Cuxton Grammar School, Central London, 1992

Sherlock was stockpiling newspaper clippings when Julien knocked on his door.

He knew it was Julien; no-one else ever knocked on his door, and it had been almost two days since the last time he had seen the lanky French boy. That, and the pattern of knocks could be interpreted as something by Handel.

"Come in," he said brightly, tucking the clippings into a manila file and slipping it into his desk-drawer.

Julien grinned at him and shut the door. "How has your weekend passed?" he asked cheerfully. Sherlock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards; the boy's green eyes were sparkling with the sort of look that usually preceded a suggestion – or simply the implementation – of a new experiment.

"Boring," he replied. "They wouldn't let me into that crime-scene. You? Where did you go?"

The French boy shrugged lightly. "A family friend from the Embassy insisted that I share dinner with them."

They waited a moment, staring at each other with anticipatory grins on their faces, before Sherlock got bored and broke the silence. "You're obviously thinking something specific," he said, rolling his eyes, still grinning. "Spit it out, then."

Julien frowned at the phrase, but evidently decided that it was a colloquial he didn't understand and dismissed it. "I visited the shop when I was walking back," he mentioned, bending over the black bag he brought into the room.

Sherlock stared for a moment, trying to remember why this was significant. "Oh," he breathed finally. "Did you…"

The boy straightened, a small bottle of clear, gelatinous fluid clutched in his hand. "I did," he replied.

They'd talked about penetration before and decided that it would be best not to attempt it without some sort of lubrication; evidently the French boy had grown sick of waiting. Sherlock had to admit that he wanted to try it. If Julien hadn't taken the initiative, he wouldn't have lasted another week until they were allowed to roam London again. He'd meant to get some last weekend, but the police unit he'd been dogging around had actually started listening to a few of the points he was making and he'd become sidetracked. He'd regretted it immediately.

He stood up. "Do we have time?"

Julien grinned. "That depends on how thorough you want to be." His browned hand reached behind him and flicked the lock on the door. "There is an hour and a half before we will be required to be at lunch. I think that is likely to be sufficient."

Sherlock let the left corner of his mouth lift up. "You think so?" he took the three strides across his floor to stand in front of the other boy, their twin grins almost level. Julien was about an inch taller than Sherlock, once you discounted the unruly nature of his curls compared to the French boy's straight jet fringe. He lifted a finger up around Julien's cheekbones. "I might want to take longer."

"I surrender to your judgment," Julien said, his grin becoming even more pronounced. "I think it would be better if you were to take the penetrative role. You have displayed more control of yourself than I have." Sherlock quirked a teasing eyebrow. The French boy shrugged. "I do not wish to hurt you, cheri."

He chuckled. "Thanks." Without further ado, Sherlock grabbed Julien's chin and forced their lips together.

The French boy chuckled into the kiss, his hands rising automatically to wind and clutch at Sherlock's curls, pulling their bodies flush together. Sherlock smirked; Julien was already hard. Most likely the thoughts of what was about to happen had been in his mind for the entire walk back, and the thin fabric of his black trousers did little to hide it. He wondered if the boy had walked through the centre of London with an erection, walked past teachers on his way up the stairs. Boldly, he brought his hand around and traced the shape of the other boy's cock with his index finger. Julien shuddered and pressed closer, his hands leaving Sherlock's hair to pull at the buttons on his shirt.

The weekends were always interesting, when school uniform could be abandoned; the lack of a tie made undressing easier, for a start, and Sherlock was considering wearing shirts without buttons to further speed the process along. Last Saturday, however, Julien had dressed in tight trousers and a shirt that showed every bump and curve in his skinny torso and Sherlock had found himself barely able to sit through breakfast. He'd never expected someone's clothing to be so arousing, so suggestive of what was underneath.

Today, Julien's dark green shirt – two shades darker than his eyes – seemed to fall apart under his fingertips, the buttons slipping easily from their holes. Sherlock left the shirt hanging from his shoulders; the fabric was smooth and soft and felt oddly sensual against his skin as his own cotton shirt hit the floor. He wondered absently what it would feel like against his cock, and the organ twitched in his trousers in response.

Julien laughed again, gently, almost fondly, as Sherlock rubbed his chest against the shirt. "Perhaps we should leave on the shirt, if you like it so much?" he suggested. Sherlock retaliated by biting the French boy's chin sharply and grinning at the gasp he received in return.

"Then you'd never be able to wear it again in public," he cautioned. He could just imagine the other boy sitting at one of the tables in the dining-hall, picking at his food at his usual agonising pace while Sherlock sat opposite him, flashes of the bedroom intruding on his consciousness, itching to throw the shirt open and show everyone else at the table how nicely it complimented the brown of his tanned skin.

Impatient fingers pulled at his belt buckle. "So be it," Julien shrugged. Sherlock grinned, biting harshly down the side of his neck as his fingers managed to flick open the button on his trousers and yank them down to mid-thigh.

Sherlock took over the battle for his own trousers as Julien stepped back to remove the ones Sherlock had almost disposed of. "On the bed," he commanded, grabbing the lube and kicking his trousers off.

The French boy smirked. "Impatient," he remarked. Sherlock placed a hand in the centre of his chest and pushed backwards; still grinning, Julien overbalanced and fell backwards onto the bed, looking up and chuckling as Sherlock crawled on top of him. "And bossy," he finished smugly. Sherlock grinned back.

"Problem?"

Julien tilted his head judiciously. "Perhaps in the future I will take control," he mused, running a firm, warm hand up Sherlock's arm. "When you do not expect it, I will be the bossy one, and you will have to wait."

Sherlock snorted. "Fine," he agreed. He wasn't sure if he'd like not being in control, and since Julien had never complained about his assuming it, he hadn't thought twice about the way he acted. It was in his nature to be bossy and impatient, and Julien knew that. But he'd heard that some people liked surrendering control in this way, so they may as well try it. "But you're just as desperate for this as I am," he reminded the other boy, bringing his hand back to the wet spot on Julien's charcoal-grey cotton pants, "so not today."

Warm hands continued their journey around his shoulder-blades and down his back, sliding sneakily under the waistband of his pants and squeezing his arse. "Not today," Julien agreed. Sherlock bent forwards to kiss him again as he moved his hand around from cupping and squeezing the French boy's cock to sliding the fabric away from it and nudging his legs apart.

"Are you sure you're ready to try this?" Sherlock checked.

Julien grinned. "If I decide otherwise, I will tell you." That was the rule: if either of them were uncomfortable, any experiment could be stopped at any time. Sherlock couldn't think of a situation in which he might be persuaded to call a halt to things, and he was fairly certain Julien felt the same. All in the name of Science, after all.

Sherlock grinned back, flicking Julien's pants off the bed and running idle fingers up his cock. The other boy gasped and threw his head back against the pillows, bringing his knees up on either side of Sherlock. Smirking teasingly, he flipped the cap on the bottle and poured a generous measure over his fingertips, rubbing his hands together.

It was slick and slippery, and he wondered what it would feel like on his cock, but he tore his mind away from there before his hands could wander. He would have to do that later anyway. He leaned forwards to place a quick, hard kiss on Julien's lips before pressing a finger to his entrance.

Julien drew in a sharp breath; Sherlock stilled the finger before it could penetrate. He didn't want to hurt the other boy, after all; he'd come to regard him with a fondness almost resembling friendship. "All right?" he asked instead, moving his finger in a circling motion around the pucker of skin, feeling it flutter and unclench under his touch.

"It is a sensitive area," the other boy replied breathlessly, his hands withdrawing from Sherlock's pants to hover hesitantly around his own groin. "Not unpleasant. I am relaxed enough now, I think…"

Still Sherlock hesitated, increasing the pressure but still not penetrating. He was just teasing now. Julien huffed in annoyance. "Please, Sherlock!" he said finally.

Surprised, Sherlock pushed his finger past the ring of muscle. Julien caught his breath, discomfort showing briefly on his expressive face before he relaxed. Sherlock's cock jumped at the feel of it, warm and so tight around his finger as he gently worked it in and out. "What does it feel like?" he asked the other boy, noticing the timbre of his own voice, low and shaky.

Julien exhaled heavily. "Unusual." Sherlock applied more lube and slowly tried inserting another finger. The muscles around him clenched momentarily, then loosened enough for the digit to slip through. He watched, fascinated, as his two fingers moved inside the other boy. "It burns and stretches. Like when you do not prepare for exercise."

He pushed his fingers apart in slow scissoring motions, trying to gently widen the gap between them. They had tried to prepare themselves properly, but perhaps unsurprisingly hadn't been able to access any decent information over the internet without the school's content filter kicking in. Julien panted, shifting his hips to push back against the fingers.

Sherlock twisted his fingers sharply, grazing against the bump that he knew was Julien's prostate. The other boy gasped and cried out, arching his back, one hand clutching Sherlock's arm and the other reaching desperately for his own cock. Sherlock grabbed his wrist and dragged the hand away from his groin, grinning as he found the spot again. "Not yet," he whispered, letting go of Julien's wrist and placing a finger over his lips instead. "One more? Or do you think you can take it now?"

"Now," the other boy snapped instantly. "Sherlock, now – you must feel this, it is unlike… it's so…"

"All right," Sherlock gasped. The sight of Julien spread out across his bed, naked and so wanton, was irresistible. The French boy pulled Sherlock's pants down his legs and commandeered the lube from where it lay neglected on the bed beside them. "Ssh, though." He bent to give Julien's lips another occupation, seeing as the boy seemed to have the lube under control; their tongues tangled together immediately, hot and heady. Sherlock thrust his hips against Julien's thigh, desperately trying to find some friction.

Then there were hands on his cock, slick and cool with the liquid sliding along his length. Sherlock gasped and rutted faster; Julien chuckled. It was so unlike having bare hands on himself, the slick glide of the oily fluid tantalising and not enough. "Julien," he gasped. The other boy smiled. "Do you… can I…"

"Yes, now," Julien commanded, grabbing his arse and squeezing until he moved forwards.

He tried to move slowly, to be gentle, but it was difficult; he could feel the heat of Julien's body before any part of their bodies was touching and from the moment the head of his cock touched the other boy's entrance the heat was all-consuming. He thought suddenly that it was lucky Julien had mentioned the fact that he seemed to have better control over himself than the French boy, because the urge to push in quickly, hard and fast, was almost overwhelming. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood trying to keep his pace steady as Julien's body sucked him in.

Julien threw his head back against the pillow, whimpering. He had bitten his own lip in an attempt to keep quiet and was barely succeeding. Sherlock bent forward to kiss him again; the boy tended to make less noise when his mouth was occupied. Apparently the angle was better for Julien this way; he arched and tightened his hold on Sherlock's arse, his carefully manicured fingernails digging in painfully. "Let go," Sherlock whispered against his lips, letting the amusement show through his voice. "Your fingernails are hurting me. I'm going to have crescent-shaped marks on my arse – you're the one who's not supposed to be able to sit down after this."

The French boy laughed softly and changed his grip so that his fingernails were out of the way, then yanked Sherlock's hips forward until he was fully seated, his hipbones resting comfortably in the hollows of Julien's inner thighs. He let out a choked moan, muffling it in the other boy's shoulder. "You've got to feel this. So tight, you… you can't imagine…"

"Move," Julien groaned, his fingernails tracing up Sherlock's back, his lips pressed together. "Mon dieu, Sherlock, s'il tu plait – move!"

He chuckled as he rocked his hips forward, gently at first, then when Julien made a sort of mewling noise he joined their lips again and started to thrust harder; the heat was swallowing him and it was hard to keep in his mind that he couldn't make noise, that he couldn't tell the other boy just how incredible he felt because if he opened his mouth he couldn't guarantee that people at the other end of the corridor wouldn't be able to hear him.

Julien moaned into the kiss and Sherlock felt a hand struggle to come between them as the French boy tried to grasp his own cock, jerking feverishly. "Close," he murmured. Sherlock groaned in response, his own toes curling, his abdomen tensing in preparation for orgasm. "Sherlock," the boy gasped. "Sherlock, mon dieu, Sherlock!"

He groaned in response, the sound rising in pitch when Julien's walls clenched and spasmed around him as semen splashed onto their chests, and he had to keep quiet, had to bite down on the soft part of Julien's shoulder to muffle himself as the other boy's body pulled his orgasm from him, wave after wave until his arms shook and he could barely hold himself up.

Sherlock carefully pulled out and flopped onto his back on the bed. Still panting, Julien propped himself onto one elbow and gently pushed a stray curl away from Sherlock's eyes. Surprised at the tenderness of the gesture, Sherlock let it pass without comment. "That was incredible," he said instead. "You have to try it."

Julien's sharp green eyes flicked to the clock. "There is still half an hour before lunch," he said teasingly.

Sherlock just grinned.

"Hey, Sherlock."

He looked up from the book; Joseph Grieg's amiable face grinned back at him. Sherlock forced a smile. "Afternoon, Mr Grieg."

The teacher bore a sort of look that Sherlock knew meant he intended to have a conversation, so he closed his book out of politeness, glancing around the library. After all, he did enjoy the blond man's company. "How are you doing?" Grieg asked tentatively. He seemed almost nervous.

"I'm good, thank you. How are you?"

Grieg grinned at the news. "Oh, great, good. Are you… how's Julien?"

Sherlock frowned slightly. Was that what this was about? The teacher attempting to ascertain whether the 'friend' he had acquired was a good one? "He's fine."

"Good." The man's fingers tapped on the tabletop a few times; Grieg suddenly leaned forwards confidentially. "Sherlock… I'm not stupid. I know what's going on there." Sherlock blinked; he hadn't ascribed the teacher enough intelligence, apparently. He and Julien had taken great pains to keep their physical relationship behind closed doors – 'sexual relations' were meant to be strictly forbidden on school grounds. There was some sort of rule no-one ever followed about doors being open at all times when a girl and a boy were in a room together, but the teachers were generally accepted as turning a blind eye to that sort of thing. He and Julien had thought that this tolerance might not stretch to their sort of relationship.

He smiled tentatively. "I see."

Mr Grieg smiled back, so Sherlock relaxed slightly. "Don't worry, I'm not about to say anything – it bothers me that the others ignore it when it's heterosexual, but they pulled up a couple of girls last year for – anyway, it's not important. They weren't being particularly discreet. I just want to… you'll be careful, won't you, Sherlock?"

"How do you mean?" Sherlock asked politely. Grieg smiled fondly.

"I mean… don't get your heart broken. I don't want to see you hurt. It's hard when you're a teenager and a lot of people haven't quite sorted out whether they like men or women. There's a lot of potential for change, and people don't always give you a lot of notice when that happens."

Sherlock almost said is that what happened to you?, but he bit it back just in time. "Thank you, Mr Grieg. I think that's unlikely in this case. And I'm certain my heart is safe."

The teacher shrugged lightly. "Just be mindful, I guess. You can tell yourself it isn't about emotion, but so much of the time it really is even when you don't realise it."

He chuckled. "Thanks. But I'm big enough and ugly enough to take care of myself."

Grieg chuckled too, but his was softer, emptier. "Oh, you're anything but ugly, Sherlock," he said gently. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise; he continued to smile for a moment and then seemed to realise what he had said. "Enjoy the rest of your day," the teacher said quickly, scooping the Classics exam guidebook off the table and standing up. "I'll see you at dinner, I'm on duty."

Sherlock watched with some amusement as the blond man beat a hasty retreat from the library. He hadn't quite believed Julien when the boy had said that Grieg was interested in him sexually, but it was difficult to think anything else from the almost wistful tone of voice he'd used at the end of the conversation. He wondered what he was supposed to make of that.

He didn't think about it again until after dinner. He and Julien were in his room, the bed littered with paper and Chemistry textbooks, the two of them sitting cross-legged in their pants over a set of equations. Suddenly the thought popped back into his head.

"Greig talked to me again today," he voiced casually, biting at the end of his pencil thoughtfully.

Julien looked up at him, but his eyes wandered down to the pencil in his mouth. Sherlock removed it to help him concentrate. "The teacher that desires you?" the French boy clarified calmly.

Sherlock grinned. "I didn't believe you, but you were right."

"Yes," Julien said simply, smiling as Sherlock deliberately inserted the pencil back into his mouth. "The question now is, what are you going to do about it?"