Chapter 4/10, originally posted 2015-01-15.

Winter was setting in around London, and with it, the coughs and the colds and the fevers and the aches. Which meant that John was so slammed during office hours with helping patients that he couldn't get any actual paperwork done. Which meant that he was bringing it home.

He let out a deep sigh, powering on the computer in his home office before sinking back into his office chair, scrubbing a hand down his face and over a beard that was already in need of a trim. He jumped when hands pressed against the insides of his parted thighs and his eyes popped open as he ducked to look under the large wooden desk. Bright grey eyes peered up at him from between his legs and above a mischievous smile.

"Hey sweetheart," he greeted with a fond smile, the child's presence alone a soothing balm to his tired soul. "What are you doing down there?"

The desk had no opening on the other side and it created a small cavern of gloom he could barely see into. Still, there was a movement like shrugging shoulders in the dark.

"It's clear in the creases of your trousers alone that you haven't had a moment to relax all day," Sherlock explained as delicate fingers picked apart the button and zip on his trousers. Just seeing his boy between his legs had gotten John half hard, and being pulled out of his pants and into small talented hands made him fully so. "I just want to help Daddy with that," he continued, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the slit of the doctor's cock. "Now quiet, Daddy. Mary's home and your door is open."

Since he hadn't expected a treat like this, there hadn't been any reason to close his office door. Now there was nothing separating Mary from seeing Sherlock swallowing down his cock except the desk backboard. The thought made his cock pulse and there was a hum around the girth as if his boy knew exactly the direction of his thoughts and approved, if the added suction was any indication. Then, as if summoned by his thought, Mary appeared in the doorway and John's heart began pounding in his chest.

"Hey, Mary," he greeted, discreetly scooting his chair further in as he slid his right hand into curls, encouraging the bobbing head not to stop. Not that he thought Sherlock would stop; the boy seemed to thrive on the adrenaline rush as much as the ex-soldier did.

"Hey," she greeted back warmly, walking to the back of the desk and leaning over it in a graceful arc to press a kiss to his lips. Without warning, below the desk, Sherlock deep-throated him and John had to hum to hide the moan he really wanted to release. His left hand reached up to thread through his wife's hair, a bit longer than Sherlock's and stick-straight rather than naturally curled, deepening a kiss he didn't feel the way he used to. It reminded him how their marriage had slowly been falling apart before they'd decided to adopt, how neither of them had actually initiated anything sexual with one another for a long time.

Tugging gently on the hair curled around his right hand, John waited until Sherlock's mouth pulled off his glans and turned its attentions to his shaft before he slowed the kiss. Beneath the desk, he held his palm up, a sign to wait, and a short lick across his palm put a warm smile on his face that matched the one Mary was already giving him. He cupped his boy's cheek and stroked his thumb over the cheekbone before withdrawing his hand entirely.

"I'm sorry to say that it's only now hitting me how much I've been neglecting my wife," the doctor husked, his tone darkening his wife's eyes.

"Yeah?" Mary murmured, licking her lips before darting forward to press several short kisses to his lips.

"Yeah," he agreed. "For example, I haven't kissed you in a long time." Mary's brow furrowed and the careful nips to his shaft paused. He could only hope his somewhat temperamental boy didn't start throwing a tantrum, that he had the patience to wait to see the ex-captain's plan out to the end.

"We kiss all the time," his wife corrected, still frowning. John smiled.

"I didn't say where."

A moment later, Mary's pupils expanded and a whispered "Oh," slipped passed her lips.

"But what about Sherlock?" she asked suddenly, her head turning to eye the still-open door.

"You know how involved he gets in those experiments of his," he said easily. John had never been good at lying, and the last few months had helped him a great deal, teaching him to give a truth for an answer while not quite answering the question. "He won't be pulled from them until we go and get him. You can scream as loud as you want and he wouldn't hear a thing."

The mouth at his cock began again, tentatively, and Mary bit her lip. John's heart was trying to beat out of his chest. He could hardly believe what he was about to do. This was so much riskier than Sherlock waking him with a blowjob with Mary asleep next to them. Now she was awake and in the same room, climbing up onto her husband's desk on her hands and knees, unaware that their adopted son was less than a foot below her, giving John another spectacular blow job.

In seconds, his wife was splayed in front of him like Sherlock had been all those weeks ago; like how he continued to find his boy the days the doctor needed to be fetched from the practise for dinner. Except Mary's skirt wasn't pleated and was already sliding up her thighs to pool at her waist, exposing the simple cotton underwear that she tended to favour. John smiled mischievously as he drew the fabric down her legs and off her feet, dropping it to the desk next to her hip. He could see out of the corner of his eye the way her face was flushing as she watched him avidly.

It didn't hit him until he was staring down at her sex how long it had been since he'd even looked at a vagina. He'd been so preoccupied with Sherlock's attentions that he hadn't even wanted to watch pornography, or start anything with Mary. He didn't really want to start anything now, but just the thought of what he was about to do, what he and Sherlock were about to do while his wife sat just above unawares, made his cock throb in his boy's hands. There was a slow, lingering lick to his slit and he guessed that he'd begun to leak precome.

He slowly smoothed his hands down the paler insides of Mary's thighs, then used his thumbs to hold apart the folds of her labia, exposing her clitoris. With a hungry growl that had nothing to do with his wife, John dove in with his tongue as his hips flexed, barely thrusting the head of his cock back into that warm heat. But Sherlock got the idea. As Mary dropped back onto her elbows and her head fell back on the desk, his boy got to work below the desk, his tongue infinitely more enthusiastic than John's.

Sherlock deep-throated him again, his throat rippling around John's cock as he swallowed the intrusion, and the doctor couldn't help but moan. Mary moaned in turn, collapsing onto her back as he shoved his tongue into her. He'd forgotten how much different it could be, how much looser and wetter it was than his boy's own tiny, tight entrance. His wife now too distracted to look at what he was doing, his head buried between her thighs and his upper lip and moustache working her clitoris as his tongue working the spongy tissue of her G-spot just inside, John withdrew his hands from her thighs and reached down to stroke the dark curls bobbing between his own thighs.

To his surprise, Sherlock knocked his hands away and pulled off. John's cock, but more importantly, his heart, panged at the loss. He wanted to reach out, to touch his beautiful boy, but he'd been rejected for the first time and it hurt. Perhaps what he'd started just now was a bit too much. John put his hands on his knees and curled his fingers in the fabric of his jeans, squeezing his eyes closed to prevent from seeing who he was really going down on, someone the complete opposite in every way of who he really wanted to have his tongue inside right now.

Mary was moaning loudly and unabashedly now, her arms above her head and her hands grasping frantically at the desk's edge. For a moment, he hated the sight and the feel and the taste of her spread out on his desk and across his tongue. Somehow, losing Sherlock hurt worse than losing Mary ever had. He closed his eyes again and swallowed against the lump in his throat, and it was then that a hot, wet, tight ring of muscles pushed against the head of his cock. Thank God his sounds were likely blocked out by hers, because John let out a long, low moan against his wife's clitoris as Sherlock sunk unexpectedly down on him until his testicles were, oddly enough, pressed to the underside of his boy's own small cock and testicles.

The smooth muscles rippling around him gave him courage to let go of his trouser legs and reach out, trying to determine how Sherlock had positioned himself to accomplish his current position. He smoothed his calloused hands down the soft lower spine curved over his lap to the plush arse pressed to his pelvis before following the line of thigh down far enough to realise that Sherlock's legs were folded in half, the child's shins hovering just in front of the man's and small toes curled around the edge of the desk from underneath, providing Sherlock leverage to fuck himself on his daddy's cock. The positioning took a moment to form as a picture in his mind, and then John realised his boy had to be balancing his weight on the back of his head, neck, and shoulders. His little genius contortionist.

"Fuck," he whispered into Mary's clitoris, his tongue on autopilot now as his hands wrapped around the thin waist of his boy and pulled the plush arse the rest of the way down. Sherlock must have prepared himself already, because John's cock slid in smooth, helped along by the somehow always-tight muscles. It never ceased to amaze him how tight his boy always was for him. One day, he'd like to play around with that, see how loose he could get that sweet little hole, what he could do with it…

He accidentally shoved Sherlock down onto his cock, hard, and there was a strangled sound from below the desk that he covered with a moan as he sucked Mary's clitoris in between his lips. Adrenaline-fuelled arousal surged through him at the thought that that could have gotten them caught, that his wife could have heard that one, simple, small moan and realised that it hadn't come from her or her husband. He told himself to be more careful with his precious, delicate lover, but then fingers wrapped around his ankles, fingernails digging into the skin above his socks as the arse in his hands lifted off his cock and shoved forcefully back down. Now John was moaning for real as his boy fucked himself on his Daddy's cock, and the doctor eagerly tightened his hands around that small waist to help.

John started tugging Sherlock onto his cock so hard and quick that he began to hear the slick sound of flesh slapping flesh echoing along the wood of his desk. It was faint, but he could hear it, so he doubled his efforts on his wife until all he could hear was the sound of her moans. He wished more than anything he could see what Sherlock looked like in that moment, but- Fuck. He could. He definitely could. After a fashion.

Sherlock's nails dug in like claws the second he let go, but John just quickly pulled his mobile from his pocket, easily accessing the camera from the front screen out of the corner of his eye, and turning on the front facing camera. He waved it down towards his boy and it was taken from him a moment later. He just hoped the lighting would be enough.

The doctor's hands resumed their position a moment later, and it became clear that they were all quite ready to come: Mary had gone mostly silent with the exception of her deep breaths, but her internal muscles were spasming around John's tongue and she was writhing like a snake on his desk; Sherlock's internal muscles were doing the same around his cock, and the fingernails imbedded in his flesh had to be drawing blood; John's testicle were drawn up tight, and he let the sensation wash over him as he concentrated all of his tongue's skill and power on the sensitive clitoris, and all the strength and speed of his arms into pulling his boy onto his cock.

Mary suddenly shouted, her back arching off the desk and her thighs clamped around her husband's head as her juices wet his face and beard. Below him, in his hands, Sherlock went tight as a bow and John had to bury his face between his wife's legs as he came with a harsh groan, his boy's inner walls spasming around him, drawing out an orgasm heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

For a long time, it felt like the entire house had fallen still, nothing in it moving except the three of them, one in secret, panting from the intensity of their orgasms. Finally, legs still trembling, Mary began to sit up. Carefully, John smoothed his hand over his boy's arse and then held it still as he leaned back and pulled out. He flinched as he swiped his left palm over his sensitive glans which seemed to still be drooling a strand of come no doubt leaking from Sherlock's hole. His wife opened her mouth as she righted herself and, already anticipating the question, John held up his dirtied hand with a wry smile.

"You should hear the way you sound when I eat you out," he said throatily, and she bit her lip as her eyes dilated minutely.

"You should feel the way your mouth vibrates when you come," she returned with a grin that he easily matched. All of a sudden, a smell filtered through the air and her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, dinner!" she exclaimed, scrambling off the desk and darting out the door.

"Could you get me a wet flannel?" he called after her, but wasn't surprised when she didn't respond.

There was a beat of silence, then: "Daddy?"

"Shhh, not yet sweetheart," he whispered back, reaching down with his clean hand to stroke the smooth skin of his boy's arse. With his dirtied one, he easily slid two fingers into the stretched hole, pressing them as deep as they could go. The second the rough pads of the ex-soldier's fingers brushed over the undoubtedly oversensitized prostate, Sherlock's shins hit John's as he jumped with a squeak. "Shhh. Mary will be back any minute. Unless…" His fingers paused and there was a low whimper as muscles spasmed around his fingers, but he wouldn't relent just yet. "Unless you want her to know what a good boy you are for me. Unless you want to share me and you want her to hear all the pretty sounds you can make. Is that it? Is that what you want?" John's voice was low, nearly a growl, and it almost covered up the sound of feet coming up the stairs at the end of the hall.

"No, Daddy. I don't want to share," Sherlock whispered back, the one hand still around John's ankle tightening again as the boy's toes uncurled from the edge of the desk and wriggled out of view.

"Good boy," John praised, brushing his fingers up against his boy's prostate in reward. There was a strangled sound from below the desk that was muffled the second before Mary appeared in the door, wet flannel in hand.

"Saved the roast," she announced as she sauntered into the room. In that moment, the doctor was infinitely thankful that his chair was under the desk as far as it would go, hiding his boy and his exposed cock from view. He turned his face towards his wife as she came around his right side, and he curled his arm around her waist as she wiped her juices from his face. As she cleaned his skin and his facial hair, John never stopped the slow, sweeping motion of his fingers over his boy's prostate, and the doctor had to keep up a constant, approving hum to help cover up the muffled sounds Sherlock was making.

When she was done, Mary handed him the flannel before pressing a kiss to his forehead, wrinkling her nose when he moved to press their lips together. He found it interesting that his wife of several years avoided his mouth like the plague after he'd eaten her out, but his lover of several months actively sought it out, moaning at the taste of their usually combined come on his tongue.

"Thank you, Mary," he said with a soft smile that felt forced and a grope of her arse. "Why don't you go ahead and finish up on dinner and I'll get myself cleaned up. I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess down there," he explained with a wry grin. Mary's nose wrinkled in apparent disgust, but she nodded and pressed a kiss to his silvering hair before walking towards the door, a little more sway in her hips than usual.

"And Mary?" he called as her hand landed on the doorknob. She paused and peered coyly over her shoulder at him. "Why don't you lock and close my door, just in case Sherlock pops out of his hiding place? Wouldn't want him to know what you and I get up to, would we?" His lecherous grin was easily matched by his wife, and she clicked the lock on the inside of the door before slowly closing it behind her.

"Don't take too long, John," her voice informed him softly through the closing gap. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Sure thing," he replied right before the door clicked closed.

John's chair nearly fell over with the force he used to shove it back, and then he dragged his boy out by his wrists. Before Sherlock's feet could fall to the floor, the doctor straddled the dark, curly head and hooked small, pale ankles under his arms to keep the child's arse up and exposed. Without pause, the doctor began to finger his boy's sloppy entrance with an almost-excessive enthusiasm, a strangled sob reminding him how terrible the child could be at keeping quiet in times like this. Normally he loved it, loved hearing all the sounds that could come from that sweet mouth, but normally, Mary was asleep under the influence of her sleeping pills. He hastily shoved his half hard-again cock into Sherlock's mouth, and with the instant suction applied to it by his dutiful, beautiful boy, he began fucking that hot mouth.

The pace and the pressure of his fingers increased, incensed by what seemed like the sound of Sherlock choking on his cock. Even as it worried him, it made his blood burn in his veins and he shoved another finger into the wet hole. Sherlock jerked under him at the surprising stretch, but that didn't seem to stop him from swallowing down John's cock when it was pushed deep into his mouth or from letting it free when the doctor pulled out. Like they had done it a hundred times before, his boy easily established a smooth rhythm to accommodate the thick cock thrusting down his throat.

It wasn't long before a second orgasm began brewing at the base of John's spine and he could feel his own control on his voice box breaking. His fingers were now furiously fucking his boy's hole as bruises bloomed under the lips and teeth he applied to the pale skin of an inner thigh, and only the girth of John's cock down his throat muffled the scream Sherlock made as he came. The vibrations made stars burst behind John's eyes as he released down his boy's throat, hips thrusting shallowly into the unresisting mouth to wring the last of his orgasm from himself. The fingers in Sherlock's arse had slowed but were still stroking the small prostate, the body around and under him twitching as if in the midst of a seizure. It would have been concerning if not for the fact that he could feel spots of come land on his collarbone where his parted shirt exposed his skin. When the only things his fingers were inducing were full body trembles and hip jerks like his boy was trying to get away, John moved them away from the prostate, letting them rest in the spasming heat.

"I'm going to leave my fingers in you while I clean you off," he murmured into a pale thigh. "Will you clean me as well?" He waited for a moment until Sherlock hummed in agreement before leaning forward to place the small, soft cock in his mouth.

Sherlock jerked and whimpered until he pulled off, and then did it again when John leaned forward a second time. But the third time, the the third time he only twitched, and the doctor finally turned his attention to cleaning the come from the soft cock, tongue sweeping gently under and around the foreskin to remove the last traces of semen as the mouth and tongue around his own cock did the same. It was oddly relaxing, kneeling there and feeling Sherlock's mouth on him for no other purpose than cleaning, than warming him, and he hoped the opposite was true for his boy, but didn't dare pull away long enough to ask.

When he was finally satisfied, John gingerly released the cock in his mouth before lifting his own free and then sitting back on his heels. Looking down at his boy's face for the first time since Sherlock had appeared under his desk, he was surprised to find the child's face and chest spattered with come.

"How did you make this much of a mess, sweetheart?" he murmured, using the still-damp rag to clear the remnants of their releases from the pale skin.

A shaking hand lifted and held something out to him, and it took John a moment to realise it was his mobile.

"Watch the video, Daddy," was all Sherlock said, smiling wickedly.

After dinner, when Sherlock had been tucked into bed and Mary had fallen asleep, John absconded to the secrecy of the backyard to watch the video, and he had pulled out his cock and began to stroke it before he'd even pressed 'Play'. Instantly, he was speared to the core with lust by the image of Sherlock curled in on himself, every one of John's thrusts forcing his boy's cock into his own mouth. When Sherlock came, it was with that lovely pink cock spilling semen over the equally lovely face and chest, and then directly into that soft mouth.

John had never come harder from his own hand in his life.

TBC

Updates every Thursday.

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