Here we go, the long awaited look into Sherlock's point of view! There is sexual situations, and imagined (damn it!) sexual acts. M/M CHAPTER! BE ADVISED.

I've been a bit slow figuring out this website's upload system, so this is the first time I've added the disclaimer. Please consider it retroactive till I can get the other chapters fixed!

Chapter 7: Practice Makes... Uhm Perfect?

Sherlock slowly stands up from the floor, John had gone up to his room a few minutes ago, and Sherlock was feeling a bit sore from his long limbs being folded up so tightly. 'A shower maybe, then a bit of sleep.' Flicking off the light, he heads for the shower.

Standing under the hot water, Sherlock subtly stretches the long muscles in his body, one at a time. His arms were stretching up over his head when he heard an odd sound, climbing out of the shower he grabs a towel. Silently he creeps down the hallway to the stairwell and listens, it's coming from upstairs. Looking down to make sure the door at the entrance is shut, he slowly glides up towards John's room.

Only three steps onto the flight of stairs, Sherlock hears the sound again. He struggles to identify it, had John walked into the leg of the bed after taking off his shoes? The tone is too obscured, by the rushing sound of the water he had left on, to identify. Sherlock flows silently up a dozen more steps, almost at the top now he can hear a quieter sound that was covered by the water. It's sort of crackly squishy sound, he's pretty sure he's never heard that sound before.

A sinking in his stomach makes Sherlock wonder if this is perhaps too private to see. Maybe he should just head back to his shower and forget this, clearly there was no struggle (too little noise), clearly no one other than him and John is in the flat (downstairs door shut tight, no sign of forced entry). He looks at his own feet in shock as they continue up the stairs, 'But I want to go down the stairs!' His head turns without his consent and through the gap of the door he can see John.

Three things are clear to Sherlock immediately, one, the first sound, the loud one, was John, but not an expression of pain, second, the other sound was the slick sound of flesh slipping against flesh, and third, that this was definitely very personal.

John lay on top of his covers, completely bare, arched back against his pillows one hand caressing his chest as his other is moving restlessly in his lap. In that flash of information, the information burns itself, immutably, into his mind, Sherlock knows forever the sound of John's moans, he knows John likes to tease himself, he knows what John looks like as he is coming undone, Sherlock knows it, and yet he shouldn't. He hasn't been granted this, he's taken it.

The horror of what he's done finally catching up to him, he slides down the stairs without a sound and numbly walks back to the bathroom and into his shower.

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When Sherlock's finally trying to get a bit of rest, a couple days later, that immutable part of his brain comes back to haunt him. In his minds eye he's still on the stairs when John moans and writhes prettily through coming all over himself. He's still there when John opens his eyes, half sits up, and leans back suggestively catching him in his gaze.

"Well Sherlock, are you going to sit on the steps all night, or are you going to get in here like my good Ikbal?" Sherlock's face radiates his shame at being caught, as he stands and walks into John's room. As he stands he notes the lack of his towel, in fact he's wearing an item from his costume for the dinner. The burning sensation spreads to his ears, as he feels the sensation of raw silk against his cock and balls, but nothing save the velvet ribbons up around his hips. 'What use is this thing anyways? A pouch? really!' He mentally rolls his eyes, as he carefully settles to his knees beside the bed, eyes cast down, hands gently resting on the edge of the bed.

A moment later, John stretches his limbs out to their full extent. Then he murmurs in a pleased tone under his breath. "Very pretty Sherlock, crawl up onto the foot of the bed, I have a chore for you."

Sherlock, without raising his gaze, slips up the edge of the bed and comes to rest respectfully beside John's foot. He can feel John's eyes traveling over his body, and the heat and intensity that's gathering in the room. His own eyes are drawn to the monolith that is John's cock, it is still aiming up at John's face, even though the evidence of his recent emissions are all over John's stomach and chest. Sherlock's brain, even in this 'dream', tries to fight the oddness of that organ not being flaccid, but it can not win. John's cock is mesmerizing, even as he admires it, it twitches with every exhale of Sherlock's breath. It's a wonderful thing, 'very monolithic!' and Sherlock is desperate to touch it.

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With a jolt Sherlock opens his eyes and he is lying in his bed in his usual bed clothes. His eyes widen in shock as he realises for the first time in many years he's physically aroused. He stares up into nothingness for exactly three seconds before willfully closing his eyes and going back into his mind palace looking for that immutable part of his mind that was spinning this story for him.

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With a salacious grin John gestures to his crotch. The command, "Get to work Sherlock" comes out with a growl. Sherlock shudders, as he reaches out to grasp John's cock at the base. It is beautiful, arching upwards away from him, the length not over shadowing the girth, John's foreskin retracted away from the sensitive head which glistens with either left over ejaculate or new emissions, Sherlock can't tell, and doesn't care. He must taste it.

With much care, he gently dabs at the head with the flat of his tongue. John murmurs again, an encouraging sound, feeling bolder, Sherlock runs his tongue all over the head of John's cock, tasting it all over. It seems at first bitter to him, then salty and oddly sweet somehow. Sherlock contemplates his next action, but then just sinks over John's cock, wrenching a low moan from the man. About halfway down the head hits the back of Sherlocks throat and it spasms, but before he can retract, John's hands are deep in his curls holding him still. "St..stay ri...ri...right.t.t..t, oh!...good lord, right there. It'll pass, a...and you'll get used to is quicker this way." Sherlock instinctively pulls against the obstruction in this mouth, but John's hands hold him firmly in place, and the sensation passes.

"That was well done Sherlock, beautiful mouth on you." Sherlock's face flushes again with the praise. "The way the back of your throat fluttered against the tip of me there, oh that was bliss!" His hands still buried in those luxuriant curls he holds Sherlocks pale sea foam eyes with his midnight blues. Very slowly watching Sherlocks reaction, John pulls out and glides back in, each time shifting just a slight bit forward. After a few minutes, as Sherlock's throat spasms again weakly, and John keeps moving slowly, inexorably, in and out, John smiles as the spasms begin to settle down.

Starting to fight a bit now, Sherlock feels like he's going to retch, pleading with his eyes for John to let him go, the helplessness floods over him. John just smiles down at him and pulls Sherlock further onto his cock. Now there's a thread of panic in those pale stormy eyes as he chokes on the intrusion. "It's alright Sherlock, hold on," driving in deeper and quicker, "hold on, you can do it. Your fucking brilliant, you can do this, so beautifully," stills for a moment all the way in, as Sherlock's ability to breathe is cut off completely. "Good god! the feeling of your throat trying to expel me is amazing, Sherlock you take cock like a fucking star! Hold on now, I'm going to back out slowly." Closing his eyes for a moment, John grinds himself against Sherlock's face in unfaltering lust. "When I get far enough out, breathe in, as long, and slow as you can. Your brain will want you to breathe in and out, try to resist it, cause the high is worth it! Just in; as long as you can!"

Sherlock barely hears the orders, his brain has descended into a fog of low grade panic. But as John withdraws that python! from his throat, the meaning is suddenly startlingly clear, so he does as commanded. The room swims, his perceptions telling him the world is on fire, a delightful wonderful fire of sweet sensations, and just as he finishes inhaling his mouth is suddenly full of more of that wonderful bitter sweet salt.

Sherlock collapses to the side swallowing, his chest heaving as his oxygen starved brain perceives everything spinning around him.

John's voice, rough and velvety, against his ear, "Oh dear, you are a keeper, such a mouth, and everything is new to you. God, what a feeling it was breaking you in, you want more don't you? No need to answer Ikbal, I know." With his words, John's neat hand brushes against Sherlocks engorged cock, still in it's raw silk pouch.

Sherlock throws his head back and his voice, broken by the abuse, cracks as he cries out at full volume and he comes for the first time under another's hands.

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With a start Sherlock sits bolt upright, with a grimness he notes his pants need changing. A moment later there's a knock at his bedroom door.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

His eyes widen comically, 'John! Oh god! How can I look at him again?' Sherlock swallows a couple times to get his dry throat to work.

"Yes John, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Erm, you screamed a few minutes ago. Sounded like you were being stuck with a dagger!"

Grasping at proverbial straws, Sherlock casts his eyes about. "I must have called out half in my sleep, I... fell off the bed while I was sleeping. I must have dreamt I was falling again." Silence greets his comment, as he flintches at mentioning THAT, then:

"Right, well try to get some more sleep, it's only," pause as John assumably looks at his watch, "half three, good lord! Good night Sherlock."

Half voice, "Goodnight John." If there was one thing Sherlock knew, as he looked about for a change of pants, he wasn't going to be able to sleep more tonight!

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'Ikbal' refers to a rank in an Ottoman Empire Sultan's Harem. The concubine with whom the Sultan shared his bed became a member of the dynasty and rose in rank to attain the status Ikbal (the Favourite).

So in John's Harem Sherlock has risen in rank above the others indicating preference.

And yes I know, I know, Harems didn't have men in them unless they are eunuchs (castrated). So please ignore that fact.

And in case someone is irritated that I chose to do 'Arabian Nights' as the theme, forgive me. I had this box set sitting on my bedroom shelf for 5 years till I put in a car boot sale. It just was RIGHT somehow that Mrs Taylor would have kept her copy!