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Le Troisième

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John tries to control himself, to deny Sherlock for as long as long as possible - but watching Sherlock’s head bob, the sinful stretch of his spine down to his legs spread obscenely wide to give John a perfect view of his ass, tested John self-control to it’s very limits. No man could resist such a sight for too long. John loves watching him, but he also loves reminding him who he belongs to after they play this game.

 

Sherlock’s tortured whimpers are spectacular to listen to - he's been teasing, trying to wind John up but it doesn't take much to turn the tables. John knows that when he's managed to work Sherlock into this state, he'll choose getting John off over getting off himself (although, sometimes making John come is enough to push him over the edge anyway). Sherlock's hips are rolling, thrusting into nothing as he is powerless to resist the instinctual need to rut.

 


 

Sherlock is torn. the sooner he gets the man he’s blowing to come, the sooner John will fuck him. But the longer he draws it out, the higher the likelihood that John will cave and fuck him while he’s mid-blowjob. It’s no contest which option prefers, really. If he can prod John’s possessive, jealous side just enough, he might be able to provoke the deliciously primal side of John that Sherlock so greatly enjoys.

To that end, he makes the filthiest noises, acting like the cock in his mouth is the best thing he's ever experienced, and generally performs as slutily as he can. He has his hands all over the guy John had chosen for him tonight, grabbing his flesh and slipping fingers inside him like he just can't resist. It'll either get John incredibly aroused or drive him a little nuts with possessiveness - either way, it's a win for them both.

But no matter how needy he is, he won't break John's rules about no stimulation for himself - that'd only make John more determined to drag it out longer, stubborn bastard that he is. He's too desperate for that now. He has one fist around the guys cock, covered in his saliva where his lips meet his fingers every time he bobs his head. His other hand has a thumb on the guys perineum, with two fingers buried inside him, moving rapidly over his prostate. He encourages shallow thrusting movements until the guy has his hands in Sherlocks hair, using his grip to anchor Sherlock’s mouth as he fucks his throat. Sherlock actively encourages the guy to choke him, loving that John can hear him moaning and struggling to breathe around the cock in his mouth.

When John moves into Sherlocks field of vision, his eyes never leave John - they focus on his cock, seeing it drip, picturing it being John that's in his mouth. They occasionally flick upwards to seek eye contact with John, drinking in his obvious arousal, and conveying Sherlocks own.

John tries to entice Sherlock to break his rhythm, to break the rules of the game by smearing his leaking cock along Sherlock's cheek, silently daring him to stop sucking on the cock in his mouth before it's reached its peak. Sherlock desperately wants to reach out with his tongue and please both at the same time but he knows if he does John will make him pay for it.

 


 

Their poor third this evening is completely overwhelmed - Sherlock is absolutely incredible,his mouth a marvel. But seeing the heat in John, seeing the control he has as he teases Sherlock despite being obviously desperate himself, is heady.

He knows that his role is to just lay there and moan and play with Sherlock and not to speak. But with the way that sherlock absolutely worships his cock he can't find it in him to complain. Nothing short of God could stop him now. He's been on the edge for a while now - Sherlock has been winding him closer and closer then easing off and tightening his fingers around the base of his cock. In doing so, he knows he’s only ramping up his and John’s pleasure, drawing it out until one of the three of them breaks (and he knows without a doubt, Sherlock won’t be the one to break). Being between the two of them is overwhelming and it makes him painfully aroused and desperate for release. But by now he's figured out that it's useless begging Sherlock. Despite him being on the receiving end of a cock, having it mercilessly shoved down his throat, he knows that Sherlock is in control of the situation here. And Sherlock isn't doing this for his pleasure, he's doing it for John's. He'll be allowed to come when it will please John, and no sooner.

When he’s finally allowed to come, Sherlock takes the first burst into his mouth before pulling off and taking the condom with him, allowing the rest to paint his neck and chest. He hears Sherlock whimper as a stripe lands across his clavicle, and it sounds like relief.

It’s John that moves next, gently cards a hand over the crown of Sherlock’s head. "Good boy, look at you, you've done very well. Stay right there while I take care of our guest"

He’s escorted from the room and offered a drink as he puts on his shoes. While he’s almost sad it’s over, it’s a memory he’s going to treasure as prime wanking material for a very long time. He knows that, given half a chance, he’d come right back to do this again.

 


When John comes back to the bedroom he finds Sherlock right where he left him, slumped on his knees in front of the bed, breathing deeply and waiting for John to finish this. He comes up behind him, stroking his hair once more.

“Are you ready for your turn?" Sherlock can't say yes fast enough and it makes John chuckle. He leans down to whisper in Sherlock’s ear "You don't come until I say so. You need to be reminded of your place."

He feels Sherlock shiver as his words ghost across the sensitive skin of his ear.

"Did you like that? Making a slut of yourself sucking someone else's cock? You didn't even want him, did you? You'd do anything, anything at all, to prove how much I own you. You are mine." John’s hand twists in Sherlocks hair, just a little. "Did you like him grabbing on you, thinking that he can really have you? He'll never have you like I do"

Sherlocks breaths are turning into pants as a flush spreads across his cheeks and chest.

"You're sucking him, buts it's me you're getting off, isn't it? You're on your knees, making a slut of yourself - to please me and no one else. It's almost as if it were my cock you're choking yourself on, hmm?"

Sherlock is obviously feeling cheeky tonight, wanting to push John just a little.

"You like to watch, you like seeing what I'll do for your pleasure. Of course I liked it, I liked knowing that you were watching me swallow down that massive cock, stopping yourself from pushing him away and taking his pleasure as your own.” Sherlock smiles wryly and adds, “and you wanted to, didn't you? You wanted to throw him out and have me suck you instead"

John just grins. "No. I'd much rather have fucked you right there, until he was so far down your throat you can't breathe, stuffed from both ends and fucking loving it."

 


 

Sherlock may have miscalculated, because that image described in John's aroused, gravelly voice may just do him in then and there.

"Maybe I'd even hold your wrists behind your back, so the only thing keeping your balance is the way I fuck you - my cock pushing you further onto his."

The thought of being so thoroughly used by two men, at John's behest, makes Sherlock impossibly harder. He groans as John's hand tightens in his hair to emphasize the point.

"Oh, you do like that don't you?" Sherlock jerkily nods in John's grasp. "Well, let's table that for now, shall we? Because for right now, I want you all to myself. I'm not normally a selfish man but," John grabs Sherlock's arse with his free hand, gripping it tightly, "This arse is mine. And it's my turn with it. Up."

With that, he tugs on Sherlock's hair to make him move to stand. He pushes Sherlock's face into the mattress and says, "Arse up. Stay."

Sherlock complies.

John grabs a double handful of Sherlocks arse and spreads it wide. "Now, you've been teasing me with this all night - spreading your legs for me because you feel empty without me between them, hmm?"

John says this from mere inches from Sherlock, so his breath ghosts over Sherlocks centre. Sherlock was already practically quivering, but he fully trembles when John sinks his teeth into the fleshy globe of his arse.

"Hold yourself open for me, display yourself for me like you were before"

Sherlock complies readily, his cheeks heating as he spreads himself before Johns gaze.

"I've been staring at this all night. I think it's time I finally get what's mine, don't you?"

And he dives right in - his tongue barely ghosting around before it's pressing in and licking at Sherlocks twitching rim. Sherlock is chanting John's name into the bed covers, garbled pleas that lost any coherence long ago.

Sherlock's legs shake with the effort of keeping himself up when all he wants to do is melt into the bed. His fingers clench tightly into the meat of his cheeks, determined to keep them parted so John can have his way. He practically drools into the duvet, his mouth unable to close due to the noises he makes.

"John, fuck, please!"

He doesn't even know what he's asking for but he needs something, anything, just more.

John pulls away long enough to deliver a playful spank and bite the skin where his thigh meets his arse cheek.

"Greedy little thing, am I not already giving you everything you could possibly want? My full," he licks Sherlock's quivering hole, "undivided', another lick, "attention. What more could you possibly want?"

Sherlock's cheeks flame with embarrassment, wanting desperately to say he needs John's fingers and cock as well as his tongue, his own tongue dry with the desire to speak but struggling to do so. He knows full well that John is toying with him by asking. And he also knows that John won't continue until he's made his wishes clear.

His voice is a deep, scratchy whisper from his dry throat. "Please, John I need... I need you to use me because I'm yours, need you to fuck me because no one else gets to, show me how I'm gonna get fucked because you decide when and it's always perfect and I need it, John, please!"

 


 

Oh, and that means John’s done well. It usually takes more than this to get Sherlock this desperate. It's a good thing too, because John needs to fuck him hard enough to bruise. He wants to see the shadows of his fingers and teeth on Sherlock for days afterwards.

Their position has multiple benefits, in John's opinion - it frees his hands, gives him access, binds Sherlock’s hands behind him - but it also arouses them both, to see Sherlock putting himself on display for John to use as he wishes.

He moves up Sherlock’s back and nudges his cock against his hole. He has a tight hold of Sherlock’s hips because at the first teasing glance across his hole Sherlock tries to squirm back onto it.

"Is this what you want? You haven't had enough cock for one evening?"

"Yes yes yes yes, please John," Sherlock cries, wriggling his hips enticingly. "I'm not complete without your cock in me!"

Those words go straight to John's dick, have him twitching with unfettered need. Without further talk, he reaches for the lube that's been staring them down from the nightstand. He lubes up his fingers with haste and slides two fingers into Sherlock's saliva soaked hole. The abrupt burn from the stretch has Sherlock crying out, stuck between the desire to fuck onto John's fingers and pull away from the assault. His internal conflict has him shifting his hips, willing his muscles to accommodate John's fingers.

"Look at you, so wanton, so needy. Your muscles are clenching around my fingers so hard, trying to swallow me. Don't worry, you'll have me," he promises as he fucks Sherlock with his fingers, stretching him to take his cock.

When Sherlock’s hole is nice and stretched, John rubs his cock along the crack of his ass, drawing out the anticipation. Sherlock whimpers beneath him.

"You're torn, aren't you? You want to be fucked, but you love me using you, tormenting you on my fingers until you’ve gone mad. It's okay, because today I want it as much as you do. You're mine, and you've been so good - making a slut of yourself for me. But I think it's time I remind you whose you are."

John allows Sherlock to move his forearms in front of him to balance himself. He places one hand on Sherlocks neck, his fingers wrapping around the front of his throat. The other guides his cock inside as his hips press forward in an unrelenting, delicious slide.

He takes a moment to enjoy the tight heat and the twitching muscle clutching at him.

"You looked spectacular sucking him off, but I'm going to make you forget he even exists."

And John pushes right into a punishing rhythm, moving one hand to grip Sherlock’s hip to control his rocking. Sherlock tries to match John's movement, but John isn't about to let him - this is about John owning Sherlock. He is the one in control of Sherlocks body. He can't resist leaning forward to suck more marks across Sherlocks shoulders.

Sherlock cries out at the assault on his body, a flood of sensations pummeling his overstimulated nerves. John’s angle is perfect for stimulating his prostate and his teeth make frequent trips to his shoulders, neck, and back, leaving behind purpling bruises. John's hands roam from his neck to his hair to his hips, to his arse as he spreads Sherlock to watch as his cock slides in and out.

Through it all, all Sherlock can do is keen, scream, and moan, pleading with John to fuck him harder, touch him, begging him not to stop but to let him come, wanting John to fill him. John, for his part, lets all kinds of filthy things fall from his mouth. "Take me, all of me", "Who does your body belong to?", “Is that what you need? My cock inside you? My come inside you?", "Fuck, the thought of anyone else having you, never going to happen, this arse is mine".

Sherlock is near tears from pleasure when John finally decides to stop toying with them both and finally asks, "Are you ready, Sherlock? Ready to take my load? Ready to come?"

When Sherlock begs and pleads so prettily. It’s like music to John’s ears.

"God, John, fill me up until I'm overflowing with it - Mark me all over, inside and out. Fucking paint me with your come because I'm yours!"

Those words from that mouth does John in. He pulls Sherlock’s hips tight against his as one of the strongest orgasms he's had in ages surges like liquid heat from his belly along his spine. He pulls out just before he finishes and works his cock with his hand to stripe Sherlock’s back with the last of his come.

He doesn't waste any time inserting his fingers back into Sherlocks arse, moving his other hand through the come on Sherlock’s back before wrapping it around his cock. "Can you feel that? It's all over you. In you. I'm everywhere. It's practically dripping out of you"

Sherlock can't stop shivering, can't stop twitching, can't stop writhing. John mercilessly fingers his prostate while he jerks his cock and it doesn't take long at all before he, too, is coming. John strokes him through it, slicking up his hand even more before lifting it to smear it along his back to blend their spunk together.

"Look at that, look how filthy you are. Dripping in come for me." Sherlock pants, his mouth open and drooling, trying to steady his heart rate. He winces when John pulls his fingers from his hole but the feeling of emptiness is soon soothed when John collects him in his arms. He feels John kiss his temple and whisper against his skin,

"That was brilliant." John presses another kiss to the space beneath his ear and asks, "shower? Dinner?"

"Mmmm, dinner. Shower... Maybe later."

John grins. "Gonna wear me a little while longer, then?"

Sherlock has caught his breath, and a wicked glint enters his eye. "Fetch the plug and I'll wear you all over, all night"

If he hadn't just had a rather spectacular orgasm, that would have made him hard all over again. But the night is young. He dragged himself away from Sherlock’s warm, soiled skin. He places one knee on the bed as Sherlock hitches a leg upwards. John allowed himself to press his fingertip against Sherlocks hole, still gaping slightly and with a small line of come dribbling from the centre, taking in the erotic sight for future enjoyment. Having looked his fill, he gently presses the plug in, savouring Sherlock’s gasp as the widest part breaches his surely sensitive rim. They both moan a little when it settles into place.

John crawls up and drapes an arm around Sherlocks waist, nosing into the hair at the nape of his neck. Sherlock's voice is a delicious, sated rumble.

"How about dinner, then? We could try that new Thai take away place round the corner?"

John smiles into the damp skin of Sherlocks neck. "You always know just what I want."