Alas, the final chapter.

Chapter 10/10, cross-posted from AO3 on time.

Even though it had only been hours since he'd gotten home from school and been given the news of Daddy's and Mary's divorce, it felt to Sherlock like aeons had passed since he'd last walked through the door to their home. He felt worn out and stretched to his limits and exhausted in a way he'd never been before and unsatisfied to such a degree that he wanted to cry and he felt utterly and completely broken. It wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed so much more.

When they walked in, he half-expected to be ravished against the wall of the foyer, but his daddy did nothing more than press a kiss to his cheek as he removed the boy's mini-cloak and then knelt to remove his heels. It wasn't until his feet pressed flat to the ground that he realised how much they'd been hurting and he hissed as his knees buckled at the unexpected, pounding soreness. In less than the time it took to gasp in pain, he was being swept up into strong arms.

"Why didn't you mention your feet were hurting, sweetheart?" John asked, face the picture of concern as he carried Sherlock into the kitchen. The boy was set on the counter and he squirmed in place at the press of the vibrator against his prostate.

"I had other stimuli occupying my mind, Daddy," he replied dryly. "I didn't notice until now." The man's head was turned mostly away from him, pulling a glass from the cupboard, but the young genius could see the hint of a smug smile twitching his adoptive father's beard.

"Speaking of other stimuli," the man said, pouring a dark red drink from a jug in the fridge, "another glass of cranberry juice for you." The child wrinkled his nose but dutifully took the glass. As he drank, John situated himself between his knees, sliding his hands under his skirt and resting them high on the boy's legs. He seemed content to do nothing more than stroke the inside of Sherlock's thighs with his thumbs, each pass making fire sweep up his limbs to his contained and throbbing cock as the man watched the liquid disappear between his adopted son's lips.

As soon as he had drained the glass, it was taken from his fingers, and his legs were wrapped around his daddy's waist. He locked his ankles together automatically and laced his fingers together behind the man's head. Bright blue eyes caught and held his own and his breath evaporated from his chest at the expression in them, the unwavering attention. He felt speared through the heart by that look, and he barely noticed that they were moving through the house.

"I love you, Daddy," he whispered, unable to look away. John stared at him for a moment before his face warmed like it was made of sunshine.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replied just as quietly before stretching his neck forward to engage Sherlock in a slow kiss that made him excruciatingly aware of the vibrator still inside him. It felt like there was a fire burning in every limb, his blood nothing more than gasoline, the pumping of his heart an accelerant, his daddy's mouth and beard the flame.

"Daddy, please," he whimpered into the soft hair of the man's beard, nuzzling along his jawline, suddenly unable to handle the stimuli coursing through him.

"Loo first," the doctor said, cracking the soft, intimate atmosphere.

Sherlock groaned and flopped dramatically in the ex-soldier's embrace. "Daaa-ddyyy," he whinged.

John laughed. "Trust me, love. You'll be glad for it later." There was promise in those words that made the boy light-headed and he pulled himself upright.

"Okay."

He'd never been one to be embarrassed of his body or by his bodily functions- until he had to sit on the toilet to pee while his daddy waited patiently next to the sink.

"This is safer," he was told. "In fact, you should probably relieve yourself like this until you become more familiar with how to do it while the sounding rod is in."

Sherlock hadn't even considered that John would want to put him back in the cage after tonight. Or, worse, that he wouldn't be let out tonight at all. He turned frantic eyes towards the man, his embarrassment overcome by a surge of panic.

"You are letting me out tonight though, right?" he asked, the frantic query spilling from his lips in a breathless rush. John looked down at him and Sherlock felt a blush spread across his cheeks. "Please, Daddy," he begged. "Please let me come tonight!"

The doctor watched him for a minute before turning around and pulling several cotton swabs from the drawer, running the tips under warm water. "Lift your skirt and come here, love," John instructed, beckoning him forward. Face heating further, Sherlock hurriedly flushed the toilet and closed the seat before moving to stand in front of his daddy who kneeled in front of him for the second time that night. He couldn't help but gasp when his cock cage was grasped, and then one of the dampened cotton swabs was pressed to the sounding rod ball's opening, swirling just inside before being pulled out. Slowly, the metal tube was cleaned, and then the cotton swabs were being applied to the head of his cock and his slit between the bars, making him gasp with the somehow unexpected wetness.

"How does it feel? Anything hurt?" his daddy asked as he binned the used swabs and then stood, eyes carefully examining every micro-expression on Sherlock's face.

The boy shook his head in reply and trailed his fingers up the man's thighs before hooking them in the folds of his pockets. "Well, not that kind of hurt," he amended after a moment when his cock throbbed in its confines. When John only continued to watch him, Sherlock rose up onto his toes to whisper against the man's lips, "Please, Daddy. I've been such a good boy. Please take me to bed."

Being that close, he was able to feel when his daddy inhaled sharp and quick, and when he went to brush a kiss on the corner of John's lips, he found himself being yanked into a hard chest.

"I have to go get something," the man said, his voice a low growl that sent tingles of pleasure down the child's spine. "When I come back down, you're to be on the centre of my bed. Take the dress and the knickers off, leave everything else. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," Sherlock breathed in return, low doses of adrenaline surging through his system.

"Good boy. Now go." He rushed to comply, though the hard slap of a palm to his arse almost made him trip into a wall. He recovered a moment later and scrambled away on stocking feet, darting into his daddy's room and jumping up on the large plush bed. He hadn't even settled before he began to tug and yank at the ruffles, and after a brief scuffle with his own clothes, Sherlock had the dress off himself and on the floor. The lace panties followed a moment later, and they'd barely made contact with the hardwood before he was situating himself kneeling prettily on his knees.

It took a moment for him to realise his breathing was accelerated, and he closed his eyes, turning his focus to his own biology in an attempt to calm it. As it did what he wanted, painful increment by painful increment, the boy's mind began to wander, and he found himself remembering the first time he'd been in this bed.

He'd become impatient, seeing that his feelings were reciprocated but not acted upon, and he'd stripped in his room before sneaking into his adoptive parents'. It had been easy enough to slide beneath the covers, and he'd been ecstatic at the sensation of his daddy's thick cock hardening in his mouth. He'd been so excited, he'd gotten hard from the mere thought of it, and the feel of its heft on his tongue, the musk blanketing his senses, only served to drive his arousal so high that he thought he would come untouched.

The sounds Daddy made when he woke made him shudder, and the sounds he made after he realised who was really servicing him made Sherlock want to rut to completion on the bed. He'd studiously held out, his little heart pounding and his little cock throbbing at the danger that his adoptive mother could wake up any moment. Despite that, or perhaps in spite of it, both his arousal and his adoptive father's had thrived in the situation, and their orgasms had arrived in short order. It had been a glorious start to something new and fantastic, and to this day, Sherlock's only regret was that he hadn't slid naked into his daddy's bed and put his mouth on that cock sooner.

Coming back to himself with a snap, the boy realised his adoptive father had been gone for some time and he began to shift on the duvet. Despite the fact that he wore more now than he had that first night, what he wore filled him with a strange vulnerability, an aching need to put himself in John's hands, giving over complete control. He whined at the thought and shifted, the plug pressing into his prostate. Without quite realising it, Sherlock rolled his hips again, the tip of the vibrator brushing by the little knob of nerves in his arse. For a moment, he forgot himself, let his eyes sink closed as his hips continued to roll like waves against the beach. Only the passing thought that he wished it was his daddy's cock inside of him snapped him from his trance, and the boy forced himself to rise to his knees, to let gravity hold the tip away from where he was most sensitive.

"Look at you." The sudden voice from the doorway had Sherlock sucking in a breath as he whirled around, and then he promptly lost the ability to get it back.

Daddy was standing naked in the doorway, watching him with hooded eyes as he slowly stroked the erection standing thickly from between muscular thighs. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had seen him naked, not when they got to shower together every movie night, but somehow, looking at him now was like he'd never seen him before.

"You're so fucking perfect," John continued, his hand never ceasing the slow glide of foreskin over steel made flesh. "My perfect little Sherlock. You found your prostate and then you stopped. Tell me why, sweetheart."

Sherlock licked his lips and dropped down onto his hands, crawling to the edge of the bed, letting his hips sway with the motion. His daddy's eyes darkened and his hand slowed and then stopped over his cock as the boy stilled just short of tipping off the mattress.

"I wanted Daddy's fat cock in me instead," he said huskily. "Daddy's fingers, his tongue, his vibrator feel nice, but nothing feels so good as that," finished with a pointed look at the angry-red organ jutting out from the man's pelvis. "Won't Daddy please fill me up?" he asked coyly, looking up at the doctor from under his eyelashes as he pushed his arse up as high as it would go in his current position.

John grinned and sauntered over, finally taking his hand from his cock and rubbing a thumb smeared with precome over Sherlock's bottom lip. "Tease," the man accused, and the boy slid his tongue out and curled it around the digit. The doctor only allowed it for a moment before pulling his hand away. "On your back, sweetheart."

The child flopped immediately backwards, and John followed him up onto the bed with a low chuckle. It was a matter of moments before he was situated the way his daddy wanted, and then he sucked in a breath, hoping and waiting for his legs to be spread and his arse to be filled. Properly. His hips were shifting, pushing his caged cock into the air and making a slight breeze tickle around the plug.

"Not yet, love," John said, placing a hot, heavy palm on his belly. "I've never gotten the chance to memorise every inch of you and I plan on remedying that tonight."

Sherlock moaned and undulated into the hold. "Yes. I want that. Please, I need that." His daddy chuckled and stretched out next to him, withdrawing his hand and almost curling around him. The boy automatically tensed, waiting for a touch that refused to come.

For a long time, there was nothing but stillness, John propping himself up and eyes tracing Sherlock's mostly naked form, his other hand remaining frustratingly on his own thigh. Bright blue eyes fixed on his, and though he was still partially dressed- the diamonds around his neck and wrists, the stockings up to his thighs- he felt more vulnerable than any time when he'd been naked and in danger of being caught by his adoptive mother. Under the intimate gaze, he began to tremble despite the warmth in the room. When he did, John finally smiled and bent over him.

The first brush of lips and beard over his nipple made him cry and arch upwards. The hand from before pressed against his belly again, holding him to the bed as teeth closed gently over the sensitive bud and tugged. He writhed at the unfamiliar stimulation- somehow, they'd never had time to try something so simple- his mind overrun by the newness of it. He didn't realise his daddy had moved to straddle him until the tugging and the heat let off one nipple and moved to the other.

Now that he had twelve stone of full grown man pinning his hips down, his daddy's calloused hands were free to palm his ribs and smooth up, pushing his arms above his head. One hand easily grasped both his wrists, allowing the other to return to its exploration, the tips of John's fingers tapping a count of his ribs. The teeth at his nipples continued to tug and nip, moving between the two buds, the sting soothed by a wet tongue until his chest was aching and wet. Only then, only when he was sobbing did the mouth move any lower, kissing and biting along his sternum, though he couldn't help but startle and giggle when it moved to his more ticklish belly.

"That tickles!" he shrieked, squirming for a less sensuous reason. A warm chuckle spilled across his skin as the lips settled over the curve of his hip bone. His own laughter broke suddenly when suction was applied to the sensitive flesh and he gasped, wanting to escape from the sensation and scrunching his eyes shut as he tried to not do so. Even as he imposed his will upon his biology, his daddy seemed eager to shred his control, nipping along his pelvis and right up to the base of the cock cage.

Without warning, the man pulled away and Sherlock cried out in despair, jolting against the hold as he tried to raise his hips, his aching stifled erection, to the retreating mouth. It didn't click that his wrists had been relieved even as he buried his fingers in thick short hair and tugged, trying to bring those lips back to his skin. After a moment, they did, but rather than attending his aching erection, they moved to the insides of his thighs, sucking and biting harder than they had before. His legs spread automatically, opening himself up to the man between his thighs and his mind filled with the image of bruises blooming across his pale skin. The very idea of his daddy marking him fulfilled something in his chest he hadn't even realised needed to be filled.

The first tug at his vibrator made him start and he tried to jerk away, the thought of being empty even for a second more than he could handle.

"Stay still, sweetheart," the doctor murmured against the crease of Sherlock's pelvis where his beard and lips persisted in tickling and arousing. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want to feel empty, Daddy," Sherlock admitted in a high whine, planting his feet on the bed and pushing his arse to the mattress.

"I know, doll," John replied, moving up the child's body and settling between his thighs, pressing pleading, placating kisses to the hairless jaw. "But I need to be inside you. And the plug's shape is all wrong for us both to be in you. I have to take it out, okay?"

He didn't want to be empty for a single second, but he wanted his daddy in him more, so he bit his lip and nodded his head. When the silicone, still vibrating was pulled from him, he couldn't help but clench around it, his body, full for so long, resisting the loss. A sob wracked his small chest when the tapered tip slid free, but before he could reach out, beg for its return, a familiar thick cock was forcing its way past his muscles and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

"Fuuuck," John moaned in his ear as he slid slowly deeper and deeper inside, his body draping over Sherlock's like a warm, heavy blanket. "You're so full of my come that you feel soaked. God, love, you're so wet. So fucking wet."

The boy whimpered and nodded, trying to spread his thighs wide to accommodate the man's waist, the unfamiliar position forcing him to use muscles he'd never had to worry about before. But as new as the position was, it instantly wormed its way to the top of Sherlock's Favourite Positions list. It put his daddy's face in his shoulder where he could worry the soft, tender skin there, leave his mark for all to see. Or- Oh. Yes. That was so much better.

John had shifted back onto his haunches, regrettably separating their chests, but it gave the boy a chance to look him in the eye, something they frequently missed out on when his daddy had to fuck him from behind due to space and time restrictions. Sherlock blinked in surprise at the sight of a bottle of lubricant, the same one from when he'd been prepared and dressed just a few hours ago, in the doctor's hand. And a small key. Sherlock's breath stuck in his throat as he watched the lock over his cock cage be unlocked and then removed, though the cage and ring themselves stayed fixed in place by his inactivity.

"Don't move a muscle, sweetheart," his daddy whispered, sounding an odd mixture of awed and stern as he uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount in his palm. Sherlock cocked his head, watching curiously, unsure why lube would be needed when John was already inside of him. Then deft fingers began unscrewing the sound from his cage, and his body went rigid as his hands flew to his hair and gripped hard.

He'd gotten so used to its presence that he'd forgotten how utterly strange but satisfying it was to feel that metal bar moving inside his cock. Then it was being pulled out and he couldn't help but let out a high whine, needing to move, needing it back inside him again. He hated feeling empty, hated that he had to be dismantled this way. It almost felt like a goodbye, like this was the first and last night he would get to spend with his daddy like a real couple who didn't have to hide between cross-dressing and make-up and the dark. He loathed the feeling instantly.

Sherlock didn't realise he'd been voicing his thoughts out loud until his daddy began to shush him gently, stroking the boy's trembling leg with his dry hand and nudging at where the boy's hands were fisted in his hair with his wet hand.

"This isn't a goodbye, doll. This is 'hello'. A very long, very involved, very late 'hello', but a 'hello' nonetheless," John assured. "You're mine, and I won't let anyone take you from me, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," the child replied, the minor shakes in his limbs calming as he watched the sound be slathered in lubricant.

"Good boy. Now, just like before, deep breath." Sherlock obediently inhaled, glad he'd done so when the sound, warmed by his body but slicked with cold lubricant, pressed back into the slit at the head of his cock. As it slid back into him, the doctor's other arm wrapped around his leg and his wet hand curled around Sherlock's cock ring, holding his already-immobilised cock in place as it was penetrated. Which ended up being a good thing because Sherlock couldn't hold himself still, the sensation of being filled more strange and exciting and arousing than having already been filled.

He fully expected it to be screwed into place, to further lock away an orgasm he was beginning to suspect would never come, but as soon as it was fully embedded, it was withdrawn, taking his breath with it. Then it happened again, the rod pushed into him until the ball hit the base, and then pulled back out. Over and over, his small cocked was fucked by his sound as his daddy sat hard and unattended to inside of him while the boy squirmed on the bed like a snake.

His unattainable orgasm had been poised within his swollen testicles since he'd been placed within the ring, and while its intensity had risen and fallen with the events of the evening, it hadn't ever really faded. Right now, it felt more ready to spring than it ever had, and something in Sherlock's mind whispered that this was the bout of fucking, of lovemaking, that would fulfil him like he'd never been before.

"Please, fuck me, Daddy," he whimpered, opening eyes he didn't remember closing and finding tears of frustration clinging to his eyelashes. "I want to come. I want Daddy to come in me, and I want to come. I want it so much it hurts, Daddy, please," the child begged, finally reaching out to scrape his fingernails down the sparsely haired and broad chest.

"As you wish," John replied, a secret little smile playing at his lips as if he'd just made a particularly amusing reference. Sherlock supposed he had, but he wasn't quite keen on finding out what it was at that particular moment. Even if he was keen, the first thrust of that thick cock took him by surprise, the firm press into him enough to wipe his mind of any thought that wasn't Daddy.

With all the dexterity of a proper surgeon, John manage to keep thrusting slowly into him while delicately sliding the sound in and out of Sherlock's throbbing cock. It was pleasure like he'd never known, being filled in his two most intimate places with slow, first thrusts, but somehow, it still wasn't quite enough.

A strangled noise left his throat and he reached out, needing more without knowing what was missing or how to ask for it. "Please!" he cried out, knowing his daddy would know exactly what he needed. Sure enough, John slowed down and gave him an absolutely wicked grin.

"If I give control of the sounding rod to you, will you be my good boy and keep fucking your pretty little cock with it?" the man asked, dark, hooded eyes fixed on Sherlock's face. The child nodded frantically and, at his daddy's nod, reached out to take hold of the metal ball. As soon as he got a grip on it, the doctor moved both hands to his hips and hiked his arse up onto muscled thighs. The very change brought his daddy's cock into contact with his prostate, and Sherlock went rigid as white fire licked at his spine and his mind.

"Sherlock…" Daddy said warningly, and the boy realised he hadn't been doing as he'd been instructed, as he'd agreed to do.

"Sorry, Daddy," he whispered, face heating in embarrassment as he began to stroke the inside of his cock with the hard metal rod. John watched him carefully for a moment, making sure that he was up to his given task, and then slid his hands up to the strip of bare skin at the top of Sherlock's thighs, holding the boy's legs tight to his chest. Then he leaned in, stretching the limits of the child's flexibility with the position, and finally, finally began to fuck him right and proper.

The white fire returned with a vengeance, not having been properly stoked since their first round in his bedroom hours ago, the angle and the pace never enough. His vertebrae fused together with a numbing heat and his vision began to grey as his testicles drew up and his toes and fingers curled and uncurled endlessly. He couldn't see John's face any longer to measure how close he was to his own orgasm, but he could hear it in increasingly husky filthy praises groaned into the air.

In no longer felt like he had to come, teetering on the edge of orgasm, but more like he'd already fallen over and gotten stuck hanging just there. He cried and sobbed and pleaded and begged for relief. His spare hand flailing for something to ground him, his fingernails digging in where they found purchase; the push and pull of the rod in his cock was moving in a blur now, a surrogate for a hand around his aching erection. As if in response to his wild motions, the cock in him sped up, pounding into him with a bruising speed and force, positively abusing his prostate, driving an orgasm to the breakwaters.

Without warning, his daddy's hips slammed to a standstill inside him at the same moment his hand was knocked away, pulling the sound with it, and his cock cage ripped off, his cock ring following a moment later. It felt like his erection swelled into full hardness immediately, and then he was coming, the five-time ignited but never satisfied orgasm exploding through his body and out his cock like fireworks. It washed over him so quick and hard that he promptly blacked out from the overwhelming relief and pleasure of release.

Consciousness returned to him with a slow fuzziness he'd never encountered with sleep before, and with warm, calloused hands stroking across his cheeks and through his hair.

"Sherlock? Sweetheart? Can you give me a sign you're all right?"

His daddy's voice was a warm balm like honey that smoothed the white noise in his brain and his body, but there was a thread of concern woven amongst the comfort. He wanted nothing more than to comfort the man in return, but the only sound that emerged from his throat was a strangled one made of undecipherable syllables. Still, it seemed to be enough because there was a deep, relieved sigh in response.

"Perhaps I pushed you too hard. You really scared me, doll," the doctor told him, raining lingering, bearded kisses on his face. It took some time, but Sherlock became aware that the warm blanket of his daddy's body was no longer draped over or inside of his, but beside instead. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut, and a moment later, there was a warm wet cloth scrubbing across his eyelids and through his eyelashes. "Try again."

This time, his eyelids opened easily, though his sight was blurred. Gentle thumbs followed where the cloth had gone, sweeping away remnants of tears until he could see again. His daddy's face swam into view, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed with concern.

"Daddy," he croaked, throat protesting the use as if overworked. A relieved smile split the broad face in front of him and something in Sherlock's chest loosened.

"There you are, sweetheart," John murmured, head dipping down to brush their noses together. "How do you feel?"

The child took a slow, deep breath and let his eyes closed as he focused on the sensations in his body. His limbs felt weak, boneless, useless. The idea of moving wasn't just an improbability, it was an impossibility. He and the bed were one, and his daddy was the pillows, propping him up. "Melty," he finally replied.

John chuckled warmly. "That's good. Anything else? Anything bad?"

"Mmm… Nothing bad. Just melty. Good melty." It should have been clear from the fact that he couldn't speak properly how frazzled he was. A palm cupped his cheek and lips brushed over his, back and forth until he opened his mouth for his daddy to slide his tongue in. The slow sweeps of the slick muscle made him feel like he was basking in the sun and his body had just disappeared. He felt like light incarnate under his adoptive father's slow kisses, his deep affections, his unending love.

It was long minutes before Daddy let up, leaving Sherlock dizzy and panting on the bed when he finally pulled away, but he was more than fine with that. He grew drowsy again as calloused fingers began to sweep up and down his sternum, and his mind wandered.

"A little bit ago," he croaked as the memory prickled to life in his mind, "you said 'As you wish', and then smiled like you do when you make a reference. What was it?" he asked, voice halting in its rhythm as he strained to regain the usual eloquence his trained vocal chords provided him.

"It's from a movie it seems I need to make you watch at some point today: 'The Princess Bride'," John explained, fingers tracing letters over Sherlock's belly: J-O-H-N-'-S. The boy couldn't help but smile at the possessive marking. "Not quite a spoiler, but the girl orders the boy around, and he only ever responds 'As you wish'. Later, she realises when he says it, he's really saying 'I love you'."

Sherlock let that sink in for a moment. "So you were just telling me in a way I wouldn't understand that you love me?" he asked, voice a mixture of incredulous and disgruntled.

"Being purposefully obtuse doesn't suit you, sweetheart," Daddy chuckled, sliding down to press a kiss to the boy's belly. Awareness prickled over like his skin when the hair from his daddy's beard prickled his flesh as the heavy weight of the man's head settled just above his hip bone. "If you don't know how much I love you by now, then you're not as smart as you think you are."

He did. He did know. He really did. Still, his face flushed and he opened his eyes again, tilting his chin down to find John staring up at him, his cheek resting on Sherlock's belly. The sight was achingly intimate, made even more so by the soft look in bright blue eyes. Cheeks heating, Sherlock reached down to thread fingers that were still shaking through the ashen blond strands just a little past military regulation. It was one of his favourite things about his ex-soldier: the shortness of his hair, his routine neatness, the way he fell into parade rest when he stood still. The minor arousal he felt when he encountered attractive males in military garb told the boy that he might have a 'porn preference', so-to-speak, not that he had cause to lookup such things when he had someone who would fulfil any sexual need he wanted.

"I love you, Daddy," he whispered, stroking his fingers through the man's hair.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Now, time for bed." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest only for John to adopt a stern expression. "Blacking out does not constitute proper rest. You're already clean so unless you need the loo, it's bed time."

For the sake of being petulant, Sherlock adopted a pout but his daddy ignored it and crawled back up his side and tugged the child to his chest before reaching down and pulling the rumpled duvet over them. Out of John's sight, the boy allowed his expression to east into a smile. The only time he'd been able to sleep next to Daddy was on Christmas, and he'd never felt so loved in those few hours. He hadn't slept that night, too overjoyed about the uninterrupted embrace and he'd spent the hours just enjoying the hard arm around him and the soft sound of John's snores.

As he settled down, he realised there was a hard cock nestled between his arse cheeks, and he realised he was empty for the first time in hours. As much as he loved being stuffed full of that thick, hot erection, he'd never realised how much he hated not being filled, though he wasn't sure if it was because he'd spent half the day filled with something, or because he'd become addicted. Either one was fine with him, but he wasn't sure how John would feel.

"Daddy?" he whispered, knowing the man wasn't asleep yet but unsure how close to unconsciousness he was.

"Yes, doll?" the doctor replied, voice thick and lazy with near-sleep.

"Can you… Would you be back inside me? While I sleep?"

There was a pause, and then a kiss was pressed to his shoulder that made him realise the heavy collar necklace had been removed while he'd been out. It took another moment to realise his bracelets and stockings were also gone.

"Of course," the man replied before shifting his hips backwards then guiding his cock to Sherlock's still stretched and soaking wet hole.

Both of them moaned as he was filled slowly, and he almost thought his daddy would begin thrusting again. But then the man draped over him again, a secure living blanket with an arm around the boy's waist.

"Better?"

"Yes, Daddy. Thank you."

He wanted to stay awake, like he had at Christmas, to revel in the sensation of being so full, but it seemed as if his sexual explorations had made him more exhausted than he'd been in a long time, and he found himself losing conscious before the man curled around him.

He wasn't sure what woke him first: the soft, moaning grunts in his ear or the gentle thrusts of a hot cock in his arse. He realised he was on his belly, his arms folded under his head and his legs pressed together. Knees bracketed his waist and muscled arms were wrapped around his own thin ones while lips and beard nuzzled at the exposed side of his neck.

"Can this be my new alarm clock?" he asked, voice slurred from sleep and muffled by his bicep. His daddy hummed into his neck, nipping at his flesh as the slow press of his erection into Sherlock's hole continued, the pace leisurely, decadent. The boy's little cock was hard where it was pressed to the mattress, and arousal was a low burn in his belly. Something told him the man had been at this for some time while Sherlock slept.

Daddy's hips shifted, and the next thrust brought the thick glans in contact with his prostate. He let out a weak moan into the cavern of his arms and received an approving, gentle suck to the sensitive skin of his neck.

"As you wish," his daddy whispered with a soft nip to his earlobe. Safe from scrutiny in the privacy of his arms, Sherlock's cheeks heated and a soft smile eased across his lips.

FIN

It's been a fun ten weeks since this started at Christmas. Thank you all for sticking with me, for enjoying the story, and most of all, for leaving your faves and comments~

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