John sat at the edge of the bed as he waited. Naked. Unaroused. Confident in what was about to transpire.
He marvelled at his state of mind. Sherlock is about to punish me. I don't know what the fuck he is going to do. Normally I would be jumping out of my skin with excitement, arousal, anticipation. Why am I so calm? He will come when he is good and ready. That's just what he does…..
He'd switched on the bedside lamps, Sherlock does not like doing any intimate acts in the dark. He'd closed the windows, the room cool enough without the chilly night time breeze. He'd walked around for a bit, flexing his upper body, his back as he tried to imagine, how does one get ready for a flogging?
He sat and waited.
It was twenty minutes later that Sherlock entered, a calm, purposeful expression on his face, the riding crop lightly clasped in one hand.
John started to slip down on his knees. Sherlock stopped him with a gesture.
"Stay."
Calmly placing the riding crop on the bed, his eyes flicking over John's naked body, "Any second thoughts, John?" The husky deep voice was loud in the closed bedroom.
John shook his head decisively, "No."
"Do you remember what I said? Do you remember your promise? You do realise you can't stop halfway if you decide you've had enough?"
"Yes."
"Very well then. There are two things I wish to do to you tonight. Both will be exceptionally difficult to endure. And there is no turning back." Sherlock murmured. He stared at the bed for some time, apparently lost in some internal debate. And then began to undress.
"I need to know about your tryst with Julia in order to decide about the severity of the punishment you demand. For how long did you have sex with her?" He flicked open his shirt buttons as he asked.
John stared up at him, flushing with mortification. Fuck, Sherlock…. Finally he answered, biting his lips, looking fixedly at the floor.
"I don't know…..ten-fifteen minutes maybe."
Throwing the shirt aside, Sherlock started to undo the clasp of his wrist watch in deft movements.
"How long from the time you first touched her till you were done?"
John's throat felt like sandpaper, "Maybe thirty to forty minutes…"
Sherlock nodded absently as he started removing his trousers and pants. Throwing them aside, he stood naked, his long cock hung flaccid in the nest of curls between his legs. His expression was mild as he asked further, "How many positions did you fuck her in, John?"
John looked desperate, his face flushing so hard it felt like it was on fire. You meant it when you said it would be demanding, punishing, didn't you, Sherlock?
But he looked Sherlock squarely in the eye, refusing to flinch, determined to see this through no matter which way it played out. I will not let you down, Sherlock. "Missionary….then she rode me for a while and then from behind."
"Hmmm…..three positions. And forty minutes."
Sherlock cocked his head on one side, considering. "Forty three strikes then." He nodded to himself, "We'll start with the riding crop. That's settled."
Sherlock's eyes held approval as they looked at John. Good….no arousal, no apprehension. He is fully present IN the moment. That's good, John. Well done… He put as much reassurance in word and expression as he could as he beckoned, "Come here."
He pulled John into an embrace, arms wrapped around his body, pulling him closer. John's head rested on Sherlock's chest, a sudden lump in his throat at the unexpected loving gesture, the last thing he had expected. He stayed quiet, enjoying the feel of Sherlock's long fingers gently running through his hair, lightly rubbing his scalp, the steady loud heartbeat under his ear, soothing as a mother's lullaby.
It was a while before Sherlock moved his head so that John's face nestled against his neck and bending down he murmured softly into John's ears, "My love….. tonight is a test for both of us. Whether I can be a good Dom for you. And whether you are ready to submit entirely. The success or failure of tonight is entirely in your hands. Will you be brave enough for both of us?
John's hair tickled Sherlock's neck as he nodded, "I will. Give me a chance, Sherlock."
The broad palm that moved from John's hair to the nape of his neck was firm as it squeezed and Sherlock pulled John's head back. The eyes that looked into John's were solemn, intent. The voice that spoke had changed from the soft loving murmur to something far more commanding…the 'Master's voice', Victor had called it…
"Then listen very carefully. Don't just hear with your ears. Listen with every fibre in your being. I am going to ask for complete subjugation to my wishes tonight and you are going to give it to me. Neither of us leaves this room until I get what I want." He squeezed John's neck hard. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." Sherlock nodded, "Forty three strikes. Administered with force, without any mercy or vacillation. And in return I want something from you that which is almost impossible to give…With every lash of that riding crop, you give me your pointless negative emotions. With every lash I want you to hand over to me, piece by piece, these demons that are inside your head, dragging the John I know is in there, down. With every welt and cut, I want it all, till you are left empty of every sentiment that afflicts you and just JOHN remains…this is not about changing who you are, John…it is about unveiling who you are, minus everything that hides the John I know is inside."
Sherlock pulled him closer, the grip on John's neck becoming almost painful, his fingers digging into John's skin, as his voice rose in demand.
"With every crack of that riding crop you give to me your burden, you trust me with it. Your fears, your guilt, your doubts, your pain, your insecurity, your cravings, your desires, your sense of worthlessness, your biases, your pre-conditioned thinking. Bleed it out of yourself and into me…. And from hereon in whenever you feel like you are drowning in any of these ever again, I need for you to remember tonight and hand it all over to your Dom again… whenever you feel your mind starting to lose itself in warped thinking, you mentally go down on your knees and hand it over to your Dom."
John stared into eyes that shone hazel in the bedroom light and seemed to be on fire, pulling John inexorably into their swirling flames. He was already panting at the words, at the fierceness of Sherlock's expression as he tried to process what it was that Sherlock was asking for.
That baritone rang out like dominant thunder, while his eyes flashed like lightning, "You will need to go deep, John. I want you to submit so deeply that you are able to give me what I ask for without hesitation. You will need to allow your mind to cede all control, let go completely…..let the Submission take over. You have promised to give me whatever I ask for. And I know this is difficult. But you WILL keep your promise."
Something in John started to shake as he listened with wide eyes, his knees buckling as the urge to kneel overtook him. Only propped by Sherlock's unrelenting harsh clasp, he gasped out, "I will, Sherlock."
John felt like he was being vivisected with the intensity of that gaze, as Sherlock's eyes continued to bore their way into John's psyche. It was a while before he let go, apparently satisfied.
"Very well then," Sherlock said as he picked up the riding crop. He pressed it into John's hands.
"I'll keep count. Try to avoid the lower back. Upper back, buttocks and thighs are fine." He pressed his lips gently to John's temple and murmured, "Make me proud, John."
He turned his back to John and stood facing the closed window, holding both the walls which flanked it, his hands spread out like they were straddling a cross.
And waited.
John stared at the riding crop in his hands, his eyes bulging with horror and a sudden dawning comprehension.
No , no….NO….NO…..
He stared at the expanse of fair dewy skin in front of him, the scattered freckles. A flash of memory hit him…a lazy afternoon in bed with a relaxed Sherlock lying on his stomach, indulgently allowing John to play, John biting his tongue with concentration as he held a black nibbed pen and played connect the dots with the freckles…Sherlock's husky laughs as he squirmed and complained….It tickles, John…..Oh for fuck's sake, Sherlock, stay still, only two more to go…..
John stared and stared, his hand wobbling as he shook with trepidation, with fear, with denial.
No, no…NO…NO…
The riding crop fell from his nerveless fingers and clattered on the floor at the same time as his knees gave way and he fell at Sherlock's feet.
"No…..Please, Sherlock. NO…." he begged.
Sherlock let go of the wall and looked at John, his expression firm, unyielding.
"Giving up so soon?" he demanded, his head tilted to one side as he considered John. "You made me a promise, John. And you are damn well going to live up to it." John looked up with wide eyes. "You will do exactly as I say. Gracefully. Completely."
He bent down to meet John's gaze, "Did you really think a few lashings with the crop would be a permanent solution to anything? Physical marks heal, John. With your customary forgetfulness the lesson too will be soon forgotten…I want the sight of my back when you are done, to be branded in your mind. So that when you find yourself sinking in the quicksand of your emotions, all you will need to do is pull up this memory and hand over to me whatever is clogging up your thoughts."
He pulled John up without breaking that singular, fierce focus, "Rise, John."
His voice softened, "You can do this, my love… John, listen carefully…this is not punishment. In my view you have done nothing wrong. This is the exorcism you begged me for. Trust me. Trust that I know what I am doing. Let go…irrevocably and completely."
He bent his head to claim John's lips, the kiss so achingly sweet that it took John's breath away. Sherlock murmured against his lips. "You have been playing at the fringes of Submission for so long, John. Let me show you the beauty, the magnificent power that is inherent in it….Let me show you what bounty Submission can bring you, the dizzying heights to which Surrender can take you if you let it….I know you can do this."
He lifted his head, his voice kind. "Do it without fear. With all your focus. Let everything but the energy in the Submission drain out of you and into me." He turned back to face the wall.
John stared awhile at the crop and then at Sherlock's back. I have been given an order. I can do this. He believes I can do it. I cannot let him down….never again…..
John picked up the riding crop and straightened.
"Come on, John. Don't let your Dom down." The voice of a Master….commanding, hypnotic, powerful.
As though propelled by the voice, John found his hand rising in obeisance; it traced a wide arc into the air and landed squarely in between Sherlock's shoulder blades with all of John's power behind it.
WHOOSH… Smack!
Sherlock's nostrils flared at the sudden sharp pain that then spread like fire across his back.
"ONE" he managed to say in an even voice.
John stared and stared. At the initial blanching and then the square shaped redness that appeared, at the delicate ripple that went through Sherlock's muscles. His hand wobbled again.
But his Dom stood tall, feet squarely and evenly planted on the ground; he had not moved.
I can do this….my promise will not be in vain…..it doesn't have to be easy….I can do this…..
His hand rose again, but his mind wavered….Oh God, I am hurting Sherlock…no, NO….. the crop traced a weak path and fell on Sherlock's left shoulder blade with a far feebler force.
Sherlock chuckled, "That is cheating, John. I will not count the strikes that I believe did not land with all the strength in your body."
A wasted strike…..I just struck him and it is an additional strike he has to bear….because I was too fucking chicken to do it properly. He squared his shoulders, resolute in doing better and let his hand soar again.
WHOOSH….. the crop cracked in the air and landed in on Sherlock's shoulder blade again….. smack!
"TWO"
John watched appalled as the strike raised a large angry red welt, the edge having cut into the skin, as a tiny dribble of blood started to trickle down. What am I doing? I am beating Sherlock….the love of my life….. my Dom…..His resolution crumbled into a million pieces and shattered on the floor.
His choked cry was full of anguish, "Sherlock…..PLEASE…..I beg…."
Sherlock turned around, his face calm.
"Shhh…..come here." He pulled John close tucking his face into his neck and allowed him to gasp and breathe for some time. Gentle fingers stroked John's head. "John, the physical pain is nothing….I've had far worse. Believe me, I can take it. The marks are superficial skin abrasions….they will heal in a few days….Don't distress yourself…."
He held John's head cupped between his hands, as he murmured, "My heart…..I know that what I am asking for is very hard. But you are my John….brave, stoic, dependable John. You CAN do it. John, listen to me carefully. It is easy… easy to give me your body, to give me your love, commitment, friendship. Those things are easy."
John looked at him, frowning. "On the other hand, these emotions that plague your mind repeatedly….corrosive though they are, destructive though they may be, they are still a part of you. Embedded inside your head. It is far more difficult to uproot them and part with them. If you can imagine, it is as though you have to straighten the claw of every single one of them and then find the strength to hurl them to me. I will catch them and keep them. Try to see that I am giving you the easiest and most direct path OUT of that infinite loop we talked about. Do you see? Don't worry about me, John, I can take it. Your Dom is very strong. Never doubt that."
He pushed John away gently.
"Go on. Don't focus on the riding crop or the strikes. Don't look at my back. Focus on handing over to me what I have asked for."
He turned back to the wall.
John took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few moments. Tried to find the focus that he needed to do what Sherlock asked of him.
Sherlock waited patiently, aware of the struggle John was going through. Come on, John….it is not that hard…
WHOOSH…..smack!
"THREE"
Sherlock steeled his back, determined to not allow John to see any pain.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"FOUR"
John fought to find the focus, battled against the overwhelming compulsion to stare in horror as more welts arose across Sherlock's back. He strengthened the grip on the riding crop and threw his head back doggedly. Stoic, brave, dependable…..that is what he said of me….. I must prove myself worthy.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"FIVE"
Sherlock could feel the exact moment when his back started to feel like it was on fire. His toes curled up with pain, as he breathed through it silently.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"SIX"
He struggled to keep his voice even, "Don't look at my back, my love. Turn your gaze inwards. Start working on your mind. Start removing those destructive tendencies by uprooting them and transfer it to me. You can do it, John. Let go…Submit completely…"
John focussed on Sherlock's words. Free fall….it's like free fall, John…
WHOOSH…..smack!
"SEVEN"
A soundless cry erupted inside John and seemed to boom through his entire body. NO….This CANNOT be in vain…..Sherlock will NOT suffer this for nothing…..I WILL do as he asks. Grimly, he turned his gaze within….towards that long neglected, rampant debilitating part of his mind which repeatedly sucked all his vitality away and robbed him of all clarity. Anger, jealousy, fear, insecurity, guilt, doubt, worthlessness….there were so many…..it was frightening to face it….such a huge fucking mess in his head…where do I start? Sherlock said 'piece by piece'…uproot one at a time…..and give it to him with every crack of the riding crop.
He looked grim and determined as he applied absolute focus to the task at hand. Take each one and give them to him he said.
Even as he churned, his hand moved.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"EIGHT"
Sherlock concentrated on keeping himself still, working through the pain…..cannot disturb his focus. Need to let him do what I have asked of him...
WHOOSH…..smack!
"NINE"
John let go. And submitted. Free fall…..free fall….free fall…
WHOOSH…..smack!
"TEN"
John grabbed at the jealousy, useless and pathetic. He thought of the way it had distorted his thinking, made him doubt Sherlock's love and intentions. Like a little child unwilling to share his toy…He was right, it is immature and pathetic. He grabbed it mentally and transmitted it along his hands, through the riding crop and offered it up to Sherlock- mentally on his knees, offering it up to his Dom with love, with reverence….Not mine anymore, YOURS…
Something inside him loosened with the act of offering…..he felt lighter, freer….he marvelled at the feeling even as he felt re-energised. I can do this….. it makes fucking sense…
WHOOSH…..smack!
"ELEVEN"
A drop of perspiration made it's way down Sherlock's temple as he blinked off the tears of pain in his eyes. Focus, Sherlock… he clenched his jaw. Keep still…..
WHOOSH…..smack!
"TWELVE"
John stared at Sherlock's back with unseeing eyes, his brain unable to make any sense of the light signals, his mind disengaged from the outside as he turned within completely; for the first time he felt like a witness to the chaos within instead of a hapless victim caught in the tangled knots of the various thought processes and their toxic origins.
He eyed the doubts next….. Oh no you don't…he grabbed the doubt that had plagued him, run him ragged… The very man you made me doubt stands naked in front of me, taking a flogging for no other reason than he loves me…. The entire time he has known me he has done nothing BUT love me, protect me……He looked at the self-doubt that he had been plagued with when he'd returned from Afghanistan injured, at the self-doubt at Mary's betrayal….occasions in his life when he'd doubted himself and felt worthless. He grabbed and pulled and hurled it towards his Dom…. Not mine anymore, YOURS…
WHOOSH…..smack!
"THIRTEEN" Sherlock's voice rang out loud and clear.
Sherlock realised when the cadence of the strikes had changed. The pause between each one, the absence of John's pleas, the deadly accuracy and power behind them. The only sounds were of John's grunts as he struck, the "whoosh" of the crop as it swung in the air and the slapping sound as it connected to Sherlock's body.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"FOURTEEN"
Sherlock smiled through the pain. Good, John…..well done.
WHOOSH…..smack!
"FIFTEEN"
The strike landed over an already bleeding area. Sherlock fought against the urge to cry out, to arch his back in pain. Summoning up that indomitable will, he transferred all the pain to the tips of his fingers that were pressing against the wall, feeling like he would gouge holes in them if this continued for longer. But he stayed still, refusing to break John's rhythm.
The blows were coming steadily now, without hesitation.
Sherlock stopped counting.
When the pain became too severe, he disengaged and retreated to his mind palace as he waited, satisfied and awareful as he watched patiently.
John grunted with each blow, his arm muscles starting to hurt, in mental free fall even as paradoxically he felt his being become progressively lighter as he dug and grabbed and uprooted and declawed and discarded and thrashed without mercy…the internal mechanism undergoing a cataclysmic shift as debris accumulated for years came to the surface and was ruthlessly purged….. grief over his father's death when he was just seven years old, an unhappy childhood with a depressed mother, an alcoholic uncaring lesbian sister, scampering to make ends meet, the hard work done to climb out of that environment, the sacrifices made to go to medical school, the comrades in arms he had lost in Afghanistan, the dejection and futility that had haunted him after his shoulder injury, the pain and agony of post traumatic stress as his mind had turned against itself… and then Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock……..and since then everything that had stopped him SEEING the one man who saw him…..seeing him as he was, for what he was without the distortion of preconceptions and biases.
The man who loved him more than he could ever fathom, ever deserve or ever reciprocate….
His arm hurt as it rained down on Sherlock, as he purged further and further…..lighter and lighter…..the transfer of the enormous burden of years nearly complete…Your Dom is strong, John. Never doubt that…
Until he was done. Until his arm gave stood there panting in great gulps of air, as the blood stained riding crop fell from his cramped hands.
John stood devoid of all that had veiled himself, empty now as the burden had passed on.
Just John.
John.
He stared at Sherlock's back; a haphazard criss-cross pattern of welts lay upon the red, bruised expanse, tiny little rivulets of flowing blood had congealed and clotted in so many places.
He marvelled at the absence of frantic paralysing guilt, of anguish, of self- recrimination that would have normally driven him crazy at this point.
He observed with crystal clarity, with an awareness that was no longer distorted. As though the mirror of his mind had been laid over with layers of dust and cobwebs for years and was now clean.
The doctor in him noted that the abrasions were, as Sherlock had predicted, superficial and would heal without scarring. There would be significant pain, yes. A lot of care would be required, yes.
The Submissive in him, meanwhile stood in awe at the beauty, the glory, the grace of his Dom, who had just given unto him….A catharsis, a purgation, an exorcism…freedom…..DELIVERANCE….
What words of gratitude does one utter when someone has taken all their pain away? When someone has given them the most desirable gift in the universe? The gift of silence.
He fell to his knees at his Dom's feet, all words having subsided. Waiting.
It was a few moments before Sherlock slowly, almost painfully let go of the grip on the wall and wiped his face with his hands; it was a mess of sweat and tears of pain. He slowly turned around. John looked into his eyes; eyes that shone with triumph, approval, serenity.
He smiled as he ran gentle fingers over John's head, "You did so well, John."
John sighed with relief and rested on his Dom's thighs, soaking in the approval, the pleasure with tears in his eyes. I did it…..exactly as he said…..I did not let him down… Tears of relief, of gratitude….Victor's voice spoke in his head, you fear the one place you are guaranteed sanctuary. Only now he realised the profundity of that statement.
With a grimace, Sherlock bent down to pick him up, the exquisitely tender abraded skin of his back stretching and pulling on the small lacerations as he moved. He held John close, continuing to murmur reassurances in his ears.
"You were so good for me, my love…..You did keep your promise….I am so very proud of you."
John angled his head up and buried his face in Sherlock's neck, breathing in the sweat and adrenaline of pain, the smell of home and safety and love. His hands stayed by his side, well aware of how much pain Sherlock was in, the urge to rush in and apply bandages and fetch painkillers strong. Not yet though, I am to do exactly as he says. John rested quietly. At peace. The quiet joy of being totally in the present, without the cacophony of voices in his head. Sherlock's fingers moving through his hair.
Sherlock let him rest, stroking him absently as his mind moved to what he was about to do next. The unfamiliar dread and fear rose again, he struggled to hide the tremor in his fingers. His head bent down as he subconsciously buried his nose into John's hair, trying to ground himself in the reality of John. It's John….your John….it's going to be fine…..
He kept stroking John, holding him close, recognizing the reluctance for what it was. He summoned up his courage. His voice when he spoke was even.
"We're not done yet, John. I told you there were two things I wished to do with you tonight."
John pulled back slightly to peer up at him.
"You have emptied yourself of vicious sentiment. It is time to fill you now….with the certain knowledge of how much I love you. The knowledge of how worthy you are. So that you never doubt it again."
John frowned trying to understand what was being said.
Before he could say anything, Sherlock ordered, "On the bed, on your back. Wait. And not a word till I give you permission."
John lay down, his eyes on Sherlock. Is he going to have me now? Is that what he means by filing me? His cock twitched in anticipation. Fuck….there is nothing I would like more, feel him inside me again…filing me up…..
Sherlock opened the bedside drawer to get the bottle of lube. He pretended to rummage through the drawer, his back turned to John. I can do this…..it is John, my John…..it's not him…..heart starting to race, his hands trembling…..get a grip, Sherlock. You can do this….. He swallowed nervously, throat suddenly parched. He gripped the bottle of lube tight in his hand and took a deep breath. Steady, Sherlock…
He turned around to see John watching him quizzically, a small frown on his face.
Sherlock took some lube in one hand and started stroking John's cock. Slow, firm strokes.
"Remember, John. Not a word or sound."
Up and down.
Up and down.
John licked his lips as his eyes closed with pleasure at that sure touch. The urge to sigh out Sherlock's name was pressing, but he was meant to stay quiet. His cock thickened and grew.
Up and down. A firm squeeze.
"John…..there is something…..something I want to share with you," Sherlock paused in his strokes. He swallowed and looked away. His voice was without intonation, "I was assaulted when I was fourteen by a couple of guys…..after a party…. I was…" he bit his lips. "I was under the influence of….you know….and no one knows…..only the perpetrators, Mycroft and myself."
John froze as his heart seemed to literally stop in his chest. Fuck…fuck….NONONONO…..Sherlock….
Sherlock resumed stroking. Up and down. A twist at the end.
John stared in horror as Sherlock looked down at the floor, his lips pulled down into a thin line. The silence was deafening except for the slick, slick, slick of Sherlock's wrist movements as he continued to stroke. John's heart sank as the man with the most direct gaze in the world, avoided his eyes.
Sherlock's eyes darted around as he tried to find the words, his voice hesitant, a stammer almost, "I'm… I've tried to work through it….with some success…..I learned boxing, fencing, self-defence….I know no one can easily get the better of me now…but still…..I hate anyone touching me without my being fully aware of it….it induces a flight or fight response…..I….. I don't let any Sub top me, because even the thought of anal play or penetrative sex induces tachycardia, panic…..It has nothing to do with being a Dominant….." he broke off.
John was staring at him with bulging eyes.
Sherlock took a deep breath and turned his face towards John. Looking directly into John's stunned gaze, "Tonight….. I'd like to give this to you. My final gift to you. My final attempt to prove how much I love you, how much you mean to me. How very worthy you are to me."
John's head shook side by side with desperation, his eyes pleading as comprehension grew about what was about to happen. NONONONO…please, Sherlock….Fuck, no….don't do this, love…
Sherlock's lips twitched slightly as he leaned over, his voice soft, "Shhh…. You will give me this tonight, John. I need to do this…there is no other way…there is nothing else…" his voice faltered. "Please."
John watched as he climbed atop John, his arse hovered above John's rigid length. He held John's dick in one hand and with a grimace started to inch down, taking it slow and steady.
John gasped at the exquisite heat, the tightness that enveloped his traitorous cock like a glove. His eyes moved rapidly between Sherlock's limp cock and his face. He watched aghast as Sherlock's eyes flittered hither and tither, unable to focus as though lost in some internal thoughts, the edges of his eyes laced with fear…..
A surge of protectiveness ran through his body. Oh no you don't, Sherlock… His hands came up to cup Sherlock's face and forced it to stay still, forcing him meet his gaze, grounding him. Resolutely he pushed away the pleasure of that tight muscular sheath around his cock, the anger at himself for bringing it to this, the shared pain he felt running through his soul as Sherlock winced. He summoned every ounce of love and submission and devotion he had in him and projected it in his eyes, his expression.
Sherlock's wandering gaze settled on blue, blue eyes. John…..it's John…..John's eyes…..and anchored on to them as though drawing in all of John's strength. John's eyes….honest, loving, loyal John…..my John…..
He sank down till his arse came to rest on John's thighs, wide eyes looking down at John, trying to focus. With a shuddering breath he lowered his face till it was tucked into John's neck. Breathing desperate gasps of air, breathing in John….John…..my John…..
Gentle hands cradled his head, fingers moving through those curls as John held on to him for dear life, wanting to give up everything….fuck the whole fucking world….ANYTHING….to take Sherlock's pain away….. I would gladly die right now to not have him tremble. An irrational urge to go and kill whoever the fuck it was that did this raged inside him. A simultaneous realization that they would already have suffered…Mycroft would have ensured it.
Sherlock was still shaking, hands clutching at the bedcovers spasmodically, an urgent cry muffled against John's neck, "John…talk to me. Hold me together, John."
John tightened his hands around Sherlock's head, his back too wounded to touch. He turned his head to speak directly into Sherlock's ears, "Hey….hey….Sherlock…listen to me, love. I love you. I love you so much, more than anything in this entire fucking world, more than my life…You are my heart…..my soul….my Dom….my friend. You are the most amazing, fantastic man in this world, Sherlock. Do you know that? Huh? It is the truth…. and I am the fucking luckiest bastard in the whole world. It's okay, love. It is just me….John…." He kept murmuring until the trembling settled, Sherlock's grip relaxed.
Even as he spoke, he could felt the rigid tumescence lodged in Sherlock's bowels weaken, loose its edge.
"NO," Sherlock cried out as he straightened. He rocked, slow halting movements as he clenched in sphincter tight, up and down he moved. John felt torn as he started to firm up, the velvety friction seeming to caress and stroke him on the inside.
"Focus," Sherlock ordered, his eyes like glittering emeralds, as he continued to rock himself above John's body. "You promised, John. Give me this tonight. Don't let it have been for nothing."
John surrendered his body completely, to the will of his Dom. Yours to own, yours to use, yours to command. Not mine, YOURS…
Sherlock's eyes flashed with approval and relief as he lowered his body, caging John with his arms. He touched his forehead to John's, peering down as he slowly got his breathing back under control.
When he spoke, his voice was a tender whisper, vulnerable loving eyes moved over John's face, "I love you, John. Know that you are the first person I have willingly allowed into my body. Know that I consider you worthy of it."
He started to rock his hips, moving on John's cock…..slow, lazy movements, rocking and caressing John with his muscles….taking him deep. John was biting his lips fearing he'll spurt within seconds, trying to focus on the words Sherlock was saying, trying to keep his hips on the bed.
Sherlock's breath lightly caressed John's face, "Know that to me, you are beautiful on the outside and the inside. Good, honest, decent, loyal and brave…..Know that you are my best friend. That you are the only person in the world in front of whom I do not fear appearing a fool. Know that I love you so much, that I would jump off a thousand roofs of a thousand cities in the world to keep you safe, to keep you happy."
John listened to the words uttered with love and dignity, tears in his eyes even as the hopeful belief in Sherlock's love and devotion transformed into certain knowledge. Unshakeable knowledge, Victor had called it. He felt the shift inside him and marvelled at the insight of his Dom, who had known exactly what he needed…..not what he wanted or thought he needed, but what he actually needed. The Submissive prostrated as his tears spilled. He listened quietly.
Sherlock bent down to claim John's lips, his tongue sweeping in to explore, dominate even as his hips continued rocking, his muscles stroking John like a firm fist. He whispered against John's lips, "Know that I will never feel the need to stop loving my other Subs now that you have come along. And to me it is not a contradiction, because I do not take from you to give to them. The source of love is infinite, there is never a dearth if you have a vision that is wide enough. I am not in love with you, John. But I love you. Know the difference. Understand that romantic love is a sentiment, it comes from a position of need and is accompanied by a constant fear of loss. Love on the other hand comes from a position of strength, it gives of itself without needing to possess. And I love you. And I am willing to say that and show that to you in a million different ways, in whichever way you need it. Do you see?"
"I do," John managed hoarsely. "I do, Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes shone with satisfaction as he straightened. Okay then….he really listened…there is nothing else left to do…..nothing else I CAN do….. "Please….let me give you this," his voice was a soft plea even as his hand came down to rest over John's throat, squeezing it deliberately, making it clear who belonged to whom. He moved, his eyes laced with pain.
John drew a harsh breath through his teeth….he has given so much tonight….. I need to finish this quickly, let him rest...
John started to thrust up gently, every thrust met with Sherlock slamming down on him, even as he winced with pain, his gaze pinning John in place. John felt disconnected from his body, his dick was throbbing with pleasure as it plunged and withdrew out of the hottest, tightest channel it had ever been in. But his mind and soul were focused on Sherlock, focused on a quick completion, on giving what his Dom asked of him….. I'm hurting him, hurting my Dom. Every time his erection flagged, Sherlock squeezed his hand in warning, his expression desperate. John's dick stayed hard as if propped up by Sherlock's iron will, his hips bucking on Sherlock's demand.
His orgasm when it hit him took him almost by surprise, so focused was he on Sherlock's gaze. Even as he spurted he was aware that this was the most bittersweet climax of his life. On the one hand he was coming inside of the man who had invaded every atom in his body. And on the other hand, he knew that he would never, ever do this again. Never put Sherlock through this again.
Sherlock sighed as he felt John's cock pulse, clenching his sphincter and moving his arse to make sure to milk him completely. He panted with relief, with pain. It's done….there is no more that I can do….. He wanted to burst into tears, he wanted to ask John to hold him and never let go.
He sat up straight.
He ran a gentle hand over John's hair and murmured quietly, his voice exhausted, "You did well, John." Unable to stand the fullness inside him any longer, he moved up, letting John's softening cock slip out. He climbed off the bed and looked at John.
John watched as a tired looking Sherlock looked down at him, lost in thought. Suddenly Sherlock frowned and he put his hand between his legs, eyes widening with alarm as they held up fingers wet with John's come trickling out. John looked on in dismay as he saw Sherlock bite his lip, at eyes that lost focus again as he retreated inside.
"Forgive me. I don't feel up to providing aftercare. I….need to be alone," he murmured absently as he stumbled out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
John flopped down and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. His mind was quiet, instead of being the usual jumble of racing thoughts as it tried to analyse what just happened. He stood up and put on his pants and pajama bottoms with deliberation. He sat at the edge of the bed, giving Sherlock time to be alone as he thought.
He had just fucked a still traumatized rape victim. Normally, he would be freaking out, rolling in guilt, recrimination. But all he felt was calmness, peace. More important than actions are the motivations behind the actions…..You gave all of yourself tonight, Sherlock….only so that I can achieve clarity of mind and see…see how much I mean to you….
It was as though Sherlock had emptied him of everything that held him back and filled it with himself, with love. This then was the gift of his Dom to him. And for the first time he understood what Victor had meant. It was not necessary for Sherlock to be with him, in this room, in this apartment. He was already prostrated to the Sherlock inside his head. It was a state of being, not the actual physical act of kneeling.
I will not let your sacrifice have been in vain. I will not let this night have been in vain. I will be deserving of you. You emptied me of everything that bothered me. And then you filled me with love. I am indeed the luckiest bastard to ever have walked the face of this earth.
He glanced at the clock. It had been fifteen minutes. Sherlock had done what he needed to do. Now it is my turn…I need to provide aftercare for my Dom. He's hurt, he's in pain, he needs me.
He gathered himself and walked outside.
John came out into the living room and stood looking at Sherlock.
Sherlock stood by the window wearing his pajama bottoms and his royal blue robe over his naked back. His face was turned slightly away, his eyes staring out of the window even as a steady stream of tears fell from them, glistening in the street light.
John neared him silently.
John watched his profile as another tear rolled down those cheekbones, at lips that were trembling and turned down. He stood there looking at his Dom, wanting to rush in and gather him in his arms, wipe away every single precious tear. But he stood there, knowing it was not his decision to make. Sherlock would beckon when he was ready.
He waited.
"Six years…" that husky baritone finally spoke.
"For six years I gave what I could. And you took. I gave. And you took." His lips trembled, "And I will keep giving until I have a breath left in my body." His fists clenched as he said in a choked voice, "But I'm scared, John. I have nothing more left to give. I've given it all away tonight. What if you need more? Where will I find it? What else can I do to prove my love, my commitment?"
John watched mutely as Sherlock hung his head down and cried, his shoulders shook as sob after sob escaped him. Uninhibited and plaintive.
You gave all of yourself, everything you are….and still believe it might not be enough…..the most precious invaluable gifts. The gift of clarity and peace. And the gift of Sherlock Holmes….What is the price of peace? What is the price of a Sherlock Holmes? He shook his head in wonder.
He neared Sherlock and sank to his knees.
The long fingers that hung next to his face were trembling slightly. Beautiful dextrous fingers, which had been deep inside both orifices of his body, the fingers that had cleaned him, the fingers that had pressed down on him as they fought to keep him alive, the fingers that had played soothing tunes on the violin every time he was disturbed, the fingers that passed through his hair in solace, with love.
He sank further till his lips touched Sherlock's feet, his tears falling on them, without restraint, without shame. In complete supplication.
Forgive me, he thought. But he did not say it aloud, because he knew that he was in the presence of the one in front of whom he was already forgiven, always validated. He stayed there quietly, kissing the feet of his Dom and bathing them with tears that felt like they'd spilled over from his baptism, a new birth, a new beginning.
Slowly Sherlock came back to himself as he felt the softness and moistness on his feet. He stared down through his tears, at the figure of his Sub lying prostrate at his feet, in complete submission. He blinked as though waking up from a dream, clearing his blurred vision; he became alert. Wiping his tears with his hand, he watched for a while longer and then spoke.
"Rise, John."
John stood up slowly, his face inches from Sherlock's, love and sincerity in his eyes as he spoke calmly.
"I too need you to know a few things, Sherlock. Know that I love you. Know that you once told me that my primary need is to belong and to know that I am an integral part of you. Know that I understand now. My place is by your side, in your heart, at your feet. I belong to you. I need you to know, Sherlock that this is not a hopeful belief…I KNOW this now. And know that I am proud to be your Submissive, your friend, your confidante. Know that you are the most magnificent, beautiful human being I've ever known." He stepped even closer, his voice soft but clear, "Whatever happened to you all those years ago was horrible. Know that I am here, for whenever you are ready to talk about it. Know that I do not see myself ever doubting you or your love again. I should feel sorry for everything that happened, but I don't. It was all worth it to see the love and regard you have for me, for US."
He smiled wryly, "And know that just as you ordered, I have taken a mental snapshot of your back. And if I ever lose my clarity in the maze of my mind again, I will bring that snapshot up and submit it to you. Know that this night has not been in vain and you have given me peace, my self-esteem and my confidence back again. Know that your suffering and sacrifice has not been in vain."
Sherlock closed his eyes even as more tears rolled down. John pulled him to the chair and got him to sit down gently. As he straightened, Sherlock pulled him closer and burying his face in John's tummy he wept silently. John cupped the side of Sherlock's head, fingers sliding into his thick curls, caressing his scalp, capturing the strands and stroking gently.
"I love you, Sherlock," he murmured tenderly as he let him cry. Perhaps both of us underwent a catharsis tonight…..
After a while, he pulled Sherlock up.
"Let me do what I need to," he said quietly.
Sherlock nodded. John needs this….I need this….
Sherlock allowed him to bear most of his weight as John led him to the bedroom and made him sit at the edge of the bed. He took the painkillers and gulped down the water that John offered. He winced as John peeled off the royal blue robe that had stuck to some of the clots. He waited slouched on the bed, tired and in pain, as John fetched creams and bandages.
John sat up behind him and stared again at the red swollen tissues, the dried up blood.
"Please?" he asked quietly.
Sherlock nodded his permission. John bent down as he kissed, soft lips touching the tender tissue with feather light touches. He applied cream and put dressings on bigger cuts. Sherlock sat quietly allowing it all even though all he wanted to do was to lie down. John needs this…
"Should I….?"
Sherlock shook his head firmly, "No….if there is any bleeding I'll tell you."
"Okay." John accepted.
He lay Sherlock down on his side gently, tucked the bed covers over his legs. Sliding down on the floor, he looked up. Feeling overwhelmed with a heart bursting with love and gratitude. After a while, Sherlock's lips twitched as he uncovered one foot and pushed it towards John, knowing what he needed without being asked.
John smiled as he curved his fingers around one graceful arch and kissed it. He rested his cheek on the foot and looked at Sherlock, content to just sit there till Sherlock fell asleep.
They stayed silent and in communion for several moments.
Finally, Sherlock stroked John's cheek with his toes.
"What are you thinking?"
John smiled, "That you never stop surprising me."
Sherlock chuckled. "Good. That's good, John. Wouldn't want you to get complacent."
He arched one eyebrow as he beckoned.
"Come lie down with me. My front doesn't hurt."
John climbed in and lied down, Sherlock spooning him from behind.
He kissed the arm wrapped around him securely.
"I love you, Sherlock."
"I know," Sherlock said as he sighed and closed his eyes.