Fair warning: well, everybody was asking for sounding last week. So that's what you got. If you don't know what that is, google it before reading, please. I'll have you know, I had to actually do research for this one. Because even I hardly knew anything about it. So sorry if I got anything wrong. I ended up in really weird parts of the internet and didn't want to stay there for too long. Here you are, you kinky bastards. Enjoy!
"Do you want to try something new?" Sherlock pushed through the doorway, holding a small leather case.
Greg rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. He hadn't exactly been expecting Sherlock. Then again, these days Sherlock was liable to show up at any hour of the day or night without notice. At least it wasn't that late.
Greg just had a lot of paper work he really should be doing… he'd been falling behind recently. He didn't exactly blame Sherlock, for it. But it's rather difficult to fill out repetitive reports when you have an attractive sociopath in you bed—whining for a good fuck.
"I dunno," the DI shrugged, "depends what it is."
Sherlock smiled and strode over to the kitchen table. He laid out the small leather case and unzipped it. Greg walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder.
The case was padded, and filled with a variety of different sized metal bars. Some were quite thin, perhaps the width of a piece of spaghetti, while others were much larger. Maybe close in circumference to a thumb.
The pieces of metal weren't perfectly straight. They curved slightly at either end. They were polished smooth, glinting slightly under the bright kitchen lights.
"What are those?" Greg rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder.
"A set of medical sounds."
"I see… and what exactly do you do with them?"
"Urethral dilation," Sherlock bit his lip slightly.
"Come again?"
"Think it over for a moment. I'm sure you'll figure it out."
Greg's brow furrowed slightly. He certainly knew the words. Perhaps he just didn't want to think about what they meant together.
"You mean… you want to me to stick those things in your prick?"
"No. You don't know what you're doing." Sherlock turned his head lazily to kiss Greg's cheek. "I thought perhaps I could do it you… a practical demonstration, if you will. You could try it on me later."
Greg stared down at the sounds with a new fear and awe. Sure, back in his university days, he'd done quite a bit of object insertion. But never in that particular orifice. In fact, he'd lived most of his life under the impression that it was a spectacularly bad idea to ever try sticking something up your piss hole. It seemed like an awful lot could go wrong in a lot of serious ways.
"I don't know… isn't that dangerous?" He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and leaned into him a bit more. The casual physical contact probably wasn't helping his rational thought process.
"Not if you go slowly. I've had quite a bit of experience as well. You'd be in good hands."
"Dilated a lot of urethras in your day, have you?" Greg snorted
"Spend enough time in London's leather scene, and you get experience in all sorts of interesting areas," Sherlock smiled coyly.
"Jesus," Greg groaned. "I don't even want to know."
"Probably not… it was just an idea. We don't have to. I'll put them away." Sherlock reached forward to close the case, but Greg caught his hand.
"Well hold on a minute," he sighed. "Does it hurt?"
"The sensation is a bit of a shock at first. Perhaps a bit uncomfortable. But after that, it's quite pleasurable."
Greg took another moment to pretend to think about it. Perhaps just for his own dignity. Because he wanted to believe he wouldn't simply say yes to anything and everything Sherlock asked for.
But if one looked at things objectively, that's exactly what Greg did. Today wasn't shaping up to be any different.
"You'll stop if I tell you to, the second I tell you to, clear?" Greg put a bit of weight into his voice, to try to regain some semblance of control over the situation.
"Yes, Sir. Of course."
Sherlock turned around and pulled Greg into a soft little kiss. Gentle. It would have been sweet, if not for what they were about to do.
"Why don't you go lie down on the bed," Sherlock murmured against Greg's mouth.
Phrased as a suggestion. Not an order. Manipulative little bastard.
But Greg still stole one more kiss, then made his way to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, unzipped his trousers, and stripped down to his pants. He lay back on the mattress and tried to take slow, even breaths. Tried not to worry about the impending lunacy.
Sherlock appeared in the doorway before too long. He'd taken off his jacket and shoes, but otherwise remained fully dressed.
"Do you think you can keep still, or should I tie you down?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I'll be fine without the handcuffs, thanks," Greg said. Perhaps he snapped a bit more than he meant to.
But Sherlock smiled and approached the bed. He kneeled on the edge of the mattress and flipped the leather case over. He unzipped an outside pocket and pulled out a packet of alcohol swabs. He opened a single one and swiped the damp cloth over the head of Greg's cock. The DI jumped a bit at the cold.
He watched in vague apprehension as Sherlock put on a pair of latex gloves and pulled a small tube of lubricant out of another zipper on the case. Perhaps he should have been comforted by the meticulous cleanliness. But it gave the moment an oddly clinical air that only served to make Greg more uncomfortable.
Sherlock selected one of the smaller sounds. Not the very smallest. It was still wide enough to be mildly concerning. The taller man smeared lubricant over the head of Greg's slowly hardening prick, and coated the sound as well.
Sherlock moved, so he sat on Greg's thighs, straddling him, and effectively holding him down.
"Are you ready?" He asked mildly.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Greg tried to smile.
"We really don't have to do this…"
"No. It's fine. Go on."
Sherlock rolled the metal in his hands for a moment, perhaps trying to warm it up. Then he grasped Greg's cock gently with one hand, and began tracing the tip of the sound over the glans. He didn't slip the sound in right away. He made a few, teasing, circling motions, perhaps to acclimatize Greg to the idea of it
Mostly the DI focused on breathing. Trying to relax.
He still wasn't prepared for the feeling that resulted when Sherlock slowly inserted the sound the first few centimeters.
Greg gasped loudly.
It didn't exactly hurt—but it was still the most bizarre sensation Greg had ever experienced. Cold. A strange pressure. Stretching. It registered as wrong. Uncomfortable. Stop.
"Just relax," Sherlock said in a low, soothing voice. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll wait until you're ready for more."
Greg tried to focus on anything else. His entire universe had become the metal object, violating his body. He heard somebody panting. It took a few moments to register that the sound was coming from him.
"Do you want me to pull it back out?" Sherlock asked in the same calm, tone.
"God… I don't know…" Greg could barely string the words together.
"If you don't want me to stop, I'm going to let it slide in further. Is that all right?"
The DI managed a nod.
A strange guttural sound forced its way out of Greg's mouth as the metal slipped further inside him. His body didn't seem to be offering as much resistance as it should. He tried not to squirm at the sensation. The continued stretch. Almost a burn. Almost painful. Not quite.
Sherlock paused again, to let him acclimatize. It wasn't much good. He didn't think having a piece of metal inside his cock was ever going to feel less unbalancing. But he didn't exactly want to go faster, so he remained silent.
The next time, Sherlock didn't warn him. He just slid the sound in the next few centimeters. It went in quite agreeably. Greg closed his eyes and the world spun around him.
His body was confused. The signals started to cross. Painpleasure. Sherlock withdrew the sound just a little bit, and pressed it back in. Something strange sparked deep inside Greg. He let out an unabashed moan.
Then, Sherlock began to pull the sound back out at a steady, measured pace. It felt like coming in slow motion. A strange wave of heat washed through Greg. The tingling anticipation skittered across his nerve endings.
Sherlock selected another sound. The next size up. He slicked it liberally with lubricant. It didn't go in quite as easy as the first one had. More waiting. More odd stretching. Pressure. Greg fought to stay still. But he couldn't control the strange noises that came pouring out of his mouth.
He felt entirely helpless as the sound slid deeper and deeper into him. He wanted it out. But once again, the sensation became confused. Sherlock began to move the metal slowly, in and out. He fucked Greg's cock with the sound.
The blunt metal slid deeper and deeper into his hardening cock. The pleasure spiraled through him. The intensity of it was both terrifying and fantastic.
"Fuck," the DI breathed.
"Is it too much?"
"No… yes… I…" rational thought seemed like a quickly vanishing possibility. Greg simply gave over to it. Let himself drown in the chaos of it all.
Sherlock withdrew the sound and slid it all the way back in. Greg felt a bit faint. Wrung out. Something hot, wet, and imminent roiled inside him.
"I'm going to…" he trailed off.
Sherlock withdrew the sound again. It almost sent Greg reeling over the edge. Sherlock dipped down to lick a stripe up Greg's cock. The younger man wrapped his thin fingers around Greg's prick and stroked him steadily.
There wasn't much point in holding back. Greg let go. Almost passive as the tension climbed into a screeching crescendo. He toppled over the edge. Shuddered as the pleasure washed through him. He felt dazed. Not quite real.
A strange, full-body exhaustion settled through him. Like he'd just run for miles and miles and only just collapsed.
"How do you feel?" Sherlock smirked as he stripped off the latex gloves and placed the sounds back in the case.
"I… a bit wrecked," Greg managed to get out.
Sherlock reached down and unzipped his trousers, pulling out his own cock. He smeared his hand through the ejaculate on Greg's abdomen, and began to stroke himself—using Greg's come as lubricant.
The DI's mouth dropped open slightly.
He wanted to do something more than just watch. But he could hardly move. He settled for placing his hands on Sherlock's hips, occasionally dipping down into his trousers, to grab a handful of his plush arse.
Sherlock panted and squirmed, speeding up his motions. Putting on a bit of a show. Greg slid his hands further into Sherlock's trousers. He managed to sip a finger between the younger man's arse cheeks and just graze against his hole.
Sherlock made a small breathy noise.
Every motion of his hand created an obscene, slick sound. His cheeks flushed. His breathing became gradually heavier.
God he was beautiful.
"Please, Sir," he said softly.
Greg teased at Sherlock's arsehole in small, circling motions. Felt him start to quiver. Brace for impact.
"Oh… can I…?"
"Yes, come for me." Greg said in a raspy voice.
It didn't take very much longer. Soon Sherlock grunted, went still, and added his own come to the mess on Greg's stomach. He stayed upright, hands on Greg's chest. They stared at each other wordlessly as time became fuzzy and distant.
Eventually, Sherlock zipped up the leather case and placed it on the floor. He threw the gloves into the rubbish bin by Greg's dresser, and disappeared for a moment. He came back with a warm cloth. He cleaned Greg off. Stripped. And flopped back lazily onto the bed.
Greg still felt a bit detached form his own body. Swimming in a sea of strange neurotransmitters. But Sherlock pressed up against him. He wrapped his arms around the younger man instinctively. Part of him knew that he'd eventually have to get out of bed and finish up all the reports he'd started.
But he wanted to lay there for just a while longer.
Well, ask and ye shall receive. God I need sleep. See you next week, darlings.
xoxo