Part 2 – Full frontal assault
When John returned from work that evening, Sherlock was not in the study. John hung up his coat and poured himself a glass of milk. He drank as he walked toward his desk. He would blog about the New Rochelle embezzlement scheme, but what was he to call it? 'The money launderers'? 'The case of the purloined pictures'? John opened his laptop to see on the screen a video of two naked men going at it in a pool closet.
"Sherlock!" John yelled, "Why is there gay porn on my laptop?"
Sherlock came in from his room carrying his own laptop connected to a rope of colored wires tipped with little white circles. "Oh good you're home." He said, and then proceeded to stick the circles one by one to John's head.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
"Testing an hypothesis." He said as he completed sticking all of the electrodes in place. Sherlock looked at a complex display on his screen and then with one hand pushed the button to restart the video on John's computer. "Just watch the screen." he said.
John watched as one man went up and down on the other man, he was about to turn away when the man did something extremely kinky with a hose. John's mouth fell open. "Interesting." Sherlock said tapping on his keyboard with one hand.
John closed the laptop, and pulled on the cables peeling the electrodes off of his head and taking some skin and hair with them. "Enough of this." He said, "I plan to take a shower, watch some telly and go to bed. YOU! Get this off of my laptop." John left for the bathroom and took his shower.
A while later, a much more relaxed John Watson stepped out of the bathroom in his old striped robe drying his head with a towel. He walked through the kitchen, the towel obstructing his view so that it was only after he entered into the living room that he noticed across the room Sherlock Holmes completely naked.
"What's this then?" He asked.
Sherlock stared at John with a fierce intensity. He paced toward him stopping right in front of him so that their noses almost touched. Then his face changed. His lips straight and neutral parted slightly. His eyes widened and softened. Then Sherlock reached a hand out to cup the side of John's head. He tilted John's head up and kissed him full on the lips.
It was a rough kiss. His lips opened and closed sucking at John's like one might suck worriedly at a knuckle. There was no hint of tongue. John stood still in shock as Sherlock kissed him, only then realizing that doing nothing was doing something. John turned and shuffled back several steps. He tripped over the edge of the table and landed heavily on the couch.
Sherlock was beside him in an instant. "Are you alright?" He asked concerned.
John nodded conscious of the feel of Sherlock's hand on his shoulder. Another hand lay on his stomach steadying him. It slowly moved down his leg and slid under his robe.
"Steady on!" John yelled before a touch on his thigh forced a shock that made him jump. Sherlock's other hand pushed him back down. His expert hands rubbed John up and down with a rapidity that took his breath away. John became erect hard and fast.
Sherlock opened John's robe with his other hand and pinched his nipple hard so that John bobbed from the intensity of it. He rubbed his free hand along John's body worrying his areolae with his fingertips.
Suddenly John knew the answer to the a question that he had wondered about but never felt able to ask. 'Does Sherlock Holmes masturbate?' The answer must be YES! No one could be this skilled without practice. Sherlock had a talent. His firm motion made it impossible for John to speak. Almost impossible for him to breathe. His caresses were an art form.
John bobbed up and down on the couch his mouth open and panting. Sherlock drove him to a higher and higher state of excitement. He tried to protest, but the only sound that came out was a series of high-pitched moans. He tried to move, but the motion of his hips only seemed to amplify Sherlock's, driving him closer and closer to ecstasy.
John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's shoulder. He meant to tell him to stop. To say that this was misguided and unnecessary, but part of him, most of him in fact, did not want Sherlock to stop. Sherlock moved his hand up and down in a deep and steady motion. John's breath became more and more shallow, his head bouncing with every ragged breath.
"Please..." was all that he got out seconds before he ejaculated a stream of sperm that arched over his chest like a fountain. John shuddered and called Sherlock's name over and over as he pumped the last of the sperm from him in a motion like the ratcheting of a shotgun, then John sagged into the couch spent.
Sherlock reached over and dried his hands with John's towel. Then he wiped John's chest sweeping up the sperm with an S-shaped motion that felt sensual despite the sharp efficiency of his movement. Sherlock left to put the towel in the bathroom hamper leaving John open and exposed to the air, and to his thoughts.
John lay dazed wondering, "What was that? What just happened?" Sherlock had played him as expertly as he played his violin, coaxing an orgasm from him with such speed and so little effort that John wondered at himself. Am I gay? Do I find Sherlock attractive?
It was true that John had noticed how sweet Sherlock's boyish face looked when he felt the first flush of joy in a new case. He had touched Sherlock's smooth waist, and admired how well-cut his suits were. Once or twice, he had wondered how Sherlock would have looked as a girl, and he knew that if Sherlock had been female then John would definitely fancy her. But this was all too strange.
As John's strength slowly returned, he pulled his robe together and sat up. Sherlock came back wearing his purple robe. He sat in the chair across from John with a self-satisfied look on his face. John crossed his legs.
John meant to tell Sherlock that this had been wrong, and that he shouldn't have violated John's privacy this way, but what he actually said was, "I'll have to take another shower."
"I suppose now you are convinced." Sherlock said smirking," If it is sexual pleasure that you want, I am able to give it to you when you need it. Shall I get your phone so that you can call Mary?"
"No!" John cried. The last thing he wanted to talk to Mary about was this experience. He resolved then never to tell her about it. "Sherlock," John began, "This was...frankly this was amazing. I never expected...not in a million years, but this is the last time. No one ever need know that you... that we..." John's voice petered out as he remembered that just a minutes ago he was arched and screaming under the hand of his male flat-mate.
"I don't understand." Sherlock said frowning, "You told me this morning that you wanted to leave me because I could not give you sex. That you would get no pleasure having sex with me. We have proved that this hypothesis is false. The corollary follows that you should remain with me here."
"Sherlock," I said, "It's not that simple. I hope that this is something that we can put behind us, that won't harm our friendship." John stood and walked to the bathroom to take a second shower. Then he went straight up to his room and locked the door.
Alone in his room, John tried to get to sleep. He touched himself as he often did before going to bed only to remember the feel of Sherlock's hands on his smooth skin. He knew that it would be a long time before he could look at Sherlock Holmes again without thinking of it. Without wanting him to do it again.