Suitable Partners Ch 4.

Sherlock sat on the sofa with his hands pressed palm to palm in front of his lips. He wasn't actually in his Mind Palace, he just wanted John to think that so that he could observe him without interruption. John was drinking tea and pecking at the keyboard as he wrote a blog post. He lifted the mug to his lips and then glanced into it – obviously it was empty and he had not realized.

"I'm about to make tea, shall I bring you some?" Sherlock said.

John looked surprised and slightly suspicious. "It won't be drugged? Or have anything in it apart from tea and milk?"

"No, John. English breakfast with a dash of milk, just how you normally like it." Sherlock tried to sound humble and attentive.

"All right. I mean, thank you." John watched as Sherlock went into the kitchen, as if wondering where the catch would be.

Sherlock made the tea and brought it to John, placing it next to the laptop and turning the handle to face the left for John's convenience in picking up the mug. Care and attention was shown in noticing the little details, Sherlock knew that. Mycroft had beaten that lesson into him many years ago.

John took a sip and sighed happily. "Perfect, thank you."

"John? I, um, wanted to apologize about the other day."

John raised one eyebrow. "Is that what this is about? Never mind, let's forget about it."

"No, I wanted to say to you that I was completely wrong to ask you like that. You see, I wanted to show you that I was open to the idea of a relationship between us."

John's other eyebrow shot up and his jaw dropped open. "You mean asking me to be your footstool was your way of asking me to start a relationship with you?"

Sherlock blushed. "Ah, yes. I realize now I was completely wrong about that."

"I'll say!"

"Well, anyway, I wanted to ask you now if you… wanted me. If you wanted to have me, to make me yours."

John chewed his lip for a moment. The wording was odd. There was something strange about Sherlock's posture, like he was tensing up for something. Then Sherlock slid gracefully to his knees and sat on his heels at John's feet with his head bowed, almost touching John's knees.

John scooted back in his chair, away from where Sherlock was sitting on the floor. "What? What the hell are you doing, Sherlock?"

"You didn't want me to boss you around, tell you what to do. I'm just showing you that I know how to take orders."

"Sherlock, I don't want you to take my orders. If we do this," he gestured back and forth between them, "if we start an intimate relationship it won't be because you got down on your knees and crawled to my bedroom. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

Sherlock bit his lip. A monster? Why would John feel that being masterful in a relationship would make him a monster? And if John neither wanted to be dominated nor to dominate him, then how could they have a relationship?

John sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean… I guess you haven't had a lot of experience in relationships, is that it?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly. This would the best way out of an awkward situation. If John thought he had never had a relationship (and he never had, apart from Mycroft) then John would naturally assert control. Yes, this would work.

"All right," said John, "we'll take it slowly. Er, did you want to come up to my room, or shall we start here on the couch?"

Sherlock considered for a moment. John would probably be more assertive in his own room, in his own space. But would he want to take it so slowly that nothing would happen? Would he be more likely to progress things here in a more neutral space? But his bedroom had a bed in it. "Your room," said Sherlock decisively.

John took Sherlock by the hand and led him upstairs. They sat side by side on the end of John's bed kissing and letting their hands roam over each other's chest and shoulders. Sherlock was more aroused than he could remember – Mycroft was not much for kissing. He had done it a little bit at the start, just to get Sherlock going, but in recent days he tended to use pain instead and then go straight to the main event. Sherlock couldn't remember the last time Mycroft had kissed him, and they had never had long sessions of kissing at all. Mycroft had always said it only counted if it was part of worshipping his cock.

But this was nice. There was warmth and intimacy, as well as heat. Sherlock got the distinct impression that John liked kissing. He was certainly good at it. His mouth was very inventive. Just when Sherlock was getting used to a particular motion, John would change to something different. Keeping everything fresh and exciting. Sherlock thought he could do this for hours.

Then John groaned and pushed Sherlock flat on his back on the bed. "Oh God, your mouth is amazing. I want to kiss you forever, but I'm ready for a bit more, if you are?"

"Yes, John." Anything. Everything.

John was opening his shirt, kissing his way down his body, and for one shocked moment Sherlock thought that maybe John was going to go down on him. But when he arrived at Sherlock's waistband John pulled himself up again to lie beside Sherlock. "May I?" he whispered, as his hand hesitated over the button to Sherlock's trousers.

"Yes, please." Then John's hot hands were on him, pushing down his trousers, delving into his pants and touching him everywhere that was most sensitive. Sherlock was overwhelmed with sensation. He had a vague feeling that he should be doing something more with his hands, that he should be pleasing John or at least offering to do so, but his vocal cords seemed to have stopped working. Stopped forming words anyway, although there was some incoherent gasping and groaning going on.

John's hands were just as skilled as his mouth, and the combination of the two was devastating. Sherlock felt the critical mass of heat gathering in his belly and tore his mouth away from John's long enough to gasp out, "John, please, I need… May I…? Please let me come?"

John's mouth and hands stilled. John pulled his head back far enough to focus properly on Sherlock's face. "What did you say?"

Sherlock whimpered and closed his eyes, "I know I don't deserve it. I shouldn't have said anything. I was out of line. You'll tell me when I can, won't you? You'll let me come if I'm good to you, won't you?" He started fumbling at John's pants, cursing himself for not being more focused at undressing John earlier.

"Er, no, that wasn't what I meant. Jesus, Sherlock, what kind of relationships were you in before?"

Sherlock continued to pull ineffectually at John's pants, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I'm not well-trained. You tell me what to do and I'll do my best, but please John, be a kind master, let me come later tonight. Please? I… I've never been like this before, needing it so much."

John bit his lip and seemed to arrive at a conclusion. "We'll talk about this later, but you can come whenever you like, OK? If you like the way I'm touching you then just let go and come when it feels right. And I'll do the same. How about that?"

"Yes, John. You are so good to me, I'll make it up to you later if you'll just touch me right… aah, there, like that," Sherlock hissed through his teeth as the tingling heat gathered tighter and tighter in his groin. "Oh, John, that feels so good… so hot… I've never felt… not like this... Oh! Now! Right there, right now…" Then Sherlock was crying out and groaning as pleasure flooded through his whole body and pulsed out over John's hand.

"Oh God, you are so sexy," gritted out John through clenched teeth. "Touch me like this." John took Sherlock's hand and guided it to his fully erect and weeping cock. He slid their intertwined fingers up and down his shaft, wet with Sherlock's release and it was only a few moments before John was gasping and shuddering with his own ecstasy.

When John lay still, Sherlock leaned down over the edge of the bed and caught up his shirt. He didn't dare use any of John's clothes. He wiped the sticky residue off them both, then lay down again next to John. They rested together for a moment before Sherlock felt John frowning and thinking next to him.

"Sherlock?" John finally asked, "Do you always… Have you…?" he cleared his throat and tried again. "Regardless of what has happened in other relationships, I don't want you to ask my permission to come, OK? That is just too controlling for me. I want you to come if it's good for you." John paused, then added with a grin, "Though it is generally considered polite to warn someone if you are going to come down their throat."

"Yes, John. You want me to come, not to ask permission, and to warn you if I'm going to come in your mouth." Sherlock summarized.

John frowned, seeming not entirely happy with this statement. "I don't want you to come because you think that's what I want. I want you to come because you feel good and you just can't help it. If I'm not giving you what you need, I want you to tell me. Will you do that?"

"Yes John," said Sherlock again, although he wasn't sure if he meant it.

John kissed him lightly several times. "Sherlock, what kind of relationships have you been in before? Were they always with people who dominated and controlled you? Some of what you've been saying doesn't sound exactly healthy to me."

Sherlock hesitated. How much could he tell John without sending him screaming for the door? Perhaps mostly the truth, without mentioning any names. "Well, I've only really had one serious relationship," he began, "it started when I was in high school and went for several years. I suppose you would call it a dominant/submissive relationship but since it was the only one I've ever had I'm not quite sure what was unusual about it." Apart from the obvious fact of being an incestuous relationship with my brother, that is.

"So you're used to being told what to do in the bedroom, is that right?" John asked gently, "And how far did you go?"

"All the way, John." In fact I've probably done things you've never even heard of.

"Ah, right. That's all fine then. Anything else I should know about your relationship with… What was his name by the way?"

Sherlock free associated frantically to think of a man's name. Two men's names. "Victor Trevor," he finally blurted out. "His name was Victor Trevor, and he used to like to whip me with a riding crop."

John's eyes widened with horror, "Sherlock, no! You don't… I mean, do you want me to do that to you? Is that what you like?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock realized with a start that he actually didn't. His relationship with Mycroft was at least as much about pain and domination as it was about sex. Mycroft had always set the terms, to the point that Sherlock actually didn't know what turned him on, apart from Mycroft himself.

"Well then, let's keep it fairly vanilla for now and maybe we can work up to the kinky stuff, if you think you want to." John's hands were roaming down Sherlock's back. "God, you have such a gorgeous arse I want to kiss it and pat it and generally be very nice to it. I can't imagine wanting to take a crop to it. Unless you really want me to," he added hastily.

"No, not right now," said Sherlock lazily, "I'm very happy and comfortable right here."

"Mmm, me too," murmured John.

Before they consciously realized what was about to happen they were both asleep, curled up tightly together in John's single bed.