, was a necessity of life.
They had met in the army and quickly they became a thing. A pair of fuck buddies who were also into fucking as many other people as possible. It wasn't a competition or anything. John was especially humble when it came to how much he scored. Of course, it helped that he naturally had the bigger reputation so he didn't need to come on as aggressive as Sebastian did.
As they got older, they stayed lovers and friends, and now, each middle-aged, they even moved in together, living in a rather palatial flat.
John moved to straddle Sebastian and bent down to ravage his mouth as he sank down on the red-head's cock, immediately lifting up and down and fucking himself while Sebastian could only cry out at the scalding heat of John's body.
Suddenly, they heard a door closed and John got off Sebastian's cock, growling, "He's up."
The 'he' in question was a sweet young boy, a first year university student who danced to make money. John had found him half beaten to death by a vicious boyfriend in the backroom of a posh club. His name was Sherlock, although he'd gone by Shezza at the time, and he was the prettiest thing John had ever seen in his entire life. Pale and slender with large soft ringlets topping his angelic looking face. But skinny. Scary skinny: his delicate bone structure showing all over his body from his high cheek bones to each and every rib of his narrow chest to his concave stomach.
John had begged Sebastian to let them rent out one of their extra bedrooms to the teen. That room had been reserved so that each other could bring girlfriends and boyfriends over and had a place to fuck. That was four months ago and Sebastian was starting to get harried at the prospect of losing their 'guest' room permanently.
Both of them knew how fixated John was on Sherlock and yet he hadn't sealed the deal. It drove Sebastian mad seeing how much John, who was the cock of the walk in his opinion, turned into a pining tortured soul around the strange boy.
"You gonna fuck that little twink or what?" Sebastian groused, upset at having been so close to climax only to have been left unsatisfied.
"Don't call him a twink," John snarled, his own large hard dick jutting upwards and bouncing aggressively as he went to reach for his pants. Practically speaking John knew 'twink' was easily the most accurate and fitting one-word description of Sherlock there was - what with the seventeen year old boy's lithe little body and pert plump ass, and his smooth, soft skin - but twink also implied an inherent sluttiness, and that's where the definition fell flat. Sherlock was anything but slutty. In fact, the boy's very reticence towards sex was what precipitated his ex-boyfriend's attack.
Frigid bitch.
That's what that Victor douche had been snarling as he attacked the small boy when John ran in to see what the commotion was about.
Since that time John had realized Sherlock wasn't interested in sex. It was as huge a blow to John Watson's desire than if the boy had shot him in the face.
John stuffed his still hard cock in his pants as quickly as he could and then ran out to see Sherlock.
The slim boy was currently looking through the bottom cabinets in the kitchen, face down, ass up.
John's dick throbbed so hard at those succulent orbs he thought he might blow his load there and then. It was unfair, unjust, that a pair of such perfect lush firm globes should belong to someone so skinny, especially someone so disinterested in sex. It was like Sherlock was simply made to torture John's cock.
"John," the boy cried out, not bothering to look up. He clearly knew it was John from his footfalls practically running out of his room. "John, do we have any borax? I need it for an experiment I want to run."
"Borax, no. We'll have to go and buy you some."
Moran had come pottering out of the room by then and added in a grouchy tone directed toward the comely youth, "Better yet, why don't you stop being such a pampered princess brat and go to the store yourself, Shezza."
"Stop it, Sebastian," John growled, his gravelly voice low and dangerous.
Moran wanted to keep provoking the little walking fuckdoll; Sherlock always acted so better than all of them. Pretending to be innocent, but deep down Moran knew he was a cockslut at heart. Even now he couldn't miss how the boy's long lashes fluttered as he looked to where the huge length of John's cock was straining the loose material of John's black pants. The boy's lashes blinked over and over again, a pretty pink blush covering the boy's sweet pale face.
Sherlock was clearly gagging for cock.
If he were John he'd shove his dick in the boy's pretty little mouth for days.
Seb was a good friend. Under any normal circumstances he would never dream of poaching one of John's lovers. Then again, he knew realistically it was John who most blokes or chicks went after. He was nicer. He was more charming. He was bigger. He also, however, happened to have a temper and an unflagging ability to get his conquests mixed up, which lead to many of his girlfriends and boyfriends storming off when he'd forgotten their name or that they had a date together.
But this was different. This was John blue-balled by a fuck kitten. That's what Sherlock was. A still-innocent comeslut who just needed to be trained on what to do and then he's blossom open, Moran was sure of it.
But John was too besotted with the pale virgin to even consider making a real move.
Even now, John's tender-hearted reply was, "Sherlock, why don't you and I go out together later on. I'll buy you all the supplies you need, alright?"
And Seb could just tell by the tiny little victory smirk on Sherlock's pretty face that he knew he'd got John wrapped around his finger.
"Sounds good." Sherlock said, nodding, "I'll make some tea."
Both John and Sebastian headed back to their room to change and get ready for the day.
Immediately after closing the door, John shoved Moan back against the wall, growling low in his chest. "What the hell is the matter with you? Saying that shit to the boy, scaring him half to death."
Moran's groaned at the strong impact. Normally, Moran knew exactly when not to mess with John. He'd had seen the soldier knock someone clean to the ground unmoving with a single punch. Though John was normally a calm individual, when his blood was up and his temper flared you did not want to be near him. But right now Moran's own temper was up, not to mention his lust. He pushed back from the wall and got into John's space.
"Me?" He bit back. "You're the one letting that little slut walk all over you. God, it makes me sick. I've never seen you act like this. You've fucked half the city but now suddenly you can't get your act together long enough to make a move. The John I knew would have have screwed that brunette's brains out a thousand times by now."
"Look at him, Moran. He's not ready for that sort of thing. He's so young. I'm more than twice his age for crying out loud. He's completely virginal to boot. Sex scares him. I don't want to make him run away from it, or even worse, from me, for good."
"Fucking Christ, John, that boy wants you."
John, stubborn as a bull, just shook his head. "He's too young. He doesn't know what he wants."
Moran growled, utterly fed up with John's sudden sexual nobility. "Maybe it's you who doesn't want him? Eh? Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I ought to show little Shezza what it would feel like to be taken by a man who actually wants him and is willing to demonstrate it."
A snarl tore from John's throat so deep and aggressive Moran could feel it in his bones. "Do that and I will kill you, do you understand?"
Moran nodded, but slowly. In his head he said to himself, This isn't over.
John pulled back, and looked guilty for losing his temper. "Seb, you don't understand how hard it is for me. Do you honestly think I don't want to take him, that I don't want to bend his delectable little body over ever surface in the flat and not dominate his luscious ass, make him scream until he comes from my cock and my cock alone. You have no idea what kind of torture it is for me not to pin him down every time I have to watch him practice his dance moves, or do those Barbie doll leg stretches, or hell, every time he just bends over, which in case you haven't noticed is all the fucking time. But I can't, Moran. Sherlock's not like most people I fuck. He isn't going to just… just be fine with it." John's nostrils were flaring almost in rage and Moran nodded.
He got it now. He actually got it now. His best mate was suffering. Neither he nor Sherlock were going to make a move for each other. And it was up to him to do something about it.
Back in the kitchen, Sherlock put the kettle on the stove starting the water. In the morning he liked to make tea before everyone had to leave. The usual routine was that Sherlock would wake up first, but he normally stayed in his room reading or quietly made his way to the living room to lay on the couch. Eventually he would make the tea or coffee for everyone. John on occasion would have time to make breakfast and he always made sure Sherlock ate some of it. Sherlock smiled softly thinking about how John was always taking care of the teen like that. Of course, those were also some of the rare times John directed his soldier voice, so deep and firm, towards Sherlock. Normally it was reserved for Seb or other people. It never ceased to make the boy shive no matter how much he expected John to give the command for him to eat.
Sherlock had never been treated so kindly and yet given so much independence in his entire life.
In the four months Sherlock had been allowed to stay with John and Sebastian, John's patience and generosity never stopped surprising him. Receiving gifts from older men wasn't exactly new to him. His ex-boyfriend Victor Trevor also bought him things, expensive gifts and trinkets, quite frequently as it happened, but he never really let Sherlock stay at his place for too long. He was a married man and just liked to use Sherlock as arm candy at his private social activities.
John was different. In so many ways. There was no denying how gorgeous the older man was. Rugged good looks on a handsome broad face, and a thick, muscular well-built body. Sometimes Sherlock had to catch himself from not staring longingly at those way the muscles in his arms rippled when he picked something up. He also had an insanely high sex drive. He and Moran clearly enjoyed sex and they fucked a lot.
There was no getting around that part of it. Sherlock was told to stop acting like a puritan by Seb when he used to crinkle and tip his nose high up in the air at the loud pounds of something, most likely the headboard hitting the wall, coming from their bedroom when a "guest" came over.
It was incredibly surprising, given what he knew of John's libido and what he understood from men before, that John had only made one advance on the teen, and that was at the beginning. When Sherlock blushed and tried to explain he didn't actually ever do sex or sexual acts before, John nodded and walked off. And since that time he was all patience and tenderness toward Sherlock. There were times of course Sherlock caught John's gorgeous dark blue eyes rake over his ass and pale body, and yes, Sherlock's inner praise kink sought more of that attention, of John's compliments of his body and face and abilities, and deep down he thought about what it might be like to have sex with the man, his long legs lifted and bent in half, his tiny body crushed by the strong huge-framed soldier, to have his whole being be mastered and dominated by someone as experienced and well-endowed as Captain John Watson.
But he just couldn't bring himself to tell the grey-haired man how he really felt. Every time John smiled his charming broad smile and helped Sherlock with money or listened to him go on about deductions he made of his schoolmates or the customers at the club Sherlock's knees went weak and he wanted to run away. Sometimes John tried to broach discussions of sex, and Sherlock again tried to switch topics. He didn't know why he did it, because deep down he thought about what it would be like to be kissed by John.
Then there was Sebastian Moran. He had a similar raw sexuality as John but none of John's control. They had a relationship that wasn't normal but then again sex wasn't really anything Sherlock knew much about, and that's precisely what their entire relationship was based on. They got a high from rough sex and BDSM activities, which made sense given their violent personalities. Those type of relationships usually ended with the 'couple' parting ways once the sex dried out. Though the way John and Sebastian were close, Sherlock doubted that be the case. They shared a common love besides their sexual-driven lifestyle - the Army.
As for relationships, John had recently been with a woman whom he met at the local pub. Sherlock had heard the sounds of their rough lovemaking even clear across the large flat when Moran was out or slept on the couch. And before that there had been another girl, and before that a boy. All of them only lasted for a few weeks. John never talked about how that relationship or any other relationship ended but Sherlock didn't need to be told. He was clever enough to figure out the generalities.
Some of them got mad because John would forget their names, or forget about dates, or perhaps John slept with someone else on the side and they found out.
Ultimately it came to just one thing they young teen realized. John wasn't the type to be tied down to a single lover. With the exception of his buddy/sex relationship with Moran.
In the beginning Sherlock didn't have an opinion about it, one way or another, it was simply the way John Watson worked. But lately he felt more uneasy about it. And not just on his side of things. Something started to change. He still couldn't understand what or why, but a slowly growing jealousy began burning inside of him. Jealous of what John's short-term lovers had with him the hard, tanned soldier. That ferocity in sex. Sherlock noticed the way John looked at him and saw the dark hot desire inside his dark blue eyes.
For the last month Sherlock had the same dream every night when he slept: a tanned, solidly built man with indistinguishable features comes to his bed.
It's always the same. Sherlock is startled as the heavy weight sinks the mattress next to him. He's shocked and tries to run out of panic. A warm, broad palm instantly spans the width of this back and presses him down. Sherlock shrieks. The man's voice rumbles like gravel dragged over stone, dark with lust and desire.
"You're MINE. You belong to me, and now, Sherlock, I'm going to claim you, inside and out, so everyone else in the world will know who you belong to."
Squealing Sherlock tries to escape but it's like fighting an iron vice. An unrecognized desire inside tells him, tell his transport at least, "Let him. It's going to happen so just let it happen." And so he does. Sherlock lets himself go soft, pliant, afraid more struggle will lead to more pain.
He feels a hot mouth burning at the nape of his neck, teeth scraping the soft virgin flesh. "You've tortured me long enough. Ruined me in so many ways. Now it's my turn. I'm going to RUIN you."
Sherlock keens out, high and helpless, when he feels what he fears is what it is: a massive, furnace-hot cock suddenly presses down against his naked ripe ass-globes and lower back, causing unstoppable shivers to course through his pale form.
His tiny body is crushed under the huge heavy frame pinning him immobile. The man's hands wrap around his small waist and RUTS against him. Like an animal, like a mindless beast needing him badly. Sherlock makes shivery feeble little cries.
Slowly, under the assault and lust, Sherlock feels himself slowly becoming turned on. His cries turn into high pitched moans and he starts arching his back, pushing his rump backwards as much as he can into the vicious thrust of the fierce rutting body that's shoving his lithe frame up the bed with each motion.
Suddenly, the man in a low pitched voice snarls, "Now it's time to really get fucked, little whore."
I'm not a whore.
Even as Sherlock thinks this another voice in his head counters, Yes you are. You're a worthless whore and you love it.
He shivers, more small soft cries spilling out as the man pries open his pale smooth buttcheeks to get to the pretty pink little hole there, so tiny and tight, virginal, but soon to be stretched and stuffed and made gapping and red….
Oh God. Oh no!
Suddenly, the warm calloused hands leave his body. And then nothing more. No more man, no more attention, no more sex…
It never goes any further. Sherlock should have waken up relieved. Instead, he could never quite pinpoint why the dream always left him feeling depressed in the morning.
Sebastian came downstairs fully dressed, entering the kitchen in a hurry. He grabbed something quick to eat. He trained new Army recruits when he wasn't deployed.
Sebastian looked at Sherlock and said, "Hmm I was almost hoping that you'd be sashaying around the house with just a sheet or preferably naked."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If I did that, I wouldn't be able to get you off of me."
"Not as much as John." Sebastian said growling, walking up to the skinny teen and forcing him to make eye contact. One thing he hated about the teasing little boy was that he only ever gave someone his attention and his eyes if he wanted it. He wanted everyone to always watch him, that was the dancer and attention whore in him, but he was coy as fuck with his own pretty pair of eyes.
Cupping the narrow chin he tipped Sherlock's head back so his light blue eyes met Moran's green ones. "You ought to know you little slut that the Captain whose big cock you're always gagging for, he wants you just as bad as you want him."
Sherlock reacted immediately by pulling away out of Moran's grip and exclaiming, "John doesn't want me like that!" His face was suddenly covered by a bright rosy flush as he realized he probably should have dismissed the first part of Moran's accusations. He ducked his head but quickly recovered, looking back at Moran defiant. "John might give me a compliment but he would never lay a hand on me...not like that." He swallowed, trying not to sound disappointed.
Sebastian smirked and leaned over to whisper hotly into the sensitive shell of Sherlock's ear, pinning the boy to the counter while keeping eye contact, "You have no fucking clue do you? You like to keep your cute little head stuck up in the clouds all day. Well, let me fill you in on some aspects of life you seem to ignore. Me and John, we like to make young things like you beg. I'd make you scream until you can no longer speak. It's going to be so delicious to watch your haughty, bratty, too-good-for-everyone-self come undone." He paused, enjoying how the teen tried twisting around in Sebastian's grasp but was unable to get away.
On a hunch, Sebastian tried a slightly altered tactic. "But that won't be half as bad as what John will to do to your pretty little ass. Imagine it, getting rawed by him for days, him hurting you with his big cock and broad hands. You know his reputation. He has stamina like a stallion. You'll be fucked unconscious and he'll keep going until you wake back up, stuffed to the hilt with his massive cock. You're going to be unable to walk the next month, little one."
Sherlock's eyes suddenly went saucer-wide, he stayed limp against the counter, taking in the images Sebastian was forcing in his head, shivering little out mewls falling from his plump pink mouth.
Sebastian growled, satisfied with what he'd done to the clever little posh boy, who looked positively wrecked and he wasn't even touched yet. He moved away, "I will see you tonight, Shezza," leaving a dazed and shocked pale teen practically swaying and clutching at the counter, knees wobbling.
Sherlock didn't even know how much time had passed, when suddenly John walked into the kitchen, the very object of the naughty and impure thoughts he'd just had.
"Sherlock," the grey-haired soldier began, looking concerned, "You're bright red. Everything all right?"
Sherlock nodded, he didn't trust his voice quite yet. He turned aside, knowing he must be blushing violently now "How about I make breakfast? You need to eat, it's been a couple days."
Sherlock nodded, "Of course. I can't argue with my doctor now can I?"
John chuckled, "No, doctors do know best."
Sherlock smiled heading into the living room. His cheeks felt flushed and he couldn't help but smile. Sherlock like the image Sebastian put in his mind. There was even truth to what he said but still he was hesitant.