A/N: Alright you guys, sorry this took so long to post but I've been having technical difficulties, writers block, and exhaustion all at the same time. So much fun. But it's posted now and that's what really matters :) I started the next chapter today and based on what kind of reviews I get on this chapter it may have more deliciousness of the sort in this chapter or I could take it in a different direction if I'm not good at writing this particular style. So, long story short, feedback on this particular chapter will be soooo appreciated (much more so than on any of the previous chapters) and I REALLY hope you like it! :)
Sherlock, being Sherlock, could never lie in bed and allow himself to be taken care of. He was always making his visiting doctors angry and a nurse or two had left the room blushing, crying, or both. While doctors in the hospital would come in to check on my detective, he only let me change his bandages or treat him at all. This didn't sit well with the hospital staff, but one phone call from Mycroft stopped everyone's muttering.
I was worried about Sherlock. He probably didn't notice anything different in himself, but I saw it perfectly. He was slipping into depression or something similar. He would lash out at doctors and nurses…and me. When I would just talk to him during the hours he had to spend in bed, he would grow agitated and restless, his fingers tapping erratically on either his bed or his chest once his burns were healed enough. He would yell at me and only much later would he ask me to kiss him until he was breathless or just lie in bed with him.
I was worried the most about him when he asked me to kiss him. Sherlock always sounded…lost. As if I was the only thing that was keeping him from falling away from the rest of the world. When I kissed him I almost always started to lose control of myself. Another cause for worry was that when I stopped before things could get too heated, he got so angry, not disappointed or mildly irritated like before.
He stayed at Saint Bart's for longer than his injuries should have warranted, but I didn't mind. I was worried about returning to the flat. I knew Sherlock wanted to have sex, and I did too, but I was nervous about doing something so incredibly intimate with him. Knowing him, he would probably start analyzing every little thing about me. Then again, that might be nice because he would be able to read my pleasure without me having to say anything. I wanted him so badly sometimes. I mean I always wanted him, but there were some moments when I suddenly felt like I needed him more than anything else. I think he picked up on this but he never said anything about it.
What he didn't know was that I knew how to at least start out being dominant when we eventually do have sex.
He would sleep a lot when he was first healing, and he often talked in his sleep; a side effect of the drugs he was on. Because of this, I discovered that I turn him on when I talk about my military service. I'd kind of been suspecting as much ever since I pulled rank in Baskerville, but I was never sure. He would moan my name in his sleep, and as one of his hands would twitch toward the bulge in his boxers, the other would move towards his face as if he were considering saluting. These dreams of his never failed to make me blush whenever I overheard them, but they also gave me leverage against him. Leverage I was planning to use to the fullest extent.
When Sherlock was finally able to return to the flat with minimal difficulties, he actually became surlier than he had been at St. Bart's if that were possible. He was constantly lashing out at me and Mrs. Hudson as we were the only distractions available. He grew progressively worse until he even stopped playing the violin. He would only sit in his chair and harass me and Mrs. Hudson. At night he would kiss me, but then he would curl up on his side of the bed, his back toward me, and stay that way until morning.
Tonight was even worse; he was sitting on the edge of our bed, his back and shoulders so tight I could see each of his muscles standing out starkly against the backdrop of his pale skin. I was determined to pull my lover out of whatever state he was in and I knew exactly how to do it.
I slid across our bed until I was kneeling behind him. My hands traced the shape of each of his muscles as I tempted to relax him just a bit. I was a little worried when he had absolutely no reaction to ministrations, but I continued anyways. I leaned forward and kissed his neck just under his ear. This elicited a minimal response; he sighed quietly, breathing out slowly through his nose. Though the reaction was small, it encouraged me to continue. I ran my hands over his smooth chest and across the flat expanse of his stomach to rest on his groin. I felt him get harder under my hands but I never would have noticed if not for the position of my hands. He gave me no other sign that he was getting excited, but I figured I could change that quickly. I made my hands into fists against his erection, attempting to seem angry. I moved my mouth to his ear. I growled, "Sherlock Holmes, you are going to lie down on this bed and let me do whatever I want to you. Is that understood?" I bit his earlobe gently, then with growing "anger" when he still didn't respond other than growing even harder under my hands. He shook his head once in a frenzied movement and I understood immediately what he was doing.
"That's an order, Sherlock," I growled as I pushed down on his erection, loving the small whine that broke through his control. I moved away from his back and he laid down slowly, still seemingly reluctant to listen to me. I opened the drawer of my bedside table and pulled out his pair of handcuffs, leaving the other items alone for now. I turned around to find Sherlock glaring at the ceiling, his hands balled up into fists at his sides. I slid back to him and leaned over to kiss his chest, tossing the handcuffs to the bed, forgetting them for the moment. One of Sherlock's hands caressed the back of my head as I covered his chest with gentle kisses, biting him lightly here and there, each little nip eliciting a quiet sigh from the man beneath me. His fingers wound into my hair as he held my face to his chest after I thought he would want me to stop. I was willing to do whatever he wanted, though…for now. I continued to kiss him, but I was also waiting for him to let his guard down enough for me to…restrain him. Finally, both of his hands were caressing me – my head, my back, anywhere he could reach – and I chose that moment to move forward with my original plan.
Sherlock's eyes grew wide when the handcuffs clamped around his wrist. I had closed one cuff around the bedpost and the other to him, effectively securing him to our bed. I wanted one of his hands free to continue touching me; he would be swiftly punished if he didn't.
"John. Leave me…ung!...alone!" His request wasn't exactly believable, but I decided to humor him anyways. I sat back and quit touching him completely except to trap his free hand under my knee to keep him from touching himself. I figured that Sherlock would win this little stand off if left to his own devices so I started talking to him. I talked about my military service, specifically about being a captain. At first it seemed to be having absolutely no effect on him, but then something changed and Sherlock suddenly blushed and started pulling on the handcuffs while his other hand was fisting under my knee as he tried to pull it free. I smirked and held my hand over his groin, so close to touching him that I could feel the heat coming off of him. Sherlock glared at me quickly before his eyes glazed over with lust when I started palming his erection.
"How about now, Sherlock? Do you still want me to leave you alone?" The only answer he gave me was a long, deep moan that drove me crazy with hunger for him, but I didn't let my lover know that particular detail; I was enjoying my dominance at the moment.
"Now, I'm going to tell you again, and this will be the last time; you will let me do whatever I want…without complaining too much." Sherlock shook his head again, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. I pretended not to notice and instead growled threats in his ear. No response. "Hmm…We'll start with the riding crop, I think," I said, making my voice low and smooth. Again, his only reaction was to gasp quickly before he regained control. I was actually amazed that he had lasted this long. I knew how much I turned him on (for some reason) especially when I was militaristic or dominant, and yet he was resisting me so much that I had to resort to "punishment". This was all for his own good of course. I wanted to pull him out of his depression in a rather forceful way – but that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun while I was at it.
I released his hand after I'd made sure he wasn't going to do anything I didn't want him to. I opened my drawer again and pulled out my next form of punishment from the myriad items; a leather riding crop. When I turned back to Sherlock, I saw his eyes flicker once to the whip before he looked back at the ceiling, biting his lip and shifting his hips at the same time. I ran my hand over his stomach, sliding my fingers roughly under the waist of his silk boxers. He bit his lip even harder but still managed not to make any noise, even when I pushed his boxers away from his rock hard cock. I laid down beside him on my right side and held the crop above Sherlock's erection with my left hand. I glanced at his face before looking back down to his member, feelings of triumph buzzing through me at the expression of ecstasy on his flushed face. I ghosted the tip of the crop down the entire length of his shaft, watching him grow even harder as he squirmed beneath me. I pressed harder on the riding crop as I brought it up his stomach, making small circles around his navel.
I stopped and Sherlock whimpered so quietly that I never would have heard it if I weren't pressed against him. I smirked quickly before bringing the whip down swiftly against his stomach. It was a bit of a gamble, getting violent with him, and I was worried for just a moment that he would go soft and tell me not to continue. The nervousness only for a second however as Sherlock let out a pleasured moan that sent chills up my spine. I kissed the red spot on his stomach, licking it gently just to tease him. It seemed to me that now that he had allowed himself one moan that he wasn't going to himself back any longer. Suddenly every touch, caress, and lash of the whip was causing Sherlock to groan and whimper, and the sounds were driving me wild. He began to moan my name between each slap of the riding crop, crying out loudly each time the leather hit his pale skin. I could see his hand slowly inching toward his massive erection that I'm sure was starting to hurt him.
I threw the riding crop to the bed behind me and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, effectively stopping his hand from moving any further toward his groin. He glared at me, his eyes flashing quickly with poorly concealed lust. I warned him that was not to move until I told him he could and he nodded after a moment of staring at my face. I let go of his hand and swiftly removed both of our boxers, leaving us stark naked.
I unlocked the handcuff from the bedpost and attached it to his free wrist instead, sitting him up in the process. I straddled his thighs, our unclothed erections moving against each other as I adjusted his arms around my neck, his fingers winding through my hair immediately. He pulled me to him and crushed my lips against his, eagerly slipping his tongue into my mouth where he fought for dominance. I overpowered him easily and bit his tongue; a slight reprimand for attempting to take control. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed myself fully to his chest, breaking away from his mouth to bite my way down his neck and across his shoulder, making him moan and buck his hips against mine. We both moaned loudly, reveling in the sensation coming from our cocks where the veins were bulging with the strength of our arousals. We were both completely coated in precum, and I figured it was enough lubrication to finally attempt penetration. I knew it would hurt him, but the pleasure would override it soon enough.
I pushed Sherlock back down to the bed and opened his legs with my own, moving my erection to his entrance. I kissed him fervently as I slid my slick cock into his opening, which hadn't been prepared at all for this particular intrusion. I felt him gasp and start panting from the pain, but I didn't stop until I was completely inside of him. God he was so tight and I almost came right then, but I managed to stop myself before I came. I stopped moving entirely, even keeping my lips still on his while he adjusted to having me inside him. His eyes were shut tightly in pain, but slowly his expression went from pained to pleasured and he shifted his hips around experimentally. I groaned loudly at the feeling of his passage around my cock and he bucked his hips once, smirking when it made me almost scream. He almost screamed, too, though and it didn't take me long to regain the upper hand. I started moving slowly in and out of his passage, enjoying the feeling of his fingers scrabbling against the back of my neck as he struggled to control himself. I groped for the riding crop with my right hand, grinning triumphantly against Sherlock's mouth when my hand closed over the handle.
I broke the kiss and pulled almost all the way out of Sherlock, lifting his hands from my neck before sitting up and looking down at my lover who was watching the riding crop quite closely. I brought the whip towards his neck, running the tip up and down the expanse of his jaw before slapping him somewhat gently on the cheek with it, leaving a small red welt which I promptly licked and bit. I continued doing this on his face, neck, and chest for as long as I could, but soon our cocks were so hard that I knew neither of us would last very much longer. I rammed myself back inside his entrance and we each cried out in ecstasy, though his scream was tinged with a hint of pain.
"John! Ooh John…hnng…please! Please just…Ahh!"
Sherlock began yelling incoherently, although I managed to catch my name mixed in with the pleasured moans and screams as I thrust in and out of his still-tight entrance. Suddenly Sherlock was bucking his hips furiously, his back arching off of the bed, and I was fairly sure I'd managed to find his prostate. Just to torment him, I stopped moving and he promptly glared at me, his eyes flashing quickly as his lips trembled, holding back a string of expletives I knew he was now saving up for later, after he'd had his pleasure. I began moving again after he had seemed to calm down just a bit, barely pushing against his prostate, giving him just enough pleasure to know what he could be feeling. I would have tortured him for much longer if I could have, but the tightening of his muscles around my erection made me see stars, so I began to thrust in and out erratically, not even paying attention to any sort of rhythm at all, just letting myself finally lose control as he did the same. Moans, pants, screams – all of them blended together to form something new and erotic beyond belief. Despite being at my limit, I was determined not to come before Sherlock, and I wasn't disappointed.
As my detective came, he let out a scream that ended in a moan that slowly turned to a whine. He draped his hands back around my neck, the metal cold against my feverish skin. He began kissing the underside of my jaw and I finally allowed myself to release, my cum shooting inside of him. I kept rocking my hips slowly, eking out as much pleasure as I possibly could. I finally pulled out of Sherlock and laid down beside him, undoing the handcuffs to allow his hands to roam my body, his long fingers gliding over my still somewhat muscular body.
"You should really listen to your superiors, Sherlock. The cleanup after the punishment can get rather difficult after a while," I murmured after we had been silent for a while. I heard nothing from the beautifully naked man beside me, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. I glanced over to find him watching me with bright blue eyes that were bright with residual excitement and lust. I expected him to say something witty or have a comeback of any sort, but instead, the only response I received was,
"I'm not sure I'm quite ready to completely obey you yet. What else have you got in there, John?"
