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“How do you feel about fisting?”
John, in the middle of a bite of spaghetti at Angelo’s, sputtered and set down his fork. “Sherlock, we are in public.”
“I’ll never understand why talking about sex, of all things, in front of people is taboo. Besides, no one is listening to us, and the booths cancel sound. You want to, right?”
John sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, glancing around nervously. “Though it seems a bit one-sided.”
“But it’s not. I dare say I enjoy doing it to you as much as you enjoy receiving. You’re so expressive; your voice, your movements, everything. Just watching you and feeling you, it’s unbelievable…” he trailed off, the faintest blush creeping over his cheeks. “Please, can we?”
“Did you just say please?”
“It’s your anus.”
John tried and failed to groan. Instead, he found it impossible to hold back a chortle. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
“You’re agreeing then?”
John laughed again. “Yes. I- just, can we talk about this more in private?”
Sherlock grinned. “Oh, we will, don’t worry about that.”
*****
“Okay. So what would this entail? I assume you’ve already researched it to the most minute detail,” John asked when they arrived home.
“I’ve looked into it, yes. Wash with this so you’ll be less self-conscious.” He tossed a large, unmarked white package John’s way.
John opened the box to find a large steel shower apparatus. “Well. This looks… expensive.”
“60 pounds," Sherlock said with a dismissive motion of his wrist. "There are instructions in there, though it should be self-explanatory. Just don’t be too rough.” John stared at him with a little smirk. Oh, damn, was it too much? Should he have waited until John had said yes to buy it? But of course he was going to say yes, so why waste the time? He was starting to feel embarrassed. “I've a paper to finish. Come to my room in an hour.” He didn’t wait for a response before heading up the stairs with his laptop.
Like clockwork, John appeared at the doorway in a blue terry towel an hour later. Sherlock waited a few beats for him to step in, before looking up and beckoning him with his hand. John walked over, keeping the towel on. His anxiety was painfully obvious; but at the same time, Sherlock could see how excited the idea made him by the flush of his skin and the slight dilation of his pupils. Good. All he needed was a bit of reassurance. Sherlock got up and fished out a latex glove and a bottle of lubricant from the bedside table. He wriggled the glove on- tight, like a second skin, just what he needed. He then put his hands over the sides of John’s arms and leaned over his ear- oh, god, he could nearly smell the anticipation on him.
“John, please dismiss any doubts you're harboring about this. You know I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to." He heard John laugh quietly. "I want to do this to you, with you. Please just lay back and enjoy it.”
"Yeah, okay." John nodded and tossed the towel to the floor. He still seemed a bit uncomfortable, but certainly more confident than before. Sherlock smiled with relief- he’d soon make him forget what nervousness was. He pushed John down by his shoulders and kissed him.
It was a slow kiss, but the promise of what was to come made just lips and the faintest touch of tongues fiery in the bottom of Sherlock’s stomach. As it deepened, Sherlock’s hands found their way to John’s hair, his chest. He didn’t pinch or scratch, just stroked tantalizingly at John’s lightly tanned skin.
When Sherlock started to feel John’s cock stiffen against his thigh, he pulled away. He began to nibble where he knew John was especially sensitive- the back of his ear, the junction where his armpit met his shoulder, the spot in between the right side of his neck and clavicle. Each bite made John sigh or gasp- always so expressive. John’s skin was soft under his fingertips as he stroked over his nipples, down his muscled stomach. He could see his cock jutting out from his body, already hard with a little drop of precome at the tip. Sherlock wanted to lean over and lap it clean. No. Later, Sherlock chastised himself. This had to be taken slowly.
He traced fingertips along John’s torso, feeling the firm contours of his muscles. Still so taught, after all this time. Sherlock began to place wet, worshipful kisses down his obliques, tracing down their sharp angle to his crotch. At this, John let out a soft groan and placed a hand on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock looked up at him- and fuck did he look scrumptious with his cheeks flushed baby pink, the blue of his eyes almost obscured by huge dark pupils.
Sherlock sucked just above John’s dark patch of pubic hair, maintaining eye contact as he moved torturously slowly down. Finally, when he reached the tip of John’s cock, he cleared his throat. “Would you me to stimulate your penis, or just your prostate?”
“My god, you have a way with dirty talk.” Sherlock grinned and responded by steadying the base of John’s cock with his hand and licking a slow stripe up. John gasped, rocking into it, before drawing back to push Sherlock away gently. “No, not like that. Um, not today at least.”
Sherlock pulled back and tossed his legs to the side of the bed. “Just a moment.” His cock was beginning to strain against his trousers, which would have been tolerable if they hadn’t been his tightest pair. He was beginning to worry he’d have a zipper-shaped imprint on his cock all week. John made no attempt to hide his staring as Sherlock tore off his pants and trousers, leaving him in only a loose button-up.
“Christ, Sherlock. You sexy- fuck. I’m going to suck you senseless after this, until you can’t see straight. You love it when I suck you down, I know you do.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “John, stop that.”
“Stop what?” he asked innocently. “I’m just stating a fact.” Sherlock tried to glare at him, but couldn't stop a little smirk from forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Enough. Do you want my fist up you or not?” He asked, licking down the inside of John's thigh.
John’s eyelids gave a little flutter. “Oh, god, I do.”
Good. Sherlock responded with a kiss to the outside of his arse, making John shiver. “Me too. Let’s get started then, shall we?” Sherlock grasped John’s legs and held them apart with his hands. He lingered, teasing his way to John’s hole- sucking, nibbling, kissing around it until John was quivering and moaning for more. When he finally pointed the tip of his tongue at the center of John’s pucker, a hand reached out and grabbed at his hair. Sherlock thrust his tongue inside, making John let out a sweet moan as the fingers in Sherlock’s hair tightened.
Sherlock worked up to a rougher pace, tongue-fucking John with his whole mouth. “Oh, fuck! I- Sherlock- it, more.” Sherlock hummed a sound of assent, the little vibrations making John shiver, and pulled back.
As quickly as he could, he lubed up his gloved hand and returned with a soft lick. He slipped his finger to the first knuckle inside John, just barely moving it in and out. John groaned. “Aw, Sherlock, you know you can start with a bit more than that,” he said with a strained voice. “Don’t tease.” Sherlock wasted no time adding another finger and pushing both fully inside. A satisfied moan escaped John’s lips. “Oh, yes, that’s better.” Soon he was spewing a litany of “yes fuck more”s when Sherlock began aiming for his prostate every other thrust.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Sherlock added a third and fourth finger, along with copious amounts of lubricant. All the while, he peppered John’s thighs and pubic bone with wet kisses. John didn’t want his cock touched now, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about lathing and sucking the skin all around it. And judging from the sounds he was making, Sherlock decided that he didn’t dislike it in the least.
Finally, Sherlock took a deep breath and added his thumb to the triangle of his fingers. He thrust in and out for a perhaps excessive amount of time, deepening his thrusts more slowly than he would have thought possible before. But he wasn’t getting impatient. No, when it came to John, Sherlock felt he could have waited days, years to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt.
He stopped when his fingers reached just below the third knuckle. “John,” he said, his voice gravelly. John whimpered in response. “Ready now?”
John's hips thrust up lightly and he gasped. “Oh yes. Oh god- fill me, Sherlock, do it.”
Sherlock breathed in through his nose slowly. He forced his body to relax as he pressed up into John, but the skin was still a bit too tight. He started to have doubts as he worked the muscle looser. How could his knuckles ever get past? Damn his stupid gigantic hands. Still, he pushed in and out, taking comfort in a slow but definite progress. This would work. It would just take a while.
Then, it happened. The widest part of Sherlock’s hand slipped past the ring of John’s sphincter, and the rest of his hand was all but sucked in. His fingers closed involuntarily, forming a loose fist engulfed by tight heat. Sherlock stared, awed, at where they were joined. John cried out and began clawing at the sheets. “Oh my god. Oh god. Sherlock, god. It’s so much- I can’t- it-“
Sherlock snapped his eyes up. “Does it hurt? Should I take it out?”
“No no- fuck- don’t you dare. I-“ he trailed off again into breathless gasps.
Sherlock let out a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Now then, what would happen if he moved? Gently, he wriggled his fingers out the tiniest bit. John’s reaction was stunning- he shouted and shook, his back arching. Sherlock could see his eyes were wet, a soft wet trail running from his left cheek to ear. “Good?” Sherlock asked quietly after a moment.
John let out a sound halfway between a sob and a curse. “Sherlock, it’s- it’s like an earthquake.”
Satisfied, Sherlock repeated the move. John again jerked up and shouted incomprehensibly, something Sherlock made out as “aaahfuushho”. Fuck. He’d thought John’s reactions to the dildo last week had been delicious, but this was just incredible. He could see every little thing he was feeling through the quivering, the moaning, the fingers pulling his at his own hair, the white knuckles clenching the sheets.
Sherlock began to focus his touches against John’s prostate. Gently, so gently he pressed, knowing the slightest change in pressure could mean the difference between ecstasy and anguish. John’s face widened into a silent scream as he gasped. Sherlock backed off and pressed again, forming a deliberate, tiny rhythm.
It didn’t take long for John to start showing signs of his impending orgasm. His moans increased in tenor, his cock stiffened, his hips started canting in tiny little thrusts into Sherlock’s hand. Every movement made him cry out. So sensitive. Urgently, John grabbed Sherlock’s hair and pulled.
“Are you going to come?”
“Yes yes oh fuck I can’t it’s so big don’t stop…” John’s voice was strained, high, desperate. As if Sherlock even could stop at this point. He rocked his fingers back and forth, kissing John’s right thigh while caressing the left.
“There we go. Come on, come for me, I’ve got you just come now, come on John come.”
John tensed. Thick spurts of come shot out from his cock as he moaned incoherently, his legs and hips erratically jerking. God, it was gorgeous. John’s face had contorted into a beautiful vision of agony, his skin shiny slick with sweat as he let out a series of choked shouts and gasps. Sherlock wondered if he could come just from watching him, feeling him. His hand was squeezed almost painfully but he worked John though it, still making those tiny little motions inside him.
After a few long moments, the contractions began to ease. Sherlock started to reduce his movements when John made a surprised cry and arched his back off the mattress. “It- I- oooh…” His hand was gripped tight as John came again, tears running freely down his face. Sherlock moaned. Unreal. John’s hand grabbed at Sherlock’s hair and pulled hard. Sherlock felt his cock throbbing as he watched John writhe until, finally, he was finished. Sherlock had thought it was impossible for males to double orgasm, especially in such a short span of time. Fuck. Sherlock slipped out his hand as gingerly as he could, taking care to hold the end of the glove and not irritate John’s over-stimulated prostate.
When he was completely out, he pressed his forehead against John’s leg and grabbed his prick. He began pumping furiously at his stiff, wet cock, already hovering on the edge. It took barely a dozen stokes for him to come, spurting hard onto John’s shin.
As Sherlock was recovering his breath, he felt a hand grab at his hair and pull him up. John guided Sherlock to lay on top of him before loosening his grip and kissing him. He wrapped his arms and legs around Sherlock’s thin body, pulling him closer.
For a long time, there were no words, only the sounds of breathing and the occasional slick of overlapping tongues. Never in his life had Sherlock felt so intensely claimed, so loved.
After what seemed like hours, John broke the kiss. “I love you. So much.” He stroked the side of Sherlock’s face tenderly and kissed him again.
Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s and smiled. “I love you.” He kissed John’s cheek. “I love you and that was incredible and god thank you for letting me see you like-“ he was babbling, he knew, but he didn’t care. He meant it all.
John cut him off with another kiss, and the words drifted away into the room like echoes.