He didn't, of course. Besides the obvious (anal beads already in the way), Sherlock's thighs were bound to be screaming from the awkwardly wide spread of his legs and his shoulder muscles would be going past "pleasingly sore" and into "feels like my arms are being wrenched off" pretty damn quick if John wasn't careful. He pumped Sherlock's cock a few times to warm it up (the underside was literally cool to the touch, and wasn't that an odd sensation?) and then moved the cold pack off to the side entirely. Sherlock groaned and thrust wantonly into his hand once or twice, then caught himself and stilled.
"Good, that's it," John murmured. "Going to move you to your back, now - tell me if you need a minute."
"Now," Sherlock groaned. "God, that was cold."
"But good?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shot John a baleful glare. "Ask me again after you've fucked me to pieces."
"Right, right." John grinned and knelt to untie Sherlock's ankles. The position put his face right over the backs of Sherlock's legs, and he couldn't resist delivering a long lick from calf to thigh on each side. Sherlock yelped as John's tongue passed over the thin skin on the backs of his knees, and he went limp onto the mattress. John pretended he didn't notice.
It only took a few minutes to make everything match what was already laid out perfectly in his mind - Sherlock on his back on the bed, beads still inside him, shifting his hips slightly every time John moved his limbs. John untied his forearms and then cuffed his wrists to opposite corners of the headboard - not as wide a stretch as Sherlock's legs had been, not too much more strain on his shoulders, but tight enough that Sherlock couldn't move much more than his elbows. His chest was strikingly pale, the few dark curls looking strangely out of place, but his erection was already recovered and obviously interested in whatever was planned next. John walked back around the edge of the bed to dig through the toy chest again.
Sherlock licked his lips when he saw the nipple clamps, and his gaze flew up to lock on John's.
"To help you keep from squirming away from me," John said with a placid smile. "I get the impression you'd like to be able to just let go for a little while, hmmm? Not worry about obeying because you literally can't get it wrong?" He knelt between Sherlock's parted legs and ran a gentle hand up from Sherlock's hip all the way to his sternum, then back down to massage both pectoral muscles in turn. "You're doing so well with those beads inside you, you know - I love thinking about how they must be shifting and pressing into you every time I move your body. They're keeping you nice and open for me - ready for you to take my cock. Do you want my cock inside you, Sherlock? Here, get a good look." He shifted up to a kneeling position, teasing himself with leisurely strokes with his free hand. "I'd offer to let you touch, but your hands aren't exactly free at the moment."
Sherlock groaned and let his head fall back against the pillow, but he kept his eyes on John's slowly-moving hand.
"So here's what's going to happen," John continued, as if they were just casually discussing things. "I'm going to finish arranging you the way I want you, and then I'm going to fuck you until you're completely out of your damn mind. We're both going to be wearing condoms, me for the obvious reason and you because I don't want you to come too quickly. In fact, I don't want you to come at all. If you're a good boy and take my cock like the dirty slut I can tell you love to be, I'm going to blow all your previous experiences out of the water and when I'm done, you're going to come like you've never come before." He slid his hand down to close roughly over Sherlock's cock. "If you can't . . . well, then at least you'll have gotten an orgasm out of it. Think you can do that?"
It took three tries for Sherlock to actually make noise come out of his throat. "Yes," he croaked. "Yes please, John, fuck me out of my mind and make me your dirty slut. I'm going to-oh!"
John released Sherlock's nipple and cock at the same time, where he had been squeezing both in a suddenly-punishing grip. "You don't have to do anything," he reminded him. "Just hold on. Now - clamps. Do you have a preference as to how tight you like them, or should I just choose for you?"
"Guh."
"My choice it is, then." They really were very nice - good solid bullnose clamps connected by what looked like an actual gold chain. Probably ridiculously expensive - practically jewelry, honestly, if you ignored what they were for. John tested them a few times on his own fingertip, then set the screw to about half-tension and closed the first one over Sherlock's left nipple. Sherlock sucked in a breath, but otherwise stayed perfectly still. He blinked and swallowed after the right clamp went on.
"Gorgeous." John lifted the chain with one fingertip and wriggled it - not enough to actually pull on the clamps, but it made Sherlock tense up and whimper anyway. God, that whimper - it was possibly the most erotic moment of the night so far, and John had barely even touched his own cock. The realization had him leaning over the edge of the bed and flailing for his trousers on the floor. "Condoms. I know I - right." He found the correct pocket and pulled out two. "There's actually quite a bit of variations in these, did you know? I always make it a point to carry both my favorite brand - for me - and something a little . . . thicker. Just for times like this."
"Twelve," Sherlock mumbled.
"Pardon?" John got the first packet open without making a fool of himself and extracted the contents.
"Twelve major variations. In thickness and design. Did a 'speriment once."
"Is that so?" John pinched the tip and unrolled the heavier condom onto Sherlock's cock. Purposely businesslike, no extra touching, but Sherlock gasped anyway. "I did assume you were a scientific type of bloke, given the state of your kitchen. And your freezer."
"Consulting detective," Sherlock reiterated, a bit breathlessly.
"Ah, right." John got the second condom on himself with even less fanfare, then added a palmful of lube for good measure. "Come to think of it, you said you'd have a 'diminished verbal filter' when you were turned on. But you've barely said anything since I tied you up. This not do it for you, then?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes - an almost comic motion, considering their relative positions - but he did perk up a bit. "If you can't tell that, you're not as experienced as I thought you'd be."
"Oh - you mean I should know from this?" John pressed the heel of his hand down into the base of Sherlock's cock, effectively silencing him. Sherlock's eyelids slammed shut and he threw his head back. "Because I think I'd rather like to hear what's going through your head," John continued. "In fact, I want you to narrate for me. What my cock feels like sliding into you. How badly you want to come, and can't. A little begging would be okay, too - up to you. But first, let's get you ready for me the rest of the way."
Sherlock drew his knees up expectantly, his heels pressing against his thighs, the skin still pinkened from John's attention before.
"No, not that," John countered. "Well, that's a start, but I was thinking a little more . . . acrobatic. Is that a cane in the corner?"
Sherlock's eyes widened. "John, I don't think-"
"Not impact play," John immediately clarified. "Just - here." He slid off the bed and went to grab the white cane (yes, literally a white cane, red tip and everything, and what the fuck did Sherlock get up to in his spare time?), then returned and slid it under Sherlock's knees. He leaned on the center section, curling Sherlock into a fetal position and raising his arse from the mattress.
"Oh," Sherlock breathed.
"Quite." John repurposed the purple rope from before, tying both ends of the cane to the headboard with just the right amount of lead so Sherlock's knees were flush with John's shoulders and his bare calves and feet stuck up into the air. He couldn't resist a little push and pull on the exposed end of the anal beads, drawing another long groan out of Sherlock. The middle part of the cane was in the way of John leaning over to kiss Sherlock's face or torso, but Sherlock didn't seem like the type of bloke to need deep, passionate kissing during sex anyway. The nipple clamps, however . . . John took one loose end of the rope and cinched it between the gold chain and the cane. "How's that?" he asked.
Sherlock closed his eyes and sucked in several deep breaths. "It's good," he said, his voice already giving away the telltale signs of subspace. "Arms are comfortable. I like not being able to move them. My arse still feels warm and throbby from before but it's a good hurt."
"So if I do this?" John reached down and pinched a generous amount of Sherlock's lean bum. With the expected results - Sherlock jerked at the sudden pain, recoiled as the clamps bit into his nipples, and finally relaxed with a very deliberate, albeit shaky, exhale. He didn't protest, though, which John counted as a very good sign.
"Hurts like hell, but then you already know that," Sherlock admitted. "I underestimated you."
"I find that happens a lot. It's the 'short' that does it, I think. I look harmless." John soothed the area he'd just pinched, then very carefully started to work the beads out of Sherlock's shuddering arse. Every tiny twist and movement set Sherlock to groaning at first, but after several minutes of careful work, John was able to get the largest bead out from Sherlock's tight hole and after that the rest were much easier. John tossed the toy to the floor on the opposite side of the bed and immediately lined himself up. He was about to burst himself, untouched or no, if he didn't get inside Sherlock right that fucking instant.
"Ohhh," Sherlock sighed again as John slid home. He was still stretched from the beads, slick and greedy and wanting, and his arse felt amazing. John slid out and thrust in again, harder.
"Talk, Sherlock."
"Christ! I - you're so huge inside me, it feels like your cock is touching all the way to my diaphragm. Fuck me, John. Please."
And this time, John did. He set a fast, punishing rhythm, deliberately slapping his hips into Sherlock's sensitized thighs and arse as he pistoned in and out. Sherlock's position left his cock jamming directly into his navel - probably would have filled that taut little hollow with precome if John hadn't encased him in a condom. As it was, John made a point of giving juuuust the right amount of stimulation - every time Sherlock's stream-of-consciousness babble (and it really was babbling, which was just as hot as the visual) started to falter, John responded with a half-dozen shorter thrusts. Not deep enough to reach Sherlock's prostate, not directly, but definitely still enough to make himself feel good. Fuck, he was so close - Sherlock was tossing his head from side to side and just flat-out moaning, now, low, dirty moans which probably could have made John come all on their own. As it was, he only lasted another thirty seconds or so before the white-hot tension overtook him and he spent himself in Sherlock's hot, slick arse.