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When John entered the living room , two steaming cups of tea in hand, he was greeted with the sight of his submissive, patiently knelt on the floor, waiting for him. Wandering over, the doctor nudged Sherlock with his foot and proffered one of the mugs to him, who took it happily and came to sit next to him. Frowning a little as his arse connected with the sofa, Sherlock made up for his discomfort with proximity to John. The detective's legs curled up comfortably on top of the doctor's, his foot twisting around one of John's shins.

The doctor automatically placed his free hand slightly on the inside of Sherlock's thigh, and rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle over the fabric. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between the two. Then, after a meditative sip of tea, Sherlock started drawing patterns with his finger over the back of John's palm, a gentle line of concern forming across his forehead.

"John?"

The doctor smiled and turned his hand over, letting the pad of Sherlock's finger trace over his palm.

"Mm?"

"...Do you think I'm childish?"

"No."

Sherlock looked at him for a second, and then took another sip of tea before replying.

"Do you think I act childishly?"

"Sometimes."

The detective scowled, but leaned his head on John's shoulder, very light spots of pink appearing on his cheekbones.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Only when you're being naughty."

Sherlock made a low whining noise, and nudged his head against John's shoulder to show his contempt at the choice of words. There was a noticeably more vibrant flush across his face when he turned his head.

"I hate that word," he mumbled, and despite the resentment in his voice, he curled up a little closer to John, his toes brushing up and down against the doctor's jean-clad shin.

John drained his tea, and nodded thoughtfully.

"I know."

Sherlock nudged him again, but then took the empty cup from his hands, and leaned right over the doctor and the arm of the sofa to set both mugs down on the floor. Immediately, he felt John's hand press lightly on his lower back, silently telling him to stay where he was, his top half draped across the arm of the sofa, and his lower half lying across John's lap. Folding his arms and resting his head on top of them, he looked back at the doctor, whose other hand was sliding around the detective's waist. Raising his hips a little, Sherlock allowed those meticulous hands to slide under him, and deftly unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. Fingers curled inside the waistband of his trousers, and carefully pulled them down over his thighs, helping them over his knees and then off completely. He watched the doctor fold them and set them down beside him. John's hands drifted idly across Sherlock's shins and up, raising the skin to goosebumps with the lightness of his touch. Finally, his fingertips reached the curve of the detective's arse, which was still clad in the navy fabric of his underwear.

The detective's eyes closed slowly as John's hands smoothed across his arse, his back arching a little to try and make the most of every single touch. The fabric added the slightest friction as it rubbed against his flesh, and that was more than enough to make a small moan escape from his lips.

He could hear the smile in John's voice as he spoke: "Is that better?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and lifted his head from his arms to look back at the doctor, pushing back even further into those gentle hands as he did so.

"Mmm. Doesn't sting now..."

"Is that a complaint?" John said teasingly, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hand off of Sherlock's arse as if he were about to spank him.

"No!" Sherlock said hurriedly, putting his hand behind him and turning himself over in John's lap to try and protect himself.

There was laughter in John's voice, but somehow he managed to give Sherlock a half-stern look, prodding him in the stomach lightly enough to tickle; making his submissive squirm.

"Did I say you could turn over?"

The detective was fully he aware he wasn't in any real trouble at all, but still, he bit his lip and shook his head slowly.

"No, Sir. But I don't want it to sting more – I'm sore enough already!"

John stroked Sherlock's thigh, trailing his hand to the inside and stroking the sensitive skin that was just inches away from the detective's cock, which was half-hard already. Sherlock had received far worse than a light strapping with the belt before, so it was plainly obvious that the detective was making up for his rather unpleasant morning by getting as much of John's attention as possible. And who was the doctor to deny him that?

"Well we can't have that, can we?"

Sherlock shook his head, looking deeply sorry for himself.

"What do you think will make it feel better then, beautiful?"

Knowing full well that this question was in fact John agreeing to indulge the detective in whatever it was he angling for, Sherlock silently thanked the deities for the doctor's ability to take a hint.

"Ice." He said it plainly, but as the word escaped his mouth, he saw John's pupils dilate a fraction. A good choice, then.

The doctor looked at him for a moment, then patted his thigh decisively.

"Go and get a glass of ice then, and bring it to me."

For a split second, Sherlock gave John a look that clearly said "Can't you go and get it?" before the detective caught himself and stood up quickly. There was being indulged, and then there was being a brat, and thankfully Sherlock was getting pretty good at finding the distinction.

"Could you take those back as well, please?" John said, pointing to the two mugs on the floor. Sherlock obediently stooped to retrieve them, and was rewarded with the feeling of John's hand sliding down over his arse and along his leg, in tandem with the straightening of the detective's back. By the time Sherlock was standing upright again, John was sitting back with his arms folded.

Sherlock walked towards the kitchen, and knew full well where John's eyes were looking as he did so. It was oddly amazing to be with someone who found him so apparently irresistible – the detective so often felt the doctor looking at him that it actually felt odd when the sensation wasn't there. It was just a relief to know that John wanted to give Sherlock as much attention as the detective craved.

These were Sherlock's thoughts as he dumped the mugs into the sink, and found an ice tray from the freezer, popping the cubes out of their moulds and into a large, clear glass. He heard John get up and walk into the spare room, and there was a moment of drawer rummaging before the detective heard the doctor's footsteps coming back down the hallway. Waiting until he knew John was seated again, Sherlock picked up the cold glass and took it back out into the living room.

The doctor took the glass and placed it on the floor, before taking Sherlock's wrists and pulling him onto his lap, his hands coming to rest on the detective's spread thighs. Sherlock's eyes met his momentarily, before they slid down to his lips with a gaze of wanting. John watched as the detective leaned closer, almost shy in his advances. Sherlock's kiss was warm and chaste against the doctor's lips, and John immediately felt a wave of dominance curl in the pit of his stomach. One hand curled round the detective's waist to grasp his lower back and pulled him closer, forcing their hips onto one another, his teeth capturing Sherlock's lower lip and biting down hard enough to elicit a moan from his submissive. Pulling away, John could see the brightness in the detective's eyes; and his skin seemed to glow a little with anticipation. The doctor's hands came up to Sherlock's throat, and he carefully began unbuttoning the front of his submissive's shirt, feeling the detective's impatient hands stroking up and down the sides of his legs. Peeling the shirt from the detective's back, and freeing his arms, John discarded it quickly in favour of the alabaster canvas of Sherlock's body. His fingers stroked up his submissive's torso and pinched lightly at the firm, pink nipples that stood out like rose-buds from his chest. Sherlock gasped quietly in response, moaning softly when the doctor's touch began firmer, a shot of tantalising pain running up his spine as the sensitive was twisted between the doctor's fingers.

"You're going to show me what a good boy you are, aren't you?"

Sherlock leaned in to John's biting touch, his eyes gleaming.

"Yes, Sir."

John grinned at the breathlessness of the detective's tone, and reached under one of the sofa cushions to extract a reasonably long piece of chain, with clamps attached at each end. He replaced his pinching fingers with the jaws of the clamp, and watched with arousal as Sherlock's whole chest rose up in shock. The firm and biting pressure on his right nipple immediately created a pool of warmth in the detective's stomach, and his hands came up to grasp at the front of John's shirt, his lower half squirming in the doctor's lap. He watched with an expression of fierce concentration as John attached the other clamp to his left nipple, moaning and writhing as his body fought between pain and arousal. The doctor picked up the chain that hung between the clamps and pulled it taut with a light tug. Sherlock whined lowly and bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the clamps which bit into his skin.

"Where do you think this goes?" John asked lightly, gently tugging on the chain again and wrapping it around his finger to make it shorter, and thus even tighter.

Sherlock looked up suddenly, and whimpered quietly as he stared at the shortened piece of chain in the doctor's hand. He was finding it extremely difficult to keep still – but moving made the chain tauter and much more uncomfortable. But his hips seemed to be ignoring this fact completely, and rutted against John's legs in earnest. He knew exactly where that thing was supposed to go.

"I-in my mouth, Sir."

John didn't even bother replying, simply unravelling his finger from the chain and pulling it gently upwards with the crook of his knuckle, and letting Sherlock lean forward to take it carefully in his teeth. The chain was now incredibly taut, especially as the detective knew to keep his head upright, despite what his instincts might be telling him. The submissive frowned and rubbed his hips against John's to indicate the indecisiveness of his body.

"I know," the doctor said soothingly, rubbing his thumb very lightly over one of the trapped nipples. "Do you want it off?"

Unable to reply coherently, Sherlock shook his head, and immediately moaned between his teeth as the gesture made the chain tug harder at his nipples. John laughed lightly, and rubbed the detective's thighs in a gesture of sympathy.

"Good boy. Now I need you to turn around in my lap, wrap your legs around my hips, and put your hands flat on the floor. Quickly."

Sherlock obeyed hurriedly, vaguely aware that this position was altogether quite embarrassing and – had it not been for his navy boxers – hugely revealing. However, as he planted his hands firmly on the floor, gripping grimly onto the chain in his mouth with his teeth, he immediately felt John's hand around his waistband, pulling them down and then helping each leg to extract itself quite seamlessly. So quickly in fact that, given his strange position, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder how many times the doctor had done the exact same thing before...

He felt John lean over for a second, and then there was the sound of ice cubes clinking in their glass. Breathing steadily through his nose, Sherlock managed to keep his body still, anticipating the moment where the cold would suddenly smooth across his skin. John's legs widened slightly underneath him, and then there was an incredibly wash of cold right against the very insides of his thighs and on his balls. The detective very quickly realised that John had put the glass of ice between his own thighs for convenience sake – but due to the wheelbarrow-like position they were in, this meant that some of Sherlock's most intimate skin was pressed against the glass, causing him to lift his hips suddenly in an attempt to shy away from the cold. Consequently, the detective felt John's hand on his back pressing him back down, and felt the glass move deliberately further towards him.

"Keep still." The doctor's voice held no room for negotiation, and so the detective simply straightened his back a little more, and lifted his head slightly. The clamps on his nipples were now aching, and felt hot and heavy on his chest, while the very cold sensation between his legs acted as a contrast that made him want to collapse on top of John, and limply allow himself to have anything done to him. Alas, his position required considerable strength and complete concentration, and so Sherlock was forced to remain all too aware of his circumstance.

Taking a single cube of ice from the glass, John lightly brushed it against the very gently raised welts on Sherlock's exposed arse, running the ice gently along the lines while his other hand stroked up and down the detective's thigh. At the initial touch, Sherlock flinched, but quickly regained his composure, and made a little moan of arousal as the cold soothed him. Just to test him, John pressed the ice into Sherlock's skin for a moment, aware that this would create a build-up of cold that would be incredibly uncomfortable, especially against such sensitive skin. The detective whimpered in protest, moaning around the chain in his mouth, but he didn't move an inch.

"Good boy..." The doctor said quietly, allowing himself to be gentle again, and lightening the pressure on the ice. "You're my good boy aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded quickly, gasping and moaning alternately between the growing pain on his chest, the biting cold against his balls and the very gentle ministrations of John's hands on his sore arse.

The doctor took a few more cubes from the glass.

"Keep very, very still now, Sherlock." He said this in warning, as he placed two ice cubes right in the centre of the detective's back. His submissive's skin held a deep groove where the length of his spine was, which was perfect for balancing the two pieces of ice along.

"I want those to stay there," John said firmly. "Understand?"

Sherlock nodded incredibly slowly and made a vague noise of assent. Keeping the ice in one place was so very cold that it would begin to hurt before it went numb, and the detective could feel his skin beginning to ache with it already. And yet, Sherlock's cock was still hard and desperate beneath him, despite the conflictions that his body was suffering from. He felt a trickle of water slide from underneath one of the ice cubes on his back and roll over his ribs and torso, and he moaned in delight at the strange sensation. John was still lightly brushing ice across the abused flesh of his arse, and then occasionally blowing gently on the trails of water that were left behind. It made him so desperate to squirm and push back into John – but he knew the doctor was testing him.

This became even more apparent as the piece of ice in the doctor hand suddenly moved to in between Sherlock thighs, rubbing from where the rim of the glass touched his balls right up his creased to press gently around his expose hole. Sherlock's noises increased considerably in volume, and it took a great deal of self control to keep himself perfectly still and in position. For a horrible moment, the detective thought he felt one of the melting pieces of ice on his back slide of completely, and his entire body tensed.

Then, from behind him John's voice soothed. "You're doing perfectly."

It was getting to the stage where Sherlock couldn't even tell there was still ice there – now there were simply two spots on his back that were numb and aching slightly, and occasionally he would feel a trail of water run over his body and drip onto the floor. His arms were beginning to ache from holding himself in position, and his nipples were sore and stinging from being pulled so taut and tugged so relentlessly. The ice pressing at his opening felt so disgustingly good, the cool touch feeling sharp against the aching of his muscles and the sweat running down his arms. Trails of saliva formed around the chain in his mouth and ran down his face and Jesus Christ, how did John always manage to find some way of making him feel so utterly filthy?

John could tell that Sherlock couldn't really keep himself still for much longer. There was a tension in his back that told the doctor his submissive's arms would soon give way from sheer inability to keep still with so much happening to him. John was incredibly impressed with Sherlock's performance - and he had the erection to prove it – but now that the detective had successfully melted the two pieces of ice on his back, John wanted his submissive squirming up against him again. Brushing the puddles of water along Sherlock's back over his warm and toned torso, John dropped the melted piece of ice in his hand into the glass and placed it on the floor, before rubbing his hands dry on Sherlock's skin.

"Good boy, my perfect boy, come here..."

And with that, the doctor slid one arm around the detective's torso, and the other around him hip to pull him back up , his submissive's damp back pressing against his shirt-covered chest. Kissing him roughly down his neck, John growled as Sherlock moaned and squealed at John's manhandling of him. As the doctor's hand came round to take his hard and leaking cock in his fist, Sherlock ignore the protest of his nipples and leant his head back against John's shoulder. The doctor's thumb swirled over the highly sensitive head of his cock, and came down the submissive's shaft, before stopping and squeezing at the base. Sherlock's hips instinctively thrusted upwards to try and release himself from the harsh grip.

"You want to come, beautiful?"

The detective made a whimpering noise and nodded very gently against John's shoulder.

"You deserve to, don't you?"

The submissive nodded again and pressed himself further into the doctor's shoulder, whilst his hips came back to try and encourage John's hand into continuing. Sitting like this, he could feel John's hard cock pressing up through his jeans so that it created a mound that sat between his cheeks and spread them slightly. The doctor's spare hand came up to curl in the submissive's hair, and Sherlock felt rather delirious with it all.

"Then you're going to take that chain out of your mouth, and hold it in your hand. I'm going to make you beg to come, and when I say yes, you're going to pull those clamps of whilst you come. Understand?"

Sherlock dropped the chain from between his teeth and panted "Yes, Sir...", shakily holding it loosely in one hand whilst he moaned and whimpered into John's neck. The doctor's hand began fisting the detective's cock, pushing his hips up to create a friction that satisfied both himself and his submissive. The force and pace meant that it was only seconds before Sherlock started keening.

"Oh God oh god oh god John please..."

John shoved his hips hard into Sherlock's arse and forced a squeal from him that ended in only more please's and unfinished sentences. John couldn't get over how much he loved seeing Sherlock so dishevelled like this – pleading and half-sobbing with sheer want.

"Please Sir I've been so good... I won't be bad ever, just please, please let me come.."

John ignored this again, and carried on fisting the detective's cock hard and fast, feeling the pressure building in the pit of his own stomach, urged on by the delicious begging of his submissive right in his ear.

"PLEASE, please I can't- just let me..ohh god, sir please may I come now?"

"Come for me, then." John managed to growl, before watching Sherlock's hands curl into a fist, and wrench the clamps from his chest as he came. The moan of orgasmic pain matched with the convulsions of his submissive in his lap was enough to send John over the edge, and he came seconds later, blacking out momentarily. The force of Sherlock's orgasm was enough to make his shake and moan quietly for well over a minute, and John found himself carefully pulling his submissive closer and wrapping his arms around him, holding him tightly against his chest until he hung limply in his arms. Breathing heavily, the pair said nothing for a while, both washed in the strange sensation of post-orgasm and simply trying to remember who they were.

After a while, Sherlock curled himself further into John's lap, and mumbled something into his neck.

"What was that?" John asked drowsily, gently carding his fingers through the detective's hair.

"I said," Sherlock pulled away a little from John to make himself clearer, "I said I'm sore."

John laughed lightly, and kissed him gently on top of his curls. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock squirmed and sat up, looking down at his chest at his raised and red nipples, cautiously running his finger over the tip of one and then hissing through his teeth. But John didn't miss the ever-so-slight raise of the detective's hips as he mulled over his abused flesh. One of Sherlock's hands gently pulled the skin on his torso taut, and the other rubbed very gently over his chest in a sort of meditative fashion – and it seemed to the doctor that his submissive had almost forgotten he was there.

"You really liked that, didn't you? In the same way you like being spanked"

Sherlock's eyes shot up to meet John's before quickly looking away, a blush appearing along his cheekbones. His arms folded and then unfolded for a moment, before he gave up and let his fingertips trail back up his torso.

"...yes."

John raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to rub you better, then?"

Sherlock sat back into the doctor's lap, his head nuzzling against John's neck, one hand around his shoulder and the other clutching onto his shirt. He felt John's hand slide up his chest, and then ever so carefully rub very gentle circles around the raw and sensitive skin on the outsides of his nipples. Moaning quietly, the detective pressed his chest into the doctor's touch.

And John? John took that as a yes.

Author's note: WOO. Hi guys, I've just got back from Switzerland, so enjoy this chapter. More soon!