"Harder! Harder!"
"Jesus Sherlock, you're a pushy one. You're tied up aren't I supposed to be the one giving orders?"
Sherlock threw his head back and moaned.
"Harder please!"
Oh fuck. What a sight. Greg had Sherlock tied to a kitchen chair propped against the wall, his arms tight behind his back and his arse right on the edge of the seat. His thighs were held wide open by the spreader bar and sliding in and out of his gaping pink hole was quite simply the hugest vibrator Greg had ever seen. Greg wanted to touch himself, to fist his cock hard as he watched that monster thrust in and out of Sherlock, spreading him wide, but he had one hand on the vibrator and the other holding Sherlock's hip still, fingers digging deep into Sherlock to stop him being pushed backwards by the sheer breadth of the hard silicone in his arse.
Nevertheless Greg was enjoying this experiment. This was part of Sherlock's goal to come without anyone touching his cock. Sherlock, like many men, normally needed some kind of friction there to come, so Sherlock's suggested methods were becoming ever more, well obscene. Greg had known some relatively kinky men but there seemed to be no limit to the amount of stuff Sherlock would shove up his arse to achieve his goal.
Sherlock was shaking and covered in sweat. They'd been going at this for a while now and Sherlock's balls were pulled up tight to his body. So nearly there, but not quite. Well, Greg thought, nothing ventured...
He leaned as close to Sherlock as he could and whispered in his ear:
"You know, I'd love to get you this desperate at a crime scene one day..."
Sherlock's eyes widened "Greg..."
"Can you imagine it Sherlock, down an alley, with Donovan and the others just round the corner, we'd try to be quiet but I know how you can get"
Sherlock gasped and Greg saw his chest slowly start to mottle red. Ah...there we go...
"Hands on the wall, legs spread, but it would be my cock in your arse not this cheap piece of plastic, pounding into you, one hand fisting your cock"
Sherlock screamed, literally screamed. His face was red and his cock was violently twitching.
"That's it, are you picturing it? Me pumping in an out of you? Owning you? What I really want to see though... what I really want to see..."
Greg paused and licked his lips
"Is you coming all over that dirty brick wall..."
Sherlock arched his back and came in great spurts over his chest and Greg's hand, Greg was glad he'd kept a firm hand on the vibrator as Sherlock's body throbbed around it, pulling it deeper in. Greg quickly switched it off to spare Sherlock's sensitive body. He let Sherlock slowly come down for a few seconds before easing the toy out of his twitching arse. Greg took a moment to enjoy the sight of Sherlock's hole open and spasming, before he undid the ropes round the chair and unlinked the spreader bar and uncuffed his ankles. He pushed Sherlock's thighs back open, this time looking for any evidence of tearing or blood he might have missed before. Sherlock was red, and probably sore as hell, but no real damage had been done. Sherlock, who had been looking pretty far gone as Greg untied him, was slowly starting to come back to his senses.
"Okay?"
"Hmmm?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I er... Why did that happen?"
"Why did what happen?"
"Why did you talking to me make me come?"
"Not sure, I don't really understand why it works myself. I think it's partly just another layer of mental imagery and I do like that particular image so I thought you might too..."
"But I don't think I really want the situation you described but it turned me on anyway."
"I know, weird isn't it. But effective."
"Do you want to have sex at a crime scene?"
"I can't imagine anything more stupid to do"
"So you just said it to make me come."
"Yeah, I was slightly worried you were about to have a heart attack."
Greg had been rubbing the life back into Sherlock's wrists and now looked up at him. Sherlock had that dangerous look in his eye.
"Will it work on you?"
"It has done before."
"Can I try?"
"Why not."
"Get on the chair then."
Greg had a sudden panic. "Sherlock that vibrator is coming nowhere near me, I know you're obsessed with getting wider and wider bits of plastic up your arse but I am fine with..." Greg tried to think of a better way of putting it and failed "...standard sized stuff up my arse."
"Did I not just say I was going to use my voice. No vibrator."
Greg huffed. "Fine."
"Close your eyes, don't touch yourself and don't speak"
Oh that was good. Sherlock had put on his sex voice. It was deep and velvety and brooked absolutely no disagreement.
Greg reached behind him and took hold of the strats on the back of the chair, if Sherlock was as good as he thought he was (and Sherlock, irritatingly, was almost always blindingly brilliant at anything he set his mind to) then Greg didn't trust his hands not to wander down to his cock if he left them dangling at his sides.
"Oh very good. I like you with your arms pulled back. It pushes your chest out."
Greg felt Sherlock drift his fingers over his nipples.
"Lovely"
Greg did not know how Sherlock had managed to make that word sound so obscene but it absolutely thrilled him. His cock twitched in anticipation.
"That's it, good boy."
Oh fuck.
"Now in a few moments I'm going to shove my cock hard down your throat. You'll like that won't you? You may answer."
"Yes" Greg could barely recognise his own voice. It was rough and shaky with desire.
"I know you will. You always look so blissed out with my cock stretching your lips wide. You know the bit I like best thought, when I've shoved myself all the way in, and you're just struggling to breathe."
Greg felt Sherlock's hand at his throat, pressing on his windpipe, nothing that would actually stress his breathing but it provided a very effective reminder of the lightheaded feeling he sometimes got when Sherlock was all the way down his throat. Greg felt his breathing got shallow automatically. God Sherlock was good at this.
"And that's when I want to share you, let other people see how gorgeous you look. Shall I tell you what I think about. Just watching you, watching you get filled by someone else. I want to see what it looks like, a thick cock sliding in and out of your arse, you fucking yourself on it. On all fours I think, yes, you look so good on your hands and knees."
Greg sucked in a shaky breath, he could just imagine it, strong hands on his hips, pulling him back, a hot, hard, heavy cock breaching him. And Sherlock, could he...
"Oh yes I'd make you watch me, see me touching myself, pumping my cock, watching you getting filled... I think you'd like that, you'd get off on being watched, you want as many eyes on you as you can get."
Greg could imagine Sherlock's eyes on him, the detecting look he got, when he looked like he could read your bones through your skin. Imagine that being raked over his shaking body, his throbbing cock, his twitching arse.
"I think I'd want someone who looked nothing like me, someone totally different. See what tanned hands would look like grabbing your hips, someone strong, built..."
Oh yes, someone powerful, compact, maybe fair instead of Sherlock's dark curls, someone a bit more masculine rather than Sherlock's aquiline, slightly androgynous features.
Greg yelped as Sherlock grabbed his cock and started pumping, his hand tight.
"Yes, that would be good. And I'd want you talking then I think, I'd want to hear you begging him, pleading, calling his name as you come..."
Greg was shaking now, he was so close, he could almost feel those hands on his hips, that cock deep inside him, could feel... could feel...
"Say his name."
"John!"
Greg came. Hard. But the pleasure lasted only a second before the anger set in. Greg's eyes flew open and he jumped away from Sherlock.
"You bastard!"
Sherlock's expression went immediately from smug to confused.
"What? I thought you'd like it"
Bloody hell, the daft bastard probably did as well.
"No Sherlock, no I wouldn't. Don't manipulate me like that."
"But you want to have sex with him, why wouldn't you enjoy imagining having sex with him?"
Because he felt so guilty. It wasn't that he'd never imagined it, it wasn't that he hadn't come with John's name on his lips before, but it felt wrong- he knew John didn't want that, knew John wouldn't like him thinking about him that way. How to explain that to Sherlock though...
"How would you feel if there was something you wanted, I don't know some piece of lab equipment or something, that you desperately wanted but you knew you couldn't have. Wouldn't it be torture to imagine having it all the time?"
Sherlock cocked his head. Close, but no cigar. There had to be more to it... oh...
"You, you like him don't you?"
"Of course I bloody do."
"No, I mean, you have feelings for him. You don't just want to have sex with him, you want to have..." Sherlock swallowed as if eating a particularly gross bit of chewy gristle "...a relationship with him."
Greg sighed. "I think it's time for me to go home Sherlock- I'll grab a shower then be off."
"No. Why? Please don't go yet."
"For fuck's sake you've come haven't you, what more do you want from me?"
"Greg you're my friend."
"Oh am I now? Thanks, I'll remember that next time you call me an idiot at a crime scene and laugh at my team."
Greg turned towards the bathroom
"Who else are you going to talk to about this?"
"No-one Sherlock. I'm going to think about this as little as possible, and talk about it even less. I need a wash".
And with that Greg left the room.
Sherlock sat back down on the chair and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers under his chin. At least this made the situation easier to understand, though how to resolve it was more of an issue. He reached for the kitchen drawer and pulled out his packet of nicotine patches. This was going to be at least a three patch problem.