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John did a full cat stretch in bed, lazily rubbing his bum on the soft sheets as he flung his arms and legs wide, curled them and stretched all his muscles. He gave a huge yawn as he turned his face to the clock. 8.50 am. Bloody Hell….
He grinned as he thought about the three free days that lay ahead of him.
There would be fewer locum shifts for the next few weeks, one of the doctors having returned from maternity leave. And it didn't matter so much; John's finances had readjusted with regular work well enough.
And there were no cases, because Sherlock had left last night to drive to Edinburgh. David and Adrian had invited him for the grand opening of the new wing of their restaurant.
John had asked to come along, but Sherlock had said no.
John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's pillow, breathing in his scent as he sighed happily and thought back to the previous night.
"Please, Sherlock, can I come?" John sat straddling Sherlock's lap on his chair, naked and looking down eagerly at his Dom.
Sherlock's sated hazel eyes looked up at him. It had been only moments before that he'd had John, bent over the living room table, in a long leisurely fuck. His cock was drained, he felt like he could nod off on the chair with little provocation.
His curls bounced as he shook his head, "No."
Tempering the denial with soothing caresses to John's arm, he attempted to explain. "John….. this is new to me. I've always tried to keep my Submissives separate, so that they don't feel more exposed than they already are. But now…with you and Victor, it seems to be working well. But I need more time to get adjusted to the idea. Please?"
John bent down to kiss him, "Okay."
John lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, his hand absently stroking his tummy. He smiled; happiness and peace were now, a more or less permanent state of mind.
It had been a month since that night with Victor.
And something had changed.
It was as though he'd crossed some sort of threshold that night, as though qualifying for something… it was hard to put his finger on it. But there was little doubt that the intensity of their private life, of their Dom-Sub play had ratcheted up immensely.
Outside of their private life, life continued as normal. John went to the clinic for his work and accompanied Sherlock for whatever cases were on, whenever Sherlock asked him to. There was no suggestion of public displays of dominance in a sexual fashion. As far as generally dominating John…. well Sherlock had always done that in public….. ordering John around, making him follow him, yelling at him as a substitute for whichever miserable person had ticked him off that day, asking him to fetch things. So that was no different than it had been. In fact it would be really weird if he behaved differently and started coddling me, John laughed to himself.
But within the walls of 221B, the air fairly crackled with eroticism.
It was as though Sherlock had found the freedom to finally throw off all his shackles and come into his own as just John's Dom. As though all his other roles, as John's friend, his flatmate, his lover ….. everything had been subsumed, indeed superseded by his role as John's Dominant. His dominant aura grew and grew, escalating day by day….. as though moving towards something that John could not see.
The more Dominant he became, the more John slotted and settled into his role as a Submissive. The more he demanded, the more John gave. John walked around consumed by Submission; just a single intonation, a flicker of Sherlock's eyelids, a sharp command enough to push him over. He was becoming more and more aware and in tune with Sherlock's silence, his demands, his desires. Conversations, reassurances during intimacy had become less and less necessary.
John recalled Victor's words…. I know you went and knelt for him. But, John, that is just one in a series of steps, it is a process. You began submitting to him long before you knelt. And you need to keep on learning and let that state of submission deepen.…...
He smiled.
Yes, it was like a delicious feedback loop with no end in sight. As though there would always be greater and greater depths of Submission he would need to plunge into, as though there would always be higher and higher pinnacles of Domination that Sherlock would need to scale. And to John, this absence of limits was comforting, because it meant the relationship would always stay dynamic, fresh. Never become static, stale. As though the two of them were settling into their respective roles more thoroughly but each time they settled, there was more to achieve.
His hand strayed to his half hard cock as he thought over the past month.
He walked around half mast most of the times now, either thinking of Sherlock or what he'd done or what he was about to do. A low simmer of arousal underpinned everything. He wondered how he managed to get anything else done!
His Dom had become more demanding, sensual, insatiable. Devastatingly in control at all times. He took John again and again, with impunity, at his whim. He indulged John, but it was the indulgence of a Dom, it had to be earned. He denied John relief at times, only to reward him later for his patience with scenes of escalating intensity that ended in earth shattering orgasms.
His Dom had become more spontaneous, impatient. John had learned to stay greased and prepped when at home, as Sherlock had taken to having him whenever he wanted. And he wanted often. Gone were the times when Sherlock left him alone for days or weeks at a time…..
John's hand gripped his cock lightly, sighing with pleasure.
He thought about just two nights ago…..
Sherlock had been working on an experiment at the kitchen table. It was past dinner time, John had sleepily entered the kitchen to fetch some water.
As he walked past, Sherlock's hand gave his arse cheek a proprietary squeeze, a demand.
"Kneel down on your chair, facing the kitchen, chin on the back rest," was the quiet order. The first time he'd spoken that evening. And minutes later, Sherlock had pulled down his pajama bottoms and his pants up to his thighs, leaving them on. Spread one arse cheek with a firm hand and pushed that full size in, taken him roughly, standing up. As he slammed in, his hand stroking John's cock, he'd panted in John's ears, "I want to remember you like this. I want to sit on my chair, and watch you sitting in yours and know that I can turn you around, bend you over and fuck you whenever I want to."
John had come, his cries of ecstasy muffled against the backrest, Sherlock's words ringing in his ears.
John's grip tightened, as he stroked his fattening cock leisurely, his eyes on the ceiling, as his mind moved back to the intimate erotic moments, his mind full of Sherlock… Sherlock…. Sherlock.
He remembered when just a week ago as they were returning from the Yard, after another successful case…..
Both of them had been tired but elated. Actually Sherlock had been fairly buzzing in the cab, exuberant in his elaborations about the flights of his thought processes. Sherlock jumped out of the cab the moment it stopped outside 221Baker Street, leaving John to settle the bill with the cabbie as per usual.
John walked into the front door of 221B moments later, removing his coat even as he started to say, "Say, Sherlock, what should we do about dinner?"
Sherlock stood in the centre of the living room, coat and scarf still in place, shoes still on.
"Close the door, John." His I'm-about-to-fuck-you-now-so-bend-over-and-take-it voice.
John's heart rate ratcheted up to a million a minute, as he closed the door and hung his jacket. He turned towards Sherlock, eyes lowered and waited.
"On your knees, at my feet," was the quiet order.
The moment his knees hit the floor, Sherlock opened his trouser button and unzipped. Dipping his hand inside his pants, he pulled out his turgid cock.
"Open your mouth," he said as he came closer and pushed in, without further preamble. Both hands came down to hold John's head steady as he started to fuck John's mouth.
The flaps of Sherlock's thick coat shrouded him in darkness as they swayed with Sherlock's movements. The darkness leant an extra dimension to the experience, John's other senses heightened. The smell of the coat and Sherlock's arousal, the taste of the engorged long length in his mouth, the firm press of Sherlock's fingers on John's skull, Sherlock's gasps and moans…..
He sucked and licked eagerly, swirling his tongue over the slit each time Sherlock withdrew, did everything to drive Sherlock crazy with lust.
"Yes….fuck, so good…. your mouth…. Made to take me, John….take my cock….so good," Sherlock moaned as he threw his head back. He was already close, arousal had been building up for a while. He plunged in and out, the swollen cock head just reaching the depth that John could tolerate, as though even in his frenzy he was careful of the gag reflex. Though by now, John had learned to take him up to the back of his throat.
"Suck me…..take it….so good, FUCK…." As his balls bunched up, his climax imminent, he'd suddenly withdrawn completely.
He panted as he stared at John.
"You liked not being able to see….. one of these days, I'll blindfold you. And hurt you. And fuck you till you beg for mercy," the Dom promised. "Stick your tongue out," a gruff order.
John opened his mouth, his eyes widening as he looked up into the lust in Sherlock's eyes, as though he wanted to devour John with his eyes alone.
He stepped forward and placed the fat cockhead, the open leaking slit at the tip of John's tongue. And started to masturbate. Just half a dozen strokes later, he was pulsing, his eyes voracious as they looked down. The first two jets hit the back of John's throat directly, so powerful were the spurts. Then his cock twitched and the next two ribbons shot past and landed on John's face, streaming across his nose, his eyelids, his hair, his cheeks. Sherlock milked the rest and allowed it to pool into the cup of John's mouth. He stood panting, looking down as though his eyes were small cameras taking snapshots of the undoubtedly obscene visual that John presented; tongue hanging out, mouth full of come, streaks of semen stripped across his face.
He smirked, "Swallow."
That day, not for the first time, his Dom denied him release.
Nudging John's crotch with his shoe, he'd said, "No. You stay without tonight."
John had bowed his head in acceptance. It was his Dom's right—to allow, to deny. Not his choice.
When he spoke to Sherlock later, while getting dinner, his voice was hoarse. Sherlock's eyes had gleamed with triumph as though he liked that, though he didn't say anything.
The next day, he kept his promise.
He'd blindfolded John and had him, in the exact position he'd had Victor, and had tried unsuccessfully with John once before.
This time though, John's level of submission had increased so much, that he found himself revelling in the helplessness, gloried in being used for the pleasure of his Dom. He lay there as Sherlock had fucked into him, his other sensory inputs as though amplified by the absence of sight….. Sherlock's weight pressing down on him, the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck, the slow slick slide of that long cock as it moved, Sherlock's long toes digging into his calves, the smell of Sherlock's sweat and arousal, the little pants that Sherlock breathed into his mouth, the helpless little moans of "John….. John…..fuck yes, so tight for me…..so good….."
John's orgasm had ripped through him at Sherlock's command, for the first time his cock stayed untouched.
John's hand was moving faster over his cock, his mind losing itself in memories and fantasies. Unable to say what was real and what was not….. Sherlock had warped his brain in so much sensuality, so much eroticism in one month….. more than the cumulated experiences of the past forty plus years of his life. As he stroked, he wondered how he'd ever lived without this…. Without his touch, his grunts of pleasure, the smouldering sensual fire in his eyes…..
Sherlock had been insatiable….
John had gotten used to waking up in the morning to his touch.
Fresh from the shower, Sherlock would climb in bed. Pull his pants down, spread his cheeks with his two broad hands and just look at John's arse, his damp, fragrant soft hair brushing against John's skin.
Sometimes he would just play with John's arsehole, fingering him at leisure, driving him crazy. Sometimes he would curl around him from behind, adjusting John's legs. His long skilful fingers would fist John's erection, fondle his balls. And then move that full long length into an arsehole that was already greased from use the previous night. And John would buck and moan and shiver, Sherlock's soft sighs of pleasure in his ears, the incredible fullness stretching him, using him for friction. And John loved being used, wanted to be used….. at the will of his Dom, for the pleasure of his Dom…
Sometimes he allowed John release. Sometimes John ended up unsated all day. Knowing that his Dom would grant him release later, in some manner of sensual play that he could not even begin to imagine.
John bucked as his hand moved faster and faster. Sherlock…..Sherlock…
A kaleidoscope of erotic images in his head, flashing one after another.
Fucking between his soaped closed thighs in the shower, Sherlock's fat cock glistening with foam and soap as it appeared and disappeared between his thighs… The time he'd used the crop for the first time on John and converted a grown man into a gibbering mess as John had spurted all over. And then laid him down on the floor, fucking him at leisure, his husky voice, "Love fucking you after you've come. You're like a pliable fuck-toy, John…. Loose and ready to take my cock for a long time."….
John came gasping and moaning in his hands, laughing with delight.
Oh fuck….what have you done to me, Sherlock?
John lay in the aftermath, sated, lazy… Can sleep another couple of hours….. got nothing to do today…
As he started to nod off, he thought about the quiet moments, the moments spent in harmony, communion. Of these there had been so many, it was not all just sex and pleasure.
When their sated bodies lay entwined, and Sherlock's gentle fingers caressed John's scalp, as he talked…..
During the quiet pre or post dinner drinks, sitting in their chairs or in each other's arms and Sherlock talked…..
When they walked the streets of London or the walking tracks of the parks and Sherlock talked…
About life, about his musings, about sentiment, about the intricacies of the mind's workings, about the glory of rational intellect, about the techniques to develop objectivity, about the weaknesses that human's suffer from…. He talked.
And John listened, absorbing, questioning, arguing. And learned. And pondered and reflected when he was alone.
He marvelled at the depths of philosophy that Sherlock had reached, at the amount of thinking that must have gone on in that phenomenal brain over the years, at how rarely anyone would have been allowed to be privy to this facet of Sherlock.
And took joy, delight in it….. in being one of those rare people.
As he learned and grew more and more on the inside…
It was past eleven at night. 221B was shrouded in darkness, except the muted light of the floor lamp in the bedroom.
John's moans filled the bedroom, his hand moving faster as he fisted his cock, his hand clutching his mobile phone to his sweat soaked face.
It had been just fifteen minutes since Sherlock had called from Edinburgh. The opening of the restaurant had been a success. And now Sherlock was back in David and Adrian's house, in the guest bedroom. David and Adrian would be coming home much later, having to stay till all the guests left and the need to lock up afterwards.
Sherlock was all alone in the house for the next couple of hours.
Sherlock had started with telling him all about the restaurant, and complaining about the tediousness of the drive. And then he'd confessed that he wished he had in fact taken John with him.
"We could have had taken a holiday at the beach, John," he'd drawled lazily. "We could have gone skinny dipping in the ocean, taken long walks on the beach. There are beautiful places around here, so stark and isolated. We could have found some lovely corner, and I could have had you out in the open, sea breeze blowing through my hair as I pushed into you…"
John's breath had hitched as Sherlock's tone became increasingly seductive.
"Should have brought you here, John. I could be having you right now…. Are you in your night clothes?"
"Yes," John rasped.
"Play with yourself," was the order. "Tell me what you'd like me to do to you if we were outside….."
Since then they'd been having phone sex, their words getting increasingly obscene, sinful as they pumped their cocks, lost in the eroticism of their imaginations.
And now, fifteen minutes later, John was moaning, his hips bucking up from the bed as Sherlock's husky dominant voice crooned in his ears. "I love to have your arse just the right shade of red, love parting your cheeks and looking at the hole that I'm just about to breach…."
"And I love the demanding way you do it, as though it belongs to you. I love that first touch of your fingers on my arsehole, love knowing that you are about to use it for friction, for warmth, for tightness."
Sherlock gasped, "I love the way you breathe when I push in for the first time, unsure even now if you can take all of me…."
"I love how big you are, how much you fill me, so fucking deep. If anyone had told me that I'd get off from having a dick up my arse, I'd have never believed them. But you fill me, in so many ways…. I crave that stretch, that presence inside my body. And then you start to move…..fuck, Sherlock….."
Sherlock moaned loudly, "I love pushing you down, holding you….. makes me feel like an animal…. Claiming you. Love that sound of flesh slapping on flesh…. Love hearing you whimper, beg ….."
John's breath was coming in pants now, as he fisted himself faster, "I love that feeling of helplessness. You using me…..And then when you lose that tight control you have, when you start slapping my arse, biting me, your hands get so rough….. they are strong enough to leave bruises… Fuck…. And I love the soreness that lasts for a few days, every time I turn it hurts…. It turns me on…"
Squelching sounds filtered through the phone lines as Sherlock's hand worked himself, "Sometimes, I love to stop fucking you midway. And step back. And watch your balls hanging between your legs, the gape of your arsehole. Push my fingers in, watch your arse as you push back, like an eager slut….. you are such a slut for me….."
John's voice was feverish with urgency, "Only you….. I'm a slut for your fingers, your cock, your voice, your body….. any part of you that you choose to give me…. fuck me harder, faster, deeper…."
Sherlock's voice changed, the baritone husky with command, "I am fucking your arse…. Feel my fingers digging into your hips, you can only stay there and take it, get fucked….. feel how I am hammering your prostate…. How my cock thickens as I'm about to shoot a load inside you….."
John's moaning was mindless now, as his head thrashed about, his fist a blur, "Fuck, Sherlock…..oh God…..oh yes…"
"I cannot decide if I prefer filling your mouth or your arse with my come….. you have become such a good cocksucker for me….. but right now, I'm fucking you, pushing that last fat inch inside you, stretching you till you can't stand it…. love the way your legs leave the ground as you try so hard to take it ….. feel my hands raining down hard smacks on your bottom…. You have such a delectable arse, John. I want to hurt it every time I fuck you….. spank it…. bite it…. feel my thrusts, feel the pressure of release building up….."
John's hips were moving in tandem with his now wet fist, waiting for permission. "Please…. please…." he pleaded helplessly.
"COME," Sherlock ordered.
"Sherlock….. Master….my Master….." John cried out as he let go, streaks of semen painting his chest and belly, cock twitching wildly, sobbing with relief, with euphoria. His chest was heaving as he struggled to get his breath under control, his cock twitched weakly as he milked the rest. He fell back, sweaty and satisfied, loud gasps falling from his lips.
It was a few moments before he noticed the silence at the other end of the line.
"Sherlock?"
No sound.
"Sherlock?" John repeated, wondering if they'd been cut off.
"What did you just call me?" Sherlock's voice was a subsonic hiss, urgent.
John swallowed. "Master, my Master."
Sherlock let out a shaky breath. "Say it again," his voice was rough.
"Master."
Sherlock gasped and then moaned as he obviously resumed stroking.
"Keep….. FUCK… keep saying it," Sherlock panted. "Again….. FUCK, John…."
"You are my Master… Master…. My Dom and my Master… you are everything, Master….." John kept murmuring, putting all his love and devotion in his voice.
"Fuck yes…. Yes…. YES….." as Sherlock spurted, a note of triumph in his voice as though he were high, drunk.
John waited silently as Sherlock caught his breath. The feeling that he'd crossed yet another line, another threshold coursed through him, making him shake.
It was a while before Sherlock spoke.
"I need to have you, John. Here with me….."
"Then summon me," John said quietly.
Sherlock mulled and said finally, "Give me a few minutes to sort things out. Victor owns a house and land about a hundred kilometres north of here. Absolutely secluded….. I want you there. Want to claim you there, out in the open with only the cliffs and the ocean as witnesses." His voice was a command, "Hire a car tomorrow, leave early. I want you here before sundown. I'll text you the address."
"Yes," John said, jubilation in his voice
It was pushing four in the evening when John finally alighted his hire car on the driveway of the house Sherlock wanted him in. It was way off the beaten track, a narrow gravelled road for the last few kilometres as his car had steadily moved towards the Scottish beaches.
He'd left early as per Sherlock's instructions and he was beat.
The house itself was on a hillock, looking out to the vastness of the ocean on one side and the isolation of the Scottish countryside on the other.
John's eyes widened as he took in the large chateau-like sprawling structure. He climbed up the front steps with his backpack and dropped it to the ground. About to ring the old fashioned bell, he noticed a note tacked to the front door, written in Sherlock's distinctive elegant swirls and loops.
The door is open. Make yourself comfortable. Eat something, then rest. I'll be back later tonight—SH.
John stretched his aching limbs, cramped as he had been in the small car.
He pushed open the door.
There was a large living room. A cosy fireplace to one side, a large thick rug lay in front of it, framed by comfortable looking armchairs. It opened out to the kitchen on one side and huge French windows on the other. He dropped the bag to explore. Went around some of the bedrooms, the study which was filled with all manner of painting supplies and large canvases and easels with sheets draped over them.
He walked out to the back of the house from the French windows. There was a huge patio, lined with railings. In one corner there was an easel, a large desk with more paints and brushes and sundry supplies. A short staircase led to a vast open ground covered with grass, lined by ancient looking stone railings.
And beyond that was the vast vista of the open ocean.
He grinned with delight, as he imagined spending some time with Sherlock here.
He walked to the edge of the large ground, grunting with exertion. And looked down beyond the edge of the stone railings, a sheer cliff surface ending in the rocks below, the sea water lapping gently on it.
Jesus, it's huge….. wonder when Victor gets here…. Suppose when he wants to be alone, paint….. what a remote but beautiful spot….. as though the rest of humanity does not exist…..
He went back in, pleasantly tired, looking forward to his Dom's arrival. He had some cookies and a cup of tea.
He took off his clothes, leaving just his pants on. And then crashed in one of the many bedrooms, pulled into a dreamless sleep.
Sherlock's silhouette was still, as he stood in the semi-darkness, cloaked in his Belstaff coat and looked down at John's sleeping form, covered in the duvet on the bed.
Anyone who knew Sherlock would be hard pressed to recognize that this was the same man, such was the love pouring out of his eyes, so soft were the austere features.
It is time, my love. Make me proud tonight. I need you to win tonight. So that you can outgrow any need for me….. It is time. To spread your wings and fly. It is time for me to let you go…
He stood there for a long time, still.
Channelling his energy to his Sub for what was to come. In your success today, John, your Dom triumphs…And into himself, as he prepared to put himself to the harshest, cruellest test of all…
It is time…
When John woke up, it was dark. Feeling disoriented he stumbled into the adjoining bathroom and freshened up.
Wonder if he's here yet? He washed his face, brushed his teeth. Prepped himself with generous amounts of lube. He knew that this visit was no ordinary call for a sexual escapade. His mind had mulled all throughout the drive up, on Sherlock's surprise and deep pleasure at being called, "Master"… It means something to him. It is not an ordinary epithet….. It set him off…..
He pulled on a pair of shorts and t-shirt. When he pulled open the bedroom door, muted light was coming from somewhere outside, possibly the living room.
Heart rejoicing at the thought of seeing Sherlock again, John hurried towards the light and stepped into the living room.
And stopped short.
Sherlock sat on an armchair, the fire-place to his left, whiskey tumbler in hand. He was wearing a black shirt and trousers, his legs crossed, naked toes wriggling on the rug below his foot, one hand holding the tumbler, the other on the arm rest. He looked focused, imposing.
John walked in wordlessly, his eyes drinking in the sight of his Dom.
Creamy skin glowed golden in the light of the fire highlighting the sharp angular features, sculpted cheekbones, straight nose, full gorgeous lips, the lion's mane of curly soft hair that fell softly over his high forehead, the regal dip of his long neck, the sharp pale outline of the collarbones and neck contrasting with the black shirt. His eyes were like blue-grey crystals, the only spot of colour on his body; they were hooded, unreadable.
He looked breath-taking, stunning.
John was as though frozen in place, worshipping eyes looked on, his heart seemed to thrum with joy. Without conscious thought he went down on his knees, his gaze locked on to Sherlock's eyes the whole time.
Sherlock's gaze softened ever so slightly.
"Have you rested?"
"Yes," John replied.
"Do you need to eat?"
"No."
"Victor will be coming here the day after tomorrow. He comes here twice or thrice a year and spends a few days here… painting, thinking."
John inclined his head, "Good."
There was a peculiar intensity in Sherlock's eyes that matched the quietness and solitude of the surrounds. The sounds of the ocean waves were as though providing a backdrop to whatever was about to transpire; lending it gravitas, dignity. The room was warm, the fire blazing in the fireplace. No other illumination needed.
The silence stretched.
Sherlock cocked his head to one side, as though considering.
"Strip, John." The quiet order came after a few moments.
John stood up and undressed quietly, cock already hard on hearing his Dom's tone. He went back down on his knees, the plush thick carpet underneath forgiving, for which he was thankful. It promised to be a long intense session, if Sherlock's eyes were any indication.
The silence stretched for longer. Just two men breathing, the crackling of wood and the majestic heaving of the ocean outside.
Sherlock looked at John, his eyes heavy-lidded with intent, assessing, measuring.
John looked back, marvelling again at the beauty, the imperious posture. He knew that at some point in time, at a time of his Dom's choosing he would feel those hands on him, that cock in one of his orifices, bring his Dom pleasure. His mouth salivated.
"You called me Master," Sherlock's voice was soft, his expression an enigma.
Something in John was aware that he was crossing yet another threshold.
"Yes."
Sherlock's hands left the armrests and came together in front of his chest, joined in the familiar steeple. His gaze sharpened as long moments passed, his tongue running meditatively over his lower lip.
"Are you aware what a Master is? Or were you blithely repeating what you heard Victor say?"
John looked on, mute. His heart rate went up as the Sub started to worry if he'd angered his Dom.
Sherlock's head tilted to one side, his eyes roaming over John's naked flesh, noting as always every physiological reaction to every word, aware as only he could be. His deep voice was like an entire symphony on its own as it reverberated with perfect resonance.
"John, a Master is an owner. He owns you. Victor has called me that, if not aloud then certainly in his mind, since the first moment he laid eyes on me. Because to him, I do not just dominate him, I am not merely his Dom….. I am his owner." He snorted quietly, "Although he does say it aloud when he is emotional….or indeed when he wants something from me. He know how it affects me…."
He stood up abruptly, clasped his hands behind his back. The movement made him seem tall, formidable, the black satin finish of the shirt straining over his chest, hints of pebbled nipples poking through. His naked feet dug into the soft rug, long toes flexing and releasing.
The silence continued.
He neared John and then slowly circled him, face still impassive, as he murmured, "Do I own you, John? Do you belong to me, body, mind and soul. Nothing remains with you. It is all mine….."
John stayed quiet, his head bowed. He had not been invited to speak yet, he was well aware that Sherlock was musing aloud.
Sherlock stood behind John, an index finger coming down to trace a light lazy path across one shoulder blade. John shivered as the light sprinkling of hair under Sherlock's fingers rose. Suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Sherlock's lips quirked up, satisfied.
He circled John again and stood in front of him. John's face was tilted up, looking at that striking face, the Submissive in him quivering as he looked up….. wanting to serve, to please, to give.
Sherlock's eyes started to smoulder.
"Do I own the blood that sings through your veins and arteries? Do I own the nerve impulses that sizzle through your neurons? Do I own the breath that moves in and out of your lungs? Do I control your body as easily as I control my limbs? Does your mind refuse to have any other thought except how to serve your Master, how to please him?"
With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuckled his belt. John's eyes were steady, as he watched the adroit fingers pull the belt off. His eyes glowed with the beauty of Submission.
"Yours," he sighed softly.
Sherlock's nostrils flared as he looked at the submissive pose. The glory of devotion in those blue eyes. He stood with the belt swinging from his hands by his side, his gaze pinned on John.
"I need to find out whether I am your Master. I am going to break you tonight, John. Have you, till you lose all sense of yourself. Till all that thrums through you is ME. Tonight you fall, take that last plunge for me."
He bent down till his eyes were at John's level, his voice seductive, coaxing, "You and I have been playing at the fringes for so long. You've come such a long way. But are you ready to be the slave of your Master? Tonight we find out. Whether anything in John still belongs to him or has he handed it ALL over to Sherlock….."
John started to shake at the ferocity blazing in his eyes, desperately fighting the need to go down further in prostration, lick his Dom's feet.
Sherlock brought his forehead to touch John's lightly, his fingers gentle as they rubbed the short hair on John's temple, his voice softer, "I believe you're ready….. you can do it…. we find out tonight. Together."
John hung his head, "Yours," he repeated softly.
Sherlock's lips quirked up briefly as he straightened up, his words an ominous warning, "We'll soon find out."
He threw the belt down and stepped closer to the coffee table. He had another sip of his Scotch, eyes on John. John watched the movement of his long throat as he swallowed, hypnotised. John's blood was running thick and hot as it surged through his body. The familiar tremor had started in his thighs as he waited, but his hands and eyes were steady as they looked up at his Dom.
His words came from somewhere inside of him, bursting in their eagerness to be said aloud, "Have any part of me, Sherlock. Whatever pleases you. For however long it pleases you. Your pleasure is my reward. You ARE my Master."
Sherlock turned around to put the glass down. He closed his eyes, fighting the prickling sensation of unwelcome tears, summoning up his powerful volition to keep control over his emotions, his reactions. He slowly turned around and stood looking down at his Sub, fighting to keep the approval off his face. Well done, John….
John's gaze was unwavering.
There was something savage, unrestrained in the air tonight. The atmosphere in the room matched the wilderness outside. And he was in this closed cavernous room trapped with this exquisite wild creature, whose unreal glimmering, hauntingly beautiful eyes were looking down at him-hungry, predatory.
And John wanted to be devoured, consumed. Till nothing of him remained, all taken up and engulfed into the bowels of whatever ferocious Dominant trance Sherlock was in.
He channelled every single submissive thought in his head, till it coalesced into something infinitely powerful, in readiness to plunge into whatever his Dom desired tonight. Not mine, never me. Always YOU, only YOU….
Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously as he watched the interplay of emotions, the resolute look in his Sub's eyes as John's state of being plunged deeper and deeper into Submission. He mentally geared up for battle. May the best man win….. and I hope it is you, my heart… He summoned up the inner Dom, for the first time unleashed, snapping and salivating like a crazed feral wolf.
And let go of the reins.
Go forth and duel…..break him…. test his mettle…. And if he satisfies, then it is time to let him go…..
The silence stretched as Dom and Sub stared at each other.
The fire blazed. The wind outside had picked up, gusty and wild as it rattled the windows, causing them to make howling sounds. As though sensing the tense, charged atmosphere within the confines of this remote chamber in this isolated corner of the world.
When he finally spoke, Sherlock's voice was a low, velvet caress, "Put your arse on your heels, John. Hands behind your back, fingers laced. Throw back your shoulders."
He circled John again, slowly. And then standing in front of him he undressed slowly, enjoying the reverent look in John's bulging eyes as each part of his body was revealed.
Sherlock came closer and stood in front of John, his cock rock hard, delicately brushing against that flat belly with every exhale.
"Open," he ordered.
His length slid in, slowly, steadily. John opened his mouth as wide as he could as he took it in. Sherlock was hard. The thin fragile skin over his cock was stretched to its limits, delicate veins standing out in sharp relief.
Sherlock sighed as he hit the back of John's throat, wanting to push in the rest of him. Not yet…..
He pushed in and out a few times, his head thrown back with the pleasure coursing through him. John lapped and sucked, his eyes on Sherlock, just as he knew Sherlock liked. His attention on the steel length inside of him, the feel of his Dom's hands on his head as he took pleasure from his Sub's services.
Sherlock pulled out.
And pushed John down until he was on his elbows and knees. He crouched alongside. Buried his face in John's neck, breathing in the familiar smell. Filling himself up with strength…. Have I been a good Dom? Have I done my job well? Are you ready to leap…. I place my trust in you…..
He placed one broad palm on John's chest, feeling the thudding beat of the heart, offering thanks that it continued to beat, fighting the memories of when it had stopped. He imagined it saying with each forceful beat …Sherlock….Sherlock…..Sherlock….. And then mentally shook his head. Stop being fanciful…..Steady, Sherlock.
His other hand petted John's back, light fingers running over the vertebral transverse processes, resisting the temptation to linger over the scar, where John had been hurt, had surgery. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He marvelled at the frailty of the human body, at the folly of putting so much emotion, sentiment into something so fragile, breakable…..
His hand reached the taut, muscled globes of John's buttocks. His touch was meditative as he caressed the firm flesh, marvelling at how often he had hurt it, pushed into fragile tissue for pleasure, used it….. I love you, John….I love you, John….I love you, my love…. his soul seemed to sing. You give me so much, tonight give me this one last thing, so I can give you EVERYTHING back, compounded, expanded…
His hand came down as he landed a forceful smack on John's rump.
SMACK!
And another….
SMACK!
And another…. And another….. And another….. And another….. And another….. And another…..
Without pause, without mercy.
His hand continued to rain down, watching the tremors increase in John's body, the physiological responses of the jerking, twitching muscles, the spreading and deepening redness of the tissues as his John seemed to absorb every powerful blow somewhere in that vast Submissive fullness inside of him. His other hand continued to support the trembling body by holding up his chest. He valiantly fought the urge to murmur reassurances. He watched with satisfaction as John shook and whimpered, but his body stayed steady, his eyes stayed submissively on the ground, though his thighs were trembling with the effort of holding him up. Well done, my love….
John felt every vicious blow land, was aware of everything around him and yet…. He didn't feel anything. While his body did what it had to do, jerking and shivering and whimpering, muscles bunching as they took the severe beating, his skin burning with the relentlessness of the blows… his mind only experienced it as love, the joy of being graced with the attentions of his Dom.
Every fibre in his being was so subjugated, that from that depth of Submission, all he registered was the part visual he had of a graceful arched foot and the sensation of the warm sure gentle palm of his Dom, holding him up, supporting him even as his other hand meted out pain, the palm against which beat his racing erratic heart.
Give me the pain you need to, because I know that it will be your lips that will be kissing the raw bruised flesh when you're done…. You are my Master….. Believe it…. You do own me…. the words came from something inside of me…. I see it, why can't you?
Sherlock stopped when the stinging in his hand became intolerable. He observed the bright red bruised skin. Pain given without any pleasure. And accepted with grace, without a word of complaint, by the submitted man in front of him. His eyes closed of their own accord, as he leaned his forehead against John's back and allowed small pants to escape him. Just some more, love…..
He straightened himself. And stood up.
John stayed on his hands and knees looking down. Sherlock had another sip of his whiskey.
He went down on his knees. And pushed John further down. Until his face lay close to the rug underneath. His arse stuck up in the air. He slapped the thighs apart. And looked at the greased prepped arsehole, prepared for his pleasure and convenience. His nostrils flared, eyes resolute as he took a deep breath.
He parted the cheeks with one hand, with the other hand three fingers thrust in all at once, roughly. John's body fell forward.
"Stay still," the order was sharp, accompanied by a powerful smack to John's throbbing bottom.
John trembled as he regained his position on his elbows and knees. As he took the rough fingering, Sherlock's fingers deep inside him, stretching, stroking, widening him. He panted, eyes fixed on a part of Sherlock's foot which was visible, he channelled his entire being into the devotion to that foot.
Sherlock moved to position himself behind John's arse. He pulled on one cheek, opening him up further and thrust in, the entire fullness of him roughly badgering into his Sub. And started to fuck John… no give, no mercy.
John's cock was hard between his legs, it had been leaking for some time. Soft gasps and whines escaped his mouth, but otherwise he was silent, as he took every thrust and absorbed it within himself.
Sherlock continued to fuck into him, frowning as the Dom considered his next move.
After some time, he pulled back one arm, twisting it behind John's back, holding it firmly against the small of John's back. John was now being fucked balanced just on one arm. The thick cock was particularly brutal tonight, pounding in. Sherlock's pupils were fully blown, the Dom glorying in the beautiful supplicant figure of his Sub, who had uttered not a word of complaint at the savagery with which he was being mauled.
John's hand was trembling as it tried to hold him up, his body moving counterpoint to each plunge of that relentless cock. The Sub clenched and unclenched his pelvic muscles, to enhance his Dom's pleasure, to give him more friction.
The Dom was near manic in his need to subdue, to defeat, to overpower. He let out a guttural curse.
Sherlock bent down again and picked up John's other arm, twisting it to John's back. He held both wrists in one hand against the small of John's back. He watched as John had no option except to fall on the rug, his face twisted to one side, cheek scraping against the rug as Sherlock continued to fuck him mercilessly.
Sherlock waited for something, a sound of discomfort, a plea of some sort. None came. He waited for any triggering of John's PTSD, panic attacks, ready to rush in and soothe at the first sign of anything. But none came.
John lay there, helpless as his cheek rubbed against the rug, Sherlock's powerful thrusts plundering him. He was aware of every shift against his buttocks, the press of Sherlock's thighs against his hips as he held him down. And yet the sea of Submission that he was floating in was so overpowering, so gloriously beautiful… all he could focus on were Sherlock's soft sighs of pleasure, the grunts from his exertion. He continued to milk Sherlock's cock from the inside, wishing he could do more to pleasure his Dom.
Sherlock felt like he couldn't breathe, the power running through him as John obeyed every whim, surrendered to every desire.
He allowed the moment to pass and continued to fuck into him as he considered. He continued to hold on to both of John's wrists with one hand against the small of John's back, using them as reins to use the shuddering body underneath him.
After a few more brutal thrusts, he swung one powerful leg, and brought one foot down on John's face. His foot ground down on John's face firmly, pinning all of John helplessly, like he were truly a toy he were playing with.
The Sub rejoiced as he felt the foot come down on his face. Yes…. I needed that… needed that extra connection, as he tried to raise his cheek into the sole of the foot. Even when you're trying to break me, you know what I need, Sherlock … you can't help but give me what I need…An overwhelming flood of response swept through his loins, he shivered. All he wanted to do was serve…..
Sherlock blinked back tears as he felt John trying unsuccessfully to rub his cheek against his foot.
The Dom shook, the dominant surge as though swelling out of control. He threw his head back as he detonated, filling the bowels of his Sub with his release. He panted desperately as he came, the urge to gather John in his arms, hold him close, bury his face into John's belly overwhelming. Not yet, not yet, not yet…..
He pulled out roughly. And swayed as he got to his feet.
John still lay with his head against the rug, awaiting Sherlock's order.
"I'm going to clean myself. Spread your thighs some more. And stay like this. I want to see your gaping arsehole, my come still trickling out of it when I return," his voice was steady, stern.
John stayed still, unmoving. Urging his Dom to come back.
Sherlock stood quietly in the bathroom, one hand soaping his genitals. He was shivering, shaking. Desperately fighting the urge to burst into tears, to run out and gather that precious body in his arms. He leaned forward, his head against the tiled wall. Fuck, John….. You've exceeded every expectation…. Can't wait…. For you to outshine me…. Doing so well…. Steady, Sherlock….. it's the last hurdle now…..
Sherlock came out only moments later, genitals washed. He wore just his black pants as he walked to the kitchen, fetched himself a large glass of water.
He sat on the chair and stared at the supplicant figure on his hands and knees, exactly in the position he'd left him in. He sat sprawled on the chair, one lean strong hand flung behind his head, one hand around the glass, holding it against his tummy. He drank. And composed himself. His gaze was impenetrable as his eyes flicked over the John's body.
"Straighten up. Keep your hands on the ground."
John slowly straightened up, as his body struggled to untwist and adjust after having been in one position for so long. He stared at Sherlock. He smelled of fragrant soap. Like a locus of untainted crisp freshness in the room which had become musty with the aroma of sweat and sex and lubricant and the humid unaired smell of the sea and old wood.
His attention flicked up, lingered on Sherlock's mouth, the column of throat, sweep of shoulders, expanse of chest, down to the snug elastic waistband of his pants. His eyes drifted to the impressive mound covered in black, triangulated between the long legs. His mouth flooded, the saliva felt like it was clogging his throat.
Sherlock watched. Aware of every twitch and thought going through John's head. Awed. At the depths of Submission that John had already plunged to.
He tilted his head back and finished the water. He put down the glass and stood up slowly. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of his pants, he slowly peeled it off. He neared John and stood with his crotch in front of his Sub's face.
"Suck me back to life. So that I can empty myself inside you again." His voice was husky.
John picked up the long limp cock, shuffled closer, he nuzzled his face into the crotch, the crease of the groin. His second most favourite place in the world. His Dom was in no mood to grant him access to his most favourite—Sherlock's neck. The place where he found succour, strength. So he nuzzled against the delicate skin of the groin, licking, kissing gratefully.
Sherlock was getting firmer, the tumescence increasing, his cock elongating, fattening. John opened his mouth and took the cock in, as though he were a starved man, as though it was the first morsel of food he'd seen in days.
He began to suck. His jaw rubbed against the roughness of Sherlock's leg, his cheek against the smoother skin of the inner thigh. It was as though the world had narrowed down, his only job was to pleasure his Dom. He licked and sucked, and lapped and swallowed. When Sherlock's grip on his hair tightened, when he thrust himself in mercilessly, driven himself deeper into John's throat, John revelled in it, that he was serving his Dom, he clutched at the sense of completeness he felt.
Sherlock clenched his jaw. Alright then….
He slowed down.
John's eyes held only worship, submission, love as he looked up, waiting patiently to see what his Dom wanted. One side of Sherlock's lips came up briefly, his eyes narrowed, a challenge, a fervent hope.
He moved his hand from John's hair to the side of his neck. One large palm cupped one side of John's face and neck, fingers splayed to hold his jaw firmly, tilting up the eager face. The other hand moved to hold the nape of John's neck, pinning him firmly.
Slowly he moved inwards.
His gaze fixed to John's, speaking a language of their own, volumes in their eloquent violent depths. John felt like he was burning alive, breathless as he flailed in the heat of that overpowering gaze. Sherlock kept sliding in, till his cock head hit the back of John's throat.
He didn't stop.
The pressure in John's throat steadily increased. His eyes widened as he tried to gauge his Dom's intentions.
"Take it all in. Let go," he growled, voice stern.
John felt like he was choking, but that was the natural bodily response. His eyes were fixed to his Dom's blazing gaze. The world receded completely from his consciousness. Sherlock's cock was unforgiving, solid. He kept pushing. John's throat muscles were convulsing, his hands rose of their own accord, pleading on the body's behalf, while his core was focused, pulled by the wild intensity of Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock's hands firmed up their grip, now bordering on painful.
"Hands to the ground. LET. GO." The words came out with the force of a whip. His Master's voice.
Something in John responded as he went totally pliant, throat muscles relaxed, jaw slackened.
And for the first time ever, all of Sherlock was inside his mouth. His lips were now touching Sherlock's skin, the exhalations from his nostrils gently blowing the soft pubic hair. His throat completely blocked by the turgid organ lodged deep inside him.
Sherlock's hand came off the nape of his neck, one finger tested the give in the thin, stretched out lips. Trying to slide between the lips and his turgid cock. Checking to see if any air could enter from the sides of his cock.
There was no give.
There was a nod of satisfaction.
Sherlock's hand moved as though in slow motion as the thumb and index finger settled on either side of John's nostrils.
He pinched firmly.
"LET GO." The two words were like loud cracking thunderclaps, echoing in the room.
John's inhalations had been stopped, his nose blocked by the firm pinch of Sherlock's fingers, his mouth stuffed with his cock.
He could not breathe anymore.
For a fraction of a second only, there was panic in his eyes, instinctive and unconditioned.
Sherlock's demeanour was domineering, terrifying…. his cock completely sheathed in his Sub's mouth, holding his Sub in place, having decided to take away his right to breathe, to live.
It seemed to John as though his Dom's eyes were sending huge flames that were enveloping his soul, searing it, purifying it, burnishing it.
Jump. Let go. I'll catch you if you waver. I will never let you fall. You're safe. Jump, John…...
And John jumped…. Took that final leap of faith and SURRENDERED. He felt a calmness, a serenity engulf him. A complete acceptance of his Dom's will. His arms spread out wide in complete supplication.
Let me die at your hands. I have offered everything. Now I offer the only thing remaining. My life. Yours to own. Not mine. YOURS…..
At the moment he accepted, the world and time crawled to a halt. As though the space-time continuum had decided to freeze this moment forever. Every thought, every movement as though moving through molasses.
Sherlock's eyes were like twin infernos, ablaze, magnificent… as they shone with the FIRE of Knowledge.
And it felt as though everything in John's mind opened up at once.
John understood….
Disparate pieces of conversation floated into his mind, the jig-saw pieces slotting into place. Words remembered and their significance comprehended for the first time.
In giving up everything, you will gain everything. Therein lies the dichotomy, the beauty…
If you can't find it in yourself to let go, then there is nothing I can do; this is your choice, your decision, your surrender. I can only show you…
A good Dom does not give you what you want, he gives you what you need… he is Sherlock Holmes, he sees everything…
I am a Dom. And I cannot look after my Sub's needs with my hands tied behind my back…..
When a person submits with true intent, it is only then that a true Dominant is born…..
I want you to fly, to soar, to be complete in yourself. More than anything, my love, I want you to rise above any need for me…
The mind is like a key in a lock….you turn it one way, it will open the doors to the dazzling intellect, the truth that is in you. You turn it the other way and you will lock yourself in, forever trying to swim against the endless tides of emotions…..
When your mind glimpses the joy of clarity, 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…
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?
Try to see that I am giving you the easiest and most direct path OUT of that infinite loop…..
Submission brings peace, John. When you are fully submitted, you will know that permanent peace too…..
When you can kneel without the slightest suggestion of ego, the barest trace of self-preservation…
The last two obstacles, the most adhesive and intransigent ones, that obscured, sheathed, veiled the core of himself were now removed- ego and self-preservation.
And John understood. Of course…. I see. I SEE, SHERLOCK…..
And with that he felt it.
Like he was being hit by a million cataclysmic volcanic eruptions simultaneously in all parts of his psyche—the seething magma chambers filled to the brim with the fire of Self- Knowledge that was already present in his soul, had somehow found the outlets towards the caldera. All the while he had imagined that when Sherlock kept chipping away, he'd been moulding John to suit his needs. Turned out that he had been shaving off and chiselling away, painstakingly, ruthlessly….. at all the stony obstacles that had kept John from the sublime knowledge of himself pouring out and bathing his life.
Everything that he had been put through in the past year…. A relentless, inexorable progression, higher and higher, everything to mercilessly expunge everything that was NOT JOHN, till ONLY JOHN remained.
The comprehension hit him with the power of an infinitely potent epiphany that exploded in his mind. This state of tranquillity did not come from Sherlock or submission to Sherlock. It came from the state of Submission itself, complete acceptance of the Truth, an embracing of WHAT IS, without insistence, without demands.
He looked up, eyes widened with wonder, with knowledge.
It was always me. I had it in me.
Yes, it was about you alone. You needed to remove all the shackles that bind you. See John, you are free! Without desire, without fear! Do you see how beautiful you really are?
It was never you.
No, I just showed the way. When you remove all that is impermanent, false….. only John remains. Unveiled! Pristine! PERFECT!
Arms still held wide, John offered up this beautiful vision to his Dom. He was fast losing consciousness, Sherlock's face fading from his vision. It was urgent that he give up this insight, offer it to the one who facilitated in the first place. Who had filled him with the beauty of realization of himself.
Then take it, I want it to belong to you. My last offering to you, before I die…..
His Dom accepted it with grace and handed it right back to him- expanded, amplified, compounded a thousand fold, a million fold….. As though John were the rays of the sun. As though Sherlock was the focal point of a magnifying lens, gathering all the rays into one powerful, dynamic, pinpoint focus and reflecting it back with all the energy in his BEING.
Not mine, YOURS John…..
And John was incandescent, his eyes shone triumphantly with fire, with self-knowledge.
I SEE.
Sherlock's eyes bled, with tears of joy, of exultation, of euphoria.
I told you, John. The bulb becomes incandescent. The Submissive and his Submission shine brilliantly. So much so that the Dom disappears…. but I don't actually disappear….. when you reach that level of Submission, the Dom merges with the Sub. There is no more Dom, no more Sub. Just oneness, unity… CULMINATION.
Vaguely John was aware that Sherlock had let go of his nose, that Sherlock had pulled out completely. Vaguely he was aware that his body was taking in huge gasps of life giving air, as his lungs breathed in.
His soul was focused though on the beauty, the perfection of the face looking down at him. Made even more beautiful by the unbounded, unbridled love that was flowing from him. Unabashed tears dripping from the blue-grey eyes.
Sherlock. His Dominant. His Master.
His Dom pulled him up, his face nuzzling John, kissing every part of his face, soft soft lips placed hundreds of kisses on John's face, his neck, breathing John in, gasping as though Sherlock had been the one who had stopped breathing. He was crying, he was laughing…..His tears bathing John in love, in benediction.
"I saw, Sherlock."
"I know, my love."
John's eyes were brimming too, with tears of gratitude. What does one say when someone has given the gift of one's own Self?
"You saved me. Again. You brought me face to face with who I am….. I am free…. I had never needed anyone else, it was all a delusion."
Sherlock's lips were ravenous, kissing John's lips, his face, his neck. Two large hands cupping John's face on either side. He laughed with delight.
"You are free. You don't need me anymore. There will never be need in your life anymore. You are free, untethered, a wholeness unto yourself…..."
And then John watched as Sherlock let go of his face.
And the Dom went down on his knees in front of his Sub.
Sherlock threw his head back and ROARED, like a victorious lion-the sound loud, visceral, triumphant. The sound vibrations thundered in the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls, carrying to the wild surroundings outside, reverberated through John as every cell in his being vibrated with the same resonance, without any damping.
Sherlock spread his hands and looked up at his Sub, as he smiled through his tears, his voice hoarse with intent, love.
"Yours, John. Yours to own, yours to use, yours to command."
John's hands came forward to pull him closer, fingers tangled in the long locks. Sherlock nuzzled his face in John's groin, nose bumping against the tumescence that had not abated. John's heart stopped as he felt the warmth of Sherlock's mouth close around his cock, taking him deep, taking all of him down his throat. Desperate glides along his length with his mouth. Long fingers inserted themselves into John's anus, stroking the prostate firmly, fucking in and out. His balls drew up hard and tight from the provocative touches. John was about to come, he could not hold back. He felt like he was hanging on a razors edge. "Sherlock please I can't hold it" Sherlock removed his mouth. "You can come, my love." And then John was falling off the edge, his voice hoarse as he shouted "SHERLOCK" and jetted down Sherlock's throat.
And then the Sub pushed his Dom to the ground. Knowing he would never need to ask for permission to touch him again…
The Dom went down gladly, playfully-a puppet in the hands of his sub, pliable like a rag doll. Laughing with joy, tears still falling from his face, as John lifted his hips and slammed down on the still unsated length of his Dom. Sherlock's hands caressed up and down each thigh, as John gripped him with his strong inner muscles, sliding up and down that delectable length, Sherlock's cock pushing and pulling against that muscular resistance, till voice hoarse, he let go his release inside his Sub, his hands spasmodically digging into John's flesh, leaving bruises. Voice hoarse, rough, "John…. John…. John…"
And John gathered him in his arms, placing loving kisses all over that beautiful face.
It was two hours later that John woke up from his sleep, his head snug on a soft pillow, a thin sheet thrown over him. The fire was still going in the fireplace, the room was warm.
He looked around in confusion, and then sat up.
Sherlock stood by one of the large French windows, looking out into the moonlit backyard and the sea beyond.
"Sherlock?" John's voice was hoarse.
Sherlock turned around, his smile wide, spontaneous. He chuckled as he walked towards John.
"It's going to take more than a couple of days for your vocal cords to recover," his voice sounded deep, smug in the quiet of the room.
John smiled, "Don't pretend you don't like it!"
Sherlock folded himself on to the floor and lied down, sighing as he laid his head on John's lap. John leaned back to support himself on the seats of one of the armchairs, his hand coming up spontaneously to brush back Sherlock's curls.
"I do like it. Like knowing that I did that to you. And you let me."
John grinned, "And I like to do what you pleases you. It's a win-win…."
They stayed there, quietly watching the dancing flames, hearts beating as one. It was a few moments later that John spoke, his tone quiet, "Is this where you asked Victor to leave?"
He didn't need to elaborate.
Sherlock was quiet for some time, enjoying the gentle caresses through his hair.
"Yes." He was quiet for longer, his eyes fixed on the hypnotic movements, the array of colours of orange, crimson, red, yellows.
"It was time to move out of my shadow. To find his own identity and forge his own path. He was ready." He shrugged one shoulder slightly. "I asked him to find his place. Assured him that I am never far for when he needs me."
John's fingers ran light circles on Sherlock's scalp, his eyes staring at that beloved face, unblinking.
His voice was soft as he whispered, "What if I don't want to leave?"
Sherlock's eyes moved from the fireplace to the face looking down at him. And saw devotion. Utter. Permanent.
John…. His John…. Flatmate, cook, doctor, soldier, bodyguard, friend, blogger….Submissive. Mine….
His voice was gentle, his hazel eyes smiling up, "Then don't. But stay because you want to. Not because you have to or need to."
John let out a shuddering breath of relief, unaware that he had been holding it.
"I can't imagine there will ever be a time when I won't need you. In one way or another. Just like Victor does, at least from time to time."
"Then I will be there, ready to give you what you need. I have told you—the source of love, of wisdom, of knowledge, of peace is inexhaustible and it is not outside somewhere. It is inside you. You and I are merely chipping away at the surface. There is always more underneath."
John's thumb glided lightly over the full pink lips, the exquisite Cupid's bow, the razor sharp cheekbones.
"Then let me stay and chip away with you. Don't send me away."
Sherlock pulled him closer till his cold nose was rubbing gently over the redness of carpet burn on John's cheek. He looked up, John's lips hovering just above his, his eyes full of love. His voice was a quiet murmur as he nuzzled John's face like a satisfied cat, "Then stay. I would like you to stay. It gets lonely without you, John. You take away my loneliness. Stay."
John bent further in answer, his kiss aching in its sweetness, purity. Sherlock's hand gently gripped his hair as he moved his Sub's mouth the way he desired. He breathed into John's mouth, "I love you, John."
John beamed, feeling as though his entire body, mind and soul were a singular weightless entity made of love, freedom, peace. His voice was soft.
"I know."