Memorandum Of Understanding And Experience, Mr Holmes.
Chapter Two - Awareness
The whip play is incredible. He's the alpha and he's acting so fucking confident. But I know from the hesitation and the pattern of his breath that this is all so new to him. I know that this is my John, and these places he's going to with me are places he would only ever go to for me.
Each crack against my back pours more lust into my groin, rids my mind of the power to calculate and observe, all I can feel and all I want to feel is him.
As he throws away the whip I see out of the corner of my eye that he reaches for the beads. I wonder how he knew I had these toys or where I kept them. He catches me watching him over my shoulder and all he has to do is wink for my mind to go delirious. His breath hitches as I feel the pressure around my hole. He inserts each bead deep inside me – one, two three. Each with that satisfying pop. All I can do is focus on him and the sensations of what he's doing to me. He twists those beads inside me, thrashes them and assaults my prostate.
"Is this-" his voice is different than I've ever heard it before, "is this right?"
I attempt to nod my head but my movements are obviously slurred as he begs.
"Sherlock, answer me, please?"
"Fuck, yes John." I cry. "This is fucking incredible. You're incredible."
Through lust induced eyes I gaze at him over my shoulder, and he smiles as though he's proud of himself. One thought is crystal clear - I'm ruined. From this moment on I can belong to nobody else.
"Where did you find the films?" I say making my deduction.
"Your browser history," he confesses.
I know the press of his aching cock on my back is impulsive, involuntary.
I remember noticing that something was different about the flat about a month ago, the smell was different. I put it down to the strange neighbors. The idea that John was here a month ago, thinking about this a month ago, fills my cock with more hunger.
"Enjoy it?"
"It was enlightening," he says quickly, his words more confident than the blush on his cheeks would have you believe.
The look in his eyes brings an image clear to mine, John in the living room, in front of my laptop, his leg cocked up on the kitchen table as his hand explores. I don't need to ask but what the hell.
"Do some fantasizing?" I ask.
"What?" Impulsively, he acts a little defensive, "maybe," he corrects himself.
I moan for him letting him know how much he has me. I can almost taste the breath he misses.
"Yes, yes," he confesses.
The look in his eyes tells me perhaps I shouldn't be beaming like I am.
His movements are quick as he pulls the beads with force. They rub angrily at my hole.
"You're suck a fucking arrogant cock!" He bites between his teeth.
I would worry he's leaving, but I know he's not. He thrusts the beads in, almost to the hilt, his finger alongside.
"Time to stop thinking now Mr Holmes," he promises as his efforts double in force.
He's glorious, I press my head into the pillow, I get the escape my mind needs not to fracture. As I start to lose to the darkness I thrash on the bed beneath him. He sits firmer his cock pressing harder, locking me. The feeling of each bead entering me; the sound of his breath hitching; the smell of him against my bed sheets; the weight of him; it's all too much and too soon and I can feel myself about to come. I can feel the tendrils of climax whip about my heart and mind. There's a non-coherent stream of moans falling between my lips, a tingle spreading from my bollocks, and then I feel his hands against my balls; his grip blocking the climax.
"Breathe," he orders, as he drops the beads.
His legs curl away from me, as he stops touching me in every erotic way and my body cries for the loss of his. He leaves the beads within me but with no touch they're not enough. It's agonising moments before I can feel him again.
His face presses into mine again, God I love the feel of the jut of his chin against my cheek.
"You don't get satisfaction yet Sherlock," he whispers and I try to pretend I can't hear the spite in his voice. He laughs a little as he runs a finger up the left side of my cock.
It's from this moment that I belong completely to him, I am at his mercy, and fuck that's good.
Suddenly I feel the pressure of the whip one final time, causing expletives to expel from my mouth.
"Fuck you."
"Actually I was planning on quite the opposite." He promises and he angles himself into me, rubbing his cock against my back, it's the pattern of his breath that tells me it's more for his relief than it is for my pleasure; and God I want to see him, I want to know the effect this is having on his glorious body.
"Now I think you know who's in charge don't you?"
And I nod, like his fucking puppet.
"You're going to behave so that I can untie you and flip you around, aren't you?"
"Yes," I breathe, my voice is so fucking husky I'm almost ashamed.
"What do you say?"
"Yes, Doctor." I say and I tilt my head for that look in his eyes.
His fingers make fast work of the handcuffs and the ropes, and his hands are on my hips as he helps me around. He looks and waits like he's expecting me to move. But his orders were simple and I need to uncover more of this new Dr Watson; the man in control. I'm completely his. I just tilt my head to the side and raise an eyebrow.
He grabs my cock, not softly and slowly, not hesitantly like he's done in the past, but with some form of death grip that causes me to thrash to get satisfaction. It's just that little bit too tight to bring relief. A feint laugh falls between his lips before he removes his hand and I cry in response.
His eyes map down my body and I take the opportunity to look at him, to really take him in. Time has changed him since I last got the opportunity to see him naked, well nearly naked. Obviously his body is still perfect. His carved body is a story of war - the tattoo of service, those scars and muscles that define how he gets his excitement. But there's the little changes now, the grey hair almost makes him look refined, adds to that lived in look that causes my blood to heat. There's a little more hair on his chest, Mary got him to stop with the waxing which I greatly appreciate. Lower he looks harder and bigger than I've ever seen him before in those red boxers.
"Now what am I going to do with you?" He says, his fingers trailing up my chest. I love the beam that falls over his lips as he settles on an idea. "Open your mouth Mr Holmes," he whispers, deliciously.
I do as he says and he shuffles up the bed bringing that arse of his closer to my view. As I see him lowering his cock to my mouth I get the mind power to manage to whisper a reminder, "underwear."
If he's reminded, he doesn't care. He lowers his cotton clad cock onto my mouth and rubs the taste of material and his precum all over my lips. But the barrier prevents me from really knowing him. He's teasing me with the feint realisation of him.
It's not enough it couldn't ever be enough. I moan in protest.
He grips my wrists, bringing them up to the sides of my head, pushing me into the pillow.
"You don't get my cock Sherlock. Not the whole thing. You've kept me away from the whole of you for so long, so you have to be patient." He banters, possibly even taunts me.
I up my game, catching him off guard as I quickly shuck the boxers out the way with my chin and reach my tongue into press against his hard, throbbing member.
He moves quickly, his hand grabs my thigh, he digs his blunt nails into my skin whilst almost simultaneously twisting my pubic hair – punishment.
"Do you need a reminder of who's in charge tonight Sherlock?"
I grin at him but shake my head I don't want to push him too far off his game.
"What do you say?"
"Please John…please, Captain," I change his title and watch his eyes flash – I remember how excited he became calling rank at the Baskervilles.
"Fuck, Sherlock," his voice falters.
"Please Captain, let me taste you. Fuck my mouth."
As he leaves the bed my heart thrashes for a second as I start to worry that perhaps I've pushed him too far. But all he does is shake off his boxers and he's soon settling in place to press his cock against my lips. I open up and take him all in; and he thrashes above me almost without rhythm, like he's never been so high. My name falls between his lips and sounds delicious, we both know it, so he does it over and over again. The sight is one of the most erotic I've seen and I will hold it in a frame forever. The miracle of the man that is John Watson, upright above me, with his fingers pressing white knuckled on to my wall, his head tilting back; moaning at the pleasure of what my mouth can do to him. I feel my arse grip tighter to the plastic beads.
I grip onto his hips, my index finger finding and tracing the imprint of the bullet - I always wondered if it continued to mark his body.
His movements grow faster and heavier as he pushes deeper inside me and I barely manage to control my gag reflex. But as quickly as he's there he's pulled away again. He grabs his cock in his hand but I can see it's to steel himself rather than for pleasure.
He sits, his head still tilted back. He's eyes tight shut. He's still for so long I need to ask.
"John are you OK?"
His eyes spring open as he looks down at me and that blue is darker than I've ever seen, there's a red hue to his cheeks which is fucking adorable. God I want this man so much.
"Fuck you're nearly too good at that." He breathes finally, and I can tell by the tone of his voice exactly where his thoughts had taken him. "But there's only one place I want to come tonight." He whispers and his fingers trails around the exact bead that's half way inside me, stretching me.
Oxygen passes quickly through my lungs.
He shuffles down the bed. His fingers pull and twist at the plastic inside me as he prepares me.
His lips press at the inside of my thigh, the soft grey of top of his head brushing against my cock. He grins up at me from down there and I nearly lose my mind at the glory of that smile. His lips trail up the inside of my leg, closer and closer to my desire; but just as he gets there, the dent of skin where groin becomes cock; he moves away quickly. His lips revert to the other side.
"Fucking tease," I moan and he beams at me in response.
His mouth still presses tiny kisses to my heated skin and all the time, he's twisting and rubbing at the beads. I'm more his than I have ever been anyone elses.
When I say there have been times we've been together before I want you to understand that all he's done is wank me off, hurriedly and hesitantly, his hand in my boxers. I've given him head, have quite enjoyed stretching myself around the weight of him, but if the suggestion of reciprocation was even hinted at he would close off entirely and push me away. So, when I say I need him to put his mouth on me, it comes with three years' worth of frustration. I need to explain that, because I want you to know why even after everything so far I can't even hope it's going to happen. And it explains how my moan is tortured as his tongue swipes at me, leaving a swipe from the base of my balls to the tip of my head. Those three long torturous years twist the feeling into pain.
He coughs, clearing his throat as he looks at me. I know he's nervous so I treat him.
"Please Captain, put me in your mouth."
And I watch his eyes flash with fireworks before he buries my cock inside his mouth, jerking quickly and sporadically at first. But he doesn't take long to find that delirious, confident rhythm, his hand aiding and abetting. I lace my hands into his hair, smooth each strand and he looks at me, and I am going to remember that sight for a life time. The amazing man that is John Watson smiling at me with gratification as his lips stretch taut across me. I feel a pressure build in my balls as his tongue twists at me. This time I don't think he even knows how close I am before he pulls away.
Then his fingers pull quickly and harshly at the beads inside me as he leaves me empty. The fast and harsh movement isn't for the sensation of pain but for the impatience that's built in both of us.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he whispers so quietly it's almost as if it's meant only as a cue for himself.
As the beads are left abandoned on the bed he reaches for the lube and coats his fingers, but I want this hard and rough, I want him to break me.
"No," I say as I grab his wrist, preventing the preparation.
"Sherlock," he says trying to get away.
"Just fuck me now John."
He stares at me in disbelief as he mutters, "I can't go in dry, I'd tear you."
"Doctor, trust me and just fuck me."
"Stop it!"
He continues to resist so I trap my legs around his, pushing him hard in the chest so he turns around, falling into the sheets as I straddle him.
I grab his cock, aligning myself.
"Sherlock don't you dare."
He wrestles me around; the bed screeches with his effort. He drops the lube as his hands cup my face.
"This is all fun and games Sherlock but I'm not going to actually hurt you. You don't deserve to be actually hurt."
With that promise his lips meet mine and it's the first time this entire evening that he's kissed me. It's just a lip to lip touch, his full bottom lip slides against my own. The softness and taste of him burns through me but there's no desperation to deepen the touch, it's just a breath; we have time to explore and learn. A kiss that says so many things, it changes things. Time seems to still as our bodies curve and grind against each other.
As he pulls away I see his eyes glistening; and I'm reminded of the state of bereavement he is in.
"I'm so sorry John."
"This isn't" he rubs angrily at his eyes. "Sherlock this isn't for Mary."
He shakes his head when he asks, "when we were putting you on that plane, when you asked for time alone with me, what were you going to say to me?"
His eyes implore me, I can see by the thickness of the blue that he's no longer drunk. He's desperate. He's looking for a declaration of love but now is hardly the time. And how do I even put into words how much this man means to me? Those three words that are used nonsensically every day can't possibly hope to describe this man. There is nothing I can say that would ever explain the depth of emotion I feel for him.
"God do you even remember?" He laughs, he thinks it's rhetorical, as he shakes his head at what he sees as his own stupidity.
I don't have the words, and if I let any more time pass I will lose him, for good this time. instead I clasp his face between my hands, force eye contact.
"You've deleted-"
"Of course, I remember," I interrupt him with a promise I mean from the bottom of my wretched heart, don't fall for me John, I won't have anyway of catching you. "And of course, you know."
He looks deep in my eyes and nods because he does know and no more words are needed.
The rest of the sex is silent, but it's not a difficult silence like the world without him, and as his gaze stays with mine I allow myself to dare to hope that I won't ever know that suffocation again.