Having a sexual relationship with Sherlock—and sweet weeping Jesus, was it ever strange to say that—was nothing like John expected. He wasn't sure what he expected, if he'd actually expected anything, but whatever he might have envisioned beforehand he discovered in reality wasn't even close to fact.
First of all, Sherlock being a sexual creature was enough to have to wrap one's mind around—John assumed sex was something he didn't even know about, like the earth going around the sun. Sherlock had quickly proven this wasn't so, that he knew about and liked sex just as much as the next able-bodied thirty-something man, thank you very much. Secondly, John assumed if Sherlock did engage in sex it would be awkward, frustrating, and/or mentally scarring for his partner. In fact, sex with Sherlock was the exact opposite of all those things. It was actually quite…normal.
Of course, this turned out to be just a ruse. A dirty, smirking front, meant to lure John in and make him comfortable so the eventual trauma would be twice as bad.
Having spent time at both university and in the army, John knew there was an unspoken inevitability attached to living in close quarters with other human beings: sooner or later, the awkward moment would arrive when you accidentally walked in on someone masturbating. This included people you were having somewhat regular sex with, or at least a couple times a week, but never when QI was on.
In university it was an occasion for jokes and endless harassment. In the army, you turned around, walked out, and never spoke of it. John actually thought after a considerable amount of time living with (and fucking) Sherlock he would avoid the situation altogether, as Sherlock might like sex but he probably didn't manhandle himself.
Then came the day John left the surgery early. They were overstaffed and under patient-ed and he was happy to cut out right after lunch. He honestly didn't think Sherlock was home, because he'd talked that morning about going to Scotland Yard and reading through some of Lestrade's cold cases.
He found out quite differently when he walked into the flat and discovered Sherlock sprawled on the couch, trousers and pants around his knees, a book balanced on his thighs and hand working away in his lap.
For a moment they just stared at each other, silent and stricken. The absurdity of the moment was underlined by the fact it wasn't a pornographic magazine Sherlock had, but one of John's medical textbooks.
Sherlock was the first to speak.
"You're not supposed to be here!" he said with extreme accusation.
"Sorry. I'll just…uh…" John turned, face burning, and went upstairs.
A few minutes later, when the embarrassment had abated a bit, something struck him.
Sherlock was looking at one of his medical textbooks. When there was plenty of good porn on the internet.
Wasn't wanking to medical diagrams something you only did when you were 14 and couldn't get your hands on anything dirtier?
John went back downstairs after a while, tentative and awkward. Thankfully Sherlock was composed, sitting at the kitchen table and working in a Petri dish. John strolled into the kitchen, cleared his throat, and started going about making tea.
"John," Sherlock said, and John nearly jumped out of his skin.
He looked around at him, trying to feign pleasant interest. "Hm?"
Sherlock looked up from his dish. "We're not going to spend the rest of the day pretending you didn't walk in on me wanking. That's absurd."
John turned back around to the sink. "Yes, well." He gave a nervous laugh. "It's—awkward. I'm sorry. I got the afternoon off from the surgery. Obviously."
"I should have heard you on the stairs. I guess I was preoccupied."
John cringed and filled the kettle.
John got two cups out of the cupboard. When the tea was finished and he handed Sherlock his cup, Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him.
"What is it, John?" he asked.
"You look confused. Something's on your mind. Say it."
John felt even more awkward. He hesitated. But he couldn't not ask, it was too intriguing.
"We're you…looking at one of my medical textbooks?"
Sherlock didn't so much as blush. "Yes. Why?"
John sat down carefully at the table. "It just seems odd."
"Why is it odd?" Sherlock focused on the dish again.
"Er…what exactly were you looking at in there?"
Sherlock glanced up at him. "I wasn't looking at anything. I was reading."
Sherlock sat up straight, then got up from the table and went into the living room. John sipped his tea. Sherlock came back a minute later with the book and placed it on the table in front of John, open.
"That," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.
John leaned over and read the heading on the page. "Detailed procedure of digital rectal examination for colorectal cancer."
Sherlock made a sound in his throat not unlike pleasure and concentrated on his dish again.
John had to blink a few times to make sure this wasn't some insane dream.
"This arouses you?" John asked.
Sherlock looked up at him. He seemed genuinely confused by John's question. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"
John didn't even know where to begin answering that. Instead he asked, "What about it arouses you? You're turned on by descriptions of abnormalities in the colon wall?"
Sherlock scrunched up his face. "No, John. The description of the examination."
John skimmed the page, trying to see what was so blazing hot in the lines of stuffy text. 'Gloved and lubricated finger' maybe, or 'spread the buttocks apart,' but he still couldn't process that as anything but medical procedure.
"Wait," John said, something coming to him, the feeling not unlike bugs crawling over his scalp. "Do you have a medical fetish?" Dear God, maybe all along John had just been a willing cock with a medical degree.
"No," Sherlock said. "I simply like—procedure. Technical information. Especially if it's pertaining to something that can be construed as sexual."
John kept trying to wrap his mind around it and failing. "Sherlock, I think you've actually just invented a fetish. I'm impressed. Stunned, quite frankly."
"What of it?" Sherlock said testily, and put a dropper of something red in his dish.
"So my entire stack of texts and medical journals is just a goldmine of porn for you."
Sherlock huffed. "I'm not going to allow you to make fun of me. Sexuality is not black and white, John."
"I know, I know." John held his hands up. "I’m just trying to understand this. I'm not making fun of you."
Sherlock frowned. "I guess the freak is out of the bag."
"I just wish you'd told me. Why didn't you?"
"Oh I don't know," Sherlock said, sarcastic. "Perhaps I thought you might take it poorly."
John rolled his eyes. "Really, it was you being normal that scared me." As soon as the words came out of his mouth he regretted them. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant—plain. Vanilla. The sex was more—vanilla, than I expected."
Sherlock's frown deepened.
"I mean…" John scowled and got up. "Oh, sod it."
That night, John attempted to apologize for his careless words by bringing a sexual health manual into Sherlock's bedroom, where Sherlock was stretched out on the bed, reading his new favorite book—or at least, John had assumed until today—a tome of high-profile unsolved murders, which he was no doubt busy solving as he read.
"I found this in my books." John held it out. He'd bookmarked some pages. "It's a bit outdated now, but the text is pretty descriptive. It teaches doctors how to instruct their patients on self-exams."
Sherlock looked away from his book and eyed John.
"I thought you might…like it?"
"Thank you," Sherlock said coolly.
John sat down on the bed and placed the book next to Sherlock. Then he stretched out on his stomach, studying him. Sherlock rested his book on his chest and stared back at him.
"Can we talk about this?" John asked.
"Is there terribly more to say?"
"I just want to understand it a little." John gnawed at his lower lip. "I'm fascinated, I guess. I walked in on my lover pleasuring himself to something I didn't know gave him pleasure. We promised to be honest with each other when we started this, remember?"
Sherlock sighed softly and looked at the ceiling. "So, ask what you need to."
"What is it that arouses you about it? I mean, do you imagine yourself having those things done to you?" John smiled. "Were you fantasizing I was giving you a prostate exam? A bit of playing doctor?"
"I already told you, it's not a medical fetish. If it were going to arouse me, you'd have to be giving me a prostate exam whilst explicitly and technically describing everything you were doing."
John scratched his temple. "So, I still don't get it."
Sherlock sighed again, louder, his long, white fingers drooping onto the book plastered against his chest. "It's the descriptions. The explicit, technical descriptions of these parts and procedures that are so intimate and hidden and taboo for most people. It's horribly, deliciously blatant. Most people don't like to think about having a digital rectal exam and these texts are describing it in excruciating, lurid, perfect detail."
John stared at him for a moment. But he was starting to get it. The answer was really quite fucking weird, quite opposite from the norm, quite Sherlock.
"You mean," John said, "you're turned on by the opposite of what most other people are turned on by? While most people would, say, be turned on by hearing 'I want to put my stiff prick in your nice tight arse,' you'd be more turned on if I said 'I want to manually insert my erect penis into your rectal passage after digitally dilating your sphincter with a comfortable amount of medical-grade lubricant?'"
Sherlock's lips actually quirked, as if John had just spouted the most filthy, pornographic statement at him.
"Something like that," he said lowly.
John was, in a phrase, gob smacked.
"That's still a bit base," Sherlock said, and picked up the book John had brought him. "As I expect this would be. This is for teaching patients, so it's going to be watered down. Not enough technical terms. I'm not really moved by pedestrian descriptions of GSE's."
"How long have you been aroused by this?"
Sherlock shrugged, opening the book. "Since I reached puberty." He flipped through the pages. "I had plenty of medical books around when I sexually blossomed, so to speak. I would find reading them often gave me an erection, so I went with it."
"In that case maybe you've conditioned yourself," John reasoned. "You find it arousing because you impressed it upon yourself at a young age it was what turned you on."
"Isn't that how everyone's sexual proclivities come about?" He stopped on a page and squinted at it.
"I'm not sure how I could incorporate this into the bedroom," John said. "It would be a bit awkward for me to read from medical texts while we're having sex."
"Another reason I kept it from you. It's not practical to share it." He sighed and lowered the book. "And it's not just medical texts. It's descriptive texts. I once bought a vibrator purely to read the instruction manual."
John arched an eyebrow.
"It wasn't all I hoped," Sherlock said flatly. "Not nearly technically explicit enough."
"Well, most vibrators are intended for use by women."
"That doesn't bother me. As I said, I'm not imagining the object being used on me."
John pondered this. He started to get an idea, but it was just an inkling, and he was too distracted tonight to pursue it. He wiggled closer to Sherlock.
"Would you be opposed to some of our plain, vanilla sex right now?"
Sherlock smirked. "Well, you did stir me with your dirty talk."
The next day, John consulted the internet and began an extensive search. He queried Google a vast number of times, with various wordings of the same couple of phrases, which if looked at as a whole might make him appear a sex-mad, specifically obsessed pervert. He found several things that were close to what he was aiming for, but weren't quite spot-on.
Then, after a long, frustrating time delving into the most sex-soaked corners of the World Wide Web, he finally found it.
He smiled to himself, checked his credit card balance, and placed an order.
Four nights later (he opted for express shipping), after dinner, after Sherlock's telly, and after they'd both had a shower, John walked into Sherlock's bedroom where Sherlock was once again reclined on the bed reading. John held a box, about the size of a shoe box. It had come in discreet, plain brown wrapping.
"I have a present for you," John said. "For both of us, actually."
Sherlock lowered his book.
John opened the lid of the box and pulled out an object—it looked like a white dildo, but short and curved, with two swirly bits sticking in either direction off the base. He also pulled out a rather thick instruction manual.
"What's that?" Sherlock asked.
"A prostate massager, medical grade." John chuckled and tossed the box aside. "Which is crap, actually. Medical professionals don't prescribe sex toys. It's a sexual object masquerading as a homeopathy device masquerading as a medical instrument so it seems more decent." He waved the manual. "But it's got a very descriptive, scientific-sounding manual. I already read it online."
Sherlock put his book down and sat up on his elbows.
John tucked the toy under his arm, and tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, opened the manual. "The Pro-State massager," he rolled his eyes at the pun, "was invented as a tool for self massage of the prostate and perineum through use of the sphincter muscle. Within the anus, the anal sphincter accurately guides the massager towards the prostate gland, while the perineum abutment pushes up against the perineum."
He had Sherlock's full attention.
John walked over to the bed and held out the manual. "I thought you might like some new reading material."
Sherlock sat up and crawled to the end of the bed. He took the booklet tentatively, then sat back and opened it up.
"Basically," John said, taking the toy out from under his arm. "It means it's a prostate massager that you don't have to use your hands with. You make it work by squeezing your arse around it."
"I know what it means," Sherlock said, flipping through the manual.
John cleared his throat. "Thought you might like to read me a bedtime story." Sherlock looked up at him. "I said this is a present for both of us."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not letting this thing go to waste." John turned it in his hand, looking it over. "I may have gotten the book for you, but I got the toy—excuse me, medical device—for me."
Sherlock parted his lips, his eyes widening. "You want me to—"
"Yes, teach me how to use it."
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, and then swallowed. "All right. But only—only if you're not putting me on."
John smiled. "Trust me Sherlock, I wouldn't pay 45 pounds to put anyone on."
John got prepared. He had a tube of lubricant he'd brought home from the surgery, and fetched a towel from the bathroom so he didn't slop it all over the sheets. He took off his pajama bottoms and underwear. He was already half hard in anticipation. Sherlock's kink was a bit off the norm, but he was eager to try something new, something that would put him outside his normal sexual box.
Sherlock knelt on the bed. John spread the towel out and sat on it.
"It says…" Sherlock peered at the manual. "Wash the massager with warm, soapy water before and after each use. You may also choose to rinse the rectum with warm water by using a rectal syringe."
John picked up the toy resting beside him. "I just had a shower, so I don't think that's necessary." He slid off the bed. "I'll be right back."
He went to the bathroom and washed the toy in the sink, using a generous handful of soap. He felt a bit odd in just his t-shirt with his semi-erect cock hanging, and smirked when Sherlock peeked around the corner of the door frame at him.
"Look at you," John said over the sound of the water. "Gone all shy. I never thought I'd see the day."
Sherlock disappeared back around the door frame.
Back on the bed, with the toy all squeaky clean, they resumed their positions. Sherlock read from the manual.
"Lie on either side and bend the knees close to the stomach. This is intended to allow you to relax and to best orient the massager towards the prostate."
John lay down on his left side facing Sherlock, hips on the towel. He brought his knees up, toward his chest, so he was in a half fetal position. He already felt exposed, though Sherlock couldn't possibly see anything from where he knelt.
Sherlock drew in a shallow breath. "Apply a liberal amount of lubricant to the anus and to the massager. This step is important because the massager functions best when suspended within a fluid environment."
Sherlock made a soft sound and lowered the manual. A flush spread across his cheeks and he touched his fingertips to his lower lip. John knew this was an indicator of arousal. Sherlock habitually touched his mouth when he was turned on.
"What?" John asked.
"Fluid environment," Sherlock nearly whispered, still pressing his fingertips into his lower lip.
John supposed his reaction should have been confusion, or even amusement, but instead his cock twitched, which was even more confusing. "That turns you on?"
Sherlock nodded. "The idea of…inside…and…" He screwed up his face, as if helpless to explain. "Let's go on."
"Do you want to lubricate me while I lube up the massager?"
Sherlock nodded and put the manual aside. John noticed the tent in his loose-fitting pajama bottoms as he crawled over John to grab the lubricant.
Sherlock squirted a glob onto John's fingers so he could lube the toy, which he began doing, until the cool, slick of touch of Sherlock's nimble fingers distracted him. Sherlock circled two of his fingertips slowly around—John would say his arsehole, but Sherlock would probably prefer anus. Whatever they called it, the touch felt quite good and made John's cock swell to full erection.
"Get a bit inside," John told him.
Sherlock dipped a fingertip into him and John shivered, curling his toes.
"Do you think I ought to put a bit more lube up there?" Sherlock asked.
"Just a bit."
Sherlock applied more lubricant to John's hole and slid his finger in considerably deeper.
John gasped, clenching his slick hand around the toy. "Oh, that's the stuff."
"You like this." John could hear the smirk in Sherlock's voice.
"Thought that was plainly evident before." He was referring to one of their very first sexual encounters, in which Sherlock had quite domineeringly, vigorously fingered him on the couch. It had been a surreal experience—no touching of John's cock, just Sherlock pistoning two fingers inside of him, breathing hard against John's neck, the obscene sounds of lubricant squishing between them, until John came so hard he thought he was going to pass out.
It was incidents like that which made John quite willing to indulge a little weird kink.
When everything was suitably lubricated, Sherlock wiped his fingers on the towel, returned to his kneeling position next to John, and picked up the manual again.
"Position the massager so that the perineum abutment," Sherlock read, "—the tab top of the thicker, upturned arm—will press against the perineum acupressure spot when the massager is fully inserted into the anus. The thinner, curled arm should be oriented towards the back."
John turned the toy to the proper position and reached behind himself, holding it at the ready.
"Slowly insert the massager about one half of the way into the anus; it will then be drawn the rest of the way into the rectum and accurately position itself against the prostate with the perineum abutment pressing against the perineum acupressure spot." Sherlock stuffed his free hand between his legs and rubbed the heel of his palm against the protrusion in his pajama bottoms. "The anal canal, front wall of the rectum, prostate, and the perineum acupressure point will be stimulated simultaneously. At this time, many inexperienced users will feel the urge to urinate."
John took a deep breath, attempted to relax, and pressed the tip of the toy against his opening. He gave it a firm but gentle push.
The plastic was warm from handling, and smooth, and with just a little effort he broke through the initial resistance. As soon as he did, his body did just what the manual said it would—because of the shape of the toy, perfectly formed to fit his insides, his muscles drew it in the rest of the way.
"Oh Christ," John gasped. It was the most intense penetration he'd ever felt. The plastic was less yielding than a cock and it also went into crevices a cock couldn't.
Sherlock lowered the manual and looked sharply at him. "Do you feel the urge to urinate?"
"No, not really," John panted out. "It's just…God. It feels like it's touching—everything. Just everything."
Sherlock looked back at the manual and read quickly, breathlessly, "Use the handle to position the perineum abutment against the perineum acupressure spot. The perineum acupressure spot is located between the anus and the scrotum, usually 1.5 to 2 inches from the anus toward the scrotum."
John had no problem finding it. The additional pressure from the outside made him groan, deep and full-throated.
"When the massager is fully drawn into the anus, you will initially feel the pressure of the foreign object. For best results, allow 10 to 20 minutes for relaxation. During this time, we recommend meditative breathing exercises."
"Stuff that bloody New Age crap," John said. He concentrated on slowing his breathing and relaxing around the object. "I know I need to relax."
He did, after a few minutes. Sherlock was absorbed in silently reading the manual, rubbing his hand slowly in his crotch.
"I'm going to get on my back," John said. "I'll feel more comfortable that way."
John rolled over slowly, knees still bent, keenly aware of the hunk of plastic up his arse. He settled onto his back and put his feet flat on the bed, knees bent and legs spread open. The thing wiggled around inside him with his movements, like he was being fucked by the Invisible Man.
"All right," John said, his voice breathy. "What's next?"
Sherlock seemed lost, cheeks bright red, eyes unfocused even as he stared at the manual, then he cleared his throat and came back to himself.
"All right," he said, his voice even thicker than usual, like it had been coated with honey. "Now that you are fully relaxed and building awareness of the sensations inside the anal canal, you are ready to begin the contraction exercises. Continue to breathe slowly and begin to contract the sphincter muscle in time with your breathing. Inhale deeply as you contract the muscles and relax as you exhale."
John did this, breathing in and tightening his muscles around it. He let the breath out with a strangled cry.
"Oh God!" he shouted at the ceiling. "Oh, oh fucking God."
"Is it that good?" Sherlock asked.
Now that John had contracted his muscles they were spasming outside his control, working the thing, working it higher up into him, pushing up right there. His cock responded to this stimulation by slapping against his stomach, leaving wetness below his navel.
"Oh Christ," John panted, as the contractions settled a bit. "This is…fuck…"
"Because the massager is suspended unstably within the anal canal, the slightest muscular action is detected and directly transmitted to the anal canal, prostate and the perineum acupressure point. It is possible to adjust the location of the massager by slightly increasing or decreasing your contraction strength. In conjunction with the degree of pressure applied to the perineum acupressure point, all points along the front wall of the rectum from the anus to the ampulla of vas above the prostate will reflect different types and degrees of sensations." Sherlock moaned, actually moaned, and pushed his hand down the front of his bottoms. He dug his teeth into his lower lip and rocked on his knees as he started working his fist beneath the fabric.
"Yeah, all that," John gasped. He squeezed again, moaned harshly. "Fucking all that, pretty much."
"At this point, you may notice some prostate drainage. Try to prolong this by controlling the degree of your sphincter contractions. The deep feeling gradually increases and you may feel highly pleasurable sensations. The prostate gland is responsible for producing a large percentage of a man's ejaculate."
"If you mean I should be leaking like a fucking broken faucet," John panted, lifting his head. "Yeah, we've got that." His cock was flushed, bobbing from his groin, the foreskin retracted and pre-cum nearly oozing out of him at a steady flow. A glistening patch had formed on his lower belly.
"Contract your anal sphincter together with the PC muscles as strongly as you can. This practice will cause more blood to flow through your penis. You will actually feel your penis expanding and swelling."
John tried it. He threw his head back with a strangled yell. Not only did his cock feel bigger, the thing inside him was fucking him, pushing right up into him, deeper and harder than any cock he'd ever had up there, any fingers, any anything. He felt like his entire lower body clamped around it.
Sherlock was breathing hard next to him. "You may also choose to have intercourse while using the massager. This kind of ejaculation should be the strongest. During the ejaculation, the strong orgasmic contractions will cause the massager to stroke the prostate and other vital sex organs with each contraction."
John looked over at Sherlock. He was still fisting himself, the manual trembling in his other hand. He looked at John with glazed eyes, conveying various conflicting messages—arousal, shame, clearly helpless over what was being instigated inside of him.
"I think the only thing that could make this better right now," John said, and licked his lips, "is you riding me."
"I'm not prepared," Sherlock said.
John picked up the tube of lubricant and held it out to him. He shuddered as even the slightest movement of his body made his inner muscles quiver, made the toy shift.
Sherlock pushed his bottoms and underwear down, and staying on his knees, bent forward. He slicked his fingers and reached underneath himself, between his legs. His cock was hard, the head uncovered and wet, rubbing against his forearm as he worked his fingers into himself. He touched his lips with his other hand, mouthing his fingers, nibbling at them. John could barely stand the vulnerable, desperate look on his face, the way his eyes glimmered. Sherlock grunted and sighed softly as he worked his hand underneath him, the muscles in his bicep flexing, stretching and contracting.
John thought he was ready when Sherlock applied a condom to him and straddled his hips. But when Sherlock reached down and gripped John's cock to guide him inside, the movement made the toy shift and John whimpered, realizing he was so close to coming this wasn't going to last long at all.
Sherlock was perfectly silent, not even breathing, as he sunk down on John's cock. The feel of Sherlock's slick, tight passage around him was almost secondary to the feeling inside him. Sherlock finally let his breath out through his nose as his arse came down flush against John's groin.
"All right?" John shuddered out.
Sherlock nodded, lips pressed in a tight line.
John was not prepared for how it felt to have Sherlock riding him with the massager inside him. Every movement of Sherlock's hips made it shift inside him, made it fuck him deeper. John could be vocal during sex, but he wasn't overly loud, not usually. Tonight however, he found himself yelling, really, truly moaning and crying out, the sounds being ripped out of him and he was helpless to stop the vocalizations.
Sherlock, in contrast, was making much more muffled sounds, as he had his hand clamped over his mouth. He didn't do this all the time, but he'd done it before, like he was trying to hold in his moans. Some psychological comfort in response to being overwhelmed with sensation perhaps, but John didn't have enough excess brain at the moment to analyze it.
In fact, when Sherlock started really riding him—hard, fast, skin slapping together, bed rocking—John didn't have any thoughts at all, except frantically wondering if someone could actually die from sexual pleasure. Fucking and being fucked, driven to the very edge of his threshold, he was helpless to do anything but lie there and be pummeled by it.
Then he came, and he swore the entire room exploded away from him like he'd been shot into another dimension. He clenched so hard around the plastic plug inside him it nearly hurt. And he couldn't stop spurting, or yelling, and his vision got fuzzy around the edges and little spots danced in front of him, over Sherlock's writhing body.
When somehow, miraculously, he stopped coming, he was taking in big gulps of air and trying to push Sherlock off him, digging his fingernails into his thighs.
"I need to take this thing out," John gasped. "Sherlock, please, I can't take it anymore."
Sherlock slid off him, smooth and graceful, and rolled to the side. John reached down and gripped the handle of the toy, and wincing, slid it out. It came out easily enough, with a smooth plop onto the towel. He felt wide open and sensitive in the aftermath, wet and not entirely comfortable.
"Oh God," John panted. He flopped a hand on his chest and looked down at his cock, still hard, but starting to droop, the condom sagging off it. He noted his t-shirt and stomach were sweaty but clean. Sherlock hadn't come.
John heaved himself toward him and pressed up against his body. "Y'haven't come yet," he slurred, and placed kisses along Sherlock jaw. He moved lower, to his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. "Want me to suck you?" He moved to his clavicle. "Want me to suck you off, pet?"
"No, no," Sherlock murmured against his hair. "Just your hand. Your hand is fine."
John reached down and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock. He still had lube on his hand and Sherlock was slick with pre-cum. He moved effortlessly.
Sherlock tried to put his fingers back in his mouth again. "No," John murmured, nudging them away with his chin. He kissed his lips instead, felt them quiver against his. "Your prick is so hard," he whispered into his mouth. He squeezed, stroked harder. "All this erectile tissue, engorged with blood."
Sherlock shuddered against him. "Oh," he gasped out, into John's mouth.
"This nice fat glans." He rubbed his thumb luxuriously over the head. "All wet with pre-ejaculate. Your testicles are full with sperm, ready to mix with all that nice gooey seminal fluid from your prostate and work its way up your urethra and spurt out in hot thick ribbons, all over my hand."
"John," Sherlock moaned harshly. He hitched his hips against him, pushing into the ring of his slick fingers.
"All your pelvic muscles contracting while you orgasm. You should feel that nice little toy inside you, feel your tight, slick canal squeeze around it while you're coming, your arsehole gripping it tight, making it fuck you." He had found a nice balance of technical and filthy, a perfect soup of perversion. "Come on, let's see that cum spurting out."
Sherlock groaned, urgent and desperate, and his cock jerked in John's hand. John sighed in delight as he stroked it out of him, felt the hot splash against his stomach, felt it drip over his fingers. The air infused for a moment with the keen, musky scent of seminal fluid, of testosterone, a primal, biological odor that even a textbook couldn't describe. John stroked every drop out of him, gazing down at the pearly fluid oozing over the back of his hand, snaking out of the slit of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock shuddered and trembled and bit weakly at his fingers.
John lifted his hand and licked the cum from the back of it. The bitter flavor coated his tongue. He flopped back with a groan. Sherlock flopped over as well.
"That was more enlightening than any class I ever took," John said. His arse still felt open and gooey.
After a few minutes of catching their breath, Sherlock rolled toward him. He lay on his side, cheek resting against the mattress, and gazed at John with luminous eyes. John smiled and reached out to play with his messy curls, then remembered he had cum all over his hand and withdrew.
"Thank you," Sherlock said, his voice low. "I know that was unusual for you."
John chuckled. "Kind of nice to use my medical knowledge outside work for a change."
"If you have any odd inclinations you wish to indulge, as they say, I owe you one."
John grinned. "Well, I would like to see you take on this little 'medical device.'"
"Would you now?"
"Oh yes. And this time, I'll read the manual out loud."