Fic - John/Sherlock - A Dozen More - NC-17
Title: A Dozen More
Prompt: Here on the meme: Spanking - I have this image of John making Sherlock totally immobile and really dishing it out, talking dirty a little 'cause he can't help it, with Sherlock barely able to breathe because it's so overwhelming and intense. Bonus points for Sherlock coming in the sheets just from getting his bum smacked.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17. Fo' real.
Contains: Smut, spanking, language, BDSM and D/s themes.
Word Count: ~2600
Notes: Written in the wee small hours of the morning, absolutely irredeemable PWP. This could probably be read as a follow-up to High on Sensation, though it wasn't written as such. Enjoy! :)
‘Roll over for me, love,’ John murmured as he licked around Sherlock’s outer ear, both of his hands running up and down Sherlock’s sides. ‘On your front, that’s it,’ he said, moving one leg over Sherlock’s back so he was kneeling over him. ‘Arms up,’ John said, trailing his fingers up Sherlock’s biceps and forearms then the backs of his hands once he’d stretched his arms over the pillows and towards the headboard. ‘Good boy,’ John praised, biting gently at the back of Sherlock’s neck, nuzzling into the dark curls at Sherlock’s nape. ‘You’re such a good boy.’
Sherlock released a shuddering breath and flexed his wrists against John’s hands where they’d settled, wrapped tightly around the thin, wiry joint. ‘Do you want me to spank you, Sherlock?’ he asked as though he was enquiring as to whether Sherlock fancied toast for breakfast, though in a low whisper and with a firm squeeze to his wrists that drove Sherlock to sink his teeth into his bottom lip, and whimper slightly. ‘Hm?’ John said, his nose brushing just behind Sherlock’s ear, his breath ghosting over Sherlock’s skin. Oh, yes. John knew exactly how to make it all go away, how to make everything quiet and still and calm. He nodded.
‘I want to hear you say it,’ John whispered, sucking a bruise onto the junction of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, moving across to do the same at the top of his spine. ‘Go on, Sherlock.’
His skin flushing pink, Sherlock closed his eyes and frowned slightly, pressing his lips together for a brief moment before he spoke. ‘I want you to spank me, John,’ he mumbled, stretching out underneath John, pushing his bum up slightly.
‘Ask nicely,’ John said, his voice taking on a steely edge as his grip on Sherlock’s wrists tightened almost imperceptibly.
‘Please, John,’ Sherlock said, a shudder running up his spine. ‘Please, John, spank me, hit me, mark me, make me yours, John, please.’
‘Fuck,’ John growled, yanking Sherlock’s wrists up and shoving them against the headboard, using his free hand to grab the cuffs and the length of rope they used on such occasions as this. He strapped the black leather cuffs tightly around Sherlock’s wrists and threaded the rope through the D-rings on them before lashing Sherlock to the bed with an intricate combination of knots he’d learnt in Scouts as a boy. ‘Tight enough?’ he asked Sherlock, who nodded, his throat dry. ‘Good,’ John said, running his hands lightly down from Sherlock’s fingertips, arms, then his sides and down his legs, moving backwards as he went. ‘Lovely,’ he murmured, pressing several little kisses to Sherlock’s inner thighs. ‘Good boy.’
Sherlock began to breathe heavier in anticipation of what was coming and shifted frantically on the bed, his head moving from side to side, his hips trapping and providing a bit of friction for his hardening cock.
‘Settle,’ John barked, his tone indicating that there would be no arguing. Sherlock immediately stilled. ‘That’s it,’ John whispered, running the rough, dry palm of his hand over Sherlock’s buttocks, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. ‘Gorgeous, Sherlock. That’s it. That’s it, there’s a good boy,’ he purred, keeping his hands running over Sherlock’s arse as he kissed his way down Sherlock’s spine, open-mouthed, leaving a wet trail behind him. ‘Such a good boy, that’s it, nice and still,’ he whispered, gently squeezing Sherlock’s bum before he began to kiss that, too, gentle and warm.
Letting another small whimper escape, Sherlock sank into the mattress, his bones taking on the consistency of melted wax as John continued to stroke and kiss and murmur gently. He pulled against his restraints to test them and shivered and hissed when he found he was completely unable to move his hands.
‘Yes, that’s it, good boy, good boy,’ John said, running his hand up the back of Sherlock’s neck and into his hair, applying exactly the right amount of pressure to Sherlock’s scalp with his fingertips and just a hint of his nails and oh, yes, Sherlock thought. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. ‘Good boy,’ John said again, his hand moving amongst Sherlock’s curls. ‘Lovely thing, so relaxed and beautiful, aren’t you? So good, so lovely, so--’
SMACK.
Sherlock gasped raggedly at the unexpected hard blow. ‘John,’ he hissed, tugging against the cuffs and shoving his hips down into the mattress underneath him. John hit him again; five times in quick succession, one after the other after the other after the other after the other.
‘John, John!’ Sherlock cried, lifting his head, his neck twisted as he tried to look at John.
‘Shh, shh,’ John murmured, rubbing over where his palm had just landed, soothing the sting. He kissed Sherlock’s shoulder blade, grazed the skin gently with his teeth. ‘Lie down now, settle, come on, that’s it, good boy, good boy,’ he said, rubbing Sherlock’s skin, kneading out the knots of tension in his upper back.
Sherlock released a shaky breath as he lay back down again, went quiet and pliant under John’s hands. ‘There we are,’ John said, his hands moving down to give Sherlock’s hips a gentle squeeze before he slid his left hand around to stroke Sherlock’s cock slowly for a moment, thumb rubbing insistently just under the head. Moaning, Sherlock closed his eyes. ‘How does that feel, love?’ John asked, his right hand rubbing and pinching gently at Sherlock’s bum.
‘Good,’ Sherlock whispered, swallowing. ‘Intense.’
‘Mmm,’ John replied, taking his hand away after another moment and concentrating on Sherlock’s backside, bending to lick and kiss and nibble as he stroked and pinched and squeezed at the same time.
‘Oh,’ Sherlock mumbled, worrying his bee-stung bottom lip with his teeth again. ‘John.’
John laughed softly and moved up to kiss Sherlock’s neck again, sucking and biting hard, clearly determined to make a mark, because oh, oh, was that going to mark, and it --
SMACK.
‘John!’ Sherlock cried, and he’d done it again, God only knew how John had done it again, managed to get him loose and calm and distracted and entirely unexpecting of what he knew, he knew was coming and oh, three more, hard, one, two three, and then, and then, had he stopped? Why had he stopped? Sherlock didn’t want -- oh! He arched and writhed as John brought his palm into contact with Sherlock’s arse again, he lost count after seven and it was glorious: hard and fast and yes.
His skin burnt and tingled when John took his hand away after a minute. ‘Mmm, John,’ he moaned, crying out wordlessly, his body jerking desperately when John grabbed a handful of reddened skin and dug his nails in.
‘Settle,’ John snarled, and another half-dozen blows landed on Sherlock’s backside, a pause lulling him into a false sense of security before a seventh one hit home, then an eighth, a ninth, a tenth, each harder and faster than the last. Sherlock whimpered loudly and tried to keep still, he really did, but oh God, oh God, John’s nails were scraping at his pink skin again, hot and sharp and-- ‘Am I going to have to keep you still myself?’ John growled, his mouth against Sherlock’s ear, warm and wet, and Sherlock couldn’t help but shiver at his tone.
‘No,’ Sherlock gasped, swallowing, closing his eyes. ‘No, no John, I can be good, I’ll... I can...’
‘See that you do,’ John murmured, and then his palm was flying into Sherlock’s arse again, and Sherlock knew that John would be keeping his wrist loose so that it would be harder, quicker, that much more painful. Sherlock gasped and whimpered again but managed to keep relatively still, his fingers grasping at the bars of the headboard as he began to rock back into John’s blows.
‘Oh, good boy,’ John said, pausing a moment before his next slap to Sherlock’s arse, his fingers curling round the gentle curve and slope of Sherlock’s buttocks. ‘That’s it, you want it, don’t you? You want this so much, you’re such a good boy, Sherlock, such a good boy,’ he said quietly, rubbing Sherlock’s now bright red skin, his fingertips ghosting over the abused flesh.
Sherlock gasped, taking in a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, feeling as though he was floating, his mind blissfully blank. John landed several quick, light smacks to the bottom of his arse and continued down the backs and insides of his thighs, then higher up on his arse and back down again, one after another after another, over and over, light and teasing, and oh, it made his skin sing. He moaned and sighed his approval and the smacks got steadily harder, more irregular, difficult to predict with John’s full strength behind them. SMACK. ‘John!’ he cried. SMACK. ‘John, fuck!’
‘Yeah, that’s it, that’s right, that’s good, Sherlock, that’s good,’ John muttered, his voice low and distracted. ‘Beautiful,’ he growled, grabbing two handfuls of reddened, sore flesh and pinching, sinking his nails into Sherlock’s buttocks again, scratching hard.
Sherlock tried to keep still, he really did, but fuck, fuck, that hurt, and he wanted more, more of everything, more of John, more of John’s hand, more friction to his aching cock as he bucked off the bed and writhed, crying out in pain and need. ‘Please!’ he howled, the word forcing itself past his lips, ‘Please, John, please, please, please...’
‘I thought I told you to keep still,’ John snarled into Sherlock’s ear, and then there was a solid weight on the back of his thighs and an unrelenting pressure on the back of his neck and his face was being shoved into the pillow underneath his head just as his legs were being pinned in place by John. ‘Now do as you’re fucking well told, Sherlock,’ he murmured, low and dangerous, and Sherlock gasped, nodding desperately as best he could with John’s hand holding him against the mattress.
John shifted and gave no indication of the blow that was to come. He hit Sherlock hard, hard enough to make him cry out. ‘You want more, is that it?’ John said, bringing his dominant left hand down again, catching Sherlock in the same place, then again, then again, then again. ‘Greedy, desperate little thing, aren’t you, always after more, more stimulation, that’s it, isn’t it?’ he purred into Sherlock’s ear as he squeezed the hand round Sherlock’s neck and pushed Sherlock’s hips into the mattress by pushing his own hips against Sherlock’s bright red arse.
‘Yes, John, yes,’ Sherlock gasped, his chest tight as he tried to breathe through the next onslaught of smacks from John: irregular, bruising, punishing. ‘I need--’
‘Tell me what you need,’ John said, moving his hand away from Sherlock’s neck and biting it again, shoving his hips against Sherlock’s arse again, making Sherlock cry out wordlessly. ‘Look at me, tell me what you need, Sherlock,’ he ordered, fisting his hand in Sherlock’s hair to turn his head. Sherlock shifted his unfocused gaze to John’s face and opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t quite find the words.
‘I... I...’
‘Come on, Sherlock,’ John said firmly, though his tone wasn’t unkind as he stroked Sherlock’s hair, rubbing his own cock against Sherlock’s arse. ‘Come on, you know what you want.’
‘To... to come,’ Sherlock breathed. ‘I want to come. Please, John.’
‘That’s it, that’s it, good boy,’ John whispered, reaching underneath Sherlock and giving his dripping cock several firm strokes. ‘You get a dozen more, as hard as I can give them,’ he said. ‘Ready?’
Sherlock nodded.
‘Say it, Sherlock,’ John ordered.
‘Please, please hit me, John,’ Sherlock gabbled, ‘please.’
‘Good,’ John murmured, landing the first blow, making Sherlock twist on the bed and yell. John was still sitting on the backs of his thighs, but it increased the pressure on his cock from where it was sandwiched between his own body and the mattress.
‘John, more, more,’ Sherlock begged, his fingers and toes flexing and unflexing as he thrust as best he could against the mattress.
‘Count,’ John said, hitting him again.
‘Two!’ Sherlock gasped, hips pushed down. Blow number three landed, then four. ‘Three, oh, four,’ he sighed. John pinched his arse hard for a brief moment before smacking Sherlock for a fifth time.
‘F-five,’ he sobbed, and he could feel his climax building, could feel that he was about to come, if only John kept up what he was doing and seven more, seven wasn’t a--
Six, seven, eight and nine all came straight after one another, brutally hard as Sherlock writhed and rutted and whined underneath John’s hand, underneath John’s hips. He moved his mouth to say the numbers but couldn’t get any sound out. Tears sprung to his eyes as John carried on anyway, blindingly fast, ten, eleven, twelve, then more and more and more and more and more and Sherlock gave a strangled half-scream as he came, shuddering hard underneath John.
He gasped in a deep breath, the sound loud as he continued to shake, barely registering John’s moans above him, the fact that John was gasping for breath too, hissing ‘Sherlock, Sherlock, fuck,’ and the wet sounds of John working his cock frantically, another hiss of his name and finally, finally, the warm sensation of John’s come falling in thin ropes onto Sherlock’s very red arse.
‘Fuck,’ John muttered after a pause in which all that could be heard was their laboured breathing, falling to lie on top of Sherlock. ‘You’re incredible,’ he murmured, kissing the back of Sherlock’s neck, just over where he’d bruised it. With a groan, he reached up to undo Sherlock’s restraints and sat up, pulling Sherlock’s hands back into his lap and rubbing feeling back into his wrists. ‘You were so good, Sherlock, so perfect, so beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, I fucking love taking you apart like that, Jesus...’
Sherlock twitched his lips at John’s rambling and yawned, his mind dazed and empty. He sighed and smiled into his pillow as John continued to talk under his breath as he checked Sherlock for injuries as he always did and rubbed soothing lotion into his arse to stop it from being too sore.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled when John got them both under the sheets, shuffling closer to John on his stomach, resting his head in John’s lap. John moved his hands into Sherlock’s hair and stroked the tousled, slightly sweaty curls gently.
‘Head nice and quiet now?’ John asked, his voice fond.
Sherlock nodded.
‘Incredibly so,’ he murmured, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Prompt: Here on the meme: Spanking - I have this image of John making Sherlock totally immobile and really dishing it out, talking dirty a little 'cause he can't help it, with Sherlock barely able to breathe because it's so overwhelming and intense. Bonus points for Sherlock coming in the sheets just from getting his bum smacked.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17. Fo' real.
Contains: Smut, spanking, language, BDSM and D/s themes.
Word Count: ~2600
Notes: Written in the wee small hours of the morning, absolutely irredeemable PWP. This could probably be read as a follow-up to High on Sensation, though it wasn't written as such. Enjoy! :)
‘Roll over for me, love,’ John murmured as he licked around Sherlock’s outer ear, both of his hands running up and down Sherlock’s sides. ‘On your front, that’s it,’ he said, moving one leg over Sherlock’s back so he was kneeling over him. ‘Arms up,’ John said, trailing his fingers up Sherlock’s biceps and forearms then the backs of his hands once he’d stretched his arms over the pillows and towards the headboard. ‘Good boy,’ John praised, biting gently at the back of Sherlock’s neck, nuzzling into the dark curls at Sherlock’s nape. ‘You’re such a good boy.’
Sherlock released a shuddering breath and flexed his wrists against John’s hands where they’d settled, wrapped tightly around the thin, wiry joint. ‘Do you want me to spank you, Sherlock?’ he asked as though he was enquiring as to whether Sherlock fancied toast for breakfast, though in a low whisper and with a firm squeeze to his wrists that drove Sherlock to sink his teeth into his bottom lip, and whimper slightly. ‘Hm?’ John said, his nose brushing just behind Sherlock’s ear, his breath ghosting over Sherlock’s skin. Oh, yes. John knew exactly how to make it all go away, how to make everything quiet and still and calm. He nodded.
‘I want to hear you say it,’ John whispered, sucking a bruise onto the junction of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, moving across to do the same at the top of his spine. ‘Go on, Sherlock.’
His skin flushing pink, Sherlock closed his eyes and frowned slightly, pressing his lips together for a brief moment before he spoke. ‘I want you to spank me, John,’ he mumbled, stretching out underneath John, pushing his bum up slightly.
‘Ask nicely,’ John said, his voice taking on a steely edge as his grip on Sherlock’s wrists tightened almost imperceptibly.
‘Please, John,’ Sherlock said, a shudder running up his spine. ‘Please, John, spank me, hit me, mark me, make me yours, John, please.’
‘Fuck,’ John growled, yanking Sherlock’s wrists up and shoving them against the headboard, using his free hand to grab the cuffs and the length of rope they used on such occasions as this. He strapped the black leather cuffs tightly around Sherlock’s wrists and threaded the rope through the D-rings on them before lashing Sherlock to the bed with an intricate combination of knots he’d learnt in Scouts as a boy. ‘Tight enough?’ he asked Sherlock, who nodded, his throat dry. ‘Good,’ John said, running his hands lightly down from Sherlock’s fingertips, arms, then his sides and down his legs, moving backwards as he went. ‘Lovely,’ he murmured, pressing several little kisses to Sherlock’s inner thighs. ‘Good boy.’
Sherlock began to breathe heavier in anticipation of what was coming and shifted frantically on the bed, his head moving from side to side, his hips trapping and providing a bit of friction for his hardening cock.
‘Settle,’ John barked, his tone indicating that there would be no arguing. Sherlock immediately stilled. ‘That’s it,’ John whispered, running the rough, dry palm of his hand over Sherlock’s buttocks, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. ‘Gorgeous, Sherlock. That’s it. That’s it, there’s a good boy,’ he purred, keeping his hands running over Sherlock’s arse as he kissed his way down Sherlock’s spine, open-mouthed, leaving a wet trail behind him. ‘Such a good boy, that’s it, nice and still,’ he whispered, gently squeezing Sherlock’s bum before he began to kiss that, too, gentle and warm.
Letting another small whimper escape, Sherlock sank into the mattress, his bones taking on the consistency of melted wax as John continued to stroke and kiss and murmur gently. He pulled against his restraints to test them and shivered and hissed when he found he was completely unable to move his hands.
‘Yes, that’s it, good boy, good boy,’ John said, running his hand up the back of Sherlock’s neck and into his hair, applying exactly the right amount of pressure to Sherlock’s scalp with his fingertips and just a hint of his nails and oh, yes, Sherlock thought. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. ‘Good boy,’ John said again, his hand moving amongst Sherlock’s curls. ‘Lovely thing, so relaxed and beautiful, aren’t you? So good, so lovely, so--’
SMACK.
Sherlock gasped raggedly at the unexpected hard blow. ‘John,’ he hissed, tugging against the cuffs and shoving his hips down into the mattress underneath him. John hit him again; five times in quick succession, one after the other after the other after the other after the other.
‘John, John!’ Sherlock cried, lifting his head, his neck twisted as he tried to look at John.
‘Shh, shh,’ John murmured, rubbing over where his palm had just landed, soothing the sting. He kissed Sherlock’s shoulder blade, grazed the skin gently with his teeth. ‘Lie down now, settle, come on, that’s it, good boy, good boy,’ he said, rubbing Sherlock’s skin, kneading out the knots of tension in his upper back.
Sherlock released a shaky breath as he lay back down again, went quiet and pliant under John’s hands. ‘There we are,’ John said, his hands moving down to give Sherlock’s hips a gentle squeeze before he slid his left hand around to stroke Sherlock’s cock slowly for a moment, thumb rubbing insistently just under the head. Moaning, Sherlock closed his eyes. ‘How does that feel, love?’ John asked, his right hand rubbing and pinching gently at Sherlock’s bum.
‘Good,’ Sherlock whispered, swallowing. ‘Intense.’
‘Mmm,’ John replied, taking his hand away after another moment and concentrating on Sherlock’s backside, bending to lick and kiss and nibble as he stroked and pinched and squeezed at the same time.
‘Oh,’ Sherlock mumbled, worrying his bee-stung bottom lip with his teeth again. ‘John.’
John laughed softly and moved up to kiss Sherlock’s neck again, sucking and biting hard, clearly determined to make a mark, because oh, oh, was that going to mark, and it --
SMACK.
‘John!’ Sherlock cried, and he’d done it again, God only knew how John had done it again, managed to get him loose and calm and distracted and entirely unexpecting of what he knew, he knew was coming and oh, three more, hard, one, two three, and then, and then, had he stopped? Why had he stopped? Sherlock didn’t want -- oh! He arched and writhed as John brought his palm into contact with Sherlock’s arse again, he lost count after seven and it was glorious: hard and fast and yes.
His skin burnt and tingled when John took his hand away after a minute. ‘Mmm, John,’ he moaned, crying out wordlessly, his body jerking desperately when John grabbed a handful of reddened skin and dug his nails in.
‘Settle,’ John snarled, and another half-dozen blows landed on Sherlock’s backside, a pause lulling him into a false sense of security before a seventh one hit home, then an eighth, a ninth, a tenth, each harder and faster than the last. Sherlock whimpered loudly and tried to keep still, he really did, but oh God, oh God, John’s nails were scraping at his pink skin again, hot and sharp and-- ‘Am I going to have to keep you still myself?’ John growled, his mouth against Sherlock’s ear, warm and wet, and Sherlock couldn’t help but shiver at his tone.
‘No,’ Sherlock gasped, swallowing, closing his eyes. ‘No, no John, I can be good, I’ll... I can...’
‘See that you do,’ John murmured, and then his palm was flying into Sherlock’s arse again, and Sherlock knew that John would be keeping his wrist loose so that it would be harder, quicker, that much more painful. Sherlock gasped and whimpered again but managed to keep relatively still, his fingers grasping at the bars of the headboard as he began to rock back into John’s blows.
‘Oh, good boy,’ John said, pausing a moment before his next slap to Sherlock’s arse, his fingers curling round the gentle curve and slope of Sherlock’s buttocks. ‘That’s it, you want it, don’t you? You want this so much, you’re such a good boy, Sherlock, such a good boy,’ he said quietly, rubbing Sherlock’s now bright red skin, his fingertips ghosting over the abused flesh.
Sherlock gasped, taking in a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, feeling as though he was floating, his mind blissfully blank. John landed several quick, light smacks to the bottom of his arse and continued down the backs and insides of his thighs, then higher up on his arse and back down again, one after another after another, over and over, light and teasing, and oh, it made his skin sing. He moaned and sighed his approval and the smacks got steadily harder, more irregular, difficult to predict with John’s full strength behind them. SMACK. ‘John!’ he cried. SMACK. ‘John, fuck!’
‘Yeah, that’s it, that’s right, that’s good, Sherlock, that’s good,’ John muttered, his voice low and distracted. ‘Beautiful,’ he growled, grabbing two handfuls of reddened, sore flesh and pinching, sinking his nails into Sherlock’s buttocks again, scratching hard.
Sherlock tried to keep still, he really did, but fuck, fuck, that hurt, and he wanted more, more of everything, more of John, more of John’s hand, more friction to his aching cock as he bucked off the bed and writhed, crying out in pain and need. ‘Please!’ he howled, the word forcing itself past his lips, ‘Please, John, please, please, please...’
‘I thought I told you to keep still,’ John snarled into Sherlock’s ear, and then there was a solid weight on the back of his thighs and an unrelenting pressure on the back of his neck and his face was being shoved into the pillow underneath his head just as his legs were being pinned in place by John. ‘Now do as you’re fucking well told, Sherlock,’ he murmured, low and dangerous, and Sherlock gasped, nodding desperately as best he could with John’s hand holding him against the mattress.
John shifted and gave no indication of the blow that was to come. He hit Sherlock hard, hard enough to make him cry out. ‘You want more, is that it?’ John said, bringing his dominant left hand down again, catching Sherlock in the same place, then again, then again, then again. ‘Greedy, desperate little thing, aren’t you, always after more, more stimulation, that’s it, isn’t it?’ he purred into Sherlock’s ear as he squeezed the hand round Sherlock’s neck and pushed Sherlock’s hips into the mattress by pushing his own hips against Sherlock’s bright red arse.
‘Yes, John, yes,’ Sherlock gasped, his chest tight as he tried to breathe through the next onslaught of smacks from John: irregular, bruising, punishing. ‘I need--’
‘Tell me what you need,’ John said, moving his hand away from Sherlock’s neck and biting it again, shoving his hips against Sherlock’s arse again, making Sherlock cry out wordlessly. ‘Look at me, tell me what you need, Sherlock,’ he ordered, fisting his hand in Sherlock’s hair to turn his head. Sherlock shifted his unfocused gaze to John’s face and opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t quite find the words.
‘I... I...’
‘Come on, Sherlock,’ John said firmly, though his tone wasn’t unkind as he stroked Sherlock’s hair, rubbing his own cock against Sherlock’s arse. ‘Come on, you know what you want.’
‘To... to come,’ Sherlock breathed. ‘I want to come. Please, John.’
‘That’s it, that’s it, good boy,’ John whispered, reaching underneath Sherlock and giving his dripping cock several firm strokes. ‘You get a dozen more, as hard as I can give them,’ he said. ‘Ready?’
Sherlock nodded.
‘Say it, Sherlock,’ John ordered.
‘Please, please hit me, John,’ Sherlock gabbled, ‘please.’
‘Good,’ John murmured, landing the first blow, making Sherlock twist on the bed and yell. John was still sitting on the backs of his thighs, but it increased the pressure on his cock from where it was sandwiched between his own body and the mattress.
‘John, more, more,’ Sherlock begged, his fingers and toes flexing and unflexing as he thrust as best he could against the mattress.
‘Count,’ John said, hitting him again.
‘Two!’ Sherlock gasped, hips pushed down. Blow number three landed, then four. ‘Three, oh, four,’ he sighed. John pinched his arse hard for a brief moment before smacking Sherlock for a fifth time.
‘F-five,’ he sobbed, and he could feel his climax building, could feel that he was about to come, if only John kept up what he was doing and seven more, seven wasn’t a--
Six, seven, eight and nine all came straight after one another, brutally hard as Sherlock writhed and rutted and whined underneath John’s hand, underneath John’s hips. He moved his mouth to say the numbers but couldn’t get any sound out. Tears sprung to his eyes as John carried on anyway, blindingly fast, ten, eleven, twelve, then more and more and more and more and more and Sherlock gave a strangled half-scream as he came, shuddering hard underneath John.
He gasped in a deep breath, the sound loud as he continued to shake, barely registering John’s moans above him, the fact that John was gasping for breath too, hissing ‘Sherlock, Sherlock, fuck,’ and the wet sounds of John working his cock frantically, another hiss of his name and finally, finally, the warm sensation of John’s come falling in thin ropes onto Sherlock’s very red arse.
‘Fuck,’ John muttered after a pause in which all that could be heard was their laboured breathing, falling to lie on top of Sherlock. ‘You’re incredible,’ he murmured, kissing the back of Sherlock’s neck, just over where he’d bruised it. With a groan, he reached up to undo Sherlock’s restraints and sat up, pulling Sherlock’s hands back into his lap and rubbing feeling back into his wrists. ‘You were so good, Sherlock, so perfect, so beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, I fucking love taking you apart like that, Jesus...’
Sherlock twitched his lips at John’s rambling and yawned, his mind dazed and empty. He sighed and smiled into his pillow as John continued to talk under his breath as he checked Sherlock for injuries as he always did and rubbed soothing lotion into his arse to stop it from being too sore.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled when John got them both under the sheets, shuffling closer to John on his stomach, resting his head in John’s lap. John moved his hands into Sherlock’s hair and stroked the tousled, slightly sweaty curls gently.
‘Head nice and quiet now?’ John asked, his voice fond.
Sherlock nodded.
‘Incredibly so,’ he murmured, and fell into a dreamless sleep.