“Binocular, binoculars. I know they’re in here somewhere.” Sherlock rifled through the bottom of John’s wardrobe, carelessly pulling out various sized boxes on to the floor in search of the leather case that he’d seen a few months ago. He’d seen them while he’d lain in bed sated and watched John dress for work one morning; he knew they were in there. A trainer that had long ago lost its partner flew over Sherlock’s shoulder followed quickly by some cheap ties that he planned on throwing out later. “Ugh, hideous. I’ll be doing you and humanity a favour.” A few wire coat hangers met a similar fate being tossed over one shoulder then the other.
The bottom of the wardrobe was soon empty so Sherlock set swiftly to the dusty boxes. One lid, photos. “Useless.” Another lid, passport and other important documents. “Come on, come on.” Next lid, dress shoes. “Damn it to hell.” Final lid, underwear. Sherlock’s flurry of activity halted.
Sherlock wasn’t thinking about binoculars anymore. His only thoughts surrounded why the man he was sharing a bed with had a dark red gift box containing at least twenty pairs of women’s underwear. The box wasn’t dusty either. This had been opened, kept clean, the underwear smelt fresh and clean. Hand-washed.
With teeth gritted he quietly examined the evidence. He lifted one pair between pinched fingers. Dark blue lace, French cut so they sat across the hips, they would be see-through front and back. Titillating, not practical. Another pair, pale yellow cotton briefs, simple with just a small bow marking the front. A satin pair of briefs covered in small butterflies has a keyhole detail in the back that would highlight a woman’s bottom cleavage that is typically hidden, alluring to some. Alluring to John obviously. He scrunched them up and threw them to the floor, his anger prickling. Sherlock was taking less care now as he looked at each one, different shapes, different styles, different materials... different women.
He’d had enough. He grabbed a fist full of them. The binoculars were completely forgotten along with the reason he wanted them. His rage carries him down the stairs two at a time and into the living room where John was sitting with the morning newspaper, startled by the sudden heavy footsteps.
“Souvenirs, John?” Sherlock seethed and held up his clenched fist, full of cotton, silk and gauzy see-through mesh.
John visibly paled his eyes wide on the underwear held aloft. His mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Well?” Sherlock challenged his lover. “Should I give you a pair of mine now or is it only the women you keep?” Being furious was much easier than being hurt, that could wait until later when he’d lick his wounds in private. Right now he was sitting on a crest of rage and quite happy to let it crash down upon John until he felt satisfied and right again. He felt a fool for letting John get so deep under his skin, for making him care.
“Shit, Sherlock it’s not what you think, really it isn’t.” He stood but Sherlock took a step back. John rubbed a hand across his face, looking pleadingly at the still scowling detective.
“You often look through all your conquests, John? Think about them? Do they excite you?”
“No, Sherlock, you’ve-”
“Enlighten me John because as far as I’m concerned I’m currently standing holding the under garments of at least five women you’ve gotten off with!”
“Shit, they’re... not...” He paced anxiously; adjusting his long sleeved t-shirt he was wearing like it was too tight.
“You might want to finish that sentence before you find these and the rest of them alight on your bed.” Sherlock said far too calmly. He meant every word. John knew that too.
“I’ll explain but I didn’t expect to tell you like this. Will you sit down and relax for a second, please?”
“Fine.” John took a breath and looked Sherlock square in the eye. “They’re mine.” John couldn’t maintain the eye contact beyond a few seconds and instead looked out the window and puffed out his cheeks in defeat. His bravado failed him. Sherlock hadn’t flinched, studying the man in front of him. It was a possibility in his angry haste he hadn’t considered but John had been open with him about other sexual preferences. Of course he understood that John might not have wanted to share this one.
“I bought them.” He avoids Sherlock's eyes, staring out the window. “No woman has worn them or seen them. They’re... for me.”
Sherlock anger dissipated in a flash to be replaced by something completely different and much more pleasant. Surprisingly so. “You find them... arousing.” Sherlock was wondering if he did too.
“God Sherlock, you really want me to say it? Fine, then yes. I was going-”
“Shush.” He cuts John off sharply. “Prove it.”
John turned back and looking quizzical but a lot less defeated. “They’re all the same size for starters.”
“Not enough. Go to your room, undress and put on your favourite pair. Don’t get in bed. Wait for me.”
“You-you want me to wear them. For you?” He stuttered out.
“Yes.” Sherlock stared expressionless at the quite terrified John. “It’s the only way to prove that these belong to you.” It would also explain a few things to Sherlock about his burgeoning erection that was growing steadily. He wanted John out of the room before it showed, to keep him on the back foot.
“Are you... I haven’t ever... um...”
“John. Upstairs. Now.”
“Yeah, ok, just give me a few minutes ok. I’m not really... yeah, ok I’m going.”
John walked past, Sherlock’s eyes on him as he leaves, and walked calmly up the stairs but they both know that he's far from calm. Sherlock heard the door to his bedroom click shut and began to pace, releasing his nervous anticipation. He was still holding the underwear, John’s underwear. It felt different now, not a source of fury but of excitement. He hadn’t foreseen this outcome but then he never claimed to be infallible.
When it came to sexual predilections they were rarely obvious. Each person hides their preferences under layers of subterfuge and personality. Of course there were indicators, Sherlock knew this, he was better than most at deducing those who love to have their toes sucked and those who want to feel a good hurt at someone’s hand. But John... he was different.
Sherlock was picturing him changing, hesitant but knowing exactly which pair he would wear, which were his favourite. Of course he had a favourite, that’s why he bought so many pairs, because he got a new favourite. Something would catch his eye and he would need to have them. He stopped his pacing for a moment and pressed his free hand against his erection. “Yes, very nice.”
Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. The first time John had undressed for him Sherlock had been surprised to find he was clean shaven. This was why. He liked to feel them. They would fit better with him shaved. Sherlock’s heart was pounding now.
He could barely stand the wait. Which pair would he choose? The dark blue lace ones? How on earth would he be able to wear them without falling out? Perhaps he favoured the simplicity of cotton. He leant against the wall and touched himself again, pressing the wad of underwear to his covered groin and canting his hips back and forth. “Hmmph, ohhh.” It was no good, he couldn’t wait any longer or he’d end up wasting a unique opportunity with a frenzied masturbation episode against the living room wall. He forced himself to walk slowly up the stairs to keep his excitement concealed and his hands off himself. He wanted to control this and set the pace.
When he found himself outside of John’s door he inhaled deeply and let it out as slowly as he could. He put one surprisingly composed hand on the door handle and entered John’s bedroom.
John was stood in front of the wardrobe; the mess Sherlock had made on the floor had been tidied away. He cared for his things and tidying up would have been a distraction while he waited. Sherlock closed the door behind him and silently took in the sight of John fruitlessly trying to conceal himself.
Nude but for a pair of black silk French knickers. Lace trim around each leg that was tighter around his thighs than they would have been on a woman. They were detailed with a small slit up each side which made them looser and revealed the light birth mark on his right leg. The faint trail of blond hair from his belly button met a bow at the centre but Sherlock knew that there was no hair further than that. Just silk on smooth skin.
Sherlock’s heart was racing, his trousers bulging but John wouldn’t or couldn’t look even vaguely in his direction. Arms shielding himself, blushing and mortified. Gaining Sherlock’s trust again was obviously worth the discomfort.
Sherlock walked towards John who still wouldn’t look at him. With one long finger he stroked John’s jaw and guided his gaze to where he wanted it to be. John was gasping for breath, mouth dry, unfortunately with panic and not arousal though Sherlock planned on changing that. Sherlock watched as John finally began to register the expression on his face. He knew his eyes were dark and wanting but John wouldn’t believe that Sherlock desired this too. Granted this was recent news for Sherlock as well.
“Come.” Sherlock commanded softly and walked backwards to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing John to stand between his open legs. He moved John’s hands to his sides, balled up and tense but hopefully not for too long. John’s silk underwear was just below eye level, his soft penis and testicles carefully cradled inside something that wasn’t designed to hold him. If he moved incorrectly he’d slip out down one of the leg holes. He knows how to wear them. Well practiced. This aroused Sherlock even more.
“Shush, don’t speak yet.”
Sherlock silenced him with a look and John acquiesced begrudgingly. Sherlock was finished observing and ready to touch, first running his hands up John’s lightly hairy thighs, just brushing the lace trim at each leg with his fingers. The room was so silent that their heavier than usual breathing sounded awfully loud but it couldn’t be helped. Sherlock kept his hands sweeping up and down, tracing a new line each time, sometimes brushing the lace that cupped John’s bottom or slipping higher under the slits at the sides. Sherlock could feel John’s muscles flexing and quivering under his gentle palms and delighted at the movement he was causing against the front of knickers as John responded to Sherlock’s caresses.
Sherlock was beginning to regret not taking off a single item of clothing but he did enjoy having John so exposed before him, both his body and his secret. He would never have had expected he’d experience such a visceral reaction to the thought of John wearing such a feminine item, let alone seeing him in the black silk. Something about someone as unassumingly masculine as John, a rugby playing army man, enjoying such an activity was having a dramatic effect on Sherlock.
He ran his hands up John’s thighs again, this time sliding inside the front of the legs just slightly and brushing his thumbs against either side John’s balls that were resting in the gusset. “Oh god, Sherlock, nnggh.” He sighed on a broken breath. Sherlock smiled and repeated the action once more, slower, starting from the inside of John’s knees, teasing his thumbs up the sensitive insides of his thighs, achingly slow, before sneaking inside and brushing again against his hairless sack. “Oh fuuu, god.” He bit both of his lips into a thin line. Sherlock was revelling in each reaction.
John was becoming hard, his inhibitions and anxiety melting away quicker than before. His arms now hanging loose and relaxed at his sides. Sherlock took one more path up the backs of John’s thighs before grabbing two silk covered globes of his arse. “Tell me, John, why these? Why are these your favourite?” He squeezed and kneaded the silk against John, watching the front tug across his hardening penis, displaying the long shape of him, foreign in such a garment. “Be detailed.”
“I, um.” He cleared his dry throat from breathing through his mouth so much and tried to move saliva round his mouth and lips, licking them quickly. “I saw them in a shop, in the window and I uh, really liked how they looked, they had a nice cut.”
“Did they make you hard when you saw them John?”
“It was a busy street but... yeah, I was interested.” He looked away embarrassed so Sherlock cupped the material around John’s balls. “Oh, mmm.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
Sherlock leant back and roughly grabbed John’s hand, forcing it against his erection. He gave John a withering look that told him to stop ferreting and enjoy himself.
“Ok, yeah, I’m convinced.” John grasped tight and released three times before Sherlock remembered what they were doing.
“Keep telling me, what did you like about them?” Sherlock’s voice was ragged; he could have taken everything just then but he’d dug some self control from somewhere deep inside. "Wait." He quickly stood, undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor. He rid himself quickly of his tight underwear and kicked them away. Finally his burning hot member was free in the cool air.
“God Sherlock, wow.” John gave Sherlock a decidedly lustful gaze before he was dragged to stand between Sherlock’s now bare legs. He was still wearing his shirt, there didn’t feel like there was time to waste. Sherlock resumed his exploration, this time rubbing and stroking the material against John’s shaven area around his cock. “Ah, that feels nice."
"Go on, what do you like about this pair?" Sherlock needed to hear John's voice as he touched him.
"I, uh, liked the shape of them, the lace edge and I’ve never felt silk before, not on me anyway. They were expensive but after that last case, I could afford them.”
“How much?” Sherlock knew it was vulgar to ask but he wanted to know what John considered a treat.
“Wha’?” John replied, distracted by Sherlock running his finger along the skin where the top of his underwear sat. John shivered and sucked his stomach in involuntarily. Sherlock loved how responsive he could be, putty in his hands. “Thirty quid.”
“John, I blow my nose on more expensive material.” Sherlock leant forward and sucked a hard kiss against John’s stomach, cupping his bottom at the same time but leaving his cock untouched.
“God, well, I guess you’ll have to help me next time. Oh, good, keep doing that.” He said breathlessly, leaning into Sherlock now kissing and licking his way towards the ruffled waistband, his tongue licking at the bow, the feminine touch. He dropped to his knees in front of John with a grunt of satisfaction ready to give more.
“I’d like that.” Sherlock said against John’s skin. “When did you know you enjoyed this, John?”
“You really want to – ow!” Sherlock bit his stomach none too playfully. “Ok, ok, I was seventeen.” John rested his hands in Sherlock’s hair, raking his fingers through as Sherlock kissed and laved at the skin of his stomach, his hands firmly on his arse, even pushing the material so it rubbed between his cheeks a little. “I had just turned seventeen; Harry had just gone back to uni after the Christmas break and she’d had some friends over for New Years Eve. Mum had done my washing for me and one of the girl’s bright pink g-strings was in with my stuff. It was tiny but it had really soft satin at the front.”
Sherlock, while still enjoying John’s stomach, let a finger run the length of John’s erection that was distending the front of the material. John groaned and lost his thread on the story. Sherlock looked up at him devilishly through his eyelashes and did it again, watching John’s reaction and his grit his teeth and growled, bucking towards Sherlock’s feather light touching as he swirled patterns with his finger along the length of him. “Sherlock, god, please.”
“Keep talking, what did you do with the g-string?” Sherlock cupped and massaged him, one hand one his cock, another rolling his balls so they slipped out slightly. Sherlock swallowed hard, the sight making him want to speed this up; his need be touched becoming urgent.
John was losing patience too. “I wrapped it around my hand and wanked with it,” he said quickly and desperately, “Sherlock, god, you’re killing me, please fuck me or do something.”
“You look wonderful John; I don’t want to take them off. Not even to fuck you.” Sherlock sank down on to his heels and mouthed John’s cock breathing hot breath through the silk.
“Oh, god.” John’s fingers curled tight into Sherlock’s hair so he couldn’t move away from where he wanted him. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Sherlock licked the length of him through the fabric, feeling the heat of John’s hardness before taking the head of him, sucking him through the silk. Tasting him through the silk too.
“God Sherlock, god, oh, fucking hell.” His grip was painful now but Sherlock cared not. “God I’ve thought about this so much, oh fuck, so good.”
Sherlock grunted low and hard at hearing that this had been a fantasy of Johns and the subsequent vibrations made John’s knees buckle. “God John, I need more.” Sherlock stood, took a second to see the wetness where his mouth had been and his testicle hanging out down one leg before grabbing him and forcing him roughly to the bed but only half on, he had to brace his feet on the floor.
“Sherlock, lay on me.” Sherlock already had that in mind and practically threw himself on top of John, crushing his cock against John’s silk covered one. “Yes.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, keeping them tight together.
“Ohhhh, yes, I understand even more now.” He drawled as he thrust against John, becoming quicker and quicker, staining the black material with his precome. He wondered how different it would feel if he was shaven too. His kissed John’s mouth, biting and growling as they rutted against each other, John taking Sherlock’s dominance like he had no choice.
“Fuck, Sherlock, feels so good, don’t stop.”
“I want you to come in them, make them wet.”
“Jesus fucking, yes.”
Sherlock had John pinned, legs hanging awkwardly but entwined with Sherlock’s longer and slimmer ones. John slipped his hands under the shirt Sherlock was still wearing and dug in his nails across his arched back to leave scratches as he clung on for dear life.
“I love it Sherlock, I fucking love wearing these.”
Sherlock couldn’t speak; instead just bit a bruise into the side of John’s neck, soothing it with his tongue before biting again.
“God Sherlock.” John hissed, the pain a very good one.
Sherlock rolled them over, grabbing John so that they didn’t part where it mattered and shoved his fingers between John’s parted cheeks so the silk rubbed against his hairless hole. “Oh holy fuck.” John could barely speak, shaking on top of him. “Nearly.”
Sherlock was frantic, eyes screwed shut as he ground mercilessly against the material, catching on the rougher lace, sliding against John’s cock, John in his silky, feminine knickers. “Oh, oh god.” He tipped his head back and continued to thrust through his release, his come dampening the silk, covering them both. “Yes, lovely, yes.”
John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s cotton covered chest as he silently jerked through his orgasm. Body tense, his knees drawn in slightly, unbreathing for the longest time, Sherlock didn’t know if he’d ever stop. “Yes, John, in the silk. Wonderful.” He whispered as he felt him pulse against him. He finally sagged on his elbows, gasping for breath. Sherlock lifted him slightly and saw come running out of one of the legs holes on to his softening cock below. “John, oh god.” Sherlock’s jaw dropped. How he had gone his whole life not knowing he wanted to see just that.
“Yeah. That was good.”
Sherlock tipped John so he lay next to him on the bed, still with their legs hanging off. Sherlock gently ran his fingers through the trail of come that had run down his leg and into the damp inside. John winced a little at the sensitivity. "Shouldn’t have kept this from me.” Sherlock commented silently on the sheer amount that John had come; he definitely shouldn’t have kept this secret.
“Didn’t know what you’d think.” John said simply.
“Did you think I’d make fun of you?”
“Maybe, I didn’t know. I was still feeling you out.”
“What if it were me, would you have taken the piss out of me?” Sherlock massaged some of John’s slickness into the soft skin surrounding his cock, shaven this morning just an hour or two ago. John cheekily pressed Sherlock’s hand into him firmer.
“I would have called you a big girl’s blouse and snapped your knicker elastic for being such a weird pervert.” He said with a dopey smile on his face, still clouded from his orgasm.
“Good job I’m not the one who likes wearing them then.” Sherlock smiled softly back.
“Yes, it is quite.” John giggled before turning more serious. “It’s just a bedroom thing and it’s not like I cross dress, no bras or dresses or anything, just... just the knickers. Anyway, wouldn’t dare wear them out, can’t get shot and taken to hospital wearing cotton briefs with cherries on. Don’t even know why I bought those.”
Sherlock looked over at John, his neck bite already purpling along with the red suck mark on his stomach. It looked so delightfully sinful above John’s ruined silk knickers, clinging to his flaccid cock. He wanted more of this, much, much more.
“We need to clean up.”
“Yeah, we should.” John stood up stiffly and went to remove his sticky underwear. Sherlock quickly stood up, his body protesting and pulled John’s hands away.
“Leave them on; we’ll wash them in the shower.” Sherlock knew he hand-washed them, couldn’t risk anyone seeing them.
“God Sherlock, will you ever let me take them off?” He smiled and staggered, still unsteady on his feet so he grabbed on to Sherlock’s arm for balance. Sherlock looked down at him, a beautiful sight, damp silk and glistening skin.
“Only when I fuck you and even then I want them at your ankles.”
“Oh fuck yes, it’s like you’re in my head Sherlock. Can we do that over the arm of the sofa?”
“Anything you want but I get to pick the next pair.”