Fair warning: I swear to god this gets filthier every week. This chapter gives all the appearances of non-con. But as we've said before. There is ALL the consent involved. Pretty much, this is rape fantasy. Please do not read if it will trigger you. There's also some orgasm denial, and other general depravity. A plot is starting to develop in spite of itself. I don't know why this keeps happening to me. Have fun!

Lestrade had the weekend off. He'd requested it for his daughter's birthday, only to find her mother was taking her to Cornwall. She'd be gone from Thursday evening to Sunday morning. The best he could hope for was a phone call.

So when he arrived back at his flat on Friday night, he nearly drowned in the overwhelming sense of loneliness. Greg wasn't used to time off. Work kept him busy. Work kept him from thinking about the fact that he was turning forty-four in three months, and he didn't have a family anymore. All of his friends were married. Had their own lives to live.

What did he have?

A dingy flat, a daughter that liked to pretend he didn't exist, and a narcissistic sociopath that called him for the occasional perverted little shag.

Well.

A shag didn't sound so bad at that particular moment. But Sherlock always called first. Greg wasn't sure why he'd never tried to initiate one of their meetings. It just hadn't felt right.

It still didn't feel right.

So he waited. He sat on his couch and drank a few beers. He thought about going out to a Pub. But that would mean showering. Changing into nice clothes. Seeing people.

Perhaps tomorrow.

He was too tired to put in the effort of hitting on pretty girls that were a bit too young for him, with a likelihood of being rejected over and over. Greg wasn't a bad looking bloke. He'd always done pretty well with women. But he was getting to be the age where people would look at him funny if he went to a club. And it had been a long time since he went out looking to go home with somebody. He was out of practice.

You busy tonight?

He typed out the text carefully and read it six times before he sent it. He didn't want to sound desperate. Just curious. He certainly didn't check his mobile every thirty seconds while he pretended to watch telly. At least he didn't have to wait long.

Not particularly. Is there a case? - SH

Greg sighed and wished there were one.

No.

Oh. So you want to have sex - SH

I didn't say that.

You don't want to have sex? - SH

I'm not objecting to the idea. Just that's not necessarily the only reason I'd text you.

You already said there wasn't a case. So yes, in fact, it is - SH

Greg really wasn't sure how to respond to that. True, he and Sherlock didn't spend time together outside of work, or their odd little trysts. But it just sounded so… cold.

You don't need to pretend you simply enjoy my company, Lestrade. Few people do. I can be there in about an hour - SH

All Greg could do was stare at the screen of his mobile. Because for a moment, it seemed like he might have glimpsed the lonely man underneath all of Sherlock's defense mechanisms. The man that didn't expect anybody to want him around unless he was being useful or offering a filthy fuck. The man that drowned himself in drugs, even when he was a bloody genius. The man that was so used to manipulating other people into getting what he wanted… he'd forgotten what it was like to need somebody for no reason at all.

Greg shook himself. What was he saying? He really shouldn't be getting all mushy over somebody like Sherlock. That'd be the last nail in his coffin, wouldn't it? Sherlock would probably think it highly amusing. But that would be all.

Greg did have a nasty habit of looking for love in all the wrong places. His ex was a prime example. But this… this would be a new threshold of idiocy. Even for him.

All right. I'll leave the door open.

"I'm going to struggle and pretend I don't want this," Sherlock said crisply as he walked through the door. He slid out of his coat and hung it neatly on the rack. "Unless I safeword, feel free to subdue me in any way you see fit. Questions?"

Greg blinked for a moment.

"Really, this would work better if you were the aggressor," Sherlock smirked. "It's hard to fight against nothing."

Well, then. All right.

Greg stood slowly and sauntered over to Sherlock. It was easy. Far too easy, to back Sherlock up against the wall. Place an arm on either side of him, to give the illusion that he was trapped.

"So glad you could stop by, Sherlock," Lestrade breathed against the taller man's face. "We've got some important matters to discuss."

"What sort of matters?" Sherlock frowned, squirming slightly. He looked suddenly uncomfortable. Staring at Greg, confused. Like he didn't know perfectly well what was happening. Like he hadn't just asked for it.

"Oh, real grand things." Greg leaned in just a bit more so their noses were practically touching. "Like how lovely you'd look with my prick in your mouth."

"Lestrade," Sherlock gasped, and he really did sound shocked. "I… no. You know I'm asexual."

"That's just because you haven't taken a ride on my cock before, love. I'm sure you'll change your tune."

Greg stole just one, rather chaste kiss before Sherlock pushed him away. "Stop it, what are you doing?"

Sherlock was quick. Greg had no illusions about it. He was only able to grab a hold of Sherlock's shoulder and spin him around because Sherlock was letting him do it. But it still sent a thrilling little jolt through him, when he had Sherlock pinned against the wall, his face pressed against the ugly yellow wall paper. Greg held tightly to both of his wrists.

"You'll like it," Greg murmured, "I promise. It will feel so good, Sherlock. Have you even had a proper fuck before?"

Even though he couldn't see Sherlock's face, his body language was perfect. Embarrassment. Shame.

"Oh," Greg breathed, "you're a virgin are you?"

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, "let go of me."

Greg let his rapidly stiffening erection press against Sherlock's clothed arse. "Well then, I'll be gentle. Pretty little thing like you deserves a nice shag."

It was when he pulled Sherlock away from the wall that the real acting started. Sherlock struggled. Rather violently. Lestrade could barely keep a grip on him. They made it about halfway across the living room before they tumbled to the floor. Sherlock writhed and crawled away, but Greg managed to pin him down. Or rather, Greg sat on him. Knees on either side of Sherlock's waist. Hands pinned above the head. Both men breathed heavily.

Sherlock's face clearly displayed panic. Wide. Scared. Squirming away from points of contact.

"I bet you've never even kissed anybody," Greg dipped down to lick a stripe up the side of Sherlock's neck.

The detective shivered underneath him. "Fuck off."

"How do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it, pet?"

"Hmm… let's think… how do you know you wouldn't enjoy sticking your hand in a blender? The very idea is repulsive—"

Greg cut him off by pressing their mouths together. It was as if, for a split second, Sherlock forgot what was happening. Because he kissed Greg back, slow and tender. Greg felt Sherlock's breath catch when their tongues tangled.

But then he remembered. Back to struggling. Doing his very best to push Greg off of him. Greg had no idea how they were meant to get to his bedroom like this. But by god, it was fun trying.

He let Sherlock up enough for him to start crawling. Get to his feet. Then he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's midsection and all but dragged him to the bedroom. Sherlock did help him out a bit. Stumbling in the right direction half the time, as he squirmed and thrashed.

Greg shoved Sherlock down onto the mattress and sat on him once again. The beside drawer was just in reach. He'd taken to keeping some rope and a few pairs of padded leather handcuffs in there. Just in case.

He secured the end of one cuff to the bed post and grabbed Sherlock's right arm. Sherlock's fight had mostly died down now that they were on the bed. But he let out a small noise as Greg pulled the straps tight around his narrow wrist.

"Please," Sherlock said quietly, "stop."

Greg ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls, pushing the hair back, out of his face. "Shh, it's ok, darling. Just let me take care of you."

And Sherlock's eyebrows raised ever so slightly as if to say—quite the tender assailant, aren't we? Greg could give a fuck. This was his game too, after all, and he'd play it how he bloody well liked.

He secured Sherlock's other arm to the bedpost, and slowly began unbuttoning the taller man's shirt. Kissing new skin as he exposed it. Sherlock bit his lip, and refused to look him in the eye, still minutely shifting away from his touch.

"This will be a lot better if you relax," Greg murmured.

"I don't care," Sherlock snarled.

Greg slowly pulled off Sherlock's belt and unzipped his trousers. Tossed his shoes to the side. Slid everything off so Sherlock was naked from the waist down.

To be perfectly fair, anybody that had Sherlock Holmes chained to their bed would probably do terrible things to him. He practically begged for it. All smooth skin and sharp angles. The younger man's cheeks were flushed. His cock strained, stiff, and just a bit wet at the tip.

Greg palmed at the erection and chuckled, "What's this then?"

"A physical reaction," Sherlock snapped. "It doesn't mean anything."

The DI wrapped a loose fist around Sherlock's cock and gave it one slow stroke. The taller man let out an involuntary moan.

"Physical reaction, eh? Definitely not a sign of arousal. A sign that you want this." Greg continued his slow motions and Sherlock squirmed.

"I… stop it. It's just that I'm not used to physical contact in that particular area. It… ugh…" He trailed off, lips parted slightly. Eyes just a bit unfocused

"That's it, love," Greg murmured. "Feels good, doesn't it? That's ok. You're allowed to enjoy it."

Sherlock bit his lip. For the most part, he stayed rigidly still. But Greg slowly increased the pace of his motions, focusing most of the direct stimulation around the head of Sherlock's cock. He slipped a finger down between Sherlock's arse cheeks. Not inside. He just grazed against Sherlock's entrance, and the taller man let out a shocked little gasp.

Greg watched carefully. He'd fucked Sherlock enough times to know when he was getting close. The taller man licked his lips. He began to thrust up into Greg's hand ever so slightly. Muscles going tense involuntarily. Eyes closed. Greg gave him that little bit extra. A bit more speed. A bit more pressure. A finger teasing at his hole, but not dipping inside.

Three rapid intakes of breath. A little moan.

Then Greg ceased all motion.

Sherlock let out a small cry. "What are you doing?" He gasped. "I…"

"What? Were you about to come?" Greg asked innocently.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Looking somehow flustered and angry in the same breath. "I don't see what the point in teasing me is. Either let me get off, or use me and be done with it."

"Oh… no… I'm going to take my time with you, love. You're going to beg for my cock. And that is a promise."

He reached for the open drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricant. But he didn't open it right away. He set it aside, and grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed.

"Lift your hips," he tapped Sherlock's arse as he gave the order.

Sherlock grumbled, but complied, and Greg placed the pillow underneath him. Greg arranged Sherlock how he wanted him. Feet flat on the mattress, knees bent, and pelvis angled upward as much as possible.

He laid down on his stomach. The angle was still a bit awkward, but he didn't want to release the restraints. He carefully pulled Sherlock's arse cheeks apart and tentatively flicked his tongue out to touch against the puckered little hole.

Sherlock's entire body jerked.

He smelled mostly of soap. Greg already knew Sherlock was in the habit of cleaning himself before he came over. He'd never had a sexual partner that was quite so meticulous about such things. But he couldn't say that he didn't appreciate it as he began to lick against Sherlock's hole in steady, slow motions.

"Oh," Sherlock whispered.

It had been a long time since Greg did this. His wife hadn't liked it. But he'd done it for quite a few blokes when he was at university. It wasn't so difficult to remember. Mostly just languid, circular swipes of the tongue around the little ring of muscle. He wasn't quite brave enough to dip inside, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

The taller man seemed to be doing his best to bite back the moans and whines—but even a man like Sherlock Holmes only had so much self-control. When Greg reached up and began touching Sherlock's cock again, it nearly sent him over the edge.

Greg paused, withdrawing his hand, but continuing the small motions with his tongue. Not enough to make Sherlock come, certainly. But more than enough to tease him quite terribly.

After a few minutes, he wrapped his hand around Sherlock's prick and began slowly stroking him. Sherlock let out a noise that couldn't be described as anything other than a squeak. His hole fluttered against Greg's tongue. Thighs went ridged and tense. He panted raggedly.

Greg stopped.

He pulled back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sherlock looked utterly wrecked. A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire body. His cheeks were pinker than Greg had ever seen them. He gasped like the room had suddenly run out of air to breathe.

"You're a sadist," Sherlock growled.

Greg just smiled. He leaned forward and planted a sloppy kiss on the head of Sherlock's cock before he pulled back again. He grabbed the tube of lubricant and squeezed some into his hand.

Sherlock went still as Greg slid a slick finger into him. Just the tip. He paused, letting Sherlock feel the intrusion before he pushed the rest of the way inside. He grazed against Sherlock's prostate once. Just to see him jump. But then for the most part, avoided it. Sherlock was already too on edge. It wouldn't do to send him over before Greg got to fuck him.

Slowly, gently, he teased in another finger. Scissoring and stretching. Like Sherlock really was a virgin. He added generous amounts of lubricant, and pushed against that tense little knot of nerve endings every time it seemed like Sherlock was starting to lose focus on the proceedings.

The taller man's cock looked painfully hard—an angry red at the tip. Shiny. Leaking.

"Do you want to come, darling?" Greg asked in a honeyed voice. "Are you desperate yet? All you have to do is say so. I'm feeling quite accommodating at the moment."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a strangled little whine as Greg nudged against his prostate. Greg slipped in the third finger, and set up a steadier rhythm. Dragging against the intended target with every motion.

The taller man didn't bother not to thrash around. To buck back against Greg's hand, trying to get more. It sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Greg unzipped his trousers with one hand, keeping up the motions of his fingers inside Sherlock. The detective looked down at the noise of the belt buckle clattering as Greg pulled out his cock and began to languidly stroke himself.

"Do you want this?" Greg raised his eyebrows. "It'd feel so good inside you. I bet it'd be more than enough to send you over the edge. I'd let you come. I'd love to feel you spasm around me… but you have to ask for it."

Sherlock blinked twice. Bit down on his lip. "Please." It was a soft, strangled whisper.

"What was that?"

"Please fuck me. I… I can't take this any more."

Greg grinned triumphantly and slowly withdrew his fingers. He slicked a bit more lube on his cock and slid easily between Sherlock's legs. He supported himself on one arm as he positioned himself with the other.

It was a slow burn. And he maintained a vicious eye contact as he slid into Sherlock's hole. The younger man was quite slick. Well prepared. He let out an unabashed moan as the head of Greg's cock nudged against the right place.

He wasn't all the way in yet. But he began to fuck Sherlock in shallow, unhurried motions. The younger man rolled his hips, trying to draw Greg in further. The DI obliged.

"Ugh," Sherlock panted.

He wrapped his long legs around Greg's waist, almost on instinct. Too far gone. Greg didn't mind. Sherlock was quite lovely like this.

The DI set up a more insistent rhythm. Finally starting to give Sherlock what he needed. The noises Sherlock let out. Loud. Unabashed. Pornographic. Greg dimly wondered if the neighbors could hear. Perhaps part of him hoped they could. Hoped they knew he was balls deep inside the world's best shag.

"Greg," Sherlock moaned.

The younger man was shaking. Trembling. Greg lowered his body slightly. Changing the angle. Allowing Sherlock's cock to rub against his stomach on every thrust. That seemed to be what he needed. What he was asking for.

"I'm going to… oh god… I'm…. ah," Sherlock whimpered.

"It's ok. Come for me."

Sherlock shuddered. And his internal muscles clenched around Greg's prick. Wonderful. Deliriously wonderful. Greg fucked the younger man all the way through his orgasm. Speeding up, taking what he needed. It wasn't long before he stilled and emptied himself into Sherlock's body. Surfing on a ridiculous wave of throbbing pleasure.

They hadn't talked about not using a condom. Greg hadn't even though about the fact that he didn't put one on. He was just so caught in the moment... But Sherlock was clean. And Greg was clean. And the younger man gasped at the feeling. The warm stickiness, pulsing inside him. Greg stayed there. Sheathed for perhaps a minute before he slowly withdrew and watched with interest as his come began to dribble back out of Sherlock's body.

He reached up and undid the straps on the handcuffs. Sherlock let his arms drop down to his sides, and he attempted to catch his breath. Greg unbuttoned his shirt. It was already a lost cause, sticky with Sherlock's release, so he used to to clean both of them up a bit before undressing the rest of the way and laying down next to Sherlock.

Silence settled in. Greg waited for Sherlock to get up. And when he didn't, he wondered if he should extend the offer. He was just about to open his mouth when Sherlock turned to look at him.

"I know it's all right for me to stay, you haven't kicked me out the last two times," he let a small smirk spread across his face.

"Yeah well..." Greg didn't know what else to say. Honestly, sometimes he wondered if Sherlock was actually a mind reader.

"Go get me a glass of water."

"Yes, your majesty," Greg rolled his eyes. But he fetched the water.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. Then walked back to the bedroom, turned off the light, and climbed under the duvet. Sherlock pressed up against him in the dark. It was almost domestic. Dangerously so. Greg could feel his heart beating in his throat.

Sherlock kissed him. Closed mouth. Almost innocent. The he rolled over. It seemed he liked to sleep with his back against Greg's chest. With Greg's arms wrapped around him. Because his breathing slowed within a few minutes. He stopped shifting around. Went slack and pliant, radiating body heat.

Don't get used to this. Greg told himself over and over. And then, when he got tired of that, he just savored the perfectness of moment, and slowly let himself drift away into sleep.

Yep. This is why I should probably stop writing drunk, at four o'clock in the morning. I stop having any kind of filter whatsoever. But you people are the best sort of enablers. And I love you to death.

See you next Saturday :)