"Hurry up, John." Sherlock's voice was impatient as he fidgeted on the stool. "How much longer is this going to take?"
"Just a couple more minutes," John answered mildly, his voice coaxing as though he was treating one of the children at his clinic. He pressed down on the dressing to make sure it was even and then stood back to inspect Sherlock's back again.
"The incubation period for this specimen is very sensitive. I do not have a couple of minutes," Sherlock complained.
"Un-hun…..won't be long…." John murmured absently. His hands moving to put the final dressing on as he mused and ran a clinical eye over the tableau of colours on the pale skin….dark blue hues, angry reds and yellows, black tones, some red welts that were still prominent. Five cuts that still required dressings. Thank the Lord no infection has set in. That one could have used stitches? But there was no way to do it at the time...
"There. All done."
He bent to pick up Sherlock's t-shirt, helping him put it on. Sherlock still moved like a man in pain, his teeth gritting every time his back moved.
Sherlock gripped his arm as he bent down again to pick up the rubbish from the dressings. He pulled him closer and placed a light kiss on John's temple.
"Thank you, John," he murmured softly, before turning and walking back to his microscope and petri-dishes. He sat down, ramrod straight, busy hands working on the slides and coverslips as he prepared to examine the results on his experiment under the microscope.
John bent down, smiling to himself, picking up the rubbish from the packaging. He moved around, packing up the dressing supplies and putting them back in the bathroom cabinet. Coming back into the kitchen, he took inventory of the refrigerator…dinner, dinner….what to make….. There is some goat cheese and some of that focaccia bread Mrs Hudson brought in yesterday. Maybe stir-fry some mushrooms in butter and garlic…..He started to whistle softly as he thought.
Sherlock's eyes were trained on the eyepiece of his microscope as he heard the whistling. He flicked his eyes up and back, allowing himself a brief smile before he schooled his features again.
John cleaned up the empty plates as Sherlock moved to the living room, rummaging among the untidy stack of papers strewn over the living room table.
"I'm going for a shower, Sherlock," he called out as he stepped into the bathroom.
Continuing to whistle as he turned on the water, he reflected on the past few days. It had been four days since that night. He felt reborn, aware, happy. It's fantastic, he thought as he focused on the hot streams moving down his body, the lather of the soap, the smell of the shampoo. It was as though the chaos in his mind had settled, like a ferocious storm had subsided….only there was no debris left in its wake; his Dom had taken it all away.
He felt happy. Exuberant, peaceful, complete joy. Not joy because of something. Just joy, bliss. Without a reason or a locus. A blissful existence. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt and he watched it with ever-growing fascination.
As he brushed his teeth, he thought….need to ask him about the clinic…what he thinks. Whatever he decides…..
He put on his night clothes and went outside towelling his hair. Sherlock was sitting on his chair, frowning as his eyes moved rapidly over the monitor. John waited as he stood just staring at him. So fucking beautiful…every part of him is perfection….how did I get so lucky….
Sherlock's gaze flicked up, his eyebrows rose inquiringly.
John took a deep breath as he neared and slid effortlessly and naturally to his knees. Sherlock's expression softened.
"What is it?"
"Julia comes back to work tomorrow." John's gaze was direct, guileless. "I could continue to work at that clinic or find a different workplace. What would you like me to do?"
"What do you want to do?" Sherlock's voice held a mild inquiry.
John frowned as he mulled aloud.
"She's a good person, a good friend. And I enjoy working with her…..what happened between us…I'm over it, it doesn't mean anything. And I do love working there, the staff, the patients. So if you're okay with it, I'd like to try to continue over there."
"Good. Then it's decided."
John nodded.
He stood up to make some hot cocoa for both of them. He put Sherlock's cup within reach on the coffee table. Pulling his laptop on his lap, he sat down on the floor, his shoulders touching Sherlock's knee lightly. He fired up the computer.
"You don't need to sit there, John," Sherlock observed mildly.
"I know. I want to," John answered simply as he opened his email.
They sat quietly, sipping their cocoa, working away.
It was several minutes later that Sherlock's hand drifted down to stroke John's hair lightly, his other hand still busy on his keyboard. John leaned into the touch, a sense of peace and contentment settling further inside of him.
John was washing up his tea cup in the sink of the staffroom, when the door opened and Julia breezed in. She stopped short at seeing John.
"Oh, John…didn't know you were working today," she smiled nervously, her eyes flicking all over John's face.
John smiled warmly, "Hey, Julia. Welcome back. How was the vacation?"
Julia relaxed a bit, "It was wonderful!"
She took out a cup from the cabinet above and poured in black coffee. She opened the fridge to get some milk. John watched her silently as he debated whether to leave or get things out in the open. She is lovely…I wish her well….but yeah, nothing….I feel no attraction…..my mind, my heart is full….full of Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock….what is the value of a cupful of water when one has the good fortune to have dipped into the ocean….fuck, I'm becoming a poet!
Finally, Julia met his eyes. She took a deep breath, "I was….well, to be honest, I was a bit worried about….you know…us working together….I mean."
John shrugged good-naturedly, "I know. But, like you said, it doesn't have to be awkward if we don't make it awkward."
She gave a relieved grin, "Yeah…. Yeah….. I mean, it was a great shag. And I needed it. But, to be honest I'm not looking for a long term thing."
John squeezed her shoulder, his smile affectionate, "Neither am I."
She bit her lip as she produced her phone, "As a matter of fact, I may have met someone. Would you like to see a photo?"
"I'd love to."
John glanced at his watch as he continued to observe Sherlock out of the corner of his eyes. 5.30 pm.
I better leave now….need to get everything organised….fuck, he's so tired. Fucking case has been going on for a week now….I had wanted to celebrate, but he is exhausted….hasn't slept in four days…Chinese or Indian? Doesn't matter….will he allow me? I can only ask for it….
The case had been all-encompassing and finally a break through. Lestrade had called, begged John to come along as Sherlock tied up the last of the strings and completed paper work. He'd been snappy, much like an exhausted child acting out.
John fought to keep an impassive face, the love and devotion in his heart as though bubbling like a pot of very hot water, wanting to spill over. Look at him…. like six plus feet of pure temptation…perfection…how can any one man be so sexy…..how did I get so lucky….you're a fucking lucky bastard, Watson….if he summoned me, I'd gladly go on my knees, right here, in front of these people, in front of the whole fucking world….yell at the top of my lungs….I belong to this man….shit, got to go...he'll be another couple of hours at least….
"This is perfect, Mrs Hudson," John beamed as he spread the table cloth wide and looked at the beautiful light embroidery on the crisp white background. He took a deep breath and looked into the kindly, wizened eyes.
"I want it to be perfect, you know? I've spoken to Mr Rashid at the Taste of India. He's making that special Butter Chicken and that Biryani that Sherlock loves so much. I think the Chiraz I bought should go well with that."
Mrs Hudson's smiled as John prattled on, his enthusiasm infectious. A wave of fondness went through her. He's happy…and my Sherlock is happy….I pray that everything will be fine from now on….
She said aloud, "I do have a few candle-holders and candles somewhere. Would you like me to look for them?"
Sherlock stopped short as he walked into 221B, observant eyes scanning the scene.
The apartment was spotless. Not a thing out of place.
"John?" he called out as he took off his coat and shoes.
John came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He smiled.
"You're back." He laid a hand over Sherlock's forearm, pulling him towards the bathroom. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he walked past the kitchen. The table covered with a beautiful table cloth, the candles, cutlery laid out.
John looked up hopefully, "Please….I've something planned. Can you not try to deduce anything. Just…take a shower and then have dinner with me?"
Sherlock's eyes softened as they looked down at the eagerness on John's face.
"Okay," he agreed softly and allowed himself to be led to the bathroom.
"Your towel and clothes are in there," John said as he closed the door.
It was twenty minutes later that Sherlock re-entered the kitchen. The table was set, the candles lit, wine in the wine glasses, hot food on the plates. He looked bemused as he took the proffered seat.
"What's the occasion, John?" he asked softly.
John took a deep breath and then smiled. "I'll tell you after dinner. Let's just enjoy the food and wine for now." He picked up his fork and knife. "Tell me what happened today after I left?"
Sherlock looked at him for a long time. A slow smile crept in.
"Alright."
Dinner was a success.
Sherlock tucked in the fantastic Indian food till he was bursting, the wine went down well. He was starting to feel a little tipsy and very content. The food, the wine, the fatigue, the sleep deprivation felt like they were all catching up with him. A crash felt imminent, the bed beckoned.
John pulled Sherlock till he sat on his chair.
He knelt in front of his Dom, he looked up with eyes full of love, hope.
Sherlock tilted his head, puzzled as he tried to figure out what John was up to.
"What is it, John?"
John licked his lips, he waved his hand vaguely towards the kitchen. "Sherlock, it is my birthday today." He smiled, "I wanted to make it special….so yeah, I planned the dinner…I had hoped for something more fancy, but what with you busy with the case…."
Sherlock looked stricken as he stammered, "Oh…John, I'm sorry, I had no idea…I…"
John shook his head and cut him off, "Oh no, NO, Sherlock…I didn't mean…I don't expect you to remember. I know you don't consider these things important." He took a deep breath….fuck it, I'll just come right out and ask….if his answer is no, then it is no…I just have to accept it….
"Actually, there is something I would like to ask from you. A Birthday gift if you will."
Sherlock smiled warmly as he pulled John closer, his fingers under John's chin, angling his face up, his eyes scanning John's face.
"Ask, my love. Anything that is within my power to give."
John's hand rested lightly on Sherlock's forearm, "I ask, that just for some time, I be given the freedom to touch you. Sherlock, I want to touch you, kiss you… I've been dreaming, fantasising about it….you can stop me at any time. Just for some minutes. Just for tonight. Please?"
Sherlock's response was spontaneous, loving.
"Is that all? Very well, John."
John's smile was radiant as he pulled Sherlock to his feet and guided him to the bedroom.
Sherlock chuckled indulgently at John's eagerness, as he pulled off his t-shirt.
John's fingers were light on his back, "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"
Sherlock shook his head, "I told you it would subside in a few days."
He took off his pajama bottoms, his pants.
John lay him down on the bed, buzzing with a child-like excitement, a longed for wish about to be granted.
To Sherlock's surprise, John sat near his feet, quiet.
After a few moments, he looked at Sherlock, "I want you to know that I love you. That to me there is nothing more beautiful in this entire world than you. I love every part of you. Your body, your amazing brain, your soul."
He gently picked up each foot, kissed each individual toe.
"I love your feet. I love how graceful the arches are…." He placed a warm palm against each arch and then pulled each big toe in his mouth, sucking it, the way he had sucked Sherlock's cock many times. "I love how they wiggle when you are lying down and thinking. It's almost a subconscious action you do, did you know that?" he mused aloud.
He moved up, kissing along the narrow calves, the strong subtly muscled thighs…..like a runners or a cyclists. "I love your thighs. I love the sound they make as they slap against my arse when you fuck me, when you start to pound into me."
He burrowed his face in the crook of Sherlock's groin, rubbing his cheek on the smooth skin. His voice was muffled, "I absolutely adore this part of you. I love how delicate and translucent the skin is over here, how I can see the veins just below the surface. I love that it is so close to your cock. When you are naked and aroused….it is like a combined snapshot of vulnerability and strength."
Sherlock's eyes tracked John's actions lazily, feeling sated, content already. His cock lay half hard, John's words seemed to be satisfying something in his soul and arousing his body. A part of him wanted to order his Sub to suck him to completion, to push in between those lips and thrust in. But he stayed quiet and listened, savouring this slow worship which was manifest in every word that John spoke, in his adoring gaze, his reverent hands.
John gently nudged him over till Sherlock was lying on his front.
Warm hands gently kneaded the flesh of his buttocks.
"Your arse….it is….fuck, Sherlock. It's a thing of beauty, decadent eroticism. Makes me want to become a fucking poet….I love how it flexes and moves when you're moving inside me. I love the way it bunches up when you thrust in deep and finally fill me with your come."
Sherlock sighed as his hips moving slowly to rub his hard-on on the mattress, John's words conjuring up erotic images inside his head. Go on….tell me more, John…..
John stroked over his shoulders, his upper back, fingers digging down across the expanse, pushing in and rubbing in circles. Sherlock grunted his pleasure.
He kissed with devotion, the fading marks of the crop. "A part of me never wants these marks to fade, because to me they are a tangible testimony of the glory of my Dom." Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.
John turned him around again, feasting his eyes on the slope of the chest, on the tapering of the stomach. Gentle lips kissed the scar from Sherlock's surgery to remove the bullet Mary had put in there. "I hate that you had to go through this…..but I also feel grateful, because without this we wouldn't be here…." He raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's, that accepting gentle smile.
He moved up, rubbing his face against the soft skin of the belly and then further up. He licked each nipple until they were hard points. He sucked and licked, his tongue leaving broad stripes on Sherlock's skin. Sherlock arched his chest to move closer to John's lips, moaning softly with pleasure, his hand cradling John's head gently.
He moved to kissing Sherlock's arms, "I love your arms, how your embrace makes me feel…..strong, protective, tender….. I will live my life making myself worthy of being in your arms, Sherlock. And I hope to die with you holding me, looking up at you….one day."
Sherlock pulled John closer, he kissed John's lips softly, "And may that day be long into the future."
John smiled as he picked up each wrist, kissing the delicate wrists, burying his face in each palm, "I could spend hours talking about your hands. What they mean to me… the delicate looking wrists, the strong big hands….your hands on my body, touching me with ownership….sometimes gentle, sometimes rough….they offer pleasure, pain and everything in between….."
He ran fingers along that long neck, felt the steady beat under the pads of his fingers, "I love this pocket of your collarbones….love the smell of your neck…."
He moved further up, placing soft adoring kisses, his voice hushed as though he were praying, "Your face….your lips….the stuff of magic, Sherlock." He ran his thumb over the bridge of Sherlock's nose, kissed along the cheekbones, the delicate eyelids…
"I love you, all of you," he murmured quietly. Sherlock smiled.
He moved down again and finally, finally closed his fist around that steel hard erection, beautiful as the man himself, again feeling awe at the privilege of being allowed to touch it. He licked the broad ridge of the head, the slit, his fingers grazing against the firm, round testicles. He licked and suckled. So perfect. So fucking beautiful.
Sherlock thrust up, eyes lidded with pleasure at the sinful feel of John's hot eager mouth around him. He moaned with pleasure, without restraint as he watched John trying to bravely take as much of the length as he could. Sherlock's hand came to rest gently against his shoulder blades, encouraging without pushing it.
Slowly, almost reluctantly John allowed the cock to slip out of his mouth with a pop. His lips moved to take each testicle in his mouth and roll it around.
"John…." Sherlock's groan was loud, heady.
John let them fall out and moved lower, licking along the line between the balls and Sherlock's crack, gently. Okay then….will he let me?
Sherlock stiffened.
John continued to lick gently, unable to get in between the crack, but he licked at the join, the swell of the arse cheeks. He nuzzled and kissed as though it were the choicest of treats, his eyes were lowered submissively, his hands by his sides.
Sherlock took a deep breath and raised his head slightly to watch, his chin doubling up, his gaze searching. As though pulled by that intent gaze, John's eyes raised to meet his Dom's. There was no insistence in his eyes, just a mute prayer.
"John?" Sherlock's voice was husky, questioning.
John hung his head in supplication, his voice a quietly murmured prayer, "As you wish, Sherlock."
Sherlock's head fell back on the pillow again as he thought.
John waited patiently.
Finally, he gave a tight nod, "Okay."
John nodded, "You can stop me anytime you like.
He pulled a couple of pillows, "Lift." He adjusted them below Sherlock's arse.
Sherlock bit his lips, the feeling of vulnerability and exposure overwhelming. His eyes darted around as he fought against his own demons, before they settled on the supplicant figure at his feet, kissing his feet again.
He lay back, his eyes closed. It's your birthday, John….I will give you this….Steady, Sherlock. It's John, your Submissive….you hold ALL the power in this room…. His hands fell by his sides, fingers half curled but palm turned up suggesting surrender.
His eyes flew open as John's fingers curled around his, the grip gentle, non-demanding.
With his other hand, John pulled one cheek to the side and burrowed his face deeper, his tongue flicking and licking into the crack, keeping the touches light. Sherlock squeezed his hand and let go, nodding his head again as John's eyes met his. John parted his cheeks to catch sight for the first time of the pink rosette, tightly clenched as though subconsciously waiting for an attack. Holy fuck…. His straining neglected cock twitched and leaked as he allowed himself a few seconds to stare. God, Sherlock…..fuck…..
A tentative gentle lick all around the opening.
"John…." The moan escaped Sherlock, his eyes wide at the new sensation even as his arse clenched and lifted off the pillows. John moved to kissing the skin around the perineum, Sherlock's thighs. He waited patiently till his Dom's head fell back on the pillow, his arse lowered.
He kissed around the puckered opening, his breath hot, moist against Sherlock's skin. Gently he began to lick again, taking care to keep his tongue flat, gentle. His own cock was leaking, the need to touch himself, seek some friction becoming more acute. His tongue moved and tasted and licked, he alternated using his tongue to lick with his lips, placing moist kisses.
"Oh John…" Sherlock was moaning softly now, his thighs parting further.
He began to lick directly over the ring of the anus.
"FUCK…..John…." Sherlock's hand moved down to curl his fist around his cock. "So good…." His legs parted further.
John felt drunk, high on the knowledge that he was pleasing his Dom; his tongue lapped eagerly, as he dribbled spit and kept licking.
Sherlock's hand moved faster, his hips undulating now. Up and down….and up and down….directing John's tongue to where he wanted it.
"So good…..John…more….please, more," he sounded drugged.
John's hands were warm as they gently parted Sherlock's thighs further and pushed gently. Taking the hint, Sherlock raised his legs and bent them towards his chest, exposed and accessible to that wicked tongue, those wet lips as John licked and suckled and kissed, his reticence forgotten in the pleasurable sensations evoked from the sensitive receptors around his anus. His hand was moving fast over his cock, even as his hips pushed down on John's tongue. Soft moans, delicious little pleas escaped from his mouth. His hole was twitching and fluttering. John swirled and lapped, bathing him with saliva. Sherlock's head was thrown back in ecstasy as he felt waves of rapture up and down his shaft, settling in his balls, his hand moving faster and faster along that long cock.
"Oh….John…so good….so good….don't stop…." his voice husky with arousal.
John wondered if he could come from this alone, the obvious pleasure that Sherlock was deriving from this was as though compounded exponentially and surging inside of him. His balls were loaded and tingling, his cock swung helplessly between his legs as he rimmed his Dom, taking care not to invade that orifice, just lick and suck on it and around it.
Sherlock's hand was a blur as he fisted his cock hard, nearing completion. His other hand went down to grab at John's hair and pushed John's face between his legs.
"Oh….Oh, John…FUCK….JOHN…JOHN…" he screamed as he pulsed, thick and hot the strands of his come jetted out of him, pulsing into thick ropes of pearly white fluid over his tummy, his chest. John let go of his arse as he moved to lick his Dom's release, wanting it all, wanting everything that Sherlock gave him. Yes…yes….YESYESYES….Fuck yes….fucking hell, he let me do it….. his heart screamed with joy, at bringing his Dom, at bringing Sherlock this. He licked and licked as Sherlock's pulses weakened. Sherlock's tired, sated eyes watched as John licked every drop of come on his belly and chest, before taking the softening cock in his mouth and sucking it through the last of the twitching. He chuckled softly, even as he got his breath back.
Once he was clean, John rested his cheek against the wet drained cock, breathing the release in, panting, his heart racing as though he had had an orgasm.
He felt Sherlock's gentle fingers running through his hair, "Bring yourself off, John. I don't think I have the energy."
John shook his head, "It doesn't matter."
Sherlock's tone was dry, "That wasn't a suggestion. Take the edge off and come to bed. I'm afraid I can't stay up much longer."
John grabbed his dick, masturbated as he inhaled the smell of his Dom, grunting with pleasure and relief, his entire focus on Sherlock's fingers rubbing his scalp gently.
When he was done, Sherlock pulled him up and gathered him close. He buried his face in John's neck as he finally succumbed to a sated, exhausted sleep.
The night air was brisk, traffic slowed down due to the lateness of the hour, as Sherlock and John walked slowly from Baker's Street to Angelo's.
Sherlock's coat flapped around him as he walked, listening to John talk about his cases, his staff, his head bowed obligingly towards John, making sporadic comments as he went along. They ambled slowly, dodging the pedestrian traffic on the busy sidewalk, stepping away from each other as they allowed people to pass through.
There was a lull in the conversation. And John suddenly felt a proprietary arm around his waist pulling him closer. He looked up, his eyes wide as Sherlock tucked him close to his body and they fell into step. Can my chest burst open, is it possible?….I think it can….he's holding me….in public….John's breath hitched as he found his head falling naturally on Sherlock's shoulder. He snuggled into the warmth of Sherlock.
Angelo did a double take as he took in Sherlock's arm around John's waist and then beamed widely. He rushed forward to welcome them, gesturing wildly at his staff, a stream of instructions in Italian leaving his mouth. He guided them to a corner table.
He brought the menus and came up to their table to have a brief discussion about the day's specials.
He left again, only to return shortly, looking meaningfully at John, as though challenging him to say something.
He put down a candle on the table.
John put his knife and fork down, sighing with satisfaction at the fabulous meal and leaned back on his chair.
"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"
Sherlock took another sip of his wine and nodded.
"You explained so many things that night. About truth that is hidden and not perceptible. About the distortion that circular thought processes cause. I have been thinking about it. A lot." Sherlock looked on, approval in his eyes. "Is it because I was so immersed in my own 'sentiment' as you call it that I was unable to see things clearly, objectively?"
Sherlock leaned forward, folding his arms on the table.
"John, to see anything clearly, two things are required. One is distance. The skill to distance yourself from a given emotion or situation and put things in perspective. The other is a clear vision. Because if your vision is defective, your perception is defective. And then your actions are defective. You learned a few things that night. Take time. Contemplate. You will see that what I say is true."
John leaned forward as well, his elbows resting on the table, eager to listen, to learn.
Sherlock's face was joyful, animated….as though he is talking about one of his cases, thought John.
"When you start thinking in this manner, John…when your mind glimpses the joy of clarity…." Sherlock shook his head. "Why….it's impossible to go back to that same muddled warped thinking. It is like going from the sublime to the ridiculous. Your mind itself will rebel against it."
John thought about that for a bit, frowning. Sherlock waited patiently.
"You said this is what Submission is supposed to bring to me. And it did. I have experienced that clarity. In fact I am still thinking clearly. And I never want to go back to the way I was."
Sherlock smiled, "Submission brings peace, John. When you are fully submitted, you will know that permanent peace too. I've told you often enough, it is not about sex. We will enjoy the pleasures of sex, too. Revel in it, in fact. But it is not about sex."
John frowned, "Am I still not fully submitted?"
Sherlock's smile was fond, reassuring.
"You're getting close. You did let go, you're continuing to let go. But no," he waved a hand vaguely. "You're not there yet. Not completely."
"What more do I need to learn?" John's voice was curious, not demanding.
"Think, John. What did I tell you submission was?" Sherlock prodded.
John closed his eyes and thought back. When he spoke his eyes were still closed, concentrating on repeating Sherlock's words, "When you can kneel without the slightest suggestion of ego, the barest trace of self-preservation."
Sherlock chuckled softly, satisfied.
"Just so." John's eyes flew open. "Two more tests….just two more hurdles to cross, John."
"I'll make you proud, Sherlock," John looked determined.
"I don't doubt it, my love." His thumb stroked the edge of john's little finger. A teasing caress. With the other hand he raised his wine glass for another sip.
"In all the years you've known me, why have you never talked about these things?"
Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. Finally he let out a deep sigh, "Because you never came to me empty. You came to me full….full of your own ideas, your prejudices, your preconceived ill-thought out biases. Even the best of teachers cannot fill a pot that is already full."
The restaurant was empty now.
They sat in the candle lit corner as they talked. Most of the staff had gone home. Angelo stayed out of sight, prepared to sit there the whole night if necessary, just so that his two favourite customers could have a quiet night out together.
Sherlock voice was quiet, reflective as he mused aloud, "Look around you, John. The entire gamut of human emotion, of human experience stands on only two variables. Desire and fear. Desire to achieve what you don't have, what you believe will bring you happiness, fulfilment. And fear….fear of losing what you do have. Only two things." He held up his hand with two fingers spread to emphasise two.
John stared at him…. Sherlock by candle light. All harsh edges and sharp angles smoothened. Shadows on his face that moved as he moved. His eyes shone hazel, dreamy, his curls moved and bounced as he spoke. Moist pink lips glistened, creamy flawless skin glowed. So fucking beautiful….I could look at him for hours… He pulled his mind back to their discussion.
"You can look through your own experiences. Every other sentiment can be traced back to these two. Humans desire something- anything and then perform actions to meet that desire- the desire could be for love, affluence, knowledge, fame, revenge, religion, God….And once they have achieved that desire, they fear losing it. So they then perform actions to hang on to what they have, protect it or actions that spring from that fear, that insecurity. So we have in practical terms insurance companies, laws. Fear leads to insecurity, insecurity leads to steps to protect what one has or to anger when what we have or want is threatened in any way." He waved his hands, "Hence, crime, passion, rage…..EVERYTHING flows from desire and fear….every single fucking sentiment.Think about it, John…"
He took another sip of the wine, the warm intimacy loosening his tongue, John's obvious interest firing up the philosopher inside of him. He waved the hand that held the glass around into a circle, "The game of life is to live by using your rational intellect, to step away from the fear, from the desires and try to see the whole. To recognise that both the desire and the fear are transient, ephemeral, without any basis in reality, changing everyday as circumstances change, our emotions change."
He leaned forwards and tapped his finger on John's hand, "The game is won the day you ask yourself this…..Do you want to be a slave to of the impermanent or do you want to soar towards the truth inside of you?"
They talked and debated for a long time, their bodies leaning towards each other, fingers and knees touching, lost in their own world.
Sherlock lay on the sofa, his hands steepled under his chin in his thinking pose. He observed John as he moved about, getting ready to leave for work. John stood in front of the large mirror over the fireplace, adjusting his hair, his clothes. He bent down to tie his shoelaces. He stood up again to run his fingers through his hair, turned his face this way and that as he peered into the mirror. He was humming lightly under his breath, completely at peace, at home.
Sherlock's tongue moved over his lower lip as he watched the muscular denim covered arse that he'd come to know so well, the subtle movements of the back muscles covered with the full sleeved red shirt.
He thought back to just a few months ago when John had stood at that very spot, leaning against the fire place, waiting for Sherlock's touch; the quivering thighs and the arched back, that frantic heartbeat, a tempting mixture of need and fear…but he was just a friend then….now he is MINE…..my Submissive…. Mine to have and use whenever I want, in whichever way I want…..and I WANT…..
The Dom stirred into life.
It's been twelve days since that night….and much longer since I've last had him….John is happy and for the first time it is a pristine joy, independent of fears and desires…...a lot has been achieved… I can indulge...
John moved to the kitchen. Sherlock palmed his half hard cock through his pajama bottoms, eyes darkening as arousal flared.
He stood up smoothly and went into the kitchen.
John was just reaching up to the overhead cabinet, when he heard Sherlock's footfalls. Before he could turn around, Sherlock had stepped up behind him. Close. His front moulded itself to John's back, his now prominent erection pressed urgently against the small of John's back.
John's heart skipped a beat and then started thundering in his chest. OhGodOhmyGod….yes, yes please….It had been so long since Sherlock had last touched him with any sexual intent. So long since he'd felt that impressive length inside him, filling him. He'd been unable to masturbate to completion as well. Each time the thought arose and his hand strayed to his cock, the image of Sherlock's wounded back and the anguish in his eyes as he'd lowered himself on John's cock, came to mind, effectively killing any arousal. He'd been patient and waited, well aware that Sherlock would take him when he was good and ready. He had been so patient…
Light fingers caressed the nape of his neck as Sherlock murmured, his voice husky, decadent.
"What time will you be back tonight?" He slid his hands around John's waist and pinched a nipple. "I have something planned."
"Should be home by seven," he managed to croak.
"Hmm…." Sherlock's hands ran down John's sides. "I'll be out till nine. Have a shower and be ready. I want to hurt you tonight." He bent down to nibble at John's neck, sharp teeth teasing a tasty bite of tissue. "Show you how pain can bring pleasure."
John's cock began to swell and pressed against the denim of his jeans, Sherlock's proximity and that fuck-me voice sending a surge of arousal through his body. He felt electrified. Fuckfuckityfuck…
The Dom purred with pleasure as he observed the delicate shiver. One hand cupped John's hard-on and squeezed, soft lips grazed below the curve of John's ear, "I am going to mark you….fuck you till you can't stand up straight. Use you for my pleasure." He licked that erogenous zone just below John's earlobe, his voice husky with arousal.
"I want to feast on my Sub tonight, John."
John gulped, heart soaring with joy, excitement. He nodded.