Accidental co-write with LeTalkingMime (tumblr).
Shota Disclaimer: To me, as a young teen getting into my first fandom, and even now as an adult, there has always been a difference between 'Shota' (which I found/find acceptable) and 'Pedophilia' (which I found/find unacceptable and did/do not condone). This disclaimer is not the place to get into those differences, however, so I shall simply say that, no matter how you view the two terms and the differences between them, shota does contain sexual content between a pre-/pubescent boy and another person, one who is typically an adult, but can be a person of the same or lesser age; the term for the opposite genre (girl) is 'loli/ta'. If you personally know someone who has engaged in sexual activities with a child, whether you were the engager, the victim, or a bystander, please report them to a trusted authority immediately. No matter how shota/loli is written, no matter how informed the shota/loli's character consent is in-fic, real children are not capable of the same consent. That said, please enjoy this fictional work.
Originally posted to AO3 on 2014-11-16.
Winter was fastly approaching, and with the changing of the seasons came an influxed chance of feeling under the weather. So, as it became colder, poor little John found himself waking up with an itchiness in his throat. He hopped out of bed in time to see his papa Sherlock bundling up in his fancy coat and dashed to hug him about the waist before he left to go on a case. He buried his face into the fabric before pulling back a bit.
"Stay safe, Papa!" His voice cracked while his face scrunched at the uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat. It didn't feel good at all. He pouted, too focused on the soreness to notice his Papa's eyes analyzing him.
Knowing instantly what was wrong, Sherlock went into the kitchen and searched through out the cupboards. No luck on finding the medicine, but hopefully a mug and a couple hot cocoa packets would suffice? Coffee was out of the question for someone so young and John still wasn't on good terms with the electric kettle, so he would have to make due with heating up the cocoa in the microwave until he gets back. He placed all the items on the kitchen table before turning back towards a confused looking John in the doorway.
"Don't you worry, John. I should be back before dark." Sherlock crouched to be at John's eye level. "Just make sure while I'm gone, you drink lots of hot cocoa. It's getting colder out so you need to keep your core temperature warm. Plus, the hot fluids can help with hydration and the killing of possible bacteria. So will you be a good boy for me and drink the cocoa while I'm gone?"
John nodded enthusiastically, obviously weary of his voice scratching his throat even more, and wrapped his arms around his papa's shoulders, giving them one big squeeze before getting straight to work on making a mug of hot cocoa.
Sherlock smiled and patted the child on his head. This had to be the best chore he haD ever given John before he left… Well maybe second best chore, but who knew how John rated the pleasurable activities.
John's head snapped up and turned to him, a question burning in his eyes. It took a while for Sherlock to process what the child wanted. The morose glance at the mug's smooth surface was what clued him in.
Sherlock grabbed a bag of marshmallows off the top shelf and placed them down next to the packets.
"Now John, limit yourself. I don't want to come home to see that they all vanished into thin air. Do I make myself clear?"
Another nod and a small handful of marshmallows found their way into his mug.
"Good boy," Sherlock complimented with a soft pat on his head before he took off out the door.
So John was left to drink all the cocoa he could for the day. It surprisingly helped his throat, but only for the few seconds he swallowed the warm and sweet liquid; it just felt like no matter how many warm drinks he had, it would never be soothed. He had just downed the last of the hot cocoa mixtures that his Papa left out and was grabbing for one last handful of marshmallows to savor when he heard the flat's door being unlocked. He shoved the white puffs into his mouth and worked promptly on putting everything away so it looked nice and tidy before his Papa came in.
When he heard Sherlock taking off his coat and scarf in the entrance way, he scurried out to meet him, completely forgetting the marshmallows he had puffing out his cheeks.
Sherlock turned to him and chuckled deeply, "Oh my… How did this little chipmunk sneak in here?" he teased as he lightly pinched at the full cheeks. "Don't tell me you are making a habit out of bulging out your cheeks with various white substances? Some might think it's very… unbecoming." His smirk widened. "Now then… Chew that up and swallow. Last thing we want is for you to choke on something so tiny." Sherlock turned back towards his coat and rifled through one of its pockets. "Plus, I got you something while I was out and it's no use to us if your mouth is preoccupied."
The boy's jaw went into action quickly and swallowed the lumpy mush in one go. The audible gulp was exquisite along with the nice bulge the morsel made as John swallowed it down. Soon. So very soon… but first...
He pulled the throat numbing spray into view, showed John the label, and told him how it had to be applied. John of course thought it was brilliant how it was deduced that this was needed and was eager to have the irritating pain vanish.
The boy's mouth opened wide. Three sprays. An abortive gag. Then finally a swallow left everything numb.
Sherlock slid a finger into the tiny mouth just to be sure.
John's young eyes widened, expecting himself to start gagging again when his papa's fingers swiped across the swollen glands, but the feeling never came. It felt like... Papa was almost massaging them... To make the pain and the swelling go away. To wipe off all the bad germs that made him hurt. He hummed in content around the finger, causing his papa to quietly gasp.
Sherlock stood up and took his finger out of John's mouth, saliva clinging to it, the boy's mouth following after. Wide open. Needy. His.
Annoyed, little John frowned as he chased after Papa's finger. How was he gonna get better if Papa wasn't wiping away all the bad germs? So he grabbed hold and swallowed the finger right back down, his mouth small enough and Sherlock's finger long enough that it actually slid into John's throat, but he didn't notice what would normally make him gag. All he noticed was that the soft pressure of Papa's finger against the insides of his sore throat made him feel better. But sadly, the finger left again.
John leaned forward into Sherlock's stomach and tilted his head up in question, eyes half open in a dream-like state. Sherlock nodded and moved his hand underneath John to unzip and release himself. John went at it right away and took the half hard member into his mouth, his nose against Sherlock's coarse hairs, seeming to relish the feeling of it thickening and slowly inching down his throat.
Oh God, it was amazing. So tight. So wet. So good for Sherlock while it rubbed John's throat in the best of ways: all over.
Papa's penis always felt nice in his mouth, but if he tried taking too much, it usually hurt his throat. Not tonight though. Tonight the thickness only held the soreness at bay, and the look on Papa's face made it feel like John was making his Papa better like Papa was making him better. Large hands held his head gently, the fingers cradling the back of his skull and sifting through his hair. He didn't even care about the dampness of the one hand. All that mattered was taking care of Papa and Papa taking care of him. It just made him feel so good.
The soft mouth and the tight throat around his cock made Sherlock's eyes want to roll back in his head. John had never taken him so deep before and seemed hell-bent on taking more. The swollen muscles of that small throat rippled, trying to pull him in, and the pert nose flared and titled towards his pubic hair. It was so difficult to not let his holding turn into pushing. The throat was just so lovely, but as much as he wanted to, he refrained from thrusting harshly, content with just staying still and inside.
Unfortunately, John would not have it.
His small hands grabbed Sherlock from behind, right underneath his bum and started a rhythm of squeezing and pulling and pushing and there was no end in site. Sherlock's hips went along with the motion, building slowly at first. Limbs shaking. Breath shuddering. The noises coming from John, coming from skin slapping against skin, sliding through the nice wet opening, just for him, drove him mad with desire. He needed more. John needed more and he was going to get it.
Papa was filling his mouth, filling his throat, but John knew Papa could get harder, longer. John knew if he moved his mouth over Papa's penis, it would do both of those things, and it did. His throat filled until he had to breathe carefully through his nose. Tears prickled his eyes and he looked up at his beloved Papa. He wanted everything. The length, the girth, the strong wild thrusts. He knew his papa could finally see it. That he could take it. Take it all. Yes! His papa began to shove in and out so hard and fast.
Sherlock's holding hand had become his pushing hand. He couldn't help it. John's tiny fingers were clenching and encouraging, his blue eyes pleading and wide, his mouth hot and his throat tight.
"So good, baby," he praised. "Take all of Papa. I'm so close. Take me a little longer and your throat will feel so much better." His other hand wrapped loosely around the front of John's neck, feeling himself thrust on the other side of skin and muscles. Reveling at the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of John. So perfect. So magnificent.
Papa's palm was warm across his throat, and he could feel the harsh slide of Papa's penis even more. His eyes were watering so hard he couldn't see anymore. So he closed them and slid his hands up Papa's trousers, curling his fingers tight in the black fabric. Papa began to slow down and John whimpered, tugging to make Papa speed back up. He shoved his face forward, hair tickling his nose. Puffing air out when he could. Papa's thrusts became erratic and forceful. Growling for John to take all of him.
The tight heat was quickly becoming too much, and he knew he was going to come soon. The great dilemma was coming in John's mouth or right down his throat? The decision was quickly swept away by the orgasm itself, drawing up his balls, washing down his spine. His cock pulsed in John's throat and against his palm, and Sherlock pushed on the back of his little boy's head. Keeping him down. Having him as close as possible. Never separated. To always be a part of him and to always have a part of himself in John.
Papa's penis was throbbing in his mouth, warmth flooding his throat. He gripped the trousers tighter and squeezed his eyes harder and tried not to choke as the hand at the front of his throat tightened. He would have whined at the strangeness, the way it would have choked him, if Papa's penis wasn't so far down his throat. But Papa was moaning and sounded so happy so John tried to be a good boy and stay still. Not even tasting Papa's orgasm when it coated his throat in a new layer of soothing liquids.
Sherlock continued to thrust slightly with the final tremors of his orgasm. With a guttural moan, "Baby you have no idea how much I just want to stay inside you forever. You're just-" the last spurts came with his shallow thrusts, "-perfect."
Sherlock moved to withdraw his softening prick out and saw how much his baby needed him too. The pressure of his palm on the back of John's head gentled. He eased himself out slowly, the fingers on John's throat massaging devotedly. "How do you feel, Baby?"
The numbness was starting to wear off and the effects of having his throat used so thoroughly were starting to whisper along his muscles, but the thick liquid of Papa's orgasm was coating his throat and his Papa looked concerned but sated so-
"Really good, Papa," he whispered. His own penis was so hard it hurt and he needed, but he didn't want to bother his Papa. He found himself scooped up in giant arms and laid over long legs when his papa sat on the couch. A hand cupped him and Papa's eyes asked for permission.
John nodded and sighed as Papa's fingers freed him. He was quickly turned on his belly with his knees propped up and a couple long fingers found their way back into his mouth. He sucked and licked at them before they retreated back to his penis, but he whined. He needed something, but he knew Papa was sensitive now. But maybe he would let him have it. He wouldn't move... He'd just hold it. Surely he'd be fine with that? His small hips thrusting into the large hand as he leaned closer to Sherlock's lap. Mouth open and wholly begging. "Please?"
Papa raised an eyebrow, but nodded and John swallowed him down immediately, moaning as his mouth and throat was filled again, not noticing his Papa's full-body shudder. The large hand curled tighter around his tiny penis. He was already so hard and always so sensitive, it only took a few strokes before he was coming and trembling in Papa's hand, but he was careful to not bite down. His shouts were muffled by Papa's girth, and he could barely hear Papa's hums of pleasure and praise over his own ecstasy.
John eventually settled down, no longer shaking, just drowsily cooing in content. Sherlock easily licked the minuscule release from his palm and fingers, but when he was done and looked down at John, he found the little boy asleep in his lap, small mouth still enclosed around his half-hard cock. Sherlock smiled, and tugged the blanket over the small form, ready to let his little boy sleep. He patted the blond head lovingly, just happy for his company. Sated, and with a happy mouth still on him, Sherlock napped too.
FIN
Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/104290873033). :3 Tschüß~