The Dirty Picture (Part Two)

Sherlock can't stop the nerves.

His hands shake as he buttons up his purple dress shirt and trousers, his fears coming to light as he watches his phone with sharp eyes. Waiting for John to call or text him, like he does every morning. After getting changed and pushing away his mother when she hands him a packed lunch and shoves a banana in his hand. She has a knowing look in her icy-blue eyes that grates at Sherlock as he slams the front door shut and starts his ten minute walk to school.

But not before he sees his ruined bed sheets flung inside the washing machine ready to be cleaned and his mother grinning down at the machine with a strange look of pride on her face.

Running his hands through his hair and shaking his hair so the curls become even wilder, he continues on his way and keeps his head down as other students walk beside him. Many from the secondary school connected to the sixth form he's in. His phone still remains silent and untouched in his pocket, the third picture John sent him as his new wallpaper.

His eyes scan for John in the group of his rugby mates, coming up blank. Feeling a twang of relief mixed with disappointment, he heads straight into his first class of Physics, one of the classes he has without John. Rubbing the tips of his fingers on his temples, he ignores the stares of his classmates as the new physics teacher attempts to ask him a question and ignorantly answers before taking out his phone and checking the blank screen in front of him.

Huffing, a sudden itch for a cigarette claws at his skin but he ignores it. Knowing that John would not be pleased with him after the blonde managed to stop the teen smoking two weeks into their blooming friendship. Not listening to a word the teacher speaks, his thumb traces the outline of John's abs on his wallpaper picture. The need for it to be actually John is almost over-powering as he bites his lip and places the phone roughly onto the table.

He refuses to look at it again throughout the lesson.

As the bell rings for break, he's the first to leave. Barging past other students and out into the cloudy field at the back of the sixth form. Breathing in the fresh air, he leans against a nearby tree and taps his fingers along the screen of his phone in his Belstaff pocket. He observes the other students playing football and talking in groups, all happy and laughing to each other. Looking at them makes him sick, makes him want to vomit all over his dress shoes.

Sherlock's eyes catch and land on a head of golden hair in the crowd.

The thumping in his chest is terribly loud and his hands shake as they tighten into fists by his side. John is smiling sweetly at Sarah, his smile spread wide over his rosy cheeks and his blonde fringe limp into his eyes. Sarah's hand is tightly gripping onto his and she's looking at him with clear devotion in her face, her reddish brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and showing off a fresh love-bite on her lower neck. Sherlock deduces that the love-bite is only a night old, making Sherlock breathe uneven and his gut to squeeze uncomfortable.

Closing his eyes and pushing away the sudden painful jab, his hand tightens around the phone as it squeaks in protest and his eyes burns with unshed tears at being played so well by John. Just as the teen is about to turn away and get far, far away from the blonde, he turns around to meet Sherlock's glaze from across the playground. Sarah doesn't see it and Sherlock practically grins childishly as John slowly licks his lips whilst his eyes are on Sherlock, a predatory look in his sapphire-blue eyes and he sends the lanky teen a filthy smirk and a quick impish wink before turning back to where his girlfriend is trying to earn his attention.

Sherlock chest squeezes in response to his friends attention, not caring that Sarah pulls John into a loving yet dominating kiss in front of him and that John's eyes are open and latched onto him throughout it. His breath catches as he turns away to will his pulsing hard-on away and to get rid of the jealous gut-wrenching feeling that's in every fibre of his body, caused by the fact John is still with her when he's so clearly wanting Sherlock. Every deduction and lingering look is now proving Sherlock with the clear evidence that John wants him, for real or play the teen doesn't know.

It fills the teen with such hateful rage that he doesn't know if John is leading Sherlock on or Sarah. If the heated looks John's giving him are because of the thrill/adrenaline of cheating and Sherlock is the easiest and weakest target to take a grab at or if John is actually interested in him.

The thoughts don't stop running through his mind palace and it makes him dizzy as he realises the bell has rang minutes ago and that the outside of the building is now eerily empty. Shaking his head, he heads around towards the canteen where he can have a moment to collect himself by deducing his fellow students and away from John who will be training on the field with his red shorts and bloody knee-length socks.

Sitting down in a quiet corner, away from the babbling teens on the other side, he sorts out his muddled and lively mind palace so it's peaceful again. Everything John related back into the room and locked tight as he re-gains his delicious senses, feeling like himself for the first time in a long time. Everything that happened over night and the past months coming clear as he re-calls the flirty meal in Angelo's they had that first night together where Sherlock so stupidly denied John asking out.

John has been interested in Sherlock since they met but Sherlock's violent rebuttal had sent John scattering away from anything romantic with Sherlock.

But what if this is John's revenge? A way of getting back at him for saying no?

Sherlock hisses into his hands as something grips his heart painfully, making it hard to breath and for the teen to think straight again. His mind is screaming at him that this is true, that this is John's revenge and with his new clear head the evidence is clearer than anything. Closing his eyes and ignoring the sudden dread in his stomach, he re-sorts his mind palace for the second time in half an hour and re-opens his eyes to start deducing the other people, needing something…anything to get his mind off his blonde friend.

Looking over each person that enters and exits the canteen, so many minutes later he finds out that the school's English teacher is having an affair with a boy from Sherlock's classes, a girl got dumped last night, more than ten are suffering from hangovers, another girl has a crush on her best-friend and a couple has just had intercourse in the school's kitchens. And his mind has been blissfully away from John.

Looking over at the nearby clock, he sees that it's been nearly two hours since he sat down and thought through what he was going to do.

His revolution: confront John.

Grabbing up his belonging, he's about to walk out of the canteen and in search of John when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Making the teen's heart speed up and his palms become sweaty as he rushes to grab his phone out of his pocket, his gangly elbow hitting someone in the face as he's swamped by little people.

Changing rooms. –JW

Sneering down at the flashing screen, he hates the fact that it feels like John is calling for him…like an obedient dog. Raising his nose in the air, he stomps down the corridors towards the changing rooms where John is. Not bothering to knock as he enters the empty changing rooms, he flings his bag onto the tiled floor and cringes as the smell of stale sweat. John isn't in sight, nobody is. The slow dripping of a stopped shower and the shouting of a sports teacher outside are the only sounds that reach Sherlock's ears.

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he turns around on the spot. Deducing that the rugby players have only left four minutes and eighteen seconds ago, the same time John text him. Biting on his lower lip, he's about to sit down onto the changing bench in the middle of the room but soft footsteps on the tiles leading from the showers makes him turn on the spot a full one-hundred and eighty degrees.

John strolls through, hair dark from his shower and dripping down his face and neck. His skin is still damp, making his black short-sleeved tee stick to him and show off his six-pack through the material. His tanned legs are showing. Short joggers showing the blond haired, muscular thighs and the bulge of his prick.

Sherlock swallows back the spit pooling in his mouth.

"You came." John says, a cocky smirk playing on his lips even though Sherlock notes the flicker of surprise in his doe-eyes.

"Please, you know I hate it when you point out the obvious." Sherlock replies in a bored tone, trying to show that the whole situation isn't making Sherlock a nervous and needy little boy. John laughs and shakes his head, looking up at Sherlock through his lashes as he sits down on the bench, shorts rising a tad bit more to show off his thick, fit thighs.

A moment of silence passes between the two. A silence unlike any other. Full of sexual tension, unasked questions and held back confessions. Sherlock's twitches, ready to speak up and his tongue is ready to spell out the words but it becomes stuck someway on its passage. Making him close his mouth again and move his eyes away from the waiting blonde. John seems unaffected. Sitting casually on the bench as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if they're getting ready to watch a marathon of James Bond.

It frustrates Sherlock to the core. Makes his teeth grind together and the vein in his head pulse vigorously. Squinting his eyes at the blonde, he just looks up like an innocent nun whose just found out the powers of sex or a young boy whose just watched his first hard-core anal porn video.

"Why?!" Sherlock hisses, two minutes and seven seconds of silence later.

"Sorry?"

"Why me? You could have chosen anyone! Victor bloody Trevor, Sebastian Moran or James fucking Moriarty! They're all gay so why pick me – your best friend – to play tricks on?" Sherlock takes a steady breath before continuing, "You could have accidentally sent that nude to someone else, anyone else, and they would have played along. Ok, so maybe my feelings for you were obviously passed platonic but you…you could have ignored them, played with someone else. Because…Because I don't have the emotional strength to play games, John…not with you."

Throughout the speech he seems to have gone through hundreds of different emotions. But John just looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, he does not move, not even when Sherlock continues again.

"I swear to god, John, if you have played me, at all, I will not want to see you again. Ever. Not your stupid ocean blue eyes or yellow hair or your ridiculous six-pack or your idiotic smile. Nothing, John. God, I hate you. I really do." He breathes, not being able to stop himself from continuing, "You play people so well. You played the great Sherlock Holmes, well done! Go back to your bloody boring girlfriend! The innocent, perfect school boy but inside you're an addict to adrenaline, a firework ready to explode at any given chance. You're rough, harsh, rude, ignorant, brutal…"

He trails off, losing his fight as he sees John moving ever so slightly during his rant. Looking down at the blonde, his sudden fight leaves him as he sees the blonde stroking his fully erect cock through the thin material of his track-suit shorts. Sherlock gulps at the pure size of it. A sudden itch to take it all down his dainty throat and fucking gag on it comes to light.

"Has anyone ever told you before that you're bloody sexy when you're angry? Like- Bloody hell, it's cute and then just pure hot." He pauses for several moments, messing with a drop of pre-cum that's dripping from the head, "God, you have no idea what you do to me, Sherlock Holmes. Every single fucking minute, of every single fucking day! A constant hard-on. I just want to ram it down your throat, to see if you'll beg for me. To see if you're a needy little bitch, my little cocksucker." He raises his shorts even more to reveal his long shaft and strokes down it with the material still wrapped around, hiding the base from the teen's greedy eyes.

Sherlock whimpers as he sees the clear slit on the top of the cock, the hole drooling with pre-cum and the head fat and red. The thick vein through the cock is protruding and his foreskin is retracted away from the head. John doesn't stop rubbing himself at an excruciatingly slow pace. Sherlock's eyes never leaving him as they travel up his toned chest and back to the wicked grin on the blonde's face.

The sapphire blue eyes are nearly unrecognisably black with a thin ring of the dark blue around it and his playful grin only intensifies as their eyes lands on one another. Sherlock shifts in his suit, feeling the rub of his erection on his freshly washed white boxers. John must of saw Sherlock's flash of lust in his eyes and heard the panting coming from his lips as he removes his hands from his joggers and leans back. Leaving his penis to bounce against his stomach and a drop of pre-cum to splash onto the grey material of the joggers.

Sherlock watches the bounce of his cock with great interest.

"Strip." John commands, breaking through the hypnotic spell John's moving cock seems to be having on him. The order goes straight to his own prick. Making the blood gush between his thighs so quickly that it makes him light headed. Shaking away the dizziness, he looks at his friend with a bewildered expression on his face before the command sinks in.

The curly haired teen doesn't even blink as he strips his shirt, shoes and trousers off without much coordination or sexiness. It doesn't occur to the younger teen that his movements aren't exactly the most seductive when his fingers tease the elastic of his boxers. Biting on his lower lip, he looks up at John through the fringe of his wild hair. Expecting the revealed hard-on to be softening and John to be holding back a laugh, it surprises the genius that John's expression is still animalistic with desire and his prick is still curved back and pulsing.

Sending the blonde a shy smile as their eyes meet, he sends an encouraging one back which gives Sherlock the courage to strip off his boxers and stand completely nude in front of someone – who isn't mummy – for the first time. His mind is peacefully silent as well, he notes. Staring down at his feet so he doesn't see the look of disgust on John's face when he sees the acne scars on his arse or the bones protruding unhealthily out from his skin.

"Beautiful." John whispers, resting most of his weight on his arms, making his biceps tense and flinch. Sherlock can't hide the blush that spreads from his chest, up his neck and all the way into his hair-line at John's whispered word and the soft whimper that escapes his lips. No one has ever used that word to compliment him, sure mummy calls him handsome but never, ever beautiful. Sherlock takes a clumsy step towards the blonde, desperate to touch the bare, tanned skin.

John quickly shreds his black t-shirt and strips off his joggers, standing bare in front of the equally naked Sherlock. Although Sherlock observes that John's movements are much less uncoordinated and more elegant and controlled than the younger teens striping. Probably because of the numerous times he's done this before, with others that aren't you. Sherlock's mind snaps at him but he pushes away the negative thoughts and puts all his concentration on the task at hand.

"You have no idea what I dream of doing to you, Sherlock Holmes. I've always fantasied about you on your back, on this very bench, stark naked. Me above you, my bollocks in your face. Your cock ignored but pulsing hard against your stomach and you looking up at me all guileless and naïve." John steps towards the taller teen, looking up at him through thick, blonde lashes and biting gently at his lower lip. Stopping when he's a hairs width away from Sherlock. The top of his head just coming up to Sherlock's nose.

"John." Sherlock answers, thighs trembling from the onslaught of want coursing through his veins.

John only answers with an impish grin.

"I'd let you lick my balls first. Tiny licks like a timid kitten. I'd moan and encourage you so your licks become more forceful, more aggressive. I'd spur you on when you're aggressive, love. If anything your brutal behaviour would make me even harder, even wetter. I'd let you do as you wish to me. I'd let you take the lead as you grow more confident, but I'd soon take over. Making you my personal sex-toy, my little virgin, my little cocksucker." The whimper that now escapes Sherlock's mouth is more like a plead as the image invades his mind palace. It's everything Sherlock has imagined and more. He doesn't care about the consequences but he's going to take it with both hands anyway.

John reaches out to run a hand over Sherlock's chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat through his chest and runs his nails over one of his nipples. Gasping, his eyelids flutter shut before snapping open when John's gentle touches turn more painful. The blonde twists his left nipple in between his finger tips and pulls, rubbing the erect nub through the tips of his fingertips. Sherlock knows he should be crying out in pain, telling John to be gentler but all that tumbles out of his mouth is a breathless sob and his cock to twitch with the pain.

His knees hit the edge of the metal bench, making him gasp from the harsh cold before sitting down on the bench, ready to collapse. John doesn't release his nipple from his grasp and only kneels in front of him. The blonde moves forward to nibble and lick at the other nipple that isn't between his fingers. Sherlock buckles from the sensitivity and the warmth from John's mouth, his eyes closing again as his right hand goes to hold John's head in place just as he grips the nub between his teeth and pulls.

Sherlock's hips search for friction of any kind as his prick throbs painfully. Pre-cum drips onto his stomach and thighs from where his cock lies, abandoned. John releases both his nipples and leans back to admire his work. Both nipples bright red and swollen from his work; the right one sports a fresh love-bite and the left one puffy and bruising. Both of them sharply erect.

"Tell me you want this, Sherlock. Tell me you want what I want to give you." John says, breaking through Sherlock's observation of his nipples and back at the blonde in front of him. John's tone has lost the commanding, lustful edge and is now soft, almost shy as he looks up at the teen. His face doesn't portray any of the softness. There is still a sharp, demanding look to him but his ocean blue eyes hold a familiar shine to them. It suddenly clicks with Sherlock that this is why John is so popular with women, his dominating nature and natural caring persona is what most look for in a man and for a sexual partner. Also adding in the fact that John has an above average penis.

"I do. I do. I do." Sherlock chants, leaning forward so he mutters it against John's flushed lips. John eagerly turns the words into a moan as he pulls the teen into a kiss. Brutal, passionate, wanting… It's just like all of Sherlock's fantasies, he's pleased with himself that he doesn't come right there and then when Johns tongue invades pass his bow-shaped lips and explores his mouth.

He tastes likes orange juice, with a slight mix of mint toothpaste and grass but it doesn't affect Sherlock in the slightest as he eagerly returns the kiss. John's hot tongue licks confidently at Sherlock's own tongue, making the younger teen gasp and break away from the kiss, the feeling different from what he expected. John raises a blonde eyebrow at him, inches from his face before ducking and reattaching his lips with Sherlock's.

John wastes no time in lying Sherlock down onto the bench, not breaking the kiss, and straddling the curly-haired teen's waist between his thick thighs. Sherlock slowly places his hands on the blonde's hips, unsure about what to do with himself as he observes that John's hands are busy combing and pulling at his hair. John's erect cock is lying straight on his slender belly, Sherlock's own cock rubbing against John's tanned globes. Grunting into the kiss as John rocks sharply into Sherlock's erection, the crack of John's arse rubbing up and down his length.

Sherlock runs his hands down John's thighs, mapping out the teen and securing the information in his mind palace for later examination. Shyly running a fingernail down John's prick, the blonde hisses and breaks from the kiss to look down at his friend with kiss swollen lips and dilated eyes. Sherlock's sure he looks just as flustered and wanting. John grins wickedly at him before gripping one of his swollen nipples and rearranging them so their cocks are aligned together.

The teen's thighs tremble from the feel of their cocks so close together, of John's hands wrapped tightly around his cock, of John's attention solely on him. John leans forward to lick and suck at the nipple that isn't supporting a current love-bite. Sherlock can do nothing but run his hands down John's back and gasp up at the ceiling, completely powerless against John's talent.

"Look at you. Gorgeous. Stunning. Beautiful. All mine for the taking." John slurps, licking at Sherlock's chest, up towards the crook of his neck. His warm hand's slowly pumping them, making pre-cum drip from his cock and onto stomach. John's fist is dry as he rubs their cocks together, making Sherlock utter a pained whimper before John quickly spits into his palm and onto their cocks to add lubricant, forgetting to bring Vaseline or any other lube substance.

Sherlock whimpers at the vile way John spits and covers their cocks with it, the horrid action making an animalistic urge to get his mouth pounded by John come to light. Moving his right hand to grip John's head, running his elegant fingers through the short, blonde strands, John licks up his skinny belly. John grunts against his skin, making goose bumps appear and his toes curls into to the metal bench, "You're so responsive, love. Do you like me touching you? My cock rubbing against yours?" John whispers against his skin, nibbling at his belly button before going lower to tease him. He quickly sucks and bites at his inner thigh, creating yet another love-bite before pulling away just as his hand – now only stroking Sherlock's cock – brings him close to orgasm.

Sherlock whimpers as he pulls completely away. Only the glaze of John's thigh on his reddened, sensitive cock as John gets up, a naughty twist to his lips, "I want to pound that loud mouth of yours. I want your spit to dribble off my cock and down your chin. I want you to look up at me with big, pleading eyes. God…" John grins, moving around so Sherlock's head is at the end of the bench and John is hovering over him, balls dangling over Sherlock's nose.

"Please, John."

John just looks at him for several moments, sapphire blue eyes on icy blue ones. Sherlock licks his waiting lips, sticking out a shy tongue to gently wipe at the wrinkled testicles hovering over his face. John smirks down at him, cock twitching in anticipation and fingers stroking Sherlock's Adam's apple, a look of adoration glistening in his dark eyes. Sherlock lifts his chin up so his bow-shaped lips meet John's creased sack.

A slow grunt from John makes Sherlock more eager to please him.

Lifting his whole head so he can take the testicle right into his mouth, John leans forward, and his hands braced on either side of Sherlock's armpits. Sherlock happily laps at the bollocks, spit pooling in his mouth and slightly running his teeth over the delicate skin, making John bite his lip from above him. The spongy feel of the ball on his tongue makes Sherlock itch to fit both balls into his mouth but before he can move to fit the other one inside, John moves away from him with a deep shiver, a trail of spit dangling off his nuts and down Sherlock's chin.

"Bloody buggering hell, Sherlock, if you keep doing that I won't be able to cum deep down your throat, love." John breathes, looking down at the younger teen with dark blue eyes blown wide with arousal, "Such a talented tongue you have. You know just what to do to me to get me started. Every little lick, every little nip, every little touch. You're such a talented boy, bloody amazing is what you are."

Sherlock looks up at him with hooded eyes and lips open ready for him to do what he wants with him, Sherlock is completely under John's control. John stroked his cheek lovingly, admiring the man beneath him just as the head of his cock enters the welcoming, swollen, used lips. Sherlock widens his mouth to fit John's wide cock in his mouth, the taste of pre-cum heavy on his tongue.

"Oh such a good boy, take it for me." John mutters to himself, pressing his hips gently deeper into his mouth. Sherlock moves himself deeper down the length, feeling confident that he can take John all at once but near halfway, Sherlock starts to struggle. Holding back a gag, spit pools into his mouth and start dripping down the side of his mouth as John continues to go deeper into his mouth, "Oh god, fuck yes. Bloody perfect. Take it all."

Eager to please him, Sherlock quickly takes the rest of him down. Pausing for a moment to force down a gag and blink away the tears, Sherlock closes his throat around the cock, making John mutter a line of curse words under his breath. John pulls his cock out of Sherlock's mouth all the way to the head, letting the teen catch his breath before quickly shoving his cock back into Sherlock's wanting, warm throat.

John does as he promised then.

He uses Sherlock's throat as his personal sex-toy.

Sherlock moans around the cock as John pumps in and out of his mouth, watching as Sherlock's face reddens and his eyes water and his spit dribbles from his mouth. Sherlock chokes around John's length, trying to catch his breath before John continues brutally using him. He loves every minute of it though, even more so when John's tanned hand comes down to stroke at Sherlock's forgotten – yet still painfully hard – dick.

John's hips are moving swiftly as he gets close to his orgasm, moving quicker and harder and forgetting that Sherlock needs to breath. It doesn't bother Sherlock though, he's giving John pleasure and John is giving him pleasure in return. Moreover, Sherlock likes this, likes being used and abused. Well, from his first experience of anything sexual, he likes being used and abused by John. Sherlock stores information away to later be examined about his experience to see if he really does like it.

John twists his wrist just right and speeds up his strokes, making Sherlock shiver into the bench and thrust his hips towards the ceiling. He moves his own head with John's thrusts, making the head of John's cock go deeper each time. John from above can see his cock moving in Sherlock's throat and is oddly fascinated by it.

Growing more confident, he moves his hand up to rub the base of John's cock, the bit that John is too scared to fit into the dainty throat. Although there wasn't much to rub, Sherlock makes do by using his thumb and index finger to rub John off. John's thumb runs over the head of his cock, making Sherlock's balls tighten sharply and John's other hand gently caresses his swollen nipples…

Sherlock orgasms loudly, John's dick falling out of his mouth as he gasps John's name as his hips twists and his cock spills come across the changing rooms. John soothes him through his orgasm, watching him climax and his body jump from his sensitive cock afterwards. It's a sight the blonde wants to see every day. Just as quickly as his orgasm, he's just as quickly putting John's cock back in his mouth and bring the man he loves to his own orgasm.

John's moaning and grunting above him, close to his own finish as one of Sherlock's hands stroke the other half of John's cock that isn't in his mouth and his other hand is massaging John's balls. They tighten in his grip just as John makes a slow moan and tightens his grip on Sherlock's curls. Sherlock can feel his upcoming climax, his cock pulses and his come travels down Sherlock's throat.

The door to the changing rooms opens the same time John grunts Sherlock's name and marks him with his seed down his throat, making the teen gag but grin up at the blonde proudly before he feels the eyes on him. Turning his sweaty head towards the entrance, he breaks away from John's grip and sits up straight, curls everywhere and a blush travelling up his chest towards his hairline as the person stares at them.

John turns towards the door and his eyes widen:

"Sarah…"


Author's Note: My Tumblr is: i-know-not-where