Fair warning: I promised arrest fetish porn in the description. I always keep my smutting promises. Besides that... prostitution fantasy. This is completely consensual insanity. But it gives some of the appearances of dub-con, because of the scene context. Just keep in mind that no really does mean yes here, and they have a safeword. But don't read if you're triggered by that sort of thing.

When Sherlock said he wanted to do an "arrest scene"—Greg should have been smart enough to say no. But then again, one didn't get themselves into Sherlock Holmes's bed by being smart. Apparently, one got there by being suggestible and more than a bit insane.

Because Greg showed up in the dark alleyway behind Sherlock's flat in his police cruiser, at 22:00 exactly, just like he was supposed to. Really, he didn't know what to expect. Perhaps Sherlock pretending to buy drugs? Committing some inane act of vandalism? Funny enough, Greg had even prepared himself for a fake murder scene. Lord knows Sherlock was far too obsessed with death for anybody to be truly comfortable.

What he did not expect, however, was to turn on his floodlights to see Sherlock bloody Holmes on his knees, sucking off a tall, blonde stranger.

The other man bolted the second he saw Greg's cruiser. But Sherlock leaned back and smiled easily, like he was drunk.

"Why, hello there!" He called in a sloppy voice.

Greg killed the engine, and sat there for about thirty seconds before he was capable of opening the door.

What the actual fuck?

"I was just um… I was helping my friend there tie his shoes," Sherlock hiccupped as Greg approached. "No need for there to be a problem, right? I'll just be on my way…"

Sherlock started to stand, but Greg slid out his nightstick and gently pressed it against Sherlock's shoulder as a hint for him to stay on his knees. The taller man looked up at him with wide eyes, as if he were suddenly frightened.

Sherlock was a great actor. He probably wasn't drunk. Probably wasn't afraid. But Greg's stomach was twisting with some vague predatory instinct.

Part of him hoped Sherlock knew what he was getting both of them into. Pushing Greg's buttons like this. Dragging the violence out of him. Pleading. Begging. Yes, hurt me.

But what would happen when this went to far?

"Public intoxication, indecent exposure, lewdness… it's all enough to take you in," Greg's voice had dropped dangerously low. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I'm sorry—I just—it's a cold night. It's not so easy to find somewhere to stay, and it's not cheap either. We all do what we need to in order to get by."

"Oh, so he paid you? You're telling me that you're a whore?"

Greg slowly ran his nightstick up the length of Sherlock's neck, tilting his chin upwards. Maybe this was a scene. But the real rage boiled right beneath Greg's skin. Really, he had no claim to Sherlock. He knew that. But it didn't mean that the bastard had to go and suck somebody off in front of him.

Sherlock licked his lips. Body tensing. Frantic.

"Please, sir, I'm not. Just… I got evicted from my flat. I don't have anywhere to go—"

"Excuses, excuses. I bet a posh little tart like you gets all around town. I bet they're just lining up to have you, aren't they?"

Sherlock swallowed hard.

"I can't get arrested again," his voice was high and breathless, "I won't survive in prison, sir. Just look at me… how about a free ride? If you let me go, I'll do whatever you want."

Greg tapped the long wooden club against Sherlock's cheek. "Soliciting a Detective Inspector? You're either stupid, or you're quite confident in your skills. Because if you don't give the best head I've ever had, you'll be spending a nice long time in a cell."

"You wouldn't," Sherlock breathed. "That's… I'll tell them you made me suck you off. You'll get in trouble as well."

"First of all, you offered it. Anything I want. And second, who do you think they'll believe? A respected officer of the law, or a back alley slut?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, and closed it, floundering somewhere between horrified and indignant. God, he was too good at this.

Greg pressed his nightstick against Sherlock's plump lips. It occurred to him that perhaps this was the endgame. Driving Greg completely mad—for no other purpose than Sherlock's own sexual satisfaction and amusement.

One thing was certain. When Sherlock opened his mouth and began to carefully fellate the end of the nightstick, he knew that there would never be another fuck like Sherlock Holmes. Other people could be submissive and slutty. Other people could be manipulative and domineering. But none of them were the complete package, like the delicious morsel kneeling in front of him.

Greg drew the stick away slowly. He circled Sherlock, while the younger man stayed kneeling, almost perfectly still.

The DI glanced up. There were several windows above them. All of them dark. But that didn't mean somebody couldn't look out and misinterpret what was happening. He reached down, grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck and squeezed hard.

"You'll stay down if you know what's good for you."

And then he walked over to his cruiser to turn off the floodlights, drowning the alley in night once again. He didn't look back to see whether or not Sherlock had stayed still. He wasn't worried. Sherlock got off on following orders. At least, in these types of situations.

Greg's eyes adjusted to see Sherlock's pale silhouette in the middle of the alley. Still on his knees, down on the dirty asphalt. It couldn't be comfortable. Greg tried not to think about how the blood rushed south at the idea of Sherlock feeling pain.

He waited until he was standing close to Sherlock before he unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out. The DI rubbed the head of his prick over Sherlock's slick lips, teasing, but not pushing in. He could barely make out Sherlock's face from the dim glow of the streetlights. They were in the shadow. But still vaguely visible.

Greg's heart pounded, making him feel nauseous and ridiculously aroused in the same breath.

This was filthy.

Somebody else had been fucking Sherlock's mouth less than ten minutes ago. Yet his cock throbbed eagerly, urging him on to take his sloppy seconds and like it.

"Well go on then, show me how fucking special you are, slag. Let's see what you get all those pathetic boys to pay for."

He placed a hand on the back of Sherlock's head, to assure him that neither of them was going anywhere. And Sherlock parted his lips, slowly, almost timidly, taking Greg into his mouth.

And fuck.

Greg almost wondered if Sherlock really was a whore—if he'd sucked cock for drugs before. Because he was just too damn gifted with that quick little tongue of his. It was just everywhere. Laving, applying pressure, friction, moisture, heat.

The DI didn't even bother to suppress a groan when he began thrusting into Sherlock's throat, and the younger man gagged. Greg was sloppy with Sherlock's spit. Dizzy with the feeling of being in such complete control. Part of him wanted to just end it there. To come down Sherlock's throat and drive away. The bastard would probably like it. Being used and then left behind like a crumpled piece of trash.

But then again, Greg had driven the cruiser here for a purpose. It'd be a shame not to use it.

He slowly pulled away. Sherlock panted. Was he shaking slightly? Probably not fear. More like anticipation. It's an integral part of almost every junkie. They like the moment right before the high, just as much as they like the actual drug.

"On your feet," Greg grunted.

And when Sherlock stood, he pushed him towards the cruiser. He prodded and poked until Sherlock was standing in front of the hood of the car, with his thighs against the grille and his arse against Greg's erection. Then Greg grabbed his hip with one hand, and shoved him forward with they other, so he was splayed out across the hood, bent at the waist. He knocked Sherlock's legs further apart, and pulled his arms behind his back. As he slapped the handcuffs around Sherlock's wrists, the younger man let out a breathy gasp.

Greg leaned forward, using his weight to force Sherlock down until his pale cheek was pressed against the cold metal of the car.

"Your mouth was nice, slut. But I've thought it over, and I think I'd like to have the full experience before I lock you away."

"Sir…" Sherlock squirmed underneath him, "I don't do that."

"Pardon?" Greg licked a small stripe up the back of Sherlock's neck.

"I mean—I've never—people only pay for blowjobs. I don't let them fuck me. Can't I just finish you with my mouth, sir?"

That gave the DI pause for a minute. Sherlock hadn't safeworded. In fact, he was squirming back against Greg's cock. But that had sounded an awful lot like no. A bit too much for comfort.

"We're doing what I want. Not what you'd prefer. Maybe people don't pay for it, but I bet you've been fucked before. With a lush arse like yours, I'd never believe you were a virgin." Greg sounded a bit less certain. Christ. He'd pressed a knife against Sherlock's neck and shagged the hell out of him less than three weeks ago. Why was he so nervous?

Maybe Sherlock seemed to catch onto the change. Because he went slack and pliant underneath Greg.

"Of course I'm not a virgin," he said bitterly, "and if your sticking it in me will keep me out of jail—by all means, proceed, Detective Inspector. Just do try to hurry it along. I do have other people that want my time this evening."

The anger flared again, making Greg go hot and cold at the same time. He reached underneath Sherlock and unbuttoned his trousers. He pulled down the zip and yanked the fabric down until the younger man's bare arse was exposed.

He pulled a small tube of lubricant out of his pocket and squeezed it into his hand. Sherlock jerked and shuddered when he pressed his middle finger into that tight little hole. He wasn't gentle. Didn't wait or give Sherlock time to adjust. But he could practically feel the heat of arousal radiating off the other man's body.

"Please," Sherlock whispered. It almost sounded like a sob.

"Please what? Please stop? Please give you more?" Greg pointedly brushed against Sherlock's erection with his free hand. "Christ. You're enjoying this, aren't you? You like to feel dirty and violated."

Greg added another finger and Sherlock let out a choked little moan. Finger number three went in shortly afterwards. It was too fast. Greg knew it. But his prick was throbbing. Sherlock pushed back against him, almost imperceptibly.

"You're ready for it." Greg nudged against Sherlock's prostate, forcing a full-body shiver through the other man. "I can feel how much you want my cock inside you."

Sherlock let out a noise, that wasn't exactly a conformation or denial. Just an incoherent, animalistic sound. Greg withdrew his fingers, rolled on a condom, lined up his cock, and pressed into Sherlock's searing-hot little hole.

It was a measured advance. Inch by inch, Sherlock's body swallowed him up. He never paused. Pressed in slowly enough so that he wouldn't cause any serious injuries. But quickly enough so that it was sure to hurt.

Sherlock gasped and panted, muscles clenching around the intrusion. Greg began to thrust. Deep and confidant. At first, Sherlock squirmed around like he was trying to get away from the contact. But it rapidly changed, so that he bucked back in an effort to get more.

So wrong. But Greg felt an odd sense of triumph at Sherlock's change from maybe no to definitely yes.

The DI picked up speed. Pounding Sherlock into the hood of the car. The vehicle was bouncing up and down in time with their motions, rocking on the wheels. Sherlock grunted and whimpered when Greg angled down. Just enough to hit the right spot most of the time.

The tension was building much too quickly. Greg was surfing too close to the edge. He was the stubborn type. He never liked to get off before his partner did. But he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to last like this.

The cold air crowding in around them. The squeaking car wheels. Sherlock's fevered breathing. The intensity of repeatedly pressing into Sherlock's impossibly tight body.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's prick, pumping it in time with his motions. Sherlock let out a tiny gasp.

It wasn't more than ten seconds before Sherlock stiffened, and his muscles clamped down around Greg. His cock twitched in Greg's hand, covering it in warm ejaculate. The DI let himself go. The heat burned through him, in waves of tingling pleasure as his cock pulsed inside Sherlock, filling the condom.

There was a moment of suspension. Silence. When the reality of the situation began to creep in around them. Greg quickly withdrew, pulling off the condom, and tossing it in a nearby dumpster. Sherlock stood unsteadily, and Greg unlocked the handcuffs.

"Would you like a drink? I could certainly use one after that." Sherlock ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair.

"Maybe… I dunno," Greg sighed. Suddenly bone tired.

"It's on me." Sherlock reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled fifty-pound note.

Greg stared for a few moments before the implications clicked together. "Wait… that guy actually paid you?"

"That doesn't seem like the sort of thing I should tell a Detective Inspector," Sherlock shrugged.

Before Greg knew what he was doing, he opened the back door of the cruiser and shoved Sherlock unceremoniously inside. Sherlock struggled. Almost enough to win. But then Greg slammed the door, effectively trapping Sherlock.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled through the glass of the window. "Let me out."

"If you want to play whore, be prepared for the consequences," Greg folded his arms and watched in amusement.

Sherlock went still and glared menacingly. Greg got in the driver's seat and started the car. They began to trundle through the quiet streets.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock snapped.

"Back to the Yard. I need to drop off the car."

"Yes, well, let me out then do that."

"Nope. You're coming back to my place."

"Why?"

"Because I can't let you get away with breaking so many laws in front of me. And instead of throwing you in a cell, I'm going to tie you down and see if I can whip some of the crazy out of you."

Greg looked in the rearview mirror. Sherlock's smilie couldn't be described as anything other than smug.

Damn it. Is this what he wanted the whole time?

In the end, Greg decided it was better just not to think about it too thoroughly. He'd be ruined after this was all over. No question. But he was also quite certain it would be worth it.

I'm so sorry I didn't post this on time! It wasn't my fault! This site decided to stop working literally twenty minutes before I finished editing :X

But ah well. It's only a day late. See you next Saturday!