Sherlock stirred in bed as awareness returned after a deep restful night's sleep. He tried to move, but couldn't with John wrapped around him like an octopus, arms and legs hugging Sherlock, as though even in his unconscious state he were staking claim, unwilling to let Sherlock go.
Sherlock looked down at John's face. He sighed and then frowned as he thought.
The last month had been…..John had never looked happier or more sated with pleasure. It felt good to see John look so happy after so many months of watching him moving around with depression. But Sherlock felt increasingly worried, even as he had patiently indulged in every whim, every desire that John had.
The sublime depths of submission that John had plunged into during that magical first night had never been repeated. Far from diving in further, it seemed John had swam up to the surface again and was riding the surf, enjoying the thrill that the superficial waves could provide. Everything seemed to have been subverted to the altar of desire. But desire was an ever branching tree, the ends of which are never quite reached, vast beyond imagination and self-replenishing.
No new lessons had been learnt. No progress had been made. In fact, sometimes it seemed that John had unlearned his original deep submission, regressed in some ways, as he proceeded to enjoy Sherlock's company and body with gusto, with all the enthusiasm of a person in the initial endorphin induced flushes of the so-called in-love or infatuated person.
John with his customary myopic vision could never be expected to see the wood for the trees.
But I can…. I have been seeing it clearly for some time…..it is time I stop trying to find a happy medium or John will never grow…..it is time to stop trying to straddle two worlds and be the Dom I am, so that John can become the Submissive I know he is capable of becoming.
With some difficulty he extricated himself and got dressed in silence. He was needed at the Yard to complete some God-awful paper work; Lestrade had threatened to ban him from any future cases if he did not comply.
He left quietly.
John lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, smiling to himself.
Every bone and muscle in his body ached and yet he felt so thoroughly sated that he didn't want to move. Got to get up….need to go to work. His arse needed cleaning, dried lube and semen caked in the crack. It should have been disgusting, but it wasn't. To John it was as though Sherlock had marked him somehow, claimed him.
He stretched in bed, a full length lazy cat stretch, feeling fulfilled and happy…deliriously happy….he thought.
The past month had been a revelation, the most sexually satisfying month of John's entire fucking life. No two sessions of sex were the same…Sherlock was endlessly creative and John was enjoying the fullest range of pleasure that the human body could take delight in.
…The previous night, Sherlock had asked in that husky bedroom voice of his for John to prep himself. He'd laid back in bed, watching John with heavy-lidded eyes as John lay down, his legs parted and bent, trying to open himself up with his own fingers. As he watched, Sherlock had lubed himself, masturbating slowly, stroking his cock as he had watched John's short fingers wriggle into his tight hole, one….then a second….then a third…..No matter how hard John tried, how much he bent himself, he'd been unable to reach his prostate by himself, his fingers just too short for the job. Finally, Sherlock had ordered him to climb up. And John had sank down on that long thick length…felt like it kept going for fucking forever…. and sighed with exquisite pleasure as it started to nudge his trigger spot. He'd ridden Sherlock, angling himself to make sure that every stroke hit his prostate while Sherlock had squeezed his arse, played with his nipples till they were puffy and swollen. And when he'd been allowed, John had pumped his own cock and spurted all over Sherlock…
He brushed his teeth as he thought….
….About the afternoon they'd spent in bed. Sherlock had fellated John for what seemed like fucking hours…teaching him by demonstration what makes a good blow-job, how to suck, just when and where to lick, how to tease, where to put pressure, how to overcome the gag reflex. They'd quibbled and giggled as they took turns going down each other. Tumbling around playfully, the bed sheets untidily wrapped around them…..Sherlock's husky laughs as he held John's head to direct his bobbing, John's wry face when he swallowed his release…..
John laughed to himself as he got into the shower…
…And then there was the night when after many days of pleading, Sherlock finally agreed to spank John. He'd been sitting on his chair in the living room when John got back from work. He had ordered John to strip, and lay face down across his lap. He'd asked John to count as he struck him. Hard smacks they were too! And John had been so aroused…..in between smacks, Sherlock would insert two fingers in and stroke his prostate. When John couldn't take it anymore, he'd hauled him up and eased him down his cock. John rode him like a champ, both enjoying a sensual long fuck. Hadn't been able to sit for two days without squirming, my arse had been so red when I looked at it in the mirror….
Soaping himself, John mused that he'd never thought he'd enjoy having another man's cock up his arse so much. It was fucking incredible. The thickness and length of it never failed to overwhelm John with the sensation of fullness. And Sherlock, being Sherlock knew with deadly aim where his sweet spot was and used that knowledge skilfully. Sometimes to tease John till he was reduced to tears, sometimes to pound in…there had been an occasion when John had very nearly come with just the constant barrage of hits to his prostate….
John dressed himself absently as he kept reminiscing….
…No, but it was not just the enjoyment of being pounded and filled…..it was the fact that it was Sherlock doing it. This man, about whom John had fantasized for so long…..the day John found himself following his nose to the lingering scent of Sherlock to his room and he'd stood there just breathing…..as though it was the fucking elixir of life…..that was the day John realised how completely head-over-heels in love he was with his flatmate and friend.
Putting on his socks and shoes, John frowned…..
…..After all the research into a Dom/sub relationship, John had expected to be ordered around, used, beaten, humiliated. Nothing of that sort had happened. Sherlock was still Sherlock…..amazing, beautiful, brilliant. John still went to work and did his own thing. Sherlock still went for cases and interesting body parts and conducted his experiments. Victor had said nothing much would change, and it hadn't. Except for this cosy little cocoon of decadent enjoyment and sex and sexual games they enjoyed in the privacy of 221B.
But yes, he'd never again felt that sense of deep trance, that complete submission, that euphoria that went along with it that he had felt that first night…maybe that will come again, when he Doms me properly?
He sipped his tea…
…the only time that Sherlock had remotely been a Dominant was once when four days had gone by without any sex. John was getting increasingly frustrated, banging around cutlery in the kitchen, glaring at the back of Sherlock's head as he had worked away on a case, looking into the microscope on the kitchen table….Sherlock had finally snapped and for the first time ordered John to go down on his knees. He'd told John in a stern voice that passive-aggressive behaviour by his Sub would not be tolerated and that if John wanted something from his Dom, he should go down on his knees and ask for it. John had been so turned on by the entire episode, he'd literally begged to suck Sherlock. He smiled as he thought about how enthusiastic that particular blow-job had been…..right here, I was on my knees and he was perched on his chair, legs spread, his hands in my hair as he guided my mouth…..Fuck…
John laughed to himself as he searched for his keys….
…..To think I had been worried about him pissing on me at one stage or putting on cock cages and spreader bars on my body…..what a laugh….if anything, this was the ideal romance that he'd been looking for all his life….a person he loved and respected, who got him, and with whom he had fantastic sex with. Sherlock had hardly gone into his Dominant mode…..they were more like lovers actually.
He whistled merrily as he headed out…..hope I don't miss the train…..
"You're working awfully hard tonight," Sherlock remarked.
John grinned and took a deep swig from his beer bottle. Licking his lips appreciatively as the chilled brew went down his throat, he nodded.
"Yeah. I forgot to tell you. Our clinic is likely going to win the award for "Best Suburban Primary Care Practice" category this year. Julia is over the moon. She's asked all the doctors and nurses to write up individual reports outlining new initiatives we've taken or any extraordinary cases we've had."
Sherlock smiled warmly, "That's fantastic, John."
John nodded again, "Yeah….it is. I mean, when I joined there eight months ago, I hadn't realised that I'd become so close to all the staff. It's great….yeah. And Julia, fuck she needs this. She's getting divorced, you know? So life has been pretty shitty for her lately. Thankfully there are no kids in the picture. She's thrown herself into work. The practice has become her life."
Sherlock put his phone aside, "So tell me, which cases are you writing up?"
"You really want to know?" John asked eagerly.
"But of course."
"Well, there was this 40 year old woman who came with pain in the right upper quadrant of her abdomen. She'd just returned from overseas. Yeah…..so I diagnosed portal vein thrombosis….you know….it means…."
"I know what it means, John," Sherlock said, raising one eyebrow. "A clot in the portal vein which enters the hepatic parenchyma with deoxygenated blood from the intestines." He smirked at John's gaping mouth and then shrugged. "Anatomy, pathology…..One cannot be a detective, indeed a forensic detective without some knowledge. But carry on."
John grinned amiably, "Show-off! Anyway," he took another sip of his beer, "yeah…I sent her for imaging and it confirmed the diagnosis. The radiologist was so impressed he called me personally."
Sherlock's voice was soft, "You are a good doctor, John."
"Yeah….well it felt good, you know?" John said flushing at the praise. "I had this other case who had impending myxoedema and they were escalating her thyroxine, turned out she also had coeliac disease which no one else had thought to check for two years…." He broke off as Sherlock's phone rang.
He frowned as Sherlock picked up the phone, quickly glancing at the clock. 11 pm. Who could be calling at this time of the night? Barely anyone dared to actually ring Sherlock anyways. Everyone who knew him, knew he preferred to text.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock murmured in his deep voice.
He was silent, listening to whoever was talking. John couldn't help but notice; the infinitesimal tightening of his grip on the phone, the sudden frown, the lips curled in, the way they did when Sherlock was upset.
"When?" The sudden word came after the period of silence.
John watched as something volatile and dark settled into Sherlock's eyes and his jaw clenched.
"Tell David not to do anything. I'll be there by tomorrow morning. Tell him Sherlock has said to do nothing , do you hear me?"
David….John's heart seemed to literally deflate, fluttering ineffectually against his chest…wasn't he that Sub that Victor said Sherlock used to 'spend a lot of time with'…the one that had made Victor crazy with jealousy years ago… What the fuck? Why is he calling? Where is Sherlock going?
Sherlock hung up and put the phone down, nostrils in full flare, intense focus in his snapping eyes.
"What is it?" John cried out. "What's happened?"
Sherlock's blue-grey eyes flicked to John.
It was only because over the past few weeks that John had been allowed to see Sherlock's unguarded emotions that he was able to appreciate it as it happened…..the internal machinations going into full gear as all the shields came up in rapid succession and his face settled into an impassive mask.
Abruptly he picked up his phone and sent a text. His voice was without inflection as he answered John's question.
"I need to drive to Edinburgh tonight. I need to be there by morning. I'll be back soon."
"What! Why?" John demanded.
"A minute," Sherlock held up his finger as his eyes raced over the return text, his fingers a blur on the phone as he replied to whoever it was. "Mycroft will be sending a car soon. I need to organise a couple of things before I pack." He grabbed his coat and put it on, "I'll be back in half an hour," he said as he thundered down the stairs.
John sat frozen in his chair, emotions high-strung and muddled.. No….no….you can't be…..some Sub calls you and you leave me practically in the middle of the night to be by his side…..I'm here. I don't deserve this…surely he loves me…..he cannot possibly love anyone else, enough to risk what we have now…..NO…dammit all to fucking hell…this really CAN'T be happening…..I've invested so much in this relationship…..I deserve better than this…
He bowed his head, buried his face in his palms. Things were going so well….wasn't I satisfying enough…..what kind of relationship is this where he can just tell me to my face that he is going to go and fuck someone and will be back…..back when? When he's had his fill? When fucking David has had his fill? What does he need so desperately that only Sherlock can provide? A huge dick? Beatings? What?
He stood up, too restless to sit still.
He went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. His hand shook so badly that he had to use both hands to pour the tea in the cup. Even then it splashed on both sides of the cup. Grabbing it with both hands he sat down, trying to draw some semblance of normality from an everyday ritual. But nothing felt normal. He felt like he was in a daze. I agreed to this…..he's never made it a secret that he may have sex with others…indeed he made it seem like the most natural occurrence…..but I never imagined it would actually happen…I thought that if I was good enough he would never need anyone else…
He sat there, face washed with the steam from the cup, staring into space for a long time.
He got up and paced around, unclear what to make of all this. His hands were trembling with reaction, the fire of possessiveness licking at his very soul. I cannot live without him…and I cannot live with this….what if this keeps happening…he is MY Dom….MY friend…..MY lover… he's waited for me, to be with me since he's known me….I must mean more to him than this …surely if I tell him, he won't go….…...I must do something to stop this….he is MINE…..
As time passed he began to get more and more agitated.
Head feeling heavy with the tumult going on his brain, he paced. The restless energy, the sense of immense betrayal coursing through his veins was engulfing him like a dark thundercloud, making him more and more blind as the minutes ticked by.
He's never made it a secret…..that he may in fact have sex with other Subs…he's always been upfront about it. But I thought…..he loves me, doesn't he? It was going so well…..the past month, so good…..I never thought he'd actually do it….now that he knows how good we are together, why would he want to fuck anyone else?
Round and round the thoughts churned in vicious circles of tighter and tighter radii, until he felt like he was being squeezed into a ball of white-hot radiant rage wanting an outlet.
The familiar and yet long dormant fire of righteous anger started simmering in John's chest as he started to breathe heavily. He welcomed it like a long lost friend. Fuck if I'm going to take this…Son of a bitch…fuck if I'm going to let him go anywhere…..he is MINE….he cannot humiliate me like this…...His mind felt like it would explode with the maelstrom of churning thoughts.
It was over thirty minutes later that Sherlock came back in through the kitchen door. He yelled out as he stormed into the bedroom, "I'm back, John."
John walked slowly to the bedroom, heart sinking as he stood by the door watching the urgency with which Sherlock was working. Folding trousers, shirts and stuffing them in the suitcase.
John demanded through clenched teeth, "David…you're going to meet 'David'."
"Hmmm…?" Sherlock murmured as he opened his sock drawer and started picking out and rolling his socks.
"Victor said David was your Sub?"
Sherlock paused while stuffing the socks in the suitcase, his eyes narrowed.
"He still is," his voice was a deep undecipherable whisper.
"But….but Victor said he's married now," John exclaimed, furiously trying to remember whether he'd mentioned if it was a man or a woman that David had gotten wedded to.
Sherlock frowned, "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Doesn't his wife or his husband…..…." John shook his head, "doesn't the spouse mind you going to meet him?"
Sherlock's voice was cold as he pulled himself up to his full height, "His husband. He was the one on the phone. He's the one who asked me to come."
He turned abruptly and resumed packing. "Did Mrs Hudson pick up my clothes from the drycleaners?" he murmured aloud.
John's voice was raised, as he ignored Sherlock's question and asked, "How long will you be gone?"
Sherlock looked at him, "As long as it is necessary."
John clenched and unclenched his fists, his chest felt like it was caving in with impotent rage, as he fumed.
"And what the fuck are you going for?" he spat out through gritted teeth.
Sherlock paused briefly as he looked at John, something dangerous starting to creep into his eyes. However, his voice was even when he answered.
"Because he needs me."
No….NONONO…..John shook with anger as he tried to blink off the sudden gush of frustrated tears in his eyes, his jaw set. This isn't happening. I knew that you'd said….but no…I've given you EVERYTHING…..you can't tell me that's not enough…..you can't just say you're going to meet some other man to stick your dick in his arse…how can I allow you to humiliate me like this…...this isn't happening….what am I? Some sort of part-time whore in your entourage of Subs?
John snapped.
He picked up the folded clothes in the suitcase and hurled them down to the ground as he yelled, "You know what, Sherlock? Fuck your clothes, fuck your packing, fuck your other Subs. And while we're at it, FUCK YOU! You can't just waltz out of here when it suits you to go and fuck someone else." His eyes were miserable as he panted with anger, "What about me? What about US? What we have here? Does it not mean anything to you?"
"What I have with David has nothing to do with us, John."
John's hands were clenched, sanity sacrificed at the altar of a possessive rage, the words tripping out of his mouth without his control, "Does one man not satisfy you, huh? Is that it….that you're so insatiable? Or is it that you've to prove you are the alpha male to all the pack animals in your harem? And that we are? Your whores? That you can get us to bend over at will and dip your bloody huge cock into any one of us whenever the whim overtakes you?"
Sherlock's voice could cut glass, "John, I strongly advise you to desist from making remarks about matters you have no possible concept of. And need I remind you that this sort of language from my Submissive is utterly intolerable."
John's body was now shaking with anger, betrayal.
"Screw the fucking Submission. Screw you. You owe me an explanation, Sherlock," he cried out. "You can't just leave me to be with another man. I forbid it."
Sherlock's whisper was incredulous, "What did you just say to me?" His face was thunderous as he shook his head in disbelief, "You forbid it? You presume to dictate the actions of your Dom? You think I owe you explanations for my behaviour? The same person at whose feet you were kneeling just weeks ago? I'd advise you to choose your words very carefully, John."
John snarled in frustration. He couldn't ever hope to match Sherlock on these grounds. Sherlock was his verbal best when he was pissed off, whereas John could never think of the right retort, could think of nothing but walking away before he smashed his fist into something.
Even before he had thought it through, his hands landed on Sherlock's chest and he shoved, hard. Sherlock staggered back even as John raised his clenched fist ready to strike him, as he yelled burning with humiliation, in grief.
"You fucking wanker. You've fucked me twice in the past twenty-four hours. I'm carrying two loads of your come in my arse…..and you want to go and fuck around some more and I don't even get to stop you?"
The Dom unfurled, ferocious and deadly, eyes flashing dangerously.
Oh no, you don't…..
There was a sudden blur of motion as Sherlock slammed John against the wall, his hand around his throat, body pressed against John, eyes on fire, ablaze. He immobilized John's legs by thrusting one of his own between them, holding the hard pressure of his thigh against the base of John's testicles, his forward weight bearing down on John.
The slam against the wall had knocked the wind out of John as his hands clutched and twisted into Sherlock's shirt. He'd overlooked in his fury, or perhaps he hadn't cared, craving the fight and the violence, some outlet for everything churning inside of him….he'd overlooked that while cultured, elegant and beautiful, Sherlock was also bloody strong, dangerous as a wolf and knew how to fight in ways far beyond John's skills. He was deadly when crossed and moreover he was a through and through Alpha male and a Sexual Dominant to boot.
Sherlock was gripping the side of his throat with one hand, holding him with a thumb placed on his lips, a firm unshakeable collar.
"Settle down," he said shortly. A brusque command he emphasized with the pressure of his leg, the squeeze of his hand. The squeeze should have been frightening, but all John could think about was the strength of his hands. "Settle," he repeated, his voice cold, deadly fury in his eyes. John realised his clenched hands were gripping Sherlock's shirt just above his waist, his eyes bulging as they looked at the wrath on Sherlock's face. But he needed Sherlock to stay…..he wasn't above begging….
"I won't let you go, Sherlock," he cried out plaintively.
In answer, Sherlock kissed him. Raw, angry, teeth scraping, his hands shoving John's away to grab the front of his shirt and yank him harder against him. John whimpered, his hips arching into Sherlock's body of their own volition, adrenaline and fury and Sherlock's proximity all combining to fill his cock with all the blood in his system.
Sherlock hissed against John's lips, "You have two loads of my come up your arse, because you begged me for them. Or don't you remember, John? Don't you remember saying, please, I beg you, Sherlock, I need to feel you inside me?" One hand snaked down to the front of the jeans John was wearing and palmed him through them. John hardened further, his cock pressing against the restraint of the denim. "Even now, that is what you want, look how your body begs me for it."
John found himself pinned against the full length of Sherlock's aroused body, the steel length of his fully erect penis rubbing against John's. He tried to struggle, but when Sherlock fisted his hands in his hair and kissed him hard, his tongue sweeping inside to lay claim over John's mind, that was that. With a shuddering breath he became pliant, submissive under that assault.
"Don't you ever make the mistake of thinking that this is a relationship between equals, John. Where you get to tell me what I can or cannot do."
Sherlock's kiss turned brutal, taking with impunity, till John's lips felt numb.
His expression was unyielding as he squeezed John's cock, "You want this?"
John tried to rear up again and Sherlock slammed him back by that hold on his throat so John could only latch onto his hip with one hand, clinging, pulling, digging in, seeking some sense that he was in control.
Sherlock's voice was rough as he repeated, "If you want this, ask for it."
"Yes…..YES….I want it…." John yelled, every nerve in his body clamouring to feel Sherlock, to buck against his body, to feel those hands on him again. "Please…." he begged.
With a growl Sherlock pushed him down, "Strip. Get down. On your hands and knees. Now."
With trembling hands John opened his jeans and pulled them off along with his pants as he went down as ordered, despite the resentment burning in his gut. That inexplicable emotional compulsion to obey Sherlock's commands didn't care about his wounded feelings. His cock sure as hell didn't care.
Sherlock opened the drawer to bring out the lube. He removed his clothes. Greasing his cock with one hand, Sherlock knelt down behind John and worked him with the other hand, his touch rough, sure, jerking him off with no intent but to prove he could bring it out of him whenever he chose to.
"Sherlock…." John cried out, but Sherlock was relentless, releasing him only for a moment to shove him back down on his stomach, yanking up his hips so John had to scramble for purchase on the throw rug under him. Sherlock was still fisting his cock, his mouth on John's neck scrapping, biting while John felt like he was shattering, unable to get a rhythm, unable to do anything but go along on the ride, as he arched into every ruthless touch.
Sherlock ran his hand over John's arse. Taking hold of the left buttock, he squeezed hard, his fingers deep between the cleft, brushing the rim. And then he plunged his fingers inside, working John with those clever fingertips.
John bucked, suddenly realising what was happening. He was going to be fucked, rather brutally, on his hands and knees on the fucking floor of their fucking bedroom. He tried to shake off the overwhelming submissive trance his mind was headed towards and grab at the fading edges of anger and resentment coiled inside. You cannot do this to me…..I am your friend, your lover, the man you've wanted and loved for so long…..you cannot humiliate me like this…..His shoulders knotted as he tried to thrust himself up from the floor and turn around. But before he could do it, Sherlock had a hand firmly on the back of his neck, gripping as he knelt, pushing his weight against John's arse. John hissed through his teeth, trying to push up, but Sherlock had all the leverage.
"Stay still and take it, or I will make it much rougher, John," the warning was uttered in a still, chilling tone.
Both hands dug into John's hips to align his opening to Sherlock's cock as he rammed home deep, hard, ruthless. He started thrusting powerfully, every deep plunge aimed directly at John's prostate with unerring aim. This wasn't making love or having sex. It was not even the tenderness and indulgence of the Dom that John had come to know over the past few weeks. This was like ripping John's soul out of his body through his cock. It had all the vicious brutality of an animalistic claiming, every touch intended to punish, to prove that Sherlock had power over him. And yet, all John wanted was more. He tightened his arse muscles, moved back against Sherlock and earned another snarl, but he kept doing it.
Sherlock seized John's hair and yanked his head up, holding it at a savage angle, letting John feel his strength, his ability to snap his spine should he choose to do so. The Dom was out in his full glory determined to show the Sub his place, as he held John by his short hair with brutal efficiency and slapped repeatedly against his arse, his thick cock stretching John unbearably, without any of his usual gentleness, uncaring about his pain or humiliation.
"This is what you need, John? To be shown your place?" Sherlock's voice was furious. "You think this is a pleasant little domestic arrangement we have here, where your sexual desires will be indulged in and when things don't go your way, you can tell your Dom what to do, shout at him, raise your hand at him? Do NOT mistake me for your lover, John."
The Sub was equally determined to prove himself worthy of taking what the Dom leashed out, as he worked Sherlock's cock inside him, squeezing, stroking as Sherlock pumped. Sherlock drew a harsh breath, and then kicked his knees out wider, dropping John down almost on his face as he held his hips with both hands.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Three powerful slaps landed against John's rump in brutal succession. With every smack, John's cock jerked, got harder, copious pre-come leaking out.
"You never get to tell me what to do. Ever. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND." Each word was accompanied by another slap to John's reddened arse and a brutal deep thrust directly to his prostate.
John's balls drew up tight and hard with each smack, as Sherlock's cock ploughed his arsehole, every forceful thrust hammering his sweet spot, sending shivers of ecstasy through his body.
"Sherlock…..Sherlock….." he was whimpering and pleading mindlessly, lost in some kind of Submissive fugue now, totally prostrate at the feet of Sherlock's will. He was being consumed alive and he did not care, wanting to be devoured, wailing for Sherlock's dominance, his touch. Sherlock fucked hard, holding the pliant body bent over in front of him by the hips, the relentless pounding throwing it forward with every plunge.
"Hun….hun…..hun….." the grunting was all John was capable of as he took it, shaking with sensation, desperate in his need to come.
Finally, Sherlock bent forward to grab John's granite-hard cock and pumping it in rhythm with his thrusts.
John's balls were screaming in agony, drawn up tight and wanting to spew everywhere.
"Come."
The one word order sent John over the edge, as he spurted, shouting hoarsely despite himself, "SHERLOCK…."
Sherlock held him close as he came, leaning forward to press his lips on John's sweaty neck. Again and again he laid down kisses as his cock eased up on its motions. It was only when John was done, that he pulled his cock out completely.
He stood up, swaying slightly as he picked up one of the shirts that John had thrown on the floor and wiped himself. He pulled on his pants and put on his trousers, hissing as he tucked himself in and zipped up over his still swollen unsated cock. He took a quick look at the mobile which had buzzed while he was fucking John, fingers flying as he sent a brief response. He looked at the limp figure on the floor…John lacked the strength to even hold his torso up with his arms, he lay there splayed on all fours, pressed down on his own release.
With one fluid motion Sherlock pulled the duvet on the bed and draped John in it, while sliding down to the floor himself, sitting down and leaning against the wall. He pulled the now duvet-covered pliant and trembling body close to his, holding John in a tight embrace, angling his face so that it was buried in his neck.
John nuzzled his face into Sherlock's neck and breathed….and breathed…..deep life-giving breaths….He felt dazed, barely conscious. He rested against Sherlock's chest, grateful for the strong arms that were wrapped protectively around him, holding him close, cocooned in his warmth. Sherlock rocked his body gently, even as he placed tender kisses against John's sweat drenched hair, his temple. He waited patiently for John to come back.
What I had feared has come to pass…..
It was several minutes before John stirred and pulled back. Still resting in Sherlock's arms, he raised his eyes. Sherlock noted with satisfaction that the anger, the cloying need, the desperate desire seemed to have drained out of him. His eyes were miserable still, yes, but rational. He passed a gentle hand over John's head, smoothing back his hair. Soft lips grazed against John gently.
"John, I'm going because I am needed. I will be back. Your anxiety, your possessiveness, your anger is without any basis. What I have with David, or any other Sub has nothing to do with what we have."
He took a deep breath and rubbed his nose against John's cheek, "Forgive me. I've failed both of us this past month. In trying to fulfil the two roles of a lover and a Dom, I've done neither effectively. Weakened by sentiment, I have allowed the delusion that this dual role could actually work, to propagate. It cannot. We are not lovers. I am your Dom, and you need to have a firm footing in your place as my Submissive."
Sherlock picked up his hand and kissed it as he continued, "Listen very carefully, John. I said that this is not a relationship between equals. I did not mean that you are in any way inferior or that you or any other Sub is there to be used for my pleasure." He cupped John's cheek with his palm and stared at him intently, willing him to understand, to see. "It is not equal in the same sense that the relationship between a parent and child is not equal, that between a master and disciple is not equal. One is always in the position of caring, of giving unconditionally. The other is always in the position of need, of taking. That is just how it is with a Dom and his Sub. Do you see?"
John's voice was small, halting, "I need you."
"But right now David needs me more."
"I thought you loved me. If you love me, how can you go to another man?"
Sherlock smiled briefly, "Oh John….. how can you still doubt that? I do love you. More than you can fathom." His fingers stroked John's cheek gently, "But, you need to understand that love is not an exhaustible commodity. I love you. I love my other Subs too. And I have a responsibility towards them too."
John frowned as he struggled to understand.
Sherlock held him close and whispered in his ear, "I have to go now, my love. The car has been waiting downstairs for some time."
He eased John onto the floor and stood up. He put on his shirt and started to loop his trademark scarf around his neck.
John looked at him mutely as Sherlock dressed himself. God, he was pathetic. He felt like a bumbling child dealing with a man who was one step ahead of him in everything….Belstaff coat, self confidence and a strong sense of his own identity.
John looked up, feeling broken,"I don't know if I can do this, Sherlock. I need commitment, fidelity. I need to be the only one. I don't know if I can share you like this."
Something sad crossed Sherlock's face for a fraction of a second as he snapped on his gloves. He pulled himself to his full height, hands in the pockets of his great coat as he answered, his eyes kind, but firm.
"That was, is and will always be your choice, John. To stay or to leave. I told you nothing binds you to me. The door through which you came in is the same that will lead you out. But if you choose to stay, this is something you will have to accept…Try to have your answer ready by the time I get back."
He pulled the suitcase and paused at the door, his long fingers curled around the handle.
"Good-bye, John."