Well, this was it, Sherlock officially hated Mycroft.
No, scratch that, he currently loathed his entire family with their ridiculous lifestyle and their ridiculous insistence that he wear a bloody bespoke suit to another one of their ridiculously over the top parties.
Sherlock had been away at uni almost three years and had been breathing a sigh of relief ever since, now that he could wear whatever loose-fitting, casual or inappropriately revealing clothing he wanted. He was on his own now, away from all the bow ties and fake smiles and annoying niceties, and now his parents were not only making him come back home but wear a suit on top of it.
Sherlock hoped, as he stepped inside the shop of his brother’s favourite tailor, that whoever the man was who’d be making his suit was prepared for a very unenthusiastic customer.
Being inside the shop immediately made him feel out of place; surrounded by pristine, neatly folded dress shirts and mannequins dressed to the nines. God, this was going to be tedious, having to get measurements done, then come back for a fitting, and then another fitting, and then—
“Oh, hello, you must be Mr. Holmes. Mycroft warned me you probably wouldn’t be too pleased to be here,” a man with a soft, almost teasing voice said. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed him, but there he was, a man, at least fifteen years his senior, on the shorter side with silver-blond hair and dressed in a simple but perfectly fitting navy blue suit.
Oh, Sherlock was going to kill Mycroft, because the man had conveniently failed to mention that his tailor was fucking gorgeous.
“Er, yes, I’m Mycroft’s br- um, Sherlock, yes,” Sherlock spluttered, any chance of him sounding suave or intelligent flying completely out the window.
“Well, my name’s John Watson. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes—“
“Sherlock is fine,” he said.
“Oh, right. Well then it’s nice to meet you, Sherlock,” John greeted politely, shaking his hand firmly and smiling. Christ, that suit looked good on him.
“And it’s nice to meet the man behind my brother’s ridiculous three piece suits,” he replied.
“You don’t like them?” John asked, throwing Sherlock what he could only describe as puppy eyes.
“No! I- er, well, they're very well made, obviously,” Sherlock stuttered, “but he wears a suit like one might wear a dressing gown; I’m convinced he sleeps in them. You didn't happen to make him bespoke pyjamas, did you?”
John giggled. “Not that I recall, no.” He put his hand lightly on Sherlock’s upper arm and gently motioned to follow him. “Come with me, back by the mirror. We’ll get you all sorted, yeah? It’s completely painless, I promise,” he teased.
Sherlock followed John to the mirror towards the back of the store and happily let the man place him right where he wanted in front of it.
“There we go,” John said. “Now we’ll just take your measurements, discuss styles, fabrics, et cetera, then you can be on your way. Sound good?”
“Er, yes,” Sherlock said, when in fact he now wished this appointment would take longer than usual if it meant more time hearing John’s frankly hypnotizing voice and letting the man touch him and poke and prod however he liked.
John turned around to the desk behind him and started jotting some things down on a piece of paper.
Sherlock stared at John in the mirror, deductions about him swimming in his head. He could tell that John had come from a military family; disapproving father- easy. He’d faced financial troubles- obvious, but had built his business up from the ground- strong work ethic, incredible attention to detail, if the quality of the suits he made for Mycroft were anything to go by. At that point, Sherlock was almost thankful that his parents were making him do this.
“Have you gotten a suit made for you before?” John asked, sliding the tape measure off from around his neck.
“Not since my teenage years. Mother stopped making me wear such elaborate clothing when I continued to ruin them through various experiments of mine.” Sherlock remembered being downgraded to simple dress shirts and blazers after a particularly disastrous evening of scientific exploits.
“Yes, I’m currently studying chemistry at university.”
“Oh, Mycroft didn’t mention he had a genius in the family,” John said. Sherlock tried desperately not to blush. John put his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back. “Now, stand up straight for me,” he told him.
Sherlock straightened immediately, already missing the heat of John’s hand as he took it away.
“Good. Perfect.” John smoothed down the sleeves of Sherlock’s shirt and positioned his arms a little, making Sherlock feel a bit like a doll being posed in different positions, not that he wasn’t enjoying it, of course. “Now, this is usually where I warn people that I do get a bit up close and personal with my tape measure, but don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He winked.
Damn it, how could this man make him positively weak in the knees with one tiny gesture?
Sherlock steeled himself and stayed perfectly still as John measured from the top of his shoulder all the way down to his wrist, then wrote down the measurements and repeated the process for the other arm.
“Raise your chin up for me,” John said, coming to stand right in front of him. Sherlock obliged and practically held his breath as the strikingly attractive tailor slowly wrapped his tape measure around his neck. “Is that too tight?” he asked. God, the man was standing so close to him; those cobalt blue eyes studying the measurements with intense precision.
“Not at all,” Sherlock said.
“Good. Very good. Wouldn’t want you collar to be too tight.”
“No, sir.” Sherlock swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to keep himself from examining the tailor’s lips for too long.
John just laughed good-naturedly. “No need for the formalities, Sherlock; just John is fine.”
Had he slipped out a ‘sir’ already? Christ, this would get embarrassing if he couldn’t control himself.
Next John stood behind him and measured across his shoulder blades. Sherlock wondered what the man was thinking of him; was Sherlock just another customer to him? Was John always this charming?
“Tell me, Sherlock, when you wear any type of blazer or suit jacket, is there usually fabric bunched up right here?” John asked, gathering the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt in the middle of his upper back.
“Alright, well I’ll take care of that, no problem.”
Yes, there is a problem, Sherlock thought as he imagined John grabbing him just like that and using his hold to spin him around and shove him up against a wall, tie his hands together with that bloody tape measure, maybe even stuff one of those fancy ties in his mouth to keep him quiet while he- fuck, he needed to focus. This was neither the time nor the place for those thoughts.
“So, can I ask what occasion the suit will be for? I just need to know if this will be a suit you'll wear often, or more like a one time—“
“One time, yes, definitely,” Sherlock rushed. “It's my parents' wedding anniversary. They're throwing some huge charity ball at some prestigious hotel with no doubt a fair collection of influential guests.” He rolled his eyes at just the thought of having to attend.
“Sounds exciting, to say the least,” John said as he continued to measure with steady hands. “Have you any colours or styles for the suit in mind?”
“No, none of that. This was all Mycroft’s idea; I don’t have any preferences.”
“Giving me free reign, huh?”
“Yes, whatever you think will look good,” Sherlock said, thinking he’d let John take charge with just about anything he wanted.
“I’d say anything would look good on you, really, but I think we’ll go with a black jacket and jewel tones for the shirt; deep purple, maroon, that sort of thing.”
Did John just- no, he probably complimented all of his customers. Or maybe Sherlock was hearing things. Yes, that sounded more accurate.
“Arms up over your head, now,” John said, patting his arm in encouragement.
Sherlock raised his arms, trying to quell his steadily rising arousal at John’s subtle commands. The man wasn’t barking orders at him by any means, but there was a certain undertone to his voice, a slight edge that suggested he was more than capable of taking charge.
Sherlock was starting to think that he really needed to get his little infatuation with the tailor under control, when suddenly John’s arms were around him and their chests almost brushed against each other’s and Sherlock could’ve sworn he stopped breathing.
It was only after the split second of shock that Sherlock realized that John was just measuring his chest.
Just measuring his chest. No big deal.
“Alright, perfect. You can relax your arms now.”
Sherlock put his arms down.
Then John measured his waist. Also not a big deal.
But then John got on his knees in front of him.
“And how do you feel about trouser length? Full break? Quarter break?” John asked casually as he measured from the top of Sherlock’s trousers to the bottom of his shoe.
“I- I’m er, I’m not entirely sure what those words mean,” Sherlock admitted, still flustered with the image of John kneeling so close to him.
John chuckled a bit. “S’alright,” he said. “It’s the hem length.” he pinched the hem of Sherlock’s trousers to demonstrate. “I could make the hem reach down to the top of your heel, or I could have it sit just below the top of your shoe, it’s up to you.”
“Erm, I- I’ll let you decide. I trust your judgment.”
“Alright, I’ll go a bit shorter, then,“ John decided. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you to spread your legs a bit for me.”
Fucking hell, this man was going to be the end of him.
Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly and widened his stance a little, trying not to look down at the head of soft, silvery hair right in front of him.
“And on which side do you dress?” John asked.
“I need to know, um, which side you, er..” The man looked almost embarrassed, motioning subtly towards his crotch area.
“Oh! Oh, uh, left. Apologies.” Sherlock really wished he’d remembered the tailoring code for ‘which side does your genitalia hang.’
“Not a problem; you’re hardly the first person to not know what I meant.” John smiled politely before putting the tape measure right up against the inside of his right leg, and then- oh, shit.
“Oh, I meant right!” Sherlock corrected after John’s fingers just barely brushed against his length which, by some miracle was not half-hard already. “Damn it, sorry, I—“
“It's okay, it's all fine. No need to be embarrassed,” John assured, quickly switching to measure the left leg instead.
Well, at least now Sherlock was too humiliated to be turned on.
John thankfully got up from the floor and went to jot down the measurements on his paper.
“Any preferences for fabrics?”
“Just something comfortable; lightweight,” Sherlock said, somewhat regaining his composure.
“Perfect. Wish your brother was this easy to dress; he’s very particular,” John joked.
“That doesn’t surprise me; he’s always been picky. And I must say you do an incredible job of hiding his appalling personality behind those exceptional suits.”
“Are you trying to butter me up, Mr. Holmes?” John laughed.
“Not at all, sir.” Sherlock smirked.
“Well, there’s no need to flatter me, it’s my job to make you look amazing- not that you need much help.”
“Are you trying to flatter me?”
John hummed in amusement and grinned. He pulled a plain black suit jacket off a hanger and brought it over, holding it open for Sherlock to slide his arms through.
“Look, I know you’re not over the moon about wearing a suit,” he said, pulling the jacket in tighter around him, “but believe me,” he smoothed out the fabric, running his hands all across Sherlock’s chest, “by the time I’m through with you,” John buttoned the jacket, looking him straight in the eye, “you’re not gonna want to take it off.”
Sherlock was not looking forward to his next fitting.
Not because he didn’t want to see John, of course, but because he’d spent almost every night over the past week fantasizing about the man.
He’d imagined John fucking him up against the mirror in the back of the shop, making him watch himself come and then lick off any that got on the glass.
He’d imagined John pushing a jacket halfway down his arms, effectively trapping him in the sleeves and then doing what he pleased with him.
He’d imagined getting on his knees for John, sucking him off while the man was still dressed in an immaculate suit, being careful not to make a mess of the quality fabric.
And now he had to face him again, had to look him in the eye without turning beet red from the filthy thoughts racing through his mind.
This was going to be a challenge, to say the least.
Challenge was an understatement.
Attempting to stand still and keep a straight face as John made his adjustments was quickly turning into a serious test of Sherlock’s self-control.
John had sewn trousers and part of the suit jacket for him over the week, but the garments were still unfinished, and John held a little wedge of chalk in his hand that he was using to mark up where changes needed to be made.
“This might need to come up a little,” John murmured to himself, examining the jacket hem. “Arms at your sides for me, and just relax them,” he said.
Sherlock tried, he really did, but his ‘relaxed’ pose felt more forced than anything.
“Are you alright?” John asked, looking at him with concern. “You seem a bit tense.”
“N-no, I’m fine.”
“You sure? You haven’t said much since you got here. You’re not feeling uncomfortable, are you?”
“No! Not at all, no.” Sherlock shook his head. “It’s just, um, it’s this party. I really am not looking forward to it.”
“I can tell,” John chuckled, “but hey, it’s just one night. Make the best of it, flaunt this spectacular suit,” he smirked. “And a handsome man like yourself should have no trouble attracting the ladies, yeah? Or the men, it’s all fine.”
“I know it’s fine.” Sherlock blushed. “I mean, er, thank you.”
John patted Sherlock’s shoulder reassuringly, squeezing it a bit. “Not a problem. And don’t worry, I'm sure you’ll be alright,” John said. He looked down to Sherlock’s arm and started adjusting and readjusting the jacket sleeve. “Now, how’s the sleeve length? Feel okay?”
“It’s good, yes. But the trousers feel a little, er, loose,” he admitted.
John took a step back and hummed in thought, eyeing up Sherlock’s legs.
“Yeah, they do look a bit big on you.” He stepped forward and bunched the fabric up by Sherlock’s side, pulling the trouser leg in a little tighter. “How’s that?”
“G-good,” Sherlock agreed. What was it about this man’s touch that turned his usual quick wit into a babbling mess?
“Good, then. We’ll take that in a tad.” John used his chalk to make dotted lines where he needed to fix things. “So, how’s university life treating you, then?” he asked.
“It’s a bit dull, honestly.”
“Yes, well, the classes at least. Far too easy.”
“Mm, I forgot we had a genius on our hands,” John teased. “And what about outside of class; any hobbies? Besides your experiments, yeah?”
Sherlock grinned; he didn’t think John would’ve remembered that detail. “Yes, aside from those, I have a sort of deal with Scotland Yard and occasionally I assist them on cold cases, I enjoy playing the violin, and I, erm, I dance. On the weekends.”
“Wow,” John said, clearly impressed. “Scotland Yard, eh? So do you want to be a detective, then?”
“Perhaps. I’m not quite sure considering they haven’t let me onto an actual crime scene yet, despite the fact that I’m never wrong about the cold cases.”
“That’s brilliant, wow. You’re brilliant,” John complimented, adjusting Sherlock’s lapels. Sherlock was sure John could feel the heat emitting from his face with how close he was.
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course. Mycroft never told me his little brother was so talented.”
“I- I’m not- I mean—“
“It’s okay,” John smiled. ”Stand how you normally would, now, I just need to see how it’s fitting in the shoulders.”
Sherlock stood as casually as he could and let John do his work as they continued to chat. He watched John’s reflection in the mirror the whole time, not able to take his eyes off of him for more than a minute. The way he moved was so precise, so practiced; John was good at his job but he didn’t flaunt it. He made extravagant, detailed suits but dressed himself in simple, unassuming clothes. He was calm and approachable with a world of talent at his fingertips. God, what Sherlock wouldn’t give to get those talented hands to touch him; John would know exactly where to touch and what to do.
Now the trouble was deciding whether or not to try to subtly seduce his tailor or just let it go and move on.
“So,” John said, putting his hands around Sherlock’s waist, “how close do you think you want the jacket fitting to your body?”
No, definitely not moving on.
Sherlock ended up staying far past the usual appointment window that time; he’d casually asked John if he could explain to him exactly what went into making these suits, which John head been more than happy to delve into.
John had told him all about the process of pattern making and sewing and all the work that went into every suit he designed. Sherlock had been absolutely captivated, hanging on to every word, and would be lying if he said he hadn’t turned on the charm a little as they talked.
And then, before he knew it, he and John were talking about anything and everything as John worked on laying out fabrics and patterns, and if it were possible, Sherlock found himself even more attracted to him.
“Inappropriate, brother mine,” Mycroft drawled from the other end of the phone. Sherlock scoffed and made a face despite the fact that his brother couldn’t see him.
“None of your business, brother mine,” he countered, wishing that Mycroft would just stay out of it for once.
“Sherlock, he is a tailor doing his job, not your new experiment.”
“He’s not an exper—“
“And he is closer to my age than yours, what do you think Mummy would have to say about that?”
“I think she’d say nothing since it is neither her nor anyone else’s business but mine. Goodnight, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped, hanging up immediately. As if he needed approval from his family as to who he did or didn’t sleep with. Plus, Sherlock was half convinced that Mycroft had expected him to be attracted to John and sent him there anyway.
Well, it didn’t matter what any of them said; Sherlock was going to invite John to his parent’s party whether they liked it or not.
“So, what do you think?” John asked, standing back and letting Sherlock have a look at himself in the mirror.
The suit was virtually complete, and Sherlock couldn’t believe how much he loved it. He had been so used to his clothes being picked out for him, to being forced into stuffy suits and spending entire evenings just itching to get out of his outfits that he didn’t even know what to say.
The suit was jet black, made with smooth, lightweight material that Sherlock could actually breathe in. It flattered his slim figure, even made him look taller, and John had been right, he almost didn’t want to take it off. The dress shirt was a deep, rich maroon and the lining of the jacket was dark grey with a subtle damask pattern to give it just a hint of something special. And on the lapel, Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to see that John had stitched a red buttonhole similar to the one he had on his winter coat.
It was perfect.
“I…” Sherlock trailed off, not quite able to form words just yet.
“Do you like it?” John asked. He stepped closer and smoothed his hand over the lapel. “I saw that red buttonhole on your coat and just thought it would work. It’s very…unique, as are you.” John’s voice was lower than usual, husky almost.
Sherlock had come to the shop in the evening for a change, and no one else was there, leaving just him and John huddled close by the mirror in the small, softly lit space.
“It’s…yes. It’s perfect,” Sherlock said, looking into John’s eyes as he spoke.
“How does it feel?” John's voice was definitely edging on seductive, now, there was no doubting it.
“Comfortable?” John slowly ran his hands over his lapels, clearly no longer worried about being appropriate. “Not too…tight?” he licked his lips.
“No, sir,” Sherlock whispered.
John smirked, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “Sherlock, what did I tell you about calling me sir?”
“I…” Oh, god, John’s close proximity and that damn seductive voice was causing a surge of heat rushing south in his body. Sherlock could tell he was getting hard, and being even half-aroused in this suit would not be something he could hide, and so of course he took the most logical action- he panicked. “I- I have to use the loo,” he stammered, rushing off to the small bathroom at the back of the store.
He heard John trailing behind him, likely worried, but locked himself inside anyway.
“Sherlock, are you alright in there?” John sounded concerned, tapping questioningly on the door.
“Yes, sir- I mean, John! I’m alright.”
“Yes, quite. I just..need a moment.”
John backed away from the door and Sherlock took a minute to breathe and calm himself down, willing his arousal to go away. After he felt like he could face John again without tripping over his words, he slowly opened the door.
John came back over before Sherlock was even fully out of the loo.
“Everything okay?” he asked with worry in his eyes.
“Obviously,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat.
“Listen, Sherlock, I…overstepped my boundaries there. That was extremely unprofessional and I’m so sorry. I just thought- no, I don’t know what I was thinking. I completely understand if you no longer wish for me to—“
“No, you know exactly what you were thinking. You were thinking that I was attracted to you as well, quite right, as it turns out, and so you decided to act on it. I only ran away because I might have gotten, well, a little too excited.”
“So, the feeling’s mutual, then?”
“Obviously,” Sherlock repeated.
John’s slightly panicked expression quickly changed into a sly smile. “God, I want to kiss that bloody smirk right off your face,” he said.
“Then do it.”
John inched closer. “You’re sure you want this?”
“Yes, sir,” Sherlock taunted, and that was apparently the last straw for John.
John practically dug his hands into the lapels of Sherlock’s jacket and tugged him forward, pressing their lips together roughly and quickly opening his mouth so he could lick and suck on Sherlock’s upper lip. He wasted no time invading Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue, expertly moving the muscle to send sparks shooting through Sherlock's spine.
John let out a low moan and moved one hand to cup the back of Sherlock’s head and the other to slide around his waist. Christ, Sherlock knew the man would be good, but he never could’ve anticipated this amount of passion and heat.
“John,” Sherlock panted in between kisses.
“Mm, what, baby?”
Oh, fuck, what was his question again?
“What if- oh- what if someone comes in?” he asked, realizing that the shop was still open.
John stopped his trail of kisses on Sherlock’s neck for a moment to check his watch. “I close in twenty minutes, I wouldn’t worry too much,” he assured, going right back in to plant hot, wet kisses to Sherlock’s throat.
“Fuck, s-sir, that feels so good.”
John moaned and flicked open the first few buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, pushing it aside and diving in to suck the skin by his collarbone into his mouth. “You like that, calling me sir?”
“Y-yes- oh, god,”
“Christ, you’re beautiful; I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this turned on.” John slowed himself down and pushed Sherlock back against the wall, running his hands down Sherlock’s arms and hungrily eyeing him up. “The things I’d like to do to you..” he breathed, trailing a finger up the front of Sherlock’s trousers. He leaned in and gently bit down on his earlobe. “Wanna make a mess of you, love..would you like that?”
“Yes, sir, please,” he begged. John grinned and kissed him again, slower that time, savoring the feeling of their lips pressed against one another’s.
Sherlock hesitantly reached out and wrapped his arms around John’s middle, working up the confidence to kiss him back harder, to lick the inside of John’s mouth, nibble on his bottom lip.
“Mm, why don’t we take this back to my workroom? Wouldn’t want someone to see us from the front window, would we?”
“I don’t know, would that bother you?” Sherlock smirked.
“Ooh, naughty,” John gave him a light pat on the hip before leading him back to his workspace.
The room was small and slightly cluttered with suits in the making but it was more than enough room for John to push Sherlock up against the wall and kiss him senseless, one hand on each side of his head to hold him still.
As they kissed, Sherlock could feel John’s erection brushing up against his own, sending chills down his spine, making him ache to touch him.
John must’ve read Sherlock’s mind, because the next thing he knew, John was thrusting up against him, sliding their clothed cocks against each other’s and panting into his neck.
“How does that feel, baby?”
“G-good, sir, but I want- I want to touch you, please. May I?”
“Of course, love,” he said. He gently wrapped his hand around his wrist and pulled Sherlock’s hand over to cover his erection. “Go on, take me out.”
Sherlock swallowed hard and unzipped John’s trousers, licking his lips when he saw his thick cock trapped underneath the fabric of his pants. He planted tiny kisses on John’s neck as he pulled out his length and gave him a few tentative strokes, wanting so badly to please him.
“There we go, baby. Very good,” John praised.
Sherlock held back a loud moan and picked up his pace, reveling in the feeling of John’s hot, velvety skin under his fingers.
“God, you’re doing so well, just hold me a bit tighter, gorgeous,” John said.
Sherlock quickly obliged and gripped John tighter, stroking his cock even faster and watching John’s face as he expressed his pleasure.
“Like that, sir?”
“Oh, yes, just like that. You’re gonna make me come soon if you keep it up. I don’t want this to end so fast.”
“I’ll slow things down, then.” Sherlock kept his tight grip but slowed his stroke to an agonizingly slow pace, tempting John to thrust up into his fist. John carded a hand through his curls and pulled him in, just ghosting his lips over Sherlock’s.
“Open up for me,” he whispered.
As soon as Sherlock opened his mouth, John slid his tongue inside and curled it around, dancing over Sherlock’s tongue and letting any excess saliva simply drip from their mouths. He licked and sucked and kissed until Sherlock’s lips were cherry red and glistening.
Sherlock smoothed his thumb over the tip of John’s cock to gather a drop of his leaking precome and, eyes never leaving John’s gaze, he brought his thumb up to his mouth and sucked on it slowly, moaning at the bitter, salty taste, wanting more.
“Oh fuck,” John breathed.
“I want to taste you, all of you,” Sherlock whispered into his ear. “Will you let me suck you…daddy?” he asked, the last word almost inaudible.
Sherlock started to panic when John didn’t answer right away, thinking maybe he’d read John wrong, said the wrong thing, but then John’s hand tightened in his hair and he grabbed Sherlock’s wrist to pull his hand off his cock.
“On your knees. Now.”
Sherlock could not have moved fast enough. He scrambled to his knees, ignoring the burn of the rough carpet and looking up pleadingly at John.
“Take off your jacket,” John ordered, his voice just dripping with authority.
Once Sherlock’s jacket was shucked off, John took off his as well, tossing it onto his workbench. He took his cock in his hands and gave it a few quick strokes.
“Now,” he said, “I know we haven’t discussed anything, and we won’t get into too much right now, but if you want any of this to stop at any point, just say ‘red,’ alright?”
“Yes, sir,” he agreed, staring at John’s tantalizing erection in front of his face. “Please, daddy, can I?”
“Such an eager boy, aren’t you? Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”
Sherlock did just that, trying not to salivate too much in anticipation.
John inched closer and held the back of Sherlock’s head to keep him still, but he stopped short just as his cock was about to touch his tongue.
“Oh, and one more thing. If you get one drop of come on my nice, clean trousers, daddy will make sure you lick it clean, understood?”
Sherlock nodded. “Yes, daddy.”
“Good boy.” And finally, finally John slid the head of his cock over Sherlock’s tongue, sliding just barely into his mouth and then out again, teasing relentlessly and slapping his cock onto the small pool of saliva collecting on his tongue. Sherlock wanted nothing more than for him to just shove it down his throat, make him gag, but he stayed nice and still and kept his tongue out just like his daddy said.
“Mmm, such a good boy for me. Do you have any idea how many times I imagined you like this? How hard it was for me to stay professional around you? Christ..”
Sherlock simply moaned in response.
“You were just so gorgeous…mm, now suck for me, baby, go on.”
Yes, Sherlock thought, eagerly wrapping his lips around John’s cock and hollowing his cheeks as he sucked.
“Fuck, you’re good at this, taking daddy’s cock so well.” John leaned on the wall with one hand and kept the other around Sherlock’s neck as he took John further down his throat.
“Daddy’s gonna come soon, baby, but we don’t want to get your new suit all filthy,” John said. “Where do you think daddy should come, hm?”
Sherlock pulled off with a soft pop. “In my mouth, please, daddy.”
“That sounds perfect, love. Such a clever little boy.” John left just the head of his cock inside Sherlock’s mouth as he stroked himself, his climax building quickly. It only took a few short moments before John was shooting his come onto Sherlock’s tongue, moaning in pleasure as his release spurt into that delicious wet heat.
John pulled out slowly and Sherlock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing John’s come and only now realizing just how turned on he still was.
“God, that was amazing,” John panted, sinking to his knees to kiss Sherlock heatedly and taste himself. “What do you want, love? What do you need daddy to do, hm?”
“Please, please just touch me. I probably won’t last too long,” he chuckled a bit, unzipping his trousers.
“Let’s get these out of the way.” John helped Sherlock shuffle his new trousers down to his thighs and immediately started rubbing his hand over his clothed erection. He pulled him out and started with long, expert strokes that would surely have Sherlock coming in no time.
“Oh, John, d-daddy, it’s so good…don’t stop.”
“Feels good, baby? Tell me, did you ever think about me, like this, when you were all alone in your bed?”
“Describe it to me, what did you imagine?”
“J-just you, touching me…f-fucking me,” he admitted almost shyly.
“Ooh, I’ll have to buy you dinner first,” he joked, speeding up his strokes. “What else, baby? Tell daddy.”
“I thought about your hands, so steady and precise, thought about getting on my- oh, on my knees for you..”
“Mm, well I’m flattered, love. And I never thought a handsome, brilliant young thing like you would find me attractive, if I’m honest.”
“Oh, god, sir, you’re so- fuck, amazing. Don’t stop, daddy, fuck, don’t stop,” Sherlock panted.
“That’s it, be a good boy, come for me.” John kissed and sucked just below Sherlock’s ear and he pumped his cock faster and harder in his hands, and as soon as John’s teeth threatened to sink into his skin, he was coming hard all over John’s hand, some landing on his pants and his thigh.
“Mm…” Sherlock mumbled looking down at his lower half. “Well, you did say you wanted to make a mess of me.”
John chuckled softly and got up to grab some tissues. He wiped them both down and tucked Sherlock back into his pants, deciding to just slide the trousers off completely since technically he still had a bit of work to do on them.
He helped Sherlock up from the floor and pulled him into a sweet kiss. “That was wonderful. Was it good for you?”
“Obviously,” Sherlock teased. “And we’ll…do this again, sometime?”
“Of course, Sherlock. You’re amazing; I want to get to know you more.”
“Well then perhaps…we should go somewhere together. Perhaps something like an over the top party where I can wear this handmade suit. John, would you like to accompany me to my parent’s ridiculous anniversary party?”
“Oh, god yes.”