Chapter Text
John stands in the aisle of the local Sainsbury’s, staring at boxes of cereal, completely at a loss. He is doing the shopping for his mad, teenage genius of a lover, because there is no one in Sherlock’s house who will do it for him and Sherlock can’t ever be arsed to drag himself over to the shop. If it weren’t for John buying him groceries regularly, Sherlock would probably subsist on tea and air. John is fine doing the shopping for his teenage tyrant—that isn’t the problem. The problem stems from the fact that Sherlock is just about the pickiest eater that John has ever met and will only consume things which he knows he likes (most of which are unhealthy). However, John wants to be sure that Sherlock’s growing body and mind get the nutrition they need to thrive at his tender age. It is no secret that Sherlock is not easy on his “transport”, demanding long hours from it and near-bloody impossible miracles sometimes. When John buys him groceries, the doctor in him always wants to be sure that the nutritional value of the food outweighs whether or not Sherlock thinks it’s “icky”.
John sighs, staring down at two boxes of cereal, one of which he knows is Sherlock’s favourite and crammed full of sugar and preservatives, the other which is something decidedly more healthy and beneficial to his body.
John knows he’ll never hear the end of it if he gets Sherlock “boring adult cereal”, so he reluctantly picks up Sherlock’s favourite and makes his way to the front of the shop.
As John queues up to pay, he thinks about how Sherlock has always been a picky eater, ever since John has known him. It’s not that Sherlock won’t eat, ever. It’s just that he will only eat certain things and he’ll only eat something when he feels like eating it, and God help John if he tries to get Sherlock to completely finish what is on his plate, no matter how small of a bite is left.
John thinks it’s strange, but he has learned to deal with it over the months that he has known Sherlock. Since meeting Sherlock at the secondary school and getting closer to him, John has made it his mission to find foods that Sherlock will enjoy and will want to eat on a regular basis. It has been an ongoing battle, but the slight spreading of Sherlock’s slim waistline is all the motivation John needs to continue doing it.
After he pays for the shopping, he heads straight to Sherlock’s house, checking to make sure that Sherlock’s father isn’t home. The driveway is empty, as usual, so John parks his car and gathers the shopping up to take into the house, knowing they will have plenty of time to themselves.
He goes inside and doesn’t even make his way back to Sherlock’s bedroom, where John can hear his teenage lover, to say hello. He immediately heads to the cluttered kitchen where he begins putting away the shopping in any open space he can find in the cupboards and inside of the fridge, among various jars of fermenting animal body parts. When that is done, he contemplates everything that he just bought, trying to decide what he wants to make Sherlock for lunch. He thinks cheese toast will do—he knows that Sherlock has a soft spot for it. Maybe with a tall glass of milk.
Decision made, John goes about making Sherlock’s lunch, moving about the kitchen as if it were his own. He is sure that he utilises the room more than Sherlock does, anyways. After a few minutes, he knows when the noise he makes finally catches the attention of the genius; Sherlock makes his way slowly into the kitchen from his bedroom, eyes wary.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks him, glaring across the kitchen to where John is cooking his meal.
John ignores the face Sherlock pulls and goes about cooking. “I’m making you lunch.”
“I don’t want any,” comes the blunt statement.
John isn’t even put off in the least. “You’re going to eat it.”
He directs Sherlock towards the table, half-clean of its usual mess of unopened post and medical or forensic journals. It doesn’t take John long to finish up making the cheese toast, and when it is ready he puts it on a plate and makes Sherlock sit before setting the meal in front of him.
“Eat up,” he says happily, pulling out the chair next to Sherlock’s and sitting beside him.
“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock replies distractedly, mind already on something other than the food in front of him. John figures that he is off in his mind palace, going over whatever experiment John made him abandon just now.
“Sherlock,” John starts, his tone growing slightly hard and demanding, “do as I say. Now, please.”
“I’m not hungry, John!” Sherlock shouts out, pushing his plate away harshly and turning his nose up at the food in front of him.
John calmly nudges the plate back towards him, a stern look on his face. “Do that again and I’ll spank you,” he says evenly, voice level and steady. “Is that what you want?” They’ve never done that before, and that sort of thing has never been discussed while they play this way, but he won’t sit here and have Sherlock throw a tantrum all over a bit of food. It’s ridiculous. It’s high time that Sherlock learns that there are consequences to the way that he acts, even if John has to resort to such a thing as spanking him.
Sherlock looks at him with wide, surprised eyes. He seems shocked that John would threaten him with a spanking and he looks as if he wants to try to call John’s bluff. “You wouldn’t,” he responds, eyes narrowing.
“If you deserved it, I would,” John states matter-of-factly. “I’d put you right over my knee and redden that bottom until you couldn’t walk properly. That way everyone could tell what a naughty boy you are.” John tries to hold back a smile as he sees how his words affect Sherlock. The squirming, which reveals a tell-tale bulge in his lap, is all John needs to see to know that Sherlock likes the idea of what he is proposing very much. They’ve never talked about impact play before, but this is probably as good a time as any to bring it up.
“Would you like that, Sherlock?” he asks coolly, pretending to be unaffected by the topic. “Me punishing you when you don’t behave? Is that something you want me to do?” He knows that Sherlock likes a rough hand in bed sometimes, and that he likes it when John is possessive and dominating to a certain extent. John figures that he shouldn’t be surprised by Sherlock’s reaction to his words at the moment; this is just another aspect of domination, he supposes. It is control, with an undercurrent of discipline behind it. An idea which John can support wholeheartedly when it comes to his headstrong teenage lover.
Sherlock blushes and looks away, not answering John as he becomes very interested in a loose piece of thread on his clothes.
“Sherlock, look at me when I’m speaking to you, and answer me when I ask you a question. Do you want me to punish you when you misbehave?” John’s voice softens as he continues, “This is important, love.”
Sherlock looks up at John with a flaming blush on his cheeks. “I…er,” he mumbles out, then he looks away and shrugs with a hasty nod of his head.
John huffs out a half-exasperated laugh. “No, darling. This is too important to be vague about. Tell me what you want. Use your words.” He stares at Sherlock, who is watching him in return, and waits patiently for his answer with bated breath. If John is truthful with himself, he wants Sherlock to say yes. He very much wants Sherlock to say yes. It is something that he has been thinking of for a while now, but he hasn’t mentioned anything—or even thought of it outside of guilt-fuelled wanks in the shower—because he isn’t sure if Sherlock enjoys impact play, or even wants it. This whole kink is new to them and they are still feeling it out. They are having a lot of fun with it, and John is worried that changing things might ruin the delicate balance they have built around themselves.
But Jesus, he can’t stop thinking of bending Sherlock over his knee and smacking his plump little bottom until it’s red and raw and Sherlock is whimpering and straining against his lap, hard from John’s hand on his arse and begging to come.
“I, uh,” Sherlock clears his throat and looks away, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I think I wouldn’t mind terribly if you were to discipline me…on occasion…within reason!” he rushes to clarify, looking up at John suddenly with worry evident in his eyes.
John understands. It is scary giving up a part of yourself to another person like this, especially for someone as independent and wilful as Sherlock.
“Of course,” John responds, furrowing his brow. “I would never take advantage of our situation and try to use what we do to hurt you, Sherlock. And to prove it to you, I think that you should take a safeword.”
Sherlock just shakes his head at that. “No, I don’t need one. I trust you.”
John’s frown grows. “That’s very nice, but this isn’t negotiable. Pick one,” he orders, voice calm and clear. “Now.”
“All right,” Sherlock says on a shaky breath. He thinks for a small moment, and then says, “Arsenic.”
“Good,” John responds with a nod of his head. He doesn’t quite know where to go from here, because he suddenly wants very badly to kiss Sherlock. “Very good.”
“So, does that mean that you’re—that we’re going to…” Sherlock begins, but then trails off, sneaking John a furtive glance.
“To what?” John asks him, when it becomes clear that Sherlock isn’t going to finish his sentence.
“Do this properly?” Sherlock finishes, letting his eyes fall away from John. Instead of looking at him, Sherlock begins fiddling with the food on his plate which he had absolutely no interest in earlier.
John’s frown does not dissipate. “I don’t understand,” he tells Sherlock, his confusion growing. Sherlock’s words don’t make any sense—they are already doing what is required for this kind of kink. John has relented (albeit a bit enthusiastically) to being called “Daddy” and he pays extra attention to taking care of Sherlock when they have sex like this. He doesn’t know what else is left.
“When I’m your…little boy,” Sherlock begins, eyes still glued to his food. “You’ll discipline me if I don’t listen to you and we’ll do nonsexual stuff, too? Even if we don’t end up having sex?”
John still doesn’t understand. Sherlock doesn’t seem to be making much sense, which is strange for the teen, who prides himself on being clear and concise whenever he speaks. “What are you talking about, Sherlock?” John asks once again.
“Will you…will you still take care of me, even if I don’t want to have sex when we are playing like this?” Sherlock asks, blushing profusely and being sure not to look up from his plate. “Will you still take care of me the way you would normally do if we were to have sex at the end, just without the actual sex part sometimes?”
Oh. Now John understands.
He thinks.
“Do you want me to?” John asks, still slightly confused. He thought that most people who were into this sort of thing liked it specifically because it ended in sex all of the time. He is surprised to find that Sherlock is interested in getting something else entirely out of this game.
“I have to admit that it is rather…nice and…comforting when you do certain things for me and make sure that I am adequately seen to in manners that don’t pertain to sex all of the time.”
John looks at him, a strange emotion bubbling up inside his chest. “Sweetheart, are you trying to say that you like it when I take care of you in our normal life like you’re my little boy?”
A small flush of colour tints Sherlock’s cheeks and he still refuses to meet John’s eyes, but he answers him nonetheless. “I always like it when you take care of me. I like it when you remind me to go to school, and you bathe me, and you clean my cuts and check on my bruises, and make me food that I love and don’t put too much on my plate, and when you help me fall asleep when I can’t.” His voice is hushed in the silence of the kitchen around them.
John smiles knowingly. “So you like it when I act like a daddy even when we aren’t doing anything sexual?”
Sherlock shrugs, the movement meant to be nonchalant. “Maybe.”
John’s smile only grows. “Do you want me to act like a daddy sometimes, in our normal, everyday relationship?”
Sherlock shrugs again, not saying a word. His blush, though, grows in both colour and size.
“Hey, it’s fine. It’s all fine,” John hurries to assure him. John has looked up a little bit of research on age play since the last time he and Sherlock tried it. He has done rushed, anxious internet searches on his mobile while at work or on his laptop late at night before obsessively clearing his browser history. From these harried searches he has learned a bit about why this kink appeals to someone like Sherlock and he has to admit that he gets it, at least where Sherlock is concerned. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” John tells him. “I can see why you would like this sort of thing. You’re constantly going, Sherlock. You treat your body horribly and you drive yourself to the point of exhaustion and starvation. You’re constantly on edge, you snap at almost everyone and think they’re all idiots. I know that sometimes—a lot of the times—it can get to be too much, even for you. You never really had a childhood; you had to grow up so fast,” John explains, as if Sherlock doesn’t know any of this. He thinks about all of the abuse and neglect Sherlock has suffered through in his short life at the hands of his alcoholic father and the mother who left him as a child. “You never got the chance to enjoy a lot of the things that children just take for granted. Last time that we were together—when I gave you the soft toy—you said that this kink, this fetish…it wasn’t just for me,” John explains. “I know this means something to you, too.” He pauses and looks at Sherlock for a long moment before asking plainly, “You like when I take charge, when I take care of you, don’t you?”
Sherlock bites his lip and gives John a small nod.
John smiles and reaches out to brush Sherlock’s fringe off of his forehead, so that John can see him better. “That’s good, baby,” he says. “Because I like doing it, too. And not just when we are having sex. I like taking care of you during other times, too. I like making sure you eat and sleep. I like washing you and making sure your homework is done. I like that you trust me enough to make sure all of those things are done for you. I like that you trust me to keep you out of trouble. It feels nice, and good, and right. And you certainly need a lot of taking care of, which happens to be perfect for us because I don’t mind taking care of you one bit. I’d be thrilled to have the chance to do it more often. You don’t always give in so easily, you know,” he says with a sly smile thrown Sherlock’s way. “And I feel like adding this to our relationship would definitely help in my favour,” he finishes with a chuckle.
“I just don’t know about all of it,” Sherlock says, looking wary. “To do it every now and then during sex is one thing, a bit of dirty talk and some toys here and there. But to let it be part of our normal, everyday relationship is scary. It feels like I would be giving up a part of myself to you that I’ve never given to anyone before. I know we’ve had a bit of rough sex in the past, and I’ve loved it,” Sherlock rushes to clarify. “But this just feels…different.”
John makes a sound in the back of his throat and drags Sherlock closer to him by the nape of his neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Sherlock, I know it’s scary, but I also know that it’s something that you want,” he says. Suddenly, he begins to worry that he may have misinterpreted the whole thing. He knows, though, that it has been Sherlock who has been pushing for them to partake in this particular kink, it has been Sherlock who has told him time and time again that it is “fine”. This has all been Sherlock’s idea, because of Sherlock; John would never have given in to these desires on his own. “Isn’t it?” he asks nervously.
Sherlock, though, just nods without saying a word.
“Good boy,” John sighs in relief, bringing him in for a hug. “You’re my good boy. That’s what you want, after all, right? To be my good boy every once in a while? To leave all of the hard stuff in your life for me to deal with?” he asks, his tone soft.
“Yes,” Sherlock answers in a small voice, pressing his face to John’s shoulder. “I guess I just didn’t know exactly what it would all entail, how it would feel to finally do this. To give up this part of myself this way.” John chuckles softly because that sounds exactly like Sherlock: not bothering to look before he leaps. “I liked the thought and the idea of it, but actually doing it is something different. I’m…” he trails off and hides his face deeper in John’s jumper. “I’m afraid that I won’t know how to give in to you like this, while we are doing this. I don’t know how to give myself up to someone so entirely.”
John smiles into Sherlock’s curls. “That’s okay, baby. We’ll learn together, yeah? I don’t think it matters that you don’t know how to give yourself up entirely. All that matters is the fact that you want me to take care of you. You want me to feed you, and dress you, and bathe you, and buy you toys, right? Read you stories and give you cuddles? Don’t you?”
Sherlock nods his head, not answering John.
“We could get you another soft toy,” John says, his face flushing hotly as he thinks about buying his teenage lover more children’s toys. “Or some building blocks and books. There’s lots of things we could do with those.” It is slightly embarrassing, talking to a genius who is half his age with an IQ twice that of his own about toys of all things, but John is determined to get over it because this is something that they both desperately want. It will take some time for him to get comfortable with the idea of buying Sherlock children’s things, and he knows the only way to overcome his unease is to jump into the middle of it.
Sherlock mumbles something into John’s shoulder, still hiding his face.
“What was that, sweetheart?” John asks, curious. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I asked if I can I have crayons.”
John laughs and hugs Sherlock tighter, pressing kisses to the crown of his head and down the side of his face. “Silly kitten,” he says, a large grin splitting his face. “Of course you can have crayons. What kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t give my little boy crayons?” he asks, and Sherlock just grins around John’s kisses.
“Now, come on,” John says. “Eat up for me. Please?” He releases Sherlock and then reaches over to tuck an errant curl behind the boy’s ear before dropping his hand back down to Sherlock’s plate. He tears off a corner of the cheese toast, holding it up in front of Sherlock’s mouth.
However, Sherlock refuses to open up and take the food from John’s fingers. Instead, he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly.
“I said I wasn’t hungry.”
“Sherlock,” John warns, not liking where this is headed. Things had been going so well. “This isn’t negotiable. You need to eat something.”
“No,” Sherlock argues, not giving in.
The frown comes back to John’s face, setting in deep. “I told you that I would spank you if you don’t behave,” he reminds Sherlock. “I wasn’t lying. Now, will you eat?”
“No.”
John sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He has always known that Sherlock is stubborn as hell and obstinate; the way he is acting really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise to John. John has known that someday Sherlock would end up crossing that line, the one between John and his patience, his sanity. It makes sense that he would do it during a time like this, while John is trying to take care of him. Really, John shouldn’t even bother having a line any longer, knowing how Sherlock is. Sherlock has always had a way of breaking through all of John’s barriers, tearing through all of his defences. However, now that he has permission to punish Sherlock for being spoilt and bratty, he knows that there is no longer such a thing as “going too far” between them. All of the lines in their relationship have become blurred, inseparable. There is hardly a distinction now between what Sherlock wants and what John is willing to do to him. Like this, as in all things with them, they fit together seamlessly, all of their broken edges finding snug spots against the others’. He knows that here—with Sherlock, in this secret time that they get to spend together—nothing is off the table, no matter how guilty or dirty it might make him feel.
He tries again. “Sherlock, eat something for Daddy.” He says the last word very deliberately, with a dark emphasis on it. He still feels slightly awkward referring to himself that way, but he hopes that the name will be enough to bring Sherlock out of wherever it is that John has lost him in that great big mind of his and get the boy to listen to him without a fuss.
Sherlock might be stubborn and domineering, even bullying more often than not, but John can see how that word breaks him down, little by little. Sherlock responds to it almost subconsciously, stopping his fidgeting and giving John all of his attention, his ears almost perking up in interest. Though they haven’t been using the name for long, John knows that Sherlock loves when he calls himself that, when he uses it so casually. It pushes Sherlock more and more into a submissive headspace each time John does it, breaking down Sherlock’s barriers in bits and pieces.
Sherlock whimpers softly at John’s words, at the way John is looking expectantly at him, and he melts deeper into John’s arms. The brunet turns his head up and reaches out for a kiss, impatient and demanding. Sherlock nips and bites at John’s lips, pressing himself up against John’s body as they sit next to each other in the chairs. John tries to soften the kiss, but every time he does, Sherlock drags his teeth over John’s bottom lip and bites, soothing the sting with his tongue. John can tell that Sherlock is getting more and more worked up the longer they sit here and talk about this, discussing boundaries and what they would like to do with each other. But he also thinks that this might just be a pathetic attempt to distract him from trying to get Sherlock to actually eat something.
Not so long ago, that may have worked (John would gladly forget whatever he and Sherlock were talking about when sex came into the picture), but right now John needs to take care of him. Sherlock said that he wanted it, and John isn’t about to fall down on the job.
He manages to tear himself away from Sherlock, having to turn his head to break the kiss. “Right,” he says, taking a deep breath and pushing Sherlock away from him, back into his own chair. “If you aren’t going to listen to me, then I guess a spanking really is what you want.”
Sherlock moans and tries to move in for another kiss.
John pushes him back again and shakes his head. “No, no distractions. I know what you are trying to do, and it’s not going to work. I asked you to do something and you’ve refused to do it,” he explains patiently, pushing back his chair so that there is some space between him and the table. “Now we’re going to do it my way.” The smirk he wears as he threatens Sherlock is decidedly evil. “Come lay across my lap, bum up. I want your feet on the floor.”
Sherlock bites his lip and stays still for a moment before seeming to make a decision. He nods his head once, silently, and gets up from his seat, moving cautiously over to John and taking up the position. He lays down across John’s legs gingerly with his stomach across John’s lap. His long legs are dangling over the side of the chair, his feet braced on the floor. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms, so he puts them under his chest for now, a bit awkwardly, trapped between his body and John’s lap.
John gives him a moment to settle into the new position before he places one hand tentatively on Sherlock’s lower back while his other settles on Sherlock’s thighs, below his bum. He hums in pleasure at the sight below him, stretched out across his lap.
“Are you going to listen to me if we do this, Sherlock?” John asks, meaning the spanking. He’ll be damned if he is going to go through all of the trouble, just to have Sherlock bratty and pouty at the end of it all.
“Yes,” Sherlock says softly, his eyes staring unblinkingly in front of him to the floor, not looking at John.
John frowns slightly, even though he knows Sherlock can’t see him. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’,” he orders. “You should know better than to be rude by now.”
Even though he is still facing the floor, John can see a deep blush staining his cheeks as Sherlock pointedly looks away from him. “Yes, Daddy,” he says demurely.
John doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smile.
“All right, then,” he says, settling more comfortably into his seat and moving his legs farther apart, to give Sherlock a more comfortable spot to lay on. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this. I deserve a bit of a treat for putting up with you, don’t you think?”
Sherlock’s blush grows and he continues staring at the ground. “Yes, Daddy.”
John smirks at how easily Sherlock is taught when he is in this submissive headspace he is falling into at the moment. He lets his eyes rove over Sherlock, taking in everything, feeling Sherlock’s weight in his lap. He pauses when he begins to feel a growing bulge at Sherlock’s groin through the boy’s trousers, pressing into the side of his thigh. John releases a long, steady breath, trying to gather his thoughts. It is obvious that Sherlock is enjoying this, despite what he says or how he sounds, and that in turn is arousing John like nothing else. He can guess that Sherlock’s demure demeanor is most certainly an act, and that Sherlock is being deliberately bratty just to get them to this point.
“You’re going to be a handful once you’ve figured out how to wrap me around your little finger, you know that?” he teases with a cheeky smile, licking his lips lightly. “I have to be honest with you: I can hardly wait for that.” It is the truth. When could he ever say “no” as long as Sherlock is involved?
Sherlock makes a little noise of acknowledgment, dropping his head lower, resting his chin against John’s thigh.
“Hush now,” John said, smiling a little. “It’s all right, darling. Come on, bum up.”
Sherlock blushes harder at that and John keeps looking down at him, that knowing smile still on his lips. Sherlock moves his hands out from under the weight of him to cover his face, not wanting John to see him, but the way his body squirms in John’s lap makes it clear how he really feels about the man’s instruction.
“Come on, you know you want to,” John says softly.
“Don’t mock me, please,” Sherlock whispers, voice somewhat distraught.
“I’m not mocking you, Sherlock,” John assures him, suddenly serious. He lets his hands rub up and down the length of Sherlock’s clothed body, one across his back and the other along his thighs. “This isn’t a joke. Have I ever made fun of you over this?” he asks, reaching over to take Sherlock’s hands away from his face and turning Sherlock’s head so that John can look into his eyes. “I know that this is something that you want. You’ll probably even enjoy it. I’ll enjoy it, too, you know,” he admits in a low voice.
“Why would you enjoy it?” Sherlock asks, frowning, not understanding.
“Isn’t it obvious?” John asks, giving him a little smile. “This is still part of taking care of you, teaching you right from wrong. There’s no doubt in my mind that I will enjoy this.”
Sherlock is strangely quiet as he takes in John’s words.
“You’ll get five,” John goes on to explain, taking advantage of Sherlock’s stillness, “and I want you to count each one.”
Sherlock gives a small nod in understanding, and then quickly remembers to use his words. “Yes, Daddy.”
"You address me as 'sir' when I’m punishing you, do you understand?” John asks, voice growing stern.
He can feel Sherlock tremble and squirm in his lap, the bulge pressing against the side of his thigh twitching and growing. “Yes, sir.”
Sherlock squirms in John’s lap, looking unsure and contrite, his face clearly stating that he knows he did something wrong and he is just now starting to regret it. John spreads his hands across Sherlock’s back and sets his feet on the ground more firmly, then he waits patiently while staring at Sherlock silently. Sherlock bites his lip and his hands move about restlessly, as if trying to find the best spot to land. They go from trying to reach the floor, to the edge of John’s seat, up to the table. John puts his own hand high on the back of Sherlock’s thighs, near his arse, trying to calm him.
“It’s okay,” John breathes out, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s thighs once more, feeling the skin underneath the layer of clothes. “You're perfect, you know that?” John whispers. Then offers a confession which shouldn’t really be a secret any longer: “I’ve wanted you like this for so long.”
Sherlock lets out a long, shaky breath.
“Do you remember your safeword?” John asks, voice soft in the stillness around them.
Sherlock nods his head. “Yes, sir.”
“What is it?” John wants to know, stroking his hand across Sherlock’s exposed bum.
“Arsenic,” Sherlock answers without a second thought.
John makes a pleased humming noise as his hand raises off of Sherlock’s arse. The first spank is not hard at all, but it does come as a bit of a surprise to Sherlock, who jumps in John’s lap as if someone has electrocuted him. He breathes out a shaky huff of air when it is done, fidgeting awkwardly where he is stretched out, and John knows that his mind is buzzing with the effort to catalogue everything going on.
“You didn’t count, Sherlock,” is all he says in a quiet, steady voice. “That’ll be one more, now.”
“Sorry, sir,” Sherlock says immediately. “One.”
John smiles, safe in the knowledge that Sherlock can’t see him. The boy may think that he isn’t very good at submitting to John this way, but John has irrefutable proof splayed out across his lap that Sherlock is better at it than he thinks he is.
He makes sure that the second hit is slightly harder, and that it doesn’t fall on the same spot as the previous one. He is sure it doesn’t sting too badly, though. Sherlock is wearing his trousers, after all, but John still doesn’t want this to actually hurt him. This is more like an exercise in obedience, really.
“Two,” Sherlock gasps out as the second hit lands squarely on his bum. He squirms over John’s lap, and the man can definitely feel Sherlock’s hard cock pressing into his thigh, almost completely engorged now.
John smirks and doesn’t wait as long before his hand drops for the third spank, harder than the first two.
“Three!” Sherlock cries out, surprised by the force behind the hit. He gets two more, in quick succession, and as each one lands John can feel Sherlock’s prick rubbing harder and harder against his thigh. It is making his own cock plump rather distractingly, and he is sure Sherlock can feel it against his stomach.
As he raises his hand in preparation for the final blow, John stops and looks calculating down at him, pursing his lips before asking rather judiciously, “Sherlock, what am I doing?”
Sherlock huffs out an annoyed breath, as if the obviousness of the answer is actually irritating. “Spanking me.” The fact that he isn’t saying anything more scathing in response to John’s rather insipid question is quite telling, and John is proud that he has managed to quiet Sherlock’s tongue. Still, Sherlock’s response is not the answer he is looking for.
“Yes, I know. You truly are a genius,” John deadpans with a smirk and roll of his eyes. “Why? Why am I spanking you?”
This gives Sherlock longer pause as he searches for the right answer for a few seconds before coming up with it. “Because you’re teaching me a lesson.”
“Very good, sweetheart,” John praises. “I’m so proud of you for understanding. Last one, now.”
The final blow is neither kind nor gentle, and Sherlock cries out in shock as John’s strong hand connects with his slightly sore bottom.
“There we are,” John says soothingly, rubbing his hands gently across Sherlock’s tender bum before helping him to stand. “All done now.”
Sherlock whimpers and moves to try to claw his way back onto John’s lap, straddling him this time in a desperate sort of way. His mouth automatically tries to find John’s for a kiss, and his fingers twist in the front of John’s jumper.
“Daddy, kiss me,” Sherlock orders, tone imperious.
“Sherlock,” John says with a hint of warning in his voice as he moves his face away from Sherlock’s advances. Sherlock needs to learn that he shouldn’t be the one giving out orders.
“Please?” Sherlock amends, eyes big and guileless. John can’t tell him “no”.
He moves in to kiss Sherlock, letting the boy set the pace of it. Sherlock’s lips are urgent and needy against his own, and John knows that if they don’t try to make it back to the bedroom right now, they never will. He has no intention of buggering Sherlock on the kitchen floor, so he moves Sherlock off of him while still allowing Sherlock to continue kissing him as he stands up. It is awkward because of the differences in height, both as Sherlock tries to stand before John and afterwards, when Sherlock is still slightly taller than him. Sherlock won’t allow John to stop kissing him for a moment, though, and they somehow manage to make it back to his bedroom, lips mashed against each other’s the whole way.
Once in the bedroom, John steers them towards Sherlock’s messy, unmade bed. He lays Sherlock down and falls next to him, half on top of him, his hands trailing across Sherlock’s body, touching anything they can reach.
“What do you need from me, Sherlock?” he asks, voice breathless.
Sherlock snuggles deeper against him, licking into his mouth. “This,” he mumbles against John’s lips. “Just this.”
“This?” John asks with a small teasing smile. “We’re just lying here kissing, right now.”
Sherlock pauses for a moment, and then nods his head shyly, dropping his face to hide it against John’s jumper-clad chest.
John is speechless for a moment, not understanding. “This is all that you need? Right here?”
“Yes,” Sherlock answers quietly, voice no more than a whisper. “You’re all that I need,” he explains. “I need to have you, to be allowed to look at you and touch you. I need you to treat me like you are treating me now, but I want it every day, even when we aren’t having sex. I need you to be an authority figure, to be everything to me that I never had growing up, to teach me right from wrong and take care of me the way no one else ever has.” He pauses, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but continues on. “I need to be able to trust you, to feel safe with you, and I need to have you trust me back. I need to be able to say and do things with you that I can’t do with anyone else, whenever I like, and know that you are okay with all of it. I need you to love me more than anyone has my whole life, and I want to love you back that way, too. But…it scares me, needing you like this. I don’t know how to give you everything you want from me when we have sex like this,” he admits. “I want to give myself to you completely, give up control to you, but I don’t know how to do it.”
John looks down at Sherlock in surprise, not saying anything for a long time. He knows that his silence probably isn’t what Sherlock wants right now, as he is looking increasingly anxious and trying to burrow into himself and become as small as possible, but John just doesn’t know what to say in the face of a declaration like that.
He honestly never expected something like this from Sherlock. He never expected any of this—the sex and the kink and everything else. He always figured that Sherlock just didn’t feel things like that, and if he did then he certainly would never tell John. Sherlock has always been more reserved than him in their relationship. He doesn’t talk very often about how much he loves John, and he hardly ever mentions how much he needs John. This is something new. What they are doing with each other right now, how they are opening up to one another, is something that John has never done before, with anyone. He’s not sure that he knows how to handle this. He feels completely out of his depth, he has no frame of reference for what he and Sherlock are doing with each other, how it is opening them up to one another.
He decides for complete honesty. “I don’t know how to give that to you, Sherlock. I’ve never had any of that before.”
Inadequate as his words are, Sherlock seems to know what he means, aware of the depth of emotion between them right now. “What do you want, John?” he asks, looking up at John’s face.
John’s grip tightens on him. “I want to give you everything you need,” he tells Sherlock honestly. “I want to be the person in your life who gives you whatever you want, who makes things better, who helps you. I want to fix you—fix any problems from your past and make sure there are none in your future.”
“Then fix me,” Sherlock whispers, craning his head up and kissing John softly on the lips. “Fix me,” he keeps repeating between kisses.
John kisses him back and promises himself that he will, not because he thinks he can but because Sherlock wants him to, needs him to. So he will. He will try his entire life to fix Sherlock, to put back together all of his broken pieces. He rolls over on top of Sherlock and wraps his arms around him, and he finds that they fit together so well, desperate and broken and in love.
Almost instantly, John flips them over so that Sherlock is suddenly on top of him. His hands come between them to hurriedly divest them of their clothing, Sherlock’s helping him with jerky movements. When they are both completely naked, John hugs him close, deepening their kisses, trying to show Sherlock how he feels about him without words. Loving Sherlock, caring for him, even controlling him, all of this is what being Sherlock’s Daddy means to John. Mostly, though, being Sherlock’s Daddy means that he will keep his little boy safe and happy all of the time, no matter what is happening. He will make sure that Sherlock feels cared for, every second of his life. The only time Sherlock should ever feel like he is coming apart is when John is making him do so.
John pushes down against the tops of Sherlock’s shoulders, trying to get Sherlock’s mouth to go lower, telling him what he would like Sherlock to do to him. “Suck me,” he says bluntly, not giving Sherlock a choice in the matter. Normally he wouldn’t be so presumptuous, but he is in charge right now, and Sherlock will learn that he will do what John wants him to do. If Sherlock is worried about giving up control to John, then John will teach him that it is not something to be scared of.
Sherlock moves down John’s body, kissing and licking and biting all along the way. John can see why Sherlock likes this; in the bedroom, when they are like this, Sherlock doesn’t have to worry about making the wrong or the right choices or decisions, like he does in life. John takes that burden away from him here, in bed, when John is his Daddy. It leaves Sherlock free to simply enjoy himself, without the worry that he is doing wrong, or bad, or something a bit “not good”. He doesn’t feel that way because John is constantly telling him that what he is doing is perfect, that he is perfect, when he is John’s little boy. It must be a very heady feeling for someone like Sherlock, who has hardly heard a kind word in his life. When Sherlock’s trailing mouth reaches John’s stiff cock, he stares at it for a moment before licking his lips and parting them slightly, taking the tip of John into the wet heat. John throbs and twitches against Sherlock’s tongue, rubbing the underside of his cock against the slickness in Sherlock’s mouth.
“God,” he rasps, trying to buck up farther into Sherlock’s mouth. He looks down the length of his body and finds Sherlock studiously avoiding his gaze, his sparkling eyes pinned to a spot on John’s groin, concentrating intensely as he takes John deeper and deeper into his mouth.
The sight is beautiful, but John knows he would appreciate it even more if Sherlock was looking up at him. John thinks that a good boy should always look for approval from his daddy, even when he knows he is doing something right.
“No, no. Look at me, Sherlock,” John says, voice breathless, as one hand drops to cup Sherlock’s cheek and draw his attention up to John’s face. “Keep your eyes on me. Don't look away. I want you to watch me. I want you to see what you do to me.”
Sherlock moans and slides farther down John’s cock, letting the head hit the back of his throat. John groans at the feel of Sherlock’s mouth around him and fists his hands in the curly hair. He can’t keep from thrusting slightly into Sherlock’s mouth, just a little, his hips barely moving at all. It is enough to make Sherlock gag, though, coughing and spluttering around John’s thick prick as he pulls off wetly. John looks at Sherlock, red-faced and panting, and can’t help dragging his face back up for a kiss. He flips them over again, pinning Sherlock on his back and scrambling for the lube that Sherlock always keeps nearby. He manages to open the bottle and slicks his fingers before his hands make their way down Sherlock’s body. He cups Sherlock’s hard prick, giving him a few slow strokes that leave Sherlock gasping against John’s mouth before dipping his fingers lower, behind Sherlock’s soft, full bollocks. The tips of his fingers rub against the tight pucker of skin he finds there. Sherlock moans and pushes his hips back onto John’s fingers, letting John slip the first inside of him. Sherlock whimpers at the initial feel of John penetrating him but he quickly becomes accustomed to it, and he is soon begging John for another finger and then another.
John has three fingers in him before Sherlock is groaning against his mouth, something that sounds distinctly like the word “please”.
John pulls away from him for a moment and sits on his knees between Sherlock’s spread legs, leaving the boy panting mindlessly on the bed below him. With his hand still wet with lube, he slicks up his own cock, rubbing himself for a moment to relieve some of the aching pressure from his arousal.
He looks down at Sherlock, spread out for him, and can’t help teasing for a moment more before he finally takes the boy. "You want Daddy's cock?" he asks, his voice turned gravelly.
Sherlock whimpers and pushes his hips back against nothing, wanting to feel John again. "Yes," he breathes softly.
John frowns, not happy with his answer. "Do you want Daddy's cock, Sherlock?" he asks once more, his tone slightly harsher.
"Yes, sir," Sherlock gasps out, bringing his hands down to his cock and pulling at himself to get some sort of friction.
"Good boy,” John praises him, moving into position between Sherlock’s legs. “Be sure to answer me correctly next time. You know better, don't you?"
Sherlock moans in frustration at the prolonged loss of contact. "Yes, sir," he answers dutifully, though.
John smirks and moves closer to Sherlock’s body, gripping Sherlock’s thighs and pushing them back, exposing Sherlock’s hole to the swollen head of his thick cock. He teases Sherlock with a few soft presses to the loosened rim before stopping once again. “Before you get it,” John whispers to him, bending low to give Sherlock a little kiss on his desperate mouth, “I need you to answer me: are you my good little boy?”
Sherlock releases a helpless little cry, something that sounds wrecked and wanton.
John smirks. “I guess I can take that as a ‘yes’.” His voice is calm and measured, despite the way he is rubbing against Sherlock. “But I want to hear you say the words, baby.”
Sherlock just whimpers and bites his lip, as if he is forcefully keeping himself from saying the words that John wants to hear, the words that he wants to say.
“Tell me or you won’t be getting Daddy’s cock.”
“Please,” Sherlock bites out through clenched teeth.
John’s smirk just grows at the relentless teasing he is putting Sherlock through. “I thought you wanted to be a good little boy for me?” he asks sarcastically. “Tell me what I want to hear or else you can take care of this by yourself.” One of his hands leaves Sherlock’s thighs and pushes his hand out of the way to grab Sherlock’s cock, giving it a painful squeeze. “Now, let’s try this one more time. Are you my good boy?” he asks again.
Sherlock’s eyes shut tight in defeat. He takes a deep, fortifying breath before crying out, “Y-yes! I’m your good little boy.”
“Perfect, baby. You’re so perfect,” John praises him, kissing him softly on his open mouth at the same time that he slides his cock into Sherlock’s hole. “You’re so good for me. My good boy. You deserve a reward for being so good for me.” He pauses when he bottoms out inside of Sherlock, growing still. “I’m going to fuck you now, hard,” John informs him plainly.
Sherlock fidgets beneath him, trying to move his hips and impale himself farther on John’s cock, hoping to get John to move. “Please, Daddy,” he begs brokenly.
John can feel his cock getting even harder as he begins to thrust slowly into Sherlock, engorging further with Sherlock’s whispered words. “Jesus, you feel sofucking amazing. I promise that I can make you feel even better, though.”
John thrusts deeper into Sherlock, his hips pushing against Sherlock’s arse. He fucks into him, fast and hard. Sherlock gives a little yelp of surprise at the initial feel of it, but he is soon moaning and crying out in pleasure as John fucks him.
After only a moment, John is almost there. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, a spark igniting and setting his nerves on fire, but he won’t come before Sherlock has. He is so close, though, that he knows he will have to give Sherlock a little push to get him nearer to the edge, alongside John.
John kisses him as they move against each other, their lips a tangled mess. “Whose little boy are you?” he asks once more against Sherlock’s kiss-slicked lips, because he can’t hear it enough. God, he can never hear it enough.
His hands rove over Sherlock’s body, taking him and shaping him the way that John wants him. The answer to John’s question is so clear right now, with Sherlock mindless beneath him, that John wonders why he ever has to ask it in the first place, or why Sherlock ever doubts it.
“Yours,” Sherlock pants out as John’s thrusts rock him farther up the bed. “I’m your good little boy. I’ll always be yours. Only ever yours.”
“Always mine,” John answers back, his voice rough and commanding. He snaps his hips and pushes himself so deep into Sherlock that he cries out as John’s cock rubs over his prostate, the sounds from Sherlock’s mouth driving John closer and closer to the edge.
Sherlock’s eyes snap open and he looks at John, desperate and frantic, his hands gripping John’s bare shoulders and his lips anxiously seeking out John’s. John absolutely loves being the centre of Sherlock’s attention, especially during times like this. He loves having all of Sherlock’s clever mind focused on him, loves pushing all other thoughts and worries from Sherlock’s over-active, whirring mind.
“Daddy,” Sherlock chokes out, almost too quiet for John to hear. There is nothing that John loves more than the fact that he is the only person in the world to get to hear those noises and words from Sherlock. John is the only person who gets to be the cause of those sounds.
“Gorgeous. You’re so beautiful,” John growls out, letting Sherlock’s lips find his own in a needy kiss. He kisses him back for only a moment before he knows he won’t be able to hold on any longer. “Now will you be good and make Daddy come?”
Sherlock whimpers out a “yes” and begins to move his hips in time with John’s thrusts, rolling them in a way that sends sparks up and down John’s spine.
“Fucking hell, that’s amazing,” John pants as his head drops down to rest against Sherlock’s shoulder. “You’re amazing.” His hand slips in between them, gripping Sherlock’s cock, and they move in time with each other. The roll of their hips is messy and stuttering, trying to find a way to match each other’s pace while still making the other feel good.
John squeezes Sherlock’s cock hard in between them and bites down on Sherlock’s neck once, and the boy comes apart around him, hips jerking as he comes across John’s hand and their heaving stomachs. His orgasm pulls John over the edge as well, and he thrusts one last time to bury himself deep inside of Sherlock, where he can feel himself emptying into the warm, tight heat of Sherlock’s body. His cock is still pulsing out his climax when Sherlock’s hands move to tangle in his hair at the back of his head, and Sherlock nuzzles into the side of his neck.
“I love you, Daddy,” he whispers into John’s ear, voice breathy and winded.
John lifts his head and stares at Sherlock in wonder. It is not the first time that Sherlock has told him that he loves him (although he isn’t usually very vocal about that fact, anyways). However, it is the first time that his little boy has told his Daddy that he loves him, and the words melt John’s heart.
“I love you too, baby,” John answers back, a warm sting coming into the corners of his eyes. He blinks it away before any tears can form, though, and smiles down at Sherlock. Sherlock smiles back at him, and it is so bright and brilliant that it looks like a different kind of smile than what he usually gives John. It makes John freeze in place above him, and John’s heart stutters in his chest at the look on Sherlock’s face. He doesn’t even begin to know what to do with a smile like that. No one has smiled at John that way in years, and it is the most beautiful thing John thinks he’s ever seen. His chest clenches up and his breath catches in his lungs. He thinks that he has to be the luckiest man alive, to have a smile like that directed at him.
John runs soothing hands up and down Sherlock’s body as his cock slowly softens and slides out of the brunet. When John is no longer inside of him, he slips his hand between Sherlock’s legs, sliding his fingers behind Sherlock’s soft, empty bollocks. He finds Sherlock’s wet hole and rubs lightly, teasingly, over the stretched rim, smearing the wetness of his come and leftover lube that is leaking out of Sherlock’s body. Sherlock moans and pushes into John’s touch, causing John’s finger to slip inside of him to feel the mess he left behind.
“Messy,” John teases as he pulls his finger out of Sherlock and he feels more of his come leak out.
Sherlock moans contentedly at the feeling. “Mmm, no. Happy,” he responds, words slurred with sleepiness.
John huffs out a laugh and wraps his arms around Sherlock, bringing him closer for a cuddle.
“Good,” John whispers against his tangled curls, pressing a kiss there before he, too, drifts off, happy with the knowledge that he is still filling Sherlock.
*
He either slips off into sleep or into a coma, he isn’t sure which as he wakes some time later, feeling someone’s eyes on him in the room filled with the evening’s darkness. He blinks blearily to see Sherlock sitting up in bed, staring at him. There is the low rumble of a pleased and content hum coming from Sherlock as he stirs, and the teen’s body is radiating a comfortable warmth that he can feel even with Sherlock sitting up beside him.
“Christ,” John mumbles as he brings his hands up to rub at his face.
Sherlock smiles softly at him, the look tender and full of love. “There you are,” he teases. “Welcome back.”
John smiles back at him. “Hello,” he says in response, his voice rough with sleep. He glances up at Sherlock’s bed-mussed hair, at the content look on his face, at the bright bruise that is forming on his neck from John’s teeth. “You look like you’ve been shagged properly,” he jokes with a small giggle.
Sherlock’s smile grows. “You could say that, yes.”
John opens his mouth to respond, but Sherlock suddenly glances away from him, a dark look entering his eyes as his face goes carefully blank.
“What’s wrong with me, John?” he asks suddenly into the stillness of the room between them.
John frowns at him, sitting up in the bed and wrapping the sheets around his waist to keep himself tucked away. He isn’t sure where these thoughts of Sherlock’s suddenly came from, but he doesn’t like where they are headed. “There isn’t a single thing wrong with you, Sherlock,” John assures him. “You’re just starting to understand who you are and what you want, that’s all. And I’m so honoured that I’m the one you are choosing to do this with,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Sherlock meets John’s gaze briefly before flushing and looking away again. “You don’t think that I’m just some freak, some deviant who can’t get off without playing a disturbing game?”
John feels anger growing deep down inside of him. It wells up instantly and almost chokes him. He reaches out to grab Sherlock’s chin, turning the brunet to look at him. “I don’t want to hear you say that ever again. Do you hear me?” he asks, voice harsh. “I don’t want to hear you think that about yourself or what we do. You’re not a freak, and you’re not some sexual deviant.” He pauses, and when it looks like Sherlock still doesn’t believe him, he asks, “Do you think that about me? I enjoy this just as much as you do, remember? Am I those things, then?”
Sherlock shakes his head silently, chin still trapped between John’s fingers and his eyes wide.
John smiles at him tenderly, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“No, I’m not,” John confirms. “And neither are you. We’re just a little different, that’s all. We need something a little different in bed together sometimes. But what you are, Sherlock,” he continues, “is mine. Don’t ever forget that. And you’re also in love with me, just like I’m in love with you. To hell with conventions and what people think is right or wrong. We don't need someone telling us how our relationship should be. This is who we are, and this is how we work." He pauses, looking at Sherlock and making sure that he has his full attention. “I know a lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. Our dynamic has changed and you’ve submitted to me, in a way you don’t even realise you could. Right now, you need me to guide you and teach you, just as much as I need you to follow behind me and listen to me. It’s all fine, baby, as long as we’re happy. You’re happy like this, right?”
“Yes,” Sherlock answers immediately. “Of course.”
“Then it doesn’t matter what other people think about what we do. You’re not a freak and I don’t want you to ever think that, especially about something that we do together. It’s just different between us. When we’re together, you give yourself to me completely and I use the opportunity to be…I don’t know,” he searches for the right word. “Nurturing, I guess.”
Sherlock grins at that. “Yes, ‘nurturing’ would certainly be one of the words I would use. You look after me, in every possible way,” he tells John. “And I appreciate it. So much. Thank you, for everything. Especially for being so understanding.”
John smiles and kisses him one last time before standing from the bed and bending down to pick his clothes off of the floor. He grins at Sherlock and throws him a wink before he heads to the en suite to clean himself up. He has already spent too much time in Sherlock’s house, and he knows that he should leave soon, as much as it kills him to. He brings a flannel, warm and wet, out to the bedroom and cleans Sherlock off before giving himself a cursory wipe-down. Then he dresses and tucks Sherlock into the blankets surrounding him when he is done sorting himself.
“Goodnight, you beautiful thing,” John whispers to him as he leans down and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.
“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock answers back, settling deeper into his pillow and closing his eyes. John knows that Sherlock probably hasn’t slept much the past few days, because he is almost automatically asleep. He stays there for a few minutes, watching Sherlock drift off, before he smiles softly and turns to go.
John leaves Sherlock’s house that evening feeling infinitely more comfortable with everything that they are doing and hoping that Sherlock feels the same way.