Working in a coffee shop was not Sherlock’s first choice for a job, but it paid the bills. Technically, the tips paid for the clothes which got the tips which paid the bills. Trousers that tight obviously were not meant to be worn while taking orders and making lattes.
He had a break around two hours after the start of his shift. In the loo, he reapplied his mascara which should Mycroft ever ask, he would deny owning. Sherlock blinked a few times and prodded at the circles under his eyes. He could do this. He could virtually sell himself to these idiots if it meant he could do as he pleased.
One of the other workers banged on the door and told him to get a move on. He could hear from behind the locked door another rush was starting up again. Sherlock opened up and the other bloke rolled his eyes. “How do you get away fucking dressed like that?”
Sherlock brushed past him without another word, not looking for a fight. He needed his pay today and did not want to lose it by getting into another row.
The queue was out the door by the time Sherlock got back to the counter. It started to move a lost faster and a lot smoother with him moving easily between taking orders and making drinks.
He knew his customers very well. He knew how to look at each one, how to talk to each one, to get himself the biggest tip and for them to come back. No matter how many times Sherlock got into fights with the others or broke the rules, his manager could never fire him. Too many regulars only came for Sherlock.
Sherlock started deducing each customer when they were third in line.
Oh bloody hell. Fuck cunt Jesus fucking Christ.
Mid to late forties, surgeon specializing in cardiothoracic surgery, well off, sure of himself, dressed expensively but understated, self-made, and…
Sherlock briefly met the stranger’s eyes as he pretended to listen to the mother of two sixteen year olds who came there every day to talk to Sherlock for thirty seconds while he made her mocha latte. The stranger had a beard. From Sherlock’s location, it looked remarkably soft. Well-kept, definitely. Sherlock bit his lip and the stranger smirked.
He handed over the mocha without a word to the woman and she slipped a ten pound note into the tip jar. Sherlock smiled at her charmingly knowing she would be back the next day even if he did not.
The next man before the stranger ordered “the usual.” It took Sherlock a few more seconds than usual to figure out who this one was.
Then, finally, it was him.
“What can I get for you?” Sherlock asked with his most enticing smile.
“Large coffee, cream, no sugar,” the man says. He is shorter than Sherlock physically, but his presence is much, much larger.
“Anything else?” Sherlock asked, selecting the proper cup.
“Dinner tonight? Eight o’clock?” the stranger smirked again, making Sherlock’s stomach do somersaults.
Sherlock laughed, taking it as a joke so if the man were actually serious, he would press it.
“It’ll be two quid,” Sherlock said, looking at the man through his eyelashes.
Doctor Sexy handed over a note wrapped around a business card.
“Keep the change.”
Doctor John Watson: cardiothoracic surgeon, an email address, and two phone numbers.
John moved out of the way and Sherlock slipped the ridiculously large tip and the business card into his back pocket.
Sherlock was disappointed Doctor Watson did not stick around to be flirted with some more. The rest of his shift dragged on torturously but the nearly one hundred quid in tips paid off.
His flat was not far from the café. He was shouted at on the streets and checked out by more than a few people. He ignored them all. None of them were beneficial. Anyway, his thoughts were elsewhere. He removed the business card from his back pocket and read it as he ascended the stairs of the flat.
There was not much to deduce from the card. Standard issue from the Bartholomew’s Hospital. He set it on the coffee table and sat down, removing his shoes. He inspected the soles of them carefully. They cost him nearly a week’s pay and they were already getting worn out. Sherlock sighed and carefully set them on the ground.
His flat was too expensive. He would not be able to afford the place for much longer.
What else can he do to get more money? Seducing his customers this much is already getting to be too obvious.
The next logical step was straight out. He would not sell himself to strangers. He would give up some parts of his preferred lifestyle before resorting to that.
He picked up Doctor Watson’s business card again. It was only half past six.
He rang him and was answered by a voicemail. He did not leave a message.
Forty-five minutes of brooding later, Sherlock’s mobile started ringing again. He answered almost immediately.
“Hello,” said the familiar voice on the other end. “I received a call from this number…?”
“Doctor Watson? Sorry, this is Sherlock… You gave me your number this afternoon…” Stop rambling, Sherlock says angrily to himself.
“Oh yes, I remember you. Calling about dinner?”
“Yes, actually,” Sherlock giggled. He did not even fake it. He was horrified at himself.
“The offer still stands. Meet me in front of the café in… twenty minutes? Dress nicely. Not like how you were this morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Sir? Where the hell did that come from…?
“Good. I’ll see you then, Sherlock.”
“Bye…” he said weakly as the call went dead.
Sherlock, after a few seconds of stunned silence, jumped into action, getting ready. He only had fifteen minutes if he were going to meet john right on time and he certainly did not want to be late for their first date.
Rich doctor, attractive and attracted to Sherlock.
He made himself look every bit as good as he had that morning, but decent. He did not want to disappoint Doctor Watson.
Tight black trousers, expensively tailored to fit him perfectly paired with his tightest purple shirt. He looked in the mirror and sighed, seeing his black pumps in the corner of his bedroom. Not tonight.
He slipped on his dress shoes and started walking towards the café.
Doctor Watson was already there waiting for him. He was dressed differently than earlier, but…
Sherlock bit his bottom lip and stopped his train of thought right there. He would not be able to hide anything in these trousers so he needed to wait until later for that.
“Sherlock,” the man smiled infuriatingly at Sherlock who just about melted from the upturned lips under the beard.
“Doctor Watson. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Please, call me John. I’ll get us a cab.”
John stuck his hand out and one immediately pulled over. The door was opened for Sherlock who got in without a second thought.
A few seconds later, John joined him in the back seat, telling the cabbie where to take them: a name of a posh restaurant Sherlock had only heard off, never been to.
The drive was mostly silent because John spent it on his phone. John. It was such a boring name. Sherlock did not think it suited him really. Doctor Watson was more fitting. He sneaked a peak at him out of the corner of his eyes.
That beard… Sherlock shivered slightly, thinking about what it must feel like. It was ginger unlike Doctor Watson’s greying blonde hair. In the small space, Sherlock could smell him. The expensive soap and the cologne did not mix well. The cologne must have been a gift. It did not match the rest of his style.
Sherlock got lost in his carefully censored musings about Doctor Watson. He only came back to reality when John cleared his throat. He blushed and got out of the cab while Doctor Watson paid the fare.
It was obvious that Doctor Watson had been to the restaurant before. They were lead to his “usual” table and a bottle of wine was brought to them immediately.
“How old are you, Sherlock?” John asked before allowing the server to pour him a glass.
“Twenty, sir,” he smiled charmingly. John nodded and two glasses of the dark red wine were poured.
“I hope you don’t mind if I order for you. You need a very specific meal to pair well with this wine. Do you like it? Barolos are an acquired taste.”
Sherlock took a cautious sip of the wine.
It tasted like what he imagined Doctor Watson would feel like. Earthy and strong, but deliciously smooth. He felt the warmth of the sip fill him up completely in seconds.
“It’s… amazing,” Sherlock said, his eyes shining across the table as they made contact with John’s.
“Tell me about yourself, Sherlock. What’s your last name first of all?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” he began with an amused look. “I work in a café… I attended Oxford for less than a month before my forced withdrawal from school… and I like you.”
That brought back John’s smug grin that Sherlock was beginning to fall in love with.
“You like me?” he chuckles. “This wine must be a lot better than I thought it was.”
The dinner continued with just as much blatant flirting. The risotto dish that John ordered for Sherlock made his mouth water before it even got to the table.
Halfway through their matching meals, their feel found each other under the table cloth. Sherlock was going to pull back but the toe of John’s shoe on his ankle stopped him.
They shared the entire bottle of wine and a sinfully delicious dessert which John mostly watched Sherlock eat.
When the tiramisu was brought over, Sherlock knew he was in for quite the treat. He started at the corner and took a bit on his spoon. He placed the spoon in his mouth and slowly sucked it off, humming softly at the richness of the espresso.
After a few minutes of the repeated action, Doctor Watson stopped Sherlock’s hand as he went for another bite. He scooped up a large piece on his own spoon and brought it to Sherlock’s lips who immediately opened his mouth and sucked the dessert off.
“Would you like to come home with me tonight, Sherlock?”
“I would like to very much, sir,” he answered, smiling coyly.
Doctor Watson paid the bill. Sherlock was not inclined to ask after the price or offer to help pay.
Another cab took them to John’s flat. The building was posh and modern. The door man let them in, nodding respectfully to John as they passed.
The lobby was decorated monochromatically and was small. There were two lifts opposite the front doors to which John led Sherlock.
“I’ve lived here for five years and never once have I seen someone else in the lobby. It’s amazing.”
He fished his keys out of his coat and inserted it into the space of the sixteenth floor. The lift began to move.
“How long have you lived in London?” Sherlock asked, looking around at the slightly reflective walls.
“My entire life. And you?”
“Six months? Actually I think it’s seven now.”
Sherlock cold see John’s smirk mirrored in on the wall.
The doors opened right into Doctor Watson’s flat.
“I own the floor. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything? Wine? Coffee?”
“Coffee would be brilliant, actually.”
John obviously lived alone. Only his mark was left on the space. The entire floor was open, like a large studio. The kitchen, though mostly unused, had a gourmet stove and two ovens, a French press, and an electric kettle with looked terribly out of place in such a posh setting. John walked over to the French press and considered it for a moment.
“I’ve had this thing for three years and I still haven’t figure out how to use it.”
He opened up a cabinet and extracted a normal coffee pot which matched the kettle.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he smiled sheepishly but it was clearly a joke.
“Feel free to look around,” John said. “This will take a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The “sir” put a smile on Sherlock’s face that made him bite his lip.
Saying yes to Doctor Watson was the best decision Sherlock has ever made. His fingers grazed the soft fabrics and smooth finishes of the expensive furniture.
Rich, smart, attractive, and tasteful. Doctor Watson was absolutely perfect.
Sherlock sat down on the large bed in the far corner of the flat. Across from the bed through the lounge, were ceiling high doors that opened up to a balcony overlooking the city.
The flat, if it could even realistically be called that, was heaven.
“So you like it?” John asked, sitting down next to Sherlock on the bed and handing him a cup of steaming coffee.
“Careful: it’s hot. Wouldn’t want you to burn your mouth,” John warned.
Sherlock took his second cautious sip of the night and again it was perfect.
“Doctor Watson- John, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure, baby, anything,” the man smiled, wiping the corner of Sherlock mouth with his thumb.
“Will you kiss me?”
John placed the pad of his thumb on the plumpest part of Sherlock’s bottom lip.
“I would love to.”
The kiss, at first, was gentle. John was testing Sherlock, judging his willingness and experience.
Sherlock was a little overeager, trying to deepen the kiss far too soon. John placed a rough, calloused hand on the young man’s neck and pulled back so their lips were only ghosting each other’s. He took the two cups of coffee and set them aside before pressing their lips back together.
Doctor Watson tastes like their wine and coffee and peppermint. His lips are soft but even in a gentle kiss are dominating. His facial hair… it’s driving Sherlock mad. The hair tickles and tortures his face in the most satisfying of ways. John had not yet moved his hand from Sherlock’s neck and the other finds his thigh.
Just the gentle, beginning touches were overwhelming to Sherlock. John’s actions were so deliberate, so certain that Sherlock had no idea how to reciprocate.
“Lie on your back. Get comfortable,” John whispered, his breath ghosting up Sherlock’s jaw as his lips find the space below his ear.
When Sherlock moves away to lie down, John smiled hungrily. Sherlock’s cock was already straining against his trouser zipper.
“Oh, baby… You’re gorgeous…”
“Please… Daddy, I need you to touch me,” he said, gasping softly as John laid a land on his thigh.
“I’ll take good care of you,” John murmured, hovering over Sherlock before kissing him again.
The feeling on the beard on his skin could make Sherlock come. It was nearly over stimulating. He rocked his hips, looking for some relief for his straining erection. He found Doctor Watson’s thigh and wantonly started grinding on it.
“Please, please, Daddy… Oh…”
John reached down and cupped his bulge, making Sherlock’s eyes close with a delicious moan.
“All of this for me? Such a good boy…”
Sherlock gasped and moaned, “Please- Please- Daddy, I want you!”
“Tell me what you want, baby, and I’ll give it to you,” John hummed against Sherlock neck, the vibrations sending another jolt to Sherlock’s cock.
“Please, fuck me, Daddy!”
John deftly unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers, his cock springing free.
“No pants? Sherlock… how… indecent.”
John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock but did not do anything else.
“Please!” Sherlock moaned desperately, his hips bucking into John’s hand.
“I think you need to learn some patience, Sherlock. Wouldn’t want this to be over too soon.”
Sherlock looked like he was going to cry as John removed his hand from his length to finish undressing him with care.
“Don’t you worry, love,” John murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s neck then his cheek. “You’ll get to come. And if you’re very good, you can come more than once.”
Sherlock whimpered, “Daddy…” but did not try to grind on John again.
John pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s collar bone, tasting the pale, unmarred skin. The mix of sensations made Sherlock moan again and we was visibly shaking under John, already coming apart.
Sherlock’s back arched off the bed when he felt the graze of John’s beard over his nipples.
“Daddy!” he cried out and gripped John’s waist, his eyes opening widely.
John circled his tongue around the pert nub and -- having realized Sherlock’s beard fetish – rubbed his cheek against his chest.
“Oh, Daddy…” he whimpered, writhing underneath the older man.
“Oh, baby… you’re already so close. Even dressed like you do, I bet no one has ever even touched you? Am I right, Sherlock?”
“Yes, Daddy, you’re right…” he answered, his legs and voice trembling.
“Oh, I’m a bad, bad man…” John murmured. He gripped Sherlock’s thighs and gently moves them. “Spread you’re legs, baby. Let me take care of you.”
“Oh, daddy…” Sherlock whispered, eagerly opening his legs as John removed a condom and a bottle of lube from the bedside table.
John coated a few of the fingers of his left hand in lube, and then, massaging Sherlock’s thigh with his right hand, circles his pink entrance.
Sherlock panted raggedly and could not help but push down against the finger, looking for more.
John obliged and slowly pressed the slick digit past the first ring of muscle. Sherlock tensed up and jerked.
“Relax, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you…”
He relaxed slightly so John continued to push the finger in deeper, making Sherlock tremble even more violently. Sherlock bit his lip hard, hard enough that John knew it would bruise later.
John was impressed by how well Sherlock took the fingering and stretching. After the first was fully inserted, he was gasping and pleading for more.
“Please! Please, Daddy! I want your cock!”
John in no way was going to deny him that.
“Well, since you asked so nicely, love,” he murmured, unbuttoning his own trousers and extracting his half hard cock. He stroked himself to his full length, his eyes devouring Sherlock’s flushed body.
He rolled the condom on and coated his length in lube before lining up with Sherlock’s adorably stretched hole. Slowly, he pushed into Sherlock whose soft, needy whimpers turned into desperate gasps and moans.
“Daddy! Oh, you’re so big! It’s so good! Oh, oh, oh…”
Listening to Sherlock, John lost his control. The speed of his thrusts into Sherlock increased steadily until he was pounding Sherlock’s stretched little hole.
It only took a few thrusts to make Sherlock come, untouched. But he was hard again and begging in seconds.
“Use me, Daddy! Please! Please! Oh, please, fuck me harder!”
John pulled out and growled, dragging his lips up Sherlock’s neck.
“I want you on your hands and knees. Be good for Daddy.”
The young man immediately obeyed, eager to have his release again. It was but moments before John was pounding into him again, this time pumping Sherlock’s little cock in a strong hand.
Sherlock’s voice raised at least two octaves as he got closer and closer to his orgasm.
John could feel when Sherlock came, the walls flexing around his cock as Sherlock’s seed stained the sheets below him.
John continued to fuck him mercilessly until his release, his grip on Sherlock’s hips bruising.
Sherlock collapsed onto his stomach the moment Doctor Watson pulled out and stripped off the condom, tossing it in the rubbish bin.
“Turn over… Lie down…” John whispered gently, cleaning them off with a few tissues which he disposed of as well. He gently covered Sherlock up in the blanket, holding him close and pressing soft kisses to his temple.
“Sleep well, Sherlock,” he whispered.