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Some days John wonders why he ever wanted to become a doctor. What in the absolute world compelled him to study and train this hard for only the possibility of one day helping other people, which even then were more likely to have a common cold than any of the obscure diseases he’s been studying in his recent classes. He certainly doesn’t remember the answer, but these are the things he thinks about as he trudges home in the rain tonight, take away bag hanging down by his side, backpack heavy with too many medical textbooks. He’s had classes all morning before working at his restaurant job all afternoon and into the night.
While it pays enough to keep him off the street and in an absolute closet of a flat, it doesn’t really do much for any of his other expenses. So, on the rare occasion that the cooks made a meal incorrectly, he does his best to snag it for himself. Tonight is one of those lucky nights, where he’ll have an actual good meal with meat, instead of the survival food of rice and beans he’s been eating for months.
He passes by rows of flats and shops that are closed for the night; the normal everyday people asleep in their beds while the other half are just waking up and heading to the third shift. What he doesn’t pass by are any people walking and he’s happy for the peace and quiet, after yet another long hard day of pursuing his dream career.
John is interrupted from his thoughts as he sees a shadow dart in front of him, the human-like shape disappearing into the alleyway up ahead. He stops, adrenaline coursing through him as he assesses the potential danger the person could be to him. The shape seemed shorter than him, and thin. It’s probably just a teenager trying not to get caught out at night, the student thinks to himself. He is confident that he could overpower whoever it is, his years of playing rugby a testament to his strength. He starts walking again, cautiously staring at the entrance to the alley, poised to strike if the mystery person tries to attack him. But nothing moves in dark, no sound, and no threat as he walks on past staring into the solid blackness, quickening his pace as he only has a few blocks left until he’s home safe.
His keys jingle as he opens the creaky door to his ‘home’, though he loathes to call it that. It’s more like a tiny prison that he gets to leave every day but comes back to despite his hatred for it. He turns on the light which has no covering, dousing the single room studio like flat in harsh white light. He puts his bag in it’s spot by the door and throws the keys on top of it before locking the door behind him. He looks toward the microwave with dread. Should he risk warming up the good meal or give the poor half broken and dying machine a break?
The meal he has is cold, but it fills his belly and lets him sleep well for the first night in weeks, thoughts of the alleyway far from his mind. Even as he gets ready in the morning, he has forgotten all about the scare he got, that is until he is on his way past it, walking to his first class. In the light of morning the previously pitch-black alleyway is no longer imposing or threatening in any way. It looks like every other alleyway with a few garbage bins and little else. But something draws him forward to check it out. He chastises himself because there is no way the person from last night would still be here, yet he’s curious to see if they left any clues behind.
Halfway down the alley he finds a small indent, where the brick building dips in, leaving a sort of hidden section that can’t be seen from the sidewalk. It’s barely more than a meter long and a meter deep, and features a skinny teenager sleeping on several pieces of cardboard. There are rages along the walls and coving him, which are keeping him warm and protected from the late fall weather. John’s heart breaks, realizing the shadow he saw last night wasn’t a teenager trying not to get caught out late but a homeless teen who appears to be struggling to live on his own. He briefly thinks about taking him to the nearest shelter, until he notices there’s something different about the teen. He’s not human, he’s an animal hybrid.
It’s the furry cat-like ears perched on his head that gives him away as being a hybrid. They are dark in color and almost blend into his thick curly hair. If John hadn’t been looking so closely, he may not have noticed them. The fact that the teen’s a hybrid, essentially a genetically modified human, has him rethinking letting anyone know about him. Hybrids are legally considered lower than full humans, no more than a strange experiment turned pet for those rich enough to have something akin to a modern human slave. If this kid has no owner, and John can’t see a collar, then he’s out here illegally, a runaway surviving on the streets. John knows that a hybrid adoption agency would take him in and adopt him out, but if the kid is homeless, then he’s obviously chosen not to seek human help.
John debates for a moment longer, torn between trying to convince the kid to turn himself into the agency and leaving him be. In the end, he pulls out the leftovers from the previous night and leaves them in front of the hybrid’s face, hoping he will see it when he wakes up. The hybrid needs the food more than he does and he’ll just sneak a few bites off people’s plates at the restaurant tonight. He turns around and heads back toward the street, creeping along quietly to not disturb the teen from his much needed sleep.
The rest of John’s day goes the same as every day before it for the past two years. Classes all morning and into the afternoon, work all evening and into the night. He gets lucky when a patron sends a steak back, claiming it’s overcooked. He practically inhales it, choking a bit as he tries to go unnoticed by his coworkers. He had been hungry since lunch but knowing the dark-haired teen had some food felt worth it and helped him get through his day, even if his stomach said otherwise. His thoughts had been fixated all day on the hybrid, going over and over in his head the different scenarios and things he would say to him, to convince him that the adoption center was better than being on the streets all alone.
As he goes to leave that night, the owner, Mr. Martin, asks him to meet in his office. John panics internally, going over every customer complaint he’s ever gotten at the restaurant and tries to mentally figure out how he will survive this month if he can’t secure a job for a few days. The older man sits down in the small office, which is covered in papers and moves a stack that is almost always covering the only other chair in the room. John takes it as his cue to sit.
“John. You have been a great employee for me these past few years.” John gets the sinking feeling that there is a ‘but’ about to come. “But I was told that earlier you were seen eating off of a customer’s plate they had sent back.” Mr. Marin looks at him, his eyes silently asking if what he was told was true.
“Yes, sir. I—I did.” He hangs his head, ashamed that he had been caught doing something so low. He shouldn’t have been so greedy, should have just dug deeper and took on more hours or gone hungry, instead. Now he was going to possibly lose everything and have to scramble to keep the little he has.
“Son. I don’t know much about you, other than you’re a student but even I can tell from what I know, that you wouldn’t be doing that unless you had to. So, what’s going on? Why are you eating other people’s discarded dinners?” The man reaches out a hand and puts it on John’s knee, comforting him.
“I —.” John swallows, wondering why he wasn’t being told to leave yet. “I’m studying to become a doctor at Bart’s. But I don’t have any scholarships or other money to use for tuition or boarding, so I have a small flat off campus. I don’t have time to get a second job, but this one only supports me enough to have my flat and my textbooks. I’ve been taking loans for the tuition, so I don’t have to pay those yet, but —” John takes a shuddering breath. “— but I don’t have a lot in terms of money for food, so sometimes I eat from the plates.” He admits, staring at the floor, refusing to look the man in the eye.
“Oh John. Son, you don’t have to eat off the plates. You should have just told me; we have plenty of food here. You can take some home with you, things that are extra that we can’t sell the next day for health code reasons but are still perfectly good.” Mr. Martin pats his knee.
“What?” John finally looks up at the older man bewildered.
“Yeah. I have a few cooks who take food home. You grabbing the extra soup at the bottom of the pot, or vegetables that are just starting to go is fine. Less waste for the restaurant and more food for those who need it.” He smiles at a stunned John.
“You’re not firing me?”
“Goodness no. You’re a fine worker. Just don’t eat off the customer’s plates anymore. Okay?” Mr. Martin smiles and gives a small good-natured chuckle.
“T-Thank you, sir!” John puts out his hand and the old man shakes it. “Thank you so much. I promise not to do it ever again.” Mr. Martin nods with an approving smile.
They exit the office together and the owner walks John back into the kitchen where cooks are cleaning and prepping for tomorrow, while tearing down their workstations. Mr. Martin shows him how there are generally small amounts of soup at the bottom of the big pots. He scrapes it out with a spatula, and it doesn’t make enough for a serving for a customer, but if he added rice to it, it’s easily a small meal for himself. The owner throws some carrots and broccoli that are starting to wilt into a bag as well, tying it at the top for easy carrying.
“Here. It’s not much for today, but I hope it helps.” He hands over the bag to John, who thanks him once again before leaving.
His journey home is filled with feelings of relief. He was able to keep his job and the owner was nice enough to give him the opportunity for some food. As he passes by the alley with the hybrid in it, he stops and listens. He can’t hear anything coming from the darkness and he has no light to see by. He wants to check if the teen ate the food but it’s too late for that. He’ll need to check in the morning.
Back in his flat he uses the extremely limited cooking utensils he owns to cook a big portion of rice and add it to the soup. He eats half and then saves the other half to drop off tomorrow to the teen. He rehearses his speech he wants to give as well, saying the words confidently and as if he really believes them.
-----
When John walks down the alley in the morning, he already has his latest offering of food, along with a plastic spoon ready in his hands. He wants to appear friendly and puts on his best smile. The last thing he would want to do is scare the teen into running off when he already has a decent little hiding spot to keep him safe. As he approaches said hiding spot, John is upset to find that the teen isn’t there, although the cardboard and rags remain.
He looks up and down the alleyway, trying to find any clue to where he could be, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. John sighs and sets down the food in the makeshift bed just in case he returns, then looks around again, stalling in the hope that the teen will turn the corner in the next moment. He goes to the other end of the alleyway, but seeing nothing, he’s forced to backtrack, taking off for morning class, glancing once more at the food as he passes by. It bothers him that the boy is gone during the day. It’s not safe for him to be out right now, a hybrid without an owner or collar is illegal, and regardless, people will harass hybrids that have collars and are allowed to go to places by themselves, let alone a single young hybrid with no collar.
After work John asks his manager to borrow a flashlight, explaining that he lost his flat key in the morning and would need the light to search for it on his way home. But not to worry because he does have a spare but thinks it’s best to find it tonight before any more time goes by. Mr. Martin gives him one easily, saying he didn’t need to explain why he needed it, as long as he returns it in working order. John feels bad that he lied, but ‘Hey, I’m looking in the dark at night for a teenage hybrid whom I don’t actually know and have never spoken to.’, seems like it might not go over well. Hybrids might be just ‘regular’ pets for some people, but the reason they were created and are still bred is for sexual reasons, which John doesn’t want anyone to think he’s looking for in this teen. He’s just genuinely worried about the youth and feels compelled to help him, but he knows something like this could tarnish his image and being a doctor requires a squeaky-clean reputation. Though the ownership of a Hybrid itself isn’t suspect because plenty of people do just have them as exotic pets, it’s something he would prefer to avoid, just in case.
-----
Standing in front of the alley once again, John flicks on the flashlight and heads down between the two buildings. Every step he makes can be heard as his shoes shift the gravel beneath them. His own breathing sounds loud to him and even when he holds his breath to listen, his racing heart drowns out the silence of the night. There’s no reason to be scared, he tells himself. If the teen attacks him, he can easily fight him off and if he’s not here then he’s alone and in no danger. But these thoughts don’t comfort him like he hopes. The beam of the flashlight falls on the pile of rags and John is happy to see that the food he left earlier is gone, but then he’s hit in the stomach by something that knocks him to the ground and subsequently falls on top of him, the flashlight hitting the concrete and flickering out.
“Hey!” John yells at the body that’s thrashing against his own in the dark. He can tell it’s the teen, as the fists and elbows that collide with him are weak, the hybrid likely having used most of his strength for the initial blow. “Wait, wait!” He yells as he tries to get some type of hold on the squirming teen without hurting him.
A deep guttural growl and flailing limbs are all he’s met with until he’s able to grab a skinny waist, which he then brings toward him, pulling the teen into a bear hug. John gets one flailing arm under control and then the other but can’t do much about the teen’s feet, which continue to kick wildly in a vain attempt to escape. John has a brief moment of wondering how he’ll hide all the bruises from his nosy coworkers, but realizes he wears sweaters all the time, so it’s not actually an issue.
“Would you calm down please ? I’m not here to hurt you, I’m the one that left the food.” John’s voice is strained as he talks, but he tries to stay kind, not fighting back but simply holding on.
To his surprise the teen relaxes, the weak kicking ceasing. John takes a moment to breathe and lets the teen go, not wanting to touch him more than necessary. However, now that he’s not being physically assaulted, he realizes that his nose is being assaulted by the terrible smell of someone who hasn’t showered in weeks. He makes a face but the weight on his chest leaves quickly enough and he breathes fresh air into his lungs.
“I don’t need your help, leave me alone.” The teen states, matter of fact, his voice deeper than expected. John gets on his hands and knees before searching along the ground for the flashlight, completely blind in the pitch-black alleyway.
“Yeah, no. You’re too thin. You need some real food, otherwise you’ll never stay warm. Winter is only a few more weeks away.” John’s hand finally finds the cool smooth metal of the flashlight. He gets up as he tries flicking it on a few times, but it doesn’t work, making John slightly panic that he might now owe Mr. Martin a new flashlight that he can’t afford.
“I can get food myself. I don’t need you .” The hybrid growls out in anger.
When John finally gets the flashlight to turn on by bashing it into his hand, he sighs relieved as he points it at the teen. The would-be doctor gets his first look at just how bad the hybrid’s condition is. Beneath a mop of dark and dusty hair, is a pale and haggard looking face, accentuated by the deep circles that line his eyes. John doesn’t know much about hybrids, but he does know human anatomy and the fact is, he’s way too thin for being about the same height as John. The oversized shirt he’s wearing doesn’t hide the fact that his collar bones are sticking out beyond what is normal. If anything, it makes him look even smaller, drowning his slight frame. Adding to that, a filthy pair of loose sweatpants and he looks like a kid who was trying to wear his dad’s clothes and got them all dirty playing outside in the mud.
All hybrids are different in how their animal traits present and this one has human feet which are pale and most definitely cold on the damp concrete. John begins questioning himself, wondering if leaving the teen alone is really the right thing to do. He should just drag the hybrid to a shelter because while he has some clothes, the fact is that the teen can’t take of himself. He’s undoubtedly starving and nowhere near dressed for the winter which is coming closer each day.
The teen squints in the bright light and shrinks in on himself, crossing his arms as John looks him over. But despite his aversion to the light, he never takes his eyes off John, clearly untrusting of his intentions. The student may have left him food but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want something that the hybrid doesn’t want to give, ulterior motives potentially hidden behind good deeds.
“I can tell you don’t trust humans. I don’t blame you, we’re not exactly the greatest bunch.” The teen stares at him, not saying anything, just watching him intensely. “But I can’t bear to see you out here in the cold. You’re too young for society to have failed you already.” John glances down, knowing his own past is full of those who failed to keep him safe from the drunk fists of his father.
“Society can’t fail what it never intended to support.” The teen says bluntly, light blue eyes squinting in an icy cold stare, which hits John harder than the chilling fall wind.
John sighs out a long breath, which can be seen condensing in the air, as he considers his options. Just that small statement makes him feel like the teen may be smarter than he may have originally judged him for but that doesn’t negate the cold hard fact that he’s struggling to survive on his own. He may have been taught like a normal human wherever he comes from but living on the street isn’t as easy as many people think, even if they are intelligent. John could force him to go to the shelter and be miserable and potentially run away, or he could let him be and help him along best he can. He nods when he makes his quick decision.
“I won’t stop bringing you food and I’d like to give you some clothes as well if you’ll let me. I won’t be able to sleep thinking of you freezing out here when I could do something. I’d never forgive myself if I found you dead from exposure.” John says. This whole time he keeps trying to remember the speech he had been practicing, but he doesn’t remember a word of it, instead speaking from the heart.
“Do what you wish.” The hybrid says, voice cold and uncaring. He finally takes his eyes off John and turns toward his little nook, climbing in under the rags and curling into a ball. John just stands there, dumbstruck by how poorly the plan in his head had gone. Not a single moment of the past few minutes was anywhere close to what he had been thinking. But the teen hadn’t run away, he hadn’t told him no, only that he couldn’t stop him from helping. Which was good because he didn’t intend on stopping no matter what.
“I’m John, by the way. John Watson.” He pauses for a moment, but the teen says nothing, his eyes closed, ignoring him. “Right.” He says, nodding to himself before taking off down the alleyway, flashlight guiding him along his path.
Soon as he is back at his flat, John searches his draws for some clothes, things that will keep the hybrid warm as the fall turns to winter. He doesn’t have much, but one day he’ll be a rich doctor, working in a hospital and he’ll have plenty of money to buy himself things then. For now, he can suffer a bit to make sure the teen at least makes it through the season. He grabs two warm pairs of socks and a thick sweater, as well as an old waterproof jacket. He doesn’t have anything to give him in terms of shoes, only has the pair on his own feet, but he can try a thrift store in a day or so.
The next day he delivers the items, but once again the hybrid is nowhere to be seen. He leaves them under the pile of rags, hidden so they don’t get stolen and continues on his way. While he wants to help more than he realistically can, John also realizes that he shouldn’t be obsessive about it. He just needs to just do what any decent human would do, and not worry too much about someone he doesn’t even know. If he gives him the things he needs and helps, then he will have a clear conscience.
John returns the flashlight that evening and returns home without checking on the teen, determined to not appear like a creepy stalker. But curiosity does get the better of him and he decides that he needs to do more research on hybrids, knowing that he lacks knowledge of them.
Pulling out his old and worn laptop, he hooks it up for the first time in months. He can’t pay to have the internet, but he knows that someone around his building has a wifi spot just powerful enough that he can do a few searches. Normally, he does everything at the college, research and writing papers on the computers provided, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to find or stumble upon when he searches for hybrids, so he’ll take the chance on the old machine in the privacy of his flat instead.
He figures he’ll start at the beginning and types in ‘Hybrid creation’ into the search bar. The results come back with a picture of a sleazy looking biologist. He’s heard about this guy before in some of his understudy courses. The guy was considered a genius, but he was also unethical. He moved to a remote location in an unknown country and experimented in genetic engineering, with stolen embryos. He was able to activate long hidden traits, such as longer ape like tails, which had only been done on animals to date. Once he got bored of simply changing the human component, he decided to add animal DNA to the mix.
While John finds the concept interesting, the fact is that this guy was growing human hybrids without any concerns for the ethics behind a project like that, makes him a little angry. When the authorities finally found the guy and raided his lab, they found thousands of failed human hybrid experiments. John shudders to think what those experiments looked like. After the news was released it became a huge firestorm between those who thought the guy was brilliant, while others believed he should be ended for his blatant disregard for human life.
Various countries picked up where the guy left off after his research was leaked to the public during the early days of the internet. Now, many years later, it’s possible to buy custom hybrids as weird pets or companions. The practice never interested John. ‘Why would you want to spend your life with someone that you bought?’ The concept with animals is at least mildly different, but hybrid’s can be just as intelligent as any other human. Imagine paying money and your new pet doesn’t even like you or have the same interests. At least with dogs or cats you can generally get along with them if you give them the basics to live, some affection, and play time.
John continues his search, looking at the adoption page of the nearest hybrid shelter. They have all sorts of different breeds, from the more normal cats and dogs to deer and pigs. He gets off the site after looking at dozens of sad pictures containing rejected hybrids. He can tell why most of these hybrids won’t be adopted or were rejected and dumped by their original owners. They’re not up to the beauty standards that the purchasers wanted. Most of them have either hairy faces, misshapen animal parts, or appear to have had a weird split between the human half and animal half. One of the photos showed a cat hybrid with one human hand and one animal hand which didn’t look too bad but is likely what landed the poor girl there.
Considering there are now competitive hybrid competitions for the most well-bred and prettiest of each different animal, he can surmise that looks mean everything. Then again, if he paid even the minimum it costs to grow one, he would expect them to be what he ordered, like any other product. He thinks about the hybrid in the alley and realizes that the teen appeared to be well grown. He has fully formed feline ears, no cat-like eyes, and full human appendages. John hadn’t gotten a look around the back of him, but he was willing to bet that he had a tail. If it was fully formed and worked like a real cat’s tail, then the young teen hybrid was likely worth a lot of money. Of course, his chosen animal also leads John to believe that he was likely not bred to be a simple pet but bred for nefarious purposes by someone with a specific ‘catboy’ fetish.
He doesn’t dare dive into that realm of the internet, already knowing about the endless pages of hybrid porn. As he had in fact been a teen boy once and curiosity had gotten the better of him back then. But if he thought regular porn was cringy sometimes, the hybrid ones were downright unwatchable. The relentless moaning about heat from the hybrid and the human talking about slick, hadn’t really done anything for him. He had eventually found some more loving and caring videos that he liked but he rarely had time to indulge, what with his childhood and teen life so harsh. He had run away not too long after he discovered the darker side of the internet and he had to work, no time for anything else. John spends a few more hours researching what it requires to take care of hybrids, specifically looking into cats.
Eventually, putting the laptop away, John feels heaviness in his heart. Someone with too much money and not enough humanity custom ordered the hybrid, then either raised him or had him raised by a ‘breeder’. But later either rejected him or more likely the teen ran away after enduring whatever his owner did to him. A perfectly grown hybrid like the teen could have been easily sold once again, which is why John would bet his whole future career on the hybrid escaping and running away from his ‘owner’.
John doesn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning with thoughts of the teen running away from a perverted millionaire, the scenarios getting crazier and more elaborate each time. If even an ounce of what he was thinking was true, then it was no wonder the hybrid didn’t want to be near people. As he laid there with the light of morning sun rising, John hoped that maybe he could bring a bit of relief to the hybrid, to ease his suffering if just a little.
On his way to Uni, he drops off more food and finds the hybrid sleeping. The teen doesn’t seem to keep a schedule, which is perhaps smarter than a set routine. People tend to notice if a person shows up at the same place every day. If the hybrid is caught lurking, someone might become suspicious and find the little home he has made in the alley. Once again, showing that the teen is smarter than he thought.
John is pleased to see that the hybrid is wearing his clothes he left. The smile he gets from that knowledge lasts him all day, through all his difficult classes and during his shift at the restaurant. Several people comment on how happy he seems, but he just brushes them off, saying he doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
-----
Over the next week or so, John continues dropping off food and the few times the hybrid has been there and awake, he has simply watched John’s actions, judging him silently. John had stared back watching and studying him as well. He had discovered that his assumptions about the possibility of a cat tail were correct. The hybrid had a fully formed black tail which moved like any other appendage though sometimes it seemed to have a will of its own.
The hybrid may have been silent most days, but just because the teen didn’t talk, didn’t mean John couldn’t talk at him. At first, he simply greeted him each day, telling him what he brought to eat with a full detailed ingredient list, and then said goodbye, parting ways quickly to try and appear neutral.
But after another week he can’t help but attempt to learn more about the teen, drawn to him for some reason. “What’s your name?” He asks when he arrives one morning, handing the food directly to the hybrid, thrilled to have gotten so close to him, even if just for a moment. The teen’s skin looks healthier and his eyes aren’t as sunken in as when they first met. He’s still plenty dirty, his face smudged with who knows what, but at least he’s eating. John would love to get him a bath and a proper bed to sleep in, but he doubts the teen would trust him enough to come home with him. Plus, he can barely support himself, let alone what is essentially a second person, cat ears or not he’s still mostly human and requires just as much as John does.
The hybrid ignores his question, but John can see the tip of his black tail flicking back and forth behind him, obviously thinking. He’s started to learn how to read the hybrid’s actions, his cat features sometimes giving away what’s going on in his head.
“I sort of want to stop referring to you as ‘Hybrid’ in my brain, I don’t think it’s right to call you that. That’s like if you called me ‘Human’ all the time. It’s a classification, sure but not who I am.” John states. He had woken up early this morning, just so he could have this little chat. He leans against the cold bricks of the opposite wall and looks at the teen, who sits cross legged in his nest of rags. Every time John sees him, he just can’t get over how small the teen looks.
The hybrid shrugs but otherwise doesn’t appear to want to answer questions. He looks instead down the alleyway, aloof. He’s been doing that more and it makes John smile a little to know that the kid doesn’t seem to think of him as a threat any longer, willing to take his judging eyes off him, if only for a minute at a time.
“I thought you would say that.” John says and the teen glances back, giving him a funny look. “So, I came up with a few names for you.” John says enthusiastically, which leads him to laugh when the hybrid stares at him dumb founded, his light blue eyes wide and his mouth just slightly open.
“No.” The teen says, his face quickly changing to annoyed, a cute scowl gracing his cupid’s bow lips as his eyes turn into irritated slits.
“I’m thinking —.” John pretends to consider name options, rubbing his hand under his chin. “Shadow.” He says grinning cheerfully. He had googled black cat names just to tease the teen a little.
The hybrid gives him a bored look, unamused by his first name choice. He schools his features into a more neutral look when he realizes he’s made a face. John has noticed that the hybrid wants to appear to have no emotions, hiding them immediately anytime he slips up.
“No. Alright.” John shuffles his feet and purses his lips. “How about Onyx then?” He once again gets a bored look, but he can tell the hybrid isn’t upset with him, if he were, he would voice it. He doesn’t appear afraid to disagree and fight for himself if he needs to. John waits for a response, putting on his best smiling face.
“You insist on a name because you want to connect with me.” The teen says, stating it as a fact, not a question. “You think that if you appeal to my humanity that you can convince me to accept help.” His statement further convinces John that the hybrid is smarter than your average ‘pet’ hybrid.
“Not really.” John says casually, causing the teen once again to watch him closely, his ears now perked up with interest. “I know I won’t convince you to seek help, I was aware of that the first day I saw you sleeping here in this alley. If you hadn’t already gone to a shelter then you obviously didn’t want anything to do with humans and no amount of food or clothing, I give you is going to convince you to change that opinion. As I said, I just want to sleep at night, and this is enough for me to help you but not so much as to impose and force you to leave, ending up in me worrying.” John shrugs and picks up his backpack, needing to go, he should just make it to his first class if he leaves now.
“ No , you are trying to connect with me.” John turns to the hybrid, who has stood up and gotten closer, his tail swishing behind him, cat ears flattened back. “You’re a medical student, but you’re not doing it because you’re from a family of doctors. No. You became interested in healing people all on your own. You have a messiah complex, but you don’t appear to be dying and wanting to ‘make the world a better place’ or ‘leave your mark on the world’ with your short life, so I’d say instead you’re looking to save people like yourself, people who can’t help themselves. Most likely you were abused by a family member, male, possibly an uncle but more likely your father. But no one saved you, not until one day a kind doctor was able to report it and you escaped. Now, you’re determined to do the same thing, but haven’t been able to fulfill that little hero fantasy yet because you’re still in University. However, now you’ve been presented with the perfect opportunity in me , the poor hybrid. Kicked and held down by society, homeless and hungry, you pounced on me like a cat on a mouse, offering help but asking nothing in return even when you clearly have less than nothing to give. But it’s truly a misplaced sense of duty because you blame yourself for what happened, and instead of fixing yourself you are channeling that energy into rescuing other people who will never help you in return, making you in essence, a martyr.” The teen finishes his long-winded dress down, by staring at John, his calculating blue eyes looking harshly at him.
John stands there with his mouth agape, eyes round with shock. He’s never heard the teen say more than a few words at any one time let alone the amount he just spat out, detailing the student’s life like he was reading it from a book.
“That — was — amazing.” John says blinking a few times, looking down at the concrete and then back up in his astonishment.
“You think so?” The hybrid eyes him as if he were expecting a different reaction, his ears flicking up and forward, eyes softening at the edges, questions reflecting in them.
“Of course, it was. Extraordinary. It was — brilliant. Wow.” John runs his hand through his short blond hair, then smooths it over his face, making a ‘he’s right’ face and gestures at the brick wall. He lets out a long breath, as the puzzle pieces of his personality he hadn’t even realized were missing get placed into their slots. Although he had never thought of himself in that kind of light, he couldn’t deny that everything the hybrid said made a lot of sense.
“Oh. That’s not what people usually say.” The teen discloses his facing showing his confusion, with eyebrows crinkled and lips pursed.
“Yeah. What do they usually say?”
“Piss off.” he gives a small shy smile and John bursts out laughing, his eyes full of glee. The hybrid chuckles with him and it sounds like music to John’s ears. The teen’s face lights up, eyes closing, nose scrunching up, and tail waving back and forth in a moment of vulnerable happiness that John believed he would never see from the reserved and guarded teen.
When John is finally able to stop laughing, he hikes his backpack onto his shoulder and gives one last little chuckle. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The hybrid nods his head and John takes off down the path, realizing he’s going to have to run to make it to class on time.
-----
Every time John goes to see the cat hybrid after that, he’s greeted with a small smile and actual words. It makes his heart soar to know that he’s gotten the teen to like him and yet it upsets him to know that the hybrid had been correct in his analysis that John had been helping, out of some weird sense of duty. But his new friend never brings it up again and acts as if what he pointed out doesn’t matter, an unspoken agreement between them, vowing John to treat him not like someone needing saved and the hybrid not acting like John is an enemy or hero, both simply regular people.
Some days when he arrives, the teen isn’t there and John leaves the food like usual but misses the little morning chat he sometimes gets. He's finding himself getting up and out the door early, just to see how the hybrid is doing. He still hasn’t been given a name, so each day he just keeps calling him silly nicknames. Today he has a new one. He's noticed that the teen’s normally black hair and fur are becoming lighter from the dust that he's accumulating.
“Alright, I’ll be off.” John says with a smile. “Later dusty.” He says with a sassy wink. He turns around, walking away, just another morning of hanging out with his new friend. He gets about halfway down the alley when he hears a voice behind him.
“John.” The hybrid calls to him. The student jumps a little, startled. He turns around to find that the teen has snuck up on him, quiet like the cat he’s genetically mixed with. His arms are crossed over his stomach, making himself small and he’s staring at the brick wall as if it’s suddenly become the most fascinating thing in existence.
“What’s up, you okay?” John says, worried. The hybrid has never called him by his name or followed him before.
“My — name.” The hybrid says, looking down and nibbling on his low lip. “— is Sherlock.” He says it quietly, like he wasn’t completely sure he was going to say it until it was already done.
John instantly smiles, teeth on display in as wide of a grin as he could possibly make. “Thank you.” He says quietly back, making the teen look up, his eyes narrowing as he observes John, which only makes the student want to smile wider, as he has come to like the scowly face the hybrid often makes.
“It’s nice to finally have a name to call you. Thank you for trusting me with it.” He gives a smaller humble smile with his hand on his chest as if holding onto a delicate secret. Sherlock let’s his arms fall to the side, defenses coming down before he takes off back down the alleyway.
John can’t get rid of his smile. Even having to stay late and work on a paper in the computer lab, which forces him to run three miles to get to the restaurant in time for his shift doesn’t put out his good mood. He has a name, a real name for his friend. Sherlock. He admits to himself that he’s getting too attached, but it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It doesn’t make him feel like running away, if anything he wants to run forward into this unknown thing they have going on.
-----
Living out in the cold will take a toll on anyone, no matter how good your health is or was before it started. Sherlock has been homeless for at least two months, plus however long before John found him. He brought the hybrid a heavier blanket and a thick hat and glove set a few days ago when the fall weather took its turn toward winter, with high winds making the already cold days unbearable. Thus, he’s not surprised when he goes to visit Sherlock one morning and hears the teen sneeze, followed by some bad coughing.
As he walks up to the lump of rags, he hears another sneeze and watches as the pile shifts around. “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.” John puts his bag down against the bricks and pulls out a stethoscope and a thermometer. They’re both cheap but are required pieces of equipment to carry around, like an EMT would, just in case. He sits down, close to teen.
“I’m fine.” Sherlock says before once again coughing, the wet sound concerning. When he’s finally done hacking up half a lung, John sees him physically shiver and can hear the chatter of his teeth.
“Come on, just a quick check up.” John gets a glare from the teen, but he complies sitting up and shivering again as he meets with more of the frigid air.
The medical training the student’s gotten has prepared him for simple overviews like this. His classmates even practice listening for lung and heart sounds on each other and sick people at an open clinic attached to the hospital. John feels somewhat confident for the first time around Sherlock, getting to do something that he’s trained for and won’t screw up under the teen’s piercing gaze. Talking to the teen has been so difficult because he’s not a psychiatrist and he’s been afraid of saying the wrong thing, though it has gotten easier each day as they find their rhythms with each other.
“Open your mouth please. Tongue up.” He uses his best cheerful voice and Sherlock gives him another pointed glare, which John makes a note of. Cheery is not what the hybrid likes, so he tones it back down to his normal voice. “Please.” He says again, this time with a neutral voice.
The hybrid opens his mouth and John sticks the thermometer in quick before he changes his mind. He then rubs the end of the stethoscope against his palm to warm it.
“I don’t have to touch your skin with this, we can do it through your shirt, but I’ll have to get under the sweater. Is that okay?” He doesn’t want to scare Sherlock. He knows the hybrid doesn’t trust people and they haven’t had a reason to touch up until now. Even when he gave food directly to the teen, their fingers had never crossed. In fact, as they sit here in the little alleyway, John realizes it’s the closest he’s ever gotten to the teen, the two of them now sitting facing each other mere inches away. Sherlock had always maintained a certain distance and John was respectful of it, never coming closer for more than the moment it took to give him food. Even in sleep he hadn’t dared to approach.
Sherlock looks straight into his eyes, piercing light blue orbs that gaze into his own deeper blue ones. John stays firm looking right back, but not forcefully, he wouldn’t make the hybrid do something he’s uncomfortable with, but he is worried that whatever this illness could be, could be worsened by being out on the street.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of being judged, Sherlock nods his head in agreement. John lets out a sigh of relief and puts the earpieces in. The teen pulls the dirty sweater away from his torso and being careful not to touch more than he needs, John slips the stethoscope under and up to his chest.
“Take a deep breath for me and try not to cough, I’m going to listen to a couple different spots.” The teen does his best and only coughs once on the first try, but it goes smoothly after that, with John firmly pressing down and listening to the hybrid’s breathing.
When he’s done, John pulls out the earpieces and can’t hide the frown on his face. The thermometer goes off at that time and he takes it out to find that it’s exactly what he thought.
“Looks like you caught the flu.” John sighs heavily. If it were just a cold he wouldn’t be as worried, but with a decently high fever and a few crackling sounds in the lungs, Sherlock is in danger of developing pneumonia, which could threaten the teen’s life if he isn’t treated.
“That’s not good.” Sherlock quietly murmurs as he cuddles down into the rags, seeking warmth. Once again accidentally looking tiny and helpless, pulling on John’s heartstrings without meaning too, not knowing how much the student has gotten attached to him.
“No, it’s not. I’ll bring you some medicine tonight, something to make the cough a little better.” He puts all his doctor things away and pulls out the food he was going to drop off today. It suddenly feels like not enough, the small meal barely suitable for a snack. He instead grabs his own meal for the day. It’s only slightly bigger but any little bit can make the difference for someone who has nothing. He puts both containers next to Sherlock’s head for when he wants food and leaves.
The rest of the day moves at a snail’s pace, each word out of his professor’s mouth, sounding like the slow-motion part of a movie. It’s completely unbearable and makes his mood at the restaurant even worse. He just keeps looking at the clock, yelling at it in his mind to go faster, for the night to be over so he can get back to Sherlock.
When he finally finishes work, he grabs some soup and dashes out the door, jogging the entire way home. He drops his bag by the door and quickly rummages through his medicine cabinet. He’s been lucky to find some over the counter meds in the bargain bin of the local pharmacy, things that were marked down low enough he could afford to get in advance, just in case. He pulls out a heavy-duty cough medicine and pops it in a smaller backpack he has for shopping trips, then adds to it warmed up soup and a spoon. He pulls on some heavier clothes and makes his way to the alley.
This time, when John enters the alley, he has only a small pen light, but he knows the terrain, like where the two garbage cans are on the left side. He sticks to the right and eventually comes up on Sherlock’s hidden nest. He shines the light on the teen’s face, but he doesn’t stir, his breathing ragged as it echoes off the walls.
“Sherlock?” John questions, even more concerned than he already was, setting his bag down quickly and sitting next to the hybrid. He doesn’t get an answer and when he puts his hand on Sherlock’s forehead, he feels that the skin is hot and beaded with sweat. “Oh no. Come on; Sherlock, wake up!” He lightly jostles him until his eyes open and he blinks up at him, confused.
“John?” He groans, his voice rough from all the coughing.
“Yeah, it’s me. I said I’d come back. You’re in really bad shape.” Sherlock simply grumbles in response.
John isn’t sure what to do. He came back to give him food and medicine, but he feels like it’s not enough. If he leaves the hybrid out here, even with the medicine, he’s not going to get better, he’s going to get worse . He needs to be warm, safe, and full of fresh food and water. Properly taken care of, not left in the cold all alone. There’s nothing in his rental agreement that says he can’t have pets or hybrids. Even if it did, he doesn’t really care now.
“Sherlock. I know you’re going to say no. But I’m taking you home with me, right now.” John gets on his knees and starts to uncover the teen, pushing the rags out of the way.
“Your messiah complex is showing.” Sherlock says, but he surprisingly doesn’t protest as John sits him up in the nest.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s called giving a damn about others.” John slings his backpack onto his front and then kneels with his back to Sherlock. “Climb on. I’m taking you home.” He doesn’t look back to see what the teen is thinking, just waits for him until he feels thin arms encircle his shoulders and a weight press against his back. He hooks a hand under each of Sherlock’s thighs and lifts them both up. He’s been lucky enough to not lose too much of his rugby strength from high school in the last two years and the teen is a light weight. He adjusts once or twice and then he’s off, Sherlock securely on his back, holding on as tight as his weak body will let him.
As they make their way home neither of them speaks. It’s only a few blocks but carrying someone is difficult and John focuses on pacing himself and not accidentally tripping in the dark. The worst is the two floors up to his flat, which doesn’t have a lift, so he takes each stair with a small groan. He barely makes it, stopping at one point to hike Sherlock up before pushing through the last few stairs. He fumbles through his pocket for the keys but manages to get the two of them inside without dropping either the keys or Sherlock. He locks the door quickly. He’s never had trouble with any of his neighbors, but he isn’t sure he wants to get caught with a teenage hybrid that isn’t registered to him, feeling like a creep even when he’s literally trying to save the teens life.
First things first, John drops the backpack and leaves it by the door, then shuffles his way to the bathroom. Sherlock is dirty and cold; a warm shower is going to be one of the best things for him. He maneuvers into the cramped bathroom until he’s able to sit the teen onto the closed toilet. He’s weak but Sherlock sits upright, shivering. John turns on the shower, he knows it takes a minute to heat up.
“Can you get yourself undressed and into the shower? Or do you need me to help you?” John isn’t confident that the hybrid is well enough to do anything on his own, but he wants to give him the choice. Sherlock trusted him enough to not protest when the student took him home but being naked in front of someone is entirely different.
The teen doesn’t give him an answer, just sits there with his head down, looking defeated. John doesn’t pressure him; he leaves for the moment and goes back to where he dropped his bag, peeling off his coat, hat, and shoes, overheating already now that they’re out of the cold. He grabs the cough medicine and the spoon and goes back into the bathroom, to find Sherlock taking off his sweater with difficulty, his limbs shaking.
“Here, let me help you.” He puts the medicine on the counter and grabs the sweater, gently pulling it off over his head. The hat he was wearing comes with it, revealing his dark hair and ears, which have been covered for the past few weeks. John feels sad when he notices them because Sherlock had usually kept his ears up and pointed, listening, and paying attention at every moment. But now he’s let his guard down, ears drooping, his whole body showing how much he seems to have given up on caring for himself. John wonders if it’s because he’s terribly sick, or if he has simply given himself over to John’s care, knowing that he’ll be safe and properly looked after in the medical student’s hands.
John turns around and grabs up the medicine, pouring some onto the spoon and offering it to the teen. “Alright, big gulp.” He says as Sherlock makes a face, the bitter liquid unpleasant even though it’s supposed to be cherry flavored. John also never liked it as a kid, wondering what idiot ever thought it tasted like cherry.
He fills up the water glass he usually leaves on his sink and lets Sherlock drink while he tests the shower water. It’s gotten warm by then and he returns to kneel in front of the hybrid, taking off his mismatched shoes he got sometime after John had brought him the socks. Everything smells terrible, several months of living on the street will do that to a person. When he gets to his feet through two layers of socks, he finds the toes white and frozen. He checks them over and they are luckily not frost bitten. He can’t help thinking that in this case, it might have been better if the hybrid had more cat-like features, like more fur for keeping him warm.
Above him, Sherlock has taken off his shirt and is looking toward the shower, seeking warmth, completely unconcerned with his growing nudity in front of John. He stands up on his own, his frozen feet shaky on the ground, his balance bad from lack of feeling in his toes.
“Hold up. Careful now.” John takes a hold of one arm and places his own around the teen’s thin waist, holding him steady in strong arms, even as both their legs try to give out under them, Sherlock’s from weakness and John’s from exhaustion. Together, they get Sherlock into the shower, still half dressed, John getting sprayed by the water with all his clothes still on. It’s an absolute mess that makes John chuckle at the absurdity as he props up the hybrid against the wall of the shower. His jeans are soaked through within seconds and his shirt never stood a chance.
“You’re laughing?” Sherlock says.
“Yeah. This is not exactly how I saw my night going if I’m honest. Not that I mind, it’s just a little strange.” He says as he fumbles with the tied knot on Sherlock’s sweatpants.
“Strange how?” The inquisitive mind is back for a moment, which John takes to be a good thing. He hasn’t lost the teen completely to the sickness.
“Well, normally when I’m taking someone’s trousers off, it’s for vastly different reasons.” John says as he starts to roll the wet fabric down Sherlock’s pale thin legs. They are too big for him, so even wet they come off easier than his own will, which at this point feel glued to him.
“Oh.”
It’s such a simple sound, but John can tell from how Sherlock turns his head away and stops speaking that he’s uncomfortable now. John doesn’t know exactly why the teen’s now acting shy, but he can guess as he chastises himself for putting his damn foot in his mouth. He can’t even begin to imagine what being a hybrid, who’s literally designed as a fetish sex toy, could be like, but he doesn’t have much time to consider it before Sherlock is coughing again. It sounds horrendous. John helps him to sit down under the warm spray of water, back facing him to protect some of his modesty.
“I still have my pants on?” Sherlock protests but he’s so weak that he goes down easy enough. The spray of the warm water feels like heaven on his skin, though when it directly touches his icy feet it burns a little, so he moves them out toward the side. Even without soap he notices that the water that goes down the drain is brown from the dirt on his skin.
“You can take those off down there while I wash your hair.” John says. He’s getting uncomfortable in all his own clothes, so he peels off his shirt, wrings it out best he can and puts it over the top of the shower. It’s probably dripping onto the floor, but he’ll just clean that up later, he figures.
Below him, Sherlock shimmies out of his pants which he throws into the other corner. The little shower isn’t really meant for two people, but they do their best. John grabs his cheap shampoo and pours a generous amount into his hand. He keeps his own hair short, so he doesn’t use much, but today isn’t a day to worry about his expenses. Today, he has a mop of hair to wash months’ worth of grim out of. As he begins, he notices out of the corner of his eye, that Sherlock’s tail is moving, just the tip flicking back and forth. Another good sign he thinks.
Sherlock’s curly hair is thick and getting down to his scalp to work in the shampoo takes a few tries. He avoids the hybrid’s ears in the beginning, afraid of touching them too roughly, but Sherlock eagerly tilts his head into his hands. So, with the unspoken encouragement, he gets to cleaning the strands and carefully cleans each ear. He’s surprised to find as he rubs them that Sherlock’s ears aren’t completely black but have little white tips. They were just so covered in grim there was no way to tell their real color.
John rinses the teen’s hair twice and lathers in more shampoo for one final deep clean. There are bubbles everywhere as he runs his hands through wet curls and scrapes his short nails over the teen’s whole head. At one point he swears that for just a moment Sherlock started to purr but chalks it up to his imagination when it doesn’t continue. What he is certain of, is that the cat hybrid likes what he’s doing because he’s wrapped his whole tail around John’s leg and is leaning forcefully into the petting. When John pulls back to stop cleaning, Sherlock continues trying to lean into his hands, going back so far, he loses his balance and almost falls backward.
John reaches around and hands Sherlock a bar of soap so he can wash his front and finishes rinsing out the last of the teen’s curls. He looks at the wet tail wrapped around his leg and the thought of washing it is strange. He knows it needs to be washed but he’s not sure if it’s sensitive or if Sherlock would be okay with him touching it. He had read more into hybrids over the past month and many hybrids seem mixed on whether or not they allow people to touch their animal parts. But the teen had seemed fine with the ears so he can only try and hope for the best.
He crouches down best he can and unwinds the tail from his leg, then pouring some shampoo on it, he starts massaging at the tip, slowly working his way down. He notices that Sherlock stops washing himself and goes stiff, but John pretends not to notice and just keeps washing the fur, as if this isn’t one of the weirdest things he thinks he’s ever done. He’s only ever washed a person a few times, each time before sex and he’s never washed an animal of any kind, so he’s out of his own comfort zone on this one but accidentally turning it awkward between them could end up with Sherlock trying to leave, so he just silently continues on.
After a few moments, the hybrid goes back to washing his arms, gently removing dirt and John just keeps to his own work. If he notices that Sherlock twitches and stiffens more when he does certain things to the tail, he pretends to ignore it, while secretly storing everything in the back of his mind.
Just like the teen’s ears, John discovers that the tip of his tail fur is also white. A fun surprise he wasn’t expecting, he had been thinking about Sherlock as a black cat, but it turns out he’s a tuxedo cat. Cute he thinks to himself.
Once he’s done with the shampoo, he grabs the shower head and does his best to aim it, washing out the soap and dirt from the tail, leaving behind only clean fur in its place.
“Soap please.” John says, holding out his hand where Sherlock can see it. The teen puts it in his hand. He twirls it around in his palms getting them full of bubbles. He lays the soap in the holder and then starting by the hybrid’s shoulders, begins to wash Sherlock’s back and neck. The teen once again goes rigid, but John is gentle. His hands look so big compared to the teen, each one covering practically a quarter of his back. As he moves to his neck, he adds a bit of massage technique in how he washes, going with the muscles to relieve tension. He works his way down the spine, naming each of the sections as he goes, a weird habit he’s picked up since starting medical school.
With that finished Sherlock is fully washed and now John himself needs to clean up, but he wants to get the teen dried and to bed first. “Alright, up we go. Let’s get you dried off.” He says, encouraging him best he can.
Sherlock doesn’t offer much help beyond getting his feet under himself once John hauls him up off the floor, hands under the teen’s underarms. He hugs the hybrid to his chest to steady him as they make their way out of the shower, the water still running in the background. John grabs one of his only two towels and wraps it around Sherlock, making sure to cover his modesty. He then picks up the hybrid full bridal style and walks to the bedroom. Along the way he’s dripping water from his soaking trousers onto the floor and a few times he just lightly slips in that way that makes your whole body go rigid. But he makes it to the bed to deposit Sherlock onto the edge to sit while he pulls clothes from the dresser. Most of his clothes will be naturally too big for the smaller teen so he grabs up what’s tight on him. A pair of boxers and a white t-shirt for sleeping, plus some old grey sweatpants for if he gets up and warm socks. He gets clothes for himself as well.
“Get yourself comfortable in these and I’ll come back to dry your hair.” John says, setting everything down beside Sherlock and giving his wet mop of hair a little tousle.
John returns to the bathroom, quickly peeling off his wet clothes and hops in for the fastest shower of his life. His water bill is going to be terrible this month, he’ll probably skip a few showers to make up for it later. He leaves the bathroom a mess, Sherlock’s disgusting clothes laying on the floor, a puddle of water in the middle of the tiles, and his own wet clothes flung over the top of the shower. It’s absolute chaos, but he will have to get back to tomorrow. He’s exhausted from his day of worrying about Sherlock and then taking care of the teen, his will to stay awake fading fast, as his eyelids and body begin drooping.
As he goes to shut off the bathroom light, he sees Sherlock tucking himself into the bed with the towel around his head, soaking up the water from his hair. He smiles, finding a strange comfort in seeing the teen wearing his shirt. He shuts off the light, shuffling over to the bed in the darkness. He sits down, bumping into Sherlock. The teen may be small, but this bed is built for one and there’s nowhere else for him to sleep, so they’re going to have to share. John reaches up and grabs the towel, undoing it before lightly rubbing it around Sherlock’s head, doing his best in the dark to not hurt his ears. He’s not used to caring for long hair since he’s never had it himself, but he remembers a few past girlfriends say you needed to be gentle or you’ll get it tangled.
When the towel feels wet and with a quick check of a few locks of hair which feel fairly dry, he chucks the towel to the floor. John yawns and they both cuddle down into the covers, John making sure to lay on his side facing away from Sherlock, giving him more room, and hopefully allowing him to feel safer knowing that he can sleep in peace. The exhaustion sets in quicker than he would have thought when sharing a bed with a complete stranger, but next thing he knows he’s waking up because he feels coughing against his chest.
The room is just barely lit with the first rays of the morning sun coming through his curtain less windows. John doesn’t open his eyes, wanting to drift back to sleep because today is Saturday and that means he has no classes, only work in the afternoon, meaning if he can just lose his mind to the darkness again, he can get a well-deserved lie in. The wet coughing happens again, vibrating heavily in his chest and reminding him that he’s not alone. In fact, as he regains consciousness over his own body, he grasps that not only has he rolled to his other side in his sleep, but he has Sherlock cuddled up against his front. The teen’s arms are around his middle with his head tucked under John’s chin, hair tickling his neck. He himself has his arms around the hybrid’s back, bear hugging them together.
John should have seen this coming since he knows he’s a cuddler. When he was young it was a stuffed bear but as he got older a pillow was often good enough and he never grew out of the habit. Apparently, Sherlock is the perfect size for cuddling because he feels unimaginably comfortable laying in John’s arms. That is until more coughing racks his little body and John knows he needs to get up for more medicine.
Disentangling himself from Sherlock ends up being harder than he would have thought. He gets his own arms out and even manages to shimmy out of the teen’s clutches without waking him but finds that arms aren’t the only things that were holding him. Sherlock’s long cat tail has him around the waist, holding on tight. He had touched the tail last night to wash it and Sherlock hadn’t been upset with him but touching it again without the excuse of washing it seems strange. At the same time, he has the new excuse that he needs to get up and getting up requires the tail to be moved.
John sighs but decides that in this case he can probably touch it one more time. He grips it lightly and peels it away from his body. The tail doesn’t seem to want to move at first but then Sherlock is fully rolling away from him with a sleepy little noise, letting his tail glide fully along John’s palm. The newly washed fur feels smooth and pleasant, soft as it slips through his fingers. John tries not to dwell on the feeling, shaking his head and getting up, heading for the bathroom.
Getting breakfast into them and medicine into Sherlock is John’s first priority. He let’s sleeping hybrids lie, while he does his best to make something akin to bootleg soup. He has a can of cheap chicken broth and rice, along with a pot and a lid that doesn’t match. He dumps the whole can plus some water to make it seem like more into the pot and measures what he hopes isn’t too much rice for the amount of liquid, otherwise instead of chicken and rice soup they will be having chicken flavored rice for breakfast.
As that all heats up, he grabs the scattered clothes and towels from last night, dropping them into his laundry basket with the broken handle. The water on the floor has dried on its own so it’s a simpler clean up than he expected considering the chaos of last night. He only needs to wash the spoon to give Sherlock his next dose of medicine and everything is pretty much the same as before, as if the strange night never happened. Well, except for the sleeping hybrid in his bed, that’s still a little new and different.
Soon enough steam is pouring out from under the pot lid and John runs to remove the lid, though it only requires a few large steps to travel across the whole room. He lifts it up, waving away the steam with his other hand but drops the lid forgetting that the metal gets hot. He’s not used to having to be quiet in his own home, so he had forgotten to use a shirt, to not burn himself in his hurry to remove the lid.
“Ouch.” John flinches as a loud clang rings out in the tiny room, from the lid hitting against the small countertop. He looks over hoping that Sherlock is a deep sleeper, but he’s not that lucky because the hybrid is sitting straight up in the bed, ears perked up and eyes wide. It would look cute if only in the next moment Sherlock’s ears didn’t droop, his eyes closing as if nauseated, as he sways forward and succumbs to a coughing fit.
Sherlock makes a pained noise and John grabs up the medicine and freshly cleaned spoon. Now that he’s awake he might as well start the healing process. He sits on the bed and steadies the teen, looking at his face. He’s pale and sweaty, probably dehydrated. John checks his eyes. ‘Yep, dehydrated.’ He thinks, chastising himself for not making Sherlock drink more water before putting him to bed last night.
“Alright, some of this for you first.” John says, pouring the medicine onto the spoon. Sherlock sniffs making a gross sound as the snot in his clogged-up nose goes further up.
“Here we go, open up.” John moves the spoon carefully, trying not to drop any liquid onto the bed. The sheets will have to be washed soon anyway, but medicine can be expensive, and finding more at a price he can afford could take a while.
Sherlock scowls at him but compiles, opening his mouth and letting John put the spoon in. He gulps down the medicine and makes a face at the taste causing the student to chuckle. “Yeah, I never liked it either.” He says, sympathetic.
“I’m not a baby.” The hybrid says, his tone indignant.
“I’m aware, but you are sick, and all sick people deserve to be babied a bit sometimes, even when they get older.” John puts the medicine away and pours the ‘soup’ into the single bowl he has. He gives this to Sherlock and grabs a shirt which he uses to hold the bottom of the pot. He sits on the bed and eats straight from the cookware, happy that he at least has a second spoon, though it is plastic and he’s probably used it 100 times now instead of the single time it’s meant to be used.
They eat together in a comfortable silence and John feels peaceful. He likes to take care of others and despite Sherlock’s insistence that he’s martyring himself, he feels rejuvenated in his life’s mission to be a doctor. He won’t be hand feeding people medicine or making them soup, but he will be helping them, in a caring and gentle manner, which for him feels like it will be enough.
When they finish eating, he cleans up and leaves Sherlock to fall back asleep, curled into a ball under the blanket. John grabs a textbook and studies a bit, glancing up periodically when the hybrid shuffles around under the covers. He isn’t sure how to feel about leaving him here all alone. He doesn’t think Sherlock is the type to steal or he would have either been arrested or been better off on the streets than how he was found. It doesn’t really matter since John has nothing of value to be stolen anyway. No, leaving him here for a few hours while he works when he’s so weak is what is making this weird clenching feeling happen in his heart. Sherlock is in a strange place, sick, and now to be left alone. It makes John think of all the times he was carted to weird places and left in the corner alone while the adults drank and did other questionable things around him. He remembers a time he was sick and had to go to some house that smelled bad, not that he could tell through the snot in his nose. He had been so scared and weak, his dad made him sit on a little chair and by the time he came and got him he had simply laid on the floor to try and rest, attempting to get his strength back.
John’s watch beeps, letting him know it’s time to get ready for work. Quiet as he can, he gets ready and gives one final look at Sherlock as he leaves. His ears are above the covers and one flicks, the white tip barely visible in the dark room. John smiles and leaves for work.
-----
Over the next few days, John keeps his usual routine, except that now instead of waking up early to visit Sherlock in his alley, he wakes up to fluffy black hair tickling his nose and a tail around his waist. After the third day of trying to sleep separately on the small bed, John gave up and immediately cuddled Sherlock when getting ready to sleep, pressing his front against Sherlock’s back, wrapping an arm around his belly, and sighing into his neck. He hadn’t meant to be so forward, but every morning he woke up with Sherlock plastered to him, so he just figured he would stop denying them the clearly needed contact they were both craving.
Sherlock had frozen stiff when he did it, but as they had laid there quietly, their breathing syncing up and the hybrid slowly relaxing. His sickness had started to wane that day, his fever having broken sometime in the morning and one nostril having cleared up enough that he didn’t sound as nasally when he spoke anymore. Normally, John would be happy about someone getting better, but instead the hybrid’s better health had made John fearful that Sherlock was going to leave soon. The student had been starting to get used to making extra food each morning and night, eating together without saying much, washing Sherlock’s hair and tail for him, making sure to scrub behind his ears in just the right way that made the hybrid accidentally start to purr before he would catch himself and stop. Most of all, he had gotten used to Sherlock always being there and he was scared that soon enough he wasn’t going to wake up to Sherlock asleep in his arms. That he wouldn’t get to secretly pet Sherlock’s hair as the morning sun just barely started to light the room. He had grown attached to him so quickly, even though the teen had barely said anything to him these last few days, too sick to form complex thoughts. It had made John realize how truly lonely he had been before, and how utterly devastated he was going to be when Sherlock decided to leave him.
John had gotten up and gone to class the next day. The morning had been usual, with Sherlock and him eating in the morning, the hybrid’s other nostril having cleared during the night and he seemed to have gained considerable strength with his few days of rest. His ears had perked up, his eyes were clear and curious, his focus back after the sickness had gotten to him. John was surprised at how well he had recovered, since he didn’t show any signs of pneumonia. He must have caught him just in time to prevent the worst of it. But he had felt withdrawn from Sherlock, even as he tried to connect more by speaking to him that morning.
“You’re doing much better today. That’s — good,” John had said, and even to his own ears it sounded stale and awkward. He wanted to scream ‘don’t leave me!’ or ‘please stay forever.’ But both things seemed so wrong when he still barely knew anything about the teen. He knew exactly what Sherlock felt like to hold close in his own arms but didn’t know anything about him as a person. He didn’t know where he grew up, didn’t know what he liked to do, or any of the things you would normally know about your friends. All he knew was that he was a runaway who seemed brilliant and well spoken beyond his years, able to deduce things about John that even he himself wasn’t consciously aware of. It would be wrong he felt to try to get more out of the teen when he hadn’t asked to be taken here in the first place. John had gotten him healthy and now it was Sherlock’s decision what would happen next.
John hadn’t looked back into the flat that morning, a habit he had developed, too afraid that the scene he saw before him would be the last time he would see Sherlock safe in his flat. So, when he stepped up to the door that night, he had already prepared himself during the day to come home to the place empty. He unlocks the door slowly and walks in to find Sherlock sitting on the floor, surrounded by various tools, and actively working on what appears to be…
“Is that my MICROWAVE?!” John half shouts, as he quickly closes the door behind him realizing he’s making too much noise and doesn’t want to disturb the neighbors or make them suspicious.
“I wanted to do an experiment and I had noticed it wasn’t very reliable.” Sherlock says as he flips the whole thing upright. He grabs the back and screws it on as John drops off his pack and removes his shoes. He tries not to step on any of the tools which he knows belong to him.
“Where did you get all of this?” He says, watching as Sherlock picks up the microwave and nimbly jumps over the tools to the counter, his long tail trailing behind him balancing him in the air, where he puts down and plugs in the microwave. His tail tip flicks happily back and forth while he ignores John’s question and instead turns on the microwave. It works, first try, not only starting and staying on steady, but the bottom section which had stopped turning months ago moves smoothly.
Sherlock lets it run for only a few seconds but when he turns around, he smiles brightly at John and the entire day of worrying and trying to guard his heart just melts away, as bright blue eyes crinkle at the edges and Sherlock looks proud of himself. John smiles back, confused but honestly just happy and relieved that he’s not alone for another day.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” John says. He looks back down at the mess of tools and scratches his head. He can hear Sherlock hum a small affirmative, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “So, uh, dinner?” John says and Sherlock nods.
The mess of tools gets picked up while John makes food and when he goes to pull his only bowl out of the cabinet, he discovers there are now two bowls. They don’t match in the slightest but with its addition, they can both sit on the bed and eat normally, instead of John having to use the hot pot. It’s nice but John feels like he needs to ask a question because not knowing will eat him up.
“You didn’t steal any of this stuff, right? I just don’t remember you having anything but sleeping things in your little nest.” John makes sure to watch Sherlock’s face. He doesn’t want to sound accusatory, but he can’t have the hybrid stealing things for them, even if they need it. If he’s caught, he would be taken away and John already spent today worrying about him leaving on his own. The possibility of him being taken and never returned makes his heart race, in a way he is not ready to admit to even himself.
“I am no thief. You learn on the street to never keep your possessions in the same place. Those who do often find their things missing. However, if you hide them well enough, you will always know where to get them when you really need them. That and never taking the same path twice, being completely untraceable by those who would do you harm or see you as usable for their own benefit.” Sherlock takes a bite of his dinner and his ears twitch in that way that says he’s enjoying the food.
“I’m sorry you even had to learn that lesson. I’m sure if I hadn’t been able to find a job, I would have learned it myself —” John says as he moves the single piece of rice left in his ‘new’ bowl. He looks at it hard, trying not to think about his past and how even his pitiful state was better than Sherlock’s. He notices that the bowl has a chip missing, nothing he would throw the bowl out over, but someone must have, and Sherlock had found it and now rehomed it with them. He looks at the tools now piled in the corner and realizes that his hybrid friend has salvaged all these things from those who threw them away even though many of them had only small imperfections.
“Life teaches each one of us something different and even the same lessons we all learn are almost never taught in the same exact way. I, for example, have learned that life isn’t fair for my kind.” Sherlock puts his spoon down into his empty bowl and turns to John. “But I have now also learned that it is not just my kind that life isn’t fair too. I knew there were humans who struggled, I’ve met plenty on the street but many of them failed themselves and others around them and that was why they were now on par with me. But you — no, you John Watson had not failed yourself, you had been failed by those who should have cared for you.” John stares at the teen, mouth slightly open, shocked by how mature he sounds. Sherlock doesn’t look at him but instead grabs up John’s bowl and takes them both over to the sink.
The rest of the night passes by with dishes being done, Sherlock organizing the tools, and John talking about his classes. Sherlock listened intently as he described the dissection class he was taking. In a few weeks they would get to see and touch their first ever real human organs. John looked at one point to make sure he wasn’t grossing out the hybrid, but the teen was sitting cross legged on the bed, his eyes wide and his ears perked up, completely engrossed in what the future doctor was describing. He had even asked a few questions and was genuinely interested in the answers. John was on top of the world, getting to talk to Sherlock like this, connecting with him.
Eventually it was time to wind down for bed and John retrieved some clothes for after their showers. He takes them both into the bathroom and begins undressing, only to find that Sherlock had followed him in. They had been showering together but that had been because the teen was so weak. So, to see Sherlock simply starting the water and begin undressing himself as if them showering together was just something they were always going to do from now on, baffled him. He had figured once Sherlock was better the teen would insist on showering by himself, as he had always shown a lone wolf type personality. But instead, Sherlock undresses and John watches as pale smooth skin gets revealed, inch by inch. He blushes as he gets his first full look at Sherlock’s perky butt as the hybrid tests the water temperature.
Sherlock glances back at him and John almost jumps out of his skin as he tries to look natural and continue undressing, as if he wasn’t suddenly hot under the collar. Up until now he hadn’t considered Sherlock attractive, well that wasn’t exactly it really. He was just so focused on taking care of him that he had quickly gotten over their weird little moment during the first shower and his mind had pretended that desire didn’t exist to him. Sherlock was sick and getting him better was his main concern. But now, the teen wasn’t sick, he was standing strong, looking lithe and healthy as his tail tip flicks back and forth, cute butt cheeks tinged pink.
The temperature of the water must have finally turned warm because Sherlock enters the shower. John finishes undressing and stops to take a few calming breaths and push back against the small burst of flame that has tried to settle in his groin. He would never take advantage of Sherlock but his bisexuality was suddenly reminding him that he does in fact like the male gender and it has been a long time since he’s felt any desire with how busy and miserable he’s been. He hasn’t even bothered to touch himself and right now he’s regretting that, but also confused by how fast the feeling suddenly came on after being absent for several years.
Sherlock’s curls are wet and dripping when John steps into the shower, the dark black strands contrasting his marble white skin. To John’s surprise Sherlock turns fully around and John has another panicked moment where he really wants to look down and really doesn’t want to look down at the same time. Instead, he freezes, eyes not moving from where they had landed on the teen’s nose. John had kept them both covered every time they showered, and Sherlock was just throwing that to the wind, making John’s head spin.
“John? John?” The student snaps out of it and finally looks at Sherlock, who appears to be handing him a bottle.
“What?” John says stupidly.
“You zoned out. I was asking you to wash my hair for me. I prefer it when you do it.” Sherlock says, grabbing John’s hand and putting the bottle in it before sitting on the floor of the shower, waiting patiently. He looks at the shampoo bottle and then just like he had been doing for days now, pours out a large glob and goes to work on sudsing up Sherlock’s thick strands. It’s like nothing had changed, as if they had always had this routine. Sherlock pushes his head into John’s strong hands and when he hits certain spots the teen makes cute little noises. But then the familiarity is gone when Sherlock gets up and rinses his own hair, front once again facing John. This time, against his better judgement, he sneaks a peak since the hybrid’s eyes are closed as the shampoo and water washes over his hair and face, falling in rivets over his shoulders and down along his body.
John had noticed during other showers that while Sherlock appeared old enough to have clearly been through puberty, his voice was certainly deep enough, he didn’t have much hair to him besides his head and tail. When he sneaks a peak down, he sees a clean smooth chest with cute pink nipples, and a tummy he feels the strange urge to pet, looking flat and tickleable. He notices that Sherlock has no happy trail, and a full look reveals that he is indeed fully smooth everywhere, looking freshly shaved. But John is sure he didn’t do that here and especially not out on the street so he must be naturally bare. Another weird aspect of his genetic breeding no doubt. But other than that, he’s fully human, John notes in his head, looking at the small pink tipped human cock that hangs pretty above his smooth tiny balls. Altogether, Sherlock is beautiful and had he been human and met the teen in some other setting he would have asked him for a date, likely stumbling over his own words and making a fool of himself in the process.
As Sherlock finishes his hair, John grabs for the shampoo and begins his own hair, pretending his thoughts weren’t all over the place. He hadn’t thought about it but if Sherlock was going to stay with him, what were they now to each other. Friends? Roommates? Was the hybrid going to become his pet? Would he want Sherlock to be his pet and if so, would he take care of him in the sexual way hybrid pets often needed? If he wanted to keep him safe, getting him officially registered would be the best way to go but would Sherlock want that? Would Sherlock even want to be his pet? He seemed almost like a pet as John had fed and bathed him, but the teen is way too smart to be called that, way too human to feel like a simple creature that gets cared for just for companionship in return. Sherlock may still be a stranger but he’s as close to a friend John has ever had, which he thinks sounds pitiful for himself, but he feels like Sherlock treats him better than others. He’s not fake and pretending to like John, he’s just Sherlock.
They switch spots and John rinses his hair while Sherlock starts to wash himself. Unlike the teen, John doesn’t have to close his eyes for long, his short hair takes only a moment to rinse, leaving him to watch as Sherlock runs soapy hands all over his body. He’s not doing it sensually or even slowly, just washing himself like anyone would while trying to get clean. But John is entranced, watching him spread bubbles up and down his arms, across his small chest and down along his belly. When he washes his cock, John feels the primal part of his brain turn on as he stares right at Sherlock’s hand as he heavily pets across his thigh and down to under his balls, before coming back up and taking his penis fully in hand. He smooths his fingers across the shaft, fisting it almost as if to masturbate, then swirling his thumb around the head and under the glands. He finishes by twisting his hand back and forth across the base, moving his way to the head, the slick sound of hand on cock making a shiver go down John’s spine despite the hot water at his back.
Switching spots again, John washes himself slowly and lets Sherlock finish rinsing, watching as the teen gets out before him. The shower suddenly feels large and he listens for Sherlock to dress and leave the room. He’ll need to be quiet for this to work. He’s already started to soap himself up, mimicking what the hybrid had been doing, firmly washing his balls, and coming up to grip his shaft, which has plumped up as the fire in his groin built with anticipation. By the time Sherlock’s light footsteps can be heard leaving, he’s standing there hard, gripping the base, and twisting from side to side. He’s never done that to himself, but he finds that he likes it, his dick letting him know by spurting out a dollop of precum. He continues up the shaft and grips himself while circling his thumb around the head. He doesn’t realize how hot he feels until he opens his mouth to breath, panting as his cock throbs. John knows he won’t last long, feels himself ready to burst as he thinks back to the way Sherlock looked as he washed himself. His hand begins to fly over himself and he struggles not to moan as he imagines Sherlock’s hand on his length, fisting it just the way he likes it.
John grits his teeth as his orgasm washes over him, his hand continuing to work through it until he’s left with legs that feel like gelatin. It’s been close to two years since he’s gotten off and while it was satisfying, he can’t help but feel ashamed that he thought of his new friend that way so quickly. He finishes washing fast and dries off, doing his best to act natural, even if he feels anything but. His heart races as he worries that if Sherlock found out he would leave, like how he ran away from his owner. But John figures it’s just a one-time thing, something that he needed to get out of his system, and he’ll be fine to shower with the hybrid again in the future. No need to worry, he won’t think of his new friend like that, ever again.
Sherlock is already laying peacefully in bed when John gets in. At first, he thinks about not cuddling with him, but the teen would be able to read that something was wrong if he suddenly did that. So, against his better judgement, he lays in bed and brings Sherlock’s back to his chest and overthinks everything about the teen living here with him until he falls into an uneasy sleep.
-----
Weeks go by and each becomes better than the last as Sherlock begins improving everything about John’s life. The hybrid hadn’t stopped at fixing just the microwave but insisted on helping in any way possible. Soon enough Sherlock had filled the flat with life. They have multiple cups, plates, bowls, and utensils of all kinds. Cookery starts to fill the limited shelf space and the teen even manages to find an old toaster which he cleans and fixes with two days of solid work. He finds strange but weirdly interesting objects as well, such as a mounted bull’s skull which gets hung on the wall immediately as the two of them laugh over the weird find. John finds that Sherlock’s smile has become his favorite thing and making that smile appear is something he now strives for as often as he can.
He feels like he starts to learn more about Sherlock during this time. The hybrid’s obviously brilliant and likes to experiment on things. He’s brought home dozens of beakers, glass slides to put under a microscope, and more newspapers than John thought existed. At first the newspapers confused him, until he picked up the notebook Sherlock had also brought and liked to scribble in for hours while John sat and studied beside him, the two curled close together. Inside he finds professionally written letters with the answers to different crimes which were featured in the newspapers. The letters all looked ready to send but the newspapers dated back weeks and the teen was clearly not mailing them. He spent a while reading them one night before Sherlock got home from whatever he was doing on the streets.
The detail the letters contained about how crimes could be committed, telling the police where they needed to look, and who they should be questioning was fascinating. By the time Sherlock walks through the door, John is halfway through the letters, lying face up on the bed with the notebook held to the ceiling. The new ceiling light that Sherlock found and installed with his help made reading like this not as bad as when he only had a single light bulb. The room was no longer flooded with harsh white light and the teen had managed to even install a dimmer, allowing their nights together to be more relaxed and intimate.
“You know, these letters are brilliant Sherlock. I think if you submit them, they might just help some people out.” John says, not bothering to look up, too engrossed in reading more of the teen’s detective theories.
“Scotland yard has refused to take them anymore.” Sherlock says, his voice sounding mildly upset.
“Well, they are bloody idiots.” John grins to himself.
“Truly.” The teen says and John can hear a smile come to his voice.
As he continues reading through the pages, he feels the bed dip down as Sherlock climbs on. The cuddling and touching was also something new that the hybrid had brought with him, something that John would find out of the ordinary for two people who aren’t in a romantic relationship, but he has found that he really enjoys it and has even started craving it, often sitting up against the hybrid when they relax together. Sherlock lays along John’s whole body, slotting his lithe figure perfectly against John’s bulkier build. He rests his head on its side, ear pressed into a strong chest, no doubt listening to John’s steady heartbeat. Relaxing together like this had become John’s new favorite thing and he absent mindedly switches to using one hand for the journal and strokes the teen’s head, petting him like he would a real cat. He had figured that the increased contact was something you would naturally have with a pet, and he couldn’t deny that treating the teen like a cat seemed to get a positive response from Sherlock.
Though the increased touching had also on multiple occasions worked John’s sex drive into a frenzy and he’d had to hide several erections over time, either when the teen had laid full on him like today or accidentally rubbed against his morning wood. Sherlock had clearly known what was happening during these times, the teen too observant to miss something like the feel of a penis getting hard against your own hip. But he hadn’t said anything on any of the incidents and John was grateful because it meant that the teen wasn’t disgusted with him for being attracted to him and he wasn’t going to just randomly leave, which had still been John’s biggest fear.
Additionally, John’s simply glad that knocking things off surfaces was not apparently something that the hybrid got from his cat DNA. In truth, everything about Sherlock has been perfect and John wants nothing to change, his life finally feeling full, as if a piece he didn’t know was missing was finally found, clicking into place, never to be lost again.
He keeps rubbing over the hybrid’s ears, feeling the smooth fur and playing with the little white tips as he continues reading the notebook. Against his chest he is surprised to feel the teen fidget and glances down because he hasn’t started purring which he has become comfortable enough to do, to the point of starting almost immediately when they would cuddle together.
As if reading his mind, knowing he was about to question him, Sherlock speaks but doesn’t look at him. “Have I been good for you?” He says, his voice sounding small.
John wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t already been paying attention to him. He pauses a moment to think, putting down the notebook onto Sherlock’s back and wrapping his other arm around him in a tight hug. “I know you’re smart enough to have deduced that. Now why the silly question when you already know the answer is yes?”
“I —.” Sherlock shifts around as if to try and get up, but John doesn’t let him out of his hold and eventually the teen stops, giving out a sigh. “I never told you about my parents.” The hybrid nuzzles his face into John’s chest, seeking comfort.
“Sherlock, hey, you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.” John tries to quickly reassure the teen, knowing that if he ran away there must have been a good reason. Though he didn’t expect the teen to have ‘parents’, instead believing up until now that he had run away from an ‘owner’.
“No. I want to tell you. It’s not what you think.” Sherlock finally looks up, placing his chin on John’s chest, their faces close, the teen’s eyes serious and determined.
“Alright.” John says, staring back into his eyes with care and affection.
“I know that I was grown in a lab. All of my kind are since breeding hybrids together has only just become legal for show hybrids who win medals. But unlike what you might think, I wasn’t raised by a personal hybrid breeder or by those who bought me. I was taken from a lab as a baby by an underground organization who believe that hybrids should either have just as many rights as humans or that we shouldn’t exist at all. They seek to shut down the whole thing, but hybrid breeding is big business and legislation has not gone their way. Instead, they have been stealing high value hybrids for many years and I was one of those.”
They both lay there breathing, Sherlock pausing as John processes the new information. He had been correct about Sherlock being a valuable hybrid with almost flawless breeding. The perfectly formed cat ears and tail, the hairless and naturally thin body. He ticked all the boxes of a rich man’s fantasy cat boy.
“What did they do with you?” John asks, though he has a million more questions flashing through his mind.
“They gave me to a regular family, people who raised me as if I were fully human. They treated me just like my older brother, their real son. They already homeschooled him and when I became part of the family I started to learn about the world.” The teen doesn’t seem to be sad about this, he smiles as if reminiscing about his family and John is confused.
“Then —” John starts.
“Then why did you find me all alone, homeless in an alleyway?” Sherlock asks, filling in what the student had been thinking. “No, they are not dead if that is what you are imagining.” John would be a liar if he said that wasn’t one of his main thoughts. “I was taught by my family that I should want to be my own person, that I should want to grow up and be as human as possible. I should start a family, work, and live the great dream that supposedly everyone strives for.” The hybrid’s voice changes then, a bitter added note to it. “But no matter how much they told me I could do just that, society told me I could not. My father tried to get starter jobs for me, but no one would allow me to be hired. Not only was I not human but on paper I officially don’t exist, even as a pet.”
“You don’t sound like you want that kind of life. Do you?” John can tell from the way the teen phrased it that the great white picket fence, day job, two kids, and a wife dream doesn’t appeal to him and from everything he has learned about Sherlock he doesn’t think it would work out if he tried. John also never completely understood that dream, he himself knew in his heart that the thought of a family taking away from his time to help patients seemed wrong in his mind, he also wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t turn out like his father toward his own children.
“No, I don’t want that. They wanted me to be one of the hybrids that showed the world how smart and capable we are. But that's not what I wanted. I do want to be my own person. I want to own things and maybe even work.” He chews his lip nervously. “But I like the idea of being with someone who sees and respects me as a person most of the time but also — sees me as a pet sometimes.” He turns away, breaking eye contact, looking ashamed to have admitted that he wants to be a bit of what he was designed for. Before John can say anything he’s already talking again, almost using words to run away and hoping that by talking more maybe John won’t talk at all.
“I was told my whole life not to give into the hybrid stereotypes of being submissive, wanting to please others, to enjoy the company of my owner and do everything they tell me. I was supposed to be independent.” Sherlock’s voice is louder now and is getting a slight hysteric tone to it, like he wants to cry or have a panic attack. “But I like being washed and — and groomed and petted and fed. I don’t know if it's just in my nature or — or — or my DNA but it's what I want . My family would have been ashamed of me, so I ran away. They had high hopes for me, and I let them down .” Sherlock starts fighting the hold John has on him, pushing against his chest, his face becoming stricken now that he’s out of things to say, his instincts pushing him to run.
“No Sherlock. They let you down.” John states, holding onto the struggling hybrid, his friend, the person who has been changing everything for the better for him. “They saw you as something they could use to try to change others, but they didn't consider your feelings.” Sherlock still tries to get away, pushing rougher, kicking his legs out but he looks into John’s eyes searching them for who knows what. Answers. Deception. “They didn't ask you to be a tool for them, they just tried to sharpen you into a weapon without you realizing it and that's not who you are.” John says with confidence and complete certainty.
Sherlock freezes and John thinks back to the first time he met the teen when they had laid like this in the dark alleyway. Silence as they breathe together, John once again feels Sherlock’s heart beating wildly against his chest, just like it had that night.
“You are the most unique person I have ever met.” John finally says and loosens his grip when he feels Sherlock stop fighting against him. “I think you need to be who you are and never compromise that to others because others will certainly not change for you. Find those who will let you be who you are and never let them go.” The hybrid stays silent but calms enough to lay down, head resting on John’s broad chest. He gives the teen a squeeze and brings one hand up to once again pet through his hair and scratch his ears.
They stay laying together like this and John attempts to understand the situation better, his brain working overtime. Sherlock did run away from his home, but it wasn’t the sex crazed millionaire weirdo scenario that he had envisioned, though that might have been the case had he not been stolen as a baby. No, the hybrid had run away from a seemingly loving family who was pushing him too hard to be something he’s not. Sherlock wanted to be his own person and John has seen how the hybrid has his own interests and things he wants to do in life. But at the same time, Sherlock had admitted to wanting that pet like lifestyle, something John knows they have been doing without giving it real words. The bathing, the petting, the feeding, and the cuddling, all things people do with pets. The only thing they haven’t done is play, which Sherlock hadn’t shown interest in, neither chasing things nor pouncing like a real cat around the flat. They fell into this perfect thing Sherlock wanted without words having to be said, without the discussion that could have turned it awkward and stilted. John never thought he would want a hybrid and now he can’t think of what his life would be like without Sherlock in it.
Sherlock falls asleep purring on his chest and John hates to move him, but it’s been a few hours. He’s almost finished the detective letters and he’s getting terribly hot, which is odd because usually when they cuddle, he's at a comfortable temperature. He slides the teen off him to the side and smiles when Sherlock curls in on himself, looking small, his tail wrapping around his middle. But just as suddenly as he smiles, he frowns when he notices that sweat has soaked through his shirt and looking at the teen, he appears to have a light sheen to him, sweat glistening in the light.
John sighs, thinking Sherlock might be sick again and while the teen has put on a bit of weight and been sleeping in a warm home, it’s possible that he’s been stressing himself out worrying about how John sees him and if he’s being good enough to stay with him. The student hadn’t put much thought into Sherlock having to pay his way or contribute enough for him to keep him, but apparently the teen had, and the anxiety had clearly affected him. John vows to fix him up tomorrow, get him healthy and maybe have a good long conversation about what is expected going forward.
-----
The pure fire that John wakes up to is overwhelming as his sleep dulled brain tries to figure out why it’s suddenly this incredibly hot in his flat during early winter when it’s been chilly to the point of him considering breaking out the heavier blanket the past several days. He peels his chest away from Sherlock’s back, their skin sticking together with all the sweat they produced as they slept. The cool air feels nice as it hits his skin.
“Sherlock. Hey.” John shakes the hybrid a little to get him to wake but instead the teen just backs up again, pressing into John, even going so far as to wiggle his butt right into John’s crotch. Their closeness lately has been wonderful, but John is still attracted to Sherlock and practically jumps out of the bed, not wanting him to press himself right into his morning wood.
The sudden movement is what finally wakes Sherlock and the teen rolls over, bed head wild as always, but eyes awake and calculating as they look around the room and land on John.
“You are very sweaty.” Sherlock remarks, then pulls off the covers and swipes his hand across his own chest, which comes back beaded with sweat as well. “Hmmm.” Is all he mumbles before he wipes his hand on the top of the covers and curls back up as if to sleep again.
“Yeah. I’m going to get a shower if you would like to join me before breakfast.” It’s Saturday and John needs to write a paper before work today, so a nice relaxing shower to clean up before he starts sounds like a good start to the day.
“I’ll catch up with you in a moment once the water is warm.” Sherlock’s ear twitches and John smirks.
“Lazy cat.” He says and ruffles Sherlock’s curls. He gets his hand playfully batted at and a grumble from the teen, which makes him grateful that Sherlock doesn’t have any cat claws, or he would have plenty of scratches by now. John is secretly happy to call Sherlock by a nickname again, having found it fun when he had done so before learning the hybrid’s name.
John heads off to the bathroom, gets the water running and when it’s hot he calls out for Sherlock, who doesn’t answer him, but he’s learned that the hybrid’s cat ears work better than a human’s, so he heard him, but Sherlock naturally doesn’t come when called. He’s over halfway through washing his body, his hair completely done when the teen finally shows up.
As Sherlock gets into the shower, John notices that his behavior seems a little off. He normally gets in first and wets his hair, then patiently waits for John to wash it, eager for scratches across his scalp. But now he’s looking down at the ground and as he goes to get wet, he keeps all his limbs to himself. The teen had taken to touching John at almost any chance he got since the day he was better. It was either his tail wrapped around something, or even just a foot touching him, he always wanted to be connected. To have Sherlock keep his limbs to himself feels a little odd, but John decides not to comment on it, instead finishing soaping himself up.
To John’s surprise, Sherlock doesn’t wait to have his hair washed like usual, instead grabbing up the shampoo and quickly soaping up his curls. Once again John doesn’t say anything, though he gets a strange pang in his heart at not getting to run his hands through Sherlock’s hair. John is sure this has something to do with the conversation from last night, though it’s strange because the teen had admitted that he wanted to be treated more like a pet and here he was the next day washing his own hair instead of letting John do it, like they had silently agreed to before. Possibly he was anxious or nervous now that he finally admitted something so personal to John.
‘Best to give him the space to figure out what he wants.’ John thinks to himself. He rinses off and gets out of the shower. While analyzing Sherlock’s behavior the way the teen does to others would be a fun way to spend his day, he has responsibilities and needs to attend to them first and let the teen relax and hopefully realize that nothing needs to change.
The day passes by quickly and despite Sherlock acting weird, John finishes his paper, though it took hard work not to keep looking at the teen. In the past Sherlock had purposefully leaned against him or at least sat next to him and curled his tail around him if he was home for the day, wanting to be close. But today he has chosen to sit on the floor instead of in the bed with John, writing in the detective notebook, though at a slower pace than usual. Sometimes it seems as if Sherlock is watching him, but when John goes to look over at him and the hybrid’s still head down in the newspapers. Though he has noticed his tail twitching and movement from the corner of his eye that makes it seem like the teen is restless. To add to that, Sherlock visits the bathroom multiple times, way more than usual but has only barely sipped from the glass of water next to him.
Eventually, John heads to work and Sherlock gives him a small goodbye. The student can’t help but worry the entire afternoon and night as he works. He really needs to sit down with Sherlock and reassure him that he can still be clingy, that acting more like a pet would be perfectly fine, and that nothing needed to change between them. John plans out a speech in his head like he did when he first met Sherlock. This one he is sure he will get to deliver and is even more important than the last one.
As John is bussing a table, he notices that several of the patrons tonight have hybrids with them, which isn’t unusual for the nice establishment, he had just never paid them much attention before. Unlike full animals, they are allowed into restaurants if they have their owner with them. He looks on at a dog hybrid with floppy ears, as she plays with a human child in her lap, her owner’s kid no doubt. It’s a nice scene, she’s clearly loved and taken care of by her family, trusted around their child and when the mother looks at them, her smile is filled with joy. If the hybrid didn’t have the animal traits, it would be as if she were simply a big sister to the little girl in her lap. Instead, she’s a pet, a collar around her neck symbolizing her ownership. John looks at the other hybrids and they too all have collars, each a different style, some embellished with their names and others plain and thin, almost unnoticeable. None of them have leashes as hybrid’s are intelligent enough to not need them. John can’t help but give the collars more thought as he takes the dishes back to the sinks.
Mulling it over more in his head as he washes plates, John realizes that while Sherlock might not be a registered hybrid, that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t possibly get him a collar for when he goes out. A collar would show that he is owned and loved. He wouldn’t be harassed or possibly taken away if caught without it. It would also allow him to take Sherlock to a restaurant like this one day, when he has the money to spend on them. The ability to sit at a table and eat food surrounded by other people and have no one look at them twice. Sherlock had mentioned he wanted to be treated like a pet sometimes and maybe a collar would solidify in his mind that John wanted him around no matter what.
On his way home, he thinks about what kind of collar would look best on Sherlock. Something plain and black is what comes to mind, though the thought of a small bell as well makes him laugh, his brain conjuring up Sherlock’s annoyed face he would give when presented with the present. The hybrid has brought back a bunch of clothing which John has been thinking about getting another dresser to put everything in. Most of the clothes have been darker in color and plain in style, nothing standing out. But then again, he wonders if Sherlock’s style would be different if he got to purchase what he wore, instead of finding things abandoned by other people.
He pictures Sherlock in his head, wearing a thin leather collar with a silver buckle. It would stand out against his pale neck and if he wore something that showed off his collar bones...well. John stops his thoughts there and pauses in the empty street. ‘This better not awaken something in me’ John thinks, annoyed at how his brain went sexual that quickly.
John gets home and hears the shower running, which he finds odd considering they just showered this morning, but he does need a shower after work, so he sets his bag down and heads to the bathroom.
“Sherlock, I’m back.” He announces as he walks into the bathroom. He hears Sherlock hum a response. With a quick strip down he’s in the shower with the teen, who’s hair isn’t wet. John gives him a little look, feeling cool water on his feet, but Sherlock just continues to stand there letting the cold water roll over his shoulders and back. He looks as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on him and wishing the water would wash it away, a feeling John knows well.
Taking a chance, John gently takes Sherlock’s arm and pulls him toward him, letting the teen decide if he wants to come. The hybrid doesn’t look up, still staring down as if ashamed or embarrassed, but he comes willingly away from the water. John wraps him in his arms, gripping him tight in a possessive hug, feeling how his skin is chilled. The hug he hopes will convey how much the teen means to him, how much he never wants him to leave. At first Sherlock barely touches him, but after a moment he wraps his arms around John’s broad chest, leaning his head on his shoulder. Sherlock lets their bodies touch completely, stomach and hips coming together, fully trusting as they relax against one another, a mimic of all their cuddle sessions on the bed.
“Sherlock. Thank you for confiding in me last night.” John starts his speech. “You have made my life better, like I never knew possible and I want you to stay. I really like you. You are intelligent and interesting, and I know you feel conflicted about acting like a full human but also wanting to be like a pet. I can’t say I understand the feeling, but if it means we can continue living like we have been, then I want all of it. All of you , just the way you are, just the way we have been these last few weeks.” He smooths his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides. “I don’t want to rush anything, but if you want, I was thinking we could get you a collar one day, just something simple, something that would let us go out together, or something you could wear when you want to be treated like a pet. I want to treat you like a person and a pet; I want to treat you anyway you want me too.” John feels like his heart is both in his throat and pounding out of his chest at the same time. He isn’t sure how Sherlock will react, the teen temporarily frozen in his arms.
It takes a few moments, but John’s heart soars when he feels Sherlock nod against his shoulder and squeeze him harder around the middle. He practically cries tears of joy, which if the teen saw he would blame on the shower spraying in his face. John kisses the side of his head, and squeezes him back, something he didn’t imagine he would be doing when he first met the teen.
When Sherlock pulls away, he finally looks up, his eyes searching John’s, silently interrogating him, checking once more for any deception. But John just smiles down at him, and Sherlock’s eyes soften, finding that the blue orbs have nothing but kindness and devotion in them.
“I would like that.” The teen says his face blushing. Faster than John can respond, Sherlock plants a small kiss on his cheek before backing away out of the embrace and leaving the shower, white tipped tail the last thing John sees.
A giddy smile plasters itself on John’s face as he watches Sherlock’s tail slip out of view, the small kiss once again reminding him of his attraction to the teen. A possessive feeling washes over him as he suddenly thinks of Sherlock as his pet. It makes his stomach muscles tighten as the fire in his belly, which has been building over their time together, has another hot coal added to it. He steps into the spray of the cool water to calm himself and stumbles a bit, his foot sliding on something slick on the shower floor. He looks down, but doesn’t see any spilled shampoo or soap, plus Sherlock hadn’t washed his hair. “That’s odd.” He murmurs to himself.
“What’s odd?” The hybrid asks from the other side of the curtain.
“Just slipped on something, but it doesn’t look like anything is here.” John bends down and feels the floor, it’s slick and slippery where Sherlock had been standing.
“The shower probably just needs washed.” The teen says calmly.
“Yeah. Probably right.” John finishes his shower but keeps the strange experience in mind, he doesn’t remember ever slipping like that in the shower here before. Maybe because two of them are getting showers they just need to clean up more often?
Exhaustion sets in deep and John cuddles up to Sherlock like he does every night and notices once again that the hybrid is far warmer than usual. But the teen had displayed no other symptoms of being sick, no coughing, runny nose, or fatigue, so he puts it out of mind and falls asleep to their breathing.
-----
John is awoken in the middle of the night to movement and once again an overwhelming amount of heat. He has his front pressed up against Sherlock’s back, his arm wrapped around the hybrid, hand on his chest. He can feel Sherlock’s heart is racing and his hips are moving ever so slightly, his bottom just barely rubbing against John’s nighttime boner. It feels nice but John wonders what the teen is doing and stays still, letting whatever is happening continue, afraid if he moves, he won’t get an answer. He can hear a small needy sounding whine escape the hybrid’s lips and it sends shivers down his spine, and heat racing to his already engorged cock. He recognizes suddenly the way Sherlock’s hips are twitching, and feels the teen’s arm moving rhythmically, though slow enough that he might have thought he could get away with the gentle motions.
Sherlock whines again and John throbs as he thinks of what the teen must look like masturbating in front of him. There’s nothing John can do about it now; he’s stuck here against the hybrid. He knows he can’t move because then Sherlock might get embarrassed or feel weird that he caught him in the act, since up until now they have only just exchanged their first indirect kisses and were hopefully getting back to some normalcy after their small shower conversation. At the same time, John feels like he should move because Sherlock is accidentally getting him off, something John has been avoiding up until now. John lightly backs his hips away, going gradually but it’s not slow enough. Sherlock suddenly stops, going rigid in his arms.
They both lay there, completely still, John feeling the hybrid’s heart beating faster, like a rabbit running from a fox. He licks his lips and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first. He clears his throat and tries again.
“Didn’t mean to — um, startle you.” John says, completely blanking on what he’s supposed to do now, chastising himself for not just waiting it out.
The teen stays still for a few more moments, before leaping out of the bed, tail curled defensively in front of his modesty, ears laid back against his head. “Shower.” Is all he says before closing the door. John’s unable to get a single word out.
John groans and rolls onto his front, head into his mattress, smelling Sherlock’s unique scent on the pillow. He should have just stayed where he was and kept his dick under control. Now he’s embarrassed the teen and made him run away, after he finally thought he might get Sherlock to act normal again. John wallows a bit in his own head, feeling bad before he feels something against his front. He rolls back onto his side and uses his hand to feel over the bed. He touches a large wet spot and at first, he’s worried that Sherlock might have peed the bed or something, before he feels a glob of slick liquid that jolts his memory back to the day he was researching hybrids. He swallows thickly, knowing now exactly why Sherlock’s body heat has been so high and why he’s been acting shy and embarrassed. It isn’t anything about the conversation they had referring to him wanting to be treated like a pet. He’s in Heat.
Getting up quickly John wipes the slick into his pants and flicks on the light switch, dimming the room as low as it can go. He takes a few deep breaths and goes to the bathroom door, grateful that it doesn’t have a lock. He gently pulls it open and enters, not sure what he will find. The shower is running, and Sherlock is already behind the curtain, his clothes hastily thrown to the side.
“Sherlock?” John says, hoping that the teen will be willing to talk to him. He knows Sherlock is old enough to understand what’s happening, but they haven’t spoken about his heats, the topic completely slipping John’s mind. He needs to tread carefully on the subject, especially since the hybrid is already in heat. John wants to make sure that Sherlock knows he’s not going to do anything that he doesn’t want to do, even though in his mind he would one day like to do everything to the teen. “Sherlock. I know what’s happening — and I just want to talk to you about it alright. You can stay behind the curtain if you want.” John gets closer but doesn’t open the shower to look at the teen, giving him the privacy to hide behind the curtain. He knows that having a barrier can help people talk about difficult topics.
A small hiccup can be heard. “You — you said you would be okay with me being your pet — and — and I know you like me; I can see it in y-your face — in your actions toward me.” Sherlock stutters, his voice cracking as he tries not to cry.
“I do . I really like you Sherlock. You are hands down my favorite person. My favorite lazy cat.” John says, ready to pour his heart out again, wanting to take the teen in his arms and kiss away his tears, the sudden urge to protect Sherlock stronger than he thought possible.
“But you said you wanted things to stay the same between us and I — I didn’t know how to bring this up with you. I’ve never — and I was always alone during this time before. I didn’t want to assume things or get it w-wrong.” Sherlock’s voice waivers and cracks, emotion heard in his words like never before, making John move as close as he can to the curtain.
“You can always talk to me about anything . I swear to you I’ll understand, and we can work something out. If you need to be alone during this time, during your heat —” John swallows heavily. “I — I can leave you alone, I’ll give you all the space you need. Alright?” John tries to be reassuring even though he doesn’t want to leave Sherlock alone and wouldn’t know where to go.
A high-pitched whine, which sounds almost painful, can be heard, but John still doesn’t open the curtain, though he starts to reach for it anyway, hands up, ready to tear it apart if he needs to.
“I — I don’t want to be alone. I want — help.” Sherlock says breathless.
“I can help you; I know we haven’t discussed it and that’s my fault, alright? But — but if you are okay with it, I’ll help you, I want to help you, Sherlock. I know I’m human and there’s bad blood there. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you like the people who ordered you. I just want you to be better and I swear when it’s over, I will see you as Sherlock, like I always do.” John closes his eyes. Only the sound of shower can be heard, as John’s ears ring. He feels like Sherlock is far away, even as he stands right on the other side of a cheap piece of plastic.
“Please, help me John.” Sherlock’s voice is quiet, but John hears it loud and clear. He grabs a towel from the hanger and reaches in to shut off the water, without looking. He waits with the towel, he wants Sherlock to come to him, to make sure that the decision is completely his.
The curtain opens slowly and Sherlock steps out soaking wet and looking down again, unwilling to meet John’s eyes. John wraps the towel around his back, laying it on his head with the front open and hugs Sherlock. He feels the teen snake his hands up to put one on each of his shoulders, wrapping them around his back. In a flash, the hybrid jumps into his arms, wrapping his legs around John’s waist. He quickly grabs under Sherlock’s thighs and steadies them, then immediately heads to the bed, turning the light off as they leave.
Sherlock’s head is resting on his shoulder as he sits on the edge of the bed, scooching in far enough that the teen can sit his knees on the bed, straddling John’s thighs. He’s still pressed firmly up against him, their chests only separated by the thin cotton shirt John was sleeping in. They breathe together, arms wrapped around each other tight, Sherlock trembling periodically, his hips sometimes moving then stuttering to a stop as he tries to control himself. John has never dealt with a heat before, never touched a hybrid before Sherlock, but he’s determined to get this right. Heat compels hybrids to mate and not fulfilling their desires can be painful. He doesn’t want his friend, his new pet, to be uncomfortable.
“I noticed you were overheating but I just thought you were getting sick again. I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” John apologies, rubbing his arms up and down Sherlock’s back, over the towel.
He pulls his head back and John tries to get the teen to look at him. At first Sherlock doesn’t budge but John moves the towel a little, tenderly planting light kisses on his shoulder and running the tip of his nose along smooth skin until he gets to the teen’s neck, where he places more kisses to the damp flesh. The hybrid lets out a breathy sigh and pulls back, keeping his head lowered submissively, eyes closed, hands gripping onto John’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s okay. What’s wrong?” John questions, keeping his voice light. Sherlock is stiff and his lack of movement makes John wonder if he should start this. Instead, thinking maybe he should just let the teen take care of himself. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want this to happen one day, but if needs to wait, he won’t mind.
“Was just trying to take care of it myself. Didn’t want to bother you.” Sherlock mumbles, his voice quiet and subdued.
“It’s okay. I want to do this. You’re not a bother at all.” John gives him a hug, reassuring him this is all fine.
“Are — you going to start?” Sherlock asks nervously.
“Tell me what you want, this is all for you. I want to ease your heat. If you don’t want anything, we can just sit here. It’s all fine.” John looks directly into Sherlock’s face and he finally glances up and immediately back down.
“I — I’ve never. Not with someone.” Sherlock mumbles, which John finds endearing, watching the hybrid admit his secret virginity with a blush on his pretty cheekbones. He never thought the strong-willed teen would turn so docile, but this must be what he meant when he said he wanted to be a ‘pet’, wanted to be taken care of. John wants to take care of him, not only in every way he had been before, but in this as well.
“Alright. Just relax, we don’t have to go fast, everything at your pace.” John smooths his hands down Sherlock’s back and to his thighs, massaging them, kneading into the soft flesh, working his way to the teen’s perky butt. Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs again, his cupid’s bow just barely opening as he lets out little puffs of warm air. John watches his face closely, getting a feel for what he likes. He’s gotten good at reading his face and uses that to judge his own pace.
Leaning in, he keeps lightly grasping at Sherlock’s thighs, noticing how hot the teen’s temperate is as he then begins exploring exposed skin with his lips. He kisses the teen’s other shoulder and works his way to his neck, the towel falling to the floor. Sherlock tilts his head away, letting John have full access and showing off his pretty collar bones. He gently presses his lips to where shoulder meets neck and sucks ever so lightly on the teen’s skin. Sherlock mewls a soft noise and John feels the teen’s entire body shiver. His pet has been in heat for at least a day, hiding himself and taking care of it best he could in the shower. But John can tell it wasn’t enough because the teen feels desperate in his hands, body over sensitive to every touch.
John grips each of Sherlock’s plush cheeks in a strong hand, then pulls them apart as he sucks harder on the teen’s neck. The high whimper he coaxes out goes straight to his cock, which has begun to plump up, responding to the beautiful boy he has in his arms. He keeps kneading the supple flesh, pushing and pulling his perky little butt apart, going so far as to ghost a finger close to his entrance, but not yet touching, teasing even though Sherlock is already on edge.
Sherlock slumps forward, breaking his neck away from John’s mouth, resting his forehead against his own hand, which is clutching at John’s shirt for dear life, both fists filled with the white fabric. He shivers and sighs when John let’s off his butt, rubbing the underside of it instead before giving it a rough squeeze.
“Tell me if I’m going too fast, alright?” John whispers, feeling Sherlock’s heart racing through their chests. The teen nods his head, not too lost yet to the heat.
Moving one hand to Sherlock’s inner thigh, John runs his thumb along the soft flesh, reveling in the fact that no one else has had the pleasure of touching him, his skin pure and untainted by anyone. John’s never thought of that being important before, but right now in this moment, he’s just incredibly happy that he’s the first one to get to do anything to the hybrid. The one who will deflower him with love, pleasure him in his time of need, and most importantly the person who will be there with him to comfort him when his body finally cools down.
When he’s done admiring the teen’s smooth thigh and letting him rest for a moment, he skims his hand along the flesh until he just barely touches the side of Sherlock’s cock. He hesitates for a moment, pressing firmly from the side, letting the hybrid know exactly where he is, letting him back away if it’s too much too soon.
But Sherlock doesn’t back off, instead John hears his swallow before his mouth is open again, panting into his shoulder. John uses just one finger to touch Sherlock, dragging it up his slender shaft, the precum he’s been leaking making it glide along, causing more cute whimpering noises to fall from panting lips. John circles the head, feeling the heat from the engorged tip as he spreads the precum across it. He wishes he could see it glistening in the light, plump head showing how much the hybrid is enjoying himself.
Kissing the side of Sherlock’s head, he lets his finger keep playing, feeling as the teen twitches and trembles when he touches different spots, categorizing them all for later. Sherlock’s body is hot in his hands, flesh on fire as he adds a few more fingers, skimming them along the shaft. John feels the teen’s cock jolt and jerk, bouncing as he gently rubs down over his balls and back up.
“Does your heat take multiple rounds to sate?” John asks, circling his hand around Sherlock’s whole cock, the little thing completely engulfed by his strong fingers. He remembers reading that a male hybrid like Sherlock could come multiple times before having to rest and while John in the past may have kept up with partners like that, it’s been years since he’s had someone beneath him and he needs to pace himself for Sherlock’s sake.
Sherlock nods vigorously before bucking into John’s hand, greedy to get friction against his little cock, pulling himself up with his arms, wrapping them around John’s back.
“Yes. Ah. Yes — it d-does.” The teen gasps and squirms as he answers. John doesn’t move his hand, instead tightening it around Sherlock while using his other hand to pull the hybrid’s hips forward, causing him to buck into his grasp. The teen seems to understand that John wants him to continue and gives a small thrust, sliding his dick through thick fingers, his stomach giving a pleased flutter when the grip tightens.
“There you go. Such a good cat.” John praises Sherlock. He has noticed over the past weeks that whenever he told the teen he was doing a good job; his cheeks had reddened, and he seemed pleased with himself. John uses the little bit of knowledge to his advantage now as he kisses the side of his face again.
“M’not a cat.” Sherlock mumbles out slowing, not stopping his shameful humping of John’s hand, the heat driving the teen to discard his usual decorum.
“Oh, you’re not. Then what are you?” John teases, loosening his grip and making Sherlock groan with the loss.
“M — ‘m a kitten.” Sherlock blushes and John barely manages to stop himself from coming untouched right then. His own erection has been straining against his pants, his own precum damping them, as the teen stirs something primal inside of him.
John swallows heavily, his own mouth opening to breathe in fresh air, his own urge to claim making him breathless. “Yes…you are. You are my kitten. Aren’t you?” He questions the teen, his head fuzzy from his own arousal.
“Mmhmm.” Is all Sherlock manages to get out, his cock pulsing in John’s hand which has closed firmly around him once more, rough palm feeling like bliss along his length. He nuzzles his face into John’s neck and laps at his skin, giving it small kitten licks. He doesn’t even notice that he quickened his pace, his thighs straining as he humps forward, only feeling pleasure he’s never known before.
“Keep going, my baby kitten, get yourself off for me.” John doesn’t even know what he’s saying, his mouth suddenly dirtier than it’s ever been. He’s not usually one for talking, but Sherlock just brings something out in him. He kisses Sherlock’s shoulder again before the teen pulls himself away, gasping for air.
The sight that Sherlock makes is breathtaking, everything about him ethereal. His eyebrows are drawn together in a look of confused pleasure, his mouth open, tongue sometimes coming out to lick at his cupid’s bow. He’s starting to become more shameless, moaning as he ruts his cock faster, forcing himself as deep into John’s palm as he can, precum continuing to dribble out of his tip, the slick slide coaxing him to go faster. The desire to run headfirst into the burning pleasure, too much for the inexperienced virgin.
John draws back a bit, giving himself some space to finally look down and watch as the teen’s cock slides through his fingers, the pink head just barely poking out the other side of his closed fist. It’s the best thing John thinks he’s ever seen, the thrusting of Sherlock’s tiny hips, the way his lithe stomach muscles twitch, his rhythm getting sloppy as he nears his first completion. John’s other hand has moved to grab at the teen’s ass and somewhere during all this time, the tail with a mind of its own has wrapped itself around his arm.
“Tighter. J-John, ahhhhh, Tighter, please n-n-now .” Sherlock begs, his voice high and whiny, his first climax as the hands of another making his body shake and shiver as he moans wonton.
John obeys immediately, gripping Sherlock harder, feeling the hybrid swell for a final time, his thrusting stuttering to a halt as he releases his cum with a long moan, several hot bursts drenching John’s shirt and pants. It mixes with John’s precum which has soaked through the front of his pants, where his neglected cock has been trying to escape, heavy and swollen with the desire to fill the virgin.
The sigh that Sherlock lets out sounds like pure relief, followed by a small yelp when John squeezes his shaft, getting the last of his cum to dribble from the end of his cock. “Ahhh.” Sherlock protests and John finally releases him, letting his tiny cock hang there, still stiff, and oversensitive.
“Feel better?” John asks and Sherlock looks at him, his eyes suddenly clearer, more like the normal Sherlock. The hybrid sits down on John’s thighs, his leg strength giving out from the strain.
“You’re a bit of a perv, aren’t you?” Sherlock deadpans and John bursts out laughing, not expecting such a bold statement after what they just did. The teen begins to giggle fondly as well and when they are both able to stop laughing John finally answers.
“You know, I never thought I was, but you must just bring something out in me, my perfect pet.” John admits with a wide grin. He looks Sherlock right in the face as he smiles back with a sly approving smile. He’s sweaty and red from exerting himself, the hybrid looking both cute and beautiful, sexy and innocent, male with a slight feminine touch in just the right way, with his dark curls starting to frame his face, his slender grabbable hips, and pale soft kissable skin making John want to caress him and cover him in marks.
“Well, what’s next? My owner.” Sherlock asks with a small smile on his face, his previous embarrassment and nervousness completely gone as he looks into John’s eyes.
The possessive urge to kiss the teen in this moment overwhelms John and before he realizes it, he’s taken Sherlock’s face in his hands and planted a kiss against his warm plush lips. It’s chaste compared to what they just did and utterly perfect when he feels the hybrid push back against him, his mouth opening ever so slightly. John has always loved kissing and as he opens his own mouth, tongue darting out to lick over a plump bottom lip, he can’t think of ever wanting to kiss another’s lips, Sherlock’s absolutely ruining him, making him an addict from the very moment their tongues touch and twine together, causing fire to go coursing through his veins as he vows to kiss these lips for the rest of his own eternity.
He hears a low moan, but doesn’t recognize it as himself, too gone in plunging his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, exploring every inch before pulling back and sucking on his bottom lip dragging it away, then letting it go with a little pop, where it settles against Sherlock’s teeth, looking red and abused. Sherlock’s eyes have gone hazy, and he nibbles at his own lower lip before running his tongue across it, abusing it more, accidentally putting on a show. But John won’t be pulled back in yet, Sherlock is still hard, and John is now determined to make his little kitten come while on his cock.
Slipping one hand down, John goes under the hybrid’s balls and uses two fingers to lightly press against his perineum. He can feel slick already on his fingertips, his cute hybrid wet and dripping for him before he’s even started. Sherlock jumps a bit in his lap, unused to the feeling of fingertips so close to his hole, the little surprised yip sound he makes, causing John to smile wickedly, eyes darkening with the greedy desire to ruin the pure creature in his grasp.
“I’m going to work you open now alright?” John says breathless, his voice turning husky. Sherlock hums an appreciative sound before diving in for another kiss, his own desire getting the better of him. It’s wet and eager, the warmth simmering through his body making him sloppy, his head floating in a daze of yearning as his heat continues coursing through him, making his body ache for more.
John runs his two fingers up along and over Sherlock’s entrance, skimming over the puckered skin and wetting his fingers with more slick, coating them before he firmly presses one against the rim. To his surprise, John’s finger slides in easily, the teen’s hole opening for him, letting him enter without much effort. ‘Convenient.’ He thinks to himself. He could get used to heats if he gets to shower Sherlock in love and sex, without the drawback of getting too eager himself as he preps. The thought of getting to please his new pet for longer is alluring and exciting.
A second finger pushes in with more resistance, and Sherlock is suddenly throwing his head back, his mouth opening as a desperate sound rips from his throat. The gasping sound is dripping with relief, the kitten’s body eager for what John is giving him. So eager that the two fingers are suddenly plunging in further as Sherlock sits back on them, getting them deeper in his growing desperation.
“Not so fast baby boy, don’t want you to hurt yourself.” John coos, grabbing a hold of the teen’s hips, stilling them, keeping him from thrusting down again. The hybrid protests with a whine, pulling his head back down and looking at John with a fucked-out gaze. That is until John starts widening his rim by twisting his thick fingers back and forth, his digits playing inside the wet warmth of the teen’s body. Sherlock’s eyes slam shut as his thighs tremble with delight and John can feel when the hybrid gushes out his first real wave of slick, the liquid running down his palm and dripping onto one of his thighs.
It’s subtle but John swears he can smell a light and tempting scent now coming from Sherlock and he briefly wonders if that’s the slick. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers the hybrid pornos mentioning something about how good the liquid tastes, but he doesn’t worry about it now. Instead, spreading out his two fingers further, continuing to open his little one’s warm hole bit by bit, taking his time to feel as the rim relaxes, taking his fingers now with ease, the two digits not even touching, gaping the teen while deliberately not going near his special little nub. He keeps his kitten on edge the entire time, teasing him and, not letting him have the relief he wants yet, he’ll only get that once John gets inside him.
John keeps his mouth busy, at the same time, kissing Sherlock’s chest and licking over his neck before sucking hard, bruising the pale flesh, marking the teen as his . Anyone who sees him now will know exactly what happened and it thrills John to know that he put those marks there. That his kitten let him play with him, trusted him to ruin him in the best way possible. Trusted him to defile him, to mark him, to do anything he wants because they own each other.
Sherlock holds on tight to him, breathing harshly, trying to move his hips to get those loving fingers deeper, to make him hit all the spots he wants and needs. But John holds him back, opening him up slowly, working him until his thighs shakes, his hole weeping slick, whimpers falling from cupid’s bow lips, little whispers of sin that make lightning crackle up John’s spine.
The whole room is desperately hot, their bodies warming the air around them. John eventually pulls his fingers from Sherlock in order to remove his shirt, the heat overwhelming. The teen’s eyes open looking at him questioning with a scared look on his face, as if John were possibly stopping altogether. But his gaze soon shifts to John’s now naked torso, something he’s seen dozens of times in the shower, but now makes his insides clench in desire as he admires his strength, recognizing what John can do to him with those muscles and suddenly starving for it all. He swallows the saliva that has pooled in his mouth and looks down shyly into John’s lap, where he recognizes for the first time since they started that John has been affected by all this.
Sherlock eyes John’s cock, sitting long and thick across his hip, skin still hidden by the fabric of his pants. A bolt of fear runs down his spine as a realization hits him that he’s never taken more than a few of his own fingers before and those don’t even start to compare to the sheer size, let alone length of the erection John is currently sporting. Even his heat muddled brain is smart enough to recognize this fact, though a different portion of his head unexpectedly wants it inside him at any cost.
“Baby?” John says questioning. He was going to get back to Sherlock immediately after taking his shirt off, but he had instead watched as the hybrid had stared at his chest, then looked down embarrassed before going statue still. He himself stays still, letting the hybrid have a moment as he’s clearly stopped for some reason.
When John had taken off his shirt, Sherlock had been forced to remove his hands from their white knuckled grip on the fabric. He’s holding them up, awkwardly at his sides, suddenly seeming unsure of what to do or where to put them.
“Sherlock?” John says this time, but he still gets no spoken answer but the statue in front of him decides to move as the hybrid’s hand reaches down toward his cock. The teen hesitates as he gets closer, hovering over top of his member, then pulls back quickly, clasping both hands together in front of his chest, as if he’d been burned.
A small chuckle comes from John’s throat. “You can touch it, I don’t mind.” John states, not sure why Sherlock jumped, but the teen is a statue again, so John takes the moment to lift Sherlock’s hips a bit and removes his final layer, throwing the boxer briefs to the floor, his plump cock springing up to bump against his stomach, spearing precum along the way. His body now bare as Sherlock, nothing left between them but warm skin.
The hybrid swiftly shakes his head back and forth, his fluffy hair swishing side to side. Sherlock tries mumbling something and ends up skipping words in his attempt to communicate. It’s cuter than John thinks it should be, but maybe that’s because he has a serious crush on the small hybrid and seeing someone who’s usually so careful with choosing his words fail at the sight of his cock gives him a little confidence boost.
“Use your words baby, I’m here, I’ll listen.” John uses both hands and wraps them around Sherlock’s clasped ones. “Come on, I’m all ears, love.” John smiles as soon as Sherlock lifts his head.
“I d-don’t think it will — fit.” Sherlock mumbles with a blush across his nose.
John looks down at himself, then back up at Sherlock. He pulls the hybrid’s hands apart and puts one on each of his own shoulders. “Oh, silly boy.” John coos as he reaches his hand under the teen’s balls, once again quickly finding his entrance, which he plunges three thick fingers into, the rim nicely stretched, already close to being fully ready, his earlier prep work allowing him to easily start back up again.
“Ah — John.” The hybrid stammers, trying to get a few words out but John ignores him as he slides his fingers out, then adds his last finger in, his smaller pinky stretching the flesh just that bit further.
“Don’t be scared, my little pet, I won’t hurt you.” John dips in for a quick kiss on Sherlock’s nose and the teen ceases to be a statue, his body automatically moving in rhythm with John’s fingers once again, his hips rocking to meet each deep shove. “You don’t even realize how open you already are.” John grins, knowing that he’s soon about to have Sherlock’s little hole wrapped around his cock.
“M’not scared.” Sherlock weakly protests, his cute mumbling making John’s cock twitch against his belly.
“Good, you shouldn’t be. This is all you now.” John gives one last twist of the wrist, gathering up plenty of slick as he pulls his fingers out. He uses the clear substance to coat his length and leans back, half laying on the bed now, giving Sherlock more room.
“Skooch up here, come on.” John encourages Sherlock to go, using one hand to grab a smooth thigh and moving him to straddle him higher up.
The hybrid follows John’s lead, trusting his new owner to take care of him, knowing John to truly mean every word he ever says. Putting his hands on the bed he crawls a little forward, positioning himself where he thinks he should be. He sits up and gently puts his hands-on John’s chest, gulping as a bit of fear of the unknown gets to him, even as his heat induced brain screams that he needs to go faster. That he needs to get something back inside of him, preferably something long and hard and — “Oh.”
John grips his own cock, sliding it between the teen’s perky butt cheeks, lining it up to just rest against his rim. But he doesn’t push up, instead tenderly placing his still dry hand on Sherlock’s face. The teen has closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in worry.
“When you’re ready baby. No rush.” John says, even as his cock throbs out another spurt of precum, right against the hybrid’s puckered entrance.
The heat in his body has been building again and Sherlock feels his insides clench, protesting their emptiness. John has been so good to him and for a moment he almost wants to cry with all the strange emotions he’s currently feeling. His owner is treating him so well, being gentle, guiding him, coaxing him to be bold and treating him both like a human and a pet, riding that line perfectly. Fear has him hesitating, but John waits below him. As he stares down at him, expecting a possibly growing impatient owner, he instead sees as John gently rests both hands on his thin hips, both thumbs drawing small comforting circles as he waits patiently, his eyes closed and peaceful. It stokes the fire that has been scorching this whole time and gives the teen the final bit of courage he needs to relax as he slowly sits back, the bulbous head of John’s cock slipping through the ring of muscle with a quick pop that neither of them expected.
A surprised yip comes from Sherlock and he clenches down at the feeling, causing John to groan and tighten his grip on his kitten’s hips. The urge to thrust further into the wet heat of the teen’s supple tunnel, held back only by the little bit of power his higher brain still has, instead arching his back away, not letting himself be lured into the temptation that the tight hole offers. He needs to give Sherlock time to stretch himself further and John won’t ruin that, will let his baby pace himself.
The feeling of the wonderful stretch to his rim, makes the hybrid’s instincts kick in, the fear fading as the heat clouds his brain. He slowly sits more, the shaft of John’s cock sliding smoothly into his hole, the slick doing its job to ease the way as Sherlock takes what he wants for his first time. It’s better than he could have ever imagined, the sensation as he sits back up, John’s head tugging at his rim, not wanting to leave, then the glide once again as he shifts down, taking in more this time. It makes his insides ache for more, even as he’s finally getting filled. He feels his owner guiding him, just barely tugging up on his hips, letting the thick cock slip almost all the way out before sliding back down even further, feeling full but knowing there’s more. The teen wants it all and after a few more slow and savory moves, he sits as far down as he can before grinding down, twisting his hips back and forth, slowly working his way further onto John’s cock, coating him in slick and moaning when he finally feels his owner’s balls right against his bottom.
“Fuck baby. So good.” John whispers, his breathing heavy from holding back, all his muscles tensed as he lets Sherlock have control, his pretty pet getting used to being filled at his own pace. The feeling of the teen slowly stuffing himself, each time driving his body down deeper onto his cock, has John clenching his teeth in the effort not to move. Not to let his own desires win, not yet anyway.
Now that’s he’s felt how full his owner can make him, Sherlock slides up slowly one last time, placing his hands on John’s stomach, before impaling himself back down, fully engulfing John’s cock, the thickness rubbing right over his prostate, making his own tiny cock leak precum down onto his owner’s belly. John grips him hard and moans below him, his eyes closed in ecstasy. The teen doesn’t let up after that, driving himself home, over, and over, bouncing on John’s thick cock, not stopping for a moment to think of anything, slick coating his thighs and running down onto John’s balls. The sensations he feels deep inside make him moan, the heat which had been hurting for the past day completely gone, replaced by pure pleasure each time he fills himself full of John, his virgin hole being deflowered in the best way possible. No inch of his insides left untouched.
The view of Sherlock’s face is beautiful, and John is awestruck by how raw it all feels, the hybrid’s normally schooled features fully displaying every emotion and sensation as he feels it. When the teen moans and slams down harder, his pace quickening, John stares at his parted cupid’s bow lips, watches as his hair jumps, sweat accumulating on his forehead as he exerts himself, chasing the pleasure he can only get from John, his owner. John runs his large hands over Sherlock’s pale chest and then back down to his perky ass. He grabs both cheeks and pulls them apart, causing Sherlock to gasp and throw his head back moaning, his movements never stopping as he continues riding John for all he’s worth.
“Beautiful baby . Take what you need. That’s right.” John says and Sherlock looks at him, his eyes hazy in arousal. He smiles for the briefest moment, a flash of teeth, before he needs to open his mouth again, panting hot breaths into the room.
“Ahhhh.” Sherlock gasps out as he leans backward a bit, the change in position causing John’s cock to rub against his prostate. He leans further backward and places his hands on each of John's knees to steady himself, his owner luckily having already placed his feet solidly on the ground. Then stopping for just a moment, he gets his feet on the bed, never letting John’s cock slip out.
John watches as the teen spreads his knees out, giving him full view of his pet in all of Sherlock’s naked glory. His kitten is all pale skin and smooth lines, looking pretty and delicate as he sits stuffed full of cock, which John has an excellent view of. He can see as the teen’s rim flexes, feel it around him fluttering before Sherlock starts to bounce again. He uses what little strength he has left to lift his hips up until only John’s tip is left, then lowers himself back down quickly getting his greedy hole filled to the brim. His pace changes fast, no slow and steady movement, the pleasure of the position, the pressure against his prostate making him ache and move as fast as his body will let him. The teen’s little cock stands stiff, throbbing and leaking as he rides his owner, looking cute and pink as it bounces.
The heat of Sherlock’s body is intense, the inferno blazing high, engulfing his length in a perfect storm of desire. The teen’s hole clamps around him, bringing him higher with each downward thrust, his body being used to sate the heat burning inside his kitten’s little figure. The unquenchable yearning, making his baby shameless, as he moans and whines, trembling, his chest heaving, muscles aching, but never stopping his pace, slamming himself down, over and over, his body wild and straining for release.
It doesn’t take long before John notices his kitten is getting close. It’s the rhythmic clenching of the teen’s hole around his cock, the way the hybrid’s legs spread further as he shallows his thrusts, grinding himself down as far as he can on John’s cock, stuffing his hole as full as he can, and finally the way his head is thrown back like before. He’s a masterpiece of true art and John throbs hard causing Sherlock to moan and slam down, his cock finally releasing his cum, the first spurt flying up and landing back onto his small length before he bounces again and again, coming more and more as he doesn’t stop, milking himself on John, his cum running down and over his balls to drip onto his owner’s stomach.
John holds himself back even as he wants to let go, wants to fill his pet up, but doesn’t know if Sherlock is done yet. So, he waits, clenching his stomach and not allowing himself to come, delaying his own relief, his dick in aroused agony as it stays buried in the teen’s heat. Sherlock stops as his last shot of cum dribbles from his pink tip. He’s huffing and panting, exhausted and shaking as he gets back on his knees, his arms coming forward as he hunches over onto John’s chest.
The hybrid lays there breathing hard but comfortable as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, his heat waning as his cock finally softens, even as his insides still ache for something. But he doesn’t know what. His head begins to finally come out of the clouded haze it had been in and he feels John lightly running his hands up and down his back, petting him. He instinctually starts to purr and his owner smiles feeling like he’s getting his Sherlock back.
After a while of laying there, both of their breathing evens out and Sherlock sits up, only to find that John is still hard inside him. He hadn’t been paying attention to what his owner was doing, too gone in chasing his own pleasure to know what John had been doing.
“You’re still hard?” The hybrid says, sad and slightly confused, wondering maybe if he hadn’t made it good for John.
“Wasn’t sure you were done yet, so I held back.” John pushes up off the bed, coming up to give a worried looking Sherlock a kiss. He pecks his lips once, then pushes his curly hair back with his clean hand before taking him by the neck and giving him a deeper kiss.
At first the teen doesn’t respond, letting his mouth be taken but he quickly breaks from his confusion to curl his tongue against John’s, letting the velvet smooth muscles tangle together. The feeling of crying comes again, his eyes hurting a bit as he holds back the emotions and the tears. John had been so caring, thinking about him, letting him go at his own pace and even denying himself to make sure that he was satisfied first. Sherlock had never felt so cared for, his own needs and wants coming before someone else’s, the way John spoke to him, sometimes gentle and other times dirty in the perfect way, somehow knowing exactly what was needed.
Sherlock pulls back from the kiss; his lips red and wrecked, glistening in the low light. He gives a sly grin when John gives him a small questioning look. The teen gets up, letting John’s cock slide out, the large member covered in his slick. He grabs John’s hand and pulls him up off the bed as well. His legs are shaky, and he wobbles a bit, his thighs protesting, having never used them this much before. But Sherlock luckily won’t need them as he grabs the pillow and gets back onto the bed, positioning himself by laying face down and shoving the pillow under his hips, propping himself up and presenting himself to John. His owner watches the whole time with questions written on his face, but as soon as he sees Sherlock lift his tail and spread his legs, his eyes go dark with want.
“Your turn.” Sherlock says with a flick of his tail, beckoning his owner to him, turning around with seductive eyes and that same sly grin.
John climbs on the bed quickly, Sherlock’s little display of willing submission enough to know that it’s time for what he wants. The lithe teen beauty before him making his heart flutter and his cock beg to be back inside. He positions himself behind Sherlock, but doesn’t take him right away, giving him one final look over.
His kitten’s tail stays up, letting his pink abused hole be fully on display, slick coating everything from his thighs to his cute balls sitting tight against his body. It makes John’s mouth water and he puts both hands on Sherlock’s butt, getting a good grip before sliding both his thumbs into the teen’s wet entrance. His pet tenses below him at first, but with a little coaxing relaxes, allowing John to pull him apart, his rim gaping open.
John grins and moves his hips close to Sherlock, keeping him open as he slides the tip of his cock back into the wet heat of the hybrid. He pushes in deep and grips onto the teen’s tiny hips, slotting himself perfectly inside, before giving a few short shallow thrusts, making sure to start slowly, not sure how sore or sensitive Sherlock might be. He continues his pace starting to build up the heat in his lower belly once again. This time stroking the fire higher, instead of dousing and controlling it.
Sherlock notices that John is taking it a little too easy, his owner thrusting slowly, gripping onto him gently. While he is happy for the concern, he knows this isn’t what his owner wants, he can tell from the way John had talked, that he wants to be rougher, that he was holding back from taking him fully. John had carried him with the strength of his muscles and Sherlock knows he can take it; his body was made for this.
Running his tail over John’s chest, the teen looks back and gives his owner a raised eyebrow. Silently asking him. “Is that it?” John seems to get the message because he pulls out further before pushing in harder, pistoning his powerful hips. With a silent grin, Sherlock times it exactly right that when John goes to dive back in, he clenches his rim, tightening up as much as he can.
John groans as his kitten tempts him, the muscles milking his cock tightening further, pushing his caring brain away as his animal brain tells him to take everything that Sherlock is willing to give him. He plunges in deeper, letting the hybrid’s body engulf him, his engorged cock sliding in as far as it can go.
“Harder.” John hears, but he doesn’t obey, instead looking up at Sherlock, who’s turned looking at him. “I know you want to.” He purrs out, voice silky.
“Fuck. Yes. Can you take it, Kitten?” John grits his teeth, hips pulling back farther before slamming down into Sherlock, making the little teen get shoved up toward the top of the bed. John leans down, engulfing his pet from above, snaking his arms under the teen’s chest and hooking his hands over his shoulders. He uses his arms to pull Sherlock back onto his cock as he thrusts forward, pounding into his hole harder.
“I — I can t-take it.” Sherlock barely manages to say, as the wind is knocked out of it.
John doesn’t realize he’s moaning, too lost in the feel of sliding relentlessly into his kitten. He feels Sherlock clenching for him, his hips tilting up to get the angle exactly right, pushing back just a little to let him go as deep as possible.
“Such a good kitten.” He says, praising the teen for doing more than just lying there. He kisses his back, thanking him for letting him use his little body for his own pleasure, even when he knows the hybrid must be exhausted.
Sherlock mewls and purrs below him.
“Want to do this every day.” John says absent mindedly, his mouth letting out his thoughts.
“Yeah.” Sherlock says, sounding breathless.
“Yeah.” He pants out, punctuating his word with a particularly heavy thrust.
“Want to fill up your pretty pet?” Sherlock purrs and John’s cock throbs at the dirty words, his previously shy teen using some of his words against him.
John continues kissing the hybrid’s back and neck, not stopping his hips for a moment, burying himself relentlessly, enjoying himself while also trying to distract his brain, as he feels the heat in his stomach grow larger, the end coming closer.
“Want to breed your little kitten?” Sherlock asks.
John groans in lust and sucks hard on Sherlock’s neck, afraid of what his mouth would say back, previously unaware that such filthy words would affect him. They cause lightning to crackle down his spine, his balls growing tight, cock harder than he’s ever been before. He won’t make it much longer.
“Come on J-John, claim me.”
John loses it with one final thrust into the tight clenching heat of the teen’s hole. He comes buried in his deflowered kitten, his first shot shooting deep into the hybrid, cum claiming him, before he’s shuddering through more, his cock gushing out shot after thick shot, pulsing again and again as his orgasm doesn’t want to stop. Even as he thinks he’s about to finish, his tip decides to continue to dribble more, his body intent on breeding Sherlock, filling him as full as he can.
The teen feels the fire in his belly finally get dosed, the burning heat quenched by his owner’s cum. He never knew it could all feel this good, could feel this amazingly satisfying and fulfilling, even as his whole-body aches from the experience.
John slumps forward a bit onto the hybrid and gets a protesting whine in return. He lifts himself off Sherlock on shaky arms and rolls to the side, pulling his now softening cock from him. He sighs out long and harsh, trying to catch his breath, the intensity of it all leaving him winded.
Sherlock takes the pillow out from under his hips and cuddles up to John, nuzzling into his chest, hugging him tightly and getting wrapped up in strong arms in return. The purring returns and the two relax together, both happy and well sated.
They eventually move around to get more comfortable, John laying down on his back and Sherlock climbing on top of him, to lay his head on his chest listening to his heart. It’s their favorite way to be and John can’t think of anything more perfect.
A small chuckle escapes John’s lips, then a bigger laugh that causes Sherlock to look up, frustrated that his comfy pillow is moving around annoyingly.
“What?” The hybrid says a drop of annoyance in his voice.
“The audacity of your filthy mouth to call me the perv?” John says suddenly, his laughing becoming worse, his whole chest moving the teen up and down.
Sherlock blushes, his whole face turning red in embarrassment, his mouth opening a few times as he tries to defend himself but fails to say anything. John laughs more and reaches up to tilt the scowling teen’s face up, planting a soft kiss to his lips.
“You’re the best pet.” John admits, his eyes filled with love.
“I’m your pet.” Sherlock says, his own eyes echoing the sentiment.