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The Next Step

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Sherlock appeared sheepishly from the bedroom door. He had a towel around his shoulders and his hair was wild where he had run it though the mess that was his curls. He had been very subdued since he'd asked John yesterday, the worst part was he wanted it but John hadn't given him a response.

For the first time in ages, the doctor felt awkward around Sherlock. Hell, he had never felt this awkward around the man. He had to get a grip on himself.

Maybe he'd pushed the doctor too far? He didn't want to, they were fine as they were, but that idea of the full time dominance that John showed more and more just wouldn't leave the porch of his Mind Palace. He sighed and turned back into the bedroom. He was not hiding.

John had caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face. He had been wearing that confused expression, the one he wore when he thought he had done something a bit not good, but wasn't exactly sure what. The doctor couldn't let that stand, not when, for once, Sherlock had been innocent. John stiffened his back with resolve and strode to their bedroom.

He wasn't hiding, not at all. He was just staying out of the way, that was it. What if John didn't want to be responsible for everything? Why would he want to? Sherlock spent the majority of his time being rude and arrogant and running off, why would John want to be responsible for all that?

Just as Sherlock was about to throw himself onto the bed, the door flew open behind him. Before he knew what was happening, John had tackled him to the bed and pinned him down. The detective struggled against him, reflexively, until he felt John's knee press threateningly against his crotch. Sherlock stilled instantly.

“Is this what you wanted?” the doctor asked in a low growl.

He didn't know what to say. Sherlock didn't respond verbally instead he pushed up on his palms, lifting his upper body off the bed. John wasn't happy with the non-verbal response, if this was going to work there needed to be communication. The detective swallowed awkwardly when John grabbed one arm, pulled it behind him and up between his shoulder blades successfully quelling the fight from the younger man and forcing his face into the bed.

If anyone else had done that to him, Sherlock would have bucked them off and sent them flying, then he would have knocked out some teeth for good measure. Feeling John on top of him, however, made the detective go pliant, soft and shivery all over. Well, almost all over. The doctor gave his arm a wrench.

“Well?” John asked, his voice full of warning.

This was... “Yes, John. Please,” Sherlock begged.

“Are you begging me, Sherlock Holmes?” John was completely bewildered.

Sherlock wriggled slightly, indignant. But he couldn't fight it anymore, he needed to submit, he needed to be dominated. He felt the need to argue, to wind John up so the older man would be rough with him, but he couldn't bring himself to disappoint him. His arm was wrenched a bit further.

“Yes, John. I am.”

The doctor's breath was taken away by those words. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had never begged for anything in his life, was begging him.

“Okay, then.” John leaned down and nipped at Sherlock's neck just below his earlobe. “If that's what you need, Love.” He bit down hard enough to leave a bruise, but not so hard as to break the skin. “Play now or talk?”

“Talking John? How dull.”

He yelled out in pain as John knelt up, still holding his arm behind him, but moving his legs to press up against his balls.

“Did you just call me dull?” John's voice was low and threatening.

Out of principle Sherlock struggled again, using his free arm to reach around and hit out at the doctor. John knew what he was up to; delaying things. He just grabbed that arm too, pressing it into a similar position as his other one. “Decision time Mr. Holmes.”

“I would have thought my answer was obvious.”

“Oh, such cheek!” John forced the detective onto his back so that he could see his face. He sat atop Sherlock's thighs, holding the detective's wrists tightly. “You're in for a rough time of it, Love,” John put a dangerous emphasis on the appellation. “And don't think we won't be talking later.”

Sherlock glared up at him defiantly. “You talk all the time, John, but I sometimes choose not to listen.”

“Well, pet,” Sherlock's eyes blew at that. “You'd better listen very carefully.”

“Or what?” Sherlock challenged.

This was the tipping point, then. John could ignore the challenge or take the plunge and introduce another new element to their relationship. He thought fast, sifting through his options. Backing down was right out. If he did that, it would mean the end to all of this, he was certain.

“Or I'll put you over my lap and spank you like the misbehaving child that you are. No, not like that,” he corrected himself. “The spanking you'll get wouldn't be suitable for a child. I'll ensure that you won't be able to sit comfortably for days.”

Sherlock glanced first from one wrist, then to the other where John now had them pinned tightly by his sides. He struggled slightly and John clenched his fists around his wrists so tightly his knuckles went bone white.

“Alright John,” he winced, hissing air through his teeth. “I'll listen. I promise.”

John loosened his grip slightly, knowing he would probably have to resort to the spanking later. Sherlock was good at making pie crust promises: easily made, easily broken. “Okay, then. I want you on the bed, on all fours.” He slid off the detective and to the side, his eyes falling on Sherlock's raging erection. This might actually work between them.

Sherlock rotated his wrists slightly with a pointed look and a sly grin towards the doctor even as he headed into the bathroom in search for lube.

Sherlock took his chance. His cock was throbbing and he quickly scrambled to get into position. Then he balanced on one hand reached his other down to his leaking cock.

When the doctor returned, he stopped dead in the doorway, just looking at his pretty detective rutting into his own hand. He felt the sympathetic swell of his own cock in his jeans. John took one step forward then remembered himself. He was supposed to be in charge here. Grasping his sub's arm, he pulled, causing the younger man to collapse on his chest.

“John!” Sherlock complained.

“No, don't 'John' me, Sherlock!”

He had been so close, his orgasm mere moments away. He didn't see what the problem was. John had said he wanted to talk. Surely the quicker he got his orgasm out of the way the quicker they could talk.


“And no 'buts'.” John slapped him on his arse and growled out. “Over my lap now!”

Sherlock rolled over, propping himself up on his arms. He looked lost. “I don't understand.”

“The spanking I mentioned before? Well, you've earned it, pet.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, Sherlock thought. “That's twice you've called me ‘pet’. Why?”

John roughly manhandled him over his lap. “Because, pet, that is your name when you're in trouble.” Raising his hand high, the doctor asked, “Problem?”

“Yes. Problem. I'm not a dog.”

John shifted the detective over his knees slightly so his head was on the bed and he had a good view, his lover's hard cock settled between his legs.

“We could always try 'boy', if that's what you'd prefer?”

Sherlock couldn't work out whether he wanted that or not.

John dropped his hand on Sherlock's arse. “Eh, boy?”

The detective's cock jumped, much to his mortification. He turned his face into John's leg and whimpered.

“I take it that's a yes, then,” the doctor laughed, bringing his hand down lightly on Sherlock's arse. He rubbed it absently as he spoke, “When you implied that you wanted punishment, this is what you were signing up for. You do understand that?” John asked quietly.

“Ys hn,” came the muffled reply.

“What was that?”

Sherlock gave a huff and squirmed suggestively. “Yes, John.”

“Well then.” John tipped the detective off his lap and he landed in a head on the floor. His gaze shot up in mortification.

“I don't understand.”

“If you like being spanked it isn't a punishment, is it? You were after punishment, in other words you want me to do something to you that you won't like.”

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed several times, making him resemble nothing so much as a fish. For once, the detective was at a loss for words. John opened the bedside table and retrieved something, Sherlock couldn't see what it was. He scrambled back, but stopped himself at a sharp glance from the doctor.

John crouched down and, with practiced ease, snapped a cock ring in place around Sherlock's erection and sack.

“This is punishment?” A note of sarcasm had crept into the detective's voice.

“Oh, we're not playing with orgasm delay. This is denial, pure and simple.” John grinned at the shocked look on Sherlock's face. “And I'm going to get off by fucking you into the mattress.”

That didn't sound as bad as it could be. John always liked it hard and fast. Fast meant the sooner this was over, the sooner he could have a shower and have a quick wank without the doctor’s knowledge. Easy.

“And don't even think of having a quick wank when I'm not looking,” John warned.

Sherlock scowled - he was supposed to be the mind reader, after all. He put on his most innocent expression which only served to make the doctor more suspicious. He grinned at his sub, thinking that he would have to short circuit the detective's plans. As soon as the doctor finished with him, there would be a cock cage with Sherlock's name on it.

“Hands behind your head,” the Dom ordered. Then he turned to reach for something under the bed.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what happened next. All he knew was John was behind him and thrusting his wrists into the leather cuffs before buckling them there with a karabiner. “This is right isn't it? You wanted it rough?”

“Rough, yes, but what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Do?” John asked. “You're not supposed to do anything but take what I give you and say 'Thank you, Sir,' when all is said and done.” With that, the Dom pushed his sub, face first, down onto the bed. He plunged downward with his hand, stroking along Sherlock's perineum and up between his arse cheeks.

Sherlock trembled in anticipation. John had never sounded so forceful; so commanding, was this what punishment was going to be like? He clenched his fists in the cuffs and thought he'd try his luck in making this a tad easier on himself. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the duvet where John pressed his head. It was clear enough for John to either take it or leave it.

John took it greedily, letting his finger linger over Sherlock's hole. He pressed in with the lightest touch, not using enough pressure to penetrate him, but enough to imply a threat.

The detective gasped, then bit down on the duvet to keep from speaking. Surely John would use lube. Yes, he would, Sherlock quickly deduced. John would never hurt him, not really. The doctor loved him too much. But then again this was a completely new aspect to their relationship, he didn't know what the punishment side of it was going to be like. He part wished he had chosen to talk first, at least then he'd know where he stood. John could quite easily prepare him without lube. It would take a lot longer because despite not being sure how far he was willing to go, permanently hurting him had to be off limits, surely?

“You're like me, aren't you, boy?” John grabbed the lube, making sure not to let Sherlock see. “You like a bit of danger, living on the edge.” The detective tensed beneath him and his hole clenched tight under the pad of the Dom's finger. He pressed just a bit harder, feeling the barest tip of his finger dip into the dark pucker. “How's this for danger? Is your adrenaline flowing?”

The detective's head moved from side to side into the duvet. “There's dangerous and then there's damaging,” Sherlock panted. He bit his lip so as to not to make any further noise.

John couldn't believe how trusting Sherlock was, even now. If there had been any true fear, the detective would have fought him off. He opened the lube, one-handed, with a 'snick'. At the sound, he could feel his sub relax beneath him. “Did you truly believe I would hurt you?” John asked as he dribbled a bit of lube just above his finger that hadn't left the detective's hole.

“Well, this is punishment, I didn't know what to think… I was expecting you to hurt me, but I knew it wouldn't be permanent.”

“I wouldn't hurt you like that,” the doctor said as he gently pushed in a single digit. “Not unless you asked me to.”

Sherlock sighed at the feel of John's finger inside him - it wriggled and pressed against his inner walls. “More please, sir,” he mumbled into the duvet. He wanted to feel the stretch of more fingers inside him. John gladly obliged, pushing in a second finger.

“Just for comparative purposes and so I can open a new room in my Mind Palace, is this punishment?” He moved his arse slightly so John's fingers went where he wanted. Immediately, the fingers disappeared and Sherlock whined. He tried to look around, but the Dom's hand was holding his head steady, gripping his hair. “John!” The doctor tightened his grip in the dark curls.

“I think you've forgotten something, boy. I'm not going to let you come.”

Oh, Sherlock thought, there was that. He wrestled with the cuffs that were holding his arms behind him and John chuckled darkly. “This is going to be entirely for my pleasure, not yours. In fact, you'll be lucky if you get to come in the next week.”

He struggled, trying to peer over his shoulder again; make an argument, but all he achieved was him getting pushed face first back into the bed. It seemed the doctor didn't want him talking anymore, let alone arguing. The next thing he knew, John's cock was sliding into him. While that was indeed very nice, the doctor was being infuriating. John had perfect aim, and not just with a gun, so the fact that he had entirely missed Sherlock's prostate was clearly no coincidence. Much to the sub's annoyance, John kept on missing it. The younger man tried to wriggle a bit and get the sensation that he wanted, only for the doctor to stop moving.

“What did I just say?” John barked.

Sherlock actually flinched at that, but didn't offer up a response. No, that would be too easy.

John wasn't happy with the lack of response and grabbed the chain linking the cuffs, he yanked his arms up so they were forced out and back.

Sherlock muffled a yell into the duvet, and John yanked his head back by the curls. “Eh?”

“You said it was for your pleasure. Not mine. John.” The pressure on his neck was increased. “Sir!”

“Damn straight,” John said as he started moving again, his thrusts slow and measured.

Sherlock wanted desperately to rut against the bedclothes, but forced himself not to move. How had he got into this position again? Oh, yes. There had been the thing about talking and listening and then he had shot off his mouth with a challenge. “Sir?” he asked.

His Dom stopped for a moment at his sub's diffident tone. “Go ahead.”

“When we talk, I promise to listen.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” the doctor said with a huff. He thrust in again, missing Sherlock's prostate with a contented hum.

Sherlock closed his eyes, John's grip on his hair still tight. He could see what the Dom meant now, about this being punishment. He knew for a fact that it wasn't his prostate being deliberately avoided that made it sink home, but that didn't mean he did know why he suddenly sagged. His cock lost a touch of its hardness and his wrists stopped fighting, going slack in the cuffs.

John was lost to sensation by this point, his body chasing its impending orgasm. Just a few more thrusts and he was coming, shooting hot and slick into Sherlock. He braced himself to keep from collapsing on his sub and let himself fall to the side. Reaching a hand out, he swept dark curls away from Sherlock's face. His heart stuttered when he saw tears leaking from the detective's eyes.

The first thing that ran through John's mind was that he'd just done that without Sherlock's consent. John glanced at his cock and saw it flagging significantly.

The detective lifted his head and faced the other way, remaining up on his knees, his hands still limp in the cuffs behind him. His breath hitched as he let out a shaky sob. “Thank you, Sir.”

John sat up, not knowing what to say. He hadn't been so confused since that first 'Afghanistan or Iraq'. “I don't understand,” he confessed.

Smiling through his tears, Sherlock leaned toward John, clearly wanting to be held. The doctor obliged by wrapping his arms around him. It was a bit awkward, as Sherlock's wrists were still cuffed, but he seemed to like it.

“You care about me,” he declared. “Enough to give me this, to correct me. You wanted to be sure I listen to you and I will. I promise.” The last was spoken into the curve of John's neck.

John let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank fuck for that, you git.”

Sherlock pulled back enough for his grey-green eyes to search the doctor's face.

“The fact that you're upset because you think you hurt me says it all.”

The Dom didn't even bother to ask how Sherlock had leaped to the right conclusion. He reached for the cuffs but the sub shook his head.

“I like them, sir. Please.”

John worried about keeping Sherlock's arms pulled back for so long. His own shoulder would never stand for it.

The detective bit his lip. “I'll let you know if they get uncomfortable, sir.”

With a smile, John placed a kiss on the younger man's forehead. “It's John, now, Sherlock,” he said gently. Sherlock settled against him once again and John enjoyed the glow of the moment. He didn't forget about the cock cage, but that could wait for a while yet.